#i just want thanksgiving break and then winter break is soon after but its all so far away :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

love-kurdt · 4 months

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This is Me Trying (Mike's Version) (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

My eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick me out. I detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, I would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with me.

I laid on my back with my skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded my hands together over my stomach as I got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. I tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. My eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. I liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded me of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. I needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. I hoped I'd have enough room in my car for everything, since I wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit me out of nowhere; since I no longer had a school to attend, I'd never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one I'd participated in was Thanksgiving, and I'd wanted to have one last memory of my parents being proud of me before I became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way Dad had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at me from across the dinner table, that I'd already failed. I chose to keep my mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that my college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

I wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. I hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. I would get the fuck over myself and leave the house. I would repair my purposefully neglected friendships. And I'd finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear me out. Maybe Will’s hatred for me had faded a little bit. I still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what I'd already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as I had arrived back at my dorm in January, I diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above my headboard. I wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because I was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but I truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting my school supplies (along with my reluctance to just go back home and grab what I needed from my room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all I had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on my wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; we weren’t official, anyway, so I was free to see whoever I wanted. Except I didn’t just want to see Will. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. If only I could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call; I wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. I longed for the day I'd get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But I was waiting for the right time to do it. I couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. I couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and I didn’t want to impose upon that. And I couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? I didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at me.

In reality, no time was a good time. I knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. I, ever the strategist, prepared myself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help me immensely in this process. Ultimately, I chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion I could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

I had parked myself in the middle of my mattress, sitting criss cross on top of my navy blue comforter. I'd pulled my phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of my bedside table and into my lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and my back was slightly killing me (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But I knew I wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

I drew my eyes up the headboard of my bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. I inhaled so hard I thought my lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in my chest. I feared my heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. I knew I had to do this now, or I never would. I'd already procrastinated doing this for too long. I gulped, my finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried my luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing my body to snap up to attention. I rose to defend myself from any monsters in my vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, I stood up way too fast. I was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. I sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, I let my shoulders go lax. Tension that I hadn’t realized had built up released from my neck as I rested my head on my palms. I wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster I'd have to fight was myself.

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in my obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on me, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. I shut my eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. I could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or I could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone I knew.

I opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. I rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. I hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since Will and I got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. We’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, I freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, I wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, I needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around my throat. My eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through my veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around my wrist before I could take another step. I whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that I vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from my Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for my impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

I tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when I'd admitted to not knowing it, so I uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with my greeting. She pulled me down by my shoulder so she could talk in my ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. I raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. I hoped I wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, I knew I probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made me feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” I hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. I laughed along, but my voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

I looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. I watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in my stomach. The lava curling around my throat became even hotter, burning through my skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” I remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. I glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” I blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. I heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered me on, but I wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at me, stunned at my sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. I felt myself choking on air. I needed to get out of there, and quickly.

“Okaygottagoseeya!” I forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before I bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of my Chuck Taylors as I continued to run across the campus quad, my breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout my body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. My feet loudly slapped the pavement below me, and I was proud that I hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of my time at the University of Indianapolis, it was my improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, I thought.

I sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If I got hit, cool. Awesome. I'd thank the driver as I bled out in the street. But no one came to take me out of my misery. So I kept running, and running, and running. My long legs screamed as my practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry me. The prickly, thin air I breathed in through my mouth reminded me of the sensation when I'd chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but I was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down my face. Or were those tears? Was I seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, I had never been the type of person to openly cry. I wasn’t raised to share my feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why I had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. I never opened up to anyone, because I hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. I prided myself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, I'd been the one to stare Vecna down as I thrust a sword straight into his heart. I'd proven my strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that I didn’t have to let my guard down; Will broke it for me. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that I had worked so hard for years to maintain. I suddenly became unable to stop myself from crying. I'd always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that I could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, I didn’t envy Will at all. I wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And I felt even worse when I recalled all the times when I was the reason for making Will cry.

I had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. I had my first one on the day Will left. My mom came into my room to check on me. I’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and my shoulders violently shook as I hyperventilated. My mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting me where I was at, grounding me, and helping me come back to earth. She’d held me in her arms as I sobbed, comforted me, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. I could never express enough gratitude towards my mom for what she did for me that day. Little did I know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to my initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after I'd been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

I found my car despite my impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly I opened it, and slammed it shut behind me. I collapsed my entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that I hadn’t even been aware I was capable of. I reached my hands up into my scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with my hands as my surroundings melted away. I genuinely felt like I was going to die. Everything I'd said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside me, and this was me finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

I turned my keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. I lifted my head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed my eyes a few times, and took a look at my reflection. The person staring back at me looked absolutely horrendous. I looked as if I hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; I could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep I'd had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by my side.

I shifted gears and turned my headlights on, pulling out of my spot and drifting out into the street. I knew what I was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just myself, but to others. But I couldn’t give less of a shit; I'd figured out what I needed to do. I slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where I'd have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but I didn’t turn left. I tapped my fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on my right hand signal.

I swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. I felt my breath hitch. His voice was deeper than I remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” I exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for my own good. I waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. I went to speak again, but Will beat me to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said my name in a tone that I could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, I shouldn’t have called him. I shouldn’t have called him, but I did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said my name for the first time in a year.

I reclined onto my comforter so I was lying on my back with my knees bent, wrapping the cord around my finger a few times as I spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

I heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so I told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. I’d always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound I'd ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

I begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and I would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved my life. She’d given me a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of my face. My stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and I suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but I didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing me away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” I heard myself ask, my voice small. I felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, I was still a kid. I’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of my childhood. I’d been so uncertain of where I’d end up after the war was over. And the one time I was sure of myself, sure of my feelings, and sure that Will Byers was my heart, I–

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made my blood run cold. I set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on my twin-sized mattress, the rest of my body completely frozen. I felt my facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed me.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. I rarely prayed; I only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, I prayed the hardest I’d ever prayed in my entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, I opened my eyes. Nothing. I huffed a quiet laugh to myself; it was so typical of me to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with my problems. I'd have to face this alone. I was always alone. And I fucking hated it.

I hated that I would never have Will in the way I wanted him, no, the way I needed him. I hated that I could never seem to get the closure that I believed I deserved. I hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with me! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had I done something else? Did I do something other than that one time in August? Something during my first semester, or over Christmas break, that I couldn’t remember due to my steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? I couldn’t think of a single thing, which made me even angrier.

I wished I could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe I could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if I picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if I said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. I'd be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of myself that I could never get back; a boy who would call me out for lying to both Will and myself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt me badly enough to justify a grudge. At least I thought so. Then again, I hated grudges, and the person I became when I held them. Scratch that, I hated the person I'd become, period. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I'd started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, I'd finally discovered my identity as a young gay man. I met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. I would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to me, and would get weirdly emotional when my mind would, as always, drift to Will. I’d sometimes close my eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and I'd fall for my own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and I'd remember that Will hated my guts… I would drink. A lot. I was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. My temper got worse, my fuse got shorter, and my overall outlook on life became so cynical that I sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But I'd never followed through with anything in my entire life, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill myself even if I wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of my eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of my cheeks. I hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing me to develop a cramp under my ribcage. I grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering my feet to the linoleum floor. I shuffled to my wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before I found what I was looking for. It was over. This was it. I'd had my chance, and I lost Will for the third time in my life. I picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to my lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when I'd startled awake to a shrill ringing in my ears. I checked my alarm clock to see the time, and I rolled my eyes. I extended my arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of my body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

I sat up then, my eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” I agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto my pillows and staring at the ceiling. I'd missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and my reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked me, and I scoffed, lifting my free hand to run it through my hair, regretting it immediately when my fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since I hadn’t washed my hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told me, and I clenched my jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So I told her. I started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. I told her about how Will and I hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. I told her about how I had, in fact, written letters to Will; I'd just never sent them. I told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when we’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. I told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and I feared that our call might have been disconnected and I'd been talking to no one. But then, I heard the faint sound of El breathing, so I continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut me off, and I sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time we’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. I truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about me after everything. I'd been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut me out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” I whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” I pressed, and I heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” I repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should I have waited until we were out of school for the summer? Should I have waited until we were both out of college? Should I have waited until Will had forgotten about me?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to me, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. I reached over to my bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched my esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” I spluttered, wiping my mouth roughly with my sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, I wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of my problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. As far as I was concerned, I'd never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and I was alone with my thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of my mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in my mind as I finished off my bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke me back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle me awake each time I nodded off behind the wheel.

I concluded that I couldn’t blink anymore. Though my eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting my corneas, blinking would cause my heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of my life, I'd trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then my eyelids would droop closed.

I pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with me. Hopefully I would get my third wind sooner than later (my second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep me awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met my ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” I indignantly announced to the universe, gripping my fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, I was very awake. My mind became a film reel, playing back memories I thought I'd blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. I sat on my father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, I often felt like the odd one out. My parents shamelessly and openly favored my sisters over me, which further excluded me, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out I was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, I got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. I had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to me, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of me refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. We could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. My subconscious must have known I'd needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because I found Will’s list. To me, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so I decided to memorize it. I'd do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking my brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded my attention, and I swiveled my upper body around to see Will leaning over my shoulder, his hands planted on either side of me on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in my blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? I gulped loudly, becoming flustered at our very close proximity. God, I needed to get ahold of myself. Pining over my best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and my eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for me? I realized then that I hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering me speechless, but I needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” I asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of my space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. I took this moment to shift in my spot to face Will, placing my hand atop my friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in my direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming.

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” I had a sentimental streak, what could I say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at my confession.

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” I asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” I quipped, my voice infected by my ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did I just… What did I just say? I said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… My mind meandered into treacherous territory as I wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! I was just about ready to pass away right then and there. I could just imagine my headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. I nearly fell off the chair. Could my egregious mistake have given me a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

I played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of ours, sandwiching my hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, I thought, fuck up more often.

I smiled so big that my mouth nearly fell off my face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and I was lying on the basement couch with my legs hanging off the edge. My eyes were closed, and I wore my headphones which were attached to my Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as I had from the second it fell into my hands back in 1986. I felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. I cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when I registered that it was Will who was entering my space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” I sat up, pulling my headphones fully off my head and resting them around my neck. Then I saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. My eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” I cried out, cranking the window down with my free hand and letting the wind rush through my long, black hair. My sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as my hair violently whipped into my eyes. I lifted my left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling my fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” I yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into my mouth. I tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but I continued on with my tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and I obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into my retinas. I pushed my hair out of my face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did I perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; my car radio had been blocking it out. I also noticed that I was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if I didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, I swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. I took a moment to process the fact that I could have died. I knew my hands held the steering wheel, and my foot was still on the gas, but the rest of me was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but I could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. I could have died, but I didn’t. But I felt my heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

I knew that I couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read my mind, a small lookout area appeared within my vicinity, and I took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. I parked my car, turned the music down, and clasped my hands in my lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down my spine. I hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of the vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. I pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind me and shoved it over my shoulders, zipping it up. I did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling my eyes and laughing bitterly to myself at the sheer irony. I continued to laugh as I opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

I stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below me were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees I could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, I stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If I were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of my mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course my thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could I ever forget? Even as a child, I'd been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and I glanced down. This time, I wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save me. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for me. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” I screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. I lifted my hands up to my face, covering my bloodshot eyes. I heaved out a low growl, raising my voice until it hit the top of my range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

I let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; I'd cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. My throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. I took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at my feet, watching them fall. I decided I didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way I could die was if I did all I possibly could to get Will back. I turned my back on the trees, briskly walking back to my car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, I walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. My hangover headache was beginning to form, and my intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so I figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. I stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to my right. I recalled myself making a mental note back at the frat party to check my horoscope, so I leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when I found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, I thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. I filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he'd been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and I could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When I got closer, I noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at me, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. I tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” I sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money I slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. I shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand me my change so I could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and I stopped my fidgeting. I looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” I softly smiled as I took my change from the counter, and shoved it into my pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after me, and I laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind me.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something I had expected to be on my Sunday agenda, but here I was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. I got out of my car, slamming the door, and smoothing my jeans over my thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in my back seat after my most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if I were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission I was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for me to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. I figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so I could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. I walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. I could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared me for the next piece that caught my eye.

It was me. Fuck, it was me; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. I held my breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. I knew I didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when I read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. My chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in my head that routinely reminded me of what I'd lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left me without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased me out of his life, still refer to me as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? I hadn’t realized I'd zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to me, I nearly leapt out of my skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of my eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” I hummed, unmoving.

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told me, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” I began, then cut myself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on my vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” I asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” I smiled at her as she handed me two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” I didn’t recall ever telling her my name, or mentioning Will in our short conversation, but I became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something I didn’t. Will had evidently told her about me. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so I felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” I rushed out, backing out the door as politely as I possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as I was out of the Admissions office building, I ran down the street. I was so close to finding Will. Now, all I had to do was find the dorms.

I looked down at the map in my hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if I was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all I could see was a brick wall in front of me. I was just about to rip all my hair out before I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see two girls looking up at me, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. My gaze traveled down to notice our intertwined hands and I blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least I was amongst friends. I gripped onto the map in my hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave me be so I could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” I shook my head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” I waved my hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted my heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

I let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” My brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” I felt like I was being charged with a crime, but I nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and I couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise me? I was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to me. I read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

I gulped loudly, peeling my eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. I nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of my mouth when I attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from me. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” I heard her call back to me. I wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

I eventually found my car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than I'd have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. I pulled the map of Chicago out of my pocket and dug in my middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. I could do this.

As I drove, I thought about what to say. How could I even begin to explain why I was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could I justify my batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? I groaned. I didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so I figured I'd at least try to plan out my… speech. But I had never really been much of a planner in respect to my social life. Give me a few monsters, and I'd be golden. But my crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. I'd just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that I stood in, lifting my knuckles to the door.

I knocked.

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#byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #byler tumblr #mike wheeler #will byers #will x mike #mike x will #stranger things #stranger things fic #thisismetrying1 #thisismetrying2

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screamingintothevoid123456 · 5 months

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I sometimes feel like I’m floating between being realistic, being cynical and being a fool.

So there is this guy right? Known for a long time been crushing on him for like 5 years. Absolutely absurd I know. Told him in 2019 that I liked him, said he didn’t like me back. Whatever, disappointed, but fine. Life goes on. I felt like our story wasn’t over yet. (I liked him and was a hopeless romantic okay). We continue to still be friends. As most adult relationships do, we are adults btw despite the absolute teenage absurdity of the my feelings, we drifted apart. We talked on and off for like 2 years, but didn’t really have any significant contact. Then right before I left my home state to go to grad school out of state, he suddenly messaged me and asked me to get lunch. We went out to lunch and stayed in pretty regular contact until I moved. I would come back for school breaks and we would always meet up and get food and hang out. We were seeing each other every break for 2 years of my 3 of grad school. Thanksgiving, Winter, Spring, Summer. When I went to grad school I was determined that I was going to move to DC and work in the capital. Every time we had talked about what I wanted to do he would always makes comments and suggestions that I move back to my home state. Well my first year of grad school was a nightmare and I was homesick and missed my family. So summer of second year I did a lot of self-reflecting and decided I did want to go back to my home state despite its flaws. When I told him he did a fist pump and acted excited. We had this sort of weird mixed signals relationship. When I returned for summer after my second year of grad school, I texted him that I was back in home state and wanted to hang out. Usually he was quick to make plans with me as soon as I got home. He said we would plan something and then I didn’t head from him for 6 months.

This fall, in my last year of grad school, I was looking for full time employment for after graduation in home state. I applied to so many places as I was concerned that i wasn’t going to get a job. I ended up getting a response form a company, and it happened to be the company he works for. I ended up accepting an internship with the company with a potential to be hired on full time. I would be in the same office as him. I posted on LinkedIn about my new internship and he liked the post: the literal first interaction I’d had with him in months. Well it turned out that I got a better offer for internship and full time post grad and this lead to that and his company told me to go to the other company. When I arrived back from winter break, I had a package on my doorstep from his company as a welcome gift with some swag. A nice blanket and water bottle. After a lot of contemplation, at this point I assumed that he never wanted to talk to me again and wanted to end our friendship. I sent him a Snapchat of the blanket. He answered and we talked for like an hour about the whole situation. The I started sending him Snapchats that he opened but never responded to.

I was telling my friends about all of the drama and how I was acting like a crazed teenager, when one of my friends said, “invisible string theory” were two people separate and come together again over and over. Now my stupid brain is stuck on the idea that something mystical is pulling us together. That it is all going to work out and we are going to have this epic romance.

When in reality I feel like I’m delusional. I’ve had a crush on the same man for 5 years, a man who already told me he didn’t like me once. Why am I stuck here, why can’t I move on? Why am i so pathetic? I wish I could just face the reality of my situation.

#scream into the void #unrequited love #the invisible string #feeling like an idiot #feeling like a crazed teenager

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dailyangelrant · 2 years

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Life update

I've stopped posting here. I think about needing to do it all the time and I just never do. I need to. I always feel less stressed when I just rant and get it out there. I think what partially made me stop writing here was the fact that I started posting my daily pictures on Instagram. I think I just keep track of my life that way now, but this is way more specific. I can actually record my thoughts here.

College has been sort of rough for me. It's honestly just exhausting. My classes expect a lot of readings which isn't fun at times. I have my psychology exam tomorrow so that should be interesting. On the bright side, I got a 95% on my first college paper that I wrote for my sociology class. I didn't see any feedback so I'm not entirely sure where I lost the point at.

I've been hanging out with a few friends on the weekend but nothing crazy. We'll drink and have a good time and it's always been in my dorm building. I think thats the best part about living here. There are only 45 people who live in my building and we're all pretty close so it makes things fun and I can easily get back to my room after a late night.

I'm honestly procrastinating for studying for one of my exams right now. I know I need to do it but I don't want to by any means.

Also, work is good. I thought that my bosses didn't like me but they were complimenting me the other day and I don't really feel like that anymore. I get paid decent so hopefully things continue to go well.

I can't believe I haven't mentioned this yet but I don't really feel good and I skipped one of my classes today and my boss told me to go home. I went to go take a COVID test, but it was at an asymptomatic location and I don't think I'm going to get results back very soon. Although, I don't think its COVID because it's mostly a stomach ache and not really any symptoms related to COVID. I'll let you know.

I also bought all of my flights to go home. I go back in a month for my fall break. I go back exactly a month after that for my thanksgiving break, and then about a month after that for my 3-week long winter break. I'm really excited. I'm also staying with Baz for my fall and thanksgiving breaks.

Also also, I got a new phone. There's a whole story attached to that that I'll need to share another time. I think I'm going to go call Baz now.

#daily life #diary #journaling #tumblr diary #dear diary #journal #my diary #diary entry #journal entry #college life #college #university #Washington dc

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ilovethecolorpink · 5 years

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college is just *goes fucking insane*

#my roommate.#having no social life bc all i do is work.#having 3 and a half friends.#spending the weekends nearly constantly alone and hiding on friday and saturday nights so no one thinks ur a loser #im miserable and like it goes away when im distracted by doing work and stuff #like i like my school i just idk #i fucking despise my roommate shes the worst part i think im going to my ra tomorrow bc i cant fuvking take another day of her being #inconsiderate towards me #like if u wanna wait til midnight to do homework fine but do it anywhere fucking else #i wanna sleep #im crying in bed for the 48291 time bc of her ha ha ha #im sorry for being sad i can only just bottle it in for so long and im also just so fucking angry #ive started being like purposely loud and shit while shes sleeping and im getting ready cuz its not like she tries to be quiet when im #sleeing or doesnt turn off her five MILLION LOUD ASS ALARMS THAT GO OFF AT 7 AM THAT SHE NEVER NEEDS OR GETS UP TO BC SHE GOES RIGHT BACK TO #SLEEP. GOD #shes doesnt talk to me and the one time she did she had the AUDACITY to ask me to drive her to the train station at 6:30 in the morning #like no. fuck you #i just want thanksgiving break and then winter break is soon after but its all so far away :(#mine

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moonbeamsung · 3 years

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Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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fireladybuckley · 3 years

Text

A Thousand Knives of Ice

Fandom: 9-1-1 Pairing: Evan Buckley (Buck) x Eddie Diaz (Buddie) Prompt: Falling through the ice Word Count: 10,661 Summary: While on a roadtrip through the Canadian Rockies with Eddie and Christopher, Buck attempts to rescue a child with disastrous consequences for his own safety, leaving Eddie to take charge and nurse him back to health. Rating: PG Author’s note: I had an absolute blast writing this! Please let me know in the replies or reblogs if you liked it! It’s my first Buddie fic, but will most assuredly not be my last. :D

“You know, I think I’m actually getting used to the cold,” Buck grinned as he hopped out of the SUV, pulling a knitted toque onto his head, a few curls of hair sticking out the front. “Maybe they’ll make me an honourary Canadian soon.”

Eddie, who had just gotten out of the vehicle on the other side, rolled his eyes and smiled indulgently at Buck’s enthusiasm. Less than two weeks ago at the beginning of their month-long trip, Buck had sworn he’d never be warm again and complained incessantly about the cold.

“That’s because it’s like 2 Celsius,” Eddie laughed, slamming his door and moving around to the back of the SUV. “It’s unseasonably warm for this time of year.”

“What’s that in Fahrenheit again?” Buck asked, squinting through the sun and watching a raven fly past them, cawing in its deep, croaking voice.

“35 or 36,” Eddie replied, pulling open the trunk and watching as Buck bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly itching to go and explore.

Eddie, Buck and Christopher had been on this road trip for about ten days, driving from Alaska, down through the Canadian Rockies. Eventually they would head back down into the USA, following the mountains down through Utah and back home to LA. It had been a blast so far, and Eddie was never sure who was more excited every time they stopped somewhere new: Buck, or Christopher. Buck hadn’t done much travelling when he was younger and Christopher was obsessed with mountains after doing a project on them in school the previous year, so it had seemed the perfect trip to take. Christopher had really wanted to see the mountains in winter, so Eddie had pulled him out of school a couple of weeks early before Thanksgiving break. Eddie knew he really shouldn’t miss so much school, but after everything Christopher had gone through last year or so with moving to California, losing his mom, the tsunami, and everything else, Eddie thought he deserved a special break. Buck had agreed, and so they’d appealed to Bobby to let them go and flew to Anchorage, where they rented an SUV and began to drive.

“What’s this place called?” Eddie asked as he dug around in the trunk, pulling out the sled and Christopher’s winter jacket. He’d lost track of all the places they had stopped in the last few days, first around Jasper and now near Banff, Alberta.

“Lake Minnewanka,” Buck read off the nearby sign, pointing at it. “Ooo, they have boat tours.”

“Probably only in the summer though,” Eddie pointed out. “Pretty hard to boat when the lake is frozen.”

“Ah. Right.” Buck seemed disappointed, and Eddie was unable to resist giving him a quick hug as he came around to his side of the SUV.

“Sorry Buck,” Eddie chuckled, patting his shoulder. “I promise, we’ll come back someday in the summer.”

Buck laughed and pulled on his jacket as Eddie moved past him to get Christopher ready. Buck was looking around eagerly, the sight of the large dock in the distance drawing his attention. He was aching to explore again, but he reigned himself in as he listened to Eddie talking to Christopher.

“Ready to go down to the docks, bud?” Eddie was asking Christopher, who grinned at him but shook his head.

“I gotta pee first, Dad,” he said, holding up an empty Gatorade bottle. Eddie laughed and helped Christopher get out of the SUV, looking over and seeing that Buck was still staring longingly down at the lake.

“Go ahead and look around,” Eddie told him, steadying Christopher as he stood for the first time in a couple of hours. “We’ll be a little while.”

“You sure?” Buck asked, reaching out and ruffling Christopher’s hair fondly, prompting a giggle from him.

“Yeah, go on. We’ll meet you down there in a few.”

“Okay! See you soon,” Buck said, leaning over and giving Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek. Buck stepped back and watched Eddie slowly lead Christopher towards the bathrooms and then began to walk down a long hill towards the docks, face turned upwards, letting the sun soak into his skin. Considering it was still very much colder here than it ever was in LA, Buck was finally not feeling too cold and he smiled as he walked, thinking he could get used to this. It was a nice change not to feel sweaty every time he went outside, though he thought he would never get used to the kind of cold they had experienced when they’d landed in Alaska, which had been in the -30s.

Buck slowed his walk as he stepped onto the docks, looking around. The large lake, which curved out of sight in the distance, was surrounded by multiple mountains and the view was breathtaking. He had seen photos of this place in the summer, when the water was turquoise with glacial dust, but now the ice made the dark blue water beneath seem cold and limitless, and in places there were streams of bubbles that had frozen into white, oblong spheres beneath the surface. Making a mental note to point these out to Christopher, Buck continued up one fork of the large T shaped dock, barely even noticing other people around until he heard a scream behind him.

Buck whipped around at the sound, instantly on edge and alert, scanning the small assortment of people scattered around. Another scream brought his focus to a small family, a woman and a young boy on the dock, looking out over the lake in horror. Buck followed their gaze and his eyes locked on a flash of pink, which he realized a moment later was a woolen toque, not unlike the one he was wearing himself. Adrenaline pumping through him, Buck was already running towards them as the mother screamed again.

“Help! Someone help! She fell through!” The mother was clearly panicking, unsure of what to do as she was torn between jumping out onto the ice herself and staying with her younger son.

“Stay with him,” Buck ordered as he skidded to a stop beside her and looked over to see the girl floundering in the water about thirty feet away, desperately trying to grab hold of the ice and screaming. Buck lowered his foot over the edge of the dock and found, after putting some pressure down, that the ice was solid, at least this close to the dock. Carefully, he stepped completely off the dock, arms out for balance.

“What’s her name?” He asked the mother as he unzipped his coat and pulled it off, intending to use it as something the girl could grab onto.

“Molly, she’s Molly,” the woman sobbed, clinging to her younger son. “Please save her! I can’t swim!”

“I’ll get her, don’t worry,” Buck told her reassuringly, already edging away from the dock, trying to be careful but also acutely aware that the girl was quickly freezing in the water.

About fifteen feet from the dock, Buck felt like the ice was thinning and looked down to see spiderwebs of cracks starting to splinter away from his feet. A wave of fear shot through him and he cautiously lowered himself down to the surface of the ice, remembering from a training video long ago that it was the best way to spread his weight and not break the ice.

“Molly, just hang on, I’m coming!” Buck called to the girl, sliding closer to her on his belly, ignoring the chill of the ice quickly sinking through his shirt. The girl was still screaming and crying, trying to hold on to the edge of the ice she’d fallen through but kept losing her grip. As Buck got closer he estimated she was maybe seven years old and quite small; if he could get a good grip on her he should be able to pull her out.

Once he was about six feet away from her, he could feel the ice moving under his weight and slowed to a stop, worried that if he went any further it would collapse under him. Sucking in a sharp breath as some water that had slopped over the edge of the ice from her flailing soaked into his shirt and against his skin, Buck did his best to ignore the sharp stabs of the cold and tossed his jacket towards the girl, holding on to the opposite sleeve.

The edge of the other sleeve fell just short of the hole and Buck swore, creeping closer as slow as he dared, feeling his heart hammering in his chest as he knew the girl was in severe danger of hypothermia the longer he took. He crept a good six inches closer, then tried to toss the jacket again, letting out a breath of relief as the other sleeve hit the water this time.

“Grab hold of the sleeve, Molly!” he called to the girl. “I’ll pull you up!”

“I c-can’t!” Molly cried, trying to grab the sleeve, but Buck could see she was losing control of her movements, her muscles no doubt completely seizing from the cold.

Steeling himself and thinking he was probably going to regret this, Buck began to edge closer, focusing entirely on the ice around him and the little girl’s face, every sound in the background fading, even the mother’s screams of fear. Finally, he was only a couple of feet away and he reached out his hand, gritting his teeth as the frigid water splashed onto him, soaking his arm, splashing his face.

“Come on, Molly! Grab my hand!” he shouted to her, trying to stay as far back as he could while still holding his arm out. “You can do it!”

Buck was about to call to her again, encourage her, but when he reached a little more, trying to move his hand closer to her without actually moving closer to her, he felt the ice crack below his chest. Buck immediately froze, trying to decide if he should try to back up again, but he knew intrinsically that it was too late. He knew a single moment of panic in his mind, as he heard and felt the ice under him crack again, vaguely aware that Eddie’s voice in the distance was calling his name, before the ice completely gave way under him and he was plunged into the dark, icy depths.

Buck’s whole body was submerged before he even had a chance to realize the ice was gone and every skin cell was screaming simultaneously in agony from the cold. It felt like being stabbed by a thousand knives, like being consumed by fire and ice at once and Buck momentarily couldn’t think or move, his body rigid with shock as all of his muscles seized up.

* * *

Eddie had just gotten to the docks with Christopher when he’d seen Buck lower himself to the surface of the ice many feet from the dock and realized something bad was happening. He’d told Christopher to stay where he was and bolted across the dock past a few other people to where the mother was crouching, holding her other child and sobbing.

“You! Call 9-1-1! And please watch my kid!” Eddie ordered, spinning around and pointing at the person he’d just passed, who was watching everything proceed with a look of horror on her face, then pointing towards where Christopher sat in his sled at the edge of the lake. She started as Eddie pointed at her, surprised to be addressed, but she nodded and immediately dug for her phone in her purse, moving towards Christopher as Eddie continued to the edge of the dock nearest the hole in the ice.

Eddie called to Buck multiple times, trying to get his attention, but Buck seemed laser-focused on the little girl thrashing in the water and Eddie realized he wasn’t hearing him. Adrenaline pumping through him now, Eddie looked around wildly and on the other side of the docks saw a coil of rope hanging on a mooring post where he assumed a boat was usually tied in the summer. Eddie sprinted towards it, nearly wiping out on a slick patch of ice as he tried to stop too quickly. The rope was frozen to the post, but with a few good pulls Eddie was able to get it free. He hoisted it over his shoulder and sprinted back towards the other side of the dock, hoping beyond hope that he’d get back and get the rope out before the worst happened.

Unfortunately, Eddie has just come to a stop beside the mother when the ice gave way. Eddie screamed Buck’s name, watching, horror-struck, as Buck’s form disappeared under the surface of the water with a splash. Fear and panic gripped Eddie’s heart as he waited, terrified, seeing no sign of Buck except his green wool hat floating to the surface.

* * *

Something slammed into Buck’s shoulder as he floated there, suspended a couple of feet under the water, still in shock. The impact startled him enough that he was suddenly able to move again, and he forced his body to pump his arms so that he could right himself. After a moment of furiously swiping his arms, his head finally broke the surface and the sound of his coughs and gasps for air reverberated around them.

Eddie nearly cried with relief when Buck’s head appeared above the water, and he frantically began unwinding the rope, unsticking it from itself where it was frozen in several places, desperately trying to move as fast as possible.

Buck, meanwhile, realized that the thing that had impacted his shoulder was the little girl’s frantically kicking legs. He was only a few feet from her now and though his entire body still felt like it was being stabbed while simultaneously on fire, he tried his best to fall back into firefighting mode and channel his adrenaline into helping her. Her movements were quickly weakening and he swam the distance between them, grabbing her around the waist and holding her tight to his chest.

“I-I’ve g-got you,” he told her, trying to sound confident even though his voice was shaking as he shivered violently. She clung to him, sobbing and shaking like a leaf, as he struggled to swim sideways towards the side of the ice, every stroke more difficult as the cold quickly ate away at his strength.

At the edge of the ice, Buck grabbed hold of it, testing how strong it was. It would definitely not hold his weight, but it seemed strong enough to hold hers. Desperately kicking in an attempt to keep his blood flowing and to keep them afloat, Buck extricated the girl from around his neck.

“I’m g-going to push you up onto the ice. You need t-to crawl to your m-mom as soon as you’re up th-there, okay?” Buck told her firmly, trying to convey how important it was that she do as he was asking, despite his shaking voice. She was clearly still terrified but she nodded through her trembles, and he smiled at her, trying to reassure her.

“You’re r-really brave. You’ve g-got th-this!” he told her, maneuvering so he was behind her and she was facing the ice, facing the docks. He took as deep of a breath as he could manage with his tight chest muscles, steadied his grip on her waist and hoisted her as hard as he could. She didn’t raise up nearly as high as he’d expected her to, his muscles starting to seize up considerably from the cold, and she floundered awkwardly on the ice, her ribs stuck on the edge. He pushed again, as hard as he could, and felt her move upwards and forward this time. The momentum of pushing her so hard forced him back down, though, and he choked on the icy water as his head was submerged again. The frigidity of the water over his head gave him an instant, piercing headache and he struggled to get back to the surface, shuddering as the icy water streamed from his hair down his face and neck. The next moments were a confusing mess of flailing limbs and splashing water. Molly accidentally kicked Buck square in the nose at one point as she tried to propel herself forward and Buck noted in vague surprise that his face was so numb he’d barely felt the impact, though seconds later felt oddly warm blood join the water pouring down his face as he rose above the surface again, coughing and spluttering.

Finally, through joint effort, Molly was completely out of the water. Buck grabbed hold of her feet and gave one last push as hard as he could, the momentum shoving him backwards. She slid forward on the ice as Buck fell back into the water, his head submerging below the surface yet again.

* * *

Eddie was practically vibrating with adrenaline and panic as he watched Buck trying to save the girl, frantically uncoiling the rope. He finally managed to unwind it all and ran over to stand beside the mom as Buck tried valiantly to lift the girl onto the ice. Eddie watched helplessly as Buck had to keeping pushing her upwards, forcing himself back under the water several times in his attempts. Eddie called Buck’s name again, but Buck didn’t hear him.

Quickly and expertly, Eddie tied a large loop in the rope, knotting it tightly. He slid the loop around his shoulders to make sure it was large enough that Buck could get it over his own and pulled it off, satisfied that it would be the right size. He urged the mom and her son to move away and planted himself firmly on the dock, knowing he’d get better traction here than on the ice, as much as he desperately wanted to rush forward onto the ice and save them.

“BUCK!” Eddie yelled in fear and dismay, watching as Buck managed to get the girl up onto the ice, but then disappeared below the surface yet again. Shaking himself, Eddie wound up and threw the loop towards the girl, who gave a little yelp of fright as it landed right in front of her face.

“Sorry! Grab the rope, sweetheart!” Eddie called, trying to focus on the girl while also watching the water, waiting for Buck to resurface. Molly managed to get an arm through the loop and held on as tight as she could as Eddie began pulling her in. She was light, even with her sodden winter clothing, and she slid quickly across the ice towards them as he pulled.

Within moments she was right beside the docks and Eddie reached down to pick her up, looking out at the water at the same time. The cold water from her jacket stung his hands as he set her down beside her mother, fear gripping him. Buck had been under too long. Eddie was just starting to think he might have passed out and was about to leap onto the ice without another though when Buck’s head finally reappeared, and Eddie could hear him gasping and coughing. Both relief and intense worry set his body alight as he turned to the mother and tried to instruct her as fast as he could.

“Get her to your car and get all of her wet clothes off. Wrap her in a blanket or warm, dry clothes but don’t warm her up too fast or she could go into cardiac arrest. The paramedics should be here really soon.”

The woman nodded, clutching her sobbing daughter to her side. She picked Molly up and began to run along the dock and towards the parking lot, her son trailing behind her. Eddie spared a momentary glance to make sure Christopher was still sitting where he’d left him, the woman with the cell phone beside him, then turned back to the ice.

“Buck! BUCK! Can you hear me?” Eddie yelled as he gathered up the rope and began to wind it again so he could throw it out to Buck, who was just barely clinging to the edge of the ice and looked like death, even from this distance.

* * *

It had been very hard, that last time, to get himself back to the surface. Buck had been in the water for at least seven minutes by then and his muscles were so stiff he could barely move. The sensation of a million knives stabbing his skin had slowly been replaced by a numbness so complete he felt like he was barely in his own body anymore. He’d stopped shivering and struggled to find which way was up. He swallowed some water as he ran out of breath just as he’d finally broke the surface, coughing violently and choking on the water, awkwardly trying to keep himself afloat and keep his head above water. He tried to hold on to the edge of the ice, but he couldn’t feel his hands and everything was so slippery that he kept losing his grip, forced to clumsily tread water with his rapidly stiffening limbs.

It was several moments before Buck realized he could hear Eddie’s voice calling to him and looked around, finally seeing Eddie’s form on the docks a good way away. Buck’s brain seemed to be lagging behind, processing things slowly, but he eventually managed to focus on Eddie as he clung to the edge of the ice, forcing himself to kick every so often to stop himself completely sinking under the water again. Buck attempted to heave himself upwards, but he had used so much of his energy getting the girl out that he had none left to hoist himself.

“I’m going to throw you the rope!” Eddie shouted, worriedly watching as Buck clumsily tried to hold onto the ice but kept slipping off, everything too slicked with water to hold his grip. “Put it under your arms!”

Buck tried to call back to him but felt like he couldn’t get enough air to speak, so he gave a weak thumbs up, letting out a soft cry as he lost his grip on the ice once more and fell back, spluttering as a wave of frigid water splashed over his head.

Eddie bit his lip in worry and determination and launched the rope with a practiced swing. It unfurled beautifully in the air, but stopped many feet short of the hole on the ice. Swearing, Eddie pulled it back as fast as he could, winding as he went, realizing he was going to have to step onto the ice for the rope to get close enough. The girl had gotten much closer to him before he’d thrown it the first time.

Buck was rapidly losing control of his muscles as he tried to keep himself afloat. His arms and legs were so stiff it took all of his effort to move them, all of his brain power to remind himself to kick to keep his head above water. The only thing that kept pulling his attention was the feeling of the blood still pouring out of his nose. He was too numb to feel the pain, but his blood felt sickeningly hot as it trickled out of his nose, dripping onto his lips and chin. He tried to keep wiping it away, but the stark contrast of the scarlet blood on his pale fingers made his stomach churn.

Eddie could see that Buck was having difficulty holding on and felt his hands shaking as he finished reeling in the rope. As he adjusted his grip to throw again, he could see Buck slowly tipping backwards as he fruitlessly tried to grip the ice, and Eddie worried that he was starting to black out.

“Kick, Buck!” Eddie shouted, winding up to throw the rope again. “You can do this!”

Relieved as Buck clearly heard him and sluggishly righted himself in the water, Eddie stepped onto the ice and crept a few feet forward, stopping only when he was sure there was enough rope to reach. He planted his feet as firmly as he could, swung, and released the rope. Thankfully, this time the rope landed right in front of Buck on the edge of the ice.

“Grab it! Under your arms!” Eddie yelled, trying to encourage Buck, who looked absolutely bedraggled and exhausted. Eddie’s heart broke for him as Buck tried valiantly to grab at the rope and missed several times before his stiff fingers finally caught on the thick cord.

Buck tried as hard as he could to be fast, but his muscles were so stiff he could barely lift the rope once he got a grip on it. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his hands at all, so maneuvering the rope was difficult. He managed to get it around his neck and under one of his armpits, but he was having trouble bending his other arm enough to thread it up through the loop. He could hear Eddie shouting encouragement at him, noticed the tone to the words becoming more frantic the longer it took him to move.

Finally, after another minute or so, Buck managed to get both arms through the loop and settled it under his armpits. Eddie immediately began to pull until he felt resistance, as Buck’s chest bumped up against the ice. Buck reached out slowly, achingly, trying to pull himself up, not having a lot of luck. Some of the ice broke under the weight of his arms and he cried out as a fresh wave washed over him.

“Come on Buck, kick! You can do this,” Eddie called to him, his voice cracking slightly with emotion as he watched Buck struggle to the new edge. “I love you, I’m right here, you can do this!”

Buck looked up at Eddie through the haze of pain and exhaustion, trying to draw strength from his words. He could see that Eddie, the man he loved, was clearly scared out of his mind and worried for him, and he knew that somewhere, Christopher was probably scared too. The thought of the two of them filled him with metaphorical warmth, and he felt a last wave of strength and determination wash over him.

As Eddie yelled “Pull, Buck!” and tugged on the rope, Buck let out a shout of determination, pain, and anguish and heaved himself upwards as hard as he could, clinging to the rope, using every ounce of his remaining energy. He heard Eddie let out a whoop of relief as Buck managed to get his elbows out of the water and prop himself on the surface of the ice, which mercifully held him this time. Eddie dug his heels in and began to pull, hard, nearly slipping on the ice himself but just managing to stay upright.

“Kick! Kick as much as you can, Buck!” Eddie yelled, his muscles straining as he pulled.

After an enormous amount of effort on both of their parts, Buck’s upper body finally left the water and he splayed out on the ice on his belly, drops of crimson blood hitting the surface under his face. Eddie kept pulling, taking a few steps backwards as he did so until he was at the dock’s edge. He hopped back up onto the wooden surface so he would have better traction and then began to pull Buck in as fast as he could. Buck was too weak to help, too weak to do much of anything but attempt to hold on to the rope as he was dragged forward, leaving a wide swath of water shining on the surface of the ice behind him. It felt like hours were passing as he moved across the surface a few inches at a time, and eventually he felt so weak that his head drooped, resting on his outstretched arm.

“Buck!” Eddie cried when he saw Buck’s head loll, thinking he had passed out, but then Buck moved his legs on his own and he realized he was still conscious. Still, spurred on by the fright, Eddie pulled as hard as he could, sweat pouring down his face from the effort, and finally Buck was within reach.

Someone he hadn’t noticed nearby rushed forward and helped him pull Buck up onto the dock and Eddie hit his knees on the wood, pulling Buck into his lap, barely feeling the shock of the cold water soaking into his pants. Eddie was unable to stop himself touching Buck’s face, pushing his sopping hair out of his eyes, putting his hand around Buck’s head and tilting it towards his, his hands shaking with relief. Buck moaned, taking fast, shallow breaths, mostly limp in Eddie’s arms, his eyes firmly closed as he stirred feebly.

“Buck, Buck! Stay with me,” Eddie pleaded, as Buck’s eyes refused to open and he moaned softly again, once again scared that he had lost consciousness. As though through sheer force of will, Buck’s eyelids fluttered weakly and then slowly opened, and his gaze met Eddie’s.

“Eddie,” Buck murmured, his voice so soft and breathless Eddie barely heard it. It wasn’t a question, more like an acknowledgement and Eddie felt tears well in his eyes at how broken Buck sounded. Eddie stroked Buck’s cheek and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his frozen lips, so thankful to be holding him again that he momentarily forgot everything else. He hadn’t realized just how scared he’d been until this moment, holding Buck in his arms.

Eddie had almost lost Buck so many times already; in the fire truck explosion, in the tsunami; hell he’d almost gotten taken out by a driverless, flaming car careening down a hill when they’d gone to Texas. Almost losing him again had terrified Eddie so thoroughly that his hands now shook uncontrollably as he stroked Buck’s hair, whispering to him that he was okay, that he had him, that he would be just fine. Buck’s eyes slowly closed again and his head rested heavily on Eddie’s chest, still regularly letting out small gasps for air, clearly unable to take a proper breath.

After a moment, Eddie shook himself; Buck needed care right now, not emotions. Swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking back the tears in his eyes, Eddie got to work. First, he reached down and began tugging Buck’s sodden forest-green sweater off of him, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Buck moaned as his bare skin was exposed to the air, and Eddie shushed him gently, reassuringly. Eddie quickly stripped off his own jacket and button-up t-shirt, leaving him in just a tank top. He quickly used his t-shirt to dry off as much of Buck’s skin as he could, feeling horrible for him, his skin icy cold everywhere Eddie touched. Once he was as dry as Eddie could get him with the t-shirt, he carefully sat Buck up, drying his back as much as possible as well.

Buck groaned as Eddie sat him up, feeling all his stiff muscles resisting the movement, but he did his best to help stay upright as he felt Eddie pulling his arm into a jacket sleeve. It was a weird sensation; he could see Eddie pulling the fabric over his arms, but he could barely feel anything. His skin felt like cold stone, unresponsive to touch. He could kind of feel the weight of the jacket once it was properly settled on him, but couldn’t really feel the touch of the fabric on his skin.

“Come on, Buck, we have to get you up,” Eddie said encouragingly, bending over in front of Buck and reaching for him. Buck whimpered involuntarily as he clung to Eddie’s arms and Eddie all but picked him up, Buck’s muscles screaming in protest. He nearly fell over as soon as he was standing, his knees buckling instantly under his weight.

Buck was breathing fast and shallow and felt dizzy as hell as he teetered on the spot; the only reason he didn’t collapse was because Eddie was holding onto him. Eddie wrapped his arm around Buck’s waist and pulled Buck’s arm up behind his neck, supporting the vast majority of Buck’s weight as his legs refused to do the job. With a lot of encouragement Buck was able to shuffle forwards, and Eddie half-carried, half-dragged him slowly along the dock. He glanced back only once, vaguely noting that Buck’s jacket was laying on the ice, then looking away, focusing instead on where he could see Christopher still sitting on his sled, the woman he’d had call 9-1-1 still standing on the shore beside him.

It took many long minutes to get Buck even close to the edge of the dock; the farther they moved, the more heavily Buck leaned on Eddie, what little strength he had very quickly leaving him. Eddie shivered slightly in the cold breeze and felt instantly guilty; if he was cold in his mostly dry tank top, how the hell did Buck feel? Eddie’s head and heart suddenly lifted as he heard sirens approaching, and a moment later, an ambulance pulled into view at the top of the hill and parked, killing the sirens.

“Eddie,” Buck muttered, speaking to the ground because he could barely lift his head, his speech slurred. “Need to stop. Can’t feel my legs.”

“Just a few more steps,” Eddie told him, tightening his grip on Buck’s waist and pulling him along. They were almost to the end of the dock, and there was a bench on the shore that Eddie could sit Buck down on for a moment, just until the paramedics got down there. Eddie saw the mother waving at the medics and they went over to her car first, where he could just barely see a small figure wrapped in a blanket.

Buck groaned but did his best to obey, shuffling forward like an old man, his grip on Eddie getting looser instead of tighter as his energy waned and he came dangerously close to collapsing. They had barely made it to the bench when Buck stumbled and began to fall. Eddie managed to steer Buck to the side and he collapsed on the bench instead of the ground, Eddie losing his footing as well and nearly falling again.

“Dad!” Christopher shouted at him as he righted himself, and Eddie realized he’d be so focused on Buck he hadn’t heard his kid calling to him. “Is Buck okay?”

“Yeah, mijo, he’s okay.” Eddie made sure that Buck was securely lying on the bench before turning to the woman whom he’d asked to watch Christopher.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate you watching him,” he told her gratefully, the stress and mounting worry evident in his voice. She smiled grimly at him with a nod, then looked over at Buck.

“Is he okay?” she asked, in a very different tone than Christopher, and Eddie knew she thought he’d been sugar coating it for his kid.

“He will be, he just needs to warm up and get a lot of rest,” Eddie said, running a damp hand through his hair. “Can I ask you one more favour?”

“Of course.”

“Can you go up there and tell the medics they need to come down here too? In case the mom forgets.” Eddie didn’t blame her if she did; if it was Christopher who had fallen in the water, he would have been laser-focused on him too.

“Absolutely,” she agreed, nodding. She started to turn away, then looked back at him with a smile. “Tell your husband he’s a hero, when he’s feeling better.”

Eddie found himself smiling at this, feeling his heart swell as he thought of Buck. The brave idiot had scared the shit out of him once again, but Eddie swore it only made him love him more.

“Not husband yet,” he said, looking over at Buck, who was still lying where he’d fallen on the bench, “but don’t worry, I plan on telling him the second he’s coherent.”

The woman smiled and turned to make her way up the hill, and Eddie pulled Christopher’s sled closer to the bench, sinking down onto it beside Buck. He gently pulled Buck onto his lap, half-sitting him up so he could lean on Eddie’s chest, holding him close as they waited. Buck gave a very soft gasp followed by a moan and turned his face towards Eddie’s chest, he soaked hair leaving a wet spot on Eddie’s tank top.

“Did Buck save that girl?” Christopher asked, pointing in the direction of the water, and then the parking lot.

“Yeah, he did,” Eddie told him, squeezing Buck to acknowledge him. Buck, while still conscious, had his eyes closed, and Eddie got the impression he wasn’t really hearing them. Eddie slipped his fingers down to Buck’s throat and surreptitiously took his pulse as he explained to Christopher a sanitized version of what had happened.

Buck’s pulse was slow, slower than he’d expected, and Eddie swore inwardly, worried that he’d progressed beyond light hypothermia into moderate, which was much more problematic. Eddie looked around to see if the woman had reached the medics yet, and was pleased to see the two paramedics already leading a stretcher down the hill, the woman standing at the top and watching their progress. She saw Eddie looking and waved, and he waved back, beyond grateful for her help.

The medics got to them quickly and Eddie briefed them on what had happened. Buck seemed to have stopped making any effort to sit up or move by that point, so Eddie helped the medics lift him onto the stretcher. Once he was settled they strapped him in and Eddie gave his cold cheek another stroke before they started to push the stretcher up the hill. Eddie nearly went with them without a second thought, remembering at the last moment that he still had to get Christopher back up the hill too.

Eddie said some words of reassurance to his son, who was upset at seeing Buck being wheeled away on a stretcher, though he wasn’t even sure what he had said as he started to pull Christopher’s sled, following the medics up the hill. He, too, was upset at seeing Buck being wheeled away, the nightmare of the fire truck explosion and Buck’s crushed leg flickering in his mind as he walked, and it was hard for him to think of anything else.

When they got to the top of the hill, Eddie saw the medics were checking Buck’s vitals and so hurried over to their SUV.

“Are you okay to wait here, mijo?” Eddie asked, lifting Christopher up and placing him gently into the backseat. “I want to go and make sure Buck’s okay.”

“Yes Dad,” Christopher said softly. “Tell him I love him.”

“I will.” Eddie kissed Christopher’s forehead, made sure the engine was running and the heat was on so he wouldn’t get cold, then closed the door and headed back over to the ambulance.

Buck seemed slightly more coherent, his eyes heavy-lidded but open and trying to speak to the medics, though his words were still slurred and his voice very quiet. He was visibly relieved when Eddie came into his line of vision and let out a small sigh, looking plaintively up at Eddie.

“I thought you left,” Buck whispered, weakly reaching for Eddie’s hand. Eddie, feeling his heart break even more and guilt kick at his insides, pulled Buck’s hand to his face, kissed the back of it gently, then wrapped both of his hands around it.

“Of course not,” Eddie told him firmly. “Never. I just had to get Christopher into the car. He says he loves you, by the way.”

“Love him too,” Buck mumbled, his eyes drifting closed for a moment before he forced them open again. “He okay?”

Eddie shook his head, exhaling in both exasperation and a soft, disbelieving laugh. Even in this state; so cold he could barely move or speak, blood still dripping sluggishly from his nose, icy hair plastered to his head, all Buck could think about was other people.

“He’s fine, Buck. He’s just worried about you. I am too.”

The medics spoke up at that point, telling Eddie that Buck was stable but that he should get checked out anyway, and asking if they wanted transport to the hospital.

“What about Molly?” Buck asked, his voice breaking as he attempted to speak. Neither medic heard him properly, so Eddie repeated his question for him.

“We advised the mother to take her to hospital.”

Buck and Eddie both looked over at the car next to the ambulance. The mother was sitting sideways in the passenger seat with the door open, her daughter sitting in her lap, wrapped in a blanket. The mother was obviously still extremely distraught, still crying, her hands shaking as she clutched her daughter closely.

“Take her instead,” Buck said immediately, his voice a little louder this time, a little more firm. Seeing the mother so scared and upset seemed to give him some strength, and Eddie squeezed his hand.

“Buck, you need to go to the hospital,” Eddie told him, though he could already tell by the look in Buck’s eyes that Buck would literally argue this until he passed out from exhaustion if he had to. Sighing, Eddie rubbed his eyes, feeling a distinct pain in his head behind them as the medics reiterated to Buck that he needed to go to the hospital.

“My boyfriend is a medic,” Buck insisted, trying to sit up, clumsily pulling at the strap over his chest. “He can take care of me.”

Eddie sighed again, but knew there was no point arguing. Plus, he had to agree with Buck’s assessment of the mother of the girl.

“Look, he’s right,” Eddie said, gesturing to the car beside them. “She’s in no fit state to drive. Take the girl, I can bring Buck to the hospital myself.”

“I don’t need the hospital,” Buck told him, but since he spoke so quietly it was easy for Eddie to pretend he hadn’t heard. The paramedics looked at each other a bit uneasily.

“Are you sure? He should really get checked out as soon as possible.”

“I’ll bring him straight to the hospital,” Eddie promised, ignoring Buck’s wordless noise of protest. The medics had Buck sign a form declining care, and one of the medics began to unstrap him as the other approached the mother.

Eddie suddenly felt the enormity of all of this slam into him at once as he watched the paramedic undoing Buck’s leg straps and felt unbearably exhausted, actually having to shift his weight to stop himself falling over. Seeing Buck on this stretcher like this, blood on his face, his hair plastered to his head, paler than Eddie had ever seen before; it was suddenly more than Eddie could handle. Goosebumps erupted on his bare arms as a cold breeze ruffled his hair and made the water on his shirt feel even colder, but Eddie refused to let his feelings get the better of him and took a few deep breaths, looking away from Buck for a moment and shoving away his weakness into a dark corner of his mind. Buck needed him to be strong, capable Eddie right now and that’s what he was going to get.

Eddie helped Buck sit up and then carefully held him tight as he stood, his legs still as weak and wobbly as before, but at least they didn’t have the daunting hill stretching before them this time. It was easy enough for Eddie to lead Buck to the SUV, and once he was settled in the front seat, Eddie quickly dug through their suitcase in the back until he found a dry sweater for Buck, tossing the wet one in a corner of the trunk. He helped Buck take off his jacket and get the sweater on, as it would warm him better than the jacket, pulling the coat back on himself before hurrying over to the driver’s seat.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Buck said almost immediately as Eddie got into the vehicle and closed his door, tossing the key hub into the dash tray. Eddie reached over past Buck and pulled his seatbelt down, buckling him in, ignoring the look Buck was giving him.

“You’re going to the hospital,” Eddie said, pulling out of the parking space and driving off.

“Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said in a pleading tone, his voice cracking. “Please… I really don’t want to go.”

Buck tone was one of desperation and Eddie glanced over at him for a moment as he waited to turn onto the highway. Buck looked very upset, and Eddie could only imagine what he was going through as all the memories of hospital visits in the past rushed through his head. Eddie didn’t blame him for not wanting to add another one, especially in another country. Especially when they were on vacation. But still, Eddie was worried about him.

“Buck, you were in that water for a long time,” Eddie said, unable to banish the uncertainty from his voice, shaking his head as he pulled out onto the highway and began to accelerate back towards the townsite.

“And you’ll take care of me. Right?” Eddie glanced sideways to see Buck give him a ghost of a smile and sighed as he felt his will crumbling, rolling his eyes at his own weakness. He was quiet for a while, going over Buck’s symptoms in his mind, well aware that Buck was still looking at him.

“Fine,” Eddie relented, and sensed rather than saw Buck sag with relief. “But with a caveat,” Eddie continued immediately. “If you feel worse or get any new symptoms you have to tell me, and it will be up to my discretion whether we get you checked out or not. Got it?”

“Okay,” Buck agreed in a small, breathy voice, leaning back against the seat, clearly exhausted. Now that they were on the highway at a stable speed, Eddie let go of the steering wheel with one hand and reached for Buck’s, wrapping his warm fingers around Buck’s frigid ones. Buck made a soft noise that Eddie wasn’t entirely sure was happy or sleepy, but either way, Eddie held Buck’s hand until they had to turn off the highway about twenty minutes later. Their hotel was thankfully very close to the turnoff, and Eddie parked, darted in to check in, and then came back out.

Eddie realized Buck had fallen asleep in the front seat and Eddie hopped back into the driver’s seat, reaching across to take Buck’s wrist. Eddie settled two fingers over his pulse point and counted, satisfied that the rate was higher than it had been before, which hopefully meant he was stabilizing. After watching Buck sleep for a moment with a small smile on his face, Eddie decided to take Christopher up to the room first, not having the heart to disturb the poor guy just yet.

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie had brought Christopher and all the luggage up to the room and came back for Buck, who was still sleeping peacefully in the warm SUV. Eddie opened Buck’s door and slipped a hand up to Buck’s neck, gently stroking there before moving upwards and stroking his cheek gently instead, trying not to startle him. He noticed that Buck had started shivering again and was glad; it meant he was slowly getting warmer.

“Buck, come on,” Eddie said in a gentle, quiet voice as Buck stirred, slowly opening his eyes and blinking sluggishly at Eddie. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

Buck was very sleepy and still weak, so Eddie took his sweet time helping Buck out of the car and into the building, into the elevator and down the hall a short ways to their room, attracting a curious glance or two from the couple of people they passed.

Without telling Buck, Eddie had upgraded their basic room to a King Deluxe suite, so there was a separate master bedroom with a king sized bed and a wonderful ensuite bathroom, with a double bed in the living room for Christopher. Buck looked around in faint surprise as Eddie led him into the room, smiling weakly as Christopher cheered their arrival and waved. Christopher immediately got up and padded over to them, wrapping his arms around Buck’s middle as Buck steadied himself on the wall so he didn’t fall over onto him.

“Glad you’re okay, Buck,” Christopher said into Buck’s sweater, and Buck smiled, weakly rubbing his back, his hands trembling.

“Thanks b-buddy. I’m g-glad too.”

Eddie got Christopher settled in front of the TV again with a snack and led an exhausted, shuddering Buck into their bedroom, closing the door behind them.

“We need to warm you gradually,” Eddie said, as he noticed Buck looking longingly over at the large jacuzzi tub. “No hot bath until you’re at a stable temperature for a while.”

Buck sank sadly down onto the bed, hoping he would at least be allowed to sleep if he wasn’t allowed to have a bath or go in the hot tub. His shivers were unending and Buck stared down at his shaking hands, his eyes slowly closing even as he sat there.

Eddie came over with a warm, wet cloth and took Buck’s face in one hand, gently dabbing at the drying blood on Buck’s skin with the cloth until it was clean, his touch as light as possible to avoid hurting him. Buck let out a soft noise of distress and pressed his cheek into Eddie’s hand.

“Come on, let’s get those wet clothes off of you,” Eddie said placatingly, giving Buck’s cheek a stroke before tossing aside the cloth and helping Buck take off his soaked boots, socks, pants and boxers. As much as Eddie wanted to comfort Buck, getting him warm was more important.

Eddie helped Buck into a pair of warm, dry underwear, and then pulled back the blanket on the bed. Confused, Buck was too weak to protest as Eddie gently pulled Buck’s shirt off, Buck immediately crossing his arms over his pecs in an attempt to feel warmer.

“What are you-” Buck started, watching with growing confusion as Eddie peeled his own t-shirt off, leaving him bare chested.

“Body heat is the best way to gradually warm someone,” Eddie explained, flashing a brilliant smile at Buck that would have made him weak in the knees had he not already been weak in the knees. “Come on. We have an hour until Christopher’s movie is over.”

Buck smiled faintly as Eddie helped him lie down, his body feeling extremely heavy the moment he was horizontal. He was absolutely exhausted, and his eyes were already closed by the time Eddie joined him in bed and pulled the blanket over them.

Eddie let out a loud, involuntary gasp as he pulled Buck close, Buck’s chilled skin pressing against Eddie’s warm chest, the chill shocking him more than he’d expected. Buck let out a very small laugh at the sound of his gasp, and Eddie felt Buck relax in his arms as he snuggled up against Eddie’s front.

Within a few minutes, Buck began to shiver harder. Buck whimpered and Eddie held him even closer as he shook, his whole body twitching. Eddie had been expecting this, but clearly Buck hadn’t, if the way he curled up tightly against Eddie’s chest was any indication.

“W-why n-now?” Buck asked, shivering so violently he could barely speak, his teeth chattering and his hands trembling as he reached up to push his hair off of his forehead.

“Because before you were too hypothermic to even shiver,” Eddie explained, leaning forward and kissing Buck on the forehead, reaching up to stroke his hair. “I know it feels shitty, but I promise it’s a good thing. It means you’re warming up.”

Buck let out a small groan and ducked his head, resting it on Eddie’s arm, letting out a long, shaky breath. Eddie pulled Buck to his chest and held him close as he trembled, as he let out small gasps and moans as the shivers wracked his body. Eddie’s heart felt like it physically hurt as he listened to Buck’s ragged breathing, his weak gasps and whimpers as the convulsions continued. Eddie wished nothing more than to be able to take away the horrible feeling from him, to be able to protect Buck from everything in the world.

“You’re a hero, you know that?” Eddie murmured after a while into Buck’s damp hair, kissing the top of his head. “You saved that little girl.”

“You w-would’ve d-done the s-same,” Buck replied shakily in a muffled voice, his head still tucked down against the crook of Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie shrugged.

“Yeah, but I didn’t. You did.”

“O-only because you w-weren’t th-there f-first,” Buck protested, and Eddie laughed softly, kissing Buck’s forehead again.

“Just take the compliment, Buck,” Eddie said in quiet exasperation, shaking his head. “You’re a damn hero.”

Buck didn’t say anything else, but Eddie felt him smile against his bicep. Eddie kept up a slow, gentle stroking of Buck’s back to comfort him and within a few moments, Eddie felt Buck’s weight press more heavily into him. He continued to shiver, but not as intensely, and Eddie could tell that he’d fallen asleep. Knowing that he’d likely be out for a while, Eddie gently extricated himself, gave Buck a quick kiss and covered him with the blanket, tucking it all around him so he was nice and snug.

Eddie pulled a long-sleeved shirt on and headed out into the living room so Christopher didn’t feel abandoned, watching the rest of the movie with him and playing a round of Kids’ Trivial Pursuit with him. A couple of hours later, Christopher was cheering his victory against Eddie when Eddie heard Buck’s soft voice calling. Eddie laughed, ruffling Christopher’s hair, and hurried off to check on Buck while Christopher reset the game.

“How are you doing, Buck?” Eddie asked, coming into the room to see Buck propped up on the pillows, looking somewhat more alert than he had.

“S-still c-cold,” Buck shivered, pulling the blanket up to his bare shoulders. “B-but I’m h-hungry and don’t want to l-lie here anymore.”

Eddie smiled and came over to Buck’s side of the bed, sitting down and taking Buck’s hand, sliding his fingers over Buck’s pulse once more. Buck looked at him with a bit of a sad, vulnerable expression on his face, which melted Eddie’s heart and made it hard to concentrate. He was pleased to feel that Buck’s heart rate had increased again and felt stronger than it did before.

“Come on. Let’s get you some food,” Eddie said once he was done, shifting to take Buck’s hand and pull him into a standing position, realizing belatedly that he was still mostly naked.

“I sh-should probably p-put some c-clothes on,” Buck said, crossing his arms over his chest again to try and keep warm as the cool air of the room wafted over his skin. “D-don’t want to scar C-christopher.”

“Right,” laughed Eddie, rifling through their suitcases and finding Buck some sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie and helping him get dressed. Once he was dressed and standing unsteadily by the bed, Eddie took his hand to lead him out into the other room.

“Wait,” Buck said, as Eddie started to pull him forward. Eddie stopped, turning back to him curiously. “I… I didn’t get to say anything b-back there, but I h-heard what you said.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, though he thought he knew. Back when he was trying to pull Buck in, when he was trying to encourage him, he’d been shouting all kinds of things, not even really aware of what he’d been saying, though he suspected he knew what he’d said.

“You… you said you love me.” Buck said quietly, biting his lower lip a little, suddenly bashful. “Did… did you mean that? O-or was it just because you were afraid I w-was dying?”

Eddie looked down at him for a moment, thoughtful, then reached up with both of his hands and took Buck’s face gently in them. Eddie leaned in as Buck’s eyes fluttered closed and pressed his lips to Buck’s, stroking Buck’s cheeks with his thumbs as he kissed him. Eddie felt Buck melt into his embrace and smiled into the kiss, slowly pulling away many moments later and looking down as Buck’s eyes opened to meet his.

“I love you,” Eddie said simply with a light shrug, smiling and taking Buck’s hand once more. Buck seemed momentarily stunned, but then his face lit up, his grin nearly as bright as it usually was despite his continued shivering.

“I love you too.”

* * *

A few days later, Buck was enthusiastically ready to leave the hotel once again. He had slept a lot over the last few days, and he hadn’t stopped shivering until well into the night the day of the incident. Eddie had extended their stay by a few days so Buck could rest, and he’d been alternating between sleeping in the king-sized bed with Eddie or napping on the couch, often with Christopher snuggled up beside him, watching (or sleeping through) a movie. They played board games several times, as Buck could sit, wrapped in a blanket, and be perfectly comfortable. Eddie had taken a quick trip to a nearby grocery store for snacks and had been ordering meals so that Buck didn’t overtax himself going out, which was nice the first two days but was starting to irk him by the third, as he was starting to feel a little suffocated.

The only major downside to his recovery had been discovering how sensitive his skin was after being so cold for so long, especially his fingers. When Eddie had finally cleared him to have a nice warm bath, Buck had yelped as he sank into the water and submerged his hands; they felt like they were burning, the same sensation as having a hot shower with a sunburn. This meant the hot tub was out of the question and Buck had sulked about that for a while, wanting nothing more than to submerge himself in hot, bubbly water.

Thankfully, the sensitivity had subsided over the last few days and now they were, finally, heading out for a day’s sightseeing. Their first trip was to a nearby hot springs, on Buck’s insistence that he was better. It was snowing and the effect was magical as they watched the snow melt as it hit the steamy barrier floating up from the springs pool. Christopher was mesmerized and Buck was mostly just pleased that he was able to soak without (much) pain, finally feeling like his old self again.

The only obvious sign that anything had happened was the purple bruises under either of his eyes from when the girl had kicked him in the nose. Eddie had insisted that they weren’t as obvious as they felt, but Buck still felt self conscious about them, trying to avoid looking people in the eyes when he met them. It also made kissing Eddie a little more difficult; Eddie’s nose had accidentally bumped his despite Eddie being as careful as possible just that morning and the sudden pain had taken Buck’s breath away.

Buck and Eddie followed behind Christopher as he led them up and down the town’s main street, going in and out of gift shops, buying souvenirs and fudge, getting an ice cream from a famous ice cream shop, even though it was cold outside. Eddie pulled Buck into an outdoor supplies shop and bought him a comfortable new jacket and a teal knitted toque like the one he’d lost, getting both Christopher and himself the same hat to match, upon Christopher’s excited request.

They stopped to have lunch at a cute little pub with great Irish food and were just stepping away from the door when something collided with Buck’s leg. Buck looked down in surprise to see a young girl, who threw her arms around his waist. He looked around, confused, until he saw the girl’s mother approaching with her small son in tow, and realized this must be the girl he’d pulled from the water.

“Hi Molly,” Buck said, smiling, patting her on the back as she clung to him. She said nothing, but her grip on his waist tightened as he said her name.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t get to thank you the other day,” the mother said to him as she came level with them. “Thank you so much. I can’t even begin to repay you for what you did, you nearly died for a little girl you’ve never even met.”

“It’s alright, ma’am,” Buck said, feeling his face flush as he felt rather than saw both Christopher and Eddie watching them.

“We’re firefighters,” Buck said, gesturing to Eddie and himself. “It’s what we do, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Cool!” The little boy behind his mother poked his head around her side to stare at Buck and Eddie. “I wanna be a firefighter when I grow up!”

Eddie grinned and high fived the little boy, who seemed star struck to meet two real-life firefighters. They spoke with the mother and her kids for several minutes, until Christopher started to shift uncomfortably, feeling cold from standing in one place for too long.

“Well, we won’t take any more of your time,” the woman, Eleanor, said. “Thank you, again. Both of you. If there’s anything I can ever do to help you in any way, please, don’t hesitate to call.”

Eleanor pressed a business card into Buck’s hand so he would have her phone number and peeled Molly from Buck’s side, where she still was, refusing to let go.

“Thank you,” Molly said in a tiny voice, looking up at him, before dashing back towards her mother and hiding behind her, suddenly shy. Buck laughed, then waved as they walked away, Molly looking back him several times and giving him a small wave before they disappeared around the corner.

“Told you,” Eddie said, taking Buck’s hand as they walked slowly in the opposite direction back towards their car. “You’re a hero.”

Buck felt himself blushing again as he tried to wave off Eddie’s words, but as Christopher cheered in agreement and Eddie pulled him over to give him a kiss, Buck had to admit it felt pretty good to know that he’d saved that girl and he was no worse for wear besides the bruises on his face.

“Fine, fine,” Buck said gruffly after Eddie had pulled away from the kiss as Christopher let out an “ewwww!” and they all laughed.

They got back to the car and Buck helped Christopher into the back seat, buckling him up before closing the door. Buck turned around to see a squirrel bounding across the sidewalk right near him and watched, wrapping his arms around his chest as he shivered a bit in the cold air, even though he was in his snug new jacket.

“I thought you were an honourary Canadian?” Eddie teased, coming around the side of the car to see what he was looking at.

“I was, until I spent twelve minutes in a freezing lake,” Buck lamented, and Eddie made a noise somewhere between concern and a laugh. “I will never complain about being too warm in LA ever again.”

Eddie actually laughed then, and clapped Buck on the back. They both jumped into the SUV, Buck behind the steering wheel this time as Christopher excitedly asked where they were headed now. They’d had quite the misadventure here but they were ready to continue on their journey as a family, just the three of them.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought!

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Tag list: @outside-the-government @littlecarowrites @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @stormsnevercometostay @southernbellestatues @mad-girl-without-a-box @reading-in-moonlight

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itsmeevie01 · 4 years

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Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne Day 4 -Habits

I just wanted to put a trigger warning up at the top. It's not very well discribed, because this was edited at 3 am, BUT. Marinette... Disassociates(?) Toward the end of this. I know that it's a little different than what people usually discribe for her, but I kind of based off my experiences I've had and experiences my best friend has had.

The sun started to peak its way through the windows as Dick Grayson made his way into the kitchen at the manor. It wasn’t often that he was able to come back for long stretches of time, but when he was, he enjoyed beating his family down. As he walked in, he blinked in shock. There sitting at the counter, was Marinette. His younger sister (who he was still mad at Bruce for hiding from him) was siting there happily chatting with Alfred as she sipped on a mug of coffee. She was already dressed and seemed too chipper for 5:30 in the morning.

At the sound of him slinging himself into a chair, Marinette threw him a smile that made Dick squint in return. He huffed in response and latched onto the mug that was passed his way. There was a reason he made sure to be up before the others, after all.

Tim was settled with his laptop when Marinette maneuvered into the sitting room. In one arm, she had her sketchbook, a bag of pencils, and a cup of water. In the other arm, she had her computer, phone, and a tray that was holding four cups of coffee. When she set one down in front of Tim, he hummed in appreciation. She sent a smirk his way and added “a gift to the lord of the room” his responding

“Hey! Get back here Little Bit!” was met with laughter. She threw him a smile and arranged herself onto the opposing couch. He smiled at her and returned to his homework. This was his quiet time, and she knew that. Recently she had been making a point to spend time working in the same space with him when they both were busy. Both times she had come to visit since Thanksgiving, he had found himself working with the girl. Somehow, she always knew when he needed a break, and the thirteen-year-old girl made sure to pull his attention away for an appropriately short amount of time. He had often found over the last few weeks that he was sleeping better because of it too. Now, as he reached over to grab the coffee, she had brought him, he smiled. Maybe he could convince her to make a habit of this.

Every week his sister had been at the manor over the course of her winter break, Dick had been beaten to the kitchen. As he stumbled through the kitchen once again at an ungodly hour of the morning, he realized that he could hear Alfred and his sister talking quietly in the smaller dining room. As he made his way into the room, he could make out the tail end of their conversation, “-do know that they would be more than willing to let you talk about this, Miss Marinette. You do not have to carry this burden on your own.” The sound of a disbelieving snort followed.

“I know you keep saying that, Alfred, but I just…they all have such busy lives and there’s so much going on in Gotham and- “

“and you are still part of the family, Miss Marinette. Master Bruce is starting to worry about you, and Master Dick is starting to notice that you are avoiding the topic. Do not shut them out, when they can help you. This situation may need an outside touch.” When Alfred finished speaking, Dick decided that he had overheard more than he should have.

“Alfred? Are you in here?” When he called out for the older man, Dick watched with a cringe as little Marinette jumped at his voice. “Hey Net! I’m not sure if I should be jealous that5 you keep beating me down in the mornings!” as he teased her, he watched her eyes light up.

“Well, Dick, you try being the child of two bakers- “as the girl started her comeback, a groggy voice cut through the air.

“what the hell are you all doing up?” the three turned to see Tim standing in the recently vacated doorway, clutching his water bottle and looking around with bloodshot eyes. “it’s like, 2 am.” At Tim’s declaration, Marinette giggled.

“Tim? Its almost 6?” the look of shock that flashed over the boy’s face made Dick frown. Tim’s all-nighters were becoming more and more frequent. The way the teen stumbled out of exhaustion was worrying.

“Hey Timmy? Let’s get you to bed.”

In the week prior to Christmas, Bruce made it a point to try and come home earlier so that he could spend more time with both Marinette and Tim, who were both supposed to be enjoying their winter breaks. He knew, of course, that Tim had wheedled his way into doing extra course work over the holiday to cut down on time spent in school. That didn’t mean that he expected the boy to focus solely on the work. Imagine his surprise when he had come home to both of his teens settled in the sitting room working. Marinette was sketching furiously, while Tim was typing away on his laptop with a ferocity that would scare many of the villains that populated Gotham. Bruce blinked in shock before turning to find Alfred standing off to the side smiling.

“They have adjusted their habits so that they can bond even though this season is busy for the both of them, Master Bruce.” He turned back to his children and smiled at the two of them as they continued working, unaware of anything outside of the sitting room.

The next morning, when Dick came down, expecting to see his sister and Alfred, he was instead met with the sight of macaroons cooling on the counters. On the island, there were croissants, and on the stove, there were pans full of freshly baked sugar cookies. He blinked in concern and turned around the room searching. On the other side of the kitchen was his sister, standing over the sink, hands unmoving, as she gazed out at the slowly rising sun. Her eyes were unfocused, and as Dick made his way over, his eyes focused on the slight tremor that was running through her hands. “Net?” When he received no answer, he moved closer, “Marinette? Hey- “the girl moved, and Dick’s hand shot out and caught the bowl that she had been holding and set it down. Gently, he guided his sister out of the kitchen and led her into the sitting room, where they passed Alfred as he made his way down for the morning.

Once Dick had Marinette settled, he sat next to her and held out one of his hands, leaving the offer for comfort open as the girl blinked and started to look around in confusion.

One moment, Marinette had been starting on the dishes, the next, she was sitting on the love seat in the siting room next to her brother. The sharp poke in her side that had brought her out of her mind was one that she could only attribute to Tikki. As she sat there, adjusting to the change in location, Marinette took a deep breath to ground herself. She wasn’t expecting her brother to speak.

“Do you want to talk about it, Net?” The girl studied the Man sitting next to her for a moment. When she decided that she couldn’t find any hint of insincerity, Marinette nodded hesitantly and trained her eyes on her hands. They were twisting in her lap, working as a distraction and an outlet for the nervous energy that had been building up since August.

“I- “Dick waited patiently for the girl to collect her thoughts, “I love Paris, I really do. I mean- it’s the place I grew up! But. Well, recently.” She hesitated again. She looked up at him, with tears in her eyes. “everything is wrong!” The phrase tore out of her, and she clamped her mouth shut afterwards as her mind flew through damage control ideas. “I mean. Well. Everything is do tense. Too perfect. No one can feel anything!” When had she started crying? Marinette could have sworn that she had a better handle on her emotions after spending the last five months held emotionally hostage. As she started to devolve into true sobs, Dick pulled the girl into a hug, and she clung to him. For the first time in almost five months the girl was able to truly process what was going on in her home city.

When Alfred came to check on them 20 minutes later, he found the duo sitting curled on the couch. In the other doorway stood a shocked Bruce. Alfred smiled at the look of shock on the fathers face before the man strode over to join his oldest and his youngest. As Alfred turned to go back into the kitchen and finish making sense of all of Marinette’s baking, the man shook his head. Who knew that the habits that Marinette influenced would be the ones that would bring the Paris situation to light?

so, i plan on picking up in the same place for tomorrow’s prompt (overprotection) so i didnt resolve anything. i think i have the rest of the month plotted out as well! as soon as i have a day where im not stuck at work all day, im going to go through and put all of these in a master post, along with my other fic *ideas*.

just so that i can also clear up any potential confusion, no. Damian is not yet present in this. yes. he will eventually. at this point, Marinette is 13, Tim is 15, Jason (who is going to be in the background for a bit still) is 19(ish) and Dick is either 24 or 25, i haven’t decided. I do plan on including more of the Batclan as i go...

#b!dbwm2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne #My writing #marinette dupen chang #maribat #miraculous ladybug #here we go #(do i smell a bit of plot?)#(that may be camembert)

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biggirllifestyle · 3 years

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Ducks in the pond.

Summary: Being friends from the beginning does get its perks, but it's also such a heartbreaking scene when you’re a background character or so you think.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x OFC(Original Female Character)

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: Small cursing, this got away from me so sorry.

A/N: I found my next victim Chris Evan characters, I’ll do better I swear.

Being surrounded by the elite is not something many can say they have experienced especially if it’s something you have been doing since a very young age when you were not even part of that social group. My mother did not come from a wealthy background, she didn’t come to the country with any knowledge of the language and without a penny in her pocket but thanks to a faithful day where she had met Harlan, he had offered a helping hand for my mother and from there on she became his lived in housekeeper.

The first time I ever met Ransom I couldn’t say that I wasn't tempted to punch him in the face, we were children when we met and everything that came out of his mouth was rude and condescending. Ransom was older than I and I knew he was Harlan's favorite and least favorite grandson, he was a rude snotty kid who used to pull on Megs and I’s pigtails every time he could get away with it.

I didn't know when it started but at some point, Ransom began to follow me around never leaving my side, I think it began the day that I finally gave in to my urges and punched his perfectly handsome face. My mom was mortified when she found out what I had done, Ransom's mother Linda was pissed and had demanded her father to fire my mother as a repercussion for what I had done but instead, he laughed and I had to apologize begrudgingly to him and from then on I had my shadow. That was how it was for the next few years, him following me around until we became inseparable, we were still coming from polar opposite sides of the societal spectrum even if he never treated me any differently from his rich friends.

While he was out partying with his private school friends I was working part-time jobs and doing homework to pay off my tuition, Harlan had offered many times to pay off school as a thank you to my mother's service through the years but I never accepted feeling guilt at his kind offer. There were times when my friendship with Ransom was tested as his rich dick persona would come out and he would sometimes disrespect my lack of social standings when he would hang out with his friends, I always hated that side of ransom because I knew that the words that he said were partially true, we were from different backgrounds his way of living was different from mine where I was dressed from thrift stores and low-grade shopping centers he was dressed to Gucci and Balenciaga but that didn’t seem to matter to him.

The only times that any of those comments bothered me was when it came from Ransom's weekly conquest, they were all beautiful women who seemed to have walked out of a photoshoot they were all thin and beautiful women who just oozed money from their pores if they even had pores since all of them seemed to be flawless. I always wondered what it was that I did for Ransom to be so faithful to our friendship never once did I have to compete with others because, in the end, he would always choose me this was also another reason why his conquest didn’t last long since their cruel remarks on my appearance and social standing was an ending point on the relationship, maybe it was the fact that I was always the one who saved him from doing something stupid like getting kicked out of his family or him ending up killing his grandfather.

Things changed when Ransom left for college he had gotten accepted to Princeton and off he went, our communication was limited since he was always so busy with school and me with my part-time jobs. I had forgone going to college to stay close to my mother and in the process, Harlan had offered me a small position in his publishing company which his son Walt was not too happy about. Everything was going well for me. I was living an adequate life. I had finally moved out and gotten my apartment, my work was going great and I had finally made some great friends. Ransom seemed to be doing well as he was passing all of his classes, he even became friends with his dorm mate, which he was forced to have if he wanted Linda and Richard to keep paying his tuition.

Everything was going well for both of us. Our friendship was thriving through the long-distance even if I was hiding a deep dark secret from him, the fact that I have been in love with him for a long time now. This has been a raging issue that I had been hiding for such a long time but I never thought of doing anything about it since most of the time I was fine with being his best friend, I relied this to Claire my friend from work after I hanged up on Ransom on our call of the week.

“That is the saddest and dumbest thing that I have ever heard,” Claire said as she sipped on her wine, “and I am saying this with a lot of love but if you don’t feel like it would work between you two maybe you should try to give yourself a chance with someone else.” I turned back towards her as I took out the popcorn from the microwave, she made a shrugging gesture before turning on the tv.

“I am just saying Eric from accounting seems to be interested in going out with you, and hey I haven’t heard anything shifty about him from anybody else.” She browsed through a few movies before finally choosing one. I sat next to her setting down the bowl of popcorn in front of us as we settled down, “I’m just saying we big girls deserve some love so if that means you having to go on a date with a guy just so you could be able to get over your childhood friend, then so be it.”

I couldn’t help but think over what Claire said and I knew she wasn't wrong but a small part of me still wished that maybe Ransom felt just a little of that love that I felt for him but I knew it was probably a far cry, so I gave Claire a nod agreeing for her to set me up with Eric she squealed before reaching for her phone as she started texting someone after a few moments she put her phone down and mine began to go with off, it was Eric I gave a panicked look to Claire who just shrugged I sighed before answering.

“Hi, Eric how can I help you?” I said acting dumb, Claire swatted at my arm but I hit her back focusing on Eric who seemed to be having a conversation of his own.

“Yeah I heard from someone that you wanted to go out, and well I just wanted to know if the upcoming Friday was good for you I know this great Italian place that just opened up we could go after work if that works for you,” I was about to respond but I felt my phone going off again I pulled it away seeing Ransoms name on the screen, I debated on answering before ignoring it and returning with Eric.

“Friday sounds great”

After hanging up with Eric, Claire and I continued our movie before she had to start heading home as soon as she was gone I began to tidy up, after ignoring Ransom's call I thought about my friendship with a man who looked for the very best for his life. At some point, I had silenced my phone in the chance that if Eric were to send me a text I could just use the excuse of not answering, and that is how I had left it as I went to sleep since tomorrow started our winter break so there was nothing I had to worry about so with that thought I went to bed.

When morning came I finally had the chance to finally take a break and just lay in bed, everything was silent no noise whatsoever just the random drive of cars on the street and that was it after a while I finally got myself ready to get out of bed reaching for my phone I noticed that Ransom had called me nine more times leaving enough text messages that I worried that something might have happened. Dialing his phone as I began to get ready just in the chance if I had to rush out at any moment to meet him after the second ring he finally answered.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all night do you know how worried I was,” Ransom said as he began to chastise me, I couldn’t believe he was doing this after we had talked before he started calling me liked a maniac I was about to tell him off and let him know that I didn’t think very highly of his little outburst before he stopped, “Now ducky this is what’s going to happen do you hear me your gonna finish getting ready, put your shoes on and come outside so we can go eat some breakfast do you hear me.”

I huffed out at him but did as he said as I finished getting ready, Ransom always did this ordered me around expecting me to follow his every whim without any form of repercussion from my part but I knew I would never really fight Ransom since all in all I was his only true friend. After finishing getting ready I rushed out of my apartment locking behind me before taking the stairs two at a time I soon as I got to the lobby I couldn’t help but take a small breath the small exertion from my actions after composing myself I walked out seeing Ransom's car, I couldn’t help the giddiness that came over me this would be the first time I would be seeing him after his no show for Thanksgiving so I was very excited to see him again as I got closer to his car ready to greet him excitedly I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t alone.

“Ducky it’s so good to see you I missed your pretty face,” Ransom said as he stepped forward to hug me but a hand stopped him from moving forward as I was left standing awkwardly from where I stepped forward to meet him, his companion stepped forward putting out a slender and manicured hand so I could shake.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Caroline, Ransom's girlfriend, you must be the friend.” The way she said the word friend made me flush entirely it sounded so mocking when it came from her but I ignored it as I gave her a small smile. Ransom was watching our interaction before clapping his hands together, “Right so let's be on our way then.”

He walked over to the driver's side as he got in Caroline opened the passenger door and motioned me to get in first, I couldn’t help but look at her with a questioning look, Ransom seemed to have caught on to what she was trying to do as he motioned towards Caroline, “Caroline maybe you should ride in the back that way I can also have time to catch up with Ducky.”

Caroline huffed and crossed her arms like a child, the words that came out of her mouth made me feel so shameful I wanted the floor to swallow me whole, “I think she can fit in the back if we push the seats all the way forward I mean I wouldn’t mind moving it since I don't take up much space.” Ransom was about to protest against her but I moved forward pushing the seat forward as much as I could so I could squeeze myself through.

“It’s fine don’t worry about it, this might be the only opportunity I might have to feel as if I’m being abducted or something,” I joked as I positioned myself into the tight space of the back, Caroline seemed smug by her win as she got into the passenger seat Ransom turned to look at me as I avoided his gaze as I looked down at my phone he turned back around as he started the car, the drive to the restaurant was quite from Ransom and I’s point Caroline was going off about some friends of her who were currently on a break or something of that sorts.

When we arrived at the dinner I couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm, this was Ransom’s and I’s regular place we used to go to back when we were in high school, I used to work part-time here and sometimes he visited me as I sneaked him fries when I could. Ransom looked back at me with a soft smile I couldn’t help but to return until I heard a scoff Caroline seemed to not like our choice of location and she seemed to want to protest but Ransom ignored it and got out coming to her side as she opened the door for her, that seemed to placate her as she took his hand to get out. I huffed out a little breath as I began the agonizing task of getting out of the car without making too much ruckus where I would be noticed, when I finally got out I noticed that Ransom and Caroline were waiting for me I flushed hard realizing that they saw my struggle but I gave them a small smile before walking in front of them into the dinner.

Louise was at the counter and the moment she saw me she couldn’t help but let out a shout of excitement she called to Adam who was at the grill in the back as they both came forward to greet me, they saw Ransom and the excitement grew they’ve known us for a very long time so of course, they were glad to see him as well. Louise gave us a small shove as we went to our usual seat which was a booth at the back, when I was young I was scared to go anywhere near the booths but the good thing was that the seats here were spacious so there was nothing to worry about, Ransom scooted in but Coraline seemed to hesitate to look disgusted before sitting down at the corner.

“So how’s school? Are you having any problems with your classes, any subject you might be struggling with?” I asked as I moved around the salt and pepper shake, Ransom laughed as he beat an with a tirade of his Lit professor who loved to throw existential questions into the lesson as if that would help them finish their assignments on time, I couldn’t help but laugh at his whining as our server finally came to our table. There seemed to be a small tension coming from Ransom and Caroline but I chose to ignore it as I moved my attention to our server, he seemed to be about our age, and from what I could see he was new since I could sense his small hesitancy as he took our orders, I gave him a small smile as I tried to give him some reassurance of what he was doing.

“Don’t worry about it you’re doing a great job let me tell you when I used to work here back in the day it was hard, to say the least so no pressure and just take it one step at a time,” Tom as his name tag said relaxed as he gave me a cute and flirty smile that made me blush as I sent him a small shy smile as he walked into the kitchen to put our orders in when I turned back to Ransom he seemed to have a frown on his face at our interaction I made a funny face at him as he rolled his eyes before returning to his tirade. Caroline seemed too quiet so I ignored Ransom as I tried to make conversation with her,

“Are you also at Princeton Caroline?” She gave me a look before turning her nose at me.

“Yes I am in school at the moment but it's not like it matters I’m just doing it to pass the time while I inherit the family business,” she said as she moved around the straw in her drink, I gave her a confused look at her words because I couldn’t understand what she meant by “passing the time,” she must have seen my confusion before she gave a huff before continuing, “Daddy is paying for my tuition so I can go but I don't do anything besides hanging out with my friends or taking trips, there’s no point for me to be going to classes if there is no point to it since I’m just going to inherit my family’s estate and wealth.”

I looked at her with a mildly disturbing face at her words, how I wished I had the opportunity she had to go to college but that option was never one to be considered since it was much too expensive to pay off and I didn’t want to accumulate debt when I was trying to help out my mother with her immigration situation so I said nothing, Caroline seemed to have caught on to my reaction because she gave me a scathing look for even looking at her in that way.

Before anything further could be said Ransom butted in to alleviate the tension that had just arisen between Coraline and me, “So Ducky how’s work Uncle Walt said that he was giving you your team to manage Grandad’s new book, how's that going for you?” I gave him a small smile as I began to tell him about the work that we have been doing and how I’ve been getting along well with everyone except an older editor who keeps trying to override my directions every time I make them to the team. Ransom nodded along at that moment Tom came back with our orders setting them up on the table before turning to me with a small smile, “Do you need anything else, anything I could do for you?” I smiled at him as I was about to respond Ransom butted in,

“No, we’re good.” I looked at Ransom with a pissed look at the rude tone he had used on Tom, he didn’t seem to care as he glared him down until he walked away. I was confused by Ransom's attitude I’ve never seen him act this rudely to people without a motive so his change of character made me wonder what was going on with him and if it had to do with the woman who was sitting right across from me poking at her food uninterested to us.

“So you remember Claire?” I asked him as I ignored his previous way of being with our server, Ransom seemed to be focused on his food so he hummed as confirmation, “Well we were talking last night and she set me up with one of our colleagues, and well now I have a date next Friday!” I said excitedly, Ransom began to choke on his food and I panicked as I started pushing his drink closer to him, Caroline had left just a while ago to the restroom and still hadn’t been back, after he had calmed down Ransom looked at me very differently almost as if he was mad at me for what I had said.

“Are you serious do you even know this guy, how could you put yourself in that situation you haven’t dated anyone ever and you think that going out with this guy is your best option,” he stopped himself his hands balled up into a fist on the table, I couldn't help the tears that welled up this was new to me Ransom had never spoken to me like this before never in such a way as if to shame me not when I decided to go to not go to college and not when I told him about my accident from high school.

“Are you that desperate? if you were you could have just told me and I would have shown you a pretty good time.” The shame and mortification that came over me at his words were so great I let a tear slip from my face, Ransom seemed to realize that his words were far too harsh because he reached out to grab my hand I flinched away from him not wanting him to touch me at all, “I want you to take me home, right now Ransom.” He seemed to hesitate before he clenched his jaw before scooting out of the booth he set a few bills on the table and began to walk out I sat there for a few minutes before finally walking after him Louise gave me a wave and I saw Tom give me a smile and a wave until I was out the door.

Ransom was sitting inside the car already waiting for me to go in, I didn’t see Caroline anywhere and I almost went back inside to go get her before Ransom spoke up again, “She already left her friends came and picked her up half an hour ago.” I nodded before getting into the passenger seat, on the drive back to my apartment everything was quiet, only the hum of the car providing sound. After a while we were finally there Ransom parked but didn’t turn off the engine we sat there quietly for a bit before I finally turned to him, “I’ll see you at the Lagoon okay, I think you and I need some time apart to think about what happened,” I paused as I looked away.

“I love you, I’ve always loved you and I want you to give me the chance to grow from those feelings so I feel like this is the best option for me,” I stepped out stopping before looking down at Ransom who was still so stock still, I knew that my words were probably still processing to him but there was no turning back I finally said what I needed to say and I was ready for everything that was coming, “Patito, I need you to understand that no matter what I would choose you over everybody else.” And with that, I shut the door.

My date with Eric had occurred and it was the worst thing I have ever been on, believing that maybe this could be my chance to grow out of my love for Ransom I looked at the bright side but Eric was the worst he was rude and snobby and made comments about my appearance making it seem like I had to give him a thank you for even looking my way and I hated it. Ransom and I hadn’t spoken to each other since the day we went out and I hadn’t been able to think about it, so that night after my date I cried letting out the pent up emotions I had thought about the fact that maybe me falling in love or being loved would be a notion that could never happen.

During my little outburst, I heard my phone going off and without looking I answered it, the other person on the line was quiet before I heard an outburst, “What the hell happen where are you?” I was confused for a second before realizing that it was Ransom on the line, “Did that son of a bitch do something to you tell me where you are before I go kill him.”

I gave a few hiccuped breaths before Ransom calmed down with the softest tone I have ever heard from him, “Look Ducky I just want to make sure if you’re okay? Tell me where you are and I’ll meet you there in a heartbeat.” With that tone I was able to calm myself down as I told him I was at home, he gave a confirmation telling me he would be here soon as he ordered me to drink a glass of water before he hanged up.

Fifteen minutes later and an empty glass I heard knocking at my door when I opened it Ransom dressed in some plain sweats and the sweater I had given him for Christmas last year no matter what he wore he always looked handsome and this time I couldn’t help the tears that dropped. Ransom crowded me as he began to wipe the tears from my face. Here I stood my hair and makeup a mess dressed in the nicest dress that I had as the person I loved wiped my tears off my face.

“Did he do anything to you Ducky? Tell me and I swear that I will find him and kill him with my bare hands if I have to.” I laughed at his words nut I gave him a shake of my head telling him that nothing had happened. Ransom seemed to let out a breath before he moved us to the couch, we sat there in complete silence as Ransom held me close after what seemed like hours even though it was probably minutes I finally calmed down enough that I had stopped crying altogether.

“I called you today because I knew you had your date with that guy, I was mad, at you, at me, at that prick, and at fucking Claire for setting you up,” he took a deep breath before sitting up and pulling me away from him so we could be facing each other, “I thought of your confession and I am sorry for not calling you sooner but there was so much on my mind I have to tell you.”

I looked up at Ransom seeing that he was being completely serious and I couldn’t help the pull in my chest at the way he looked in that moment how much he has grown from when we were young and how much more he could do in the future, “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time now but I haven’t been honest with you at all, I don’t want to be your friend anymore and I haven’t wanted us to be friends since high school after we went to different schools,” I pulled away completely when he said that the tears were coming back and I felt as I couldn't breathe anymore Ransom could probably see my upcoming panic attack, so he did something I never thought would happen. He kissed me.

He kissed me.

That was the only thought that was going through my mind as my brain short-circuited, I stared up at him surprised not believing he did that Ransom stood before he started pacing rubbing at his neck before turning towards me, “This is not how I wanted to do it so I feel like I am already messing up but,” he paused as he took a deep breath before he came before me and kneeled so we were at eye level, “I have been in love with you since we were kids I think from the moment you punched me in the face and Grandad forced us to hang out, but I think the moment I knew was when I saw you at the dinner you were talking to some customers and I remember how you reached towards their little girl as you wiped something off her face and made her laugh.”

He leaned towards me just a little until our faces were just inches apart, his eyes darted down to my lips as I wet them, “I knew that if I could I would do whatever it took to keep you at my side even if that meant us only being friends, but I am done being your friend.” With that, he surged forward kissing me much softer than I thought my lips tingled at the contact after a few seconds he darted his tongue to swipe onto my bottom lip as I parted them for him before he began to kiss me a little bit deeper. When he pulled away I couldn’t help but let out a whine he chuckled at I flushed hotly at his laugh giving him a soft smile,

“Ducky you’d don't know how long I’ve been waiting to do that, I love you so much.”

“I love you too Ransom I always have and no matter how annoying you are with your little designer clothes and your dumb car,” he gave an offended scoff which I giggled at, “but I will always love you no matter what.”

Tags: @rmtndew

#plus size ofc #pluss size #plus size oc #ransom drysdale #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombrey #original work #knives out

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scarletbluebird13 · 4 years

Text

Under the Christmas Tree

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Title: Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

Pairing: Eisuke x MC

Tags: fluff, drabble

Word count: 2024

A/N: I know I’ve got some requests, and I swear I’ll get to them - this is progress ehehe~ I took a little bit of a break for a few days because I wasn’t feeling well, so to the people who’ve sent me requests; thank you all SO MUCH for your requests (I really do appreciate your requests and all of you <3 - since I’m saying this, I genuinely appreciate and love all of you - those who request, lurk, like, and reblog — thank you all so much xxx), I’ll work on them this week - to get myself back into the swing of uploading stuff onto here/making my brain use creative juices to wRiTe, I wrote this - which has been living inside my head since thanksgiving 😳 anyways, hope this is okays xx

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Autumn came and went. The golden crisp of the leaves left all trees barren, surrendering to snow-covered sidewalks - gone for another year. How many seasons have I seen with Eisuke…? How many times have we been together through another fall, winter, spring, and summer? I’ve lost count - then again, I’m not really counting anymore, since we’ll have forever (and that’s a lot of seasons - not that I mind, anyway).

The chill of the autumn wind has changed to a stinging winter breeze - which has me making Eisuke’s coffee a bit warmer - so he won’t get sick. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together; I’ll always be worried about him - especially now that the weather’s a lot cooler and he doesn’t do well in the cold heh, that seems to be another thing they have in common...

Below me, Tokyo gleams and glitters - the city lights at night are certainly nothing to scoff at. Especially not from our suite. Content at how my life’s been, I sigh a bit, gripping the mug in my hands a bit tighter - searching for the warmth, letting it seep into my hands - and letting the coffee I made for myself slide down my throat, coming to rest in my stomach. As I look out into the world surrounding me, the smell of the freshly brewed coffee keeps me grounded, it’s tempting smell wafting into my nose, slightly fogging up the window when I lean too close. Everything in the world couldn’t be more perfect.

My eyes growing softer at the serene, graceful landscape below, I lean my head gently against the grand window, letting my eyes gloss over the scene below as I think about the text Eisuke sent me about four hours ago;

“I’m going to be late today. Don’t wait up for me.”

Christmas will be in one hour, and I wanted all of us to be together when the clock strikes midnight. I hope he comes home soon-

Before I can finish that thought, an ear piercing wail snaps me out of my thoughts

Poor darling, probably had a nightmare - that’s his scared cry.

Putting the cup of coffee down, I walk over to the cream painted crib situated next to the Christmas tree.

“Shhhh, shhh… It’s okay, Eito. I’m here. I’m here, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I coo into our delicate seven-month-old baby’s ear as I pick him up and start rubbing his back.

“I promise I’ll protect you from anything and everything that ever tries to hurt you - whether it be the monsters in your dreams, the ones you’ll think hide under your bed or in your closet, and the ones disguised as ‘good people.’” I make that promise to him as I gently place a kiss on his head, adjusting him in my arms so that his head is no longer resting on my left shoulder, rather, that his head is resting in the crook of my left arm. His eyes are still shut, tears streaming from his little red eyes, but he’s calmed down a bit - the crying got a bit quieter.

“I promise I’ll always be here for you, Eito.” I whisper, kissing his tears away.

He looks just like his father - I bet Eisuke looked just like Eito when he was a baby. Eito tends to cry a lot - come to think of it, hasn’t Eiji said Eisuke was always fussy and cried a lot when he was a little kid? At least before his sister was born. I smile to myself, cradling our baby in my arms, knowing I’m probably the only person in the world who knows how similar Eisuke and Eito are. Not that Eisuke’d ever admit it, at least. ...Eiji’s really only met Eito once - when I gave birth to Eito, and even then, he looked at Eito like he was the only thing in the world that mattered - but I’m positive if Eiji were to ever visit and spend one day with Eito, he’d realize Eisuke and Eito’s similarities don’t just stop at their looks.

The crying’s stopped, and for now, Eito looks at me with those wide, beautiful brown eyes of his, and he smiles, reaching up to touch me.

“Hey, feeling better? You certainly don’t look sleepy anymore - wanna stay up with me and see your first Christmas?”

To this, he laughs - smiling myself, I decide to take that as a ‘yes.’

“I thought I told you not to wait up for me.”

The voice slightly startling me, I turn around, clutching Eito a bit tighter to my chest in the process.

“I wanted the three of us to be together - you know, for Eito’s first Christmas. And he had another nightmare, the poor baby - so I’ve been cradling him to cheer him up.” I respond, bouncing Eito in my arms, a natural smile gracing my lips as I look up at Eisuke - who responds by placing a kiss upon my lips.

“...If that’s what you want.” He says with a sigh, looking down at Eito with soft eyes and lifting his index finger to gently caress the baby’s cheek - who, in reply to his father’s tender touch, laughs and wraps his tiny fingers around Eisuke’s large one. Eisuke’s really changed since Eito was born…for starters; he gets that soft look in his eyes and smiles a lot more - especially around Eito.

With a smile, I ask Eisuke if he’d hold Eito for a bit while I make him some coffee.

When I return with Eisuke’s overly sweet coffee in tow, I find Eisuke sitting on the couch, rocking Eito back-and-forth, a warm look on his face.

“Here you go - I can hold him while you drink it.”

“I want to hold him for a bit longer.”

“Okay.” I say in agreement, inwardly screaming and trying to engrave this adorable moment in my mind forever - Eisuke rejected my coffee to hold his son

It’s 11:45 pm now, and Eisuke went to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable - I wouldn’t blame him, seems like he’s had a taxing day at work I wonder how Chisato and Sakiko are doing...I’ll stop by sometime soon and set up a date to catch up with them.

Eito’s squirming around in my arms, so I set him down on the grand, amber tainted floor - he’s been crawling recently, and I find myself eager to see which corner of the suite he travels to. This time, Eito makes a beeline for the Christmas tree, completely disappearing under it. I’m not too concerned about him going under the tree - I know it’s something I loved doing when I was a kid (it’s magical - laying under there and looking up - feeling like you’re looking at a completely different world, giving it an ethereal glow - the view of the christmas lights lighting up the tree from the inside is certainly a simple, nostalgic view worthy of competing with Tokyo’s midnight skyline) - so for the fun of it, I decide to follow him under the tree.

Mildly surprised I fit under the tree, I see Eito laughing - he’s sitting perfectly by the base of the tree, looking straight at me. Finding him adorable, I bring him towards me, carefully, taking special care not to accidentally whack him in the face with a stray branch, and not give him rug burn - even though it would be nigh impossible, considering he’s wearing his white and blue dinosaur print footsies. I bring him around to my left and tickle him a bit, laughing with him and enjoying this moment of peace.

Seconds later, Eisuke enters the room, and I stop tickling Eito - suddenly turning this into a game of hide-and-seek. Luckily, Eito seems to catch on, blissfully looking up at me, silently flapping his little arms in the air.

“Where are they…?” Eisuke asks himself, his feet coming to a stop in front of my face. I try not to look up - else he’d find us, and wanting to keep the game going for a bit, I bring one hand up to stifle my laughs. Unfortunately, Eito gives us up with a little giggle.

In no time at all, Eisuke bends down and we’re face-to-face. He wastes no time in scolding me or for that matter, doesn’t bother to ask why I’m under the tree with Eito - he just sighs.

“What are you doing under there?” He asks, looking painfully exhausted.

“Get under here with us!” I exclaim, laughing with Eito, who, giggling, reaches out towards his father.

“Why would I do that?” He asks, giving me a hard time while he gives Eito his index finger to play with (and, as Eito planned, to suck on).

“Just come on!” I insist.

“...fine.” he grumbles, trying his best to get under the tree without knocking it down.

He’s decided to go on the other side of the tree, keeping Eito between us.

“You know you’re a handful, right?” He asks, trying his best to sound annoyed with me; but deep down, I know he’s not really annoyed - he likes it. It’s because I can be a “handful” that he’s not “bored,” as he would have said, once upon a time.

“You love it.” I retort, my eyes glued to little Eito, as he laughs and reaches up towards a red ornament hanging on one of the lower parts of the tree.

We remain like that under the tree for a while, the smell of pine weaving its way into my hair, the christmas lights twinkling softly above us, the effect being amplified only after the lights in the living room were shut off. Eisuke’s eyes remain content, and soft - resting on Eito and his innocent antics. My heart set at peace, knowing my husband is by my side, our baby is nestled safely between us, and has seen the transition from Christmas eve to his first Christmas. In that moment, we seem untouchable - and it feels like nothing in the world could harm us, take our joy away, or tarnish this harmony we’ve found at last. For a moment, it feels like the warm lights above our heads are enough to keep us safe, protected.

Bonus:

After a while of laying under the Christmas tree with Eisuke and Eito, Eito decides he wants to explore some other part of the suit. Eisuke and I spend a few more minutes under the rich forest green tree, gazing at each other - and share a secret kiss beneath the chorus of the gleaming lights above us.

“Thank you.” He whispers, holding my head close to his.

Curious as to what he means, I merely tilt my head to the side and give him a quizzical look, to which he explains;

“For never giving up on me. For staying by my side. For giving me Eito.” I smile despite myself, and in response, decide to cup his face and softly kiss him.

Then he whispers into the kiss, “I love you.”

Smiling, I say it back, and slide out from under the tree.

Once I’m out, I take the mugs of coffee out of the living room - both mine that’s still half full, and Eisuke’s, which is completely empty.

After I spend a few minutes in the kitchen cleaning the mugs, I return to the living room, my heart swelling at the sight before me;

Eisuke’s fallen asleep in a sitting position on the couch, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his eyelids heavy with the pull of sleep holding them down. And resting atop his chest is none other than Eito, tranquility the scene on his face as he sleeps on Eisuke’s chest - his little mind free of nightmares Eito never has nightmares when Eisuke’s around. Even in sleep Eisuke finds a way to keep Eito safe and secure; he has his right arm holding onto Eito, guarding him even while he rests (Eisuke’s way of saying he’ll forever protect Eito no matter what - I’m sure of it).

I love the both of you. And I’d give my life to protect the little family we’ve got. Merry Christmas, my loves.

#eisuke #kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #eisuke ichinomiya #kissed by the baddest bidder eisuke #eito #eito ichinomiya #voltage #voltage inc #love 365 #fluff #drabble

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lovehugsandcandy · 4 years

Text

bloom (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N: I almost did not finish this in time for Colt day and I would have been heartbroken. (also, alternate summary was “Colt has a plant” but GOD why would he ever have that, right?) @rodappreciationweek

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~4500 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (It’s not explicit but there’s enough there that it’s probably N*FW. And swearing.)

Summary: Bloom where you’re planted.

It comes cheap, as cash deals often do. The walls are riddled with holes, gaping gunshots and massive dents inflicted in incidents even he doesn’t want the stories of; the roof is in shambles, caved to the floor in spots while leaks spread oily over the surface in others. But the land is secluded, safe, and, though it needs work, the foundation is sound.

Colt has never been afraid of hard work, anyway.

He wanted to rebuild on the ashes of his father’s shop. It would have been apt, fitting, rebuilding the place that had been his legacy, passed down from ancestor to ancestor until it arrived at his feet, decaying and ruined.

But it was too obvious. Every single time he drove by, he could see the undercover cops staking out the place, blindingly obvious behind the tinted windows of shiny SUVs. The drive also made him ill; when he caught sight of the charred sign and burnt out support beams, his vision would sway, hands clammy in leather gloves, heart racing a frenetic beat. The last time he sped through, he had needed to pull over, two blocks away, to spew stomach acid into a gutter.

He hadn’t gone back since.

But this new shop, this would work. He would make this work, rebuild here, in safety and relative anonymity, forging a new crew and avenging all he had lost.

A bitter voice cuts through his mental scheming. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?” He glares daggers at Smokey, the gruff man selling the place who earned his name from the trail of tobacco wafting behind him.

“The yard.”

He follows Smokey out back, to where two wrecks sit on concrete that bleeds into dust at the edges, all surrounded by rusted-out barbed wire fencing. The Lambo would be worth something, if the engine was still there, but the MacLaren is destroyed, probably only worth scrap metal and parts.

“All this is yours, too. But I ain’t moving shit.”

Colt shrugs. “Okay.” He surveys the lot. Buried in the dust, he notices a flash of green, a leaf peeking out of the dirt caked against a metal post. “The hell’s that?” he asks, pointing over to where the small stem is, remarkably, making its way out of the dry earth, spouting where no living thing should ever be able to grow. It’s tiny, barely an inch, but it’s vibrant amid the washed out dust basin surrounding it.

“That plant thing? Fuck do I know.” Smokey sticks his hand in his overall pocket, fishing around until he grabs a pack of smokes. “Anyway, like I said, it’s all yours.”

Colt hands over the cash, takes the keys, and starts planning.

~~~~~

He plasters the walls himself, sledgehammer tearing through the plywood and insulation, dust and dirt raining down on him until he’s covered, paint chips grinding into his skin until every visible inch is full of grit and grime. He stands in the shower for an eternity, scalding water raining on muscles tense with exertion, physical labor quieting the screaming rage in his head.

He can’t do everything himself, gets a truckload of guys to shingle the roof, hires an electrician to ensure that the lifts work on the floor. He keeps his ear to the ground, always scouting new talent, people looking to make a break into his world. There’s a few, various tuners and losers, but no one he trusts. Not yet.

One thing he can do is rebuild, plan, and deal with that stupid plant. He almost ignored it, figuring it would wither away on its own, but he has begrudging respect for something thriving in an inhospitable environment. The guy at the nursery thought it looked like a melon, handing over some instructions and a bag of soil that Colt balanced on his lap as the bike wove through city streets. It’s stupid, utterly ridiculous, but he puts the soil down, anyway. Maybe the melon just needs a chance.

By August, Mona’s out, sprung from jail by some hotshot lawyer and begrudging LAPD acknowledgement of the corruption in the force. He is under the bike when she saunters through the bay doors, a smirk on her face and swagger in her step. She makes a snide comment about his transmission, then wanders into the break room to make popcorn.

He stares after her for a full minute, completely befuddled, but finally shrugs and wanders out back to water the stupid melon.

He wonders if this is his life now.

~~~~~

Colt looks closer, dropping to his knees in a cloud of dust to peer incredulously at the ground beneath him. Yesterday, there had been only one green sprout, the result of careful tending and effort, somehow reaching burgeoning leaves through the fencing slats to chase the sun. But now, there are two, as an evil-looking clover emerges through the soil carefully packed against the fence. How the fuck did a weed grow here? Hell, he has no idea how the fucking melon was growing here, pushing through the dust that caked the ground, but he would be damned if he let a fucking weed ruin his work.

He’s just digging his fingers into the dirt, trying to get every offending root, when footsteps thud behind him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mona asks, skeptically.

“Getting this fucking thing-”

“What is that?”

“A weed.” He drops the invader, and it scatters in the wind, dancing through the fencing.

“No…” She hesitates, sounding puzzled, and he squints at her profile in the sunlight, waiting. “The plant thing down there.”

“Guy at the store said he thinks it’s a melon.”

She blinks. “You’re growing a melon.” He doesn’t know what to make of her tone, half accusatory, half mocking, so he only shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. Finally, she snorts. “It might be nice for you.”

“What?”

“Might be nice for you to actually make something, instead of fucking shit up all the time.”

He glares daggers at her retreating back before inspecting the stupid green stem again. It might be his imagination, but it already looks stronger, as if culling the invading weed had already strengthened its roots.

Maybe the fucking thing would thrive if its enemies were removed.

~~~~~~

In October, Ximena makes her way through the front door, a smile spreading across her face and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. He’s speechless as she lifts him into a giant hug, his ribs creaking in protest.

“Heard things were getting better around here, sweetie.” Colt feels a bashful flush heat his cheeks at the familiar nickname, but she’s not wrong. He and Mona had just swiped a couple of Sodertaljes for a half a million just last week, and he’s already scheming to snatch two more. The crew is making a name for itself; he’s rebuilding. “Where’s Mona?”

“Back room,” he answers, watching X stroll away in absolute confusion before he wanders to the yard. Apparently, he can’t control the comings and goings of the dregs of his father’s crew.

But maybe he can control the fucking plant.

~~~~~

Ellie doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving.

He knew she wouldn’t. It’s his business to know things, the location of priceless cars, the name of the rival crew who’s been running jobs in the Hills. Collecting tidbits of information and splicing them into a bigger picture is one of those skills that keeps the crew afloat and him alive.

But knowing things about her (the spot at the curve of her shoulder that makes her cry out, exactly how much pressure to use where she’s so sensitive, hell, even the stupid, sappy shit like how she likes her coffee, all locked away deep in his brain), well, that’s far from business.

He knows her house (third from the corner with the busted up cruiser in the drive) and he would recognize her car anywhere, even just a flash of it.

She stays at school for Thanksgiving.

But she comes home for Winter Break. He drives by one morning (three am after a successful job, when the roar of adrenaline in his blood makes him desperately miss the one person he wants by his side) and it’s there, vivid pink reflecting the streetlights. He has to remind himself to fucking breathe.

The next afternoon, groggy after tossing and turning all fucking night, he can’t decide when he should just show up at her house and how to avoid the detective if he did.

He actually doesn’t need to decide.

“Why didn’t you rebuild the old shop?”

He spins, splashing the coffee in a sticky mess over concrete (one cream, two sugars, far too sweet to be anything more than a reminder). “What-” The smile on her face is playful, teasing, and his fingers itch to run through her hair. “How did you…?”

“You’re not the only one who has friends in low places.” She turns at the echoing footsteps and is soon swept into hugs and smiles and the dull banter of catching up.

But after, after he steals her away, upstairs to his loft, coaxing sugar sweet sounds from her lips with the rapaciousness of a man denied for far too long, he ensures that she remembers exactly who she came to the shop to see.

When he’s exhausted, temporarily sated yet only waiting until the next burst of energy for round two, he traces random designs down her bare back. “You ready to come back, yet?”

“Colt…”

“Hey, I know you’re too good for school. Just wondering if you know it yet.”

She spins in his arms; when her bare skin glances across his chest, he tightens his fingers, still curled into her back. “Jesus, Colt, you haven’t changed at all.”

“Did you expect me to?”

“Your dad…” His nails dig into her back at the mention; her wince makes him drop his hand to the sheets. She continues, “Your dad wanted more than this. For you.”

“What about what I want?”

“Well, what about what I want?”

He blinks, pulling his arm back. “The fuck? You’re doing what you want across the fucking country.” He watches her stand and storm about the room, pulling on clothes, swiping at her eyes. “Ellie, come on-”

“This was a mistake.”

He sits up, crossing his arms over his bare chest to fix her with his darkest glare. “What the hell does that-“

“I should have…” She trails off and, for a moment, he sees the glimmer of indecision in her eyes. “I made my choice. I’m going back to school and I can’t…” Her voice wavers and she doesn’t even finish the sentence.

When the door slams, he flops against the bed, worn and wilting.

~~~~~

Winter brings the first fruit.

One of the many benefits to living in Southern California is the weather, where each sunny day is a picture-perfect copy of the last. So, even though it’s February, Ximena watches as he carefully cuts the fruit from the vine and stands, cradling it in one arm. “Huh,” she says, shooting him a critical eye. “It’s kinda like that saying: bloom where you’re planted.”

“Huh?”

“The saying… bloom where you’re planted? It kinda means… um….“ Her hands flail about before settling across her chest. “Work with what you’ve got? Plants need fertile soil and plenty of water and sunlight. That plant was given this dusty piece of shit lot owned by a fledgling crew. But even though these aren’t really the best conditions, it’s still blooming anyway. Even though the circumstances aren’t the best, you need to use your talents where you are, not think about what could have been.”

He runs the words through his head, callused fingertips tracing the dappled skin of the melon, trying not to think of different circumstances. “Christ, X.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Its just a fucking plant.” He turns and heads through the shop, careful not to splatter fruit on the concrete, her heavy footsteps close behind.

Mona is already in the break room, lazing about the table, and he gingerly cuts into the skin, handing her and Ximena a pale orange slice.

“Is it hygienic to cut it with that knife?” X asks, teasingly, but takes the proffered piece, regardless.

“Shut up and try it.”

He waits as they bring it to their mouths, holding his breath as each takes a tentative bite. Finally, Ximena breaks the silence, wrinkling her nose. “It’s kind of… bitter.”

“You mean it’s fucking awful!” Mona spits the blob of flesh into a napkin, disgust curling her lip, and she wipes at her tongue rapidly.

He glares at them steadily but can’t disagree once he cuts his own piece. It tastes wrong, flesh too chewy, too tart on his tongue. His eyes water as he swallows it down; he closes the switchblade and chucks the entire melon into the trash.

Maybe this whole thing is a fucking waste of time.

Maybe nothing would ever bloom at this shop.

~~~~~

Winter also brings Toby.

Colt hears the engine roar from the loft and, when he opens the bay door, he gapes at the blaze before him, raging from the hood of a modded-up import.

“It’s not supposed to do that.” Toby leaps from the driver’s seat, grabbing the fire extinguisher that he apparently keeps conveniently under the passenger seat.

“No shit.”

“I think I dialed the ignition force up a little too high, but with a couple of modifications-”

“What are you doing here?”

Toby’s jaw drops. “What do you mean? I heard you were building a new crew.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you suck at the delicate modifications needed to create the next generation of revolutionary sports cars, and you also wouldn’t know your way around surveillance technology if it bit you in the ass and bought you a milkshake afterwards.”

What the... Awkward phrasing aside, he’s not wrong. “What the fuck. Is everyone just gonna waltz right in and…” Colt trails off as Toby walks away, tripping over nothing on his way down the hall.

The cheer when he strolls into the break room is loud, raucous. Colt wonders when his shop became the thrift stop for local rejects.

He wonders why he does nothing about it.

~~~~~

“I’ve heard they like it when you play music for them.”

Colt looks up. “The fuck?!?”

Toby peers down at where he is carefully packing more soil around the base of the stem. “The plants,” he explains, eyes blinking wide behind his thick lenses. “I think they like music. Do you wanna borrow one of my German trance electronica CDs?”

“God, no,” Colt snarls, standing and wiping dirt on his jeans before turning heel, storming back into the shop.

After watching for two days (weren’t there supposed to be flowers sprouting on this fucking thing?), he finally buys a wireless speaker, hiding it next to the fence. At first, he tries classical; based on a quick internet search, soothing orchestra is recommended. However, the strings gnaw on his ears and, even worse, the plant still looks like shit.

Once he’s annoyed with that prissy crap, he flips to music he likes and is amazed when the furled leaves seemed to get greener and greener. Colt can just make out 2pac as he stares in amazement at the plant. Will I see the penitentiary or will I stay free? He shakes his head and walks away; he doesn’t know shit about plants.

~~~~~

She comes back for Spring Break, too. He doesn’t even need to drive by her house; she posts a picture at LAX, beaming grin filling his phone screen as she poses at arrivals.

He waits, doing petty jobs and minor repairs, anything to keep his hands occupied, but it doesn’t stop his mind from racing. Finally, on the fourth day, soft footsteps edge onto the shop floor. He tries to keep his eyes from widening; based on her smirk, he doesn’t succeed.

He doesn’t even let her speak, crossing the floor in five steps, arm on her wrist, dragging her upstairs so he can push her against the door.

“I’m not gonna apologize.” He says it into her mouth, words rushed to shorten the time before her lips were on his.

“I would never expect you to.”

“You know how important this is to me.” Her fingers curl in his jacket as he rolls his hips.

“I know,” she moans as his lips slide down her neck. “I just want… you could be so much more than this. I don’t want you to destroy yourself.”

He makes his way back up to kiss her ear. “Fuck, Ellie.” His voice is low with promise and she shivers at every word. “I’m going to destroy you.”

She laughs joyful and clear as they fall into bed, and he reacquaints himself with the curve of her shoulder, the soft skin of her thigh. The dirt under his nails leaves streaks of grit down her back, over her ass, and he scrubs her clean in the shower, catching the droplets of water as they fall from her lips.

“How long are you staying this time?”

She’s in a towel, water still dripping from the pile of hair at her nape, skin glowing from being scrubbed clean. Colt had never seen anything so radiant. “I’m home until Sunday.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“Tonight?” She bites her lips, eyes wide on his.

“I’ll take tonight.” He leans over to pull on the fabric, dropping the towel to the floor. Beaming, she squeals as he pulls her back into bed. If he only had tonight, he was gonna make it fucking worth it.

~~~~~

They try the melon again. It’s May and the days are getting longer; snooty colleges would soon let underclassmen fly home for the summer.

He tries not to think about it.

He cuts through the fruit, three pairs of eager eyes around him, and hands out crescents, his leg bouncing under the table as he waits and watches the crew take hesitant bites.

“It’s…” Mona chews thoughtfully. “It’s not bad.”

Ximena smiles. “It is definitely better than last time. It’s not very sweet, but at least it’s not terrible.”

“Thanks,” he replies dryly.

“What do you guys mean?” The words are hard to comprehend over the entire wedge that Toby has crammed into his mouth. “This is incredible!”

Colt takes a tentative bite. It definitely wasn’t as bad as last time, the sourness of the last attempt now faded into an inoffensive tartness. The flesh is soft against his tongue, but it’s not sweet; unlike the fruit from the store, it is bland, inoffensive, boring.

At least it’s edible, a marked improvement from when the first fruit sprung from the barren soil.

Only Toby takes another piece, but Colt counts it as a win.

~~~~~

The soil disappears easily, lather carrying it down the drain as if it were never there. The grease is more difficult, solvents and scrubbing not enough to take everything off, and he can see the dark lines coating his skin for days, until they are as much a part of him as the freckles dotting his nose and the scar under his rib cage.

He carries other dirt with him, foul and dark, and no amount of scrubbing will ever make him clean.

~~~~~

He almost thinks she won’t come back, not this time, that Spring Break was a bittersweet goodbye and her full year away has convinced her that her new life is a better fit, holding more promise than a crew still finding its legs and growing into its reputation. He fears her time in the books may have taught her she belongs in musty libraries and dim corridors, soaking up knowledge like she soaked up gearshifts and speed, and that formulas and theories would replace the itch to drive fast and take chances.

But he’s wrong.

The door opening on the shop floor barely twinges his consciousness, and the increased chatter doesn’t stir him either. He just rolls over, burrowing his face into the pillow.

But the hands sliding down his bare back definitely jar him awake and he whirls, brain working far slower than his limbs, and it takes a minute to come to grips with the figure in front of him. When he finally realizes that she isn’t some dream-induced phantom but is real, a corporeal figure perched over him, morning sunlight glancing off her hair and fingers solid at his back, well, then he moves, quickly pulling her down before she can change her mind, relearning how she cries out and moans his name.

After, her body drapes over his, slick skin on slick skin, and his fingers trace their way up her back, her forearms; he’s comparing the real Ellie in his arms with that of memories and dreams and his mental mapping is disturbed when her lips forms words, hot against his chest. “Have you ever gotten something you wanted and realized that you might not want it anymore?”

The question makes him pause; he can think of a million things he’s wanted, desperately, abject need coursing through his veins and making him desperate to destroy all obstacles.

But he can think of only one he has actually gotten. He pulls her close, heart simmering at the question, and drags needy lips up the bare skin of her shoulder, etching tongue and teeth in a haphazard line that only stops behind her ear, when the moan flows through her chest and vibrates against his skin. “I’ve gotten things I wanted and realized that I wanted them even more.”

Her answering smile glows in the sunlight and, yet again, he finds himself again lost to the world of sensation and pleasure and the utter rightness of her body under his.

When she sits up in bed, hours later, he is deeply satisfied when her voice again rasps over his name; he is so distracted by imagining all the things he can do that will make her again dip the vowel, slow and sexy, tongue sliding over the single syllable desperately, that he misses the question. “Wha-?”

“Show me around.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, but...” She tilts her shoulder and tugs the sheets tighter around bare skin; Colt pulls his eyes from mapping the dark marks lining her shoulder and focuses on her words. “I only really saw the break room and your bedroom.”

“The only important spots here.”

She huffs a sigh. “Show me around?”

“Fine, fine.” He trudges out of bed, dressing slower than normal since his eyes won’t stop cutting to her, jealously watching her jeans slide up to cover the teeth marks on her thigh. If she was just going to skip off again, he was going to do his damnedest to memorize the sight of her perched on his bed, glowing in the daylight.

“Ready?” she prods.

He rolls his eyes, throwing on his t-shirt and walking out of the room, taking the stairs twice at a time, hand vaguely waving at the shop floor as he saunters through. “Hydraulic lift. Air compressor. Impact wrench. The piece of shit that Toby swore he could get running two months ago, but the engine still won’t fucking turn over.” He turns to see her trailing careful fingertips over a toolbox. “Can we go back upstairs?”

“Is it like your dad’s shop?”

He starts. Usually he bristles when people mention Pop, fury and regret and a deep need to prove himself just below his skin; however, there is only curiosity brimming in her eyes, a hint of concern below the surface. He has nothing left to prove to her. “What?”

“I dunno. Does it have everything the old shop did?”

He shrugs. “Mostly. There’s more space, so I added in another lift. We also have the lot, so Tony has been collecting more pieces of shit that he swears will be vintage collectors one day.”

“There’s a lot?”

“Hm?” He eyes the distance between them and the stairs, probably 50 feet, but he could get Ellie back there and up to the loft in seconds if he were properly motivated. “Yeah, out back.”

“Can I see?”

Internally, he groans but nods, leading her out the back door and into the sun. It’s the same dust pit as normal, and he casts an unimpressed eye around the heaps of metal. However, Ellie looks enraptured, peering around the wrecks, walking the perimeter in slow, careful steps.

“Wow, it’s huge.” He shrugs; he feels the tips of his ears reddening and tries to fight it, but it’s a lost cause when she gazes at him like that. “Wait…” She pauses, eyes falling to the ground. “What’s that?”

“What?”

She kneels to the ground, hovering over the dust to stroke careful fingers over the melon. “This.”

“A stupid plant.”

“A plant?” She blinks up at him, squinting against the midday sun, and this time he can’t suppress the huff.

“Yeah, it’s a stupid melon thing. It was here when I bought the place and I’ve been trying to actually get something decent, but it’s fucking pointless.” She stares at him so long he fidgets, rocking back on his heels. “We’ve tried it a couple times, but it never tastes good. And I looked up when to water it and the guy at the shop blathered on about soil and sunlight, but it never seems to come out right.”

She falls silent again, and he stuffs his hands in his pocket, waiting until she finally asks, “You… you did this?”

He gapes. He did everything in this fucking place, from installing the bay doors to filling the tool chests to even putting together the bed she had just fallen apart in. “Yeah?”

“Huh,” she murmurs, eyes falling on him as if she was just seeing him for the first time.

He rocks back on his heels. “It’s just a stupid fucking plant.”

“I just… I never expected… you...” She stares at him, piercingly, as if she could see right through him, deep inside his brain to his deepest thoughts and desires and fears, deep to where she had already twisted tendrils inside him that he could never prune. “I thought you were gonna burn yourself down.”

“And I said we were both gonna be great.”

She bites her lip, considering, and Colt has the dawning realization that can actually, finally get what he wants. “When are you supposed to get fruit?” she asks and his heart skips a beat.

“Well…” He calculates days in his head. “It flowered a week ago, so I dunno, three more weeks? A month?” A smile spreads, slow and sure across her face, and Colt realizes that things will be different. “Why?” He smiles back. It’s impossible not to break into a grin when she looks at him like that, like he answered a question she never asked. “You gonna stick around?”

~~~~~

And when they finally cut into the melon, a week after he built two more things (a desk and a dresser, painted in such an audacious shade of pink that he smirks every time he walks into their room), he licks the juice dripping from the corner of her mouth, sucking the sweetness and laughter onto his tongue. It tastes amazing. It tastes like home.

Tags:

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#RoDAW #colt x mc #colt kaneko #n*fw #ride or die: a bad boy romance #playchoices fanfic #amy wites #cw: police #very brief police mention #but its there #it is late and i am tired #amy writes

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anemonenemerosa · 4 years

Text

The Spare Chapter 8

Hello fellow people,

the next one.

At first thank you all for reading and supporting me! It really means a lot!

Secondly: this chapter gets dark. So please stay safe. TW for metntal struggles, self-harm and alcohol abuse.

The SW-verse belongs to the lovely @lumosinlove and the HP characters to JKR.

Chapter 8

Regulus had always prided himself with his poker face. He could fool anyone… except his mother. She knew he was sitting on something huge and kept pestering him as soon he stepped into the dining room. Despite his mother’s elaborate and well-practiced interrogation methods, he kept his mouth shut. I know your methods, mother but this time I won't give in.

On the other hand, Walburga knew Regulus, too. She knew exactly how to push his buttons but before he could crack, the interview went online and wreaked havoc over the house. It was bad but luckily, in a twisted sense, also bad enough so his mother would suspect this to be his secret, not his brother’s sexuality. For now, he was off this particular hook and had time to bury his secret too deep for anybody to find.

Sirius texted after leaving this morning "Regulus, rappelle moi s'il te plait." Please call me back.

Regulus couldn't. Firstly, he was sure that Sirius hated him now. And justified as it was, he couldn’t hear the prove of it in his brother’s voice. Secondly, the explosion of Walburga and Orion’s wrath, that Regulus fell victim to, left him with the very first black eye his father ever gave him and the promise of his mother to never leave him unsupervised again.

Now, Sirius has to share this special category of their mother with me...

Every of his steps would be watched now, every word he wanted to say conformed to her liking first. Besides, even if he was brave enough to call, his phone was still spied. Due to his new status, he was watched too closely sneak out and get himself a secret one. Also, Sirius had his people to care and comfort him. He did not need him.

I should have seen it coming, shouldn't I? Once again, Regulus chided himself for keeping his head too deep inside his own ass.

He was aware, that the interview most likely hurt his brother deeply and how remorseful Regulus felt about that now, it was the intention. He also expected his parent’s disapproval, to put it in mild words, but what he forgot to consider was the reaction of the media and public. His brother was beloved and not known for the unfair game Regulus accused him of. While the hurting part probably worked out, the Snakes, but especially Regulus, were caught in the crossfire from angry fans. The whole commotion was, of course, dutifully covered by the media, which circled the progress of events like vultures. Besides the shitstorm he evoked, Regulus really didn't expect the Death Eaters to turn their backs on him immediately. It was their idea after all.

So, the public was ripping him apart and his mother only called to check on his behaviour. Why, he did not know, given that was basically grounded. His father was too disappointed to talk to him at all and the Death Eaters resumed being indifferent towards the rookie while the second and third rank of the team gloated on his downfall. If he needed to get somewhere, Narcissa or Bellatrix kept at his side. NHL-salary was rather generous and they didn't have to work, so the women were free to accompany Regulus to everything outside practice and games, except the bathroom. Narcissa was annoyed and bored by babysitting-duty but Bellatrix seemed to enjoy tormenting Regulus.

Too cruel for her level of madness, this one.

He began wishing to talk to his brother even he would receive a lot of shit for messing up.

"Regulus, rappelle moi s'il te plait." Please call me back. Regulus wanted. But he couldn't.

His blissful mornings of light fiction reading didn't bring him peace anymore. His focus outright refused to stay on the books. His family, the Snakes and the interview with its consequences were all over his mind, suffocating everything else. Regulus stopped talking to people. Not that he was talkative to begin with. All the people mingling with his brain in his past couldn't erase his introverted nature. But his ingrained wariness towards others developed into something resembling paranoia.

The longer he thought about how he had let himself be used by the Death Eaters for their nasty operations, the worse it got. Not for the first time, but stronger than ever, Regulus felt not just reluctance but downright refusal to take part in any of this. The spiteful antics of his family and the Snakes were complicated, exhausting and plainly atrocious.

The stupor he seemed to have been all this time ashamed him... he understood Sirius a little better now and he would really like to talk about all of this. But there was no one trustworthy around, not even Mrs. Kreacher would keep quiet if her mother urged her to speak. Slughorn, the team’s psychologist wouldn't keep shut either if Riddle decided he wanted to know what was going on. Medical confidentiality was a mere suggestion, when it came to Riddle.

-oOo-

Christmas drew closer and with it came all the things Regulus deeply despised: Cheesy music and decorations, ridiculous sweaters, forced cheerfulness, glitter and lots and lots of people. People in every place, at every time; there was just no escape.

This gets worse every year, Regulus had trouble to stifle his grumbling while he shuffled through the overcrowded mall Narcissa had dragged him into for Christmas shopping.

Where do all these people stay the rest of the year? Is there a special place they are kept just to be unleashed come December? What is even the use of all that cheap nonsense people throw at each other under the glorified piece of vegetation?

Disgruntled as he was, he had to admit that this hell, specifically designed for him, kept him a little distracted from the upheaval in his brain. Fans and media got bored by Regulus lack of response to the interview and stopped caring somewhere along the increasing lunacy that was the Holiday season.

At least they leave the tea in peace. Regulus eyed the menu in front of him with narrow eyes. Is there even a coffee-like beverage left that is not a sugary winter-themed concoction? Wasn't the pumpkin-spice thing enough? Narcissa needed a break and a "coffee", so they stood in the line of whatever type of coffee-shop chain while Regulus' arms were hung with heaps of shopping bags, contemplating to dig himself a grave in his mother’s garden instead.

-oOo-

The call for All Star with Severus boosted his mood for a while. Rookies rarely got the opportunity to participate and he knew he earned it. He was good enough. But of course, the last rookie to make it to Allstar was Sirius, who else, so again it was nothing worth mentioning at home, barely acceptable. But apparently, it was sufficient to placate his parents back to speaking terms.

The Snakes Christmas-party was just as awful as Regulus had anticipated. He was just informed that Sirius would stay in Gryffindor over the holidays. Not that he could blame him but it stung a little. He just really hoped to be able to finally talk to him but couldn't call on an unmonitored phone as his cousins' watch on him did not subside. He wished he could've stayed at home but it was made clear that his was definitely not an option. Regulus dislikes parties any given day. Disliked polite but meaningless small talk, having to feed on tiny bits of food while standing around and wearing evening attire. The prospect of this party, Regulus didn't dislike. This one, he dreaded. Since Thanksgiving and its aftermath, he distrusted most of the Snakes and avoided any contact outside of practice and while he was talking again to his parents, the trust was gone.

"No ifs ands or buts about it! You go!" Narcissa all but dragged him to the Lestrange Estate, where the party took place.

Orion and Walburga were there, too but mingling around with some important and influential people. Probably collecting more information for their pathetic little feuds. As much as he liked sitting in a theatre balcony like Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show, taking the piss out of people, this was getting too far to be considered amusing. Also, there was a reason why Statler and Waldorf were a duo. While never given the opportunity, Regulus suspected that taking the piss off people was more fun together.

The evening went on and the absurd blend of silly games and subtle interrogation subsided into pathetic cockalorum, open hostility and unpleasant jokes as everyone except him got drunker by the minute.

Crabbe and Goyle were the first to succumb into adolescence, reshaping the Christmas pudding into a rather unbalanced pair of -Breasts? Buttocks? A lone scrotum? - while giggling uncontrollably. The same fate awaited about half of the food as the evening went on. The dubious card-game Yaxley and Mulciber were invested with two nameless guys of the third line seemed to change rules by the minute. It came to a sudden halt as Yaxley jumped from his seat and stormed over to Nott, accusing him of flirting with his wife and throwing a badly aimed punch that send a high-priced vase flying instead of crashing into Notts nose. Yaxley’s "wife" was de facto Carrow’s sister while Yaxley’s actual wife was tucked in a different corner, passionately snogging Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus' younger brother.

Amidst that ruckus, Dolohov threw up into the glogg bowl.

Regulus leaned against the kitchen counter, decidedly far away from the commotion and stared in disbelief. People... He gave an exasperated huff and allowed himself an actual eyeroll, not just a mental one.

The Death Eaters kept up a bit more dignity. They exclusively stayed in their group, sipping what looked like more expensive booze. Orion was immersed in a conversation with Riddle, Umbridge, Karkaroff and... one of the NHL governors -Fudge? -. Regulus eyebrows went up. Interesting. But no, he would not snoop. He was done with this shit. Much to Regulus´, and judging by his father’s looks, also Orion’s surprise, Narcissa, Bellatrix and his mother showed a lot self-restrain. They mingled with a flock of other hockey wives and it took uncharacteristically long for them -Crabbe, Nott and Mulciber were already passed out, Goyle and Yaxley were close- to cackle and gossip as loudly as at Regulus' draft-party.

Rabastan and Yaxley’s wife were nowhere to be seen and Regulus thought it was rather beneficial that her husband was out cold.

By now, also the -oh so sophisticated- Death Eaters started to act out. Lucius was bickering with Carrow while Macnair drew lopsided phalli on Goyle’s and Crabbe’s faces and a crooked moustache on the bridge of Yaxley’s nose. Close, though.

Severus coaxed Bellatrix out of Walburga’s cutches and started flirting blatantly. Rodolphus watched the scenery with mild interest.

Around the time when one should keep a careful eye on what was on the floor while walking, Regulus snatched himself a piece of the last cake-shaped cake. He was tired and in a sour mood while stabbing at the unsuspecting and innocent slice. Irritated, he thought about his brother, who probably had a lot of fun. While somewhat happy for him, the envy and feeling of abandonment would just not leave, as much as he tried.

Surely, Remus is fucking Sirius' brain out by now.

Regulus' eyes widened.

Did I just say that out loud? His head snapped up, Bella and Severus staring at him, frozen in their tacks. Oh no. Oh no no no nonono! Merde! Shit! Shit shit shit!

But almost instantly the woman doubled over and sputtered vomit all over a very, very drunk Severus, who swore loudly but was unable to wobble away quick enough. Regulus sidestepped the next flood of her sick and excused himself. It was late enough to leave without gaining suspicion. On the way back to Malfoy Manor, he prayed to every deity whose existence he resolutely doubted, that Severus and Bellatrix were too drunk to remember come tomorrow. He considered confessing the maybe/maybe-not slip to his brother. But the call would be noticed and if Severus and Bellatrix indeed forgot about the slip, he would just urge on their memory. Also, his brother would be furious with him and if he ever wanted to make amends with him, wasn't it unwise to piss him off entirely without knowing that it was necessary?

The next days, Regulus was uncharacteristically jumpy. At dinners, he just pushed food around his plate, dreading the things that were to come. But nothing happened. Christmas came around and nothing happened. New Year’s Eve was two days ago, still nothing. If they remembered, I would surely know it by now. Maybe I did not commit the biggest fuck-up of my life.

-oOo-

After hiding out in his childhood room until the All Star-only practices began, Regulus felt somewhat steady. He had arranged himself with the new circumstances, his revised moral-code and set of minds. His life was unsatisfactory and lonely. He was not happy but it was bearable. Practice went well enough. On ice, he could zone-out. What happened in his life was not of importance in the rink. Hockey is about hockey only. Not friendship, not family, only competition. His mantra made it through his mental refurbishment untouched.

What he thought off the ice was written on another sheet of paper.

At of the last All Star-only practices, shit went straight down to hell. The Death Eaters, filling up for Regulus and Severus to practice certain tricks, were in very good spirits. Regulus felt uneasy at the sight of them, huddled together and sneering. Then, he saw it. He looks happy, in love. His brain supplied while looking at the photos before it caught up. The caption, the comments. Regulus went numb, froze on the spot, barely realising he stopped breathing. Things seemed to happen around him but he wasn't part of reality anymore and only snippets penetrated whatever fog surrounded him.

"Thanks for the hint. I finally got the worthless faggot." Severus smirked and threw him an overexaggerated wink while turning to his stall.

His mother called, she was clearly drunk and kept ranting about the shame of Sirius' abnormity gone public and how furious their father was. He didn't bother to really listen but was certain there were no words of support for his brother or concerns about Sirius' feelings. Sirius, who was thrown into the most hateful part of the internet, who just wanted to play hockey and love who he loved, now having his private life on display for the public to rip apart. Their parents, apparently, did not know who let it slip but Regulus was sure, if they ever found out, he was in for more than a black eye.

He desperately wanted to reverse time, make it unhappen but he knew that this was not an option. This was reality.

I messed up. Everything. Je suis désolé mon frère... I am so sorry brother The typical sarcasm and snark usually accompanying Regulus thoughts were long gone.

Mumbling something about extra laps, he turned back to the rink. Nobody said something, nobody came after him. They did not care and that was just what he needed. He ran laps until he was barely able to stay upright, head swimming, thoughts racing around but impossible to grasp, the weight on his chest suffocating. In the shower, Regulus collapsed on the floor. Sitting on the cold tiles, he was breathing hard as remorse, fear and shame mingled together to an unbearable sort of pain. Tears were running down his face, breath only coming in hard chopped sobs.

Weak - disappointing – undeserving of affection - a meagre replacement, just a spare - not good enough - not fast enough - not strong enough - not worthy – unlovable.

These words kept spiralling in his head as he shoved his hands into his hair and pulled hard. His eyes fell on a shattered bottle beside him. Regulus was desperate to make his brain focus on something else, anything to make it stop. He grabbed the bottleneck and rammed the busted end into his thigh. Regulus did not feel the pain. Everything went blank as he watched the blood pour out of his leg and mix with the water on the floor, shower still running.

The silence brought some peace but something Regulus could not grasp felt off as he continued to watch his blood run down his thigh.

#Sweater Weather #lumosinlove #the spare #regulus black #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Death Eaters

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italiansteebie · 4 years

Note

Heeey prompt thing (if you have time!) What about something where everyone is getting their college applications back and Steve is just getting sadder and sadder because he’s rejected from pretty much everywhere, but he’s trying hard to be happy for everyone else so hides it. But then Billy finds him crying over the latest rejection (I dunno maybe his Dad even tried a bribe/donation and they still said no) and Steve’s thinking he’s dumb and he’s gonna lose everyone and then. (Pt1)

(Pt2) Billy actually reads over Steve’s essay and figured out he might be dyslexic- but no one else ever has. And maybe he gets Steve some help, or gets him to talk about wanting to do something more vocational at college (working with kids in some way?) but just trying to please his Dad or something like that??

Steve has 6 unopened college response letters sitting on his desk. UCLA, University of Michigan, Penn State, Baylor University (He thought Texas might be fun), Huntington University, and Indiana State. He should get into at least one, Indiana State, because his dad sent the admissions office “extra incentive.” He starts with UCLA, rips it open as best he can with shaking hands.

“Dear Mr. Harrington,

We’re sorry to inform...”

He stops reading, already knows he didn’t make it. He reassures him self that it’ll be okay. One is sure to say yes.

University Of Michigan

“Dear Mr. Harrington,

“We’re sorry to inform...”

Penn State

“Dear Mr. Harrington,

We’re sorry..”

Baylor University

“Dear Mr. Harrington,

We’re sorry...”

He takes a deep breath, and wills the tears not to form. He trembles as if he’s freezing and grabs the Huntington University letter, he prays that he got in to at least one college on his own.

Huntington University

“Dear Mr. Harrington,

Unfortunately you were not accepted for the fall semester.”

Indiana State

This one should be better, he thinks.

“Dear Mr. Harrington,”

He takes a breath.

“We’re sorry...”

“No.” Steve can’t breath. He didn’t think it was possible. They didn’t want him, even with his father’s generous donation. He backs up to the wall and slides down until he’s sitting and buries his head in his knees. Silent tears track down his face, he takes in a shuddering breath. He sits there for a while and contemplates what he’s going to tell his dad. He knows he’s going to get shit for it, and proved his father right, he really is too stupid, and he’s just a disappointment to the Harrington name. He’s pulled out of his sorrow when he hears someone pouting on his front door. He runs to the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face, takes a couple breaths, and makes sure it doesn’t look like he’s been crying for the past hour. He walks down the stairs and stands in front of the door, preparing to have a “pleasant” conversation with whoever is standing out there. He opens the door and Nancy and Jonathan are standing there with matching grins.

“Steve! Jonathan and I got accepted into Indiana State! And Jon got accepted into an art School in Chicago too!” Nancy cheers as she throws her arounds around him in joy. “Did you get your letters yet, Steve?” Jonathan asks, and Steve just shakes his head, “Not yet,” he mutters out in a fake hopeful voice. “Well when you do, we need to celebrate!” And Steve agrees, mustering the best smile he can. He can’t bring down their moods just because he’s not smart enough. He forces himself to be happy as he congratulates both of his friends.

Days pass, and every time Nancy calls asking if he got his letters, he denies, denies, denies. A week after his rejections, a smiley Billy shows up at his door with a piece of paper in his hand. “I got in to UCLA! Isn’t that great Stevie? Now you and me can move to California, and go to school together and leave this town behind!” Billy exclaims. Steve just grins, happy to see his love happy, “I haven’t gotten my letters yet,” Steve lies and tries to not think about how he’ll never escape Hawkins.

Soon after Billy comes over, he’s got the kids in The Party up his ass, wondering where he’s going and how far he’s going to be “Leaving us behind, Steve!” as Dustin so nicely put it. He denies and says he doesn’t know, hasn’t decided yet. He gets away with lying for about a month and then everyone has received their letters and there’s no way Steve hasn’t received his yet.

He tells Nancy and Jonathan first, the disappointment on their faces hurts more than the actual rejection letters themselves. “Steve, how? You- We studied together every Monday and Wednesday after winter break together.” Nancy asks, a frown pulling at her lips. “Yeah, Steve. I thought we worked on your essay. We wrote a good one. Together.” Jonathan probes, wondering how this happened. Steve sighs, “I sent in an essay I wrote myself. I wanted to get in with my own work. I thought it was a good idea. Guess not.” He confesses. They leave, looking like Steve had deeply betrayed them, and he couldn’t help but feel like he did.

When he tells the kids, they’re not sad. Or disappointed in him. In fact, they’re happy. “Yes! Now we van keep using your house for our sessions! And I’ll still have my best friend!” Dustin exclaims, Steve’s heart swells at the best friend title. At least some people don’t think he’s a total failure.

He saves Billy for last, reading seeing the disappointment when he tells him he won’t be going to UCLA with him. When Billy comes in, he notices right away that the mood is not its usual. “What’s wrong, Stevie?” Steve doesn’t like the concern in his voice, it makes him feel guilty. “Bill... I didn't get accepted into UCLA,” “Oh, Steve, that’s okay. We can study together at State!” quick to solve the problem, not letting Steve’s news get him down. “But Billy, I didn't get accepted into State either. I wasn’t accepted anywhere.” Steve sniffles. He keeps his head down, not wanting to face the man infant of him. “Can I see your essay?” Billy asks, walking away, not waiting for an answer. “I guess, it’s really bad though.” Steve shrugs, and runs to his room to grab the original copy of his essay. “Gotta see what was so bad that all those snotty schools didn’t want my boy,” Billy says as he reads. When he finishes, he looks up and studies Steve’s face for a minute. “Is it really so bad you can’t say anything to me?”

“Have you ever been tested for learning disabilities?” And Steve looks positively offended, “Wh- No? I’m not- No. Harrington’s don’t have problems,” he says, his fathers words coming out at the end. “Since I was little, my teachers wanted to get me tested... But they stopped pushing for it with the help of my father’s money. I didn't need to get tested because.. Well, because Harrington’s don’t have learning disabilities,” Steve reveals, and he spits out the last two words like they burnt his tongue. “Steve, I know why you didn’t get accepted, why you have so much trouble in school.” Steve looks up at him, “I think you have dyslexia, Stevie. I don’t know how miss smarty pants Nancy and her investigator boyfriend didn’t figure it out.” Billy tells him gently.

“This means this isn’t the end, Stevie! You can go to schools, different colleges, that’ll have the right resources for you! You can come to California after all!”

Steve comes to terms with the new revelation and he and Billy take off to the library to do some research. After a couple of days of searching, Steve finds a school in California. He applies, and holds his breath when he opens his letter. With Billy standing next to him and gripping his hand tightly, he rips open the envelope.

“Dear Mr. Harrington,

We’re ecstatic to welcome you for the fall semester! Congratulations!”

Steve lets out a shocked laugh, like he can’t believe his eyes, and turns to Billy. “I did it!” “You did it.”

They tell The Party, and Nancy and Jonathan, and everyone is so happy for him. “I knew you could do it, kid.” Chief Hoppers says, looking at Steve proudly. The kids are a little sad, but feel better when Steve assures them he’ll be back at thanksgiving, and they can throw a week long D&D session at his house.

In the fall, Billy and Steve set off in the Camaro, a tiny apartment and 2 colleges wait for them on the west coast. Billy can’t drive fast enough.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #my writing #steve harrington #dyslexic!steve #billy x steve #billy hargrove x steve harrington #text post #harringrove fic #prompt fill #anon ask #stranger things

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brichan87 · 3 years

Text

Trying out a new story

Been working on a new story: a new take on the superhero genre. Figure I will post it here and see what people think. Still a work in progress but feel free to leave feedback.

Chapter 1

The morning cold seeped into her bones as she shuffled into the kitchen not quite ready to face the world. Her eyes opened to narrow slits, filtering out all of the world except her intended target. The sky outside was still dark and caused her mind to plead for her to go back to bed. Yet, as she does every morning, Tally resisted the urge to turn around and return the the bedroom.

The winter holidays were fast approaching; however, the days seemed to be lengthening while her energy diminishes more and more each day. Every morning she should wake up feeling refreshed and revitalized; instead Tally feels more exhausted than when she went to sleep, defeating its entire purpose. Meditation, tea...nothing seemed to help which caused her frustration to increase with each failure. Why waste that time sleeping if it did nothing for her?

Part of her understood that the stress of the season was adding to her exhaustion. Between the decorations, preparations for guests, and trying to that holiday scene perfect for social media, it was natural for someone to feel burned out. And her second job only added to the exhaustion. However, Tally could not shake the feeling that something was not right.

Something about this exhausting felt strange: like it was unnatural. Maybe it was just her trying to explain away her stress and fears as reactions to things that are out of her control but something inside of her was screaming “danger!” The damage dealt to her arm the night before did not help her with the feeling of impending doom. For such minor injuries, the pain level kept creeping up over night.

“Maybe I need to call the doctor to get checked out,” Tally mumbled softly as she wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic mug waiting for her on the counter. The smell of orange and cinnamon wafted through the air causing her brain and body slowly began to become more alive.

“Hey, that could have been mine,” a voice teased from behind her.

Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, she saw her boyfriend set down his tablet and stand up from the table. Making his way into the kitchen, he popped open the refrigerator door and dug out some ingredients. After mixing some of them together, the man walked up to Tally and placed a small kiss on her cheek before handing her a bowl of fruit and yogurt.

“Me, tea. You, coffee,” she grunted. Last night was a rough one; getting in at one in the morning definitely made her less than cheery at 5 A.M. But the soft smile she got in return made her heart flutter as she reached out and grasped the bowl that he held out to her.

“Wow. Didn’t know I was dating a caveman.” Bradie chuckled as she flashed him a less than loving hand gesture. “Alright, alright, I get it. Mornings are still not your thing. I appreciate you sacrificing your chance to sleep in to spend some time with sad, little me who has to be at work by seven in the morning everyday.”

“Sad, little you is exceptionally cheery today. Why?”

“Because it is the last day of school before Thanksgiving Break. So not only will I have 5 days of no work related activities because I was ‘a good child’ who got all his lessons planned before the break, but tomorrow I finally get to meet your family.”

THUNK!

Every dish on the table rattled as Talaleigh let gravity drag her head down until her forehead struck the surface; whether or not the groan she let out was out of pain or frustration was a mystery to both of the people in the room.

“Are you sure we have to go visit my family? It’s really not too late to say something came up,” she pleaded. The table muffled the sound of the words but the dread managed to ring out loud and clear. “We can even hop a last minute flight and go see your parents. Or a nice, quiet couple’s Thanksgiving. Anything but going to see my family.”

The room was silent for a few minutes then Bradie let out a soft sigh as he slid into the chair opposite of hers. “What’s going on, Tal? Because you never want me to meet your family. And I try to not be offended by it but more and more it is starting to feel like you are ashamed of me.”

“No, not you,” she reassured. Lifting her head up, Tally reached across the table and rested her hand on his forearm. “Never you. You are amazing. Smart, intelligent, kind, good-looking, amazing, and I know I am repeating myself here but it is true. It is not you that I am trying to hide.”

Standing up from the table, Tally grabbed both of their cups and took them into the kitchen. “It’s just that…,” she began as she poured Bradie more coffee and began to brew herself a new cup of tea. This conversation seemed easier to have if she was slightly distracted by a separate task. “My parents are a little nontraditional. Loving, supportive people but definitely different. Nothing like your parents. And then my brother,” she continued as she brought finished the preparations and brought their drinks back to the table. “He and I really don’t get along at all. As in we get into fights pretty frequently. And they are not small fights.” As much as she tried to fight them back, a few tears began to fill her the corners of her eyes. “And it sucks because he were actually really close as kids, but then something happened and it has never been the same since." Grabbing a tissue off the corner of the desk, Tally wiped away the tears before they escaped. "So it is not that I don’t want to show you off to my family, it is more that I don’t want you to bear witness to the kind of crazy you’ll be tied to if you stick with me.”

“Oh honey, I’ve already witnessed that crazy. However…” he paused to duck the wadded up napkin being thrown at him. “I love you too much to care what your family is like. They are a part of you, so I am sure that I will love them just like I do you. And if not, I promise we never have to see them again. Deal?”

A twitch of her lips revealed her thoughts before she gave him a small nod. "Deal, but that means you.." A yawn fought its way to the surface, breaking off her comment. As she brought up her arm to hide her mouth, her sleeve slipped down, exposing several bruises and cuts littering the expanse of her forearm. Most were shallow but a few of them were deep enough to require bandages until they scabbed over.

“Jesus Tal!” Bradie exclaimed. He clamored out of the chair and knelt by her side. “Those look bad. Why didn’t you say anything?” He gently grasped her wrist to examine the wounds. Rolling up her sleeve further, he noticed some areas that looked like they were burned by some sort of chemical: the skin was red and pebbled with tiny bumps.

Tally half-heartedly tried to pull her arm out of his grip but her boyfriend was not done investigating the wounds. "It’s nothing, really. Just ran into some trouble with a nasty plant last night, and it left me with some scratches and little poison ivy I think. Not a big, oh sh------” she hissed as Bradie accidentally grazed one of the wounds with his fingernail. Waves of pain pulsed through her arm, and Tally squeezed her eyes shut while trying to ride out the pain. When she was able to open her eyes again once the pain faded away, Talaleigh felt a twinge of guilt when she laid eyes on her boyfriend. Disapproval was sketched all over his face.

“It’s not a big deal, my ass,” he grumbled, letting her arm go as he stood up. “You should have woken me up.” Reaching into the cabinet above the sink, he shoved boxes and bottles to the side, digging for an item buried in the back. “You know I wouldn’t mind helping you clean up your wounds. If anything,” he continued as he pulled out a first aid kit and made his way back to her side. “It would help me because then I wouldn’t have mini-heart attacks every time I find one on accident.” He knelt down beside her and held out a hand, waiting for her to place her care literally and figuratively in his hands. Tally did not hesitate to comply.

“I know,” she replied softly. She winced a little as the man at her knees started to apply antiseptic to the cuts on her arm. Flames licked at the wounds as the medicine killed the bacteria surrounding the edges of the cuts. For the second time in the past five minutes, Tally felt tears welling up in her eyes. But these tears were different; they were for the man who loved and worried about her enough to risk being late for work in order to take care of her. “I know it scares you, and I’m sorry. I...I just figured that I had it handled so there is no point in waking you just so you could worry more.”

A hand reached up and brushed off a few of the tears that had escaped to her cheek, surprising Tally because she did not even notice them leaving. Then a pair of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and brought her to his chest. The continuous beat of his heart soothed her frayed, emotional nerves and surrounded her with warmth and safety.

“I will always worry,” he whispers in her ear, causing more tears to join the ones that he erased a moment earlier. “It is just the price of loving someone who cares so much about others and will do whatever she can to help them. And I know your job is important but so are you. Don’t make sacrificing yourself the first option you pick. Can you promise me that?”

A flurry of emotions raced through Talaleigh. Her instincts to make light of serious issues warred with her desire to comfort the man before her. All of the thoughts and feelings swelled up in her throat, making it impossible for her to speak. So instead she slowly nodded her head against Bradie’s shoulder, smearing tears over the shoulder of his shirt.

“Okay,” she croaked. “For you.” The two sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the comfort of being near each other. However much they desired to spend the rest of the day cuddling like this, both new that the real world would soon be calling. Sitting up, Tally wiped her face off with her sleeve and glanced at the clock. “And now I have made you late. So sorry.”

“Nah, I’ll still be there on time. I’ve got no copies to make and probably very few children there today, so no need to get there early. What are you up to today?”

"Nothing special, I hope. Probably spend a little time straightening up and then most of the day working on my book. Hopefully I can get a chapter done before we leave tomorrow. Since I worked last night, I should be a 'last resort' call but we know how that goes sometimes."

"Well, I hope you have a quiet day of writing because no matter what happens, tomorrow will be a day to remember." Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her cheek then headed to the door. "Remember to use your powers for good, not evil," Bradie called out as he walked through the doorway.

“Very funny,” she yelled as the door closed behind him. “It’s not me you have to worry about."

Collecting the breakfast dishes from off the table, Talaleigh carried them to the sink and began to clean them, losing herself in the routine of dipping her hands in and out of the hot, soapy water. Her mind drifted to her family and what might be awaiting her tomorrow. The prospect of introducing the one she loved to her family should be thrilling since it is proof of how committed Bradie and her are to one another. However, the fact that she cannot even begin to imagine how her family will behave in front of her boyfriend was making her incredibly anxious.

How long has it been since I went home, she thought as she placed one of the dishes in the drainer. It has been at least a year, if not longer. I mean mom and dad did come visit me here in the spring. So I have seen them just haven’t visited them. And they haven't met Bradie yet even though I promised them we would stop by a month or two ago. But things have been crazy between work and Bradie hardly gets any long breaks until the November/December time frame. And I did see Axel last month but God knows that was anything but enjoyable...

Anger rushed through her veins at the thought of her younger brother. The brother that she always put first. The brother who she sacrificed her free time to take to friends' houses and after school activities. The brother she practically raised. The brother who turned his back on her.

She slammed the pot in her hand down into the sink, sending a spray of bubbles and water over the wall and her shirt. “Damn him,” she ground out as she flexed her hands over and over, trying to release the fury boiling under her skin. “I swear if he does anything to ruin this holiday he will regret it.”

A shrill chime echoed through the room, dragging Tally out of her pensive state and back into the real world.. “Oh you have got to be kidding me,” she groaned as she dried her hands on a dish cloth before heading back to the table to grab her phone.

“Hello? Yes, it is her. No,.. see I worked last night and have the marks to prove it. Got tangled up with… no, the pun was not intended! Yes, I’m fine but..look! I don’t mean to be short or sound disagreeable but I have a life too and there are other people who can handle this. I mean what's the point of having a union if you are going to keep calling up the same people all the time. So unless you can explain to me why it is so important for me specifically to be there, I am hanging up and turning the phone on silent.”

The speaker on the phone had to say only three words before she interrupted him with a brusque “I’ll be there in fifteen” and ended the call. “Eff my life,” she grumbled as she threw the phone onto the sofa while heading into the bedroom to change into her costume.

When Bradie joked with her about “using her powers for good”, it wasn’t actually a joke. For the past year Talaleigh has been working as the superhero Safeguard, and she has just been called onto another assignment.

#story #writing #superhero #mysterynovel

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