#in my shock and awe i eloquently responded with “I- um- yes.”

[emioliravioli]

I'M KILLING MYSELF I JUST FUMBLED A CONVERSTION SO HARD

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 14

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Also, if you didn’t know, this story has an Instagram account called whenihaveyou.romione and feel free to follow :)

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Chapter 14

In all the years Ron had known Hermione, he'd never seen her more frightened than when the memories of what had happened to her resurfaced. And resurface they did, mostly at night when she was trying to sleep. 

Ever since the first time, she'd refused to stay anywhere unless Ron was with her. His presence didn't stop the nightmares, but she said that waking up and knowing he was there helped her recover faster. 

Ron didn't mind, not one bit, but he also didn't know how to help her other than holding her, running his fingers through her hair and offering comforting words. Seeing her so vulnerable upset him more than he thought it ever could. She'd always been so strong, so tough, that to see her needing him so much didn't make him feel good at all. He'd always admired her strength. He loved that about her.

And he couldn’t help but worry what would happen when September came around and he couldn’t be there with her anymore. 

The next month passed by in a blur, Ron splitting his time between training, Grimmauld Place and the Granger house, as well as his frequent visits back to the Burrow. It felt like he never stopped, and he was completely exhausted, but somehow he still managed to pass every test with flying colours. Well, all except the theory aspects. He wasn't the best at that. 

Before he knew it, August thirty-first was upon them, and that meant (once again) his last day with Hermione before she went back to Hogwarts. It had been drawing nearer and nearer, but to Ron, it had never quite hit him that she would be going away again — for even longer this time, too. Hermione had promised to tell him when the Hogsmeade visits were so he and Harry could come and spend time with her and Ginny, but apart from them and the Christmas holidays, it wouldn't be until next June that he'd really see her again. 

Ginny had suggested all four of them do something together on the final day, but Hermione had convinced Ron to agree to a dinner with her parents instead. He loved Hermione, and over that last month, he'd come to get along alright with her parents too. But... a dinner felt far too formal and much too intimidating for his liking. As he sat on her bed, watching as she finished getting herself ready (they were going out) he couldn't help but long for the comfort of the Burrow and his large family and the celebration Harry and Ginny must have been having with his parents and siblings. 

He really did like Hermione's parents, and to his utter bewilderment, they had accepted him and welcomed him without any questions, but they were very different people to what he was used to. 

He didn't understand Muggle money well, but he knew enough to know they had a lot of it and preferred to live a fairly comfortable life, which included fancy restaurants that Ron really didn't feel he had good enough clothes for — even the new ones he had bought with the money he'd earned as a trainee Auror. 

"You know," Ron said, grinning from where he still sat on her bed, "I really like it when you dress up. You look… amazing."

Hermione flushed, her usual response to any compliment he gave her. "Thank you."

Ron stood up, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her towards him. Her own arms snaked around his neck and he couldn't help but notice she looked even more beautiful when she was so close to him. 

He kissed her, and she responded enthusiastically, pressing herself into him. He liked it when she responded to his touch like this, with her whole body excited about this kind of intimacy.

Pulling away, her arms still around his neck, she said, "You've surprised me, you know?"

"Surprised?" Ron asked, not sure whether he liked that term. He certainly hadn't been trying to surprise her in any way — he was trying to be as open as he possibly could with her, his new policy. 

Hermione nodded, grinning. "You're attentive, affectionate, and you say all the right things. You're really good at this whole relationship business."

"Er… thanks?" Ron said, feeling slightly put out by what Hermione seemed to think was a compliment. "What, you didn't think I would be?"

Hermione hesitated, appearing as if she wasn’t sure if she should elaborate, and the moment she started speaking, Ron realised that was exactly the thought that had been going through her head. She went slightly pink. “Well, it’s just… I shared a room with Lavender while you and she were… you don’t seem to be the same Ron that she got.”

“It’s because I’m not,” Ron said shortly, pulling away from her. The last thing he wanted was to start talking to her about Lavender — especially knowing that Lavender had only just been released from hospital due to her injuries in the war. It didn’t seem right talking about her in a way that could only be negative.

“Ron, I didn’t mean —”

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Ron said, looking at her again apologetically. “I’d just rather not go down that road, you know? I didn’t handle it… all that well. But I am different with you, because I love you, and the last thing I ever want is to lose you. All very, very different to… Lavender.”

Hermione gave a half smile, one that Ron returned. He watched her for a few moments, noticing that she seemed puzzled. He sighed. “Er, did Harry ever tell you what happened when we destroyed the locket?”

Hermione shook her head, her curiosity now piquing. “He said it was your story to tell when you were ready. Ron… what did happen?”

Ron sat back down on her bed, her beside him. He watched her for a moment before speaking. “Did the locket ever��� speak to you? When you were wearing it, I mean?”

Hermione nodded. “It tried to tell me all these awful things. Things that weren’t true, but it could be pretty convincing at times. It was quite —” She stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. “It spoke to you, too, didn’t it? Told you the same horrible things?”

“I dunno about the same, but you saw how it got to me,” Ron said. “I think it more so looked into what scared us the most and tried to find every way possible to convince us that those doubts were true. The reason it affected me more than you or Harry was because I already kind of believed those things. After a while, I couldn’t really tell if it was coming from the locket or me.”

Hermione was watching him as if this was completely new information for her, which Ron didn’t understand. Surely, she must have had at least an inkling as to what had happened. 

“But it had a memory, too, just like the diary, and when Harry opened it, it sensed me there. It knew I was the most vulnerable to it, so it targeted me.”

“Targeted you?” Hermione asked with keen interest. 

“It showed me and Harry everything that I had been thinking when wearing it, everything that it had tried to — and succeeded at — convince me of being true. It was one thing thinking it, but another actually seeing it. And even worse that Harry had to see it too.”

“See what?” Hermione asked, breathless. 

At this part, Ron hesitated. He averted her gaze, instead focusing his attention on her patterned floor. “My, um, worst fears coming to life.”

Hermione watched him, waiting in silence for him to continue. 

Ron shook his head. “You and… him.” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Among other things!” he added quickly. “Things… that sucked. Things that I don’t really believe anymore.”

“It… it showed you me and… Harry?” Hermione asked, seeming utterly shocked by such a revelation. “But Ron —”

“It was all in my head, I know that. But it was what resolved me, really. What prompted me to get up and destroy it. What made me determined to have you forgive me, to make more of an effort with you, and to stop feeling like second best — to Harry and my family. It was a blessing in disguise in the end. That is why you’re getting this Ron, and not the one you saw a year ago. A year ago, I was ridiculously in love with you, but had no idea how to tell you that, and the locket convinced me it wasn’t worth my time to feel that way anyway. So I decided to change that. Prove it wrong.”

There was a moment of silence in her room. Hermione looked at him with such deep affection that Ron had to look away, his ears burning red. There was a reason he’d never told her, until now, what had occurred during that time, and he was glad Harry hadn’t said anything either. 

After a moment, he said, “So, what did it say to you?”

But Hermione shook her head, blushing. “I… I guess its memory stretched as far as knowing who we were exactly.” And without elaborating any further, she jumped to her feet. “Come on. It’s almost six. Mum and Dad said we’d be leaving now.” 

"Well, that's just completely unfair," Ron complained as she pulled him up from the bed and led him from her room by the hand. "I tell you that my deepest fear was being rejected by you, and you think you can get away with just saying it had a really good memory?"

"Yes," Hermione said, amused. "I do."

"What did it say?" Ron tried again as they descended the stairs. 

But Hermione was spared from answering with the appearance of her parents at the bottom of the landing. 

"Not fair," he muttered into her ear, to which she smiled. And that, he determined, meant it wasn't nearly as horrible for her as it had been for him. 

...

Dinner was in a fancy Muggle restaurant in the centre of London. Ron hadn't seen anything quite like it — wizarding or Muggle. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and other diners were dressed rather eloquently, making Ron feel inadequate. 

Then, the menu had him gaping, but not for the food; even he could understand that the price of each item was expensive. 

"Hermione," he muttered, wishing more than ever that he was at the Burrow enjoying one of his mother's home cooked meals. 

Seeming to understand what he was looking at, Hermione covered his hand with hers and whispered, "It's okay. Mum and Dad have it covered."

Ron balked at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the menu, reading every item and ensuring that he would pick the least expensive there, whatever it was.

This dinner really was the most uncomfortable, and he couldn't quite believe the double life Hermione's parents seemed to live. At home, they were friendly and welcoming and Jane, Hermione's mother, reminded Ron in many ways of his own mother. But then there was this life, willing to pay exuberant amounts for a single meal. Though, if there was one consolation, the Grangers were by far the most casual out of the lot. 

He looked around at the other diners, all in fancy cocktail dresses and the Muggle equivalent to wedding-esque dress robes. He looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. 

"Don't make fun," she said with a small smile.

"I'm not," Ron said. "It's just hard to believe that you, who camped out with us in a tent for almost a year, had this life before that. Why'd you choose to spend your summers with my family, when you had this?"

"Why do you think, Ron?"

Ron opened his mouth to say he didn't know, but then a thought occurred to him. "You stayed because of… me?"

"Well, yes, and Harry, I guess. I don't really have many friends in this world. None, actually. And it can get pretty lonely not having any siblings to talk to either. I liked the homeiness of your place. All the people. And the fact that I was with others like me.”

Ron beamed at her, unable to help feeling rather flattered by her compliment. "Still," he said after a moment, "your parents clearly have a stack of money."

"Money isn't everything," Hermione said flatly. 

"Yeah… right, well… that's easy for you to say…" Ron cast another glance around the restaurant. Perhaps he could consider taking up a Muggle profession just to be able to afford to eat here.

"What are you two talking about?" 

Ron jumped, startled by Hermione's dad's question. He turned to face him, reddening slightly. Robert had a rather odd sense of humour, Ron had realised, where he made jokes but Ron was never sure if he was being serious or not until Hermione told him he wasn't. Ron liked him well enough, but he constantly felt like he was being scrutinised. 

"Ron is just feeling rather bemused about being here," Hermione said calmly. "He's unfamiliar with… unmagical places."

"Ah, I see." Robert watched Ron for a moment, and Ron felt his whole face burn. This was exactly why he'd not wanted to do this. This was why he really wished they were all at the Burrow. If he'd thought about it sooner, his own father would have been thrilled to have Muggles around for dinner. They could have talked for hours about things that probably seemed trivial to Hermione's dad, but greatly intrigued his own. 

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair, averting the man's gaze. Hermione seemed to notice because she said, "Dad!"

He smiled at her. "Sorry, was just curious, is all."

"Curious about what, exactly?" Hermione asked, almost sounding bored. 

Robert's smile broadened. "Well, the two of you haven't actually told us if you're together or not. We've, of course, assumed, because you've spent every night together, in the same room, but you've never said anything to us…"

"Dad!" Hermione said again, going rather pink herself. 

Ron shifted again. He'd been very careful to minimise his affection towards Hermione in front of her parents. 

"Of… of course we are," Hermione said, turning to Ron who was intently staring at some other diners. She nudged him, and he had no choice but to look at her parents. He nodded. 

Part of him expected some kind of interrogation after that — he'd regularly expected it — but her dad merely nodded and directed the conversation to other questions (quietly) about the wizarding world and what was happening now that there was no war happening (one they had only recently found out about). 

Ron felt himself relax, finally able to participate in a conversation that didn't make him look or feel like an idiot. 

In the end, the dinner ended up being rather enjoyable. The food was good, and the company even better. Despite making a pact with himself to keep his affection for Hermione to a minimum in front of her parents, he couldn’t help but place a kiss on her temple as they stood up and her father paid for their meals. 

She smiled, turning slightly pink. If her parents saw, they said nothing. 

He even dared to hold her hand as they exited the restaurant and walked back to where her parents had parked their car. 

When they returned to their house, Hermione bade her parents goodnight and indicated Ron should follow her upstairs. Ron surreptitiously did as she asked, collapsing onto her bed the moment it was just the two of them again.

Hermione watched him from where she was returning her shoes to her wardrobe, looking amused. “You’re funny,” she said. 

“What? Why?” Ron asked, wondering if he’d somehow blundered the evening. 

“Because you’re not your usual ‘say-it-how-it-is’ self when you’re trying to make an impression.” She watched him for a moment, amusement in her eyes. “I like it… but I think I like the real you better.”

“The real me?” Ron asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you really don’t have to resist kissing me when my parents are around,” Hermione said. "That's not who you are whenever other people are around." 

Ron smiled at her, indicating she join him on the bed. She obliged, falling into his lap. "Well, they're the only ones I need to make an impression on, right? I mean, there's my parents and siblings… and they've got to like me, no matter what I do. Then there's Harry, and he really doesn't care. He likes me well enough, and he's told me himself he thinks we're good together. But your mum and dad…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Like you a lot. Now, stop worrying about it. You're driving me a bit batty."

"Batty?" Ron chuckled, looking at her and grinning. "I'm driving you batty…" He laughed again, his affection for her surging as she looked at him, affronted. "And just when I thought I couldn't love you any more…"

…

"Never thought I'd be back here," Ron said, staring fondly up at the scarlet steam engine. "Well, not until I'd be sending my own kids off to Hogwarts, I mean."

Harry, who was standing beside him on the platform, raised an eyebrow. "Thinking about that, are you?"

Ron scowled. "You know what I mean!"

Harry smirked but had no chance to say anything else on the subject as Hermione and Ginny returned from putting their trunks away, tailed by Luna.

“Hi, Harry. Hi, Ron,” Luna said brightly, smiling at each of them in turn. 

“Oh, hi, Luna!” Harry said, stepping forward to hug her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Ron hugged Luna as well, and her smile even wider as she pulled away, she said, “Of course I will be finishing my final year. It’s important, you know?” When Harry and Ron didn’t respond, she added, “But I suppose it isn’t for you, when you have a good job already that would usually require lots of NEWTs…”

“Er, yeah,” Harry and Ron said together. 

Ron glanced down at his watch. “You have three minutes, so I suppose you’ll want to be getting on the train now?” He said the last part with such contempt, that Luna gave him a very abrasive look. 

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Luna,” Ginny said, chuckling slightly. “He just doesn’t want Hermione to go away for a whole year, where he’ll only see her sparingly. He, of course, supports her completely in this decision for her education.” She stepped forward and hugged Ron goodbye.

He begrudgingly patted her on the back, all the while thinking that of course he supported Hermione in her decision to return to Hogwarts. It didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Once Ginny had turned her attention to Harry, Ron took that as an opportunity to pull Hermione slightly to the side. He’d not mentioned to the others that Hermione was still experiencing memories from Malfoy Manor, but now that he wasn’t going to be there to comfort her, he felt worried. 

“Write to me whenever you want,” he said to her. “And, if you need me, tell me. I’ll… I’ll find a way to sneak into the school or something, alright?”

Hermione smiled, squeezing his hands. “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “I promise. Ginny will be there, and I’ll… let her know.” 

Ron wasn’t convinced, and it must have shown, because she added, “I’ll write twice a week. Promise.” And then she flung herself at him, arms snaking around his neck, and kissed him so hard on the mouth that he might have felt embarrassed was he not going to miss her so much. This would be the last time he’d kiss her in who knew how long. May as well make the most of it. 

The whistle from the train blew, and steam began billowing from the engine. 

Hermione pulled away. “I love you,” she said, smiling. 

“Love you too,” Ron said, forcing his own smile. “And good luck.”

And then they were gone, hurrying to jump into one of the carriages as the train began pulling away from the platform. 

Ron and Harry stood watching until it was out of sight. Parents were beginning to head back through the wall, some looking very concerned, which Ron couldn’t blame them for. Hogwarts was safe once more, but the memories of what had happened there in May were still fresh in everyone’s mind. 

“Well,” Harry said, turning to Ron, “I guess it’s just you and me until next June. What should we do?”

Ron bit his lip, turning and following the others back through the wall and onto the Muggle side of the station. “I dunno,” he said, and he meant it. He hadn’t faced the prospect of not seeing Hermione for this long since he was eleven years old. “Are you going to miss her?” he suddenly asked. “Ginny, I mean.”

“Every day,” Harry said. 

“Me too,” Ron replied, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about Hermione or his sister. Perhaps both. 

They stood in silence for a moment longer, before Harry said, “I guess we could go for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Despite himself, Ron smiled. “Yeah, sounds good, mate,” he said. “I suppose there’s one good thing about them going away.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked. 

“It means you and I can spend some weekends together, doing… guy things.”

Harry snorted. “Guy things. Yeah, alright. Yeah, it will be fun, won’t it?”

Ron nodded, smiling, and this time meaning it. “Yeah,” he said, “it will be fun.”

[danfanciesphil]

too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The night passes the same way - barely concealed crying, slightly ominous but mostly lovely music to drift him off to sleep - and then morning comes, stark and bright as usual. Dan gets dressed, begs Louise for coffee and sustenance - “did you find him?” “yes” “were you nice?” “I was a peach” “what did he say?” “he said he was sorry for yelling” “aw, told you he was a sweetie deep down” “mmhmm” - and is then rounded up by Mona for breakfast duty.

“I’ve already switched the heaters on and put out the tablecloths,” Mona tells him as he drains the last of his coffee. “Could you just go and put the mugs and cutlery out? I think we’ve only got two tables today.”

“Sure,” Dan says, giving Louise’s arm a small squeeze of gratitude for the breakfast and coffee; she waves a batter-y whisk at him in a shooing motion, but she’s smiling. .

Once he’s armed with a basket of silverware and crockery from the cupboard, Dan heads for the balcony and stops short, noticing that for the first time, someone is already sat out there. Stunned, Dan just stares through the glass at Mr Novokoric, who is transfixed on the blue-shadowed mountains in the distance. Reluctantly, Dan pushes through the doors, bracing himself for the cold, both from the frigid mountain air, and the attitude of his least favourite guest.

The door slams shut behind him, making Mr Novokoric turn. “Good morning,” he says, like an automatic greeting. For some reason - probably the cold and the pre-caffeine kick-in - Dan finds himself a little tongue-tied. He nods at the other man, struggling to hold onto the basket in his hands.

“Morning,” he manages, eyes sticking to the light wind-stung flush on Mr Novokoric’s high cheeks.

Mr Novokoric turns back to the view then, and Dan begins setting out the mugs, knives, forks, spoons and glasses on the tables. He assumes that Mr Novokoric must be one of the two tables having breakfast today, which makes sense, as the Stevens’ left yesterday evening. They’d hugged Dan tightly, promising to return before the year was out. It had, in a way, been rather sad to see them disappearing with Kaspar back down the mountain in the swinging cable car. Mostly Dan is glad that he no longer has to avert his eyes as they walk through the hotel with their omnipresent robes dangerously loose, but they were a parental sort of couple, and he thinks they might genuinely miss him too. Fumbling only slightly, Dan begins to place a setting out in front of Mr Novokoric. As he sets the mug down, Mr Novokoric reaches for it, and frowns as he tilts it towards him.

“Can I get some coffee?”

Dan pauses, flipping the question over in his mind. “Coffee?”

One of those jet black eyebrows springs upwards. “Yes. Is that permitted?”

Dan nods, blushing, and hating himself for it. He takes the mug and scampers off to the kitchen, managing to garble some request to Louise. For some reason his flustered state is amusing to her, and she pretends for a minute or two to have no clue what he’s asking - not helpful - but eventually he gets a mug of filter coffee out of her. He watches, curious, as she automatically adds soya milk and two heaped teaspoons of sugar.

“He’s lactose intolerant,” she says, by way of explanation. “And has a hell of a sweet tooth.”

“I didn’t say who it’s for,” Dan says, perplexed, as he takes the mug from her.

“Who else around here would have you blushing and stammering like a nun at a brothel?”

Dan chooses not to respond to this, mostly because he can’t summon anything except a mortified spluttering sound. He takes the mug of coffee back out to Mr Novokoric, cheeks still a warm pink. It’s just the wind flush though, at this point. Probably. 

“Would you like anything else, Sir?” Dan asks politely. “The chef is still cooking breakfast, but I could perhaps get you some cereal or yoghurt-”

“No, thank you,” Mr Novokoric says sniffily, and Dan replays what Louise just said to him.

“Oh, sorry, you don’t have dairy,” Dan says, shaking his head. Mr Novokoric turns his head sharply back to Dan, frowning. “I could get you some fresh fruit? Or-”

“No,” Mr Novokoric says again, though his voice is less hostile now. “I’m, uh, not hungry.” He pauses, mouth twitching. “...Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dan dithers, uncomfortably aware he now has a wedge of time to kill before the other guests emerge, and no other place to be. “So... um, why are you out here?”

“Excuse me?”

Dan shuts his eyes, cursing silently. “Sorry, I just meant- you’re normally out on the mountain at this time.”

“Oh.” Mr Novokoric sips his drink, looking away.

“Did you not fancy braving the snow today?”

Dan has absolutely no idea why he’s suddenly so intent on keeping this hellish conversation going, given that Mr Novokoric looks like he’d rather pour the coffee over his own head than continue it. Somehow it would be worse to turn away from him though, to stand off to the side and wait for more guests to turn up, arms folded, pretending not to stare as that blank, unhappy glare washed away any animation on Mr Novokoric’s sharp, striking features. So, Dan forces himself to stay rooted to the spot, letting Mr Novokoric’s icy look of contemptuous horror at Dan’s insistence on smalltalk slice through him like he’s snow beneath Mr Novokoric’s boot.

“My ski broke,” he says, unexpectedly.

A flashback hits Dan as abruptly as the cherry-red skis hit the wall of the lobby the day before yesterday. “Oh,” Dan says. “Is there- it can’t be fixed?”

“I highly doubt I’m going to find someone proficient at winter sports equipment repair at the top of this fucking mountain, do you?”

The curse word is shocking, and it takes Dan a moment to let it go. Phil’s accent is slightly Northern, but his diction and use of language is impeccable, presumably due to all the hobnobbing and schmoozing he has to do, as a ‘Royal’. Hearing him swear is what he imagines it would be like hearing the Queen swear. In a sense, it’s rather titillating - another reason Dan should abandon this conversation for good. Luckily, at that moment, the balcony door opens, and Mona ushers the two Bryce sisters through, leading them to the other laid table.

Relieved to see the chattering, marginally irritating middle-aged women for once, Dan excuses himself from Mr Novokoric, who barely bats an eye, and goes to take their breakfast order.

*

In a moment of downtime, while the evening film screening is going on, Dan goes hunting for two cherry-red skis, which he finds near the hotel entrance, leant against the wall. He takes hold of the left one, and examines it closely. Just as Mr Novokoric said, it has a broken appendage - the strap which secures the boot to the ski has come loose. The straps are peculiar to Dan, having no backs to them, but Dan can see where the front part used to fix to the ski itself even so. By comparing it with the other ski, Dan thinks it’s mendable. All too aware that he’s got nothing better to do for the next few hours, Dan takes the ski over to the desk and lays it over his lap as he sits down to take a closer look. 

It’s just because he’s bored, he tells himself as he hunts for tools in Mona’s office, and discovers a tiny screwdriver and screws in one of the cleaning cupboards, along with a pot of superglue. The film is a long one tonight - The Italian Job - so for a few hours Dan is able to work in complete solitude, listening to a faint Muse song through one headphone, and not stopping until the ski is fixed.

*

“I just don’t understand why you’re still holding a grudge against the poor man,” Louise says, scrubbing at a pot with a scourer. Dan, sat up on one of the kitchen counters sipping hot chocolate, rolls his eyes. “He apologised for being rude, didn’t he?”

“Some apology,” Dan counters. Since two days ago in the gym, Dan has convinced himself that Mr Novokoric’s words had been largely to smooth things over with the staff member he’d pissed off, considering that it would be pretty awkward seeing him around the place 24-7 if they were not on speaking terms. In no way, Dan has decided, did Mr Novokoric actually mean what he said. “Just because he’s eloquent doesn’t make him sincere.”

“Ooh-er,” Louise says, flicking washing up water at him. He squeaks, shielding his hot chocolate. “Sounds like he got under your skin.”

Dan’s next sip is too hot, and he burns his tongue.

“Anyway,” Louise says, tipping out the saucepan and laying it out to dry. She starts untying her apron, wearily. “There’s three hours until I’ve got to start on dinner, so I think I’ll have a little lie down. Can you hold the fort for a bit?”

“Uh…” Dan looks through the serving hatch into the empty mezzanine lounge. The Bryce sisters are the only guests staying here at the moment, though another couple are due to check in tonight. Right now, he’s pretty sure the Bryce sisters - an excitable, childlike pair of forty-something women on what they refer to as a ‘girls getaway’ - are in the jacuzzi. If they were anywhere indoors, Dan is certain he’d be able to hear their shrieks of laughter no matter which room they were in. “Sure, yeah. No worries.”

“If you need me, I’m in room three,” Louise says, already on her way to the kitchen door. “But Dan?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t need me,” she warns, and then exits the room.

*

About half an hour later, Dan is in the same position atop the kitchen counter, playing Crossy Road on his phone and polishing off a flapjack from the batch Louise made this morning. Suddenly, a noise like a throat clearing jolts him, and his animated emo goose is hit by a truck. He lowers the phone, head lifting, to see Mr Novokoric at the serving hatch, that cool assessing gaze chilling the temperature of the kitchen by at least two degrees. Dan swallows some flapjack the wrong way, and has to hide a mild choking fit.

In Mr Novokoric’s hand is a mug. “Is Louise here?” he asks.

Dan shakes his head, swallowing his own tonsils to cleat the flapjack from his airway. His eyes water, but he gets down from the counter one gangly leg at a time. “No, sorry,” he croaks. He wipes his hands of flapjack crumbs on a nearby tea-towel. “She’s napping. Can I help?”

Mr Novokoric appears troubled by this news, and takes a moment to reply, as if he’s mulling something over. Eventually, whatever wins out, and he asks, “any chance of some coffee?”

“Oh,” Dan says. “Have you run out of the instant packets in your room? I can find some in the stock cupboard-”

“No-o,” Mr Novokoric interrupts, as if he’s speaking with a half-wit. “I’m not looking for instant coffee. Louise usually makes me a macchiato, if I ask her.”

Dan’s blood runs cold, and he turns to eye the bulky coffee machine sat menacingly on the far counter. “Right,” Dan mutters. “Of course she does.”

Given his past failures to please Mr Novokoric thus far, he doesn’t feel he can say ‘oh, I’m not actually sure how to work this machine, maybe it would be best to wait for Louise to wake up’. So instead, Dan takes the mug, and steps warily over to the machine to attempt something called a ‘macchiato’.

“Caramel macchiato,” Mr Novokoric clarifies, at which Dan turns to blink at him, utterly bemused.

“Mhmm,” he says, for some wild reason. “No problem.”

As he surveys the contraption before him, Dan can feel eyes boring into the back of him - pure judgement coated in an intense, deep blue. He tries his best to ignore the prickle of skin this stare creates, and sets about mimicking what he can remember from watching Louise work the machine. He pours milk into one of the chrome jugs, shoves the spout into it and turns a dial. Droplets of milk immediately fly everywhere, and a monstrous hissing sound emerges from the beast. He quickly turns the dial back, abandoning that for now, and focuses on unfixing one of the espresso-filter-things from its lock. This takes a good two minutes of tugging and silently begging, during which time the milk in the jug seems to develop an appetising skin on top. At last, Dan pulls the thing free, dumps the used granules out and tamps some coffee into it, though he has no idea how much, and probably over-fills it. He does manage to fix it back in place, and over several agonising minutes the espresso drips through into the mug. When he can’t stand the waiting any longer, knowing damn well he’s being scrutinised, Dan takes the mug out, pours a dash of lukewarm milk into it from the jug, and takes it over to the hatch.

It looks.... pretty vile. But he has to hand Mr Novokoric something.

“Uh, here we go. One macchiato.”

He realises in the next moment that he forgot to add any caramel. Not that he’d have any idea where to procure it from in this kitchen. Mr Novokoric looks down at the coffee in Dan’s hand, sends him a look of something like pity, and makes no move to take it.

“Aaand suddenly I can think of nothing better than instant coffee,” he says, nose wrinkling.

He turns away, heading back towards the stairs, leaving Dan with an undrinkable mug of coffee, and a sudden urge to hurl himself off the side of the mountain.

*

“Dan, I need a word,” Mona says, beckoning him into the small office at the back of reception.

It’s early evening, and the neither the Bryce sisters nor the Lautrecs - a quiet French gay couple that arrived an hour or so ago - are interested in an evening film, so there’s fuck all to do. Instantly upon hearing Mona’s words, fear strikes Dan in the chest; he follows Mona into her office, heart in his throat. 

She gestures for him to sit on one of the wicker chairs in front of her desk, so he does, knee jiggling with nerves. “I’m really sorry Mona,” Dan blurts before she’s even sat down. “The job description didn’t say anything about being barista trained. If you received a complaint-”

“I’m going to stop you there, Dan,” Mona says, loudly and shrilly. “I don’t know what you are apologising for, but it’s probably best if I never find out, hm?” 

Gulping down the relief that surges forth, Dan nods emphatically, and relaxes back into the chair. Mona looks a little more polished than usual today, he notes. She has a high-collared white blouse on, which elongates her neck, and a pearl-encrusted scrunchie securing her usual bun. Dan has begun to notice that Mona dresses a bit smarter on the days the mail is delivered, or when new guests arrive, or leave. In other words, any time Kaspar is expected to be around. Kaspar dropped off the Lautrecs earlier, so today is no exception.

Right now she sits at the small desk, hands clasped, and clears her throat. Her cheeks are tinged with rosy pink, probably from Kaspar’s brief visit earlier. The idea of no-nonsense Mona having a teeny crush creates a warm glow in Dan’s chest, and he smiles. “I called you in here because I have some unfortunate news,” Mona says. Dan’s smile quickly vanishes. “I’ve been called away this weekend.”

“Oh,” Dan says, already confused. “Is everything-”

“It’s a personal matter,” Mona tells him, firmly ending his inquiry before it’s begun. “But the timing is poor, what with you having just started, and with it being Louise’s weekend off.”

For a few moments, the implications of this don’t quite settle in. Then, Dan stops being quite so dim. “Wait, do you mean I’d be here alone?”

Mona avoids his eye, neatening some papers on her desk. “I understand that it might seem rather daunting.”

“Mona, I’m nowhere near qualified to run this place on my own,” Dan says in a rush, blood starting to pound loudly in his ears.

Just the thought of such responsibility is crushing; what if he forgot to serve lunch? What if he overslept and nobody was available for the guests? He’s basically a glorified assistant here, he can’t be expected to handle real decisions.

“Dan, it’s just for a couple of days,” Mona says; there’s a pleading tone to her voice that Dan expects doesn’t rear its head very often. “Just until Louise returns on Sunday night. Kaspar can make it up here in a matter of hours if there’s an emergency. But you won’t need him. There’s only one couple booked in to stay, and I doubt they’ll be very high maintenance.”

One couple and a narcissistic rich twat-face whose snobbery extends right down to his coffee order, Dan thinks, but begrudgingly admits to himself that Mr Novokoric is unlikely to be very demanding either. The man seems to keep mostly to himself unless he truly can’t help it. Dan folds his arms across his chest, lip caught between his teeth. He can’t really refuse, particularly as he suspects that Mona is desperate enough to get down onto her stocking-covered knees and beg him. Perhaps he could manage to keep the place afloat without any major screw-ups. But the stress of it all might kill him, even so.

“I know this is completely unfair of me,” Mona tells him, and reaches up to tug the pearl scrunchie out of her bun. The hair spills out, revealing a shoulder-length bob; the sight is so shocking that Dan feels his fingers twitching at his sides, as if he wants to scoop up the loose locks and pull them back into position. Mona runs both hands through the mess of hair, eyes fluttering shut. “I wouldn’t ask unless it were really important. Normally I’d rather drop dead than leave this place in someone else’s hands, even for a day or so, especially without Louise to help. But I just can’t see another option. It’s… it’s my grandmother, you see. She’s ninety-four, and on her last legs-”

“It’s fine,” Dan says quickly. He can’t bear to see her like this; he doubts that even Louise, who’s worked here for four years, has seen Mona with her hair down. Dan’s never even seen Mona in plain clothes. She probably sleeps in her crisp skirt-suits. “I can handle things,” Dan assures her, hoping he has something akin to conviction in his tone, given that he’s speaking out of his ass. “Like you said, it’s just a weekend.”

“I’ll be a phone call away,” Mona promises, eyes reopening in order to look at Dan like he’s Christ arisen. “Thank you, Dan. I’ll remember this.”

*

The following morning, Mr Novokoric is sat at a table on the balcony again, just as Dan is about to set up for breakfast. He already has a coffee in front of him today, Dan notes, cheeks burning when he remembers yesterday’s fiasco. Luckily it’s windy again this morning, so he can blame the pink colour of his skin on that, if asked.

He mutters a “good morning” and starts setting Mr Novokoric’s table, asking him politely to lift his drink so that he can lay a tablecloth down. Dan can feel that hard, ultramarine stare as he sets out a knife and fork he knows will remain untouched - the man seems to live on coffee alone - and tries to resist the urge to spew some garbled apology for yesterday’s macchiato fiasco.

Before he can get it out however, Mr Novokoric speaks. “So, I asked Mona to order me a new phone, and some new skis.”

The last word makes Dan drop a spoon. He bends down to get it, but he’s not quick enough. Mr Novokoric hands it back to him, some curious sparkle hiding beneath his usual stern expression.

“More skis,” Dan echoes, trying not to let his expression droop. So, it seems he’s spent a good three hours of his life fixing a ski that will shortly be replaced. So much for being a good samaritan. “Right. Are you asking me if they’ve arrived? I can check, but I don’t think Kaspar has brought them up yet-”

“Strangest thing, though,” Mr Novokoric interrupts, as though Dan hadn’t been in the middle of a sentence. “I went to throw my old skis away, and there’s nothing wrong with them. The strap’s been mended.”

“Huh,” Dan says, turning back to his basket for a new spoon. He sets it carefully on the table, trying to remain composed. “Weird.”

“Did you fix it?”

Pinned in place by Mr Novokoric’s gaze, Dan feels his face turning from pink to red. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I had no idea you’d already ordered more-”

He breaks off, wary of the strange expression being aimed at him. Mr Novokoric’s eyes have softened, and there’s something close to a smile threatening to break forth. The idea of him actually smiling is enough to fluster Dan into taking a hasty step backwards. The man is uncomfortably pretty as it is, which is confusing enough considering he’s such an asshole. Dan doesn’t know if he could handle a dazzling grin on top of that.

“That was… unexpected,” Mr Novokoric says slowly. His smile still hasn’t quite broken through, but his face has lost the hardness Dan is used to seeing. Without the usual frown lines and turned down corners of his mouth, he could even be beautiful. “Thank you. Of course, your repair is unneeded now, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Yeah, um, no worries,” Dan says, wondering how rude it would be to just run away. “I had a spare minute, so…”

“Not many people would have the initiative, let alone the intellect to do that,” he says, draining the last of his coffee. He hold the mug out for Dan to take. “I’m impressed.”

Feeling about three inches tall now, Dan just gives him a tight smile. “Thanks,” he says through gritted teeth, and takes the mug. “Another coffee?”

“Depends,” Mr Novokoric answers, arching an eyebrow. “Who’s making it?”

“L-Louise,” Dan says, cheeks hot again.

“Then yes, please,” he says, turning back to the view in front of him.

“Right away, Mr Novokoric,” Dan mutters, glad of the eventual opening to escape.

“Dan?”

Ugh, not so fast, it seems. “Yes?”

“Call me Phil, if you like.”

*

“Lou, I have an urgent problem,” Dan says, slamming into the kitchen.

She doesn’t look up from the eggs she’s scrambling. “It’s gonna take me a few hours to sort your hair out for you, Dan. I don’t have time right now, I’ve got to get breakfast out.”

“What? No, I need you to teach me how to work the coffee machine,” Dan says, smoothing his hair down self-consciously.

Louise looks up sharply, a smirk spreading over her mouth. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I’m going to be here on my own all weekend. I need to know how to make fancy coffees for… guests.”

“Caramel macchiatos?”

“All the different kinds!”

Louise laughs in her long, pretty trill, and nods. “After breakfast,” she says. “Meet me here, I’ll give you a lesson.”

Dan grins at her, then plucks a raspberry from a bowl nearby. “Oh, and Phil wants another cup when you have a sec.”

“Sure,” Louise mutters, going back to the eggs. “I’ll get that for Phil.”  

Dan pretends not to hear the knowing smile hidden in her voice as he exits the kitchen. He jogs back outside then, just in time to usher the Lautrecs to their table. 

*

As it turns out, the coffee machine is going to take more than one lesson to master. Not because it’s especially complicated - more because Dan is utterly inept.

“Watch it!” Louise shrieks as Dan turns the wrong knob, and spurts actual boiling steam from the nozzle. Luckily, they both somehow manage to avoid getting scalded. “My God, Daniel, have you never watched the barista as they make your latte before?”

“I’m not really very attentive,” Dan says, sheepishly. 

He looks over the herd of coffees he’s made over the last hour, all huddled together on the counter. The argument could probably be made that his most recent is better than the initial attempts, but that would hardly be a compliment. He imagines each of the milky, sludge-coloured concoctions is silently whispering ‘kill me, please’. 

“Okay, let’s try a macchiato again.” He’s nothing if not determined.

“You seem to be under the impression that I have nothing better to do than dodge you covering me in coffee granules,” Louise says, wiping the nozzle clean. “I’ve got to get lunch going, so maybe we can pick this up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Friday,” Dan protests. “That’s the day you leave.”

“Not ‘til the evening,” Louise says. “There’s enough time to squeeze in another lesson before that, God help me.”

“Just one more,” Dan begs, giving her his most puppy-dog expression. “Just show me the macchiato again. Please.”

She sighs dramatically, sort of groaning. “Alright, alright. Get the caramel syrup then.”

It’s not until Dan has the syrup in his hands that he realises Louise is insinuating that these macchiatos are for Phil. She aims a knowing smile at him, and Dan just ignores her, cheeks pink as he pours caramel into the mug. He’s frothing milk, Louise shrieking instructions in his ear - “tilt the jug!”, “you’re spraying it everywhere, push the nozzle down more!”, “not that far, Christ!” - when he senses someone watching him. Mortified at the idea his foibles might be witnessed, Dan drops the jug and hot, not-so-frothy milk gushes everywhere, soaking his and Louise’s shoes, and a lot of the kitchen floor.

“Dan, I’m about to write you off as a lost cause!” Louise shouts, tearing her hat off her head and storming to the sink to find a cloth. “If these shoes are ruined you’re buying me more.”

Dan barely hears her; he’s too busy meeting the curious stare aimed at him. Phil Novokoric is sat at one of the indoor tables in the mezzanine, chin in his hand, watching Dan through the serving hatch. For some reason, Dan lifts his hand in a semblance of a wave; this seems to amuse Phil greatly, though he doesn’t wave back. Instead, a small, barely-there smile graces his lips, presumably for himself, and then he gets up, and walks towards the stairs to the lobby.

“Right,” Louise says, chucking a damp cloth at Dan. “Clean this up, then get the hell out of my kitchen. Coffee class resumes tomorrow.”

(Chapter Five coming next Friday!)

[bluerose5]

A Little Taste of Heaven

(A/N: Well, classes are about to start back for me, so my writing is about to slow way down. I’ve been stressing myself out so much today, so I wrote this as self-care. Basically, some crack/silliness involving a world where angels are a public thing at the same time that androids become a thing. Androids have rights and souls because I say so, and the Jericho crew rules Heaven b/c God officially left the game. WARNINGS for what is probably considered blasphemy, lots of swearing, implied/referenced sexual activities, and my take on humor. Let’s see how this goes. P.S. This is not a wingfic, and most angels have adopted human forms, just FYI.)

"I can't believe I let you three talk me into this."

By now, Simon and Josh have stopped responding to him altogether, unable to muster up even a single eye roll for old time's sake.

Markus huffs at them, pouting into his cup of coffee while they continue to speak to each other in hushed tones, ignoring his presence entirely.

Not even three seconds later, and Markus is back to worrying, unable to keep his nerves at bay.

"Do you think that he'll like my outfit?" Markus mutters, pinching at his clothes with a critical eye. "I mean, North helped me pick this out, but what if he doesn't like it?"

Simon groans, burying his face into his hands, but Josh simply stares at Markus, unimpressed.

"North is his guardian," Josh reasons, saying the words slowly, in a last, futile attempt to make the meaning stick. "I'm certain that she knows Connor well enough to know what he likes."

"Well, yeah, but I mean..." Markus's leg starts to bounce, and his hands clench around the coffee mug, cracking the ceramic. "What if he's, I don't know, disappointed?"

"Are you serious?" Simon snaps, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You two have been eye-fucking each other since you first met!"

"What Simon means to say," Josh interrupts, "is that Connor is clearly into you."

"More like he wants wants to be into you," Simon snorts. He thinks about it for a moment, and then corrects himself. "Or you into him." He contemplates it for a second time, and then shrugs. "Eh, either or."

Josh jabs him sharply in the side, and Simon gapes at him, more offended than hurt.

"Hey, what did I do?" Simon asks. "I only speak the truth."

"As eloquent as ever, Si," Josh says, his eyes carrying a weariness that could only come from centuries of dealing with them.

"Creator help me," Markus grumbles, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into. "Maybe I should just go."

"And maybe you shouldn't," Josh counters.

"This isn't going to work," Markus whispers, more to himself that the others, but Simon and Josh answer regardless.

"It will, as long as you think it will, Cupid," Simon teases. Leaning into Josh's side, he clasps his hands together jokingly, fluttering his eyelashes while he sighs dramatically. "Isn't it so romantic, Josh? Our little seraph is growing up."

Josh snickers, hiding his laugh behind a cough when Markus glowers.  

"Haha, very funny," he mumbles. He sets his coffee cup down before he breaks it entirely, straightening up his silverware with a huff. When he can't find anything else to occupy his time with, his entire demeanor deflates, losing what confidence that remained. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You're just used to having control, Mr. High and Mighty." Simon takes a sip of his own drink, wrinkling his nose at the diner's bitter brew. While he stirs in a boatload of cream and sugar, he rambles on. "Give you a legion of angels to command, and you barely bat an eye. But leave you alone with an android, and you suddenly turn into a nervous wreck."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Josh adds, "but it is unusual to see."

Before Markus can so much as open his mouth to reply, the air around him starts to shift and waver, and North pops in at his side, manifesting with a smug smile.

Thankfully, none of the humans seem to notice their newest addition, nor do they seem to care.

Not as if that would have deterred North in the slightest.

"Amazing entrance, as always," Markus greets.

Simon stares at her challengingly, shaking his hand in a "so-so" motion. "Six out of ten. Needs more flickering lights and screaming humans." 

North scoffs at him, shoving Markus over in the booth. "As if our Lord and Savior would let me have my fun."

"Excuses," Josh says, causing Markus to tsk at them in disapproval.

"Some days, I really regret my job," Markus mutters, staring unseeingly at the table.

North slaps him soundly on the shoulder, giving him a solid thumbs up. "Shouldn't have volunteered for the whole 'throne of God' thing, buddy."

"Well, to be fair," Simon says, "if daddy dearest didn't leave us to clean up his mess, then everything would be fine." Everybody turns to stare at Simon, all in different states of disbelief. Simon scowls, then eventually surrenders his opinion. "Okay, maybe things wouldn't be fine."

"Just 'maybe'?" Josh asks.

"Okay," Simon agrees. "Things would be terrible. Angels would still be in our own realm, fawning over our self-righteous bullshit, and humans would probably be starting another world war."

"Is it still too late to make the androids their overlords?" North asks.

"Yes!" Markus snaps. "Why on Earth would we do that?"

"So we don't have to deal with them," North says, as if Markus is the one being irrational.

Josh shakes his head at their antics, but refuses to involve himself when Markus looks to him for help.

"No, no, no..." he chuckles, leaning back in his seat. "I'm not getting into this."

"Do I need to remind you three that we all share that power together?" Markus asks.

"Great!" North says, clapping her hands together in excitement. "Then I can order the beginning of the android revolution. Good to know."

"Not how that works," Josh says.

Simon stares at North again, playfully narrowing his eyes. "You know, we've only known each other since, well, since the beginning of time or whatever, but I can't figure one thing out."

"And what's that?" North asks, meeting his glare with one of her own.

"Oh boy," Markus grumbles, at the exact same time that Josh says, "Here we go."

Simon grins at her, ignoring the others. "I can't ever seem to figure out what horrible sin Connor had to commit to be stuck with you."

"Oh no," Markus whispers, and they all watch while North holds up three fingers.

"Great," Josh sighs. "You got her started."

Simon crosses his arms over his chest.

"Three," North says.

"Please don't make a scene," Markus groans.

But Simon doesn't move a muscle, never once breaking eye contact.

"Two," North continues, dropping a finger.

"I swear to Markus, if I have to chase after you two..." Josh threatens, but neither one listens, locked in a standstill.

"One," North chimes, leaving her middle finger up for Simon to see.

Before she can reach zero, however, Simon disappears in a burst of pure energy, causing the lights in the diner to flicker uncontrollably. All around them, it's like a miniature shockwave going off, and everyone braces themselves against the impact.

Everyone except the angels, that is.

Some random man cries out in terror, effectively breaking the tension. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Actually his name is Markus," North responds, ignoring Markus's furious glare as she jabs a thumb in his direction.

Taking a good look at him, another person answers this time, their voice filled with awe. "Can I join your religion?"

"Of course humans can, on the condition that they accept the androids as their overl—" Markus slaps a hand over North's mouth, but she keeps on going, unfazed. "Mmrhm..."

"What she means to say," Josh interjects, "is that we are currently not accepting applications at this time, so have a nice day."

Murmured confusion rises up at that, and when Markus stares at Josh in exasperation, Josh merely shrugs, returning his gaze. "What?"

"What the hell kind of religion uses applications?" Markus hisses.

"I don't know," Josh huffs, "but I don't see you coming up with anything, Your Majesty."

And as usual, North decides that she gave Simon enough of a headstart. She peels away Markus's hand, then cracks her knuckles for show.

She works the kinks out of her neck, sighing in annoyance. "Well, gentlemen, this has been fun and all, but I have to go kick Simon's ass now." She starts to snap her fingers, but stops midway, pointing threateningly at Markus. "By the way, sweetheart, I love and respect you so much. But if you hurt my boy, your ass is next on the list." 

With those as her parting words, she finishes her snap, disappearing with a loud, thunderous roar.

All of the employees and patrons continue to stare at their table, gaping in shock.

Markus admits, he's having trouble keeping the laughter at bay.

"So much for remaining inconspicuous," he mutters, both of them rising hurriedly from their seats.

One waitress crosses herself, murmuring something about demons, and Josh can't hold it in any longer, barking out a contagious laugh.

Markus throws a wad of cash on the table, waving awkwardly at everyone with a weary smile.

"Sorry," he apologizes, gesturing vaguely towards the empty seats. "They have a, um, condition?"

"A for effort," Josh chuckles, shoving him out of the restaurant doors. "Really, nice try."

Markus turns to address him, but that is apparently enough of a distraction to send him crashing into the person in front of him.

Once Markus recognizes who it is he bumped into, he figures that the crash wasn't as accidental as he originally believed. He turns once again —this time, to confront Josh— but the traitor has already left, disappearing in a plume of smoke.

Great. Now Markus is here. He's here, he's alone, and he's alone with—

"Connor," Markus breathes, uncertain of what to say. "It's good to see you...?"

Connor smiles crookedly, and Markus feels his spirit start to flutter. "Are you asking or telling me?"

"Telling," Markus answers, much too quickly.

Well, it's not as if he needed his dignity today.

"Yeah," Markus says, nodding eagerly. "Definitely telling."

Startled by his sudden boldness, Connor blinks at him, his eyes darting back and forth questioningly.

"Is everything alright?" he wonders. "I thought North was supposed to be meeting us."

"Well..." Markus glances over his shoulder, noticing the mob of people pouring out of the restaurant, some wielding their phones, armed and ready. Markus grabs onto Connor's hand, leading him in the other direction. "There was an incident, so change of plans."

Connor follows Markus' gaze, smirking while he regains his footing, falling into step at the angel's side. "One that conveniently involves us being alone?"

"Oh, well, would you look at that!" Markus exclaims. "What a coincidence."

"A pleasant one, I'll admit," Connor allows, eyeing him slyly. "Not everyone can claim that they get to hold hands with an angel."

"A literal one, in my case," Markus says. "Not that I'm trying to brag or anything."

"Of course not," Connor agrees. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes tells an entirely different story, though. "That would imply that you have a reason to impress me."

Markus raises an eyebrow. "Just the one?"

"Or a few..." Connor pauses, chuckling to himself.

"What?" Markus asks. He weaves them expertly around the other pedestrians, refusing to take his eyes off of the android.

"Nothing," Connor says. "I was just thinking about something that Hank and North were telling me." At Markus's curious look, he caves, rolling his eyes while he burrows into Markus's side. "They keep saying that I'm wasting perfect opportunities to use angel pickup lines."

"Well," Markus teases, "using them would imply that you have a reason to impress me."

As they stroll into a nearby park, Connor takes a second to bask in the golden, afternoon sunlight.

Markus loudly clears his throat, feeling his mouth run dry at the expression of pure peace that spreads across Connor's face, his warm spirit fluttering with happiness.

"I could try one out, if you like," Connor offers. He then takes the lead, dragging Markus over to a bench, where they both take a seat in an inhumanly fluid motion.

Leaning his arm on the back of the bench, Markus angles himself towards Connor, his skin taking on a subtle glow from the continuous sun exposure.

Markus tries his best to ignore the resulting stares, resting his cheek in his hand.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," he says. However, when Connor's LED turns yellow for a split second, Markus calls him out on it. "Hey, no cheating."

"Too late," Connor chimes, leaning in with focused intent. His eyes trail teasingly from Markus's eyes to his mouth, cycling back up again. Markus stares into those dark brown eyes with a hooded gaze, biting longingly on his bottom lip. "So..." Connor purposefully lowers his voice, his tone thick and husky. "Are you an angel?" He drags his eyes up and down Markus's form. "Because your body is heavenly."

Markus chokes down a laugh, covering his mouth while he nods appreciatively. "Well, consider me seduced. I mean, how can I possibly keep my hands to myself now?"

"That's operating under the assumption that I want you to."

"Oh?" Markus asks.

Connor shrugs nonchalantly. "You could say that I'm curious."

"Hmm..." Markus contemplates the situation, then eventually decides to hell with it. "I might be able to satisfy that curiosity."

"'Might' be?" Connor questions, cocking his head to the side. "Why the uncertainty?"

"Not really uncertainty. Because, believe me, it's entirely possible. The problem is that, sex on Earth... probably not a good idea." Markus holds his hand out for inspection, showing Connor the ever growing tendrils of light that caress Markus's skin, bright and wispy. "The best way to explain it is, in our realm, our 'energy' is in an almost endless loop. It tends not to stay stagnant for long, so if one of us were to... expend it in any way, it wouldn't affect our surroundings. It would simply be absorbed and recycled."

"But on Earth...?"

Markus chuckles nervously, scratching at the edge of his brow. "At worst, I level the entire city of Detroit. At best, I cause a citywide blackout."

"Wonderful," Connor deadpans.

"And I could only imagine that that amount of power wouldn't be great on your systems."

"I would prefer not to find out, now that I think about it."

"And I would prefer not to test that theory," Markus agrees. Nudging experimentally at Connor's spirit, Markus watches as the light curls eagerly around his own, accepting his advances. "But that doesn't mean it's impossible."

"Care to explain?"

Markus smirks, his mismatched eyes darkening with desire. "Perhaps it would be more interesting to show you instead."

With that being said, Markus stands, helping Connor to his feet. 

"Come on," he breathes, and Connor is helpless but to follow.

The next day at work, Connor sits in the DPD's break room, trapped firmly in a daze by the time North and Hank walk in, huddled together while they talk.

They both stop short when they notice Connor, who continues to stare blankly at the wall across from him, mumbling mindlessly to himself with a coffee cup clenched tightly in his hands.

Hank and North exchange a wary glance, approaching him in confusion.

"Hey, asshole, you okay?" Hank snaps his fingers in front of his face, and Connor startles, blinking rapidly at the two before him.

"I-I, uh..." Connor stutters.

Narrowing her eyes at him, North scrutinizes him from head to toe, leaning in to get a closer look. While she is busy doing so, Hank walks away and searches for a bottle of water, unfazed.

"Something is different," North says, tapping a finger on her chin.

"No shit," Hank snorts, pointing his bottle in Connor's direction. "He's mumbling even more nonsense than usual."

"Not that," North replies. "It's something about his soul." 

Connor ignores them, clutching desperately at the sides of his head. "I had a literal out-of-body experience yesterday."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Hank huffs, but North remains quiet, her eyes cold and calculating.

"I saw the dick of God," Connor murmurs, barely intelligle.

Or so he thought.

Realization appears to strike North without warning, her eyes widening comically, and Hank barely refrains from spitting out his water, slamming a fist against his chest as he coughs, forcing it down.

As soon as he regains his breath, Hank hastily corrects him. "'The phrase is the 'face of God,' Connor." He looks at the android desperately. "Please, tell me that you meant the face of God."

North tucks into the seat across from him, trembling with curiosity.

"I meant what I said," Connor says. No more, no less.

As if North could possibly be satisfied with so little. "No way. Connor, you slut, and on the first date?" She presses a hand over her chest. "I'm so proud." That's when she narrows her eyes again. "But that would mean..."

Already traumatized by the conversation, Hank stares into his water, more than likely wishing it was something else. "Do I want to know what that means, besides the obvious?"

"No!" North gasps, slamming her hands on the table. "You two fucked in Heaven?!"

Of course Nine would choose that exact moment to walk in. Everyone in the room stares at him, and he stares back, the silence stretching on to awkward lengths. Eventually, he gives a slow, approving nod, easing his way back into the hall, step by step.

And as soon as he is out of sight, the sound of his hurried pace can be heard, echoing throughout the hallway.

His voice carries back to them, loud and victorious. "Gavin, you asshole, I won the bet!"

"Taste in humans aside, I'm so proud of his progress," Hank sighs, then glares at Connor. "You, on the other hand..."

"Shhh..." North snaps, waving Hank off. "I need details because he didn't even tell me he was there."

Connor shifts uneasily. "I was preoccupied."

"The entire night?" she asks.

"The entire night," he whispers. "Angel and android stamina works wonders together."

"Some would say miracles," North giggles.

"Someone kill me now," Hank mutters, but they both ignore him.

"So you saw his home?" she insists.

"Thoroughly," Connor confirms.

"And the throne?" she demands.

"He loved the throne," Connor sighs, putting his chin in his hand with a dreamy smile.

"You know," Hank interrupts, "when angels came out to the public, I thought that you lot would be all wise and ancient with a permanent stick up your ass." He scoffs at himself and at how horribly wrong he actually was. "I was more worried that you would try and rule the world your way, not fuck my son."

"Aww, you called me your son," Connor whispers.

"And technically the only one fucking him is our Lord and Savior," North says. She and Connor exchange a high five, and Hank takes that as his cue to leave.

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that," Hank mutters, "or the thing about you defiling the throne of God, or any of this, for that matter."

"It was quite the heavenly experience," Connor taunts.

On his way out, Hank flips them off behind his back, and both North and Connor dissolve into a fit of laughter.

[share-the-damn-bed-main]

A Tale of Two Houses (A03)

He was an Alpha Tau and Yato's best friend-- that alone should have been the end of it. But for some reason, the more time she spent with him, the less she cared. {Kazubisha Week 2017 Day 2: School Days AU -- In which I watched a lot of Greek, plotted too much, and accidentally started writing a multi-chapter fic...}

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” The perky, pink haired woman chimed, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis and waving a flyer in her hand for Bishamon to see. “They just announced the lucky houses this morning.”

And there it was, on official Intrafraternity and Sorority Council letterhead: Congratulations to Beta Chi and Alpha Tau, this year’s hosts of Takamagahara State University’s Spring Festival!

“I think I’m going to throw up.” The blonde grumbled to herself. “Kofuku, as social chair you’ll handle this catastrophe, right?”

“No can do, Bisha. Spring Fest has always been a collaboration between the sorority and fraternity presidents.”

Bishamon opened her mouth to interject before being cut off.

“And besides, even if it was my responsibility, I’m already too swamped with planning the founder’s day festivities for the following weekend.”  Her pink-haired friend shrugged, offering her a sympathetic smile.

Taking a small sip of coffee, she sighed bitterly and closed her eyes, trying to process the frustrating turn of events. Of course, after vying for Spring Fest host sorority for the past three years, when they finally win, it’s with him.

“Can you talk to Daikoku? See if he can convince their house to pull out?”

“Bisha,” Her friend’s disapproval wasn’t lost on her. “Come on, you and Yati have been at each other's throats for years. Try and work together just this once, please? For Beta Chi?”

The sorority president furrowed her brow before relenting.

“Fine. But if we do end up killing each other, it’s your fault.”  

---

The coffee shop was surprisingly empty this close to finals. The local spot was cozy and provided a tranquil escape for its patrons with plush couches and exposed brick walls. Only the sounds of light chatter between guests and rattling of the espresso machine filled the air as she made her way through the cafe.

After the entire Greek system was notified about this year’s Spring Fest, Bishamon drafted a curt email to the Alpha Tau president saying to meet her at the coffee house on Main and High at 4 pm so they could, as she so eloquently phrased, ‘get this over with’.

To no one’s surprise, he didn’t respond.

Plopping down on her favorite leather love seat tucked away near the front window, she quickly organized the vendor forms and pulled out her laptop before he arrived in hopes of limiting her time with Yato as much as possible. The two of them hadn’t been in the same room for more than ten minutes since freshman year. Even then, most of that time was spent glaring daggers at one another and hoping the other would spontaneously combust.

She had no intention of actually working on Spring Fest with him, they could just split the work evenly and correspond by email until the event. Then, they would act as if the entire event went without a hitch, allowing them to keep both of their houses’ dignity and status.

“Sorry I’m late.” A voice startled her attention back to focus. She looked up to see a formally dressed student roughly her age addressing her while shrugging off his coat and placing his messenger bag on the coffee table between them. “I’m coming from my internship across town and traffic at this time is an utter mess.”

He paused a moment to catch his breath, sensing her confusion.

“You are Bishamon, president of Beta Chi, are you not?”

“I am.” She responded, peering down at the letters ‘BX’ on her shirt before looking back at him, clearly still wary. “And you are?”

“My apologies,” the brunette extended his hand to her with a smile. “I am Kazuma, vice president of Alpha Tau.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Kazuma.” She returned the gesture before waving for him to sit. “Does this mean Yato won’t be planning Spring Fest this year?”

The Alpha Tau hesitated and averted his gaze.

“Ah, about that, Yato didn’t believe that your partnership would yield fruitful outcomes. So he decided to entrust the Spring Fest responsibilities to me and focus his time on planning the after party instead.” Bishamon audibly scoffed while shaking her head. How typical.

It seemed Yato was as irresponsible and flighty as ever; always putting himself first no matter how much he may hurt others or even his own house. His actions should have sent her into a fit of rage, if only she hadn’t tried to do the same exact thing.

She bit her lip in disgust before clicking her pen and offering her co-host a soft smile.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. Yato and I are not on the best terms, to say the least.”

“So I have heard.” Kazuma opened up his laptop and handed her a thick binder. “But enough about Yato, I’ve organized potential vendors into groups based on provided service and have ordered them from most to least expensive. Then, I have a list of the pros and cons of hiring each vendor to aid in our selection.”

Bishamon stared at it, mouth slightly agape in shock at the detail and research he invested. Somehow, he turned the 3-page pdf emailed to them into a 127-page textbook.

“At the front,” he flipped the pages for her, “I have some brainstorming exercises to help us decide on a theme, and lastly,” he turned his laptop so that she could see, “I’ve created a spreadsheet to track our spending and help us stay within budget.”

“This- this is amazing. How long did this even take you?” she careful flipped through its pages as if each one were a rare work of art.

“Um, not too long. Maybe a few hours.”

“Well, thank you.” She looked at him, her voice tinged with a mix of pure awe and earnest sincerity. “I’m glad to co-host Spring Fest with someone who actually takes this seriously.”

“I’m excited to be working with you as well.” The brunette went to take a sip of his tea before stopping abruptly. “I-I mean Beta Chi is a reputable sorority and the members of Alpha Tau are lucky to be co-hosting with you.”

Bishamon quirked her eyebrow at him.

“B-But that’s not to say I’m not excited to work with you!” His face, slowly turning pink as he became more and more flustered. “You seem like a wonderful person and--”

Bishamon broke out into carefree laughter causing the Alpha Tau to stop mid-sentence.

“Kazuma,” She chuckled. “I don’t know what Yato told you about me, but I promise I’m not that ill-tempered.”  

He opened his mouth to interject but she waved him off.

  “Come on, didn’t you say there were theme selection activities in this thing?”

Three lattes and two empty cups of jasmine tea later, the sun had set and the awkwardness between strangers had melted away. Between planning and brainstorming the pair found that they actually had a lot in common: they both thought the Gamma Delta’s were pretentious and insufferable to be around, they both thought cotton candy was unquestionably better than funnel cake, and, they both grew up in the same state and even went to neighboring high schools. Not that they ran in the same social circles or anything; he was involved with student council and Latin club while she participated in nearly every competitive sport imaginable.

Despite her initial hesitation, Bishamon had to admit she was actually enjoying herself and enjoying Kazuma, an Alpha Tau of all people’s, company. There was something oddly comforting about him that she couldn’t quite place. Even though they only met a few hours ago, she felt as if they were longtime friends.

“So?” He asked from his spot on the couch adjacent to her.

“Welcome to Paradise.” The blonde pondered aloud as if she were letting the idea marinate on her tongue. “It captures the feeling of finishing the semester, it’s vague enough that we can use the vendors we want- not just ones that fit a specific theme, and it hasn’t been done before. I like it.” She turned her body towards him. “What do you think?”

Looking up from his screen he smiled at her in excitement. “We’ll have to make some decisions on the food vendors, but we should be able to put on all the activities we discussed while staying in budget.”

“Even the giant hillside slip and slide?” the Beta Chi president perked up causing her co-host to chuckle lightly.

“Yes, it looks like the university’s liability insurance covers it, surprisingly.”

“Are you sure we don’t need waivers?” Bishamon searched for the policy statement on the cluttered table. Every square inch was covered with sorted piles of various vendor sheets and renter’s agreements making it extremely difficult to find anything.

“I’m fairly certain we’re exempt because of clause 42-A.” The brunette assured, moving to help her find the document when suddenly, his fingertips brushed against hers.

Bishamon froze and felt her breath hitch the moment his hand made contact. Suddenly aware of how close they were sitting on the tiny couch, she kept her chin down, trying not to look at him.  Kazuma paused, if only for a fraction of a second, before retracting his hand quickly and stuttering out a quiet apology.   

She simply nodded, still not looking at him, and grabbed the policy off the coffee table.

“Clause 42-A,” she read aloud as if nothing happened. “Waivers for potentially dangerous activities on the property are only required when the participant is being suspended from the ground, require some form of protective gear, or are required by the vendor providing the service.”

Kazuma cleared his throat. “Um yes, exactly. And, from their website, Slides N’ Stuff states they do not require waivers but they do need a security deposit on the tarp.”

“Does that fit in the budget?” She asked, finally looking up at him. His eyes shifting from hers.

“It can.” he nodded. “But we may need to cut funds to other vendors.”

“Make sure it’s not the one where you pay to pie people in the face. I really want to see Takemikazuchi’s face covered in whipped cream.” She joked in an attempt to lighten the mood and when Kazuma laughed in response, she could feel the tension between them dissipate.

“Don’t worry, that’s the last vendor I would cut.”  

“Good.” She cheered, taking her last sip of latte. As her gaze fell on her watch, her stomach dropped and she nearly spit out the lukewarm liquid in shock. “It’s 11:45!”

“We’ve been here for almost 8 hours?” Kazuma seemed equally shocked.

“Ugh, I have an 8:45 class tomorrow and a paper to finish.” She whined while frantically packing up her bag. “I can’t believe I stayed out this late.”

“Did you drive?” He wondered while shoving the last of the vendor forms away.

“Uh no, I walked.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?” He offered, pulling on his coat as they made their way to the door.

Bishamon quirked her brow in confusion.

“Didn’t you drive?” She asked, the bell jingling in the doorway as they exited.

“Ah, no I drove back to the house and walked from there.”

“Well thank you, that would be great.” She smiled at him and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before quickly adding, “If you don’t mind.”

“No,” he fell in step beside her, “not at all.”

The shop was only a few blocks south of Greek row and they quickly found themselves walking alone and in a comfortable silence. During the day, High street was a constant buzz with cars and deliveries up and down the street. While at night, it became a deserted ghost town.

“This is going to be so fun,” Bishamon said, trying to break the silence. “At first I was excited that Beta Chi was hosting, but now,” she looked at Kazuma, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Now, I’m looking forward to actually going to Spring Fest.” The boy’s eyes met her’s, but only for a moment before they focused forward, again.

“Me too. I believe both of our houses will benefit greatly from our efforts.” His voice was warm and laced with the smallest hint of pride.

“I was wondering, and please don’t take this the wrong way,” She warned as they turned the corner onto Greek row. “But Alpha Tau has never cared about their house ranking in the past, so why do you even care about this event?” As harsh as it sounded, it was something had been bugging her since the host announcement.

“I wouldn’t say that Alpha Tau doesn’t care about rankings, we do, and we think we are the best.” His tone was free of anger or resentment. “It’s just what we value and what the rest of the Greek system value don’t always align.”

“So why now, why care about this event.” She pressed, furrowing her brow.

“Like I said, we think we’re the best, so we might as well try to have others see us that way as well.” He paused a moment before continuing. “I’m going to be president next year and it’s my goal to have Alpha Tau ranked as the number one fraternity on campus by the time I graduate.”

Bishamon stopped walking and cocked her head in mock confusion, “Are you sure you’re an Alpha Tau?”

He chuckled at her jab, stopping a few feet in front of her before turning around. “You know, we’re not the lazy low-lives people make us out to be. Even Yato may surprise you if you give him a chance.”

“That’s a hard pass.” She sneered brushing past him.

“Okay then,” Kazuma called as he caught up with her. “Why do you care about hosting the festival?”

“We’re Beta Chi, we’re the number one sorority on campus?” She replied as if it were obvious.

“Yes, but why is it important to you?” He pressed, just as she did.

“I don’t know, I’ve always had a competitive streak and desire to be the best at everything and Beta Chi is the first real home I’ve had.” She shoved her hands in her pockets before continuing. “Before college, I was in and out of foster homes until I was 16, which sucked.” She sighed, staring at her feet. “Then my friend’s parents became my legal guardian for two years so I could finish out high school without transferring.” She trailed off, shaking her head before looking up at him.  “My sisters and that house are my family,” she shrugged. “I would do anything for them.”

There was something soft in the way he looked at her. Pity, she could recognize well, but this was different. Stemming from empathy with a hint of awe and a touch of respect, his gaze, she realized, resembled something akin to admiration.

“Thank you for walking me home.” She said as she took they stopped in front of her house. “And for all the help with planning.”

“Not a problem at all.” He looked at her, his glasses refracting the moonlight. “I honestly had fun.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “So when do you want to meet again?”

“I’m pretty busy with projects over the next few days but am free on Saturday.” He thought aloud “You could come over to the house and we can finalize vendors? Yato isn’t there this weekend.” He assured when he saw the look on her face.

“Okay,” she said, reluctantly. “That works, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Alright,” he sounded relieved. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Goodnight.” Bishamon waved at him as she started to make her way up toward the house.

He gave her a wave back, before heading toward his house, “Goodnight.”

He was right, she thought as she climbed the porch stairs, tonight had been fun. Bishamon couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed that hard or enjoyed spending time with someone so much. As much as that elated her, it also had her crestfallen. The two of them had both been in the Greek system for years, had even grown up in the same area, and yet she had no idea he existed before tonight.

Once she made it to the front door her hand hesitated over the handle before she quickly turned around, acting on a whim.

“Kazuma,” her voice cut through the stillness of the night air, startling him enough to stop and look back at her. “I’m sorry it took this long to meet you.” She admitted, feeling a blush burn her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he smiled back at her after a moment with that same complex look in his eyes as before. “Me too.”  

---

“Well, she’s not dead.” Bishamon heard Kofuku jest as she shut the door.

“And I haven’t heard sirens all day, so Yato’s not dead either.” Her little sis, Hiyori, added.

Bishamon turned to face her two friends sitting on the couch sharing a bowl of popcorn.

“And she’s smiling!” Kofuku exclaimed pointing at the president. “Could it be that the sworn enemies have made peace?”

“Hardly,” Bishamon scoffed shrugging off her backpack and collapsing on the couch next to them. “Yato actually blew Spring Fest off. I’m actually working on the event with someone else.”

“Another Alpha Tau?” Kofuku wondered.

“Yeah, the vice president.” The blonde answered, popping some of their popcorn into her mouth.

“Oh, Kazuma? He’s super smart!” Kofuku interjected. “Daikoku told me the whole reason their house isn’t on academic probation is because of Kazu’s GPA.”

“He’s Yukine’s big brother,” Hiyori added. “I’ve met him a few times, he seems super sweet.”

“Yeah.” Bishamon sighed as the two others stared at her.

“Oh my god.” Kofuku gasped in realization causing the other girls to shoot her puzzled glances. “Bisha, do you like Kazu?”

“What?” She cried out. “Of course not, no.” She adamantly shot down her friend’s accusations, but the hitch in her voice betrayed her.

“Oh my god, you do like him!” Hiyori cheered, clapping her hands together as Kofuku sang a vulgar version of the tree kissing song.

“You guys, stop.” Bishamon scolded, silencing them. “Alright, Kazuma is nice and we get along well. So yes, I do like him. As a friend.” she emphasized slowly.

“Whatever you say, Madame President.” Kofuku saluted with a smug smile causing Bishamon to glare at her.

“Now,” the blonde sighed standing up and cracking her back before heading to the staircase, “I have a 10-page paper to crank out before 8:45 tomorrow morning.”

“Good luck!” Hiyori called after her big sis before turning to Kofuku. “Do you really think Bisha likes Kazuma?” She whispered once their friend was out of earshot.

“Oh yeah.” Kofuku nodded, very sure of herself. “Whether she knows it yet or not, our Bisha is smitten.”