#i will instead be screaming into a pillow and crying while i fold stupid laundry and listen to music too loud

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

mewhen i

[candycityy]

based on @pufferssss' discord headcanon of levi taking care of petra while she's on her period. just fluff, because my babies deserve it, sue me.

(You can also read this on AO3!)

==

She's off her game today.

He'd noticed it earlier that morning, during PT. He'd assigned them to complete a circuit, and most of the squad had groaned and complied, but she'd remained silent, just turned a shade paler.

"Something wrong, Ral?" he'd asked, when her face twisted into a pained expression. For a second, she'd looked at him entreatingly, like she was trying to communicate something with her gaze.

When he just stared blankly back, she'd sighed and shook her head. "Nothing, sir," she'd grumbled, before turning around and going off on the ten-kilometre jog.

But now – something's definitely wrong, he's sure of it. She looks distracted and self-conscious, her eyes flickering between the guys and him, and she keeps adjusting her uniform even though as far as Levi can see, every strap is perfectly in place. She's pale, too, looking far too drained for one measley circuit –for all her flaws, Petra's never been one to back down from a challenge, let alone show a sign of weakness.

He watches as she maneuvers robotically towards the end-point, slicing at the rubber-foam targets in an almost absent-minded way, wearing that pained, distracted expression. When an Abnormal emerges suddenly from the side, plywood arm raised for attack, he waits for her to snap to attention and dodge.

Instead, she turns, much too slowly and goes, as if in a daze, "Huh?" The arm slams down on her wires, and she lets out a shriek as she struggles to recalibrate her position while dangling mid-air. His irritation mounting, he swiftly swings over and plucks her out of the air, ignoring her protests, and dumps her unceremoniously on the ground. Following his lead, Eld, Gunther, and Auruo alight on the ground, expressions tight and wary.

"What the hell was that?" he demands. But instead of looking sheepish like she usually would, she shoots him a venomous glare. Like it's his fault she failed to dodge a damn piece of plywood.

"Sorry," she mutters, sounding not the least bit apologetic. Levi stares at her in disbelief. They've been together for a while, sure, but she's never been insubordinate like this, let alone in front of their squadmates, in the middle of drills.

"Ral." His tone is frigid. "I'll say it once more. What the hell was that? You're being out of line, and your drills were atrocious." His tone is harsh, and her gaze snaps to his, bright with fury.

"I said," she hisses, "I was sorry."

He's angry, now. "Well, you sure have a fucking funny way of showing it."

"Oh, fuck you, Levi," she spits, and there's a sharp intake of breath all around – Petra never curses, and she never calls him by name during training.

"Petra!" Eld exclaims. "Sir, as second-in-command, I'll take care of this – you can continue with the drills –"

"Fuck you too, Eld." She gets to her feet, dusting herself off, and glares around at her squadmates.

He's had enough. "Ral, I don't know why you think it's okay to speak to us this way, but –"

"I'm on my period," she finally bites out. She spins around, eyes flashing, and everyone but him takes an involuntary step back. "And I don't know what I did wrong but this time it feels like I'm being stabbed in the abdomen by a thousand daggers and I'm pretty sure I've bled through these stupid fucking white pants and God help me I'm so done with all of you insensitive fuckers."

There's a beat. He finally finds his voice, and says, lamely, "You should have spoken up earlier. You could've gone to the sick bay if it was that bad."

At that, she honest-to-goodness snarls at him, baring her teeth and curling her lip like a cornered animal. "Then. I'll. Go." The words come out in a low growl, and it's all he can do to keep his expression flat and unreadable.

"Go, then." For a second, her mask of fury cracks, and her eyes fill with tears.

But then she turns on her heel and stalks off, her boots crunching in the dust. He notices, belatedly, that there's a smudge of red on the back of her pants.

His squad stands there, shocked into silence. "You go tell her, Auruo," Eld says finally.

"What? No way, you do it, you're second-in-command –"

As the guys argue between themselves, Levi presses his head into his hands and wonders briefly why the universe seems to hate him.

==

Later, when he knocks on the door, he's not surprised when he doesn't get a reply.

Steeling himself for the worst, he pushes the door open a crack. She's not on the bed. Maybe I'll just go in and wait for her, then, he thinks, before a soft moan makes his gaze snap to the ground.

It's Petra, curled up into a fetal position on the ground. She's sweating despite the mild temperature, and her skin has taken on a deathly pallour.

She groans again, and the sound startles him out of his reverie. He opens the door and steps in. "What the hell, Petra?" he mutters under his breath, kneeling on the ground next to her. Her eyes are closed, and he thinks he hears a muffled fuck off before she sighs, turning onto her other side and pulling her knees even more tightly to her chest.

Despite her mumbled protests, he lifts her carefully back onto the bed and pours her a glass of water. "Open," he orders, gently lifting her head and thumbing her lip. She bites his thumb halfheartedly, and he lets out an irritated grunt.

"Dammit, Petra, it's just medicine for the pain. Quit being a stubborn brat and open up already." She mumbles something unintelligible, maybe another curse, but obediently opens her mouth and swallows the small white pill dry, ignoring the glass of water and grimacing as she does it.

Her eyelids flutter weakly, and she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Go away, you ass. Don't wanna talk to you. Ugh, it hurts." She lets out a high-pitched whine, the sound somehow both irritated and agonised at the same time, and he snorts – it's just so Petra for her to be frustrated at her own pain.

"Lie down," he orders, pulling a hot water bottle out his bag and tucking it roughly into her arms. She presses it to her abdomen and curls into the warmth, making a small, pleased sound, and even though her hair clings to her damp forehead and her clothes are a rumpled mess, it's still inexplicably, ridiculously cute.

"Better?" he asks. She nods sleepily – and then, a few moments, just as she seems on the verge of dozing off, she sits up abruptly, almost shoving him off the bed in the process.

She looks at him with wide, panicked eyes. "You – oh, no," she groans. "You can't be here. My room is a mess, I'm a mess, there's a pile of bloody laundry in the corner..." Levi inwardly recoils at that, but manages to keep his face carefully composed, "...and – ugh – just, get out get out get out." She collapses back into bed, throws a pillow at his general direction (he dodges), and lets out a cry that's somewhere between exasperation and embarrassment.

"You're welcome," he deadpans, and she drapes an arm over her flushed face, covering her eyes. "I'll leave soon. Just as soon as you tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay, now get out." Her words are muffled from underneath her arm. With an irritated sigh, he gets up, pausing only when she peeks out from under her arm (again with the ridiculous cute) and asks, "where'd you get the hot water bottle from?"

"Nifa." He frowns, recalling the thinly veiled disapproval on the girl's face when he'd confided in her the morning's events.

"Oh." Her voice is small. "Um. Captain – Levi," she amends, and hesitates.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You know. For everything. And, uh, sorry for freaking out earlier." Her arm goes back over her face.

"It's fine." Levi lets out a short exhale, and against his better judgment, leans back over her slight figure to gently brush the tangled hair out of her face. Her face is still fever-hot, and she sighs at the coolness of his touch.

"Feel better, Petra," he says, quietly. As he gets up to leave, his eyes flicker to the pile of laundry at the corner at the corner of the room.

Every cell in his cleanliness-obsessed body screams in protest.

Oh, what the hell. Without making a sound, he lifts the bundle into his arms – keeping it as far away from his face as possible – and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Levi Ackerman, he thinks grimly to himself, as he makes his way towards the laundry room, you are such a fucking loser.

==

The next morning, Petra wakes up to a pile of clean, perfectly pressed laundry outside her door.

There's a note. Ral, it says, in a familiar, elegant script, you owe me a new bottle of bleach. Let me know when you're better, because I'm still giving your insubordinate ass a week of latrine duty. C.L.

Carefully, she folds the piece of paper and closes the door behind her. She flops onto her bed, feeling an irrepressible smile spread over her face – and somehow, all of a sudden – the ache in her abdomen doesn't feel quite so bad.

[ecoamerica]

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[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (4/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Four

She curses him under her breath a half dozen times before she starts yelling obscenities in the middle of the living room.

He was right and she's not incredibly surprised by it, but she is still stubbornly frustrated regardless.

She stumbles to the couch and clutches at her leg.

The crack had been loud and out of nowhere. 

She'd been in the middle of getting back from the laundry line, having finished folding and putting everything back, intending on finding a new home for the clothes pins. And then it happened, sending her to the floor in an instant.

She's a little surprised the kid hasn't caught on to her distress. Henry is currently lying in his bundle of pillows dressed in a cloth diaper fashioned from one of Killian's shirts.

Emma whines. She's fairly certain she's re-fractured the break and now he's going to come back and have to reset it. Damn him.

The thing about her leg being broken is that it really, really shouldn't be. The old fashioned ship was an insane choice for a family cruise to begin with, and Emma getting flung like she was from her spot on the upper deck was an act of insanity, if not impossible.

She grits her teeth and struggles to lie down, biting her lip and cursing more. A part of her hopes he comes back because of the noise, but the other part of her wants him to never come back.

The door opens up, squealing on its way. It's a dramatic buildup, Killian walking into the room, and once he reaches her, he tilts his head.

He's standing there, all dashing and stupid, and she thinks he's savoring this moment.

"Shut up," she growls.

He smirks. "Do you need my help?"

Emma scowls, but then the pain makes her angry again. "Screw you."

He chuckles darkly. His eyes are alight with amusement. "I don't think now would be the time for that, love."

She rolls her eyes so hard she thinks they'll fall out of her head. "How charming. Just do it, you ass."

He slides her up the couch a little so she doesn't hit Henry, and just like last time, he doesn't warn her, and she screams. Emma growls at him when he backs off.

He stares at her for a second. "Better not get up for a while if you want it to heal properly, yeah?"

"And just how am I going to take care of Henry if I can't feed him or change him?"

He looks over at the lump by her feet and sighs. "Teamwork. I'll deliver your materials when he requires them and you'll do the work."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Fine. Whatever." Killian takes a step back. "What time is it?"

"Late."

He turns around and she watches him as he leaves the living room to go into the kitchen.

She scoffs, closing her eyes and draping her arm over her forehead as she lays back, settling into the cushions of the raggedy sofa. Henry fusses at her feet a moment later and she groans.

"Henry," she sighs. "Just for five minutes, can you not need something?"

It isn't fair that she's being tasked to take care of a kid that doesn't even belong to her. It isn't fair that she broke her leg and has had to get it reset twice.

It isn't fair that she's stranded on an island with this man who seems to believe that women are only good for cooking and cleaning.

She just wants to go home, to wrap herself up in a blanket and sit between her parents on their couch, watching some old movies while they discuss mundane crap. She misses talking about mundane crap. Who would've known?

Emma winces as she sits up, her thoughts of home weighing heavily on her chest, settling into the pit of her stomach anxiously. 

She misses home and she misses her family and friends. She misses Neal, of all people, and he isn't even someone she likes that much right now.

Somehow she manages to adjust so that Henry is cradled against her and she sighs. "Hey! Captain Hook! Get back here."

The boots clatter loudly against the floors and she hears him moving things in the kitchen. "Where the bloody hell did you put the bottles?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Top shelf next to the sink."

She hears him yanking the door open and then he puts together the bottle noisily. The man has a nasty habit of being over-the-top loud and it annoys her so much, especially with a crying baby roaring in her ear.

"Hurry up, damn it!"

"I hear him!" the man yells, clearly just as perturbed as she is. "I bloody well hear him! Bloody woman!"

She sighs as she rocks Henry a bit to get him to calm down. He doesn't.

By the time the idiot comes back into the room, she has no patience for anything and yanks the bottle from him hastily. He goes storming off immediately and she hears the front door squeaking open and slamming shut, making her roll her eyes again.

"Yeah, thanks for the help, you jerk."

Emma turns her attention to Henry and successfully gets him to eat and fall back asleep within a matter of twenty minutes. She leaves the bottle on the floor and curls up on the couch as much as she can, closing her eyes and listening to the world move around her.

It’s raining.

She hears the steady threshing of the rain against the roof and a dribbling sound from somewhere she's sure she'll discover in the morning. The night is dark and when it starts to thunder, she's instantly reminded again of the night she was tossed from the ship.

It's chilly in the house so she tugs at her blanket to trap the body heat closer. Maybe she would feel better if she and Killian weren't so horrifically opposed to one another. Maybe she could let herself rest and get comfortable.

But instead, she dwells on the fact that he is a man with his own set of ideas and plans, plans that she interrupted when she washed up on his island.

It isn't her fault that the ocean brought her to him. It isn't her fault that the ocean brought them both this child to take care of.

She wonders briefly what she'll do with him when she gets back to Maine. If she gets rid of him, he'll get sent into the system and-

Emma sighs, shaking her head. She'll find him a home with someone. Maybe her parents would want him. They couldn't have children. This could be a second opportunity for them.

With a little hope blossoming in her chest, Emma turns her thoughts to Neal, to the complete asshole that he is, and tries to justify her answer to him.

He says he's sorry for what he'd done when she was younger. It had been a mess. She'd gone to jail for him. She can't trust anyone, especially Neal. But it's not like she can push him away. He's trying and that's something at least.

A short while later, the front door opens and shutters closed.

She hears Killian huffing and wiping his feet on the rug, then she thinks he takes his boots off, because he comes walking into the living room quietly. He's dripping wet when he squats down in front of the sofa, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

Beside him, he has a wooden something- what she isn't sure.

"I wanted to apologize," he tells her softly.

She can tell he's telling her the truth; his eyes are steady and unmoving and his words don't tremble in the way they might if he were lying. He's cold, clearly, and soaked, which explains the small chatter in his teeth and the wavering in his tone.

He takes a deep breath before he continues, "I've treated you poorly since you've woken and it isn't at all how you should be treated."

Emma blinks at him. She doesn't know what to say, if she's supposed to say anything at all. He's actually being… sweet and it confuses the hell out of her.

"Thank you for cleaning this place. I, um, I've let it fall to pieces a bit and I appreciate what you've done to bring it back to livable standards."

Her heart rate quickens at his words and an unfamiliar feeling of gratitude befalls her. She is appreciated. She is wanted. Her actions have not gone unnoticed.

"You're welcome," she manages quietly.

He smiles softly. "Perhaps we should agree to be civil, yeah? Four weeks is quite a bit of time if we're going to treat each other like we have been."

Emma laughs breathily, drawing his smile up a little.

"And if I'm anything, I'm a gentleman, so I want you and Henry to take my bedroom. I've made Henry a cradle so he doesn't have to be buried in pillows any longer. I'll sleep on the couch."

Emma opens her mouth. "What? No, it's fine. I'm-"

He sets his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Emma, I've treated you poorly and I'm trying to make it right. Allow me this, at the very least. You'll only be here four weeks and I've got the rest of my life to live in that bed."

Emma frowns a little at that, but accepts with hesitancy, sitting up and taking his arm when he offers it to her. They move slowly to the bedroom and he helps her into the bed, covering her with blankets. He sets a fire in the fireplace and then brings the wooden something into the room.

It's a cradle, she realizes, and it makes her heart melt.

Killian stares at the cradle for a moment and she can tell he's thinking deeply about something, but he shakes it off and goes to get the child.

She knows it's not his specialty, carrying and caring for Henry, she knows because he'd been practically yelling at the little boy when she'd first discovered him. So to see him carrying Henry makes her heart warm because she knows he doesn't want this.

Maybe it's his fear of dropping him; a purely male instinct. Maybe it's because he has a hook for a hand. Maybe it's something else entirely, but to see him trying is something she thinks is a rare sight and she takes it in for all it's worth.

Emma helps him settle Henry down on the bed with his bundle of blankets and pillows, holding him in her arms while Killian lowers the little boy into the new cradle.

He's pleasantly asleep; blissfully unaware of anything that's transpired.

"Sleep well, Emma," he says. "I'll be in to help when he stirs."

"Thank you," she says, voice laced with more than just a thank you for helping with Henry.

He stares at her for a moment, then nods once, lips pressing into a line.

He leaves her room with a softened pace, shoulders set in a less angry way, and she releases a sigh, closing her eyes.

It's as if her silent prayers were answered. The man takes a walk in the rain and comes back a renewed person.

She's thankful for whatever it is that got into him, though, and presses her nose against his pillow, breathing in the scent of sea and a little bit of cinnamon, something she supposes must be ingrained in the sheets, because it's his smell and she just washed these today.

He smells okay, she guesses.

/

Killian feels something heavy in his chest. Change.

As he walks through his living room, Killian goes to the bookshelf in the wall and his fingers dance over the leather binding of his favorites. He considers reading because he knows he won't be able to sleep through the night on the sofa, but he decides against the novels.

His attention goes to the television against the wall and he grimaces, taking his fingers through his hair.

In that moment, he recalls Emma telling him about the shortages of food and he finds himself just curious enough to go investigate. Not to his surprise, he discovers the pantry re-organized, tidied, and cleaned.

"There's not enough," he murmurs to himself on a grimace. "Bloody hell, there's not going to be enough."

There's a small stash in the lighthouse, but considering he spends a good deal of time picking those food items off when he hides out in the lighthouse, he figures there's not half as much as there was at the start.

It is in this moment, as he's standing in the pantry studying the shelves of canned food, that Killian resolves to go hungry in order to keep Emma and Henry alive.

[today-only-happens-once]

Exposure Therapy

Title: Exposure Therapy

Word Count: 3281

Summary: If Roman can practice enough scenarios, maybe the inevitable will hurt a little less. Hurt/Comfort Romantic Prinxiety. Ace!Roman.

Warnings: aphobia/internalized aphobia as a central focus, angst/hurt/comfort (heavy on all three), scenarios of rejection, crying, cursing, misunderstanding.

A/N: I wrote this in one sitting. One of those fics that comes from a personal space. An exploration of internalized aphobia—something that I’ve begun to learn does not go away after realizing you are ace. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine. <3 Love you all.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge , @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon

…

Roman stares unseeing at the carpet right in front of Virgil’s sock-clad feet. Most of the lights are off, leaving only the lamp by the couch to cast the room in a soft warm glow. Part of Roman wishes he could turn it off and disappear into the darkness. Anything to avoid the confused, hurt look in Virgil’s eyes that he can feel pressing down on his shoulders.

“You’re ace?” Virgil’s voice seems to echo with disgust.

“I’m sorry, Virgil—” Roman reaches a hand out blindly. Virgil takes a step back.

He shoves his hands harshly into the pocket of his hoodie. “So… So what, you were just leading me on? This entire time? I mean…” He waves an arm. “What the hell, Roman?”

Roman clenches his jaw as his eyes burn. He blinks hard to clear them. “That wasn’t my intention. I just… I was just scared—”

Virgil scoffs. “Scared? Grow up, Princey.”

“Virge, I—”

Virgil is crossing the room and for the briefest second, Roman thinks maybe he’s walking towards him. But the Anxious Side brushes past Roman and starts to head up the stairs. “Save it. I don’t think this is gonna work out.” Then he’s gone. He’s vanished up the stairs and the Prince stands in the Commons alone with the silence until he hears Virgil slam his door shut.

Roman breathes out shakily. He presses a hand to his mouth as it if might steady the air leaving his lungs.

“Again,” he says aloud once he’s sure the word won’t tremble. “The kitchen, this time.”

The scene blurs around him in a swirl of fragmenting color. Roman waits, closing his eyes and bringing clarity to the image in his mind as it takes shape around him. He takes a few slow breaths before he opens his eyes. The kitchen is a perfect recreation of the one in the Mindscape that mirrors Thomas’s apartment.

Sunlight streams in through the window beside the refrigerator. Roman frowns, willing the sun to start setting. He doesn’t think he’d have this conversation in the middle of the day. He’d wait until the evening at least. The bright light fades into a soft orange and pink.

Roman swallows, bracing himself as he hears quiet footsteps behind him. He forces a small smile as he turns around.

“Virgil,” he greets, perhaps a little too brightly. “How are you, darling?”

Virgil quirks a suspicious eyebrow as he shuffles into the kitchen and grabs a mug from the cabinet. “Fine,” he says slowly. “Why are you acting weird?”

Roman swallows, trying to ignore the part of him that suddenly feels like throwing up. “I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”

Roman sees the slightly defensive curl of Virgil’s shoulders around himself. “That’s never a good sign.”

“No, it’s—It’s nothing, really,” Roman tells him. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie. It feels like one. “But… well, can we sit?”

“Sure,” Virgil says slowly again, eyeing Roman as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. “But I’ll be honest, Princey, you’re kinda worrying me.”

“I’m sorry.” Roman folds his hands on the table and stares at them. “I just… we’ve been dating for a while now, and… there’s something that I’ve been pushing off telling you. And by doing so… I’m… maybe not being fair to you.”

Roman pauses, glancing up at Virgil across the table from him. The Anxious Side doesn’t say anything, instead opting to quirk an eyebrow at him as a silent encouragement to continue. Roman takes a breath. He squeezes his hands together as if he might be able to ground himself and keep the sudden wave of nausea at bay.

“I am asexual.”

Silence. Roman waits, every muscle braced for the inevitable.

“You’re unbelievable, Roman.” The edge in Virgil’s voice makes Roman suddenly want to be anywhere else. He stays rooted to his seat instead. “I mean, you know as well as I do that ‘asexuality’ or whatever the hell you want to call it isn’t a real thing.”

The chair scraping against the floor sounds like a scream. Roman thinks he can feel something breaking inside of him. He opens his mouth to speak—to explain—but the lump in this throat hardens before he can even get out Virgil’s name.

Virgil continues, oblivious. “I mean, I know you like to stand out, but c’mon. You can drop the whole ‘special snowflake’ label.”

“I—” Roman tries, but Virgil is gone.

The Creative Side scrubs a hand against burning eyes, gritting his teeth. “Again.”

The scene blurs, then clears.

It’s a nighttime picnic this time: a stargazing date, tailored specifically to Virgil. It’s one of their go-to places in the Mindscape when they wanted to go on a date. The first time Roman had suggested it and Virgil had agreed, the Prince had consulted Logan for how to make it as accurate as possible.

It’s quiet between them. A soft breeze plays in Virgil’s long bangs as he stares up at the sky. He looks peaceful. Content. Happy.

“Virgil… I’m ace,” Roman blurts out before he can lose his nerve entirely.

Virgil turns an incredulous, disbelieving gaze onto him. “You’re what?”

Roman’s hands curl against the blanket beneath them. “I’m… asexual.”

Virgil snorts, and Roman suddenly wishes he could dissolve into the ground. The Anxious Side shakes his head. “No, you aren’t.”

The Creative Side gathers what courage he has left and straightens up slightly. “Yes. I am.”

“Roman, you’re the Romantic Side. You can’t have it both ways.” Virgil shakes his head dismissively, looking back up at the sky. “I mean… nobody would want that, realistically.”

“But—”

“Like, I can wait until you’re comfortable or whatever but… you’re going to be comfortable with it eventually.” He can feel Virgil’s suddenly piercing, demanding stare boring into him. “Right?”

“Right.” Roman’s voice sounds small even to his own ears.  

The world blurs. Then clears. A dinner date.

“Sex is like, a basic human need, Roman.”

“Again.”

A swirl of colors. The hallway.

“How do you know if you’ve never done it before? You’re just scared. You’ll come around eventually.”

“Again.”

Roman’s room.

“I need someone who can actually love me like an adult, Roman.”

“Again.”

Virgil’s room.

“You’ll be alone forever if you don’t get used to it.”

The voices start to overlap, all of them Virgil’s, each harsher than the last. The world is blurry and Roman doesn’t know when he fell to his knees but he can’t bring any clarity to the space around him. The images swirl and Roman has his eyes screwed shut but all he can picture is Virgil’s face.

He buries his fingertips in his hair and covers his ears with his palms. Anything to block out the overlapping, deafening voices that ricochet around him.

He thinks he can hear his name being called—it sounds a little different from the rest of the voices—but it’s all unmistakably Virgil and Roman can’t bring himself to do anything but stay still. His stomach is rolling. A sob is fighting to break through his chest but Roman fights it down.

The voices are right, after all.

Then Roman feels real, solid hands on him, covering his own hands on his head. His eyes fly open, jarred by the sudden contact that feels too real to be part of the Imagination. The confusion gives way to a caving feeling in his chest. It’s just Virgil, kneeling in front of him. Roman can’t see him that clearly—the world is blurry, but he could place that purple and black faltering image anywhere.

It makes sense, Roman supposes. He’d been picturing Virgil in his mind, after all.

He feels Virgil pull him against his chest. It somehow hurts more. The voices are still raging around him and the colors are swirling but Roman collapses a little into Virgil’s chest that feels so real and warm and solid. It’s not real, it can’t be, but it cracks something inside of Roman. The sob he’d been fighting releases in a sharp burst.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’ve got you,” says one of Virgil’s voices but it sounds softer than the rest of them. Closer somehow, too.

For a moment, Roman feels like his stomach drops suddenly. The feeling is followed immediately by a silence so sudden it leaves Roman’s ears ringing. The voices have stopped. And a moment later, Roman realizes that the warm, solid, tangible feeling of someone else didn’t disappear with the voices.

Roman sucks in a hiccupping, shaking breath. Then he opens his eyes. A purple shirt. A black and purple-plaid-patched hoodie sleeve. He breathes in and catches the scent of laundry detergent and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint but was nevertheless familiar. Virgil.

Just past Virgil, Roman can see his canopy bed with red and gold pillows. They’re in his room. Out of the Imagination.

Roman pulls away from Virgil, flushing bright red. He ducks his head when he can feel Virgil’s gaze on him. He feels small. He doesn’t know how much Virgil—the real Virgil—heard. Or what he’d think of Roman now.

Which is stupid, Roman thinks to himself. Because that was exactly why you were doing that in the first place, Princey.

“Hey,” Virgil says in a soft voice. In his peripheral, Roman sees Virgil reach a hand up towards him, then seems to think twice. Roman’s chest constricts impossibly tighter. “You okay?” he asks quietly instead.

“I’m fine,” Roman manages.

“Bullshit.”

“Then why’d you ask?” He can’t bring himself to look above Virgil’s chest. He can’t look him in the eyes. He can’t. Coward, a voice hisses in the back of his mind.

There’s a pause. Then a sigh. Roman feels a hand against his cheek. The pad of a thumb brushing at the wetness of Roman’s cheeks. “Because I thought it was a nicer way to ask what the hell you were doing,” Virgil replies.  

Roman swallows. “Practicing.” He stares at the pattern in the light hardwood floor beneath his knees.

“Practicing? For what?”

Roman opens his mouth to answer. Now’s your chance to tell him. Just come out and tell him you’re ace. The words get lost somewhere along the way up his throat. Roman closes his mouth and shakes his head and says something easier instead. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Roman,” Virgil says, more firmly this time. “Look at me.”

“It’s fine, Virgil. I’m fine—”

“Ro, please.”

Roman’s eyes flit up to latch onto Virgil’s. His brows are pulled together in concern, and his gaze bores into Roman’s like he’s searching for something he can’t find. He still has his hand against Roman’s cheek and the Prince wants to both lean into it and pull away. He stays still instead.

“I’m sorry,” Roman finds himself saying. He swallows down the urge to repeat those words again and again and again. As if this Virgil—the real one—had been the one he’d hurt over and over and over…

Virgil swallows. “What was I saying to you back there?”

The Creative Side freezes, then blinks quickly to recover. “Nothing of importance.”

“Stop doing that,” Virgil snaps, something sharp flashing through his eyes. “I know it was my voice, Roman. But I was a little… preoccupied to make out what I was saying.”

“It was my own fault, really,” Roman tells him in a whisper. He stops, then tries to clear his throat and speaks a little louder. “I just thought… maybe if I could… get used to all of the bad options, I’d be better prepared for the inevitable, you know?”

“Bad options?” Virgil shakes his head. “What does that mean?”

Roman averts his gaze. He feels suddenly very tired. “Nothing. Just… I was just… practicing a conversation.” He pulls away from Virgil’s hand against his jaw.

Virgil’s hand hovers in the air a moment before curling and falling into his lap. “A conversation with me?”

Roman sighs. “Yeah.”

“A conversation… about what?” There’s something off about Virgil’s voice, but it’s all Roman can do to keep talking and not run entirely.

He takes in a deep breath. It’s still a little shaky, and Roman curls his hands against his thighs. “About… me. About the fact that I’m…. asexual.”

There’s a beat—there’s always a beat, always a pause, always the calm right before the storm—and Roman wants to push off the inevitable anger, pain, hurt as long as he can so he lets the words spill past his lips.

“And I know I should have told you a long time ago, but it just never seemed like an okay time. But I know that’s stupid, and it wasn’t fair to you, and I totally led you on, but I just thought maybe eventually it would come up, or you would ask and I could just say ‘yes’ because that’s easier, I guess. It’s easier to confirm than to announce something like that, because if I announce it then it changes everything and I didn’t want anything to change, I didn’t want you to look at me differently because when you look at me I feel like I could do anything and—”

“You…” Virgil cuts in and Roman’s jaw snaps shut, cutting off the words with an almost audible snap. “You were… you were practicing coming out scenarios where I react badly, weren’t you?” The question is asked carefully. Measured. Like something sits just below the surface of it but Roman doesn’t know what lies beneath.

The prince carefully avoids Virgil’s gaze. He nods wordlessly.

“Why?” Roman doesn’t understand why Virgil’s voice sounds a little choked.

Roman laughs but it’s breathy and airy and humorless, tied carefully together with a thread of self-loathing. “Because… I thought it’d make it more bearable when it actually comes. Thought maybe I’d be less of a coward or something if I’ve already sat through it once.”

“Roman… listen...”

And here it comes. The storm is back, the calm abated. And Roman wonders if the practice actually helped because it is hard to imagine a feeling more painful than the one in his chest at this moment. He’s staring unseeing at the rips in Virgil’s jeans. He thinks maybe this is for the best after all. Virgil will find someone he can be happy with—maybe Logan, maybe Patton—and Roman is better off alone, anyway, right? He can go on adventures, avoid distractions and focus on creating—

“I’m so sorry,” Virgil says. His voice sounds thick.

Roman’s throat is tightening. “Don’t be,” he says hollowly because it’s all he has left. He just wants to go to sleep. He’s been through this scenario dozens of times now. This is just one more, he tells himself as if it will alleviate some of the crushing feeling. “I get it.”

“What?” Virgil’s confusion rings clear in his voice, but it’s shadowed a second later by realization. “Wait… shit, Roman, that’s not what I meant—”

“Virgil, I don’t really need a long speech or anything,” Roman tells him, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

“I am.”

Roman blinks, his gaze flitting up to meet Virgil’s. His brow creases in confusion at the bright, earnest look in Virgil’s eyes. “What?”

Virgil rakes a hand back through his hair. There’s something a little pained in Virgil’s eyes that makes Roman’s chest twist. Roman opens his mouth—he wants to apologize, he never wanted to be a source of pain for Virgil again—but Virgil holds up a hand to cut him off.

“I… You were so afraid to tell me that you’re ace, Roman. And I feel like that’s on me. I mean, you were calling my rejection of you—of who you are—‘inevitable’, for crying out loud. I never…” Virgil’s voice seems to die in his throat. He swallows, blinks hard, then tries again. “If I made it seem like you couldn’t come out to me, after everything… I mean, God, you were torturing yourself over it…”

“Not you,” Roman blurts out. Virgil stops suddenly, and Roman struggles to find the words again. “It wasn’t you. I just… I’ve heard some variation of all of it before. And I just… I was scared. Not because of anything you did or said, but just… rejection seems inevitable at this point.” Is he making sense? Roman doesn’t know. But he keeps talking because at this point, if he stops now, he thinks maybe he’ll never say it again.

“It’s… everywhere,” Roman presses on, silently begging Virgil to understand. “It’s supposed to be important to me, right? And sometimes I think life would be easier if it was, but…” Roman’s eyes are starting to burn a little again. “I don’t want it, and I don’t…” want to lose you. Roman can’t bring himself to voice it. He can’t have it both ways. That was really what being ace meant, right? Roman had come to accept that a long time ago. He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself. “But it’s not fair to you to keep lying. To keep you waiting for something I’m never going to want. You… deserve someone who can love you in all the ways you need—” Roman cuts himself off when Virgil cups his face in both of his hands.

Virgil’s dark gaze is searching his again, something imploring behind his irises. “I have that already.”

Wait… what?

Virgil reads the uncertainty on Roman’s face and softens, leaning his forehead against Roman’s . “You are ace, Roman. That’s part of who you are. It’s not something you should apologize for, and it’s sure as hell not something you should punish yourself for.”

“I… Virgil—”

“You love me,” Virgil continues with quiet, unwavering conviction. “You show me literally every single day. You make me coffee in the morning and know to sneak in two spoonfuls of sugar when nobody is watching. You check in on me when I’m having a bad day. You distract me with Disney theories when I’m getting overwhelmed. You listen when I need to vent or talk no matter how busy you are. You plan dates with me specifically in mind. You write me love letters on like, a weekly basis, and you let me fall asleep listening to your heartbeat when I’m having a bad night.”

Roman feels Virgil press soft lips to his forehead. “I love you,” Roman finds himself saying.

“I know,” Virgil replies softly. “That is all the love I need, Ro. I promise.” He touches his forehead to Roman’s again.

Roman swallows. “But—”

“Do you trust me?”

Roman manages a watery smile at the Disney reference. “What?”

He can hear the soft smile in the Anxious Side’s voice too. “Do you trust me?”

Roman nods a little and pulls back to look up at Virgil. “Yes.”

“Good.” Virgil looks straight into Roman’s eyes as he brushes his thumb along Roman’s cheek. “Then trust me when I say that you are enough. You will always be enough, just as you are.”

[hopecountysfavhoe]

‘Cold’ Chapter Fifteen Pt. 1

Rating: PG13? Idk it’s mild

Word count: 2,176

     That night the Deputy fell asleep on the couch. It wasn't a great couch but it was better than that clinic bed. She was comfortable enough, at least until she heard Carmina crying from her room. Remembering what she told Kim about how she'd help with Carmina, the Deputy slid out of her blanket and shuffled her way upstairs.

     She didn't want to wake up Nick and Kim if they weren't already awake so she quietly crept into Carmina's room. Carmina stood inside her crib while holding onto the side bars. Her tiny lungs were so strong, and so loud. It was incredible.

     When Carmina saw the Deputy she let out another wail, making sure she knew she wanted attention. Now, the Deputy didn't know the first thing about how to be a good parent. Her mom wasn't exactly the pinnacle of motherhood and she didn't even know her dad so when she was around Carmina it was all a crapshoot. She just knew what not to do, and what Kim told her to do.

      For some reason Carmina has been extra clingy lately according to Kim, something about sleep training, honestly the Deputy couldn't really remember. But she was going to be leaving tomorrow and one night with her goddaughter didn't sound like the worst thing in the world. So, she walked over to the crib, plastering on a smile for the screaming toddler and lifted her into her arms.

     She bounced her body a little bit, resting Carmina on her shoulder. Kim said she was never hungry at this time of night so it wouldn't be that. Her diaper wasn't full so it didn't need to be changed. The only reason the Deputy could think of for Carmina's screaming was she wanted to be with someone.

     And that was exactly what she wanted. As soon as the Deputy started bouncing her and whispering to her about how big and loud she was getting (in an adoring tone of course) Carmina quieted down right away.

     After spending a little while with her, the Deputy put Carmina back in her crib so she could sleep. She made it out the door and was almost down the steps when she heard the beautiful sound of a screaming baby once more.

     With a sigh and a soft chuckle the Deputy turned to walk back up the stairs. As she crept up the stairs the door to Nick and Kim's bedroom opened and Nick stumbled out, still half asleep. He had on sweat pants and an old t-shirt that was inside out.

     "Don't worry, I've got her." The Deputy whispered as Nick rubbed his eyes. When he opened his eyes the Deputy was giving him a reassuring smile.

     "Ok, thanks." Nick said with a yawn and turned to go back into their room. The Deputy opened the door to Carmina's room again. Finding the same scene she found the first time.

     This time she held Carmina and when she finally calmed down she brought her downstairs. When they snuck out of her room she made the hushing noise to Carmina. Not that it would really affect her, she didn't even know what that meant, but it was good to interact with her. She brought Carmina down to the couch, angling the baby monitor on the coffee table so that Nick and Kim could see the couch on their screen.

     The Deputy laid down on her back with her head propped up on the arm of the couch, holding Carmina on top of her. Carmina looked thrilled to be on the couch with her, crawling all over her stomach with curiosity. "You win for tonight, but you have to promise me you're going to sleep ok? If not then I'll have to bring you upstairs alright?" The Deputy explained in a hushed whisper to the baby.

     Carmina looked around her living room with a sparkle in her eyes, she acted like she wanted to play but the Deputy kept her glued to her hip. "Would you like for me to tell you a story?" She asked and Carmina stared at her.

     She babbled something in baby talk and laughed. "Ok, well I don't actually know any baby stories so I'll make something up." The Deputy brushed some of Carmina's hair out of her face absentmindedly. "Oh I've got it. Ok, settle down, Auntie Dep's got a story for you."

     Carmina didn't really 'settle down' per say, she just directed her attention to the hand brushing her hair.

     The Deputy held out a finger for both of her little hands, giving Carmina something to play with while she told her the story. She spoke in a whisper, hoping that a light tone would help Carmina fall asleep.

"Once upon a time, and this is a true story by the way, once upon a time there was a princess. And this princess was just a little baby but she was beloved by everyone she met. Everyone loved her so much because she was so innocent, so pure, everyone was jealous of her happiness. So, the princess's subjects all worked very hard to give her little gifts or make her laugh, just something to make her happy because when she was happy, they shared a small piece of that happiness. The princess loved these people because no matter who they were, they were like her family.

     "Now this princes wasn't just a sweet little princess, she was an awesome, cool princess that didn't take no as an answer. And just like all princesses need, she had a knight. Now, the knight was tired, she felt old despite her youth, she was almost tired of being a knight but, when this knight met her new princess...she was thrilled. This princess was full of energy and life and she showed her knight exactly what was worth it in this world. And from the minute the knight was appointed to the princess she swore that she would fight every dragon and she would slay every monster that ever tried to hurt her princess, because that was her duty." Carmina had laid down on the Deputy's chest, her eyes growing more and more tired from the Deputy's story.

     "Are you proud of yourself princess? Because everyday you're teaching this knight how to keep fighting." She asked Carmina who was already half asleep. Pleased with herself and her calming story, the Deputy closed her own eyes. She kept two hands on Carmina, one on the back of her head and neck and the other on her back to keep her from moving. Anytime Carmina moved, the Deputy would be able to feel it and react so she wouldn't fall.

     What the Deputy didn't know about the baby monitor was that anytime it picked up sound it transmitted it to the main baby monitor in Nick and Kim's room, and when the baby monitor was sitting on the coffee table they could both see and hear everything that was said.

     When Nick came back to bed Kim was awake too. She was so used to always being up with Carmina that she couldn't fall right back to sleep. Nick could, he basically fell back into bed and landed face first into his pillow.

     Kim let out a small chuckle at her tired husband and stared at the ceiling, hoping it would help her fall asleep. She wasn't feeling tired and was just antsy so she turned over in bed. The baby monitor was sitting on her bedside table facing her so that she could see everything going on in Carmina's room. Except it wasn't showing her Carmina's room, it was showing her the living room for some reason.

     Kim rubbed her eyes and looked back at the baby monitor trying to figure out what she was looking at until she realized the Deputy has brought Carmina down to the couch with her. Carmina didn't look very tired, instead choosing to play with the Deputy's fingers. She could tell that the Deputy was saying something but she couldn't really hear it so she turned the volume up louder.

     "Ok, settle down, Auntie Dep's got a story for you." She heard and hit Nick's arm to wake him up.

     "Wha- what? What's wrong?" He asked quickly sitting up.

     "Look," Kim motioned to the baby monitor and listened intently. Her and Nick both listened to her story, Kim had to wipe a tear out of her eye. "She's so gentle with her." Kim remarked in a whisper. Carmina was falling asleep on the Deputy's chest, perfectly content with herself.

    "See? You don't have to worry so much about her, the Deputy is ok." Nick said and kissed Kim's cheek.

     "Tell me you haven't noticed any differences with her?" Kim said and turned around to face Nick. Nick sighed and looked down at Kim's hands taking them in his own.

     "I have but, you just heard her, being around Carmina is helping." He made the point and Kim nodded.

     "Still Nick, I was there when she was waking up, I was there in the clinic when she was trying to walk and talk. She'd looked like she'd lost all hope, she acted like she lost her fire." Kim gripped Nick's hand back and looked him in the eyes. "Please, keep an eye on her. She doesn't want to stay here I know that, but I need to know that she has someone watching her back." Kim begged and Nick nodded.

     He placed a kiss on her hand. "Of course I will. After we rescued her, the gang and I we made a pact to always keep an eye on her. No more travelling or doing stupid stuff alone, that was our deal. I ain't breaking a deal like that." He assured her and Kim made a pained smile.

     "Thank you. You're gonna be an amazing dad." Kim told him with confidence and Nick smiled back at her. They kissed and Nick went back to bed. Kim rolled over to face the baby monitor, watching the Deputy and Carmina sleep together.

     Hoping to keep the Deputy longer, Kim created an elaborate excuse about needing help around the house. Just small stuff like reaching a book on a high shelf (they're the same height but whatever, the Deputy didn't think to hard about it) or helping fold laundry. The Deputy was certain that the doctor put her up to this as a way of getting light exercise without overdoing it. She was also convinced that Kim still wanted to know her name. It was fine with her, she knew that out of everybody she'd met, Kim would probably be the most understanding.

     It wasn't that the Deputy didn't like her name she just legitimately didn't know if people would laugh at it. It wasn't a terrible name, just unfortunate, and if certain people heard it was her name she'd never hear the end of it.

     "What are you thinking about?" Kim asked when she came back from carrying a small stack of towels into the kitchen. The Deputy didn't respond, she was staring ahead in space on the couch.

     "Deputy? Hello?" Kim asked again and waved her hand. The Deputy seemed to shake out of her trance and looked over at her.

     "Sorry, did you say something?" She asked, not realizing that she'd been zoning out.

     "I just asked what you were thinking about." Kim asked innocently and carried the empty laundry basket into the laundry room.

     "Oh sorry, I don't really know where I was just then." The Deputy rubbed her forehead and rolled her shoulders. "Hey Kim?" she asked and Kim liked her head out of the laundry room door.

     "Yes?"

     "Would you like anymore help around here? Because if not I was gonna go find Grace or maybe Mary May."

     Kim was quiet then she walked into the living room. She sat down next to the Deputy. "Deputy, I know you don't really want to hear this but...I'm worried about you. It's not that I don't trust you but I know that if you go out and hear someone needs help then you'll rush to go help them, which is wonderful but in your condition? It could be bad. All I'm asking is that you give yourself a couple more days of resting, please?"

   "But Kim I've been resting for over 6 weeks, I'm ok now and besides, it's just a talk. I'm not going to go yell at John or anything like that." The Deputy kept her tone gentle and Kim shook her head.

     "I know, and you are one of the most resilient people I've ever met but please, I just have a really bad feeling about this." Kim's eyes were sincere, she really did have a bad feeling about this.

     "How about I just talk to Grace and see how she's doing? I promise I won't do anything stupid, and I'll be back for dinner." The Deputy promised and Kim looked relieved.

     "Thank you." Kim thanked her and smiled.

[ecoamerica]

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[apprenticeofcups]

Hey! So, firstly I want to say that I love your blog. As a person who loves to write stuff but doesn't really have the courage or talent(lol) to be posting stuff, I hold admiration for people like you who do it so well it makes it seem easy. If you got the time I would like to request a main 6 headcanons with a MC who just lost a beloved pet. My dog died last week and my cat died today, and I don't really know what to do with myself; so I could really use something wholesome and sweet.

sorry to hear about your babies! 💕 here’s the secret: post everything

if you put everything up (you don’t have to tag it, just make it look how you want and post it), it’s just another step in the process, instead of a judgment call on what of your work is “worthy” of other people seeing it

It’s still hard, and you’ll still be anxious about it, but you’ll be surprised at how positive the reception is - and that makes it easier later on.

💔Main 6 + MC Losing a Pet

note: this is specifically a pet, like Camio, not a familiar

Asra

Goes out of his way to do things for you - making your tea, folding your clothes, cooking for you

Finds little ways to go the extra mile, too: adding your favorite oils to the laundry soap, sneaking the stove salamander into bed so your pillow is nice and warm when you go to sleep

Does his best to save the musings about the inevitability of death and the purposes our lives serve for a few months from now

Faust appoints herself your official grief counselor - Asra can do it for human deaths, but this is her area of expertise

She mostly follows you around and gives you squeezes when you look sad

Sometimes, she has little affirmations, too - Good life! and Loved you!

Julian

He doesn’t really…do anything. Or say much, either - or at least, not what you were expecting

No jokes, no grand gestures to try and cheer you up

He just wraps you in a blanket and sets you in his lap or lets you lay your head on him, and encourages you to do the talking, for once

Tell him all the stories you have: how you found them, how you came up with their name; how you feel like you lost your best friend, how you feel stupid, because they were just an animal who lived in your house. Tell him everything

And he’ll tell you that it’s never stupid to love something that much. That they were a piece of you. That you’re allowed to be hurt, to cry, to scream, to bundle up in bed for fourteen hours and refuse to move. And he’ll be there while you do

He doesn’t really do anything; he just stays

Nadia

Somewhat at a loss, actually - does she throw a funeral? would that be worse? 

She asks what you need, but you don’t really know

If you ask for something, it’s done. She drops everything to make it happen, whether it’s a weekend away or donuts at 4am or finding a place to hide a pet bed because it makes you sad to look at it

But other than that, she just makes sure you don’t have to worry about anything for a while

You mourn and process in your own time, and she’ll worry about the shop’s bills, your groceries, scheduling your dentist appointment, and so on

The worst part of death is that life doesn’t wait for us to process it, and she does her best to give you the time you need

Muriel

Helps you with the burial - he’ll do the digging, or carry the ashes while you scatter

He definitely knew them well enough that, if you’re not sure, he knows which places were their favorites

Which tree they liked sleeping under, or pond they liked playing in, etc.

Makes their collar, cage, or some other memento into a decoration for your mantel - not quite a shrine, but something to look at when you miss them

Inanna tries to lay on you every time you stop moving to give you a nuzzle, because she’s convinced she has to do the work of two companions now

You’re also pretty sure she keeps ordering Muriel to do things like pick up your favorite pastries and give you backrubs, because he’s doing those things, but he’s also rolling his eyes at her more often

Portia

Her reaction to grief is to bake

Whether you lost a pet, a parent, a leg, it doesn’t matter - she’s bringing you muffins and home-cooked meals whenever she has the chance

Pepi sticks to you like glue, and Portia encourages you to take advantage of that - many things in life look better after you’ve smushed your face in a cat

Other than that, she does her best to stick to routine

You still have your date night to look forward to; she still has her bi-weekly day off for pillow fort cuddles; Sunday is still Laundry Day

There’s comfort in predictability; life goes on, but without any surprises

Lucio

Do you…want a new one? (Ok, no, he thought about it, and that wouldn’t really help. Not yet)

Blocks out a whole day for you to spend in the menagerie, with all his cuddliest pets (the tiger likes her privacy, but the bats love tummy rubs)

Tells you stories about all of them, to get you talking about your own, and you think this might be the best listening you’ve ever seen him do

Even if you end up crying into his shoulder, he doesn’t get weird and prickly like he normally would

Just lets you talk and cry and get out everything you need to

He wouldn’t be able to shake a loss that like, either, so he’s there for whatever you need

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