#i spent a weird amount of time mapping out their relationship in my head... maybe 1 day i will write the full fic

[trevorsgodmother]

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼… (C.S ☁️)

Warnings: Just tooth rotting fluff, kissing, literally that's it. POV: First person (reader) Summary: Chris and you are having a quiet night in...

Chris is laying down on his back, yapping about his day. I'm half-listening, reading my book at the same time while leaning against his headboard. I put my novel down and crawl over, laying on my stomach so now my face is hovering over his, upside down. A bit like Spiderman and Gwen in that one alleyway scene.

His words get cut off by a grin, slightly flustered by my sudden attention. "What're you doin'?" He asks innocently. I shrug, giggling quietly for no reason. He brought me out of my shell, helping me to become much more affectionate over the course of our relationship (maybe a backstory..?).

"Nothing" I shrug. His hands reach out to play with my hair which has formed a curtain around us (sorry to all my short hair baddies 😭), twirling the strands between his fingers subconsciously. It may seem weird to others, but we loved staring at each other. It never felt awkward or weird, just... comforting. We could go on for ages, with no words being spoken, just looking at each other like we were studying pieces of art. Our highest record was an hour straight.

Chris smiles softly. "I love ya so much..." He leans in to press a gentle kiss against my lips. The corners of my lips curl upwards. "I love you too..."

He lets his eyes travel all over my face, from the soft shape of my nose, to my pink lips, and eventually ending up at my eyes. I reach down and absentmindedly start tracing over his familiar features, his eyes fluttering a bit in contentment. My finger runs over his sharp jawline, gaunt cheeks, high cheekbones, smile lines, full lips and the crinkles around his eyes. I travel along a path i've ran my hand over a countless amount of times, like i'm mapping him out to stay in my memory forever.

Both of us adored the feeling, of being loved, not judged, and just existing silently with someone we share so much of ourselves with. He is pretty loud on a regular basis, and I had fallen for his golden retriever personality and extroverted soul, but quiet moments like this made me realise how calm he could be. And how much we enjoyed the silence and lingering touches.

Light rain pitter-patters on the window, adding to the relaxed vibe of the dark room. Chris closes his eyes, my feathery touches and the soft sounds of the weather plus our breathing making him tired. I chuckle, tapping the tip of his nose. "You sleepy?" "Yea..." he mumbles. We shift around a little until we're both laying down, his head on my chest and him half on top of me. I scratch his scalp tenderly, loving the feeling of his hair in my fingers.

He hums, breathing already slowing down. Our hearts beat in unison, a steady rhythm that lulls us to sleep. The night is spent cuddled up in each other's arms, mumbling half-coherent words in our sleep, just so comfortable with each other.

So content.

A/N: Literally almost threw up writing this!! (I ate a lot of candy today). Also a lil break from the angst. New AU possibly..? (Chris x quiet!reader) TL: @hearts4werka @stvrnzcherries @m00nl1ghts1vt @spaghetti835928383 @pvssychicken @moonlightsturns @snowysosturn DONUT STEAL 🥶 Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3 -Ropitipop 👁👅👁

☞ Masterlist

[winetae]

⇨ set myself on fire (m).

ex bf!yoongi. college au. 3355 words. slight age gap, slight angst. hand holding. dirty talk, possessiveness.

With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

.

.

Break-ups, you eventually learn, are not a good look for you.

Self-doubt keeps you awake at night more than caffeine ever has. The lack of proper sleep has disastrous consequences on your school life and your general appearance.

Even the most skilled makeup artists would consider you a lost cause. All their professional training and years of experience would not be enough to breathe new life into your dull and haggard appearance, not when your exhaustion is still so visibly apparent through the layers of concealer you regularly apply under your eyes. When you stare at yourself in the mirror you see a ghost, a creature from the past anchored in the wrong reality.

This goes on for a week, then two. You probably would have hit the third week mark if your friends hadn’t staged an emergency intervention.

“Your first big split can be hard, I get it.” Mari pats your shoulder. “That’s why you gotta listen to us. This can't go on any longer than it already has.”

Liz is a little less sympathetic. She’s always hated your ex-boyfriend and has no reservations reminding you of what an asshole he is.

You don't agree with her snide remarks but know it's useless to argue. Any objection has her rolling her eyes.

"You think being nice is ignoring your calls for a week?"

"It wasn't a week-"

"Do the details matter?" she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "If he really respected you, he'd let you know he was gonna be busy instead of letting you waste your time and energy worrying about him."

Maybe she's right. Maybe you need to stop finding excuses for his every action.

Thanks to your friends' gentle but firm guidance you learn that there’s a code of conduct one must follow post break-up. Detailed steps one must take to numb the side effects of heartbreak.

It’s challenging to keep track of every little thing you’re supposed to be doing - and not doing - but you’re determined to become a functioning member of society once more.

RULE 1. BLOCK THAT MF. Your friends collectively warn you to lose your ex’s number. Delete it, block it, forget it. It makes moving on easier, they insist.

RULE 2. STAY OFF SOCIAL MEDIA. Don’t keep tabs on him. Seeing him be happy without you will make you swim in misery (and wine).

RULE 3. KEEP BUSY. Meet with friends, talk to family. Study, work out - whatever keeps your mind occupied.

The list goes on, some rules making less sense than others, but you’re so desperate to move on at this point that you’re willing to try just about anything.

It works - for the most part. You’ve never been more social in your life and the constant human to human interactions take up most of your free time and energy.

You try your best. Really, you do. It’s not enough, but it helps. So far you’ve successfully avoided any major meltdowns.

RULE 13 : NO LISTENING TO SAD SONGS/WATCHING SAD MOVIES in particular has kept you from recreating the typical kdrama scene where the lead wallows in her own sadness, a tub of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, before a nicer, smarter, more handsome love interest sweeps her off her feet.

It’s week six, almost week seven, when your friends decide that you’re ready to take the next step.

“What you need is a distraction,” Mari says, wagging her eyebrows, the implication of her words evident.

“She’s not that kind of girl.”

“What do you mean?” Except you know exactly what she means. You just want to make her say it. 

“Well, aren’t you the relationship type?” it’s defensive, like she knows she’s said the wrong thing. 

“Sometimes.” You say, but the answer is distracted, your mind elsewhere.

You’re thinking about lists and rules, adding this one to the ever growing manual you’ve sworn to follow. RULE 26. DATE OTHER PEOPLE. THERE ARE OTHER FISH AT SEA.

“You don’t need to find the love of your life right now. Just - like go out, have fun. It doesn't have to be a big thing."

"Why don't we go clubbing!" Mari proposes, excitement building in her tone. "Even if no one catches your eyes, I think it’ll do you some good to go out. We haven’t been out together in forever!”

You think about the alternative. Going home, watering your plants, microwaving the leftover lasagna, feeling bad for yourself. Reluctantly, you nod.

“That settles it then!” Liz cheers, already making her way to her closet to dig up the perfect outfit. “We’ll help you find a hot rebound. Nothing is better than good dick to help you realize there are plenty of great options!”

Next to you, Mari nods sagely. “It’ll help you - make you realize that there are other guys out there. Your world is much bigger than one single person, no matter how great you thought they were.”

Her words of advice settle into your bones, haunting. You want to believe her but if there's anything these past weeks have taught you, it's that your heart is stubborn. It cares little about what's better or nicer or kinder.

When you return her smile, you know deep down that you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.

.

.

.

.

Rule 26 is tiresome work, requiring more effort than advertised. But like every rule before this one, you give it your best shot.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to zero in on tonight’s target.

The guy in front of you is handsome. Objectively. Prominent features with long lashes and pouty lips. Slicked back hair, well dressed, and clearly on the lookout for a one night stand. He ticks all of your boxes - if you had any to begin with. 

Somewhere over his shoulder you see Mari shoot you a thumbs up, grinning like a proud mom, and the sight helps steel your resolve. You can do this.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to shift to the dance floor, chests pressing against one another.

His hands on your waist are warm. The way he’s moving his body - the slow grind of his hips against yours - it should be enticing.

But you feel - detached. Your brain registers everything that’s happening to you in an almost clinical way. Two hands, a set of lips, the rub of stubble against your cheek. Your body is responding in a rehearsed fashion, like it’s following a set of pre-set instructions, and all the while your mind is elsewhere. 

You’re not distracted, you realize. You’re bored. The space between your ribs and beating heart is just as hollow as it was before. Briefly you wonder if the emptiness will ever fill itself back up again, or if you’re supposed to live the rest of your life searching for the missing pieces that used to make you whole.

“Gotta go to the bathroom.” You squirm out of his grasp. There’s no point in playing this game anymore, not when the promised prize is this lackluster.

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

He nods, smiling, but his eyes are already flitting around the crowded room, on the lookout for your replacement. You wander off, weaving through the crowd of swaying bodies, and take a left instead of right, heading for the backdoor instead of the bathroom. 

The midnight air is cool against your skin and you breathe it in greedy gulps.

Your mind clears and suddenly fatigue seeps in. Here, hidden in the shadows, you allow your mask to slip. You’re tired of pretending that everything is okay, that this endless list of do's and don’ts you’ve been following is the only way to achieve happiness.

And maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that you should stop running away from your feelings. That no matter how much you pretend, the truth is always there, sitting under the scabs you’ve covered up with makeshift bandages.

There’s a pull, a magnetism you’re weak to. Your eyes land on his familiar figure like you knew he was there to begin with and your world comes to standstill. A feeling you can’t name threatens to burst from your chest.

The gravity must be a two-way street, one of two planets circling around each other, for his gaze somehow lifts and your eyes meet for the first time in months.

The moment he spots you, a three second beat passes with him frozen in place, like his body doesn’t know whether to flee or disappear into the ground. Then, after a small eternity, he relaxes back into his signature slouch, resigning himself to whatever twisted plan fate has schemed against him.

When he doesn’t budge from his position, you decide to approach him, well aware this is going against RULE 4 : AVOID YOUR EX AT ALL COSTS. ANYWHERE HE IS LIKELY TO SHOW UP, DO NOT GO. With every step you take all of your hard work goes down the drain but -

But.

For the first time tonight, your chest thrums with nervous anticipation. You feel alive again - not a shell of the person you used to be or a puppet imitating who you wished you could become.

“It’s been a while," you start off, hoping it comes off casual. It doesn’t. 

He sneaks a glance in your direction before looking back down at the cigarette plucked between two lips. He lights it and takes a long drag before looking back at you. 

“You’ve been doing well.” 

The phrasing throws you off. It’s not a question so you don’t know how to answer. You also don’t know why he thinks that, if it’s the fact you’re out right now instead of sleeping through the pain of a broken heart, or if he’s asked one of your friends how you’ve been doing. Maybe he’s seen your life through pictures, drawn up conclusions that only reinforce his decision.

“… I’m trying to.” 

Trying. With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

Something in his face softens at that. Maybe he realizes it, too. 

“You will be.” He says it with a note of finality, of certitude. Like the few years he has more than you grants him knowledge you’re not privy to.

“Well, what if I won’t?” You huff, wrapping your arms around yourself. “What if - what if I feel like this forever?”

It’s a childish question, one that probably cements his view of you. In the past you’d always crafted your sentences with care, trying to match his maturity in words but the break-up has made you realize he’d always seen through your act.

A smile plays at his lips, not reaching his eyes. “Forever is a myth. You’ll see - you’ll find a guy who actually deserves you, and everything I said will start to make sense.”

It’s infuriating - the way he decides these things for you without your consent. Like your feelings don’t matter when faced with logic and facts.

“I love you. Doesn’t that count for anything?” 

“You don’t want love,” corrects Yoongi, albeit gently, like he knows his words might shatter you if he isn’t careful. “You just want me.”

You swallow, mulling his words over. Trying to understand the unsaid.

“I’m no good for you.” He repeats his words from the break-up.  

“But-” You look down, frowning. “What does that matter? I’ve always been happier with you. Now I’m just - I’m…I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

Your voice tapers off. You just feel so stupid. Young, stupid. Sifting through the ashes of your relationship, desperate to salvage the bits that hadn’t burned to dust. 

Unshed tears blur your vision. You clench your jaw, determined to not break down completely. Yoongi's features twist, his heart weakened by your pathetic appearance, and for a fleeting moment you can see past his unyielding veneer.

“Kitten,” it’s spoken softly, so softly you can pretend it’s a term meant solely for you. 

You can see he regrets saying it as soon as the word tumbles out, unbidden. A slip of the tongue. Yet, you latch onto the sliver of comfort offered before he can take it back.

As soon as you step into his personal space, your world shifts on its axis and adjusts. You feel all the floaty parts of yourself slot into place as they were meant to be. 

“Yoongi, I miss you.” 

When he stares into your eyes, you don’t look away, hoping he’ll see the truth for what it is. How those three words fail to sum up the extent of your never-ending yearning. 

“It’s for the best,” he says. Still, he allows you to take his free hand in between your own. It’s cold to the touch, like his skin is carved from marble, but it only makes you squeeze tighter, hoping your warmth will be enough for the both of you.

“Maybe.”

If life was a chess board, with set rules and clear winners, maybe you’d relent and accept that there was a better fit for you somewhere out there. Someone who was emotionally available, who made time for you, and gave you the validation you needed.

You didn’t start dating Yoongi expecting these things, though.

“But what relationship is perfect?” You demand hotly, fire in your veins. “I’ve never wanted that from you. I don’t care about that. You said I didn’t want love. That’s not true. I don’t believe what you gave me wasn’t love.”

Yoongi listens, patient as always. He takes another drag from his cigarette and silence hangs in the air, heavy with want and regret.

“It’s not fair to you.” He looks away, weak. “I feel like I can do anything and get away with it. I don’t want to have that kind of power over you.”

Your mind races as it processes his confession. It’s the first time he’s phrased it in other terms than ‘you should’, ‘you deserve’, you, you, you.

“I don’t…can’t we work out this out together? Is it easier for you to shut people out than fix things? Was it… was it that easy breaking up with me?”

“It’s not easy.” He wets his lips. “It hasn’t been easy. I only - I’ve only wanted what was the best for you. What I thought would be the best for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I was hurt, though.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand back. The touch is everything you remember - secure, comforting, reassuring.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never wanted that.”

“I know.”

A pause and then, whispered in the night for only you to hear, “I’m afraid I’ll keep hurting you.”

“Whatever you’ve done in the past… It hurts more now, when we’re apart.”

He swallows audibly but his eyes never leave yours. In them, you see your emotions reflected. Logic and facts are meaningless now. The love you'd tried to smother out blazes into a wildfire, so untameable and overwhelming Yoongi can only get caught in it.

When you stand on your toes and lean in to press your lips against his, he doesn't move to stop you. What remains of his cigarette falls to the floor by his feet, forgotten.

.

.

.

It’s disgustingly easy falling back into bed with Yoongi. You’re partly to blame, though, for having built your world around him, for programming your body to only respond to him. When he kisses you and your knees go weak, you can’t imagine anyone else getting you this keyed up. His hands play you with as much skill as a virtuoso masters his instrument, plucking sigh after sigh of pleasure from your lips.

“These are cute.”

His thumb plays with the small bow adorning the front of your brand new pair of underwear. A self-care gift to yourself. They'd looked nice when you'd tried them on but now they look slightly out of place - the ruffled, pale pink fabric a stark contrast against his black bed sheets.

“Yeah…” You lift your hips, trying to entice him without needing to voice out your needs. “Wanted to get laid tonight.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi smiles but there’s an edge to it. He laughs as he snaps the band of your lace underwear against your hipbone. “You planned on bringing any old guy home tonight?”

Yoongi doesn't get jealous. But - sometimes - he gets weirdly possessive, intent on reminding you how only he affects you. It's silly, this need for validation, especially because you've never shied away from telling him how much you want him. You suppose that's just another difference between the two of you - you speak love in words, him through actions.

“Uh-huh. Wanted to forget.”

“Hmm.”

His hands continue to map out your body. He's lazy about it, like time isn't important - even though the both of you have to be up by seven to catch your morning lectures.

“Found someone but - wasn’t fun. Only thought about - ah - you.”

“He would’ve been so lucky, though. Look at you.” His hands travel up your thighs, opening up your legs further so that you’re exposed shamelessly. “So fuckin' pretty.”

Your mind flickers back to the guy you'd danced with earlier. You can't even remember what he looks like, let alone his name. All you know is that no one in that club you could have gone home with tonight could ever measure up to this.

“You still get so wet, kitten.” Yoongi kisses down your neck while deft fingers slide under the band of your underwear. He swipes through the small puddle of arousal, his fingers ice cold against your heat.

A moan escapes your lips, your hips pushing down against his hand in search for more friction. He lets you do as you please for a few drawn out seconds before pinning your hips in place, growling against your ear in warning.

“Tell me,” He forces you to hold his stare. “Would you have let him play with your pussy, hm?”

You bite your lips, hesitant. “N-no.”

“Liar.” Yoongi kisses you, tongue pressing against your own, until you can’t think straight. “You think he would’ve gotten you this wet? Sopping like this?”

His fingers thrust harder to prove his point, loud squelches ringing in your ears. It’s so fucking embarrassing to hear the proof of your desire but Yoongi smirks, amused by your discomfort.

“No, no.” You moan, pussy clamping to keep him buried deep. “Only y-you. I’m yours.”

“That’s right, kitten. I trained your pussy to take cock, get it this fuckin’ wet.” He yanks off your new - now sodden - pair of underwear and stares between your legs, famished. A shiver runs down your spine, each filthy word going straight to your core. "Gonna make you squirt all over my tongue. Remind you who this pussy belongs to."

"Fuck." You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid that the image of Yoongi's head between your thighs will be enough material to push you over.

"Look at me." Yoongi slaps your thigh, his expression unforgiving. "You're gonna watch me while I eat this pussy."

You nod, already half delirious. You know you're no match for his tongue - a fact he loves reminding you the best way he knows how. Before meeting Yoongi, you'd always been wary of the idea of oral sex. What if you smelled weird? Looked weird? You'd never imagined a guy could actually get off eating you out but Yoongi literally thrives off the sounds you make when his lips are attached to your throbbing clit. He wants you loud, neighbors be damned.

"Cum whenever you want," he instructs, lowering his head so that he's eye level your soaked cunt. Hunger is set deep on every line of his face, the muscles in his jaw tense from having to hold himself back.

You blink, not believing him for a second.

"Cum," he challenges, his pupils dark with arousal. "But I'm not gonna stop until you're begging for my cock."

[tossawary]

Chapter 27: “The First Day” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

-

Right now, deep into the safety of darkness, Shang Qinghua thinks about how he never actually expected to be lying in his bed with Mobei-Jun. No, there’s a reason his sofa is comfortable enough to sleep on! That was by design too! Sure, Shang Qinghua had lots and lots of bed-related fantasies, but he had no expectations of those fantasies ever coming true. He didn’t dare to have expectations.

It’s kind of weird, lying in bed with Mobei-Jun. It’s definitely weird lying in his bed partially on top of Mobei-Jun. With the way things were headed, Shang Qinghua was admittedly fostering some hopes about those bed-related fantasies, but he still didn’t think to mentally prepare himself for the practical details. He really wasn’t mentally prepared for the softness of Mobei-Jun’s hair, for the thickness and the weight of the man’s arms, or for the coolness of his skin against the warmth of the blankets.

Fuck, now there is no way that Shang Qinghua is going to be able to see Mobei-Jun with a plunging neckline without thinking about touching the man’s bare chest. It’s a nice chest! It feels great underneath Shang Qinghua’s hands now.

He can feel a steady heartbeat beneath his fingers.

He can feel the gentle rise and fall of it with the man’s slow breaths, as the man’s eyes have fallen comfortably closed.

Shang Qinghua has never seen Mobei-Jun this relaxed.

-

AN: Moshang in bed together is very good. I loved writing Moshang cuddles. I think it’s really nice when they’re allowed to be soft and relaxed, and everything is understood between them. Mobei-Jun at this point has learned to treat Shang Qinghua like a particularly anxious cat sometimes - if he just stays still and relaxed, eventually Shang Qinghua will calm down and chill with him. 

Shout out to Mobei-Jun and all those years he spent trying to get some hint as to how human social everything worked, only to get nearly no help from Shang Qinghua. In this fic, part of the idea is that Shang Qinghua has been a slightly better communicator. Mobei-Jun can be a good listener when he doesn’t feel hideously embarrassed over his fuck-ups. 

-

“I had made plans to speak with you at some point about… this,” Mobei-Jun agrees. “But that was not why I had come to see you that day.”

“Ah, what… what was it, then?”

Mobei-Jun sighs. “I had come from a gathering of demon lords, hosted by my father at their request. They have loosely agreed to each contribute to an attack on the next conference of human cultivators,” he explains, apparently annoyed at just having to recollect this event. “My uncle encourages my father to force my involvement. He must have trouble planned… or see an opportunity for it.”

Shang Qinghua processes this, then sits bolt upright in bed. “What?!”

Mobei-Jun frowns up at him.

“There’s a demonic alliance to attack the next Immortal Alliance Conference?!” Shang Qinghua demands, leaning over the demon lord beside him.

“Yes.”

“And you waited to tell me this?!”

“There are years left before this event,” Mobei-Jun points out.

Shang Qinghua stares at him.

Sure! But he feels like he should start planning now! He already knew that there was going to be a demon attack of some kind - the seal on Luo Binghe’s powers has to be broken - but demon lords getting involved is bad news! Multiple demon lords who are important enough to be socializing with Mobei-Jun’s father is worse news! Demon lords potentially including Mobei-Jun’s shitty father and shitty uncle is the worst news of all!

“You should warn your people,” Mobei-Jun says, dryly.

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun doesn’t care about the sects, but he cares that Shang Qinghua cares. Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua really are villainous in SVSSS. Shang Qinghua just so happens to sometimes be on the protagonist’s (Shen Yuan’s) side and Shen Yuan has romanced a budding tyrant who has MBJ as a loyal minion. But, oof, I didn’t want to go that route with this fic. 

I mean, I considered it! I considered having Shang Qinghua be forced to bring a demon invasion down on the sect he’s come to care about and his own nephew, but that felt a little too angsty for me. It totally could have been good, I was just like, “I can’t handle that.” Plus, with the world update, it felt fitting to jazz things up a little bit - to up the ante by inviting more demon lords and also have a little role reversal by letting Mobei-Jun be the spy. This way, I think, it really feels like Mobei-Jun is on Shang Qinghua’s side. 

Shang Qinghua isn’t on the demons’ side. Mobei-Jun isn’t really on the humans’ side. But they are on each other’s side. They’re a team! 

Again, what’s more romantic than your demon boyfriend actually doing the work of growth on his own? Moshang can be a little rough and with a lot of sharp edges (on both sides, they’re both kind of mean people) sometimes, so it’s sometimes nice to remember that they can support each other too. 

Also, I’ve always been kind of curious about what Mobei-Jun’s family thinks of his relationship with a human. Mobei-Jun’s father is still alive throughout SVSSS, so it’s fun to think about ice demon politics, power and influence and loyalty in that court, and whether that factored at all into Mobei-Jun’s extremely slow-moving courting timeline of a human. 

-

The person at the door knocks a third time, and Shang Qinghua feels the person beside him stir. He can feel a not insignificant amount of weight shifting, a low and unhappy grumble, and cool skin brushing against his own as that person makes to get up. Possibly to handle the person at the door? Shang Qinghua here abruptly remembers many important details about his current situation that make the sect potentially being on fire seem like a not-so-bad emergency.

 “Demon invasion,” Shang Qinghua finds himself thinking. “Mobei-Jun. Fuck.”

“No, no, no! Don’t get up! I’ll get it!” Shang Qinghua cries, throwing off tangled blankets and flying out of bed. “I’ll handle it, my king! Sorry! Ahhh, sorry! I’ll take care of it, you can just stay where you are-”

Shang Qinghua, now on his feet, pushes firmly down against Mobei-Jun’s chest. He’s not expecting the man - a very, very strong and very, very stubborn demon lord - to go back down under his hand without any resistance at all. This easy obedience, this willingly being pushed down, leads to a surprised Shang Qinghua overbalancing and catching himself hard on Mobei-Jun’s chest and shoulders.

As though Shang Qinghua is actually pinning the man down.

Mobei-Jun stares up at him, eyes low-lidded, and raises his eyebrows.

Ah.

Wow.

Shang Qinghua is going to… well, he’s going to think about this for the rest of his life, probably.

-

AN: Mobei-Jun is so self-conscious in SVSSS that it’s kind of hilarious. So it’s fun to let him be a little more confident (rather than arrogant and lashing out defensively). Mobei-Jun probably thought to himself here, “You know what’ll be funny here? If I just go down now.” I feel it in my heart that Mobei-Jun is a teaser, especially when he’s relaxed and happy. 

- 

Shang Qinghua takes the time to fix up his appearance a little more - to get rid of the “I slept with a demon” smell - because if the asshole at his door has kept it up this long, they can wait a little longer. It turns out that he didn’t really need to bother, because it’s his fellow transmigrator and most dogged critic, Peerless Cucumber.

“Bro,” Shang Qinghua says seriously. “Do you have a deathwish?”

Peerless Cucumber - Shen Yuan, Shang Qinghua has to remember to call the kid by his real name - lowers his hand with a scowl. “...One of your disciples told me to knock on your door and keep knocking until you answered,” the other transmigrator says defensively. “After I said you said to meet you in the morning.”

“...Which one?”

“Wen Shufen, I think?”

“Ah, just for that prank, Sticky Fingers is going to be hauling fertilizer for Long Sheng Peak for a month,” Shang Qinghua says tiredly. “Bro, do not believe half the things your martial siblings here tell you. They’re pretty much all liars, cheats, and thieves.”

“Then why keep them around?”

“Ah, well, sometimes you need someone to lie, cheat, or steal.”

“...It’s nearly not morning anymore, you know.”

“Eh, I guess you get a pass this time, since I did tell you we’d have a nice long talk about things tomorrow morning. Come on in.”

- 

AN: I don’t know if this vibe is coming across, but Shen Yuan feels a little ignored and neglected. They just got back from a mission and Shen Yuan has already been shooed off like twice. Shang Qinghua is so busy. Shang Qinghua is so experienced and so established here. Shen Yuan has latched onto SQH as his lifeline, though he’s trying very, very hard to be independent, and yet Shang Qinghua kind of has SY on the back burner most of the time. 

Not only is Shang Qinghua the author of this world, but he’s also an important figure in this world. Shang Qinghua really lives here and if the plot wasn’t looming over them, SQH would be very happy here. This place feels 100% like Shang Qinghua’s | Airplane’s world and brand new transmigrator Shen Yuan feels like an unwanted intruder. SY is still lonely and scared. 

- 

“...Are you going to try to activate it now?” Shen Yuan asks.

“Hmmm… no, not right now,” Shang Qinghua decides, standing up off the dusty stool he was sitting on. “Cucumber, bro, I’m just not awake enough for tackling anything serious right now. Let me get a few texts and tools together first to test this thing properly, alright? Some safety equipment! Aprons and face shields! Thick, fireproof gloves! I’m still trying to figure out how to safely ask Duan Tianyu what he knows about this map the System apparently made him send me, when he might not even know what the fuck I’m talking about! Maybe he can give us some hints.”

“Who?”

“One of my Huan Hua not-disciples,” Shang Qinghua answers. “I picked up some extras a few deadly missions back. They’re good kids. All grown up now! Less naïve than they used to be! Duan Tianyu is teaching back at Huan Hua Palace now, so maybe I’ll have to be the one to wander over there on some pretense.”

Shen Yuan agrees that getting as much information as possible is probably the better course of action. Shang Qinghua ushers the kid out of his secret basement and his fellow transmigrator goes easily enough. Shang Qinghua complains about his shitty, no-good System on the way up for forcing them to do all the work by themselves.

“It must think everything is more ‘authentic’ if I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” Shang Qinghua suggests, removing his spiritual seal and causing the door to the secret basement to vanish. “Ah, I’ll admit that’s kind of cool to watch.”

-

AN: Throughout this conversation, SY is kind of reaching out, giving himself or Airplane excuses to let him stay. It’s not that he doesn’t want to cultivate, but SQH represents a sort of safety and familiarity SY doesn’t have right now. 

In SVSSS, Airplane was always pretty direct with Shen Yuan, from what I remember, but he wasn’t necessarily open. He was direct about some potentially vulnerable or personal topics, like Luo Binghe’s insanity or his own general fear of his character’s planned death, but that’s not the same as actually being vulnerable. They snap at each other, they’re pretty direct about their personal goals, but they don’t actually get vulnerable with each other by confessing their personal fears and new relationship developments. 

So I’ve tried to adopt that here, while making Shang Qinghua a little kinder and slightly more vulnerable, thanks to the efforts of Luo Jiahui. But Shang Qinghua still isn’t necessarily open here and neither is Shen Yuan. He’s just like, “Hey, it’s shit and I don’t like it either, but what can you do?” He’s not actually seriously talking about his breakdown or just how scared he is of his own plot. 

For some people, there’s a certain kind of openness in confessing things to a stranger, so it’s kind of like that too. Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan have fallen into kind of familiar dynamics, because there’s nothing else to really do, and they are kind of acquaintances, but they’re still not friends yet. 

I think I want to have SY and SQH actually address this soon. SY feels that SQH has been kind of dropping the ball when it comes to honestly helping his fellow transmigrator, though SY, being SY, can’t quite put his finger on the lack of emotional intimacy and affection that he’s starved for right now. 

- 

The day-in-day-out of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect can’t get him down today! He feels kind of like he’s walking on air! Sure, the work never stops and there are some fucking terrifying things ahead, but he just had a very successful mission overall! He just had a really, really successful conversation with Mobei-Jun! He and Mobei-Jun are romantically entwined and Mobei-Jun was very explicit about the fact that he expects them to be romantically entwined… pretty much indefinitely!

“There is no one else,” Mobei-Jun had said. “There will be no one else.”

Shang Qinghua fostered a lot of hopes over the years! More hopes than he felt that he should have reasonably fostered! And to have those hopes unexpectedly fulfilled like this is… really something! It’s really, really something! Mobei-Jun really isn’t the type of character to say that - to say any of the things he said, and wow, he said a lot of things back there - without meaning it completely.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t really know what to do with that.

Forever is a long time.

He understands, of course, that some things really do last an impossibly long time. He used to be pretty certain that all love matches faded eventually - that people were genuinely wildly in love… that people were sincerely in love with each other, sure… up until they inevitably weren’t anymore - but now he can’t really imagine Liu Qingge or Luo Jiahui ever getting tired of each other. Liu Qingge keeps bringing Luo Jiahui new recipes to try and rare ingredients to interest her, so she can make dishes for the two of them or her family as a whole, and Shang Qinghua can easily imagine the two of them doing that pretty much indefinitely.

Shang Qinghua can’t think about this for long, before he has to focus on greeting his disciples (it’s just Peng Hongpeng and Chen Xuan in here at the moment) and getting to work. “Good things last while they last!” he decides for now, because thinking about things not lasting kind of makes him feel like he’s dying.

-

AN: Shang Qinghua can’t quite bring himself to believe in a relationship lasting forever right now. Part of it is his commitment issues, but another part of it is his persisting inability to see past the looming plot. He’s still worried about Luo Binghe and the Eternal Abyss, so he’s having difficulty seeing past that hurdle, even though things like Luo Jiahui’s marriage and his new relationship with Mobei-Jun are forcing him to confront the fact that there’s still a life outside of and beyond the plot. 

For Shang Qinghua, it’s kind of a “I’ll think about that later if we all survive” thing when it comes to him and Mobei-Jun. 

- 

“He made a mistake with good intentions and got a small injury for it,” Shang Qinghua says, as reassuringly as he can. “He’s fine! He’s in trouble with his shizun for it, though, but I’ll see what I can do about bringing you up to meet him or bringing him down here as soon as possible. I’ll do my best to make it happen!”

Luo Jiahui leans into Shang Qinghua’s side and admits, “I miss him.”

“He misses you.”

“I miss you too,” Luo Jiahui adds.

“...Ah, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” his sister-in-law says warmly. “I’d miss you even if you visited every day.”

Shang Qinghua is holding her hands, but it feels like she’s got an extra one wrapped around his heart. “Where’s that husband of yours? Doesn’t he come down the mountain every day? Should I be telling him off? Sorry I ran off with him for a little bit!”

“What does Qingge have to do with you and me?” Luo Jiahui demands. “It doesn’t matter how often I see everyone else, I still miss you and Binghe the most.”

“Hm, that’s a point! That’s a point.”

What else can Shang Qinghua do but admit that he misses her the most too?

-

AN: It was fun to follow up Shang Qinghua’s romantic developments with a return to his most important and longest relationship: the one he has with his “fake” sister. Luo Jiahui is and always will be important to Shang Qinghua and who he’s become. They have such a lovely relaxed feeling that’s nice to revisit. I’ve missed Luo Jiahui these past few chapters, as things get twisted up more and more in sect business. 

It would feel dishonest to the rest of the fic if Shang Qinghua’s other relationships disappeared in favor of his new romantic relationship. They all have their own importance. Mobei-Jun and Liu Qingge don’t make Shang Qinghua and Luo Jiahui any less important to each other. 

I am looking forward to making Mobei-Jun and Luo Jiahui meet again, and tackling some of Mobei-Jun’s thoughts on Shang Qinghua’s relationship with his family. Mobei-Jun has a really shitty family, so it’s interesting thinking about what family means to him and how loyalty/love plays into it. 

- 

While he's busy plotting around the plot, there’s a hum of power behind him, the cool whoosh and crackle of a portal opening, the faint hair-rising warning of demonic energy. Shang Qinghua finishes tapping at his own face in thought, looks up at the looming shadow standing behind him, and smiles. He kind of feels like he should run away, but it's too late for that now. He held on long enough that he made it too late for himself.

“Hello,” he says.

- 

AN: I took this almost exactly from the first chapter of Part 3 of this fic. I can’t remember the chapter number, but it was the one titled “The Inevitable Plot”. 

Parts 3 and 4 of this fic blend together a little. Part 3 of this fic kind of ends here, but I have a couple more chapters that I want to tackle before I feel that I can say we’re for sure in Part 4? I have some things I want to accomplish before we go into a slight time skip towards the Immortal Alliance Conference. 

[iatethepomegranate]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (for now)

Relationship: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

Summary: After Aeor, Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha. For the first time in more than seventeen years, he has some semblance of stability. Caleb is not sure he's ready to handle it, but he's trying, and his friends are eager to see him live a good life, by force if necessary.

And then Soltryce Academy approaches him with a job offer, which could give Caleb the chance to protect the next generation of wizards the way he had needed at their age. Caleb's goal of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else, however, takes a far more personal turn than even he could have anticipated.

(In other words, here is a fic about Caleb settling down and learning how to be a person again. Also Professor Widogast will be a thing. Fic title is a lyric from I Have Made Mistakes by the Oh Hellos. Chapter title is a lyric from Mind by Sleeping At Last. More detailed tagging and notes are available on AO3.)

_____

Chapter 1: It's the first brush stroke of a self-portrait

Caleb had mixed feelings returning to Rexxentrum after spending so long in Aeor… and everywhere else he had been, including a fucking flesh city in the Astral Sea. Sure, he had popped back to Rexxentrum regularly to update the Cobalt Soul on his discoveries, and to testify at Trent’s trial, during the conclusion of which he had the satisfaction of turning down Da’leth’s offer to assume Trent’s position as the Archmage of Civil Influence. But now he was back on a more permanent basis.

He didn’t know what to do with that information. With this place, that was both so familiar and so foreign. Full of some of his best memories, and some of his worst.

Caleb had spent so long avoiding this place, or at least the challenging parts of it, and now Beauregard was dragging him and Yasha down the street, infodumping about a house she wanted the three of them to buy together.

“Caleb, don’t give me that look,” she said. “You’re gonna love this place. I know you like your space, dude, and this is the best of both worlds. It’s technically two houses, but there’s, like, a door between them so we can visit each other. Because you’re a fucking genius but you also forget to feed yourself.”

Yasha smiled at Caleb over Beau’s head. “She’s not wrong, Caleb.” Her soft tone made Caleb a little emotional, but he categorically refused to start crying in the street. “I like my space, too. This is a good balance. And there’s room for a garden.”

“Yasha’s not an Empire citizen,” said Beau. “It looks better if there’s two of us Empire kids on the deed so no one thinks any weird shit about her.”

Caleb sighed at her. “I will look at the house, Beauregard.”

Beau yanked them around the street corner. “It’s a great location. You can walk anywhere. I can get to the Archive, and you can get to the Academy.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Maybe. Astrid says hi.”

The implication that Astrid and Beauregard had been speaking to each other recently was of concern. Caleb was too tired to unpack it. He would find out what that was about eventually. It was not worth Beauregard’s sibling-level mockery if he tried to extract the information early.

“Oh, and Veth sent you this,” said Yasha, passing a wrapped package over Beau’s head.

“Yeah, I might’ve told her we’re buying a house together,” said Beau. “She made Yussa send that to the Soul so I could grab it for you.”

Caleb didn’t open the package, but he did shake and squeeze it a little. It felt like coins. A lot of coins. Oh, Veth. Still taking care of him from miles upon miles away. They’d both come so far from Veth sneaking coins into his pockets because he had felt strange about taking her money even when he desperately needed it.

“Danke,” he said softly. That was all he could say, before he risked bursting into tears again. That was happening to him a lot lately. It… wasn’t the worst thing. More of an inconvenience. He chose not to unpack it.

Beauregard was looking at him strangely. He elbowed her. It probably hurt his elbow more than it hurt her, but she was successfully distracted from his bullshit. She punched his arm. Even holding back like she did, his arm did go numb for a few seconds.

Yasha sighed. “Children, we’re almost there.”

Caleb had been down this street before. Rarely, as it was entirely residential. But sometimes he, Astrid and Eadwulf would explore the city to find excuses to get away from the Academy, especially after they had commenced their training with Trent. But, with Caleb’s memory, he could call upon the map he had drawn in his mind. This was a middle-income area on the southern edge of The Tangles, home to mostly professionals--well-off storeowners, any researchers who did not live in the Shimmer Ward or have access to quarters with the Cobalt Soul, some teachers, architects. Largely people looking to settle down with the money to stay out of the Mudtop Ward.

It was close to the Shimmer Ward, a little southwest from the gate, but not so close that Caleb felt an itch on the back of his neck. The Tangles were the oldest part of the city, with narrow looping streets with little logic to them. This area was slightly newer than most of The Tangles, but still old. Regardless, The Tangles were fairly central to the city and an easy starting point for any travel. If you didn’t get lost on the way out.

This far south in the area, the houses were a little more spaced out. A little more green space, more gardens. Duplex-style houses were common, mostly built of old stone or lumpy brick on the first floor and clay bolstered by wooden frames above that. Children were out in force, running and screaming through the narrow streets while their parents watched from the porch of their homes. Well, for those who had porches.

“There she is,” said Beauregard. They had stopped in front of another duplex-style building, newer than some of the others but still respectable in age. The first floor was made from dark reddish brick and the upper two floors panelled with dark wood to bolster the white clay walls. The first two floors were full in width, and the third consisted of two dormers peeking through the darkly thatched roof.

There were two entrance doors on the ground floor, each spaced a third of the house’s width from the outer corners. The rectangular windows were framed in white-painted wood, dividing the glass on each window into six little squares.

Before the three of them was a low wooden fence, also painted white. The paint was chipping a little, revealing the deep brown heartwood that Caleb suspected was oak. There were a number of oak trees in the Pearlbow Wilderness. Caleb had slept under them several times in worse days. Oak was rather expensive, if he remembered correctly. He usually remembered correctly.

“She’s pretty hot, right, Caleb?” Beau said, snapping out of his hyperfocus on the history of timber in the Zemni Fields.

“Oh… ja.”

“Cool, so the owner will be here in a few minutes to let us in so we can have a look. She wants to sell the place as a package deal.”

Caleb had, in some ways, trained himself out of being too attached to places or most material things (with a few exceptions such as his spell components, spellbook, and the letters he had written to his parents). Unless there was something horrifically wrong inside, he didn’t care where Beauregard and Yasha wanted to live. It was practical that they live together, after all. Caleb had healed immensely this past year, but he was self-aware enough to understand he probably shouldn’t live alone. Of the Nein, Beauregard knew how to call him on his bullshit and Yasha understood him pretty well and knew he needed space sometimes, so it was a reasonable arrangement.

“I am really not picky, Beauregard.”

“Yeah, because you still don’t care enough about yourself to give a fuck about this. We know.” Beauregard looped her arm around his neck, dragging him down to her level so she could rub her knuckles across his scalp, ruining the two narrow braids Essek had worked from Caleb’s hairline to his messy ponytail that morning before they had parted ways beside the secret entrance to Aeor. Caleb talked himself out of getting upset with Beauregard over it. She couldn’t have known, and she was being affectionate like he really was her brother.

Once he was free, Yasha fixed the braids, and Caleb had to stop himself from crying again because she had noticed it bothered him and just… fixed it without making it a thing. Beau straightened her expositor’s garb, clearing her throat.

“Sorry, dude.”

Caleb conjured a mage hand to tug on her ponytail. Beau swatted at it, but her hand went right through it. She gave him the finger. Yasha finished fixing the braids. Everything was normal again.

The owner, a half-elf woman with long blonde hair coiled into a bun that looked like a cinnamon scroll, arrived and immediately shook Caleb’s hand.

“Mr Widogast, a pleasure. These ladies have told me a lot about you. My name is Alphira Winterheart. I teach evocation at the Soltryce Academy.”

Caleb still felt a spike of anxiety when he heard the name of that place. At this point it was ingrained, even if he held out a small amount of hope he would get to teach there one day. It would be easier to fight corruption if he had some say over what the Academy put into those children’s heads.

“A pleasure,” Caleb replied, a little flatter than he had intended. He mentally shook himself, remembering to actually grip her hand for a proper handshake. “Evocation? I used to specialise in that area.”

“Ja, Ms Lionett told me you are now a Transmutation specialist but still frequently partake in the Evocation school in your travels. I’m glad to hear you intend to put down roots here in Rexxentrum. I would love to exchange theories over coffee.”

Beauregard smirked. Caleb remembered a conversation with Essek where they had agreed to return to Aeor and exchange theories. They had meant that literally. But it had indeed sounded like a euphemism to someone like Beauregard. Well, she hadn’t been wrong in the end, but certainly the intent at the time had been more about a meeting of minds than a meeting of…

Caleb concentrated on the conversation in front of him instead.

“Ja, I would enjoy that,” he replied. “What level of Evocation do you teach?”

“Oh, I teach the beginners.”

“And you live here in the Tangles?”

“I did,” said Alphira. “Archmage Beck has offered me lodging on her estate, so I am selling this house. It was always a little large for one person, and it seems you three could make better use of it than I did.” She leaned closer to Caleb, as if to tell him a secret. “The place on the left is where I prefer to experiment and study. I would recommend you look at that one in particular. The dormer is slightly larger. You could even put a teleportation circle up there if you were so inclined, given your need to travel.”

“Danke.” Caleb still felt a little weird about Rexxentrum mages not wanting to kill him, but he didn’t sense any untoward motives from this woman. She seemed genuinely friendly. “How… is the new Archmage settling in?”

“I have no complaints. She seems competent, if a little terrifying. I am uncertain if that is her past as a Volstrucker, or a necessity of the job. She has been nothing but kind to me, and I would certainly prefer to be her friend than her enemy.”

“Ja, we are familiar with her,” said Caleb.

“Caleb most of all,” said Yasha.

Beauregard had to turn away before she burst out laughing.

“We should look at the house,” Caleb said before the conversation could go anywhere strange. Gods, he missed Aeor already.

Alphira unlocked both front doors. They checked the one on the right first.

“This one has a larger living area,” said Alphira, leading them through the entrance. “I am offering the furniture as part of the sale. I have already taken everything I need.”

Beauregard threw herself onto the large couch in the centre of the room. “Yasha and I call dibs on this side of the house. Since you’re gonna spend so much time here with us anyway. We’re taking the larger living area.”

“Beauregard, we have already established that I do not mind.”

The floor underfoot was a pleasant hardwood, probably more oak, and a large rug occupied much of the space. They would have to purchase candles for the evening, but it was well-lit during the day. Caleb followed the women through each of the rooms on the ground floor on this side, largely going through the motions. The kitchen was equally large, and had a good oven for Yasha to practice baking. They would need to purchase a larger dining table.

There was one large bedroom upstairs and two smaller ones, alongside private areas for bathing and other such activities. This was where they found the door between the two houses. The top floor dormer was full of assorted furniture and household items Alphira didn’t need, but they would likely use. Beauregard and Yasha discussed the possibility of turning this into another bedroom for when they had friends over. Or perhaps converting one of the lower bedrooms into a workout space and using this as a replacement. Caleb did not need to contribute much to the conversation, aside from promising he would help move furniture with telekinesis.

Truth be told, Caleb was having a hard time concentrating on the whole thing. He hadn’t really had a home in a long time, and he could not wrangle his mind into understanding the change. The Xhorhaus had been easier to stomach, as nobody had expected to live there forever. But this? Putting down roots? Real , long-term roots?

Maybe Caleb had been homeless for too long. It was beyond his comprehension at this point. And maybe it frightened him a little. He could not afford to inspect those feelings, not right now.

He pulled himself together in time to inspect the other side of the building. His side. His house. Scheisse .

The living area was a little smaller, but could still easily welcome the Nein (just in rather cosy quarters). The kitchen, also smaller but still respectable--a little larger than his childhood home in Blumenthal. There was less furniture on this side; Alphira had evidently used this side more and therefore had more furniture to take. There were two bedrooms on the second floor, one slightly larger than the other. Caleb found himself thinking that he would probably take the larger one just so there was enough room when Essek was over, or maybe he would take the smaller one so Veth could bring her family with her. Fuck. He didn’t know what to do.

And then they visited the dormer. It was indeed larger than the other one. There was a table in front of the window, with a few dark ink stains, and plenty of floorspace to spread out notes or create a teleportation circle. A few chairs were stacked in the corner, seemingly in good condition, and one wall was lined with empty shelves.

Caleb had always been partial to a tower, and this was pretty close. It would make a great study.

He was genuinely excited over a house. In Rexxentrum. A short journey from where his childhood home once stood. He was going to hyperventilate if he thought about this too hard.

“There are already plenty of shelves in my new house,” Alphira said. “These are all yours.”

Caleb nodded slowly, pulling his mind back into his skull. “Wundervoll, danke.” He took a calming breath. “This is a nice place, Professor.”

Alphira smiled. “Yes, I did not make nearly enough use out of it. But I hear you three have a lot of friends from out of town.”

“Ja, we do not see them enough.”

“Perhaps you will see them more once you have a place to welcome them.” Alphira led them back downstairs, and into the other side of the house where they could sit around the small dining table. Alphira already had the paperwork they needed to sign; Caleb got the impression Beau and Yasha had already decided to buy the house before they spoke to him about it. He was glad the decision was out of his hands.

He signed the paperwork, using both his legal name and the name he now wore (Alphira had apparently been briefed on this, and had consulted a contract lawyer on how to make it work on a binding document). Caleb had needed to sign various statements as part of Trent’s trial, so signing in Bren’s name was not as strange as he feared it would be. He was relieved. Beau and Yasha had insisted on finding a way that his new name would also be included, given he had not gone through any legal name-change process. The money Veth gave him more than covered his part of the cost. He needed to hug her. He needed to hug all of them.

Alphira gave them three copies of the contract and handed over the deed to the property. “I will head to the housing authority and file the paperwork immediately.” She slid the keys over the table to them. “Congratulations on your new home.”

She left. Caleb traced the shapes of the letters on his copy of the contract, over and over, letting reality sink in. He had a house. A house in Rexxentrum. A house in Rexxentrum with two of his best friends. It wasn’t at all what he imagined he would have when he was seventeen, when he thought he and Astrid and Wulf would one day have done their duty for the empire and settled down together.

But this was good. This was right .

He cried. Yasha was probably crying, too, but he couldn't see. The three of them hugged across the table, the edges jabbing their ribs.

[jbbuckybarnes]

Professor Sugar - 5/7

Pairing: Student!Reader x Professor!Bucky Description: Like tons of other students you struggle with finances, but you can’t get any aid since your parents are filthy rich. The system doesn’t care that they broke off contact after you came out as bisexual. There is, however, someone else that cares. The prof of your class on PTSD and trauma. Professor Barnes. Warnings: 18+, f/m smut, oral (female receiving), secret relationship, not beta read.

Professor Sugar Masterlist // Masterlist

Symbiosis

Not too long after a routine had started to develop he finally took you to his place after one of your study and work sessions in his office. You knew this was about to get real. Until now it was a cute little romance with a few kisses behind the curtains. While you were sitting in his car, watching his eyes concentrated on the street, you realized how much more this would be set in stone. „You look cute when you drive.“ You mumbled towards him, cuddled into your jacket on the passenger seat. „Well, you look cute always.“ He chuckled before he turned into a side street with a few apartment complexes.

The moment you walked into his door you were met with a mix of white, black, navy and dark wood. „You really fucking play into this professor thing.“ You mumbled while looking around. Most walls were white, some with pictures in dark wood frames, his open living room had a bookcase wall full of all kinds of books and magazines. Most of his decor was white and navy, his kitchen black and white. „But you like it.“ He murmured into your ear and made you chuckle. „I mean, it could look worse.“ You looked up at him beside you. „Want some lunch, darling?“ He asked putting a bit of hair behind your ear. „Sure, why not?“ You smiled up before following him towards the kitchen.

White marble counters, probably fake, but looking good nonetheless. You jumped up to sit down on the isle and dangled your legs back and forth. „What would you like? Pancakes? Pasta?“ „Pasta, always. Although the pancakes sound good for another time.“ You bit your lip as he started putting a pot of water on the stove and started cutting up tomatoes. He looked like someone who cooked every now and then as a hobby. There were some cool appliances on the counter opposite to the kitchen isle. „I don‘t know if this hot or just domestic.“ You commented and had him look over with a little smile. „I‘d be happy with spreading either of those vibes.“ He answered before putting the stuff he cut up into another pot, pouring sieved tomatoes over it and dumping a pack of pasta into the water. „Hmm, what else do you like to cook?“ You asked with him leaning back across from you now. „I make a mad Asparagus-Potato-Tart and I also like to think that I make great stuffed tomatoes.“ He smiled proudly. „I like to make layered desserts for my friends‘ birthdays...and cupcakes.“ You smiled brightly and had him move right in front of you. „What else?“ He smiled up at you, more boyish than usual. You liked that look on him. „Mushroom soup, all self-made.“ You smiled. „You‘ll have to make me something next time.“ His voice dropped. „Sure, if you don‘t die a sudden sugar death.“ You giggled and were interrupted by a kiss. „If I die from sweetness, then it‘s from your sweetness.“ He murmured before leaving you there hot in your face while he finished making the food. After you ate while sitting on the kitchen isle together and you had an entire talk about the shittiness of your rich parents, he jumped back down onto the floor. The dirty plates landed in the dishwasher and the pots in the sink. He turned around with a suave look on his face and started talking again, „What do you say...good grades mean you‘ll get something nice. Letting me take care of you means you‘ll get something special.“ He suggested. „Like what?“ You smirked while leaning back, your legs slowly going apart. „Don‘t know. Maybe clothes, jewelry, a new phone?“ He grabbed you closer by one leg and your lower back and his voice got low, „Fancy underwear, sex toys, a new bed.“ „Why a new bed?“ You grinned. „Might ruin the one you have now, if you keep teasing me like that, sweetheart.“ He answered almost growling, making you shiver. „You like that?“ He whispered into your ear. „Yes. Yes I do.“ You whispered a little out of it. „You want me to take care of you, darling?“ His hands went up your thighs now, sending tingles down up your body. „Please, I haven‘t had good sex in months.“ You whined and got a chuckle back. „Don‘t worry, I‘ll take care of you.“ He murmured, his lips tracing your neckline and shoulder. „Up.“ He tapped your thighs and you did as you were told. His hands delicately removed your leggings and panties. Only thing still covering you being your big hoodie. His hands gently pushed apart your legs again and his lips now traced from your right knee towards your center. His attentive eyes were trained on you as your head fell back with a moan. A tongue went through your folds and swirled around your clit as you shivered again. „Oh fuck.“ You moaned out again as he pushed your legs to stay where they are. One of your hands went to grab into his short hair to grab his mouth as close to your center as you can. He got the note and licked right over your sweet spot. „Please.“ You whined out before he sucked it in and made your moan out. He went for it now, shaking his head, sucking in your clit and humming. Your body started shaking, shivering and concentrating its energy onto that one spot. „Holy shit!“ You panted as he pushed to fingers into you and stroking that spot. „Bucky.“ You moaned out and felt him chuckle. „Oh shit, I‘m gonna-“ you moaned out again and were unable to talk again. With another suck of your clit you came all over his chin with a loud groan. „That‘s my girl.“ He chuckled, cleaning his face off, „And now I‘ll actually take care of you.“ He got rid of his pants and climbed on top of you, smiling down. „I guess tomatoes aren‘t the only things you like to stuff in the kitchen.“ you commented dryly and you both broke out into laughter, before he shut you up with a kiss and a push. He managed the perfect balance between making love and merciless fucking. Just the right amount of delicateness mixed with dominance. You never had felt like you were in such good hands.

„Am I missing something?“ You held out your iPad to him and he took it to read over your new study notes, comfortably leaning back on his couch. „Maybe a mind map of the process and the cycles, so you get what is connected and what is recurring.“ He mumbled and handed back the tablet in true professor demeanor. „Thanks.“ You smile sweetly before concentrating back on your studying. It was important to him that your studying and college experience stayed as normal and focused as possible and you totally respected that. His little comments were noted like an email between student and professor, not like a couple that just had a makeout session after one of them got back to the couch. „Causes...Symptoms...Recovery.“ You whispered as you wrote your mind map and had a fond smile directed at you that you weren‘t aware of. „Pancakes with self-made apple sauce.“ You presented to him proudly a week later. He was grading assignments the entire day and didn‘t leave his desk, so you decided to start making dinner for the two of you. His kitchen was decently filled with fresh food and you had the urge for something sweet. He looked up from his work with a soft smile and a shimmer in his eyes, „You are really something, aren‘t you?“ You grinned, „I might be.“ He tried your food and nodded, „Sweet, just like you.“ A wink was sent your way. With a giggle you trotted off to get yourself your share of the food. The evening was spent with you making a few notes for other courses and him creating a new presentation on his Macbook next to you. It was all feeling so natural and domestic. You came over a few days a week, you both talked a lot, had sex, one of you made food and you both either spent the evening working, watching Netflix or being all over each other.

„Open it.“ He held a little box towards you after you both came home from college. „Bucky.“ You looked up apprehensive. He said he was willing to buy you some really expensive things for „letting him take care of you“ and you had also talked about this whole thing not only being a sexual but also a romantic relationship...but it still felt weird getting gifts, knowing now, that is in part paid by sexual favors. This was a weird limbo of sugar daddy and older boyfriend. „Just do it, please.“ He smiled so boyishly and sweet you couldn‘t say No. You carefully removed the wrapping paper bit by bit with patient eyes on you. After the last bit of tape was off you removed the paper and revealed a sleep black and white packaging with a „Google“ logo and a phone on it and looked up with wide eyes. „Bucky! You can‘t just…“ You were unable to find words. „Sweetheart, your current phone is almost 5 years old. And this one has a good camera, so you can make that study Instagram stuff.“ He sounded so out of time saying it but so nerdy too. Of course he would check all the specs on your old phone and this new one. „I, um, wow.“ You took the packaging and turned it onto every possible direction. „Open it.“ He said a little giddy himself now and you chuckled. With your fingernail you got off the sealing sticker and carefully lifted the top part off to reveal a lot of tiny manuals, a gorgeous phone and a few cables. „Woah.“ Your eyes went wide. Your old phone still had a home button and a kinda bulky design compared to this...Google Pixel. „I think it‘s already charged. Put it on.“ He smiled next to you on the couch. „Okay, okay. Calm down, nerd.“ You giggled and got a little pinch into your side for it while pressing the On-Button. The rest of the day was spent with the new phone, taking all the pictures in the world, searching for a nice case and „Thanking“ him thoroughly. The next morning was spent stealing his decorations and taking flatlay pictures for your new Instagram on his coffee table. Including a post-shower interruption of him, ending in shirtless pictures of him on your phone. „Great, I have a new background.“ You grinned. „If one of the other students see that, you‘re toast.“ He said more joking than serious. „I‘ll just crop the head and hold it up whenever you walk in front of me.“ You winked and had him grab you with a laugh. „Sugar, you‘re the best.“ He murmured before landing a kiss and letting you get back to work.

„So, um, I need to get this out of the way.“ You mumbled sitting in front of him on the bed. „Yeah?“ He sat up and grabbed your hands. „I don‘t really...feel good with all the gifts. It makes all the fun we have so...materialistic. I feel like I‘m using you and might be used myself. And I know you don‘t and I don‘t do that either, but it just feels a little bit that way. So, uh, maybe don‘t gift me things for a while. I don‘t want sex to be a currency between us.“ You finally got it out in the way you had been wanting to for days and weeks now. He already knew you usually didn‘t like gifts that much, but you never fully explained why. The only talk you had was that this was not a relationship based on sexual favors and that you actually had feelings for each other. This just needed to get out of the way. „I can hold that promise until the end of the semester.“ He smiled cheekily. „Well, that‘s when your true intentions come out if you have any.“ you joked. You didn‘t expect him to turn on you or change much after you weren‘t his student anymore. But it would definitely not feel off anymore to be together and get gifts. It would be the time you‘d go from dating into an official relationship if everything went smoothly. „True intentions, huh?“ He smirked and eyed you intently, „You mean supporting my girl to become the business and psychology boss that I can already see her as?“ „Maybe I‘ll turn into your sugar mommy.“ You shrugged and you both spent the evening laughing and dreaming together a perfect life.

[bi-bard]

Foreign Exchange Student- Arthur Broussard Imagine (SKAM France/Belgique)

Title: Foreign Exchange Student

Pairing: Arthur Broussard X Reader (I’m trying to make this gender neutral)

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,927 words

Warning(s): I mean... it’s gonna be a little long... maybe some fear of the future/commitment, general awkwardness and fear of being in a new place

Summary: (Y/n) thought that a foreign exchange program would be fun... until the actual day to move comes. Now (Y/n) is lonely and is completely out of their depth. Everything feels like it can go wrong... whether that be immediate or at the end of the program.

Author’s Note: Alright, this is an experiment of sorts. I would love to write for Skam if that’s what people want to see. If you would like to see more Skam (or if you think I should back away from Skam), let me know. I’m really looking for reader input on this.

Also, I don’t know when this would take place... just go with it. 

I tried to do as much research as possible but I am so sorry if I got something wrong.

Finally, I was planning on making the host family (if that’s the right term) a family from the show but I am not having very much fun with that and where is the joy of writing if you can’t enjoy the hard work you’re doing... at least a little bit.

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

My mom always said that I had a habit of popping my thumb. I never really admitted it until now. I think the constant clicking calmed me in some way. I just wish it would work right now. (A/n- Sorry to interrupt but this thumb-clicking thing is something I actually do a lot).

I was trying to grab my bags without making everyone think I was a total idiot or a total asshole. I almost missed one of them but a man next to me grabbed it and handed it to me. He gave me a comforting grin as I cringed at myself and mumbled a thank you.

I grabbed my phone and opened my photos. I continuously looked from the picture to the amount of people in the airport. Shit, this was not enjoyable. 

I looked up from my phone and saw a sign with my name on it. I double-checked my photo and sighed in relief. Thank god. 

A teenage girl waved at me with a small smile. I copied her movement with my hand that was holding my phone. I couldn’t hear her mom but the girl was quick as she walked over and grabbed one of my bags. I thanked her quietly.

“(Y/n),” her mom greeted me kindly. “You probably remember but I’m Louise and this is my daughter Eva.”

“Hi,” I replied awkwardly. After a few more awkward moments, I followed them out of the airport.

The rest of the day seemed to go by in a flash. We got some food, I got some notes on my pronunciations (thankfully before I had to go to school), and then went to the house. Now I was organizing what I had brought.

“Want some help,” I jumped when Eva popped her head in. I chuckled at my own reaction.

“That would be great,” I said. Eva walked over and grabbed some of my shirts, carrying them to the drawers. “This room is gorgeous.”

“My mom wanted to make sure it was ‘comfortable’,” she explained, pretending to be snooty when she said comfortable. I chuckled, going to put my pants away.

“Remind me to thank her for that,” I replied. 

We spent the rest of the unpacking time making jokes and talking about our interests. This was nice. It had only been a few hours and I was already more comfortable than when I walked off that plane. 

“Are you ready for school tomorrow then,” Eva asked after I had shoved my bag into the corner of the room. 

“Probably not,” I replied with a small laugh, plopping onto my bed. “What’s it like?”

“Depends on who you hang out with,” Eva shrugged, sitting next to me. “I could try to introduce you to people.”

“Sure,” I nodded. “That sounds great.”

“Good,” Eva stood up. “I’ll go check on dinner.”

“Okay,” I said.

Once Eva walked out, I laid back and stared at me ceiling. My head was spinning. In a matter of hours, I had found myself in what could be called some kind of new home. This was so strange. 

I jumped when my phone rang. I reached over to it as quickly as possible. It was my mom.

“Hi Mom,” I smiled.

“Hi sweetheart,” she replied. “Did you find your way alright? How are you?”

“I found my way... eventually,” I chuckled to myself, standing up to look out my window. “I’m good. I have my own room. I really like it so far.”

“So school starts tomorrow,” she continued. 

“Yup,” I confirmed.

“Are you going to be telling me about any cute boys or girls next time you call,” she asked. I sighed before chuckling and pinching the bridge of my nose. “That wasn’t a no.”

“Mom,” I snapped. “Can we not talk about that? Please.”

“It might be good for you,” my mom explained. "A cute romance.”

"Why would I even focus on that,” I asked. “Can we just not talk about my love life... or lack thereof?”

“Alright, alright,” she sighed. “Just try to enjoy your time in France, okay?”

“Okay,” I mumbled. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” my mom whispered back. “Be safe. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

“Bye,” I hit the end call button and sighed.

Him. I couldn’t believe he was acting the way he was. Everything was fine until we broke up. What I thought was a relationship ending on good terms turned into a jealous ex who now thought I went to France to “run away” from him... even though I had been wanting to do this for years. 

“Hey,” I looked at the door to see Eva peeking her head in. “Dinner is ready.”

“Okay,” I replied. I plugged my phone in and followed Eva to the kitchen, who pretty much bounced to her chair.

The rest of the night is calm. We talked about what I could expect tomorrow, what I thought I was going to miss the most, and other smaller topics that seemed to just flow with the conversation. I didn’t expect to be so comfortable so fast but I definitely wasn’t complaining.

**Next Day**

“Come on,” Eva shouted as I jogged out the door to follow her. 

“Thank you so much for telling me the wrong time for us to leave,” I said sarcastically. She just shrugged with a smirk. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“I have to keep you on your toes,” she replied. I rolled my eyes as I continued following her. 

It almost felt like no time at all before I was leaning on a wall next to Eva, going over my schedule. She was pointing from one direction to another. I nodded along, hoping that I could remember all of this.

“I’ll walk with you to the first class,” Eva said, moving from the wall. I followed close to her. I looked around the halls and my schedule. I tried to make a mental map so everything would make sense... not that it really helped. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I replied, heading inside and giving her a wave.

I walked to an empty desk in the corner and kind of kept to myself. I started clicking my thumbs again. 

“Excuse me,” I jumped, snapping out of my thoughts when someone spoke up next to me. A blonde girl was smiling at me. “May I?”

“Sure,” I replied nervously, suddenly realizing that no one was there to correct me if I said something wrong. 

“Are you new,” she asked as she sat down. I nodded. “Wait... are you the girl staying with Eva?”

I nodded again, confused as to how she knew that so fast.

“Eva told me about you,”  she explained. “She was actually really excited about the whole thing.”

“Oh,” I grinned, looking down at my desk.

“I’m Daphné,” the girl said. I looked over at her.“(Y/n),” I replied. “Sorry for being so... weird.”

“You’re okay,” she shrugged off my awkwardness, adding a wave of her hand. “It must be strange to be somewhere so new.”

“Exactly,” I nodded, chuckling lightly. 

“If you want, I have some friends that you could meet,” Daphné offered. I nodded.

“Sounds good,” I replied. My attention went to the front of the room as someone else spoke. Maybe I could be kind of comfortable here.

**Later That Day**

“(Y/n),” I smiled and walked over to Daphné, who was excitedly waving at me. I waved back as I got closer. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and introduced me to everyone. “This is Emma, Manon, Imane, and Alexia.”

“Hi,” I said with a small grin. 

“This is (Y/n),” Daphné explained to her friends. “The exchange student staying with Eva.”

“Really,” Alexia asked. I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” I replied before Daphné kind of pushed me over so I could sit down with them. 

“So,” Manon started awkwardly. “What do you miss most from home?”

“Oh, my family, really,” I answered. “My mom wants me to call every night and really pushed me to do this.”

“That’s really sweet,” Alexia commented. I nodded in response.

I was about to talk but froze when a group of guys came walking over. Or stumbling... whatever you wanna call it. Everyone greeted each other but I sat there awkwardly.

“Oh, guys, this is (Y/n),” Daphné motioned over to me. She copied what she had done with the girls earlier. “(Y/n), this is Lucas, Yann, Basile, and Arthur.”

“Hi,” I waved at the all. They all said hi back. My eyes seemed to focus on Arthur a second longer than everyone else. I forced myself to blink again before turning back to Daphné. 

The entire group dove into a conversation. I didn’t say much, making the occasional comment every now and then, which got a few chuckles from people. I felt like I was adapting. I was feeling happy. 

I was trying to join in the conversation when I decided to look through the corner of my eye. I made eye contact with Arthur and he sent me a smile. I smiled back before looking over his shoulder.

Eva was waving at me, motioning for me to follow her. I nodded and held up my index finger to tell her one minute. She nodded.

“I have to go,” I turned to the group. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Bye,” a few of them called out at different times. I waved to all of them as I walked backwards for a second. 

“Look at you,” Eva wrapped her arm around mine as we started walking. “Already fitting in.”

“I’m trying my best,” I chuckled, shrugging.

“Well, you’re doing a good job,” she replied. “Looks like you’ve even got a little boyfriend.”

“What,” I asked.

“Arthur,” she answered.

“We literally said hi to each other,” I rolled my eyes.

“And he literally watched you walk from your little group over to me,” she continued. “It was adorable.”

“Oh shut up,” I closed my eyes, looking down at the ground. “I’m not even looking for anything like that.”

“You can’t control that kind of stuff,” she explained. “If it happens, it happens.”

“Too bad it won’t,” I dropped my arm from her’s, sticking my tongue out at her. 

**A Few Days Later**

Everything had been going very well since I had arrived. Daphné had invited me into her circle of friends so I wasn’t nearly as lonely as I thought I’d be. They had just accepted me into their ranks. It was great.

My mom was still calling me everyday. She loved hearing about what I was up to. She was really excited when I said that I had made some friends. She was still pushing to find out if I had met anyone who had caught my eye. I thought that I could avoid that conversation... and then I mentioned Arthur.

Arthur and I had probably been the closest in the group. We just seemed to get along really well and our conversations just seemed to flow really well. I guess my mom thought that meant I had committed to a relationship in a matter of days.

I was currently waiting for Eva. Everyone seemed pretty busy today so I was just planning to head home. Eva was taking forever to say goodbye to her friends. 

“(Y/n),” I looked over my shoulder to see Arthur walking over to where I was sitting.

“Hi,” I waved as he circled over to sit next to me. “What’s up?”

“Well, there is a bit of a party or club thing that the group is going to,” he explained. “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me... or us?”

“Sure,” I nodded. “When?”

“Saturday... Tomorrow,” he smiled. I bit my lip and glanced at the floor, hoping to hide my blush.

“Sounds great,” I replied. “Should I meet you there?”

“Sure,” he said before rambling off an address that I was going to need to write down later. 

“I’ll see you there,” I grinned before turning around and walking over to Eva, who was finally done saying goodbye to her friends. 

As we walked, I quickly scrambled through my bag and pulled out a piece of paper. I quickly scribbled down the information that Arthur had given me.

“Ooo, what’s that,” Eva asked, looking over my shoulder. 

“None of your business,” I sassed. “I’m going out on Saturday.”

“A date,” she asks, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me excitedly.

“No, it’s a get-together with the whole group,” I chuckled at her. 

“Sure,” she replied sarcastically. I rolled my eyes. “Why didn’t you write that on your phone?”

“I forget about stuff when it’s on my phone,” I shrugged. “If I can put it on my wall, I’ll remember it better.”

“Interesting concept.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” I sassed. She laughed loudly as we continued moving.

**Saturday**

“(Y/n)!”

I laughed as Daphné hugged me tightly as soon as I walked through the door. I hugged her back and said hi quickly as I looked around.

“Isn’t this place cool,” she asked.

I nodded. There was loud music, flashing lights, and people dancing all over. I could see some people drinking and trying to talk. I looked back at Daphné, who could see how stunned I was.

“Come on,” she shouted, tugging on my arm.

She dragged me through the crowd and we soon found the rest of our friends. We were in our own little circle. Everyone shouted their greetings quickly... and all of them were jumbled together.

I completely lost track of time after that.

I found myself dancing freely with a smile on my face. I was being twirled around by Daphné, who was clearly just trying to make sure that I was comfortable and happy. 

The music had stopped bothering me and I had finally adjusted to all of the lights. Daphné must have noticed because she had finally let go of my hands. I had just accepted it and continued dancing.

I spun around without really looking and ended up running into someone. I blinked a couple of times before focusing on Arthur. I was going to apologize and step back but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

Arthur and I had completely stopped moving. Slowly, I smiled at him. He smiled back at me. It was like everything had faded away.

I wasn’t sure who leaned in first but I knew that each movement was careful. My breath hitched my throat as our lips touched. It was short and soft and gentle and... perfect. I cupped the sides of his face as he touched my waist. 

After a minute, we stepped back. We looked at each other and smiled at each other again. He grabbed onto my hand before twirling me around again. He chuckled at my shocked expression and I laughed with him, pulling him closer.

**Two Weeks Later**

The next two weeks were a happy blur. The day after we kissed, Arthur had asked me out on an actually planned date and here we are.

The weekend was quiet. I was leaning against the wall, reading a book that I had brought along with me. This was really the only chance I had to sit down and read.

“Hi,” I looked over at the door. Arthur was leaning his head in from behind the door frame. 

“Hi,” I replied, waving for him to come in. 

He leaned down and kissed my forehead before sitting down and wrapping his arm around my waist. I leaned my head on his shoulder and kept reading. 

We were sitting comfortably for about ten minutes before I finally placed my bookmark in between the pages. I set the book next to me before moving so I was facing Arthur, my legs now crossed. I grabbed his hand. 

“Can I ask you something,” I asked quietly. He nodded, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “Well... I’ll have to go home eventually...”

“Yeah,” Arthur trailed off, trying to get me to continue talking.

“And that’s all the way across the ocean,” I continued. “...Do you actually want to commit to something like this knowing that it’ll have to end?”

“Who said it had to end,” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. I shrugged. “Why are you so focused on that?”

“I guess I’m nervous,” I shrugged. Arthur moved so he could lean forward and kiss me softly.

“Can we ignore that idea that this will end when you leave,” he nudged his nose against mine. “We deserve to be happy. That bridge is so far off in the distance, I can barely see it.”

I chuckled at his response. He sat with a small smile on his face until I leaned forward and kissed him again. He cupped the side of my face and leaned in a little bit more. I pulled back with a grin.

“We will talk about this,” he promised. “But why not live in the moment a little while longer?”

“I like that idea,” I mumbled. I uncrossed my legs and draped them over Arthur’s lap and move so I could cuddle into his side. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered. There was a moment of silence. “Your room is pretty empty.”

“You can help me decorate later,” I chuckled, closing my eyes. “I don’t want to move right now.”

“Deal,” he said. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. 

Arthur was right. This moment was better than worrying about what was going to happen when I went home. It was so much better.

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

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[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6

Title:  I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 28016 Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia

AO3

Summary:  The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

The week seems to just drag on and on and come Friday, Isak is exhausted. It takes just about everything to get out of bed, his limbs feel all heavy and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and overall he feels like he’s coming down with the flu or has the worst hangover of his life.

At least Friday is the only day he doesn’t have morning classes, but even getting up at 9 o’clock instead of 6 doesn’t do a whole lot for him – not when he’s spent the better part of the night tossing and turning because he just can’t seem to fall asleep. At all.

Isak’s always had a bit of tendency to insomnia, something that had gotten severely worse after – well, after. But after a while, when he’d really started to get on with Jonas and was figuring things out with Mahdi and Magnus, it had gotten better. Mind you, there was still the odd night with no more than two hours of sleep, but those were the exception rather than the rule.

Things haven’t been this bad for a while and Isak can feel the anger bubbling away inside of him.

He had been getting better, he was going to be better this year, and now he feels all out of sorts in his own home. He’s terrified of walking around in Oslo or on campus grounds because what if he runs into Mikael, what if he runs into Even – no matter that by studying bio-science he’s in a completely different section of the university, the thought that Even could be within walking distance at any moment in time makes Isak terrified.

Isak stumbles around the flat noisily as he tries to get ready. He splashes water onto his face three times, but it has little effect on waking him up and no effect on getting rid of the slowly turning more prominent dark circles underneath his eyes. The two cups of coffee help a little wake him up, but he also ends up feeling a little sick from drinking too much hot coffee too quickly and too early.

He’s always been organized about his things so it doesn’t take long to gather his books, his notebook – just in case, because mapping out formulas and equations on a laptop can be goddamn awful – his laptop, the charger and stuffed his phone in his pocket, he should be ready to go.

He’s already put on his jacket and a beanie to hide away the atrocious state his hair is in, he should probably be bringing out a scarf soon if the wind is going to be so persistently cold already.

It’s that thought that makes him take one last look around his room. He isn’t even looking for his scarf, isn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe that’s what sets him off.

Isak’s room isn’t empty. It’s furnished, he has curtains up, posters on the walls; one of the periodic table and another of the atomic structures for alcohol, caffeine and adrenaline drawn with funny faces on them. He has bed sheets and lamps and a bedside table and everything that should make his room feel like a home.

And it just, doesn’t.

It feels like someone has cut Isak’s strings and everything just feels so overwhelming for a second, like that walls are trying to close in on him, this apartment that he three years ago never would’ve thought would need to be a reality, his reality. Because Isak’s reality had been Even and their shitty one room apartment on the fourth floor with no elevator and their tiny kitchen and it had been their life together.

Maybe it’s from his surprise run in with Even or maybe it’s the recent thought he’d had walking through the apartment, how there are personal pictures hung around everywhere but his room, but now the thoughts and the feelings are there and they won’t go away.

All of it has just been building up to this moment and now that it’s finally here it hits Isak like a freight train and all he can do when his knees give out is aim at landing on the bed.

He bounces, once, but it’s enough to make him almost slide down onto the floor. Isak curls his hands into the duvet, scrunching it up and making crease marks that go across the stripes printed on the fabric. He keeps looking around the room frantically, like maybe the next time he looks, something will have changed, something will be different and he’ll be okay.

Because the truth is Isak isn’t dealing with it. He hasn’t been dealing at all for all of these years, and as much as he is constantly running on fumes and denial, it isn’t helping him. Not in the long run, and Isak hates that he can’t continue like this, because as much as he hates the anxiety and the constant stress of worrying, it’s much more preferable to the thought of everyone knowing.

Isak stuffs his wrist into his mouth in reflex to muffle whatever noises threaten to slip out. He can’t remember if it’s always been this hard to breathe.

OOOOO

As much as Isak lets himself struggle when he’s on his own, when he’s in public, no one would be able to tell there’s anything different from this Isak to the one two, three, four and so on weeks ago.

He walks the halls with his back straight and an indifferent look on his face, like nothing in the world could possibly bother him. He pays attention in class and takes notes and tries desperately to look like he actually understands what’s going on, tries so hard to focus in on the words droning on and on and not on anything else. And if people stop to talk to him, he smiles and he laughs and he makes nice all the while ignoring how every single interaction drains him until he’s worried there will be nothing left of him by the end of the day.

While the bigger part of his first year had been a bit of a shit-storm, once he’d gotten on Jonas’ good side it had seemed necessary to fall in line with how he, Mahdi and Magnus had been acting, which meant all the university parties Isak had only been attending to get embarrassingly drunk he was now attending to still get drunk, but under the guise of talking and trying to get with pretty girls.

It had been stupidly easy to imitate the guys, so easy to mimic their body languages, to smile at the girls like he was letting them in on a secret just between the two of them, easy to talk smoothly and slowly gain the reputation of a flirt despite not having kissed a single person.

What wasn’t easy was everything that came after that. Girls wanted to talk to him, but most of the time they wanted a lot more than just talking, and Isak has absolutely no reason to feel guilty about the prospects of getting to hook up, but guilt is a lot easier to handle than the at best indifference and at worst disgust at the thought of having to hook up with girls.

He could explain the guilt away – just gotten out of a serious relationship, he still feels weird about being close to other people, blah, blah, blah – but the other parts? Those were a dead giveaway.

So he makes nice and counts down the minutes until he can go home.

During the last fifteen minutes of a lecture, his phone pings with a message from Sana reminding him about their scheduled study session he honestly had forgotten everything about.

Remember we’re meeting in the library in 20

Isak groans and ignores the dirty looks the people next to him send for interrupting. He gets another text before he can reply.

You did remember, right?

Isak scoffs even though he knows Sana won’t know.

Course I did. See you there

Guess he’s doing this, then. His body feels heavy at the thought alone, so he stops at one of the on-campus cafés and gets two large coffees to go.

“Hey,” Isak greets as he sinks down into the chair across from Sana, bringing out his laptop and debating whether he should get out his book already as well or if they’re probably just going to be browsing the internet.

The internal debate means Isak ends up not realizing the complete silence from the other side of the table before it’s been stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable.

Isak looks up – sure enough, it is Sana, he hasn’t gotten the wrong table, but it’s a Sana who looks like she’s just bit into a lemon the way she’s scowling at him.

“I’m not late,” Isak snaps, because he isn’t.

Sana scowls even harder.

“And I didn’t forget we were meeting.”

He had forgotten.

“You did,” Sana replies. Isak doesn’t even bother looking outraged or protesting because, yeah, he had, sue him. “That’s not my problem.”

Isak has enough problems already, thank you very much. A deep sigh escapes him involuntarily, and he regrets it immediately because all it amounts to is Sana now looking angry as well. “What is your problem, then?”

Sana doesn’t reply. She looks at something past Isak’s shoulder, and Isak almost turns around in his seat to see if he isn’t the problem but someone behind him is – which, honestly, would be a well-needed break clearly brought by the gods above finally looking out for him.

“You need to do something for me.”

Hold the phone, sister. Isak’s hand freezes from where he’d been about to type in his password on his computer. “What?”

Sana rolls her eyes. Isak can only just manage to see it from where she’s now scowling into her book that’s opened on the preface.

“I think it’s called, ‘I need you to do something for me,” Isak points out. “At least, that’s how you ask it when you need a favor from someone.”

Sana shrugs and still doesn’t look up at him. “I said what I said.”

Isak stares incredulously at her. Honestly, what?

Sana sighs long-sufferingly and finally looks up at him. “It’s only because of something Noora said.”

Noora? Isak mentally goes through every single girl he’s ever shared a class with who also probably has shared a class with Sana and comes up with… no one.

“Noora?”

Sana stares at him like he’s the idiot and not the one who apparently has to know every single person in the science department.

“Yes, Noora,” she bites at him. “Friends with Eva and Vilde? Don’t you know her?”

Isak knows a Noora – the possibility along with the probability of it being the same Noora should be quite slim to none. He does remember that Eva has a friend called Noora, but he can’t recall her for the life of him.

“No.”

“Well, Noora is our friend, moving on,” Sana slams her book shut when it’s clear she can’t keep on the pretense of it being more important than what she’s trying to talk about. “You need to –“

“Hold on,” Isak interrupts, holding up a finger to silence her before she gets too far ahead. “Are you asking me for a favor?”

And Sana has just taken another bite of a lemon.

“Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me for a favor.”

“I’m not asking you for a favor,” she makes a face at the word like it has personally offended her. “I’m merely proposing working on a common interest.”

“In which I will be doing all the work and have absolutely no idea about what interest I have in it?” Isak clarifies.

“Common interest,” Sana repeats, leaning back in her chair. Her eyeliner is heavier today than it had been the last time Isak had seen her, and if she’s wearing it for the intimidation factor Isak has got to give it to her that it’s working. “We need you to get Magnus’ head out of his own ass.”

Isak lets out a mix of a surprised whine and an indignant squawk of outrage for someone who has probably only met Magnus a handful of times to talk like that about him.

Sana, being Sana, just fixes a glare at him. “Him and Vilde.”

“What’s wrong with Magnus and Vilde?”

“The fact that they since the start of the second semester have been trying to get together only to cockblock themselves every single time?”

Isak pauses. “How?”

To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed Magnus had been trying to hook up with Vilde. With every single party the boys dragged him to, it always seemed like it was a new girl for all of them except Jonas, who’d dutifully spend the night looking after Eva unless they were smoking.

“All they ever talk about is cats!”

“Cats,” Isak repeats, deadpan.

“Yes,” Sana snaps. “Cats.”

“Are you sure they’re not talking about –“

“Cats.”

“Alright!” Isak holds up the palms of his hands and leans back in his chair to get some space between them. “Again, why?”

“If I knew, do you really think I would be asking for you to interfere?”

Isak came here to study, not be berated about his friend’s life decisions. “You don’t think it could just be a… bonding thing?”

By the look of it, Sana does not particularly look like she thinks it could be a quote unquote, ‘bonding thing’.

“Like, a, ‘hey, do you prefer dogs or cats’, kind of thing?” Isak winces when Sana raises one eyebrow at him. There are weirder conversation-starters and icebreakers – Isak would know. So far he’s never met anyone else whose first conversation involved ISO-settings and a B&E. Without actually breaking anything. An E.

“They’re meowing at each other.”

“Jesus,” only Magnus. Or, apparently, only Magnus and Vilde. Isak rolls his eyes and shakes his head to stop looking at Sana. This really wasn’t what he’d been prepared for when he sat down.

It’s difficult trying to wrap his head around any of this. He’s exhausted to the bone, he’s spent the entire day trying to pay attention and stay busy. Having to suddenly think about woes of love hits a bit too close for Isak not to lose his breath.

Different situation, different people, he tries to keep in mind when he turns back to Sana.

“I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do,” he tells her. “I don’t even know when they’ll be in the same room, let alone talking to each other!”

Sana frowns quizzically at him. “Do you not know about –“

A sudden flurry of movement to Isak’s right startles them both out of their bubble. They both snap their necks to the side so quickly Isak feels a crick already forming from the mild whiplash.

“Hey!” Emma grins. Oh no.

Oh no. Isak’s day is going badly enough already, he does not need this.

‘This’ referring to the first year eagerly waiting for a slice of Isak’s attention to be on her like it’s all that’ll ever matter. She’s practically vibrating where she’s standing next to him, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about life and Isak doesn’t know how to connect with her, besides the obvious reason.

Emma’s a sweet girl, really. With her journalism major and outgoing personality, she isn’t exactly lacking friends or popularity. She just, apparently, hasn’t gotten the memo that Isak doesn’t stick around, isn’t there for anything serious, and also isn’t there for something not serious.

So now he’s got a lot of unanswered DMs he can’t even bring himself to leave on ‘read’.

Isak’s just staring at her. It actually feels like his mouth has been sewn shut. Isak is usually the one who approaches girls; he doesn’t get approached outside of a party, and now that he has it feels a bit like he’s been thrown into the deep end.

What is he supposed to say?

He only startles out of it when the hardcover of Sana’s book smacks against the tabletop with unneeded force.

“Hey,” Isak tries to smile back. He has a feeling it looks more like a grimace, especially from the way Sana is looking increasingly amused, but Emma doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to it, thankfully.

“You kind of disappeared last time I saw you,” Emma toes an inch closer and Isak has to resist the urge to scoot backwards to maintain the distance between them. She shrugs. “’S a shame.”

Isak doesn’t recall having been anywhere near her, doesn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her.

While he doesn’t know a lot about girls, he does know you do not tell them something like that.

“Yeah,” Isak stutters out instead, shrugging in lieu of an apology. Maybe he can pull off the you know how it is half-assery. “Hopefully you weren’t too disappointed.”

It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, flirting with anyone, even if he only ever flirts with girls. Maybe that part also contributes to the sour taste that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

Emma giggles, all prettily and Isak thinks he should like her; she’s pretty with the short, brown hair and big, brown eyes. Isak has to bite himself in his cheek when his thoughts try to stray towards blond coifs and blue eyes.

“Maybe you could make it up to me?” She casually puts her hand on the table, only a couple of inches away from where Isak is resting his arm. It would be too obvious to pull away, even if that is all Isak wants to do.

Jesus, that sounds like a line. Isak pointedly ignores the snort Sana attempts to mask as she slides further and further down behind her book and laptop that are propped open in front of her.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak fumbles. He should keep on looking at her, any guy would keep on looking at her. Isak looks around the room to find inspiration for any apology or let down he can give her without it coming back to bite him in the ass. “How would I –“

Emma was clearly just waiting for that opening, even if Isak doesn’t get to finish it. “I heard you’re having a shindig?”

A what?

“I’m having a what?”

Sana snorts again from the other side of the table, but Isak is magnanimous enough to fully ignore her. He repeats to himself that he shouldn’t divert his attention away from Emma, because none of the other boys would’ve done that.

“A shindig,” Emma laughs, reaches her hand out to lay it on his arm and squeezes once. Isak’s arm burns uncomfortably when she pulls her hand away again. “Or your housemates are. It sounded like it was for all of you.”

A what?

“So?” Emma smiles, bats her eyelashes once. “Am I going to have to beg for an invite?”

She takes another step closer. By now she’s close enough that Isak can smell her perfume, it clogs together in his throat, but he barely pays attention to it from how fast his thoughts are racing through his head.

A what?

Emma falters when she see Isak floundering. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” it comes out too weak, so Isak clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m – I’m great, yeah. Uh, I don’t – I don’t actually know anything about any kind of ‘shindig’.”

It sounds like a lie. It feels like a lie, and it isn’t even one. For once Isak doesn’t have to lie to get out of something, yet it’s also the one time no one seems to believe him. Emma most certainly doesn’t look impressed, and Sana, who isn’t even a part of this conversation, doesn’t really seem to fully believe him either.

“Right,” Emma says. It sounds too clipped and she takes a couple of steps back, putting some distance in-between them. Shit.

Isak tries to grin. “It must be a pretty exclusive party if I can’t even get an invite.” And that also sounds like an excuse.

“Right,” Emma repeats, but it comes out too stiff and a bit clipped. Her arms are folded across her chest and Isak wants to stuff his face into his hands and groan from having to deal with this on top of everything.

He doesn’t.

“What did – where did you hear about it?” he asks instead.

Emma’s looking everywhere but at him. “I just heard it around. Supposed to be the place to be tonight.”

Isak gulps. Shit, that does not sound good. Both in the sense that if this is true, his home will be flooded with drunk students and he’d rather not deal with the aftermath, but also that, if this is true, Isak hasn’t been told about it.

Isak… doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to feel about that.

“Oh.”

Emma looks uncomfortable, looking down at her shoes she keeps scuffing the toes of around. Isak doesn’t doubt he looks uncomfortable as well.

Whatever Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are planning aside, Isak can’t spend the night also having to worry about Emma. The way he constantly has to be thinking, is this the right way to behave around her, am I actually pulling it off, does it seem like she likes me, and most importantly, when can he leave.

But he also can’t afford to just turn down a girl without an obvious reason, and right now everyone seems to be on the Emma-boat and Isak is left to drown.

“Why don’t you keep your phone open, then?” Isak tries to grin, but he feels a bit too shaky. It almost feels like he’s coming down with something; cold shivers running through his body and he feels clammy, but he knows he isn’t getting sick.

Emma’s phone starts to buzz in her pocket. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she switches between looking at Isak and fishing the phone out of her coat and check who is calling.

“I’ll text you if I find out about something?”

He sounds too hesitant and Emma doesn’t look convinced either, so Isak pinches a small bit of skin by his wrist in-between two fingertips to pull himself together. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the rest of him does.

“After all, is it really a party if you aren’t there?”

She looks a bit more placated at that, even as most of her attention is on the phone. “Text me later, then. Or next week – we’ll do something. Hello -”

Isak doesn’t get the chance to reply before she’s bounded out of there again, leaving him staring into the air of her vacated space.

A snort sounds from across the table.

“What?” Isak snaps, rolling his shoulders back to try and relieve some tension. “Shit.”

“I’m sure she would’ve taken it much nicer if you’d just let her down easy instead of talk your way around it,” Sana leafs lazily through her book despite that they both know she isn’t looking for anything.

Isak scoffs. “Can’t exactly let her down easy when I don’t even know what she’s talking about, can I?”

Sana stops mid-motion, the page falling down onto its place without her assistance. She blinks once, twice, then looks up at him. “Huh?”

“’Shindig’?” Isak quotes, knocking his arms out. “What the hell is this?”

Sana doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking at him either. It’s unnerving as all hell and Isak would just like to get some answers, thank you very much.

He doesn’t get any. Sana just shakes her head, closes the book and turns her attention onto the computer. “Take that up with the troublesome trio you live with. Let’s get started!”

OOOOO

Isak hears cupboards banging in the kitchen and he follows the noise until he can see Jonas bent over in front of their chips-and-other-miscellaneous-unhealthy-crap cupboard, riffling through the contents as a note and a pen lie on the counter in front of him.

It used to be so easy. Isak could walk up to Jonas and just say, ‘Hey’ or ask about coursework or football or how Eva is, how are the both of you, all of it seemed so easy.

Now he’s staring at Jonas, mouth snapped shut and no matter how much he begs his body to, it won’t open. He’s screaming the questions in his mind, but no sounds gets out and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, this panicky anxiety that’s filling his body. Just the thought of actually saying something is making him twitchy.

“Hey!” Jonas smiles when he sees him standing there. “Did you borrow my scarf?”

“Are we having a shindig?” tumbles out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch up that he should probably answer Jonas’ question first.

Jonas frowns at the change of topic, but diligently answers him. “Yeah? Didn’t Magnus tell you?” and then realizes what he’s just said.

Jonas squeezes his eyes shut so tightly his nose and cheeks wrinkle from the force of it. “Shit, sorry, man, should’ve just told you myself. It’s been planned for a couple of weeks by now.”

A couple of weeks, holy shit. Isak stuffs his hand into the pocket in his jacket to hide how much he’s shaking. A couple of weeks puts it right before the night, and if Magnus didn’t have a tendency to get distracted already, he definitely would’ve had enough reason to when he ran into his idol.

“Right,” Isak stammers out when Jonas doesn’t seem inclined to give him any more information.

“It’s just a small thing!” Jonas hurries to placate, but that only makes Isak feel worse.

A few weeks ago there wouldn’t have been a need for him to be placated about his friends holding a party. Yeah, he’d be grouchy he wasn’t told, panicky about who’d been invited, but nothing like what he’s feeling now.

“Swear,” Jonas doesn’t pause so he probably hasn’t even noticed Isak’s internal struggle. “Eva and her friends are the only ones who are definitely coming. Although, Eva mentioned that Noora might be bringing someone.”

Eva and her friends, so Sana is coming. If anything, he can just hang up against her all evening with the excuse of getting to know his study-buddy. Something that is so like him and not likely at all to raise questioning eyebrows. Shit.

Jonas scratches the back of his head. “Mahdi’s invited a couple of people from the football team, and I think Magnus has invited some from his media classes. But none of them RSVP’ed, so…”

Jonas shrugs like that’s that, like that means it’ll still just be a small gathering of Eva and her girl power group, when Isak knows that they’re not exactly the generation to ‘RSVP’ and that he himself more than once has crashed an invites-only party, it’s bound to come and bite him in the ass at some point.

Also the fact that people are apparently talking about it like it’s the party of the year doesn’t exactly bode well either.

“Do you want to hit some people up, ask if they can come?” Jonas sounds hesitant. Isak feels so out of place in the doorway to his own goddamn kitchen. He isn’t supposed to be feeling like this. “It’s a bit last minute, but maybe someone is free?”

Isak can’t tell if he’s angling for Isak to invite some girls over, maybe even Emma, but Isak feels sick and uneasy enough already, he doesn’t need the added worry if he looks straight enough.

He shakes his head. “’s all good.” He doesn’t mention there’s no one for him to invite – no one he’d want to come. “Hey,” he clears his throat and points down the hall in the direction of his room. “I’ll go finish some, uh, stuff. Just get me if you need help with anything, yeah?”

Is that an appropriate thing to ask? Should he just barge in and ask directly if there’s anything they need him to do? It’s not that he minds Eva or Sana and he hasn’t really met the three left, but it doesn’t change the fact that this ‘shindig’ that supposedly was for all of them is feeling a lot like it’s only for some of them and Isak is only invited because he lives here.

Jonas nods, something guarded in his eyes that makes it difficult for Isak to swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, man, definitely.”

Isak nods, and then once again when he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. In the end, he just slowly starts to shuffle towards his room, leaving Jonas behind in the kitchen.

OOOOO

“Oi!” Magnus pounds his fist against Isak’s door so harshly it slams up against the wall. “Isak, my bro, my best bro, have I told you recently –“

“I’m not helping you get laid,” Isak groans before rolling onto his stomach, any following dismayed noises muffled when he shoves his head into his pillows.

“Please!” Magnus whines, throwing himself on top of Isak with zero regards to his spine. “I’ll help you!”

Isak snorts, or he would’ve, had he any air to do so.

“Get off of me,” he groans and tries to turn onto his back, but Magnus is stubbornly persistent in not moving until Isak agrees.

“You always know what to say and what to do,” Magnus whines, rolling onto his back until he’s awkwardly planked horizontally across Isak, his back forced into a unnatural arch. “Teach me your ways, I beg of you!”

“Your only bargaining tool was you would help me get laid, yet I’m the only one who knows how to do it?” Isak asks, except his face is smooshed into his pillows and Magnus is honest to god quite heavy, so it comes out a muffled garble of mour mon marg moo mou mel maid mam meon mow moo-hmm.

Magnus stills on top of him.

“Alright, I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Isak folds his arms up underneath his torso and pushes up until Magnus has to roll with it or be pushed onto the floor. Magnus yelps, his arms flailing as he nearly topples over, before he clings onto Isak’s hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Isn’t this a problem for the crisis window?” Isak grumbles, referring to the nook in the kitchen, the window that’s just long enough that all four of them can sit side by side on the sill that had unintentionally turned into their version of a psychiatrist’s couch – too little room on the couch, and it feels like an invasion of privacy in their rooms. Or just a place to smoke if that’s what they’re in the mood for.

Magnus frowns. “Would you actually move into the kitchen for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then it’s a problem for Isak’s bed!” Magnus moves around a worrying amount.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Isak flops onto his back before Magnus can climb back on top of him, “considering I didn’t even know we were having a party two hours ago.”

Magnus winces apologetically and looks at Isak with those big, sad eyes he knows no one can resist. Manipulative bastard.

“I didn’t mean to forget!” Magnus insist, snuffling closer to Isak in a way that’s probably meant to look like a puppy begging for forgiveness, but just makes it look like he’s stuck. “And I did say I’m sorry.”

Isak sighs and rolls his eyes, but he lets it go. There’s so much else going on in his head, he can’t deal with having to be angry about a missing invite to a party. “Alright, then,” and asks. “Who’d you invite to the party?”

A long list of names bubbles out of Magnus’ mouth, none of which ring a bell, which could both be a blessing and a curse, but then Magnus starts categorizing them after which class they share, which tutorial group, friends before going to university, the lady in the grocery store who, admittedly, had looked a little too old to be interested in a uni party, but Magnus is still holding out hope she’ll actually show up.

Despite rejecting his offer immediately after Magnus had told her about it.

“So what you’re telling me,” Isak interrupts once it becomes clear Magnus is about to go off topic about what he wants to suggest they watch in film club, “is that you want my help with hooking up –“

Magnus nods wildly.

“– when you haven’t invited any girls?”

Magnus stops nodding.

Isak shakes his head. “There’re only so many miracles I can perform in one night, and your requests are starting to increase in size.”

Magnus snorts. “Like the size is what’s stopping you from fulfilling my hopes and dreams.”

Oh, that one’s just too obvious. “Maybe it’s only one miracle we need if the only thing we need is to change the size of your –“

“Hey!”

Isak’s grown up enough to admit the punch to his shoulder was probably well-deserved.

“Asshole,” Magnus grumbles, rolling onto his stomach when he flops around uselessly. Isak honestly can’t tell what he’s trying to do.

Isak should feel worse about kicking Magnus when he’s already down, but there’s a few hours left until the shindig ahem-party-ahem is supposed to start, and Isak had hoped he could spend at least some of them asleep.

So he should probably try to actually help Magnus, then. Jesus, Isak doesn’t have the emotional capacity for this.

“Alright, ignore who is and isn’t coming,” Isak tells him. “You see a girl you like – what do you want?”

He does feel a bit bad when Magnus looks up at him with these big eyes, like he hadn’t thought Isak would actually help him.

Yet he’d still turned to him for help. These damn creative-minded artsy kids – Isak honestly has no idea how their minds work.

“I –“ Magnus hesitates, biting his lip. “I want to say something funny so she’ll laugh.”

Isak nods, that’s a good start. Seem approachable, relatable, try to be funny. Smiles are good when humans want to connect with each other.

“And then, later on, I’d like to press her up against the wall and –“

Isak groans like he’s dying, because he honestly might be. Magnus isn’t even deterred when Isak gets the pillow under his head out and smothers his face in it.

This was not what he’d signed up for.

Although, he probably should’ve been expecting it – Magnus has never been particularly quiet about what he likes, including what he likes in bed, which is what Isak’s currently being painted a lovely picture of.

A lot of leather is involved – a bit surprisingly – a lot of sex in various positions, most seem unbelievably unrealistic – not surprisingly at all – and how good it’ll be.

Something that is surprising is when Magnus doesn’t stop at the end of the night.

“I can’t cook pancakes,” Magnus reminds Isak. “So either one of you guys could do me a favor, or – oh! Maybe she likes cereal! Most people do after all – I could get her my special mix, you know the one where I mix –“

“You want her to stay for breakfast?” Isak interrupts, frowning.

“Yeah?” Magnus looks honestly perplexed. “We’ve just had the most incredible night together, why would I want her to leave?”

“Erh, well, you see –“

“I can’t expect her to stay and not feed her.”

“That wasn’t really the point I was trying to make –“

“Oh! And then, after breakfast, we could go into the city – no, wait! I could take her to breakfast at a café!”

“That definitely isn’t really hook up protocol –“

“Yeah, that’s probably a way better idea. I don’t want to scare her off with my bad cooking!” Magnus is laughing and Isak is grimacing.

“No, yeah, but –“

“And then after we’ve eaten, we could come back here and have sex again. You know I saw this thing in a porno once, where the girl ended up stuffing –“

Gross, gross, gross! Where is the bleach, Isak needs it. Desperately. Goodbye hearing, goodbye brain, there is literally no need for either if he has to spend the rest of his life remembering just exactly what, where, and how much that poor girl had stuffed.

“And in the evening I could take her somewhere nice. There are all sorts of romantic places in the centre of Oslo, right?”

“There are, but –“

“So we could go there and be all cutesy-and-shit,” a description every girl wants their relationship to have, “and then we go swing ‘round her place to get her some clothes. Or! We could just come back here again, and the next day she’d just have to wear something of mine. That’s hot, right?”

“Objectively, it is, but –“

“And I could fall asleep all folded up around her, and make sure she’s warm enough and comfortable. She could fall asleep on my chest – wait, no! We’re spooning – and I’m the big spoon,” he points at Isak like he dares him to disagree with that.

It honestly isn’t the bit Isak has the biggest issue with.

“And the next day we could get ready for the week together. We could do homework together and she could tell me all about her degree and her modules and her essays, and she’d listen to me rambling on about –“ Magnus pauses for a second, like he just remembered it’s Isak’s room he’s in. It doesn’t leave much doubt what he was about to say, but Isak’s frozen in his seat so he doesn’t comment on it when Magnus clears his throat and continues like nothing had happened. “ – and my education, and my work.”

Magnus gasps dramatically with a sudden epiphany, any lingering awkwardness at the near slipup clearly forgotten. “I could show her Even’s movies! Do you think she’ll like them? Oh, I really hope so, because we’re watching all of them. And she could show me her favorite movies – we could do several film nights!”

Isak’s mouth feels too dry. He’s pretty sure his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth permanently now.

“And I would find little pieces of hers all over in my room, like, some clothes lying on the floor, or a hair tie, or a book for class. And I could clear out a drawer for her things, and she could slowly take over everything in my room so I have the drawer I’d originally cleared out for her –“

Isak stills as what Magnus has described registers. His heart beats a little too fast and he feels cold all of the sudden, even as he can feel that his skin is actually rather warm.

It’s all said so matter-of-factly, like Magnus has never experienced the rush of emotions, the giddiness and the excitement and the happiness and the nerves and everything related to falling in love, because that’s what Magnus is describing. Love.

Isak doesn’t have a lot of expertise in the hooking up culture; he’d been so young when he’d met Even, just at the age where his classmates were only starting to gain interest in parties and kissing, so he’d never learnt what it meant, what you had to do and why it was supposedly so fun to participate in.

But what he’d lacked in that area, he’d learnt a lot more in another. And what Magnus is talking about? Isak already knows enough to know that isn’t what you do with a hookup, that’s what you do with a person you’re in a relationship with.

It’s suddenly very difficult for Isak to draw in another breath.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” Magnus finishes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Really wish I had invited some girls to hook up tonight now –“

“Magnus,” Isak interrupts, a bit clipped. “That’s not what you do when you hook up.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you do in a relationship.”

Isak’s so terribly thrown off kilter. He’d expected to bluff his way through guiding Magnus into getting a hook up, but now he has to fake not knowing about what Magnus is talking about, because Isak’s done all of that and no one knows. He doesn’t want to share it either, but it’s like something is being ripped from his past that he’d tried so hard to bury, and it’s both painful and makes him feel numb at the same time.

Magnus glares at him, but there’s no fire behind it. “What do you know about relationships?”

Isak feels freezing and boiling hot at the same time. It’s like it takes everything in him to put on a strained smile – luckily, Magnus isn’t looking too closely.

“You basically just described Jonas and Eva, you know that, right? You’re not interested in finding someone to hook up with. You want to find your Eva.”

Magnus hums, rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “Suppose,” and then out of the blue asks, “Is that what you want, too?”

Isak’s skin feels too tight and the laughter that bubbles out of him is too high-pitched, too wrong. “Why do you think that?”

Magnus shrugs. The fabric of his t-shirt snags against the fabric of the duvet, making it look like a weird, awkward shuffle instead. “Like, is Emma your Eva?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, man!” Magnus knocks his arms out. “I just – don’t you think it could be nice? If that isn’t what you get to do with a hook up, then what’s the great thing about it?”

Isak can’t answer, because he doesn’t know the answer. He hates that he doesn’t know the answer, he should’ve figured it out ages ago, yet here he is.

“The freedom,” Isak tells him stiffly, but he tries to make it come out light and excited, like he should be feeling. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want.”

A knot forms in Magnus’ brows. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

It’s hard to swallow.

“Nah,” Isak leans back so he can look up at his ceiling. The familiarity of it is comforting; the same cracks and patterns as all the other times he’s looked up at it. “Think the other way around gets too crowded.”

Shit, Isak needs to get the conversation moving to somewhere else. He’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret if he doesn’t.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight, though.”

Magnus snorts. “Yeah, going to meet lots of girls to a party where none of us has invited any.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Eva’s coming,” which, maybe don’t bring up a girl who already has a boyfriend – a boyfriend you’re currently sharing a flat with at that, “didn’t Jonas say she was bringing her friends along?”

Magnus lets out a disheartened sigh. “Going by my track record, I don’t think any of Eva’s friends are going to be in my league.”

Alright, that’s any melodrama Isak can handle for the day, he needs to figure something out. If Magnus doesn’t think he has a chance with any of Eva’s friends, then he’s just going to have to –

Eva’s friends.

Sana is one of Eva’s friends. Sana has already mentioned another one of Eva’s friends.

He has an honest-to-god light bulb moment. He might as well pull up a ding to go along with it – Isak’s sure there’s an app for it. There’s an app for everything, nowadays.

“What about the one you’ve spoken to before, then?” Isak tries to ask casually. “What was her name – Mille? Hilde?”

“Vilde?”

“That’s the one!” Isak snaps his fingers, like that’ll make this conversation go faster.

After this, Sana can never claim he’s never done anything for her. This favor extends very, very far.

Except Magnus doesn’t start blabbering on about Vilde. He remains quiet, twiddling his thumbs in circles and carefully avoids looking over at Isak.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t think she really likes me.”

Jesus Christ, Isak is getting a scientific degree for a reason – he doesn’t know how to do this, never learnt how to be confident enough in himself to spread it to his friends.

“Course she likes you. Why wouldn’t she?”

Magnus shrugs again, but he doesn’t add anything to it. So it’s actually serious, then, if Magnus doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just –“ Magnus sighs. “Nothing seems natural. I always seem to say the wrong thing and – I don’t know. Shouldn’t it feel easier, somehow?”

Isak doesn’t feel like he’s in his room, on his bed, talking to Magnus. He can vaguely see his desk and his books, but it feels like it might be in a dream and he’s only seeing what his brain is creating for him to see.

“Falling in love should be easy – that’s what all the movies make it seem like. The pain usually comes after, once something has gone wrong, not during.”

Panic is sizzling away underneath his skin and Isak both simultaneously wants to get up and run away and stay here and get under the covers to hide away from the world.

“Shouldn’t it feel like a whirlwind from the start? Completely crazy and all-empowering and all you can think about?”

He’s tired. He’s tired of trying and constantly failing, because this was supposed to be his year, yet all he’s done is manage to fuck everything up. He was supposed to make it work with the guys, both by being a better friend, but also figuring out how to be a good flatmate, but so far he’s managed to scare them so badly they’re constantly walking on eggshells around him and Isak doesn’t know how to feel at home in his own apartment in fear that they’ll say one thing, one thing, and they’ll figure it out.

“Like you’d do anything to be with them, to be near them. You’d do anything to make them smile and you want the best for them. I think that’s what I really want the most out of anything.”

It’s stupid to think it, but the thought still somehow sneaks in, because what if that is the reason Magnus is talking about this? So many things just hitting a little too close to home, how easy it was to fall in love with someone, how overly encompassing it was, all the emotions and how it seemed worth it that it might bring pain, because it had also brought love. Isak has spent so long trying to forget all of that.

It’s what makes him finally snap, because he needs for Magnus to shut up. “If what you want is a relationship, maybe go talk to the Casanova, instead.”

“But Isak,” Magnus replies in a sing-song voice. “You’re the Casanova. Jonas would be, I don’t know – Romeo or something.”

It makes the anger swirling in his stomach boil over until it spews out everywhere. There are so many things Isak has spent ages avoiding getting near or getting into conversations about, and now he feels like tearing out his own hair and screaming and crying and he wants to hurt someone, anyone. One person.

“Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

He sounds furious, voice dripping with venom and it’s surprising Magnus doesn’t pick up on it.

“So Emma isn’t going to be your Juliet, then?” Magnus nudges him playfully, but too many of Isak’s red flags have been prodded at and he can’t take it anymore.

“Absolutely not.” It comes out too harshly. “And I really can’t help you if what you want is some fairytale meet-cute, go talk to Jonas.”

“But isn’t that what everyone wants? Isn’t that the point of going out and meeting people, to see if you find someone worth sticking around and hurting for?”

Isak laughs. It sounds mean. “It really isn’t what everyone wants.”

Magnus is looking a bit confounded, what with the way he’s frowning at Isak with furrowed eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating something. “What about you, then?”

There might be a bit too much contempt in Isak’s voice when he tells him, “I have no interest in Romeo and Juliet whatsoever.”

OOOOO

The bass is pumping from the speakers and Isak can barely hear his own thoughts from where they’re being drowned out by the music. There are people all around him, talking, screaming, dancing, making out, taking shots. This is what uni is supposed to be about and Isak can figure out how to fit in, even if he isn’t going to be drinking excessively throughout the night.

It all feels a bit foreign, and it shouldn’t, because this is what Isak’s entire first semester of university had been about; booze and blunts and the noise, because that had seemed to be the only things that made his head quiet and body numb. Maybe it’s just the lack of alcohol swimming around in his body that makes Isak feel like a fish out of water.

At least it’s much less of a party-of-the-year and more in the likes of a pregame. Isak’s already heard several people talking about finding a club somewhere after, so he just has to hold on a few more hours.

A few people shout his name as he makes his way past them. They’re all grinning and raises they various drinks, cans and bottles at him in greeting, probably inviting him to come join them.

Isak nods a greeting, but doesn’t make his way closer. He doesn’t recognize any of them, figures they’re probably some of the blurry person-shaped edges he has in his memories of those nights back during first semester.

“Hey, man,” Jonas comes up to him from behind. He’s looking at Isak like he has to be careful of something, and it isn’t helping with whatever dangerous cocktail of emotions currently swishing around in Isak’s body.

Isak raises an eyebrow and tries to tease, “Bit of a ‘shindig’, huh?”

Jonas winces and looks at him apologetically. “Yeah, things may have gotten a bit out of hand.” And as much as Isak hates that the boys didn’t tell him, he hates this more – this, this guarded carefulness they all have whenever they’re speaking to him. It’s driving him insane and makes him want to scream, but that would only serve to make them worse.

So he tries to laugh and ignores the tightness in stomach. “There’s no problem. This is fun, right?”

Jonas doesn’t look convinced, but Isak doesn’t know how to convince him anymore.

Usually, he would’ve flung his arm around Jonas’ shoulders and shouted too loudly in his ear, ‘let’s go do some shots!’ and that would’ve been it, but he doesn’t do that anymore – drink heavily, or the other bit, actually, come to mind, because Jonas constantly looks guarded around Isak, and Isak can’t tell if that means he wants him close or he doesn’t want him close.

He doesn’t have to worry about it for long, because the front door bangs open when Eva lets herself in.

Jonas lights up like he always does when he sees her, and she sashays her way over to him to kiss him hello. And then some. Isak ignores the pang in his heart at the sight and looks over to the side of them to look at the rest of the gang.

Sana rolls her eyes when he nods at her, so of course he has to roll his eyes back. It’s basically their thing by now, as much as they both seem to hate it.

“Halla,” she greets. “Found out about the ‘shindig’, then?”

Isak feels short of breath, but it’s still easy to put the mask on, grin and pretend like everything’s okay. “Little less than two hours ago, actually,” and tries not to sound self-deprecating or like there’s something wrong.

He doesn’t pull it off. Sana’s frowning – when isn’t she, but all her attention is on Isak, which it usually isn’t, because that isn’t normal.

And he can’t have her say anything, he doesn’t know what he would reply, what would be appropriate and what wouldn’t, what could be worked as a joke and what would just give him away. “Worked wonders for not having to set anything up, though.”

She snorts and takes a step back, going further into the apartment. “Knew you were a slacker the moment I met you.”

“Hey!” Isak protests, whines a bit, but Sana doesn’t wait around to hear whatever defense he could manage to pull up, disappearing into the kitchen with the girl who never stops giving Isak bedroom eyes – Chris, he thinks.

An arm slings around Isak’s shoulder, the smell of beer more pungent than the smell of weed – Magnus, then.

“What the fuck?” Magnus points over at Jonas and Eva who are locked at the lips and oblivious to the world around them. “Is this allowed?”

“Stop,” Jonas breaks away long enough to groan, but Eva’s quick to cup his jaw and draw him back in.

Vilde’s standing next to them by now, and it looks like she’s only giggling politely with little clue to the context of Magnus’ comment, but Magnus’ is grinning back like he’s just won the lottery.

Usually, Isak would at least try and be a good mate and play up whatever had just been said, make it funnier than it actually was without drawing the attention onto himself, but his head had barely been in the game when the party had started, it definitely isn’t when the supposed Noora and her plus one enter their flat.

Because Isak knows that plus one.

“Now the party can sta-ha-ha-art!”

Isak knows that voice.

Isak knows that voice.

Eskild is dressed as loudly as his voice – neon pink and, oh god, are those feathers? – and crazy sunglasses that most likely don’t work if Eskild can stand wearing them inside.

“Ho-ly mother of God,” Magnus breathes out, eyes wide as he stares at Eskild. “Who on earth is –“

“Isak!”

Isak doesn’t even have time to wince from his name being bellowed straight into his ear before he has an armful of Eskild clinging onto him and shaking him around as he hugs him – or squeezes the life out of him.

“What are you doing here?” Isak’s voice is muffled from where his mouth is pressed against Eskild’s shoulder. At least Eskild’s close enough to be able to make it out anyway.

“Noora brought me!” Eskild steps back, but doesn’t let go of the arm he has slung around Isak’s shoulders. He points over to the blonde girl standing next to Sana.

“But – but –“ seriously, Isak’s mind is melted. “But that’s Eva’s Noora.”

Things do not compute.

“Are you telling me,” Isak continues, magnanimously ignoring Eskild’s snort, “that Eva’s Noora is also your Noora?”

“Technically, my Noora is also Eva’s Noora, because I had her first,” Eskild insists indignantly, pointing accusingly over at Eva who only rolls her eyes fondly, skips on close to fold her arms around Eskild’s side. “She’s just lucky she’s cool enough for me to hang out around her as well.”

“Yes, of course, darling, that’s why,” Eva laughs and then bounds on into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“But –“ Isak’s worlds are collapsing. He – but – what?

Eskild barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, that face is excuse enough for ghosting me the past couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t ghosted you,” Isak tries to protest, but Eskild doesn’t let him. It’d be a lie, anyway, kind of. He just – Eskild will know, because that’s what Eskild does, and Isak can’t – he can’t have people he cares about worrying about him again, can’t let them know that their faith in him is wasted. He can’t lose everything else too.

He finally catches sight of Magnus and Jonas out of the corner of his eye, both of them looking frantically between Isak, Eskild, and then finally over to Eva and Noora for some type of explanation.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak wracks his brain for the words that seem to be evading him. “Gutter, this is Eskild – Eskild, this is –“

Eskild holds up his hand in front of Isak’s face, startling him badly enough that he stops talking. Isak blinks confusedly.

Eskild narrows his eyes as he stares at Jonas and Magnus. Jonas and Magnus’ eyes, in turn, widen at the scrutinizing glare they’re currently on the receiving end of. Isak’s been in their place before, when he’d sneak out to see Even and come back in the early morning to Eskild hiding his worry behind reprimanding scolding and demands that he leave his GPS on next time he wants to go out ‘partying’.

Isak doubts Eskild ever thought he was out partying, mostly because he never came back hung over or drunk still, and he didn’t reek of booze, no more than the beer or weed Even would share with him on rare occasions. But it’s not like Isak could tell him what he was actually doing, and it’s also not like it was outside the realm of possibility considering how Isak and Eskild first met.

“Don’t tell me,” Eskild removes his hand from Isak’s face to point between Jonas and Magnus. “Are they the ones you left me for?”

Isak blinks, again. Magnus still can’t get his eyes off of Eskild, but Jonas is looking decisively more worried in Isak’s direction.

Isak sighs when Eskild keeps pointing. “I didn’t leave you –“

“Aha!”

Magnus jumps a foot into the air and nearly trips of the doorstep leading into the living room. He bumps into one of Mahdi’s jock friends instead, who in turn spills beer all over the floor. Great.

“So they are the ones you left me for!” Eskild finishes, not the slightest bit perturbed over the chain of events he’d just put in motion.

“What are you even, they – no,” Isak flaps his hands about, resorting to poking Eskild’s shoulder when he looks less and less inclined to believe him. “This is Jonas and Magnus, whom I’ve only been living with along with Mahdi for less than a month, and you know this, because I told you this back in July.”

Eskild mulls it over, still glaring at Jonas and Magnus, apparently to Noora and Eva’s amusement, but whatever he finds can’t be too bad when he immediately switches over to a blinding smile and introduces himself to them properly.

Isak hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, nearly still doesn’t until it all comes rushing out of him and he suddenly feels a little weak in the knees.

“How d’you know Isak, then?” Jonas asks, sounding more polite than terrified, which is more than what Magnus is managing to do.

Eskild opens his mouth, ready to launch into the tale of woe of how the two of them had met, and Eskild playing the part of the hero and taking in the lost duckling wandering the streets, drunk and completely out of his mind.

It’s not like it’s something Isak’s ashamed about, and he knows Eskild would never tell anyone about the part where he’d apparently begged him not to make him go home, but Isak –

Isak’s entire life is built on lies upon lies – lie about your mom not feeling well, she’s fine, she’s just stressed, don’t tell anyone you’re gay, don’t tell anyone about Even, and on, and on, and on, and somewhere along the way, Isak’s sort of forgotten how to share any parts of himself that aren’t just on the surface.

So he cuts in right as Eskild gets out how it was a cold, dark night – which isn’t true, because it was spring, so it was at most chilly – and says, “I used to live with him in a Kollektiv, back before uni.”

Magnus’ eyes widen impossibly further. “Shit, you’d already moved out in high school?”

Isak shrugs, ignores the feeling of Eskild’s eyes on him, considering how he was technically barely in high school by the time he moved in, and ignores how incredulous the looks he’s given from the people who don’t know the story make his stomach feels like it’s turned to lead, or maybe the opposite, like it’s so light he might be sick.

Eskild saves him. Eskild always saves him, and it doesn’t make his stomach feel any less like it’s filled with lead when Isak thinks of how he has been blowing him off and ghosting him.

“And then he left me. Depraving me of my son –“

“Fuck off –“

“My only son –“

“And I didn’t leave you –“

“Herre Gud,” Noora laughs. “How dramatic were you when I left for Spain, then?”

Noora is a goddamn savior and Isak will go down fighting for her. He can’t help the wince, though, because he knows, and he’s fairly certain that Noora knows too, just how much Eskild can talk once he gets going, and nothing can get him going more than Noora literally fleeing the country.

He physically takes a step back, and whilst Magnus is still looking incredibly confused, Jonas is now looking mildly concerned, and Noora, bless the girl, is trying her best to keep face.

Eskild narrows his eyes. “If you take away the ‘s’ in Spain, what are you left with?”

Isak frowns. Judging by the put-upon look on Noora’s face, this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

“Pain,” she sighs.

“No,” Eskild sasses. “You’re left with me, in Oslo, where I’ve been abandoned.” Pauses dramatically. “And the only feeling I was able to feel when you abandoned me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Isak groans, pinching at Eskild’s side to get him to let go of him, then flays his hands around in everyone’s direction. “Kitchen’s that way, living room’s the other, do not have sex in my room, Eskild.”

“Why am I being singled out?”

Isak doesn’t deign to answer, just levels Eskild with a look until Eskild nods, goes, “fair enough,” and giggles with Eva.

God, Isak wants a drink. He wants many drinks, but the thought of having more than the one beer he’s been nursing so far makes him feel a bit ill, so he heads into the living room instead of the kitchen.

He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know why the thought of standing near Eskild makes him feel so anxious, why he feels angry when he sees Eskild laughing with Eva or Noora, why he can’t be at ease just like them. Guilt and shame mixes uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He plasters on a grin when four guys recognize him, cheering and waving their beers at him.

He doesn’t walk over to them. He’s fairly certain they’re in some of Jonas’ classes, but he’s not certain enough he’s willing to chance making a fool of himself. He feels like he’s slowly creeping out of his own skin, like he’s inches from falling apart. It’s exhausting. Isak’s exhausted. And the apartment’s in a tip and he can feel a headache coming on from the music, and he doesn’t know when he became this person.

Or – he does, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

This is better, Isak tries to convince himself. If it isn’t better than – than that, then it’s at least better than when he was drinking himself into oblivion any waking hour, when he was drinking so much he’d wake up still drunk and then just start drinking again. The fact that he came away without having to get his stomach pumped even once is more of a miracle than Isak thinks anyone will ever get to experience.

There’s a movie playing on the television, the same one they’ve had streaming pretty much since it was released. It’s one of Even’s. Somehow, Isak doesn’t know why, but somehow Magnus always manages to talk them all into giving him TV-rights to choose what will be playing, and it’s always one of Even’s movies.

This time it’s ‘Circles’, Even’s newest one that Isak hadn’t been strong enough to not watch it in the middle of the night about a week after you’d been able to stream it. The recommendation taunting him whenever he’d wanted to relax until he’d caved. But he’d been strong enough to not check out any of the reviews for it. Except then Magnus had ended up yelling how it’s been nominated for an award, but Isak still counts it as a personal win that he hadn’t looked it up himself. Baby steps. Just enough to fool himself into believing he’s getting better.

Maybe if he fools himself long enough he’ll actually start to believe it.

At least either the volume is too low for Isak to hear any of it, or everyone around him is too loud for Isak to hear any of it.

He finally makes his way over to the window. He wants to crack it open, but he knows that’s a bad idea. They’re bound to get a noise complaint sooner or later, opening the window would only make it much sooner.

Maybe he should open the window. He can see Jonas and Eva’s reflections in window, can hear Magnus’ laughter from another room, can see a glimpse of Mahdi chatting up some girl Isak doesn’t recognize. He scowls at all of them, feels something ugly swirl around in his stomach.

No. No, he reminds himself, presses his face against the glass pane, shivering at the cold shock it brings. They’re his friends – his best friends – and just because this year, the year that was supposed to be Isak’s year, has gotten off with a bit of a bad start doesn’t mean Isak can take it out on his best friends. It’s not their faults Isak’s such a fuck up.

Besides, it’s not like it’s too late, really. Surely if Isak just tried harder, things would go back to normal. Better than normal, even, because that had been Isak’s goal when he moved all his stuff into the room at the end of the hall, put on his blue-striped bed sheets and listened to Magnus waxing poetry about some sex dream he’d had and Jonas and Mahdi taking the piss out of him.

It’s not just the boys, though, is the thing. Isak knows he’s been shitty to Eskild too. He can hear him out in the kitchen, laughing and chanting chug, chug, chug and generally encouraging a mess Isak’s bound to be the one cleaning up later.

This is the year he’s supposed to get things right, to stop feeling so wrong all the goddamn time, and that’s not going to happen if he’s sulking in a corner the entire night.

He’s just got to get better at acting, Isak convinces himself. Squares his shoulders, straightens his back, and just breathes.

If he gets better at acting, then the boys will stop acting so awkward around him. They’ll stop walking on eggshells and they’ll stop looking at Isak like he’s a stranger in their house.

He walks away from the window, hand clutching his beer bottle. He’s shaking and his palm feels clammy from sweat. He really hopes it isn’t noticeable, any of it. Not just the shaking and the sweating.

“Isak!” A hand clamps down onto his shoulder so harshly it jostles Isak’s forwards until he nearly falls flat on his face. “Jesus, how much you had to drink?”

Isak turns to see some guy, one of Mahdi’s football friends by the looks of it, going off of the build and the muscles.

Isak tries to grin as he worms his way out from under the guy’s hand until he’s facing him. “Not nearly enough.”

The guy cheers and holds up his own cup of brown sludge that Isak doesn’t particularly want to witness him downing.

He’s lucky for once. Football-guy gets distracted when a girl accidentally puffs to him when she passes. He spends approximately fifteen seconds staring at her ass as she continues on her way, all of which Isak spends judging him.

“How you been, man?” the guy tries again. “Haven’t seen you since that party at Mikael’s.”

Something lurches through Isak’s body, cold dread that he has to fight to clamber down into nothing he’ll accidentally give away. He should open his mouth, he’s about to – should say Oh, yeah, wasn’t feeling well, and then immediately follow it up by a question that’ll give the guy talking.

Except he’s saved from having to do any of that.

“Who is Mikael?” Eskild slithers up from behind Isak. He tries his best not to jump or tense up, because it’s Eskild and there’s no reason for him to be tense. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. It’s all stupid. “And why have I not been introduced to him?”

Isak still tenses at the touch, but it’s Eskild, so Isak tries to not make it too obvious.

“Magnus’ friend,” Isak has to twist his head to the side so he’s nearly shouting directly into Eskild’s ear. “I don’t really know him.”

Present tense, because Mikael might’ve changed. He might not make the same kind of jokes or like the same action movies with far too many explosions for them to be contributing to any kind of storyline anymore. He might not like a cool glass of saft when he comes home or to lounge around outside when the weather’s nice anymore. He might not even be in contact with Even anymore and the party had just been a one-off.

“Oh. By the way, Mahdi told me to give you this and to tell you to stop leaving it around everywhere,” Eskild sounds bored as he hands over Isak’s hoodie.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s stuck in his throat when he grabs on to it.

“Can’t believe you’ve still got it, it’s so old.” Eskild turns his attention onto the jock instead. “And who might you be, then?”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard he actually misses the introduction. He tunes back in when Eskild lingers in the handshake and the guy is grinning nervously, switching between looking at Isak and looking at Eskild.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” the guy says when Eskild has buggered off somewhere else, even as he had walked away while looking over his shoulder on too many times for it to be anything other than intentional.

Fear flashes through him. Half of the sip of beer splutters out of Isak’s mouth while the other half blocks his airways until Isak is coughing and red-faced and looking incredibly unattractive.

“Eskild?” Isak grimaces. “No. No, no, no. Definitely not my boyfriend.” Shit, does that sound like he’s denying it too much, thus reversing the intention and effect of a denial?

Why would he even be asking that? Is it only because of Eskild or has Isak done something that would warrant – Shit, Isak can’t think about it now, he’s at the middle of a party in his own home, he can’t leave.

“Oh,” the guy looks taken aback, even as his eyes wander off towards the direction Eskild had disappeared in. Oh, indeed. “There’s nothing going on between –“

“He’s my old roommate,” Isak cuts in, and says with a finality that hopefully sticks, “that’s it.”

“Oh,” the guy repeats. He isn’t even looking at Isak anymore. “Do you mind then if I –“

“Go for it,” Isak slaps him on the back, steps around him and gets the hell out of dodge. Jesus, has he unintentionally become the designated matchmaker? A lot of people seemingly have a lot of faith in him for that particular job, despite Isak having zero interest in most people.

The flat is a mess already and the party has only been going for about an hour. There are empty cans and bottles on every flat surface and Isak shouldn’t, he shouldn’t start cleaning. He should be mingling and helping Magnus hook up with someone and rip into him with Mahdi and Jonas when he starts asking the wrong question. He shouldn’t be isolating himself by cleaning.

Isak sighs, deep and long-sufferingly, and grabs a clear plastic bag from the cabinet and starts collecting the cans, avoiding any he can feel liquid still swishing around in the bottom. The metal clanks against each other in a way Isak more so feels than hears over the music pounding in the entire flat. They’re going to get noise complaints, for sure. Isak has no idea how the guys had thought this would ever have been a good idea.

Except, had they asked him those weeks ago if he wanted to help host a party, Isak probably would’ve agreed to it. He would’ve been keyed up and he would’ve participated, and he would’ve been drinking properly instead of how he’s been nursing his single bottle of beer for the entire night before he’d finally given up after a few sips.

He doesn’t know how he’s come to feel like this, doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. He’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to be drinking excessively, that this was the year he was going to actually try and succeed. So far it’s only felt like one failure right after the other.

He hasn’t become a better friend. Instead, they’re all tip-toeing around him because they’re too afraid when he’s going to snap and run off again. The need to run is constant, but Isak has a feeling that the snap will be happening because of something else entirely if the boys don’t cut it out.

He hasn’t become a better student – he’s barely understood half of the lectures and he’s less than impressed with the homework he’s been doing. Sana’s going to kill him if he doesn’t get his act together soon.

Failure after failure. But the not drinking part, that Isak can gain control over, or so he hopes. Maybe he doesn’t fully trust himself, hence why he hadn’t dared more than the beer.

There’s a couple making out up against the wall next to their front door that’s open and has more people spilling in. They all clap Isak’s back when they pass him, seemingly knowing him because they all shout out his name in greeting. Isak doesn’t recall meeting any of them ever, and wonders if it’s because he’s just inattentive to anyone he doesn’t think of as his friend, or if he’s actually met these people and just can’t remember them because all they’d been was a means to get drunk.

“How are things looking?” someone, Sana, yells into his ear.

Isak stumbles back, startled, but it just turns to annoyance when he sees Sana looking way too smug. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but she seems to be able to predict what he’s about to say so she just rolls her eyes and interrupts him.

“With the plan.”

Isak groans. The plan. The plan he was supposed to have but most definitely doesn’t.

“I tried!” He hadn’t. “It’s just that –“

Oh god, one of Sana’s eyebrows arch up into her forehead. Shit, Isak’s in trouble.

“Last I checked,” she drawls, actually drawls, “I haven’t seen you near Magnus, and you didn’t even say hi to Vilde when she came in.”

The most amount of trouble. Sana levels a very unimpressed look at him.

And Isak doesn’t have a single excuse.

To be fair, the Eskild-thing had kind of distracted him quite a bit, but he doubts Sana has the empathy required to let him get away with such a statement, so Isak doesn’t even bother.

“Magnus is in the kitchen, go.” Sana pushes him along the way, making him stumble over the floor.

He turns around to level a glare at her, but she’s managed to disappear before he can, and then when he turns around again to head into the kitchen, he nearly runs over Vilde in the process.

“Fy faen, Vilde!” he exclaims, reaches out to grab onto her shoulders to steady her, even as he hadn’t actually touched her. “Shit. You can’t just stand behind –”

Vilde’s frowning at him. “Why does Emma Larzen think she’s welcome here?” she asks in lieu of a proper reply or greeting. “Isn’t she a first year?”

The dread isn’t a welcome feeling. It’s chilling and hot at the same time, and Isak feels clammy and disgusting as his heart picks up its speed and he glances around the room, whatever of the hallway, frantically, but trying to downplay it so Vilde doesn’t question him about it.

“Is she here?” he manages to get out.

“No. But she DM’ed me, asking for your address and said you weren’t answering your phone.”

Isak wants to groan, wants to throw his head back. Wants to kick all of these people out.

He wants to go to bed and sleep for an eternity, or maybe just go to sleep and never wake up, but that’s a bit too gloomy for his own taste, so he ignores that stray urge.

“Just –“ he tries to think of something that wouldn’t seem odd. “Just ignore her.”

That just makes Vilde frown further. “I can’t just ignore her,” she protests. “I’ve already read her message. I can’t just leave her on ‘read’.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Isak side-steps her and heads for the kitchen. Jesus, this isn’t going very well, but it’ll be easier to finagle Magnus into doing his bidding than it would be Vilde, Isak is fairly sure.

Unless Jonas is there. Or Mahdi. Then everything will be downright impossible and Isak will sue Sana.

Both Jonas and Mahdi are in the kitchen, and they’re both talking to Magnus, as if they can’t stand in group formation literally any other time during the day, because it’s not like they live together or anything. Fuck, this is going to take a lot more effort than Isak had originally imagined.

Mahdi is the one who spots him first. He looks annoyed, but not at Isak at least.

It’s not helpful enough to not make Isak feel horribly out of place, though.

He shuffles closer at Mahdi’s beckon just in time to hear Magnus blurt out some nonsense that doesn’t make sense out of context, something about word just spreading.

“It’s a lot more people than we’d agreed on,” Mahdi fills him in once he’s close enough. He looks at Isak like he expects him to back him up, which – alright Isak isn’t thrilled either, but he wouldn’t have been thrilled with half the people who’ve shown up either. He wonders when that happened; when did he become the grumpy friend who just wants to stay in and be alone? And why can’t he shake himself out of that funk?

Jonas is frowning, eyebrows curling and filling most of his forehead. “Alright, so it’s a couple more people than anticipated, but – why are you so mad? You’re usually pretty chill about everything –” and shuts up at whatever face Mahdi makes at him. Isak elects to ignore it, though, as he’s fairly certain Mahdi was gesturing to him.

Jonas does have a point, though, but Mahdi is also the first one to give any of them shit for messing up. Isak is definitely willing to count the group of girls giggling about a spilled vodka bottle a mess-up.

“What happens if we get a noise complaint, huh? If our landlord sees this mess, we’re fucked. We’re never getting that deposit back.”

Magnus snorts. “We weren’t getting that back anyway – remember the incident when we moved in?”

“We agreed not to mention that ever again,” Mahdi glares at him.

“Hey, I covered that up fantastically, thank you very much. We could’ve at least fooled him into giving the money back,” Isak protests, magnanimously ignoring Jonas snorting about handyman Isak, which had been a nickname Isak had worked extremely hard to get rid of. “Why don’t we – let’s just start cleaning, alright?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to sound so tired. Jonas is giving him ‘the eyes’ again and Magnus is looking at him oddly for no going bigger on the ‘I told you so’ he’s never been shy at shoving in their faces. God, how did Isak manage to fuck up twice in one sentence?

“Isak –“ Jonas starts, but Isak doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t want for him to.

“I’ll start getting rid of the cans. Just –“ he turns to Mahdi, “relax, alright? We’ll fix it,” and then hurries to get out of there before one of them can grab a hold of him.

It’s surprisingly easy enough to ignore the feeling of his heart being wrenched out of chest and the insurmountable panic and worries looming over his head when the music really is so damn loud and there are so many people within the enclosed space. Isak has to push over a couple making out in front of the built-in closet where they keep the cleaning supplies and the clear bin bags, and the soundtrack of lips smacking together disgustingly shouldn’t overpower the sound of the stereo, but somehow it does.

They shuffle over willingly enough, at least, probably barely noticing they’re being moved if Isak’s being honest with himself.

And whilst he’s being honest with himself, Isak knows Mahdi’s issue isn’t the party or how many people have shown up or how much a pigsty their flat is currently in, or whether or not they’ll get back that stupid deposit that wasn’t that much in the first place. No, Mahdi never would’ve even noticed all those things if it had been any other evening before the party at Mikael’s, before Isak started acting weird, because Mahdi would’ve been in the bathroom or his own room smoking from his stash and making friends and probably figuring out which girl he’d want to kiss at the end of the night.

What Mahdi’s issue is, is Isak. And Isak hates that feeling clawing at his chest at the thought. Hates that he knows that’s what this is about, that the boys can’t even be subtle enough to hide it.

It’s not even the fact that the only reason Isak isn’t being interrogated by them is because of how much he apparently scared them with his disappearing act that’s bothering Isak. Or that they’ve supposedly been so focused on Isak and whatever the hell his problem is that they’re walking on eggshells around him, yet he was still so forgettable they didn’t even mention they were throwing a party that he not only was to attend but also invite people to join. It’s not the guilty, pitying glances they keep throwing him, and the halfhearted explanations and apologies that won’t stop no matter how many times Isak insists, “it’s fine, just an honest mistake, don’t worry about it, we’re good, I’m fine.” It’s not that he’s entirely unable to sleep anymore, just tossing and turning in his bed instead until he slips into a fitful slumber in the wee hours of the morning until his alarm wakes him up.

Or maybe it’s all of those things. Because what’s bothering Isak is how he can’t get this to quiet down.

Not the party. Parties are always loud, and this one is no exception. He doesn’t need people around him to stop talking, because lord knows the guys are already filtering out most of their sentences and conversation just to not accidentally say the wrong thing. It’s inside his head he can’t get things to shut the hell up.

He rips two bags off before figuring he probably won’t keep at it for long enough to fill them up, and then stuffs everything back in the closet. There’re already plenty cans and bottles lining every single flat surface, so it’s easy enough to pick up two empty cans and make his way back into the kitchen to make sure they’re fully drained.

Mahdi isn’t there when he gets back. Both Jonas and Magnus are still there, but Magnus is talking to someone Isak doesn’t know, and Jonas has Eva pressed up against the wall. Isak has a foreign twinge to go over there and so something stupid like, right in front of my salad?, because that’s something he would’ve done – has done, back when they were moving in and Eva was helping out, because who’d know how the place would’ve ended up looking like if they didn’t make a system from the get-go.

But then the other feeling is back, the one he can’t seem to shake. The one that makes him walk over to the sink instead, turn his back on both Magnus and Jonas, and just stare as a couple drops of beer spills into the sink and he can dunk the bottles into one of the bin bags.

There are enough empty, used, and opened bottles and cans on the kitchen counter as well, so Isak systematically goes through each; drains them, dunks them, repeat. He can hear people talking around him, laughing, cheering, and it feels oddly isolating not to be doing the same.

“Hey,” he hears, his heart jumps into his throat and he whirls around only to see Noora.

She’s nursing a glass of water, Isak fairly sure because he doesn’t think she drinks. There’s a tiny smudge of red on the rim of the glass from her lipstick, but it isn’t noticeable on her lips. She’s smiling at him, small and friendly.

“Hei,” he greets back, maybe straining too much to sound happy for it to come off as authentic, but Noora is nice enough to not let her judging show or to react to it at all. “Everything alright?”

She nods, takes another sip of water. Isak’s hands itch to do something, but he thinks it’s too rude to turn his back on her to continue what he was doing, so he can’t do anything but let the twitchy anxiety settle over him.

“Du vet, with all the times I had Eskild moaning how you never did any housework, I never expected to see you get started on cleaning with the party still going on.”

Isak laughs, ends a little too short and stilted. He feels weird talking about Eskild, guilty at not having spoken to Eskild for so long. He’s gotten so used to no one knowing anything about his life previous to university – besides just very general things. It had been easy to play along when the boys had been moaning about how simultaneously hard and freeing it was to finally have moved out of their parents’ home instead of having to admit Isak hadn’t living his parents for years at that point. Having someone know that, having them know about Eskild, and having Noora who’s lived with Eskild too and knows exactly his quirks and personality traits and how much of a saint he can be but also how goddamn annoying leaves Isak feeling on edge around them.

“Nei,” he looks down at his feet so he won’t have to look at Noora. “Mahdi was freaking out about the mess, though, so I figured I’d just get a head-start, you know?”

She doesn’t nod and doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Anyway, it’s nice to be able to see the counter,” he tries, then actually looks at the counter and wrinkles his nose. “Or maybe not. God, I swear it’s not usually this gross.” He chances a touch and instantly pulls back much to Noora’s amusement. “Christ, that’s sticky. Alright, don’t touch that.”

“You can’t still be grossed out a sticky stuff after having lived with Eskild, can you?” she laughs. “God knows what the state of his bedding was like when I wasn’t cleaning it for him while you lived there.”

Isak blinks. Why would she – why would Isak know what the state of Eskild’s bedding was like? Why would she think he was in Eskild’s room, on Eskild’s bed? Was she –

“Hallo!”

Isak jumps, startled out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into that only would’ve ended with him pathetically defending his straightness and possibly yelling at Noora, to look at Sana pissed face. Fuck, Isak does not need any more problems.

She arches an eyebrow at him, like that will do anything. Isak tries arching one back, but he thinks he just ends up raising both of them.

She scoffs at him, which – still isn’t helpful – and then levels her best glare at him. Isak does a body wiggle he knows to be equally unhelpful, and he only relishes a little bit in how Sana manages to look even more annoyed with him at that.

In the end, she only needs to say two words. “The plan.”

Fuck.

Isak is so done.

He levels his own glare at her, sneers a “Fine,” that at least sounds more sassy than angry, and worms his way through Noora and Sana with the two bin bags only partially filled.

He’d just seen Magnus, he could definitely get him to follow him around until they end up bumping into Vilde, who better not have already found someone to make out with or Isak will actually leave.

It’s by total accident and perfect surprise when he turns around to get to Magnus and accidentally bumps into Vilde for the second time that night.

“Ah, Vilde, perfect!” Isak hands over the two bags filled with empty bottles. “Do you mind taking these down to the first room on the left? I’ve kind of got my hands full here,” he shrugs, all apologetically and the worst part is that it works brilliantly.

Vilde is wide-eyed, as she always is when someone starts speaking to her, and she clearly isn’t fully prepared when Isak transfers the handles over to her hands – her phone is in one of her hands like Emma is still trying to get a hold of the party info – but all it takes is a gentle puff and she’s on her way down the hallway.

Isak counts to five until he snags a hand around Magnus’ elbow, drawing him out of whatever conversation he’d been having.

“Shit, Mags, there were some weird chirping noises coming from your room. Did you leave your window open again?”

Magnus groans and shoves his half-filled beer bottle at Isak, who barely manages to catch it without spilling it all over himself. “If there’s a freaking dove inside my room again, we are moving, I don’t even care –“

And off he goes. Isak should put this on his resume – professional cupid, as long as it doesn’t concern his own relationships where he will flop epically.

Yeah, maybe not. Except for how Sana looks begrudgingly impressed with Isak’s ingenuity. That’s a novel look on her.

“You know,” Noora clinks her soda can against Isak’s newly acquired beer. “You shouldn’t refer to girls as birds.”

Isak snorts. “I’m just introducing them to a different version of the ‘cat and mouse’-game. Cat-and-bird, in this case, I think.”

Noora groans. “Oh god, no more cat-talk, please.”

“I don’t know,” Isak raises the beer to his lips, ignoring the voice in his head screaming about germs and the other quieter one, telling him he’d agreed to stop. “Maybe this is the push they needed to get the cat out of the bag.”

Noora rolls her head back. “Det var kattens.”

“Are you two seriously just making cat-puns over there?”

OOOOO

It’s just gone past half two in the morning when enough people have fizzled out of the apartment that Isak doesn’t feel guilty for sinking down on the couch with a heavy sigh. There’s a boy and girl making out in an armchair in the corner of the living room, too wrapped up in each other to notice how few people are left. Maybe Isak should get up and tell them to head out, before the state of that armchair will be questionable at best and ready to throw out at worst, but Jonas is closer and has spotted them already.

Besides, Isak’s exhausted, physically and mentally. He’s just – done.

He blinks tiredly as Jonas gets the couple’s attention and nods towards the door. The girl giggles, fixes her clothes as she gets off the guy’s lap and stands up. Thankfully neither of them get mad for the interruption – Jonas looks tired, too, but happy tired. A I’ve-spent-the-entire-evening-having-fun kind of tired. A tired completely opposite to Isak’s kind of tired.

There are bottles and cans lined up on the coffee table that Isak knows he should probably clean now before they have permanent stains on the surface. Eva will fuss over those every time she comes over, but it’s too hard work trying to get his limbs to cooperate, let alone actually get up and do something, so Isak just remains there, sitting and staring and thinking of all the things he should be doing instead of this.

Eva’s half-asleep on the other couch, leaning against Vilde who keeps sneaking glances over at Magnus incredibly non-subtly – well, then again, everything is relative, and she certainly is more subtle than Magnus’ blatant staring – as she talks to Noora about something.

It’s startling a bit, the contrast of how quiet it’s gone. They still have some music on in the background, but it’s a lot quieter than what had been playing earlier, and someone’s changed it from the party-playlist to the one with miscellaneous calmer songs they’d jokingly put together to play whenever one of them are in a bad mood. It’s been mysteriously absent considering just how much Isak’s been messing things up the last little while.

Eskild slumps down next to him, or, more so fully on him. He’s warm and sweaty and Isak is at least a little bit grossed out, but then he remembers that the first time he met Eskild, he’d vomited on his shoes. Suddenly, warm and sweaty doesn’t seem as bad, even if there is a threat of other bodily fluids still being on him.

“How was the big jock, then?” Isak teases. Eskild smiles up at him dopily, all dazed and blessed out, and maybe Isak would worry if he didn’t know what that particular face means.

“Klaus,” Eskild corrects, making Isak rolls his eyes, “was great, thank you very much.”

“You done enough hooking up for the night?”

Eskild sighs, very put-upon in the exact way he always does when he’s about to sprout off some older ‘wisdom’ at Isak. “This is a university party, Isak, not some little high school gathering you might be used to.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt Eskild to remind him this is his second year at university.

“I don’t waste my time on menial hook ups.”

“What have you been doing for the last hour, then?” Isak questions before he can consider the consequences. “Discussing refugee crises?”

“Very funny,” Eskild dead-pans. “And don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Unless you’re prepared to know exactly the places my mouth and his mouth have been –“

Isak lets out an unintelligible string of noises to cut off Eskild. “You just said you didn’t kiss him!”

“’Kissing’,” Eskild uses two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks. “You never mentioned anything about sex.”

Isak groans, rolls his head back onto the couch while Eskild cackles as he sits up properly next to him. “Please tell me you at least didn’t do it in my room.”

Eskild shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Like it would’ve been the first time.”

Isak definitely does not squeak. He yells out indignantly.

“It was the room with all the fit lads plastered onto the walls,” Eskild takes a sip of his beer. “Can’t have been your room, then, your straightness would’ve felt attacked by the mere presence of someone cuter than you near your bed.”

Isak rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t comment on it. Mahdi’s room then, if Isak guesses correctly based on the various FIFA paraphernalia Mahdi has collected over the years. He should remember to remind Mahdi to wash the sheets before he falls asleep there.

Maybe not right now, though, he thinks as Mahdi falls down onto one of their beanbags, laughing back over his shoulder at something Magnus has said.

It doesn’t matter that Eskild is technically as ‘out’ as one can be, the thought of gossiping about what Eskild, a boy, has done with another boy is enough to get Isak’s heart pounding a beat too fast.

He hurries to look away from both Mahdi and Eskild, turns his head to the left instead and looks as Jonas wrinkles his nose at the armchair that had nearly been used by strangers. Isak makes a mental note not to get close to the chair for the next while unless he be the one getting stuck with cleaning it.

Jonas sandwiches himself down on the other couch between the armrest and Eva, who immediately leans up against him, grinning widely. Magnus drags a chair over, Chris claims the other beanbag, and Sana settles on the opposite armrest to Jonas’, the one next to Noora, who immediately wraps her arm around Sana’s middle to keep her from falling off.

It’s unnerving how seamlessly it all plays out, like this isn’t the first time they’ve all been together at the same place, with all of them aware of the others’ presences, at least.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Mahdi groans, ”that out of all of us, only one got lucky tonight?”

Isak immediately notices how both Magnus and Vilde flush a brilliantly matching red and refuse to look at each other, but he thinks he might be the only one with how Eskild’s cackle and Jonas’ immediate complains steal everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got Eva which means you’re perpetually happy,” Mahdi waves off Jonas without listening to anything he’s said, and holds his fist out for Eskild to bump.

“I think this might be the straightest thing I’ve done all night.”

Isak snorts. “That doesn’t say a lot,” and tries to smother his laugh at Eskild’s affronted look.

“Noora,” he immediately whines when Isak refuses to give him any sympathy. “Come sit with me instead of this grumpy boy,” batting his eyelashes for extra effect, as if that’ll be enough.

Noora coos at Eskild from the other couch, but doesn’t move. She does, however, diplomatically add, “I’m quite sure dissing is reserved for those who haven’t gotten laid.”

Isak grumbles unintelligibly as Eskild gleefully grabs onto his shoulder and shakes him around. It’s mostly groaning noises coming out of Isak’s mouth, but it doesn’t really matter with how loud the rest of them are being.

“C’mon, baby grump,” Eskild needles him, still managing to poke him more often than not despite Isak’s best attempts. “Gimmie the gossip, the 411.”

He’s waggling his eyebrows dramatically until Isak rolls his eyes and pushes his face away.

“Oh, come on! It’s the least you can do after practically dropping off the face of the planet for the last forever!”

Isak’s stomach churns with guilt, and it’s so familiar – especially over the last little while – but also so dizzily overwhelming Isak nearly throws caution to the win and just chugs down the remaining half of the vodka bottle from earlier that he knows is still in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He remains sitting on the couch, surrounded by his friends and he doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

“It hasn’t been that long,” he tries instead, even though it has. He makes half-assed attempts of excuses, because he’s apparently both a shitty person and a shitty friend. And he sees how Eskild just knows it’s all bullshit, but because he’s Eskild he doesn’t comment on it and just lets Isak get away with it, probably realizing that confronting him right now would amount to nothing seeing as Isak is a mess barely holding on by a thread.

Mahdi and Magnus are suddenly worryingly quiet compared to the girls and Eskild, and Isak knows, okay, he fucking knows what they’re thinking about, what the real ‘411’ is. How a world-famous, award-winning-and-nominated movie director apparently knows Isak, and how Isak would literally rather run away than deal with it, scaring his friends into keeping quiet even as they can tell something is really, really wrong.

That gossip. Shit, Isak feels sick. He always does nowadays, and he’s sick of feeling sick.

He can’t tell if Jonas thinks he’s being sly or not, the way he looks at Mahdi and Magnus as if reminding them to keep quiet, Isak can only tell that he really fucking isn’t being smooth or covert about it at all, but pointing it out also means pointing everything else out, so Isak stays quiet. As always.

“You can go into his room and stare at his four non-decorated walls, and then you can walk to campus from classroom to classroom and go visit the library,” Jonas lists on his fingers. “That’s the extent of Isak’s 411.”

Eskild blinks comically.

“That’s it?” he blurts out, much to Sana’s amusement. Isak levels a glare in her direction that she not so smoothly pretends not to have seen. “Seriøst?” and levels a majorly unimpressed look at Isak. “Seriøst?” he repeats.

“What?” Isak knocks his arms out. “What did you expect me to do? Go frolicking at a uni club? Hook up in a storage closet? Chug my body weight in shots at the student union?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

Isak wrinkles his nose. “’Seriøst?’” he mocks.

“Seriøst!” Eskild doesn’t even comment on the sass. “Where are all the stories? The juice? The mind-blowing sex parties and crazy exes?”

Mahdi snorts and his face is relaxed, but his shoulders are tense. “Pretty sure Isak is the most drama-free out of all of us.”

Isak almost wants to laugh at that – if it didn’t seem more tempting to fall down a hole and stay there for eternity – or at the very least at Eskild’s very comically disbelieving face.

“Isak?” Eskild asks, pointing at him. “This Isak? This very specimen of an Isak? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Isak?”

“You forgot about the coffee shop he insists on visiting before a study session so he’s late for every single one of them,” Sana deadpans, her façade only cracking when Isak flips her off.

“Coffee dates, at least?” Eskild asks him hopelessly, slumping back on the couch way too dramatically when Isak shakes his head. “So you don’t go out – does that mean there’s just a slew of people coming in and out of this place?”

“Hey!” Isak objects, vaguely affronted at the insinuation, smacking Eskild’s arm. “And just how many times did I have to walk in on you doing it because you couldn’t move from the living room to your bedroom?”

Eskild doesn’t even have the gall to flush – life is unfair. Both Noora and Eva are cackling and pointing at each other whilst wheezing out half words, but it’s enough for Isak to conclude Eskild probably hasn’t stopped that habit after Isak moved out.

This is good, though. Moving the topic away from Isak’s antics when everything in his head is screaming at him, too close, too close, they’ll find out, they’ll just know.

“You never bring anyone back!” Magnus calls out and why did he think now was a good time to rejoin the conversation – and with that remark?

Eskild gapes over at him. “Isak isn’t scoring anyone?”

Magnus frowns. “I mean – I guess he isn’t. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“That can’t be, though,” Chris interrupts. “I’m in an entirely different program, but even I hear girls talking about him.”

“Uh, hallo, I’m sitting right here,” Isak reminds them, thankfully sounding more sassy than terrified. Fuck, his throat feels tight.

“Lots of talk,” Noora agrees, holding the rim of her glass against her red lips. “It’s got to be the curls.”

“Must be,” Eskild frowns as he looks Isak over. “That grumpy frown is an instant mood-killer, after all.”

“Not to mention the ugliness,” Mahdi agrees, grinning when Isak gapes over at him in faux betrayal. He doesn’t know how he manages to play it off so well – his heart is pounding and he’s scared Eskild’s sitting close enough to hear it.

“It’s your fault Emma Larzen has been blowing my phone up all night,” Vilde adds, and Magnus – still not able to look at her – snaps his fingers in her direction.

“He even had one served on a silver platter,” Magnus holds his hand out flat like he’s a waiter presenting said platter. “Ready for the picking, and he turns her down.”

A flush rises to Isak’s cheeks as he tries to groan indignantly. “I told you! I’m getting all these psycho-vibes from her, I don’t –“

“He doesn’t have to get with her, if he doesn’t want to,” Jonas points out, but it sounds half-hearted and falls flat even to Isak’s ears, which, admittedly, are mostly filled with the thrum of his pulse and his blood rushing.

Mahdi looks at Jonas like he’s stupid for even thinking that, and Isak doesn’t dare look at any of the girls, just in case he’s secretly breaking unspoken guy-rules only girls know about, and by breaking them they can tell something is up.

“Is he still sneaking out all the time?” Eskild asks, as if it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear Isak’s life is excruciatingly boring, meticulously so, because the last time Isak let his life not be boring things ended up really fucking shitty.

Isak steadfastly ignores how Jonas is looking over at him. He grabs one of the bottles on the table instead and starts scratching at the paper already peeling by itself from the damp caused by the condensation.

It’s stupid, because it feels like the only reason why is because Jonas knows, that he’s managed to figure it out and he knows, but that isn’t logical. It’s Isak’s fear playing tricks on him, but knowing that doesn’t lessen the actual fear one bit.

“Thought you were being all smooth, did you?” Eskild laughs, kicks lazily at Isak’s leg with his knee. “Thought we didn’t hear you coming and going and locking yourself in your room for a, seriously, insane amount of hours.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” Isak grouses, feels Jonas’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. He tries to scratch at a spot that sticks stubbornly to the bottle, but all it amounts to is a wet lump of paper falling off next to the spot Isak had been focused on.

Now he also doesn’t dare look at Eskild. He doesn’t want to see if he’s pretending to be or if he’s genuinely hurt from Isak constantly being an asshole to him about being overprotective, when Isak knows exactly why Eskild has always treated him a little gentler than he would anyone else.

“This is great!” Magnus laughs, nearly toppling off the chair when he throws himself backwards too hard. Mahdi catches his leg at the last second and hauls him back upright – Magnus doesn’t even look the slightest perturbed at possibly having avoided breaking his neck, and yet Isak is over here, physically safe but feeling like he’s one look away from a full-blown panic attack.

There’s only so much mean comments and eye-rolls can cover up, and going off of how consciously Isak can feel Jonas looking at him, Isak guesses he’s at the end of the rope.

Somehow, for some reason, his brain interprets that as if it means that’ll be the end of the traumatic, off-handed comments that can be spewed off about him for the rest of the night.

Maybe that’s why what comes out of Eskild’s mouth next leaves Isak so stunned – or maybe it’s just the revelation itself.

“I swear to God,” Eskild nearly spills his beer with how far he leans forward, “I’m pretty sure he was never alone in his room, like, ever.”

Suddenly all the noises that had built up fall away – in his head. Around him, there’s laughter and a wolf-whistle, and Isak hardly hears anything.

His heart is pounding.

He’d always known Eskild knew he had someone over, mostly because that was the only times Eskild would ever knock on his door instead of just plainly burst in, but he never stopped to think about how much does Eskild know?

Could he hear that the voice inside his room was deep, clearly male? He’d been careful never to leave Even’s jacket or shoes out in the hallway, but had he slipped up? It only would’ve taken once and everyone would’ve noticed. Or had he noticed how articles of Isak’s clothing kept disappearing, and then new yet clearly worn ones would pop up in their place?

“I didn’t –“ he licks his lips. “I wasn’t –“

All the sounds rush back. The others’ laughter is so loud, it feels like drums, like the noise is closing in around Isak and he’ll have to tear his way out of there.

Surprisingly, Noora is the one who helps him. “Like you’re one to talk, Eskild!” she laughs, plops herself down between Eskild and Isak and slings her arm around Eskild. “Or do I need to remind you of that one time where I –“

“Okay,” Eskild sasses. “You’ve made your point.”

She removes her arm from around him and holds them both up, palm flat in front of her chest instead. “I’m just saying – who has ‘The Lion King’ on their sex playlist?”

Jonas guffaws and there’s a round of sniggering, but Chris is leaning forward in her chair.

“Depends,” she points at them. “Which song was it? Personally, I’m quite partial to ‘Be prepared’ on my sex playlist.”

“Oh my god,” Eva wheezes, holding a hand over her face.

“What?” Chris knocks her arms out. “Way more appropriate than ‘I Just Can’t Wait to Be King’ or ‘Hakuna Matata’.”

“’Can You Feel the Love Tonight’,” Mahdi calls out. “How did you miss ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’?”

“Shit!” Chris swears and goes to knock the palm of her hand on her forehead, except she’s still holding her bottle of beer.

They’re all giggling messes when Chris has spilt beer into her hair and onto their beanbag, and the girls are trying to help her, but they’re all laughing too hard and Chris keeps moving because she’s laughing too hard.

And Isak finally feels his lungs expand so he can get in a lungful of air. His heart is still racing her he breathes it out heavily through his mouth, but it doesn’t matter.

He got to breathe.

The next morning, or more like afternoon, Isak wakes up, cramped up on the couch with Magnus’ feet shoved in his face. Mahdi is folded up on the beanbags and Jonas is simply passed out on the carpet they really need to vacuum before the day is over.

 Past

For ages, Isak’s teachers had been screaming about how big a change it would be to start high school, and now that Isak’s a first year it’s incredibly underwhelming.

Maybe it’s because there just… isn’t a whole lot different. It’s still just a school; he has classes and homework, but at least now he gets to take more science classes and gets to look at new people – or at least people other than Elias, who, if word on the street is correct, has become a bit of a dealer, so good riddance.

Or maybe it’s because something that’s supposed to be scary just doesn’t compare to all the actual scary things that have already happened in Isak’s life – including the things that aren’t supposed to be scary but are so fucking terrifying anyway.

Having to move out of his childhood home after his dad left and his mom got too ill and freaked out, meeting Even and daring to be with him, even if it’s just behind closed doors, and working so hard to keep the existence of the two of them secret from everyone. Changing tram stop really doesn’t compare.

Out of all of that, it’s probably the secret that weighs the heaviest on Isak’s shoulders and in his heart.

It’s not that he wants anyone to know. That’s not it. There are times where he looks at Eskild, and he knows it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things if Isak were to tell him, “Hey, I have a boyfriend,” yet the thought of opening his mouth and letting the words out make him feel ill in the worst way possible, mainly disgusted with himself.

Having people know something like that about him? Absolutely not, no thanks.

It’s not about Even, either, it’s about Isak. There’s nothing wrong with being in love with Even, anyone who’s ever met him and hasn’t fallen head over heels in love with him doesn’t have their head screwed on right, according to Isak.

He’s not even sure about what it is he’s so scared of. All of it, maybe. Definitely. The thought of the looks following him around wherever he goes, hearing people talk about him, about it, behind his back, knowing that everyone knows. Being called names, even if he should be used to it at this point, what with how much he’s been called homse for ages by now, but it still makes his pulse spike. Having people determine what he’s like before they’ve even met him, just because he’s the gay guy when in reality he’s just Isak – an Isak who met his Even and got to fall in love with him. The thought of being reduced to nothing but his sexuality is enough to make any stray, however brief, thought of just saying it out loud disappear faster than sunshine in Bergen.

Isak doesn’t exactly know what Even’s reasons are for not wanting to say it either. Probably a bit of the same, he reasons, when he takes the time to observe Even as he’s thinking about it.

Maybe there’s something else, too, but something Isak can’t quite put his finger on. The way he moves, how he talks sometimes. The way he looks at Isak, like he’s simultaneously in love and scared in the same way as Isak but also differently. The way Isak has out of the corner of his eye caught him looking when Isak has to leave for a little bit to avoid Eskild knocking to check in – like he’s both bracing himself for the sight of Isak leaving and is resigned to it. Isak doesn’t know what that means, but he hates that that is how Even always looks whenever Isak walks away, like he’s expecting it.

The actual ‘keeping it a secret’ part is different for the two of them, as well. In some ways, Isak grumbles that Even has it easier, but in others Isak can admit that he’s the one with the advantage.

Keeping a secret is easy when there’s no one else but you, when you’re all alone. Even has parents; parents that he still lives with, and Isak doesn’t. Parents, who ask him where he’s going, where he’s been, and for how long he’ll be gone when he leaves next.

Even has friends he has to keep up appearances with. The only people Isak comes into regular contact with that he doesn’t mind are Eskild and Linn, and it’s rather easy to just walk out of his room and into the kitchen or into the living room and talk to them or watch a movie so that they don’t constantly question what he’s doing.

Although, Isak can and does argue, Eskild, whilst nothing close to being Isak’s parent, can certainly be as overbearing as one, coming to knock on Isak’s door to check if he’s still alive, which always serves to send a stab of fear through his heart when Even is in his room with him.

Even has his bus. Though most of the people there are his original friend-group, so Isak doesn’t think that should count fairly high. Still, there are people there that Even chooses to socialize with beyond his immediate squad, and Isak… doesn’t do that. Doesn’t dare to. The more people he keeps close, the more time he has to spend lying, and Isak is just too high-strung and exhausted at the mere idea.

Even’s got a job. That bit is still fairly new – just a few months ago when one his many media teachers mentioned an old friend of a friend in the Norwegian film industry had been looking for an assistant, and if that was something Even was interested in.

Needless to say, it definitely was, so now Even’s the assistant to an assistant to an assistant to so many links of assistants Isak can’t wrap his head around it to an actual film director. And Even gets to be on an actual set – in the very background, but on the set – and witness his dream career in the works. Isak loves seeing Even like that when he finishes a shift and heads straight for Isak’s room, still reeling off of excitement and complete giddiness and full of stories.

Seeing Even excited, though, doesn’t quite make up for the unpleasant jealousy inside him that flares up when Even suddenly doesn’t have as much time for Isak during the day. It’s an ugly possessiveness he’s struggling with when he already has to spend all of his time with Even in hiding. It’s childish and stupid and Isak actually hates himself for it, which is why he makes such a big deal out of never letting Even know.

It doesn’t really matter, in the long run, Isak can admit to himself when he forces himself to think rationally about it. Because technically, Even can stay overtime at work, he’s allowed to, but he always comes back to Isak on the dot instead. He chooses Isak, and that’s enough to reel the disgusting green monster back from tearing apart everything that Isak loves.

Even chooses him.

He goes to the Kollektiv, even as it’s a twenty minute longer journey from his workplace than if he’d just gone home. He tells Isak as the first person all about his day, and he shares his dreams of when he doesn’t have to observe the work from the back wall but be right in the middle of it all.

He never hesitates to lean down and kiss Isak when Isak tilts his head back, lips pursed just the slightest if he wants Even to move even quicker than usual, and he never waits for Isak to prompt him before he just has to lean down and kiss him, even if he’s technically in the middle of talking.

It’s easy, Isak observes, his arms folded underneath his chin as he rests on his stomach, and Even sits at his desk supposed to be finishing up some homework but just too distracted to actually be productive. It’s easy to be content and excited and happy and ecstatic all in one when they’re like this.

Isak’s lying on his bed, wearing boxers and Even’s hoodie and Even’s seemingly can’t stop taking his eyes off of him.

It’s one of Even’s favorites, the hoodie, Isak knows, because he’d spent ages painting the drawstrings multiple colors that he’ll tell everyone who sees it they’re just the colors he had when Isak knows it’s the colors of the rainbow and the pink, yellow and blue for a reason.

The tiny i-s he’d written on the backside of the left one maybe should’ve brought Isak into a state of panic, because that’s just too close, too big of a hint, but it doesn’t. And every time he can get away with it, Isak steals this particular hoodie, because it’s soft and too big and it smells like Even.

It’s an added bonus that Even loves seeing him in it, loves seeing him wearing only that, and Isak can’t resist giving him coy smiles whenever he catches Even looking.

I want to marry him keeps repeating in Isak’s head. He can’t stop smiling. I want to marry him.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen the way it does.

It’s summer. The weather is so hot it leaves all the rooms in the Kollektiv feeling stifling and clammy until its residents-plus-one can’t stand to wear much more than shorts and the thinnest t-shirt in their closets.

It seems like the sun takes forever to set these days, and Isak both mourns the relieving chill of winter and relishes in golden colors and red spots dancing across his eyelids as he basks in the sunlight, sitting propped up against the foot of his bed.

Eskild’s gone out for the night to some southern European-inspired party to celebrate the unusually hot weather, and he’s dragged Linn with him to make sure she actually gets some vitamin D when she insists on sitting cooped up in her room all day.

Isak had, naturally, high-fived her when she pointed out that most people got plenty of vitamin D in the bedroom, and then Linn, after all of Eskild’s scowling, had gone with him without complaint.

Even’s working late this evening, staying overtime at the studio for the experience more than the money. Isak had texted him half an hour ago that the coast was clear whenever he does make his way over.

Even had texted back a heart ten minutes later but no possible timeframe on when that might just be, so Isak’s resigned himself to sitting back and melting into a puddle on the floor for Even to find.

He’s not sure he likes the silence.

It’s rare to find himself home alone in the Kollektiv – Eskild usually zooms his way through as he does with everything else in his life, but Linn is pretty much a constant presence in the small home they’ve made for themselves.

And if his flatmates aren’t home, Even is usually there with him, and time with Even has never made Isak feel alone in the way keeping secrets from your friends will do to you.

He feels… isolated, maybe, is the closest word to the tightening of his chest. Whether it’s isolation from the world or from himself, Isak can’t tell.

What he can tell, however, is that there is only one person in the world who makes Isak’s chest tighten in an entirely different way, in the best way.

It’s the third project Even’s been hired on to help with. This time around it’s a drama following around five different people’s stories; the only thing connecting them is the feeling of loss settling so deeply inside their bones they can’t escape from it.

Isak had joked Even’s eyes had practically lit up at the depressing nature of the theme, and then he’d spent the better of an hour kissing Even’s pout away and telling him over and over again how proud he was of him, how proud he was that Even was working towards something that makes him happy, until Even had been pink-cheeked and lips slackened and wet, and he’d been kissing Isak just to get him to stop talking.

Even when Isak’s sitting here now, in an empty home and waiting, in a room bathed in gold and with the door open in a silent invitation for the one person who’s invited in, even when he’s feeling the most alone he doesn’t feel lonely.

The Kollektiv feels like it’s waiting with baited breath for Even to arrive, and Isak’s right there along with it. The sun is moving further and further down the sky, but it’s still shining just as brightly as ever. And even with the proof of the day slowly coming to an end, with the actual embodiment shining right in Isak’s face that Even is later and later, he still only feels the need to laugh in complete giddiness and relief that he won’t ever have to feel that crippling loneliness ever again.

Waiting for Even for mere hours feels like nothing, doesn’t feel like the slightest sacrifice compared to what Even gives him back just by being there.

Isak is in fucking love, and even now, with so much time having passed since he first met Even, he still feels like he’s either about to burst with it or implode from working so hard to keep it all bottled up.

He never wants to give this feeling up. Never, ever, ever. Can’t even imagine the day he’ll have to. He hopes it never comes.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he’s being both young and stupid – he’s barely turned seventeen, Even’s his first boyfriend. Isak knows the clichés, knows he’s the exact personification of the naïve child thinking they’re all grown up now, but he doesn’t feel young or stupid. He feels like he’s in love.

He tips his head back, the duvet warm underneath his head, but his body is slumped too languidly for him to actually move or do something about it. It’s soft, at least, and Isak lets the remaining bit of the day’s sunlight warm his face.

The door slams shut. Isak hums happily when he hears Even call out his name, still not moving from his spot, but he tilts his chin a bit more pointedly when he feels Even’s presence in the doorway.

Even laughs, practically bounds over to him and leans down to kiss him.

“Halla,” Even grins between kisses, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the line of Isak’s jaw.

Isak reaches up to tug Even’s mouth back to his and ends up mumbling his own greeting into Even’s mouth. It mostly ends up as nothing more than a hum, and then Even hums back, so Isak hums again.

Even’s warm. Isak can feel it radiating off of him, like he’s the actual sun and he’s the reason why Isak’s being bathed in gold and feels so loose and happy. He smells of his cologne and a hint of sweat from a long day working in this heat.

Isak tightens the grip he has on Even, kisses him harder at the happy little noise Even makes. He never wants to let go.

They do part, though, after a little while. Even starts telling him about his day, about how far they’ve gotten and how he got to chat with the director for a couple of minutes before the guy had been whisked away to deal with an issue.

He’s sitting by Isak’s desk, had gone there when Isak had moved his stiff limbs up onto the bed. His laptop is open and his body is angled weirdly so he can look at both Isak and the screen, but mostly just ends up facing the window. He’s finished regaling Isak with stories from his day, sitting there in silence for now as he tries to find something he’d been working on and had wanted to show Isak.

The sun isn’t quite setting yet, the summer days too long for it to be that late yet, but it’s started its descent and Isak knows the light will soon fade behind the tops of the opposite buildings.

Right now, though, the sun hits Even beautifully. Had it been anyone else, Isak would’ve felt weird for staring so much. It being Even, though, he can’t tear his eyes away.

He looks good, Isak notes the way you always do when realizing something you already know about someone you see every day yet are suddenly reminded of. He looks ethereal. He looks like the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Isak.

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen.

He’s just so fucking happy, so fucking in love, and he never ever ever wants it to end.

“Marry me.”

It slips out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch on. He doesn’t want to take it back, though, so he just waits with baited breath for Even to say something, anything.

Even’s gaping at him, the look of surprise evident, but Isak had hoped there would’ve been a slight twinge of happiness or excitement there too – he hadn’t ever counted on Even looking sad.

“You don’t want that.”

“I do,” Isak insists. He wants to reach out and squeeze Even’s hand, but he has a feeling if he moves closer to Even, Even will pull back and flee so he just lies there.

“You don’t,” Even whispers. There are tears threatening to leak out of the corners of his eyes and Isak’s breath hitches.

He didn’t mean for that to happen. He never meant for… for Even to –

All of it doesn’t come down crashing on Isak, crushing him in the rubble, but bits and pieces do crack apart, and suddenly Isak does feel both young and stupid.

Of course Even wouldn’t want that. It’s – it’s not necessarily too soon – they’ve known each other for ages by now, have been together for just as long pretty much, and they’re basically cohabiting already with brief intermittence of Even having to leave to keep up appearances with his parents that he definitely does not have a boyfriend and that there definitely isn’t an Isak in Even’s world, like there isn’t an Even in Isak’s.

Isak had just thought –

He doesn’t know what he thought. Or, he does know, but being in love isn’t always enough to warrant that kind of proposal.

He just proposed. Holy shit.

He should’ve taken more time, more care. Even’s a romantic, he broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress Isak and get his attention, he likes big gestures, and here Isak’s blurting it out like he’s asking what Even would like for dinner. He should’ve gotten a ring – although there are a lot of questions if even that would be a good idea given their situation.

Maybe – maybe that’s it. Maybe Even does want to get married, he just doesn’t want to get married to Isak.

Isak doesn’t doubt that Even loves him, that’s not it. There’s always a nagging thought at the back of his mind when Even tells him that he does, that it would be easier for Even if it was someone else, but Isak’s selfish and he wants Even.

It’s just that there are easier people out there for Even to love, and it would be cruel of Isak not to realize that.

Maybe Even wants someone he can do the big gestures for, that he can show off, someone he can put a ring on their finger and not have to worry about pronouns and nouns and them just being the wrong gender. That person isn’t Isak, and Isak can’t ever imagine being that person who so light-heartedly can do that.

It doesn’t make it hurt less. And it doesn’t explain why Even said Isak couldn’t be the one to want that.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Isak mutters. His cheeks are burning, and he simultaneously can’t stand to look at Even, but he also can’t stand to look away, so he ends up switching between glaring at the wall behind Even and lowering his eyes to the floor, wishing for it to swallow him up. “Just – never mind. Forget it. Don’t mind me.”

Stupid, young, and a fucking idiot.

“That’s not –“ Even’s voice breaks, his words sound thick and like it’s a struggle to speak past a lump in his throat. “That’s not what – that’s – Isak.”

“Forget it,” Isak repeats. He almost wishes he was wearing a sweater, despite how bad the heat already is around him, just so he could curl up and hide away. God, he never should’ve opened his stupid, stupid mouth. “It was – it was dumb. You wouldn’t – let’s just –“

“Isak,” Even breathes out, sounding just as lost and heartbroken and Isak doesn’t understand.

It is fine if Even doesn’t want that, no matter the why, but Isak doesn’t understand why it makes Even react like that.

“That’s not –“ Even tries again, but he doesn’t get further than he did last time either. “You don’t want that. It’s not me – it’s. Isak, you don’t want that.”

The panic is still threatening to overwhelm him, to swallow him up whole until there’s nothing else left, the flight or fight instinct just too present a reaction to the hurt that’s also threatening to overtake him.

But that – that just doesn’t make sense. Isak wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want that.

Obviously, now he’s having second thoughts, but not because he doesn’t want to be with Even forever and ever, as it seems like Even is insinuating, that is tearing him apart to insinuate.

“Why –“ Isak shakes his head as if it would clear his mind of all unwanted thoughts and make him able to think rationally once again. It doesn’t work. “Why do you think that?”

“Because –“ Even’s hands are shaking. “Because I never should’ve gone over to talk to you.”

Isak’s stomach drops. Along with his heart. And his entire body. He feels like he’s weightless, floating around like nothing at the same time as he feels like he weighs a metric ton. What – what?

“You deserve so much better,” Even’s struggling to get the words out, sounds like his throat is too thick. There are tears starting to gather in his eyes. “Always, always. You – you deserve everything, and I –“

He cuts himself off. Isak doesn’t feel like he’s present in his own body, feels like he’s forgotten how to open his mouth and use his words to shout you, you are the one who deserves everything.

“What are you talk-“ Isak manages to get out, though it sounds wrong and not like it’s him who’s speaking. Even cuts him off before he can finish.

“I’m bipolar.”

He says it like it’s the answer to everything, everything bad, that is. It’s –

Isak honestly doesn’t know what to think. He always knows what to think, always has a thousand different thoughts running through his head, either knowing everything about anything or wanting to find out everything about anything. Now, there’s nothing except Isak’s growing panic as bipolar repeats in his head.

“They’d just finalized the diagnosis, and I –“

Even licks his lips, tries to buy himself time, but time for what Isak doesn’t know. Even looks like he’s just finalized his own death sentence, and that everything that comes out of his mouth past this point isn’t an appeal but his final words, his last chance of redemption before a new life.

“I just had to get out of there. I just left – the hospital and my parents. I just had to get out of there. Scared the shit out of everyone,” he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. It sounds wrong when someone is as close to crying as Even is right now, like it’s less of a laugh and more or a sob. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Isak’s bottom lip is quivering. He tries to bite down on it to make it stop, but that just makes it seem like the entirety of his face is shaking.

“And I saw –“ Even cuts himself off, sniffs and shakes his head at himself. “I should’ve left you alone, I know that, because you – but you were just –“

He laughs. It’s not an amused laugh, sounds more self-deprecating and sad and desperate than anything else.

“You were lying in the dirt in the middle of the night, cursing up a storm about how the pictures you were taking of flowers in the middle of the night were turning out shit, and –“

Even’s eyes are wet, but he looks impossibly softly at Isak when he finally meets his gaze. Isak thinks he might be crying too, or at least is close to it.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Even confesses, so quietly Isak nearly can’t hear it, but he does. He hears it. “And I should’ve just left you alone, but I’m selfish. It was like – like you were magical, like I was in a movie and you were what everything had been leading to.”

Isak wants to reach out to him, wants to run his fingers over his skin, let his hands curl around his cheeks, but he knows Even will draw back if he does that.

He also isn’t certain he could actually manage to do it as it seems like his entire body has stopped working, including his heart, and his lungs, and his mind, because there’s only one thing continuously whispered, bipolar, bipolar, bipolar.

Isak doesn’t know a lot – anything – about bipolar disorder. Knows the obvious or just the stereotype, maybe. He figures he could probably see hints, looking back, should’ve maybe noticed the hints way back then. Thinks that Even ranting about other people invalidating his feelings, about the tight smiles when Isak would tease how multiple sleepless nights would naturally end with him conking out for days on end, should’ve been enough to tell Isak that something, that not everything was what he’d been led to believe, that there was more to the story.

Maybe Isak should be scared. He’d spent ages trying to help his mother, been there when she wasn’t well and things were so shit he just wanted to scream.

But this isn’t his mother. It’s Even and Isak’s so unbelievably in love with him.

“I’m glad you came up to me,” Isak blurts out before he’s really thought it through. He doesn’t regret it, though. He squares up instead, stares directly into Even’s eyes and keeps his back straight.

Even’s lips are pressed tightly together, and he has that pinched look to him that tells Isak he’s about to argue with him, probably ask if he hasn’t heard a thing he’s told him, but Isak doesn’t let him.

“I don’t tell you how to feel,” Isak reminds him, has to swallow when he sees the stricken look on Even’s face. “And you don’t tell me how to feel. That’s how we work.”

He lets the ‘right?’ hang unspoken in the air, but Even still nods in agreement as if he’d said it out loud.

“And I’m telling you,” Isak has to swallow – for how steady his voice sounds, he feels incredibly shaky, “that if you thought meeting me was something magical, then me meeting you was a miracle.”

Even’s shaking his head again, looking ready to argue, but Isak won’t let him. Not with this, never with this.

“I was barely alive, back then,” Isak tells him. Even knows some of this, has probably gathered enough from what Isak hasn’t told him, all the blank spaces left unsaid and untold but with enough given to hint why they’re like that. “I was just waiting for each day to pass until one day I’d finally get to live.”

Even knows what he’s leading up to, Isak can tell that he knows. That he’s already heard the ‘you were what made me finally feel like I was living and not just surviving.’

“You saved me,” he insists. “And that’s how we work. What happens after you save me?”

Even shakes his head. His eyes are teary, and his lips are pressed together tightly. “Isak –“

“What happens?”

Isak feels the sigh Even emits all the way inside his bones, feels how it makes him heavy. Such a startling contrast to how light Even’s reply makes him feel.

Even’s voice is quiet, so, so quiet, Isak nearly doesn’t hear him. “You save me back,” is said softly, kindly, lovingly, but also tinged with a sadness that has Isak forget everything but utter hopelessness.

He refuses, though. Not when Even knows what he’s saying, what he’s trying to tell him.

“You would’ve felt like that anyway,” Even argues, is still minutely shaking his head. He’s frowning, but Isak thinks it might be to stop himself from crying. “Eventually. You still would’ve gotten to feel that.”

“I would,” Isak agrees, because theoretically, he probably would’ve. “Eskild gave me a lot. Maybe I would’ve started to feel it when I started at university. Maybe I’d only start feeling it once I got a degree and started working. Maybe I’d meet someone and fall in love and that’s when it would start.”

It’s such a foreign thought, that he could ever fall in love with someone who isn’t Even. Even also looks a bit like the thought of it is breaking his heart, even if it’s one of the points he’s trying to make; that Isak would be alright without ever having had Even in his life.

“But nothing would ever feel like how I feel, right now, and have felt all this time, with you.”

Even still doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he also looks a bit like he knows, because that’s how he feels too, so it feels a bit impossible to argue against it, like it’s a moot point.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Isak admits, doesn’t clarify what it is, there’s no need. “And you know me – I’ll go on a research bender, and I’m going to drive you insane with it, so you’re going to have to tell me when to stop.”

Even doesn’t look pleased at the prospect of having Isak interrogate him, but he does nod curtly.

Isak digs at the skin around his nails, picking at hangnail until he’s nearly bleeding. It doesn’t make it easier to gather his thoughts, but Isak doubts anything would be helpful.

It feels a bit like someone’s swept the floor out from underneath him. He feels dizzy from it, feels like he’s lost the center of his gravity, which is stupid, because it’s still just Even. Nothing has changed, nothing important, but still –

Isak knows there are a lot of things neither of them talk about. Their entire relationship is founded on lies and secrets that’s always been more of a security blanket than whatever this feeling swirling uncomfortably around in Isak’s stomach is.

It’s not like he has told Even everything there is to possibly know about him, but he knows the important parts, and Isak – Isak just hadn’t realized they were apparently also keeping secrets from each other.

He doesn’t blame Even, that’s not it. On a scale of secrets this one is huge, and it’s not like Even isn’t allowed to keep secret, it’s more that.

That Isak thought Even trusted him.

Finding out he doesn’t, doesn’t feel very nice. It feels absolutely horrible, in fact.

“What are you thinking about?”

Isak’s never heard Even sound like that; small and insecure and maybe even a little afraid. Isak scares Even, and Isak also doesn’t know what to do with that, what to do with anything.

“I –“ he tries to swallow through the lump in his throat. It nearly gets caught instead and breathing feels even harder to do afterwards. “I just – why didn’t you tell me?”

Even looks small, sitting there on the desk chair. He feels miles away from Isak and that doesn’t feel good. He’s never seen Even look small, he’s always been larger than life, even when he was quiet and sleeping for an entire day – crashing, Isak reminds himself – Isak’s heart had always felt so full and overwhelmed whenever he looked at him.

“I still didn’t know what to think about it at first, when I met you.” Even when talking, Even is quiet. It’s awful. “And then, later, I kept telling myself you had to know, that it was only fair, but I – I didn’t want to lose you. And then you told me about your mom, and how that was why your parents were always fighting and that’s why you left, and I couldn’t –“ his voice cracks when he breaks off.

Isak’s jaw is clenched. Blood trickles out from his hangnail when he accidentally digs too hard.

“It’s not the same.”

Even doesn’t look like he believes him, but Isak doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s the only thing he keeps thinking – that it’s not the same, because it isn’t.

“It’s not,” he repeats.

“How?” Even looks resigned, and Isak would’ve thought he would sound tired, but for the first time ever that Isak’s heard, Even sounds bitter. “How isn’t it the same?”

“Because I don’t blame you for being ill, how about that?” Isak snaps. He can feel years upon years of anger and resentment and shame welling up to the surface, and it’s making something ugly inside him want to crawl out, want to lash out at everyone around him, when that really isn’t something Isak wants to do. “I’m not ashamed of you being bipolar. It’s not some ‘character flaw’ that I’ll do my damndest to avoid because it would be inconvenient for me.  I wouldn’t make the people closest to you lie about it just to avoid the social consequences of associating myself with you.”

Maybe it’s not entirely fair. Maybe there’d been lots of other shit going on between his mom and dad that Isak had never bothered looking into, because everything else was already too much and he wouldn’t be able to handle one more thing piled on top of the rest.

He’s not ashamed of Even. He’ll never be ashamed of Even. It sounds like a lie, considering the great lengths they go to, to keep each other a secret, to keep them a secret from the rest of the world, but that’s not Isak being ashamed of Even – no more than it is Even being ashamed of Isak.

“Maybe it will be,” Even points out stubbornly. His cheeks are flushed red and he’s staring straight into Isak’s eyes, but it’s like there’s something between them, something clouding Even’s eyes and twisting his mind until he can build his walls up again and protect himself from Isak. “Next month, next year – you don’t know you won’t resent me for sticking around.”

And Isak –

He wants to scream, wants to cry, both wants to prove he’ll never be like his father and abandon them, but at the same time wants to just bail, and that just makes it worse. He feels the fury inside him and wants to let it out, to show the world just how much can go wrong in a relationship and how much things going wrong can fuck someone up.

But Isak also knows this isn’t Even talking. Or – it is, but it also isn’t, because this is Even protecting himself from when shit will hit the fan, so that he isn’t caught off-guard, so he won’t end up in that doctor’s room again with pitying and worried looks constantly thrown his way until he’ll feel like he’s suffocating.

“It’ll happen,” Even promises, so sure and with certainty in his voice, that Isak wants to cover his ears and scream to block out all the noise. “I’ll hurt you, I know I will.”

In this moment Isak does feel incredibly young and a little out of his depth, but he doesn’t feel any less in love. Of all the uncertainties floating around his head, that isn’t one of them.

“You don’t know that.”

Even huffs, not believing him, and Isak’s tired. He’s tired and he’s going out of his mind and he still wants to never let go of Even, so he gets off the floor and strides over until he’s standing right in front of Even.

The room feels so much darker now compared to when Even had first gotten here, greeting Isak with a kiss and stories. God, that feels like hours, days, ago, not twenty minutes.

Even looks smaller like this, him sitting and Isak standing, but also from his shoulders hunching and body curling in on itself as he tries to convince Isak that he’s better off without him.

“No, you don’t know shit about that. Maybe I’ll be the one to hurt you – did you ever think about that, huh? Maybe neither of us will hurt each other. At least not so badly we can’t fix it.”

Even opens his mouth probably to protest, but Isak’s done. Done with all the hypothetical scenarios and what ifs of all the ways they can go wrong.

He wants to focus on the ways they can go right.

By slowing down time. He curls his hands around Even’s jaw and tilts his head back so he can’t avoid looking him the eyes. They’re impossibly blue and shiny from the wetness threatening to spill over the edge. Even when he’s upset like this and clearly wants to hide from the world, from Isak, Even accommodates him, lets him maneuver him into facing him.

“Why don’t we, just, take it completely chill,” Isak whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along the line of Even’s cheekbone, “and we stop worrying about all that. Life is now, and so all that matters is, like, the next minute.”

“The next minute?”

God, Even is usually the one to say cliché things about how Isak is his baby, is his boy, and in this moment can’t help but be reminded how reciprocal that feeling is. Isak’s gorgeous, beautiful boy with a heart of gold and future bright and full of dreams.

Isak nods. “The next minute. That way we don’t have to worry about all the ways things can go wrong.”

Even sniffs. “Because even we can’t manage to fuck up irreparably within a minute?” he jokes, but Isak hears everything past the lighthearted tone, hears the worries and the anxiety and the guilt and shame and the hope.

So Isak smiles softly, continues rubbing his thumb and doesn’t comment on it when a catches a trail of wetness. Then he lets Even hide his face in his t-shirt, his forehead digging into his sternum.

Isak cards his fingers through Even’s hair, bends down far enough that he can press tiny kisses to the back of Even’s head, to the top of his neck.

“Sorry,” Even sniffles, not really crying but also not-not really crying. He’s still hiding away, so Isak just hums soothingly, only stopping when Even starts repeating himself. “Sorry, I – I should’ve told you, I know. I’m so sorry, that was – that was so fucked up of me to do. I should’ve come clean the second we started getting serious, I should’ve let you know –“

“Okay,” Isak just says, because he doesn’t want to tell Even he understands why he didn’t say anything when he’s only certain he partly knows why Even didn’t tell him specifically, and he’s also not going to lie and say he doesn’t feel fucking confused and slightly hurt at Even not telling him.

In hindsight it does explain a lot of things; the sleepless nights, the moments Even went from geared one day to little more than lifeless the next time he’d see him, the surge of text-messages to the bare minimum. Jumping from one project to another without finishing any or become hyper-fixated on one and working on nothing but.

Isak doesn’t realize why he hadn’t paid attention to it before – or, maybe he had, just a bit, felt that at times Even’s behavior was slightly off, but he never really went as far to think that – It never seemed natural to assume that.

“Breathe,” Isak reminds Even softly, the fingers on one of his hands moving down to trace the line of Even’s throat, running along his pulse. Even with the light touch Isak can feel it’s beating too fast. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

Even’s breath rattles when he lets it out. It feels warm and damp through the light material of Isak’s t-shirt, makes his already sticky skin feel clammy with it, but he just presses another kiss to Even’s hair.

“Is that what we’re doing for the next minute?” Even asks, speaking slowly to not make it as evident his body is still thrumming on the remains of adrenaline and panic, making him short of breath. He doesn’t sound mean about it, though.

“Yes.”

“And the minute after that?”

Technically, that’s against the rules, but Isak isn’t up for reminding Even of that.

“The minute after that,” he tells him instead, “we’re going to kiss.”

“That’s chill.”

Isak exhales amusedly at the irony.

“That’s chill.”

OOOOO

“Do you think,” Even wets his lips. Isak can’t tell if it’s a nervous tick or to just draw out time. “Do you think there’s a universe where I’m not like this? Where I’m easier to deal with?”

Isak’s throat tightens. He wants to cry.

It’s in the middle of the night, but Even is still lying awake next to him in bed. Eskild and Linn have long since gone to bed, Isak and Even did too, and they really should’ve fallen asleep by now, but they haven’t.

“It’s not like I’m easy to deal with either,” Isak reminds him.

Even scoffs, moves as if to turn to his side, turn his back to Isak, and Isak can’t have that. His hands fly out underneath his own body so quickly he slaps Even’s shoulder in his hurry to grab onto his t-shirt.

“I’m not,” he insists. Even’s still lying on his back and he’s not actively struggling against Isak’s hold that he doesn’t yet dare loosen. “There are probably hundreds of universes out there where – where you won’t have to hide behind closed doors to be with me, have you thought about that? Where I’m – where I’m a girl, or you are, and there’s no reason for all of this bullshit. Or maybe there’s one where no one would bat an eye at the both of us being boys, where we wouldn’t have even stumbled over the thought.”

Isak moves one of his hands up from Even’s shirt to lightly stroke against the hair curling at the nape of Even’s neck. It’s more awkward than anything, but that’s because it’s the arm he’s lying on and not because Even is resolutely staring into the ceiling, refusing to look at Isak.

“Maybe there’s one where I don’t give you a reason to leave.”

Isak shrugs, tries to calm down his absolutely pounding heart. “You haven’t given me a reason to in this one.”

Even scoffs again, but he doesn’t try to move away from Isak. Small wins.

Isak doesn’t know what happened to make Even so certain people, Isak, will leave him because of this. He figures maybe it had something to do with those boys that he’s occasionally seen him with by accident, when they’re reminded of just how small Oslo really is and that despite meticulous planning, they can’t always avoid running into each other in public.

Even talks about them, sometimes, and Isak’s always been desperate for every single bit of information he can get of Even’s life – the part of it that Isak has never had access to, anyway – so he feels like he already knows the entire group, but… the way that Even talked about them always made him curious. It made it seem like they were his long-lost friends, not people he saw every single day up until they graduated together back in June.

Even doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, what he’s obviously close to saying, only holding himself back to avoid an argument, to avoid revealing his soul to such a terrifying, vulnerable degree, even if it’s to Isak. Or maybe because it’s to Isak.

Isak knows what Even wants to say. He wants to say that he’s already given him a reason, and if not then they just have to wait for a major episode, or maybe just a small one, and then Isak can see there’s a reason to break this off.

But this isn’t something Isak wants to break off, not for any reason. Reminding Even of that, though, wouldn’t mean anything to Even who won’t let himself process it, won’t let himself belief that it’s true, that there’s still hope for them, that they can still be ‘them’, so Isak changes tactic.

“Maybe there is one where I leave. Hell, maybe there are multiple universes where I leave you.”

Even’s not breathing next to him. Isak can make out his eyes in the darkness, but he can’t tell if they’re shiny from unshed tears or completely dry as Even remains stoic. He doesn’t seem it, though. He seems to be feeling the exact same emotions as Isak; frayed and like someone is unpeeling him bit by bit until he’s exposed for the world to see with nothing holding him together.

“But not in this one.”

Even draws in a deep breath. It sounds shaky.

“In this universe, I stay with you. In this universe, I choose you.”

“This feels like therapy,” Even grouches, but he’s still looking at Isak with that look that always serves to make butterflies swirl around inside of him, even if it’s a little withdrawn and Isak can still tell that this isn’t, that they aren’t okay yet. “I hate therapy.”

Isak can’t help but grin shyly. “Pretty sure it’s not therapy until you start paying me.”

It startles a bark of a laugh out of Even that comes out a little too wet. “You expecting me to pay you, now?”

And it’s fun, because acting like this with Even is always fun, but this, this right now, is Even talking around the subject.

“’Fraid I only accept boyfriend payments,” he says carefully, watches with heavy heart as Even stops smiling and starts looking ready to argue again.

Isak hates having to make him stop smiling, but it’s necessary. They need to do this, can’t just let it hang in the air. They do this with everyone else; talk in half-truths and leave things unsaid and just entirely in secret, but not with each other. Even knows everything about Isak, and Isak had thought he knew everything about Even, too. He’s not angry to find out he doesn’t – confused, a little, maybe a lot, hurt, but he’s not angry.

He probably would’ve been, had he found out any other way, if Even had never confessed to it, if he’d just left it unsaid until one day Isak would find out when either everything was going to shit, or it was just too late entirely.

Even must come to something close to the same conclusion, because the fight leaves his body, and when he starts talking, he answers Isak truthfully.

“I have…” he hesitates before continuing, “almost a sort of love-hate relationship with it. To it?”

“How come?”

Even tries to gather his thoughts, figure out what to say, how to explain. “I hate how it makes me feel, how out of control everything can seem. I like being the one who can decide things and it – it takes that away from me.”

Isak blinks. “And the – the other part? The love part?”

Even wets his lips nervously. “I hate feeling sick,” he says. “I hate how it takes away any feeling of control. I hate how it makes other people look at me like I’m weak, like I’m breakable.”

Isak waits. Allows for Even to let it all out.

Even’s breathing heavily, not quite panting for air, but it’s irregular and mostly superficial. Isak doubts he’s actually getting any air in, but at least he’s not panicking.

“But, if I hadn’t had that appointment, if I wasn’t ill,” Even adds, “I wouldn’t have left my parents’ side that night.”

Isak tilts his head to the side, a slight, confused frown pulling down the right corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have gone to Birkelunden, and I wouldn’t have met the cutest boy I’d ever seen, lying on his stomach in the dirt, trying to get a picture of a flower.”

Isak flushes, as he always does when Even talks about him like this, squirms with a bit. It’s almost like he can feel Even’s heart beating in tandem with his own; a little too quick and a little too hard.

It’s impossible not to feel it, and feeling it so strongly makes it impossible not to say something.

“I still want to marry you,” Isak whispers into the darkness.

It’s the first time Even’s stayed over for the night since he told Isak. Isak’s spent the past hour just about debating whether or not he should say something before he just went ahead and did it anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t push these things. A lot of the websites spoke about needing a stable environment and avoiding stress factors, and Isak has this nagging thought in his head that this entire thing they have going, this – this sneaking around and keeping secrets from everyone in their life, having an entire secret relationship, everything that Isak is to Even, is quite a big stress factor.

But he doesn’t want to leave this hanging in the air, not like he’s done with so many other things. This should never be something he grows to regret not saying, and it shouldn’t be something Even should worry about was legit or not.

Even is tense next to him. It sounds like he’s holding his breath, and Isak can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or from waiting for Isak to continue or if he gearing up to argue.

The latter, Isak fears, because Even still has that look in his eyes, the one that says he still fully believes everything he said about how he was too selfish and that Isak deserves more, when Even to Isak already is everything.

“I know you’re probably thinking – hell, you’re thinking too much to keep up with, but you’re definitely thinking I’m only saying it because I said it before and now I don’t want to admit to it being a pity thing, but that’s –“

Isak cuts himself off, shakes his head, not harshly enough the bed shakes, but he can hear how his hair shifts against the pillowcase, causing crinkling noises that fill the sudden silence.

“I don’t know how to convince you it’s not,” Isak admits instead. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m so in love with you that I never want you far away from me, that I can’t imagine having to live a life without you. I can’t think of anything other than telling you, again and again, as many times as it takes, but I also don’t know if that will ever be enough.”

Even swallows loudly next to him. He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what that means. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“If you really don’t want to marry me, then I’ll never mention it again,” he promises. “But if the only reason you have for not wanting to marry me is because you think ‘I deserve better’, then I’m going to ask you again. I’m going to ask you every single time I can’t believe I could possibly love you any more than I do in that moment.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, wants for Even to say something, to reply, to just let him know – something, anything, that Even is ready and willing to give him.

It makes it easy to hear how Even tries to control his breathing, tries to keep it slow and heavy, make every inhale deep, all the way down into his stomach. He hears it every time Even opens his mouth only to close it again. Until he finally manages to get some words out.

Isak expects – maybe he doesn’t quite know what he expects. A rejection, maybe, denial about everything Isak just said.

No matter what, he doesn’t expect, “Move in with me,” to be what comes out of Even’s mouth.

Isak blinks. Doesn’t really matter in the darkness, but he still does it. Blinks again, even. “Huh?”

The sheets next to him crinkle as Even shuffles around to face him. Isak’s gaping in his direction, he knows, but it’s too dark to see anything besides his silhouette.

“Move in with me,” Even repeats, voice deep and slow.

It’s almost like how he usually sounds when he’s close to falling asleep or just waking up, but he’s neither right now. His voice is steady, he sounds sure in himself, while Isak feels like he’s stuck on a rollercoaster.

“I’m serious,” Even says when Isak just keeps on staring. “Move in with me.”

Like Isak was questioning how serious he was. He’s been working really hard to not let those parts of the websites influence him, refuses to see Even as a child in need of a firm hand to keep him safe, but this kind of question feels so horribly impulsive the thought is the for a shameful second before Isak manages to kick it out again.

“A place just for the two of us,” Even starts painting the picture as beautifully as everything else he does. “We won’t have to sneak around, won’t have to wake up at crazy times just to avoid getting caught. You could finally wear my clothes without worrying, I could get to cook you breakfast.”

Isak’s heart is starting to pick up its pace again, for an entirely different reason now.

“Think about it,” Even prompts. “You said that Noora’s coming back from Spain soon, that’ll be one more person to sneak around, plus there aren’t enough rooms. You’d still have your safety net – you’d still have Eskild to fall back on. We could only put my name on the lease so you wouldn’t have any obligations if things fall through.” If they fall through, Isak knows that means.

“We’ll have to anyway, you’re the only one out of the two of us who’s turned eighteen,” is what comes out of Isak’s mouth instead. Holy shit, he keeps thinking, feeling, maybe, too. Holy shit.

Even lets out a startled laugh that’s too loud for the hour, but Isak’s feeling too shaky in the best of ways to shush him. Even clamps a hand over his mouth himself anyway, tries to smother his giggles behind fingers and the duvet. He sounds every bit as much of the holy shit being continuously repeated in Isak’s head.

“Are we really doing this?”

Isak feels like his feet have been swept off the ground, feels like he’s floating, flying around. It doesn’t feel scary, though. Not when he knows Even’s there, ready to catch him.

“I’m serious about you,” Even whispers once he’s gotten his laughing fit under control again. “Always. And always want to be. And I want to marry you, want to get married to you.”

Isak’s heart tha-thumps loudly in his ears as he waits for the ‘but’.

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I never want you to regret anything.” This, me, us.

It’s every bit the but Isak was expecting, fearing, but it’s not the worst but he’s imagined hearing.

“The same goes for you, you know,” Isak reminds him. He grabs Even’s hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes. It somehow feels more intimate than a kiss would’ve. “I never want you to regret choosing me either.”

It’s in the middle of the night on a hot summer’s night, and Even’s eyes are sparkling even in the dark and his thumb is rubbing along Isak’s hand in small circles, and Isak’s in love with him and discussing their future together. He hopes fervently that in every single universe out there, there’s an Isak and Even who find each other, and that there isn’t a single universe where there’s an Isak stupid enough to leave their Even behind.

“I won’t,” Even promises.

‘Forever’ suddenly seems impossibly short when Isak will get to spend it with Even.

Next part

[theghostbeaters]

my timeline of thoughts during my tlou 2 play through (bad and good and maybe even some silly) just let me vent because i can’t stop thinking about it tbh

- i was away from the internet for months because i didn’t want to be spoiled for anything, so when i started to play i had only the deceitful trailers to go by

- the beginning felt pretty normal for the last of us. they started you in the town and then on patrol for your hour of tutorial basically. i also remember thinking the recap of the first game was so nice because i liked seeing their younger selves in the new graphics

- abby was introduced, and like i said i had no clue what was going on because i had not been spoiled so my mind was going a mile a minute on wtf abby and co. were up to. when they spotted jackson my initial thought was maybe they do want joel and they will be the main antagonists? joel and ellie will have to fight them??? but because of the trailers, death of any sort wasn’t on my mind.

- i also had a very odd and pure hatred for owen’s voice, lol. i don’t know what it was but omg from the moment he spoke till his last breath i would always be like “why is he speaking like that??” in the back of my head.

- that scene happened. i’m a crier i’ll admit, but this was something else. I felt shocked, nauseous, numb. I don’t think I actually even cried till I saw the tombstone i was so taken aback by the way they went about this. I don’t care if they are fictional characters. It has been 7 years since the first game came out and almost 5 years that they released the first trailer for part 2. I did not wait this long, excited to see two of the most important characters to me in such realistic graphics get their fucking head caved in. at the very very least a fade to black and then to the tombstone would have gotten the same reaction you wanted from me, but it would have been done in a way less cruel way.

- i took about a 3 hour break. i could not get that image out of my head and it was really starting to upset me more then any media should. i don’t care or want to hear about any walking dead or apocalypse setting trope. it will never be edgy, deep, or meaningful to kill a favorite character in that manner. I want to state that again. In that manner. If they had killed joel in a more tactful way I could have possibly liked the game more.

-i remember thinking it felt forced. like the creators wanted this narrative so badly they seemed to go through hoops and hurdles to get there. there was a random horde that seemed to disappear as quick as it came, abby just gets lucky and has joel and tommy save her and then they go straight to the lions den? would joel from the first game be so quick to do that? Wait was she 100% sure just from two peoples names this was the guy she wanted? Ellie gets there just in time to see the final blow and then the others only get there just in time to miss everything and not be able to help? Whats going on??? This feels too structured and not genuine?? 

- going into his house was just as painful. i’m sorry but i’m going to bring this back up a lot-  if they would had just killed him in a more tactful manner i would have praised the way these little scenes were done. grabbing his watch, ellie smelling his clothes, seeing the pictures of sara and ellie, looking at his workshop and seeing how well he can carve! I couldn’t appreciate it the way I wanted to because I couldn’t get that image out of my head. i was literally bawling the entire time. 

-REVENGE TIME BEGINS:

+so the first scene was set: ellie wanted to go to seattle for revenge, dina was going to go with her, and tommy had already left. I remember having two thoughts here

  +“please tell me its going to be more then ellie just going on a revenge spree and then at the end she doesn’t kill abby because morals / murder is bad / not everything is black and white kind of tropes.” 

  +and “i have a wild feeling tommys gonna be like the only person that makes it out alive. he did it in the first game somehow hes gonna weasel his way free in this one.”

-ELLIES SEGMENTS:

+the graphics are amazing the sceneries are some of the most beautiful i have seen in a game. and it didn’t stop there. every area was amazing. I think most can agree to this. 

+i was determined, no matter what else the game threw at me i was going to see it through to the end and try very hard to visualize it the way the creators wanted it to be visualized. even if i didn’t agree or didn’t like parts, i figured hey the first game was so good this has to revive itself.

+i really liked the gameplay, it was a finer tuned version of the first game. i also liked the idea of the map and how it actively showed you different locations and crossed them out when you were done. but in the back of my head i was thinking “wow this would have all been so neat in the first game”. I shouldn’t be thinking about the first game. I should be enjoying this one.

+i was getting concerned none of the new characters were getting as much character development and love as some of the characters in the first one. I liked dina a lot, and by the very end of the game she did feel pretty rounded out (i especially liked her in the farm segment)  but the beginning and middle seemed almost more focused on “this is ellies girlfriend” instead of “this is dina”. I felt the same with jesse. I liked him but nothing stood out as much as it could and should have. I got more from tess in the short amount of time she was in the first game.

+there were certain segments that felt way more horror like and scary then in the first game and I loved them a lot. The new enemy (shambler) was cool and the settings where they used red lighting looked amazing. I also really loved the new take on stalkers. They were way harder to find and I found myself on edge to get jumped by one during those sections. They funny enough reminded me of dead space stalkers and i thought they were an improvement from the first games.

+at this point i pretty much understood what the creators were going for plot wise, but i personally just didn’t think it was needed. 1) i’m confident the majority of hardcore last of us fans already understand the concept of how every character can be good and bad and that not everything is black and white. we didn’t need to see one beloved character die horribly and the other be in that much pain and lose herself to understand that. 2) did we not pretty much already cover this concept in the first game? but....better? you remember...the ending?

- ELLIES FLASHBACKS:

+ of course I enjoyed them. its what i needed from a sequel. its what the whole game should have been, at least for me personally. the birthday flashback was the highlight of the entire game. i needed it so badly after the mind numbing, emotionally exhausting, weird out of place plot was putting me through. I was glad to finally see how ellie felt about the ending of the first game. but trying to crunch all that in 4 cutscenes? I just don’t feel like it was enough. you basically gave me one scene per year of joel and ellies relationship and you felt like that was enough to let me digest almost 5 years they spent in jackson?

- ABBYS SECTIONS:

+call me an optimist or maybe just stupid i’m not sure but when it rolled over and said “hey take over and check out the life of joel’s killer” my first thought was okay so i was right they want a “”nothing is black and white”” narrative but maybe doing it this way will be new and fresh? I can get through this and enjoy it? .... Its just not a fully possible reality and how could it be? had it been the first game in the series maybe it would had worked, but of course no matter how hard I tried I just felt disassociated from abby because I was already close to joel and ellie. I understood her reasons. I understood the narrative you were going for. I understood the damn parallels. I’m not an evil person that would just laugh about what happened to her dad, but how can you not understand as writers that a huge majority might be able to understand it, but still won’t be able to enjoy it. It felt so pushed and shoved into my face that I couldn’t enjoy it if i wanted to because the game just kept screaming “LOOK AT THE PARALLELS THO!!!”

+abbys dad seemed forced and out of place too. when abby and co. first killed joel i didn’t even think fireflies tbh. I thought it was something he did before he met ellie, or something he did during the 5 years in jackson. like yeah i got it, its not the worse backstory in the world but when put in context to the first game it just doesn’t make sense to me to use as the narrative you want to portray in the second game. maybe i’m nitpicking here but from all the personal notes and all the tapes you can read and listen to about the fireflies in the first game it makes it hard to believe the majority of fans would care for the second games narrative at all. they already made their decisions. it at the very least just seems like bad salesmanship? but maybe they already knew that and thats why the trailers were all lies? (just my thoughts at the time remember) 

+and oh god was the character development even worse for abbys friends. at least they tried to give abby a rounded character development that mirrored ellies but if you think ellies friends barely got character development, abbys friends got almost zero. I didn’t care about a single one. they felt so flimsy and husk like. “this is the boy she likes” “this is a medic friend” “this guy likes sex alot” “this is dog, so of course you like dog”

+I mean its great everyone was able to be so different. abby is muscular, ellie is a lesbian, there were many poc, dina is jewish, they brought in a trans character....but how can i enjoy any of it when more than half of these characters felt put in just to be there instead of well rounded characters you can appreciate for good or bad?

+the sex scene with her and owen was the scene where i personally felt myself giving up. it felt so much like this game wanted to be an HBO classic instead of just a video game that i felt myself detaching even more. (also whats up with owens voice??? lol)

+GROUND ZERO was a very good chapter. That shit was spooky in all the good ways, it felt a lot like dead space with the plastic everywhere, THE BIG ASS MONSTER HAD ME ON MY KNEES. The chase scene up to the actual boss fight was A+. Here is the one catch though - I forgot I was playing as abby. It felt more like just playing first person. Not a character at all. I don’t think that is how you want your game to be played, and no it wasn’t my intention. 

+I wish yara and lev had gotten more screen time. the game was so focused on the abby vs ellie thing and shoving it down your throat that most the side characters got washed out, these two included. Their story was interesting and it would had been nice to see more of them instead of whatever the weird love triangle abby had going on with her two friends I couldn’t care less about. (i stg chances were given, but as i previously stated they felt more like husks of characters then fully rounded ones.)

+getting hunted by tommy was actually a pretty cool highlight of the game for me. and even for a narrative i didn’t personally like it was a good idea to do! it reminded me of the sniper section (but holy hell tommys a better shot lol) and david’s hide and seek section in the first game which i thought was very well done. 

+this is when i went “oh maybe i was wrong, tommys gonna die. i give him a 20% chance of survival now that abby saw his face

-THEATER TIME

+why in the all out hell would you ever think it would be a good idea to tell the player to go after ellie? no matter what narrative? lmao. I died here the most literally for the soul fact i was scared there might be some kind of choice so i wouldn’t mash QTEs as fast as i normally would. and when i found out no, you just gotta power through it i literally found myself going through this 10 minute segment going “but i don’t want to do this”, “i really dont want to do this”, “do i have to do this?” “why do i gotta do this?” and yes i still understood your narrative but it doesn’t matter. it was just awkward. 

+This is where personally I would have put the cali segment if I really wanted to go with a narrative I still say didn’t need to happen because we already went through it in the first game, and then the happy farm bit at the end. 

-FARM

+i felt the game was going on too long and i was literally screaming at my screen to just end my suffering when i realized there was more after seattle. adding the extra PTSD scene just felt like an added fuck you towards the fans. I said it once, I’ll say it 1000x that scene with joel was seared into my brain already. I didn’t need that literal jumpscare. I already knew what ellie was going through dammit I was going through it with her! Let the girl and me for that matter have a bit of happiness after what you put us through!

+holy hell tommy fucking lived. he fucking lived. that mother fucker. hes the new telltales kenny. 

-SANTA BARBARA

+I said previously this section should have some how been merged into the seattle ending. I couldn’t tell you how honestly, but keeping it dragging like they did was so emotionally draining. it didn’t give me any feeling but more sadness and torment for a favorite character that didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. ellie looked so skinny and sad here. and i feel like it was what the creators were going for? because abby ended up looking just as sad looking. The ending fight was so sad and pathetic. I felt bad for both of them and that is what the creators wanted right? but at what cost? most of your fans, if they even managed to play this far, so emotionally drained and tired that they end up hating the game or not wanting to play it again? 

-ENDING

+so how do i feel now that i finished it? overall there were more cons than pros for me. as i said numerous times before this narrative is not new, this narrative was not needed. this narrative definitely shouldn’t have been lied about through trailers. this narrative was basically done better in the first game anyways. the ending did not give me “sad but hopeful”. it just left me empty and depressed. I don’t see myself playing this game ever again. 

+If anyone was able to enjoy it I’m truly happy you were able to and these were all just my personal thoughts and opinions while playing the game. I don’t hate anyone that liked it, I don’t even hate abby. I just personally hate they wrote a narrative that felt so forced down your throat in all the wrong ways. I hate that I wasn’t ready for that joel scene because it still hurts to think about. I hate thinking about how sad ellie looked and how they were both treated. It just wasn’t healthy for me tbh is the best way I can put it. 

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 16

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | Crossposted to AO3

As far as targets went, Rian Darok was proving to be an exceptionally dull one. The contents of his schedule turned out to be incredibly mundane, as it just consisted of meetings with other SpecOps officers. Once he returned to Coruscant, there had been a brief hope that would uncover the proverbial smoking blaster. However, it seemed to lead to just more meetings, and an interminable amount of time spent in front of a data terminal searching for nothing of interest whatsoever.

The low-profile made sense, though. If Darok had a hand in what happened with Tython, that kind of thing would have taken a lot of time to plan out. Theron had tried scrubbing through the man’s personnel files on his breaks, but it was spotless. There was zero indication that Darok was anything but a loyal citizen of the Republic, and had no reason to collude with the Empire. In fact, he probably had more reason than most soldiers to hold a grudge. In fact, according to his personnel record, he probably had more reason than most soldiers to hold a grudge. He was the sole survivor of an Imperial attack on the Dorin’s Sky while it had been serving in the Nanth’ri System...

The location gave Theron pause, and he stared at Darok’s file. The galaxy was a big place, and seasoned veterans would have served all over the map, but that particular system was familiar. Wasn’t that the same system where Revan had fallen to an Imperial strike team? That same funny feeling that had been haunting him since this whole thing had started crept up again, starting at the base of his spine and slowly crawling its way up, until every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It was circumstantial at best but… it was odd how connections to Revan kept popping up. First with Jensyn, and now Darok. 

If he didn’t know better, he’d almost suspect they had some little secret club. Of course, that didn’t make much sense. Revan was dead, and all of these connections were just… coincidence. Funny. The timing of the attacks on Tython and Korriban were supposed to be coincidences too.

He glared at Darok’s file, but it didn’t yield any further insights or secrets.

The Tython investigation was beginning to wrap up, and Trant had begun to redirect resources. The Analytics Division was moving on from post-mortem reports to dig into the data that Theron had managed to extract from Korriban during the strike team’s raid. Of course, that wasn’t sitting well with Theron either. His data was clean, he knew that, but the intel that had started all of this mess, the one that they’d raided Korriban for had yet to be turned over to the SIS yet. 

The last time Theron had asked the Director about it, the face that Marcus had made would have been almost comical. Almost, because a lot of people had died for that data, and now it was apparently lost in some military bureaucracy. Theron considered calling in a favor from dear old dad, see if maybe he could grease the wheels. But that might call too much attention to the fact that Theron was very interested in the origins of all of this.

So unless he wanted to try and involve more people in his crazy conspiracy chase, it was best that he not attract to much attention. He still hadn’t found any proof yet to sound an alarm, just a bunch of odd coincidences and interesting pieces of trivia with nothing to connect them all together. He stared at the terminal in front of him, absently tapping his finger on the keys.

Highwind had reported that Darok, or some men under his direction, had been unusually interested in the Jedi’s library. Theron pulled up the official investigation into the Tython attack. He tried to scan through the findings, but only found reports on destruction, compromised terminals, and some missing artifacts.

With a glance to his surroundings, he slipped out the private datapad he’d been conducting his own personal investigation on, and did a quick check on the current whereabouts of The Defender. It appeared that she’d been called back into duty to help mediate a dispute of succession for House Barnaba in the Tapani sector. He tapped the bezel of the datapad, wondering if it was too soon to say anything, considering he hadn’t uncovered anything yet. The nagging thought about the Archives wouldn’t leave him, so he pulled up his empty inbox, and began to compose a message:

To: Greyias Highwind From: Theron Shan Subject: Nothing Noteworthy Yet

I wish I could say I’ve found something, but it’s been a slow two weeks since I last wrote. The life of a SpecOps commander is apparently very mundane most of the time, filled with meetings, meetings, and more meetings. And when not meeting, apparently they’re in front of a terminal cruising the HoloNet. I’d say your taxes at work, but you don’t really take a salary do you? Still, you get that fancy ship, so I guess that’s something.

I’ve been knee deep in this investigation on Tython. There’s a lot of data on damage inflicted, suggestions for beefing up security, how security failed, and what was taken. It’s a lot, is what I’m saying, and I’m still sorting through it. I keep thinking about our mutual friend and the library though, and what might have been so interesting there. Just trying to find some correlation between that and what we’ve gotten from Korriban.

Just to keep busy mind you, since our buddy is boring me keeping such a low profile. You ever hear anything interesting about that before your trip to Barnaba?

He stared at the letter for a few moments, recalling the previous communication he’d received, and added one last bit:

I also feel the need to let you know that as vast as they are, the SIS databases aren’t all-knowing. There’s a lot of entries on famous pieces of jewelry around the galaxy, but nothing about this bracelet you keep bringing up. Still want me to keep looking?

Satisfied, he sent off the letter, and stowed the datapad away for now. He’d have to wait for answers, and in the meantime, had to close out the official report on Tython.

When he’d mentioned that the intel side of his job was boring, he wasn’t kidding. There was a lot of snooping, and occasionally some fast-paced running, but there was a lot of waiting that wound up happening between discoveries. The first one came in via official channels, an intel request from Darok on "Isotope-5 Proliferations and Deployment in the Empire". Theron was pretty familiar with the contents of that already, and it made perfect sense for the colonel to be requesting it considering the devastation wreaked by the Iso-5 bombs on Tython.

The second one came to him as he was getting himself another cup of caf from the community carafe, although the sudden arm flung around his shoulders made him nearly spill his drink. Theron at first thought he was being assaulted, and it was only his quick recognition of who the arm belonged to that saved its owner from having his face shoved into the wall.

“Shan,” Jonas exclaimed, “why haven’t we gone out again?”

“Because you’re still banned from the Dealer’s Den for cheating?”

“I do not cheat!” Jonas proclaimed loudly, then leaned close. Theron felt something being slid into his pocket and heard a quick whisper. “This qualified as weird for me. Mind telling me what you’re up to?”

Theron shot him a glance and shook his head minutely, and then made a show of elbowing him away. “You might be right, I hear there might be a crooked dealer there.”

“I don’t like to accuse people of cheating without proof,” Jonas said carefully. “Being wrong about that’s almost as bad as cheating itself.”

“As I said, I just heard, never confirmed.”

Jonas pressed his lips together in a thin line, a little concern surfacing through his cheery facade. “I’ve got to run to Denon, I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it for a rematch at Dealer’s Den for a while.”

“That’s too bad,” Theron said casually, “I wouldn’t mind having another go myself.”

“I’m not a fan of drinking alone, Shan. Gets rather lonely. You really shouldn’t either.”

“I’m touched by your concern for my social life, Balkar, but I’ll be fine.”

“I’m more concerned about that face jumping in front of more incoming fists. Or maybe getting a vibro-knife in the back. Bar fights can easily get out of hand.”

“Funny how that doesn’t stop you from getting into them when I’m around.”

“That’s because we’re both there,” the joking edge from Jonas’s tone was rapidly fading away. “I’m just saying, it’s not a good idea to take on heavy hitters without someone backing you up.”

It probably had been too much to hope that Jonas wouldn’t get some clue of what Theron was doing in his off time after their last drinking session. It was clear that his occasional partner was not going to let this drop, and if he kept the conversation going too long it was going to attract attention.

“What if I took a date?”

“I might get jealous if you start running around on me with another drinking partner. Does he have a good right hook?”

Theron shrugged. “Hers is better than yours, that’s for sure.”

“Her?” Jonas’s eyebrows shot up, intrigued. “This the same girl we talked about last time?”

“Could be.”

“Well, in that case I guess I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll allow it? What are you, my keeper?”

“When you’re being a careless idiot? Yes,” Jonas ground out. “You don’t always look both ways before leaping into oncoming traffic.”

“I’m always careful, and I’m never an idiot,” he corrected.

“You still leap into traffic, though.”

“Have to get across the street somehow. Crosswalks are boring.”

“You’re the worst sort of pedestrian.” Jonas shook his head, and then fixed Theron with a hard, serious look. “Just watch yourself, okay?”

“Don’t I always?”

“No,” he said, “that’s why I’m saying it. Don’t make me find another drinking buddy, Shan.”

“I already told you, we’re not bud—”

Jonas cut him off with a glare, and the usual retort died on Theron’s lips. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and let out a sigh. “Fine. We’ll get another round next time we’re both in town. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Jonas said flatly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with the least chatty person in the Denon system. Can’t be late for that.”

“Have fun,” Theron intoned as his fellow agent left as quickly as he came, leaving Theron alone with his caf.

He glanced around, sipping from his mug and making his way back to the data terminal he’d staked out. As he sat down, he fingered what had been slipped into his pocket, marking out the familiar shape of a data chip. Considering the ruckus Jonas had made, it would be best to look at it in the relative privacy of his apartment. 

The rest of the hours dragged by, as he found it hard to focus. His eyes kept straying to the chronometer at his station, as his mind kept straying to the data chip and Jonas’s ill-concealed concerns. He’d tossed Highwind’s name in the conversation to get the other man to back down, but he still wasn’t sure exactly what role the Jedi should play in all of this. She’d provide ample muscle if he needed to make a show of force, but he still had to wonder about her reliability.

She’d been all too eager to throw in with him to uncover the truth behind the attack on Tython, but enthusiasm didn’t earn any extra points with him. If anything, it only puzzled him more. He’d expected a far more grizzled, no-nonsense Jedi from what he’d read in her dossier, and he’d seen some hints of a more battle-hardened personality emerging when she was leading the strike teams. There almost seemed to be a different person that emerged when the pressure wasn’t on. He wouldn’t describe that as normal, because she came across far too earnest and almost compassionate to a fault. When he tried to mesh those observations with her record, including the curious gaps and sparse mission details that smelled of a coverup—he was just left with more questions.

Theron didn’t like questions, as it meant he was lacking intel. And not having the right answers could get him killed in the wrong situation. It was hard to say if this was one of those cases, as he tended to lean on the more paranoid side of things. It still bugged him, though. He preferred to know exactly what and who he was dealing with. Maybe if he’d known more about Darok before taking on the Korriban op, things would be very different right now.

His eyes strayed back to the chrono, watching as another minute ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace, and he tried to calculate the time that had passed since his last missive to The Defender. The previous replies had come in rather quick, but he was already nearing seven days without a response. It didn’t bother him exactly, as it was obvious that there were more important things for a Jedi Knight to be doing than checking her inbox constantly. And considering the six-month gap in her dossier, her being out of contact wasn’t exactly an abnormal occurrence.

Maybe after he looked at whatever Jonas had dug up, Theron would check in on the HoloNet and see what was happening in the Tapani Sector.

Just out professional curiosity. That was all it was.

[rattlung]

aight homie i just finished a sandwich, let’s fucking go

(I have this thing where i firmly believe that crypto’s drone is like find familiar in dnd. just the idea of him sitting in a room with his squad and feeling secure enough to log onto the drone and get all this information and relay it to them, only to log off and find that they left already gets a cheeky little laugh out of me

also you’re gonna have to forgive all the inconsistencies with the areas such as building layouts in this compared to the game. i’m just rlly missin kings canyon and my brain refuses to process the new map well enough to remember what half the stuff looked like lmao)

and why are crypto and mirage always on the same team but their third gets switched out all the time? who knows. let it be a mystery 

i chose established relationship btw :^)

----=----

Mirage hated when the ring closed in in Fuel Depot. There were just too many angles to watch for, too many buildings to hole up in, and too many points of interests to rotate from. Ending up there before the ring caught up usually meant fighting too many squads at once without a break in between.

At least one of the teams had Pathfinder on it. He and Mirage were both perched on separate roofs across from the other, using the back wall and AC units for cover, keeping an eye on each other through the thick plexiglas. Every so often, they’d peek out and fire a few shots off, sometimes hitting, most of the time not.

Once, Mirage had gotten him good, the sound of Path’s shields shattering after two direct hits with his Wingman. Pathfinder immediately fell back into cover, but he upped the volume on his speakers to call out, “Amazing shots, friend!” 

Mirage laughed and ducked behind his own cover to reload the pistol. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a bot!” 

He couldn’t see him anymore, but he could still hear Pathfinder’s cheerful, “Thank you!”

Shaking his head, Mirage settled down to check his ammo. He could stand to continue his and Path’s weird little competition, poke him down some more to whittle away at his meds, but he wanted to be sure he had enough for the last fight. With the way things were, it was going to be a big one. He could see the alarming red glow of Wattson’s fences through the windows of the building Pathfinder had been standing on. There was no sign of Wraith, but Mirage knew she’d be close if not already knocked out of the match.

Caustic, his other teammate, had hunkered down in the smaller, single-floored house off to Mirage’s right. Every door was blocked off, denying entry to any enemies - and teammates, something Mirage was sure he did on purpose. 

There wasn’t any movement anywhere else in Depot, but there were two more teams left that weren’t accounted for. Capitol City was close, but the amount of space that wasn’t being burnt up by the ring was small. If both teams were out there, they would have clashed by now, thought the only shots Mirage heard so far were his own and Pathfinder’s.

Crypto had muttered something about hunting them down a while ago. He’d hopped up onto a desk left behind on the top floor of Mirage’s building, tossed out his drone, and focused on the holo screen in front of him without another word. That had been about ten minutes ago and he still hadn’t said anything yet. Every so often, Mirage would catch sight of a green light zipping in between the little valley separating Depot from Capitol City, so he assumed the chase was still on.

Mirage looked back out over his AC unit and saw Pathfinder doing the same. Quickly, before he could tell himself no, Mirage fired his Wingman once, twice, and didn’t find his mark. Pathfinder ducked back again, anyway.

“Those were warning shots!”

Behind him, through the open door, he could hear Crypto speak. “Gibraltar’s squad,” he announced shortly. “Racing the ring.”

“Loud and clear,” Mirage replied even though he knew Crypto couldn’t hear him. Anything the drone couldn’t see or hear, neither could Crypto, at least when the remote was active. And the drone was way out there, toward Capitol city right where Mirage had expected a team to be. All three teams accounted for.

Wait, four teams. There were four teams left.

That was probably why he could hear footsteps beneath him.

Mirage jolted up to his feet and sprinted back inside, flinging the door shut behind him before Pathfinder could get any crazy ideas. He headed for the stairs rather than alert Crypto, because it might have been Caustic, and he didn’t want to look stupid and panic over a false alarm that would aggravate both of his teammates.

The door downstairs swung open and Mirage could hear the hollow clanking of metal canisters, the sound of boots hitting metal too fast to be Caustic.

Bangalore, then. Mirage had spent too long running from that sound to not recognize it. It was a little lucky, though. He’d fought her enough times to know that she could get a little too eager for a kill; seeing a target with its back to her tunneled her vision. Mirage could handle her, he just needed to take the fight downstairs and away from his stationary teammate.

Who knows, maybe the fighting would draw Caustic out of his little rat hole and he’d actually contribute on his own volition for once. Doubtful, but a man could dream.

Mirage picked off a grenade from his belt and rolled it down the stairs after pulling its pin. He hoped the tapping of metal on metal was enough to grab the soldier’s attention, but if not the following explosion would do the trick. Mirage ran to the door at the opposite end of the room, using the noise to cover his movement, and vaulted over the railing.

He dropped in front of the open garage. Seeing no sign of Bangalore, he sent in a decoy to test the waters for him. It ran calmly in at its own pace and stopped the second it hit a wall, appearing as if it were looking out the window. He almost thought Bangalore had retreated to another building when a single shot cut through the decoy’s head and Mirage heard the ping of the tech on his left shoulder go out as the decoy shimmered away.

Still in the building then. 

He pulled another grenade off his belt and threw it toward the corner he’d seen the shots come from. This time, Bangalore answered with the thumping pop of her smoke launcher dropping a thick cloud that smothered the first floor. Mirage cursed, hearing steps cross the room right before the grenade went off - steps that went toward the stairs.

Mirage ran into the smoke toward the sound, ignoring how he couldn’t see a foot in front of him, and pulled his Carbine out from where it’d been resting along his back. Once out of the garage area, the room beyond it was small so it didn’t take more than a few seconds to come across Bangalore through the haze; she let him know he’d found her by swinging out with the butt of her Scout. Mirage ducked under it narrowly and came back up using his shoulder, shoving Bangalore back. If it was hand-to-hand combat she wanted it, it was hand-to-hand combat she was not not going to get. She’d win that any day of the week. What Mirage needed was distance and enough room to aim without firing from the hip.

A blue light began to glow through the slowly fading smoke and Mirage heard the mechanical whirring of a Peacekeeper warming up just in time to lurch away. The spread was more controlled and easy to avoid thanks to the attached choke, but if Bangalore even got one shot in on him, he’d be in a lot of trouble.

The smoke was mostly cleared now and Bangalore rose her Peacekeeper to aim at the first figure she saw, blinking before she could pull the trigger. Mirage stood in front of her, one hand on his hip and grinning like he’d done something to be proud of. To his right, Mirage fired off a round from his finger gun, pretended to blow smoke from the barrel, and winked at her. In between the three of them, Mirage seemed to be checking the state of his hair in the reflection that wasn’t there in the glass of the window. Somewhere off in the back, Mirage waved over the shoulder of Mirage almost like he was trying to get her attention.

Bangalore scowled harshly. “Son of a - “

Behind her, Mirage thumped the back of her head with his Wingman. “Quite the prebi - predippa - “ He winced at himself, pulled the trigger. “Bad situation,” he finished as a purple death box clattered to the floor. “Bad situation, got it.”

“What happened?”

Mirage turned to see Crypto at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t seem particularly panicked, just eyed the several Mirages that littered the room and the door that was blown out - presumably from one of the grenades he’d thrown earlier. Mirage looked around, too, like it was his first time seeing the chaos himself, then down at the crate Bangalore had left behind, and finally back to Crypto.

“Oh, nothing, honey,” he said, waving the other off to match with his put-on dismissive tone. “Just another one of those salespeople, don’t worry about it. I told them we weren’t interested.”

Crypto’s brow rose and if it wasn’t for the small, tiny snort, Mirage would have thought he wasn’t amused. “Good work.”

The smile dropped from Mirage’s face. “What?”

Crypto’s head tilted. “Good work,” he repeated slowly, coming off more like a question.

“Oh,” Mirage said, though he still sounded confused himself - or maybe shocked. He pulled himself together quickly. The showy grin returned and he shrugged. “Oh, yeah, well, of course. What else did you expect?”

Crypto’s curious look didn’t fade away, but he must have decided to spare Mirage any questioning. “Two teams left. We are almost through.”

Mirage nodded and pulled off his pack, mostly as an excuse to get out from under the scrutinizing gaze. “Right, yeah, just gotta patch myself up real quick.”

“Take your time,” Crypto told him, heading back for the stairs, hands in his pockets. “Caustic isn’t going anywhere.”

----=----

Usually when Crypto ventured out further into the drop ship it was when he knew no one else would be in the halls, and even then he liked to have his drone with him. Elliott jokingly referred to it as the “buddy system”. Any time Crypto would leave, Elliott would notice that the drone would lift from its docking station to follow him and he’d call out, “Wait, don’t forget your buddy!”, like maybe the drone was following him as a preference rather than just being programmed to track and follow Crypto’s position.

But that was Elliott, always putting personality and character into anything. 

Today, though, that wasn’t possible. Not after it’d been shot down late in the match earlier that day. He’d been forced to leave it back at it his dorm, laid out on his desk waiting for repairs. Ones that would probably take up the majority of the evening if he got distracted, which he probably would. He still showered quickly, because it was best to get started even if it was tedious.

The mess hall was loud when he passed it and full enough that no one noticed him when he slipped by. They weren’t landing that night as the morning block schedule started tomorrow for the games, so everyone must have gathered to make a mess in the kitchen together rather than spend the night alone. Crypto remembered hearing Gibraltar mention Pathfinder’s stew during the day, but had shrugged off the invitation despite the general interest of seeing how well the robot could pull it off.

He was more interested in the quiet of the dorms. With Octane gone, there was bound to be plenty of it. Every time he even thought about the speakers Octane had set up, pointing out of his room, Crypto felt the corners of his mouth twitch down involuntarily. He never said anything, though, because Octane was nice. Actually, joining the Apex Games forced him to learn several different skills; most were for survival, like how to tune out a lot of incessant noises.

However, when he crossed into the threshold of the dorms, there was still music blaring through the sitting area - music that came from his room. Crypto ventured closer and stopped in the doorway, coming across the sight of Elliott stretched out on his bed, and waited for the other to notice him.

Which didn’t take too long. Elliott let the magazine he’d been reading drop onto his chest then onto his lap when he sat up to smile at Crypto. “Oh, hey. I figured you’d be sneaking around somewhere.” He leaned over to paw at the remote left on the desk and the thundering rock lowered into a more bearable volume. “I fixed your drone, by the way. There wasn’t much I could do about the casing - that’s one gnarly bullet hole. It’s up and running, though, but I would still run diagnostics. Anyway, I was wondering what you wanted to do for dinner, because everyone’s in the mess, but there might be some of Path’s stew leftover by the time they all leave. If not, though, lemme tell ya, I got the best recipe for - what? Oh god, what?”

“You fixed my drone?” Crypto asked, voice tight despite his efforts put into appearing unworried.

“Well.” Elliott threw a look over to where the drone was docked, its eye glowing a faint green. He looked back at Crypto nervously. “Well, now I’m not so sure because you’re acting like maybe me doing that wasn’t very intellella - a very good idea.”

Crypto moved over to the desk, picking up the drone’s control cube and effectively putting his back to Elliott. He didn’t want the other to see his expression or to let on how genuinely worried he now was. There were a dozen different kinds of firewalls he’d implemented into the drone’s software, ones that - if they weren’t passed through carefully enough - could brick the entire system entirely. It was for safety, mostly, since the drone stored quite a bit of data that he technically wasn’t supposed to have. If Elliott had hit even one of those, it was likely Crypto would have to reboot the entire drone. That could take hours depending on how severe the damage to the hardware was. Which, like Elliott had said, was pretty severe. If that were the case, he probably wouldn’t be able to use the drone in the games tomorrow, but - 

But besides a slightly distorted screen, the remote communicated to the drone with maybe only a quarter of a second of lag. On the dock, its green light grew more intense and buzzed with power.

Crypto’s shoulders slouched and his head tilted quizzically.

“I’m sorry,” Elliott burst out suddenly. “I probably should have asked - or just, y’know, not even touched it. I just stopped by to wait for you and saw it laying there and thought I’d do you a favor, but - “

“It’s fine,” Crypto told Elliott, and also himself.

The other seemed hopeful, yet still a little unsure at the surprise lilting in Crypto’s tone. “Yeah?”

“Ya,” he assured, turning just enough to show off the functioning holo screen before he snapped the control cube shut. He wanted to ask how he’d managed it, but judging by the shocked expression on Elliott’s face Crypto imagined he wouldn’t get much of a straight answer. In a sense, the trickster still managed to create more work for him, since he now worried about the effectiveness of his security protocols, but he’d work on that later. For now, Elliott really had done him a favor. He pocketed the cube and aimed a small smile at him. “Thank you.”

For a split second, Elliott’s features lit up. A genuine, relieved smile curved his lips and Crypto knew that if something actually had been wrong, he wouldn’t have told the other. That scared him a little bit, implications of what that could mean caught him off guard, but in favor of enjoying Elliott Witt’s smile, he decided he just wasn’t going to think about it.

Because it was gone soon enough, replaced by a cheaper grin that still wasn’t bad to look at. “Don’t mention it,” Elliott told him with a nonchalant shrug. “All in a day’s work. Actually, mention it if you want to, I’m not gonna stop you.”

Crypto scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll restrain myself for now.”

“If that blew you away,” Elliott continued, pointedly ignoring him. “Then wait until you get a load of my pork chops.” He paused and gave Crypto a considering look. “That kinda sounded suggestive and weird - but I promise, they’re really good.”

----=----

“We need to push someone.”

Mirage pulled back around the rock he’d been looking out from behind to level his teammate with an annoyed and disbelieving look. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, Wraith, let’s push someone - here’s our options.” He pointed down further into Thermal Station where he’d been watching the boxed in, electric hum of fences. “We got Wattson and Gib’s fortress of solitude, or - “ He then jerked his head to gesture up toward the train tracks high above them, “ - Bangalore’s fun and interactive ‘Shooting Fish in a Barrel’ game. Let’s just push one!”

Wraith narrowed her eyes at him, teeth gritting at the sarcasm. “The ring is closing, Mirage.”

“What do you want us to do, Wraith? We can’t go left without giving Bangalore a clear line of sight. There’s no way we head into Thermal without Gibraltar calling down his bombardment on us on our way in, and even if we did make it, we’d be walking straight into Wattson’s fences. She probably has her weird, generator thing set up, so it’s not like we can just flush them out with ‘nades. No matter what, we’re caught out.”

It really was an unlucky circle. They had landed out at Epicenter and had too many fights that lasted too long; most of the match was spent running and out-healing the burn of the ring. By the time they’d caught up and were able to catch their breath, they were left out of position as the other teams made it there before them. If it hadn’t pretty much cost them the game, Mirage would have found petulant joy in the fact that Wraith really couldn’t prove him wrong.

She looked over at Crypto, who’d been passively watching the argument and looking like he had no intentions to intervene. Wraith rose her brow very pointedly in a nonverbal question Mirage couldn’t catch. 

Before he could snap, ask, What are you looking at him for?, Crypto shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

That seemed to satisfy her, because she threw a thankful look up to the sky.

Mirage looked between them. “Take care of what?”

Neither answered him. Crypto’s hands pulled from his pockets and his focus went into the control cube, his drone buzzing to life and zipping around their cover.

Wraith stepped passed Mirage to follow it. “Get ready to move,” she told him, blue sparks crawling around her right arm. She clenched her fist and the air around it popped in a high pitched, suctioning sound. Left behind was a small, pulsing orb with a trail that connected it to Wraith as she took off in a sprint around the very edge of the ring. Straight for Thermal.

“Uh, team?”

The popping of a G7 above them startled Mirage and the dirt kicked up at Wraith’s feet, but she was too fast. Weaving in and out of boulders and using the haze of the storm to her advantage, she was able to avoid the shots until it was all downhill into the factory. Just above her was the green light of Crypto’s drone, keeping pace.

Then, the sky darkened after the low, rumbling call for mortars and Mirage heard himself crying out, “What was the plan, here?”

Before the ground started shaking and explosives started blasting the dirt in smoke and fire, Wraith slid down the decline for the extra momentum and kicked off the ledge right above the platform.

They’ve got a shot on you.

The barrel of Wattson’s Devotion glinted from the glow of the lava when it lifted to aim at her. She could hear the energy start to burn as it fired up. 

You’re in danger - move!

“Phasing,” Wraith called into the comms, and with her left hand she pulled. Like a curtain, reality opened for her and she slipped right through.

A few seconds behind came the drone, its green aura already shifting to something much more intense, to blue, to white. It hung above the fortified platform, pulsing, pulsing, until it burst out in a massive wave. Fence nodes sizzled, circuits fried, and the electricity buzzing between them died out. The dome shield Gibraltar had thrown out at the first sign of an oncoming attack fanned and faded away. Even the Interception Pylon hidden behind a stack of crates went dark.

Wraith stepped back through and the second she did, she punched a hole to finish the tunnel. “Portal’s placed.”

The air distorted as something passed between it, and out from the roiling black exit came Mirage, Peacekeeper preemptively raised and ready to fire. Gibraltar’s shields shattered easily on the first hit, knocking him back against the platform’s railing and sending his own EVA-8 blast wide. On the second hit, Gib was down. Mirage cocked the shotgun and turned, but Wraith was already standing above the electrician’s deathbox.

“Only the two of them,” she remarked, twirling the kunai in a competent flip, showing off a job well done.

“That,” Mirage went to add, “must have looked so cool.”

Another surge announced Crypto’s arrival through the portal and Mirage rounded on him instantly.

“Babe, that was sick! That’s gonna be in the highlight reels for weeks, no doubt about it. I didn’t even know you could do that with your drone.”

Minutely, Crypto’s eyes widen and his mouth opened, but nothing came out. Quickly, he snapped it shut and just tried to school his expression when too much time had passed in between the intention to speak and actually speaking. Mirage still stared at him expectantly - shrewdly, even - so Crypto escaped by cutting his gaze away entirely, purposefully focusing on nothing but the deathbox Gibraltar had left.

Huh, Mirage thought, perhaps a little too excited. He sidled up next to the other to pick through some ammo for himself, but mostly so he could reach around Crypto to get a better look at his face and barely hid the fact that he was doing so. Mirage was utterly delighted to find that the apples of his cheeks were a good shade or two darker than usual and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight. 

Crypto caught him staring soon enough and glared. He snatched the scope off of Gibraltar’s dropped EVA and ditched the box entirely, pulling the collar of his coat up higher to block Mirage out as he stormed away.

Mirage would have to make it up to him later, definitely. But for now? For now, he was just going to enjoy knowing that fact that maybe he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed showing off. 

======

plot twist, they BOTH like getting praised.

anyway sorry for the weak ending. was caught up on it for some reason and i tried like five different versions and didn’t like em but i figured getting it out there was better than staring at it. the prompt itself even kinda lost its way tbh but we be out here y’know we’re just chillin

also after wraith’s short i just imagine her and crypto as those types of friends that you had in high school when someone says some dumb shit and you immediately find each other’s eyes across the room and just give each other that long suffering look. 

proof read once, so if there’s mistakes let me know - and thank you for sending something in, sorry i barely followed it !

[eldritchsurveys]

873.

5k Survey I

1. Who are you? >> I’m Mordred. 2. What are the 3 most important things everyone should know about you? >> I’m sensory-defensive and post-traumatic, I'm part of a multiple system, and I’m a fictional character.    3. When you aren’t filling out 5,000 question surveys like this one what are you doing? >> Taking way shorter surveys. When I’m not taking surveys at all, I’m posting on tumblr or pillowfort, reading, playing video games, researching video game lore, watching a movie or show, or trying to manage my hellbrain (which is a whole separate task in itself). 4. List your classes in school from the ones you like the most to the ones you like the least (or if you are out of school, think of the classes you did like and didn’t like at the time). >> I do my best not to think about school, the last bit of which was 15 years ago anyway. 5. What is your biggest goal for this year? >> I don’t make goals like that.

6. Where do you want to be in 5 years? >> It’s inconceivable to me to plan ahead that far. Even to think ahead that far seems silly and pointless to my very present-focused (and past-haunted) mind.

7. What stage of life are you in right now? >> Adulthood. Just the general “adulthood” between hectic young adulthood and transitional middle age. 8. Are you more child-like or childish? >> I’m not child-like or childish. I simply understand that the division between “childhood” and “adulthood” isn’t nearly as cut-and-dried as society has organised it for the sake of legality and social interaction, and I also understand that the desire to escape childhood and “childish things” is a conceit of the young, who wish to be seen as grown and independent creatures (which is part of development! it makes perfect sense). By the time you get to your thirties, it really stops mattering. You know you’re an adult. You know that being an adult means you have the freedom to do whatever you want (as far as leisure and play and stuff like that goes, I mean), which means you can sit in your pjs watching cartoons and eating sugar cereal if you like, and no parent can chide you for it, and your peers can fuck off if they don’t like it. (The “adult” part of doing that is knowing to stop after one and a half bowls of said cereal, lmao. It’s all a balance, innit?)

9. What is the last thing you said out loud? >> I don’t remember. 10. What song comes closest to how you feel about your life right now? >> I don’t think there’s any song that can capture that. Or, maybe there is, but I don’t know about it. 11. Have you ever taken martial arts classes? >> No. I’ve been interested, but frankly, I can’t afford anything like that. 12. Does your life tend to get better or worse or does it just stay the same? >> There is no set trajectory, like that. Life has high points and low points, and the majority of it is really spent somewhere in the middle. It’s just that we focus on the high points and the low points most often (and when the low points are particularly low, they often end up defining our entire existence, even when we’re in the middle or even at high points).   13. Does time really heal all wounds? >> It’s not time that does it. Time just always happens to pass while the healing is being done, so we figure it’s the most common denominator. It takes work to heal, not just passively sitting around waiting for it to happen. 14. How do you handle a rainy day? >> I bring an umbrella, if I have to go out. Usually I don’t, so I just... do what I would do normally? 15. Which is worse…losing your luggage or having to sort out tangled holiday lights? >> Obviously losing your luggage... 16. How is your relationship with your parents? Will you miss them when they are gone? >> We have no relationship. There will be nothing to miss. 17. Do you tend to be aware of what is going on around you? >> Yeah. Especially since I’m prone to hypervigilance. 18. What is the truest thing that you know? >> The truest thing that I know is that I don’t know shit, and neither does anyone else. We’re all just elaborately guessing about shit, and interpreting reality the best way we can. Which is great, really. The fact that we keep trying to understand shit is cool. Just... “the map is not the territory” kind of applies to a lot of the stuff we think we know. ...Or not, right? After all, what do I know? :p 19. What did you want to be when you grew up? >> I just wanted to be free. 20. Have you ever been given a second chance? >> Probably. 21. Are you more of a giver or a taker? >> I’m a fair amount of both, being, you know, a person. 22. Do you make your decisions with an open heart/mind? >> I make my decisions the best way I know how. Whatever that means. 23. What is the most physically painful thing that has ever happened to you? >> Menstrual cramps. 24. What is the most emotionally painful thing that has ever happened to you? >> Yeah, right, like I’m going to be able to rank that. 25. Who have you hugged today? >> No one. 26. Who has done something today to show they care about you? >> --- 27. Do you have a lot to learn? >> Of course. I don’t necessarily have to learn all of it, but it sure is out there. 28. If you could learn how to do three things just by wishing and not by working what would they be? >> I don’t think that would be of any benefit to me. As much as I balk at taking those long uphill journeys to skillfulness, I feel like those journeys are beneficial and aid one’s growth. I’d rather not just snap my fingers and have a djinni grant me abilities like that. 29. Which do you remember the longest: what other people say, what other people do or how other people make you feel? >> How what other people do and say makes me feel. 30. What are the key ingredients to having a good relationship? >> Meh. 31. What 3 things do you want to do before you die? >> I don’t have a list like this. 32. What three things would you want to die to avoid doing? >> I think I would rather die than be incarcerated. So I’d take the death penalty if I could avoid a life imprisonment sentence... 33. Is there a cause you believe in more than any other cause? >> Not particularly. 34. What does each decade make you think of? The 1920’s: Prohibition. Wait, was that the 20s or the 30s? 30’s: World War II. 40’s: The rest of WWII. 50’s: I just think of... all the propaganda images from that era. You know, all the... domestic Whiteness... also, weird foods like meat aspic. 60’s: Hippies and Woodstock. 70’s: The Vietnam War (and the protests). 80’s: Hair metal. 90’s: Grunge and weird television/movies. 2000 : Well, I was an adult for most of this decade, and more or less aware of the world, so I don’t have a succinct “concept” of the aughts the way I have for decades that I didn’t live through, that I only have historical knowledge of. 2010’s: ^

35. Which decade do you feel the most special connection to and why? >> I feel an emotional connection to the spirit of the nineties. I don’t feel like trying to organise my words to explain why, I feel like that would take a lot of energy right now and I still have fifteen questions to go. 36. What is your favorite oldie/classic rock song? >> I don’t have one particular favourite. 37. What country do you live in and who is the leader of that country? >> United States. Donald Trump is president, weirdly enough. If you could say any sentence to the current leader of your country what would it be? >> I’d rather not, thanks. 38. What’s your favorite TV channel to watch in the middle of the night? >> I don’t watch television in the middle of the night... 39. What Disney villain are you the most like and why? >> That’s a great question, but the thing about Disney villains is that I don’t relate to them as much as I just love watching them do what they do. Like, my favourite is Judge Frollo, but I don’t think it’s because I have anything in common with him. Or, hell, maybe I would burn down an entire city because I don’t know how to handle the fact that I really want to bone this superbly hot chick. (My actual favourite villain is Catholic Guilt.) 40. Have you ever been a girl scout/boy scout? >> Briefly. 41. If you were traveling to another continent would you rather fly or take a boat? >> I would rather fly. I feel like boat travel would take a particularly long time and I’m not into that. 42. Why is the sky blue during the day and black at night? >> Oh, you know. Science. (I’m not Google.) 43. What does your name mean? >> I’m not sure anyone really knows what “Mordred” means. 44. Would you rather explore the depths of the ocean or outer space? >> Outer space. 45. What is the first word that comes to mind when you see the word: Air: Astrology. Meat: Beef. Different: Strokes. Pink: Panther. Deserve: Entitlement. White: Power, unfortunately. Been reading about too many fucking Nazis lately. Elvis: Pelvis. Magic: Mountain. Heart: Head. Clash: Punk. Pulp: Fiction.

46. If you could meet any person in the world who is dead who would you want it to be? >> I don’t care about this. 47. What if you could meet anyone who is alive? >> I still don’t care. 48. Is there a movie that you love so much you could watch it everyday? >> Of course not. I did watch Event Horizon every day for like a month, but I was in the psych ward at the time. What the fuck else would I have done anyway? 49. You are going to be stuck alone in an elevator for a week. What do you bring to do? >> What do I bring to do?! That’s definitely the least of my concerns with a hypothetical like this. I can’t fucking survive in an elevator for a week, dude. 50. Have you ever saved someone’s life or had your life saved? >> Doubtful.

[lunawings]

King of Prism SSS Episode 9 commentary (Alexander)

FINALLY!!!!! Finally I can talk about a few big things from this series I have been dying to talk about....

...............What did I sign myself up for. 

A quick rundown of what it says here: More and more people are becoming interested in the street-style and choosing to be street-style stars since the Prism King Cup. In the graph, the gold portion is academy-style and the silver is street-style, before -> after the Prism King Cup. Below it points out that Kazuki and Hiro’s “sparking” scores from the Prism King Cup (the Prism Watch data) were equal and suggests Schwartz Rose needs to step up their game in the street category. 

Every time I laugh at this. 

Every time I feel kinda bad afterwards. 

But

So Ace was entered as an official participant. It says “reserve”, but still. I guess that may have helped to make Joji’s score possible and not break the system. 

(In between writing my episode 5 commentary post and now, I got to read the interview with the director in spoon2Di where he confirmed that Joji’s high score was only because Ace joined in what was supposed to be a solo show.)

Flashy, huh. We’re going with flashy this time for “charachara”.... Okay. (Better than gaudy I guess.)

I love this so much. Kakeru coming outside just to watch Taiga exercise and get all sweaty and all that. I wonder how long he stood there. Or rather I wonder how long he watched with binoculars after heading back inside. 

I’m such a dumbass. After episode 3 aired someone pointed out that this is Taiga’s mom vs. Alec’s mom, and my excuse for not noticing then was that it’s in the background and such. (Can’t pause the movie in the theater and didn’t think to check it afterwards.) But here the camera actually pans over them slowly, so yeah I have no excuse. 

But regardless. Amazing!! 

Another thing I didn’t catch in the theater. But I have never had a reason to know the Japanese word for asthma before. I’m glad that gave him an actual reason for being sickly instead of just.... sickly child syndrome. 

As long as you’re happy, Victoria. 

But really though, their relationship is pretty damn interesting. 

I wonder if she knows he borrowed her clothes. 

No I don’t know why these grown-ass men have nothing better to do than pick on an actual seven year old child...............

So uh. This line confused me for the longest time. The way he says it, I really thought he was giving “Daikokuno” as another last name and I thought it was some kind of DJ KOO reference I didn’t get or something. 

But thanks to Crunchyroll I finally realized.... ITS A PLACE. He’s just saying where he’s from, and that’s how Alexander is able to find him. GOOD LORD IM SUCH A DUMBASS.......... Another point for Crunchyroll. 

HE BIKED ALL THE WAY FROM YOKOSUKA TO YOKOHAMA

Okay so now that I have the luxury to pause this, as soon as I did I opened up Google Maps in another window, zoomed in and....

WELL THEN 

At least I finally know where it is

BUT DAAAAAMN

Fuck asthma am I right

It wouldn’t give me the cycling time, but yeah, you can imagine. 

They only have this one image of Rei doing a jump and gosh darn they are gonna use it to the fullest. 

So during this scene and the next people cheer for Rei in the theater, but nobody really knows what color he is. There was a whole lot of variation at the beginning before people (in Nagoya at least) finally settled on red. (For the flames maybe? I don’t know if it’s official.....)

Alexander actually had a flashback to this moment on Prism Rush during the Road to SSS 9 event. I reblogged it recently on my @prism-rush blog trying to disguise it as part of my Alexander birthday spam. (It wasn’t.)

YEAHHHHHHHHHHH BOY

So if you have no idea where the heck this egg came from and what it is..... Rainbow Live.

But anyway. 

I can finally FINALLY talk about this!!! Even though I knew it would probably be all over Twitter, I really wanted to protect this spoiler on Tumblr if I could. It was such a big deal to me when I saw it in the theater and I really wanted you guys to have the opportunity to be as blown away as I was. I could not possibly think of anything to say about it that wouldn’t be a hint, so all I could say all this time was just that Alexander’s episode has “a surprise” in it.... SURPRISE!!!

But yeah, when I saw this for the first time I thought it just came out of NOWHERE. Total shock! I thought this was not predictable at all!

But then it hit me. All of a sudden I remembered something. Something important.

Again, in Road to SSS event 9....

So, for folks who follow my @prism-rush blog, remember that one Alexander PR where he was looking into a box? And nobody knew what was in the box? But  there was something weird following him? I even mentioned it and my confusion over it in my summary of that event. WELL GUESS WHAT.

We finally know what was in the box don’t we.  

I asked a friend to see the card story to fill in the blanks and see if there were any obvious hints to what was going on at the time, and it’s just mentioned as a strange animal he picked up. Alexander struggles with what to do and not really wanting to take care of it, but then he asks himself what Rei would do..... (Whether he could see Momo at that time, I do not know ahah....)

So in the beginning after seeing Part 1 in theaters I said on Tumblr that the Road to SSS events from Prism Rush didn’t have much to do with the SSS anime, and most of them didn’t and still don’t. All of course except for Road to SSS 9, just that one, which ended up being way more important than I would have ever imagined. And this isn’t even the only reason either, there is also--

SO UH anyway Road to SSS 9 took place in June, so this flashback is taking place in June DURING Road to SSS 9. A very roundabout way to dating the episode, but really cool. I like how Road to SSS was significant after all. 

And another surprise for me. In the theatrical version he’s not glowing here. They wanted to emphasize that he’s powering up I suppose eheh. I was really freaking out about this in the stream chat. SO COOL.

To the right of his little dragon house you’ll see some “dorayaki” because.....

Although they never actually mention it in the anime, his name is Dorachi. (Confirmed on Twitter.) 

(Note: Dorayaki is also the favorite food of classic Japanese character Doraemon.) 

Even though Dorachi doesn’t talk in this episode, in the theatrical special video for Alexander he talks A LOT. An UNFAIR amount. So much I do not remember most of what he said since I only saw it once and it went by so fast. 

But his real name is very long (like the manager names from PriPara) and he talks about spreading the prism sparkle. I’m sorry, that’s honestly all I remember right now.

Will he show up again in the main anime before the end?

(Okay yes.)

And at least they gave you guys was a bit of original(??) art of him in the new ending. 

WHATEVER THEY MAKE OF THIS CHARACTER I WILL BUY IT 

Okay moving on....... 

Urrgh..... okay so.............. When I first was watching this with you guys in the stream I was like UGH because I don’t think “flashy” fits here at all. I really wished they had stuck with “playboy” since it would work better with this scene. 

But then when I watched it again, I realized they already used “flashy” once in this episode to describe Kazuki’s sweater, and it did kinda work there. 

If we go back to my episode 3 commentary, my main complaint with Crunchyroll’s  translation of “charachara” was actually less about the words they used, and more about how it just wasn’t consistent. 

This episode..... is consistent.

..................

................................

Another point for Crunchyroll. 

I officially cannot complain about the subs in this episode. 

Another little thing in SSS I have spent way too much time thinking over is how Joji got here. 

In every episode up until now, it’s always been Louis seen walking beside Jin like his pet. But in this episode. JUST THIS EPISODE.... it’s Joji instead. 

I think the reason is because Louis is performing next, so he has to rest (since he’s not exactly in the condition he once was.....) So Joji scooped up the opportunity. 

Whatever the reason, I find it really interesting. 

HERE IT IS

My all time favorite Alexander face

In a weird way I actually think he’s cuter here than in the Prism King Cup

This song.... was not quite what I was expecting for Alec, but I love it. No part of me anticipated he’d just launch into a ballad but WOW. I just love how they picked something that really shows off his beautiful voice like this. Alexander is in my top three singing voices in King of Prism (1: Hiro, 2: Taiga, 3: Alexander) so I loved hearing him belting this out. 

Now time for my like.... 4th(?) embarrassing confession in this post.... I had no idea this song was a cover until like AN HOUR before this episode aired. You guys were playing TRF songs in the stream, the original came on, and while y’all were like “what should we watch next” I was sitting there like “!!!!!!!!FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

Well, it’s a new song to me. And I think it’s perfect for him. 

Poor Joji and his inconveniently timed fruit. 

He finally gets to spend time with Jin, and he just can’t get a break. 

I love the generation gap here. Kazuki’s existence has been so big to Taiga he can only think of Kazuki. But Kazuki and Hijiri are able notice the subtle differences that make this an OG Rei move. 

I could certainly spend a whole lot of text speculating why Alexander did not change into his battle suit, but I won’t waste your time and just admit I have no idea. I’m glad he doesn’t, since it keeps the spotlight on Alexander since HE CAN’T PERFORM ONE GODDAMN SHOW WITHOUT TAIGA BARGING IN ON HIM BUT MMMRGGHGHG

TAIGA YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER

Yeah I was SO MAD about this when I first saw it at the midnight showing.

A lot of people change to green when Taiga comes out, but I do not. This is the only battle where I cheer for Alexander the whole time.  

Not only was I mad at Taiga for being so dumb, but just mad at the whole concept of Taiga barging into Alexander’s one show to do basically the same jumps we saw in Pride the Hero again..... 

But.....

Nowadays I forgive my idiot son. And I hope you do too. 

This wasn’t the moment I forgave him. No, that’s coming later. I was mad at him for an entire month. But yeah. 

He’s just so confident and everyone believes in him................................

So Alexander breaks the street-style curse and gets a damn good score. Higher than Taiga’s original score. 

But just like Joji’s score was due to Ace, I can’t help but think Alexander’s score was a good deal due to Taiga.........

I had a feeling this would happen. 

I knew long before Part 3. 

Even back when I had only just seen Part 1.... I just knew the tables would turn in this episode. 

Maybe it would be difficult to guess by watching week-to-week, but for me having Alexander’s episode as the last episode of the theatrical Part 3 just seemed like it would be WAAAAAY too much of a coincidence otherwise. So I had a strong feeling Schwarz would come out ahead at the end of this one. (I didn’t guess the reason would be because Taiga would get a penalty, but yeah.) And especially because the performances are kind of out of order to make this work? Up until now I thought all of the Schwarz Rose boys performed first, but Yu was up before Alec? And Louis is up next. Maybe it wasn’t a guaranteed thing that the Schwarz Boys always go first, but I noticed it.  

So up until now score has not mattered much as Edel Rose has just sailed on though. But now it does. It matters a lot. 

So this is the second surprise of this episode, and why I was saying it’s the beginning of the chain of events that lead to the end.

But about score mattering now, one of the reasons I have been questioning Taiga’s score the whole time is because I knew this was going to happen. So I just.... I just hope Taiga’s score wasn’t lower to begin with on purpose for mathematical reasons so they could get their desired progression of the overall score or something. IDK.

I don’t blame Rei for not figuring it out right away. Even though I KNOW this is Alexander, I still have trouble connecting his younger and older selves. I mean, getting muscular doesn’t make your eye shape completely change does it....?

Poor Kazuki. He doesn’t care.

So if I interpreted this episode correctly.... 

This was Alexander’s official transition from an antagonist to a protagonist. (Or just to a normal rival at least.)

During the first two movies and for a good long time of Prism Rush, he always played the part of the villain. But once Road to SSS started that began to change. We saw him reminiscing about Rei, making awkward conversation with Louis, struggling over forming a duo with Joji, etc. So I had a strong feeling they were taking his character in this direction, but this right here was the official turning point I believe. 

No more destroying stadiums. From now on he’ll be spreading the prism sparkle with Dorachi. 

And still trying to beat Kazuki but you know. 

So I don’t have a source handy (if someone challenges me to find one I’ll dig it up) but I remember I read one time that Alexander was actually originally a character that was only created for the first movie. But then they realized they had to keep him on when he was just so popular. 

So if you have ever supported Alexander, this episode was for you. Fans make King of Prism possible. 

So.... one more thing I guess. Something I learned from the Minato episode was that even if I ignore controversy and specifically state I don’t want to talk about it, it still finds its way into my inbox anyhow. So I might as well get this over with I guess. 

After Young of Prism Alexander was revealed to have light skin, someone told me a theory that mixed race children are sometimes born with lighter skin which darkens as they grow older. So up until her design was revealed, I had always imagined Alexander’s mother as a black woman. 

So yeah. I don’t know the reason for his darker skin color now. 

But I’d like to point out that in this episode being pale was associated with being weak and unhealthy, while darker skin was associated with being healthy and strong and just leave it at that. 

And thus ends Part 3. 

Next week begins.................. what I have been dreading for a long time............

So...................

So up until now I have been pretty tight-lipped about spoilers. But once episode 10 airs, the floodgates will pretty much be open. Episode 10 and episode 11 are so connected it’s really hard to talk about one without the other. I mean, once you know about episode 10, I seriously might as well. So after episode 10 airs, at the bottom of my commentary post and after a warning I plan to share some episode 11 spoilers. 

Because I have been through this......

And I know how it’s gonna make you guys feel......

And since I was lucky enough to get some answers right away, I’m going to give you guys those same answers for those who want them so you don’t have to just sit on episode 10 for a week. I am not that kind of a monster. I won’t put you guys through that. 

So after episode 10 ends, take a deep breath, cry it out if you need to, and get some tea. 

I know how you’re gonna be feeling. I know. Don’t send me a panicked anon ask right away. Give me a little time. Hold on. 

[ladyherenya]

Books read in October

Twenty novels (including two audiobooks), three graphic novels, one novella and two rereads: more books than are pictured above. I can’t remember the last time I read so much in a month. Maybe when I was high school?

It was a combination of factors: Rainbow Rowell’s latest books became available at the library, I realised that Meg Cabot’s Heather Wells books are murder mysteries, and I made the very exciting discovery that I could get Ellen Emerson White’s previously-out-of-print novels as ebooks.

Favourite cover: Life Without Friends.

Reread: Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher, Hold Me by Courtney Milan (and then The Road Home).

Still reading: Mapping Winter by Marta Randall and When We Were Warriors by Emma Carroll.

Next up: Warrior of the Altaii by Robert Jordan.

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing. And also Dreamwidth.)

The Princess Who Flew with Dragons by Stephanie Burgis: Princess Sofia is unimpressed when her sister’s latest plans involve sending Sofia on a diplomatic mission to Villenne. Sofia wants to stay in her room and read, not remind everyone that she struggles to be a perfect princess. But in Villenne she discovers unexpected opportunities to attend lectures and make friends. And when calamity strikes, it’s up to her to save the day. A solid adventure about friendship and what it means to be a princess, a philosopher and a person all at once. It’s the sort of book I’d like to send back in time to my twelve-year-old self.

The “Uncommon Echoes” trilogy by Sharon Shinn: Set in a world where many of the nobility have “echoes” -- identical copies who follow them, more substantial than shadows but not capable of speech or independent action. Or so people believe. Begins with Echo in Onyx.

Echo in Emerald: After a story about an ordinary woman pretending to be an echo, here is a woman pretending her echoes are ordinary people. Chessie has the ability to shift her consciousness between herself and her two echoes, enough to give the impression that they are three different people with different personalities and jobs. Usually she keeps to the lower classes, but one day she’s asked to deliver a message to a noble who is investigating a recent murder.(Another inversion, another case of themes and variations, as the first book is about trying to conceal a murder.)This builds upon the first book, deepening our understanding of the political context and of echoes. Chessie’s experience of identity is fascinating.

Echo in Amethyst: A story about echo who slowly gains sentience and independence from her original is a good idea in theory, a logical progression for this trilogy. But it turned out to be a massive misstep. The echo belongs to a woman who is abusive towards her echoes and rude towards nearly everyone else. The echo spends a long time incapable of being anything other than a passive observer of unpleasant people. I skimmed bits and seriously considered abandoning this. Not recommended -- but the first two books standalone sufficiently that you could read just those without this series feeling naggingly incomplete.

Pumpkinheads by Rainbow Rowell, illustrated by Faith Erin Hicks: Super cute! All through high school Josiah and Deja have worked together at the pumpkin patch every September and October. Tonight is their last shift. Deja is determined that Josiah is finally going to speak to the girl he likes. Nothing goes to plan. This is a story about changes, chances and choices. It’s also a love letter to everything Josiah and Deja love about the pumpkin patch -- which includes their relationship. I really liked the characters, and the artwork does such a wonderful job of bringing them, and this place, to life.

The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan (narrated by Jayne Entwistle): Unexpectedly entertaining, a cosy mystery full of excitement, danger and character growth, set against the backdrop of the London Blitz. Mrs Braithwaite, divorced and deposed from her position as head of the village Women’s Voluntary Service, tries to find her missing adult daughter. Mrs Braithwaite is a very forceful personality. I really liked that she is not only challenged to reevaluate her attitudes, she discovers that qualities like bossiness and tenacity can be great strengths. Large, loud and assertive middle-aged women are so often been relegated to irritating or comedic minor characters, rather than getting to be protagonists.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson: Isobel has spent years painting portraits of the fair folk. She knows to speak courteously, make bargains carefully, and avoid jeopardising her family’s safety. And then she meets the prince of the autumn court. I have mixed feelings. I really liked Isobel, with her practical streak and her passion for painting, and liked the way she describes her experiences. The people she’s closest to are quickly established as interesting, complex and individual. However, this story leans heavily into a portrayal of the fair folk which I don’t find very appealing. A matter of personal taste rather than quality.

Artistic License by Elle Pierson (aka Lucy Parker): I wasn’t sure what to expect from an early self-published novel about an art student and a security guard in New Zealand, especially as the London theatre world is a big part of why Parker’s other books appeal to me. But Queenstown is such a scenic setting and the characters immediately felt like the sort of people Parker writes about. I particularly enjoyed Sophy’s internal dialogue, and how she and Mick become very protective of each other. They’re so mutually caring! In hindsight, this book could have been stronger... but I liked the characters and their interactions. Sometimes that’s enough.

The Printed Letter Bookshop by Katherine Reay: A story about cross-age friendship and forgiveness, about three different women working together in a bookshop. Madeline, a lawyer, has inherited the bookshop from her aunt. Janet is angry and has an ex husband, adult children who rarely speak to her and old friends she wants to avoid. In the middle is Claire, aware of the shop’s precarious finances and trying to juggle work with motherhood. I’d nearly finished this when I realised it’s classified as “Christian fiction”. I really liked how it is about forgiveness and messy, complicated relationships. Not a perfect book, but it surprised me.

The “Heather Wells Mysteries” by Meg Cabot:

Size 12 Is Not Fat: I discovered that this series isn’t just chick lit, it’s murder mystery chick lit about a former pop singer now working as an assistant director for a college dorm. (Talk about misleading covers!) When a student is found dead, Heather is convinced that it wasn’t an accident but murder. At times Heather reminded me of Mia from The Princess Diaries, which I found fascinating and frustrating (some attitudes are more understandable coming from a teenager than from a woman approaching thirty). Anyway, Heather is kind and humorous, I liked the setting, and the mystery had enough twists to satisfy me.

Size 14 Is Not Fat Either: More of the same, except that this time when a student turns up dead, it’s obvious to everyone that she has been murdered. Instead of trying to convince everyone of the need for a murder investigation, Heather is trying -- unsuccessfully -- not to get involved in it. I like how supportive Heather’s friends and colleagues are. Her father has been absent (in jail), her mother and her manager ran off with Heather’s money, and her long term boyfriend was unfaithful, but she’s still got people in her life who care and who are there for her. And I did enjoy some of her song lyrics.

Size Doesn’t Matter (US title: Big Boned): I was relieved that this time round the murder victim is not another female student. Yes, murder is horrible regardless, but there can be something particularly unpleasant if a story keeps only killing young women. I definitely don’t want murder mysteries to be all grim and bleak, but I prefer it when murder mysteries aren’t this light-hearted. This isn’t a criticism, just a realisation about my personal taste. I kept reading to see some resolution in Heather’s love life. (I know, priorities). I’ve no idea the woman on the cover is wearing a wedding dress. Marketing is weird.

Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell: Simon, Baz and Penelope set off on a roadtrip across America to see Agatha, who Penelope is convinced is in trouble. Rowell is so good making me care about her characters and their relationships. I liked how this is a journey of discovery -- exploring a new country, finding out things about the world they live in and learning more about themselves. I enjoyed reading this but wasn’t so enthusiastic about the final act (it becomes a story about vampires) or the conclusion (busy setting up for a sequel, it leaves emotional arcs unresolved). Expectations and personal preferences, I guess.

Life Without Friends by Ellen Emerson White: I was so excited when I discovered that this had been released as an ebook. A decade of wanting to read something may be an unfair amount of pressure to put on any book, especially on a teen novel from 1987, but I was not disappointed. White is so good at writing smart, acerbic teenage girls dealing with trauma and intense emotions, like guilt and grief. And Beverly’s relationship with Derek is so believably awkward and tentative and hopeful -- two people with their own flaws and fears making the effort to get to know each other. It’s, like, everything I want from teen romance.

To Be Taught, If Fortunate by Becky Chambers: A team from the 22nd century explore four habitable worlds in orbit around a red dwarf star. It’s a fascinating glimpse into what the future might be like -- what space travel and other worlds might be like -- and a thought-provoking meditation about space, science and life. When it comes to the characters, there’s something quite elliptical about it -- which is fitting, given that Ariadne is writing this account for a specific purpose. It left me feeling unsatisfied, but I think that’s because there are particular things I’m looking for and this novella intentionally -- and effectively -- focuses on something else.

The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl by Theodora Goss (narrated by Kate Reading): The Athena Club return to London from one extraordinary adventure and are plunged into another. Their teenaged kitchen maid Alice has been kidnapped, Sherlock Holmes is missing and there is a plot afoot to impersonate the queen. This story has adventure, teamwork, mystery, unexpected twists, more cameos by characters from popular Victorian fiction, and commentary on late Victorian concerns (like empire and eugenics). My favourite part was the Athena Club's interactions when they interrupt the narrative to discuss their lives together, highlight what they think is important or argue about what Catherine included. They’re a team, a household, a family.

All Emergencies, Ring Super by Ellen Emerson White: A teenager asks Dana, a former actress working as a building superintendent, to investigate a building fire. This was curiously lacking in tension --- until things became intensely personal. By the end, I was seriously disappointed that there isn’t a whole series about Dana solving mysteries. I like that Dana investigates by doing research at the library, making use of her acting abilities and enlisting support from friends. Her friendships are one of the highlights -- smart, difficult people who are honest with each other is an interesting dynamic. And the way White writes about the aftermath of trauma is compelling and thoughtful.

The “Echo Company” series by Ellen Emerson White: I read all five books in two days. They’re fast-paced and some aren’t particularly long -- they were published by Scholastic in the early 90s -- but that is only part of why I read them so quickly. They are compelling and unexpectedly fascinating.

Welcome to Vietnam: Eighteen year old Michael Jennings is conscripted to fight in Vietnam -- and I really wanted to see him to find his feet, make friends and survive. I can relate to how much he cares about his dog, and his sense of humour makes him an entertaining character to spend time with, even though he’s been thrown into a terrible, terrifying situation. Even knowing what wars can be like, I was still surprised by conditions the soldiers faced. I was also surprised by how interesting I found it all. It left me thinking about a lot.

Hill 568: Michael has made some friends (and some enemies), he’s grown accustomed to some of the realities of life on the frontlines in Vietnam, and he takes on more responsibility. White’s characters are lively and, in spite of the situations they’re in, often humorous. That humour is a huge part of why this is an engaging story, like an antidote to the horrors of war, but it also serves to emphasise that all those horrible things are happening to a bunch of ordinary young men barely out of school. This book made me laugh, and made me worry about the characters.

‘Tis the Season:  Twenty-one year old Lieutenant Rebecca Phillips is a nurse working in the ER of an evacuation hospital in Vietnam. Although already dealing with grief and difficult family relationships and a nightmarish workplace, she’s a bright, upbeat person who goes out of her way to entertain others. Self-appointed “Court Jester”. During the Christmas ceasefire she goes out on a medical helicopter -- and everything goes to hell. There are more medical details than I, a squeamish person, really prefer, but once I got to know Rebecca -- and also once her circumstances became tense and terrifying -- I was very, very invested.

Stand Down: This has some tense moments, but otherwise feels a bit lighter -- a welcome change of pace after everything the characters have been through. Michael spends a lot of time moping over correspondence (or lack thereof) from a nurse he’s met once -- but in context, that’s very understandable. He so desperately needs something positive and hopeful to focus on. I like that Michael’s and Rebecca’s initial interactions aren’t easy, because that feels realistic in the circumstances, and because it’s a positive sign that they’re able to get through awkward conversations; it sets them up to be honest with each other.

The Road Home: I stayed up stupidly late reading this, on a school night too. White is so good at writing about dealing with the aftermath of trauma, and about smart, difficult people making an effort to build relationships -- friendships as well as romances. This follows Rebecca’s final six months serving as a nurse in Vietnam, and the months afterwards. It’s about the things that get her through the war (letters, friendships, alcohol) and the difficulties of adjusting to life back home. I love how this book deals realistically but hopefully with so many things. I have a lot of feelings and favourite passages.

Applied Electromagnetism by Susannah Nix: Two colleagues who travel interstate to do a job with a deadline find themselves under extra pressure due to complications of bad weather. I liked all the references to Olivia and Adam’s nerdy interests, and I thought the discussions of Olivia’s ADHD and her experiences as a woman in STEM were interesting. Otherwise nothing jumped out at me as deserving of criticism or praise, it was all just okay. Less humorous than I expected from something book described as “romantic comedy”, but that was okay. (And maybe someone else would find it funny, humour is such a your-mileage-may-vary thing.)

The Tea Dragon Society by Katie O’Neill: I love the concept of tea dragons and a tea dragon society. And the dragons are really cute! But the way people’s expressions are drawn in this graphic novel didn’t quite appeal to me and I think that coloured how I felt about the book as a whole. And it’s not a very long story, so it doesn’t have so many opportunities to win over a reader who isn’t enamoured with the illustrations. I’m sorry, book, I’m sure there are other readers out there who will appreciate you!

Runaways: That Was Yesterday (volume 3) by Rainbow Rowell and Kris Anka with Matthew Wilson: Follows on from Find Your Way Home and Best Friends Forever and involves the reappearance of someone from the Runaways’ past, the appearance of children of old enemies and Christmas. I read three volumes of the original Runaways comics last year -- and this volume really left me feeling like maybe I’d appreciate it more if I’d read those more recently or else if I’d read more of them. Or maybe it was just that it focused a lot on a character I don’t like as much? But, I still liked it. I definitely would like to read more.

[spinningsidetable]

Gentleman 2/3

Pairing: Octavian/Leo Valdez (leotavian)

Warning/Genre: Genre/Warning: AU, No Godly Parents, Spy Shit, Action Movie Parody, Non-Linear Story Telling, Admittedly Unhealthy Relationship, Descriptions of Violence, Dubious Consent Smooching, Sexual Situations,“Humor”

Rating: Mature

Summary: Leo has worked for the Agency for awhile now, the guy in the chair helping Agents save the world and all that, but now it seems like an actual supervillain is enamored with him.

(Notes: Sexual situations in this chapter, which will probably get the story flagged by tumblr. or maybe it won’t care, and just continue to mark pictures of my geckos as porn.)

Leo blearily opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar room. White plaster walls, deep red accents, and ancient looking columns on the veranda overlooking a lush garden. It would put the hanging gardens of Babylon to shame, or so Octavian had told Leo once. Leo didn’t know anything about plants, or the outdoors, or what it had to do with that show Babylon 5. But, it was really pretty. The whole base had a classic feel to it, like you’d been removed out of time, or if you had been transported into a bad series on the unfortunately named History Channel. Octavian had a weird thing for age-old Roman things, like conquest and domination. It was partly why no one was entirely sure if his name was Octavian from birth or not. It could have just been a complicated reference to Caesar Augustus, founder of Rome. The current theories about Octavian’s motives were world domination, or at least the creation of a new military state, a New Rome, but it hadn’t ever been confirmed. No one had much on him to go off, no known history, no paper trails, nothing. Just a love of gladiator movies, very presumably BDSM, and apparently Babylon 5. “Ugh,” Leo groaned, turning to grab the aspirin and glass of water he knew would be on the side table. “I should just move some shit in, spare clothes, maybe a toothbrush. I seem to be here often enough…” “I agree, mi amor.” Octavian said, reading from a book at the foot of the bed. Leo also knew he’d be there. “In fact, I believe we should get married. We’ve been dating for quite some time, now. What kind of ring do you want? I have access to an asteroid.” “I’m sorry to break this to you, but we’re actually not dating at all. Not even a little bit. Also, I can’t physically give you any heirs.” Leo sighed, running a hand through his hair. It wasn’t as messy as it usually was, but Octavian usually brushed it while Leo was out for the count. Leo’d never admit Octavian speaking specifically Spanish did things to him. “That’s something crazy dictators want, right? Bunch of heirs?” “Mm, ignoring adoption or surrogates, all we’d just need a host uterus, artificial or otherwise. My people have developed a way to combine the DNA of two men or two women within an artificial egg.” Octavian turned the page, like he wasn’t a supervillain bent on world domination (presumably) “Granted, I don’t particularly care about any heirs. It is possible though.” “Wait,” Leo held up a hand, realization dawning on him. “…Did Larry and Mark finally have kids?” “Mhmm,” Octavian closed the book, looking up at Leo with a pleasant (non-manic) smile on his face. “They’re trying.” “Oh my god, I’m so happy for them!” Leo’d really gotten to know a few of his guards by now. “I’m still not marrying you though, you just blew a hole in an aircraft carrier. That being said, I do also want access to an asteroid, would I get half of it if we got married?” Octavian shrugged a shoulder, never concerned. “I have a sneaking suspicion the military industrial complex will recover, for now. However, I am glad to hear you’ve changed your mind about my so-called manipulation via…how did you put it, sweet talk? I’m glad to hear you think it’s sweet.” Leo faltered, pushing the blankets off and getting out of bed. Silk pajamas, always the best. “That’s…” Leo had forgotten about that. That was right. He remembered the looks on Reyna’s face, on Piper’s and Jason’s. “…If I agreed to marry you, but I promised to never tell you a single secret about the Agency, about Jason, or about anything that could in anyway help you with any of your plans…you’re telling me you’d…be okay with that?” “Oh, mo ghaol, I’ve never assumed you’d tell me anything. Have I ever asked? Threatened you? Hurt you in any way?” Octavian stood, and came to Leo’s side. He raised a hand to Leo’s face, fingers resting causally at Leo’s neck and thumb rubbing small circles into his cheek. “I adore you.” “Why, though?” Leo looked at the floor, away from Octavian’s face. “I’m just…” “Brilliant, smart, handsome, clever, funny, beautiful, talented…” Octavian finished for him, tone slightly chastising, but in a fond way. “Yes, I have no idea.” “I’m 5’2, I’m a tooth pick, I’ve got like a mole on my forehead I keep covered with hair because I’m a little scared it might be an absorbed twin, because it’s got like this massive whisker in it I pluck secretly. And then I say things like that when I’m nervous…” Octavian laughed, shaking his head. “Your size is convenient, cute even; you still have a good deal of upper body strength, your muscles are toned even if you’re slim. And, you have a beauty mark. You’re interesting, and funny. It’s not like I’m particularly muscular either. I think you called me a murderous scarecrow for half a year.” Leo groaned and flopped back down onto the bed, “I still have braces, Octavian!” “It’s respectable that you care about oral hygiene,” Octavian responded with a shrug, kneeling down to the ground between Leo’s legs. He looked like a knight, bowing before his king. “I understand why the Agency may think I have ulterior motives; admittedly, you would be a great target. But, like I said, I truly adore you solnyshka. In time, you’ll accept that, because I believe you already know deep down that I’m telling the truth.” The Brazilian government had apparently covered up the fact that they had recently discovered a massive underground temple. It was a lost holy place for numerous native Brazilian tribes, but the current regime didn’t want to award any more protection of land over to the native peoples. Why? Because of course they didn’t. That would mean they couldn’t strip it for resources, who cared about history, preservation, or other cultures in the face of cold hard cash? The Agency was tasked with keeping peace, and with further private exploration of the temple before the government got to work. The entire place was still majorly unknown, the exact size and scale was a mystery. No one was entirely sure who built it even. Leo and another tech Rachel, were the grunts that were sent down into the terrifying and dark abyss with just flashlights and backpacks. They’d spent a week developing an advanced mapping system, that could create a 3D rendering of any hidden passages and tunnels. But, they had to place a few probes in the temple first at strategic points for it to work, which meant having to be there in person first. Two Agents accompanied them, Agent di Angelo and Agent Levesque. They were apparently the only ones willing to go spelunking with the tech-y desk jockeys. Leo would have preferred Jason, but he knew the guy was terrified of enclosed spaces underground. These two didn’t seem to be bothered by it in the slightest. The two Agents hadn’t talked much at first, but eventually Levesque and Rachel got on like wildfire. Di Angelo wasn’t so friendly, and when it came time to split up, Leo was disappointed he got stuck with the angry emo Agent baby, instead of the stupidly hot spy lady. Agent di Angelo only got angrier for some reason when Leo said as much. They had been walking throughout the tunnels in the cavernous temple for about an hour, when Leo and his babysitter came across an old rope bridge to the other side of the cave system they were in. It was too big to jump across, but Leo needed to get to the other side to place a probe. “Hey, too spooky?” Leo grinned, turning to the Agent who grimaced at said nickname. “Have you ever heard why the lion crossed the bridge?” “What are you talking about- Hey!” Leo was already darting across the bridge, backwards, big hefty backpack and all. He could feel it creaking and cracking under his feet, but Leo made it safely. “To get to the other side! Get it?” Leo called over, cupping his hands around his mouth. Agent di Angelo flipped him off. “That’s not very professional! Come on! It’s totally safe!” The rope bridge promptly snapped and collapsed into the nothingness below. “I rescind that! Don’t do it!” Agent Angel whipped out a comm and seemed to be having a very tense conversation with someone on the other line as he paced back and forth, his light moving around the room. “Hey, it’s fine, buddy!” Leo yelled. “I’ll just go plant the other probe, while you get like a ladder or something! Not like anything else is down here! You know, besides snakes, and spiders, and scorpions and other totally natural things that could kill me!” An hour or two later and Leo was increasingly worried there really was nothing down here. The temple seemed to be built into an existing cave system, which could theoretically be hundreds of miles long. It was just endless amounts of rock and water dripping and bats and bugs. Leo was getting tired, and hungry, so when he heard voices and the reflections of light in the distance, he couldn’t help himself. He bolted towards the commotion, waving his flashlight. “HEY! I’m so glad you-“ Leo found himself in a large cave opening, surrounded by men and women in black attire, now all pointing guns at his face. Octavian stood in the middle, eyebrow raised, and a manic smile beginning to overtake his expression. “Oh boy. I am lost. I am but a poor lost…Brazilian person. I got a bit turned around back there, I’ll just…turn around and go the other way.” “Don’t shoot,” Octavian waved a hand. “I know this little vagalume.” As Octavian walked forward towards sweaty, filthy, gross covered Leo, and the crowds parted around Octavian like he was some kind of God. Supervillains sure knew how to make an impact. “My, my, why are you here, meu querido?” Octavian’s smile was dangerous, and the flashlight casting shadows just accentuated the madness. “The Agency must know something, if they’re willing to send you in.” “I, uh,” Leo was flustered, his sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “…Searched my soul? And found you!” Octavian laughed, coming close enough to rest his hand on Leo’s cheek. “Well, you weren’t what we were looking for, but I can’t say I’m displeased.” He turned to the men closest to him, “leve-o de volta ao acampamento.” Leo yelped as he was grabbed and thrown over a shoulder. “What the fuck did you just say?! Octavian! Hey! Why are we in the one South American country I can’t speak the language of! Oi, hablar español por favor-” “I hate you, I hate you so much, oh my god.” Leo gasped, moving up and down, his hands clenched into the headboard behind Octavian’s stupid face. Leo was sweating so much, it was disgusting. Had he sweat this much the first time he had had sex? No, Leo was pretty sure he had gotten in the girl, whimpered, and collapsed to the side pretty much immediately. “Do you want to stop?” Octavian grinned up at him knowingly, his own hands on Leo’s lower hips stopped encouraging him. Leo’s thighs were burning, his abdominal muscles were tensed almost the entire time. He needed Octavian’s help to keep going, to keep moving. Leo was already shaky after extended foreplay, he had already spent holding himself up on his arms and knees as the villain decided to take his time and use his tongue. “I will actually kill you if you stop,” one of Leo’s hands left the headboard to dig into Octavian’s scalp and pull him forward for a messy kiss. The angle shifted Leo away from riding the cock inside him, to just rocking back and forth in a needy manner. He needed more momentum, the pressure was good, it was so good, but he needed more. It didn’t help that Octavian had a hand around his cock, with just enough pressure at the base of the shaft that Leo couldn’t find the release he was looking for. He wasn't stroking it, he wasn't doing anything that Leo needed. He was being an actual cocktease. “I will remove your windpipe I swear to god, I refuse to be a pump and dump,” Leo pulled away, nipping just slightly at Octavian’s lower lip. “Octavian, come on, estoy loco por ti, te necesito. Please?” Octavian’s eyes were normally very light blue, but right now Octavian’s pupils were blown wide and black. He flipped Leo over onto his back. “Anything for you, the entire world for you.” Maybe he was easy, Leo thought, sprawled out in bed that night. 16 kidnappings were all it took for him to go full Stockholm Syndrome. Octavian was asleep next to him, completely defenseless, if you didn’t count the armed guards outside and the whole island fortress thing. “Poor thing, wore himself out”, Leo whispered as he reached over and pushed a few pieces of hair away from the man’s forehead. Granted, Leo had fully passed the fuck out after their romp as well, he just woke up sooner. The benefits of horrific insomnia, not even 3 orgasms could keep him asleep for long. “Oh my god, I slept with a supervillain,” Leo flopped back down onto his pillow. The thread count on these sheets was ridiculous. “Repeatedly.” “Mm, was I at least a gentlemen?” Octavian’s voice was somewhat rough from sleep, and probably from the blowjob, but he was awake enough to throw and arm around Leo’s side and pull him close. “Very much so,” Leo whispered back, shoving his face into Octavian’s neck. “Maybe…I can be the…uh, gentleman next time?” Octavian had a great dick, just perfect. Hit all the spots. Looked good, felt fucking fantastic. But, he also was pretty in his own way, and had a nice ass. Leo wanted in it. “Whatever you wish, mi amor. I look forward to it.” Octavian pulled Leo in closely, kissing his forehead. He really was a gentleman. Octavian then swung a leg over Leo, and straddled his waist. “Wait, right now?” “We are going to fucking die!” Leo screamed at the scarecrow on stilts. “I refuse to die because a piece of anthropomorphized spaghetti with a God complex kidnapped me!” Octavian looked mildly annoyed at the insult, or maybe just the fact Leo had been yelling nonstop for about five minutes. Octavian rarely looked particularly bothered by anything Leo did or said, so he must have been fairly stressed out. “We’re not going to die from this,” Octavian glanced at his passenger, who hadn’t put down a small metal lighter. “We might die if you burn up all our oxygen, however.” Leo’s eyes narrowed, and he flicked the lighter shut. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Julius Caesar. Your navigation system is shot, your craft is taking on water, and the control panel is fucking glitching halfway to Siberia. You did this, this is your fault. I’m smaller than you, when we inevitably die horrifically here, I want to at least survive long enough to see you die first. You’ll need oxygen before I do.” “No,” Octavian corrected, clenching his jaw. “Your Agency did this by sabotaging my submersible, knowing fully well you were aboard. So much for loyalty.” Leo rolled his eyes, and threw his legs up on the console, as they were starting to get soggy. “No, they didn’t. I’m too valuable. They’d still be stuck with tech from the 50’s if it wasn’t for my ass. Say, how painful would it be to get eaten by sharks?” “Probably very,” Octavian grabbed one of Leo’s feet and tossed it off the machinery. “You know very little about the organization you work for, apparently. They track all assets.” “Uh, yeah, no shit. I removed that crap forever ago.” Leo gestured at a small scar on his arm. “So, again, back to being your fault. You, alone, used a submersible to kidnap me. In my fucking pajamas!” They were classic teenage mutant ninja turtles, Leo had told Octavian. “I thought it would be…” The madman, for once, appeared to be struggling to find the words. “Romantic. Moonlit dinner, with nothing but the ocean around us.” Leo looked in the back of the compartment, at the nearly cliché picnic box and bottle of wine. There were even fucking roses. “Goddammit. Move, you asshat.” Leo got out of his seat, and pushed Octavian to the edge of his own, sitting beside him. Octavian looked at him curiously, but Leo was already starting to fiddle with the console controls. It didn’t look like much was happening. “If we are to die here, then I can’t say I mind the company,” Octavian admitted, only to get flipped off. “…Leonardo was always my favorite ninja turtle.” Leo sat up sharply, looking directly at the man. “Where the fuck are you from?! I swear to Christ, how do you speak 500 languages, yet know TMNT? Ain’t no one in American public school systems do word good.” “Maybe I was raised by a giant rat in the New York city sewers?” Octavian offered, with a smirk. “Who knows. You know, I know some about your past. You were doing extremely advanced mathematics in elementary school. You make fun of my education, but you’re obviously brilliant yourself, in fields and ways much more advanced than I.” “I hate you, leave me alone, I’m working.” Leo’s face was slightly red as he grumbled but turned back to the display. “…I expect more than a picnic when I save your pasty white butt.” “Of course, mój drogi.” The water had gotten uncomfortably close to the electrical equipment, but it had only taken Leo a few minutes before the submersible was back in some amount of working order. It would still sink, it was taking on far too much water with no way of repairing physical damage like that, but at least now they could deploy the emergency raft. Within five minutes, they were sitting in a black and red raft. It wasn’t small or flimsy, thankfully. Leo had enough room to fully stretch out on the blanket that had been in the picnic basket. Octavian had made a call to his men, it was likely they’d be there within the hour, but for the time… Octavian laid down beside the shorter man, staring up at the stars. “I guess it is kind of romantic. Maybe not the impending threat of death so much, but it is pretty out here. There’s not as much pollution out here…the stars are really bright.” Leo pointed at a few, “do you know any constellations?” Octavian did, so instead of answering, sat up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss the mechanic. Leo jerked backwards, eyes wide. “What the hell, did you just kiss me?” Octavian kissed him again, before pulling back and looking mighty pleased with himself. “I hate you, that’s such a breach of my personal space, it is completely uncalled for.” Leo ranted before he was grabbing the back of Octavian’s head and pulling him in for another.

[jaeminfilm]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵  ; 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘰.

genre: angst style: oneshot warnings: mentions of depression

summary: you’re not the same girl who fell in love with him but you are the girl he fell in love with.

–––––

the first thought lee jeno has when he steps onto american soil is your name. which is weird, because you two had broken up a long time ago. he’d even dated a couple of people after you, but here he is, stepping onto american soil with your name being the only thing on his mind. 

he can’t shake this feeling, this feeling that had something to do with you, even though he has no idea what the feeling is.

maybe it’s the fact that he had always thought that when he’d come to america, he’d be coming home to you after all the calls you had spent talking about meeting. except he has no reason to come to america looking for you, and  he hasn’t had one for a year now. yet here he is, under the same expanse of sky as you, somehow hoping that he had a shot at seeing you again.

all in all, the way you two had met hadn’t been the most conventional. in fact, your relationship wasn’t conventional and that’s why it had been a secret between you two and a select few, because not many people would’ve encouraged a long distance relationship between two sixteen year olds where the chances of meeting each other and lasting just wasn’t likely. 

(and in your case, it really hadn’t been). 

it had been a year into the relationship when you had begun to want something more– something real, palpable, something you could touch, and when you were crying at midnight heavily considering a relapse, jeno’s texts to you while he was in class weren’t it. it wasn’t your fault, nor was it his, but at the time it had been irreconcilable. with priorities naturally falling into place at the time, you couldn’t be his first.

and so you two realized that it wouldn’t work. at least you had realized it when jeno had told you your expectations of him were too high, and he had begun to distance himself from you. what he hadn’t told you was that he had been too afraid, afraid that he would never amount to what you wanted, to what you needed and deserved. you were both only seventeen after all, and an ocean away from each other.

so jeno started to leave in the moments where you needed and wanted him most, even if it were his measly snuck-in texts in his four pm classes and him calling you when it was already too late.

you would’ve taken it. but then he left completely.

–––––

the first thing jeno does the day after unpacking all of his stuff is go to the mall. he needs clothes suited for the heat of southern california rather than the snow of south korea, so he goes with his older siblings even if he finds himself separated from them after a while. 

he might as well enjoy himself, he figures when he looks around to see his siblings nowhere to be found. his eye catches sight of a smoothie stand, and he licks his lip as he nears the cashier.

“what can i get for you, sir?”

“berry antioxidant smoothie, please.”

it’s automatic, the way he orders the smoothie that he remembers you love, because it makes you feel fake healthy even when it’s loaded with sugar. 

he prefers more chocolatey smoothies, but when he takes a sip of your smoothie, he gets why you had loved it so much. maybe he’ll start loving it too.

–––––

he’s debating between getting the yellow sweatshirt and the black sweatshirt when he pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts for the familiar contact of your name to ask you which one he should get when he realizes that that’s not possible. 

you two had been broken up for a year.

he thinks the californian air is getting to him, that breathing the same air as you is getting to him. he keeps thinking about you, your name like bile in his chest and he’s on edge, even if he doesn’t know if you’re still even in the city. you should be in college by now, and your dream had always been london. 

so he concludes that you’re in london by now, quietly tucking away his phone and picking the yellow sweatshirt over the black sweatshirt, just because you would’ve picked the black one.

he left you a year ago, and he doesn’t have the right to mourn that. he doesn’t have the obligation to follow what you want, because he had broken your heart. not the other way around.

he tosses his half-finished smoothie into the trash can as he leaves the store with the plastic bag in hand.

no matter where you were, this city would always remind him of you, and no matter where he was, he would always find the time to think about you.

(he doesn’t realize that he had broken his own heart when he left you).

it’s jeno’s first day of classes at the local university. the campus is huge, and he’s not used to it, nor is he comfortable with it as he struggles to navigate the area. his siblings, rather than attending university, are already job hunting (and illegally driving alone with their learner’s permits), so he’s in uncharted territory alone. 

the campus is beautiful, he has to admit– overseeing the distant southern californian beach and a valley of trees that was well-maintained for a desert area. flowers had been planted along the walkways, and there were fountains and statues marking every few buildings in a manner that made it a little bit harder to get lost. 

the school itself is big enough to have its own maps app, and he watches his phone closely as he tracks the moving dot that denotes his position that’s (hopefully) nearing his destination until he collides with another person.

“sorry about that–” jeno begins, looking up to see a male around his age– korean too, he can tell– who holds a purple smoothie and a coffee cup up high because his two drinks almost spilled from the collision.

“it’s cool, don’t worry about it. at least the smoothie didn’t spill or else my girlfriend would be really mad,” he laughs, “i’m jaemin, by the way. you new here too?” 

jeno blinks, before clearing his throat and smiling. “yeah, name’s jeno.” 

“so, jeno, where are you headed? i could help you, i’ve been around here for a while even for a new student.” 

“uh, chemistry with–”

“burner? i’m on my way there to drop off my girlfriend’s smoothie, i’ll walk with you!” jaemin cheerily offers, already taking the left turn jeno was just taking when they bumped into each other. 

jaemin’s easy to get along with, jeno quickly realizes and comes to appreciate. he doesn’t question the broken english of the platinum blonde haired boy, instead automatically slipping into a conversation in their native language. he finds out that jaemin’s on the soccer team and that he’s a commit– whatever that means, because it definitely isn’t a thing in korea– but majors in biochem. the mention of the subjects makes jeno’s nose scrunch. it makes jaemin laugh– he understands.

“my girlfriend hates chemistry too, but somehow, it’s how we met in high school,” jaemin chimes when he notices the sourness on jeno’s facial expression. the sourness on jeno’s face morphs into an almost nostalgic simper as he arrives at a door with jaemin. you had hated chemistry too.

“this is the chemistry lab, by the way.” 

the slightly shorter boy nods as he follows the other in, and jaemin immediately makes a beeline towards a girl with long black hair and blonde highlights on the bottom half.

“hey babe,” jeno makes out just as jaemin swoops in for a kiss and places the smoothie in front of her. then he waves the other over.   

an awkward smile making its way onto his lips, he goes to stand beside the cheerful boy, whose girlfriend turns to look at the boy her boyfriend beckoned over. she has her zodiac sign tattooed right below her ear, he notices. 

immediately, the polite smile that she dons falters from her lips, replaced with a more forced and awkward one, and she sets the smoothie down, hand moving to clasp onto jaemin’s hand that lays on her shoulder. the latter doesn’t notice, because his eyes are on jeno as he introduces them.

but they know each other already. 

there’s a brief silence between the two of them, jaemin’s eyes shifting between them in confusion until jeno breaks the silence, his heart already aching by the way her mouth opens and then closes because she can’t find the words to say.

“i guess london didn’t work out, huh?” jeno says, with a bittersweet smile as he lets the fact that his first love is happy with another boy who buys her smoothies just like he promised he would one day and helps her with chemistry like he never could sink in.

"no, it didn’t. but i guess you really did find your way here eventually,” she replies, a look in her eye that jeno can’t quite pinpoint. he swallows thickly, as if he’s swallowing all his emotions, all the weight in the world.

“yeah, i did. a little too late, though.”

she can only force a polite smile at jeno for that one, and he figures he deserved that.

–––––

the thing about first loves is that they never leave. you can date a million people, you can find your soulmate, or you can find your true love, but they’ll never be the first love. they’ll never be the person who taught you what it was like to love, what it was like to hurt, and they’ll never replace the person who owns that little locked space in your heart. 

you didn’t realize that until your first love was right in your face in a way you never thought he would be, but jeno had realized that with the first girl he had dated after you. he had this fear that he’d never love her as much as he loved you, and the fear had been right. he didn’t, so she had left him.

but standing in front of you right now, jeno realized that you loved jaemin just as you had loved him, if not more. it was in the way that even after you had shared a polite conversation with him full of memories of the distant past, you looked back at jaemin with a reassuring look in your eyes as you rubbed circles with your thumb into the ligatures of his hands. it was in the way you offered to walk with him to his class all the way across campus even though you seemed to already know he’d say no, and in the way that when jaemin left, your kiss on his lips lingered a little longer than the kiss hello. it was in the way you slapped jaemin’s shoulder when he told you to text him if there was anything you didn’t understand in the class, pouting as you claimed it was only the first day and that he needed to focus on his own class.

it was in the way you looked at jeno, with a look in your eyes that was unfamiliar to him because he had grown used to you looking at him with nothing but adoration and love. 

it wasn’t the same look he was used to.

he had left you, so you had let him go.

you were no longer the girl who fell in love with him, but you were still the girl that held a special place in his heart. you were still the girl he had loved, and he wishes more than anything that he could love you again. he thinks he’d be ready this time.

but now, he can only hope he holds a special place in your heart, too. because he thinks that you are his true love, but who knows, because he’s eighteen and he probably doesn’t know much better than he did when he was sixteen and fell in love with you.

–––––

from: princess 🌹💕 what smoothie should i get

to: princess 🌹💕 your favorite berry one, duh buy me one too

from: princess 🌹💕 okay, fly over then

to: princess 🌹💕 bet one day

–––––

to: princess 🌹💕 black suit or blue suit for my sister’s wedding

from: princess 🌹💕 you know i’d usually say black because it matches with everything but blue will pop out so you can look like the most handsome baby at the wedding :*

to: princess 🌹💕 and you’d make the prettiest date

–––––

from: princess 🌹💕  i looked around some london unis at the fair today!!

to: princess 🌹💕  you’re really serious about this huh

from: princess 🌹💕 of course i am, you know me

to: princess 🌹💕 even if our time difference will be even worse if you move to london?

from: princess 🌹💕 you know we’d get through it

to: princess 🌹💕 i’m kidding cutie i know we would

–––––

to: princess 🌹💕

it’s 3am there why are you awake go to sleep baby

from: princess 🌹💕 i haven’t finished my chemistry homework jeno i’m so stressed out right now

to: princess 🌹💕 do you want me to help you?

from: princess 🌹💕  you hate chemistry

to: princess 🌹💕 who said i was gonna help you send the problem and i’ll send it to my friend

from: princess 🌹💕 you’re a lifesaver jeno, i love you

to: princess 🌹💕 anything for you

–––––

from: princess 🌹💕 jeno? hello? please help me it’s 2am and i can’t stop crying i know you’re in class right now but i need you i can’t stop

to: princess 🌹💕 fuck sorry babe i saw your texts but i couldn’t reply are you okay? it’s 4am there now babe?  babe?

[ryouverua]

Chapter 4 Investigation (Part 2)

Things are never boring with this lovable scamp as your partner!

Man that was a quick turnaround, Himiko! Though I have to say, your avatar is quite cute...

also seeing all the icons against each other makes me laugh because Shuichi and Himiko have the most defined lashes omfg and Miu... programmed/designed them all to be that way...

Yeah, I really do think someone snuck here to log Kaito out. Tsumugi was distracted or something? Maybe? Kokichi would have had access to it, being that he was right near by in the salon...

And then, about an unexpected yet surprisingly hilarious interlude involving maps - 

NO SHIT, NOT-SHERLOCK

So the Kaito-centric dynamic of our little three-person group is that obvious, huh...

MORE OF GAMER SNOB TSUMUGI KTHNX

mystery solved she was filled with such potent angry nerd rage that she murdered Miu over the graphics you can’t tell me that isn’t plausible

I’m. Baffled???? 

also of course, more hilarious exchanges

Okay, uh, I.... was not expecting to find this? And I’ll be honest, I have no idea how it would fit in at all. Or why it’s over here. I’m just... gonna... put that on the back-burner for a bit.

I feel like me not knowing why it would be there is still better than K1-b0′s theory. 

Oh right, Kaito was logged out before it came back. And now we’re talking about the direction of the river, and how the sign got washed over against the river flow, but I’m not too worried about that? Like I said, I feel like from a game design standpoint it would make sense for the river to loop right-to-left so items and/or people wouldn’t be accidentally lost if they fell in and went off-map.

DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!

.... then the avatar stays ‘active’ in the VR world. I suppose it’s a somewhat poetic ending for Miu in that sense - her avatar’s presence will be an immortal legacy in here, or at least until the VR world itself ends. 

Ooooh...??? We’re going to hear about this before the trial?

WHERE KAITO WAS....

I think some of the pieces are starting to come together a bit in my head.

Probably to give her a chance to sneak off and find a way to the other side - and I bet since she modified the world, she knew ways to do that. Maybe that board beside her?

OH WELL FUCK MY ORIGINALLY THEORY OF SOMEONE GOING BACK TO THE MANSION TO LOG KAITO OUT

goddamnit Miu just casually throwing a cellphone into the mix

HOW

DARE

YOU

MADAM

oh oops I guess I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead huh

OH and also she had a hammer which you know, should be a very pressing issue considering the implications of Miu having a weapon-like object on her when everyone else was defenceless but I AM STILL STEAMING ABOUT THE CELLPHONE

bOYFRIENDS god they’re so cute look at their blushing sprites i’m dying.....

Ah good, at least that part I got right.

.....

Um. Shuichi. Did you, uh, give him a heads up about what you were going to do when I blinked or....?

SHUICHI COMMUNICATION IS VERY IMPORTANT TO ASTRONAUTS AND FOR HAVING A GOOD RELATIONSHIP

AND ESPECIALLY FOR HAVING A GOOD RELATIONSHIP WITH AN ASTRONAUT

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.” Somehow I think it’s still going to be hard...

Oh man imagine being thrown out of the game when you’re sick the way he is 8′D The vertigo, the sudden potential nausea/lung pain, etc...

A-Aaaaw! Poor Kaito - he keeps getting logged out, left behind and just generally tossed aside - for that matter, he’s been called an idiot for a decent amount of the game and spent half of chapter 3 stuck in his room, sick and terrified. Shuichi didn’t mean to leave you behind, Kaito! He’s just an awkward introvert who doesn’t know how to communicate, promise!

Oh man, is that salt I’m detecting in our Ultimate Astronaut?

Anyway, we already knew that the lattice was from the roof so when he talks about something being missing, it wasn’t hard to figure out what it was. Also, the lock can only be done from the outside, so you can’t get locked out of the roof, but you can get locked/stuck on the roof itself.

Aaaw Himiko 8′D You get attached to things quickly too, huh? I can relate a little too well. are your tabs and room a mess too

Alright, Maki’s here on Kaito’s behalf because Monotaro wanted to show us more info. It’s kinda weird having him on our side, even if it’s temporary, but hey, any help at this point is good!

Damn, Maki’s still here with those back-handed compliments. Still, that might be one of the nicest things she’s said to Shuichi so far. Baby steps! yeah you might not want to sound like Kaito but he’s definitely rubbing off on you

OMG HE’S STILL SALTY ABOUT THE LOGGING OUT THING

Man it’s really weird to see that icon with Maki. But hey, at least she’s trying to help them fix things rather than stew in jealousy like earlier/stay mad at Kaito about leaving her in the chapel. 8′D

Aaaaand back to the real world!

“For example, there’s me, your beloved!”

"SOMEONE GET ME A HELMET, I’M GOING BACK INTO THE VR WORLD.”

“Turn around so I can put a ‘Kick Me’ sign on your back! It’s what you deserve!”

“Wait, that doesn’t say ‘Kick Me’, that says Saiouma is endgame OTP -”

“Oops! I lied. Still putting it on you, though.”

Interesting pause and neutral face here...

..................

Oh. But.... it can only be locked.... from the outside. So there’s no way he was locked out unless he was physically blocked.

I think I 100% caught him in a lie here.

Schrodinger’s Kokichi Ouma....

“LIFE PARTNERS! EMBRACE ME, AIBOU -`”

“Ouma I swear to -”

Oh fml I’m starting to get an awful feeling - p-please stop referring to it as sleeping, it’s.... really feeding into my theory that I thought was wild but is starting to become less and less crazy-sounding in my head...

D-Don’t you trust in your sidekick, bro? D:

Omfg you just know Miu is the type to put a ton of aside comments in her code and it’s all vulgar...

Yup, true. Confirmed.

Either for defensive... or offensive purposes.

Apparently the cellphone was another object she choose not to delete as well. Man Miu, your post-humous impression on everyone is looking kinda bleak! Now that I think about it, I remember noting her panicking after that flashback light. I’m starting to think she might be the person I was looking for who would fit the ‘desperate to get out of here’ bill.

That’s an odd detail. 

Yeah, I guess I did originally figure that was the case. So there was probably another point of entry on the ‘outside’ edge, like the looping river.

Wait what?! Doesn’t that mean she is unbreakable?! Did she think it would make her impossible to kill or something???

I mean... it’s gotta be the one acting as a barrier to ‘outside’ the map, right? I guess it makes sense that if the river can loop, maybe the whole map itself does. That explains why we could hear K1-b0. Was there a secret entrance along the wall that everyone ignored because they thought there was nothing beyond the wall on either side?

MIU LIED SWEETCHEEKS, THAT AIN’T JUST SOMETHING KOKICHI, YOU AND KAEDE CAN DO

OoooooOOOOH

OH

OH..........

MIU...

Girl I think you played yourself

Whelp, that just solved a huge chunk of the questions I had!

Wait what??? Now that is pretty unexpected. It’s starting to raise some interesting possibilities though. 

Yeah, that’s the face I would have if I found out I had been unwittingly sabotaged. 8′D Oh Miu, what in the world were you up to... 

Oh?

.... No

no no no

no no no no no

no

no

no

NO

NO

NO EXPLAIN THE ERROR EXPLAIN IT RIGHT NOW

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN ‘BING BONG’

NO

EXPLAIN THE ERROR

DON’T LEAVE IT AS A MYSTERY

WE HAVEN’T MADE ANY REFERENCE TO THE WIRES CROSSING IN THE HELMETS

NO

NO NO NO NO NO

FUCK YOU I THINK I KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING AND I WON’T STAND FOR IT

BECAUSE THERE MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN AN AVATAR ACTING STRANGELY IN THE GAME, BUT THERE IS SOMEONE USING VAGUE ENOUGH LANGUAGE AND REFERRING TO THE WORLD AS A ‘DREAM’ AND THE ACT OF LOGGING IN AS ‘SLEEPING’

AND CONVENIENTLY DID NOT LOG IN THE SECOND TIME

DON’T

YOU

FUCKING

DO IT

DANGANRONPA

NO FUCK YOU MONOKUMA LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M CURSING YOU OUT

First Miu’s schtick, now Himiko’s - is there any persona you won’t steal this chapter?

GONTA................ GONTA, NO I’M SUDDENLY DEATHLY AFRAID FOR YOU AGAIN.......

FML Kokichi has the right attitude that no one aside from Shuichi seems to have and

and

fuck

I.... if I’m right, this is not going to have the triumphant ending the last one had... not at all -

omg Himiko you sound like me

uHH

OMFG -

IT’S WAVING IN THE WIIIIIIIIIIND

BRB guys I need to temporarily find a way into the DRV3 game so I can give Himiko a huge high five.

Man I don’t know if Kokichi knows who the culprit is, but I think he is way too excited about the idea of harassing Kaito...

And Kaito knows it.

Ugh, there really is, huh? That’s why I find the vibe i so weird after the third trial. You just get used to feeling how they all interact with each other, there are all these different personalities and - poof. Gone. And suddenly you get a lot more from fewer people, and the world just seems so much larger and emptier.

I-I MEAN.... YOU’RE NOT WRONG, BUT....

Man, the way they’re all cheering him on should be heartwarming and encouraging but it’s kinda freaking me out a little bit? Is that weird?

give him a back massage. you know, between bros.

omg Kokichi are you Shuichi’s agent now or something?

“SORRY KAI-WHATEVER, MR. SAIHARA IS A VERY IMPORTANT MAN AND IS TOO BUSY TO BE BOTHERED BY THE LIKES OF YOU ~ “

Kokichi my boy, you really need to work on your flirting game.

“BRO!”

“BRO....!”

I’M SORRY I’M WEAK FOR ALL THIS ‘BRO’ TALK

That seriously sounds like a threat. 8′D Gosh though, you’re really not having it with Kaito today, huh? Now that I think about it, with Miu gone you and Kaito are going to be the strongest personalities in the trial. This is gonna get interesting...

a;sdlkfja there’s so few of them... oTL

Yeah, she really did. And man did she leave a big impact. Even if she wasn’t my favourite character of the bunch, she had a surprisingly interesting dynamic with a lot of the others and she definitely wasn’t forgettable. It’s going to be weird not to have her around. To think that I originally thought she would get knocked off within the first two chapters... 8′D

Alright so, notes - and as usual I’ll transcribe because my writing sucks. I did doodle some stuff too though ~

Left side of the map (mansion):

Shuichi/Tsumugi (together)

Kaito - roof/logged out 1 hour before

Kokichi

Gonta

Right side of the map (chapel)

Maki

Himiko

K1-b0

Miu * - dead, but also with the ability to cross sides

So I drew out the map both ways - once, the way it is in the game, and two, with the left/right side against each other and the loading screen as the ‘walls’ on the outside. I’m guessing that was the original map. I’m guessing the added wall was the barrier on the edge of the game map.

In the real world, they were seated like this with the computer at the top of the semi-circle:

Gonta                     Maki

Himiko                   Kaito

Tsumugi                 Shuichi

K1-b0                     Kokichi (with poison in his seat)

Miu

So now that the stages are set:

First, the so-called obvious culprits and other red herrings:

Kaito

Man, someone was pushing to set Kaito up and I think that may have been Miu. It would be one thing if my original speculation about the lobby phone being used by the culprit to log Kaito out was one thing, but once the cellphone was found on Miu there really wasn’t any ambiguity left. He was definitely logged out remotely. It would have been interesting if she had logged him out via lobby phone and her wall-crossing abilities, but maybe the writers thought that could have been too hard to work out...

Kokichi

He’s been acting hella suspicious but once that paralysis feature got revealed, he was knocked out of the running. 

Miu being on the chapel side - solved by her avatar being classified as an object. Did the culprit know that too? I guess if Tsumugi could spot her through the window, Miu wasn’t exactly being subtle about her presence on the other side.

Poison - another red herring. No bloodshot eyes

Before I go on, you’ll note I circled a name on the ‘alive’ list, then drew a VERY unhappy face, and just kinda went NOOOOOOO in caps because

FML I THINK IT WAS GONTA...

Is he the one that got the error code? He thinks it was all a dream - did he accidentally switch the wires? It did say the wires were for ‘memory’ and ‘consciousness’, and what better example of that is a fading dream...

Anyway, I’m going to get back to that ^ because I’m still like..... ugh. I have logical reasons that point to him, but emotionally I’m a bit of a wreck. So honestly, it sounds like Miu tried to kill Kokichi. You can see I underlined it in caps in the bottom right corner. 8′D I’m thinking Kokichi knew it was coming somehow? I’m not sure if it was just when they agreed to meet on the rooftop or before then, but I’m wondering if he set up Gonta as his bodyguard, knowing full well that Gonta has been slowly driving himself mad because of his inability to protect the people around him. I love Gonta, but he can get irrational when he gets emotional aka a certain insect-related incident...

As well as that, we have confirmed alibis: Tsumugi was with Shuichi, Kaito was out of range, Maki/K1-b0/Himiko were together, and Kokichi would have been paralyzed on contact. By process of elimination (which is so, so cold), Gonta is the only person who could have done it in the game - and we even saw him alone at the end, didn’t he?

So I’m wondering if it went like this...

Miu makes a move against Kokichi via their meeting

Gonta moves to protect Kokichi out of desperation and grabs her by the neck

She was definitely strangled, aka her expression/body position - Kokichi couldn’t do it because of the paralysis though, so it had to be someone else

Maybe Gonta didn’t realize his own strength, because he was rendered as weak as everyone else and he took the fact that he was nerfed to heart?

and/or maybe he just didn’t realize he killed Miu because he didn’t know he could in this world

pushed her off the roof via, uh, rolling up that lattice.. fencing... stuff sorry I don’t know I’m picturing her little avatar being wrapped up in fencing like a sushi roll and it’s making me laugh and sent her to the other side where she hits the chapel wall

can ~lie~ to us so well because he can’t remember his time in VR - he keeps referring to it as ‘sleep’ or ‘dream’

So that would explain why Kokichi seems to be dancing around us like he knows everything, but man... he’s also seriously ragging on Gonta despite Gonta saving his life??? And him basically using Gonta as disposable protection??? I’m a little scared about exactly what that means for Kokichi and his character, damn...

B-But even still, I can’t... quite... reconcile this in my head. Kokichi is literally the only person I can think of that has any sort of antagonism with Miu. Honestly, anyone else killing Miu is hard for me to imagine - which I guess is maybe the point? And the reason they ‘equalized’ everyone’s strength wasn’t to make Gonta easy to kill like I thought it was when we first went in there, but to make a physical murder like strangulation more difficult for him when he’s at the same strength as everyone else. So I mean, on a meta level/technical level, it does make sense! But - but - Gonta! How can it be Gonta! On a cold hard logic level I feel like it’s all sound, but emotionally.... oTL

I.... don’t......... want to...........

fuCK IT I’M GOING BACK IN TIME PRECIOUS BUG BOY I’M GOING TO FINISH KAITO’S FTE’S THEN I’M DOING YOURS