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xlady-saya · 5 years ago

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if magic exists, you’re the closest thing [fic]

Relationships: andrew/neil, jerejean, side aaron/katelyn, side alvarez/laila

Summary: The concept of love is not one Andrew understands.

For a long time, it escaped him. It's always fuzzy, always distorted. He'd given up on it long ago, so why is he still chasing answers?

Whatever the reason, he's content to blame Jean Moreau for a lot of things, Katelyn too.

It's their fault he's here, at the happiest place on earth.

Tags: disneyland fic, andrew thinks a lot about love, fluff, comfort, references to canon abuse/past

Read on AO3!

Andrew never liked the concept of time travel; there’s no one distinct moment he’d go back to personally, no tragic world event he’d try to stop like in the movies.

However, due to today’s events, he might just forgo that opinion to say he’d gladly go back to make sure Disneyland never existed.

Then, maybe he wouldn’t have to listen to Kevin’s nagging.

"You two cannot blow off Jeremy Knox!" Kevin rages, hands planted on the kitchen counter as Neil deftly works around him. Andrew's not quite sure what he's doing; he asked Neil for some ice cream a few minutes ago, and the sounds of clattering dishes and spoons are way more interesting than whatever Kevin is saying.

Andrew leans back into his beanbag chair, content to demolish Aaron in Mario Kart in the meanwhile.

"Yes we can," Neil says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Andrew almost smirks.

It is; there's no way in hell Kevin's making them go to Disneyland on top of scouting recruits in California. Andrew doesn't understand why Queen Day can't just make another pit stop in Los Angeles after visiting the other recruit he has lined up in Washington.

Andrew exhales slowly, trying his best to keep his attention on the screen while he thinks about Neil. He's not sure when that became so difficult.

Alas, Andrew knows why he's being forced back to California. Neil cares far too much about Exy and his duties as vice-captain to miss out on something so essential. He picked out some of these recruits this time around, and he wants to see them in action. However, in this case it's not even one of his picks, and all they need to do is drop off paperwork. Neil has been trying, futilely, to convince Andrew he doesn't need to come.

The consideration is appalling. Andrew's grip on his controller is enough to make the plastic creak. Neil knows all too well California is a sore spot for him, but not the area they're going. Andrew couldn't care less.

Besides...Andrew's not letting Neil travel that far all alone.

Nothing, not even his past, is going to keep Andrew from going with him to make sure he doesn't die or worse. It wouldn't be a problem if Kevin were accompanying him, but he's got his own recruits to scout.

Neil is capable, Andrew thinks. He doesn't need protection, but it won't stop Andrew from offering it.

He chooses not to think about how one day, he'll have no choice but to stay behind. One day, he'll live apart from Neil and have to trust that he'll be okay.

He swallows down the dread he doesn't want to acknowledge, and claims first place.

"Motherfucker," Aaron spits, but immediately clicks the next level for them. If he can sense Andrew's mood, he doesn't comment, but...this helps.

And then he hits Andrew with a blue shell, and Andrew has to wonder why he shared a womb.

Andrew channels the uncertainty elsewhere, like kicking Aaron's ass and listening to Neil wave Kevin off. The rest of the time, he blames his nerves on the five hour flight he'll have to make in the very near future.

"We're not going," Neil says again, firmer this time. It's a tone that always sends Andrew's protective instincts into overdrive, Neil's temper flaring. But, it's just Kevin, which means there's more amusement than danger at play here.

Neil simply doesn't want to deal with it, so Andrew finds his voice. "Fuck off."

Kevin sputters, no doubt whipping around to where Andrew is sitting. He's not sure why Jeremy Knox is so set on taking them to Disneyland, but Andrew doesn't care enough to think about it. He's trying to do the bare minimum on their trip, and the USC Trojans are trying to make life difficult.

As Kevin groans on, Andrew hears the slightest indication of Neil stepping towards him. Neil's walk is distinct, in that it's nonexistent. Andrew often tests his hearing on how well he can sense Neil's approach.

And then, Neil is in front of him, and the world narrows until it's just Neil, crouched down with a bowl in his hands. Andrew hates what he's begun to call the Neil Effect, since it really has no concrete explanation, at least not an acceptable one. He gets second place in the game, and ignores Aaron's gloating for once. He'll get him back later.

There's something proud in Neil's eyes, self-directed, and that's when Andrew looks down to the bowl of ice cream.

Ah, now he remembers.

They hadn't been able to go grocery shopping, so the only thing in the freezer was boring vanilla. Disappointing, but Andrew's sweet tooth didn't care at the time. He needed dessert, no matter how lackluster.

However, this isn't just vanilla ice cream. There's large chunks of Snickers and peanut butter cups mixed in, haphazardly so, but well enough that someone obviously put in the effort.

Someone being...

Andrew looks between the bowl and Neil's steadily brightening expression, unwilling to linger on the fact Neil took the time to become a Cold Stone apprentice for the sole purpose of pleasing Andrew. It's all a waste though, because when he takes the bowl from Neil's hands, the reluctant words come out anyways.

"You're it for me."

It's not really a confession, since Andrew has known this for a while, but it still stings his pride a bit.

Neil blinks at him, tilting his head in that way that has Andrew glaring extra hard. "Hm?"

"Nothing."

He shoves the biggest spoonful he can manage into his mouth, and deserves the icy burn he gets for it.

Thankfully, before Neil can pry, Kevin is back at it again. Andrew's not sure if it's for better or worse.

The Queen himself rounds on them, blocking the television. "One of the best strikers from one of the top teams invited you to hang out for the day," he says, solely at Neil. He knows well enough that Andrew doesn't care about ranks. "How does that not excite you?"

An appropriate question, though. Why wouldn't it excite Neil?

"I don't know anything about Disneyland."

Neil plops down next to Andrew, indifference well conveyed. However, Andrew knows better. The restlessness in Neil's muscles is slight, but not surprising. There's a lot of things Neil doesn't know about, and while he normally wouldn't care, the idea of a place known for crowds of people probably isn't something Neil wants to explore.

It's not like the striker grew up with any exposure to the hundreds of movies or songs.

"It's an amusement park you loser," Aaron chimes in, and Neil scowls at him. Andrew pauses mid bite, surprised. A little. His brother's brand of comfort is the exact opposite of the what the word entails; it's a contrary, scathing thing, nearly as bad as Andrew's. But Andrew can detect it still, and that was definitely it.

Not that Neil would know though. The striker crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue, but Aaron's attention is already on getting Kevin the fuck out of his way.

"I don't care, I don't want to go," Neil responds petulantly, the words eaten up by the harsh impact of a pillow hitting Kevin's stomach.

At least he moves enough for Aaron's game to resume.

In the middle of Neil's protests, the door opens, admitting another one of Andrew's problems.

And she's unpredictable on top of it.

"Hi sweetie," Katelyn calls, punctuated by the slam of the front door. Andrew tries not to cringe at the name, nor his brother's dreamy sigh as Katelyn waves at them all. She walks over to kiss Aaron on the cheek before her attention is back on Neil's constipated face, which she blows past without a second thought. Oh, to be a cheerleader. "Go where?"

Kevin tears his gaze away from Aaron at the reminder. "Neil, you have to go to Disneyland, just fucking deal with it. You might be able to get some helpful pointers from Jeremy. Plus, don't you want to check on Jean?"

A cheap trick, and one that absolutely sours Andrew's mood despite the sweetness in his mouth. The protective itch is back from hearing Moreau's name, and he tugs Neil a little closer out of necessity.

Another reason for them not to go: Andrew's not sure he can stop himself from murdering the ex-Raven. Victim of Riko or not, he'd put his hands on Neil.

"If he wasn't doing okay I'm sure he would've reached out on his own," Neil counters, seeing through Kevin's appeal to sympathy. Neil, while he gets along with Jean better now, doesn't worry about him nearly as much as Kevin does.

Kevin can visit him then, if he's so curious.

As if Andrew said the words aloud, Kevin's stare intensifies. "Are you kidding--"

"Wait," Katelyn interrupts without care, and Andrew actually looks at her. He's been giving her that privilege a lot more now. Not everyone is dumb or brave enough to cut Kevin off, and even the striker looks impressed. Andrew's immediately thrown by the quality of her stare, the determination. Neil makes a strained noise in the back of his throat, and well, he does know Katelyn better. "You guys are talking about Disneyland? Like...Disneyland Disneyland?"

The existence of a knock-off Disneyland is certainly a topic Andrew will explore with Neil later.

"Oh no," Aaron whispers, and that's all the warning they get.

Neil leans further into Andrew's personal space, almost guarding. Like he senses the catastrophe too. "Uhh, yeah?"

Katelyn screams.

Andrew's hand on the back of Neil’s neck keeps him from jumping out of their seat, but Katelyn's got a one track mind as she rushes for him, plopping down on the ground as Aaron checks his ears for ringing.

The only satisfying part is that Katelyn pushes Kevin out of the way in the process. He goes reeling back with a yelp, very unbecoming of royalty.

"Oh my god! Neil you have to go, it's so fun!" Katelyn cheers, clapping her hands together softly. She chooses then to show Neil her backpack, adorned with about 100,000 Disney pins. Just an estimate.

As if Neil knows what any of them are. Neil barely blinks at Elsa's face before Katelyn's back to talking his ear off. "I've been trying to get Aaron to go with me for months but we don't ever have the time. I have a super long list of stuff I want! If I give you the money will you get them for me?"

Katelyn bites her lip rather hard then, like she almost let a 'please' slip, and Andrew doesn't try to think about the consideration. Katelyn clasps her hands together instead, like a plea.

Andrew figures the only reason her forehead isn't on the floor is because she knows better than to have any faith in a boys' dorm room.

"Whoa, whoa," Neil says, raising his hands in the face of Katelyn's puppy eyes. "I'm not going--"

The puppy eyes turn into those of a Rottweiler. Andrew doesn't know why all his previous judgements are being so twisted on this mediocre Thursday night, but whatever.

"Neil," Katelyn breathes, patience tested. "It's the happiest place on Earth."

Andrew's eyes flit to Neil's, communicating the same thing: bullshit.

Neil's confused expression falls into downright boredom, watching Andrew swirl the remains of his dessert. "Katelyn, I don't know how to tell you this, but I actually don't care."

Aaron wheezes at the same time Katelyn deflates.

"Josten--"

"B-but..." Katelyn turns her shining eyes on Aaron, cutting off his warning like a shiv. Andrew almost doesn't want to watch his brother be this pathetic. "Aren't I right, babe? Neil just has to experience it, he has to!"

Andrew hears Kevin open a bag of chips.

"I--um," Aaron tries, glancing between Neil and Katelyn's pout. It takes him about...two attempts to make words. "Yeah Josten, you have to."

"Wow," Kevin mutters, off to the side.

Neil glares at Aaron's weakness, but he had to know Aaron would be useless from the start. Aaron can't say no to his girlfriend.

What a loser.

"Katelyn, I'm not going," Neil tries again, dutifully not looking at the Disney-vomit backpack Katelyn keeps inching closer to him. "Andrew and I are just stopping by to drop off paperwork for one of Kevin's new recruits and that's it."

Kevin takes a deep breath, like he remembers he started this argument in the first place, but is cut off by Katelyn's backpack hitting the floor.

Neil is the only one who seems to take it as a threat, and he holds up a hand for Kevin to shut up. Now, Andrew knows most mafia movies are unrealistic and stupid, but he thinks he's had enough actual exposure to make a good guess.

This feels like some kind of standoff between two troublesome redheads, and he meets Aaron's confused stare with his blank one.

He wishes everyone would get out of his dorm.

"Okay, I get it," Katelyn says slowly, words spaced out by deep breaths for effect. Andrew would think she's a theater major, not biology. Neil watches Katelyn's hands fold in front of her, eyes hard. "I didn't want to have to do this."

Neil quirks a brow, somewhat amused.

"Neil."

"Katelyn."

"You owe me," she says, and the room freezes. Owe. Haha. That's a very dangerous word to toss around in the presence of Andrew Minyard, especially concerning his boyfriend who he's sworn to protect. Andrew turns on her with a frown, but she's undeterred by his ominous stance, fixed solely on Neil. "From the time. With the thing."

Katelyn flips her wrist back and forth then, an almost meaningless gesture, and no one knows what she's talking about

Except for Neil.

The striker's face goes red, and Andrew chooses then to squeeze the back of his neck tighter. Neil's not panicking, Andrew knows, but it's an instinct. Katelyn's smug smile is starting to piss him off, and he shakes Neil sharply.

"Neil," he says, voice even despite the tension in his limbs. "What--"

"We're going to fucking Disneyland," Neil says with a groan, slumping into the edge of the beanbag chair. He looks far from distressed, more...like he's been bested.

Katelyn cheers, jumping up to hug Aaron, who still has no idea what's going on.

Same.

"I'll get my list ready!" Katelyn rips out her science notebook, nearly tearing some neatly written equations. Not that she cares, in the moment. "Oh Neil, you're the best!"

Andrew drags Neil by the chin until their gazes meet, and Andrew hates when Neil looks sheepish. It means he's up to no good. "Neil, she can't force you to--"

"She's not forcing me," Neil sighs, tugging Andrew's sleeve until he lets their fingers link together. Neil's smile is rueful as he slots his eyes over to where Katelyn is scribbling on her homework, and he makes sure no one is watching when he slides Andrew's hand against his cheek. "Trust me when I say...I made the bed I'm about to lie in. I honor my deals too. Okay?"

Neil is such a problem, because he knows Andrew too well. He grinds his teeth, but he comes up with no argument. It's Katelyn, so it's not like the deal Neil made is anything life threatening or degrading, but Andrew's curiosity is annoying regardless.

Maybe when his pride dies down a little, he'll ask.

"Whatever you say," he scoffs, but keeps Neil's hand tucked against his side. "I still didn't agree to--"

Andrew looks down to where Neil fiddles with his shackle bracelet, still shining around his wrist because of how well the striker takes care of it. Neil tilts his head, and oh, oh no.

Andrew glares at the offending gift, given by his own hands and delicately tied around Neil's wrist. If he knew it would be this much of a weakness, he would've thrown it in the ocean.

"Andrew?" Neil asks, squeezing his hand, and Andrew doesn't know what to do other than curse Katelyn, himself, and then Walt Disney.

"I hate you," he mutters, and Neil's all too happy to hear it.

It takes Andrew about five minutes or so to determine that Jean Moreau is in love with Jeremy Knox.

It takes even less time for Andrew to decide he doesn't give a fuck. In fact, Andrew's not sure why he notices in the first place. He doesn't care about those things, but maybe it's just that they're so obvious, Andrew's can't help but pick up on it.

The long glances, the way Jeremy keeps reaching up to fix the stupid headband on Jean's head...

Gross.

The landscape in Andrew's mind has a tremble in it today, so there's no way for him to tell for sure why the two of them are so apparent to him. The air around him gives him a lot of things to linger on; disjointed laughter, cheery music, and less upsetting, the smell of fried desserts. It ties a rope around his brain and leads him in different directions, leaving only Neil as his weight. No wonder the Jean Moreau shitshow managed to slip in there somewhere.

Andrew doesn't even have the energy to be annoyed at that, at his inability to reign himself in and decide what to cast aside or focus on. His gaze scans the massive crowd in front of him, behind him, painfully aware that he's surrounded.

That Neil is surrounded.

He sighs, and the sound makes his boyfriend flinch in relief. Like he forgot Andrew was there, and is now all too happy that he is.

Calm down, junkie.

Andrew's fingers itch for a cigarette, but that ship had sailed as soon as he stepped through the Disneyland entrance. He thinks this, but he's actually not particularly anxious. He's not Neil, who needs to know all the quickest ways out of a place and who takes a large crowd as an invitation to slip in and disappear.

That's mostly where the itch comes from, Andrew realizes with only some irritation; he's hyper-aware of Neil, and all his reactions. The striker keeps glancing around at the streams of people, the bright colors and signs inviting them to a landscape with no laws or reason.

It should be everything Neil hates, and Andrew watches his blue eyes trace the cobblestone and directories.

"Beautiful isn't it!" Jeremy gestures to the road leading up to main street, and some of the tension in Jean's shoulders notably dissipates. "Did you know Disneyland brings in an average of--"

"50,000 people a day," Jean deadpans, as if the thought still makes him queasy. He gets a genuine laugh out of Jeremy for it, so Andrew guesses that was the point all along.

Andrew remembers everything, and he did not need that useless fact. But alas, now it's stuck.

Neil's body is surprisingly still beside him. Calm.

Andrew pauses, waiting for Neil to show some sign that he can't handle this. It's not a reflection of any kind of weakness Andrew thinks he has, he simply knows that sometimes Neil pushes himself where he shouldn't. Andrew considers this a loophole in their non-finalized deal. He lets Neil fight his own battles, but Andrew is not afraid to step in and put a stop to the ones Neil doesn't know he's in.

But, to Andrew's unintentional relief, Neil doesn't look two seconds from a panic attack. The striker’s face settles into a deadpan expression, a habit stolen from Andrew himself. There's no tremble, or fidgeting, or sign to tell Andrew to drag Neil back to their hotel and hole him up there.

Neil simply looks fucking done, and Andrew couldn't agree more.

Their unfortunate companions are there to remind them it's only the beginning.

"Oh my god, what should we do first?" Jeremy Knox babbles, stupid Mickey ears on his head, and Andrew watches with only some amusement as Neil leans back an inch in fear. The striker never did know what to do with genuinely happy people. Katelyn, he's come to understand based on the things they have in common. Their protective instincts and tempers ghost over her sheltered lifestyle and talkativeness, though Andrew still doesn't get how Neil stands her. Renee he simply hadn't trusted; Neil had seen the darkness beneath the smiles, but in time, he'd come to trust and value her as well.

Jeremy Knox is a different story, and currently even Andrew doesn't know how to feel about him. Such optimism and ignorance to the real world are things Andrew would normally write off in a person, but there's something swimming beneath the surface in Jeremy Knox's eyes that has him rethinking.

In short, Andrew gets the vibe that if pushed far enough, Jeremy Knox might actually have the capacity to snap over Disneyland. Disneyland.

That kind of madness is something Andrew can't help but recognize in people, and he keeps an eye on Neil as a result. He should've known; who gets custom Disney ears the color of their fucking school?

"Uh..." Neil tries, but he's apparently speechless. Andrew reaches down to tug on Neil's belt loop, and he won't ever say it's out of comfort. Neil takes it like one though, scooting closer, and the urge for nicotine is less powerful for a moment.

There's no avoiding it, and he despises feeling trapped. They're going to have to spend their whole day here. It really isn't their kind of place, but Andrew has not right to wonder how they got roped into this.

Andrew glares at Neil’s bag. He didn’t bring it for them.

That's why they're here, because Neil has a two-page souvenir list in his backpack courtesy of Aaron's girlfriend.

Andrew's scowl returns at the memory, and he turns it on Jean.

Just because.

"Jean, what's your favorite ride?" Jeremy asks, eyes shining. Neither Andrew nor Neil asked for the recommendation.

"Indiana Jones," Jean answers, seemingly without thinking too hard on it, and his eyes shine when Jeremy beams.

"Mine too!"

Gag.

Andrew's opinion of Jean Moreau has not improved over the past year. Andrew promised Neil he wouldn't confront the man while they were actually at the park, but it's a talk Andrew will eventually have if he has anything to say about it.

He's different though, that much Andrew can tell. The backliner still curls in on himself, making himself as small as can be despite his height. The tattooed '3' is dark against his pale skin, but the sun has taken out some of the starkness. Jean always keeps his hands in front of himself, as if ready to guard against an attack, but his shoulders are less stiff around his new team.

They're observations, nothing more. Andrew couldn't care less about Jean Moreau's life or happiness. It's all his own to deal with, but Andrew cannot ignore the changes, since they mirror Neil's own.

Speaking of Neil...

He's still trying to find a polite way of telling Jeremy he has zero clue about what Disneyland has to offer, and Andrew notes that Neil must've sensed it too: Jeremy's batshit opinion about this place. Otherwise Neil would never hold back the usual bluntness.

Andrew would pay to see it.

Jean tugs one of Jeremy's Mickey ears, gesturing to the entrance. "The girls are here."

Neil's demeanor breathes a little when he sees Laila and Alvarez approaching; he likes them, and even Andrew knows they're not nearly as annoying as their teammates. They're walking hand in hand, the same Trojan ears glistening on their heads.

What is it with these people?

Andrew lets the greetings fall into the background, but can't say he feels awful when Laila cracks some dumb Exy pun, making the edge of Neil's lips twitch in a smile.

Another thing the girls have to offer: they seem to know when Jeremy is about to launch into another tirade.

"Jeremy cool it," Alvarez says, holding Jeremy back by the hoodie before he can get anywhere further into Neil's bubble. "Neil's not going to remember everything about all the different sections, just let him explore."

For a split second, Jeremy's face scrunches up, like he ate something foul. "He needs to know not to go to....that place."

Laila rolls her eyes. "You mean Star Wars--"

"Stop."

Laila turns her aggravated stare on her girlfriend, but all Alvarez offers is a shrug. "He's right."

Neil turns to Andrew as if he'll understand, but he does not.

Jeremy's eyes flit around the park to all the decorations, the crowd a sea of Mickey ears, planning out where to drag them. And the rest of them allow it. Team dynamics don't interest Andrew much, but they're not following Jeremy out of fear. They're treating this journey, along with Jeremy's eccentricities, as inevitable and maybe even endearing.

Andrew wants to leave.

Then Jeremy gasps, staring down at his empty hands. "Neil, you and Andrew have never been here right? Maybe I should've gotten you a map, for the experience, you know?" Then Jeremy tilts his head up, in that haughty way Kevin might after lecturing them on an exy skill he acquired. "It's fine though, I know where everything is. You're in good hands!"

Andrew seriously doubts that.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Jeremy says, plopping his giant backpack on the floor. Andrew wonders if he packed for the possibility of them being stuck there for eternity. It's a gift for Jeremy Knox to be able to make Andrew's day that much worse. He pulls out two custom sets of ears from his backpack, styled in white and orange. Palmetto colors.

No.

"You guys can match," Jeremy says with a wink, and Neil looks torn. On one hand they're orange, on the other hand they're absurd.

But of course, Neil's obsession wins over, and he grabs for a pair of ears without hesitation.

Andrew can't.

"I'm not wearing those," Andrew states, uncaring of how the rest of them flinch. Neil's the only one not surprised, but he's giving Andrew that face, and Andrew has to hold himself back from telling Neil to stop.

We're in public, control yourself.

But Neil just sighs, fixing the ears to his head. They clash with Neil's reddish-brown hair, bright and sparkly.

Andrew hates being gay.

He ignores Jean's glare as Jeremy holds the other pair of ears to his chest. More evidence, Andrew realizes, and the pathetic kind too. Jean can't stand the thought of someone hurting his not-boyfriend's feelings.

"O-oh," Jeremy says, but his smile is back, undeterred. He spins to face Neil, who miraculously, doesn't flinch. "Well, I guess I'll wear them then! Neil, you and I can match! I don't want you to be alon--"

The stream of consciousness in Andrew's head comes to a jarring halt, tires screeching.

Unacceptable, absolutely not. He doesn't even have a moment to think about why, or stop himself from being so ridiculous.

He snatches the ears from Jeremy's hands and puts them on, refusing to meet Neil's smug stare.

"Shut up."

And thankfully, Neil does, but others do not.

"He's as bad as you babe," Laila whispers behind him, and he practically feels the heat radiating off Alvarez.

"Can it."

Andrew catches Jean's sigh of relief in his peripheral, and isn't quite sure why he agreed to not kill him in the happiest place on Earth.

"You guys look great!" Jeremy comments, but Andrew is already walking ahead, eager to be anywhere else.

That, and he's pretty sure the churros are this way.

Neil keeps up with him easily, given his strong legs, even knowing Andrew is deliberately trying to not look at him. Neil's gaze is a warm, affectionate thing, one Andrew will never be used to. Neil's so distracted, he almost trips, and Andrew hooks his arm around Neil's waist to right him. They're connected for merely a second, but Andrew's arm feels like it's on fire.

"Focus," he growls, but Neil doesn't take it as a threat. He never does.

"Mm, I can't," Neil says. "I like them. I like them on you."

"They're hideous."

"So our uniforms are hideous?"

"Yes."

They reach the churros, and Neil buys him three.

Jeremy starts to babble again as Andrew digs in, and Andrew can't help but notice he buys Jean one without being asked. The ex-Raven doesn't look super pleased with the sweetness, but he eats it anyways.

And throughout all the chatter, Jean won't stop staring right at Jeremy.

Why does Andrew keep noticing? He might just be able to blame Katelyn for that too.

Ever since he picked her up from Eden's, she's been responsible for a lot of unacceptable thoughts in his head. All because of one, stupid line of reasoning.

"I know, I know a lot of people use the word and they don't mean it, or they don't act like it but...that's on them. That's not real love, the actual thing, the definition. Just because people use the word incorrectly doesn't mean the feeling isn't real."

Real love. Already, there's so many things wrong with that phrase. Katelyn doesn't see it as subjective, Andrew doesn't see it as anything at all. Devotion, protective, consideration...they are all things people would perhaps put towards the definition, but they neglect the absences as well. Absence of hurt, of blame, of judgement.

That's the half so many people don't get right, and even if they do, Andrew cannot see how it could be wrapped up in a word.

He watches Jean sigh and lean into Jeremy's sphere, and thinks of how his brother looks at Katelyn. It's eerily similar.

Andrew would not use the word love normally, so he reaches in to pluck Katelyn's idiotic definition out from the past to see if it applies. The pretty parts are there; Jeremy is constantly aware of Jean's presence, careful to steer him to the edges of crowds, to check if he's alright. On the opposite end of things, Jean just looks like he'd burn the so called happiest place on Earth to the ground if it meant being able to listen to Jeremy's prattle.

He's not willing to analyze much more than that, not with Neil by his side. It puts pressure on the stone in him, dropped there by Katelyn that night at Eden's and steadily growing with every moment he spends around his boyfriend.

"I think we should definitely go on Indy though," Jeremy says, leaning in to take a bite of Jean's churro. It's so stupidly romantic Andrew wants to vomit. "I want to see Jean get scared again!"

The girls smirk, though a minute later Alvarez is teasing Laila just the same. Jean's face is colored red, not with shame, but innocent embarrassment. Not becoming of a Raven, but then again, Jean never wanted to be one.

"I was not scared, I had never been on the ride before!" Jean crosses his arms, and his teammates look at him in the way the Foxes look at Neil. Complete adoration.

"It scared him to death," Jeremy says to Andrew and Neil, trying very poorly to whisper.

And, without breaking eye contact with Jean, Andrew says: "If only."

Because really, if only.

Jean's the only one besides Neil who takes the statement as intended, as in completely seriously. The backliner's face goes white, staring at Andrew and waiting for it to be a joke. He has to know deep down it's not.

Jeremy holds his stomach from how hard he's laughing. "Ha! You're a riot Andrew," he wheezes, and Neil regards him as neutrally as he can. It's hard, when Jeremy sounds like a dying seagull.

Andrew pulls out his phone, avoiding Neil's gaze. Technically, he only promised not to physically confront Jean at Disneyland, nothing else. "That's me, comedy king."

Without looking up, Andrew opens his notes app and sidesteps Jeremy until he's closer to Jean. He has no qualms about calmly typing out the words 'I despise you' before showing it to him.

Honestly, no other Raven is this easy to read, but Andrew supposes it has more to do with Jean's complete revival than anything else.

Jean reads the message, blinks, looks at Neil as if to confirm his suspicions, and then nods slowly.

Well, now he knows. It'll be a good way to put a pin in things for now.

When Andrew walks back over to his churro holder (see: Neil), the redhead is shaking his head, grin way fonder than it should be.

It takes around fifteen minutes for them to ditch the group, and for Andrew to stuff his pair of ears into Neil's backpack to never see the light of day again.

It's absurdly easy, they barely have to duck into the crowd or put their heads down. Despite Jeremy's insistence that Andrew and Neil see all there is to see, he'd hardly taken his eyes off Jean. In fact, the two are so engrossed in each other they barely notice the girls, who seem to weirdly not mind.

Jeremy is the talker, and Jean is only too happy to go along with it, soaking in every nonsense opinion even when he seems to not understand the relevance or importance. Andrew wonders if this so called 'love' truly makes people that uncaring, but then again, he knows it does. He's watched his brother fawn over every dumb little detail of Katelyn's life. Once, she'd gone on a ten minute tangent about her colored pencil coordinated note taking system. Aaron had been fascinated, not because he cared about the content of the words, but because of Katelyn herself.

Andrew doesn't understand, but his mind conjures up the image of Neil peeking over the top of a bus seat, the hours floating by.

They find a good spot to sit down on Main Street near the castle, perfect for the people watching Neil likes to do. Andrew's on his third churro with a fourth lined up, and if Neil's wallet is crying about it, he doesn't seem to mind. The striker's legs dangle lazily from the bench they're on, swinging in time with the cheery music blaring through the speakers. Andrew brought him here to escape the crowd; Neil always preferred to watch, to catalogue the different types of people. Disneyland, at the very least, should have an interesting variety for Neil to judge and pick apart for the nonsensical survival guide in his head.

Page ninety-two: signs of regret-filled parents. That's how Andrew would guess it's organized.

But no, Neil's staring right at him. Andrew could feel it mid chew, the striker's gaze penetrating and brighter than any of the thousand balloons he's seen flying around.

Andrew managed to hold out for about half a churro, no longer, before giving in.

Neil's triumphant smile is an indication he was all too aware of the game.

"Are they good?" Neil asks, and it's enough to make Andrew pause. He watches the way Neil adjusts those stupid ears on his head, the way he licks his lips to mimic the place Andrew assuredly has sugar on his own.

Rather than answer, and before he does something stupid, he shoves the end of the churro into Neil's mouth. It's not an uncommon occurrence.

Neil barely yelps before dutifully taking a bite. Andrew waits for the usual scrunch of his nose, the disgust at the sweetness. Still, Neil will never refuse something Andrew offers him.

"Not bad," Neil says, chewing slow. There's sugar on his lips now too, and Andrew realizes he made an error. "Still too much sugar."

Unheard of. There's no such thing.

With a scoff, Andrew wipes the excess sugar off Neil's lips with his thumb. "You disgust me, Josten."

It doesn't sound as convincing as it used to, and Neil's triumphant smile only grows wider. Only then does he sigh and lean back, staring into the sea of people who love wasting money. Andrew will never get the fascination.

There's a good distance between them on the bench which Neil hasn't tried to close, and won't until Andrew says otherwise. Andrew's not in the mood to feel his weight, not today. It wasn't brought on by anything specific, but Neil abides like he always does.

Neil doesn't seem any less content.

"I can't believe they haven't noticed we're gone," the redhead says, far from disappointed. The relief is something Andrew can relate to. It's been about an hour, and they've done nothing, but Andrew knows he's having a better time this way.

The last thing he wants is to watch Jean and Jeremy obliviously flirt and fawn over one another with no outlet. Andrew's not sure if they'd be worse if they were actually dating, and part of him considers just dropping the bomb on them to ruin any kind of movie moment they might have at this godforsaken place.

"I can," Andrew mutters, but doesn't elaborate. He's sure Neil hasn't actually noticed the pining, not with Andrew nearby, and certainly not with everything else going on. He doesn't need to know, because then they might have to talk about it.

Andrew doesn't have all the words for that yet.

Neil hums, interpreting the words in his own way. "Jean does seem...better. I guess he would be more focused on his friends. At least now Kevin will stop complaining, I'll get to tell him Jean's doing just great."

The topic of Jean Moreau isn't much better.

He's not able to keep all of his glower locked down, and he ends up making a passing school teacher flinch. "I don't care how he is," he says through his teeth, and Neil stiffens.

Yeah, wrong thing to bring up. Not as bad as the times Neil will drop his mother into conversation, but not good regardless.

Neil sighs, fiddling with his bracelet again. It's what he does when he wants to touch Andrew but won't. "Andrew, Jean is--"

Andrew turns the intensity of his stare on Neil. They've had this talk before, and he's not trying to bring it up again. Contrary to what other people may believe, he's not adverse to having difficult conversations with Neil. Arguments, even.

They happen, but...

There's something about it; Andrew won't say it's comfortable, but he simply knows it won't change anything. He and Neil disagree sometimes, but it seldom turns into a screaming match or the silent treatment. More often than not, Andrew's willing to keep coming back to a topic if it means they reach a compromise. He doesn't yield that way for anyone else, but Neil doesn't make it feel like submission or defeat. It's why it doesn't make Andrew nearly as antsy as he originally believed it would, when they started their this. For them, it's problem-solving.

This however...this is one thing Andrew can't excuse. Not yet, maybe not ever. They keep having to step away.

"Don't," Andrew says. Neil's eyes hold no fear, and they shouldn't. Andrew's not saying it unkindly, it's the truth. "Whatever you say will not change my mind. Not with this."

Not when it comes to people hurting what's mine.

Andrew's hands curl into the edge of the bench, the splitting wood a comfort. He's strong, his hands have the power to kill, to fend off. Why that's so important in this moment...

When Neil still doesn't look like he understands, Andrew reaches forward to flick the shackle pendant around his wrist, almost on instinct.

And well, guess it's become a weakness for them both.

Neil sighs, and bites his tongue in a rare show of restraint. The striker keeps back every counterpoint and argument, which he surely has handfuls of, and puffs out his cheeks. Any other moment it would be...maybe not so annoying.

But not cute.

Some of the trembling in Andrew's frame leaves; he's not dumb enough to think this is over, Neil is too stubborn. But for now, the striker accepts it.

Though, not without being infuriating. Neil's gaze pierces him, sticking Andrew to the spot.

"I'm safe with you Andrew," Neil breathes, and Andrew's not willing to acknowledge how Neil quickly aims for the root of the problem. It's a spike through Andrew's chest. Again, Neil races ahead of Andrew's own thought process at the most random times.

So that's it. Andrew thinks. A promise.

It won't happen again. Neil has no way of knowing that, but he wants Andrew to believe it; nothing will hurt Neil so severely again because Andrew won't allow it. Andrew will thrash and bleed before it happens again, but Jean Moreau is a reminder that it can, even when most of the guilt falls on a dead man. There will always be others, lurking in the shadows. Weapons, threats.

But still, with all his paranoia, Andrew can't even tell Neil to be quiet, because to refute such a statement feels wrong in a number of ways. Neil's trust is something he earned.

Andrew hums instead, and refuses to repeat the obvious. Instead, he pushes Neil back by the shoulder, his back hitting the bench and forcing Neil to loosen up.

Better.

"I can't believe a place like this exists," Neil sighs, giving into the calm Andrew lends him. Andrew's not sure if he means it from the perspective of a runaway or not. Disneyland would be an enigma to most people with Neil's past.

"You don't feel happy?" Andrew says with a sneer, taking in the fighting families and crying children. He knows there's equal parts people smiling and having fun, and he's choosing to center himself on the negatives, but he's not in the mood to apply Bee's advice for once.

"Well if I did it would be because of you," Neil says, grin smug from the stare Andrew turns on him. No one needs his sappiness. "But I don't really like that word."

Haha.

Andrew pokes Neil in the leg, more like a jab, and Neil jumps. "Stop stealing my lines."

Neil snorts. "I just meant in terms of this place. Doesn't it feel untrustworthy from the get-go if you advertise your park as the happiest place? It can't actually be."

It's amazing how hard Neil's brain works when it comes to unimportant topics. "Careful, if Jeremy hears you he'll have a meltdown."

"That would be interesting though."

"And potentially homicidal."

Andrew makes a note to bring Kevin if he ever has to return here. Kevin won't be able to keep his distaste hidden, and he'll get to really test the Jeremy Knox theory.

"Have you ever been to an amusement park?" Neil asks a moment later, voice low. Treading lightly.

It's not a particularly bad memory for Andrew though, and he only shrugs. He's no longer shocked about how much he talks to Neil. It's easy, not draining.

"Mostly for school, I wouldn't waste time with the rides," Andrew says, and feels the memory of old dollar bills in his hands. Sometimes he'd be lucky enough for his foster homes to provide him money for food, sometimes not. "Carnivals were easier. I could just go off and find some abandoned corner to smoke or wait it out."

No one ever cared to come looking for him.

Despite his sweet tooth, he seldom had the actual money to spoil himself with the fried foods either. He makes up for that now, obviously.

Speaking of, he wants a frozen lemonade at some point.

Neil's eyes are devoid of pity, but Andrew knows he could quickly turn that understanding gaze into a rage-fueled one if he chose to provide any of the details.

He doesn't. He never enjoyed things like amusement parks, and he doesn't mind either way if Neil does, but part of him is simply at ease, here on this stupid bench.

Neil's protection can't reach back into the past, no matter how badly the striker would like it to.

"Everyone always talked about Disneyland as the best place in the world," Andrew offers instead, waving his hand around. If anything, the sheer size of the park is the most impressive thing about it. The other kids in his classes couldn't let it go; family vacations, dream dates, etc.

The hype around the park never died down no matter how Andrew aged.

Compared to Neil sitting next to him, the park is without.

"And your verdict?" Neil asks anyways, because he tries not to assume when he can.

Andrew's not sure why his heart reacts the way it does to that.

Neil's stupid ears pair with his Palmetto hoodie perfectly, and he looks like the pumpkin Cinderella would've taken to the ball. The fierceness of him isn't softened in the slightest by it though, his vulnerability comes from his eyes, the way all his alarms become inactive in Andrew's presence.

Andrew craves it, this complete, unyielding trust.

He hates how Neil can make any situation interesting.

"It's annoying," Andrew eventually says, rolling up his churro wrapper into a tight ball. He misses the trash can when he tosses it, and ignores the disgruntled stare he gets for it from a park worker. "Not awful."

Neil straightens up, too proud of himself. "Are you saying that because of the churros or because I'm here?"

"Be quiet."

Neil, because his death wish inclination isn't as active today, doesn't point out the non-answer. The striker just hands him money for another churro, though he's considering beignets.

Neil watches the way Andrew stares at the money, seemingly content to allow Andrew this indulgence. "I remember kids talking about it when I was younger. I could never understand why such a crowded place could be so fun. Much less the lines or overpriced food. But..."

Andrew clutches the money tight, but it's a poor substitute for Neil's hand. "But?"

"But well, it's not like I ever got the chance to try it out." Neil gestures to the precise decorations, the ornate buildings, and his eyes flit down the trolley lines like they remind him of a destination far worse. Andrew never asked Neil if he train hopped before. Neil sighs, his nose scrunching from the sweet, candied scents in the air. "Maybe I would've loved it. Then I'd be a lunatic like Jeremy."

It's meant to be a joke, but Andrew understands. That's the strangeness of the unknown. Had things been different, had they been raised like anyone else, there's no telling what they could've been like.

But things weren't different. Andrew isn't foolish enough to reflect on the past with bitterness or entertain what he could've been like if only. The asinine exercise would do nothing for him, for his future.

The future he's coming to anticipate and accept, because Neil also refuses to look back. It's still a globby, hard to see mess right now, but the more days pass with Neil by his side, even it begins to take shape.

But he doesn't have room in his chest to say all that, so instead he tugs on Neil's headband again. Snug.

"You're already wearing the ears," he drawls. As if Neil forgot, his hands fly up to tug on one of the ears, and Andrew is helpless to save the image forever.

"I should probably take them o--"

"No."

Just...no.

It's hard to make Neil blush, but when it happens Andrew makes sure to catalogue it. He watches the color spread on the bridge of the striker's nose, and then Neil laughs, a light and fleeting sound. Andrew hears it over everything else.

Neil turns on the bench, hugging his knees to his chest, and Andrew is moving to face him without thinking about it. "I feel like...if the others were here they'd say we're wasting the opportunity," Neil muses, pursing his lips. "Like we should be going on rides and watching shows."

"That's everyone's problem then," Andrew waves the thought off, tracking Neil's lips. He's not ready for a kiss, but he's warming up to the idea.

But, Neil seldom brings up things pointlessly with him.

"It is," Neil agrees, and Andrew presses his thumb into the crease of his boyfriend's brows. Neil doesn't flinch. "But they might be right. I guess I can't expect to have the same opinions now as I did as a kid on the run. I should at least be able to say, yeah I went to Disneyland slightly more adjusted and I still don't see what the big deal is."

Ah, the point emerges. Andrew will admit...

"You don't seem anxious," Andrew observes, because he expected Neil to be very nervous.

Neil tilts his head, and Andrew has to make him stop doing that. "What?"

Andrew leans back, and Neil follows the touch instinctively before getting a hold of himself. "If you really felt you were wasting time, you'd be all fidgety and irritating."

"I didn't say I felt like I was wasting time, just that I maybe should," Neil sighs. Andrew isn't sure what he means, but he doesn't have time to think about it when Neil's impish grin comes back. "But no, any time I spend with you isn't a waste."

Andrew leans in, slow and insistent, and lets Neil tense in anticipation of a touch, a kiss. Then, Andrew pushes his face away. It's what he deserves, and Neil bites his tongue.

Huffy.

Neil slumps back, but the pouty thing he's doing dampens the scowl. He needs to not spend so much time with Katelyn.

"You've become a sap, rabbit."

And it's dangerous for both of them. Andrew doesn't mean for the words to come out so light, but what's the use in correcting himself?

"I get it from you," Neil shoots back, and oh, now he chooses to read Andrew's mind. At the twitch of Andrew's mouth, Neil smiles, the kind reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone.

Andrew's nerve endings are still a little fuzzy, but he tugs Neil's sleeve until he follows. He brings Neil close enough to feel Andrew's heat, to smell the cinnamon. This works, for now.

And Neil, despite being somewhere people dream of visiting, looks totally focused on him. When he gazes down the trolley lines again, the expression is much more promising.

"Who knows? It might be fun if we went now, with all the foxes," Neil wonders aloud. "Not sure, since I think the closest thing to a ride I've ever been on is a train, and not legally."

Well, there's the train hopping question answered.

But that's it, he supposes. He feels nothing about this place, or any amusement parks for that matter. Even in his tumultuous childhood, he experienced them, never understood the appeal.

Neil's never had the opportunity to try. He's never been able to form an opinion.

Andrew thinks that's at least one aspect of his freedom Neil should have, even if it is something so trivial.

Andrew sighs; what has he gotten himself into?

Neil Josten is a whirlwind of an individual, but he's Andrew's.

That's what Neil would say, without hesitation, every time.

'But I'm yours.'

Andrew really does need a cigarette, but that frozen lemonade will have to do. He stands up, making a show of brushing himself off. He can feel the tilts of Neil's head behind him, for fuck's sake.

"C'mon then," Andrew says, turning around to adjust how crooked Neil's headband is. Another problem he didn't need, but it's too late now. Damn merchandise. When Neil still makes no move to get up, Andrew tugs his bangs. "Let's go on a ride."

Neil's jaw opens and closes, but Andrew is already turning away from him. Neil's fast, he should be able to catch up. "W-wait, are you sure?"

Neil scrambles to his feet, and Andrew can't look directly at him. He's sure there's something bright and shiny swimming in those eyes right now, and that's far too much.

He tries to go through his mind for what he knows about Disneyland, and asks himself if he's in the mood to be up high.

No, not today. Neil has him feeling far too much already.

"I think the Matterhorn is enclosed," he says, in lieu of an explanation, and knows Neil will get the meaning.

Neil grips the straps of his backpack, reigning in the energy as best he can. Andrew wonders when he'll work up the nerve to tell Neil he doesn't have to when it's like this. Even without touch, Andrew promised to take everything Neil had to offer.

He's not sure if Neil can sense the feeling, but his face softens anyways. "Okay...yeah!"

Neil falls in step beside him, and Andrew revises his previous statement with only mild displeasure. He doubts he will ever have enough of this.

The Matterhorn was, what a shocker, a bad idea.

Andrew will never say he tries to make his driving a comfortable experience, but he knows his road raging still would've been a more pleasurable time than being thrown around on that poor excuse for a ride.

The bumpiness of the Matterhorn was also not helped by how tense he was; he felt like a cutting board in a blender, trying to force away the unrealistic thought of Neil flying off the edge and plummeting to his death during the whole two minute affair.

A forty-five minute wait for two minutes of back pain that'll last the rest of the day.

"Well that sucked," Neil says with a wince, stretching out his back slowly. Andrew pointedly looks elsewhere. "Why do people do this for fun? I feel like my spine got ripped out and then put back in the wrong way."

Andrew wants to tell him to stop being so dramatic, but for once Neil's words are accurate.

They tried. No one can say they didn't try.

"Nevermind you were right," Neil says as Andrew orders them a lemonade to share; Neil ignores the glare Andrew gives him for chugging the first half in one go. Neil sighs from the rush of citrus, placing the cold cup to his forehead. "Can we go home?"

"Doubtful, unless you want to walk," Andrew sighs. He retches the lemonade away from Neil, pushing away his grabby hands. An admirable tactic, but fruitless. "I knew carpooling was a stupid move."

"Hey, we take offense to that."

Neil tenses on instinct, like the hypocrite he is. He's so used to being the shadow, the nosy meddler who overhears everything. Andrew would think he's more than deserving of being on the receiving end if he wasn't so annoyed himself.

They turn to find the girls grinning ear to ear, and Andrew notes right away how there's no smiling bundle of 'I love Disney' with them.

Jean and Jeremy are nowhere to be found.

How 'bout that.

Alvarez unlinks her arm from her girlfriend's to ring out her damp shirt; Andrew notices they're soaked from head to toe, sneakers squeaking from their drenched socks. It makes Andrew grimace on the inside; it should feel atrocious, but the girls are beaming.

"So you two do act like a couple," Laila says, and Andrew's not sure he gets what she means. He does decide she's his least favorite of the two though. "I had some doubts."

Andrew couldn't care less about that, but Neil's a different story. Defiantly, Andrew silences his boyfriend before he can even go on his tirade by shoving the lemonade back into his hands.

An acceptable sacrifice; Neil's aware they don't seem like the stereotypical couple, but he hates having his feelings doubted.

He hates it even more when people doubt Andrew's, and Andrew pushes the thought of Katelyn's suspicious expression at Eden's out of his mind.

What other people assume about him is not his problem.

"Why didn't you just buy him his own lemonade?" Alvarez asks, her eyes flicking over Neil's expression. He's calming down, but the aggravation is there. Guess not all the Trojans are oblivious.

Andrew takes the bait for what it is, no energy to be contrary.

"Neil doesn't need that much energy, and he'll drink mine no matter what because he's annoying," Andrew says, and sure enough, he hears the slurp behind him, an alert that Neil basically sucked down the rest of his drink.

One down, several to go.

"It's true, I am," Neil chimes in at that, refreshed. It's then he actually seems to pay attention, scanning the girls from head to toe. "Why are you guys all wet?"

Laila claps a hand over Alvarez's wolfish grin before she can even respond to that, and Andrew is glad. He really didn't want to hear it.

At least Neil would get the joke this time.

"Splash Mountain," Laila replies hastily, like they have any clue what it is. "Horrible build-up, decent pay-off. Jean hates it though so it's the best way to make sure we don't run into them."

At her own words, she checks behind her, like Jeremy Knox can appear at the mere mention of his not-boyfriend.

They probably shouldn't stay in the same place too long.

"Outside Star Wars anyways," Alvarez adds, prying Laila's hand off her mouth for .2 seconds.

"Hush, he'll hear you!"

Then, Alvarez must lick her girlfriend's hand, because the goalie retches away with a disgusted yelp. "Hey! Gross!"

"Wow, you don't love me."

It's punctuated with giggles, and Andrew stuffs his hands in his pockets; why that word decides to plague him today, he's not sure. He wouldn't say the girls act as useless as Katelyn and Aaron do, but their dynamic is still distinct.

Affectionate.

Andrew turns his hard stare at the ground. No, no. It's still not right.

Neil, oblivious to Andrew's plight, squints at the empty space where Jean and Jeremy should be. "Wait...you guys ditched them too? Why?"

"They had the same idea as us," Andrew mutters, but Neil's lightbulb still hasn't gone off.

Laila's grin is as sardonic as it gets. "Ah, so you noticed?"

Andrew doesn't respond. He's steadily reaching his word quota.

Knowing the only chance of Andrew saying anything is by asking himself, Neil turns to him, too searching. "Noticed what?"

And oh, Andrew can't avoid talking about it after all, can he? He's not sure why he doesn't want to, there hasn't been much cause for concern with Neil lately. Not for months. Maybe not ever, but Andrew had been in denial there for a while.

Perhaps Andrew just hates being in this limbo, where he doesn't even know how he feels about a topic yet. It's happened before, but it's no less disconcerting than the other times. The jealousy, the concept of understanding, their first time...

His mind, a traitor, reminds him none of those situations ended horrifically.

"Moreau is in love with his captain," Andrew mutters, and watches the moment Neil blanches. No stopping the floodgates now. "Original."

Something in Neil's gaze twitches. Andrew's hasn't seen the look before, but it's surely not good for him or his pulse. Andrew turns his stare to the ice cream cart in the distance, but his sweet tooth is done for the day.

Another unfortunate reality.

"God, so they really are that bad," Laila groans. "For a second there, we thought it might just be us."

Alvarez scoffs, crossing her arms and putting all her weight on Laila. It must be a common occurrence; Laila huffs, but makes no move to push her away.

"We've been trying to get them together for ages," Alvarez continues, twirling her finger around like a never ending cycle. "We ditch them literally every single time in the hopes they finally have their moment."

Both their expressions fall then, truly defeated. Laila sounds at her wit's end, and Andrew feels little sympathy. "But, no such luck."

Andrew can't even begin to pick apart how uselessly optimistic that is when idiots are concerned, but Alvarez seems to be tracking his every movement for some type of reaction. He should've never said anything, but she'll learn soon enough; he's not an easy read, despite a hot-headed outlier.

Neil blinks at them, a complex math problem with cliche romantic plots instead of numbers. "They're...into each other?"

The look he gets from the girls is similar to the pitying ones he gets from Allison whenever he says something particularly misguided about fashion.

Laila puts her hand on Neil's shoulder, patting him slowly. "Oh Josten, your face right now tells me all I need to know about you."

Then, the double shot of pity is poured right down Andrew's throat.

"You got an oblivious one too huh?" Laila says wryly, and Alvarez chokes.

"Hey."

Andrew won't dignify that with a response, but he figures it's obvious anyways.

Laila snorts, tugging on Alvarez's ear lobe. "But yeah, Jean totally wants to husband Jeremy. It's so painful. Disneyland is supposed to be romantic, but--"

Alvarez finishes the thought with a fart noise. Andrew's not sure why he speaks up, the conversation is so beneath him, and he blames Bee. He never used to talk so much before he realized that it actually helped his mind move down the endless river.

"Movie moments like that will never happen," Andrew says, nothing condescending or dismissive about it. It's the truth; he learned long ago that the grand gestures people expected seldom come to fruition. They could sit Jean and Jeremy at the table for two with violins playing around them and it most likely wouldn't do any good.

People won't do anything until they're ready to acknowledge how they feel, and even then they might not. Andrew never thought that was such a bad thing; shutting down a feeling, weighing the pros and cons of a decision until ultimately trying to be rid of it.

It was better that way.

He knows though, had he never let that go, he wouldn't have Neil next to him.

He also knows Bee would call that a good thing, the release of a way of thinking that he's yet to acknowledge as completely outdated.

None of that realization shows on his face.

"You sure sound fun," Alvarez mutters, but she's smiling in a way Andrew hates.

"Andrew's the funnest person I know," Neil adds, unhelpfully adding to the upbeat of Andrew's heart. If Neil could stop ruining the English language on purpose that would be great.

The girls wait for Neil to reveal it as a joke, but seconds of Neil's blank stare kill any chance of laughter.

No, Neil is completely serious. And maybe he's right, after all the good Trojan captain himself did call Andrew a riot.

Laila purses her lips after a moment. "Right..."

"Anyways, you better get a move on if you don't want to continue enjoying your date," Alvarez says, glancing behind her suspiciously while checking her watch. Laila's hand entangles in her girlfriend's, and Andrew notices the charm bracelet there. He wonders if it's a gift from Alvarez.

He's seen a similar, custom one on Katelyn's wrist for the longest time. He's about to ask himself why people are so obsessed with buying jewelry, before realizing he's in the same boat.

When did he come to permit this?

Ugh. He's not running around that particular race track again. "It's not--"

"We're going to go get drinks in the Star Wars cantina," Alvarez interrupts, hastily beginning to tug her girlfriend in that direction. Guess it's later than she thought. "Jeremy will come this way soon. He has a very specific itinerary."

Of course he does.

"Any...slow ride suggestions?" Neil asks before they go, and Alvarez squeaks when she runs right into Laila's strong back. Neil steadfastly ignores the glare Andrew sends him, though if they do have to go on more rides, Andrew would prefer something smooth.

The Matterhorn can burn.

"There's the storybook ride?" Laila says, pointing behind them down the path. "Or It's a Small World?"

Alvarez huffs. "There's a joke there somewhere..."

Andrew doesn't mean for it to happen, but his memory is a steel trap, with a layer of unpredictability wrapped around it. He can't stop it, can't turn it off. For the briefest of moments it brings him the image of a homely kitchen in California, his fingers tracing the carvings in the table while he watches Cass cook dinner. It smells good; he remembers. Of course he remembers, the dish, the ingredients, down to the stains on the tile and which cabinets were open.

The song Cass hummed from between her lips.

He'd never heard the real song, never cared to look it up online or search up the ride itself. But he knows the name, knows the tune.

"What's that?" Neil asks, and whether he means to or not, his voice pulls Andrew out of it. Not even just that...Neil has a way of firmly planting Andrew in this new reality he's forged and tailored.

For the better, Bee's voice reminds him.

Laila smiles, no doubt connecting the ride to memories of her own. Happier, softer memories. Andrew could have those too, if he wanted. It would just take some revision, overwriting. "It's just a boat ride, and it kills time for sure."

Just a boat ride. That's all.

Neil nods, turning to Andrew while the girls walk away. It's getting later; Andrew can tell by how blue Neil's eyes get, highlighted by the darkness. They're haunting in a way, like the unexplored bottom of the ocean. Horrific things lurk in the depths, but there's something pleasant about them too, calming in their mystery. Maybe because to Andrew, and only Andrew, it's familiar territory. Andrew has never felt that level of ease from something, but Neil's stupid expression is too soft when he speaks. "How about it?"

How about it? Hm.

Andrew looks off into the direction Laila pointed in, debating on if he should put himself through that. Is he ready to put himself through that?

He could take this step, he reasons. He could try to overpower the terrible memory with one of Neil, with the feeling of his weight beside him. Is it worth it? Will it work?

No, he can't think of it like that.

It won't erase anything; Andrew's not so naive to think he will ever be rid of the image in his head, the sound of Cass's voice. But...maybe he could make the crystal clear image blurrier, faded around the edges until his mind wavers, until he can no longer make out the scenes as well as before. Instead, his brain will default to Neil in the future. Whenever he hears the cheery tune, Andrew will think of his stupid headband and sugar-kissed lips.

Stronger, sturdier memories.

He's allowed Neil to implant them before, and it hasn't backfired. The process is not always easy, or without pain, but it's been worth it every time. Andrew sees no reason to mess with a working strategy.

Andrew grabs Neil's wrist, the firmest contact they've had all day, and something in him sighs at the same time Neil does.

He leads the way.

As soon as Andrew hears the tune as they enter the tunnel, he wonders if he made a mistake. Not because of the memory, though that's definitely there. No, it's the tune itself.

The music is loud, repetitive, with no lull. He's not sure how someone can work on this ride and not quit immediately. He should've expected it though, so the blame is on himself. It won't be over anytime soon either. The boat they're in is moving at an agonizing speed, but it's a relief for his back. The slow glide makes him painfully aware of the soreness in his legs, the heaviness of his eyelids.

The spotlights are pointing at the monuments and walls, leaving the riders in the shadows. If Andrew squints, the people in the boats ahead of him look like nothing more than silhouettes for the briefest of moments. Unreal, specters.

The song continues, and Andrew reevaluates. It's too late to get off the ride, and the song might be called fitting; there's a weird eeriness to it, along with the surreal feeling of the park noises being completely blocked out. It's silent, for being so loud, so irritating. But after a while he's sure he'd become numb to it, and then what would be left?

All he can hear other than the singing is the gentle slosh of the water and the occasional hushed voices of the people in front of them. Like the wind. He feels like a ghost on the ride, wispy and drifting in and out of centuries. The tune is ageless, has probably been around for decades, long before Cass started to hum it.

Somehow, it's a comfort. Cass had been insignificant, another way to separate her memory from the ride itself.

Some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders, and having Neil beside him lessens it further. There are two free seat rows in front of them; the line hadn't been too long at this time of day, and Andrew feels an inkling of gratefulness.

It's the closest thing to privacy they've had all day, he realizes, and some of the fuzziness from earlier dissipates. The static in his brain has had time to even and sizzle out; it's taken hours for him to get to this point, but when Neil lets a quiet 'yes or no' pass between them, the answer is easy. Certain.

Andrew pulls Neil against him, and Neil follows it up by entangling their fingers together. He hardly hesitates anymore, doesn't treat the gesture like something with an expiration date. Andrew privately thought it would be the case, but...he's yet to be tired of it.

It's not so rare anymore, holding Neil's hand.

They pass the first display of dancing puppets, just as the song repeats 'it's a small world after all' through the speakers. Andrew can feel Neil's wry smile before he sees it. "It really is a--"

"Finish that joke I'll kill you."

Neil throws his head back in the first sign of genuine joy from a ride, and Andrew thinks this is already better than anything else they'd previously done. It's less intensive, with just enough chaotic energy to appeal to Neil's sense of humor.

They're not the type of people usually caught dead on these kinds of rides, but the creepiness feels warmer than any of the other joyful displays Disneyland had to offer. Neil's laugh echoes off the high ceilings, and he smothers it quickly.

But Andrew's mind remembers, and he plays the cut off sound on a loop far more intense than the tune of the ride itself. He mixes them together, until they can't be pried apart.

When they pass the German section of the song, Neil looks at him expectantly, and the look Andrew gives him is unimpressed. Mischief dances in his boyfriend's eyes anyways, and again, it's not cute. It's not like Andrew is going to suddenly start singing along just because it's in German. Though, Neil's reaction might be worth it.

Neil critiques the lyric translation anyways, like it's not the simplest song to mass produce.

"This isn't so bad," Neil sighs as they pass under another archway to a different section of the very small world. His finger is starting to tap along on the back of Andrew's hand, and he's not sure if he should put an end to it before it gets stuck in Neil's head. Then he'd have to hear Neil humming it over and over, and while not as traumatic, there's only so much Andrew can take.

"Other people would probably call it torture," Andrew says, gesturing to the lifeless faces of the puppets. He wonders if there's any conspiracies about this ride online, he's sure Neil would get some morbid kick out of them.

"Wimps," Neil replies haughtily, and no, Andrew's pulse does not jump. “I’m a torture connoisseur.”

He bastardizes the word so bad Andrew almost feels bad for France. Almost. When did Neil start thinking he was funny?

"That's not even remotely how you say it." Andrew untangles their hands purely for the purpose of flicking Neil's earlobe. Neil grabs for it again as soon as the punishment is doled out.

Junkie. "You speak that language..."

But Andrew's accusations mean nothing to Neil, per usual.

"I'm dumb remember?" Neil reminds with a shrug, and Andrew grits his teeth. He's still unsure how he feels about this; Neil's mind is vast when it comes to a lot of things. Languages, math, world knowledge, how to kill a man, basic things.

But otherwise...the ignorance can be...

Attractive.

Andrew almost gets off the boat from admitting it to himself. Dumb jocks with runner's hearts is a type he guesses, and it happens to be his.

Or, scratch that. Neil can't possibly fall into a group. Had more than one Neil existed, the mafia would've surely met their demise as a whole through a combination of violence and general dumbassery.

"You milk it on purpose," Andrew decides to say, because Neil does. Because no, Neil's far from dumb, he just knows what gets under Andrew's skin.

Neil chooses not to respond to that, predictably.

"It's just not as bad as I expected," Neil continues, leaning his head against Andrew's shoulder. He gives a long sigh, and Andrew's sure it can't be comfortable. As at ease as he is in Neil's presence, there's always a hardness there, a tension coiled in his body. Yet, Neil leans into him like a pillow and seems to cherish the steadiness.

For a while, they just listen to the song.

Andrew's not quite sure if he agrees with the message, but he doesn't care in the moment. He's come to acknowledge lately that he shares quite a bit with other people, much to his chagrin. Though in the grand scheme of things, he's eons away from them all.

Primarily, he doesn't like to think he could replicate this...feeling, whatever it is.

Certainly not enough to assign an overused word to, one stamped onto every relationship like a barcode. 'I love you.'

He's never admired the words when other people used them. Is that fair, he wonders. Does it matter? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place; the need to be contrary itches at him. He shouldn't want to feel that way, shouldn't have to label this feeling as love...

And it doesn't feel right anyways.

He does not want to fit an insincere mold, but he doubts he and Neil ever could. They never have. This would not be so easily destroyed, toppled.

They simply share too much, and Andrew thinks back to his goal of replacing every bad memory with Neil. That's not an accident, or a desperate quick fix. That instinct is there for a reason...

Cass. Funny how his two separate problems seem to come together. Cass is an appropriate example. Andrew knows, better than anyone, that she hadn't loved him in Katelyn's definition, if that's what love even is. If love can be broken down like that, if it's real. Devotion, consideration, loyalty.

Andrew sighs; he can't go that deep into it. It's too much, bogged down by layers and layers of terrible experiences that have only just begun to be pushed aside like weeds. Never ripped out. The roots have taken hold, but they're withering.

Maybe it's because he's so tired of thinking about it that the words come out. He peers down at Neil against him, at the top of his head where the auburn curls are so within reach, and confesses to Neil's crown. He doesn't blame the need to admit things to Neil as influenced by love, it can't possibly be so contained. He just...something pushes him to work this out. "Cass would hum this, every now and again."

Andrew's not sure what he wants the reaction to be, but when Neil responds, Andrew's soul relaxes, so it must be what he needed. Neil goes rigid within an instant, robbed of the peace afforded them. Andrew didn't mean to throw it into their quiet bubble, but he doesn't regret it. These things aren't inconvenient. Andrew gives these pieces of information to Neil now, like he always has. Willingly, and they're received in kind.

Neil shoots up, eyes frantic when they meet Andrew's. He sees so many things in those blue eyes: rage at Cass, concern for Andrew, and things Andrew didn't ask for but will receive for as long as Neil is here. Neil looks frantic, and two seconds away from dragging them as far away from this place as possible.

Neil's voice is a whisper, sharp and desperate. "Why did you--"

Why indeed? Why come on this ride?

Andrew's puts all his boyfriend's worry and guilt into an early grave.

"I hate having her in my brain," he answers, and knows it's not an excuse. Being on this ride is far from traumatic, more therapeutic than anything, but he almost recoils. He's only ever admitted those things aloud, the pent up resentment and anger, in the privacy of Bee's office. Even then, it's pulling teeth. For so long he framed his time with Cass as the only blip of light in his life. But it had come with a price, and Andrew knows now it hadn't been remotely worth it. For so long he tried to protect that outlook, but now he wants it stained, blacked out. He just never knew it would be so hard to blot it out with his own hand.

And if that was not love...

Neil flinches, but Andrew keeps going, daring him to say something. He needs Neil to know he's serious, so he makes it personal, shared. "You're the obnoxious one, telling me to overwrite things all the time. That's what this is."

That's why I'm okay with this. It's you.

Andrew can see the moment Neil remembers; they'd been sitting on the roof, and Neil had asked him to only remember the good things, even if for just a moment. Andrew's not the best at employing this, and sometimes he vehemently denies the ability to do so, but not with this. Not today.

That feeling cannot be replicated; Andrew turns the idea in his head again and again, never getting closer.

But one thing is certain...

Neil's expression softens, and Andrew squeezes his hand before he flicks a look up at the bright orange monstrosity on Neil's head. "Now, this ride will just remind me of how terrible that headband is," he says, and Neil should at least be able to read between those lines. "Nothing else will come first."

I will latch onto you instead. Andrew never wanted that before, to cling to some idealized outlook again. But Neil is not that; Neil is painfully real. Sometimes he misinterprets, other times he keeps too much to himself. But at the end of the day, Andrew trusts him to do whatever it takes to remain by his side for as long as he chooses to be there.

Andrew is the same way; he can't go back to how it was before.

Andrew's not paying attention to the displays around them anymore, but he can feel his mind melding the images and the tune together with Neil's expression. Open, vulnerable, welcome.

Neil sighs a moment later, muscles relaxing. Not once does his hold on Andrew loosen, but he knows better than to pry about Andrew's past. Andrew has made it clear; this moment is not about an old memory.

Neil leans back, moving further into Andrew's space. "Mm, should I say something else annoying, make the moment stronger?"

And ah, back to normal already are we?

Andrew flicks the back of Neil's hand. "You just did."

He'll log that away too, as aggravating as it is.

"Yeah..." Neil breathes out with a laugh, his thumb rubbing small circles into Andrew's skin. Physical touch, muscle memory...Andrew needs all of it for this to work. He gladly focuses on that while Neil thinks; Andrew can tell solely from the crease in his brow the striker has more on his mind.

Neil's not necessarily like Andrew, he won't keep these things to himself for prideful reasons. He needs to let them out, or they will eat him up.

He's bad at hiding it too.

"Hey Andrew," Neil says eventually, and Andrew's ready for the words before they're even in the air between them. He'd been expecting this, dreading it, but not okay with putting it off any longer. He needs Neil's help, unfortunately, to piece it all together. "You said Jean was in love with Jeremy."

One day if life is especially cruel, and Andrew outlives Neil, he will make it his mission to pick the man's brain. Something in that stubborn subconscious always seems to anticipate the winding roads Andrew is currently stuck on, even when Neil actually has zero clue.

He's not so upset by this anymore.

Carefully, Andrew turns Neil's palm over to trace the heart lines. If he put them on a map, would they cross through all the places Neil's been? "I did say that."

And he's been re-thinking about if it's true. Who knows if Jean and Jeremy are actually in love. As much as he likes to compare them to his brother's and Katelyn's nauseating displays, affectionate looks and blushing cheeks can't be all there is to it.

Andrew had been stupid to chalk it up to just that. Not even Katelyn would've. And if that's the case, Andrew might never be convinced of Jeremy and Jean's feelings. Attraction sure, but he doesn't care enough to dig deeper.

There's not an equation to test levels of protectiveness, or comfort, in order to determine an abstract and troublesome thing like love. And why would he need to test his own feelings against such a thing anyways? He knows...he knows this is something he will keep for as long as he can.

"I thought you didn't use that word," Neil offers when Andrew is quiet for too long, debating on the best angle to attack this from. Neil tends to do that, when Andrew himself hasn't figured things out yet. If he poses questions that open up other doors, it clears the mess away. He notes how Neil says 'doesn't use' instead of 'doesn't like' or 'hates,' because it's true. Andrew isn't repulsed by the word, just annoyed with it and all its aspects. He does not get it.

It's like he told Katelyn...

"I don't, but only because it's untrustworthy," Andrew replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He's not making sense, not even to himself. He's simply trying to see if he's open to the idea of throwing out his old opinion, the one where the concept of love is something twisted beyond recognition. Fake. Overly reproduced.

It's far more difficult a feat than simply overwriting a bad memory. This feels more invasive, but Andrew knows he wouldn't be thinking about it if there wasn't something important lodged beneath.

Neil squints, unaware of Andrew's turmoil. "So you were insulting them?"

The game show buzzer in Andrew's head rings; nope, that's not it.

"I was applying Mrs. Minyard's definition..." Andrew tries not to sound too bitter. The whole reason he even let this issue cling to him is because of Katelyn. She's the worst.

"Katelyn?" Neil asks, but doesn't question further after Andrew nods. Andrew assumes he's used to this, and it's entirely likely he's had a similar conversation with Katelyn. Andrew won't think about that either.

Neil nods. "Okay well, do you care if they figure it out?"

Again, Neil strikes out, but it helps Andrew to eliminate the background noise in his head.

"No, it makes no difference to me," he says. He couldn't care less what becomes of Moreau's romantic life. "Though it would be annoying if we have to do this again."

Another forced outing surrounded by dense morons...

Andrew's had to deal with enough obliviousness.

Neil smirks. "You know, Kevin might flip out if they get together."

Ah, another rare pro...

Neil leans away, regarding Andrew like he's taken on a new sleuth role. He rubs his chin too, to add to the drama of it. Maybe Andrew should get him a monocle, if he's going to be this much of a fuck. "So...if you don't care if they realize it, why think about it at all? I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd care about something like this."

Andrew's not quite sure why or if he does either. It doesn't have to be a thing that applies to them, if he doesn't want it to be.

Their this is unique. Andrew had been so resistant to using the word 'love' because it had been spit on and turned to bile, misused by people throughout his life. But in doing so, he ignored the times people used it genuinely. In the past, he would've contested that. He would've said it was never genuine, never earned. The commercialized concept wasn't something he'd let himself have in common with others.

But lately, Andrew finds that having some things in common with certain people isn't reprehensible. And in this case...

Aaron's voice comes barreling through his head, steering Andrew to destinations he couldn't find before. And well, now he knows why his brain can't let go of Aaron and Katelyn as his go to example.

"Our feelings for them are the same."

Yes. Andrew had slowly begun to accept that. Maybe that's why his brain wouldn't write off Katelyn's words so easily.

Begrudgingly, Andrew admits there's a lot more to his brother's relationship than pure affection, even when most of it is behind closed doors. Katelyn had been there through the worst parts of Aaron's college life, and she'd never once judged him or ignored the ugliest bits. Not even when he hated her, could Andrew look past those things. They meet her own definition, and Andrew's simply choosing to extend some trust to his brother. Aaron says he's in love, so Andrew believes him even when he doesn't believe in the feeling's history, in the way it's manipulated.

And well, if his feelings are the same...

Well, he guesses he can try to accept that too.

"I was testing it," Andrew answers, without much struggle. Katelyn's definition, any definition. Andrew looks at Neil straight on then, and the striker's grin fades. Something crosses over those eyes, like for once Andrew is ahead of him. "Love. I think I'm trying to decide if I...want to say it."

If I want to say 'I love you.' If it applies at all.

Not need, but want.

Is it something heavy, or is it something inconsequential?

It feels wrong, but Andrew knows he's reached the crux of his problem. This is where all his restlessness stemmed from, his observations about Jean and Jeremy, about the girls...

It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with whether or not he'd ever want to have that in common with them.

He'd ignored the fact he most likely already does.

But the words...he never would've bothered before. They don't mean much, other than the weight society has put on them, and Andrew's never cared about that. He doesn't need them to know this is something sturdy in his life, and he doubts Neil needs them either.

It's more...this is another thing life took from them, took from Neil. They've never expected to regain everything; they never feel like life owes them.

It has nothing to do with that. It's just the same as with a lot of other instances; Andrew wants to give these things to Neil, because Neil is his.

Does there have to be some deeper explanation or justification for it? Even if there is, Andrew stops looking for it.

He waves off Neil's shocked expression, and doesn't ponder why it's there in the first place. He's been in the wrong before, assuming he's the only one who thinks about stuff like this. It's possible this has been on Neil's mind too, but that's not the point.

"I don't mean now, or anytime soon," Andrew corrects. No, no. He's not there yet, and it's not like it's some milestone they have to reach. Andrew doesn't like to think it could encompass how he feels, but maybe his biggest issue with this is that...he's not sure he hates the idea of it anymore. The word. One day, he might be able to say it and know it means a lot more than what other people think about it. And that would be enough. "But one day."

The shadows of the displays wash over Neil's expression, and Andrew can't pull anything out of it. Neil stares, hand still curled impossibly tight in Andrew's.

Andrew won't take back anything he said, but Neil's silence is beginning to unnerve him. He could have overstepped he realized, he should've asked for Neil's opinion at some point, weighed it against--

"You know, Aaron talked to me about this once," Neil offers finally. It's not what Andrew's expecting him to say. Then, Neil's face twitches, and Andrew can tell he's...holding back a smile. "That night you picked Katelyn up, we talked about...yeah."

Yeah.

Andrew knows the gist of what happened, Neil filled him in. Guess he didn't reveal all the details though.

Neil's laugh is a breathy, comforting thing this time. "He made me think about it. He asked if I loved you."

Neil smiles wryly, an expression he's begun to pair with Aaron lately. It's not a glare or scowl nearly as much anymore.

Andrew stills, but relaxes in the next second. They'd both been subject to the same thoughts after all, Andrew just didn't realize how similar the sources were. Aaron and Katelyn are menaces, and they don't even realize it.

Andrew doesn't feel nervous, or anxious. The way Neil feels about him is obnoxiously stone-like and unmovable at this point, as much as Andrew still sometimes tries to act like it's not. Neil won't say anything to make him doubt that.

"I said I did," Neil continues, like it's obvious. Andrew's pulse hiccups a little anyways. Stupid. "But I didn't know if I ever wanted to say it to you. It's more like...well obviously I do feel that way right? In the whatever—traditional sense."

Traditional. Ha.

He's not sure even Katelyn's definition is truly traditional in its selflessness.

Neil clears his throat, palm clammy in Andrew's own. Second by second, Andrew feels lighter. Neil's rambling is a strange salve, one more thing they have in common. Too much thinking, when the answer doesn't have to be so complex. Neil tries to glance away, but Andrew grabs his chin, keeping them face to face. He wants to have all this forever, every expression, every blink.

Neil swallows, but his smile stays, making a liar out of him before the words even leave his mouth. "But one word doesn't seem like enough, and if we did say it wouldn't it just be for other people's satisfaction? I don't need it to know you feel the same way..."

Andrew shakes his head in disbelief. Neil. Only Neil would expect that from Andrew. Andrew's mind exhales.

The convoluted mess of words echoes Andrew's own thoughts throughout the day, but it's never sounded clearer. No, it's true, one word will never be enough, but Andrew thinks if he could come to associate the word, the phrase, with this feeling, unique to them...

It wouldn't be so damaged anymore.

It would still be theirs, and no one else's. He'd have his own definition, to overwrite the rest.

"But even then..." Neil adds, quietly, his voice dancing with the song still playing around them. The lyrics are in English again, and Andrew knows the ride will end soon. Cass is barely a blip in his mind now, compared to Neil's words, the ones which mirror Andrew's. "I still thought it might be nice, one day, to say it. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

Logically no. All the contradictions, the back and forth...feelings are a strange thing and that's one reason Andrew's always hated them. There's no rhyme or reason, and there's two sides to each one. All justification is ruled out by one thing and one thing alone: 'I still want to.'

And in that sense, Neil's words make perfect sense.

But he can't confess all that; instead he cups Neil's face in his hands, smoothing over the scars like he always does. The roughness is a constant, familiar. "I hate you," he says, with no heat. It makes both of them blink, and Andrew realizes it's been a while since he said it. That too, has changed. But in this case, he thinks it's more than fair. He's feeling more than he possibly knows what to do with. "Yes or no?"

The fact he asks makes Neil snort; it's nostalgic, because...they don't ask as much these days. But Neil's 'yes' echoes loud and clear as they pass under the final archway, and for the first time all day, their lips meet. Neil sighs into him, his hands coming up to rest over Andrew's, breathing in the unspoken promise.

Nothing was decided, nothing fleshed out. But it didn't have to be.

One day, maybe.

They're both more than okay with that. Besides, Andrew did always say proof meant more than words.

And he has mountains of it to last in the meantime.

With only a little annoyance, Andrew admits he fell into the trap without meaning to; they shared a kiss at Disneyland.

Andrew pulls away as the sunlight begins to pour over them, and he squints, already missing the ride. Quiet it was not, but not as bad as the sounds and size of the crowd. If he ever does have to come back, he knows it will be a place to stop.

It makes him think of Neil, first and foremost, and he's long since stopped denying himself that.

Neil tries to help Andrew out of the boat, but Andrew swats him away for being a shit. He doesn't need help. As revenge, Neil smirks at him once they're walking down the exit path, adjusting his ears just to be even more irritating. Not cute. "Wait, so this means you admit Katelyn and Aaron are in love. Can I tell them?"

Andrew rolls his eyes, and Neil laughs. He'll never live that one down, and if Neil wants to survive he'll keep it to himself.

Mockery aside, Neil links their hands together, and Andrew pushes his face away before accepting the touch. Neil hasn't stopped smiling.

"Something to say Neil?" He says with a glare, and though he knows it's a joke at best, it makes that obnoxious warmth in him surge.

Neil smiles wider, dragging Andrew down the path with no idea where he's going. Andrew lets him.

"No," Neil throws behind him, humor lacing his tone. Gradually, the corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Not at all."

"Andrew! Neil!" Jeremy's voice booms from across the pavilion, and they both freeze in their analysis of where the best hiding spot would be in the entire park (Andrew is making a case for Toontown, but puts a pin in it).

Their time alone is officially over.

"Shit," Neil mutters, hand still linked in Andrew's. Normally at the sight of people they know, he'd pull away for Andrew's comfort, but Andrew keeps his grip firm.

He wants this today. Neil beams, sighing at the rest of the group's advance. It must be twice as sad now, since Neil knows.

Jeremy and Jean follow with the girls in tow, and as they get closer Andrew can see Laila's resigned smile. She and Alvarez have been caught too, despite their best efforts, and Andrew can tell nothing has changed.

The 'magical moment' they'd tried to pull out of Jean and Jeremy didn't happen, just like Andrew knew it wouldn't. Regardless, they're as hopeless as ever.

Jean trails close after Jeremy, eyes scanning his strong back while Jeremy keeps looking to make sure he's following. They're still dancing around one another, oblivious, but that's their own problem to sort out.

Still...there's a shift in Jean's features that wasn't there before, and Andrew is all too happy to wither it away with a glare.

He's accepting, not forgiving.

Whatever realizations Jean came to today have no other impact on Andrew other than an urge to get as far away as possible from it.

But there's hours to go.

Hours more to go, with Neil's hand in his. The striker throws a knowing grin back at him before pulling him forward, probably dead set on meddling as much as possible.

With the promise of 'one day' still fizzing strong in his chest, Andrew follows.

There's no more memories of this place to overwrite, so he has no choice but to crack open the door a little for some new ones.

That, at least, he can handle.

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

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initcne-arch · 5 years ago

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💞

five ways my muse says i love you.

She says I love you in groceries and prescriptions. On the days where he barely moves from his bed, she clips Flipper’s leash to her collar and takes her to run errands. Two birds, one stone. She opens his blinds and quietly leaves a bottle of water on his nightstand. She’s shit at cooking, so she makes sure to pick some food up before she comes home. Or she’s persistent enough that Elliot actually gets out of bed. Darlene thinks just the act of removing himself from the apartment helps a little. Even if they’re going down the street for coffee.

She says I love you late at night, when she can’t sleep. Elliot might be in bed feigning sleep or he’s at his desktop. Darlene can’t fall asleep on the couch so she climbs into Elliot’s bed. She watches him type or talks to him quietly until she falls asleep. There’s a feeling of security here ( used to sleep in the same bed when our mom was mean to us ) but, more importantly for Darlene, it conveys the message I trust you.

When they were little, Darlene would say I love you by stomping her feet and demanding Elliot walk with her to her dance recitals. Their mother had decided she couldn’t be bothered to continue driving Darlene to her recitals, so Darlene would walk, and in many cases, Elliot would walk with her. It was a strange way of conveying her love for him and as they grew, Elliot’s presence at her recitals began to grow thin, until he eventually stopped going all together. But when they were really young, her demands were met with an exasperated look, and then compliance. Sometimes he would carry her bag without her asking. The message Darlene was trying to get across was I want you there. I trust that you will get me to where I need to go safely and I want you here. The demands haven’t stopped just because they’re adults. Nowadays though, the demands look more like “buy me pizza” or “fix the GameCube so I can kick your ass at Mario Kart.” But it’s the same message. I trust you to keep me safe and be there for me.

Sometimes, I love you sounds like I need space. I’m in a bad head space and I’m feeling the urge to run again so I’m going to give myself a break. These breaks usually end up lasting for several days, because Darlene only operates under extremes. She’s usually better when she comes back, and ready to take on the world again. Darlene doesn’t have the healthiest coping mechanisms, but they’re what she has in her toolbox, and they’re doing their job for the time being.

Rarest of all, I love you sounds exactly like that. They weren’t raised with verbal affection ( or any form of affection, for that matter ), so saying the words out loud seems foreign. The Mastermind steps back and her Elliot takes the reigns again, and Darlene realizes she can’t remember the last time she told Elliot that she loves him. The nurse comes in. She does what she needs to do. Says the doctor will be in shortly. Elliot seems horribly confused and panicked but considering all things, he takes it all in stride. The doctor does not come in shortly, giving Darlene time to sit beside her brother for the first time in years and hold his hand and talk to him. She squeezes his hand, just like she’s always done, and she quietly says, “I love you. I’m glad you’re back.”

#psychexch #I AM SOFT.#┆❛ OUTGOING. / answered.rar #┆❛ THERE’S GONNA BE A PARTY WHEN THE WOLF COMES HOME. / psychexch.rel

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mochhio · 6 years ago

Text

Karasuno’s last party

Hey hey hey! Cookies!

This is my gift for @theorangecourt‘s anniversary event! I can’t believe it’s been a year minus 1 month

I hope you like this! It’s 2.5k words of Karasuno fluff and being dorks (plus it ended up being a balm to cure recent manga induced injuries what do you know).

Basically Karasuno’s third years are graduating and the team wants to do something for them! So what’s better than throwing a slumber party?

After Nationals, Karasuno’s third years are left with no more excuses to continue being on the team. Through February and March, the four of them are too busy with their exams, job hunting, college applications, and all the responsibilities that convey being a senior student in high school a step away from graduating. It’s difficult enough for them to squeeze some time to meet their underclassmen in the halls. Suga likes to visit the 1st years’ classes while they’re on lunch break, Kiyoko texts regularly with Yachi offering advice (she knows Yachi would be too embarrassed to “inconvenience” Kiyoko like that), Daichi tries to keep his distance slightly from Ennoshita since he doesn’t want it to seem like he doesn’t trust Enno with the team. The one who has slightly more time to come by is Asahi, he even manages to stay and practice sometimes whenever Take-chan doesn’t berate him for it.

No one doubted that the new starting team would be as good as how it had been with the third years, but their absence is felt. Not so much as how they play in court (though obviously they still have a ways to go before getting properly in sync) so much as the hole they left in the team dynamics. Everyone misses them, some more vocally than others, and it's such a waste that they were taken from the team so abruptly without even a proper goodbye!

Hinata tells Kenma all of this during one of their usual text convos, he would really want to have a bomb-ass party so they can send off their senpai properly! He knows Tanaka and Noya would help him, although maybe the rest would be a little reluctant to comply with any of their crazy plans. Still! He wants the team to do something special for them! And that’s when the idea pops, how about they have a training camp!

He tries to be sneaky and tell Kageyama first but he's soon caught by the rest of the first years. Yamaguchi and Yachi think that's a great idea! Though Tsukishima is soon to destroy any of his enthusiasm. "We're almost at the end of the year, where could you fit in a training camp? Plus, the third years are too busy as is". Hinata's solution is to host the training camp after school ends duh! And in his moment of bravado to prove Tsukishima wrong they go to Ennoshita.

"It's ridiculous."

"It's genius!"

"In fact, it is ridiculous." Ennoshita turns down Hinata's idea without a second thought. "Tsukishima's right, even if we could fit in a camp the third years wouldn't be able to participate."

Not officially at least, so Hinata hangs on to that, "But what about a non-official training camp? The weekend after graduation?" That doesn't sound too bad honestly, and if it's not official Ennoshita has no saying in denying it and so, they go to Ukai and Take-chan. After some initial reluctance, they manage to convince them and so, the only thing that's left is to get the third years to agree. Fortunately, they agree to it! It sounds like a good idea and the best way to celebrate.

Since it’s not official they all have to chip in with a little contribution, even the neighbors association and family cooperate to make the whole thing possible. They booked rooms in the same inn where they stayed for the golden week, Ukai brings snacks and drinks from Sakanoshita and Shimada also gets stuff from the supermarket. Akiteru offers his old TV and console for them to play and watch movies, Takinoue lends them a karaoke set and helps set it (with the inn’s approval ofc) and Saeko brings proper food from her job.

They have a slumber party! They play Mario Kart, Daichi and Tsukishima are the ones always fighting for the first place. Usually, when he plays at home with his family since Daichi is the big bro he’s used to utterly destroying his little siblings in any and all videogames. Subsequently, even if Akiteru was always a big softie with Tsukki, as any respectable older sibling, he had no mercy when it came to games. So for both Tsukki and Daichi, it feels like something personal and somehow this petty rivalry ends up in the whole team dividing into two teams for the rest of the night. Older siblings vs younger ones, with the only children being picked in the end as if they were forming dodgeball teams.

So we have the Older sibs team comprised of Daichi, Hinata, Asahi, Kinoshita, Noya, Narita and Kiyoko. And the younger sibs: Tsukki, Tanaka, Yamaguchi (he also had to suffer Akiteru’s gamer bloodthirst), Suga, Ennoshita, Kageyama and Yachi

For the first few rounds after they started playing in teams the YS were winning everything. Not even 20 minutes into it Kinoshita had to stop Noya from trying to leap at Tsukishima and get rid of his smug grin and snarky remarks. It’s getting late and someone is going to end up getting thrown a real banana to their head so they decide to start with karaoke early. Both because they don’t want to be too much trouble for the owners but mostly to have everyone at peace and far from using their controllers as actual projectiles. Also, they do have to wrap up everything early since Take-chan managed to get the school gym open for the next day so they can have one last practice as a team.

Somehow they manage to turn karaoke into a competition and despite Asahi being timid as usual, the pure raw of Noya (with Kinoshita as his second vocals), feral Suga, Hinata’s...well all of him (it seems like he injected pure sugar into his bloodstream) is enough to beat the others in any screaming competition. “It is not a screaming competition” Daichi tries to settle them down with no luck. Also, who would’ve known Kiyoko and Narita knew the lyrics to all of the power rangers intros huh.

On the other hand, Tsukki outright refused to sing, Kageyama trips over his own tongue and they found out how tragical his timing is outside of volleyball, Yachi looks like he’s going to get a heart attack and drench her clothes in sweat. That is until Tanaka tells her they should do a duet. “But I don’t even know this song!”, “Don’t worry! It’s screamo so just let it all out” and MAN does she let it out, they won that round no doubts. Other than that Ennoshita is pretty mellow, and Yamaguchi does have a nice voice but this is a war and he’s going to need more than that to win.

Now they’re 1 to 1 and they definitely should go to sleep now but they can’t leave the score like this. So they try to settle it with a quick and simple game of charades. Oh, but how foolish were they.

Since this is technically a celebration for the third years the team decides it’s only fair to have them write the papers down. They use movies, shows, obscure references no one will guess courtesy of Suga, the team members themselves, anything they can think of.

Surprisingly it is not as chaotic as it could be, somehow they get so focused during their rounds to start bickering with the other team. The MVP definitely is Yachi, from the first action the player does she starts shouting any and all the words she can think of, it would sound as if she’s making random guesses but since she has so much attention to even the smallest of detail her guesses end up being accurate more times than not. Tanaka does pretty much the same but his guesses are way off, although he makes up for it being incredibly expressive whenever his turn to act out the charade comes. Another scary addition to the YS team is Ennoshita who is able to guess every single movie before the player in turn even finishes acting it and though no one other than Suga himself gets his own references since some of them are cinematographic Enno manages to hold a candle to those.

Somehow Tsukki gets too caught up in the whole thing that he forgets to wear his usual uninterested façade and plays seriously, he even gets angry when Kageyama fails to guess most of the references. “That’s milk? Cheese? A cheeseburger?”, “IT’S TOAST YOU ABSOLUTE MORON”. Needless to say they lost that round by default but watching poker-faced Tsukki get genuinely worked up is worth it. When Yamaguchi gets ‘Kageyama’ he ruffles his hair over his eyes to look emo and brooding, puts on a scowl and starts making tossing noises. For a hot 10 no one talks, not because they don’t know what the word is, but because they know and don’t want to laugh so loud in front of Kageyama himself. Which is really difficult since Kageyama himself is completely oblivious and genuinely trying to figure out what Yamaguchi is hinting at until Tsukki snaps and shouts “IT’S YOU, DUMBASS”. The team can’t contain their laughter as Kageyama replies with an undignified “Huh?”. “Being around Kageyama has rubbed off on Tsukishima” Hinata quietly tells his team but Tsukki’s ears are sharp as ever and he throws his stare as daggers to Hinata.

For the other team is easier, at least in the sense that there’s no incessant bickering most of the time. But it doesn’t help that the team’s collective braincell is mostly concentrated in the other team. Whenever someone gets Suga’s cards come up the one who reads it spends more time struggling to get what it even means than actually acting it out. “But you were there when he wrote them!” “I didn’t have a clue back then and you expect me to know what it means right now?”. Asahi is better guessing than acting out, though his volume leaves much to be desired and Noya ends up being his megaphone, although he shouts everything and it is barely intelligible. He’s also the ultimate hypeman, cheering everyone up and clapping everyone's backs when they have to stand up to act. However, he’s too focused he ends up scolding the players when they’re not being clear or enthusiastic enough. Hinata is pretty good at acting out but he lets out to many onomatopoeias when he’s supposed to be silent. At first they were giving him penalties but poor thing did it so often they just decided to cover his mouth with a sleep mask whenever it was his turn.

Despite Daichi’s confidence, he’s not exactly what you would call hip with the kids so he stays silent with a deep frown like even understanding the words themselves presents a struggle. That’s just excuses though, whenever he’s in the place of acting he spends more time thinking about what to do than doing it. “BUT YOU WROTE THAT ONE????” “I thought it would be difficult to the other team! I didn’t take a second to genuinely think about how to act out air salonpas!”. It doesn’t help either that he likes to point at stuff which is against the rules, and Suga is quick to let him know by making loud buzzer sounds from his side of the room. The job of guessing is relegated to Kiyoko, Kinoshita, and Narita. Each of them has their strong points which balance each other, still, more than one time they ran out of time because they started arguing in the middle of a charade about what it could be instead of just shouting it like any other normal person!

Overall! The team that managed to keep it together better was...

...

....

.....

The younger siblings.

Hinata feels both Tsukishima’s and Kageyama’s insufferable stares, he instinctively turns to them and witnesses as their faces twist into matching disgusting grimaces, he also catches a glimpse of slight grins in Yamaguchi and Yachi’s faces. Suga comes up to the other three years and tells them to pick up their slack! How is it that all these kids could beat ‘em but he does admit that it would’ve been difficult if it had only been up to him. Noya is kinda bummed but he’s quick to get over it and bring the other two second years to congratulate the other team! He high fives his bro and Suga and pats all the first year’s heads (despite Tsukishima’s reluctance). Narita sighs fondly at the scary 1st years and Kinoshita gives everyone a thumbs up. Noya comes up to Ennoshita and gives him an enthusiastic slap on the back, “Good job Chikara! as expected from our captain!” Everyone falls silent.

The tension is so thick it could be cut up with a knife, no one dares to break the uncomfortable silence, least of all Ennoshita who looks so mortified he might faint at any moment.

Finally, Daichi is the one to step forward and he moves until he reaches Ennoshita grips his shoulder with a firm hand. “Yeah, the team is in good hands.”

Somehow that feels like a punch to Ennoshita’s gut and he moves his face downwards as faint sobs leave him. Just like that, one after the other, quiet sobs can be heard throughout the room. Tears dampening cheeks but never quite reaching the ground. They’re sad tears, happy tears, tears born from frustration and relief and longing, shed for the regrets of the past and the vast unknown that is the future but most importantly they are being shed at the present moment. No one acknowledges them, but no one really needs to. During the past three years Daichi, Kiyoko, Asahi, and Suga have shed lots of tears for different reasons and they know that they’ll continue crying for as long as they keep on fighting.

These waterfalls are not dampening the evening, quite the opposite, they’re the perfect conclusion to their high school career. The four of them helped rebuild this team from the ground up, each of nurturing in their own ways. They all have regrets and things they would’ve done differently but seeing right now their wonderful teammates and everything they’ve achieved together they can have closure and come to terms with saying goodbye and trusting the fruits of their hard work to the next generation.

Eventually, the cryfest stops and even though they try to joke to lighten the mood the 14 of them are left exhausted. They try to clean up some and get ready to take a quick bath and get to sleep.

The next day starts on a better note, they’re all excited for their last practice as a team and vigorously fill up their stomachs before giving it their all.

They warm-up and practice serves as always, or better said as ‘in the old times’. They have enough people to go 6 vs 6 and so they play as many sets as they can. Suga teases them, Daichi tells them to cut their slack, Asahi encourages them and Kiyoko supports them from the sidelines.

They lose track of which team ends up winning, especially since they kept switching members every few sets but who cares about that.

They got to play like they always wanted to, giving it their all, as a family.

#haikyuu!!#hq!! fanfic #hq!! drabble #hq!! spoilers #haikyuu!! spoilers #the orange court exchange #my writing

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bie-lovers · 7 years ago

Text

Rosé

Title: Rosé

Relationship: Dan/Phil

Rating: T

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Some nights they will pull out a bottle of wine and load up a game on the TV.

a/n: did i write a drunk dnp fic a couple of weeks ago? yes. did i just write another one. yes. does this say something about me? probably.

so. dan’s bday happened and phil tweeted his fave pictures of dan from his camera roll, including one of a rather obviously tipsy dan and a nice almost empty bottle of rosé in the background. well, clearly this is what happened. hope you enjoy!

Excerpt: “You’re the worst person in the world,” Phil whinges, and Dan hears the unmistakable sound of Phil driving off the race track on the screen. He grins and lightly bites down on Phil’s shoulder.

“I am,” he says. Phil exits the game and connects the second controller. They sit up and Phil hands it to him but he won’t let go, so Dan looks at him and cocks an eyebrow.

“Do your worst, Howell,” Phil says and turns his attention back on the telly.

“Game on, Lester.”

[Read on AO3]

“Yes, yes, yes! Oh my God!” Phil’s shriek is high pitched and probably way too loud considering the time. Dan doesn’t really care because he’s ten seconds away from actually losing to Phil, and to be fair, he’s probably screaming even louder.

Phil drives over the finish line then, and Dan briefly considers if they should send an apology gift basket to their neighbours tomorrow, but then Phil’s suddenly lunging at him. He ends up on his back on the sofa with Phil on top of him, knees on either side of Dan’s hips and fingers playing with the zip on his grey hoodie.

“I won!” Phil whoops. Dan rolls his eyes.

“Barely. Also, I’m handicapped, it doesn’t count.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. Having half a bottle of rosé in my blood is a handicap in Mario. Read the rules.”

“You know, I do believe drunk driving is illegal,” Phil says and a grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he boops Dan’s nose with his pinky. “And I’m pretty sure the other half of that wine is in my system, mister. So we’re even, and I won. Fair and square, can’t beat the master.” And then Phil leans down and touches his lips to Dan’s, featherlight.

Dan grips Phil’s face as he tries to sit up again.

“No. Stay,” he mumbles against his lips, and he can feel Phil smile and give in, opening his mouth.

He tastes like the rosé they have been drinking; alcohol and a hint of red berries, and Dan wonders absentmindedly if he could get drunk just like this, just on Phil. Phil, who moves from Dan’s mouth to his jaw and then his neck, and Dan concludes with a small whimper that yes, he definitely can.

Phil sighs and slides his hand through Dan’s curls, getting a loose grip and pulling just slightly. His breath is hot and wet and his lips tickle over Dan’s ear as he whispers, “What’s my prize?”

“Prize?” He can’t really focus, not when Phil is this close, this intoxicating.

“I won,” Phil breathes, “Don’t I get a prize for my efforts?” He kisses Dan’s jaw and finally returns home to his lips. If Dan could, he would push pause on the universe so he could live this moment out forever. He wants to stretch it out and slow it down, this inconsequential moment of slow, slightly clumsy touching, drunken flirting, and lazy, sloppy kisses just because they can, because they have each other and they know it.

“What do you want?” he whispers, voice hoarse. He takes Phil’s face in his hands again, looks at him. His hair is a mess, strands sticking up in all directions, and Dan cards a hand through it without really thinking. A red flush is covering his pale skin, his lips are wet and pink. Dan lets his thumb touch gently.

“Hmm.” Phil’s eyes slowly travel down to Dan’s lips, where they stay as he says, “You,” his voice low and deep and setting fire to Dan’s heart. He resists the impulse to say you have me and settles for pulling Phil back down to convey his thoughts through his kisses. They’re too complex for words, anyway.

***

“I want revenge.”

They’re lying on the sofa, and Phil is playing against some people online, back pressed close to Dan’s chest, their legs tangled together like their hearts are.

Phil snorts. “Forget it, Howell. I won.”

Dan lets his hand slide slowly down Phil’s chest, sneaking it up under his shirt.

“Not gonna work,” Phil says. Dan places an open mouthed kiss on his neck and lets his thumb brush over a nipple. He can feel a shiver run through Phil’s body and he can’t help pressing closer as he deliberately plays with the hardening nubs under his fingertips. He’s leaving a trail of wet kisses on Phil’s neck and then he whispers, “All or nothing.”

“You’re the worst person in the world,” Phil whinges, and Dan hears the unmistakable sound of Phil driving off the race track on the screen. He grins and lightly bites down on Phil’s shoulder.

“I am,” he says. Phil exits the game and connects the second controller. They sit up and Phil hands it to him but he won’t let go, so Dan looks at him and cocks an eyebrow.

“Do your worst, Howell,” Phil says and turns his attention back on the telly.

“Game on, Lester.”

***

Phil wins. Again.

“Pretty sure I’ve earned my prize now.”

“Fine, whatever. I give up.” Dan waves his hands around, almost hitting Phil in the face. At some point during the game, they ended up standing right in front of the TV, and Dan blames it on the blurry edges to his vision.

“What, did I hear that correctly? You’re giving up?” Phil’s glee is almost palpable, snuggling around Dan, tugging on him. Dan smiles and thinks that letting Phil win was definitely worth it.

“What do you want, you barbarian?” He asks. And if he’s learned anything from being around Phil for almost ten years it’s that when he cracks out this smirk, Dan is for it.

“I want a dance.”

A laugh sputters out of Dan.

“What?”

Phil’s eyes are shining and slightly red and Dan’s pretty sure his own are, too. He’s standing in front of Dan with a hand reached out towards him, palm open.

“Can I have this dance with you, Mr. Howell?”

Dan could cry. Because this man standing before him is so imperfectly perfect and he’s his and Dan is drunk, they both are, it’s the middle of the night and he’s asking Dan to dance with him to the tune of the Mario Kart title menu still glowing on the TV.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and he hears the affection he has for Phil nestle in his tone. He grabs Phil’s hand and Phil pulls him close.

It’s bizarre, honestly. They keep falling into bouts of uncontrollable laughter, Phil steps on Dan’s toes and Dan almost knocks them over once. The music is not made for slow dancing, it’s too upbeat and zany, and they’re not made for slow dancing either, they’re too awkward and clumsy, but they make do, because it’s not about how it looks. Dan couldn’t care less of what this would look like to an outsider. He can feel Phil’s hands resting on his hips and Phil’s breath land on his mouth and, sometimes, when they step on each other’s toes, their noses bump together and they laugh again.

Phil’s looking at him like Dan’s the answer to the mystery of the universe, like he holds every secret and Phil’s dying to learn.

He moves his hands up to cup Phil’s face and he bumps their noses together gently.

Phil says, “I love you,” and Dan kisses him.

He can feel Phil’s lips curl into a smirk under his, and he pulls back just far enough to be able to see his face.

“And I won,” Phil whispers, and Dan smacks his shoulder and says, “I hate you.”

Phil just grins and kisses Dan again. “No, you don’t.”

It takes an embarrassing amount of willpower for Dan to pull back so they can breathe.

“I do actually. I want a divorce,” he says.

Phil raises an eyebrow. “We’re not married.”

“Technicalities.” Dan lets his chin rest on Phil’s shoulder and tightens his grip around his waist. The world is asleep around them, the music is still filling the air with the kooky melody, and there’s a pleasant buzz humming under Dan’s skin. “At least pour me another glass of wine.”

“Ask nicely. I did not raise you to be rude,” Phil says, mock offended.

Dan lets go of Phil and gives him a pointed look. “Please, Philip Lester, love of my sad life, will you pour me another glass of this sweet rosé?”

A small smile is playing in the corners of Phil’s mouth, and Dan wants to kiss it, taste it, to see if it’s as sweet as it looks. So he does.

“Actually, on second thought, I think you’ve had enough,” Phil says against Dan’s lips, and Dan pulls back just slightly.

“Don’t you love me?”

“No. Did I say that to you? I’m sorry.”

“Rude. I take back everything.” Dan pokes Phil’s arm. “Pass me the bottle then, old man.”

Phil lifts an eyebrow.

“Ugh. Please.”

#they are sappy slightly drunk idiots in love in this #phanfic #phanfiction #fluff #phan #my phanfic #look mom i'm writing fan fiction

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 7 years ago

Text

Arranged Chapter Eleven

Description: Y/N is a struggling student in Seoul: working multiple jobs, living in a broom closet apartment, and often sacrificing her dignity for the sake of her livelihood. What happens when a handsome stranger presents her with an offer she cannot refuse at the moment she needs it most?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Word Count: 6,673

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Chaebol!Au, Company!Au, Arranged Marriage!Au

Warnings: Coarse language, although not frequently

A/N: Hey guys! As always, thank you for being so kind and supportive of the fic and of me! It means more to me than I will ever be able to convey. I’ve had a pretty hectic week this week, so I’m hoping it’s not reflected in the chapter! I’m running on empty haha, but it’s good! I always feel the most productive when I’m struggling a little. Sorry to post this chapter a bit early but I have work at noon so I can’t post during my regular time! Anyway, please send me an ask if you want to chat or have theories/ideas about what you think will happen! I love seeing where your heads are at. As always, do feel free to send me feedback, critique, questions, or really anything! I love talking to you guys, and I’ll respond to all messages I receive within a day of receiving them! I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

–Mercury

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen (END)

———————————————————————————————————

I stared at Jungkook and tried to piece together what he was saying. He sounded so small, his voice trembling more than his hands as they held mine. If I wanted to refute it, to tell him he was wrong and that he’d never betray me, the genuine fear in his brown eyes halted the words in my throat. Whatever he was up against, he was certain about the outcome. Was this perhaps what he’d been trying to tell me the night before?

“Jungkook,” I said softly, using my now-damp sleeve once again to dab at his eyes. “Listen, I know you. You have a good heart. If you hurt me…I know it won’t be your fault. You don’t have to exile yourself.”

He shook his head and pushed my hand away. “But what if this is the choice I have? The only one that keeps everything the way it should be? If I just…remove myself then-,”

“Then what? Does that negate whatever choice your parents made? Who’s to say that you leaving will even change anything? Jungkook, there are some things you can’t run away from,” I said, then shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you can change things.”

His eyes were still glassy, but he looked a little more lucid as he straightened up with a sigh. “I can’t.”

“Well, here’s how I see it,” I said, smacking his thigh so he would look at me. “You’ve got two options: you can run, and there’s a guarantee that you won’t make things better,” I began, shifting my eyes from the horizon to his eyes only to find them already trained on me. “Or you can stay and at least have a chance to change it.”

He stared at me for a good, long moment. The wind had picked up and the breeze carried fallen leaves in swirls towards the sidewalk. Behind his head a tree waved as tremors swayed gently through its branches. The leaves looked so transient as they passed, so impermanent. They were powerless to the force of the wind. But the tree stood tall, its branches dancing but never once relenting to the breeze.

“Okay.”

I smiled as the wind died down and I realized that, despite what he may think of himself, Jungkook was not transient. He was a steady tree.

“Yeah. I think I’m going to have to stay with him tonight if that’s okay,” I said into Jungkook’s phone.

Yoongi seemed to have a smile in his voice as he responded. “That’s fine. I understand.”

“Um…before I lose the nerve to ask…can we talk about what happened before I left? Maybe, uh…when I get back home tomorrow?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Okay. I think that’s fair.”

“Alright…um…I’ll see you at home.”

“See you at home.”

I ended the call, handing Jungkook his phone, and sighed into the nighttime air. Jungkook stood beside me with red-rimmed eyes and arms wrapped around his torso. We’d walked to his house, his parents’ home, and were standing before the large estate. I’d dropped him off the other night, but Yoongi had been the one to walk him in while I parked the car and called Yoongi’s driver. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the house, a massive four-story home built with modern aesthetics and sensibilities: fountains in the front and on the sides of the entryway, a long round driveway, white pillars and imposing external walls made of masonry. It was sleek, like something I’d seen in an architecture magazine once. And it was big enough to get lost in. Big enough to never see who else was living with you…

Jungkook glanced down at me, his face barely illuminated by the yellow streetlights, and I patted his shoulder before leading the both of us past the white iron gate and onto the property.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “Of course I do. If I’d been a better friend before I would have noticed you struggling. It’s the least I can do to look out for you now,” I said. He stared down at me with furrowed brows. “Why do you have to make it so hard not to like you?” he asked.

I blushed and smacked his shoulder. He chuckled slightly and held the white front door open for me before walking in himself. The foyer was marble-floored and sprawling, but I was more interested in the photos lining the walls of the entry. Pictures of a young Jungkook, clad in a taekwondo dobok and holding medals, laughing on the beach, standing in the water with floaties and a frown. I smiled as I stared at each of them individually.

“Um…yeah. That’s me.”

I laughed. “I could tell,” I said with a glance over my shoulder at him.

He fidgeted. “Back in Busan. Before my mom and I moved to Seoul,” he said.

At this I turned to face him. “You lived with your mom growing up?”

He shrugged and gestured towards the ornate stairway leading to the second-floor mezzanine. I followed his cue and let him lead me up the stairs, all the while playing with his hands. “Only until I was around ten or so. Then we moved out to the city since my dad wanted us all to be together.”

“Are you closer with your mom then?” I asked.

He shrugged once more and led the way down a hallway. He paused before a doorway. “This isn’t my room, by the way. If you’re uncomfortable.”

I stifled a laugh and shook my head. “I wasn’t.”

He nodded, suddenly stiff and shy as we traversed his home, and opened the door. Before us was a media room large enough to host a small convention, plush beanbag chairs lined up facing a screen and controllers strewn about. There housed every manner of video game, stacked in uneven piles all around the cluttered room. Several computers sat on sturdy desks behind us. Tacked on the walls were posters of different movies and games, even some singers or dancers. I examined one with a smirk.

“IU?” I asked through laughter as I stared up at a small photo of the beautiful girl amongst the sea of posters, hung with care from a string so as to not puncture the photo itself.

Jungkook stepped in front of me and furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t snoop.”

“How was that snooping? You brought me in here,” I said.

He thought a moment and crossed his arms. “It’s my house and I say it’s snooping.”

“What?” I exclaimed with a laugh. “Stop being such a kid!”

“If you don’t like it you can go somewhere else. The house is big enough.”

“What, are you gonna call my mom and tell her to come pick me up?”

“Maybe!”

I was the first to crack a smile and, as I began to laugh so did he. We continued laughing together for a moment and it felt nice. Like things were okay, or at least if they weren’t okay that they could be.

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” he asked.

I nodded. He dimmed the lights and ran the projector as I fell against the giant beanbag chair, handing me a controller before collapsing into his own fluffy nest beside me. He started the game and we waited in a comfortable quiet for the map to load.

“You know I grew up with my mom too,” I said quietly.

He glanced at me, face glowing from the bright screen consuming more than half the wall. “Yeah.”

I played with the controller in my hands and pursed my lips. “I think back on my childhood and I think…it was happy. But not the parts when I had money. I know it’s a horrible cliche, but I remember being happier without it. Like…when I was little and living in such a nice house, I was scared I might break something if I touched it. So I kept my hands to myself. I didn’t play outside very much. I mostly stayed in and drew pictures,” I said as the match began.

The both of us got a bad start, so I tried to make up for it by picking up speed around a corner. I was hit with the squid ink too soon, however, and my morale plummeted. I sighed as I decided to just coast in the back of the pack. I took a peek up at Jungkook’s screen and he was, predictably, in first.

But he kept looking at me when he could chance a glance, and I felt like he wanted me to continue. Something in the way his eyebrows knit together told me to keep going.

“Anyway, when we left that place was when I can remember the happier days of my childhood. I was messy and wild and I made a lot of mistakes and cried a lot but…I remember thinking every day was fun. One day I might come back to the apartment with a stray cat and my mom might scream at me and I might demand we keep it. Another day I might catch some teenagers smoking and throw my shoe at them. And another day I might sit by the river with my mom and eat a sandwich she made with the crusts cut off, just the way I liked it,” I said with a laugh as I idled in place next to a curve. “It was warm.”

“Warm,” he said quietly, slipping from first place to second. “Busan was warm in the summer.”

I nodded. “All of our precious memories are warm.”

He was in third place now, but still fighting to reclaim his spot, launching a red shell at Baby Bowser and striking him in the backside. “Do you ever miss those days? Childhood?”

I shrugged and let my remote sit in my lap, unused. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice my stagnation in the game, too engrossed in his power struggle with Princess Peach and Baby Bowser for first. “I think I miss the feeling more. Carefree. Like even if I made a mistake someone would clean it up for me.”

“Like you could come home crying and someone would fix it all for you,” he commented, now falling to fourth place.

“Mhm. Do you miss it?” I asked. “Do you miss Busan?”

“I miss who I was in Busan,” he said.

I smiled gently at the screen as he struggled to escape sixth place. “Were you just Jungkook in Busan?”

He nodded. “Just Jungkook. No concept of money, no idea what the real world was like, just a happy kid with his mom in a beach city. He had friends who really liked him and his mom smiled a lot.”

“He’s you, Jungkook.”

“No he’s not.”

I sighed as he lurched forward into third place, overtaking Yoshi in the process. “I wouldn’t go back,” I said.

He turned to look at me in shock before returning his attention to the screen. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“Because even though things are complicated and ugly sometimes when you grow up, it’s also bright and colorful and fun. I’m still that kid even though things have changed. Getting to know yourself, getting to know the world…it’s good. Part of what makes growth beautiful is that it’s sometimes tragic. And the lessons I’ve learned along the way are things I would never want to give up for the sake of going back to being ignorant,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Right now is warm too.”

Jungkook’s position fell again to sixth, and then to seventh. He cursed under his breath as he continued to try to climb. “Then why do I feel like I’m always under cold water? Like I have to struggle to keep my head above it?”

I smiled at him as I thought. “You don’t have to stay there. You can get out. You just have to ask for help.”

He fell to eighth place as the other racers passed him. His hands had gone limp around the controller before, in the blink of an eye, he was in eleventh, his cart rolling to a stop right beside where mine sat on the curve. He didn’t have to worry about being first anymore. He could sit and rest for a moment with me instead. Slowly, he turned to look at me. Our eyes met and a silent moment of understanding passed between us. And then, wordlessly, he nodded his head. I felt the question in his gaze, saw it in the way his knuckles were bone-white against his skin.

I would help him.

“Wanna play another round?” I asked with a smile.

I awoke slowly, disoriented as I opened my eyes and saw instead of my usual morning sunlight only darkness. I rubbed my face and squinted against the dark and, as my eyes began to adjust, I could make out the outline of a projection screen. Was I still in Jungkook’s messy game room? I stretched against the soft beanbag chair and glanced to the right only to see Jungkook still sleeping peacefully, barely visible against the dark.

I chuckled and thought about rousing him for breakfast or something, but decided instead to collect myself and take my leave before he work up. I wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he might have to finding out the two of us accidentally slept near each other for the second time. I stood and grabbed my jacket. I hadn’t even brought my phone in my mad dash to find him, so it was a quick escape from Jungkook’s lair. I exited into the hallway and scuttled quickly downstairs, my eyes burning from the sudden light. It was a gloomy day outside from the glimpses I caught through the massive windows in the foyer: the clouds forming a sheet of grey overhead and raindrops coming in bullets from the sky.

I was just pulling my shoes back on my feet in the entryway when I heard motion behind me. Jerking to the side, I turned around with only one shoe on my foot and was met, to my chagrin and shock, a woman who I could only assume was Jungkook’s mother. Beautiful with porcelain skin and black hair, soft dark eyes and not even one wrinkle, she stood with a mug of tea in a silk house robe, her free hand gently touching her chest. She raised her eyebrows at me.

“I…Uh, hello,” I said, bowing deeply to her.

She returned it and offered a soft smile. “And you are…?” she asked.

“Oh! I’mY/N. I…Jungkook and I are friends,” I said, relieved that she seemed at least to be gracious.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, pointing a manicured finger my way. “My apologies for not recognizing you! The last time I saw you was at…”

“My wedding,” I finished with a bashful smile. “I’m sure you’re wondering what a married woman is doing in your home, sneaking out in the morning.”

She tossed her head to the side as she appraised me with a smile. “Dear, when you’ve been around as long as I have you learn not to worry about what you see or don’t see.”

“No! I-I think you’re getting the wrong idea,” I said.

She shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “I’m not getting any ideas, my dear.”

“I…Jungkook and I are just friends.”

“Mhm,” she said with a chuckle. She glanced down at my shoes and pursed her lips. “You may consider checking your jacket, sweetheart. It’s inside-out.”

I flushed, mortified, and felt around my torso to find that, indeed, the seams were poking out awkwardly. I could feel the hood bunching near my neck, pressed against my back. “It was dark in the game room! I promise it’s not what you think.”

She smiled again, the one that felt knowing, and nodded. “Have a safe trip home, my dear. Tell Yoongi I said hello.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, bowing again as she flitted her fingers in a wave before disappearing down another hallway.

I felt my hot cheeks and rushed out the door before I could embarrass myself again.

I arrived home in the midmorning Sunday hours, my favorite time to be at the apartment. It was always so calm, so quiet. As I entered, however, it felt a little too calm, too quiet. Holly was resting on his bed by the TV, dozing as the pattering of rain against the roof lulled him to sleep, but he seemed to be the only living thing in the apartment. I furrowed my brow and crouched down beside the sleeping pup, giving his head a little rub before standing and glancing around the apartment. It looked like it always did: tidy, geometric, monochromatic, a little cold. The absence of Yoongi made it feel a little foreign though, especially when I was anticipating his being here so we could talk about what happened. How he…

I blushed before I could remember it all. His lips, plump and soft on mine, needy and desperate but passionate…

I shook my head. Where was he?

I heard the distinct vibration of a cell phone and remembered where I’d left mine, right on the coffee table. I jumped for it and dragged my finger across the screen to unlock it. I’d missed tons of texts from Hana, enough to fill a book, and a few calls from my mom. It was odd. Mom and I talked every other day most of the time, and she only really called when something was wrong. It put me on edge as I pulled up my messages. Twelve in the last two hours from Hana.

I am freaking out.

Why didn’t you tell me you had a side piece? ;)

He’s fine too…what, worried I’d take him from you?

I thought you liked Yoongi though.

Alright, teasing aside, what’s going on? You’re not usually like this. Like…spending the night at a guy’s house. I don’t know, I’m worried.

Give me a call or something okay?

I’ll send you the link to the article if you want.

Ah, you might not want to see it though.

Shit, okay I’ll send it but don’t click it if you don’t want to.

After your dad showed up…I’m sorry. I feel like you’re going through a lot.

Alright here’s the link http://www.chaeboltouch.com/back/bite.php/HVZ5T6

If you need space, I understand. Just…send me a text so I know you’re okay, alright?

I responded with something that accurately depicted my mental state, something simple that Hana would immediately understand.

Y/N: ?????

Hana: Jesus H. Christ you’re alive!

Y/N: It’s only ten though?

Hana: Baby, a LOT has happened overnight.

Y/N: What do you mean? And what were those texts about? I didn’t have my phone all night.

Hana: Did you click the link?

Y/N: No.

Hana: You might want to…

The conversation was ominous to say the least and, now concerned, I scrolled up in our log to find that link. Once I clicked it however, I kind of wished I hadn’t. Sitting there, staring at me from the depths of cyberspace, was a photo of me sitting beside Jungkook on a bench by the Han River at sunset. Me, a married woman dressed messily, wiping away a young rich boy’s tears with the sleeves of her jacket. I gaped as I took in the photo and the caption beneath it: Min Company COO Min Yoongi’s Wife, Min Y/N, seen up-close and personal with JJK Group heir Jeon Jungkook. A secret summer love affair?

I couldn’t read the rest of the article. Any site called Chaebol Touch surely didn’t have my best interests in mind. I pulled up my messenger again and, with fury blooming in my chest and my stomach, I typed a message.

Y/N: If those bastards knew what was really going on, they’d never post something so stupid. I’m livid.

Hana: You must be. Listen, is there anything you need?

Y/N: Besides the blood of my enemies?

Hana: Haha, I was thinking more along the lines of a warm breakfast and sangria…

Y/N: No. Thank you, Hana. But I’ve gotta talk to Yoongi. This is so messy. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks for being there.

Hana: Anytime, babe.

I clicked the phone shut and tossed it against the couch, pacing back and forth along the rug and raking my fingers through my hair. Jesus, couldn’t things just be simple for a moment? Ever since I’d agreed to marry Yoongi my life had become a mess and I’d just been a passenger following diligently behind, cleaning up in its wake. I chewed on my lip as I thought. Who could have taken that photo? Jungkook and I weren’t nearly that famous. Whoever had taken it must have known who we were. Maybe they’d even followed us somehow. I couldn’t think of an incentive for something that sinister. To tear apart my marriage? Good luck. I was in a contract. To pit Yoongi’s family against Jungkook’s? From what Mr. Min said at the wedding, the company couldn’t afford to make enemies.

To ruin Min Company’s reputation…?

It was the only plausible conclusion. I furrowed my brow as I thought for only a moment before a call came through on the home phone. I lurched across the furniture to grab it and, without even checking who it was, I answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

Yoongi. Thank God. “Yes, yes. It’s me. I just got home. What’s this article?”

Yoongi sighed. “I don’t know either. I’m at the office with my PR team deciding what to do. I’m glad you’re home safe.”

“Me too, but…shouldn’t I be there too?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…I’m also involved aren’t I? This media firestorm happened because of me. Shouldn’t I be present?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“No. Y/N, it’s okay. I don’t know how much good you’ll do here. To be totally honest, I don’t know how much good I’m doing here,” he said with a chuckle. That he could laugh in this situation baffled me. “I snuck out of the meeting and they didn’t even notice. I think I’ll be able to come home soon if this keeps up.”

“Yoongi…”

“What?” he asked, a smile clear in his voice.

I exhaled heavily. “I can’t help but feel like you’re making decisions without me again,” I said.

He sighed, but I could still hear his smile. Was he happy to talk to me? Why did my insides go all fuzzy? “I promise it’s not like that. To be fair, I’m not even the one making the decisions. Just…rest okay? Take a nice bath or something. Play with Holly. I promised him I’d give him extra attention today, so do that for me.”

I pouted a little and looked down at the sleeping prince himself. “You also promised me something.”

Yoongi chuckled, the soft sound bouncing from the phone to my ears and hitting me straight in the chest. When had he been this tender with me? “Trust me, Y/N, there’s nothing I want to do more than come home and talk to you about what happened. Talk to you about anything, actually.”

I blushed and sat down against the chair, feeling my knees go weak. Even without him physically present, he could affect me. I bit my lip to keep from saying something silly. “Then why don’t you?”

He was quiet for a minute, then laughed. “Give me two hours. Two hours and I’ll be home. The PR guys just need my seal of approval before they do anything about the article. I’ll hurry them along and I’ll come home to you.”

Come home to you. My heart raced, hammered, thundered in my chest. I blinked against the haze of dreaminess that had overtaken me. It was hard to believe that only a few moments before I was raging mad about some stupid article. I smiled to myself, holding the phone a little more gently, pressing it a little closer to my ear, hoping to hear his voice just a little more clearly.

“Two hours?” I asked.

He gave a laugh. “Yes.”

“I think I can entertain myself for two hours,” I said softly.

“Hmm,” he hummed into the phone. “Okay.”

We were quiet for a moment, neither of us hanging up the phone. I wasn’t willing to release the moment, to relinquish it to memory. Were we flirting? Were we being coy? Something about it was so innocent, but also a little awkward, maybe shy. It made the thunderstorm outside, the articles deeming me an adulterer, seem distant. I was reluctant to do anything to alter the mood.

“What did you do last night?” I asked, a desperate ploy to keep him on the phone with me.

Yoongi chuckled and let out another long hum. “Sat around with Holly,” he said, then a little more quietly, “Thought about you.”

My heart rate doubled and I tried my best to contain myself. “Um…Hm,” I mumbled.

“Ah, shit. I have to go,” he said. Had he ever cursed around me? “They’re calling for me.”

“Go,” I said with a smile. “We can talk when you get home.”

He laughed and I could almost see his smirk. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

The call ended and I was left staring at Holly as his rhythmic breaths lifted his chest only to guide it down again, the only sound in the solitary apartment being the gentle pitter-patter of a summertime rainstorm outside.

In two hours I’d taken a shower, cleaned my room, tidied and reorganized the kitchen, chased Holly around the room after his long nap, made myself some tea and plopped down beside the windows to watch the raindrops race from top to bottom. I’d exhausted all of my ideas and was left laying listless on the floor, Holly laying curled on my stomach as I stared at the white ceiling. If he didn’t come home soon, I was certain I’d lose my mind. In fact, I was pretty sure the loss of my mind had already started.

I imagined Yoongi walking through the door, drops of rain clinging to the ends of his dark hair, longing as much as I did to be closer to him. I imagined him giving me his most dashing smile, exposing his teeth and his gums alike. I imagined him tossing his suit jacket across the apartment like he was some sixties movie star and scooping me up off the floor, sweeping my off my feet both figuratively and literally. I imagined he’d kiss me again, although the feeling my mind conjured paled in comparison to the real thing, and that I’d playfully hit his chest with a chiding, “I thought we were supposed to be talking.” To which he’d reply, “Body language.” And I’d swoon and gag simultaneously from the sheer cliche of it.

But my daydreams washed away with the rain as Holly used my diaphragm as a springboard from which to launch himself, landing gracefully on his shaved paws just beside the fluffy rug beside my hip while I was left clutching my stomach.

“Holly,” I groaned, turning to face him.

He yipped at me before trotting away towards his water bowl. I sighed at his indifference. He was beginning to resemble his father that way. My eyes slid from the path he’d taken back to the front of me, my body now facing that rug. The one with the cute little secret pocket beneath. The one that I promised myself I wouldn’t mess with again.

My fingers reached out on their own accord to play with the edge of the rug, furrowing my brow at it. There was so much I wanted to ask, so much I wanted to understand. I felt like there were things Yoongi and I talked about and things we didn’t. Some things were just…not up for discussion. His childhood, his upbringing, his family, his aspirations for the future, his deepest thoughts and darkest secrets…I knew none of them and I knew better than to ask. The thing I hated most about Yoongi was the part of him that I didn’t know, the part he kept locked away in a safe somewhere. Perhaps, by opening a real safe, I could also open the one that kept the unseeable parts of Yoongi’s life from me.

“No!” I shouted to myself, pushing myself to sitting and turning my body away from the rug and towards the large TV across from it.

I turned it on and began focusing my attention on an old episode of Happy Together. As they all sat together in a sauna, I thought I might like to have a day to destress in a sauna too. I’d never done it and-

God, who was I kidding. All I could think about was that safe. Even if I tried to distract myself with television and good thoughts, I was still a slave to my curiosity. I felt my hands reaching for the rug again, on their own again, unstoppable again. But this time I let them. I could just…look at the key. I could look at it and ponder it and that could be the end of it. I didn’t have to do anything with it. I was a responsible adult and I was capable of being unsupervised at home without causing chaos.

But as I felt the cool metal against my palm, I could feel my head reeling with all the possibilities. Could it be as simple as he said? Just some money and personal items of value to him? Could it be some photos from when he was young, maybe an old watch from a grandfather or something? If it was really that innocuous, then why had he seemed so unconvincing before, giving me that smile?

Didn’t I trust him enough to let him keep something private to himself?

I hated myself, but I had my answer as I gripped the key tighter and stood to my feet, bound for his bedroom. I parted the doors and entered slowly, closing them behind me. I’d never been in his room before, so I was careful not to disrupt anything as I took it all in. Somehow, it felt like him. Decorated in cool greys and soft whites, the room was a mirror of mine. On the walls were massive prints of albums that I’d never heard before: Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division, Views by Drake, Damn by Kendrick Lamar, a bright album cover by an artist named Suran. Even entering his room felt like I was seeing something new about him, uncovering the layers of secrecy that he hid with a straightforward and forthcoming attitude.

I sighed as I padded around, letting the muddled daylight filtering through the clouds guide me. I ran my fingers along his grey duvet, and along the spines of books that lay in stacks on his bedside table. Robinson Crusoe, Lolita, Demian, The Alchemist. A plethora of classic literature, and another insight.

I focused on my mission as the key jangled against my thigh and walked towards the massive walk-in closet across form his bed, the only way in which his room deviated from mine. I slid it open and found, predictably, lots of clothes. Monochrome and earth toned clothes. A sensible wardrobe for a sensible man. I cleared my thoughts, hoping that in so doing I may also clear the blush from my cheeks at seeing Yoongi’s room for the first time without his permission. I crouched down to the ground, searching for this safe, and came across perfectly aligned rows of dress shoes and, in the back, some well-worn basketball sneakers. I pursed my lips at them but pressed on nonetheless. Before I could worry too much, my fingers landed upon something hard and square and I angled my body slightly into the closet to get a proper look. I could see the metal edges of the safe and found the keyhole easily. For someone as meticulous as Yoongi, this seemed like such a silly and arbitrary hiding place. Either he didn’t value what was in this safe all that much or he really, really trusted me.

My heart leapt with guilt.

I shoved the key into the hole, trying not to think as I twisted it to the side and yanked the small metal door open. The light from outside afforded a pretty disappointing view, so I pulled myself out of the closet and sat instead just in front of it, plunging my hand into the darkness to pull out the first thing my fingers could touch.

I examined with shaking hands a wad of hundred dollar bills, all wrapped in paper and sitting primly in the palm of my hand. So much money felt inexplicably heavy in my care, so I was quick to replace it as carefully as I could. I then felt around for something else and, fingers brushing the edges of what felt like a folder, I retracted my hand slightly. For a moment I hesitated. Whatever I pulled from that safe might very well be something I’d be better off not seeing. Would I really let benign curiosity make me cross a line that couldn’t be reversed?

Indecision gnawed at me and I began feeling around for something else, anything else, but found under my touch only more files stacked on top of one another. I didn’t know why, but a foreboding feeling in my gut warned me to leave the files alone, to stop digging. But an altogether stronger feeling spurred me forward, forced my fingers to clasp around the edge of that first file and draw it from within the safe, settling the yellowish thing on my lap and staring down at it. Like the money, it felt heavy despite its weight and I stared at it while working my lower lip between my teeth.

As much as I believed in Yoongi, as much good as I could see in him, I still felt like we were only playing at intimacy, like two kids pretending to be mommy and daddy. The real things, the difficult things, I wanted to see them all, know them all. But it seemed Yoongi would rather keep them away from me. And for that I resented him, if only just a little bit. The way he’d smiled at me when I found the key in the first place proved it to me. If I wanted information, I’d have to find it myself.

I had to force his hand…

And so I forced my own. Slowly, I flipped the file open so its contents were displayed clearly on my lap. At first, it didn’t look like much. Just a file on a person named Kang Eun. It was odd to see a person with a monosyllabic first name in Korea, but that was about the only remarkable thing about the file at first glance. I read through the file. This Eun person was a Korea University graduate with a degree in computer science. They graduated in the middle of the class, not particularly outstanding, but their transcript revealed the rigor of the classes they’d taken, classes I’d never consider taking. Apparently, this person’s background wasn’t great: mom was a seamstress and dad was a laundromat owner. The file also stated that they were born the same year as Yoongi, and that they grew up in Seoul. I wasn’t sure what good this information would do, as it seemed pretty common knowledge.

But then I turned the page.

And I saw credit card history, transactions, notes on daily habits, work schedules, and all manner of horribly intrusive information that made my stomach churn with revulsion. A PI had surely been contracted by someone to gather this information. I checked the bottom of the second page for a date and, to my horror, found that it was issued only a few months before. Long before Yoongi and I had ever met. I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more: that he was the kind of person to violate someone’s privacy or that I had learned that fact by violating his…

I nearly shut the thing and shoved it back inside, ready to be done with it and every secret it promised to reveal to me. If this Eun person was important enough to hire a private investigator, I didn’t want to know what sort of information Yoongi had gathered on me.

But something caught my eye. Call it fate, or call it the corner of a digital photograph. I turned the page and my eyes became stuck, glued, to the photo before me. Because there, sitting in technicolor, was my husband with his arm wrapped gently around the subtle curve of a beautiful woman’s waist. He looked younger, shaggier perhaps. He looked like a kid, only bearing the slightest resemblance to the man I now knew him to be. He wore a big t-shirt over horribly ripped black jeans, a big, gummy smile on his lips as he posed with this girl in front of Namsan Tower.

And the girl…

Kang Eun as she appeared before me in the photo was a twenty-something beauty with long black hair and a slender neck, gracile collarbone, sloping shoulders that led to gentle arms wrapped loosely around Yoongi’s torso. She had soft, feminine features, amber eyes set upward towards Yoongi’s face. She looked like a young model, a starlet standing star-crossed with her lover. Her dress was flowing in the springtime breeze and I could see the trees behind their heads were beginning to blossom.

I was right.

Opening that file had been an irreversible act.

My heart ached and I felt all at once like far too much and far too little. Was this what it was like to see your boyfriend’s ex for the first time and realize she was, in every way, superior to you? No, this felt like more than that. Because when you see a photo of your boyfriend’s ex, you see it after stalking his social media, not sitting in a safe under lock and key, preserved preciously with care.

I shut the file and shoved it back into the safe, wiping beneath my eyes as the implications of what I’d seen flooded to me in a sudden wave of emotion. In my distress, however, I was fortunate to hear the distinctive thump of footsteps from outside the apartment. I jolted to my feet and shut the safe, yanking the key from its hole and shoving the thing into the front pocket of my slouchy sweatshirt. Suddenly, I wanted to cover up more, to disappear altogether. Just when things between Yoongi and me seemed to be getting on track…

A past ghost and my own foolish, careless curiosity threw us backwards forcefully enough to knock the wind from my lungs.

I heard Yoongi at the front door as I exited his room, careful to mind my expression as I dabbed away the beginnings of tears from my cheeks. He didn’t need to see me crying. What right did I have to cry anyway? I was no more than a contracted partner, a business arrangement.

So, with my hands in my pocket, I fell back against the couch and began watching the rest of Happy Together. I couldn’t even force myself to look at Yoongi as he entered the apartment for fear of falling apart in front of him.

I never knew that uncovering the hidden parts of Yoongi would reveal parts of myself that I’d have rather kept hidden as well…

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #yoongi fanfic #bts reactions #bts au #bangtan #arranged bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts scenarios #bts reader insert

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emmaswanchoosesyou · 8 years ago

Text

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (12/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, mild violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Confrontations, one main character striking another, lots of swearing, and a thing at the end

Buckle up, pals, shit’s getting real! Thank you so much to all of you who have been reading and commenting and waiting for things to get here, and to all of you who helped me get here. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first and sixth chapters, which you can check out here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better. Like seriously, she’s the best.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

Chapter 12

Emma grapples with Killian's betrayal. She gets a lot of writing done, and she and Henry talk on the phone every day, but something is missing. They're on their way to reforging their broken relationship when the unthinkable happens.

Emma, a few days before upon discovering Killian’s and August’s involvement

Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so livid. She was furious, so angry she was red and almost crackling with it.

Cleo held her back, tried to keep her from rushing right over to Killian's and punching him in the face. And then going to August and punching him twice. "Emma, think about it. Be smart, and don't let your anger get the best of you."

"Oh, they'll get the best of me. The best of my right hook," she growled, settling back into her couch.

Cleo snorted but shook her head. "Do you have any alcohol in here?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Let me get us some," she said, reaching for the whiskey and pouring generous portions for the two of them.

"After this...do you want me to give you a lift anywhere? Or do you want to talk about it?"

Grimacing, she shook her head. "No offense, Cleo, but the last thing I want to do is talk about my feelings right now."

"Understood."

&&&

Cleo left after an hour or so, during which time they polished off their drinks in near-silence, broken only infrequently when Emma had a question or Cleo remembered something pertinent.

Mindful of the alcohol she had consumed, Emma called a cab over to Killian's. She was still in a rage, still shaking, but she needed to talk, to yell, to see if he had any defense at all.

She pounded at the door. When Killian opened it with a smile and the tantalizing scent of pasta reached her nose, her resolve weakened for a second. Until he opened his mouth like nothing had happened, like he hadn't been lying to her for at least two months--

Her vision went red, and she slapped him. She felt a pang of guilt at that, but wrapped her anger around her like armor.

Killian implored her to stop, asking her what had happened, and the concern on his face made her even angrier. How dare he get to act like he hadn't done anything, like she was being irrational...

She stepped out of range of his grasp, not wanting his touch to weaken her, to tempt her to put this behind them. Emma waited until he closed the door before gritting out, "You were spying on me? What the hell, Killian? For August? What the actual fuck?"

She watched the color drain from his face, watched the guilt fall onto his shoulders and weigh him down. Mixed with the satisfaction of being right was the sharp sting of betrayal, the hurt of her trust in him being broken .

"I--wha--how did you find out?" Killian asked.

That now all-too-familiar rage settled about her again. "That's really what you want to know? How I found out?"

Killian reached for her again, and she pushed his hand away. Not forcefully, but she was still far too angry for the comfort of his arms.

He sighed. "I suppose that's not what matters now. I am sorry, though, I want you to know. I quit, I told August before our first date that I wouldn't continue to spy on you."

"Just...why? Why would you do that? Betray my trust like that?" Her voice broke, and this time her anger was for herself, for showing that he'd gotten under her skin.

"I...it was selfish, and wrong. I was trying to get away from a bad situation in London, and August offered me an out in exchange for my work and information on you. I didn't ask why, and he never volunteered a reason."

To her shame, she felt tears welling up, and she pushed them away as he continued to speak. "I stopped early on. I--I didn't count on you, Emma. You should know that. You swept through my life. You captivated me, mind, soul, and heart. I wouldn't--I can't begin to convey how sorry I am, but I also promise that I'd never hurt you or betray you again."

She drew in a deep breath, his declaration overwhelming her. It was like a punch to the gut, and she knew what she had to do. She could feel her heart breaking. She hadn't meant to get so attached so quickly, but--well, she didn't have a choice about it now, not if she wanted to remain true to herself, to do what was best for her. "Too late," she said. "I--I can't trust you anymore. You lied to me, and that--that's it for me."

He pleaded with her, and she tried to pull herself together as she assured Killian they'd still be able to work together as professionals.

As soon as she was done talking, Emma felt exhaustion creep over her, leaving her more emotionally drained than she'd been in years. She felt like someone had put her through the pasta machine sitting on Killian's counter, and she needed to leave. Now.

"Goodbye," she whispered, trying not to think about the devastated look on his face, or that she was leaving half her heart there with him.

&&&

The next week passed in a sort of fog, nestled between generous servings of ice cream and deliveries from Granny's. ("No, this isn't a thing we do for most customers," said Ruby, "but you're family so you get the onion rings with less effort and only a little colder than they'd be in the diner.")

Emma missed Killian more than she could have possibly imagined. She had been falling for him, that much was obvious. But beyond that, she hadn't realized how much of a friend he'd become. Somehow, he'd become the person she texted with weird things from her day or the bizarre writing thoughts she had. And she missed Killian texting her encouragement or pictures of cute animals. Or his thoughts about prominent literary figures and what kind of pajamas they probably wore.

At least she had Henry. Regina seemed to have found out that something had happened between her and Killian, and seemed more tolerant of the increasing frequency of calls between her and Henry. Finally, she even relented and consented to Henry spending a weekend with Emma.

She embraced the joy of having something positive to plan. There was relief too, that his visit in two weeks would keep her from moping. It wasn't a distraction, per se--how could her son ever be a distraction--but it kept her busy.

Emma was keen to introduce Henry to all her favorite Boston haunts, all the ones he'd be allowed into, that is. Until one day when she was talking about yet another thing she wanted to do, just one more museum she wanted to pack into his visit--

"Emma--Mom--you know I'll be just as happy if we don't do anything, right? Like, we can just watch movies and read comics and hang out. There'll be other weekends," Henry told her.

She let out a sigh of relief even as she felt a pang of disappointment. "Okay, kid. We can do that. Is Mario Kart still a thing, or...?"

He laughed, but they agreed, and she smiled, thinking about all that the weekend would bring.

Cleo was a big help, too. She invited Emma over for dinner with her husband and daughter, and she gratefully accepted, even if she did worry that it would be a little awkward.

It wasn't until she got an official email from Mills & Booth talking about the possibility of Killian being sent back to the UK--deported, and the necessity of having a meeting about the situation, that she really started to grapple with the new reality of her life and how awkward it could be. She had actually gotten some writing done during the week, and had sent it to Killian. Her tone had been professional, and she'd done her best to keep any sort of emotions out of the two emails she sent him. But it was her dinner at the Foxes' that brought things into focus. The meal had been pleasant enough, but it was obvious to all of them that Cleo had a lot on her mind.

Finally, during dessert, Cleo blurted out, "It's Killian. Apparently he's being deported. Immigration seems to have suddenly and 'randomly' found some mistakes in his paperwork."

Emma paled, her stomach dropping out from under her.

Just...no.

She might not be able to handle having Killian in her life romantically anymore, but the idea of him being gone, across the ocean? Forever? It was unthinkable.

She was barely aware of responding, but judging by the concern on Cleo's and Alex's faces, she had managed to say something. Then, bless her, Cleo told her that she was dragging her along to the meeting they were going to have about it at Mills & Booth.

&&&

She was distracted when he came into the room, too wrapped up in worry that Killian might leave permanently to actually notice him coming into the room. It wasn’t until he joined them on the couch that Emma started in surprise, but quickly schooled her features into something more neutral. She held her breath, waiting to see how the meeting, and Killian’s future here, might unfold.

Killian greeted the room awkwardly, and Regina was all business as they began. Cleo looked wary, and August had that punchable, smug look on his face. Though that faded as soon as Regina mentioned that a stay had been granted on Killian’s deportation.

Emma let out a sigh of relief and looked up, surprised. She hadn’t had a clue that Regina or Cleo were on top of this, at least not beyond knowing about it. She zoned out, only coming back when she heard August speaking. "First, I think we should really take a look at why Killian is here, and what he brings to the table. It might be easier to help you find a job back in the UK and just go with an American editor, or at least someone whose papers are in order."

"No!" Emma exclaimed, and everyone turned to look at her, with varying degrees of surprise on their faces

Killian’s face was a study in gratitude, and she had to look away. Instead, she stared August down. "No. Killian isn't replaceable. He's been a great editor, and his help and input have been invaluable. Changing editors at this juncture would have a very negative effect on the quality of my book, which I think we can all agree would be a bad thing."

"Are you sure you're not allowing your personal attachments to cloud your judgment, Miss Swan?" Regina asked.

"I am," she said, managing to keep her voice even as her heart twisted, "given that we've ended our personal association."

It was only then that she realized that maybe Regina hadn’t known before, if her raised eyebrow was any indication, but she seemed to like Emma more for defending Killian given their situation. Her expression warmed, sympathy glinting in her eyes. "Very well. So we can all agree that Mr. Jones is important for this novel--"

"--but we need to figure out whether his work on other projects is up to par. Otherwise, why bother with anything other than telecommuting?" August intejected.

Emma rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

She clearly wasn’t the only one annoyed, since Regina’s scathing reply had him blushing. He recovered quickly, though. "I'm just trying to do what's best for Mills & Booth, and that includes maintaining a team that can work smoothly together. Is that really happening?"

"Yes," Emma said fiercely. It might not be entirely accurate at the moment, but she and Killian would get there. Hopefully.

But August didn’t look quelled, even through the subsequent exchanges. The reason for that became abundantly clear when the door burst open and Cora Mills strode in, poor Ariel trailing behind and desperately trying to stop her.

Cora Mills--Regina’s mother and the founder of Royal Hearts Publishing--was here. Regina didn’t look thrilled, but then, the feud between them--apparently related to Regina’s less-than-advantageous marriage--was well known in their circles. No one did, except perhaps for August.

The silence in the room stretched on before Cora finally broke it. "Hello, Regina. Your office is lovely, even if this is quite the collection of...professionals in it. Between the one in trouble with Immigration, the glorified beat cop, and the felon, I'm actually impressed Mills & Booth hasn't imploded already."

Emma felt her cheeks heat and rage pulse through her veins at the dig on her and the people she cared for. She leapt up from the couch, ready to fucking tackle Cora. Killian held her back, and Cora smirked. "I'd expect nothing less from an orphan of unknown parentage with a rap sheet.”

When Killian let her go so they could both fight her, Cleo was the only thing holding them back.

Then Regina spoke from where she’d made her way to the center of the room to stand in front of Cora. "Mother, what do you want? Or did you just come here to insult me and mine?"

"No, I came here with a proposition. Regina--and August, you both know very well I have plenty of contacts that could help fix Mr. Jones' little tiff with the authorities. And I'd gladly help promote Miss Swan's nove, if that's something you think is a worth cause," she said.

"But what do get out of it? I've never known you to do a damn thing for free," Regina said, looking more peeved than intrigued.

Cora replied, "I don't want anything but time with you, Regina. I've loathed being so cut off from my only child."

"How sentimental of you, and it might be more believable if I hadn't just seen a plan Mr. Booth drew up granting you shares in Mills & Booth."

Emma gasped and so did Killian, both of them shocked by this revelation.

Cora briefly tried to defend herself, but Regina told her to leave, clearly unconvinced by her mother’s motives. "Get out," she said. "And if you would kindly refrain from insulting my colleagues or bullying my assistant while you're on your way out, I'd appreciate it."

As soon as she left, they were quiet for a moment until Regina affirmed their commitment to getting Killian out of his immigration situation. They all nodded, except for August, who wasn’t meeting the glare Regina directed at him with one of his own.

They all left the room, one by one, not speaking to each other. Emma was aghast, floored at the entire meeting, but especially at the revelation that August was causing even more trouble than she’d realized.

&&&

Muttering to herself, she read from her screen. “Jacob looked from one side to the other, frantically trying to clear his head. But if his foster mother wasn’t responsible for taking him away… who was?”

Emma looked up from her laptop and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. She reached for the coffee mug sitting on the side table as she pondered her next move. She had realized, much to her chagrin, that her original plan for the antagonist wasn’t as well-developed as she would have liked. It couldn’t be the foster mother--after developing the character, she just knew it wouldn’t work.

The leather of her chair creaked as she shifted, brow furrowed in thought. She had to think of something, but she was just so… stuck. Writer’s block was the worst.

She was interrupted from her “research,” which totally wasn’t going to be her perusing the Crate & Barrel website for hours, by a knock on her door. Puzzled by who it could be, she went to answer it. Through the peephole, she saw a deliveryman standing there with a bouquet.

“Emma Swan?” he asked as she opened the door.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, gobsmacked by the arrangement of lilies and peonies that he hurriedly deposited in her arms before scurrying away. “Thanks, I guess?”

She took it inside and pried open the accompanying note.

Dearest Emma,

I cannot thank you enough for your supportive words during that hellish meeting. I know you're not particularly fond of me at present, and I don't blame you for that, but words cannot express how grateful I am that you stood up for me and my job.

I don't know what August's game or plan is, or how you want to handle it, but I'd like you to know that from here on out I am 100% on board with whatever you would like to do. If you decide you don't want to act, that's fine. If you decide you want to look into August's behaviour and reasons for spying on you, you need only ask and I'll assist you.

I owe you, and not just for sticking your neck out for my job and our partnership. I owe you for being the kind of woman who inspired me to step away from people like August, for being the kind of woman to remind me of what there is to live for. And whatever else I might be, I like to think I am at least a man of my word.

This isn't to make you uncomfortable, and if it does so, feel free to chuck this letter and the flowers. I made sure I had them sent to your home, since I wouldn't want there to be another floral mix-up like the one I heard about with Ariel a few years ago.

Thank you again, Emma.

Yours,

Killian Jones

Emma stared down at the letter, her eyes burning with unshed tears. One fell onto the page, blurring his signature. He had clearly written the note himself, and she was full of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, she wasn't afraid to admit it--she was still more than a little angry. But that anger was fading a little more each day as she realized the ways Killian had been manipulated into his actions. He still should have told her, but it was getting harder to hold onto her anger.

She wiped at the tear that had tracked down her face, once again noting how much she missed him. His silliness, his easy affection, the flowery speech…life was a little bit dimmer without all of it. She snorted as she read the last paragraph, the reference to her fiery reaction to Ariel's bouquet, one that she'd thought was hers, amusing her. Of course someone had told him about that.

Honestly, Emma wasn't sure she was quite ready to bring him back into her life. At least, not fully. She had a lot of other things going on, between the book, Henry, and now the August situation. But she could reply to him, lessen the tension between them.

She could at the very least do better than ignoring his gift and his note. Walking over to her sink, she reached in the cupboard for the vase she knew was up there gathering dust. She filled it with water and placed the bouquet on her kitchen table, smiling as she opened her email client to reply to him.

Hey, Killian--

Thank you so much for the flowers, they’re lovely. Peonies have always been a favorite of mine.

I’m not sure yet what I want to do about the August situation.Thanks for offering your help with whatever I decide.

I’ll be honest, I’m not ready to let bygones be bygones yet. Though I do miss talking to you and having you around. But I… well, I’m still not ready. Maybe I will be soon, though. Just give me some more time to work through stuff.

I do have some questions about my story. I think I’m kind of stuck, and I’m wondering how to proceed. I think I might have gotten onto the wrong track with my original antagonist, and I don’t know how to resolve it. Do you have any thoughts? (I’ll send you what I have, don’t worry.)

Thanks again for the flowers.

Emma

She thought about the rather abrupt ending to her note, but grimaced and hit send before she had a chance to overthink it. Drawing in a deep breath, she got up, more at ease and ready to work on completing Jacob’s story.

&&&

“Whoa, kid, slow down,” Emma said, laughing as Henry dragged her out of The Garden, chattering a mile a minute. It was Saturday, and he'd been with her for a little over a day at this point, and it had been one of the greatest days in her recent memory.

"But it was so cool! That final goal..." Henry said excitedly, jumping up and down as they made their way to the Bug.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, an affection stronger than anything she'd ever known rising in her as she pulled him close.

He grinned up at her. "So, grilled cheese? At that place where your friend Ruby works?"

"You've got it. And it's going to be the best grilled cheese you've ever had."

"Will there be hot cocoa?" Henry looked up expectantly.

Emma smiled back down at him. "Of course! Where do you think I first had it?"

They pulled up to the diner and slid into Emma's favorite booth. Belle nodded across the counter in greeting. "The usual, Emma?"

"Yep! And an extra for Henry here."

They unbundled, taking off their scarves and coats as they settled in. Ruby bounded out, her enthusiasm apparent in her every step.

"Hey! I've heard so much about you, Henry. I'm Ruby, one of Emma's oldest friends," she said.

"Indeed she is." Emma laughed. "And that lovely lady bringing us cocoa is Ruby's wife, Belle."

"Everything smells so good," he said. Wonder lit his face, and his eyes were wide as he took in his surroundings.

She smiled at him. "I don't think you'll be disappointed."

They chatted while they ate their food, Ruby and Belle joining them as they could. Henry agreed that the grilled cheese was excellent, but that he needed more samples for comparison's sake.

They were walking back into Emma's apartment when Henry asked her, "So where's Killian? You haven't said anything about him the whole time I've been here., He seemed cool, and you seemed like you liked each other. My mom even said you went to a meeting for him or something."

Emma stared down at him, bemused. "Did she now?"

"Yup. And no avoiding the question."

"Jeez, some people are determined."

He just looked up at her expectantly.

"Okay, fine. Um, yeah. We're not seeing each other anymore. No hard feelings, it just didn't work out," she said. And she meant it. Ever since she'd received the bouquet from him and replied, they'd resumed a tentative friendship. He sent her jokes he thought she’d find funny or the occasional small bouquet. She'd replied with thanks and funny stories of her own, and she knew her anger was gone a few days before, when she'd been walking to work. She had passed a little antique shop she'd walked past a million times before, but this time, she saw an old ship in a bottle in the window.

It had immediately made her think of Killian. She'd gone in and bought it without a second thought. Emma still hadn't given it to him, and she wasn't sure when she would, but she knew it meant the worst of her anger was over. She wasn't ready to get back together or to throw herself into his arms or anything like tha, but she wanted him back in her life.

Shaking her head, Emma pulled herself out of her reminiscing. "So… yeah. He's great. And I think we're friends again, maybe, but that's it."

Henry look at her dubiously, clearly doubting her protestations.

She shrugged. "That's just how it goes sometimes, kid."

She couldn't shake the feeling that she might have protested too much, especially when she heard Henry mutter, "Adults are a mess, ugh."

&&&

The rest of Henry's visit passed peacefully, the two of them enjoying their final day together reading comics, watching movies, and playing video games. Emma and Regina had managed a cordial discussion and farewell at the end as they made tentative plans for another weekend in a few weeks.

She was pulling the sheets from the couch where Henry had slept, considering how she needed to invest in a sofa bed if he was going to keep staying with her when she heard her phone buzzing with an incoming text message.

Killian: I heard through the grapevine that Henry was there this weekend. Hope it went well!

Emma smiled down at her screen.

Emma: Wow, it's almost like I told you about this weekend in my last email. :P But yeah, it did. I even got him to agree that grilled cheese from Granny's is awesome, although he has the nerve to say he needs to try others to be sure it's the best

The three dots appeared immediately, and she awaited his quick reply

Killian: He's clearly as feisty as his mother, haha

Emma: Which one lol

Killian: Both! Regina scares me a little, but I can't deny she's audacious and ambitious. And I have every confidence in your pursuit of the best grilled cheese

Emma: I always do get my sandwich

The conversation dwindled at that point, but Emma wasn't entirely surprised when a "surprise" delivery person appeared at her door the next day.

But instead of the flowers she was half expecting, it was a box. The person making the delivery just shrugged as she looked at them inquisitively.

She took it inside and opened it, reaching for the sheaf of papers inside the neatly presented box. And then she laughed, full-on belly-laughed. It was a subscription to a grilled cheese box--or at least, vouchers for grilled cheese at some of the places around town that were known for offering good, cheesy sandwiches.

Once she was done laughing, Emma didn't hesitate in taking out her phone and dialing Killian's number. "Hey, thanks for the grilled cheese," she said as soon as he picked up.

He laughed. "You're welcome, lass. I saw it and I couldn't help myself. I figured you and Henry could get some cheesy enjoyment out of it."

"And if Henry can't make it, you could come, if you'd like," she suggested, chewing on her lip, hoping he couldn't hear the complete uncertainty in her voice.

He paused. "What are you suggesting, Emma?"

"I...I think I want to be friends again."

"Truly?" He sounded so eager, and it tugged at her heartstrings.

"Yep. Do--do you want to come over and talk about it?"

Killian replied almost before she was done asking, "Absolutely. I'll be over soon. If you meant today, that is."

"Red rover, red rover, send Killian on over," she said, smiling even as the butterflies danced in her stomach.

&&&

It was an hour later when she let Killian in, and Emma muffled her laugh at how puppy-like he was in his earnestness.

“Hi, Swan. I didn’t bring anything. Should I have brought wine? I wanted to get over here as quickly as I could,” he said, eyes shining with hope, even as his ears were tinged in red.

Emma let out the laugh. “Okay, calm down, Jones. Just come sit on the couch with me.” She patted that cushion, and he sat next to her.

They sat in silence until he grew serious. “So…”

She nodded at him. “Yeah…”

“One of us should probably begin,” he said with the smallest quirk of his lip.

Biting her lower lip, she agreed. “And I think you should. I--I need a moment.”

“I don’t think I can apologize enough. For going behind your back, and lying about it,” Killian said hurriedly. The earnest look had returned, but there was something new with it--contrition.

“It’s just--I...I told you everything. You know it all, and you still lied to me.” Emma was getting incredibly annoyed at her newfound tendency to get choked up, and here she was, getting choked up again.

“I know,” he said, hanging his head.

She twisted her hands, looking down at her lap, and said, “I can’t do that again, you know?”

“And I can’t blame you for that.” He turned his gaze away from her and his shoulders slumped.

“But here’s the thing, I want to. I want to try. I miss talking to you, I miss being with you. And I want you,” Emma said, taking a deep, fortifying breath.

That hopeful look from earlier returned, even when he replied, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there, lass.”

Emma hesitated. “I’m really having a hard time with you lying to me and hiding things when I was vulnerable. You knew about Henry, you knew about prison, and you even fucking knew about Neal.”

“I told you about Milah and about the Navy.” He wasn’t quite defensive--no, it was more like he was pleading with her.

“But you neglected the part where you were keeping tabs on me, and where August was basically blackmailing you with your visa. I mean, Jesus, Killian.” She shrugged, shaking her head in disbelief.

Killian buried his face in his hands for a moment before reaching over and seeking to entwine their fingers. “I--well, like I said, I have no excuse. I--Is there any way we can move past this, though? Or, perhaps, through it?”

She acknowledged his question, tinged as it was with desperation, with a serious nod. “I mean, I think we can try, as friends? I’m willing to. Just...promise me, no more lies.”

“As friends? So we’re not together again? For lack of a better phrase. Or is it just professional?”

“Can we…take it slow? And figure it out as we go?” Her voice was tremulous, indecisive.

He bit his lip, looking conflicted. “Part of why I did what I did was that I didn’t want to get hurt again. And I still don’t much like the idea. It just seems to me that not doing a good job of figuring out what we are could lead to more miscommunication and pain, rather than less. And I don’t want that for either of us, Emma.”

“I care about you. A lot. But so much is going on right now, and I’m trying to figure out how my life works again,” she said, wincing at her inability to offer him reassurance.

“I think I can do that.” To his credit, he only sounded the tiniest bit sad. His mouth was turned down, and she could see pain in his eyes, but he tried to smile.

Emma threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly. After a moment, she pulled back, chagrin clear on her face. Wincing again at the mixed signals she was sending, she asked, “Is this okay?”

“It only wouldn’t be okay if you didn’t do that,” he said, finally laughing a little.

She laughed. “That didn’t even make sense.”

“I know,” he said, still smiling.

&&&

Before she knew it, Henry was back for his second weekend visit. This time they had a chance to do some of the sight-seeing they hadn’t been able to the previous time. They even made it out to Cambridge for a visit to the Harvard Museum of Natural History, as per Henry’s request.

Henry was a smart kid, and he immediately picked up on the frequency with which she received incoming texts, and he was wily enough to peer over her arm and see that most of them were from Killian.

He shot her a more knowing look than any eleven year-old had a right to. “So you and Killian are friends again?”

She blushed and ducked her head, trying to hide her smile. “Uh, yeah, something like that.”

“Are you all back together?!” He was all but bouncing on his feet, eyes wide as he looked up at her.

“Not really. But he’s around again, and we spend time together,” she tried to explain.

And it was true, after a fashion. Emma and Killian were texting back and forth non-stop, and they’d managed two coffee non-dates. They’d talked about her novel and helped iron out some of the issues she was having with it, but they’d also debated the merits of the latest movies they had seen and which of them had found the cuter picture of cats and dogs cuddling with each other. Emma finally felt like her friendship with Killian was back on solid ground, and that they were potentially building the foundation for something more. She didn’t want to jinx it, but she felt like maybe after this they could last.

But she wasn’t ready to confide all of that to her preteen son. So she tried to change the subject back to him.

“So, about that math class of yours, Regina mentioned you’ve been having some trouble?”

He snorted. “It’s fine. I’m doing better, now that I have a tutor.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said with a smile. Remembering one of the issues he’d had a few months before, she asked more seriously, “What about that feeling you had about someone watching you a few months ago? Anything come of that?”

Henry screwed up his mouth, a line appearing between his brows. “Not really. Sometimes I still think… but no.”

“You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right?”

He let out a loud, aggrieved sigh. “Of course. I’d tell you and I’d tell Regina.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

&&&

After a stellar visit, Emma drove Henry back up to Storybrooke. Their next visit would be able to be a little longer, with Henry having a break from school coming up. She dropped him off at Regina’s, and decided to head out as soon as she could, even though Henry expressed some interest in bringing her to the comic book shop. She begged off, having gotten very little sleep the night before between late night chats with Henry and texts from a certain British someone. Henry was disappointed, but said he understood. Especially when he started grinning when she mentioned the texts from Killian.

The drive back was long, lengthened slightly by the nap Emma took at one of the rest stops along the way. All in all, though, she felt happy. At peace. It had been a good weekend, and it felt like things were finally going her way.

She was nearing Boston when her phone rang. She normally would just wait and deal with it when she got home, but she raised her eyebrows when she saw Regina’s name on the caller ID.

“Hey, Regina--”

The other woman’s panicked voice cut her off. “Where the hell is Henry? He’s been gone since about fifteen minutes after you left!”

#cs ff #captain swan #csbb #cs au #cs mc ff #one of the things henry says is big mood #part of the narrative #amber writes

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velarisstars · 8 years ago

Text

Three Words

Summary: Dan has a problem. He can’t tell his best friend, Phil, that he loves him. And it pains him everyday. So instead, he writes down his thoughts in a notebook. For every time Dan thinks, “I love you,” he writes down why in his notebook. All 106 pages of it. Now that all the pages are full, he thinks that maybe since he has it all out in the open (for his eyes only), that maybe he would feel better. He doesn’t. Especially when Phil ends up finding his notebook, and reads a few pages from it. Then he feels something like he never has before - actual heartbreak. But Phil is there to put back the pieces in a way Dan never expected.

A/N: MY FIRST FIC SINCE APRIL!!!! I Hope you guys like it. And it DOES have a happy ending :)

Word Count: 6,417

Warnings: None

Read on a03!

Page 1

I don’t know why I’m doing this, if I’m completely honest. These kind of things are supposed to be put in diaries under lock and key, only to be read again twenty years from now when I find this book beneath other junk that I haven’t touched in two decades. But this book has no lock, and it certainly has no key. How easy it would be to spot it on my desk or wherever I choose to hide it, and open the two flaps it takes to get to the first page.

This page.

My mum told me I should always tell people how I feel, because I will never know when they might be gone. I don’t plan on you being gone anytime soon. And anyways, our end doesn’t seem near. If anything, I feel like we are going to last longer. It’s only 2012, and we’re only just getting started. We’re young. We’re still not cool and I don’t think we ever will be, but I think that as long as we have each other, we can take on the world.

Or, at least, as long as I have you, I can do anything.

I don’t think you feel the same, and I can’t be sure if you ever will. But since I can’t exactly say, “I love you,” I write these letters.

For every time I think those words, I will write down why. Because letting it out in some way is better than no way. Even if I never hear it back.

Dan runs his thumb over the old, worn paper, reading carefully over each word. Some words are smudged a little from the years of wear and tear, and when he messed up writing with a pen. That was his second mistake. His first was writing it down to begin with.

It had been nearly three years since that page was written. Since Dan poured a small fraction of his heart on the thin, blue lines. It conveyed so much, yet not enough. That was what the other hundred pages were for. All of them were full. Not necessarily with words of love or reasons why - some just had doodles on them or inside jokes that he would one day forget about but be reminded again when he opened the notebook because he thought those three words again and needed relief since they couldn’t be said aloud.

When he wrote on the last page - the last reason he loved him the most - he thought about buying another notebook to put confessions in. Put more reasons why he loved him in the first place. One notebook was risky enough. Two would be too much to handle. And not only that, but Dan didn’t think he had a hundred more reasons to love. There was nothing else to love because he already loved everything about …

Phil.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who the words were about, even if Dan never actually wrote his name. He barely allowed himself to think it when he was writing. It was too dangerous. If he associated the words with a name, the secret would be out if anyone but Dan found it and read it. They could always draw conclusions on who it was about, but there would never be one hundred percent confirmation that it was about Phil. They would only have guesses, and from Dan’s years of experience with people, guesses drove people mad.

Maybe that’s why he was spiraling into craziness. He had always been guessing Phil’s feelings. And he would never know. Not one hundred percent. Not unless Phil told him directly to his face.

Which he won’t.

Dan knew that. It was why he found solace in his notebook in the first place.

There was a knock on his door, and he quickly scrambled to shove the black notebook in the middle drawer of his desk - the most least conspicuous drawer, in his opinion - before shouting, “Come in!”

Phil pushed through the door with a dorky smile on his face. “Come play Mario Kart with me.”

“It’s only ten in the morning,” Dan pointed out. He was usually never up this early, anyway. In fact, he was surprised that they were both up before eleven.

“You know it’s my morning routine. I already had my cereal and am trying to finish my coffee. I don’t want to play online today. Please, Dan.”

If only Phil knew how quickly Dan would do anything for him as long as he said those last two words. “Fine. But no whining when I kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll set up your controller.” He back out of his room and closed the door behind him, leaving Dan to his thoughts once again.

Dan glanced at the drawer his notebook was shoved in, thinking about how close of a call that had been. The amount of times Phil got so close to it and didn’t even know what it was … What was in it …

Page 13.

This is page is probably so close to the beginning because this is actually an important part of our your day. Well, I guess it can be mine, too, but you’re the one that makes it part of your morning to play Mario Kart. Most of the time you’ve already played it before I even made it to the lounge, but there are times where you make me play it with you, or we play it on the gaming channel for our viewers. Today, however, I asked to play it with you, and of course you didn’t say no.

You never do.

I Whoever is reading this page is probably wondering how playing Mario Kart equals love. It’s not the game that makes it, it’s the people that play it. No matter how many times I shout at you and call you names for hitting me with a blue shell, or ever surpassing me with a lucky bullet because you’re probably in last place, you still encourage me to do better. Next time. If you ended up winning. You don’t talk me down like I do to you, and though we both know it’s just our usual banter, I see it for what you for who you are. Nice. Caring. Encouraging. You don’t get mad if you lose. You’re not a sore loser like me. I have to win everything and sometimes I’m convinced you let me win because really who falls off the track TWICE at the finish line and ends up in 10th when they were somehow in first and I was in second?

Love is letting the other win sometimes. Even if they don’t deserve it.

“Okay, fuck you,” Dan shouted, nearly falling off the sofa from how far off the edge he was sitting.

“I don’t choose the items, Dan! The Mario Kart Gods just give them to me.” Phil was laughing, still trying to boost his way into the top three.

“Yeah, well, your blue shell just fucked me in the ass! Now I’m in third! You’re really going to let Yoshi win?”

“He’s a CP! It hardly matters.”

“It does to my win lose record,” Dan grumbled, jerking his controller to the side to drift past Yoshi for the win. “Yes! I’m the fucking best!” He was off the couch in seconds, throwing his controller onto the sofa and watching Phil come in 5th.

“Good job,” Phil said, leaning back into the cushion. “Nothing like a little healthy competition to start the day.”

Dan scoffed. “There was hardly any competition.”

“Excuse me? I tried my best.”

“As you usually do.”

“Alright, it’s time to stop before you get too heated,” Phil teased. He turned off the console and put the controllers away, standing up tall and stretching his back. “Do we have anything of importance we need to do today?”

“I have to go to the YouTube Space for a meeting or something. Do you want to go?”

“Ew, no. I rather sit here in my Pj’s all day and do nothing.”

Dan frowned. He wished he could do that. Or maybe he wished that he could do that with Phil. That they could both just sit in their pajamas all day on the couch or in bed and watch some of their shows they’ve been slacking on. They do that sort of thing all the time, together, but it’s also not … together. They’re just doing the same thing at the same time. That doesn’t count, does it?

“However, I can meet you for lunch when you’re done, if you want? I’m sure I’ll be starving again by the time you’re on your way home.”

“That’s good,” Dan said, voice breaking a little. Damn his thoughts for choking him up. “Where did you want to go?”

Phil shrugged. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

Dan nodded briefly before going back to his room. Once inside, he shut the door quietly and sank down to the ground, taking deep breaths. He didn’t know how he was still alive after this long. His heart felt like it skipped every other beat, and his breath was barely catchable. How could something so simple as meeting him out for lunch cause this kind of reaction? It almost physically hurt to love him.

Page 27.

You took me out to eat today. You never told me why, actually, and to this day, I’m still trying to figure it out. I thought maybe I reached a milestone somewhere, but when I checked, there was nothing.

I thought maybe we were going to meet up with someone because it was their birthday and I had forgotten, but when we arrived and you told them two, I was lost yet again. My heart barely beat normally that whole dinner as we talked and ate. I was waiting for you to tell me I was forgetting something, and I half expected you to get mad at me for it, but when we got home and I asked you what the nice meal was for, you said, “Just because.”

Just because what? Because you wanted to be nice? Because you were hungry and decided to drag me along? Because you love like me enough to take me out somewhere nice?

I try to forget about the dinner. But every time we go out to eat, I can’t help but remember “Just because.”

There was a reason. You just didn’t want to tell me.

And that’s okay. I’ll just keep taking guesses.

Sometimes the YouTube Space was fun to visit. Today, however, it was meetings about promotions and advertisements, all of which Dan already knew about but had no desire to sit through a meeting about again. Honestly, how many times could they talk about the same thing and run it into the ground before the company collapses? Dan often wondered how YouTube hadn’t actually failed yet. It’s been around for years. The inevitable end had to be coming soon. He just wondered where he would be standing on the other side of it.

Once all the creators were outside after the meeting, Dan heard one of them say, “I usually try to refrain talking badly about the place that pretty much employes me, but that meeting was a drag. They need to try more engaging tactics.”

Dan agreed. They were always really boring and he wasn’t sure how anyone managed to stay awake during the whole thing. Himself included.

He pulled out his cell phone and saw two messages from Phil. One of them was telling him to meet him at the cafe two blocks from their flat, and the other was just a string of emojis that made literally no sense. Dan couldn’t help but snort at them.

Page 4.

You would think the earliest pages would be the most important, but to me, all of them are pretty important. This might seem stupid, and honestly it probably is, but you know those moments when you will be doing something and you see or hear this one thing that just reminds you of someone and you have to tell them about it immediately?

I do that a lot. For you. But I never tell you right away, because I feel like I’m being a bother. Or half the time I’m already right next to you, and that’s different, but when you’re away on holiday or visiting family, I try to keep my distance. I don’t want to seem like some loner when you’re gone, even though I am, I don’t want anyone to know that.

It’s funny because I think everyone actually already knows that. I seem to tweet more when you’re away, and I see the posts and shit that people make comparing our tweets when I’m away or when you’re away. I tweet a lot. I think that’s because I know you’ll see it, and maybe it will make you want to talk to me even though you’re busy.

Probably not.

But probably.

Sometimes I don’t have to tweet anything at all, and my phone will chime and I’ll see that it’s you, and I get a little excited because I don’t know what you’re going to say but when I open it up, it’s just emojis. They don’t tell a story, they don’t relate to anything. It will be just an alien and some popcorn, and when I reply with a ?, you reply with a ^~^.

What does that mean!?

Our viewers seem to have it figured out, and I think I do, too.

You were thinking of me. And that’s all there is to it.

“I already got your order,” was the first thing Phil said when Dan pulled out the chair to sit down.

Dan arched a brow. “What if I didn’t want my usual this time?”

Phil snorted. “They don’t call it a usual because you only want it sometimes. They call it that because nine out of ten times, that’s what you want.”

Dan rolled his eyes playfully. He knew good and well that’s exactly what he was going to get when he ordered. He always did. He just wanted to give Phil a hard time.

“How was the meeting?”

“Boring. They really need to improve on them. It could have used a Phil Lester twist.”

Phil arched his brow. “A Phil Lester twist? What does that mean?”

Dan stared at him with fake shock. “You’re Phil Lester! Shouldn’t you know?”

“Shut up, Dan,” Phil laughed, his eyes squinting just enough to look closed.

Just as Dan was about to open his mouth to say something, the waitress came by with their food, setting it down in front of them and offering to refill their drinks. They both politely said no, and before she left, she said, “If there’s anything else I can get for you two, please let me know.”

“Will do, thanks!” Phil chirped, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Really, do you have to get coffee every time your eyelids so much as close? At this point, you’ll die from a caffeine overdose sometime soon.”

Phil grimaced. “You know, I’m glad we have such lovely lunch conversations about my death, Dan. Truly.” When Dan laughed, Phil’s frown deepened. “And I don’t even like talking about death! Let alone mine. It’s tragic and sad.”

“You also just described me in two words, so, too bad,” Dan grinned.

As Phil rolled his eyes, he said, “You’re the worst person in the world.”

.Page 76

IIII IIII IIII IIII II

For whatever reason, I’ve been keeping a tally of the amount of times you say you hate me or that I’m the worst. So far, I’ve counted and logged twenty-two, but I might be missing a few. I hope not, because since I can’t hear the 3 words I want to hear most, I take these ones instead. Why? Because to me, they practically mean the same thing. There are different ways to say I lov those 3 words, and that, my dear, is the most common way to say it without saying it .

It was late, and it was no surprise that Phil insisted they record a video for their gaming channel.

“What are we even going to play?” Dan groaned. He just wanted to sit on the couch a do nothing. He didn’t feel like making himself look somewhat presentable for the camera. He didn’t mind playing the game, but he didn’t want to do anything else that came with it.

“I don’t know! Pick something,” Phil said.

Dan looked over at him. “Oh, no, this was your idea so you get to pick the game.”

Phil blew out a breath. “Well, I would like for you to enjoy it, too. Maybe we could do another episode of Dream Daddy? Or even the Sims?”

Both of them didn’t appeal to Dan at all. Dream Daddy would take at least an hour to record, if not more, and the Sims would most likely be half that. Why did Phil have to pick the two longest ones? “Eh … I’m not really feeling it.”

“But I’m bored, Dan! I want to do something!” Phil whined.

Dan immediately casted his eyes back to his computer, not wanting to see Phil’s pouty look. He would melt at it instantly and cave, agreeing to film whatever gaming video Phil wanted. Instead, he suggested, “Why don’t you go look through boxes and unpack what we have left or something? We still have more than I care to admit.”

“True,” Phil agreed. But then he got this wicked look on his face. “Or I can snoop in your room and finally see what’s in those bedside drawers.”

Dan’s face paled. He didn’t care what Phil would find in his bedside drawers. He only said that for the video to give people something to think about. It was all filled with junk. But Dan didn’t want Phil to somehow end up looking through his desk drawers, still feeling the need to snoop after finding nothing decent. His biggest secret was in one of those drawers.

When Phil saw the look on Dan’s face, he bolted from the couch and went straight for Dan’s room. He laughed as he heard Dan frantically calling after him, and could hear his socked feet thunder down the hall, chasing after him.

Dan finally reached him, and tackled him down onto his bed, breathing heavily. It’s not like he ran that far. He didn’t even go all the way across the flat and he was out of breath. “We … can play … a game,” Dan huffed.

Phil giggled beneath him, squirming out of Dan’s hold. “Got something to hide, Danny?”

“Yes,” Dan admitted. He could tell Phil didn’t expect that, as his smile faltered from the words.

He quickly regained it though and continued talking. “Oh. Okay. Good thing you’re up and wide awake to play something then.” Phil walked happily out of Dan’s room and to the gaming room.

Dan just sat there, on his bed, huffing like a complete fool. The notebook he kept was nothing but dangerous, and he really should get rid of it. Shred every page out of order. Set in on fire. Throw it in the river and let the ink bleed off the pages. Something.

But Dan knew he never could do that. Because everyone of them contained a different way to say those three words.

Page 13

I don’t know how to world ended up with you. I truly don’t. You are too kind and forgiving for these decades of your life. And honestly, I don’t know how I was lucky enough to end up with you.

I know I can talk to you about anything. You listen, you respond. Really, you should have been a therapist. You don’t push me to talk about things I’m not ready for, but you always remind me that I can when I’m ready. And even when you appear like you’re not, I know you are, because you care about me and you care what I have to say.

I keep secrets from you. But I know you keep secrets from me. We don’t have to share what we don’t want. It’s not like we are together. Even if we were, I think you would still let me keep my secrets, and I would do my best to let you keep yours so I wasn’t being hypocritical. It would be hard, but I would do it.

I would do it for you.

Even when you know I’m hiding things, you let me be. You figure I would tell you if I wanted to. And you’ve even said as much.

Again, there is not a day that goes by where I don’t thank the stars I can barely see in the cloudy, London sky at night for you. You are my best friend. And no matter what happens or where we end up, you always will be.

Dan was tired. It was nearing three in the morning, and it had been long after they filmed a gaming video. Phil was already in bed - asleep no doubt - and Dan couldn’t seem to shut off his mind long enough to doze off.

He couldn’t help but think about earlier. How close Phil was to finding his notebook. Well, he wasn’t close, but he was close to it, and that was enough to send Dan’s heart racing.

Groaning into his pillow, Dan rolled out of his bed and walked over to his desk, tripping on a number of things on his floor. When he made it to his chair, and plopped down in it, and fished around for his notebook in the second drawer. He pulled it out and tossed it on his desk, reaching over and turning on the lamp. He squinted against the light and opened up the notebook, twirling through the pages.

Each page held words upon words, all written in black ink. Some pages had more scribbles and corrections on them, while other remained perfect.

Dan wished that they were all perfect, with little to no smudging on them. It would look better that way, and maybe even appeal to Phil more if he actually ever decided to give the notebook to him.

Dan snorted. Yeah, right. As if he were ever going to give the notebook to Phil. Maybe he would put it in his coffin when he died. Most people would put a photo of them inside, Dan would put in over a hundred love letters that he would never read.

His life sounded like one big tragedy. He would never find love. Never have a family. He had the career - the money. And he supposed he did have love. Millions of people loved him, in fact, and Dan even knew that Phil loved him, but just in a different way. He would never get the romantic loved he had desperately craved since the young age of twenty-one, and he didn’t think he would be the best father ever of three children. It was all hopes and dreams. Things that would never come true.

Dan flipped to the very last page, a page marked with 106 in his own handwriting. And like every other, it was filled to the very last line. This page contained no doodles like most, and only had maybe three smudges from where he messed up or accidentally wrote Phil’s name. Because after all, the book was still supposed to be somewhat of a mystery. No one was supposed to know who the letters were for. They were for Dan to know only and for other people (if they ever read it) to guess about. As he has thought many times before, the choice was obvious, but never confirmed. And if Dan could tease anyone one last time before he went, this was how he would want to do it.

Page 106

Who would have thought I would have had 106 things to say about you? Well, 106 nice things to say about you. I guess I tell you all the hateful things personally, and this book is just for the nice things.

This book is … I’m not even sure at this point. Love letters? Things I love about you? Things I like about you? I think it’s just all the reasons that make you … you. All the reasons why I’m doing this.

I did this because I’m a coward. I’m too scared to tell you how I really feel, and if my mum knew I was doing this, she would have my head for not telling you how I feel. I think the worst that can happen is that it’s really awkward when you say you don’t feel the same way, and I’m sure you would apologise 800 times because you would think it was your fault, because that’s who you are.

It’s not your fault, though. I’m not a very likeable person. Maybe relatable, but not to you. I constantly talk about death and how sad I am. When I have bad days, I take everyone down with me. You try to help and I let you, but only so much.

I wear all black, moan and groan when you want to do something that I don’t want to. I’m really lazy, and try to keep this ‘cool’ look about me in public because I’m terrified of how others will see me. I think if I weren’t some YouTuber with a few million subscribers, that I wouldn’t care as much. I could be more free, like you, and do things that are fun.

It’s like that time I didn’t want to ride the carousel with our friends and I told you I didn’t want to because it wouldn’t be fun. That wasn’t it. I was afraid of being caught and made fun of by someone who knows of me. Who knows i’m 26 years old and am riding a ride made for children and toddlers who are too scared to ride bigger things or are still just too short to ride those bigger things.

How do you do it? You are a thirty year old man who doesn’t give a fuck about the way the world sees you. It eats me alive everyday. I let the world and its people consume my thoughts, consume me. I let it control my behaviors and my outfits. I look confident, I even embraced my natural hair, but even that was eight years in the making. I’m convinced you came out of the womb with confidence.

Maybe I like you so much because I want to be you. I want to be confident, fun, and carefree. I want to ignore the world and just live in it. I feel like you have made me a better person, and to this day, I wish I could see, for just a moment, how I would be if I didn’t have you.

But I do have you. And I can’t lose you. Perhaps that’s why I won’t ever tell you how I feel. I don’t want to risk possibly losing you because it gets too awkward to even function. We are terrible enough as it is. I couldn’t imagine getting any worse.

So I’ll sulk. I’ll write these things in my stupid, black notebook, and keep it somewhere with easy enough access if I’m ever having withdrawals from it.

I think I love you.

And there, on the back cover of the notebook, where it’s just a slick, sheet of white, there’s one last sentence. Written perfectly in Dan’s handwriting.

No, I don’t think I love you, I know I’m in love with you.

Dan wasn’t sure how many times he’s actually read the last page of the notebook since he wrote it over a month ago. There were a few spots on the page that had looked like it had even rained on, and in a way, it had, but not from water from the sky.

He closed the notebook before he could add more water damage to it, and sat silently in his chair, counting his breaths.

His mum always told him love was the greatest thing, and if he were to ever find it, then cherish it. But she failed to mention how much it actually hurt. Dan felt like he was in pain, day after day. Some days it wasn’t so bad, but others felt like they would never end. He found love, but now he wished he never did.

Dan lied his head down on the notebook, closing his eyes. He wouldn’t cry today. He wouldn’t. He was stronger than this.

With a final, deep breath, Dan let his eyes flutter shut, and he fell asleep in his chair.

____

Three heavy knocks sounded on Dan’s door, and before he could jump up and fully process what was going on, Phil barged into his room, shouting his name.

“Dan! I would let you sleep until you are content but sooner or later we have to meet - oh, wow, you look horrible.”

Dan sat up from his desk, the notebook sliding off onto the floor. He didn’t even realize it had opened. Hell, he didn’t even realize he fell asleep on it. “Hmm?”

“You need to wake up. And get a shower or something. Maybe that will make you feel better.”

Dan stood up groggily, muttering, “Doubt it.” He pushed passed Phil and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

Phil stayed where he was, watching Dan slowly exit his room. Why was he being so weird lately? Phil wanted to ask him so badly, but he knew if Dan wanted him to know, he would have said something by now.

Phil sighed and sagged his shoulders. He looked back over at Dan’s desk, his eyes trailing over the messy contents of it, before his gaze finally landed on the floor - namely right on his open notebook.

He walked over to it and picked it up, ready to close it and just set it back on his desk, but the words caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but read what was on the page.

Page 23

I thought it would get better. I thought writing my feelings down in this stupid notebook would help, but I think all it does is make things worse. I feel like shit. I know you will never love me, and it hurts my heart so much to know that you will never be mine. I should stop writing this. After this page. All I’m doing is reminding myself of something I can’t have, and I’m constantly reminding myself of why I ever loved you in the first place.

It’s hard, you know. Seeing you everyday and wishing that just out of the blue, you would say three words. Three, simple, yet meaningful words that change people’s lives. They don’t even have to be exact. I’ll take like instead of love.

Unrequited love like or one-sided love like is love like that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved. The beloved may not be aware of the admirer’s deep and strong romantic affection, or may consciously reject it.

At first I never thought there was a term for the way I feel. I always thought it was just a tragic one sided love. But Google had something else to say about it.

I’ve thought about asking you how you felt about unrequited love, but I decided against it. I like to think that maybe you’re just the half that isn’t even aware of it, because that’s such a you thing to do, but it’s also a you thing to just ignore it and hope I do, too.

I don’t know what to do anymore. Maybe I should just move out and move on. That would be easiest for me, and I think you would let me go, not matter what shitty excuse I give you. But after much thinking, I’ll stay. I rather be your friend than nothing at all.

Because I like you.

Phil stared at the words. Was this … about him? It had to be. Dan didn’t - and hasn’t - ever lived with anyone else but his parents, and Phil knows this isn’t directed at them. He feels his heart churning as he flips violently through the pages, reading line after line of Dan’s horrible handwriting.

He doesn’t get to read them all, because he’s sure there’s dozens and Dan doesn’t take super long showers. In fact, Phil hears the water turn off, and he’s quick to toss the notebook back on the floor and dash out of his room before Dan sees him, but he’s not quick enough because he ends up reading the last page; the one that’s marked 106.

He couldn’t help it as his eyes scanned over it, until they reached the last few words on the back of the notebook.

“Phil?” Dan’s choked voice asks from the doorway. “What are you …” He stops when he sees Phil’s eyes glued to the notebook. His notebook full of sad love notes. “You-”

“Dan,” Phil tries, but he doesn’t listen to him. He runs out of the room and across the flat. “Dan! Wait!” Phil calls, tossing the notebook aside and chasing after his friend.

Dan tears through the house, tears stinging his eyes. Phil found his notebook. He read his notebook. There was no way Dan was going to be able to look him in the eyes again and feel okay.

“Dan!” Phil called.

But Dan was out the door and running down the hall to their apartment complex, quickly jamming the button for the lift to pick him up.

The doors open and it dings just as Dan sees Phil barreling his way, and he practically leaps inside the lift and presses the lobby button along with the close doors button. But he’s not quick enough, and Phil manages to just jump inside before the doors shut, trapping them in the small space.

“Dan,” Phil wheezed. “Listen to me.” He was hunched over and out of breath, and he knew he wouldn’t have enough time to say what he wanted before the doors opened and Dan ran away from him again. He was mortified, Phil understood that. He understood why. Dan thought he had found his biggest, darkest secret he had to keep. “I can’t believe … you thought … this was unrequited.” He had never been good at starting serious conversations, but he was going to have to try and make do.

“W-What?” Dan stammered, tears silently tracking down his cheeks. “That wasn’t - you’re not - the pages -”

“Were beautiful,” Phil said, cutting him off. He turned around and pressed the button to stop the lift, and it buzzed, thinking it was an emergency. “I only read a few, but, Dan, they were-”

“What are you doing?” Dan whispered quietly. “Please, just stop. Don’t try to make me feel better. I know how you feel, and it’s not-”

“Oh, really?” Phil quirked a brow, the corner of his lips turning up slightly. “How could you possibly know that if you’ve never asked me? Dan, you have a lot of flaws, but I think assuming the worst and always looking for the negative is your worst one.”

Dan sighed. “Phil, please. I can’t listen to this right now.” His back hit the wall and he slid down until his bum touched the floor. His vision was still blurry, and he could still feel tears tracking down his cheeks.

Phil moved in front of him and crouched down, grabbing each cheek and swiping his thumbs along them, wiping away the tears. “No more crying. You don’t need to be sad, Dan, because what I’m about to tell you will probably make you angry. And not in the way you’re thinking,” he quickly added. He took a deep breath and said, “I do love you, Dan. More than you realize, obviously. I just thought I didn’t really need to say it to you, because you knew. You know that to me, marriage is just a piece of paper and romantic relationships are just … that. I don’t use labels, because I just go with it. I thought you already knew, and that’s why I’ve never said anything. I’m really sorry, Dan. I should have known better. I know you, and I know you don’t view those things like I do. It’s not just ball and chain and all that. You’re sentimental. I’m … not.” Phil laughed.

Dan could only stare at him. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, and words wouldn’t come to him.

“I love you, and from now on, I’m going to tell you that even more.”

“But we … we don’t share beds, or kiss or -” his words were cut off when Phil’s lips pressed to his. They were soft, just like he always thought they would be. He used chapstick all the time, and it was clear he had some on now, because his lips tasted like raspberries. He was slow and delicate, taking his time exploring every crevasse and bump there was. Phil slipped his tongue inside, but not too far. Just enough to get a taste of him.

Phil pulled away, looking at Dan in awe. “You really need some chapstick, love.”

And despite it all, Dan laughed. He wiped his remaining tears away, thinking that somehow, this is all a cruel joke, but he knows Phil and he knows Phil sucks at jokes.

The buzzing from the lift had stopped, and the doors were pried open, revealing two firefighters all dressed in their uniforms.

“Bloody hell,” one of them said. “Lovers. Don’t you know what that button is actually for? Get out.”

Phil pressed his lips together, suppressing a laugh. He pulled Dan up with him, and dragged him from the lift. “Thanks, guys. It was getting really hot in there.”

The other firefighter rolled his eyes. “That button is for emergencies only. Having a private makeout session does not count.”

“We weren’t -”

“There’s a camera in there, mate,” he cut Dan off.

Dan’s cheeks turned pink, and Phil only laughed as he dragged him to the staircase, and walked him back up to their apartment.

As much as Phil wanted to read all 106 pages in Dan’s notebook, he knew better than to ask. Dan would show him if he wanted. And he sure hoped that someday, he would.

#unrequited love #happy ending #phandom #phanfic #phanfiction #first kiss

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humanscandrivestick · 8 years ago

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E.Q.--The Lift

I KNOW I KNOW. BUT BREATH OF THE WILD, THEN MARIO KART, THEN SPLATOON. Or, more seriously, trying not to lose my mind at work, and then rasing a puppy for the first time in 8 years. Both can contribute to hiatuses, but far be it from me to pull a Togashi. @_@ I apologize for the giant gaps but I did want to make this story polished as best I can. Its a pivotal part in Arpeggio and Felipe’s relationship.

So without further ado, the infamous lift incident that brought 2 Trancers closer together, or teeters on the rbink of pulling them apart (oh who am I kidding, we all know how Side A turns out XD)

~~~~

Felipe made an off-handed comment that gently set a ball rolling, so unnoticed and gentle that it was already running without control by the time he'd noticed. He'd good-naturedly poked Arpeggio in the side one sweltering Chicago day. "Gaining a little weight lately?" He gave him a sheepish smile afterwards, in apology for the bluntness. Arpeggio glanced at himself and shrugged. "Perhaps lately. I've been really slacking in exercise lately, what with all the work we've had." "Well, the recent busts have been good cardio," laughed Felipe. He pinched his stomach a little. "To be honest, maybe I'm projecting...I've been gaining some stomach lately too." "It happens when you sleep in and eat nothing but junk," his partner replied, giving him a short side-long glance, the TC version of a smirk. "We have a gym, don't we? Might as well start using it." Felipe thumped him on the back lightly. "How 'bout after work tonight? Its 24 hour, so even if we're in til 11, we can try and it'll be prolly empty too." Arpeggio blinked and shrugged. "I...suppose so, but I don't have any work out clothing." Felipe nudged him jokingly. "What, you can borrow mine. We're still the same size....at least til I started getting fatty." He laughed again. It was nearly 10 before the boys were able to clock out. Arpeggio, mulling over the workout plans, ended up taking a lunch break and going out to buy some rash guard shirts and workout shorts. Felipe had bought him a pair of high top white Converse sneakers, so as new as they were, he didn't think he'd need the running shoes. Since finishing his Rothbart and TC training, he hadn't bought new clothing for gym in ages. When he and Felipe headed to the gym, Felipe split off to grab something to wear while he got dressed. He switched to his eyeglasses, removing his contacts, and slipped on a dark, sapphire blue, short-sleeved rash guard, white basketball shorts with a single black line down the side of the legs and long white socks with the cream colored chucks tied in neat bows. He was on the treadmill, in the empty gym--of course, it was nearly 11:30 by now--jogging when Felipe entered. A thin red pullover hoodie, black shorts, rolled down white socks and a pair of black high top chucks he'd purchased while they were in England. He took his place next to him on an adjoining treadmill. Arpeggio kept a brisk pace, occasionally breaking into a sprint as the machine was programmed to increase his pace. Felipe, unaccustomed to regular exercise, stuck to light jogs mixed with power walking. He intended to go for at least 30 minutes, but his cardio was seriously lacking, and needed to take it more easier. He watched Arpeggio from the corner of his vision, catching himself gazing down from his toned legs up to to his chest and then the neckline. With those glasses, he was kinda....cute. Felipe started, internally. When did he start thinking this way? From their rocky start to now, from those angry 14 years to the easy going friendship at 19, Felipe had started to realize his partner wasn't the tight leash he expected all those years ago. If anything, it was more like a shadow, a mirror image, opposites that match up to make a whole. But now there was something else about him that he realized was more than friendship or admiration. Lost in these thoughts, both boys finished their workout. Arpeggio was seeing that halfway through exercising, that Felipe was now distant, distracted. He tried making small talk as they walked to the elevator, the old rickety lift that was in the back of the apartment building, where few people used it this late at night. As he pushed the call button, Arpeggio, slightly frustrated with his partner's lack of focus, said, "FELIPE." It was firm but not angry. Rousted from his thoughts, he looked up. "Uh...yeah? What?" "What's the matter, Felipe? You...haven't been listening to a word I've said." The doors finally opened and they stepped in. "Uh...sorry, I'm....kinda thinking." Arpeggio sighed and leaned against the corner as the door hung open for an inordinate amount of time before closing. The car made its slow ascent up as Felipe's eyes kept flicking to Arpeggio. The cute nose, those blue eyes behind the square rimmed glasses. The now slightly out of place hair, that flared like crows's feathers with a deep black. Something in Felipe cracked. When they hit the 3rd floor, 2 floors from their apartment, he reached to the panel and hit the emergency stop. Arpeggio, standing next to it, gave him a puzzled look. "So. .....You just....did that." he said, his voice with little emotion except mild curiosity. The glasses hang on the edge of his nose, right where it kinda turns up a little. Felipe had always thought it was a cute kind of nose. But for the first time, he's seeing something attractive…in him. The restraint in him finally snapped. He turned to his partner, and pushed him against the side of the elevator, trapping him. His hands were on his arms, just above the elbows; their chests against each other, feet fumbling over each others, trying not to trip. Even as he was asking, Felipe cut him off with a kiss on the mouth. Firmly covering Arpeggio's with his, muffling the protests, swallowing his voice down, Felipe kept at it. When he finally pulled back for air, he leaned his weight against him. Arpeggio's eyes were more animated, still curious, and not as shocked or repulsed as Felipe initially assumed. There was a fleeting look that he couldn't catch. Something unfamiliar. Jesus, he thought, they're so damn....blue.....they're so.... Arpeggio started to catch his breath, and a trembling began in the tips of his fingertips. He was also shocked at his lack of repulsion, as if there was a gentle pull between them both. The pieces start falling into place; the furtive glances Felipe had been giving him lately, most obviously today at the gym. Jesus. That can't mean-- Felipe went back in for the kill again, and Arpeggio didn't have the time to process it. Resuming, Felipe pushed his tongue into his partner's mouth. Now, they both know he lacked a proper sense of smell. He could taste, though Felipe had grown used to the fact what he might be tasting is severely weaker than others', and what he tasted was....nothing more than what he can describe as "Arpeggio". It was warm, but sharp. Comforting. He wanted more. Arpeggio clumsily followed his lead, nudging his partner's tongue, giving into the warmth. Arpeggio tasted tobacco, and while he had really never smoked, he wasn't put off by the taste. It was sweeter than he imagined. Like tobacco with sugar. His blue eyes shut as the heat of their bodies started to warm the tiny elevator. The tiniest of groans escapes from his throat. He felt a hot tongue run along his neck, up to his earlobe. His voice whimpered out,in a low purr. "Felipe…." The cerise-haired young man barely heard it. His mouth was too busy tasting everything he could. He could feel Arpeggio's heartbeat in his skin through his lips, and it felt great. The raven-haired boy began trembling uncontrollably, but Felipe gave him a bit of room and groaned back. "Come on." "Come on what," he whispered, puzzled as his eyes open to look down at him. "Like this," the cerise-haired boy said before deepening a kiss. The firm yet tender pressure with his lips, slightly sucking on his bottom lip before he let it go. The way the tongue darts between his lips was coaxing. Arpeggio, still reeling in the moment and unsure of what he's supposed to do except process these new sensations, could only imitate what Felipe is doing. He tried to copy the movements, but eventually he felt Felipe pull back. "Haven't you ever done this?" he asked in a slightly frustrated tone. His eyes appeared disheartened, as if he's expected Arpeggio to react similarly; there was a disappointment in his voice that Arpeggio completely could not understand. "No…." he whispered shaking his head. They've slid down the side of the elevator, sitting on the ground, Arpeggio in the corner, his legs bent against Felipe. Felipe paused. Looking into those deep blue eyes, where he usually saw sternness or placid indifference was an intense look. Somewhere between curiosity and also frustration. Again, he was struck by the color. Like glowing sapphire, blue fire. The deep ocean or the deepest blue in the sky. Arpeggio is similarly entranced. He always assumed Felipe's eyes were just a deep brown, but this close, he can see that they literally are black. Like the night sky with no stars. They pull, and absorb light, a deep black hole that pulled him in. A deep color that made his pupils seem lighter by comparison. But they aren't cold; if anything they feel warm and enveloping like a song. Lost in each other's eyes, the silence eventually melted. "Son of a bitch," replied Felipe, as if someone has told him the scores to a sports game and he's taken aback. He was red in the face, but so was Arpeggio, but its more noticeable because the TC's skin is so damned light anyway, and its cute Felipe admitted. "Not even…?" Arpeggio can't figure out what Felipe meant until he followed his eye line. The magenta haired boy was nodding at his crotch. The TC couldn't help but flush even harder, so much that even Felipe could feel the heat. "No..." one simple word, but the slight shame and embarrassment it conveyed was practically palpable. He was aware of the practice at least, but it was clear he'd not indulged what urges he may have had before. At this point, the black-eyed boy flushed too, then leaned in, and kissed him again. Something about Arpeggio's inexperience made him want him even more. But the kiss was subtly different to Arpeggio. Tenderer. Gentler. There was an obvious lust but it had a different intensity. It wasn't until the magenta boy's hands released his, and they began roving over his body, that Arpeggio realized Felipe was holding his hands, gently. Felipe could barely keep his desire in check. The urgency he had now evolved into something more. He no longer wanted to conquer his prey. He now wanted to take, taste, feel everything he had in his hands, slowly, savoring it like the last piece of hard candy in the bowl. Time let Felipe go, releasing him from the chains of urgency. Now Time gave him the freedom to make this moment endless. His fingers pressed into his skin, the taut give of his flesh felt like the strings of an instrument. From his back to his firm ass, his thighs, he ran his fingers along his body, down the knee to ankle, then all the way back up. He could feel his partner want to arch into him, so he pulled him into an embrace again, nuzzling the nap his his neck and feeling his body arch, tremble and squirm. Arpeggio dug his fingers into Felipe's back. He responded with more laps and nips on the neck and lips, then his hands drifted down his chest, to the hem of his shorts. He felt Arpeggio freeze momentarily when his hands slid over his crotch. It was obvious his body was responding well, because he was hard and completely so, but his eyes are tinged with confusion and some apprehension. It tore at Felipe's chest a little, seeing his partner so out of his depth, but being horny was winning out. He bypassed it momentarily, and slid his hands down the boy's legs. He squeezed his ankles, feeling his muscles flex and wriggle, and it turned him on even more. He brought up one of his white sneakered feet and gave him a single lustful glance before taking a long, lap. It was not what Arpeggio is expecting so his foot immediately jerked. "Wh-what are you doing?!" He nipped the laces and lapped the toecap again. "Its ok." "B-but…that's really…dirty…." The toes jerked and twitched in anxiousness, wriggling slowly. Felipe put the foot down and gave his knee a small kiss. "No...it isn't...." His partner looked confused, so Felipe chained kisses from his knee to his ankle, nipping playfully at the socks, until his ran his tongue over the laces, and gave the toecap a gentle kiss. "Its not dirty at all." "I m-mean...I used them...I've been walking around on...the concrete and stuff...and...." He was babbling, not sure of what he was trying to say. Felipe gave him a small smile. "Pege...." "Yes...?" "Shut up." Arpeggio gave him a look of sheepish defeat and shrugged. "F-fair enough. You're...the teacher." "Straight A student right here." He gave the toecap a few laps before shifting his position back to his original, holding him as he came back up to kiss him. This time, his right hand found his partner's left, and his fingers entwined as his pressed it gently to the wall of the elevator car. Arpeggio let his body act on its own, squeeing his hand, digging his fingers into Felipe's lower back and ass, enjoying the muscular feel. Slowly, he pulled him into his embrace, then maneuvered his legs to pull Felipe into him. The move was so unexpected for Felipe, he nearly collapsed into him. It was...bold, even for Arpeggio. Hesitation finally made Felipe pause. This was all so new, especially to Arpeggio. He could feel that his partner was apprehensive, though not scared. It made him wonder....how much could he do? How much was too much? It wasn't as if Arpeggio had told him no outright, but at the same time, he didn't want to overload him. This move was the first time that he was now initiating new contact without Felipe guiding him or doing it first. So that means...that it was ok, wasn't it? When he stopped moving, the raven-haired boy looked at him, and saw the deep look of thought on his face. He flicked his black eyes towards his partner's blue ones, and as he caught his breath, Felipe could feel his own body begin to tremble, trying to hold the weight of his lust and desire as he processed his next moves. "What...?" he asked him, his hands sliding from the young Trancer's back to shoulders. Felipe couldn't find the words. Caught between his lust for this quite literally virgin territory and his uncertainty of doing too much, he could only stare back at him. "Are you...afraid...I'll break...?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Felipe blinked at him in shock. Can...he read minds...? Arpeggio stared up into his eyes for a long moment. Then he shut his eyes and nodded once. "I...trust you...." Like a key turning a lock, those three words freed Felipe. He gave him a small smile and nodded back. "Y...you're sure...?" "If I wasn't....you'd be a dead man." He said it with his usual deadpan, placid look, that Felipe nearly laughed out loud. Arpeggio let his eyes soften . Felipe saw the smallest, most sincere smiles come across his face. He has a smile like an angel. "Fel...?" "This...this is....ok....?" Arpeggio blinked at him, confused. At this point, he assumed his consent was implicit, but he nodded and smiled at him again, and this time, he realized he was. "Please...Fel....its.... I need...you to...show me...." He shook his head and flushed in embarrassment. "I don't...know. This is all so new to me." He nodded slowly and kissed him tenderly before he slid his hands down to his waist and then gently and slowly pulled down his shorts. Arpeggio let out a small whimper, and as Felipe hesitated and looked up at him, he nodded again, blushing. "W-well, come on....like you've...never seen dick before?" Felipe could sense the baiting was done to put them both at ease, so he gave him a slight smirk. "Not one as exquisite as this." His partner wrinkled his nose. "Ok I may be new at this, but that was kinda embarrassing, even for you." Felipe awkwardly smiled. "Yeah...it was kinda bad...but you make me stupid sometimes, being this fucking cute." He punctuated that by giving the tip of his erect cock a small kiss. The sensation and newness of the entire thing, made Arpeggio give a small cry and arched his back. "Nnngh...!" Felipe took one of his partner's hands and gave it a squeeze. "All right there, Pege?" There was a slightly sassy tone to it. "D-damn it Felipe...if you don't stop taunting me...I may take back what I said about this being ok...!" "Well, then. Don't say I didn't try easing you into it." He leaned over and started to lap and suck gently on him, as Arpeggio let out another groan, digging his fingers into Felipe. The feelings notwithstanding, the sensations were intense. The warmth of his tongue over him as he sucked, contrasting with the cooler air when he pulled off and lapped and licked, all sent Arpeggio's mind into a tailspin. It was everything he could do to keep from bucking his hips or squeezing him between his thighs. The pressure building inside of him escalated quickly. "Fel...! W-wait...I'm..." Felipe pulled off his a firm but tender suck and glanced up. "Pege...let me." "I...I don't...Should...." Felipe let him teeter slightly before diving back down and giving him a firm suck as his tongue swirled around his partner's cock. The hand holding Arpeggio's squeezed, while the other one pressed the fingertips into his thigh. Arpeggio let out another small cry as he climaxed hard, his head leaning back as he arched. The sensation was so intense, he nearly blacked out. Felipe pulled back, swallowing some, but allowing some cum to pump over Arpeggio's crotch and thighs, glistening like pearls. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he slid the other from his partner's grasp to his face and pulled him into a kiss. This time, Arpeggio welcomed the gesture, tasting himself in Felipe's mouth. It wasn't anything he expected. He groaned, his body weakly holding on in an attempt to stay conscious. Felipe pulled back to let them each have some air and gazed into his partner's eyes. They locked gazes, the TC's blue in the Trancer's black. It was the look of concupiscence in Arpeggio's eyes that pulled Felipe quickly into the ground. All at once, the magnitude of what line he had crossed slammed into him. They have crossed the line into a place he hadn't considered. Felipe now knew what that feeling had meant for him, that now he had to confront this feeling he hadn't noticed until this moment. That he had fallen in love with Arpeggio....and that this friendship they had now had changed irreversibly. Had he broken something precious between them now? Has he dragged someone who could not possibly understand the significance of such an enormous emotion somewhere he hadn't the right to? Before Arpeggio could ask, the sound of the emergency speaker crackled to life. A sleepy, disinterested voice came over the static. "Hey. The board said the elevator stopped. Anyone in there?" Arpeggio felt his body lock into action, the rapture of the moment evaporating as he found his voice. "Yes. We're ok. There's only 2 of us." "Right. I'll get it moving in a sec." The speakers cut out, and before Arpeggio, as he quickly pulled his clothes back together, his legs a little shaky as he rose to his feet, could say anything to Felipe, the lift car lurched into action. Sitting on the floor of the car, the magenta haired boy, shook his head to himself. "What have I done?" Felipe asked in a barely audible whisper, his tone now gone from euphoria to misery. "Fel??" Puzzled, Arpeggio approached him, to help him up, but his partner only shook his arm free, stood up, and when the doors opened, dashed to the hall. With difficulty, the TC found the strength to chase after him, but Felipe was faster, leaving the door to their apartment open as he sprinted to his room and slammed the door shut. The raven haired boy didn't even bother shutting their door, so he could try to make it to Felipe's room, but the door wouldn't budge. It felt as if his partner was leaning against the door. "Felipe!! Please...! Fel, open the door!!" Felipe curled his legs against his chest as he sat against it, and started to cry. Of all the regrets he'd ever made in his life, this one hurt the most, and he wasn't even sure why he had run, or why he felt so bad. Only that he felt he'd done something so terribly wrong to someone he now loved with his whole heart. For the first time in his life, Felipe was scared that he'd fallen in love with someone.

#E.Q.#E.Q. Fridays #Side B #Felipe #Arpeggio #Album 3 #Rubato Tiempo

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jxniel · 8 years ago

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@jiddu — ( x )

Jisoo widened her eyes at Juniel and leaned back facetiously, a hand slapping against her chest as if to convey shock. “Wah, unnie… I didn’t know you were like that. I’m a bit scared.” She teased. It was easy to forget her company was the unnie with such a youthful appeal. Even before meeting her unnie, she imagined her to be a very soft human being with an almost angelic demeanor. However, this wouldn’t have been the first time her speculations failed.

“I’m just kidding.” A wide smile spread across her face. “I love games like that too. I’ve only played Mario Kart a few times and I loved it but if you really want to break up a friendship, you have to play Overwatch!”

“Shouldn’t you be scared? I’m full of surprises!” Seo Ah went along with the facetious act. It was amusing how people picture her in a certain way, but it also worked in her favour. Her mischievous side could strike whenever she wanted to.

With her forefinger and thumb placed underneath her chin, she smiled cheekily. “Ah...” she chuckled. “But jokes aside, I mostly watch people’s reactions. I barely play games unless I join for fun-- oh! I have seen my brother cursed too many times while playing Overwatch. Seems like he can’t handle some characters... or he’s just bad, but that will hurt his feelings.”

#jiddu #.para #v. thrive pretty hummingbird

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techbarcelona · 7 years ago

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Surge amusement survey: Sexy arcade hustling in genuine need of a tune-up From the group that brought you Motorstorm comes an excellent, uneven arcade racer.

There's a considerable measure to adore about a brisk look at the arcade-battle hustling of Onrush. Its rankling speed, mammoth hop circuits, and shrapnel-heaving four-wheelers inspire right away both in screen capture and hands-on modes. This positive initial introduction completely demonstrates the cleaves of the amusement's devs at Codemasters Evo, who already kicked barge in on in this classification with the Motorstorm arrangement.

Be that as it may, for all the diversion's amazing tech and fulfilling pummel to-speed activity, Codemasters Evo by one means or another misses the mark—inconceivably short—of conveying a genuine successor to the Burnout royal position. Both on a large scale and smaller scale level, Onrush incorporates various baffling outline choices and execution bobbles. What's more, the subsequent disillusionment is out and out pounding.

Revving to Overdrive

In its most perfect shape, Onrush supports insane driving for speed helps. Much like in the Burnout recreations, you can guide an adversary's vehicle into a disaster area for a colossal surge in your "lift" meter, while other high-octane moves (bounces, stunts, close misses) tick the meter up more gradually.

Surge veers off the Burnout way by putting a particular accentuation on focused multiplayer. The full amusement relies on six-on-six group race rivalries. (Solo players are coordinated to a "crusade" mode in which AI fills the various driver situates.) What's all the more, none of these modes offers a conventional race or time-preliminary mode. Keeping in mind the end goal to underline aggressive, crash filled hustling, Onrush offers four modes.

"Overdrive" is the best of these modes, since it essentially urges every driver to consume his or her vehicle's lift meter; whichever group utilizes the a large portion of its lift (and tries to recharge it consistently!) wins each round. You'll have to drive forcefully to keep your meter up, and keeping the lift catch held down reliably offers a score multiplier for every racer. On the other hand, crushing another racer off the track offers the double advantage of granting the assailant some lift and keeping the adversary's auto out of the lift scoring domain for a couple of moments.

Driving close and slamming into enemies is the most ideal approach to pile on help, however Codemasters Evo likewise offers the smart expansion of apparition autos—AI peons that are intended to be smashed into and disintegrate at the smallest touch. The sheer demonstration of exploring your bumper through these high contrast junk autos is a genuine joy, for the most part since Onrush makes them such destructible weaklings and they offer awesome driving lines to point your auto through while exploring the amusement's slippery slope and trash lined courses.

In "Lockdown," groups must speed ahead to a little, shaded zone, which moves at an indistinguishable speed from a quick auto, and race inside it for five entire seconds to assert a point. In a perfect world, this would prompt a scrum of autos all maneuvering for a similar zone and bonking each other out of it. Be that as it may, practically speaking, it's an activity in disappointment.

The default help speed isn't evidently sufficiently high to rapidly achieve where this zone shows up. Over and over, I'd need to support for a flawless, help constantly keep running toward a zone just to draw near to it, with even one slip sending my auto behind the pack. I would be advised to fortunes utilizing the diversion's worked in "reset position" catch to get in scope of the thing—and if an implicit twisting catch works superior to simply playing the amusement, at that point that appears to be severely improved.

"Commencement" requests that all racers drive through a progression of continually creating slalom doors to keep a meter alive for their group. This mode works in an extremely strange manner: each entryway combine's opening develops in measure when any racer experiences one. I reliably discovered my groups were in an ideal situation remaining marginally behind our adversaries to appreciate the greatest entryway sizes conceivable so a greater amount of my colleagues would tick our meter up to remain alive, since their thin defaults are barely noticeable. Why quicker racers aren't compensated with, say, a higher meter support for experiencing thin paths is past me.

Furthermore, "Switch" is an unadulterated battle mode in which each driver has three lives. When one side loses for its entire lives, the other group wins, however "dead" players get the opportunity to continue hustling and crushing into the opposition. This unadulterated battle mode may be more enjoyable... in the event that it didn't rely upon Onrush's online foundation.

Netcode taps the brakes

Checking on pre-discharge internet recreations is not really the best pointer for a last item, yet Onrush as of now makes them think about whether, or how, it will convey liquid, skittish, 12-player group battle hustling crosswise over different idleness and network issues.

In spite of appending wired Ethernet to my testing Xbox One X support, I reliably battled with auto collisions that looked positively WTF. Autos that didn't give off an impression of being anyplace close to mine would twist into T-boning me (or I would do likewise to different autos, as I'd reliably observe "you took somebody out!" notification and think about how). Whenever various autos and bicycles clustered up amid the Lockdown mode, the where-and-how of my opponents was a get pack. My own partners as often as possible pushed my auto into risk on account of arbitrary, quick moves into my direction.

A couple of times, I even viewed my auto "collision" with zero different autos driving anyplace close to mine. (I needed to begin utilizing the "Xbox record that" capacity to demonstrate that I wasn't envisioning things, as Onrush doesn't offer a "disaster area cam" amid its online matches.)

Codemasters Evo has chosen not to utilize any type of casing constraining or make up for lost time conventions in these occurrences. Rather, its netcode appears to forcefully figure and-change how your rivals are quickening, braking, directing, and boosting. Also, as of press time, it completes a lousy activity.

Be that as it may, suppose my pre-discharge testing was a fluke and that Onrush at last conveys on its guaranteed six-on-six hustling. The inquiry by then, at that point, is: what's as yet absent?

Surge offers eight classes of vehicles, however they don't vary in Mario Kart mold (i.e., weight versus increasing speed as opposed to dealing with). Rather, they offer slight contrasts in how every vehicle gathers and uses its lift meter, alongside various unique capacities. These distinctions are on the whole compliant, and they neglect to underscore novel techniques or energize critical collaboration. Certainly, a few autos dole out rewards to partners or assaults to enemies, however a large number of these lone trigger when your extraordinary meter is full—which means, generally twice a match.

Perhaps more-extraordinary, class-particular forces could have been joined with littler group sizes in modes that had been custom fitted for three-on-three or four-on-four dashing as an approach to make each class feel more impactful and to conceivably cure whatever upsets Onrush's present netcode.

What stinks, rhymes with "boot foxes?"

But at the same time it's difficult to get around the inclination that Onrush was initially planned as an approach to offer plunder boxes.

Codemasters Evo didn't get around to building a gameplay circle past "race for beauty care products." Loot containers are plenteous at to start with, offering some new auto case, paint employments, and character skins after each race. In any case, the pace of these opens backs off drastically after a short time—and a couple of long periods of play is just sufficient to open one of the diversion's 100-ish "amazing" choices (which, obviously, don't show up in a significant number of the amusement's irregular plunder boxes). As of press time, there's no real way to spend genuine money on these things, which could possibly be because of later, vocal reaction against the training. All things being equal, Onrush pushes its plunder encloses your face constantly, despite everything they stink without money appended.

Some portion of that is the inclination that Codemasters Evo was so disposed to push online multiplayer on its Onrush players that it kicked convincing single-player potential outcomes to the check. For what reason not a solitary player (or center) pulverize the-peons craze mode? For what reason not nearby split-screen opportunities to run crash-insane with four companions? Why not crack time-preliminary mode or some type of "get by as long as you can" challenge rally? [Update: I neglected to specify that this online-particular concentration accompanies an especially rankling issue. Crusade advance isn't spared when playing the diversion offline.]

For the greater part of my protests on the diversion's execution, despite everything I have a fine time playing the Overdrive mode—which gives each one of the amusement's ho-a chance to murmur classes have a way to point-scoring and lift aggregation. In spite of the fact that the amusement's Xbox One X adaptation doesn't exactly bolt to its guarantee of a 60Hz "execution" mode, it stays close, and the subsequent activity can be an excite to tear through. The auto taking care of, specifically, is divine. Weight, hold, floating, speed, bounces, reaction time, and even wheel-introduction while nailing a finding: these are generally first rate in Onrush, and they're especially uplifting news in the wake of Codemaster Evo (once in the past Evolution Studios) having a notoriety for floaty, lethargic controls in any semblance of Motorstorm and Driveclub.

Surge offers distinctive circumstances of day and diverse seasons for every one of its 12 fiendish tracks, and whether you're kicking up brilliant starts through dusty, bright landscape or sloshing through tempests and puddles, the vast majority of these look phenomenal. Tragically, a large number of the diversion's battle challenges uphold an evening necessity, and this outright sucks. Surge just gives racers a chance to pick from two camera points, and neither offers an absolutely unhampered in front of racer see, which is sufficiently fair when the races are brilliant and sufficiently bright. Yet, it's much too simple amid the evening segments to unintentionally smash into mammoth hindrances and flotsam and jetsam immediately, particularly when sparkles fly and rivals blast your auto around.

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nintendoswitchreview-blog · 8 years ago

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Nintendo Switch Review

A great deal is riding on the Nintendo Switch. The veteran diversion organization, while as yet getting a charge out of relative accomplishment in the handheld market in spite of the pervasiveness of cell phones and tablets, truly attempted to find enthusiasm for its last home gaming machine, the double screen Wii U. Blended showcasing informing and an absence of diversions implied the Wii U never got anyplace near achieving its potential – not to mention the elevated deals figures of its antecedent, the movement focused Wii.

Purchase Nintendo Switch: $299.99

So here we are gawping at an all-new Nintendo, that, while similarly as imaginative (and ostensibly difficult) in its plan as its antecedent, is being situated as a much more standard gadget, one that Nintendo anticipates that you will bring with you for all intents and purposes all around, In any case, will you need to? Going on our first hands-on testing we can state the appropriate response is a genuinely agreeable "yes", regardless of higher than anticipated valuing – gave that Nintendo can convey a convincing web based advertising.

Outline

The Nintendo Switch is very dissimilar to any recreations support that is ever preceded it. In fine Nintendo convention (on the off chance that you can call what might as well be called iconoclasm 'custom'), it's discarded the idea of one settled box sat under your television with the Switch. Rather, it exists in two unmistakable states: firstly as a compact tablet gadget with an inherent kickstand, and besides docked in a base that interfaces with your TV.

Matched with its breakaway, versatile controllers it's somewhat similar to Nintendo's response to the Transformers, prepared to be reconfigured relying upon your present gaming need. Sat at home prepared for a marathon session? Connect the tablet to the dock and shaft your gameplay onto the wide screen.

Sat on a prepare with a table before you and the Switch in your sack? Fly out the tablet unit's kickstand, get the nunchuck-like controller parts and get playing. Wandering a recreation center? Connect the two controller sticks to either side of the screen and you can stroll about and gather those Zelda rupees in the meantime.

From the limited center dim and dark shading plan, as vigorously showed in pre-discharge showcasing (blue and red Joy-Con controllers will likewise be accessible), to the decision to return to cartridges for play, plainly Nintendo is quietly moving its intended interest group. Without a doubt, it won't dump its family-accommodating interest, however it knows it needs to win over the more established, purported "bad-to-the-bone" gamer raised on an eating regimen of science fiction shooters.

So you're left with an unassuming dock that would sit easily under a genuine home film setup, and cartridges that are versatile and tough, and which entertainingly exchange on wistfulness – if hamstringing any odds of plate based in reverse similarity.

The key thought joining every one of these components is that, basically, wherever you are, however much time you have, you get a similar awesome gaming background, taking the home comfort fun that you appreciate wherever it's most advantageous for you to play.

Specs and execution

In any case, how does that experience stack up against the opposition? Has Nintendo overseen, without precedent for decades, to get its equipment on a level balance with the PS4 and Xbox One rivalry? In spite of the fact that you can contend that the special shape calculate nullifies such correlations, the straightforward answer is "not exactly".

The Nintendo Switch is an unequivocally competent machine, yet its internals show up significantly more power-proficiency focussed than adapted towards immaculate preparing snort; positively, at its first press occasion, there give off an impression of being no diversions testing the visual loyalty of Sony or Microsoft's consoles. In any case, that is never truly been the purpose of a Nintendo reassure, with the organization significantly more worried with inventive gameplay shapes than photograph genuine visuals.

In the engine of its center tablet unit you'll locate a custom Nvidia Tegra processor, comprehensively tantamount to the Tegra X1 found in a Nvidia Shield TV. 32GB of storage room is locally available as well (some of which is committed to the framework programming), alongside 802.11.ac Wi-Fi. The screen itself is, obviously, a basic part of the condition – particularly given how disillusioning the Wii U's equivalent Game pad turned out to be. The Switch screen apportions at 6.2 inches, with a determination of 720p.

It ends up being an extremely charming screen to see. It has lively hues, a moderately sharp determination, and can stay aware of the very quick nature of Mario Kart 8 Deluxe, which we had hands-on time with. It's not as noteworthy as the top-end cell phone screens, however it feels drastically superior to what the Wii U Game pad advertised. We couldn't experiment with the touchscreen capacities of the screen at the occasion. Regardless of whether purposefully or not, the touchscreen seemed to have been crippled on the greater part of the demos we attempted.

Supporting Wi-Fi online play, up to eight Nintendo Switch consoles can connect up for neighborhood multiplayer play, and when we utilized this to play Mario Kart there wasn't any proof of slack. Battery life for in a hurry play is, obviously, a worry. Nintendo cites an exceptionally encouraging six or more hours of battery life when the Switch is detached from a USB-C control supply, in spite of the fact that that is particularly dependent on the title being played – Nintendo concedes, for example, that you'll get more like three hours play when starting up The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild when all over the place.

We'll need to take the Switch out into this present reality to check whether that guaranteed upper number holds up.

Docked versus compact play

Things being what they are, how do the two center gaming encounters (untethered in a hurry versus docked at-home play) think about? Up until this point, positively.

The Switch yields to a TV at a determination of 1080p, with 5.1 sound yield advertised. Considering the home comfort standard truly stays at 1080p (except for the versatile up-to-4K determination of the PS4 Pro), that is aggressive. Charging from the dock, it doesn't obviously accompany any battery control constraints.

Going on the few recreations accessible to play at the Nintendo squeeze occasion, it appears that lone the most requesting of players will see a contrast amongst docked and compact execution. On a 1080p TV there were more barbed edges noticeable on the reassure, yet outline rate appeared un-affected by frame consider.

The docking and undocking procedure is as consistent as anyone might imagine. We got an opportunity to experiment with Breath of the Wild in both arrangements, and notwithstanding exchanging mid-gameplay exhibited no inconvenience to the reassure – you simply hold two or three catches to affirm you're utilizing the joined Joy-Con controllers, and the amusement continues precisely the latest relevant point of interest.

On the web, interface and applications

Contrasted with the smooth, lavishly web-associated interfaces of the PS4 and Xbox One, Nintendo's latest comfort interfaces have felt quite dated. The Switch endeavors to shake this up by presenting its own online membership benefit, yet those searching for something practically identical to PlayStation Plus or Xbox Live Gold might be left needing.

Despite the fact that Nintendo still needs to elucidate a few focuses, its membership administration's "free" month to month amusement offering appears to be very niggardly. It creates the impression that you'll just access one NES or SNES diversion (with Super Nintendo titles now offering on the web bolster) every month, with only one month in which to play them. The Xbox Live Gold option, for example, offers different cutting edge recreations for endorsers of download and keep every month, for eternity.

Also, the online administration offers hall and voice talk, yet again this shows up awkwardly restricted to a telephone application. With any semblance of WhatsApp and Facebook Messenger as of now giving you a chance to attach with companions for nothing on your telephone, this barely appears a sensible other option to an implicit support visit alternative.

Nintendo endorsers will likewise get advanced store rebates, yet that doesn't appear like a lot of a draw of itself. The Switch will dispatch with a free trial to its membership benefit – we'll keep you educated in the matter of whether it merits staying with past that, when the paid administration dispatches in Autumn 2017.

Nintendo Switch Controllers

Nintendo has a propensity for outlining idiosyncratic controllers, from the movement detecting Wii remotes and nun-chucks to the trident-molded N64 cushion, with every conveying with it another approach to play. While the Switch's Joy-Con controllers don't offer any noteworthy new information choices, they are creative in the way they can change contingent upon your present needs.

It's somewhat similar to the Wii remote/nunchuck matching being used – you have a left-hand component that incorporates a simple stick and course catches (heretically moving far from Nintendo's notable "cross" outline" for partitioned catches) close by a "less" alternatives catch, a Capture catch for recording gameplay and a top shoulder trigger. The right-hand component has a moment simple stick, the X, Y, An and B input catches, another shoulder catch, an "Or more" begin catch and a Home catch for hopping to the principle interface.

These parts can be utilized together, independently or joined with a focal Joy-Con hold unit for a more customary play understanding. The capacity to utilize every part as a performance cushion additionally goes some approach to clarifying the expulsion of the old-school Cross cushion – with the simple stick utilized as a development information, alternate catches then conceivably can be utilized for activity orders, with the cushion turned on its side like a spruced-up NES cushion.

One feedback up until now, in view of early play, identifies with the right-hand side of the Joy-Con, when it's being utilized as a part of a solitary controller situation. As it's unevenly put when in the Joy-Con hold, this implies every one of its catches and its control stick can feel exceptionally confined together when it's utilized as a part of a performance setup.

Every Joy-Con offers an accelero-meter and whirligig for movement controls, while the correct Joy-Con additionally includes NFC for attaching Nintendo's amiibo dolls. Nintendo is begetting what it calls 'HD Rumble' for the controller(s) which it claims gives you a chance to feel vibrations as unpretentious as a couple ice 3D squares shaking around in a glass.

The correct controller component additionally includes an IR Motion Camera that can distinguish the separation and state of items specifically diversions – Nintendo offers the case of having the capacity to play shake/paper/scissors with the reassure, however it hints at further AR or VR desire down the line.

At the point when expelled from the tablet, the controllers feel very not at all like any others we've played with some time recently. They're fantastically light and little as well, which may demonstrate fiddly for enormous gave gamers. In any case, they additionally demonstrate responsive – playing the movement based scaled down diversions of dispatch title 1-2-Switch worked a treat, while the split D-Pad's catches are low-profile enough to consider exceptionally quick Street Fighter extraordinary moves. At the point when expelled from the tablet, every Joy-Con part can have a clasp on set of shoulder catches slid onto their sides, as well.

Once more, the adaptability of the controller choices makes for an extremely dynamic framework. In principle, for instance, you can get four players around one Switch reassure with two finish Joy-Con controllers, if every player utilizes an individual left or right side cushion. The blends appear to be confounding on paper, yet practically speaking ought to be very instinctive. Less clear now is what number of controller altogether the Switch bolsters, once you begin including the more conventional Nintendo Switch Pro cushions in with the general mish-mash.

In spite of the fact that it was difficult to get a legitimate feeling of the heaviness of the tablet and Joy-Con controllers consolidated, because of the security lodging Nintendo had wrapped them in, even with the extra wellbeing measures everything felt light, and positively versatile benevolent. Notwithstanding, it's significant that the controllers are charged by means of the Switch itself, so ensure you've squeezed both as completely as conceivable in the dock before taking on off; there's no real way to charge them independently.

Amusements: the dispatch lineup and past

In any case, what's a diversions reassure without the amusements? The Nintendo Switch has various both first-and outsider titles prepared to go in the comfort's first year, including huge establishment hitters like Mario and The Greatest Game Zelda, though in spite of the fact that the very first moment dispatch lineup is looking somewhat straightforward.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild shows up the most convincing up until now, set for discharge on March 3 nearby the Switch itself. It'll be joined by 1-2-Switch, a title that makes full utilization of the controllers and little screen cooperation to guarantee players are investigating each other's eyes, with smaller than usual amusements including wildwest gunslinging.

ARMS, a multiplayer advanced boxing diversion, utilizes the Joy-Con cushions to toss punches, and will be prepared "this spring".

This is basically Wii Sports boxing mode, spun out into a whole diversion, with shake em-sock-em robot visuals. You'll have the capacity to pick distinctive catalysts for every arm (controlled by a Joy-Con segment in every hand), bouncing and tossing whirlwinds of punches at a split-screen adversary. At present, it's difficult to take a few to get back some composure on exactly how much ability is included, rather than the thrashing appendage likeness catch crushing – attempting to strategically evade a press occasion adversary who was windmilling, we didn't stand a shot.

Mario Kart 8 Deluxe makes the wonderful racer versatile, and presents new courses, things and racers – it'll be prepared on April 28.

On the off chance that you've played Mario Kart 8 on the Wii U, you'll realize what's in store here – the amusement is everything except indistinguishable, with the exception of the expansion of some new things and racers. What you pick up, be that as it may, is the adaptability of the Switch – this is Mario Kart, in all its HD grandness, in a hurry. Having the capacity to lounge around a table with eight different players, each possibly with their own Switch tablet screen, associated over nearby Wi-Fi, could bring that Blue Shell hyper-aggressive play to a radical new level.

Paintball multiplayer shooter Splatoon 2 will be prepared for the late spring, while the shockingly fascinating Snipperclips – Cut It Out Together! will dispatch in March; it's bewilder diversion that empowers you to remove shapes and convey them into the amusement to help fathom challenges.

Up until this point, it's our dull stallion most loved from the entire occasion. Looking similar to Scribblenauts, players can take one Joy-Con segment each, and utilize it to remove pieces of each other's paper player. This can then be utilized to agree with bewilder fathoming shapes, or framed into instruments to move things around the screen.

In one case, we cut our kindred player's character into a scoop shape, with the goal that she could scoop a b-ball into a net. It's exceptionally enchanting, and appeared to be ideal for playing sat alongside another gamer in tablet mode, far from the extra large screen.

Xenoblade Chronicles 2, in the interim, with its space-faring mechs, will keep RPG fans glad.

So where's Mario? He'll miss the dispatch, with Super Mario Odyssey touching base in time for Christmas. It sounds like it'll be justified regardless of the hold up, however, with Odyssey being the main "sandbox" Mario amusement since Super Mario Sunshine on the GameCube, giving you a chance to investigate totally open universes.

Various outsider titles have additionally been prodded, including EA's FIFA, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, NBA 2K, Project Octopath Traveler, Street Fighter II Ultra, Sonic Mania, Super Bomberman, Just Dance, Disegea 5, Dragon Quest's X and XI, Fire Emblem Warriors, and Minecraft.

The issue, just like the case with the N64 and Wii U, will hold outsider support. The Switch's special equipment, similar to that of the Wii U, drives extra outline contemplations upon designers, which can turn out to be exorbitant in tiresome advancement cycles. The Switch appears to be significantly more obliging in this regard than the Wii U ever was, however it'll be fascinating to check whether the chicken-and-egg situation amongst playerbase and diversion list can locate a cheerful adjust this time around.

Early Decision From Nintendo

The Switch is a sure appearing from Nintendo at this early hands-in front of an audience. As opposed to falling on its sword and taking after the clear 'box-under-your-TV' outline ethos, Nintendo has taken intense steps to at the end of the day stir up the gaming background. Ideally, outsider engineers will make the bounce into the obscure with it.

Adaptable and fun, without feeling like a toy, the Switch is demonstrating that Nintendo's thoughts can remain happily novel without distancing the more po-confronted of gamers. While in a hurry battery life and execution remain a worry until we can experiment with broad certifiable play on the Switch, Nintendo's new machine is looking extremely encouraging; it simply needs the diversions to make utilization of this creative equipment.

With a value point set at £279.99/$299.99/AU$469.95, the Switch will have a compelling battle in front of it against the moderately reasonable PS4 and Xbox One groups – and that is before we take in more about the Xbox Scorpio, which we'd hope to be significantly more capable, yet far pricier.

Still, there's in no way like pulling off a Super Mario triple hop, Right ?

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