#i woke up and was like ''maybe i could show them some early sketchbook pages of Wardell to prove it!!''

[dandyshucks]

had the weirdest nightmare last night where I was posting some early designs of Wardell and then ended up deleting those posts, only for some much better artist to start posting as if Wardell was THEIR character ,,, and I didn't realize this until I'd already been posting about Wardell again, so now it looked like I was stealing /their/ OC (i only found out this happened bc someone sent me anon hate asking why i was stealing that person's character LMAO), and they had a fairly sizable following so who tf would ever believe me over them esp since I'd deleted any of my posts abt him that had been posted prior to when they'd started posting abt him 😭😭

but what really rubbed salt in the wound was a couple artists I really admire were complimenting this character thief artist on Wardell's design and personality, and I was just sitting there like THATS /MY/ GUY PLEASE HE'S NOT THEIRS but knowing i couldnt say anything bc i had no proof 😭

[lu-undy]

Sniper/Spy request #2

Here it is: "Spy draws Sniper and the Aussie finds out."

"Mh…" 

No alarm clock? Oh, yes, it was Saturday. 

He opened his eyes. 

The light outside was faint, turning the sky from blue to pink. It was the early morning and the Aussie rolled on his bed to push away the blanket. It was summer and already warm enough for him. He closed his eyes but after long minutes of waiting, he did not fall back asleep. 

Well, better get up and ready up the laundry or something, before the rest of the base woke up. 

First things first. Clothes. 

Sniper climbed down his bunk bed and grabbed a shirt as well as a pair of trousers. He went to the sink and splashed some water on his face to better wake up.

Now glasses, hat, and let's go to the base. 

The Aussie stepped out of the van and turned to face the base when-

"The hell…?"

There was a silhouette. It was far away, a man sitting on a little boulder. It wasn't the first time that Sniper had seen it. But usually the silhouette disappeared before he thought about acting about it. 

However, that day was a Saturday, the Aussie hadn't anything else in mind but the usual chores. He went back to his van and grabbed his kukri. Whatever lunatic was over there surely couldn't be one of his mercenary colleagues. And the base was in the middle of nowhere, so whoever was there had driven for more miles than was reasonable, making them thus, a lunatic. 

Sniper walked to the silhouette on the boulder and as he got closer, the tension on his body melted away. He recognised the pinstripe pattern on the trousers, he recognised the white shirt and mask. 

"Bonjour, Sniper." The man said in his native tongue, still giving his back to the Aussie.

[Good morning, Sniper]

"What the hell are you doin' here this early? And on yer own?" 

"Capturing the colours." 

"What?" As Sniper got closer to the Frenchman, he saw that he was holding a sketchbook and drawing. "You're drawin'?" 

"Mh-hm."

"With a black pen."

"Very observant, Sniper."

"What colours are you capturin' if you're drawin' in black and white?" 

"Look in front of you." 

Sniper raised his eyes from over Spy's shoulder and looked at the rising sun. The colours were stunning, Spy was right. The hints of orange through the pink early morning was a treat for the eyes. 

"Yeah…" Sniper looked at Spy again. "What the hell are you doin' now?!" The Frenchman had lit a cigarette and was now burning the page of his sketchbook with his lighter. "You lunatic…"

Spy slowly turned to his colleague. 

"Says the man who is investigating a shadow he saw from the confines of the van he calls home at some terribly early hour of the morning?" He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Sniper rolled his eyes up with a grin. "You are a lunatic too, mon ami."

[My friend]

"Guess I am." Sniper chuckled. 

"Coffee?" Spy took a thermos that was on the ground. 

"Oh, why not." Sniper watched as Spy poured the hot beverage into two cups. "You were waitin' for someone?" He asked as he raised an eyebrow. The presence of the second cup surprised him. 

"Oui." 

"Oh, I can leave you if you want." 

Spy chuckled and sat at the edge of the boulder. 

"Pray take a seat." 

The Aussie obeyed and took the cup that Spy handed him. 

"Thanks, eh." 

"You are welcome."

They both took a sip. 

"I'll drink quickly and I'll be on my way." Sniper said. 

"Oh, are you on a schedule?" 

"No but you said you were waitin' for someone. I don't wanna be the third wheel, eh." Sniper put the cup to his lips.

"You already are." 

… and the coffee nearly sprang out of the Aussie's mouth. He gulped down and turned his head left and right trying to look for the guest that Spy was awaiting. No one was in sight, and the base was far behind them. 

"Where's your mate?" 

"Sitting right next to me." Spy turned his eyes to Sniper's and smiled. 

"Me?" 

"Oui." 

"What?"

"It has been weeks of me waking up this early, especially on the weekends. The season is showing its best colours early. Look at the pink, the rose, the fuscia, the peach, the flamingo and strawberry…" Spy pointed in front of them and his finger trailed in lines, as if he was painting the canvas of the sky itself. "Oh, and from the peach, then it all leans towards more orange tones, doesn't it? Coral, and yet tangerine, maybe even a fiery tiger tint sometimes, ah..."

Sniper looked at his colleague as he went on and on. The colours he was describing made his irises even lighter...

"That's a lot of words to say pink and orange, Spook." 

"Because it is so much more than that. Like anything else, or anyone else."

"Like you?" Sniper asked.

"And you." Spy answered. 

Silence fell just the time for them to take a sip. 

"So you come here early, draw the sky and then burn the page?" 

Spy chuckled and raised his eyes to Sniper.

"Non, I do not. I usually do not draw the sky."

"Oh? What're you doin' here then?" 

"The colours of the sky help my nerves."

Sniper frowned as he changed his position to sit cross legged. He did not really follow his colleague.

"They are warm and soft colours, non?"

"Yeah." 

"Don't you find it soothing? Here, far from the base and the rest of the lunatics that our colleagues are, just you, your thoughts, and the colours that God chooses to display for the day. It brings some peace to me and helps me draw."

"I didn't know you liked drawin'." 

"Neither did I until there was a picture that I could not get out of my mind."

"What is it?" 

Spy took a deep breath. He was sitting at the edge of the boulder, one leg on the other, his varnished Italian shoes dangling off of it. 

"A sight of poetry on a scruffy canvas." 

Sniper chuckled. 

"You make no sense." 

"Oh but I do." Spy insisted. "I do, but only to myself, I guess. Such things are hard to describe if you don't feel them yourself." 

Sniper turned his head and realised that his colleague was staring at him with something painted on his face, an emotion that the Aussie didn't manage to decipher. His eyebrow twitched, but then he blushed as he thought that he himself had just been staring for a few seconds. He looked away into the immense desert. 

"One day, God graced me with this vision." Spy started. "A man, taller than me and his shoulders broader than mine. It was an evening in a crowded place. There was a lot of noise, people's chatter, their laughter, and the room smelt of cheap beer. But I could see only him." Spy paused to take a sip of his coffee. "That man, he was closing his eyes and whispering in the ear of a golden dragon. It breathed a fire that did not burn, a fire that was… enchanting. It was shy, woody threads of air that tied a knot here." Spy put his gloved hand on his chest and sighed. "His eyes were closed and his lips moved with such mastery, such elegance… Even the dragon was melting in his hands, under his agile fingers."

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. Had Spy drunk something odd, or did he replace his nicotine for something else in his cigarette that morning…? He seemed normal enough, his eyes were clear, no signs of funny cigarettes in his breath. 

"Sniper?" The Frenchman hadn't moved his eyes away from the Aussie.

"Yeah?"

"I fell in love that day." 

The Aussie's body temperature soared as his cheeks burst in crimson. 

"With a guy?" 

"Oui."

"Who's… talkin' to dragons…?"

Spy chuckled.

"It is a metaphor." 

"Ah…" Sniper exhaled, relieved that his colleague wasn't high or drunk, he was just being a bit too poetic for the Aussie. "So you fell in love with someone?"

"Oui." 

"If it's all a metaphor, I guess it was with a woman?"

"Non."

"Oh…" Sniper nodded to himself and looked away. The way that Spy was looking at him was impressive. It was almost as if the Frenchman could read Sniper's thoughts straight through his eyes.

"It happened months ago now, on a Friday evening." Spy went on. "We were celebrating the victories of the day in the common room. Some of us were playing music." 

"Yeah, as always." 

"One of us is the one I described." Sniper's eyebrows jumped. "And since that day, I could not get that image out of my mind. That fool who was playing did not know that a few metres away, the old man that I am was falling in love. With what, you ask? The way his brow furrows when the intensity of the music gets to him, the way he gently rocks his hips along his instrument to better flow on the rhythm, and the way his eyes are always hidden behind a thin, yellow curtain of mystery."

"Woah… Really deep in love you are, eh. And I didn't know you liked blokes." 

"It is a curse." 

"Why?" 

"I can see beauty in a lot of things and in a lot of people, yet my work requires me to see none."

"Hey, you can still see beautiful stuff and say 'it's beautiful'. You're not gonna get shot for that." 

"I guess you are right." 

They took a break from the conversation to finish their coffee. Sniper looked at his colleague who was looking at the horizon and the sky. He didn't know Spy could be that poetic. Maybe that's why he was so secretive, maybe he just didn't want people to know that about him. But then why would he tell Sniper? 

"So you drew that vision you had in your head in your book?" Sniper asked and Spy gave a sad grin. 

"If only I did." He answered. "I have tried. I have filled sketchbook after sketchbook of it. But in the end, it is never good enough and I end up destroying it." 

"You burn all your sketchbooks?" Sniper asked, surprised. 

"I burn the pages, oui. And then I am left with an empty sketchbook." 

"Why d'you do that? I'm sure you're gettin' better at drawing. Practise makes you good, you can't get worse."

Spy sighed. 

"Perhaps you are right. But seeing that person on a sheet of paper tears my very heart apart. When I finish drawing and I look at it, I am tempted."

"To do what?" 

"To keep the picture with me, at any time. But it is too risky, what if someone found it? So instead, I destroy the evidence of  my crime." 

"Hey, quit the drama. You're just in love and can't get the bloke out of your head. Makes sense." 

"I suppose so." Spy answered and raised his eyes to Sniper. "Are you not curious to know who it is?"

"Well, if you wanna tell me, go ahead. If not, it's fine. Feels special enough that you tell me you have feelings, and for a bloke at that."

They exchanged a smile. 

"What about you, Sniper? Is there anyone in that wild heart of yours?" 

"Wild? Heh, maybe." Sniper blushed and averted his eyes. He stared down at the empty coffee cup he was nervously fiddling with. 

"Here." Spy handed him the sketchbook. 

"Why're you givin' me your book?" 

"I am giving you a choice." Spy said. "You can either draw him or her here, or you can have a look at my latest drawing of that special man." 

"So it's either I get to know who you fancy or you get to know who I fancy?"

"Oui, why not?" Spy smiled. "On my end of the bargain, I have nothing to lose."

Sniper raised an eyebrow. 

"I cannot have more with him but short chats, like we are having now, you and me. I sometimes see him and try my best to not stare when all I wish is to take in his charms for as long as I can." 

Sniper smiled. 

"Y'know, you sound really different." 

"I don't believe I do." Spy answered. "I think that you never heard me on such topics before."

"True…"

"So, what do you choose?" Spy put the sketchbook and the pen on the ground, between them both.

"Spook, listen, I-I can't really tell you who I fancy…" Sniper removed his hat and scratched his head. "It's complicated… It's just… I like it when I see him and-"

"Him?" Spy repeated. 

"Y-yeah… Oh, bugger I've said too much already…" Sniper let a hand sink on his face from his brow to his chin. 

"Then have a look at the sketchbook to see who is in my heart." 

"You sure?" 

"I think so." 

"Not gonna regret it?" 

"What could happen, hm?" Spy asked. "The second you will know who it is, he will too and this weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for months will be no more." 

"Why tell me who it is rather than go and see him to tell him straight." 

"Open and see. I think you will have the answer to your question." Spy took his cigarette case out of his inner pocket and lit one. 

"Alright…" Sniper took the sketchbook and put it on his lap. "You really sure?" He looked at Spy. The Frenchman held the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled the smoke elegantly between his parted lips. He nodded.

Sniper took a deep breath and opened the book. Spy hadn't destroyed it yet, it must have been his latest book then. 

"Holy…" 

The Aussie looked at the sketches, page after page. It was the same face drawn from different angles, with different expressions. Spy really had an obsession with that man, it was the only thing drawn there covering all the paper! 

Sniper blushed intensely and as the sweat broke on his brow, his heart started pounding in his chest. 

And as Sniper turned yet another page, he started to understand Spy's metaphor. The man wasn't whispering in a golden dragon's ear, he was playing the saxophone. The dragon wasn't breathing threads of air, it was music, and the thin, yellow curtain of mystery was nothing else but the Aussie's yellow tinted aviators…

Sniper shut the book for an instant and took a deep breath. 

"Now you understand." Spy simply said.

But Sniper was boiling on his seat, on the bare ground. So that was the man Spy had been fancying? For months? How did Sniper not see anything coming? How did he not guess? 

Maybe because Spy wasn't alone playing the game of averting his eyes whenever they got too close to Sniper. Maybe because there was a reason as to why the Aussie needed to close his eyes when he played the saxophone on Friday. Maybe because if he kept his eyes opened, he would stare at the man he was playing for? Maybe the movement of his hips as he played betrayed him?

Sniper grabbed the pen and quickly found an empty page in the sketchbook. Spy's eyebrows jumped but he remained mute and didn't dare ask what was going on. After all, his colleague seemed way too agitated to be able to answer. 

The Aussie scribbled and scratched the paper recklessly. He could sketch too, in his own style. He had learnt from drawing animals, and that skill he had transposed it to humans too.

It took him a few minutes and when he was finally done, he slammed the book shut and put it down between Spy and him. 

"May I?" Spy asked and Sniper nodded, still not making eye contact. The Frenchman put his cigarette between his lips to hold it there, and took the book between his gloved hands. He opened it and turned the pages until the style changed. "Mon Dieu…" He whispered to himself when his eyes fell on the portrait of the man who made Sniper's heart beat. 

There was an atrocious second of agony before Spy shut the book and put it away.

"Do you smoke, Sniper?" 

"Huh? Y-yeah, sometimes…" Sniper's brain was turning faster than a hamster in a wheel trying to understand why Spy would ask that.

"Good." Spy leaned on his colleague and took a deep breath. Sniper was petrified. 

"Why?" 

"This is about the only bad habit I have." Spy answered. "That, and singing when I cook. Some previous partners did not like it." 

"Why're you tellin' me all this?" 

"Because, given the portraits in that sketchbook, it might be a good idea to start knowing each other better."

"Ah, yeah… Ok…" Sniper cleared his throat. "Well uh… I-I don't really know what to say." 

"Then don't say anything."

"Isn't that unfair?" Sniper asked. 

"It is not about fairness." Spy answered. "It is about feeling the best way possible."

"C-can I do somethin'? I feel like-"

"Oui."

"But you don't know what I was goin' to do?"

"If doing that thing makes you feel better, then pray do. I do not wish to know more." Spy answered and closed his eyes as his head rested on Sniper's shoulder.

"Right." Sniper opened his arm and wrapped it around Spy's frame. He let his hand hang in the air next to Spy's hip. It might be too much. Yeah, yeah it was, he shouldn't have been so upfront, he should've -

"Merci." Spy answered.

[Thank you.]

He pulled Sniper's hanging hand to his hip and snuggled closer to him. 

"Spy?" 

"Oui?" 

"Thanks." 

"The pleasure is all mine."

"Nah, really. Thanks." Sniper leaned his head on top of Spy's.

They stayed there, perched on that boulder for long minutes that felt like a flash. The temperature rose slowly in the desert while the air was already very hot between them.

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (17/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~8400 words, explicit (for one small scene). Here we are folks! The culmination of the feels of the last several chapters. Enjoy xo.

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

April was usually one of James’s least favorite months. The weather was wet and cold, and with it being the last month of the semester, it was always busy with exams and projects. This year, however, he had the pleasure of knowing it was his beloved’s birth month; even though he didn’t know the precise date, that made it all the more fun as, day after day, he greeted Rose with a “Happy Birthday” snog.

Yet every day, she giggled and said, “Not today.” He wasn’t sure what he would do on the morning she kissed him and replied instead with, “Thank you.” Despite his brilliant, magnificent brain, he was stumped on a way to make an ordinary day extraordinary for her.

Though she said she didn’t want anything for her birthday, he couldn’t help but preemptively get her a simple gift: a silver necklace with an infinity heart pendant. The heart was studded with blue zircon—one of his birthstones—while the infinity loop was studded with small diamonds, her birthstone. Cliché, he knew, but the design had caught his attention. He hoped Rose would like it.

James had been carrying it around with him since the start of the month to be presented to her on her date of birth. Whenever the hell that was.

The weeks seemed to fly by, and still it wasn’t her birthday. He had several chilling moments of panic that maybe he somehow missed it, but then resigned himself to the fact it must be at the end of the month. Her so-called hint to him had told him it wasn’t the first or last day of the month… Rose would be cheeky enough to call that a hint if it turned out her birthday was the second to last day of the month. Nevertheless, James was having fun with their little game and worked to make the month special for Rose.

Though he knew she had been teasing when she’d suggested they make love every day so that she would wake up to birthday sex, they nearly met that goal, thanks to Rose staying overnight at his house more often than not. They were both growing to love the routine of cohabitating; James would drive them into the university in the morning, they would attend their respective classes, then they would meet up at the end of the day for him to drive them home again. Even on the days when one of them started earlier than the other, they drove in together, regardless.

While James’s main goal was to make April particularly special for Rose, he found himself realizing that even if it wasn’t her birthday month, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. It was a happy coincidence that the month happened to be filled with a multitude of romantic date night opportunities.

He had surprised her with tickets to the play put on by the university’s theater program, and had told her they would make an entire night out of it. He had dressed in a suit and tie; she had donned a gorgeous evening dress. Reminiscent of their Valentine’s Day plans, they’d had an early dinner out at a nice restaurant before driving to the university for the show. And when they’d gotten home, they peeled the other out of their nice clothes and made sweet love until midnight.

And when he took her to the cherry blossom festival in Washington, D.C., it wasn’t a birthday surprise, either. He would have wanted to tour the capital with Rose and bask in the beauty of the cherry trees no matter the month. There was nothing more romantic than walking hand-in-hand with Rose beneath the pink and white trees while the soft petals floated down around them. Nothing made him happier than seeing her face light up with awe as she took photograph after photograph of the scenery. Though the cherry blossoms weren’t as stunning as typical years, thanks to a warm snap in February followed by an arctic blast that killed some buds in mid-March, the scenery was stunning nevertheless.

They’d had fun exploring the various museums and historic sites in the city as well, but James’s favorite part was watching Rose scribble furiously in her sketchbook when they got back to their hotel room each night. She filled over a dozen pages during their four-day trip; she shared every single one with him, including the portrait of him she’d drawn one morning when she had awoken before him, and had occupied herself with sketching him asleep in the nude. Unlike her previous nude sketches of him, she did not cover his nether regions with a sheet, or simply not draw them at all. No, she had drawn every naked inch of him, down to the morning erection he had been sporting (which had also prompted her to draw a caricature of that very piece of his anatomy, making him howl with laughter when she eventually showed him the picture of a very prominent, very erect penis on a teeny tiny little person). 

Playing tourist with Rose was one of James’s favorite things to do, so even if it had not been Rose’s birth month, he would not have changed a thing. It was a mere bonus, pure happenstance, that they managed to go on so many romantic dates that month.

As the month plowed on, bringing him ever-closer to Rose’s elusive birthday and to the end of the semester, another date idea came to him. And this time, he intended to make it double as a birthday gift.

With only a week and a half left to go in the month, and Rose’s birthday falling somewhere in that time frame, James woke up one morning to an email from the student life office at the university. They were advertising discounted tickets to a Philadelphia Phillies baseball game at the end of the month. Perfect! He loved showing Rose more of the state she lived in, as well as the culture of America. And honestly, what was more American than a baseball game?

Rose was still asleep as James read the details of the email, though their alarm was due to go off in a few minutes. He silenced it on his phone and instead gently woke Rose up with a series of kisses to any part of her face not smooshed into her pillow. She grunted and buried her face completely into the pillow.

Chuckling, he tried again, this time pressing the long expanse of his body into hers. He shivered when his hips rubbed into her upper thigh; he woke up hard nearly every morning, and today was no exception. Some mornings, he didn’t feel a pressing need to do anything with it; others, when he snuggled up against Rose, his heartbeat concentrated into a dull, throbbing, insistent pulse between his legs. He was experiencing the latter, and hoped she would be in the mood to make love with him.

“Rose,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into her hair. He wriggled down a few inches and tucked his nose into the join of her neck and shoulder. He kissed her there and smiled when she shuddered. “Rooooose.”

“M’sleepin’,” she mumbled, but she tilted her head to free up her neck for him.

“Oh? Well, I guess we can’t partake in any morning activities I might’ve had planned,” he lamented, though he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to her neck. Goosebumps spread across her skin and he could hear her breathing going ragged the longer he kissed her.

She moaned softly when he scraped his teeth across her ear lobe. Finally, she stopped pretending. Turning her face out of her pillow, Rose slung her arm around his shoulders, hauling him closer for a proper kiss.

“Got another date idea,” he breathed between kisses.

“Don’t care,” she answered, chasing his lips.

“I’d like for it to double as your birthday gift.”

“Don’t care,” she repeated. His head emptied of all coherent thought when she reached down between them and took him in her hand, pumping him firmly. His nerves sparked with pleasure as desire settled heavily in his lower belly.

“But I… oh, blimey… I care… God…”

She nipped at his bottom lip and gave him a small squeeze on the upstroke that made stars burst behind his eyes. “You care more about that than what we’re doing?”

He could hardly draw in breath, so focused was he on the addictive rhythm of her hand. Each drag of her fist up and down his length heightened his need for her until he was certain nothing in the world was more important than being inside her.

But the smirk on her face brought out his competitive nature.

“Well, I’m quite cl-clever,” he choked out, trembling when she tightened her hold around him and picked up the pace. “I can walk and chew gum… talk and have se-ex shit!”

Rose guided him between her legs, nudging the tip of him into her wet heat. God, he’d barely paid any attention to her and yet she was so ready. He swallowed down his impatient whimper when she merely teased him, rubbing him through her folds rather than guiding him in.

“Hmm, I clearly am not doing a good enough job,” she mused, her voice frustratingly steady while he could hardly contain his gasps and sighs.

His brain nearly short-circuited. Not doing a good enough job? It was taking every ounce of concentration and restraint he had to try to hold this conversation with her; he would be done for if she tried any harder.

“The university is sponsoring another trip to Phillies… er, Philadelphia,” he squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut to think past the desperate need throbbing through him.

“Oh?” she asked, voice breathless as she stimulated herself with the head of his erection.

“Yeah, yep.” He cleared his throat, hoping it would stop cracking. “A trip to a Phillies game. Professional base-ball!”

Rose slung her leg over his hip and took him inside of her in one smooth, deep movement. Her momentum sent him to his back. Taking full advantage and giving him no reprieve, she sat astride him and began a brutal rhythm that stole his breath, stole his thoughts.

“Shit!” he rasped when the burning pressure in his belly bottomed out. Don’t come, oh God, please don’t come… Baseball. Think of baseball. Phillies, Philadelphia, bus trip, baseball game, showing Rose the stadium, teaching Rose the game… Rose… Rose… 

Rose was squeezing him from the inside, giving him such delicious friction as she arched her hips hard into his.

Fighting a losing battle, he choked out, “Sorry… gonna come… sorry… shit!”

Rose caught his lips in a searing kiss as he grunted and panted and moaned his way through his release, trying not to be mortified and to instead enjoy the pleasure and love flooding through him.

He was trembling when his ears stopped roaring. Cheek burning, he groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“That was delightful,” Rose said, a grin in her voice as she lightly tugged at his fingers.

“That was embarrassing,” he countered, moving his hands to her hips. “Sorry.”

She slowly pulled off of him and collapsed onto her back beside him. “You do realize I was trying to do that, right? You’re always so damn considerate and attentive. It was my turn to focus solely on you and getting you off.”

“I feel selfish for coming first,” he complained.

Rose shrugged and pecked a kiss to his temple. “How do you think I feel when you pleasure me more than once before you get off?”

“Hopefully extremely satisfied,” he drawled, winking at her.

She rolled her eyes, but kissed him soundly. “I enjoyed doing that very much for you, so shut up about it.”

He zipped his fingers across his lips, though a grin stretched across them. He caught her lips in another kiss as he let his fingers walk down her body, between her legs. She must have woken up as randy as he had been, because it hardly took any time at all before she arched her back and cried her pleasure into their quiet bedroom.

As she panted and trembled beside him, he stroked her hips, her belly, her thighs, any part of her he could reach, and tried his initial conversation again.

“The university is sponsoring a trip to a Phillies baseball game,” he said. “Have you watched baseball? It’s a fun sport. One of my favorites, actually. I probably ought to get my UK citizenship revoked for that, but I can’t get into the football matches. Though plenty of people find baseball to be boring too. To each their own. Anyways, tickets are twenty dollars, and it covers admission to the game and transportation to and from the stadium. It’s on April twenty-sixth. It’s a night game… 7:05 start time. I would like to make this your birthday gift. Well. One of your birthday gifts, since, really, I want to go to the game anyway, to hell whether it’s your birthday or not. But since I’ve only got about ten days left to choose from, I figure that’s a close enough window to claim it as a birthday gift for you. What do you think? April twenty-sixth… does that sound like a birthday gift to you?”

Rose giggled and pinched his side, drawling, “Very subtle, love.”

James pouted. “Seriously? You’re still not gonna give me your birth date? I’ve been patient all month long!”

Rose cackled. “You liar! You have not at all been patient. At least once a day you beg me to tell you when my birthday is.”

“That is me being patient,” he grumbled, though he grinned when Rose laughed at him again. Even though they would need to get up soon, he tightened his hold around her and snuggled closer to her soft, warm body. “Wanna go to the Phillies game?”

“Sounds like fun,” she replied, running her fingers through his hair. His scalp prickled pleasantly, and he could have easily fallen asleep. But alas…

“We need to get up,” he groaned, burying his face farther into her neck. Rose heaved out a sigh, clearly as reluctant to move as he was. “Wanna share a shower?”

“How could I say no to that?”

With a parting kiss, they rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.

oOoOo

“You know, I’ve never been to a professional sports stadium before,” Rose said as they strolled, hand in hand, away from the packed parking lot towards Citizens Bank Park, home of the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team. “Wasn’t much into sports back home, and didn’t really have the money for it.”

James gave her hand a squeeze and watched her out of the corner of his eye. Something was… off. She’d been agitated when he’d picked her up from her flat that morning to drive her to the university. She was short and snippy with him, but insisted she was fine even though she obviously wasn’t, which had only annoyed him in return.

He had nearly called off their date to Philly, since she obviously wasn’t having a good day and he didn’t think he could stomach an entire night of forced joviality. However, after classes, she had met him in the library as planned and was decked out in a red Phillies sweatshirt and matching lipstick, greeting him as though their tense morning hadn’t happened.

“Where did you get that?” he’d asked, fluttering his hands at her top.

“The internet. Turns out everything exists on the internet,” she’d teased, bumping her hip into his.

He had been thrown by her chipper mood, and Rose must have sensed that. She reached up for a hug and squeezed him so tightly, it was as if all the tension that had been settled over his body was suddenly gone. She lightly kissed his cheek and whispered, “Sorry for this morning.”

“What was the matter?” he asked, keeping her in his arms for several more seconds.

“I’ll explain later,” she said. “I don’t really wanna talk about it now. I wanna go watch some baseball!”

It had taken everything he had to not snap at her to just bloody talk to him. Instead, he promised himself he would check in with Rose after the game, or perhaps tomorrow, since it would be late by the time they got home. But he wanted to know what was bothering her, and what had been intermittently troubling her these past few weeks.

That dark day she had had nearly a month ago still niggled at the back of his mind. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but so long had passed that he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

Hey Rose! Remember that day you yelled at me in the food court then started crying? What happened?

No, that wouldn’t do. Because what if she didn’t remember? What if nothing at all had happened and she’d had a breakdown over a bunch of little things that didn’t matter anymore? He had been hoping she would tell him on her own time, because he didn’t want to press. And it wasn’t as though he had forgotten about the episode, but he often got too caught up in the present with Rose that he wouldn’t think of it until he was alone again. Part of his brain admonished him, telling him that he could easily have that conversation with Rose through text.

Presently, they scanned their admission tickets at the front gate and stepped through the turnstile into the stadium. James inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke, fresh air, grass, and greasy food. There was a unique and distinct scent of a baseball stadium that he loved.

Rose let go of his hand and darted forward, her gaze locked on the field in front of them. James followed, smiling to himself. He stood behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist as Rose drank in the sight of the enormous baseball friend in front of them. The grass was lush and verdant, neatly trimmed in the familiar crisscross pattern most baseball diamonds favored. The dirt of the infield looked soft and dry, though the grounds crew were in the middle of hosing it down. The late evening sun cast long shadows across the field while the stadium lights, already switched on in preparation for the night game, created a multi-shadow effect as well.

“Selfie?” James asked, fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Need some help?”

James glanced over and saw a young couple approaching them. The woman held her hand out for his phone, which he handed over. He then wrapped his arm around Rose’s middle. She turned into his side and linked her arms loosely around his hips.

The young woman took several photographs for them, all of them beautiful. James thanked her, then reciprocated the gesture, snapping a photograph of the couple with the baseball field behind them.

When the couple had departed, James took Rose’s hand again and they leisurely strolled around the concourse of the stadium. There was a beer stand every dozen paces, it seemed, and though it was ridiculously overpriced, James forked over the money and bought them a beer apiece. They sipped it as they walked, inspecting the various food stands and merchandise on display.

“What the bloody hell is that?”

James laughed when Rose picked up a plush toy of a furry green creature with a plump belly and elongated snout.

“He’s the team’s mascot,” James answered. “The Phillie Phanatic.”

“What is it?”

James shrugged. “The Phanatic. He’s not really anything, I suppose. He’s his own creature. Don’t knock him, though; the fans love him.”

Rose glanced dubiously up at him, but replaced the toy. James made a mental note to order one for her as a gag gift. 

As they continued walking, James’s belly rumbled with hunger when he smelled the intoxicating aroma of bread, beef, and cheese. 

“If I get a cheesesteak, will you eat half of it?” he asked. “‘Cos I wanna get crab fries too, but I can’t eat both of those by myself. Actually, the crab fries are right over there.” He took Rose’s shoulders in his hands and pivoted her gently, pointing to a concession stand with a giant logo that read Chickie’s & Pete’s. He rooted in his pocket for a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Will you get us an order of fries? With cheese.”

“Er… okay,” Rose said, blinking. “What the hell is a crab fry?”

James snorted. “French fries—chips—with old bay seasoning. They’re really good, I promise.”

Rose leaned up and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky I trust your taste in food.”

She left him to go get their crab fries, while he stood in the Tony Luke’s line for a cheesesteak. Though the line was nearly thirty-people deep, it moved very quickly. Ten minutes later, he spotted Rose waiting for him in a secluded corner near the ramp they would need to take to go to their second-deck seats.

The university had bought out an entire section in right field, and James recognized many of the students lounging in the seats. He had managed to procure front-row end seats for him and Rose. He allowed her to take the end seat, then plopped unceremoniously onto the hard blue chair beside her.

“Beautiful, innit?” he asked, nudging his elbow into her ribs.

“It’s a gorgeous night,” she agreed. “Look at that sunset.”

“View’s nice too,” James said, leaning forward in his seat to look down at the field. Apart from losing a little bit of vision of the right field playing area directly beneath them, they could see the entire ballfield very well.

There was a half hour to go before game time, so they ate their dinner and chatted mindlessly with each other and with their fellow schoolmates who had come on the trip as well. They posed for a giant group photo that was then shared to all of the university’s social media pages.

James was full and content by the time the Phillies players took the field, and he draped his arm around Rose’s shoulders as he explained the rules of baseball to her.

The game was fairly straightforward, with no tricky calls he had to break down for her. There was a ton of action in the first few innings, with both team getting a few home runs, including a grand slam by one of the Phillies’ stars. The stadium erupted with cheers and the LED Liberty Bell began to ring as the Phillie trotted his way around the bases. Rose appeared to be caught up in the atmosphere, jumping and cheering along with the crowd.

It was fun, James thought, to be sharing this with Rose. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for other discounted ticket specials, even if it wasn’t for the Phillies. A minor league team was based close to the university, and he imagined he could get tickets fairly cheaply, if it would be something Rose was interested in.

During one of the inning breaks, Rose had turned to him, flushed and beaming. She looked breathtaking, with the lights from the stadium glowing behind her and casting her hair in a golden halo around her head. He felt his mouth go dry and his heart kick up a notch.

Rose frowned at him. “What? You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I…” He swallowed thickly, then smiled at her. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper red and a shy smile crossed her face. He reached over to brush a stray wisp of hair from her face, but then kept his hand on her cheek. “Love you.”

They moved at the same time, leaning closer until their noses brushed, then their lips pressed together. The noises of the stadium disappeared, lost in the heavy pounding of his heart as he kissed Rose. Her mouth was warm and soft, though felt a little funny with the slightly waxy texture of her lipstick.

He had meant for it to be a quick little kiss, though he should have known better; how often was he able to give Rose only one kiss? Angling his head slightly to the side, James lost himself in her, in the warmth of her hands. One of them was on the nape of his neck, the other at his waist, clinging to his sweatshirt as he devoured her lips. His tongue swept along hers, then trailed across the roof of her mouth. He delighted in her full-body shiver.

Before he could do it again, there was an explosion of noise around them.

“Hey, you’re not making a porno here!”

James wrenched away from Rose, blinking dazedly at the person who had interrupted them. It was one of their fellow students. He nudged James’s shoulder, then pointed towards the giant screen above left-center field.

His own dazed face looked back at him.

Kiss Cam. Oh, dear…

He grinned sheepishly at the camera, then pecked a chaste kiss to Rose’s temple. She looked equally abashed. Blessedly, the camera panned away from them, though the crowd of university students around them continued jeering and teasing.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmured to Rose.

“S’not your fault. I wasn’t exactly beating you off of me.” He snorted and kissed her cheek. “You’ve got lipstick on you.”

James licked his swollen, tingling lips. A moment later, Rose cradled his jaw in her palm and rubbed a damp napkin across his mouth. It came away stained red. Her own mouth was smudged with lipstick, and he helped her clear it off, too.

“You are too enticing,” he concluded when they were lipstick free. “How am I supposed to restrain myself from kissing you?”

“Maybe you shouldn't,” Rose drawled, and she leaned up to plant a hard kiss to his mouth again.

Of course, the Kiss Cam found them once again, to the delight of the stadium, and to their fellow students, who didn’t let them live it down for the rest of the night.

The last few innings passed without much excitement and ended with the Phillies winning seven to four over the Miami Marlins. They were exhausted as they traipsed to the charter bus that would take them back to the school.

It was just after eleven o’clock when the bus returned to campus, and almost midnight by the time James pulled up in front of Rose’s flat. For once, he was staying overnight with her, per her request. The climb up to her fifth-floor flat was exhausting, and James wanted to curl up with Rose and go directly to sleep.

“What time is it?” Rose muttered to herself when she unlocked her front door and stepped into her dark flat. She flipped on the lights and glanced in the direction of the stove; 11:42 glowed green from the digital display. “Ooof, gotta wee. Stay here!”

She sprinted down the hall and slammed the bathroom door behind her. James was left laughing and shaking his head at her.

He set his keys and wallet down on the kitchen table, but as he was about to toe off his shoes, an open, hand-written letter caught his eye. He didn’t mean to snoop, but his eyes and brain worked independently of each other and before he knew it, he’d glanced at the end of the letter, where the name Jimmy was printed in a messy scribble.

His ears rang hollowly and his head swam. Jimmy. Jimmy? As in, Jimmy Stone? Jimmy Stone, Rose’s wanker of an ex-boyfriend?

A righteous anger welled up in James; what the hell did Jimmy want with Rose? And how dare he contact her out of the blue after all this time.

Before he was entirely aware of his actions, James plucked up the piece of paper, eyes frantically scanning across the words.

Rosie,

I’ve started this letter half a dozen times now, and I’m no closer to knowing how to say exactly what I want to say. It seems surreal that we’ve been talking again. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea. It’s like I’ve found a piece of myself I didn’t know was lost. I’m not complete without you, and I hate the person I am without you.

This past month has been the happiest of my life because I’ve been able to talk to you again. I am thankful that you let me apologize, because there is nothing more I’ve wanted to do for the last six months. Getting sober has made me realize a lot of things, but it especially showed me that I missed you and that I want you. The worst mistake I ever made was how I treated you, and I will spend the rest of my life hating myself for it. I will spend the rest of my life (our life?) making it up to you.

I love you, Rosie. I love you so fucking much. You make me feel like I can do anything, and I love how I feel when I’m with you. We were the best thing to ever happen to me, and I’m such an idiot for destroying the perfect, wonderful life we had made together. I think I was scared. I was scared of not being able to support the both of us with my music, and I was scared about how much I needed you. You were a comfort to me, something I knew would always be there for me, something reliable, and it was scary for me to need anything that much. But I’m not scared anymore, and I know I can make it work this time. As you said, we were young, stupid kids and we made young, stupid mistakes. Now we can start fresh and build something even better than before.

I know you’re at school in America (which I always knew you could do! I always knew you were smart enough for school, despite what you said about yourself). I’m happy you’re enjoying your time in America. I want you to enjoy your time there, while you can. I’ll be here waiting for you when you come home. I’ll wait forever for you because you’re worth it. You’re so worth it, Rosie. I would wait a thousand years for you if I needed to. I hope I don’t have to though.

This time we can work harder together to make us work. I know you might not be ready to trust me yet, but I promise I will show you how serious I am. How committed I am. I will do whatever it takes to make this work between us, because I hate the thought of my life without you in it.

In the meantime, texting you will hold me over. I cherish every day, every moment that I can talk to you.

All my love,

Jimmy

James could barely think, could barely breathe. Something was squeezing his chest tighter and tighter until he thought he might suffocate as he read and reread the words of the letter. The love letter. The love letter that Rose’s ex-boyfriend wrote to her after a month—a month?!—of them having texted back and forth.

Acid churned in the pit of his stomach, eating away at his guts and making him certain he was about to vomit all over Rose’s floor. And worst of all, his chest was collapsing in on itself and his heart was breaking into more pieces than he thought possible. An entire month, Rose had been texting her ex-boyfriend—the ex-boyfriend she had supposedly written off and hadn’t deigned to contact in three and a half years.

And she hadn’t told him. A month, and she hadn’t said a single word.

His pulse thundered in his ringing ears so loudly that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until the sheet of paper was abruptly yanked out of his hands.

oOoOo

It was a relief to empty her bladder after holding it for most of the trip home. She had been tempted to use the toilets at the stadium, but the lines had been impossibly long.

With that need dealt with, Rose washed her hands and then her face. She felt greasy and grimy, and would have preferred to get a shower, but she only had a couple minutes before midnight, and she could finally tell James it was her birthday. She deserved a damn medal for not spilling the beans early—though there had been a few close calls—but she couldn’t deny it had been fun to play with James all month. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to simply look at her identification card, where her birthday was plainly printed in bold. But that was her James, wasn’t it? The smartest idiot in the room.

She rushed to brush her teeth and comb out her hair before she left the bathroom and skipped to her kitchen/dining/living room.

James stood by the kitchen table, a sheet of paper in his hands and a stricken expression on his pale face.

Oh. Oh, no… Her stomach dropped. He was reading the disgusting letter that had arrived from Jimmy out of the blue yesterday afternoon.

She didn’t know whether she was more embarrassed, considering the content of the letter James was reading, or angry that he had snooped through her things and read her mail. The former won, but fueled the latter.

Rushing up to him, Rose yanked the letter harshly out of his fingers. He flinched as though she had struck him.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, folding up the paper and setting it on the kitchen table beneath one of her class notebooks.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? You’ve been chatting with your ex-boyfriend for an entire month?!” 

There was an awful combination of accusation and hurt in his voice that simultaneously grated against her nerves and broke her heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to find out about Jimmy like this. He wasn’t supposed to read that letter until she had explained the past couple weeks to him.

No, not merely a couple weeks. A month. It had been an entire month (and a little extra) since Jimmy first contacted her, and Rose hadn’t said a single word about it to James. Shit.

“I was going to tell you,” she said weakly. “I just…”

“Just hid it from me by accident, did you?” he said, condescension dripping from his every word.

Rose clenched her fists and her jaw before coldly replying, “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to talk to anybody, or that I needed to tell you about every person I talk to. Sorry, d’you want to know about the bloke I chatted to while I was waiting for you in the library today? Wanna know about the girl I met at work ‘cos she’d recently broken up with her girlfriend and needed to talk to someone? Wanna know about…”

She knew she was being ridiculous but she couldn’t make herself stop until James interrupted her.

“Of course you don’t need to tell me about everyone you talk to.” Two pink stains spread across his cheeks. “But I would have hoped you would have trusted me enough to tell me when your ex-boyfriend, the ex-boyfriend you claimed to despise, contacts you!”

Rose crossed her arms in front of herself, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt so tightly that her fingertips began to ache. “This isn’t about trust, James.”

“No? Well, it sure seems like it is. Because you don’t actually trust me, do you? Not nearly to the extent that I trust you. I’ve shared everything with you, Rose. Everything! I told you about the worst night of my life. How it still haunts me and gives me nightmares like I’m a child again rather than a grown man. But you…”

He flapped his arms wildly before letting them fall limply to his sides, clearly out of words. But he didn’t need any more words; the ones he’d hurled at her hit their mark, cracking her heart wide open. He didn’t think she trusted him?

Suddenly wanting him to hurt as much as she did, she met his eye and said, “I didn’t make you share any of that with me. You did that on your own. You opening up to me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same to you.”

It happened almost in slow motion, the way his face crumpled. The way his chin wobbled and his lips parted slightly with a soft, nearly inaudible, “Oh.” The way a crinkle formed between his brows, and beneath them, his eyes grew shiny with moisture. 

Shit. Shit shit shit!

“James, I…” I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that… 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, then his face smoothed into a mask of a person she didn’t recognize. Even before they became friends, when he was the random cute bloke sitting in front of her in their chemistry class, he exuded more warmth than he did right now.

“How silly of me to expect some level of reciprocity in this relationship,” he said coolly.

“I didn’t mean that, James,” she muttered, wringing her hands in front of herself. “Really. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to tell you the whole thing. I was going to tell you all about it, I swear.”

He barked out a laugh, and it was one of the worst noises she’d ever heard. “Oh, yeah? When were you gonna drop that one? When we’re old and gray in rocking chairs in a nursing home? ‘Darling, remember when we were first dating? Remember that horrible ex-boyfriend I had? He texted me—ha! Remember when texting was all the rage?’ Exactly when were you planning to tell me?”

Any sympathy she had for him had evaporated and her rage returned with a vengeance. 

“Obviously if you’re acting like this, I was right to not tell you! Why are you being so unreasonable?”

“Unreasonable? Unreasonable?! My girlfriend has been texting the bloke she used to be in love with, and I’m being unreasonable?”

“Yes, you are! So what if I was texting him? What does it matter who I text on my own bloody phone?”

“You’re missing the entire bloody point!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “I’m not angry that you’re texting him…”

“Clearly,” she grumbled, grinding her teeth together.

“…I’m angry that you felt the need to keep it a secret,” he continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “And I’m upset because why did you keep it a secret? And what on earth could you two have been talking about if he sent you this… this…” James flapped his hands uselessly to the table and the notebook under which Jimmy’s letter sat. “...this love letter?! For all I bloody know, you could be wanting to get back together with him and…”

“No, don’t you dare,” Rose hissed, voice trembling. Tears of fury and heartbreak burned behind her eyes, blurring her vision. “Don’t you fucking dare accuse me of that. After everything I told you about Jimmy—and don’t tell me I haven’t told you anything. Just because you seem to have selective memory doesn't mean I never told you about his drinking and partying, and how he stopped paying his half of the bills, and how he manipulated me to always feel badly about myself. After everything I told you, how could you even think I would want to go back to him?”

A flash of guilt appeared in James’s eyes. He blinked and lowered his gaze, staying silent.

“Even if he hadn’t treated me like shit, how could you take away everything you and I have done together? Everything we’ve built together? How could you think I would leave us behind for someone I fell out of love with years ago?” She sniffled as her tears finally fell, streaking down her cheeks in hot, wet rivulets of grief and misery. “Do you think that little of me? That I would willingly go back to a relationship like that when what we have is so wonderful? Do you think so little of us?”

James scrubbed his fingers through his hair, making a tousled mess of the limp and somewhat greasy strands; they were in dire need of a wash.

“No. No, of course I don’t…”

“You just said so,” she argued, impatiently wiping her face dry. “You just said…”

“I didn’t really mean it. But you have to understand… relationships are so new to me. You’re the longest relationship I’ve ever been in, and we’ve only been dating for four months. Christ, teenagers in school manage to have longer relationships than this. How pathetic am I for being so illiterate when it comes to love and romance? I barely know what I’m doing half the time, and God knows if I’ve been mucking this all up but you’re too nice to tell me…”

Rose’s head was spinning as her heart fought to beat its way out of her chest. She’d heard this before… she’d heard this all far too many times.

I didn’t mean it; I just drank too much…

You’re remembering wrong, I didn’t say it like that…

You’re being ridiculous. Calm down and maybe we can talk like normal people…

I was so drunk I don’t remember doing that…

I’m the worst piece of shit, Rosie, and I’m sorry, please forgive me… 

She shook her head as though she could physically shake Jimmy’s voice out of her ears. Instead, she tried to focus on James’s words rather than map them on top of Jimmy’s.

“This is me telling you now that you are mucking this up…”

But James continued on as though she hadn’t spoken. And with how dry her mouth had become, she wasn’t sure if her words had been audible.

“...And you could be wanting to be in a relationship with someone who’s got a bloody clue as to what they’re doing. Why wouldn’t you prefer to be in a relationship with someone else…?”

“Because I love you, you stupid fucking arsehole!” Rose yelled, which caught his attention. He met her eyes and blinked slowly, as though confused. As though she were revealing a secret he’d never been privy to. “Yes, I love you, but you knew this! At least, I thought you did. I love you so much but you are breaking my heart, James. Haven’t you believed me these last four months?”

His mouth worked wordlessly for a few long and agonizing seconds.

“I… yeah.” His tone suggested otherwise, though, and she nearly began crying with frustration. All this time… all these months… Had none of it been real? Had he been pretending this whole time?

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until bright lights burst behind her closed lids. “Thanks a lot, James.”

“I just…” He groaned, sounding as miserable as she felt. Good. “I’m so bloody new at this! I’m making it all up as I go and I’m worried I haven’t been doing a good job. I get nervous that one day you’re going to wake up and realize how rubbish I am at this. That you’ll get sick of holding my hand through all of this as I learn. I’m terrified you’re going to decide you’re done wasting your time with me, because you’re wonderful, and you deserve the best and I…”

“Stop!” Rose cried, a sob stealing the air from her lungs. “I don’t want to hear this. You have just… broken everything we’ve been building, James.” She hiccupped on another sob and impatiently sucked in a lungful of air. “We were supposed to be partners… I wanted us to be partners… I thought we were partners. We were supposed to be equals in this relationship. I don’t want you to put me up on a bloody pedestal, or for you to talk down about yourself or make excuses for yourself. I don’t want there to be this… this inequality between us for the rest of our lives. But if that’s always how it’s gonna be… if that’s how you’re always going to see us, as you being somehow lesser than me…” The force of her tears made her entire body shake. It felt like someone had blown a hole through her chest; she couldn’t breathe. “…then I don’t think we can make this work.”

The tears that had been threatening in James’s eyes fell down his pale cheeks. “What? Rose…?”

She buried her face in her hands, willing herself to calm down. But how could she be calm when it felt like the world was spinning too fast? James had been her tether, her anchor, keeping her grounded to the surface. But he’d let go, or maybe she had, and now she was crashing alone through the void. Lost. Adrift.

“You… are you breaking up with me?” His voice was so hoarse that she could hardly hear it. Though that might have been because her pulse was thudding in her ears instead.

Was she breaking up with him?

“I don’t… no… yes? I don’t know. I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to.” She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. And right now, that really bloody scares me. I fought so hard, put up with so much, to make things with Jimmy work when I should have called it quits long before it all ended. And I didn’t love him nearly as much as I love you. I’m terrified about what I’ll let happen… what I’ll excuse… I can’t do that again, James. I won’t do that again.”

He reached out for her, but she couldn’t let him touch her. She couldn’t feel his fingers on any part of her body. Not right now. 

She raised her hands in front of herself and retreated a pace, nearly tripping over her shoes from where she’d kicked them off at the door.

The door.

With trembling fingers, Rose undid the deadbolt. “I- I want you to leave now.”

“No, wait,” he pleaded, raw urgency in his voice. But he didn’t come any closer to her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean anything… I didn’t mean… I didn’t… Please…” 

She’d never heard James, her eloquent, loquacious James, struggle this much for words. His eyes grew wild the longer he went without managing a sentence.

“Please,” he repeated, frantic. “Please, Rose. Don’t do this.”

She drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. It was late, and she was so bloody exhausted. She didn’t want to be having this conversation anymore, but she knew it was far from over.

“I need a break,” she said wearily. “I’m tired, James. I’m so tired.”

“We can’t leave it like this,” he rasped through a stifled sob. “Please.”

Rose met his gaze. Everything was written on his face, his grief and terror and heartbreak. He looked impossibly young.

“We’re taking a break for the night,” she repeated. She paused for a beat, then, scrambling for some sort of comic relief, quipped, “Not Ross and Rachel’s version of a break, mind. A time out, more like.”

James either didn’t process the joke or didn’t find it funny, because he was still staring at her with that stricken expression that made her want to wrap him in her arms and apologize for everything that had been said that night.

But she couldn’t make herself move.

“I love you, Rose,” he whispered.

“I know.” That’s why this is so damn painful. “I love you too.” Maybe too much.

Rose had always thought of their love as a fire. A soft, cozy fire, and together they basked in its light and warmth. But maybe they’d gotten too comfortable, gotten too confident, gotten too close; now they were burning, and oh, God, did it hurt.

“Goodnight James,” she murmured, opening the door for him.

He numbly walked towards it, completely forgetting about his phone, keys, and wallet on her table until she went and picked them up. His hands were cold and sweating as she handed him his things.

“Drive safe,” she said. “Text me when you make it home.”

He made a wordless noise she thought was assent, then he was gone, walking silently down the many flights of steps they’d cheerfully bounded up mere moments earlier.

God, how long had it even been? It felt like an entire lifetime had passed. Rose glanced at the clock. 11:58. Sixteen minutes. Sixteen horrible, heartbreaking minutes was all it had taken for Rose’s world to come crashing down around her feet.

She went to her window and peered down at the dark street, waiting. Half a minute later, James stepped out from beneath the front porch of her building and ambled slowly to his car. He moved as though through treacle, as though he were tugging an invisible weight behind himself.

She continued watching him, but James simply sat there in his car in the dark. The clock switched over to 12:00, ringing in April twenty-seventh. She’d planned to kiss him at midnight, as though it were New Year’s Eve, and tell him that he could finally wish her a Happy Birthday.

All of a sudden, her game of keeping her birthday a secret wasn’t fun anymore, and twenty-two didn’t look as optimistic as it had been.

The distant purr of an engine drew her attention to the street below. James had started his car and was pulling away from the curb, taking off down the empty street.

Rose fully gave in to the sorrow she had been fighting back for the past quarter of an hour. Sinking down onto her couch, she bent double over her knees and sobbed her heart out, grieving for all that had shattered that night, and for the unanswerable question of whether broken things could be ever mended.

[xazz]

Moth Wings 2

Pairing: AltMal, Altair+Desmond  Rating: Explicit  Tags: vampires, romance, servant AU, music AU, Insect wings (but no bugs of any sort), fluff, angst, flangst  Status: WIP

And more vampire AU! Malik shows up... next chapter I wanna say? But if you want Malik rn you can subscribe to my patreon. There to can read the full like 17k of this AU I’ve written so far. See my blog page on how to get to my patreon. Patreon also only has two chapters... but they’re long. They’re so long. And next chapter is going to get saucyyyyyyyy

———

He only woke because his stomach hurt.

He groaned, pushing himself up. His stomach hurt and complained loudly. He was famished. He crawled out of bed and in the dark put on some clean clothes before leaving the closet. He checked behind the heavy drapes over the windows. It was nearly sunset. He’d slept all night and day. He wasn’t surprised.

His growling stomach made him leave the castle. There was no food for him here. They only kept livestock for drinking in the castle. The castle itself sat in the shadow of a mountain and at the bottom of the mountain was a town. They all knew vampires lived up there and it was better than any human lord they’d ever had. The coven didn’t hunt in the valley. All the town had to do was provide them with amusement at night. Festivals, fairies, music, plays, singing and dancing, and, of course, taxes. But Altair had heard about other towns, beyond the valley, that also had to pay taxes, and it was almost all people had. No. The masters might not have always been kind to Altair but it was far better than the alternative. They never actually threatened to eat him. They just scared him telling him about the humans in the cellar. And he wasn’t even sure that was true.

He was from the town at the bottom of the hill. It was called Castlesong. He’d been born there, lived there his entire life. Then a year and a half ago the Matron had come looking for a strong, abled, young man of sound mind and able to follow instructions. He’d been ‘volunteered’, against his will, by his neighbors. He knew it was because he was ‘too pretty’ they always said. Too distracting to their wives, daughters, and even sons.

He hadn’t even done anything. He’d been the son of the town’s violin maker for goodness sake!

It wasn’t so late the pub was closed yet. He went in and sat alone. The maid came and he ordered something to eat for now and a few pies to eat cold later, and a big mug of ale. He waited, picked at stuff under his nails he’d missed from last night, and was happy when the food was brought. He stuffed himself and washed it all down with the light ale until he was tired again. It was still light out. And he had to wait for his pies. He ended up dozing in the booth. The maid woke him, made him pay, and then rather nicely kicked him out with a basket of pies for his trouble.

Yes. Of course they didn’t want the coven’s ‘pet human’ around longer than necessary.

He trudged back up the mountain to the castle. He could hear the coven inside, laughing and talking loudly. He slipped past the dining hall as he went down to the kitchen. The coven was enjoying breakfast of cups of blood. It looked like they were drinking wine.

Altair put his pies into a cool box in the kitchen for when he got hungry later. Then he went back upstairs. Meals were always short for the coven. They all had a cup of blood and then went about their business. The master was always last to leave. He waited until the others except the master and mistress were gone before presenting himself, looking down at the floor. “Master.”

“Ah, Altair. Good good, you’re here. Perfect timing.”

“Is this really so, William dear?” the Matron asked.

“My love, when was the last time you raised a child?”

“And instead a human shall?”

“For a little while. Our other children turned out fine, dove,” Altair heard the master pat the mistress’ hand gently. “But the first years are so tedious. And it’s better this way. You know that. Gets them acclimated to being around humans and they’re less likely to break away.” The mistress made a noise of complaint but said nothing. “Altair, at last the task you were brought here for is upon you.”

“Yes, master,” he said.

“Our new son, Desmond, will need constant care. Day and night. That is now your responsibility. The only task you will not have is his feedings. As our son he will have real blood.”

“And I’m not allowed in the cellar,” Altair said.

“Absolutely not,” the master agreed. “But he should need feeding only one or two more times more than us. If such a time comes I’ve already spoken to the coven they are to assist you without complaint in ensuring my son is fed. If they do not comply you are to come to me immediately and inform me. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”

The child was then thrust at him. “If you mess up, Altair. You will be the first live meal I’ve had in decades,” the mistress hissed.

He swallowed. “I don’t wish to disappoint, mistress,” he said, holding the child to him. “And… Desmond, you said his name was?”

“Yes. Desmond,” the master said.

“I will keep him close, master, mistress,” he bowed.

“See that you do,” the Matron sneered.

“Come, Desmond, let’s go find your room,” he said and left the dining room.

It was easy to find the babe’s room. He had been told of it several times while he was a chrysalis. It was a cheerful room, painted pink and yellow and full of soft things, both fluffy and perfect for biting. They’d all been gifts from the towns in the valley for the lord and lady’s new child. More toys than a little boy could ever want or play with in a lifetime. Though perhaps vampire children lasted longer as children than human children. The chrysalis had been there a fair amount of time before Altair had been brought to the castle.

He put the babe on the floor and got out some toys for him to play with. Brightly colored blocks painted on the side with letters and scenes of the valley. “Blocks, Desmond. See,” and he started stacking them. Desmond watched him but didn’t understand at first. Altair sighed and leaned back on his arm and just kept boredly stacking the blocks into pyramids and towers and knocking them over. Desmond couldn’t stand or walk but he could sit up on his own. And he just sat there watching Altair with wide black eyes, amazed at what he was doing. After a few builds Desmond leaned forward and knocked over the tower Altair had made. “See, you can do it too,” Altair said. He offered Desmond a block. He took it but just dropped it. Altair sighed. Right. That was too much to hope for. He was hatched yesterday. His wings were still against his back, limp and useless along his spine.

Altair spent the rest of the early evening playing with blocks with Desmond and talking to him softly. Around midnight he took Desmond to go for his midnight feed with the rest of the coven. He gave him over to the mistress and retreated down into the kitchen to have his pies. Up in the dining room he heard the vampires cooing and awwing over the baby, laughing and talking loudly about how cute and funny he was.

Altair just ate his pies and thought about what he was going to do. Who knew how long he’d be here taking care of Desmond. He needed to have a plan. At least so he didn’t go crazy. He was expected to care for this child and… teach it? Maybe? He wasn’t quite sure. At the very least probably teach him to talk and walk and run and play.

He put his pie down half eaten and put it back in the cool box. He slunk out of the kitchen and unseen past the dining room where the coven was making a big uproar about something their newest member was doing. He went to his closet of a room and grabbed his sketchbook and pencils and left them in Desmond’s room. He returned to stand outside the dining room until the coven had all otherwise left. The Matron walked out and he looked down. He just wordlessly held out his hands. Desmond was placed into them and she walked away.

“Your mother is a nice lady,” Altair told Desmond sarcastically. Desmond just stared at him. He took Desmond back to his room and they played with the blocks some more before Desmond laid down on the floor to sleep. Altair quickly transferred him to his bed. If one of the others saw him letting the child sleep on the floor he didn’t want to think of what would happen.

Once the boy was asleep Altair pulled out the sketchbook but didn’t draw. Rather he started writing. All the ideas he could think of that wouldn’t make him go insane in the years to come. Things that a little boy of a lord should know. “What am I going to do?” he asked himself, rubbing his forehead. He’d come up with ideas but. He was just the son of a craftsman! What did he know about raising a lord’s son?!

Well at the very least he could teach Desmond to be kind. That’d be a start. Kinder than the rest of the coven. Maybe even give a shit about humans. At least a little. That, if nothing else, seemed like a good place to start. He could manage that.

[breakingsomething]

french toast

basic summary: jameson makes breakfast.

trigger warnings: read the tags! i was worried putting the warnings here would spoil the fic, so look in the tags if you want to know :)

the sun came up the same every morning. five am exactly, jameson knew. time was something he was intimately familiar with in a way he couldn't explain. it ran through his veins with his blood. it rang in his ears every second of the day. it burned in his fingers and warmed every tear that he spilled. he owned it. there wasn't another man living who was as powerful as he was.

and nobody knew it but him.

it was far too cold in the bed. jameson couldn't feel anti beside him. that wasn't unusual, or normally wouldn't be, except for the fact that it was very early and he knew anti hadn't gone to bed until just past two. he'd heard him having a nightmare at twenty past three. after that he'd gone silent, and jameson had properly slept. now, he sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes, adjusting to the empty, slowly lightening room. he wished they has curtains, but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to a situation like theirs.

looking around, it made him wonder what the creator's boys were doing right now. probably all still sleeping, maybe eating food that they hadn't stolen or fought tooth and nail for. maybe when they woke, they'd take a shower without worrying about the hot water bill for a house not registered under their name. maybe they'd dress in clothes they picked out themselves. maybe they'd spend the day thinking of pastries and youtube videos and magic and jewelry and whatever else people thought of. not a thought to be spared for anyone else. jameson almost snorted at the thought.

his bare feet padded to the door, the silence almost deafening. his heart raced in his ears. a-n-t-i? he knocked on the doorframe, to which he got no response. probably for the best. definitely for the best. gave jameson a bit more time.

he went over to the cupboard and quickly pulled on some proper clothes, a blue hoodie and black tracksuit bottoms with mismatched socks that had holes at the top. drank some water that he'd left on his bedside. then he pulled out something that he'd hidden in between his sketchbook pages and slipped it in his pocket, along with something else that he'd hidden in his shoes. just as precautions. eventually, he went to the bathroom and quickly brushed his hair with his fingers before slowly making his way downstairs.

anti was sitting at the kitchen table. he didn't look up when jameson came in, though; he was slumped over with his face in his arms, whistling softly in his sleep. jameson wasn't used to seeing him in just a t-shirt, and for a moment he just stared at his ink black tattoos, marred by raised pink scars from an event jameson hadn't been around to witness, which he was grateful for. anti's hair was getting long too, falling in curls around his freckled face. right now, it was almost hard to look at him and see him as a manipulative murderer, a torturer, an actor and a kidnapper and a liar and a thief. but jameson knew he was. he always had been.

he wished he could have seen it earlier.

he made breakfast. he'd managed to convince anti that he wanted to try his hand at cooking, and his brother had relented after just a few days of begging for ingredients. eggs, vanilla extract, yoghurt and berries - french toast was on the menu this morning. by the time anti had slowly begun to stir, the scent had filled the warm kitchen, making the house that wasn't theirs feel so much more cosy. anti yawned, shaking his arms out and wincing. jameson watched him with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile, waiting for his brother to notice him.

it took a moment before he did. "oh - morning, dap," anti mumbled, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. "what the fuck're you… it's, like, six am, shouldn't even you still be asleep?"

jameson grinned, holding up the two plates he'd already set up and placing the left one proudly in front of anti. "toast," he signed as soon as he had both hands free. "french toast. also, i'm an early bird. figured i'd use my time well."

he sat at the table and slid a fork across the table to a surprised anti, who caught it and stared down at his plate in amazement. "you absolute mad lad, dapper," he grinned, brown eyes flashing. "i knew it was a good idea to let you buy all that shit."

that was bullshit. anti hadn't wanted to buy it at all, and jameson had had to behave perfectly to his older brother's standards in order to get it. like a dog being rewarded with a treat. jameson bit his lip hard and didn't respond, forcing a smile onto his face.

they dug in, the two of them eating in relative silence as a conversation was difficult to have when one party couldn't speak without their hands. jameson tapped the edge of his plate with his fork, the sound ringing out in the quiet. his hoodie pocket felt suddenly very heavy, despite it now being lighter than before.

"doing anything today?" he asked once he'd eaten a few bites, setting the fork down at the side. he didn't feel very hungry. anti bobbed his head and held up a hand while he swallowed, coughing into his hand immediately after.

"i have to go shopping soon, actually," he said, drumming his fingers on the table to a tune jameson didn't recognize. "do we need anything specific? i can definitely get more of this shit if we need any, ha. i know we need, uhh… fuck, my head hurts and i don't remember shit." he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "d'you know, dap? anything important?"

jameson waited for anti to remember that he wouldn't be able to hear his brother's reply and sheepishly open his eyes before responding. "i don't think we'll need anything. as far as i'm aware, it's all taken care of."

anti furrowed his brows, frowning. "i'm sure we… needed something. i dunno what it was." he yawned again, shivering. "christ, it's gotten dead cold in here. and for some reason, i'm still tired as shit."

"why'd you sleep down here?" jameson asked. might as well ask. anti did love to talk about himself.

it took the man a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was slightly slurred. "had a weird fuckin' dream, didn't wanna be 'round you. was gonna sleep on the couch, but i came in here for water 'n i fell 'sleep…" he suddenly coughed again, doubling over and covering his face. when he sat up again, he had gone very pale, hair sticking to his face with sweat. "shit, i don't… don't feel well, what th'fuck…"

this time when he coughed, his hands came away from his mouth red. "fuck!" he swore, trying to stagger to his feet. but his legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing. "fuck, fuck, i'm - dap, help me up, shit!"

jameson watched calmly from his place at the table. anti looked up with desperate eyes that widened as he saw his brother's blank expression, pupils dilating to pinpricks. "dap?" he rasped, retching with a hand clamped over his mouth. "wh-what the fuck did you -"

"a-r-s-e-n-i-c," jameson signed with a smile. his movements were smooth and deliberate in comparison to anti's pained thrashing. "i went classic. there was enough in there to kill a man in half an hour, i'd say. i'm surprised you didn't taste it. you may be experiencing nausea and vomiting, muscle cramps, dizziness, abnormal heart rhythm, sudden convulsions…"

he trailed off, smirking as anti clawed at his throat, gasping for breath and gagging. jameson wasn't even sure the man could see his signs anymore. "y-you fucking - you poisoned me?" anti stammered, wrapping his arms round his stomach and paling even further. "christ, well, that's a first -"

jameson grimaced in disgust as anti threw up without warning, still coughing afterwards. "gross," the time traveler signed, screwing up his face. "die with a little dignity, anti."

anti looked up in time to catch the last few words, although by this point jameson supposed his vision had blurred enough that he couldn't see very well. nevertheless, he managed to sit himself up, wiping spit off his chin. "you want me - why the fuck d'you want me dead?" he managed. his arm twitched wildly, and he gasped in pain. jameson watched him clutch at the counter, trying to pull himself up. "i g-gave you everything, you unappreciative shit, what is wrong with - you f-fucking -"

he suddenly spasmed, and jameson sighed. "oh dear," he signed, despite anti not being able to see him. "it appears you've reached the stage of convulsing and seizures. that's not good, especially with your epilepsy, is it?"

anti choked, and jameson laughed without noise, pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly typing into the text to speech box. he wanted anti to hear what he had to say. "you say you gave me everything," the monotone male voice spoke. "then why am i always in pain? why are you always hurting me, one way or another? why do you treat me like i'm less than you?"

"i - love you, you b-b-bastard," anti gasped, stopping to cry out in pain as he convulsed. "i do, tha-that's nottalie, swear, swear, stop it, stop -"

jameson had finished typing his next lines by that point. "you always say you love me but you don't fucking show it. buying me sketchbooks and ingredients for meals doesn't count as love." his fingers flew across the keyboard. "love is not hurting someone just because you want to. love is not demeaning someone and making them feel small and worthless. love is not stepping on someone to elevate yourself. love is not hurt. love is not you."

"no, no, no," anti mumbled, curling up on the floor, hissing through his teeth. "i - i - you don't underst-t-tand - protect, trying to protect, ah, ah, nngh, i'm - dap -"

"and there's another thing," the voice said cooly. "my name isn't dapper. it's jameson jackson. you don't notice anything, do you, anti? this wasn't a sudden rebellion."

"a li'l p-poison isn't gonna kill me," anti laughed hoarsely.

jameson stood. "no," he signed. "but this will."

he pulled the other item from his pocket, slowly, so anti could take it in. he smirked as his brother's breath hitched at the sight of the silver kitchen knife, reflecting the light from the window above the counter. the reaction was so satisfying to watch.

"y-you're gonna stab m-me, eh?" anti tried to laugh again, but it came out more like a weak whimper. he retched again, head slamming against the wall as he twitched. "f-feels like it's f-fitting that you'd b-be - be the one to kill me. if anyone did, you-you're not - the worst choice."

jameson rolled his eyes. "sure." then he leaned down and pressed his knife to anti's bandaged throat. "anything else to say?"

anti was still shaking, blood dribbling from his mouth. but his eyes, flickering from colour to colour and eventually coming to rest on grey to match his brothers, were full of an emotion that jameson didn't understand. "didn't mean to - you - i -" he threw his head back, whimpering with pain. "b-b-bastard, i - fuck -"

jameson didn't let him get any further.

once it was over, jameson slumped back against the kitchen cupboards, staring off into the living room with unfocused eyes. he'd done it. why didn't he feel happier, more free? why did he feel more trapped than ever?

his hands were red.

he washed them. ten times over. then he took a shower and changed his clothes. he stared at his reflection for a full half hour, lost in thought, hands shaking as his nails dug into his palm.

anti was still on the floor when he went back downstairs. fuck, best get rid of him. jameson crouched down next to him and pressed a hand to his brother's chest. with closed eyes, he let the magic channel through him, burning his skin, burning anti's skin, crushing him under the weight of time itself. several minutes passed, and by the end of it, anti's body was gone. eaten away, dissolved.

jameson didn't feel lighter. really, he felt so much heavier. like he'd gone swimming in a full denim outfit. like he'd gone swimming with rocks in his pockets. like he'd - like he'd just killed his brother. there was no sugarcoating it.

it had felt good. jameson had never been more disgusted with himself.

what would he do now? there was no where else to turn. no one else to go to. except - jameson narrowed his eyes. no one else but the creator's boys. the one's who'd called themselves his brothers. the one's who'd left him with anti. they'd left him with anti, they'd left him with - they'd left him here. they'd been too fucking cowardly to come save him.

jameson picked up the knife from the place anti's body had been. maybe he had something he could do after all. loose ends to tie up. more brothers to put in their places.

his hands weren't red anymore. they felt red.

jameson's french toast had gone cold.

[maikatc]

Black Sun Tale | I’ll Have My Day

hello! things are yet again calm before another storm for this chapter, i’d have to say. but there are some sections that i appreciate for just existing in this one as well.

remember that this is a first draft with only minor edits, and enjoy! comments and reception are heavily appreciated.

-

A day followed by after Ayu’s time in Fowls. Instead of the dead breeze of the forest, the morning woke him up through traffic and an early store-keeper’s yell.

Creeping awake from his freezing body, Ayu sat up from his thin blanket and shivered in his jacket. He shifted his spaced gaze to the alley’s ground. It was cold and shapeless, but the tiny cracks of grass formed a gentle frost through the night. 

Breaths formed clouds in front of him. And he buried himself in his jacket as his own frosting skin had already woken him up. 

But then, memory served his groggy mind well. 

Ayu zapped himself awake and scurried over to his ‘stuff’ pile. After digging through Oliver’s pineapples, medicine, and whatever he found in parts of the forest, he recovered his walkie-talkie after weeks of having no use.

Clicking on the connection button, the walkie hissed as he called out in excitement, “Annette, Annette, Annette-”

The call seemed endless, for Ayu made no stop of saying her name until she replied. Though, she only managed to pick up once his voice grew sore. 

“Ayu… Why are you calling me at six in the morning on a Saturday?”

“Because we’re having a meeting today,” he explained. “Go and tell Oliver to come over too.” 

The walkie’s buzz filled in the gap between Annette’s reply. “... Are you telling me to go to a meeting right now…?”

“What time is it?” He asked, as the sun had no sign of rising. 

“I already said it’s six a.m.”

“Oh.” His winter schedule had already started. “Shit.”

“Lort, I’m exhausted,” Annette commented. “It’s been a long week, Ayu, sorry-”

“No, no, it’s my fault.”

“No. I usually wake up at five. Today’s just a day off before church.”

Ayu tensed his hand at the device. “It’s okay, Annette. You can sleep some more, I’ll wait.” Before he could drop the walkie-talkie in guilt, he added the important notion again, “Just don’t forget to text Ollie for when he wakes up.”

“Gotcha’.” He heard from what he left behind him. “Thanks, Ayu.”

In the musky morning, he said to nobody, “It’s nothing.”

***

“You should have paid more attention to the time Ayu.”

“I know, Lillie, but I can’t tell.”

“Look up at the sky,” she giggled. “There isn’t even daylight.”

“I get it.” Scribbles filled Ayu’s new page while winds tried blowing the paper away. “I already said it was my fault.”

“As it is. You just disturbed a nice morning for her.”

“She- she had a busy week…”

“And you interrupted her only time of rest. Sounds rather careless.”

Ayu broke his pencil tip. “No, I-” His words would have continued if it weren’t for a figure by his entrance, not of Lillie smiling at him, but of Oliver. 

Accessorized with a pillow, blanket, his ukulele, and another bag, Oliver entered into the alley nonchalantly with all the items. However, it’d only been half an hour since his talk with Annette. 

“Why are you here this early?”

Oliver placed down the sleeping materials. “I pulled another all-nighter and my mom left for work early in the meanwhile.”

“Then why…?” He nudged at the pillow.

The boy sat down by him, nuzzling up in his extra coat. “I thought I could take a nap here. But,” he passed the bag to Ayu, “I brought leftovers from last night too. Fork included.”

A grumbling stomach left Ayu to stare blankly at the food. “Can I eat it right now?”

“Of course, you can.” The direction of Oliver’s answer faced his ukulele instead of Ayu, as he already began opening it up. 

Another morning wind blew, lunging Ayu to warm up his legs. He hissed at the weather. 

“… I should have brought you a jacket.”

“It’s fine. This isn’t the coldest it’ll be.”

Oliver huffed in the frosty air, laying down the instrument he held and grabbing the blanket. “When the meeting’s over, I can take you to my place again. For now, take the blanket.”

Hesitant, Ayu snatched the cover out of Oliver’s hands and wrapped it around himself. His cocoon welcomed him in a snug embrace, its fluffy fabric softening his dry skin. “Why’d you bring such a nice one?”

Oliver rubbed his hands off of the tail of the cocoon. “I just found it in my closet and it looked comfy.”

The child in the blanket smiled smugly at the new warmth.

“You can keep it if you want,” Oliver chortled. “You definitely look comfortable.”

Despite the satisfying bliss, a simple few facts knocked Ayu back to questioning. “Don’t you still want to sleep?”

“Yeah… I’m gonna need to eat in a few days so I’m ‘bout to be out of it soon.”

He tottered his new blanket around himself, but gently tossed it aside for the winds to meet him again. 

“Ayu-”

“I’ll eat while you sleep. Since I got some sleep.” He opened the streaming, microwaved food from the container, revealing baked ham and other goods. The scrumptious smell already distracted him. 

“But…”

“God, this looks good.”

He already began devouring the plate, too focused to listen to Oliver’s answer. “Alright…”

The seconds the small yet hefty meal remained in the bowl was minimum, as Ayu chowed down on some of the bread he had gotten the day before as an after-snack. While biting through, he marked his gaze back at Oliver, who had set up his own bed. 

Ayu’s old and withering blanket managed to be reused as a sort of bedsheet to cushion the hard floor. Oliver had neatly adjusted himself underneath the cover brought in, alongside having his head eased by his pillow and Ayu’s pillow being hugged his arms. 

“You’re fast.”

Oliver turned his way to Ayu’s eating wall. “You have a good pillow.” 

Their personalities radiated at that moment, one a mess and the other an urbane thing of exhaustion. 

There was no help but laughter.

***

With such a chilling morning, the two relaxed by each other’s side. Ayu sketched calmly next to Oliver, who seemed to bounce lots in his sleep. 

A new scene was set into fruition for the boy. Vague dreams lead his pencil to sketch out a glaring eye, then a flat chin, then a long neck. Rage was embedded in the blank stare he’d created. And a circle was the perfect touch for yelling. Such artistry in an image would make a great impact for the audience and their emotions, right?

“… Probably not.” 

“Probably what?”

Ayu jumped at his seat, whisking himself to see Oliver in his home-made bed and staring at his drawing from a distance. 

“You were awake?”

Oliver trudged his arms to hold himself up. Rubbing his eyes from the rising sun, he answered, “Yeah. It’s hard for me to sleep in general.” 

“… Do you usually stay up all night?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

It took few seconds to process how tiresome he was, but Ayu made a deep breath. He dropped his sketchbook to the side to ask questions. “What do you do all night?”

He plucked on the ukulele he left beside him. “What I do during the day: whatever. Just quietly.”

“Is it because you’re hungry?”

He stopped playing. The note that rung from the last string was choked by a tap from his hand. “Yeah, you can say that.”

Ayu stared at the abyss of his thoughts as he made questions. A memory formed for the new one, though reluctance of asking slowed his words. He looked at Oliver directly. “Can I see your arm? –“ 

He met Oliver with the sketchbook at his hands. Oliver’s eyes peered through the newest pages. By instinct, he lunged at the hand and grabbed the journal back. “Stop it!” 

Oliver held a cheeky, sluggish smile as he chuckled. “What? I just wanna see them.”

Ayu raised a brow, a smidge of a blush shined by his cheeks. Is it the wolf or something? “You didn’t ask.” 

“Well then,” he sat up with good posture, “may I see your new drawings?”

Ayu’s red tint heightened more in the realization that nobody had ever asked. He questioned why he hid them in the first place, but nonetheless, he complied. “Sure.”

Oliver held the book again and scanned through the pages. Ayu watched as he rung his fingers around his hair. New judgement was unpredictable. Except if it’s the wolf, obviously. His neutral expression forced a tense feeling inside of Ayu’s gut in the process of reading. 

“How long have you been drawing?” Oliver asked while flipping a page again. 

“Uh.” Ayu counted with his fingers. “I think six years. Someone told me I was good at it when I was six, so I just kept doing it. But I stopped when I was eight.”

Oliver hummed in response, still scanning. 

He continued, “My parents didn’t pay attention, so I never got advice except that it was good- oh yeah I stopped around the time I was eight… then Annette gave me the journal last year, so,” he counts, “I’ve been drawing for three years.”

Oliver clicked his tongue. “Well, it definitely shows.” 

The vagueness of the comment punched Ayu in the gut. But one page turn later and came a page full of bad handwriting. Ayu’s chest rose at the sight, yet Oliver stared at it for far too long. He uttered, “What’s this?”

“… Oh it’s- they’re my journal entries. Nothing really happens in them though.” 

Oliver scans through once more, while Ayu doubted he could even read them. “Have you ever tried to write something?”

“The entries have enough bad spelling.”

Oliver shook his head. “No, I mean like try and write something, like a poem.” 

“A poem…?” He may have only heard the word once in kindergarten. The lesson itself was lost in his passage of time. 

“Just write random stuff,” he said slowly, “in multiple lines, maybe rhyme it. It’s, uh, like a song if you will.” He gave the sketchbook back to him, a pencil already on his side. He gazed down at the new blank page.

When was the last time I heard a song? Oh yeah, one time during a traffic jam this one guy was blasting-

“Do you need help?”

Ayu snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh, no. I think I’m good… Do I just make a song?”

Oliver lost eye contact. “Uh, sure. You can make it short if you want too. It doesn’t have to be long.” He pulled back his hair. “Write what you want.”

The blank page dawned him far too much. Drawing never took much thinking for him –though improving always baffled him–; however, the start of a word intimidated and struck him at odds. 

Whispers of old pop songs flooded back in his mind. Those that played on the weekend at his car loudly and excitedly. He’d be cheering for the weekly trip where he finally went outside and off to Obodo. The generic lyrics bounced by his ears as the park and playground rested ahead of him. The older girl by his side sang to the music while making captions to his art on a clipboard, handwriting pretty and flowery like her name.

The summer sun beamed at his vision but reality blew at his skin again. The breeze reminded him of the page in front of him as well, to his dismay. Oliver had gone back to playing ahead of him. Ayu shivered in bitterness and began scribbling down the vocabulary he would remember. Words flowed to him simplistically and bluntly all the same. And hard pressure made the pencil squeak at movement. 

After a decent ten minutes, his thoughts were on paper, with reference to those pop songs of old. 

Cold gos by 

Throo on the nite

Snow is shy

and hideing in the sky

and I wayt

day gos away fast

dont be layt 

ill have my day soon

There… that looks okay, I think.

He called out: “Oliver I did it.”

“Really?” He turned around and put down his uke. “I thought it’d take you longer.”

He handed the text. “I just thought of pop songs.”

“Did you copy them?”

“No. Just used a line I heard a lot.” 

Oliver nodded. “Good. I used to copy rhythms of songs I thought was deep so you’re doing better than I did.” He read the lyrics. As he tilting his head, Ayu’s anticipation wracked instead of fear. Yet the time taken to read was lengthier than expected. “Okay your spelling isn’t actually that bad for what you have.”

Why is that the first thing he says, he questioned. The excitement died down to possible critique. 

“Honestly, as simple as it is, it’s a good simple.”

“And?”

“It needs a bit of tweaking, but overall there could be a good rhythm to it. Looks like a nice kids’ song to me.”

A kids’ song?

“It’s cute, I guess you could say.”

Ayu’s impatience pushed his words out. “Can you make a song out of it?”

Oliver’s eyes widened at the page. “Oh. Uh, yeah I guess I can.” 

“Right now?”

He scoffed, “No, not right now. Music takes time.”

Ayu’s curiosity got the better of him. “How long?”

“However long it needs to take. But I don’t think this’ll take that long.” He held the slip of the page itself. “Can I take this?”

“…”

“You can copy it down on another page.”

Slow at first, he nodded. “Why don’t you write it?”

Oliver’s face fell flat. “Yeah… if I read it right at least.”

“Psh, you can do it.” Ayu smiled at Oliver. The master musician would make beauty out of his work in his mind. 

Oliver rewrote on the new page with focus in his eyes. And through some squinting and pausing hands, he teared the new page off of the journal, folded the page and placed it in his pocket. “There.”

Ayu took the sketchbook back. “So, what now?”

Oliver nipped back his instrument. “Thinking of the melody. You can take the blanket back if you want.” He crawled over to the corner, huddling in his own imaginary nest as he plucked a string. “I’ve been thinking of making more suspended chords lately, so I might do that,” he murmured.

Ayu canned a chuckle, unsure of what he meant in the first place. 

***

“Is Oliver here yet?” 

Ayu turned his head from his drawing to find Annette sliding her sneakers into the alleyway. Her composure sloppy and uncoordinated. She didn’t stay up, did she? 

She whipped back the bun that flew over her head. “Oh… he is.” 

“I’ve been here,” Oliver replied. 

“Twenty minutes after you texted him actually,” Ayu added. He then shifted in his blanket cocoon. 

Staring at them both, she straightened back her posture at the harmony of the two. “Huh. Well darn.” Sitting down between the two, she made a deep breath and un-frazzled her hair. Then, like she never changed before, she perked up to start conversation. “So, do you want to start the meeting Ayu?”

He peered at her, brows weighing down his eyes in concern. Though the subject matter carried more weight for all of them. “Yeah, so- wait Oliver, you want me to tell her all of it?”

He shrugged at him. “Not the big one but most of it is fine.”

Understanding what he meant, Ayu agreed. Yet, Annette cocked her head in confusion.

“Okay so it turns out Oliver’s parents are assassins and might be involved with the entire powers thing,” he informed Annette.

“… I’m sorry, what?”

Oliver pointed his hand out to Ayu. “Did you have to say it like that?”

Ayu said back, “What other way do you think you can tell her?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, slowly? Let her process it?”

“You didn’t let me process it.”

“Okay that was by accident and shock-”

“Can you please explain?” Annette interrupted the two by whining. 

Ayu blinked, back from Oliver, then back to her. “Right. So,” he explained the situation, albeit poorly in wording. 

Annette’s mouth gaped with confusion set on her face. “I… Oliver, why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

He avoided his sights from her. “Didn’t know they existed ‘til like, two weeks ago.”

“He’s adopted like us,” Ayu remarked. 

The girl brushed through her hair. “Huh… well three’s a party, I guess.”

Ayu continued, “Yeah, so I met with this chick from his parent’s group and learned a couple of things from her. First there’s-” he paused, remembering the boy in the room. He was the one who did not know everything. “Oliver, can you not be here for right now?”

“What? Why?”

He whispered to Annette, “It’s about Akeldama.”

She eyed him, and dipped her head, telling Oliver, “It’s a personal thing.”

Somehow, the communication between the two, whether it was between her tone of words or expressional speaking, seemed to work. And Oliver stepped out for the moment in time. 

Ayu scooted his way to Annette, huddling next to her in secret conversation. “I might’ve been tricked by Akeldama.”

She cocked her head. “I thought that was obvious.”

“No, no, she told me that almost everyone in the society was tricked to join since he offered them survival and freedom,” he hesitated at the last word, “but then forced them to kill for live.”

“Then what you’re saying is… you made your wishes to live, but it’s going to screw up…?”

With doubt, he shook his head. “Maybe, but us fucking up with the monsters might also be the killing- maybe… okay that sounds dumb saying it out loud.”

Annette stopped him before he could add on. “Not really. But do you know how much the society has to kill then?

In an instant, he blinked three times. “Actually, I don’t know. Shit, I forgot to ask.”

Making her thinking face, with hands holding the chin, Annette guessed, “I wouldn’t think they’d be forced to be mass murderers.”

“I would. It’s Akeldama.”

“Yeah… right.” She hissed at his reminder. “Then, what if it isn’t the monsters then? What do you think will happen?”

“I dunno,” Ayu copied her thinking face, “I didn’t plan this far ahead for the meeting.”

“That isn’t good,” she sighed. 

Ayu slumped from his position. “Yeah… but that’s all I needed to talk with you.” He processed what came to mind next. Though another privacy error occurred. Might as well get it over with. “Can you go out and get Oliver, but you stay over there instead?”

“Did you tell him something new?”

“No, he has something I need to tell him.” Ayu’s thoughts formulated as he talked. 

“Gotcha’. I’ll go get him.”

She walked out, leaving Ayu more time to gather his words together. But in no time, Oliver entered back in. “Alright, what is it now?”

Twiddling his thumbs in his cocoon, Ayu started. “So… you know about your dad, right?”

“Forgot I had one, go on.”

He made a frantic nod. “So, I actually figured out his history yesterday.” 

“And…?”

Ayu taught him the lesson, again poorly. “But it was in the 1700s, I think.”

Oliver stared at him in suspicion. “… That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know, right?!” He blurted out.

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed calmly. “He can’t be my dad then, so who is?”

“I don’t fucking know, that’s the problem.” A strong gust of wind blew his thoughts away. “Oh shit-”

“Did Eilwen say anything else about it?”

Ayu clung to his blanket. “Not really… she wasn’t allowed to go into detail. But he doesn’t really look like you either; his hair was a lot lighter.”

“Still red?”

“Ginger.”

“Oh, god he’s a devil.”

“What?”

“It’s a joke at my school.” He snapped his fingers. “But anything else?”

“Uh… I think she said you were a wish child. Which, now thinking about it, might be a bad thing.”

“What do you mean bad thing?” Oliver asked. “Aren’t I always a bad thing?”

“No- but, I can’t think of how to explain. Wishes just feel like bad luck to me.”

Oliver placed his head on his bent knee. “Well, it’s fitting at least.”

Ayu sighed on his behalf. “I’ll try and get more out of her, the next time I see her.” 

“You’re coming with me again?”

Ayu tipped him, “Whenever she can.” He looked on over to the entrance. Conversation due at the end. “Hey, Annette! You can come back in,” he called out.

“Hm, I have an idea.” 

Bringing herself up to discussion, Ayu and Oliver shifted attention to Annette. 

“What if we’re supposed to be a part of the society, then? Since we have powers and stuff.”

Ayu’s face laid crooked, in reminder of his conversation of Annette. But, he pointed out his eye instead. “If we were, then why would we have these marks? Besides, the leader would have picked us up and have us join immediately.”

Annette gave him a knowing look left the topic. 

“If anything,” Oliver added, “I’m the most involved with them at the moment. You two still need to figure things out.”

Despite the still unknowingness up in the air, Annette smiled. “At least this is the most info we’ve gotten. And in just a month too.”

“I know, I know.” Ayu buried his face in his blanket. “Thank god Oliver’s here now.”

Oliver laughed at the comment. “Oh really?”

“You’re the only reason we got this in the first place.” He muffled his voice to him, hiding his minor embarrassment which the reason was left unknown as well. 

“Sounds like I’m just your gateway,” he quipped. 

“You know what I mean,” he huffed.

“Wait hold on…” Annette’s expression drew her brows together. “What about the monsters?”

Ayu’s own face grew stern. “That was the first thing I asked. But she couldn’t talk about it.”

Oliver kept silent. 

“Really?” She gawked her hand forward. “I thought there’d be something but… let’s just hope there is something about it soon.”

“Wait a minute,” Oliver actually spoke, “There haven’t really been any monster attacks since November started, hasn’t there?”

Annette answered. “No, aside from the forests deaths but Ayu can’t even detect those. But what about it?”

Oliver’s face cringed at the side comment, but went on, “Wouldn’t they come like every two days before? It’s almost December and they’re basically gone.”

Ayu perked his attention at Oliver’s observation. He never noticed that nothing happened, considering he did nothing regardless.

“Yeah… what did happen to them?”

***

“Don’t talk to me like that. There’s no spirits around.”

The boy in the television opened the door, revealing a jump-scare of moaning spirits, only to close it instantly. 

“Alright, so I might have been wrong. Let’s run-”

Oliver chuckled at the joke. He watched Mr. Rious causally on his seat whilst working on his new tune. On the same couch yet again was Ayu, coped up with a pillow and bowl of pasta. 

The meeting ended soon after the questioning of the monsters, as Annette received a call from her father wondering where she was at eight in the morning. Luckily, the cold was beginning to grow more intense and shelter also grew in Ayu’s yearning. Thus, her absence was a blessing for his body heat.

Chewing on his new lunch, not wanting to pay attention to the frightening ghosts, and needing to make a certain topic clear, he decided to ask Oliver again, “So you need to eat in a few days, right?”

Oliver’s reaction was neutral. “Yeah, I don’t feel terrible right now though.”

“That’s good…” He picked up another noodle with his bare hands and ate it. “But Oliver, can I see your arm please?”

The tune he was playing stopped, leaving only the T.V. to make noise. “… Sure, fine. It isn’t as bad as before.”

Ayu gulped. “That’s, better, at least.” 

Oliver pulled his left sleeve up and directed it to Ayu, revealing his marked arm. The black sun still laid peacefully, but above were all of his healed scars, including new fresh ones up top.

“Wha- they’re still there!”

“It’s less than before!” He pulled his sleeve back down. “Like you said, I’ll do it less… and if this training works, it’ll go down gradually. Like you and bread.”

Ayu raised a brow. “So, you’re saying your food is my training?”

“Essentially.” He picked up the uke again. “… Also, I think I got your song down.” 

Ears woke up at the words, and Ayu followed at the attention-grabber. “Really?”

“Yeah, I just repeated the rhythm, so it was easy.”

Ayu hopped in his seat. A grin covered his sunken cheeks. “Lemme’ hear it.”

“I knew you’d say that.” He rolled his eyes, forming his starting finger positions in the meanwhile. He reminded him, “It’s not a masterpiece, just to say.” 

And with a single breath, he began to play. 

“Cold goes by

Through the night.”

A new sound echoed from his voice, a type of singing from him that Ayu never heard prior. The voice itself was still soft, as always, forming patterns of music through is instrument and voice beautifully. 

“Snow is shy,

Hiding in the sky.”

The estrange aspect radiated with the airiness of the tone; how lightly it reached to the high notes and simmered down in gentle grace. The melody tranquilized Ayu to not even pay attention to the lyrics, or the repetitive chords and simplistic progression. 

“As I wait,

day goes away.

Don’t be late,

For I’ll have my day.

I’ll have my day.”

 He allowed the last strum to ring throughout the room, placing it down to his lap all the while.

Words had no meaning for Ayu at the moment, similar to any other time Oliver played. It managed to take all his efforts into forming two words. “It’s pretty.”

“Pretty?” He gawked. “I never thought you’d say something like that.” 

“But you’re talented.”

He corrected him, “I’m not talented. I just have too much time on my hands at night… Besides, with time and effort, any song can be good. Unless you work with modern country.”

“… You make your own songs too, don’t you?”

A nod was received, with slight reluctance at first. 

“Can you sing one?” Ayu asked genuinely.

The musician’s mouth twitched downwards. He turned back to the television. “They’re more personal. And embarrassing.” 

Ayu ate another handful of pasta before it’s warmth goes away. “So, you don’t want to share them?”

“No,” he answered, and placed his ukulele to the side. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think your songs are nice either way.” He giggled. “How long have you been making songs?”

Oliver pulled down on his sleeves in a shift. “Three years.”

“What are they about?”

“That’s the personal part.”

A man appeared on the screen out of nowhere, wailing in agony as he melted like a candle. 

“Okay Oliver, we’re changing this!”

***

“Oh, my God, I’ve never seen this episode!” Ayu had jumped out of the couch and right up close to the T.V. His gaze fixated not on Oliver anymore but instead the theme song of his favorite hero. 

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s Crimson!” He cheered. “I haven’t seen them in so long.”

Oliver’s tone laid bewildered at the old animation and loud brass. “I didn’t think it’d be the show from the nineties. Heard that was the trippy one.”

Crimson ran down the city as the saxophone solo drove in to Ayu’s nostalgia. “Trippy or not, it’s kickass.”

A glare set foot from Oliver from then on. “Sure, it is.” The intro continued on with its silhouetted visuals. “How come you watched this?”

“We had it on DVD and my sister would explain everything for me.”

“Your-?” Ayu’s fascination distracted him from his slip-up. Yet, Oliver never finished his question. “What would she explain?”

Ayu answered. “Stuff that happened in the episodes, and why it made Crimson cool.”

“That he’s a hero?”

“That she does what’s right and whatever to help people. No matter how crazy the stunt can be.”

Oliver stayed silent as the opening scene played. Crimson was in his everyday persona, taking all the photos for news coverage as the millionaire of the city. The glamour and pizzazz gloated by the rich fellow shined throughout the screen. “… Why’re they a bitch?”

“They’re not!”

“Well, if you flaunt money and power like that when you can, you know, save people, it’s a bit of a dick move.”

Ayu’s retort was unknown to him. Only knowing ten episodes on repeat was not of help of him in the subject matter. Instead, he grumbled and continued on watching. 

***

Crimson seemed to have gotten himself stuck in the middle of two heists. What was worse was that the two heists were of rival gangs in a competition for the same bank! And with the cops trying to catch the masked crusader yet again, how will the craziness of the night end?

Crimson was running rampant! Bandits were flying everywhere in the city after discovering she was trying to catch them all. She had lost the cops ages ago anyways, so that means that all there is to do left is-

“Vittorino, shut up.”

The immersion clicked out of Ayu’s mind as Oliver’s words blinked him out of the television screen. He had finally been silent for the past few minutes yet this comment blew him away from the scene again. 

However, the second he turned around at Oliver, a taller man was standing beside him. 

“Holy shit-” he jumped at his seat on the floor.

Oliver looked at him. “He can see you now, I’m guessing?”

“Yep.”

He sighed. “Ayu, this is Vittorino: the guy who’s been bothering me for the past two months in which I haven’t mentioned because honestly he doesn’t make that much of an importance.”

Ayu studied him in his surprised state as the name finally started to register. His dark hair being the only recognizable aspect from the past. “You’re the Vittorino Eilwen talked about?”

Oliver tilted his head. “Eilwen talked about him?”

“Of course, she did!” Vittorino tacked on a grin and walked on over to him. He spoke to him and only him. “And you better not tell anything she said about me because its unimportant.” He gritted the last words out. His lanky figure leaning over Ayu as a governing tower. 

“… right.”

“Alright then!” His tone changed completely. “I’m only here to introduce myself.” As well as his demeanor as he bowed in front of Ayu. 

Even Oliver made a face at his action. 

Ending his bow, he made a turn at both of them, waving, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

And he was gone as if nothing happened. 

“…What the fuck was that?”

“Don’t worry, he’s a weird fuck too.” Oliver assured. “He tells people to kill themselves yet he’s a religious saint the other half of the time.”

At first his words startled Ayu. Though majority of Oliver’s fun facts had led him to the same reaction, so might as well skip the moment. “From what Eilwen told me, that makes sense.”

“What did she say?”

“Just rumors… about-”

“Look at what I just told you a minute ago,” Vittorino appeared again. “Don’t!” And he vanished yet again. 

“… Huh.”

Oliver and Ayu looked at each other from the sudden interaction. The bewilderment of both seen in each of their expressions… Oliver cracked up first, following Ayu.

Oliver wheezed, “Okay that was definitely a first from him.” 

“It wasn’t what I thought he’d be like!”

They both laughed like the unamusing children they were.

“Wait, when did he tie up the cops?” Oliver asked Ayu as the ending of the episode played before them. 

Ayu kept his eyes glue to the screen. “We probably missed it while talking to Vittorino.”

“Why is Crimson an actual criminal?”

“Because the police sucks, and the city’s law thing in general.”

“… Okay, fair enough.”

The ending zoom-in starred the poor police officers, grumpy yet abandoned upside-down in ropes. Because Crimson had forgotten to actually free them! What a laugh! 

Ayu chuckled at the final joke but Oliver to no avail. 

The credits began to play in a slower jazz rhythm, with a female singer singing her smooth soul out.

“Oh what? This actually sounds nice,” Oliver commented. He checked the clock behind the couch. “Oh… my mom’s about to come back soon.”

Hearing the news, Ayu turned off what was playing. “So, you want me to go?”

“Are you fine with it…?”

Ayu told him. “Yeah, that blanket you gave me is gonna make tonight way better.” He got up, grabbed his sketchbook, and already walked up to the door. 

“… Right. Keep on writing. I like it.”

He smiled at his opinion. It isn’t the wolf this time. “Will do.” He opened the door and took his leave. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye…”

Slam.

-

Ten Dollars | Bread and Water | Red Eye | Crimson Capture | November 1st | A Mother | A Demon | A Child | The Wolf | Bloody Fingers | A Monochrome World | The Pocketwatch | Next >>>

[veteranmortal]

am i allowed to look at her like that?

Beau let Jester head inside to get their room - there was always a rush at these little inns, trying for the best room, but she desperately needed to get clean - it was a terribly hot day to have been walking alongside a cart, and she was coated in sweat and grime. There was a sluice out back, framed by a low wall, and she didn’t hesitate; the water would be cold, but that honestly sounded amazing to Beau.

She stripped out of her robes, and set the sluice going. She luxuriated under the water, massaging her tired muscles, running the water through her hair. 

The dirt and water ran down her legs, and she let her thoughts turn, as they almost always did, to Jester. It was becoming inconvenient, her feelings. She’d tried to pretend, for a time, that she didn’t see Jester that way, but it wasn’t any use - it had started early, and it had just been a silly crush, just the natural attraction towards a girl who was pretty and friendly. But as time went by, as Jester was so very… Jester about things, so funny and sweet and kind, and Beau had fallen. Hard. Their conversation on the Mistake was probably when things cleared up. She loved her, and she felt it to her core.

She had no reason to believe Jester was interested, though. No reason to even believe she wasn’t straight, come to that. Jester seemed to have a crush on Fjord, and Beau had no reason to believe she didn’t - that didn’t mean that in her darkest, most shameful moments, she didn’t at least entertain the possibility, but what Beau thought when she was alone in her bed, listening to Jester’s soft breathing just across from her was between Beau and Ioun. 

Her rumination was disturbed by a strangled noise behind her. She turned around to see Jester had walked around to behind the inn, and was staring at the ground, face aflame. Beau dived behind the low wall that formed a vague ‘stall’ around the makeshift shower.

“I got us a room, Beau. I just- uhm. Came to, umm, tell you?”

“Oh! Great! Thanks, Jess! Great great great! Just give me, uhh, one minute?”

She took her time, drying herself slowly. Whatever would delay her inevitably going up to the room with Jester, where she would inevitably die of mortification. Eventually, though, it would be more embarrassing to delay any longer. 

Jester was sat in the middle of the bed, propped up on the pillows, sketching furiously, when Beau came in, and took in the room.

“I’ll, uhh, grab a bedroll, then?” Beau said - the room was lovely, but it was largely dominated by the queen-sized bed that Jester was currently sitting on.

Jester startled, slamming her sketchbook into her chest. “Oh! Beau! I thought we could, maybe, uhh, share the bed?”

“Share the bed?” Beau echoed dumbly.

“Like a sleepover, or something, maybe?” Jester said, setting her sketchbook down, “you know, doing normal sleepover things, staying up late, stuff like that”

“Oh, uhh, sure? If you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason! Just checking”

There was an amicable silence for a while after that, as Beau changed into her bedclothes, behind the screen set up in the corner of the room.

By the time she had finished, Jester was sketching again - her tongue stuck out a little in concentration.

“What’re you drawing, Jess?” Beau said, flopping heavily onto the bed next to Jester.

Jester let out a cry of surprise, and flung her sketchbook across the room.

“Wow, okay, sorry, I won’t pry” Beau said, a little hurt.

“Beau, no, sorry, it’s just… a little personal? Between me and the traveler, right? ” Jester looked suddenly stricken. “I’m not mad at you! You can look at my other sketches. Not this one though.”

“Well now I’m curious, but I’ll live, I guess.” Beau said, and they lapsed back into silence. Jester fetched her sketchbook back, but she’d moved to a fresh page, and was doodling at random - Caduceus making a funny face after Caleb told him something he didn’t understand, Nott sitting on the edge of the cart, staring into the middle distance, Yasha, asleep in the back, the light playing on her face.

“Beau?” Jester said quietly, some time later - it had grown dark as the torches died, and Beau could now barely see Jester, lying perhaps 6 inches away from her face. She’d put her sketchbook down.

“Yes, Jester?” Beau replied, equally quiet. There was an odd tenderness to this moment, speaking so very softly, so very close together, and Beau desperately didn’t want to break it.

“What do people usually do on a sleepover?” Jester asked “Because, technically, I’ve never had one before?”

“Well,” said Beau “I haven’t been to a sleepover since the monastery, but when I was there, usually people would play truth or dare, or play cards, or talk about their crush”

“That sounds like fun” Jester said, a little distantly “Which do you want to do first?”

Beau shifted so she was facing Jester directly. She could just about make out her features, through the dim moonlight, her eyes gleaming silver.

“Well, we can’t play cards, so I suppose we should play truth or dare?” Beau murmured. She couldn’t bear to consider talking about crushes with Jester. Pretending not to love her - that is, not to be *in* love with her, at any rate. Pretending her heart wasn’t being torn in two when Jester confirmed she had a crush on Fjord, painting a smile on and talking to her about it, offering what limited advice she had. She didn’t blame Jester, of course, but she certainly didn’t want to go through that unnecessarily.

Jester sighed in contentment. “Dares would mean getting out of bed though, Beau? And it’s so warm and nice and cosy in here with you” She said, and Beau silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Moonweaver, that the moonlight was too dim to show the blush she was certain was rushing to her face.

“Truth, then?” Beau said.

Jester hummed slightly. “Sounds like fun” 

“Okay. So, uhhh. Truth. What’s your favourite colour?” Beau asked. 

“Beau, you need to ask difficult questions, otherwise it’s no fun. My favourite colour is blue, obviously.” Jester said, but she grinned - games of truth always start with little questions like this, to get everyone comfortable.

“Oh, like your hair?” Beau said, reaching up to touch it, but catching herself halfway. That would be weird, wouldn’t it?

“Sure, like my hair” Jester said softly.

They lay like that for a while, staring into each others’ eyes, Beau’s arm reaching halfway across the short distance between them.

“Hey, is it my turn?” Jester said eventually, her eyes bright with excitement - Beau recalled this was the very first time Jester had had a proper sleepover. “Do I get to ask you a question?”

“Oh, right. Sure.” Beau said, blinking a little. She had almost forgotten they were playing.

“If you could do one thing with no consequences, what would it be?” Jester said.

Beau paused. She knew the answer, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell Jester that she would kiss her.

“I’d probably punch Nott. Just once.” She said.

“You could do that now if you wanted, Beau.” Jester said.

“Oh, I mean, yeah, but there’s not many things I’d want to do that I couldn’t theoretically do, right?” Beau said. 

“Right. Just worry about how people would react. But I expect mostly, uhh, what you want to do isn’t entirely unwelcome.” Jester said.

“Are we still talking about me punching Nott in the face? Because I don’t think she’d like that.” 

“Probably she wouldn’t, no.”

This felt charged, to Beau. Not like the sleepovers she’d had in the dormitory at the monastery. She honestly wasn’t sure what was happening, not exactly.

“Is there anything you want to do? Right now?” Beau said, so quietly she wasn’t even sure if Jester heard her. Wasn’t sure if she wanted Jester to have heard her.

Jester didn’t say anything. Beau was about to apologise, when the other girl moved. Jester shifted forwards, pressing into Beau, and kissed her. Beau’s hand moved behind Jester’s head unconsciously, their legs tangled together as they closed the remaining distance, and they were lost to the world.

When Beau woke up in the morning, halfblind from the light of the rising sun streaming through the window, she was momentarily lost, unsure whether it was a dream, until she noticed the warm weight against her side, the leg nestled between hers, the gentle breath against her neck, and the mass of blue hair that her face was all but buried in.

“Jess? Are you awake?” She whispered.

“Mhmm. Can we stay like this for a minute? I want to lie in my girlfriend’s arms for a little while longer. I’ve waited months,” 

Beau almost laughed with the joy that filled her chest at that.

“My girlfriend Jester” she murmured into Jester’s hair as Jester nuzzled further into her neck again.

It took them another hour to come down for breakfast.

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Chameleon - Ch. 4

Summary: Reader (that’s you!) moves to London, hoping to leave her past behind and find happiness. She makes friends with her new neighbors. (Guess who?) - So far we’ve established that Reader & Freddie are BFF, Reader & Brian are absolutely into each other (but he has a GF) and Reader & Roger have a bit of sexual tension.

Word Count: 6k+ || AO3 link | Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3(1)(2)

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this (especially @clogwearingspacepoodle who helped me decide where I wanted this to go!). So… this chapter’s got angst. It’s got language. It’s got smut. Now go on, Y/N - take what you want!

Tagging @chocolatealmondmilkshake - if you want to be tagged just let me know.

You had acquired a new roommate - Freddie. You thought it was pointless for him sleep on Brian and Roger's couch when you had an empty bedroom, so the two of you spent some time cleaning out the extra room that was full of your grandma's old junk to make space for Freddie's things. This new arrangement wasn’t hard to get used to. The four of you were constantly in and out of each other's places anyway. You all had jokingly discussed tearing down the wall that separated the two flats since it would save the time of opening and closing doors. You loved this somewhat strange arrangement you had with the three of them. It wasn't what others would consider normal, but it was the most normal you had ever experienced. They'd go off to their classes or jobs or rehearsals and you would "take care of the homestead" as you put it. The guys called you their domestic goddess. You even bought yourself a few cookbooks to become more domesticated.

Freddie had encouraged you to pick up your sketchbook and pencils again. You always loved to draw, and you were very good at it, but when you left your old life behind, that was one thing you left with it. You didn't even mention your love for art to anyone until Freddie saw some of your old sketches when you were clean out what would become his bedroom. They were mostly drawings of people, all seeming to be deep in thought, all with their own story to tell. He pulled the old book out of a box in the closet and flipped through, growing more and more impressed by every picture. "Who drew these?" he asked, snapping your attention from whatever you were rambling about. He wasn't paying any attention.

"Oh..." you cleared your throat. "I... I did.” You never showed your sketches to anyone except your mom and grandma. They were the only ones who never told you that you were foolish and wasting your time with your talent. "I forgot all about that thing. I can't believe she kept it."

His mouth dropped in amazement. "You? These are fantastic. I didn't know you draw."

You quickly grabbed the book from Freddie and closed it, throwing it nonchalantly back into the box. “I don’t. Not anymore." Once you had your back turned, Freddie took it back out and continued flipping through the pages. "So I'm thinking tonight for dinner I'll just do some chicken." Freddie didn't acknowledge. You waited a couple of seconds. "Is chicken okay with you? Maybe a salad..." You turned and furrowed your brows when you saw him looking at the book again.

"Who are these people, love?" Freddie asked, never taking his eyes away from the pages. "You must have cared about them. You didn't miss a single detail."

Knowing he wouldn’t let it go, you sat behind him, wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your chin on his shoulder and told him about every person on the pages. When he got to the last page, sensing your deep breath you took to regain your composure, Freddie turned his head to look at you and asked, "is this your mum?"

You stared down at the page and smiled. "Yeah, that's Mom." You ran your hand over the picture with adoration. "I miss her."

"Easy to see where you get your beauty from," Freddie said as he pinched your nose, an annoying habit they all seemed to have picked up that they used to get you to crinkle your nose for their amusement. "You look just like her."

The next week Freddie gifted you with two sketchbooks and a box of drawing pencils. You took his unspoken advice and began drawing again, which is how you would spend most of your days when the guys were off doing their thing. You’d go sit at the parks, mostly, sometimes at pubs or street corner cafes and people watch, choosing your subjects at random. It was therapeutic.

You had only ever gotten caught by a random subject once. You were drawing a man at a pub whose clothing style intrigued you. Flamboyant was an understatement, which is why you found him to be an interesting muse. Freddie would love this guy's style, you thought, which is why you chose him in the first place. He was unashamed of who he was and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. He caught you staring and they agreed that he would let you finish drawing him as long as you paid him in conversation. You sat together for a couple of hours and regaled each other with amusing stories from your pasts. You found out that he was leaving for New York that night, which was upsetting because you just knew that he and Freddie would get along perfectly.

Things between you and Brian oddly weren’t even really weird after finding out he had a girlfriend. The two kisses happened and that was it. It was never discussed. Freddie told you he wasn’t happy in the relationship, and you got the same vibe from Brian, but it, like the kiss, was never discussed. Well, it wasn’t discussed anymore after you let him know in passing that you knew about Jane. The two of you actually got closer. Not romantically – he was already spoken for. But he was spending more time with you, lazing around, watching TV or listening to a new album, depending on what you felt like doing. He would listen to you ramble on about whatever was exciting you that day. You would listen intently to him playing songs that he had written and sometimes just watch him sitting with his notebook, scribbling on the pages with deep concentration. You would show him your drawings and he would encourage you, just as you would encourage him with his music and studies. He would passionately talk about some random astronomical phenomenon and you would listen with immense interest. A few mornings you woke up to find that you both had fallen asleep on the sofa, but that's always as far as it went. You weren’t going to allow any lines to gets crossed and neither was he. But the feelings were there. You couldn’t deny them to yourself – and he couldn’t deny them either – but as long as this Jane person existed in his world, you weren’t going to say a word. You convinced yourself that everything would be fine as long as you at least had him as friend although you could feel your heart literally hurt whenever you were around him.

Then there was Roger, the incorrigible flirt that he was, who never kept himself from making sly comments, which you would return in kind, which made everyone else suspicious of the two of you. Things with him were frustrating. You wanted him. Badly. You knew he wanted you, too. You both would resist as much as possible, not wanting to cause any problems that could possibly arise, but you always gave in to the temptation. You tried so many times to just do it, but there was always a reason it never happened, no matter how close it came to happening. It never failed. The two of you would end up in a hot and heavy situation, and just as things were about to go that one step further, Freddie would come home, or the phone would ring, or Brian would knock on the door… The universe seemed to conspire against you.

Like that one time the two of you were in the kitchen, not exactly having the kind of conversation you’d have with a priest, waiting for the dinner roast to finish in the oven. You were standing at the sink as he walked up behind you, leaned against you with his hands on your hips. You turned around and as soon as he started to lean in for a kiss, the timer went off to let you know the roast was done. At the same time, Freddie, Brian, and John came in waiting to be fed. Or that time the two of you were going back home after seeing a movie. Brian wasn’t supposed to be home. The two of you didn’t even make it past the door before Roger had you pinned against it, ready to take you right there, only to be interrupted by Brian’s keys jingling to come inside. You both scurried to Roger’s room, but Brian barged in, asking about some stupid book he misplaced.

So, yes. Frustrating. While quite a bit of the time you and Roger spend together was working each other up, the two of you did bond over other things. You’d love watching movies – old and new – and swapping books especially. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction. He was a great friend to you who would listen when you needed an ear and hand out advice when you needed it, and you’d reciprocate in kind, but there was no way it would never delve into something serious between the two of you. You were too much alike and he didn’t give you that extra bit of mental stimulation like someone else did.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You grab your purse and start to leave for a quick trip to the store when you hear voices coming from the other side. "Thank you for the help. And for the early dinner. I needed that." It was a female's voice. You listen closer, thinking you’ll have some new ammo for the next time Roger tried to trip you up during some playful argument.

"You don’t have to thank me for that." Your heart falls to your toes. It was Brian this mystery woman is talking to. You slowly open the door and peek through the crack. There he is, looking down at this beautiful blonde female with a smile on his face, holding her hand. You take a deep breath and open the door, not hiding your presence, startling Brian and his mystery friend.

"Hey Brian, is Freddie still over there?" You completely ignore the fact that this other person is there. You try to convince yourself don't care anymore because you don’t want to tread that thin line between the two of you anymore. It’s eating you up inside and you need to talk to the one person who always made you feel better no matter what.

His face lights up when he sees you, just like it always does, and his hand moves quickly behind his neck. “Hey, Y/N, yeah, he’s in there.” Your eyes lock in a gaze, you pleading for an explanation and he pleading for forgiveness.

“Y/N, the new neighbor,” the blonde says as she moves in between you and Brian and offers her hand. “Hi, I’m Jane.” The heart that fell to your toes before has now completely left your body and is laying right there on the floor, ready for Brian to stomp on it.

“Oh, yeah, Jane! Hi! Nice to finally meet you!” You hope you don’t sound fake, but, really, you couldn’t stand her from the start… because you were jealous as hell. You really hoped she didn’t exist, but she did, and she is standing right in front of you.

“Brian’s told me a lot about you. I feel like I know you already.” She keeps talking, and the things she’s saying let you know that he really did tell her a lot about you. She’s so nice you start to feel terrible about wanting to loathe her so bad. You can’t. She’s lovely.

“Why don’t you come out with us tonight?” she asks you. I’d love to get to know you more.”

You look up to Brian, who is still standing there with his hand on his neck, not knowing what to even say. “If you want to. We’re going… um…” He’s muddling his words, imagining how awkward it would be to spend an evening with the both of you at the same time.

“We’re going to dinner. We’ll decide the rest after that,” Jane tells you, deciding to finish Brian’s thought for him. She grabs your hands and begs you. “Please come with us.” She seems nice enough. Okay, so she seems like a wonderful person, but you aren’t sure if it’s a show she’s putting on or if she genuinely wants to know you.

“Oh, I don’t know, I…” You’re also imagining the potential awkwardness and it’s making you nauseated.

“Bring someone with you! It’ll be fun.” You really, really want to hate her. “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.” You just really, really couldn’t hate her, no matter how hard you tried.

You sighed and give her a defeated smile. “Okay, I’ll go.” She claps with excitement, which is a bit annoying and over enthusiastic, but it’s kind of cute. “Guess I better go get me a date.” You laugh, probably a bit too fake, as you walk into Brian and Roger’s apartment to find Freddie.

"You’re my date tonight, Freddie!" you call out as you walk inside, annoyed, upset, and nauseous.

Freddie runs in from the kitchen. "Slow down, Princess. What?"

Your facial expression tells him all he needs to know. You just met Jane. You’re trying to be okay with it, but he can tell you’re not. You have a look of failure, pure defeat. “We’re going out with Brian and Jane.” You’re less than enthusiastic about it, but you already resigned yourself to the fact that there was no way you were getting out of it now.

Freddie cringed. “With that cow? I can’t, Princess. Remember? It’s my sister’s birthday and I promised I’d…”

"Ugh!" you cut him off and throw your hands up. You look over Freddie's shoulder and see Roger standing there, leaning against the wall. "Roger! Are you doing anything tonight?"

He jokingly puffs out his chest. “I’ll save you. I don’t have any plans. Go get ready, doll.”

You run up to him, hug and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you. You’re the best.” When you move back he’s still holding you, his eyes smiling brightly and his mouth pursed into a puckish grin.

“Now, Y/N, we both know you can’t make that claim. Yet,” he said with a wink. You give him a playful slap on his chest and pull away. “I’m going get ready. I’ll come get you when we leave.”

As you turn to make your way home to get dressed, you come face to face with a concerned Freddie. In a soft, calm voice, he asks, "are you okay with this?" He knows how you feel about Brian and he was worried this was going to turn out to be a disaster.

You take a deep breath and answered, calmly. "It’s going to be fine. She seems really nice.”

“She’s not nice. She’s absolutely dreadful. You’ll see. Just... Don’t do anything stupid.” He stopped before he started saying what he really wanted to say. “Have fun, Princess.” He kissed you on the cheek. “I have to go. I’ll be home in the morning. I’m staying at mum and dad’s tonight.”

What the hell did I get myself into? you ask yourself. How am I going to be able to act normal? You knew “normal” wasn’t going to happen.

You hear Roger clear his throat before he sneaks up behind you, grabs you around your waist and nuzzles his face into your neck. “You’ll be all alone? Did I hear that correctly?”

“You did,” you say with a giggle as you wiggle out of his grip. “But you have to finish dinner before you get your dessert.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You decide on your short, low-cut red dress and high boots for the evening. You tied your hair up loosely, put on your red lipstick and smiled at yourself in the mirror. Perfect. You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore that dress. It never failed you before.

You and Roger were friends. You knew you could wake up next to him the next morning and it wouldn't be weird seeing him later. Hell, he didn't even have to spend the night. It could be your little secret. You didn't care. You just needed attention from someone, and you wanted that person to be someone you could trust for a change. Someone who never lied to you or pretended to be someone else. You had done it with so many other guys without getting emotionally attached, so you knew this would be no problem. And, well, let’s face it: You and Roger were beyond the point of no return.

But, if you were completely honest with yourself, you knew you weren’t wearing that dress just for Roger. You probably weren’t even wearing it for him at all. You could have worn a potato sack and the two of you would be on the verge again by the end of the night based on your short history. You were upset. You wanted Brian to see what he was missing. You wanted to drive him crazy with desire.

Roger knocked twice on the door and let himself in. "Hey Y/N? Ready for a wonderful night out with this handsome devil standing in your living room?”

"You're a fool, Roger Taylor," you tell him as you walk out of your room. When his eyes fell on you, he couldn't help but let out a whistle. You walk closer to him and lean in close to his ear. "But I wouldn't have you any other way." He pulls you close to him and bend down to kiss you. Instead, you bend down to dodge him.. "No, no. We have people waiting.” He groan and gives you a pleading look, but you weren’t giving in. “Now, are you gonna show me a good time?"

He sighed, accepting the fact that he has to wait for later, and chuckles. “Let's get this over with." He put his hand at the small of your back and walks with you out the door.

Brian and Jane were sitting outside waiting – her, patiently; him, not so much. Both of their eyes beamed with delight when they saw you and Roger finally come out. It seemed as if Brian had completely forgotten that his girlfriend was sitting right there next to him. “I love that dress, Y/N! Did you get it at Biba?” Jane asked.

“No. Bloomingdales in New York. You’re unable to take your eyes off Brian. His eyes, having turned beguiling at this point, follow you back and you, not aware of what you were doing, gave him a flirtatious grin. After making sure he took complete notice of you, you turn your attention to Jane, hoping she didn’t notice this toying that you were doing. “I’m guessing you got yours at…”

“Biba. Yes.” She noticed you and Brian staring at each other, as evidenced in her contrite reply, but she shook it off like a pro and became the nice, bubbly Jane almost immediately.

“We have the prettiest girls in London, don’t we, Bri?” Roger sensed the tension and wanted to snap everyone out of it. He cocks his arm for you to hook yours into it. “Shall we?” he asks you with a smile before giving you a kiss on the cheek.

Brian rushes to your side and leans down to your ear. “I’m guessing you’re feeling red today?” You glance up at him and smirk.

“Oh, yes. Very red.”

He gave a big smile and an amused chuff. “One day you’re going to tell me what these colors mean.”

He and Roger open the car doors for you and Jane respectively, and the four of you head out on your evening.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Three hours and copious amounts of liquor into your night out, you were feeling fantastic. You felt alive. Roger hadn't left your side all night and made sure you weren’t drinking alone. Jane was also getting a little tipsy, but Brian stayed completely sober. He was the one driving, after all.

The fact that he wasn’t drinking made him very aware how everyone was acting, especially you. The fact that you were drinking, perhaps a bit too much, made you have less restraint in how you were acting. You saw Brian watching you in that red dress. You saw the way his eyes would follow your hand when you’d start to play with your necklace, or the way his eyes would look at your lips when you’d purposely wet them slowly and seductively when he was watching. You saw the hint of jealousy on his face when you were dancing with Roger, and you saw that jealously grow when you and Roger got to the point where you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. You saw how he would react to every single little thing you would do. You almost felt a tinge of guilt knowing that you were driving him absolutely crazy. Almost.

Jane tried to keep his attention focused on her, but he would give her excuses why he was coming across as distant. “I’ve got classes in the morning that I’m thinking about,” or “I’m thinking about what we’re going to play next band rehearsal,” but the “I need to make sure Y/N doesn’t do anything stupid” line irked her last nerve. “Take me home, Brian,” you heard her tell him in a quite demanding way. You weren’t sure if “home” meant her place or his, but you didn’t care. After Roger assured Brian the two of you could find your way home safely, Brian left with Jane, albeit unwillingly. His eyes watched you, longingly, as he walked out. You saw that, too.

A slow, bluesy song started to play in the background as they walked away, and you started dancing against Roger. "I love this song,” you told him, your words drawn out dramatically. “Dance with me." You grabbed his hands and moved out to the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around your waist, yours wrapped around his neck, and you swayed to the music. You looked up at him, tilted your head and gave him a big smile. "Roger?"

He looked down and smiled back. "Y/N?"

"You're cute." You tapped him on the tip of his nose.

He pretended to be shocked. "Cute? I'm just... cute? Me? I'm offended."

You picked your head up and pulled yourself in as close as you could, bringing his head down to yours, touching your nose to his and stared deep into his eyes. "You're sexy as hell, Roger.” You let out a long, drawn out sigh. “I should have let you fuck my brains out the very first day you wanted to. I felt how hard you got when I had my hand on you..."

He pulled his head back a little bit and his mouth dropped open. "Fucking hell, Y/N. You don't mince your words." He looked down at your pleading eyes. He knew what you wanted, and he wanted it too. He missed too many chances to have you before and there was no way he was going to let another chance pass him by. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "Do you want to hear a secret?" You shook your head yes and bit your bottom lip. "That day? That wasn't the first day I wanted to fuck your brains out."

The song ended, and you looked at Roger seductively. You broke free from his hold, backed up, and motioned for him to follow you with your finger, and he happily obliged. You walked over to a dark corner of the room, out of the eyesight of everyone else who was around. You leaned against the wall, one foot propped up on the wall behind you, and once again motioned for Roger to come closer. He leaned against the wall with one hand next to your head.

"Tell me about the first time you wanted to fuck my brains out?" You grinned, again nibbling on your lip, running a finger along his shirt collar.

He leaned his face down close to yours. "Well, it was probably a week after you got here. You were walking around in that tight blue tank top with those short shorts. You were driving me mad." He ran the back of his hand down your cheek, pausing when his thumb reached your lips. "You were wearing this red lipstick too." You parted your lips so that your tongue would touch his thumb. "And all I could think about when I would look at you was how much I wanted to see those lips wrapped around my cock." You opened your mouth a little more and took his thumb into your mouth, never taking your eyes off his, before he moved It out.

“Then there was the time you were outside in the back garden, sitting in the sun, wearing that bikini top. You knew I was looking at you,” he recalled. “You kept making sure I got a good view of these,” he reminded you as he rubbed his hand gently on your breasts.

You grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled him closer to you, his hand coming off the wall and sliding down to your arm. You reached down and grabbed his manhood that was pushing against his pants, making him gasp and go silent, never taking his eyes off of yours. You pushed your body as close to his as you could and looked down at what your hand was resting on. "You remember what I said about this, right?" and smirked as you looked up at him, gently rubbing your hand up and down.

"Oh yeah, I remember." He smirked back. "Do you want it?" You shook your head yes. He moved his hand that was still resting on your breasts up to your neck, making you move your head up to look him directly in the eyes, his voice turning rigid. "No, Y/N. You have to say it."

"I want it."

His hand moved down, passing over your chest, stomach and to your thigh. "How bad do you want it?"

"Very, very bad."

"Hmm, let me see." He moved his hand from your thigh to under your dress, feeling your wet panties. "Mmm, yeah, I'd say you want it very, very bad." He leaned down and kissed you, keeping his hand rubbing you underneath your dress as you kept rubbing against his pants. "But I want to get one thing straight." He moved your panties to the side with his fingers, rubbing them gently around your wet flower. He moved his head to whisper in your ear, which caused your breathing to get heavy in his. "You get to have it..." He nibbled at your ear. "...but I get to say how you get it." He moved to look back into your eyes. "Understand?" You nod and he smirked. "Good girl."

You stopped rubbing on his member, grabbed his hand out from under your dress and moved it away. "So, Roger...?" You straightened your body out, wrapped one arm around his neck and started to run your fingernails across the nape of his neck. "Is today one of those days you wanna fuck my brains out?" You pulled him down for a kiss.

"Mmm hmm" is all he could get out as your tongues encircled and bodies rubbed together.

"Then you better take me home." He kissed you some more. “Now.” He grabbed your hand and you walked as fast as you could out the door.

The two of you made sure to be quiet walking into your flat. If anyone was around, you didn't want them to hear Roger going into your place, and you definitely didn’t want anyone conveniently disturbing what was about to happen. "This is between us, yeah?" Roger asked, not out of shame, but out of respect. He didn't care if the guys knew it when he was having sex with other girls. He didn't care what they thought about the other girls. He cared about what they thought about you, though. After assuring him that Freddie wasn’t home, you unlocked the door.

You walked inside and immediately started tearing off each other's clothes, not wanting to waste a single second of time for anyone to interrupt, leaving a trail from the door to the bedroom, both of you completely naked by the time you reached your destination.

He pushed you back onto the bed, but not before you grab him to fall with you. He starts to kiss you again, his hands roaming feverishly all over your body, your hands grabbing his hair. “Roger,” you say with a scratchy tone. “You better fuck me this time."

“Don’t worry about that,” he replies. “I’m not walking out of here hard...” Your breaths are stuck in your throat as he holds your face, kissing you with more desire than you ever knew could exist. “... and you won’t be able to walk out of here without help.”

He quickly moved down and dove between your thighs, taking a moment to admire what he was seeing before he started lapping at your wet, heated flesh. “Still so wet,” he whispers as a groan escapes your lips. “So good,” he whispers as you groan again. You grab his hair and press him deeper into you. He thrusts his tongue into you as you groan louder.

“Not yet,” you beg, “not yet…”

“Don’t worry,” he says in between licks. “This is only the first round.” He flattens his tongue against your clit, grinning as he looks up at you as your moaning becomes uncontrollable. He begins to gently suck on you, inserting two fingers in the process. “I’ve been waiting too long for this to go quick.”

“Fuck, Roger!” you cry out. You try to say more, but you can only moan.

He moved his mouth away, but his fingers kept up their pace. “You want this, don’t you?” He asks. You can only nod. He gives you a devilish grin. “Now you know how I feel, being so close and not being able to do anything about it…” You feel your climax approaching and your body tenses up. “How close are you, Y/N?” You try to answer, but only a short whimper comes out. He chuckles deeply. “Mmm hmm…” He brings his voice down to a whisper. “So close…” He lowered his head back down, sucking gently on your clit, grazing it ever so lightly with his teeth.

“Oh my god, Roger!” You arch against him, rolling your hips and grabbing the bedsheets, moaning with pleasure before landing limp on the bed, breathless. He crawls up to you, his body over yours, leaning down for a deep, hard kiss.

You push him over onto his back and straddle him, your core grazing his. He pulls you down into a kiss, his hand grabbing his cock, ready to guide it inside of you. “Not yet,” you scold him as you push his hand away. He lets out an eager groan as you climb off him and make your way down to his dick. Your eyes meet his. “There’s something you said you wanted to see,” to say, as a mischievous grin crosses your mouth before you lower it, your pointed tongue licking the tip, then the entire length, before the heat and wetness of your mouth completely envelopes him.

He notices your red lipstick is smudged but it’s still there, and he watches intently as your red lips surround his rock. He holds a hand on top of your head, guiding it at the speed he wants you to go. His moans and groans getting louder. Before he gets too far, he stops you. “Get up here, Y/N,” he tells you, making you suck hard and pull your mouth away. You move up to straddle him, the mischievous grin never leaving your face. He guides himself to you, his tip just inside. “Are you sure you want this?” he jokes.

“Roger if you don’t stop joking and fu…” you couldn’t finish your sentence before he lowered you down, completely engulfing him in you. You start to rock your hips, hands on his chest to keep your balance, as he helps balance you in this perfect position with his hands on your waist, as you are in complete and total control of everything. He’s grabs hold of your breasts, watching your every move as you continue grinding against him.

You lean forward, your body becoming exhausted. “Finish me,” you tell him, your voice becoming desperate, and weak. He wraps his arms around your back, holding you tightly, as he lifts his hips with a feverous rhythm, pounding into you hard and deep from underneath. “Oh!” you scream. “Yes, Brian, just like that...”

He flips you over, spreads your legs, putting them over his shoulders and increases his speed. His thrusts getting harder, grunts getting louder. “Fuck, Y/N!” He yells out, knowing he can’t go much longer. “Come for me. You know you want to.” And you do. Your entire body shuddered before the two of you collapsed, exhausted and exhilarated, before he laid down next to you.

You covered yourself up with the bed sheet and rolled over on your side, your back to Roger. You just had amazing sex – probably the most amazing you had ever had – with one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and you felt completely... empty. You were worried that you were doing it again – your therapy, your self-destruction – only this time involving someone you cared about, platonically speaking. He’s going to ignore me after, just like the others, you thought to yourself. He got what he wanted. Why would he stick around? This is all I’m good for anyway.

“Uh, Y/N?” Roger snaps you out of your moment. “Should I…”

You roll back onto your back. “I’m sorry.”

He starts to chuckle. “Sorry for what? That was fantastic.”

“Yeah, it was,” you smile. “It’s just…”

“I know, Y/N. I promise, it won’t be weird.”

You roll over on your side again, this time facing Roger. “Promise?”

He cleared his throat. “Come on. That’s what we wanted.” He nudges your shoulder. You laugh, but your face falls quickly, because you can’t get him out of your head. He climbed out of the bed and walked over to your dresser to grab the ashtray you kept there. “Did you listen to the new Pink Floyd album yet?” he asks as he walks back. You give him a confused look as he lays back down, having lit a cigarette and rested the ashtray on his stomach. “I hear it’s pretty good.”

You sit up, body wrapped in the sheet. “Seriously, Roger? We just had sex and you want to talk about this?” You grab the cigarette out of his hand, take a drag and start to stand up.

“No, stay.” He laughs as he grabs you and pulls you back down when you hand him back his cigarette. He can tell you’re bothered and he was trying to lighten the mood before deciding it was better to comfort you. He knows the way you feel about his friend, and how his friend feels about you. He does feel a tinge of guilt, but, the way he sees it is if Brian was too stupid to act on it, then you both were free to do whatever you want. “This wasn’t wrong, Y/N.”

“No, it definitely was not,” you laugh as you lay back down, resting your head on the pillow with his arm behind your neck. You enjoyed it. It was amazing. And you knew it wasn’t wrong, but it felt wrong.

He pulled your head close to him and held the cigarette to your mouth so you could take another drag. “We’re both adults here..No explanations needed.” He chuckles. “And if you want to use me again I won’t object.”

“So basically, I can use your for sex until I’m tired of you,” you jokingly reply.

“Well…” he laughs before taking a puff. “Nothing wrong with having fun, right?”

“So that’s all this is. Fun.” While fun was nice, you wanted more than just fun. You wanted some sense of stability. An actual relationship. A relationship with someone you could depend on. Someone who cared about you. Someone who would take care of you. Someone to share your hopes and dreams with.

He sighs. “Look, Y/N, you’re great. I love spending time with you. But…” His voice trails off.

“There’s always a ‘but’ thrown in whenever I have these conversations with guys so just spit it out.” But, you think. But I’m looking for stability, but I’m not looking for a relationship, but I’m married… You start to replay in your mind all of the “buts” you’ve been told over the past few years before Roger snaps you out of it.

“What I was going to say,” he started with the same annoyed tone you finished your sentence in, “is that I know this is all you want, and I accept that.”

You lift your head and scoot up so you’re eye to eye with him. “And what if this isn’t all I want? What if I want more?”

“Do you?” He cocks up an eyebrow, not sure what you’re trying to say.

“What if I do? What if I actually want more?” You lay your head back on the pillow. “What if I’m tired of only being good enough for ‘fun’?”

“First, you are much better than just ‘fun’ and any man who makes you think otherwise is an idiot. You’re so much more than that. Don’t ever think you’re not. You deserve to get everything you want. Secondly, I know you want more…” He pauses, not hesitantly because he doesn’t know how to finish his answer, but because he’s trying to make sure you’re going to like what you are told. “… you don’t want it with me, though.” You looked over at him with a puzzled look. He started to comfortingly rub his hand on the top of your head as he let out a hearty laugh. “Come on, Y/N, you said his name.”

Oh shit, you thought to yourself as you remembered. Clearly it wasn’t a big deal since Roger was obviously not offended in the slightest. Deciding not to get too much deeper into the conversation, you joked, “Well this is the worst possible pillow talk isn’t it?” He continued his laughter, especially after noticing how embarrassed you had become. “Right now, I just want to lay here,” you sighed.

He pulls you in tight, resting his head on yours. “Then if that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

[yusuke-of-valla]

Akekita Week Day 5: Firsts/Lasts

Summary: It’s Oblivio but Akekita

Or-

In which the amnesia condition works a little differently

AO3

When he wakes up, it’s dark and his whole body hurts. There's shattered pieces of glass around him and a sliver of light that allows him to put together that he's in some sort of alley, but little else.

He picks himself up off the ground and hears movement behind him. Reflexively, he moves backwards into the shadows and watches someone else pull themselves off the ground.

In the dim light, it can be observed that the other person is a young man wearing a strange outfit and a kitsune mask.

He watches Kitsune look around and take in his surroundings, and tenses as steely grey eyes lock on him.

"I can see you." Kitsune says, "white isn't really condusive to hiding in the shadows you know."

He frowns and looks down at himself. "Why am I wearing this?" he mutters as he takes in his princely garb.

"Who are you?" Kitsune asks.

That's the first moment where he realizes he doesn't know.

Rather than give the stranger anything though, he straightens.

"Don't you already know?"

Kitsune frowns. "My apologies. I can't seem to remember anything."

"That's unfortunate."

Kitsune doesn't appear to be lying, nor to be doubting that- fuck he needs something to call himself- might know more than him.

Stupid. Naïve. Who the hell trusts someone they just met.

But, similar outfits, similar situations, there's a chance you know each other. It'd be more efficient to admit you don't remember anything either and work together.

The two voices keep arguing in the back of his mind until finally he relents.

"I'll admit I don't have any memories either. I woke up here just before you," he says.

"Then this is quite the predicament." Something moves behind Kitsune as he's thinking. A... tail?

Cute.

The thought pops into his head and disappears just as quickly.

... weird.

"Well, Kitsune, it seems we'll have to work together," he says.

"Kitsune?"

"You don't know your name either right? I have to call you something, and given your mask, it's the obvious choice."

"Mask?" Kitsune reaches a hand up to his face, and proddingly removes the mask, staring at it in awe.

Kitsune is a very pretty, that's clear even in the dim light of the alleyway.

"So, Prince, shall we look around?" Kitsune says after a moment.

"Prince?"

Kitsune cocks his head to the side. "Would you prefer Tengu? I'm just trying to go by your outfit."

"No, Prince is fine."

Prince, huh? It's something, at least.

The two of them poke their heads out of the alleyway.

They're behind some sort of casino, with brilliant lights flashing all over the place. Prince squints and looks up, just barely being able to make out a small window that looked shattered.

"I think we came from up there," he says. He goes back to where he woke up and picks up the glass, then points to the window.

Kitsune nods. "Makes sense. Shall we go inside then?"

Prince is hesitant to just walk in, but Kitsune has already strode ahead. As they round the front he notes a larger, stained glass, window that has also been shattered.

No sooner had they gotten in the front doors had guards spotted them and started running over.

Prince grabs Kitsune's arm and starts pulling. "We should go."

"Well maybe they're-"

"SEIZE THE INTRUDERS!"

"-nevermind."

The turn and run, Prince leading Kitsune by the hand, and sprint down the street. Prince doesn't take note of the strange sensation as they move further away from the casino, just slips into another alleyway where they catch their breath.

It’s only when he turns to chew Kitsune out for not being more cautious, that he realizes the outfit that earned that nickname is gone. Prince looks down and sees his own outfit has become a heavy coat over a school uniform. When he looks back, the lights of the casine, which should be visible given its size, are gone.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, but I do have a wallet now!” Kitsune says, flipping through it. Eventually he pulls out a small card. “My name is… Yusuke Kitagawa. Looks like I’m a second year at someplace called Kosei.”

Prince pulls out his own wallet. “And I’m Goro Akechi.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Akechi.”

“Likewise.”

Next, Goro pulls out a phone. It’s sleek and modern, but when he turns it on, he finds a passcode prompt staring back at him.

“I don’t remember how to unlock this,” he sighs.

“Want to start going through passcodes?”

Goro rolls his eyes. “It’d wipe everything after the fifth wrong guess, and I doubt we’re that lucky.”

“Phones can do that?”

“...Anyway, what about you?”

Yusuke goes back to his own phone. “Well, mine isn’t locked, but it’s almost out of battery.”

Goro goes closer and peers around Yusuke’s shoulder, aware of how near they are and how it makes something flutter in his chest.

“I’ve got the address for Kosei. My ID says I’m boarding there, so we might want to head there to at least spend the night.” Yusuke says.

“Search your messages for the words ‘my room’ or something to see if you invited anyone up there.”

Yusuke nods, and with a few quick taps finds it. “I’m in the west dorms on the third floor.” His hand moves to his side and he flips through a ring of keys until he finds one with a number stamped on it. “Right, I have the key, should we go there?”

Goro nods, and they make their way to the dorms. Once Yusuke gets them in, he makes a beeline for the closet tosses a red hoodie at Goro.

“You can sleep in that, it’s yours.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was in one of the texts. Apparently you left it hear when you stayed over one night.”

Goro stares at the hoodie, then back at Yusuke. “I stayed over?”

“Yes.” Yusuke plugs the phone into the wall and begins to clear art supplies from the floor. “You can have the futon, if you want.”

Goro obliges, then quickly finds himself drifting off to sleep.

~

Goro isn’t sure what’s making his heart beat faster-- the knowledge that he’s so close to fulfilling his mission, the adrenaline of running from the guards, or the sheer weight of Yusuke’s hand in his as they turn a corner.

Yusuke pulls them into a supply closet and Goro is very aware of how close they are.

Close enough to kiss if they wanted to.

“I think they’re gone.” Yusuke says, interrupting that thought.

“Right.”

Goro opens the door, and they step out.

“Good, let’s meet with the others and-”

Suddenly there’s a shout, then a bright light, and Yusuke is thrown into him and they’re launched backwards-

~

Goro gasps awake. That didn’t feel like a dream… a memory? Even now, Goro can feel the exact details of what he saw slip from his mind, not helped by an insistent buzzing.

Goro looks over and sees his phone, still locked, but with a push notification that says he’s missed a lot of calls. There are a couple of messages he can read too, from which he gleans there was something he was supposed to do last night, but didn't.

Goro sighs and turns his phone off. It was useless if they couldn't unlock it anyway, and really how important could it be if Goro had decided to label the caller "Bitch"?

Even after his phone is turned off, there's still an incessant buzzing. He realizes that it's from Yusuke's phone, which is charging on the other side of the room. Goro gets up and carefully steps around Yusuke’s still sleeping form, and picks it up.

Goro opens the phone to find a truly ridiculous number of new message filling up the notification screen. Rather than the new messages, however, Goro’s attention is drawn to the conversation marked with his name.

He reads through the backlog.

Hey, want to grab lunch some time?

Thank you for taking me to the museum, I really enjoyed it.

Sorry I had to leave early this morning, work. I think I took your shirt by accident though.

That sort of stuff comes up again and again.

“Oh, you saw those.”

Goro jumps and nearly drops the phone at the sound of Yusuke’s voice.

“M-morning. Did you sleep well?” Goro asks.

“Fine. About those texts-”

Goro hands the phone back to Yusuke. “I had a dream,” he admits. “The two of us were together. I can’t exactly remember the details but between that and the texts I’m starting to think-”

“We may have been a couple?” Yusuke finishes. “I was thinking the same thing. There’s a sketchbook here, actually.” Yusuke picks the book in question and flips through the pages filled with sketches of Goro.

“Ah.”

There's an awkward silence where the two just stare at each other. Goro seizes the other boy up. Now that things are a bit calmer and he has a chance to really look at him, Goro can feel a pang in his chest when he looks at Yusuke.

It's Yusuke who eventually breaks the silence. "All that's in the fridge is some takeout curry, if you're hungry."

"Takeout?" Goro goes to the fridge to find it indeed barren, save for a container with a receipt attached to it.

He grins as he shows it off to Yusuke. "Looks like you bought takeout from this Leblanc place yesterday. If we want to figure out who we are and what we were doing, we should start there."

Yusuke smiles at him, and Goro feels like someone has sucked all the air out of his chest.

Was this how it felt the first time?

Goro coughs to give himself time to compose himself and offers a hand to Yusuke.

"Shall we get going then?"

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Watford Cove

Chapter 5: not so typical love song

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 5365

Chapter: 5/13 [All chapters]

Summary: Baz goes to Simon's house to work on the project.

Read on AO3

AN: So as some of you may know/remember, I work at an amusement park. I was supposed to work today but it's literally raining all day so the park is most certainly closed. Which means I can post early! Hooray! This is personally one of my favourite chapters. I enjoyed writing it quite a bit, though I had trouble writing Baz's emotions. The boy is a weird self destructive mess and it's difficult getting that across lol. Finally, we learn a bit more about Simon. Plus some fluff, of course. Hope you all like it!

Tagging: @wayward-son-61​ @lunar-lover394​

———————————————-

“Where are you going?”

I lazily turn towards Mordelia. She’s standing next to me with her arms behind her back, rocking on her heels. The picture of an adorable, unassuming child. You can hardly tell she's a brat.

“Out,” I reply.

“Mum says you go out too much.”

I do feel a bit bad about that. Daphne does legitimately care about my well being. “Well, you can tell her I’m not going out drinking. She can stop worrying.”

“Drinking what?”

I sigh. Right, she is still seven years old. “Nevermind. I’m just going to do schoolwork at someone’s house. I might be home for supper or not, I don’t know.”

“Okay. When can I ride on your motorbike?”

I smirk and buckle up my helmet. “Let's wait until you can reach the pedals. Then we’ll talk.”

Mordelia pouts pathetically. I ruffle her hair, which only makes her pout become an impressive scowl. I flip down my visor with flare and rev my engine. I give Mordelia a salute before driving off down the country road.

Simon’s house isn’t that far from mine, actually. Maybe a twenty minute ride, the way I break the speeding laws. I zip down the hill at ludicrous speeds, and keep that pace up across the country roads until they become moderately paved. Soon I’m on the sparse outskirts of Watford Cove, not the bloody fucking wilderness like mine. A much nicer place to live in my opinion.

Only a few minutes in, I arrive at the address Simon texted me. The house is actually quite posh. It’s not the terrible extravagance of the Pitch mansion of course, but it’s nice. Red brick, white shutters, some fancy curtains. There's a silver mailbox at the end of the drive with "Salisbury" painted on it in annoyingly bright green letters. The handwriting looks childish, as in a child probably wrote it. The initials "LS" are under the words like an artist's signature. Hm, interesting.

I park my bike in the driveway then make my way to the oak door. The doorbell chimes deep and loud. There’s some steps and soon it swings open. Oh. This is...not Simon. Because Simon is not an older greying-blonde woman.

This woman reminds me of portraits my own grandmother. She was also tall, straight backed, and respectful looking. But my grandmother never showed an ounce of happiness. This woman has a very kind smile on her face though, her wrinkles more from the expression rather than age.

“Hello,” she says kindly. “May I help you?”

“Um, I’m here to see Simon.”

Both her blue eyes and smile widen. “Oh right, Simon said you were coming. Simon! Your friend is here!”

There’s a crashing sound, like someone falling on the ground. Rapid steps come down the stairs until a beaming Simon jumps to the bottom.

“Hi Baz,” he says breathlessly. “Glad you found it.”

“I have Google Maps, Salisbury,” I deadpan, but with a smirk.

“Oh yeah, right, let’s go.” He motions for me to follow him inside. I nod to the woman. She looks up towards the stairs, hands on her hips.

“Simon,” she says with mock accusation, “are you not going to introduce me to your friend?”

Simon freezes halfway up the steps and whips his head around. “Oh right! Sorry, Gran. Um, Gran, this is Baz. Baz, this is my grandmother, Ruth Salisbury.”

I reach out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Salisbury.”

Her brows rise up in surprise. I suppose she didn’t expect politeness from a guy wearing a black Ramones shirt, leather jacket, and ear piercings. But she still takes my hand. “Pleasure to meet you as well, Baz. You two have fun.”

Simon scoffs. “It’s school, Gran. We’re not supposed to have fun.”

“School can be fun if you try, darling. Maths has made me very good at cards.”

“And you fleece Mrs. Jones every week at your games, I know. We gotta go.”

“Yes yes, go do your schoolwork. Don’t break anything.”

Simon and Ms. Salisbury smile good naturedly at each other as we go upstairs. He runs at a breakneck pace, nearly tripping over the green carpet. I follow more slowly, looking over the walls. Unlike my house, there are many personalised things. Landscape art, funny knick knacks, and some pictures. There’s one of Ms. Salisbury with an older man, who I assume to be her husband. Next to that, there’s the couple again but in their younger years. A boy and girl stand in the foreground, both as blonde as Ms. Salisbury. The last one at the top of the stairs is obviously the two kids as teenagers, grinning with arms around each other. The woman looks weirdly familiar. Her freckles, they remind me of...stars.

“Baz, c’mon!” Simon yells.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming. You’re quite bossy today, darling,” I say teasingly. I hear his gasp, then fall into a coughing fit.

“I-I just want to start working.” His voice is still a bit hoarse.

“Alright.”

I saunter down to the hall Simon went down. I step into his room, and...well, I’m not sure what else I expected. The bed and desk look old, but everything else is new. The floral blanket, the multicoloured rug, the IKEA shelf filled with comics, all quite fresh. The walls are bright blue and covered in posters. Troye Sivan, Lana del Ray, Hayley Kiyoko, and assorted pastel coloured art. Equally pastel clothes are spread out across the floor. The whole room is so...bright. It sort of hurts my eyes. I’d prefer everything a bit darker. I guess I like Simon’s colour palette in small doses, just not all in one room.

I look up. Simon’s at his desk. I finally notice that he’s wearing a new shirt. It’s like the sunflower one, but pink and with bright red rosebuds instead. It works with the copper undertones of his hair. He looks perfect in it.

“Pretty,” I whisper.

“What?” Simon asks sweetly.

Fuck, I hope my face isn’t as red as his shirt right now. “Um, nothing.”

He looks confused for only a moment then shrugs. “Okay. I woke up late and forgot breakfast, so I'm starving. Want some of this? For brain food and stuff.” He holds up a mint aero bar. My smile is instantaneous.

“Sure. Mint aeros are my favourite.”

He grins to his ears. “Mine too!

I sit in the chair next to him. He breaks off a large piece for me. We eat the chocolate at the same time, but Simon gets some around his mouth. (Of course he's a messy eater.) I want to slowly lick it off his cheek then kiss him so hard we run out of breath. I quickly look away to resist temptation. “So, you got the project up?”

“Oh yeah!” He turns back to his laptop. I see that the desk is covered in scribbly note paper, candy wrappers, and nail polish bottles. He’s got almost every colour in his preferred pastel shade. He’s actually wearing the pink one right now. It matches his shirt. I have to keep myself from making an out loud comment again.

“So I’ve started making the powerpoint,” Simon says, bringing up the application. “And I think we should start with Watership Down. The actual place. Cause it’s like, the most important setting right?”

I bite my tongue, because I...disagree. Strongly. Watership Down should be in the middle, because it is the end of their first journey and the beginning of the next. It’s important to illustrate that, I think. But he doesn’t know I would think that.

“Sure, cool,” I mutter.

“O-Okay. Then, uh, for characters, we should start with General Woundwort.”

Wrong, very wrong. He’s important, sure, but others should be discussed first. Maybe Hazel, Bigwig, or Fiver. Fuck, Bluebell should come before Woundwort.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I hope there isn’t a strain in my voice.

“Awesome! And I thought for analysis, we could talk about the archetypes and shit.”

No! Archetypes are Jungian! We’re supposed to do Freudian! Oh, fuck it.

“Give me that,” I hiss, snatching the laptop away. Simon blinks at me confused. I type furiously, barely thinking really, just spouting out the knowledge I have onto the slides. Some of the stuff is very smart but not well put, so I redo the wording. Not good with words, just like Simon said. I don’t know how long it takes, but when I’m done, I put the laptop back on the desk with my arms crossed.

“There,” I say curtly.

Simon looks through it, jaw falling open wider and wider with every slide. I shift away. Christ, this is embarrassing.

“Holy shit,” Simon whispers. I wait for him to start laughing, or yelling because I change his work. But he just turns to me with big awe filled eyes. “You’re...really smart.”

My cheeks must be as red as tomatoes now. I scoff and look at the Hayley Kiyoko poster. “Yeah, whatever.”

“No, no, I mean it, Baz. This is bloody brilliant! You’re super smart!” His brow furrows. “Why do you never show up to class? You could be getting As in like, everything.”

I press my lips together, digging my nails into my bicep. “I don’t care about school or grades. That’s all.”

“Really? You just, don’t care?”

“No, I don’t.”

Simon sighs, and I hate how close to pity it sounds. I don’t need his pity or anyone else’s. I made my choice a long time ago, and I don’t regret it. Well, I mostly don’t regret it. Certainly don’t regret because of where I’m going when term is done. Not at all...

“So, uh,” Simon says rapidly, obviously trying to break the forming tension, “I'm also mostly done the drawings. I’ll scan them later and put them in the presentation if you like them.”

He pulls out a sketchbook from his desk and flips through the pages. He shoves it in my face once he’s found the right one, making me jolt back in my chair. I snatch it from him.

“Christ, Salisbury, let me actually look,” I chuckle.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.”

I look at the picture, and it’s my turn to be awestruck. It’s...amazing. Rough, raw, a bit messy, but amazing. He’s captured Watership Down in just pencil. Sure, it’s just a hill, but Simon has drawn it from the perspective of the rabbits, so it looks looming and majestic. There are little shapes at the top, and I realise it’s a few of the rabbits looking out into the distance. A cute and perfect addition.

“Wow, this is incredible,” I say with absolute reverence.

Simon blinks at me. He seems genuinely surprised. “R-Really?”

“Yes. You’re very talented, Simon.”

“Oh, uh, well, thanks. I’m...really glad you think so.” He fiddles with his fingers nervously. “There’s a-a couple more if you want to see them. Three pages after.”

I flip through a few more pages. There are a lot of rough, abstract sketches. They look more like feelings than specific things. Waves of smoke, angry scribbles of pencil, over and over. He must do that a lot. Eventually, I land on what I think I'm supposed to see. It's obviously Fiver, based on the photo he showed me. But it's not an exact replica. It's a gorgeous interpretation. He's emphasized Fiver's large, sad, all knowing eyes. You can almost see everything terrifying and wonderful happening in them. To say I’m impressed doesn’t really cover it.

I go to the next page, and I immediately recognise it as a scene from the animated movie. When El Ahrairah, the first rabbit, was given physical gifts to survive predators from their fictitious god Frith. This one is in colour, and somehow even more stylised than the movie. El Ahrairah himself is a deep rich brown with grey loops, the sun is swirl of orange and yellow, and the sky is ripples of vibrant blue. The same colour as his eyes.

“These,” I say, “are perfect, Simon.”

Simon chuckles nervously, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m glad you think so. Think Miss Possibelf will approve?”

“If she doesn’t, she’s completely incompetent. And I don’t think that’s true.” I absentmindedly turn to the next page. It’s the start of another unfinished drawing. It’s of someone’s face. Someone with sharp cheekbones and dark wavy hair. Wait, is that-

Simon snatches the book and quickly flips it closed. He hides half his scarlet face behind the leather cover for a long moment, until he nervously coughs and lowers it. “Okay, good,” he stutters. “Glad you think so. I, uh, guess we’re done now. Man, we really could just do most of this over text.” Mother of God, must he keep doing that hair tuck? It’s torture.

“I suppose that's true," I chuckle.

"Wanna hang out?" He asks very quickly, gripping his sketchbook with ghost white knuckles.

I shouldn't. Fuck, I really shouldn't. I should go home, avoid him, keep my toxic self far away from Simon. But fucking hell, I'm weak for this boy, and just weak in general.

"Sure." My voice stays impressively neutral. "Any ideas?"

Simon twists his lips, looking around the brightly coloured room. His eyes drift down to my hands and he smiles mischievously. “I could redo your nails.”

I look down at my hands. Well, my nails are definitely chipped. I forgot to repaint them a few days ago. I look back at him with a raised brow. “I doubt you have a bottle of my ‘Chanel Le Vernis in Gris Obscur’, Salisbury.”

“Nah, definitely no Chanel. But I got some pretty good stuff from the drugstore.” He lifts up some obviously cheap but pretty nail varnish bottles. They’re all his pastels colours though.

“Not really my style.”

He shrugs. “Maybe you’d like to try something new?”

I bite the corner of my mouth. The colours hurt my eyes a bit. But he looks so adorable with that hopeful grin and glint in his eyes. I sigh, and put my left hand out. “Very well. I want your darkest shade though.”

Simon literally bounces with excitement. “Awesome! So, uh, how about...” He messes around with the bottles, almost dropping a few. Eventually he settles on a pale blue. “This one, and,” he holds up a unused looking dark grey, “this one? We can alternate.”

“Hm, sure. That grey doesn’t really match your style, though.”

He shrugs. “Eh, came with the set. Glad it did. It, uh, matches your eyes.” He looks pointedly at the desk instead of my face. That’s good though. I don’t want him to see the blush that’s spread across my cheeks. “Now gimme your right hand.”

I do as he says, placing it on the desk. He puts down some paper towel then pick up his nail polish remover and cotton balls. I have the exact same supplies at home. He reaches towards my hand, but quickly hesitates. He’s shaking actually. I can’t blame him. Every time we’ve touched, it’s been accidental or very quickly. This is different. This isn't a shoulder pat or playful shove. This is long and sustained and purposeful. And I may not be showing it, but I’m just as nervous.

“I can take it off myself,” I say quickly, reaching for the bottle. But Simon pulls it away.

“No no, I’m good. Just sit there and look...badass, alright?”

My lip twitches up. He’s so sweet. I leave my hand where it is. “Very well.”

Slowly, shakily, he slips his finger under mine. His skin is callused but still much smoother than my rough palms. It feels weird, but very nice. Almost electric. He dabs the cotton ball on the nail, rubbing off all my high end black nail polish. Huh, they look odd. it’s been awhile since my nails have been clean. After wiping them dry, he starts on with the blue. It’s a nice colour. Not something I would pick, but I can see the appeal. Simon drags the brush against my nail slowly but surely, making sure the coat is even.

“Hm,” I say, “you’re good at this.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “Self taught. A lot of trial and error, y’know? Took me ages to figure out how to do my right hand.”

“I learned from YouTube videos. Those makeup gurus know their shit.”

“Huh, smart. Oh, y’know what.” He stops painting and spins in his chair. Even with his back to me, I now he’s fiddling with his phone. Suddenly, the honeyed voice of Lana Del Rey is resonating through the room. He spins back with a grin.

“Your weird music is necessary?” I raise an eyebrow for sarcastic emphasis. Simon chuckles.

“Yeah, helps me concentrate. And it’s part of my continuing effort to convert you to good music.”

“Oh, is that your grand mission?”

“Yup! Slowly pull you away from all those screamy boys with bad haircuts and towards the beauty of Troye and Lana.”

I scoff. “You keep trying that, darling.”

He gives me a shy but sort of playful look from under his long eyelashes. “I certainly will...darling.”

Oh shit. I hope my complexion hides my blush enough. I smile back and try to look calm, hiding the storm in my chest.

We switch between chatting and companionable silence. Though Simon is never truly quiet. He hums along with the song, or makes noises of contemplation and frustration while trying to get my nails right. His hands slowly get less shaky, which helps. When we’re not talking, I take the opportunity to just watch his expression. How he sticks his tongue out in concentration, and his brow pulls together, and his face adorable pinches together when he gets something wrong. He always tries his best to fix it though, even with his clumsy fingers. It’s really sweet. Just like him.

I'm so unbelievably fucked.

“And...there!” He pulls back with a flourish. “Topcoat and everything. What do you think?”

I examine my hands. Huh, the blue is actually nice on me. And he’s right, the grey matches my eyes. It’s very well done. Maybe black isn’t the only colour I should use. I look up. Simon is staring at me wide eyed, chewing on his lip, leg jittering.

“It’s wonderful,” I say. “You did a marvelous job, Salisbury. Maybe you have a future as a nail artist.”

His nervous expression breaks, thankfully. I’ve found I prefer his grin to his genuine agitation. Blushing smile? Adorable. Wide eyed leg jittering? Not so much. “T-Thanks. Maybe...you could do mine sometime?”

Our eyes meet, and there’s no deception there. He’s always so genuine. It’s amazing. “Sure," I say before thinking. "If you can learn to like black.”

She shrugs. “Well, if you can learn to like blue, I guess I can try black.”

He grins, and I grin back. There’s a stretch of silence. It builds between us, making the air thicker and thicker. I’m torn between what I want to say and what I should. That I want more from this, more than just winks and smiles and “darlings”. But I know it can’t work. Simon should know that. I should tell him, all of it. But...he'll hate me. For not telling him about Switzerland, for using him like a plaything, for being an utterly stupid reckless prick. Can I handle him truly hating me?

“Simon, love! It’s nearly supper! Are you and Baz done your work?” Ms. Salisbury’s voice carries quite well. It jolts me from my depressive pit. Simon sighs and leans out towards the door.

“Yeah! Be down in a minute, Gran.” He looks at me, and I swear I see genuine sadness. “Looks like it’s time to say goodbye.”

I try to hide my own disappointment. “Yeah, looks like it.”

He bounces out of his chair, then offers his hand. I inhale sharply. Did not expect that. But after only a second of hesitation, I take it. He pulls me to my feet with ease. I’m still disturbed by how much his strength excites me.

“C’mon, let’s get you back on your motorbike, Pitch.”

“Should get you on it one day,” I say under my breath.

“What?”

I straighten up, hands in my jacket pockets. “Nothing, Salisbury.”

We walk down the stairs quickly. Well, Simon more jumps down them. He’s a never ending ball of energy. Ms. Salisbury is at the bottom.

“How was the work, you two?” she asks sweetly.

“Wonderful!” Simon chirps. “Talked about bunnies and stuff, and Baz let me do his nails.”

My brow shoots up to my hairline. I can’t believe he’s so open about this. If I told my father or Daphne the same, they would not say anything at best and lecture me at worst. But Ms. Salisbury looks positively elated by Simon’s words. “Oh, marvellous. Finally you can practice on someone other than me, love.”

Simon rolls his eye. “Yeah, like you don’t like it.”

“Of course. But it’s good you have another guinea pig. May I see your work?”

Simon looks at me in silent question. I shrug in response, then hold out my hand for his grandmother. She flips the glasses down from her head. “Amazing job, Simon. You’ve gotten so much better. And it looks great on you, Baz.”

“Thank you, Ms. Salisbury.”

She pulls away, waving dismissively. “Please, call me Ruth. Now, Baz, will you be staying for dinner?”

“Uh.” I turn to Simon. “Am I staying for dinner, Simon?”

Simon’s face turns red. “Oh, sure, if you want.”

I shrug. “I’m certainly in no rush to get home, and if it’s no trouble.”

“Oh it’s none at all,” Ms. Salis- Ruth says, waving her hand dismissively.

“Then I guess I’ll stay for supper.”

Ruth claps her hand once loudly. “Wonderful! Let me put out another setting.”

She saunters off to the kitchen. I decide to actually take off my jacket and boots and stay awhile. Simon leans in close to my ear, making my pulse spike.

“Hope you like roast beef,” he whispers. “It’s the only thing Gran knows how to cook well. Grandpa was a chef, and she’s been on her own since he died, so she’s never had to cook anything else. But she’s been learning more since I’ve got here.”

I shrug like he does. “I think I’ll live.”

“Good to hear.”

Simon leads me to the small dining room table. When I go to the left side, Simon grabs my hand and drags me to the right. I jolt slightly. Wow, that’s bold for him. Not that I’m complaining. I sit next to him as Ruth brings out a platter of delicious smelling meat and mash potatoes. Simon immediately shovels the food on his plate, licking his lips like a starving animal. I on the other hand take only a few slices delicately just like my mother taught me. But Ruth gives me an odd look.

“Are you not hungry, Baz?” she asks.

“Um, no, I am,” I reply slowly.

“Then please, take as much as you like. I always make a lot because of Simon’s endless appetite.”

Simon rolls his eyes, speaking with a mouth full of roast beef. “I’m a growing boy!”

“Growing monster more like it,” Ruth chuckles.

Huh, okay. I decide to be polite and take some more. Dinner proper starts, and it's...weird. My family is never this talkative at supper. We’re mostly silent and sullen. But the Salisburies are the exact opposite. Ruth and Simon chat, though Simon has trouble responding through all the the food in his mouth. (The boy has zero manners. It’s adorable.)

“So, Baz,” Ruth asks, facing me, “how’s school for you? I’ve only ever heard about it from Simon and Miss Penelope.”

No one’s ever asked my opinion of school either. I shrug. “It’s alright. Not my favourite place to be, of course. I think English is my favourite subject.” I tap Simon’s foot under the table. His breath hitches slightly, and he flashes me only a small smile. But it’s enough.

“Glad to hear so. Simon loves English too. He’s always eager to get to first period for Miss Possibelf’s class every morning.”

I flick my eyes over to Simon. His cheeks are flushed as he bites into his roast beef.

“Hm, glad to hear I’m not the only one who loves literature.” I let my voice drawl a bit, hopefully enough for Simon to notice but not Ruth. He doesn’t look up from his food, but I feel his toe tap my foot. And once again, it’s enough. Everything Simon does seems to be enough for me.

“I’m just glad Simon’s adjusting to Watford,” Ruth sighs. “It’s not easy moving schools most of the way through the year.”

Simon sighs in return. They sound almost exactly alike. Though Simon is more exasperated. “I told you, Gran, I’m fine. My grades are much better than last term.”

“There’s a good reason for that.” Ruth aggressively stabs her beef, and Simon looks sad as he nods slightly. This is the only crack in Ruth's kind demeanour I’ve seen all day. It’s strange, and the curious brainiac in me wants to know more. But the sensible part knows to just keep eating my food.

“Hey,” Simon chirps, “did I tell you about the kid who gave himself a wedgie in gum class yet?”

Ruth’s playful smile immediately returns. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

“Oh man, it was hilarious! Baz you’ll love this too.”

I lean my cheek into my palm. “I’m sure I will.”

Simon launches into the rambling anecdote, using mostly weird noises and illustrative hand gestures instead of words. Ruth and I both laugh along genuinely. This is the first time I’ve enjoyed a family meal in ages. It may be unusual, but it’s certainly not unenjoyable.

Soon enough, dinner is over, and Ruth brings out dessert. They’re sour cherry scones from Pritchard Bakery. Simon takes three immediately and starts slathering butter all over them.

“You like scones?” I ask mockingly.

Simon nods, scone crumbs all around his mouth. “Uh-huh. Gran got me some my first day here. They’re absolutely incredible.”

“My cousin owns the bakery, you know.”

His eyes go impossibly wide. “Really?! Could you get me some free samples?”

I shrug, a playful smile on my face. “Maybe.”

“Simon, you eat enough, you don’t need any more,” Ruth kindly berates. Simon frowns.

“There’s never enough scones, Gran.”

Ruth and I exchange an understanding look. Maybe I will bring him to see Cousin Pritchard before I go though. Something to make him happy before I’m gone.

Soon enough, Simon’s eaten all the scones, the dishes are done, and it’s my time to go. I’m a gentleman, I know when to take my leave. Simon and Ruth walk me out of the house.

“It was lovely having you, Baz,” Ruth says. And I have to admit, I’m a bit taken aback. Most parents and/or guardians aren’t this friendly to me. Dev and Niall’s parents barely acknowledge my existence nowadays, and they’ve known me since I was a baby. It’s a warm feeling I never thought I’d miss.

“Thank you for having me, Ruth,” I reply, smiling graciously.

“Anytime. Simon, feel free to invite him over again.”

Simon smiles sweetly at me, cheeks unabashedly scarlet. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we should meet up before the presentation on Wednesday?”

I nod, hoping my cheeks aren’t as bright. “I think I’d like that.”

Because I would. I regretfully very much would.

“Awesome! See you later!”

My lip twitches up without thinking. “See you.”

I get my helmet on. I don’t rev my engine as loud as usual to be respectful. Simon waves with his entire arm, while Ruth’s looks more like the queen. I salute in return. (That seems to be my thing now. I’ve embraced it.)

As I drive back towards my home, my mind stays with the Salisburies. With nail polish, roast beef, and a sense of peaceful happiness that lingers in me long after the house is in the distance.

I get to the Pitch hill and just sit there, looking up at the looming little bastard. I know what I’m supposed to do. Go back to all the misery there. But fuck that. I turn to the left, not back towards Simon’s, but at least somewhere my father isn’t. Somewhere I can keep this feeling for a little longer. And maybe get really pissed.

———————————————-

“Basilton! Where have you been?!”

If I didn’t already have a migraine, I’d assume my father’s voice had just given me one. Going on a two day bender will do that to you. I stop walking but don’t turn around. Honestly, I look like a wreck right now, and I don’t want him to see it.

“Away,” I say curtly.

“Away where?! We haven’t seen you in days! No calls, no mail. We’ve been worried sick!”

I groan and turn on my heels finally. To my utter surprise, he looks genuinely concerned. His eyes are wide and his hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it. Huh. Actually worried about where I’ve been. That’s a first.

“Well, I’m home now,” I sigh. “Happy?”

“Certainly not.” He puts his hands on his hips like a pissed off school teacher. “I’ve been getting calls from your school. You’ve missed almost all of your classes, including tests and projects. I thought we had an agreement.”

I whip around, scowling with as much menace as I can muster with a hangover. “No, you gave me an ultimatum. And I refuse to be threatened into doing what you want, Father dearest.”

I start stomping away again, but we Grimms refuse to not have the last word. “Are you sure you haven’t just been...distracted, Basilton?”

I stop halfway up the stairs. The tone of his voice could imply many things, but I have a sinking feeling I know what he means. I chuckle, shaking my head. “Daphne told you about Tuesday, I suppose.”

“That you brought a boy over to our house without our knowledge? Yes. And I find it a bit disrespectful that-”

“That I what?!” I yell, probably louder than I should, considering it’s late at night and I have four younger siblings. “Dare to be gay?! Sorry it’s harder to ignore my sexuality when I’m actually acting on it.”

My father takes a deep breath, something he always does when he’s trying to keep his slipping composure. “Basilton, that is not what I meant.”

“Oh really? So you’re actually okay with me bringing guys around? Maybe I’ll start having big gay nightclub parties in the receiving room.”

I can see my father losing his cool. Bit by bit, his perfect British man composure is slipping. It’s the effect I certainly have these days. “That would not be appropriate, Basil. And I merely meant that maybe this ‘Simon’ is distracting you from your studies and causing your poor grades.”

For a second, I don’t know whether to laugh or be furious. Fire bubbles in my gut, my fingers curling on the bannister. Yup, let’s go with righteous fury. I stomp down the stairs and push my face into his.

“No,” I growl, “Simon is not at fault. You are. You are the catalyst for all the things I’m doing now, Your bullheadedness, your pride, your prejudi-”

“Oh for God’s sake, Basil!” He roars. “For once in your life take some goddamn responsibility for your own actions!”

I step back a bit. I haven’t seen him this outwardly angry in a year, but he’s practically seething. If he was the kind of man to throw a punch, he would have just clocked me. But instead he just stares me down in an attempt to intimidate. That won’t work.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, turning on my heels and stomping towards the door.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me.

“Out!” I turn to glare at him. “And I’ll be back when I feel like it!”

I make sure to slam the door very loudly, hoping my message is clear. I know exactly where I want to go. And who I want to see.

———————————————- 

AN: Is Baz being a total brat here? Yes. Is his bratiness sorta justified? Also yes. Things are complicated. And finally we meet Ruth! I loved reading everyone's comments speculating about Simon's home life cause this was planned from the start lol. But why is Simon living with Ruth? Well, that will be explained shortly. Tune in next time for answers :)

Chapter title is from "Alfie's Song" by Bleachers.

[rkmg]

maybe the world could be ours, tonight.

Unsurprisingly, Won has had this day both planned and absolutely not planned at all from an early date. He had known for months that he wanted to have more of a hand in the baking of a cake for his boyfriend, known for almost as long that he wanted to make Mingyu’s last teenage birthday special ( and every birthday after, but he digresses ). He hadn’t known exactly what to get him, however, and when he looks at his finances and thinks about what he had this time last year, he thinks he’s rich for a few minutes before he comes crashing back down to reality. Still, it’s more than he’s ever had and he can take Mingyu’s nagging for spending it all on him with ease, he’s sure of it. 

His card is easy, in theory. It makes him a little nervous at first, to stray so far from tradition, but a wise man once told him to live a little crazy, and besides, lately, he’d wondered if toning down the High School Musical jokes would be even wiser. However, that isn’t something he’s going to bring up today ( or ever ) — Today is the best day of the year, and he’s determined to make it a happy one. 

Baking alone is a disaster waiting to happen, so he enlists the help of Sujin, hides it in the fridge late the night before and hopes Mingyu doesn’t crave any midnight snacks in the mean time. The rest of his gifts he hides in Sujin and Hyunwoo’s room as he had at Christmas, wrapped perfectly and waiting to be handed to its rightful owner. 

“Happy birthday, handsome.” A soft smile accompanies a gentle kiss and a familiar shaped envelope. Printing so many pictures of Zac Efron’s Phillip Carlyle at the library had been a little nerve-wracking, but he hopes ( knows ) the older’s reaction will make it all worthwhile. Inside, he writes, ‘you know I want you, it’s not a secret I try to hide,’ with a bright red heart to accompany a clearly printed ‘I love you’. 

Having bought him a sketchbook only three months ago for Christmas, Won thinks it only fair that his boyfriend’s other creative outlet gets a little love. An A5 notebook sits inside a gift bag, pages lined and waiting to be filled with raps ( and declarations of love, Won wants to tease, but bites his tongue ). 

It appears as if that’s all he had gotten him, and maybe once upon a time, it would have been. Back when Won hadn’t developed the talent of budgeting yet, or gotten his current paying job, maybe he’d have, with a heavy heart, gifted him only a notebook and a homemade cake waiting for them to share later with the rest of the family. But Won disappears with a mischievous smile after Mingyu’s finished, pressing the shortest of kisses to his lips before he runs away. 

It’s hard to hide ( or disguise ) the gift behind his back as he reenters. He’s wrapped it, but he’s sure anyone could guess what it is through its distinct shape. “I… You mentioned wanting to learn once or twice. I know it’s… secondhand and all, but I figure that it’s a nice place to start, right? Then, if you decide you like it, you can get a better one.” The strings on Mingyu’s new guitar ring in the silence as it’s handed over and revealed. 

Timidly, he adds, “I hope you like it,” in a quiet tone, a familiar pink tint to his cheeks. “I love you so much. Happy birthday, baby.”

This birthday had him more excited than any other in the recent past. Why? Because he actually had a boyfriend for the first one ever... and his boyfriend was the love of his life. How could he not be unbelievably happy about that? Along with his cute birthday wishes and birthday hugs, birthday kisses were now on the table. Since the moment he woke up, he’s been excited and happy. It wasn’t something that he could possibly hide as he’d speak his words a little too fast which would jumble together while a huge smile never failed to leave his face. He was nineteen now, feeling a weird sense of freedom that he’s never experienced before, though he wondered if it was just because of the events of the previous year.

Just hearing the younger boy refer to him as ‘handsome’ has his face tinting pink and his teeth making an appearance. His grin is so wide that it pushes up his cheeks and crinkles his eyes at the corners. It was the best birthday greeting that he’s ever heard... his heart feels so fluttery and everything seems too good to be true. However, he’s brought back to reality when he realizes what he’s being handed. His smile dims just a little after the kiss ends and he opens up the envelope, taking notice of the multiple pictures of Zac Efron’s dumb face. “Oh, god... I love it, it’s perfect and unique. My boyfriend is a better artist than I am. I mean... it’s absolutely hideous, but it’s definitely a masterpiece, I’ll give you that.” The words on the inside, however, give him butterflies and it’s impossible for him not to show it. “I love you.” It’s very softly spoken, and he doesn’t expect to get much of a reaction from it, then he’s moving on to look at the next gift.

The notebook is extremely cute and the words on it make his heart soar. He thinks about spending hours filling its pages with poems and raps inspired by the love that he feels each and every day. He cherishes it, and while a lot of his journals are left half-written in, he plans to eventually have words messily scribbled on every page of this. “I really love this. I needed it, too. Thank you so much.” Before he can say much else, a short kiss is pressed to his lips and the younger is running off. He stands there patiently, assuming that he’d return to him as he watches the place he’d disappeared from.

Once he’s returned, it’s pretty much impossible for him to hide what else he’s gotten. Mingyu’s eyes light up in awe as he stands there silently, waiting for Won to finish speaking and properly present him with his gift. “Oh, wow, Won...” The sentence is whispered as he steps closer, not yet taking it from the younger but instead ghosting his fingers over the instrument. Soon, he does gently remove it from his boyfriend’s hands and he stares at it a few more moments before carefully placing it aside, then turning and wrapping his arms tightly around Won’s smaller frame. He simply hugs him for a while before pulling back some and kissing him deeper than he thinks he ever has before. By the time he’s done, he’s out of breath and practically panting as a bright smile forms. “Thank you... so, so much. It’s perfect, baby, all of it is. You make me so happy, I feel like I could cry. I love it. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I can’t wait to learn... there’s no better one... this is the best one. The best gift from the best boyfriend.”

And later, when he sees the cake that’s been baked for him, he thinks he’s never had a more wonderful one on any of his previous birthdays. From now on, he solely wants them to be baked by his boyfriend and mother, then he wants for them to always feed each other bites as they relax and share sweet kisses... he loves birthdays (especially now).

[you-can-call-me-verge]

Lonely

I want to get into writing and I have a lot of time on my hands. This is my first fic ever!

@what-even-is-thiss came up with the prompt “a fic about Creativity/Roman constructing imaginary friends for Thomas?”

No pairing. Idk where this fits in, it's just sort of a slice of life. I'm very new to this. No warnings. So yeah... idk how long this will be. Enjoy.

“Princey, stop fixing your hair, we have a problem.” 

Roman lurched in surprise. Tossing down his comb, he turned around to face the side that had just entered his room. “Of course Logan! Come on in! Doors open, no need to knock!” He said, annoyed at the sudden intrusion. 

“I’m serious.”

“Of course you are. What's wrong?” He glanced behind him, looking at his half-styled hair in the mirror. He tried to tousle it until it resembled something presentable, but decided it was a lost cause. 

“Ok, so Patton told Virgil to tell me that he told him that-” 

“Can you get on with it?”

Logan responded with a glare. “Thomas is... lonely.” 

The prince thought for a moment. He'd known something was off. He thought maybe it was just that Logan was working harder, Virgil was being angstier, and Patton was... fathering... more..? He wasn't sure what Patton was doing, but the sides hadn't seen each other nearly enough in the past week. He chalked it up to missing his friends, but this feeling of loneliness seemed to run deeper. 

“Well, what do you suggest I do about it? This sounds more like a job for Patton, no?” he asked.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, technically, yes. But I- uh- I had an idea, and I believe it will work out just as well, if not better, than having Patton deal with it.”

“And what is that?” 

“Well, um, I was thinking,” he hesitated before saying, “I was thinking, what if you created an imaginary friend, for Thomas?” 

“Imaginary friends? Isn't that a little juvenile?” He responded. 

“Yes, but it has to be worth a shot, unless... you don't want to?” 

“Of course I want to! I'd do anything to help someone in need, and Thomas is desperately in need!” Roman exclaimed heroically.

“Thank you so much. I don't mean to impose a deadline, but we are seeing Thomas tomorrow to film, so...”

“I'm on it.” 

It had been the early afternoon when Logan came to Roman. Now it was nearly 3 in the morning, but Roman was still awake, determined to save Thomas. 

He had been slaving away, pen in hand, with a 100 page sketchbook and computer opened to Word on the desk. He had what the friend looked like, but what about their personality? He took another sip of lukewarm coffee, yearning for his bed that was mere feet away. He dragged the computer closer to begin the summary. “They need to be a foil to Thomas, to bring out the best in him!” He shut his eyes hard and blinked a few times. He typed out a few lines.

 “A tragic, yet inspirational backstory for depth and compassion!” He gripped his head in his hands, pulling his hair, trying desperately to think of something that wasn't stereotypical. His thoughts were clouded by sleep. He slammed his fist on the desk as quietly as he could manage, silently cursing his high caffeine tolerance. Finally, he managed a mid-sized paragraph. 

“What else? Of course, flaws! For humanity, realism!” His eyes strained as he struggled to meet the 1 page minimum he had set for himself. Finally, he was finished. He poured the rest of his coffee into the potted plant next to his desk. “It’s basically water,” he told himself. He tore out his drawing while the summary printed, and stapled the two together. 

He barely remembers walking to his room, and collapsing instantly. 

He woke up to Thomas's voice. “Roman? Roman, we need your input on something! Can you come up here?” 

Still disheveled and sleepy, he made his entrance into Thomas’s living room. He saw that the other three were there already. 

“Wow, we must have interrupted some serious beauty rest.” Virgil said, smirking and eyeing the prince’s sagging figure. 

“Roman, you look stunning as always.” said Thomas. “Anyway, we were just talking about a recent issue I've been having. I've been, well, lonely. I just haven't had enough social interaction for the past month or so.” 

“Thank you, Thomas. But I'm afraid I'm not having my most princely day,” he sighed. “I was up all night-” he shot Virgil a look, “creating this.” He held up his work. “No thanks to our coffee machine, by the way. It's so weak it could barely keep a toddler awake, we must get a new one.” He handed the papers to Thomas. 

As Thomas looked them over, Virgil turned to Roman. “Oh yeah, that coffee maker is trash. You should've come to me, I can show you how to perfectly mix Red Bull, coffee, 5-Hour Energy, and a little bit of paprika. You'll be awake for sixteen hours minimum.”

“Jeez, why? That stuff will kill you!” Patton interjected. 

“I don't know, it's fun. I'm a creature of the night.” Virgil replied dismissively.

“Okay Wednesday Addams, firstly-” 

Roman was interrupted by Thomas. “What is this?” He asked, a smile on his face.

“Well, it's an imaginary friend. I figure we’re fun and all, but maybe you need to talk to somebody else once in a while. That's what they're there for.” Logan informed Thomas, sounding more confident than the previous afternoon. 

“Doesn't that sound pretty fun, kiddo?” Patton asked, hopeful and optimistic as ever.

“I’ll admit, it's not as dumb as I thought it would be,” said Virgil, his version of a compliment. 

“Yes, I came up with this character- a perfect, in depth foil to you, Thomas! I figured, as this is a gift to you, I would leave the naming to you.” 

“I think... Ash is a good name for them.” Thomas replied, clearly still taking in the information Roman typed up. 

Roman exclaimed, “Ash it is then! Do you like it?” 

“Yes, I love it.” 

[sketchedmechanism]

The Concept of Babysitting

Summary:  After Paige and Tony decide to go out for the night, they leave their daughter in the care of their old "Students". What will it be like for Red, Art, and Dennis to look after what is basically a monster toddler?

(Chapter One)

June woke up very early; or, at least, she thought it was early. The toddler lacked the inherent knowledge about time that her father had always possessed, so she had no way of knowing just what time of day it , considering the silence that hung in the air, it probably was safe to assume that it was very early in the morning.

After all, while her mother would tend to sleep in more often than not, it was a rare day indeed that her father was not awake exactly one hour after the sun had risen. And while he was usually fairly quiet as he performed his morning routine, there was always at least a bit of noise to indicate that someone was up and about.

There was a bit of light shining through the window and into her room, so she was almost certain that the sun was up, but she had no way of telling how much time had actually passed between the sun rising and her waking up. Which meant there was no way of knowing how long she would have to wait in her cot before someone came to let her out.

Then again...maybe she didn't have to wait at all.

It had been over three months since her first birthday - three months, two weeks, and five days to be exact; maybe she was old enough now to let herself out of the cot. There was only one way to find out for sure.

June grasped the bars of the cot tightly, using the grip to help steady herself as she got into a standing position. Once her feet were flat on the mattress, she took one hand off the bar and placed it upon the railing, taking hold of that instead. Her other hand followed shortly after. So far, everything was going according to plan. But, of course, she had yet to get to the difficult part of the operation - actually getting her legs, and by extension, the rest of her body, over the railing.

She hesitated for a moment, trying to be as quiet as she could, to see if she could hear any indication that her father (or even her mother, since there were times when they switched up who woke up first) was coming to let her out.

Hearing nothing, June decided to go back to her task.

Still holding tightly to the railing of the crib, she lifted her leg, attempting to move it up to and over the railing. Unfortunately, before she was able to get one leg up high enough, she lost her balance and tumbled back onto the mattress with a small thump.

So much for that plan. Oh, well, that just meant she had to go back to her first idea for getting out of the cot.

Still sitting on the mattress, she opened her mouth and let out a small "Meh" followed shortly after by the same noise, just slightly louder. She waited for a second and looked at the door, wondering if perhaps those noises had been enough to rouse and summon at least one of her parents. When the door showed no sign of opening, June simply began to scream, repeating the same sound over and over again, her voice becoming louder and more high-pitched with every utterance, until the sound coming from the toddler's mouth was comparable to the ringing of a very loud and very annoying alarm clock.

Despite the volume of her cries, within a few seconds, she was able to hear the sound of somebody moving around outside, even occasionally hearing that same person muttering somewhat irritably under their breath. Even though she knew now that somebody was coming to get her, June did not cease her crying until she actually heard her bedroom door swing open. As soon as she heard that sound, she instantly stopped crying.

"Daddy" she said cheerfully, reaching her arms up in a silent demand to be picked up and held. Tony sighed heavily, rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyes as he walked over to the cot. He picked up the young toddler and held her close.

"Now, June" he began, making sure that she was looking at him before continuing to speak, "could you really not have waited a few more moments for me to wake up on my own?"

June simply stared at him for a few seconds, sticking the tip of her finger into her mouth as she blinked her large, scarlet-colored eyes, seeming to consider what her father had just said. After a moment of thought, she simply smiled and shook her head, which caused Tony to sigh once again.

"You really are too much like your mother" he said, sounding slightly exasperated, though he was unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards ever so slightly.

The toddler simply smiled in response, resting her head against the man's shoulder as he carried her out of her bedroom.

"We really should go out tonight. It's been too long since we've had a chance to have some fun together…just the two of us" Paige said off-handedly to Tony as they sat in the kitchen of their flat. She didn't even look up at him as she spoke, focusing instead on the sketchbook she held her in hands, which currently held a half-finished drawing of…something on the front page.

Despite knowing she wasn't looking at him, the time-keeper immediately turned his attention to her when she spoke to him.

"The last time we had a night out together was just over two weeks ago" he pointed out to her, briefly looking away as he handed the bottle of grey liquid to the fussing toddler in the highchair, who instantly calmed and began to drink. "I think whether that's 'too long' can be debated, Paige."

Tony grabbed his mug of nearly-black coffee and took a seat next to the woman, taking a sip of the steaming liquid before adding to his statement.

"More importantly, if we were to decide to go out tonight, we would have to take the baby along with us, which would obviously be detrimental to whatever you seem to have planned. Unless you know of somebody who would be able to watch over her with no warning whatsoever?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the corners of her lips turn up in a grin; at that moment, he knew immediately what she was thinking before she even had the chance to open her mouth.

"I'm sure they'll be happy to watch her for a few hours. After all, it's not as if they really do all that much in their free time. It'll give them something to keep them from getting too bored." she said, keeping her attention on the drawing she was working on even as she spoke.

Tony was about to respond, but a sudden squeal interrupted him before he had the chance. The sound was enough to get both of their attentions, and they turned their heads to look at the source.

Apparently finished with her bottle for the time being, June had placed the half-filled bottle on the tray in front of her, and was now looking at her parents with an almost excited expression on her face; almost as though she understood exactly what – and more importantly, who – they were talking about. She let out another excited sound, practically beaming as she turned her head to look specifically at Tony, her expression changing from excited to hopeful.

"See?" Paige questioned, her own eyes glittering as though they were actually made of silver, "June wants to spend a little time with those three, too. And, really, do you want to disappoint her?"

Tony scowled a bit, already knowing that he was going to be unable to refuse. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend some "quality time" with his partner; he just didn't enjoy the rescheduling that always came along with her last-minute suggestions. He voiced his issues to her, receiving a shrug in response. "If changing your schedule really bothers you that much, then I can help you after we get back home," Paige promised, reaching over to run her fingers over his jaw in an affectionate gesture. Tony couldn't help but smile slightly at both the offer and the gesture, even though he knew Paige would be able to offer little assistance when it came to rearranging his schedule for the rest of the week.

"Well, I suppose I can't deny that it would be nice to go out for a few hours" he admitted. "However, perhaps it would be best if we take an hour or so to prepare, before we go."

Paige stood up then, smiling at his acceptance of her last-minute plans.

"Sounds like a plan" she said, leaning down slightly to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a dark lipstick mark that he was quick to wipe away with a tissue, to her slight chagrin.

However, as she knew that arguing would only risk the chance of him changing his mind about the two of them having a night out together, she decided not to say anything about it. Instead, she walked over to June and lifted the baby out of her highchair.

"Come on, sweetie," she said to the red-haired toddler as she picked her up. "Let's go and play while your daddy finishes getting ready."

Tony couldn't help but shoot her a glare at the implication that she wasn't going to be preparing as well, receiving an almost playful smirk and shrug for his trouble.

After the two girls had left the kitchen, Tony finished his mug of coffee before going off to complete both the preparations for that night and his new schedule for the rest of the week.

[atomic-r0x]

Nebraska Jones | An Introduction

It’s the same thing every day, five days a week, if you don’t count the times Nebraska finds herself riding the elevator up to the eleventh floor on a perfectly peaceful Saturday morning, wearing off a soaring headache from the last night’s too many drinks and heading straight to her desk with words phrasing and rephrasing in her mind. She can see the New Yorker red light sign from where she’s seated, she’s the only one facing it in the whole office, everybody else just fucking dreads being reminded about all the greater places where they might have ended up working.

Sure, Cosmopolitan is cool, and judging by the distance between her window and the red letters, it’s based where every other big magazine has its headquarters. The same road, and yet, once you climb down the stairs and step out into the streets, you can see how much closer to mediocrity their building is, compared to all those enterprises she used to dream of working with as a student. The fine line between high street and a crossroad that heads into the average no-big-deal neighbourhoods, not hip enough to be considered edgy, not bad enough to be looked down upon.

It’s Monday now and the streets are packed and Nebraska is inevitably running late, but according to her own timetable, which is religiously set ten minutes before everybody else’s clocks, although she keeps reminding herself she should just drop it, it’s New York City and nobody shows up on time on a morning like this. She pushes her way out of the subway station and she’s the only person among hundreds who looks like she woke up in 1974 that morning, with oversized round brown sunglasses shading her eyes from the blinding light of the May sun. She’s frowning, like she always does when walking, and she’s shotgun towards the Cosmo building, her backpack carrying quite possibly the most important article she’d ever written since her time spent in university.

They’re supposed to be meeting at half past nine but Emilia, the mastermind behind the Cosmo world, is late and the whole editorial staff knows all too well this means she’s just too busy fucking her ridiculously young lover, but then again, who are they to judge. Max makes it on time, but he’s the only one, and he’s confused and German and too polite to ever disregard the calendar notifications on his high-tech-not-iPhone phone. They attempt polite conversation but give up immediately because he’s the layout guy and she doesn’t want to break it to him first before everybody comes in. Everybody meaning Emilia and Thomas, the second most important person in the whole building.

This is huge and she’s been working on this article for so long, she’s attached to it like a mother to her first new-born. Three months of walking the streets of New York and using map apps more than she’d ever done her whole entire life and talking to people she’d grown fond of, or at least whom she started to understand while writing the actual piece. A total of twenty-four women, all artists, all marginalized for different reasons, all of them absolutely brilliant, leaving their mark on the city and changing it for the better with their boldness, with their life stories, with their powerful souls. It was so important for their voices to be hear and to be sent further into the world through the media, even if that meant a four-page article in Cosmopolitan magazine. Nebraska is finally proud, for the first time in forever.

When she storms in, Emilia’s hair is still slightly messy, but not the chic way, makeup chastely applied in the back seat of some VIP Uber. She is doing her best to look composed and in charge, but Nebraska can see the trail of women behind her holding back their judgemental smirks – they all know, just as well as she does, that sex reeks on her like bad, nose-numbing perfume. Closing the door behind her, Thomas doesn’t even look in Emilia’s direction.

“Good, I’m glad everybody managed to make it on time” Emilia starts, making herself look busy in the seat forever assigned to her, shifting through files on her brand new Macbook like she is trying to tame the amount of workload waiting on her. Her hair is greying, something that must be exasperating her, judging by how every three to four weeks she’d make a business appointment to re-dye her roots. The complexion is still spotless and fresh, although not as tight as it might have been ten or fifteen years ago. Emilia loves clothes that show off as much skin as it is ethically allowed, and for this reason alone, she has grown to be one of the most loyal customers of Mr. Bratt, whom Nebraska only knows of because she’d been asked a couple times to make the appointments for Emilia, who was presumably too busy to get it sorted herself. Mr. Bratt’s phone robot has this stupidly cheerful jingle that has absolutely nothing to do with the actual motto, something along the lines of “we’ll get you fixed like a Michelangelo”, but apparently, he’s the best plastic surgeon in town, and he’s back from a five-year experience in Korea, which sells better than anything else.

“Right, Nebraska, dear, I believe you sent me the article yesterday, didn’t you?” Emilia continues with her characteristic I-learnt-this-from-career-coaches voice. “Has everybody read it?” Thomas is the first to nod, and then Max follows up quickly, eyes moving up from his sketchbook. “Good, that’s very good” she says, and Nebraska could have bet ten thousand dollars she’d immediately excuse herself for not reading the article, like everybody else was supposed to. “Unfortunately, yesterday was an unexpectedly busy day for me, you all know I went to meet with a couple possible new partners and the mailbox simply exploded, so to say, while I was away” she speaks with faux-regret, making eye contact with each of her three spectators, before checking her laptop screen again. “But I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we looked at it right now, am I right?”

Nebraska nods to hide the dread in her eyes and shrugs a modest ‘sure’. It feels strange, but it’s finally an article she doesn’t want to hide away from while someone else read it. She’s confident about it, and Thomas even sent her a one-line reply early that morning that he liked it, and thought it was a good piece. Coming from Thomas, ‘good’ is good enough.

Judging by the way Emilia’s hand is working on the keyboard, she isn’t actually reading the article – she is merely going through it with a quick glance. Nonetheless, she clears her throat and looks up from the laptop, eyes going to Thomas first, then to Nebraska. “I must confess it’s…” she stops as if looking for the right word, and Nebraska allows herself for a tiny moment to believe Emilia was deeply touched by it. “I must tell you I am a little bit surprised. Mind you, when I got the email, the urgency with which you spoke about this piece… I suppose I was expecting for something” she sighs, looks at Thomas, and then finds Nebraska’s gaze and holds it. “I was waiting to read something that would blow my mind completely.”

The New Yorker building is exploding in the distance, the thud so loud it manages to cover the violent beating of Nebraska’s heart. She must have gone completely white, because Max is looking at her with a somewhat worried but reserved look, and Thomas doesn’t look at her at all, writing down something on his agenda, the paper squeaking underneath the pressure of his pen. “Okay…” she manages to say, after taking a masked deep breath, and rests her right hand on the table, mimicking relaxation, just because her left hand is clawing at her knee. “What do you think it lacks? Maybe it’s something I can work on.”

Emilia bursts into a quick laughter, the type you’d hear from an adult being baffled at something funny a kid said, and looks Nebraska dead in the eye, but when she realizes she means it, the woman just shifts her head to the side, trying to find Thomas’s eyes and exchange a did-you-just-hear-that type of glance, but there’s not change he’s looking at her. “Well, I don’t know…” she says, almost exasperated and exhausted. Emilia pauses for a second, eyes once more falling on the screen of her now sleeping laptop. “I seriously think there isn’t much you can work on, with this article, Nebraska. Believe me, I read it thoroughly and just couldn’t take it, it’s not…” she pauses again, because she’s now ready to play the part where she has to face her dearest child with the cold hard truths of real life, “it’s not good enough for what Cosmopolitan stands for.”

Nebraska is trying her best to hold back a bitter laugh and cross her arms against her chest, but instead she just stares Emilia dead in the eye. “And what is that? Am I missing something?”

“Honey, nobody wants to read about…” she stops in her tracks because she needs to reopen the Word document and find an example, “… about women who’ve been living their whole lives in shelters taking photographs of the other inmates –” she wants to continue, but Thomas cuts her off with a simple ‘inmates are in prisons’, and she’s visibly annoyed by this contribution, but carries on. “Do you think Cosmopolitan became this successful and renowned for promoting women who make a big deal of their body hair? Or stick it in everybody’s face that they’ve been on drugs even before being born?”

Thomas wants to say something, but Emilia raises her hand, dismissing even the mere intention to state his own opinion on the matter, probably because she knows it too that he is completely opposed to every single word she has said. Nebraska looks over to Max, who catches her gaze and immediately shrinks in his chair, pulling his sketchbook even closer to his chest. This may be the worst fever of her life, or maybe it’s just a very bad dream made up by her overly intoxicated mind in anticipation for the alarm clock to go off and for her to have the real meeting with Emilia, Thomas and Max, the actual humans, not the products of her imagination. But the riot inside her chest was too real for it to be a dream.

“I’m sorry, Emilia, I don’t think I am following you” she finally speaks, calm as could be, playing the role in which she is genuinely interested in the woman’s opinion. “What is it expected of me to write, that is according to the Cosmopolitan standards?”

She thinks Emilia is guessing she’s being taken for a fool and really, this is exactly what Nebraska is up to. Nonetheless, she crosses her arms on the table, finally happy to have even more things to blame Nebraska for. “It has come to my attention, for example, that you turned down Margery when she asked you to write something on, hold on” she stops yet again, because she clearly cares so much she has absolutely no idea what her staff is writing about. “Right, she was interested in getting an article from you on the correspondence between astrological signs and sex positions, and to my understanding, you just dismissed it.”

“I hope you’re joking right now” Nebraska snaps without meaning to, but she can’t help it, and it send Emilia off the roof.

“Well, I am most definitely not and as far as I know, Thomas and I are the only two people in charge of making decisions of whether or not something is good enough to be written and I am telling you, if you don’t take a moment to re-evaluate your behaviour and how you carry yourself as if you’re so superior, I might be faced with the unpleasant situation of firing you” she speaks and her anger increases with every word, because her neck is turning bright red, and she acts as if she’s caught Nebraska sleeping with that stupid lover of hers.

Emilia wants to start speaking again but Nebraska’s mouth opens before she knows it, and a bitter, poisonous “Fine. I quit” escape her lips. It’s too late to take it back, because Emilia’s neck is ruby red and Thomas’s eyes are glued to Nebraska’s face, and Max has stopped drawing, he’s just staring at the paper.

“Good. Then, I guess this meeting is over” Emilia speaks through her teeth almost, gets up and storms out of the room, leaving the three of them in complete silence. Max gets up from his seat and politely says goodbye before retreating to his desk in the far left corner of the floor, where he’s built up a safe space for him to create and be left alone.

“Nebraska, you really shouldn’t have done that” Thomas starts and takes his round glasses off, rubbing the marks on the bridge of his nose. “You know how Emilia is, she won’t forget it for the whole world.”

“But I meant it” she replies, finally crossing her arms in defeat, looking him in the eyes because unlike Emilia, he’s human, and she appreciates him. “I really am quitting” she adds, but this time it doesn’t sound half as angry and bitter as the first time, and more like a sorrowful conclusion. And truth be told, her heart is aching – all that hard work, all that emotional involvement, all of it for absolutely nothing.

They sit in silence for what seems like a horribly long time, until she gets up from her seat, testing if her knees still work. “I think it’s a very good piece” Thomas speaks up again, placing his round glasses back on, “if that makes any difference at all…” he adds, getting up from his seat as well, hands sliding down to the pocket of his perfectly ironed trousers. Nebraska gives him a small smile and nods, gathering her things and heading for the window, but she is stopped in his tracks by his following words. “Would you mind it if I showed you to the door? It’s the least I can do…”

“Sure” she allows herself to display the most modest of smiles, “thanks.”

Back into the constant hustle of the streets below the Cosmo headquarters, the New Yorker sign can barely be seen, and Nebraska’s heart is aching, pounding, screaming, rolling on a floor carpeted with shreds of glass. She wants to cry but is too proud do allow herself that, and sitting down is not an option, because the pavement is still as packed as it used to be when she headed inside the building that morning. In broad daylight, the street couldn’t care if you’re heartbroken.

Her feet start moving and before she knows it she’s taking the long road to Conrad’s home, because the streets around his apartment are always pretty and it’s May so the cherry trees are in blossom and those are one of the few places in New York where she can cool down and stop thinking about and for fuck sake, she just needs a long kiss and some wine. It takes approximatively forty five minutes for her to reach his place, and it doesn’t even surprise her anymore how she can walk all the way there without even thinking about it, just instinctively crossing the right roads and going the right direction towards that stupid face of his which makes her want to constantly kiss him or punch him or anything that is punchable, for that matter.

She knows the entry code so she doesn’t need to call him up, plus they sort of share this apartment anyway, so it’s her home too, technically speaking. The keys are patiently waiting where she last left them, underneath the obnoxiously door mat they bought after Conrad had a five-minute long monologue on the brutal injustice that bathroom rugs are overlooked, and how most of the people just settle for extremely ugly normcore entrance ones. Nebraska opens the door and tries her hardest to keep Baby, their tar black cat, from escaping into the big bad world, and as soon as she steps inside, she can hear Conrad’s in the shower, singing bits of the bridge he’s been trying to write for the past few days.

It takes a hot minute for him to finally get out of the bathroom and by this time she’s already poured herself a glass of wine, finishing up a bottle they bought just days before, while shopping for food, and truthfully, she did spend a few minutes looking at herself in the mirror wondering if they were both functional alcoholics, but before jumping to any conclusion, her glass was empty Conrad’s wet face was nuzzled up in the crook of her neck.

They have quick couch sex, like there is a plane to catch or an appointment to be on time for, and dress back up in record speed, gym-class-is-over style. It takes just a quick exchange of glances for them to silently head over to the generous balcony overlooking the pretty streets below them, glasses they’ve left in the freezer to frost overnight in hands, bottle of gin freshly opened, pressed orange juice just to trick the tastebuds into thinking it’s not really alcohol.

Nebraska contemplates telling him about the resignation, but his hand resting on the inside of her thigh helps her make up her mind: it’s better if she keeps it for some other time. Instead, the sit on the floor in comfortable silence, sipping at the gin, although it’s barely half past one in the afternoon and this is clearly something anybody else would be worried about. Are they functional alcoholics? She doesn’t know but probably not because this is a term she’d made up herself and is most definitely not legitimate. Right?

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Conrad asks and it may be one of the few times when he actually suggests a date, which surprises Nebraska, there’s a small smile peeking through nonetheless.

“No, not really” she says, resting her head against the wall, afternoon light making her feel stupid for sunbathing fully clothed, already feeling the hot, almost crusty feeling of sun-kissed skin.

“But do you wanna go out?” he continues, and he’s definitely asking her out on a date, which makes him look goofy a little, teenage-y in her eyes.

“Are you suggesting we go on a date?” Nebraska asks playfully and nudges him with her elbow a little, because they’re not the romantic type of couple. Well, they’re not a couple in the first place, but whatever it is that makes them have a cat together does not identify with cheesiness. It was clearly stated in the terms and conditions when they first started fooling around exclusively with one another, and they both agreed on it without thinking twice.

“I mean, you can take it as a date if you want, but I was actually thinking more of like, going out, watching some friends play a private gig, have some drinks, that kind of stuff” Conrad tries his best to make it sound romantic and she bursts into a small laugh, not because she’s amused, but surprised at the huge difference between reality and expectations. Going and having some drinks is something they do on an almost daily basis and her liver is fucking raging because of this affection they carry for one another. Her insides have seen better days, but then again, those were probably in high school.

“Who’s playing?” she asks casually, half-interested, knowing they will most probably end up there because they both hate regular clubs where people know them from Facebook and act like they should be considered acquaintances.

Conrad takes a moment to reply, but masks it with the apparent desire to down his glass, putting it down to the side after swallowing the very last drop of their almost-healthy juice that really wasn’t juice. “It’s Mira’s band. I think it’s her birthday or something and they’re doing this small gig at Hutton’s.”

Two years ago was the last time either of them had sex with anyone besides each other, which brings back cringe worthy flashbacks of careless one-night stands from her side, and a very painfully clear memory of wanting to go to the bathroom at a house party, only to find it was locked, Conrad and Mira doing their thing like it was nobody’s business. Which it wasn’t, yet Nebraska still vomited in the kitchen sink, and immediately left with bloodshot eyes, only to scream and cry her frustration before the loving eyes of Jean.

And besides this two-year long exclusive treatment, they after, after all, in a self-proclaimed open relationship, if by self-proclaimed one understands Nebraska making Conrad swear on his pinky they wouldn’t turn into the type of couples movies are made about, clingy and sloppy and dependable on one another. They promised to stay true, while not getting jealous at the other having occasional adventures with someone else. In theory, that sounds great, but right now, they almost share an apartment and are the proud parents of a black cat, so maybe their openness is somewhat biased.

But still, the mere sound of him saying her name, Mira, triggers something in Nebraska that she can’t explain, not even to herself, although there’s a chance she might as well simply be jealous, but she’s too proud to even take it into consideration. A groan escapes her lips as she rolls her eyes, downing her own glass before getting up, pretending washing the dishes was something of great importance right now.

Of course he follows her inside, and without facing one another Nebraska can tell he is furrowing his brows. “What?”

“Nothing.” There’s never enough soap on the sponge, and the water is too hot, and the dishes aren’t actually dishes, but just glasses of all sorts, because in an apartment such as this one, there’s no time for cooking. The whole takeaway food industry is grateful for the existence of a pair such as Nebraska and Conrad.

“Right, nothing” he mimics her voice and she stops washing the dishes, hands gripping at the sides of the sink for a few moments. “Is it Mira? That’s what it is?”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Well then how about letting me know if you find out you’re fucking bipolar? It might come in handy to know if you’re into that sort of thing” he groans and wants to head back onto the balcony where his guitar is waiting, although it’s bad for the wood to stay too much in the sun, but he doesn’t get to take more than a step in that direction because Nebraska is busy hitting the fan and he needs to be the witness to that.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t be feeling exactly the same about me seeing people I’ve fucked over the year, okay, Mr. Balanced?”

He turns around on his bare heels and his brows are raised in surprise, although there’s a certain type of perverse satisfaction in his eyes. “So it is about Mira, then” and it’s a big mistake to say that because Nebraska drops a wine glass on the floor and she’s barefoot and it goes to shit, pieces of glass all around her red polished toes, and yet none of then flinches at that.

“You know what, fine, I don’t care, do whatever you want” she speaks through her teeth, throwing the towel to the side, before tiptoeing out of the kitchen and towards the living room, where her bag and shoes were waiting.

“Don’t you dare leave like you’ve made a point, Nebraska” he quickly follows her into the living room and tries to grab her hand, but she gives him a death stare, and it’s safer to just keep the distance now. “Isn’t this what you wanted, though? Isn’t this what you swore you would be up for, that both of us would be up for?” he was defeated now, or tired of solving the puzzle that was her mind, or just simply confused at what was going on with her, and truth be told, so was she, because Nebraska was not the jealous type. And still, a little voice behind her head kept whispering ‘anyone, just not Mira’.

“I’m tired, Conrad, it’s been a long day. Send her my best birthday wishes, will you?” she says, hurrying to tie the shoelaces before picking up her bag from the floor and making her way to the door, then out into the hallway, down the stairs and into the streets again. She doesn’t dare look up right away, but when she does, Conrad is standing in the balcony, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, watching her walk further into the city.

It isn’t until eleven o’clock when Jean makes her way back home, and Nebraska couldn’t be happier, because spending the whole day indoor on her own only made her mind go back and forth between the shitty day she had at work and the completely unnecessary fight she had with Conrad, which was ridiculous of her to start, but ego stopped her from apologizing yet. She needed to pour her heart out to someone, and Jean was always the perfect person for that sort of stuff.

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had” they say in unison, the purest of coincidences, the most perfect synchronisation, and it’s now or never for Nebraska, because her heart might burst, and she needs to prevent that from happening. So she starts talking until her mouth runs dry, until there’s nothing more to say, until she finally notices the absent minded look on her best friend’s face. “What happened with you?” she finally asks, brows raised in curiosity.

Jean hesitates for a moment, but then states simply. “Keith proposed”, which in their own coded language only meant trouble.

“And?”

“And I ran.”