#it was so brutal and good and the ending had my heart soaring

[wileys-russo]

alessia day II a.russo x reader

tooth rottingly soft self care days with star girl

alessia day II a.russo x reader

4.3K words

licking some jam off the tip of your thumb you looked down to the table loaded with food in front of you and nodded with a satisfied smile, happy with your work for the morning and even happier that alessia hadn't woken up any earlier than you'd hoped.

washing your hands and kicking the dishwasher closed with your foot you downed the last mouthful of your coffee, abandoning the mug in the sink and making your way upstairs. hand on the doorknob of your shared bedroom you pushed it slowly open, wincing as the door itself squeaked loudly but thankfully it didn't appear to phase the soundly sleeping striker on the other side of the room.

padding over to the bed you squatted down lovingly moving a few strands of loose blonde hair away from the girls face, gently murmuring good morning and pressing a lingering kiss to her warm forehead. never having been a morning person your girlfriend stirred but promptly rolled away from you over to the other side of the bed with a grunt.

your smile widened and you let out a small chuckle having already anticipated that the girl would be quite hard to get out of bed this morning, all the stress from rumors of her potential transfer from united meant she'd spent the last couple of weeks getting very minimal sleep. 

alessia had instead spent hours and hours doom scrolling through what social media was saying about it all, only falling into a deeper spiral of anxiety and discomfort much as you tried to beg and plead with her to stop listening to the outside world.

the last couple of days had been particularly brutal. 

ella was asking alessia a lot of questions she didn't have answers to which was frustrating her best friend to no end, the girl having been very vocal about supporting alessia no matter what but wanting to know what her plan actually was. 

but without a confirmed plan forward alessia just felt the pressure increase at ellas questions, fear of the unknown only adding to the heavy load she was already carrying on her shoulders. 

but today it was your sole purpose to take some of that weight away for her, and give her at least one day of feeling as though she wasn't weighed down by the expectations of others, every move constantly watched and over analysed by millions of strangers.

"good morning gorgeous." you hummed softly, climbing onto the bed beside her. "it's time to get up." you whispered poking gently at the blonde who whined tiredly and flopped onto her back, covering her face with her arms.

"come on less, time to wake up baby." you moved to carefully straddle her, torso tucked securely under the duvet as your own body rested atop the covers, legs settling either side of her blanket covered hips. "no it's not." alessia grumbled with a huff, tensing her biceps as you attempted to remove her arms from her face.

"yes it is, now stop covering that gorgeous face." you eventually won, intertwining your fingers with hers and pinning her hands against the pillow, bright blue eyes slowly fluttering open below you. "well hi there." you smiled like a lovesick puppy, letting go of her and moving your hands either side of her face, sweetly pecking at her lips a few times.

"m'tired." alessia slurred still half asleep, blinking a few times and  stretching out underneath you with a quiet groan, hands coming to rest on your bare thighs as slender fingers traced absent minded shapes along your skin. 

"i know you are my love which is why coffee and breakfast are ready and waiting downstairs." you laid down on her a little more, peppering her face with kisses causing the strikers lips to curl up into a smile, cheeks flushed rosy pink and eyes still a little puffy from her half asleep state your heart soared, you couldn't have been any more infatuated with her if you tried.

"today is alessia day so you have to get up because i've got plans for us." you announced happily, alessia tilting her head at your words. "but its not my birthday?" she frowned a little in confusion, arms sneaking up the back of your jumper and short nails scratching gently at your back like she knew you loved as you swooned at the gentle tired rasp of her voice in the morning.

"no its not, but i know you've been under a tremendous amount of pressure lately and i want you to have one day where you don't have to think about any of it, so todays all about you." you promised her sincerely, smoothing out the stress lines on her forehead where she was frowning and stealing a kiss.

"oh baby." you melted as the blonde sniffled, a few stray tears rolling from her ocean blue eyes which you tenderly wiped away with your sleeve. "why are you crying?" you asked softly, raking your hands through her hair as the striker wordlessly shook her head. 

"i don't deserve you." she eventually managed to choke out, tanned arms moving to wrap around your smaller frame the girl sat up quickly and engulfed you into a tight hug, catching you a little off guard the blonde held onto you as if you could fly away at any sudden moment.

"don't be silly less you deserve nothing but the best and if i can even give you half of that i'm happy." you mumbled into her hair, your own arms snaking around her neck as the two of you sat there for a few peaceful moments, just wrapped up in one another's tender and loving embrace. 

"i wasn't kidding though there is breakfast waiting downstairs." you pulled away with a smile, alessia tugging you down into a proper kiss and mumbling a thank you against your lips. 

~

"may i please have my phone back just for a second to text tooney?" alessia asked hopefully, you having taken her phone for the day knowing that you wouldn't have a chance at getting your girlfriend to unwind and relax if she had access to her social medias.

"i already told tooney you'd be off the grid today and i love you so very much but i know you won't be able to resist the temptation to not go for a little look around about the contract drama on social media. so no, you may not." your words may have seemed harsh but you made sure your tone conveyed that they came from nothing but a place of care, alessia nodding along in understanding

"so what's next for alessia day then princess?" the striker smiled pulling herself up to sit on the counter next to you as you finished rinsing the dishes used for breakfast, having banned your girlfriend from helping as much as she'd fought you on it.

"face masks, do each others nails, pitch perfect one to three with your favourite snacks, massage, wash your hair for you, make pasta for dinner." you dried your hands and ticked off your remaining plans using your fingers, moving to stand in between the older girls legs. 

"have i told you how much i love you?" alessia beamed at your words, doing her very best to focus all of her love, attention and energy into being alone with you in the little safe haven you'd both created behind the walls of your shared flat.

"mmm not in the last five minutes no?" you smiled softly, pressing your body against hers as the taller girl crossed her legs tightly around you. "sorry bella were you waiting for something?" alessia teased as you looked to her expectantly awaiting those famous three words, your heart skipping a beat as it always did anytime she spoke to you in italian. which the blonde was completely aware of and had no issues using to her advantage any time she so pleased.

"suddenly alessia day is cancelled." you rolled your eyes and attempted to walk away as the girl was quick to slide off the counter, tugging your back into her front and nestling her face into your neck. 

"ti amo tantissimo, mia bella ragazza." alessia rasped quietly in your ear and smiled against your skin before repeatedly kissing your cheek, watching in delight as they blushed at her words. 

"my pretty pretty girl." she continued, spinning you around in her arms and ducking so her mouth met yours and you wrapped your arms around her neck, tugging gently on her hair as she balled your jumper in her fists, pulling you impossibly close and deepening the kiss with a satisfied hum.

eventually needing to come up for air the two of you pulled away, exchanging a few sweet pecks before you grabbed her hand, tugging her out of the kitchen and whisking her away to continue with your plans.

~

"like this?" you asked holding up a freshly folded piece of ravioli, alessias smile softening at the way your face was scrunched up in concentration, the tip of your tongue just poking out of the corner of your mouth. "yeah, that looks good." alessia complimented, you adding your one piece to her basically completed pile, humming with satisfaction at your efforts.

"now please sit down. you've been so sweet and thoughtful today let me at least cook you dinner amore mio." alessia placed a tender kiss to your lips before playfully shooing you away as you pulled yourself up to sit on the counter, not wanting to be far from her.

she began to speak to you and at first you were following along and contributing to the conversation but as she began to roll out the next batch of pasta you found yourself minimized to only half listened hums in response.

fixated on the way her biceps flexed and tensed as she kneaded at the dough, eyes falling to the veins lining her ring clad hands as they poked and stretched at the pasta, alessia expertly rolling and manipulating it as she needed.

quickly noting your lackluster responses your girlfriend glanced up to find your gaze trained to her forearms, an amused smile settling on her lips as she purposefully rolled up the sleeves of her top and pressed a little harder than normal, flexing her arms and watching with a smug smile as you let out a small content sigh.

rolling out the last of the dough, having already filled and molded most of it into perfect little raviolis the older girl grew bored of your wordless responses. so with a mischievous glint in her eyes the italian grabbed a handful of flour and before you even had a moment to think you were surrounded by a tornado of white, choking on the flecks that made their way into your mouth and frantically rubbing at your eyes.

your girlfriend almost fell to the floor in laughter as you coughed a few times and attempted to shake the loose flour off the top of your head. "alessia!" you managed to choke out in shock, jumping down from the counter and grabbing your own handful of flour, quick to smack it into her head as she was too busy laughing at your misfortune to defend herself.

from that moment on your kitchen became a war zone, the two of you chasing one another around taking turns to douse the other, melodious laughter's echoing around the empty flat as your footsteps pounded against the floor.

"okay truce! we still have to clean this up." alessia glanced around at the ever growing mess as you paused, hand full of flour raised and ready to strike as the taller girl held her hands up in surrender, letting out a small sigh of relief as you emptied your hand onto the counter rather than into her once freshly washed hair.

what she failed to notice was you quickly slip an egg she'd not needed into the pocket of your her nike shorts, attaching yourself to her and bringing the blonde into a sweet kiss, her defenses instantly lowering and leaving her right where you wanted her, blissfully unaware of what you had planned.

"i think you mean you still need to clean this up because you started it!" you pulled away with a shake of your head, feeling the strikers hands slowly slide downwards, eventually settling themselves on your bum. "isn't the rule 'one cooks, one cleans'?" the blonde asked with a cheeky smile, squeezing at your bum and stealing a kiss before you could tell her off.

"is it?" you asked with a put on confused frown, hand slipping into your pocket and tightly gripping the egg, arm darting out to smash it over your girlfriends head as she was mid sentence. the girl let out a squeal at the unexpected attack, large hands grabbing for you as you tried to make a hasty getaway, almost slipping in the egg now joining the flour all over your once spotless floor the striker was quick to catch you, pulling you easily back to your feet.

though she should have known better given her own clumsy nature as no sooner had she steadied you did she slip herself, hands still settled protectively on your waist she unintentionally pulled you down with her.

the two of you shared a look before bursting out into laughter, rolling around on the floor and clutching at your stomachs, gradually crawling toward one another as alessias hand grabbed at the collar of your jumper, tugging you into a searing kiss as she carefully maneuvered herself to hover over you.

caught up in the blissful sensation of her mouth on yours you paid her no mind as she was quick to pin your hands to the cold tiled floor under her knees, settling herself on top of you before pulling away. it wasn't until you looked up and saw the knowing smirk on the blondes face did you realise what her intent was, the taller girl easily stretching up and grabbing what she was after from the counter.

"don't you dare." you warned seriously, squirming underneath her attempting to free yourself but it was to no use as your girlfriend was easily the stronger of the two of you. "you seemed to think it was pretty amusing, no?" alessias smirk widened as she twirled the egg around between her fingers.

"less please come on, you started it!" you whined in protest, trying to crane your neck away from her as her free hand reached out to grab your jaw, firmly holding your head in place as your stomach flipped at the action. 

ignoring your pleas the striker gently tapped the egg on the floor before cracking it open on your forehead, watching with a grin as your glare up at her deepened and the yolk dripped down your face. 

"so we have flour, egg...what's missing?" alessia pretended to think, mockingly stroking at her chin as you spat up all sorts of colorful language and threats in her direction as she grabbed the half full cup of water from the counter and you bucked your hips up trying to throw her off of you.

pushing her body down she was quick to once again have you at her mercy, the striker teasingly tipping the cup toward you but stopping right before the water tipped over the edge. "russo if you want to enter tomorrow a single woman i dare you to tip that cup." you spoke scarily calm, stormy eyes locked with hers in a silent promise.

"you're the cutest little ravioli i ever did see." alessia smirked, putting the cup down and dipping her head, breath warm against your lips as you shook your head, eyes still slit into a glare. "get off me." you demanded firmly, the striker lifting her hips to sit back on her knees  and allowing you to wriggle your body out from underneath hers.

"clean this up and cook that, i'm going for a shower." you ordered as you carefully stood to your feet, crossing your arms and jutting your hip out to the side as the blondes smile only widened, sitting up on her knees and grabbing at you, hugging your lower half as her head rested on your stomach.

"has anyone ever told you that you're extra fit when you're mad?" the girls hands began to wander, fingers tugging gently at the waistband of your shorts. "just some annoying blonde one night stand i can't seem to get rid of." you quipped back, hands finding hers and moving them away.

"well she sounds like a nightmare." alessia tutted with a shake of her head, hands instead sliding up the bottom of your shorts, tracing lines on your inner thighs. "the worst. just so clingy and needy, some people can't take a hint i guess." you shrugged, beginnings of a smile ghosting at your lips as you ran your hands fondly through her flour filled hair.

"want me to get rid of her for you? sounds like she could be dangerous." the blonde offered, your breath hitching slightly as her hands moved even higher. 

"oh yeah she's a stage five clinger, some would say even borderline a stalker! lets herself into my home and walks around with no pants on, eats all my food, hogs the duvet, whinges when i'm on her side of the bed but has a cry when i don't cuddle her enough, forces me to go to all of her stupid football matches then forces me into these disgustingly sweaty hugs when she wins, god she is terribly clumsy and-" having enough of your teasing alessia tugged on your matching top and short sending you falling into her awaiting grip, laying down on the floor with you now on top of her, your mouths moving together in perfect sync.

"sounds like you should break up with her." alessia mumbled into the kiss with an amused smile. "i've tried six times she just keeps coming back, i think she's in denial." you muttered as you moved your lips to focus on her neck, knowing exactly where the girl needed you.

"best alessia day ever." the blonde almost moaned as you softly bit down on her pressure point, hands firmly gripping at your back holding you on top of her. "you know i think i've decided its an ick you keep referring to yourself in the third person, kind of a turn off." you sat up far too quickly for her liking, looking down at her with pity as she rolled her eyes at your continued teasing's.

"i love you." alessia dropped the act and spoke sincerely, eyes shining with nothing but adoration and borderline obsession with the girl sat on top of her. "i love you more." you smiled, bending to pepper her face with kisses before again affirming you both really needed to shower and clean up, both of you getting to your feet.

"good thing you've got that clingy blonde stalker, could she clean up for us?" "yeah you know what i think i'll keep her around for a little while longer."

~ translations; bella - beautiful ti amo tantissimo, mia bella ragazza - i love you so much my beautiful girl amore mio - my love

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Madness Route - Chapter 25

｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

"These are all the sins of William Rex that I have seen as a Fairy Tale Master."

"In addition----"

(....Okay, done!)

Since that night, when the case against Grimsley was solved,

I sat down to finish the last lines of my report, which I had spent several days writing.

(It's gotten a lot thicker)

I have an appointment later this evening to submit this report to Victor.

Today is the end of my time as Fairy Tale Master, the first day of the new month.

(...Mm? That sound----)

Suddenly, I hear a familiar sound from behind my door and I listened carefully.

Steady hard sole hitting the floor, gentle footsteps sound were approaching.

It is the only footsteps that makes my heart pound.

(On second thoughts)

A light knock on the door confirms my expectations and I can't help but smile.

Kate: "Come in, William."

When I rushed to the door to see him without waiting any longer, he raised his one eyebrow happily.

William: "Next time, if I want to surprise you, I'll have to be more quiet."

Kate: "Fufu, you right."

William's fingertips tickled my ears, as if he was praising me for remembering the sounds of his footsteps.

Looking down at me, who is laughing at the tickle, William tilted his head.

William: "Did you finish writing your report?"

Kate: "Yep. Just in time. Thankfully."

Pointing with my gaze at the bundle of papers on the desk.

William: "Ohh...That's quite a lot of papers, I see."

William: "Did I commit that many crimes in one month?"

William: "I heard you've painted a very wordy picture of my misdeeds."

William squints with satisfaction, as if to celebrate a joyous achievement,

I was so happy----

-----Options------

Bend my knees slightly and bow.

Puff out my chest exaggeratedly

Smile and nod.

--------

That I puff out my chest exaggeratedly.

Kate: "Yep. You're a brutal, atrocious and a deadly sinner."

William: "Fufu....I'm lucky to have such a good spokesperson in my life."

Kate: "Mmm...."

The lingering lips of a laugh lightly touch my cheek.

The kiss was soft and fragile, and my chest made a soft sound.

It only takes one kiss to make me soar and get hot to the tips of my ear.

It's evidence that this whole body knows it's 'good' to be loved by him.

William: "It's about time you met up with Brian."

Kate: "Eh?....Oh my gosh, really!?"

William: "You have an appointment with Brian Bennett....then Victor. You are very busy today, huh?"

William: "Don't fall down the rabbit hole in a hurry."

Kate: "I'll be very careful, because the most exciting appointment is waiting for me at the end of the day."

William: "Don't worry about it. Even I'm going to be a bit busy today. I have an urgent mission."

Kate: "Eh!?"

｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Kate: "Eh!?"

(Urgent mission...)

Kate: "Oh...so are you cancelling the dinner tonight....?'

William: "Of course not. You know I'm selfish, don't you?"

William: "I won't be so auspicious as to choose between the mission and a date with you."

William: "I'll have it done by the time you get back to the castle."

Kate: ".....Nn..Mm...."

William: "Mm?"

Kate: "....Hearing that makes me so happy that I want to kiss you."

William: "....I'm ready."

Kate: ".....But, I'm sure it won't end with just a kiss and then we both would be late for our respective appointments, so...."

William: "Hahaha!

-----The 'Mad Tea Party' house which had been temporarily closed due to the newspaper article that caused a public uproar, reopened its doors a few days ago.

When Mr. Brian heard rumors of the reopening he was quicker than anyone else to rush in.

The injured of the Tower of London were being escorted to the Royal Hospital by William's men.

Mr. Brian had slipped out of a special ward.

He was running around with a sore leg to get his words out to the public.

I don't know what conversation William and Mr. Brian had.

But I know that William would have laughed when he heard the story and said, 'That's very Brian.'

Somehow, I could imagine it.

Mr. Brian said he would like to talk to me in person.

Kate: "....Are you worried? About me meeting Mr. Brian."

While picking up my handbag, I cast a glance at him.

(Can't you at least be a little jealous or worried....?)

Even now that I know that William loves me.

I want to see the 'special things' he pours out, only for me.

It's an extraordinary sweet treat that only I get.

William: "Hmmm....."

With a serious expression on his face, William slid his hand down my cheek and lifted my chin.

Kate: "Nn....?"

William: "There is a good chance he'll make a pass at you...you are a charmer after all."

Kate: "Eh....Ah...."

(The reaction was somewhat different from what I expected...)

My face heats up with praise, shyly.

William: ".....Besides, he is your 'hero' and you are his 'biggest fan' too...."

His eyes squint and the tempo of my heartbeat changes.

Kate: ".....T-That's....right..."

William: "..........."

William: ".....Even taking all that into account, I'm not worried."

Kate: "Hm?"

William let me go with a snap and turned on his heel, smiling as usual.

William: "See you tonight."

Kate: "Ah! .....But....!"

Leaving me shrugging my shoulders, William gallantly disappears through the doors.

William sees through my special needs and plays with it.

The unfulfilled desires that have been left unchecked, simmer.

I know it's going to get thicker and deeper.

But I also want my favorite person to taste it.

(Even if we become partners, William will always stay the same....)

(Gentle, dangerous, free, selfish and enigmatic)

And I am in love with him every day.

｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Brian: "....! Miss Kate."

When I walked through the door of the cafe, the meeting spot, a fearless red-haired man stood up from his chair.

Kate: "Mr. Brian, it's been a while. How are your legs?"

Brian: "Look who's talking! Are you...okay?"

Kate: "I'm all better now. I was lucky that the wounds were shallow and did not reach my internal organs."

Brian: "I see....that's good....."

Mr. Brian collapsed and sat down in his chair.

(You've been really, really worried about me...for a long time, right?)

We sat down opposite each other and ordered a cake and a cup of tea.

Mr. Brian straightened his back and turned to me.

Brian: "....And if I hadn't been swayed by Grimsley to write that article, Count Rex's friends wouldn't have been arrested."

Brian: "You also wouldn't have to gotten....hurt like that. I'm really sorry...."

Kate: "Don't apologize. I know you were only following your heart!"

Kate: "Your articles are always....filled with a desire to reduce the number of people being hurt."

Kate: "The words you write are filled with your thoughts and feelings without any falsehoods."

Kate: "That's why people who read it, doubted William at first, and then when you wrote the new article.......the people are once again believing in his innocence."

Kate: "....It's because of that, that I became a fan of you."

Brian: ".....Nmm.."

Kate: "Besides, you've already apologized to the whole of London."

Brian: ".....Haha. I came here....prepared to be blamed, but I didn't expect....to be encouraged like this."

(Thank god, he finally laughed)

Kate: "I have no reason to blame you."

Brian: "....You've changed. I feel like I every time I look at you...."

Brian: "You look much better than how you were before...."

Waitress: "Excuse me. I brought you some chiboust and mille-feuille glace."

Brian: "! .....Ah."

Kate: "Thank you."

(Ah strawberries)

Mr. Brian asked for chiboust with bright red fruit on top.

My mouth loosened involuntarily at the sight of them, as I thought about William's smiling face saying 'It's my favorite.'

When I see the thing liked by my favorite person, that's all is enough to bring a smile to my face.

The strawberries on the cake looked like a treasure.

Brian: "...Do you like strawberries? Here, you can have mine if you like."

Kate: "Eh? Ah no no no!"

(Did I look like I wanted to eat it? How embarrassing....)

Kate: "I'm sorry, I was just...remembering William telling me how much he liked strawberries."

Brian: "....O-Oh.."

............

After a few casual conversations, we left the store.

Staring at the sallow-colored city, Mr. Brian muttered.

Brian: "I...thought I was doing the right thing and didn't even question it."

Brian: "The idea of carrying out justice for the masses....is an outrageous conceit."

Brian: "Count Rex must have real justice on his shoulders. I wonder if that's why you wanted to protect him."

Kate: "Real justice...?"

Mr. Brian's words made me realise that he had been grossly misled.

(Sensible, understanding...'well-behaved exemplary delivering person')

(I would never love an evil person unless I was crazy enough to do so)

(......Maybe 'I inside him' is also the same)

Kate: "Mr. Brian, that's not true."

Brian: "....? Then?"

Kate: "William is a bad person, and a greatly evil one."

Brian: ".....!"

Brian: "Hahaha....okay okay..."

Brian: "No wonder my persuasion didn't resonate with you."

Mr. Brian said this in a clear voice and laughed.

｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

The Crown Castle, sinking into the dusk is so beautiful that it leaves one speechless.

I returned to the Castle, admiring its grandeur

I wore my dress for the date, took my report and went to see Victor.

After receiving the report and looking it over carefully Victor looked up.

Victor: "Okay, the report. Hmm....this is.."

Victor: "The last page is missing."

Kate: ".....Yes. I left the last page like that because I'm not done yet."

Victor seemed to have understood what I'm trying to say.

His jewel-like eyes sparkled, looking straight at me.

Victor: "Then...can you say it in words for me? What do you want to do now, Kate?"

Kate: "...Yes."

I gently placed my hand on my heart and folded my knees slightly.

Kate: "I would like to remain in this Castle, as the fairy tale master."

Victor: ".....I've known for a long time now that you love William and want to be there to protect him."

Victor: "But....why do you wanna continue being a fairy tale master?"

Kate: "To conquer the evil with evil."

Evil will not be crushed. Sad scenes will not cease.

The world keeps on turning filled with so many unvoiced screams.

(So I want to write down William's evil)

(The more feel his sins.....the more I love him)

(I'm sure it will touch the hearts of those who reads it)

Kate: "If only I could write down William's penetrating evil as a potent, posthumous poison by my own hands...."

Kate: "I don't think I could be happier."

The last page that has not been submitted has already been spelled out.

"This is all the sins of William that I have seen as a fairy tale master."

"And with your presumption, Her Majesty the Queen, I hereby note my selfish wish."

"As he once said, there is nothing more sinful than killing people."

"Sin is always a sin. With that unshakable fact I write him down as a great sinner."

"But he who values liberty and condemns as evil to those who tramples on it, and judges him with self-righteousness."

"I love him with all my heart."

"I want so much to protect him from the punishment that will eventually come to him for the sins he commits."

"This wish, I meant after the punishment has been inflicted."

"If one day our sins are punished...we would like you to write down what happened to us..."

"Fairy tales end only when evil is judged."

"That this report will be completed with a sad conclusion, a spoonful of poison to admonish the wicked."

"From the bottom if my heart my prayers are with you."

------Before long, the sun drops beyond the horizon.

A creeping darkness envelops my body.

Victor: "Welcome, Kate."

The Grim Reaper smiled solemnly, his arms outstretched like the night darkness that covers the sky.

Victor: ".....Welcome to the darkness."

｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

A light melody can be heard from somewhere.

A light, joyful sound echoing in the dark night when there is no sound of the wind makes my heart skip a beat.

The sound of my own footsteps in the polished corridor mingles with the melody of the piano.

I feel as if I'm dancing.

(If life is a fairy tale, it's easy to be happy. Just don't do anything we aren't allowed to do.)

(Like, don't enter the forests you mustn't enter, doors you mustn't open, secrets you mustn't know-----)

----Don't fall in love.

Kate: "William."

The man who plays the piano so gracefully was just like the night we first met,

He slowly stood up and extended his hand to me.

William: "Come here, my robin."

My feet began to move towards him.

Because I already know the pleasure of being touched by those blood-coloured fingertips.

Kate: "....Did I bother you?"

William: "No. I was playing it to lure you out and it worked as intended.."

He pulled my hips gently as if we were waltzing.

The urges I'd been holding back before we went out, made me pull him closer to me.

Kate: "Mm...."

Before I could say anything, my lips were stolen.

William: "....Mm..fufu...."

Kate: "...What....?"

William: "No...if you wanted me to stay, you don't have to be reluctant."

William: "You asked me if we could do something passionate as soon as I get back...."

William: "....I don't have time to wait."

Kate: "Ah....."

When I heard that, I was so excited that my skin trembled.

Kate: ".....William...."

William: "Mm....?"

Kate: "If you do this....we will be...late for dinner...."

My voice fades slightly at the end, clearly filled with the joy of being touched.

William lets out a throaty chuckle, as if he was amused.

William: "....You're a naughty girl."

William: "You're tyring to make me a bad guy by provoking me like that----"

Kate: "....Ah...."

His sweet whispers invite my true feelings.

The warmth of his palm, his breathing, the scent of roses that surrounds his whole body.

Everything he gives me absorbs into my body.

It stirs up and exposes the tender parts deep within.

Like a deadly poison.

(....More)

(I want to touch you more)

(I want to feel you more)

No matter how 'wrong' it is----

------Because it's a 'good thing' for me.

William: "Come...let go of everything and fall with me."

Kate: "....Yes, William."

Kate: "I'll go anywhere with you..."

William: "....That's my robin."

From the back alleys dripping with rain, from the surface of the deep dark water from the steamy station.

I feel like someone or something is calling me....

As if singing, with a graceful melody.

I will no longer defy the voice that calls me.

The voice of this heart, whispering----

Be free to sing for you and your love.

Madness route - Epilogue

[ardate]

Your top 3 songs of this year?

Those are always so difficult but, nonetheless. Here's three songs I discovered this year that throttled me (/pos). We're going crescendo, starting off strong and ending with my most favoritest of this year.

Greta Van Fleet - Stardust Chords A friend has bestowed upon me the grand gift of the discovery of Greta Van Fleet via their album The Battle at Garden's Gate. It is, undoubtedly, an album that works extremely well as a unit, and its power is such that it convinced even my friends who aren't into listening to full albums that this one was worth the trouble. Musically, there is a lot of inspirations from classic rock of the 70s, obvious to those well acquainted with that genre, but of course much modernized to end up with an incredibly clean and refined sonority in the end that truly elevates it to new heights. Stardust Chords is for me one of the brightest highlights of this incredible piece of art, with those soaring vocals that grip your bones and send you ascending with them. -

Këkht Aräkh - Wanderer Is there any surprise? The ukrainian songwriter shook everyone with his sudden inclusion of rap-like diction and rhythm within his new song, clearly apparent in his music video that mixes classic rap moves within traditional BM aesthetic - and all of it, song and video, enshrined within his usual romantic melancholy as he sings about love and loneliness, as always. And it is masterful, and deeply moving. -

Les Chants de Nihil - Clarté de la Pluie Of course, I already rambled about this one in past posts: this is my absolute favourite discovery of this year. I had explored their discography in the past ('Là où nous étions les rois' being my fav song of theirs for a bunch of years now), but somehow had never taken the time to check out that particular album, and. What a punch in the chest. This album (namely, La Liberté Guidant le Fer) is a unique masterpiece that works at its best as a Whole, but still, I cherrypick this specific song because it carries itself strongly on its own. It sweeps you into the wet streets of an unknown city, under pouring rain - and as the singer, overtaken with old age, screams about his upcoming end and his willingness to meet it in peace, you're left with your heart bleeding through your chest.

BONUS (More like I originally wrote this one for the first of the list and then remembered about Greta Van Fleet but didn't want to delete all my good writing talking about this cool band so i'm giving it to you here):

Hypno5e - Acid Mist Tomorrow Discovered this band in february of this year with the release of their newest album, Sheol, but if I had to share one song it'd be this one - Acid Mist Tomorrow, introduction to the album of the same name from 2011. It's also an excellent introduction to the band as a whole, I believe, because of its concentration of their signature sounds - the sudden, brutal, heavy metal phases, intercut with soft and tender light guitar adorned with voice samples, only for it to start and stop and start again, like a pulsating energy. If you're not shy in the face of experimental sounds, you might appreciate Hypno5e's grandiose and complex artistry.

[pearblossommina]

ToG Read-a-Long, Queen of Shadows, day 12

Ch77

magical hand holding GOD THIS IS LIKE AN INTENSE ANIME SAILOR MOON MOMENT

you two!!!! You are so powerful and full of friendship!!!!!

“Rowan shifted, his leg flashing in agony as he exchanged his limbs for wings and talons. He loosed a cry, shrill and raging. A white-tailed hawk soared out of the small opening, past Aedion.”

Y’know, I just realized. Now that magic is back, Aedion probably has another form, too!

I want someone to bite him on the neck and teach him how to shift

What form will he take! He was already deemed a “wolf” but since daddy is a mountain cat, perhaps he’ll be a cat, too?

Ch78

Um ok

That’s a TWIST

So do I believe it, or is this a cunning last-ditch effort to try and get mercy from the good guys?

I gave a hard time believing that the All-Powerful Dark Lord would be satisfied instilling a minion as the King of Adarlan just to be a Duke but

Duke Perrington IS a pretty despicable person so, maybe this is true?

How odd, how very odd.

I say let’s kill him anyway to be safe

“Chaol is alive,” the king murmured through his emaciated hands

(HAHA YEAH HELL YEAH)

(you can’t kill him he’s filled with the spirit of pure, totally platonic love)

(DORIAN)

(GO GET YOUR MAN)

(THE TIME HAS COME)(THE TIME TO HUG AND KISS)

Ch79

“The scent of pine and snow hit her, and she realized how they had survived the fall.” Rowan saved them! And Dorian and Chaol are together again!

LOVE

This is so utterly amazing ahhh my heart

I love this

Can we all please hug and kiss now! And roll around in the grass, and feel joy and laughter and friendship!

Please!

"If you loot, if you riot, if you cause one lick of trouble," she said, looking a few in the eye, "I will find you, and I will burn you to ash." She lifted a hand, and flames danced at her fingertips. "If you revolt against your new king, if you try to take his castle, then this wall"-she gestured with her burning hand-"will turn to molten glass and flood your streets, your homes, your throats."

Chill out, queen!

They just lost one tyrant, lol, no need to come at them with such ferocity, RELAX

“She was barely inside the oak doors before she collapsed to her knees and wept.”

Baby

Please don’t cry

I love you! Everyone loves you!

Look what you’ve DONE today. Look at all that you’ve achieved. It was a miracle, YOU are a miracle, and now!

Now!

You need to rest; so you will be ready for the shower of love and joy that’s coming your way.

Ch80

(SJM: do you feel a growing spark of hope in your heart?

Me: Yeah! Yeah, I finally do! Thank you!

SJM: *writes about Elide in eminent danger*

Me: why?)

YEAH that’s it MANON go save your GIRL

(My whole heart) (I am shipping them so hard)

(I know I’m fucking insane but in this moment it feels real)

Ch81

“And Manon’s golden eyes glowed as if they were living embers as she looked at the two guards gripping Elide. As she beheld the disheveled robe.”

I AM SO LOVE WITH MANON

GOD

SHE’S SO HOT

THE WAY SHE CAME FOR HER

THE WAY SHE BRUTALLY KILLED THOSE MEN

MANON

YOU ARE MY LESBIAN FANTASY, PLEASE

PLEASE

THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER

Ch82

Omg Kaltain. 😭

Baby!

Baby, no!

I have hated watching you suffer. I have hated every minute of it. I love you for being willing to sacrifice yourself, but you don’t deserve to end your story here. I just want to feel happiness, oh honey. I want you to come with them!

“Kaltain unleashed the last of her shadowfire, tipping her face to the ceiling, toward a sky she’d never see again.”

😭😭😭

SHE JUST WANTED TO SEE THE SKY

Ow

my heart

That was incredibly satisfying to read lol

I’m so glad most of the characters are still alive and everyone’s THEMSELVES again. I couldn’t ask for anything else.

(Except maybe Kaltain to go on living)(and become best friends with Aelin and match her, flame for flame, and maybe they could paint each others nails and gossip about boys)(and everything would finally calm down and everyone could just be happy)

[gateskp]

the one you love

You close my eyes and it's like you can feel them sitting right there, beside you. Their body heat radiate offs them, making the hairs on your arm stand up; their cologne washes over the empty couch cushion between you as you chat. Their voice is soft but not without passion as they oblige your curiosity, telling you in painstaking detail about their weekend plans.

The ritual is the same every week: the clock strikes 7, the phone rings, and you talk, sometimes for hours on end. You talk about everything, from the weather to your day jobs to your families. They started the ritual, years ago, and it's held strong through vacations and conferences and one very awkward admission of unrequited love.

These weekly chats have become a lifeline of sorts, something you look forward to and schedule around. Nothing is more important than this time you set aside for each other. Even after the worst day, when you're exhausted and ready to curl up in a dark corner and disappear from the world, you take their call. You need this call. Because these weekly chats make you feel connected to another human being in a way you didn't know was possible, they bring you a reprieve from your darkest thoughts, sense of calm brought on from finally allowing yourself to be you.

They will never judge, and they will never be cruel. They listen. Whether you're describing new drama unfolding online or venting about something they know nothing about, they listen. You can have deep conversations without fear of reprisal, only promises of thoughtful inquiry and discussion. You're brutally honest with each other, communicating when a line has been crossed. You speak the same language, occasionally finishing each other's sentences and thoughts, and you tease playfully, never harmfully.

You love when they're excited about something, you hear it in their voice and their enthusiasm is contagious. You love when they trust you with something, when they bring you into their world even though you don't know anything about it. You would move heaven and earth to make sure they're happy and fulfilled because they're worth it. Seeing them happy makes your heart soar, it makes you grateful to still be here, alive in this time, with this person who means so much to you. They are a light in your world, the bond between you a potent reminder that it's going to be okay.

With them...you're safe. They know how people have hurt you in the past, they know the struggles you've dealt with, they know about the monster you see in the mirror most days. And instead of running away screaming or disappearing or worse, using that knowledge against you, they're still here.

I'm still here. Those were their exact words.

Those words, etched into your memory forever. There is no way you could ever forget them, spoken with such sincerity and conviction. In that moment, when they said those fateful words, you knew it was true. You made a self-deprecating joke, as you always do, telling them that you were still there too, and if they wanted to get rid of you, they just had to walk away. But they didn't laugh. Instead they said it again, they're still here...and they're not going anywhere.

And it's true. In your moments of need, they're there. The night where you pleaded them to tell you something good that happened to them and they called you in response, worried. The afternoon when you had a panic attack and they helped talk you off the ledge. The last day you saw them and started sobbing, knowing this was the last time you were going to see them for a long while, and they just held you until you were ready to say goodbye.

When it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, they'll offset enough of it that you can breathe again.

They are the one you love. They will always be the one you love.

[sunlaire]

I finished the 365k fix and I'm dead inside

[matwith1t]

A/N: A part two!! As much as I love angst…I couldn’t leave the first part like that 🥴 You don’t have to read the first part to understand this fic, but you’ll definitely catch some little call backs!! If you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it all!! I hope you’re all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening !

Summary: Nearly a year since the break up with Mat, your life slowly started to revert back to life before him. But all of that progress goes away when you keep crossing paths.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking // WC: 15K // Angst & Fluff

With the sun shining down, and no clouds in the sky to cover up its hard rays, it felt a bit warmer than the usual October day in New York. It was neither an excruciating humid day like the summers, nor a brutally frigid winter day. It just felt…average. But something in the air made the average day feel abnormal.

Maybe forgetting to set your alarm, and rushing to get ready, had something to do with why you felt on edge. Or maybe it had something to do with finding a crinkled polaroid picture of you and Mat––him laughing and you looking up at him––that you found in your sock drawer last night.

Maybe it was the picture.

But you definitely knew your sour mood could be traced back to this morning––seven minutes ago to be exact––when you ordered a coffee and the barista informed you that they were out of an ingredient for the drink you wanted.

“It’s not that bad,” your friend, Kennady, came up to stand beside you after she finished ordering her drink, “Worse things could happen.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you crossed your arms over your chest, “I know…”

And you knew things could be worse. There had been days in the past ten months that were definitely worse than a coffee shop being out of an ingredient to send you into a spiral. But this minute detail in the beginning of your day felt too mundane compared to everything you had felt in the past. And for some reason, it bothered you more than it should have.

Was it a sign that you were getting over him?

With a quiet laugh to yourself and a slight shake of your head at that thought, you quickly buried the idea. Not a chance, you thought to yourself.

When a barista called out your name for your americano, you politely excused yourself around other customers until you got to the counter. With a tight smile, and a small thanks, you picked up your coffee and went over to a little station where you could fix the drink to your liking.

You were in the middle of opening a sugar packet when you heard someone questionably call out your name.

It was an accent you hadn’t heard in quite sometime…A friendly French-Canadian accent that always reassured you of Mat’s feelings whenever he wasn’t in the room. After all, it’s what any best friend would do.

Not expecting to run into anyone during your little outing, your hand jerked back in surprise––sugar flying out of the packet––as you spun around in shock.

“Oh, I––Wow, Tito––I’m so sorry,” you tried to laugh, tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you met his blue eyes, but you hadn’t seen him––or a picture of him––since you unfollowed him on every social media platform you had him on.

Like every time you found yourself in his presence, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, really,” he brushed off the sugar from his sweatshirt, “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

You shook your head and waved him off, a ball of anxiety slowly brewing in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew if Tito was here, then Mat would be too. The two of them always traveled in a pair; you learned that they were a package deal early on in your relationship. And you could pray all you wanted that Tito was on a solo coffee run, but by his freshly showered look and Islanders athletic wear…You knew he had just come from a practice.

“It’s okay,” you closed the lid on your americano, forgetting all about adding sugar or creamer in it, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been good,” He smiled, eyes glancing down to your foot tapping against the hardwood floor, “Yeah, just busy playing a lot of…Hockey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he thought hockey might still be a sore spot for you.

And in a way, it was.

Tito cleared his throat, “And you?” He politely turned the question to you, “How…How’s the job?”

Relieved he didn’t ask you how you’ve been, you smiled softly, “It’s really great, I’ve had a lot more time to concentrate on it.” You looked over his shoulder to see if you could see Mat anywhere in the coffee shop, “I’ve been given more responsibilities.”

“That’s great to hear,” Tito sounded genuine, “I don’t want to hold you up, but it was really great to see you.”

Tito had always been very emotionally intelligent with identifying others feelings, and you had no doubt he picked up on your uneasiness.

You offered him a smile, “It was good to see––“

“Did you grab my coffee?”

The smile dropped from your face and instead of feeling the anxiety in your stomach churn, you felt nauseous.

Tito looked at Mat with the same hung open mouth and wide eyes that you had. Mat came up next to him so nonchalantly––so casually––as if he didn’t know he was in front of the person whose heart he knowingly wrecked nearly a year ago.

Still unable to form a sentence, Tito’s eyes briefly glanced over at you, standing frozen, “Yeah I––yeah.”

As if Mat sensed some tension in the air, he followed Tito’s vision. He had to do a double take, seemingly not trusting his vision that you were right in front of him. And in an instant, just like you and Tito, his eyes slightly widened and his mouth hung open. You knew that he was thinking the same thing as you…that you had gone nearly ten months of living in the same city and had not run into each other once.

But now that streak was broken.

Your breathing stopped as you looked at him for the first time since that unfortunate day in December where the air felt a little colder than the rest of the month.

As usual during the season, he was clean shaven, but you saw a few small pimples littered on his chin. He looked more tired than usual, but had a slight glow to his skin from a recent shower. The ends of his hair flicked out under his baseball hat, just above his ear. You always used to tell him how cute those flecks of hair looked as he tried to push them behind his ear.

But the one thing that made your heart shatter was the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was the navy blue Islanders sweatshirt from a few seasons ago that you had found stuffed away in the back of your closet last year.

The one you broke down into as your mother held you.

The one that Kennady took away when she saw that you still held on to it after you said you’d donate it. It caused quite the argument between the two of you…You wanted to keep the sweatshirt because––while it was delusional for you to think––maybe Mat would notice it was missing, then he would reach out, and you would talk again. Kennady didn’t think that was very healthy and said she would pass it along to Tito.

And pass it along she had.

With a shaky breath, and one last look at the man who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you spun around with your coffee and walked away.

You had only gotten a few steps away when you felt a burning hand catch onto your elbow, “Y/N…”

His hand hadn’t left your elbow, and you stood stiff in the middle of the coffee shop,“I have somewhere to be,” you said to him without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

His voice was barely audible––a plea––a whisper that should’ve easily been lost in the chaos of the coffee shop, but whenever he was around, all you did was solely pay attention to him.

You gulped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not here,” he was quick to follow up, knowing he shouldn’t be this lucky to get this much time with you, “I just––I want––How’re you?”

With an irritated sigh through your nostrils, and clenched jaw, you spun around to face him. Half of you melted at his wide and pleading eyes, a mix of uncertainty and care, but the other half of you wanted to leave him standing alone without an answer; much like he did with you when he broke your heart.

“Do you need something?”

He looked taken aback by your bluntness, “I…” Nervously, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “I scored a hat trick last week.”

You despised the way your heart fluttered with pride at his accomplishment.

Instead of focusing on the unconventional feeling of your heart soaring with pride, but simultaneously feeling crushed in his presence, you tried your best to respond with a monotone voice.

“So, a start to a good season?”

Again, he looked confused at your short phrases and general disinterest in what he had to say, “We…Yeah, looks like a good season. Last season was good too..” His eyes briefly left yours to look at your slightly shaking hand that was holding the coffee cup, “Did you…Have you caught any games?”

“I don’t watch hockey anymore.”

Unlike his sentences that wavered with doubt, your sentences were sharp and unremorseful.

But you knew your stoic demeanor came closer to breaking with every second you stood in front of him. It had been ten months since the break up, you should be fine, you kept telling yourself. But seeing him and not being able to mutter an inside joke under your breath and hear him gently laugh, not being able to reach across the inches between you two and give his hand a squeeze, and not being able to muster up the smallest of smiles in front of the one person who could coax a smile out of you with just their presence…You felt the exhaustion catch up to you.

And like everyone else who asked if you watched any hockey lately, he looked stunned at your answer. Because when you were together, you never missed a game. While you weren’t always physically at a game; you either kept up with it by following social media updates, watching it on television, or listening to the radio broadcasts of the game while walking to the subway or in a cab.

“You…You don’t watch hockey?”

You could’ve given him the long answer. How you unfollowed everyone and everything related to Islanders hockey, blocked every variation of the Islanders team name from social media to keep any news from popping up, muted his name on Twitter, deleted the NHL app, and if you were at a restaurant with friends and a television had a hockey game on, you always requested to sit at the furthest table away from the game.

Instead, you shook your head, “No.”

The longer you stood in front of him, the more you felt your composure slip. You didn't like feeling out of control of a situation, and standing so close to him only reminded you of what you didn’t have anymore.

“I have to go.”

But again, he took a step forward and tried to stop you from leaving, “Please, can we just––”

If only he had fought this hard ten months ago to keep your relationship alive; you wouldn’t be running away and he wouldn’t be begging for a basic conversation.

You could feel the tears well up behind your eyes and the familiar sting as you shrugged off his touch, “Mat, I really can’t do this right now––”

“It doesn’t have to be now––”

“Mathew,” Kennady’s harsh voice ripped through Mat’s desperate one.

His arm fell to his side, accepting defeat, as he kept his pleading eyes on your frame, “Ken, hey––”

“We’re late for something,” she took the shaking coffee cup from your hand and looped an arm around your bicep, “We’re leaving.”

And with her direct tone, and guidance of turning you around to exit the coffee shop, she kept a strong hold on your arm for support. Your breathing became more irregular, because out of all the coffee shops in the area, how did you manage to run into him. Maybe you were meant to run into him…Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you that maybe you should talk to him.

“Don’t turn around,” Kennady whispered in your ear as you came up to the door, “I know you want to, but don’t.”

The first tear fell when she opened the door and you so badly wanted to get one last look at him. One more look at the one person you would still love no matter how much time passed. The second tear fell when you were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk, as Kennady whispered encouraging words. The third tear fell when the two of you made it to a park and sat down on a bench.

She handed your coffee back to you, “You did great,” and gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “So great.”

You tried to take a sip of coffee, but your hand shook too much. You tried to swallow down the scratchiness at the back of your throat, but it only came back stronger, “Why…” Another single tear fell as your voice cracked, “Why wouldn’t you let me turn around?”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Because I know how much you still love him.”

A small pathetic laugh escaped your lips at her honest answer, and you tried your best to mirror her smile, but it was as everything had just caught up to you. You had felt his comforting touch on you again. Heard his soothing voice again. You were with him again.

With how persistent he was to talk with you, it felt like he wanted to be with you.

The tears welling up in your eyes caused your eyebrows to pull together as you cupped a hand to your mouth and over your nose. Slowly, you leaned your head onto Kennady’s shoulder as she placed a comforting arm around your shoulders that shook slightly.

––––

The next time you saw Mat was another coincidence.

You were in the living room of a house in Garden City, softly chatting with friends in the corner, when a sudden roar of cheers from the front of the house interrupted your conversation. You and your friends laughed it off as more drunk antics of other guests, but then you heard his name.

“The person who absolutely crushed tonight’s game and that we’re forever grateful is an Islander; Mat Barzal!”

More cheers of agreement.

The plastic of the red solo cup in your hand easily cracked under your grip.

Deep breath in, he won’t come into this room…Deep breath out, who does he even know here…Deep breath in, did he come alone…Deep breath out, or was he here with teammates since it was after a game…Deep breath in––Oh my God, Tito just walked in.

He caught your eye immediately, and just like at the coffee shop, his eyes widened along with yours. But unlike the coffee shop, he didn’t come over to greet you. Instead, he offered you a slight nod of his head and turned around on his heel. Vaguely, you heard him speak over the music and talk of the party, but all your ears could pick up was ‘let’s go to the kitchen…’

A sigh of relief passed through your lips as you felt your shoulders relax. The small group you had been part of for the better portion of the night all gave you knowing looks, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m alright,” You took a sip of your drink. None of them looked convinced, Kennady specifically, but you stifled out a laugh before you took another, much longer, sip of your drink, “Really! I’m alright. It’s been over a year…” You gulped and locked eyes with Kennady, “I’m alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but restarted the previous conversation, diverting the attention away from you.

It was January, three months since you saw Mat at the coffee shop, and you were fine. At least you thought you were capable of not breaking down in front of him. While you still were without much––if any––closure after your relationship ended, seeing him at the coffee shop felt like turning a page. Not necessarily a whole chapter, but just enough to start feeling a little better.

You both lived around the same area and still had a few mutual friends. To think you would never see him ever again would be foolish, so you had to make the best of this situation. Although, part of you hoped not to run into him ever again.

There had been times where you overhead a ‘Barzy’ or a ‘Beau,’ an Islanders chant, or someone complimenting Mat on his goals of the game. But for the most part, it felt as if he wasn’t there. You enjoyed the rest of the night, but a few hours later, his laugh caught your ear and you saw him tilt his head back from your peripheral vision.

You hadn’t even realized he was in the same room.

Progress, you smiled into your red solo cup as you went to take a drink, small steps of progress.

But your tiny smile disappeared when you saw you were all out of alcohol. With a frown, you quietly excused yourself from your group and walked into the kitchen. You waved at people you recognized, and felt great up until this point of the night. With every genuine smile you offered a friend, they returned it with a sympathetic smile, assuming you were overcompensating happiness by being in the same place with your ex-boyfriend.

And in turn, it caused doubts to float through your mind.

Were you really feeling alright being so close in proximity to him? Were you really starting to feel the process of mending your broken heart, or were you lying to yourself? Would you break down if he were to cross paths with him?

Repeating your breathing exercise from earlier, you calmed yourself down as you weaved through more people to get to the kitchen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have the same drink, or something different, so you stood still for a few moments debating in your head. You were far from coming to a decision, but when you heard a familiar voice say your name, you quickly came to a decision that you needed to be sober.

You spun around and came face to face with Mat.

Unlike the athletic wear you saw him in the last time, he was currently dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed up, and a small wisp of hair rested against the side of his forehead.

You felt your heart erratically beat against your ribcage as you stood in front of him. He looked as if he didn’t expect you to turn around for him, and the two of you stood in silence. His brain failed at forming a thought, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“You got a haircut.”

Mat’s cheeks went red as he ducked his chin into his chest, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah,” he looked up at you with the faintest of smiles, “I did.”

Silence.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh…What’re you drinking?”

Snapping back to reality, and to why you were in the kitchen in the first place, you blinked your eyes a few times, “Water.”

“There’s some––I can, here,” Mat stumbled over his feet, like he did with his words, as he walked past you and to the fridge. You followed him toward the fridge, and watched him lean forward to grab a water from the back. You only had a few seconds to admire his side profile before he stood up straight and uncapped the water bottle for you.

“Thanks,” you uneasily said as you took the water from him, making sure you didn’t brush your fingers against his.

Mat took a deep breath, looked away from you, and ran a hand through his hair. You could now hear your heartbeat in your ears, knowing exactly what he was about to ask.

“Can we talk?”

This was exactly why you wanted water.

You took a long sip of water, and watched as Mat anxiously fiddled with his fingers. You brought the bottle away from your lips and offered him a tight lipped smile, “Not now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more; like he wanted to push you to your limits in order to get any type of reaction from you, but he knew that you wouldn’t play into that, especially in public. So he took your words as a cliffhanger––not an outright no––that you would revisit the topic of conversation he wanted to discuss.

But in actuality, you planned to dodge the conversation if he ever brought it up again.

Mat stuffed his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, still not knowing how to direct the conversation, even though he was the one who approached you.

As you stood in silence with Mat, little by little, you began to overthink.

It was in a kitchen where you and Mat had first met. You were at a different mutual friend’s house, but it was eerily similar to how you met the first time…talking over drinks. Except this time, there was so much history between the two of you that it was hard to find some common ground to talk about without feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

The first time you met him, you had only heard his name in passing from occasionally tuning into Islanders games or hearing your friends talk about their friend Mat. The conversation flowed easily, laughter was present nearly every minute the two of you talked, and he slowly moved toward you thinking you didn’t notice him trying.

But you noticed everything.

Like now; you noticed there was no conversation, no laughter present, and how Mat leaned slightly away from you. There were too many memories that couldn’t be forgotten. Too many nights where the two of you were at a friends house like this, but would ride home together with fingers intertwined, instead of leaving separately which would happen tonight. Too many nights where there was an extra set of clothes on his bedroom floor that looked like they belonged.

Too many feelings involved.

You wanted to believe that you were strong enough not to break down in front of him again. You wanted to think that you were alright; wanted to think that you weren’t moments away from shutting down and having your heart wrecked all over again. But you didn’t want to leave his presence just yet. You weren’t at your tipping point yet.

“You had a game tonight?”

Mat nodded his head rapidly, taking in any interaction and conversation he could get with you. He seemed to also not want to leave your presence just yet.

“It was a good game,” he easily smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, “Stop being modest,” if you were closer to him, and felt more comfortable, you would’ve shoved his shoulder, “People were cheering your name when you arrived.”

His eyebrows rose with excitement, “You heard all of that?”

“Now tell me how you really played,” you tilted your head back slightly to take a sip of water.

There was a smile toying on your face, but the grin on Mat’s face stretched from ear to ear, “Really fucking good,” he let out a breathy laugh, “I scored twice, had some really nice plays, a couple of assists…” his eyes held a certain gleam to them whenever he talked about hockey, something you never saw even when he talked about you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled, “That’s amazing. Only one short of another hat trick.” Both of you let out a small laugh at the attempt of your joke. There was more silence, and you could tell you were about to hit your tipping point soon, no matter how many times you scolded yourself not to cry, but you spoke up.

“If you keep playing this well I might have to watch a game.”

The way his face lit up was different than anything you had seen before, even with what you saw just seconds ago when he was talking about hockey. There was a difference in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrows arched in an excited way, his smile showcased all of his teeth, and there was a different spark in his eyes.

“Yeah that’s––You should,” he cleared his throat, but still had a grin on his face, “If you watch you’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll do that––”

“Barzal!”

Both of your attentions were pulled away by the shout of his name. And when you saw that the person who called out his name held up a ping pong ball, and Mat turned his head to look at you with a small smile––one similar to the night you first met, but a little less devilish––you knew that this was your tipping point.

While it would be fun to pretend like you barely knew Mat, partner up with him for beer pong, and relive the moment how your relationship first started…It was too much.

You smiled apologetically, clenching your jaw tight to keep your chin from wobbling, “My sister texted saying she needs a little motivational talk.”

He hid his disappointment well, but you saw that spark in his eyes fade away when he nodded his head in understanding. But he still held a small smile on his face for you, “You were always the best at those.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself with words as memories of you motivating Mat before a game or cheering him up after a hard loss came flooding into your mind. You silently sniffled and picked your water up, “I’ll see you later, Mat.”

“Yeah…” he sounded like he was in a daydream, “See you later.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor and texted Kennady asking if she could meet you out back, as you weaved through people. This time as you made your way through the crowd, you didn’t smile at anyone.

The first tear fell when you heard someone cheer Mat on by saying he should play basketball instead of hockey. The single tear slowly slid down your cheek as you heard his laughter echo around the house. The second tear fell as you replayed the similarities of the night you first met in your head compared to tonight. Everything almost lined up the same way, everything almost felt like that night.

Except this night…there were less smiles, more silences, and instead of your heart fluttering with butterflies because a boy you thought was cute talked to you at a party, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach like a broken elevator.

Your phone buzzed when your hand reached out to open the back door; Kennady saying she was making her way to you.

And the third tear fell when you turned your head to look back at Mat one last time.

You should’ve known he was already looking at you.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern, head slightly tilted to the side, as he looked straight at you and mouthed “are you okay?” Sometimes you forgot that he knew you just as well as you knew him. And this moment made it clear to you that he didn’t believe the lie you told to get out of being his beer pong partner.

Your chin wobbled as you tried your best to smile––which you were sure looked more like a grimace––and you mouthed back, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t wait for him to either repeat his question or ditch the game to comfort you. And in a matter of seconds, you were out the door, the cold January air prickled your scorching hot skin, as you saw Kennady already waiting outside.

She looked up from her phone, and when she saw the deep frown on your face and silent tears falling down your cheeks, her shoulders dropped as she opened her arms. Hastily, you made a few long strides over to her and collapsed in her arms. She held you tightly as one hand trailed her finger tips up and down your spine to sooth your quiet cries.

“I––I still love him,” you hiccuped.

“I know.”

––––

January passed slowly as ever, and you didn’t see Mat for the rest of the month.

You tried to watch an Islanders game, but when the camera panned to Mat, and the announcers praised him for how amazing of a season he was having, you shut it off. You had a plan to watch the game, send him a text after, and then maybe it would lead into a conversation…but it was too soon for you. Even after over a year of not seeing him play, it was too soon.

So you tried again in the first week of February. It was an away game, and while Mat rarely ever showed it, you knew from previous experience that he was always more nervous playing those than a home game. And to hold yourself accountable to actually watch the game, you texted Mat a few hours before puck drop.

He never claimed to have any superstitions about looking at his phone before a game, but you knew he always kept it away to lessen distractions. So, after composing a few different variations of a message, you sent a small good luck tonight!! And then set your phone face down on the coffee table.

Your heart was beating more than it should have for just sending a simple text. You felt bile churning in your stomach as you buried your face into your clammy hands. It’s a text message, you scolded yourself, no need to overthink everything. But overthinking was what you did best.  

Maybe you shouldn’t have used two exclamation marks. Maybe you should’ve said your name in case he deleted your number. Maybe you shouldn’t have prematurely sent a text message, because what if you couldn’t make it through a whole game? What if your text messed up his pre-game ritual? What if he lied when he told you he wanted to know if you watched a game?

What if he changed his number and didn’t tell you?

But your phone vibrated against the coffee table, snapping you out from your inner-turmoil. And with a deep breath, you flipped it over and saw his contact name: Mathew Barzal.

And from his message, you knew that he knew it was you; Are you watching tonight?!

A small laugh escaped your lips as you sent back a simple, yeah!

Stop using exclamation marks, you scolded yourself.

But before you could overthink the one word you sent him, he responded instantly: Guess I’ll have to step up my game.

You bit your bottom lip to conceal your smile as you typed a message back to him. And for the next half hour, the two of you messaged back and forth about your days, Mat expressed his nervousness, you sent him a little motivational message, and then he said he had to go put his uniform on for warm ups.

There was still some time before puck drop, so you tried your best to busy yourself with tasks. You cleaned the kitchen, made a grocery list, and reorganized the books on your bookshelf. But no matter what you did, your thoughts circled back to Mat. And this time, you didn’t try to block them out, because you came to peace that he would always linger in the back of your mind.

He was there when you put away a mug––one that never rested evenly on a flat surface, due to a chip on the bottom, caused by Mat accidentally dropping it when hot water spilled over the top and burned his hand. There when you made the grocery list––because he would always leave it behind when you two would go to the store together. And there on your bookshelf––when you moved the hockey book he got you for your birthday.

His presence would always be tangled with yours, like a stubborn knot in a necklace that was impossible to disentangle.

You busied yourself by making tea, using the chipped mug, and turned on the game. The players were in their starting positions, and you saw Mat at the face off. Holding your breath, you said a little prayer, because you knew how nervous Mat got during a face off. He always said that he would turn the nerves into excitement to give him adrenaline, but you knew there was a tiny white lie in that.

But you watched the game, with your cup of tea to try and lessen the anxiety you felt, but it was of no use. While Mat was playing a fantastic game; you still cringed when he got smashed into the boards too rough, bounced your leg whenever he had the puck and an opposing defenseman came up on him, and shut one eye when he brought his stick back to shoot a goal.

Sixty minutes of hockey went by excruciatingly slow, but it was worth it, with the Islanders winning by two.

You shut the TV off, placed the mug on its side in the sink, and went to grab your phone off the charger. The game had not even ended fifteen minutes ago but there was a text from a Mathew Barzal on your screen.

With a deep breath, you unlocked your phone and read his message: Did the game meet your standards?

You let out a chuckle as you walked into your room while typing out your message; Nice goal.

The comment was going to inflate his ego, you could picture his wide smile and raised eyebrows in the locker room reading your message. And like how you messaged before the game, it lasted for quite some time; with Mat admitting he was more nervous with you watching, and you reassuring him he played an excellent game. When he finally had to shower, you wished him a safe ride home and he wished you a good night sleep.

While you still tossed and turned under your covers, you managed to get more sleep that night than you had in the last year.

–––

Two weeks later, Mat called you.

It was after a home game, one that the Islanders lost, and a game where Mat wracked up a few penalties. Like every hockey game of his you’d watched since you promised him that one night, he texted you not even fifteen minutes of being off the ice.

Can I call you?

You paced around in the living area of your apartment thinking of what to respond. You wanted to talk to him…You felt ready to talk to him, but there was still some hesitation. The two of you had branched out to texting each other even when there wasn’t a game scheduled, and he had yet to bring up wanting to talk about your relationship again. So part of you had an inkling he would try it over the phone if you agreed. But then there was the other part of you that knew he just wanted cheering up.

To have a little more time to psych yourself up for a phone call with him, you responded: Sure! But why don’t you shower and head home first.

He sent you––sounds good. I’ll call you––And you prepared yourself for Mat to take the fastest shower possible and to maybe break a few traffic laws to get back to his place.

The assumption you made turned out correct, because in just under an hour of Mat officially off the ice, there was an incoming call from a Mathew Barzal.

The phone vibrated in your hand a few times as you breathed in and out. But before his call went to your voicemail, you clicked accept, “Mat…” you started off slowly, “Hey.”

“Hi,” his voice was low as you heard his door shut. Neither one of you said anything, but you heard movements from his end. You heard him put his keys in the bowl by his front door, fling off his shoes, open another door––presumably his bedroom door––and heard the sound of blankets shifting. You imagined he was sitting on his bed, as he let out a deep sigh, “I played like shit.”

“No you didn’t,” your automatic instinct was to reassure him, “Everyone has their off days, it doesn’t mean that you’re a shit player.”

He groaned, and you heard a soft thump. You imagined he fell back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, “I just––Some of those calls they made on me––and how I tripped over my skates and ate shit with no one around me?” He let another deep sigh, “It was embarrassing.”

Thankfully, you had done your nighttime routine during the second period intermission. So while you listened to Mat list out all of the things he thought he had done wrong during the game, you slipped under the covers of your own bed.

“And then when I thought I scored a goal, but the puck hit the crossbar, and it came back to hit me in the face––”

“Mat, that’s an honest mistake––”

“But it was embarrassing!” He raised his voice out of irritation. And this time, you knew for a fact he wasn’t irritated with you…He was irritated at hockey, the one thing he loved most in the world. “I swear I could hear people laughing at me. And I just know that the media is going to write how I should be a better player because I was a first round draft pick and with how much money my contract is––”

“Mat,” his sentences were strung along, and you don’t think he took a single breath during his rant, so you cut him off, “You can’t always be a perfect player, but you were a first round pick for a reason. It might not have been the outcome you wanted, you played the best you could tonight.”

“But it wasn’t good enough.”

His negative self talk sounded eerily similar to the thoughts that swirled around your mind after the break up.

“How many other twenty-three year olds do you know that play professional hockey?”

“There’s Beau, Mitch Marner, Carter Hart, Matthew Tkachuk, Tyson––”

“Stop,” you harshly cut him off as you sat up in bed, taking a pillow and hugging it to your chest, “They don’t count because they’re like the one percent of people who make it to the NHL.” You tried to stress your point, “Like you, they’ve trained an insane amount to get where they are. But how many other people do that? And how many people do train for most of their life and still don’t get to play in the league you do?”

He was silent.

“The average twenty-three year old isn’t playing professional hockey,” you shut your eyes, because no matter how great of a hockey player you thought Mat was, he never had the same faith in himself, “The average person isn’t playing professional hockey. Mat, you’re an incredible player; honestly one of the best in the league right now. And it’s not just me saying that to make you feel better, just look at the Islanders stats from before and after you came along.”

Again, he stayed silent.

“You came into this league so young, but so talented. Sure, you still have things to learn, but you’re the best version of yourself you can be right now. And there’s still so much time for you to grow to be an even better player,” you let out a small breath, “It blows my mind how good you are. And some people might talk shit and say you played poorly, but if they were to be on the ice with you?”

You waited to see if he had anything to say, but when he stayed mute, you let out a soft chuckle, “If they––an average person––was on the ice with you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mat let out a small laugh, and you imagined that he had one hand covering his eyes as he still laid on his back on top of his duvet, “Thank you.”

Unclenching the pillow you hugged closely to your chest, you slid down your headboard, and made yourself comfortable under the covers. You laid on your side, staring out your window at the same night sky he was under, and whispered, “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

You imagined he sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, as his interest piqued, “And how’s that?”

“As someone who’s great at everything they do.”

It was silent on his end. But you expected that with how honest and instantaneous your answer came.

He cleared his throat, “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you pulled the sheets up under your chin.

“I…” he let out a shaky breath, but whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, “I still have to get ready for bed.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“We…” he started off slowly, and you imagined he stared at the wall in full concentration, and this time, he said half of whatever he wanted to say, “We should do this again.”

A small smile tugged the corners of your lips upward, “Talk?”

“Yeah, um, talk,” he let out a nervous laugh, and you imagined him rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “On the phone…In person…”

You reciprocated his nervous laughter, but it wasn’t the bad kind of nerves you had felt in your stomach over the last year…this feeling reminded you of the excited nerves you had when you first met him, “You must really need more motivational talks,” you joked with him. But his answer, his honest and instantaneous answer, was not a joke.

“I feel like a better person around you.”

You were the silent one now.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” his voice was soft and light, yet he sounded like he didn’t want to let you go, “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Mat.”

After he hung up, you imagined he slept with a smile on his face, just like you.

–––

February might be the shortest calendar month in the year, but it felt impossibly long.

Between late night phone calls with Mat after a game and texting whenever you had a free chance at work, your nerves never disappeared. They were a mix of an excited spark with a dash of anxiety that festered in the pit of your stomach, and only intensified when you saw his contact name pop up on your phone. Yet, the more you communicated with him, the more relaxed you felt. Laughter came more easily between you two, awkward pauses were few and far between, and you smiled more.

But part of you was still hesitant that he would leave unexpectedly like he did nearly a year and a half ago.

After phone calls and texts, March was the month you saw Mat in person for the first time since January. It was in a group setting, but it was planned with the intention of seeing each other. It was a group lunch––you sat next to him––and he occasionally knocked his knee against yours. He apologized every time, but you didn’t think his movements were an accident.

March had more group outings, more texts, and a lot more phone calls randomly throughout the day.

April was a little more different.

The spring air sent a chill down your spine as you walked toward the entrance of a sports bar with Kennady and a few other friends. It was another group outing, another pre-planned meeting where you would see Mat. Weaving your way through tables and standing patrons, you finally got to the high rise table your group was at. A mix of average twenty-something year-olds and hockey players; but Mat caught your eye first.

You saw him sitting on the barstool, hands wrapped around his beer glass as his index finger anxiously tapped the sweating glass. While he softly laughed along with friends who boisterously laughed, he didn’t look too enthralled with the conversation around him. But then he picked his head up and saw you.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face as he straightened out his slumped shoulders.

Everyone greeted each other with hugs, while you settled for waving. When people took their seats, coincidentally the only open seat was next to Mat. Easily, you slid in as he slid a drink in front of you.

“When you texted saying you were almost here, I ordered you a drink,” Mat whispered with a small smile, “I hope that’s alright.”

You picked up the glass with a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, of course, thank you,” you took a sip as he let out a nervous breath through his nose. You set the glass down on the table and angled your body in the chair to face him, “How was practice?”

“Got my ass handed to me,” he let out a breathy laugh, head hanging low as he shrugged his shoulders, “It was alright.”

While Mat had played excellent hockey since you started tuning in again, the past few games were rough. He kept missing easy plays, his shots went wide, he talked back to the referees more than usual, and had more penalties called on him. From your phone calls, you knew he felt uneasy––he admitted that to you––but whenever you pressed the topic further, he brushed it under the rug.

His avoidance of communicating his feelings gave you a sense of deja vu.

You picked a french fry off his plate, “You scored a nice goal last game though, surely Barry couldn’t have beaten you down that much.”

“I just need to get out of my head,” his eyes were far off, staring off into the distance over your shoulder. You wanted to press him further, wanted to know what was causing him distress in his head, but he changed the conversation. He completely changed his demeanor with a smile, as he swatted your hand away from his plate, “Stop stealing my fries.”

As a few fries dropped from your hand, you successfully managed to keep hold of a single fry. And with a proud smile, you popped it in your mouth, “You could’ve ordered me fries, but instead you bought me a drink.”

He gently laughed next to you as he inched toward the edge of his seat, his knees knocking against yours. “Sorry.” he lied with a smile he couldn’t contain.

You raised your eyebrows and purposefully knocked your knee against his in retaliation, “No you’re not.”

He picked up a fry and threw it at you.

The night continued as it had, conversing with friends, and also going back into your own little world with Mat. Throughout the evening, while he held steady conversation with people from across the table, he occasionally knocked his knee into yours. And when you bumped him back, a smile stretched across his face as he maintained eye contact with whoever he talked to.

Everything about the night felt easy until the first hiccup happened.

You and Mat were off in your own little world again, facing each other on your barstools, knees knocking against each other, as he talked about an article that reminded him of you.

“I have to send it to you,” he shook his head with laughter, as he scrolled through his phone, “Just by the title I knew I had to show you, but wanted to wait until I saw you in person to see your reaction.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission. He wanted to see your reaction. And based on how giddy he looked as he searched for the article to text it to you, he thought your reaction would be similar to his. He wanted to see you smile.

Your phone vibrated on the table as it lit up with his contact name; Mathew Barzal.

When you opened your phone, you let out a laugh when you saw the article populate with an image. It was definitely an article you would enjoy, and when you brought your gaze back up to Mat, a smile wide on your face, you noticed his giddy look was gone. It was replaced with a more contemplative look with his eyes locked in on your phone screen.

Your smile slowly faded away as you knocked your knee against his, “What’s up?”

He left you unanswered as he kept his stare on your phone until the screen turned black. He picked his head up to look at you, a frown on his face, “You changed my contact name,” you sat frozen in your seat, “and took away the  picture.”

His words registered with you, but all you heard was ringing in your ears.

Because yes, you changed his contact name and removed the picture of him. His name went from just Mat, with a hockey stick emoji, to his full name after the breakup. And his contact picture, one Tito took of him in lounge wear in a hotel room at an away game on the phone––talking to you––with his head tipped back in laughter, was now just MB in a gray circle.

Did he still have your contact name and picture the same in his phone?

“I––”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders and tried his best to smile. But the corners of his lips barely turned upward, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his observation, so you stared at him with your lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Mat tried to show another smile, but his lips just formed a straight line. You wanted to tell him you were sorry; that you had to change those details or else you would cry whenever you looked at your phone. But you didn’t know how to verbalize that without breaking down in front of him as the painful memories of stripping Mat away from your life replayed in your mind.

This was the longest silence you sat in with him since January.

Mat slowly shifted his knees away from yours and as you continued to stare at his side profile. He joined in on a conversation with Tito and someone else, but you had no idea what they were talking about. All you thought about were Mat's forehead creases, his glossy eyes full of despair, and the frown still present on his face.

Reluctantly, you turned away from him and found yourself listening in to a different conversation, but all you could pay attention to was Mat’s slumped posture in your peripheral vision.

An hour later, another round of drinks were bought, and everyone was still having a good time with lots of laughter and smiles present. Except your smile was forced and you couldn’t hear Mat’s laugh.

But then you felt someone knock their knee against yours.

You dropped your vision down and saw Mat’s knee an inch away from yours. Thinking that this time, he knocked his knee against yours on accident, you kept quiet. But then you saw him knock his knee against yours again, with his knee resting against yours for an extra few seconds, you looked up at him.

A small hopeful smile was on Mat’s face.

Mirroring his shy smile, you ducked your chin into your chest as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You knocked your knee against his.

Both of your smiles brightened, and just when Mat opened his mouth to say something, someone clapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. He looked surprised at the contact, but when you heard the TV behind your table report on the top hockey highlights of the week––with the announcer commenting on Mathew Barzal’s goal––the table erupted into obnoxious cheers. Mat’s face went beet red as he shied away from the praise his friends offered.

After the rowdiness at the table calmed down, you knocked your knee against Mat’s as he picked up his beer. He raised his eyes up to look at you, a small smile making its way onto his face as he took a sip of his drink. When he placed his glass back on the wooden table, he knocked his knee against yours.

“Why are you acting so shy,” you let out a small laugh, because in all of the time you’d known Mat, he craved the attention and praise that came with being a hockey player.

He shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the table, “The compliments get to be too much sometimes.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tilted your head back in laughter. And when you opened your eyes, Mat was looking at you with gentle eyes full of fondness, “Stop lying.”

There were still some small laughs coming from you, but when Mat took your statement literally, your laughter ceased.

“I like the compliments more when they come from you,” he said with a serious facial expression, “Your words mean the most to me.”

You looked into his eyes; ones that were full of regret as it looked like he was retracing the steps of how your relationship came to this point. How it went from two people who were so in love with each other, in the most idyllic relationship…to people who painfully avoided each other for nearly a year, people whose voices wavered with skepticism when they spoke to each other, and to people who still loved each other but didn’t know how to reconcile.

Sometimes you thought it would be easier not to know him, in turn that you could forget about the heartbreak he caused you. But that thought was always easily diminished; the love you felt when you were with him were the most joyous moments of your life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Well…Maybe one thing.

If you could trade those early days of happiness to fall in love with him all over again––and not experience any heartbreak––you would do it in a heartbeat.  

Mat cleared his throat, “You don’t…” he offered you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

With a nod of your head, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your throat tighten up. To alleviate some of the tension in the air, you took a sip of your drink. And when you tore your eyes away from Mat to look at the table, you saw that the table was empty, save for you and Mat.

You didn’t know the last time just the two of you sat at the same table alone.

“Where did everyone go?” You turned your head to face Mat with a tilt of your head.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I think they’re off getting more drinks.”

You chuckled and faked offense, “And they didn’t ask us what we wanted?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, as he turned his head over to look at the bar where everyone stood. When he turned back to look in your eyes, you could see the wheels turning behind his head as he thought.

“We could get our own drinks…” He said slowly, eyes shining full of hope as he leaned in toward you, “Somewhere else…” and the next word he added, voice dangerously low in a whisper, sent more shivers down your spine than the spring breeze, “Alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Mat took your breath away, and without thinking of any possible consequence, you nodded your head once, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at you, the signature grin on his face was contagious as you smiled back, nodding your head even more rapidly. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where your friends were, and then when he turned back to you, he smirked, “I think we have less than thirty seconds before they come back.”

As if the two of you communicated telepathically, you jumped off the barstools at the same time and walked at a brisk pace toward the doors. Once the two of you were safely outside and at the street corner, both of you doubled over in laughter.

“Did we ditch our friends?” You looked up at Mat who clutched his stomach.

He nodded his head, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Instead of painfully remembering all the times the two of you would duck out early from a party to spend time together, you remembered them with a smile and a laugh.

Once your laughter subsided, you straightened your posture and slid your hands in to your jacket pockets, “Where to?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” he apologetically smiled, “There are some bars a few blocks down.” He suggested as he raised his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes widened slightly, “Shit, it’s late. We’ll either make it right before last call or miss it entirely.”

You stood in silence as you saw the wheels behind his head turning in thought again. It looked like he had come up with another place to walk to, but he looked uneasy as he suggested it, “There is…another place.”

Your curiosity sounded too hopeful, “Where?”

Mat looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the pavement, before looking back up at you in uncertainty. He took a deep breath, “My apartment.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion. 

His apartment.

The apartment where you had your last moments as a couple right before he broke up with you. Were you ready to go back? Did you want to go back? Because there was no doubt in your mind that going there would unlock more memories of when you were the happiest with Mat. But if you wanted to progress in anything––in a friendship––with Mat, you needed to get over the little fears you overdramatized in your head.

“We don’t have to,” Mat was quick to backtrack the offer of his apartment, “I know that’s where we––But I––I have drinks there. It’s not a far walk, and we won’t have to worry about getting into a place. But I understand if you don’t want to––”

“Let’s go,” you sucked in a deep breath and nodded your head the same time Mat’s eyes widened with shock, “It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

You took another deep breath and lied, “Positive.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but he wasn't going to press you any further. So, with a nod of his head, he gestured toward the way of his apartment like you didn’t already know, “This way.”

The walk to his place wasn’t far at all, in fact, it was most likely closer than any of the bars you would definitely not make it to in time. So his apartment was a safe option as the two of you walked in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but the two of you were replaying the last time you were both in his apartment.

Once you arrived at the building, Mat waved at the doorman––whose eyes brightened at you with recognition––as he hit the up button on the elevator. The ride up was just as silent as the walk to his place, and when you stood in front of the door to his place, your palms began to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But you stuck it through, and when Mat unlocked the door and let you in first, a wave of nostalgia hit you like a ton of bricks. Everything was the same, albeit a bit messier, but it felt almost like you were back in a home again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over,” Mat let out a nervous laugh as he walked past you and picked some of his belongings up that were strewn across the floor.

You waved him off, heading over to the living room area, and folded a blanket for him, “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard Mat let out an anxious deep breath as you watched him turn around and head into the kitchen. He seemed just as nervous as you. When he was out of sight, you set the unevenly folded blanket down on the ottoman and walked over to the couch. You sunk down and let out a shaky breath that you had been holding in since you walked through the front door.

You didn’t have much time to dwell in your thoughts, because you heard Mat’s footsteps, and sat up straight on the couch. He came around the other side of the couch with a beer bottle in one hand for him, and then a wine glass and a wine bottle, for you. He set his beer and wine glass down on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“As your bartender for the night,” he sarcastically said as he took the wine opener and screwed it into the cork of the bottle, “I expect a very nice tip for bringing your drink to you.” You laughed at his comment to lighten the mood, but all you could focus on was the way his arms flexed when he twisted the corkscrew around a few times, “I even provided you with a whole bottle of wine just for yourself.”

You let out a small laugh, “Lucky me,” you whispered just as Mat looked up at you through his eyelashes.

He offered you a small smile, and then went back to concentrating on opening the wine. When the corkscrew was in the center of the cork, he pressed his hands down on the miniature levers, and the bottle opened with pop.

He looked up at you with a proud smile and eyebrows raised proudly, “Eh?” He asked you as he poured you a glass, “You should be impressed.”

You snorted, “That you opened a wine bottle?”

“Mhm,” Mat hummed as he handed you the glass. You offered him a smile as a thanks, as he grabbed his beer and rested an arm on the back of the couch, “And that I didn’t spill any of it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a sip of wine, as your mind pieced together that you were drinking your favorite type of wine. That led to a flurry of questions in your mind because why––after all this time––would he still keep your favorite bottle of wine at his place?

But Mat asked you about how your presentation at work went before you were able to bring it up.

Much like the time spent at the sports bar earlier, it was all laughter and smiles, except this time you weren’t under the scrutinizing gaze of Kennady or the hesitant glances of Tito. It was just you and Mat, alone in his apartment, as if no time had passed. With every twenty minutes that went by, it felt as if Mat would move a tiny bit closer to you. You didn’t mind at all, and when he was close enough, you knocked your knee against his.

It was well past midnight, and you were still enjoying yourself the same as you did when you first walked in. The bottle of wine was nearly empty; Mat joining in on the wine drinking after he finished his beer.

Everything about the time spent at Mat’s place felt easy until the second hiccup of the night happened.

Mat placed his empty wine glass down on the coffee table and let out a deep breath through his nose. His face looked serious; eyebrows pinched together that caused a crease to form between his eyes, mouth pressed in a straight line, with his eyes firmly concentrated on you. The look made your stomach uneasy, so you finished off the last of your wine, and sat it down next to Mat’s empty glass.

You let out an apprehensive laugh as you leaned your side into the back of the couch, just below where Mat’s hand rested, “What’s on your mind, hockey player?”

With his hand so close to your shoulder, he stretched out his fingers and lightly grazed your shoulder. He gently moved his fingertips along your shoulder blade a few times before he gulped, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you breathed out as a chill ran down your spine.

Both of your bodies were facing each other as he moved an inch closer to you. While his fingertips withdrew from your shoulder, he knocked his knee against yours. But instead of retracting it like he had done all night, he kept his knee against yours. With another deep breath through his nostrils, he inched closer to you again, his thigh pressing against yours.

You held your breath as you stared into his yearning eyes, and like he was telling you a secret, he whispered, “Sometimes you feel like a stranger.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his confession. You were at a loss for words, but luckily you didn’t have to respond, because he expounded upon his admission.

“And it…It’s so frustrating,” his voice was low as he maintained eye contact with you; his soft eyes full of longing stared into your wide and timid eyes as his fingertips reached back down to touch your shoulders. But instead of just staying in one place, his fingertips trailed down to your collarbone, “I know how you relax after a stressful day,” his fingers slowly moved to the side of your neck as he let out a soft chuckle, “I know how you organize a closet.” HIs fingers moved painfully slow up your neck, “I know the facial expressions you make when you’re nervous…”

You clenched your jaw, as your breathing hitched, and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give his fingers more room to wander.

Mat traced his fingers along your jawline as he leaned his face closer to you, “I know what makes you happy,” you felt his breath fan against your face as his fingers caressed your cheek, “What pisses you off.” He kept his mouth in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as he moved his fingers to the back of your neck, cupping your cheek. He kept quiet, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was your own heartbeat and Mat’s breathing.

Finally, he rested his forehead against yours as he slightly brushed the tip of his nose against yours. You kept your eyes wide open in anticipation, as Mat closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes to look at you with an amount of adoration you’d never seen before, “How to love you.”

“We’re friends.”

“No we’re not,” his voice was strained with irritation. But this time, the irritation in his voice wasn’t directed at either you or hockey…his irritation was at himself, “All I want is to love you again but you’re so far away.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered, “You’re a stranger who I know better than anyone else.”

You brushed your nose against his, eyes glancing down at his lips, before looking back into his wistful eyes, “I’m right here.”

With your lips parted and breath shallow; the tone of your voice hinted at what you wanted to come next.

“If I were to kiss you,” Mat’s low voice murmured as he laid out his intentions, “Would you stay?”

“Yes.”

There was no wavering hesitation in your voice, only desire for the person in front of you who you’d spent too much time without. But Mat…Mat blinked a few times as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, staring at you as if he didn’t believe this was real life. The pull you felt toward him was stronger than any pull you felt toward anyone else. There was something in him that made him irresistible, he felt it in you as well, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes closed, Mat pressed his lips against yours, desperate but chaste as you tasted the wine off him, both of you holding yourselves back for each other's sake. He rubbed his lips against yours, urging you to tip your head back. You leaned into his direction as your fingers carefully crept toward his stomach, clutching his shirt into a small fist.

The tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across your lower lip, and a strangled whimper in the back of your throat involuntarily left your lips. With his nose against your cheek, he took his hand that cupped your cheek, and ran it down your back. His palm and the tips of his fingers gliding across the expanse of your back; feeling every ridge of your spine, every bone, every dip, and every curve.

Ever so slowly, his hand trailed up your back, over your neck, as he cupped your cheek again. He deepened the kiss, tongues meeting with soft strokes, mouths hot with anticipation and need.

You had kissed Mat more times than you could count, but both of your movements were timid. While he had a hand on your cheek, his other hand laid stiff on the couch. And while your hands gripped his shirt, they weren’t physically touching him. There were so many thoughts circling your mind; how you never thought you’d be in this position again with Mat––having him want you again.

That’s when the first tear fell.

It had officially been a year and a half since your break up with Mat. A year and a half since you felt any sort of honest affection from a person. And it had only been about three months since you started to openly communicate with him again. It had taken you longer to watch a hockey game than it took for you to speak to him regularly again; longer to gain the courage to watch him skate in circles with a smile on his face because you knew he was happiest on the ice.

Happier there than he could ever be with you.

You broke away from his kiss with a sniffle.

Mat delicately pecked your lips one last time before pulling away. Your eyes were still shut tight, but you felt his burning stare on your face as his thumb wiped away the single tear from your cheek.

The second tear fell when he repeated the sentence that you didn’t know held any truth.

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

As if you were transported in time, you smelled the April air of two years ago seeping through the open car windows as Mat whispered that promise to you as he kissed your hand. But the other memory…The cruel and poignant memory that overshadowed the good memory of that sentence took over. Instead of the sweet April air, your mind fast forwarded to the month of December where the air was frigid and eliminated your relationship.

You sucked in another deep breath as you opened your eyes to get you out of the headspace of that bitter December day. Mat’s eyes were desperate––silently begging you not to go––as if he knew you were planning an escape.

“I can’t do this,” you dropped your hands from his shirt and moved away from him on the couch.

“Will you ever be ready to do this?” Mat’s voice shook, but he was withstanding from surrendering. You could now see the athlete in him––the dedication he used to train to attain all of his goals––coming out as he fought to mend your relationship, “I want to talk.”

Your hands shook just as bad as your voice, “I can’t.”

For the countless time tonight, Mat let out an irritated breath through his nostrils, “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

Mat leaned his head against the back of the couch as he rubbed his temples, “Don’t you miss this?” He turned his head to look at you, his bloodshot eyes noticeable in the dim lighting of his living room, “Don’t you miss us?”

“You broke up with me,” you reminded him as you flared your nostrils in annoyance, “You gave up on us.”

“I was confused!” Mat sat up and angled his body toward you as he threw his hands in the air, “I wanted to be with you––Still want to be with you––But something was off and I had to––”

The deja vu of Mat listing off reasons why something in the relationship wasn’t right––and how his judgement convinced himself that getting away from you would solve everything––caused bile to churn in your stomach.

You placed both hands on the cushions as you pushed yourself up, “I’m not doing this again.”

With your back to him, you itched the bridge of your nose as you sniffled away your runny nose. But even with your back to him, you could still hear the desperation and utter heartache behind his wavering voice.

“You told me I would end up alone and unloved,” you heard him inhale a shaky breath, all the confidence from his previous tone of voice gone, as he choked out his next words, “The one person who I love most in the world told me that––The person who I thought loved me––”

“I do––”

“Told me I would be unloved? That not even you could love me again if I didn’t put more effort into the right things?” You spun around on your heel to see a silent path of tears easily falling down his face, “Do you know how much that messed me up?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough,” you counteracted with just as desperate of a voice, “You told me––”

“We just didn’t see each other enough,” Mat’s words continued to cut you like a knife, “But I never said you would end up alone and––”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to love you!” your devastated tone matched his raised voice. His mouth slowly dropped open, “I loved you so much and you tore me apart.” You felt your throat tighten up, but you held back your tears as your voice cracked, “I wanted to be the last person to love you.”

Mat sat in silence on the couch as you stood a few feet away from him. Silences were never common in your relationship, but they were definitely more common now. Coming to terms in your head that he wasn’t going to say anything, you were about to turn around and make your way out of his apartment for the final time.

“Stay,” Mat stood up from the couch. His hand barely raised from his side, as if he wanted to reach out to keep you from leaving him, but his arm stayed stiff at his side, “It’s after two in the morning, I’ll take the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m not far from here,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “I can get an Uber.”

“Then I’ll take the Uber with you to your place.”

You let out a deep breath at his persistence, “That’s unnecessary––”

“Believe it or not,” Mat started his sentence out strong, but he took a pause and let his shoulders deflate as his tone softened, “I still really care for you and don’t want you in an Uber alone this late or walking up to your place alone. So please,” you hated the way your heart melted at his words, “Stay.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposal. He had a point…Ubers alone at night in New York wasn’t the most ideal situation in the world. And you knew he would hop in the car with you; he always held your safety high on his priority list.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head, “Okay.”

Mat let out a relieved breath, “You can…You know where everything is,” Mat awkwardly rubbed a hand behind his neck, “Everything’s the same.”

Except us, you thought to yourself.

You asked Mat if he had to get anything from his room, but he said he had some stuff stored in the spare bedroom where he would get ready for bed. And for what may be the last time, you wished each other goodnight as the two of you walked to separate ends of his apartment.

You blocked out every memory that swirled around your head as you entered his room and got ready for bed. Everything was going fine until you opened the cabinet under the sink and saw that he still had an unopened bottle of your shampoo that you always kept at his place. But you were done crying. Done crying over Mat. So you closed the cabinet, regretfully changed into one of Mat’s oversized t-shirts for pajamas, and slid under his covers.

With the sheets pulled up right under your chin, you laid on your side in a fetal position, as you stared out his window. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but instead of being in your bed and thinking about what Mat was up to when you couldn’t sleep, all you had to do was walk down the hall.

You tried everything you could to fall asleep, but none of the methods you usually used worked. Even when you stayed in separate bedrooms when Mat met your family for the first time, similarly down the hall from each other, you didn’t have any trouble sleeping like tonight. But back then, you and Mat were together in love. And this time…you and Mat were somehow still in love, but further apart than ever.

Fed up with not being able to get a decent night’s sleep in over a year, you flung the covers off and stepped out of bed, because you knew the cure to your insomnia was just a few feet away. Slowly, you opened the bedroom door and snuck out. You quietly closed the door and made your way to the living area where Mat said he was.

And in a few seconds you saw Mat, whose face was illuminated by his phone from above head as he scrolled. The single blanket he had only came up about halfway to his bare stomach.

As if he sensed another presence in the room, he turned his head. With an empathetic smile, because you imagined he had the same trouble falling asleep in this past year as well, he shut his phone off and placed it on the coffee table. Without a word, he lifted the blanket up, inviting you to sleep next to him.

You crawled in next to him, the side of your face pressed up against the crook of his neck. You let out a silent, uneven, breath as you felt his warmth spread across your body. And when he lowered the blanket, he curled a tight arm around waist, drawing shapes on your back as he held you close to him.

And the third tear fell when Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A year and a half of sobbing didn’t compare to the flood gates that opened up in this moment. Your senses were in overdrive, everything screamed Mat, and that one little forehead kiss paired with a simple apology tipped you over the edge. He held you tight as you cried into his chest, taking responsibility for the suffering he had put you through the past year and a half.

One of your arms was tucked under you, but your other arm was stretched across Mat’s chest as you clung to his bicep. Your shoulders violently shook as you muttered incoherent words out through choppy breaths.

You hurt me, you said. I know, he answered.

I never wanted to see you again, you said. I know, he answered.

I missed you so much, you said. I know, he answered.

I still love you, you said. And as your cries began to soften, he cradled you into his chest more as he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead; I still love you too, he answered.

It was the first night both of you slept soundly through the night, missing all of your alarms.

–––

New York in August was unbearably hot.

Between the larger than life gray skyscrapers and dark concrete that paved the city, the heat of the sun always got trapped in the most unpleasant way. With crowded sidewalks of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, the heat attached itself to sweaty bodies. With sewers that always smelled, but reeked even worse in the summer, the heat attached itself to the polluted water.

But if you paid close enough attention, there was a certain aroma in the air that always drew people into the city. And like how the skyscrapers and concrete trapped the heat in the most unpleasant way, the sweet smell of new beginnings that New York offered trapped people in the same way.

Walking down the sidewalk, with your fingers intertwined with Mat’s, you breathed in the captivating smell of New York.

The smell of new beginnings.

“Are you nervous or is the heat getting to you,” You looked up at Mat’s side profile with a smile as you pointed out his sweaty hand.

With black sunglasses covering his eyes, he kept his head forward as he chewed on his bottom lip, “It’s your family.”

You rolled your eyes as you came to the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the corner for the light to change, “You know them already.”

“Yeah, but––”

His words were cut off when the light changed and a mass amount of people crossed the street. You tugged him along with the crowd, “No buts,” you squeezed his hand, “They still love you.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders.

He knew the pain he caused when he broke up with you. And he knew that your mom, dad, and sister all witnessed the aftermath of what he put you through. There was part of him that would never forgive himself for acting so immature, and he was still working through his insecurities. But after that night of confrontation where you slept peacefully in his arms, he promised to always be upfront with his feelings.

You had been officially back together for four months, and made changes from the first time you were in a relationship, but Mat’s nerves surrounding your family were still present.

Your sister was the first to find out that you and Mat were back together. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her before she figured it out not even a month into your rekindled relationship. She called you out of the blue, and before you could greet her, she went straight to the point; Are you back together with Mat? You were a stuttering mess, not prepared to tell your family; You liked Tito’s most recent Instagram picture, your username came up next to the heart, and I know you unfollowed him after you weren’t with Mat.

Her sleuthing wasn’t that impressive, but you couldn’t lie to your sister. She warned you that a few more jokes would come at his expense to turn him red.

You told your mom in June. You had let it casually slip that you were going out with Mat for the day, and she was silent on the other end for a few moments. Like any mother who held their child as they openly sobbed after the end of a relationship, she was skeptical. But you reassured her that changes were made, and continue to be made, so it wouldn't end like the last time…So your relationship wouldn’t end at all.

She said as long as you were happy, she was happy.

You also told your dad in June, a week after you told your mom, because you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that secret for long. It took a bit more planning and practicing on your end to tell him. You saw the way his jaw clenched and eyes full of hurt whenever he saw you cry. And when you told him, he sounded stiff, and reminded you that you were too good for him. But like your mom, you reassured him that things had changed; Mat had changed.

He reminded you that he never liked Mat that much to begin with.

When you and Mat reached the restaurant you were set to meet your family at, Mat opened the door for you. A breeze of air conditioning and the smell of clean air brought you out of your thoughts.

"Your dad’s already glaring at me and we’re not at the table yet.”

You let out a laugh and rested your forehead against Mat’s bicep briefly as you looked up at him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I talked to him plenty before this and told him to be on his best behavior.”

Mat took his sunglasses off, and as he stared down at you, you finally caught a look at his hazel eyes that shined bright with admiration for you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

You dropped his hand and elbowed him at his sarcastic comment.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister was the first one up from her seat to greet you with a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “We’re on time, you guys got here early.”

She held you at arms length away and gave you a knowing look saying that of course they were going to show up early. It was the re-meeting the boyfriend lunch. She slightly gazed over your shoulder at Mat, who was politely talking with your mom, and you rolled your eyes silently telling her he was more nervous than the first time. She deviously smirked.

With a stiff handshake and a curt, Mathew, from your dad, you knew Mat felt as if he was drowning.

Appetizers and a bottle of wine were ordered for the table before you and Mat were present, so they arrived shortly after the two of you were seated next to each other. Like the first time Mat was around your family, he sat with perfect posture as he rapidly tapped his index finger against his thigh.

You discreetly scooted your chair closer to his.

Mat had just finished his first glass of water when your mom brought up hockey, “How did this season go, Mat?”

“It went well,” he answered as he took the water pitcher from the center of the table and poured himself another glass, “There were a few times we went up and down in ranking, but all in all, it was a strong season.”

“I watched a few highlights,” your dad said after he finished swallowing an appetizer, “You played well, especially towards the end of the season.”

Mat shyly smiled, his eyes glancing at you, because toward the end of the season was when you started communicating more, “Yeah, the end of the season was the best.”

You knocked your knee against Mat’s.

“And almost made it to the Cup again,” your dad shook his head with a light smile, “How’s the team looking this season?”

Mat took a sip of water, “We’re looking good. A few changes to the roster, but all for the best.” He fiddled with the white cloth napkin on his lap, “If you guys––I don’t know the next time you’re in town, but just let me know if you want to go to a game.” Mat smiled at your dad, and then turned to your mom, “I know my family wants to come down for a game.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mat,” your dad easily smiled, “I appreciate that.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his face as your dad called him by his nickname, “I know how much you all like hockey, might as well use me for what I’m good for.”

Your parents laughed at his comment right as the waiter came up to take everyone’s order for their main course. You, Mat, and your sister had ordered, so your parents weren’t paying attention to your little trio.

“So, Mat,” your sister stretched out the lone vowel in his name, “Looks like you won the girl back before your franchise could win the Stanley Cup.”

Your eyes widened at her bluntness. It was always hard for a team to be so close to clinching that championship title––and well deserved praise as they lifted the Cup above their heads––only for it to be ripped away from them. And for the Islanders to be in that position another year, losing in the final round, it only aided in more salt to the wound.  

Mat’s face still turned red at her unapologetic comment, but he recovered quickly, and wasn’t nearly as blindsided by her words like he was the first time. Instead, Mat offered your sister an easy smile, as he quickly made eye contact with you. His smile widened, “I think I won something better.”

Mat knocked his knee against yours.

[redheadspark]

Hi! Can you write #5 and #12 for your weekend prompt with Azriel:)

A/N: Oh my! These are good! I'm gonna make it nice and short, thanks for the suggestions :)

5.) "our muses are on bad terms but reunite after one of them nearly dies."

12.) "our muses are in a fight,  but cuddle anyway because they don’t like sleeping alone."

Mistake

Summary: You broke things off with Azriel when you knew he still had feelings for Mor. Azriel chose to let you go, which broke your heart.

But when those past feelings come to the surface on the battlefield against King Hybern, Azriel wonders if he made the right choice after all.

(Takes place during the Battle in A Court of Wings and Ruin)

200 years before the Battle

"You still have feelings for Mor!"

"No...no I don't!"

"Oh please! I know damn well you still have feelings for her! It's obvious to everyone but you!"

You two were squaring off in the foyer of the townhouse, a hot afternoon in Velaris as you were drilling holes of anger into his eyes. You two were barely together for a few years, which was nothing for Fae and Illyrians and their immortal lives. But in your mind it was good and sacred, thinking you found someone whom loved you fully and whole.

You were sorely mistaken, since you got wind of his longing affection for Mor.

Mor was your friend, she was not real threat to you when it came to being nice and cordial to one another. But she had a longer history with Azriel, France longer before you came one and into their lives. The second thoughts were there since the beginning when you got together with Azriel. Maybe you were comparing yourself to her, seeing her unique beauty that was both striking and deadly to look at. But Azriel was with you, so there shouldn't be a problem.

But there was, and when you found out about it, you were done.

"I can't do this with you, be with you when I know you're not fully here with me," You explained to him, seeing him search your eyes like he didn't understand. You felt deep down that if he was willing to try and fight for the pair of you, he would this moment. He would fight tooth and nail to convince you that he loved you, only you, and no one else.

But he stood there, saying nothing and almost showing you the real truth: he didn't fully love you.

Your heart broken then, and you wondered if it would have felt worse if you two mated. Thank God you didn't, or else that pain would have suffocated you whole.

"Your silence tells me everything I needed to hear," You said in a harsh whisper, "I hope you have a good life with her, I truly do,"

And with that, before you could hear him call out to you one last time, you turned on your heel and left the townhouse, slamming the door behind you.

Present Day

Battle Field

The battle was long and brutal, you could feel your muscles aching and screaming out for surrender as your sliced through each one of Hybern's soldiers that were coming at you.

Your blood was mixed with others on your armor and skin, making you confused if you were actually wounded or not because of the adrenaline that was soaring through your veins.

This was the last place you thought you would end, fighting for the freedom of your land as Fae against a ruthless king who wanted to take it all for himself.

You placed yourself in doing hard labor after your break up with Azriel centuries before, taking it harder than your realized.

Instead of wanting to wallow in your own self pity, you wanted to do meaningless work to get your mind away from that pain that was still there. You did labor whoever you could, not making a scene and not being recognized at all by anyone. You had no where else to go anyways.

You worked in farmlands, then as a blacksmith which got your hands on a sword, and anything else that was hard labor and that pushed you to your limits.

Perhaps you were punching yourself for what you did, for how you handled that break up. Maybe you were wrong, your doubts got the best of you and you made a mistake. Yet too much time did pass by, and you were only looking forward and not backwards.

But when the war came, you answered the call to fight.

Like the other Fae that went to fight, you went with the knowledge that you could die out there. It would scare you at any other moment in time, your life being in the balance.

But you didn't care if you died or not, that bitterness that you brought upon yourself took over.

The Fae that wanted to fight, both male and female and from all walks of life, all were training together at one of the old abandoned Illryian camps. You were motley crew of Fae, a variety of occupations that included teacher and painters, to fathers and daughters.

Cassian ran that training camp, and it took him only a split second to recognize you in the line up. He halted in front of you, shocked to see you and eyes you up and down to make sure you are real and it wasn't a trick. You just stared at him, not wanting to smile at all given the circumstance.

You were one of the best fighters in your little clusters of recruits. Cassian watching you like a hawk as you training in formation, leaning how to use your weapon with ease and move lightly on your feet.

One the eve of the battle, Cassian pulled you aside to talk to you, and mostly to catch up with you. You two talked, remaining neutral and kind to one another since you had no issue with the commander of the Illyrian army.

"I can tell Azriel you're here," He said in a suggestion as you were watching him, seeing him feel a bit uneasy bringing up your ex, "Just to let him know you're gonna fight in the battle tomorrow,"

"I'd rather not have him know," You explained calmly, seeing him watch you as you took out a long sigh, "I feel a bit and in how I left things with him, and the last thing I want to do is throw him off before we have to fight for our lives tomorrow. Cauldron, it sounds so poetic doesn't it?"

You gave out a bitter laugh, almost finding it funny that you would joke about those feelings you buried deep down so long ago. Cassian didn't light though, but he watched you with a hint of sadness on his face.

"If I'm going to die tomorrow, Cassian, I might as well die knowing that I did the best I could do. I don't want him to lean onto hope when I'm as good as dead," You explained calmly, almost in a low tone. There was a hit probability that you would die, so what would be the point of tell Azriel you were fighting in the same battle as him. Only to give him false hope.

You were a realist.

So there you were, fighting each soldier that came after you and taking them all with a hint of difficulty, but nothing you couldn't handle too much on your own.

Towards the end of it all, when you felt like you were getting closer and closer to victory, you shoved a particularly large soldier off of you who was trying to stab you right over your heart. He fell in a heap, your sword coaxed in blood as you stood over his dead body and took in a breath or two. A moment of peace with the rain battle going on around you.

A person stood in front of you, his wings out in a power pose as his eyes were on you with a gasp on his lips.

You looked too, seeing that familiar face that was a haunt in your dreams and imagination. Azriel.

He was in his battle armor, daggers in hand as he too looked fatigued from battle and warfare But his eyes were trained on you, so wide and shocked from not only seeing you right in front of him but you in a battle and welding a sword.

It was a split moment of the pair of you gazing at one another, just like you did right before you left him and walked out of his life. You realized in that moment, in a battle and covered in blood and drained to your core, that you missed him.

You missed him and loved him.

It was short lived, when someone stabbed you from behind and you collapsed in the ground.

The last thing you heard was Azriel's scream of agony and rage when your vision went dark.

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

You woke up with a throbbing headache and dryness in yoru mouth.

You were in a tent of some sorts, the sounds of the battle were long gone and there was still silence and the soft sounds of the tent moving with the wind.

Taking a breath, you felt a soreness on your lower back. it was a numbing feeling, almost like a aching bruise that was being pressed on consistently. It was bearable, but it made you remember then why that feeling was there.

You were stabbed, right in the lower back. You were out in the battlefield when this was happening, and you were looking into the eyes of your ex lover.

Now you were waking up. How long were you out for?

Something was against you, almost curled into you and keeping you somewhat warm. It wasn't a something, more like a someone.

You looked over to your left and down a bit, seeing the backside of a Illyrian who was tucked into your side and sleeping against you, one around your waist in a protective manner and the other laced in one of your hands. A few seconds later, you knew then who it was.

Azriel.

You smiled weakly, not wanting to wake him since you could tell he was in a deep sleep. Nothing else really mattered in that moment, having the one person whom you truly loved back in your life and in your arms. You did regret turning away from him, that burning hate you had against you was long gone before this battle, before this reunion. It was replaced with an aching longing to be back with him, to have him again.

As grateful as you were being alive and well, not being dead out there like thousands of others, you still had a small fear of needing to talk to him about what happened and where the left you. Was he happy with someone? If he was, would you be that person that would break that happiness apart?

There was so much to discuss and talk about with him, but as you watched him take in a deep breath and curl into your body more, you decided to wait.

You fell back asleep, tilted your chin down to be on his head and drift back off to sleep. This time you were happy to be asleep with the being in your arms again.

[angstyclowns]

Please don’t let me go.

Part 2 to this! Thank you all so much for 2K followers!

Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki did not lose. Not in battles, not in competitions, friendly or not, and he would not lose you.  He refused to. He would not let you go. He loved you too much. He was too selfish to let you go. He fucked up, he’d own that. He fucked up badly, though he wasn’t certain he knew how to fix it. He could hear your sobs throughout your den, making him whine. 

You hadn’t done anything but cry since those blasted words left his mouth and he was beginning (Pshh beginning, he always worried about you) to get scared.  Groaning, he shut off his phone, thanking any and every being out there an old friend of his was willing to take his shift (He had to send her a gift basket for her and Deku). His duffel landed on the ground with a thud before he was running to your guys room, opening the door with zero hesitation. You looked up to him with such heartbreak in your eyes. Fuck, his chest hurt. 

Katsuki was never good with words, you and him both knew this, but he still had to make it right. He had too. Fuck his eyes were stinging as he approached you, making him collapse onto his knees in front of your nest. You watched him, not saying anything. 

“Please, fuck I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Any of what I said. You don’t deserve it-deserve it. You deserve so much better than me- But I don’t want to let you go-” He was crying now, making you cry as well. You understood he was stressed, and you probably weren’t making it any better. Both of you were stressed and anxious and- fuck. 

This wasn’t healthy communication. You and him both knew it. You needed to fix this. With time you would. Right now though, right now you were focused on the arms wrapping around you, and thats all you would focus on for now. 

---

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about with this upcoming pregnancy? This is a safe space.” 

Katsuki smirked at the therapist. playing with the ring on your finger as he held your hand. 

“What is there to say? I’m pumped. The Bakugou genes live on and I’ve got my pretty omega by my side.” 

While marriage counselling sounded terrible on paper, it wasn’t. It gave you both an outlet and coping mechanisms when hurdles appeared in your relationship, and made you both overall a lot happier. 

You purred as you leaned on your alpha, making the therapist smile. 

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m no longer needed here. You both seem to have impressive communication now, and I can’t see this changing when your pup arrives. Though, keep in mind when that time comes, you both will need to be top of your game.” 

You watched Katsuki nod, completely entranced by the therapists words. If you would’ve told yourself about this Katsuki a year ago, when your huge fight broke out, you would’ve laughed in your own face. But now, watching Katsuki work hard to prove he was the alpha you deserve?

Your heart fluttered and the butterflies in your tummy grew restless. While a pup would be a big challenge, you and Katsuki were ready for it. 

And he would be with you every step of the way. 

Shouto Todoroki

His choice was made before his subconscious even had the chance to boot up. His throat closed up and his phone was crushed in his palm when it tried dragging his attention from the fact at hand. It was dropped with little remorse as Shouto quickly ran in the same direction you did, stopping you from entering your guys room. You chirped in surprise when he turned you around, pressing a searing kiss to your lips.

You wanted to fight him but Shouto didn’t let you. He didn’t let you go when you squirmed, he only tightened his grip (Not hurting you). He didn’t know when it happened, but tears were starting to drip down his cheeks. 

Shouto didn’t get angry. But he got upset. He felt so guilty. Just seeing your heartbroken face replay on his mind was torture. Just knowing he had just did the same thing his father did to his mother. He was dismissing your worries and genuine concern because of his job. 

“I-I don’t see how messed up this is. But I want you to tell me- show me. I want to be a better alpha for you. Bonding you wasn’t and won’t ever be a mistake to me. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to. I want to know why it’s such a big deal.”

You broke down as Shouto held you, not finding the words to explain anything just yet. You would need time to do so, and he would give you that time. 

He just wanted to tell you he made his choice. 

In fact, there wasn’t much of a choice at all, and he hoped-- prayed-- you could feel that. 

---

“Shouto, we need you to start up the scenting again. You’re rep is dropping and-” His P.R. manager was halted with a finger, the half-and-half hero quickly dialing your number on a new-- not crushed-- phone.  

“Sho? Aren’t you at work? Why are you calling? Did something-”

“Scenting things that aren’t for you, thats a breech of privacy and demeans our relationship, right?” Shouto cut you off, sending a silent apology to you. 

You paused on the other end. “Yeah? We had this conversation a couple weeks ago. Are you okay?” 

He smiled. “Fine. Just reminding myself.”

You both said your quick goodbyes before Shouto turned to his P.R. manager. “My omega said no.” 

“Who cares what your omega thinks?! Your-”

“I’m nothing without my omega. I care what my omega thinks and what my omega says go. If her word isn’t enough then mine will be. I said no.” 

Silently, Shouto patted himself on the back as he turned, trying to leave for patrol. You would be proud of his newly shined spine. 

“Your-”

“Oh, before I forget. ” Shouto turned, facing the manager who was red with rage. It made him smirk. “You’re fired.” 

Keigo Takami

Patrol was rough. Brutal. He couldn’t focus. 

He had told you he was more important. He wasn’t. 

He was a broken shell of a man. Hawks was this fucking persona he put up, and in that moment those words came from him. Not the Keigo that you dug so hard for. Not the Keigo that you ached for late at night, just wanting to hold him in your arms. 

He was blurring the lines between Keigo and Hawks, with Hawks breaking through as the dominant. He didn’t want that. Not at all. He wanted Keigo to still be there. Be there for you. 

Fuck this. 

He was going to be there for you. Fuck the hero rankings. Fuck the commission. Fuck anything that kept him from you. 

Turning around, he ignored any calls of his name, soaring faster than he had all evening to get to you. He could see you through the windows of the balcony (You both lived on the top floor, enough enough ceiling to floor windows looked nice). You were looking ahead of you blankly, wrapped in one of his sweaters. Fuck you looked like you had gone through the ring. Hair messy and eyes blotchy. 

You didn’t even look over when he tumbled through the door, literally crawling to you. 

Keigo would admit he had never cried since he was six. He was twenty-three now. That was seventeen years. 

He would also admit he cried at your feet. Angry, painful sobs that rocked his body and made him hurt. He didn’t care though. He’d do it all for you.

He tried pleading that he was nothing without you. Hollow and empty. 

To be fair though, he wasn’t even certain he was doing anything other than incoherent babbles.   When your arms wrapped around him and allowed his wings to cocoon around you both, he figured he made some sense. 

For you, he’d go through all the pain seventeen years of hiding would bring him.

---

“Baby bird!” 

Keigo didn’t normally call out to you like he found himself doing, but recently, he’s found himself doing a lot of stuff he never imagined himself doing. 

Domestic life with you was such a nice feeling. 

Having you in his arms every morning, working with you as he got ready for work, watching you yourself get ready for your day. Just you. 

You were perfect in everyway and it made his chest tighten with love every time he saw you. 

You turned the corner with a smile, waving to him before gesturing for him to follow. He did so with a quirked brow, following you to one of the ex-guest rooms. You were giddy, bouncing slightly in your place with your scent so happy and boisterous it made Keigo purr. 

When you decided he wasn’t moving fast enough, you ran back, pulling him forward and into the nursery. His son was laying there, fast asleep in a makeshift mini-nest, bright red wings wrapped around himself as a blanket. 

You cooed and held onto Keigo, watching as your alpha picked up your son, holding him to his chest. The young boy merely ruffled his feathers, quickly recognizing the scent and nuzzling into his dad’s chest. 

While he went through seventeen years of pain in the span of two, he had you by his side. And now, he had his son. His son which you had gifted him. 

He didn’t know what he was thinking back then, but truly no one was more important than you. 

And he would take that with him until the day he dies.

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 1

Hello hello! First fic here, it’s a Maribat AU with a side of Sword Art Online. Or what I remember from having watched the show once about five years ago. We’ve got Marinette and minimal class salt, Young Justice but only the good parts, and primarily Jasonette. Please spread the word (I am a tiny sideblog) and let me know what you think <3

Read here on AO3

Next

Chapter 1: You have no idea how many baddies I’m going to blow up because of you

Friday, at long last. Marinette could not have exhaled a bigger sigh of relief. It was mid-way through the school term, her commissions were ramping up, and Hawkmoth had become frustratingly active. Her duties as class president had only increased as she and her friends neared the end of lycée, not to mention all the studying she was doing for the baccalauréat on top of her regular school work. Commissions were booming now that her popularity as the anonymous designer MDC was soaring worldwide. She wouldn’t give any of it up for the world, but she might enjoy getting more than three or four hours of sleep for once.

There was only part of her life that had gotten easier since that day three years ago when she was entrusted with a pair of spotted earrings and an old god to match. Ladybug started out with one partner, but she now had a whole team to share the responsibilities of keeping their city safe. Ryuko and Viperion became permanent fixtures of the Parisian rooftops, and Bourdonne replaced Queen Bee after the infamous (albeit self-inflicted) unmasking of Chloe Bourgeois. The people of Paris looked to these heroes with pride and trust.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng, now the Guardian of the Miraculous, looked to her partners with trust as well. She had decided that with her in charge, she could no longer keep secrets from her friends, from her new Order of the Guardians. She discussed it with Chat Noir, and he had smiled and agreed that it was time. And one day, when Ladybug gathered her teammates on a remote rooftop in the dead of night, she said only “I trust you,” before allowing her transformation to fall.

She wasn’t nervous, not really. She knew Kagami and Luka had good hearts, and she had seen firsthand how much Chloe had grown. Those three accepted her civilian self, her true self, without half a thought, and followed their leader in dropping their transformations as well. Chloe got her quips in while Ladybug looked to Chat Noir.

He passed his gaze over the faces of their friends and smirked like he was holding in a laugh. As he said “Claws in,” Marinette could hear the laugh in his voice, an intonation that sounded so very familiar, and oh. Of course.

Adrien Agreste beamed at his friends, both in the mask and out, and said fondly, “I’m so glad it’s you.”

The rest, of course, was history. For the year and a half since then, the five heroes of Paris had kept the city safe from threats magical and mundane alike. Hawkmoth had, of course, gotten craftier and more vicious with his attacks, sometimes choosing to send bursts of weaker akumas over the span of a week, sometimes waiting a month before sending an especially brutal villain their way.

But it was nothing that the Order of the Guardians couldn’t handle. Even though it could get exhausting after a while, which is why the incoming weekend was a welcome reprieve. There was another reason why this particular weekend was so exciting, which was that a new video game, Mindscape, was debuting. It would be released at midnight EST, which was 6:00 in the morning for Paris.

“Today’s the day, girl!” Alya squealed as she flagged Marinette down on their way to the classroom. “We are so lucky that our class won that raffle to get these exclusive passes. I bet I’ll be the first blog to get the scoop on this new tech they’re using!”

Marinette giggled and started to reply, “Super lucky, right? I’m excited too, I heard--”

“You know,” Lila cut her off as she sidled up to Alya. “I’m not saying that I didn’t enter us to get those downloads, but I was a big help with beta testing.”

How she managed to time that comment just as the three girls crossed the threshold of the classroom, and how she managed to know that nearly the whole class would already be there to hear it, Marinette would never understand. She only had to wait a moment before the rest of their friends rushed to the door to thank Lila.

“This opportunity is amazing, we are incredibly grateful!” Max was first in line, ever the technology-enthusiast.

Kim pushed his shorter friend out of the way and vigorously shook Lila’s hand. “You have no idea how many baddies I’m going to blow up because of you.” Lila looked a little overwhelmed as he continued to shake her hand all the while, and she gave him a nervous smile.

He was soon pushed out of the way as Alix muscled her way to the front next. “I definitely owe you for giving me the chance to kick his ass in a brand new way!” She jerked her head to where Kim had landed on the floor, pouting at her.

As the rest of the class who would be joining them in the game’s premiere expressed their thanks, Alya looked on with an affectionate smile. She was so very happy that she now had two kind, selfless best friends. Her smile fell a little as she noticed Marinette stoically edging her way around the crowd and up to her seat, not having said a word to Lila. Alya just wished that her two besties would get along.

Alya put a hand on Lila’s shoulder and smiled her thanks before following Marinette to what was once their shared desk. “You really should thank her, you know,” Alya implored hopefully.

Without turning around to face Alya, Marinette paused and shared an incredulous look with Adrien, who was already seated at his shared desk with Nino. She then shrugged and replied, “Lila never actually said that she got us the passes,” before continuing up the steps to her seat at the back of the class. Alya shook her head and sat down. It was always like this, a cool indifference from Marinette whenever Lila came up. They were both such incredible people, Alya couldn’t understand why they didn’t get along.

As for Marinette, she was semi-content to let Lila be as long as her lies didn’t hurt anybody. Her unrealistic promise to take away all of Marinette’s friends was never fulfilled, and honestly the amount of emotional energy it used to sap from her just wasn’t worth it anymore. Marinette had no idea how Lila was going to get her hands on a copy of the game when Mari was, of course, the one who had won the raffle. She distributed the special access passes herself, and Lila certainly hadn’t gotten one. If this was the way that she wanted to make friends, she would eventually have to face the consequences.

But for now, Lila was basking in her praise. That is, until she glanced at her phone and gave a small gasp of dismay.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked, concern already etched on her face.

Lila covered her mouth with one hand and started rapidly blinking back tears. “It’s my VIP copy of the game. There was a mixup in the mail and it won’t get here in time for tomorrow morning! I’m so sorry everyone, it looks like you’ll have to do it without me....” She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders trembled with barely restrained sobs.

The class shared a worried look, and Sabrina piped up, “It’s okay Lila, you can borrow my copy.” Lila immediately looked up and surged forward to clasp the hands of her friend.

“Really? But won’t it have the same problem?” Sabrina smiled and shook her head. “Nope, it’s a digital download! I don’t mind, you can always trade it back when your VIP pass arrives later.”

Lila gave her a brilliant smile, any tears long-since dried. “Oh, thank you so much Sabrina! I’ll see what I can do about getting you a VIP pass too once mine gets here.”

At that moment, Chloe walked in, and one look at the scene displayed in front of her had her rolling her eyes at her former best friend. She gracefully swept up the steps to join Marinette at the back of the classroom and whispered to her, “Aren’t they all digital downloads?”

Marinette, who had started unpacking her bag to prepare for class, inclined her head and gave the blonde a meaningful look that indicated yes, they were indeed all digital downloads. Chloe snickered and started preparing her own side of the desk.

After the fiasco of outing herself as Queen Bee, Chloe had lost the minimal support and tolerances she had been allowed before. It gave her time to truly reflect on how she acted and treated other people. She had since been quietly making amends with those she’d wronged, and the person on the top of that list was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It took time and a lot of effort on Chloe’s part, but she mellowed out and did a lot of growing up. She still spoke her mind, though.

“Huh that’s strange, I got the VIP package too, but mine was a digital pass,” Chloe loudly proclaimed, studying her nails nonchalantly as the rest of the class turned to look up at her.

Lila grit her teeth into a forced smile and replied sweetly, “Well that’s because mine was an original beta testing copy that they had to update for the full game.” She turned her attention to Marinette and a note of false concern crept into her voice. “Oh Marinette, I hope you’ll still have time to come too! I know you’ll be busy this weekend with planning the spring class field trip. It would be such a shame if it didn’t happen because you were too busy playing a video game.”

Marinette suddenly felt very warm under the gazes of the entire class. She stammered out, “Oh-of course we’ll get to go! Don’t worry, I have a meeting with the school board on Monday.” Trust Lila to sniff out the one thing that had slipped below her radar.

Lila’s eyes lit up with an opportunistic gleam. “That’s great! Where will it be?”

“Well, uh, the school board has to review the location, so I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I can tell you that it will be in, um,” her eyes flicked around wildly and landed on the posterboard of different flags from the prior week’s lessons. “America!”

The class burst into excited chatter moments before Madame Bustier arrived and the late bell rang. Marinette released a breath and sagged in her seat. Saved by the bell.

Chloe gave her a sidelong glance and murmured, “America, huh?”

“Shut up,” Marinette shot back.

* * *

Madame Bustier tried to get the class to pay attention, she really did. They struggled through their lessons before lunch, the volume of side conversations between deskmates swelling all the while. The moment the bell for lunch dismissal rang, the students exploded into conversation as they left the classroom.

Marinette waved as Chloe and Adrien walked off to go meet Kagami and Luka at a nearby cafe. She breezed into the patisserie across the street from Francois Dupont and gave her surprised Maman a kiss on the cheek.

“I thought you were going out with your friends for lunch?” Sabine asked, balancing a tray of eclairs on her hip. “I forgot I have to plan our class trip!” Marinette replied cheerfully as she hurried into the kitchen to quickly fix herself a croque-monsieur. She gave her Papa a hug as she finished preparing her meal. He shouted up at her to not make a mess as she retreated into her room to eat at her desk.

She gave a small snort at that. It was nearly impossible for her to make a mess of food when she had over a dozen Kwami there to clean up after her, but he didn’t know that. She greeted said Kwami with a delighted grin and a wave as she set her plate down by her desktop computer.

“Marinette, why are you back so early?” Tikki asked, “is everything okay?” The other Kwami swarmed around her as she woke her computer up and logged in.

The girl waved one hand nonchalantly and opened up a web browser with the other. “Everything’s fine, I just forgot about planning the class trip!” She took a huge bite of the sandwich and started typing furiously. Several Kwami dove after the crumbs that sprayed everywhere.

“Ohhh, I see! Do you have an idea of where to start?” Tikki zoomed around Marinette’s shoulder to hover next to the monitor screen.

Marinette had the same determined gleam in her eye as when she finally found the perfect fabric for a design. She said confidently around a mouth full of ham, “America.”

* * *

By the time the lunch break had finished, Marinette had a preliminary list of cities on the East Coast of the United States. She had researched Gotham first, but it looked far too dangerous and gloomy. Next was New York City, which she determined was too big. Philadelphia was historic, but in a way that would definitely bore her classmates. Boston was too cold despite its excitement. Which left Metropolis as the perfect candidate. It was also protected by the perfect superheroes, Superman and his family, so she was absolutely confident the school board would approve of the city.

Of course, the meeting on Monday would need more specifics than just the city, but she was pleased with her progress so far. Marinette shut down her monitor, grabbed her backpack and plate from lunch, and went downstairs to the kitchen. She quickly scrubbed and dried her plate in the sink before waving to her parents as they bustled around, accommodating the tail end of the mid-day rush.

Marinette walked across the street with a spring in her step and, spotting a tall flash of blue hair, half-jogged up to her group of friends.

“Hey guys, sorry I couldn’t make it to lunch!” She grinned apologetically at Kagami and Luka.

“That’s alright Melody,” Luka gave her a side hug, “Chloe told us you were busy planning your class trip.”

Adrien slung an arm around Kagami’s shoulder and pulled his girlfriend closer to whisper conspiratorially to her, “I hear we’re going to America.” She laughed softly at his antics and at Marinette who stuck her tongue out at him. Kagami then said to Marinette, “That sounds delightful, Marihime. I trust you will still be joining us tomorrow morning?”

Marinette’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of playing the game with her friends all weekend long. “Definitely! I’m going to finish preparing for the school board meeting tonight so that we can play the second it comes out.”

“If you can wake up on time,” Chloe teased.

Marinette crossed her arms defensively and stated with pride, “I already set three alarms, thank you very much!”

Adrien burst out laughing at that. “Leave it to our everyday Ladybug,” he winked. Her face flushed as she pouted. He chuckled again and kissed Kagami on the top of her head. “See you later, mon coeur.”

She and Luka waved to the rest of the group as they left to return to their own schools. The three Francois Dupont students watched them go for a moment before returning inside.

“So, you and Kagami have plans?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah! Our parents gave special permission for a sleepover at my place tonight so we can play the game right when it comes out tomorrow.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had never quite abandoned. “But I’m not sure how often we’ll be able to be online with you guys after this weekend. You know how busy our schedules are....”

Marinette elbowed him lightly as they walked. “It’s a blessing you both managed to convince your dad and her mom to let you come to the launch at all! We’ll play together when we can, it’s no big deal.”

Adrien smiled gratefully at her and held the door open for both Marinette and Chloe as they entered the classroom. Alya was already there, and once she spotted her best friend (well, one of them), she skidded down the steps with a huge grin and held an invisible microphone up to Marinette.

“Thank you Nadja, and good afternoon Paris! This is Alya Cesaire, and today I am joined by young fashion designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, can you give us an exclusive scoop on the trip you’re planning for your class?”

“Good afternoon Mlle. Cesaire,” Marinette giggled, “Unfortunately, the trip has yet to be approved by the school board so no details just yet. But I can tell you with certainty that we will be visiting the resident city of some popular American superheroes.” She winked as she finished in her best interview voice.

Alya gasped and dropped her pretend microphone as she hugged her best friend. “Really!? Oh my gosh girl, you are the best!”

Marinette laughed and hugged her back as Alya jumped and spun them around. Once they pulled apart, she told the brunette, “As soon as the school board gives me the green light, you’ll be the first to know.”

The late bell rang and the girls practically skipped to their respective seats as Madame Bustier called the class to attention. Well, “attention” in the loosest sense of the word. They struggled once more through the majority of their lessons, but Madame Bustier seemed to sense defeat and she let them chatter excitedly for the last twenty minutes before dismissal.

Kim and Alix were boasting about how they were going to stay up all night, while Max encouraged them to maximize the time they would be able to play the next day by getting a full night’s sleep in before the launch time.

Lila bragged about her role in the creation of the game from its conception to even having suggested the highly anticipated date of release. Adrien pointedly ignored Lila in the row behind his and discussed the music they had recorded and mixed for the game with a very enthusiastic Nino.

Sabrina looked on a little sadly until Mylene, Ivan, Rose, and Juleka invited her to join their Disney movie marathon double-date instead. Mylene was too nervous to play the game so Ivan chose to sit out to support her, and video games weren’t really Rose and Juleka’s style. Sabrina’s face softened as she gratefully accepted their invitation.

Nathaniel turned around in his seat to talk to Marinette about the art rendering and the programs they used while Chloe scrolled aimlessly on her phone.

By the time the bell finally rang, the class was beyond excited to go prepare for the launch the next morning.

Marinette, to her credit, swallowed her enthusiasm and sat down to fully plan out their trip to Metropolis. It was grueling work, researching the safest hotel that was still in a central location. It had to be affordable but not shabby, too, because they had a limited budget. She eventually settled on the reputable Wayne Hotel, apparently part of an enormous corporation called Wayne Enterprises, and then began to build an itinerary with different events from there.

She worked nonstop the rest of the night, with the exception of a brief dinner break, and it was nearly 11:00 at night by the time she finished. Marinette sat up from her desk chair and stretched, then double-checked that her alarms were set before finally heading to bed.

[alwayswriting101]

Pumpkin

So I posted this on AO3 for like three seconds because in my head I said I would do a fanfic challenge for all of October, but...lets be honest, I’m not going to. But I kinda like this fic and I think maybe y’all would enjoy it here. 

Pairing: Flora/Mirta (one sided). 

Oneshot: basically depicting Mirta’s experience as a pumpkin

The life of a pumpkin was a sad one indeed. Once such a pumpkin rises from the ground in birth, it is perhaps pollinated, then is either harvested into a pie, or dies a fruitless, rotting death. But even pitiful the life cycle of a pumpkin is, at least they weren’t sentient. They had no true knowledge of where life began, where it ended, and the beautiful—or horrible—moments missed in between.

The life of a young teenager-turned pumpkin was indeed a travesty. Every waking moment, the pumpkin thought about the life it had lost. Always the outcast, as a being who never really took to magic. Even the pumpkins own parents considered it to be a "waste of space", and completely emotionally abandoned it by the age of ten. It still had a house to live in, but never truly a home to return to. So the moment the pumpkin could, it enrolled in a magic college, a miracle in of itself considering its near inability to perform magic. But the paradise the pumpkin sought to find was indeed a hell of its own. Magic people were brutal, ruthless, and stopped at nothing to trample those below them, and the pumpkin was the lowest of them all. The only person who had ever given the pumpkin the time of day was the only other being with the same inability to perform magic,Whatstheirname. And although whatstheirname regarded the pumpkin more as a pet, something the two of them understood, the pumpkin chose to ignore and relish in the attention it was finally getting. But now it was a pumpkin, and absolutely no one cared. Whatstheirnamemust have long forgotten about it, so now it was alone. Truly alone.

See, even as horrible as the pumpkin's life had been, being a pumpkin was absolutely dreadful. It always enjoyed looking at the bright side of life, any little light that gave it a shred of hope for better days. Even if Whatstheirname affection was conditional, at least the pumpkin had it. At least it had some form of magic. At least it could see and hear and feel the sunlight on its skin. And even on the hardest and loneliest days, the pumpkin depended on the fact that at least there was air in its lungs, blood in its veins, and thoughts in its brain. And with those, the pumpkin always somehow garnered the strength to fight. To fight for the future.

Yet now as a pumpkin, there was no air, no blood, no sunlight, and no love. It could hardly see, hear and feel, but it was mostly pain. The pumpkin had a few thoughts, but its mind degraded with each day. The pumpkin could remember parts of its past, particularly the bad memories, but it barely retained any concepts of hope for the future. It didn't even remember its own name...

Maybe spending the rest of her life as a pumpkin wasn't so bad... Maybe it was always a pumpkin, and merely injected with someone's memories as a cruel experiment. Maybe the pumpkin deserved this...

The pumpkin's thoughts were interrupted as...something suddenly slammed. What was that?

The pumpkin hardly had time to even be startled by the noise before something...warm... warm and delicate grabbed at its sides and picked it up. It was soon enveloped by the warm and delicate feeling, so...inviting, the pumpkin felt as if it could somehow melt into the...being, that was holding it.

"Ooh," the being cooed gently, "Don't you worry sweetie, I'm trying my best to find a way to turn you back." The being rubbed soothing, circular movements onto the core of the pumpkin.

The pumpkin relished the feeling the being was giving. It was incredible, the pumpkin felt its heart (did it have a heart?) soar. Even the smell of jasmine wafted from the being to around the pumpkin was enjoyable beyond belief. Is this what living is?

"I'm trying so hard to get you back into a witch dear,"

What? This...being knows me? It's trying to bring me back? I'm alive? A burst of energy soared through the pumpkin as the implications of those words came to it, but came crashing down at the being's next words.

"It's so hard, the reversal magic is way beyond my capabilities..." So there was no way. There was no way this mere pumpkin could transform back into a witch. Did...did it deserve to even turn back? This witch, or fairy, or whatever was clearly wasting her time on this pumpkin. It was a pumpkin! What did it know? How could it be a witch?

"...But don't you worry, I think—I know that I can turn you back. You just have to wait for me a little longer sweetie..." The feelings of dread the pumpkin had moments suddenly dissipated. This being...wanted to help it. This being was working hard to save it. The being just needed more time. They just needed more time!

The pumpkin allowed it mind to fully relax against the beings body. If the being could trust that they could save the pumpkin, then the pumpkin would too. The pumpkin could wait. The promise to tomorrow would give it enough motivation to wait until forever, until the curse was broken.

"Flora!" Another voice yelled out, "C'mon, we're all going to each lunch!" 

"I'm coming!" the being called back.

Her name is Flora.

Flora pulled the pumpkin away from her body, a fierce determination burning in her eyes. She glanced down at it, which for some reason seemed a bit healthier and more orange. Smiling softly, Flora gently placed a kiss on the pumpkin's core, simultaneously casting a preservation spell, before she placed it back down on her windowsill, facing the noon sun.

The pumpkin sat in awe of the events that just transpired. For some reason, it felt that its humanity was returning to her. She felt that she could feel Flora's kiss on her lips, the way her arms gently lingered on her body before it set her back down, and her magic and kindness as the woman gently faced her in the sun's rays. She could see the gold details in Flora's beautiful green eyes, eyes that reminded her of the grasses on the other side that she endlessly sought. Who was Flora? Why did she care for her so much? Why did her magic feel so...good?

Whatever was the reason, the pumpkin would keep her promise. She would wait until Flora would find a cure to bring her back. Then, she would spend the rest of her days repaying Flora back for her good deeds, no matter how long it took. She would always be by her side.

The pumpkin relished in her newfound dreams as her senses slowly started coming back to her, a reminder both of her predicament now and of the future to come. She could feel, she could see...

She could hear Flora's voice, more clearly than it had ever been.

"I'll come back later Mirta! I'm bringing some books I borrowed from Cloud Tower about spell reversals. Hopefully, they can help!" Flora turned and left the dorm, but Mirta knew she'd be back. She knew Flora would be back, she knew that the spell would be broken. She knew that she was alive, she existed, her life matters. She knew. She knew everything.

My name is Mirta.

[myelocin]

the concept of the end | miya atsumu

synopsis: in which miya atsumu has a hard time accepting of how and why the world allows for endings to exist as much as beginnings.

characters: miya atsumu, you, + crumbs of inarizaki i think lol

genre: angst, slice of life

wc: 1600+

-

in reality, all there really is are two things: the beginning and the end. 

for one, starting and finishing the more mundane chores in life. much like his routine during a saturday, he thinks. he hates the non stop practice held on the weekends, but at the same time would be too restless at home if he were to miss a day. 

“it’ll be over soon,” wasn’t much a comfort because that was just a fact. things that have a beginning will always have some sort of an end--eventually. what atsumu did do though, was try to show up at the very last minute, savoring as much as he could from his remaining time free before showing up to practice with a huff and not much of a game plan. 

“the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll end,” kita used to say, and atsumu would be quick to wave him off without much of an argument.

in a way, he was right, but it didn’t change the fact that the eight hours to conquer afterwards wouldn’t be brutal on the body.  

the mundane parts of life worked like a schedule. there was an expectation that was always met at before or at the end of the twenty four hours offered in a day. 

 so when he’d pick up the ball, first he’d inwardly huff at the dreaded hour by hour schedule of the day where he knew would pass by him slowly, then he’d will his body to move through the motions.

hour by hour. step by step.

jump. toss. spike. land. repeat.

end.

for him, the mundane always had a sense of eternity. he didn’t know whether to like it or not.

so atsumu decides he doesn’t.

and when he meets you, for the first time he’s nervous because he knows from the moment you exchanged hellos—that was your beginning. 

this time, time didn’t move at a snail’s pace. this time, time felt like it was leaping from one year to the next in just a snap. his undercut growing and roots of the dyed blonde showing felt like it happened overnight. and even if he liked it—he didn’t know if he wanted to stay in  it.

atsumu knew he wanted to stay with you, but the end being as inevitable in nature as it is, always lingered in the back of his mind.

to the point where as the time with you passed, the more atsumu chose to grasp at the frayed edges of the present so when the future came, he could stay in some semblance of the past. 

because for atsumu, the end meant coming back home after a month long vacation from paradise. the end, meant osamu, who he spent more than half his life building his life plans with choosing to branch off of volleyball. it meant receiving a diploma at graduation and only seeing the group of people he’d loved break off of his line of connection and only appear as a text during the holidays. 

and even if people, for as long as the concept of time was created, tried their hardest to prolong the inevitable end of some things—they were only half met goals in the end.

“i’ll see you soon!,” “text you often!” “we’ll meet up tomorrow, right?” were plans.

plans that may have seen the light one or two times but end with an ellipsis anyway.

the end, meant eventually closing a chapter with you  too.

and it was terrifying, atsumu thought. because it wasn’t like before; it wasn’t like the days where he knew how the schedule of the day played through hour by hour until the end. 

the end, with you has always just been a mystery. at every argument that continued in a sort of loop instead of landing somewhere solid, at every time either of you walked out during heated confrontations, and every time he thought that you wanted to give up. 

and perhaps that’s why he chose to make the decision for you. 

“we should just break up,” he hears himself say, but the voice inside him rebels.

"no,” atsumu thinks. “please say no.”

but instead, you nod your head and drop your shoulders. 

“are you relieved?” he thinks, the look of apathy settling on his face as his heart clenches at your reaction. “please say something else.”

“is this what you want?” you ask him, voice ringing in the silence. 

“yes,” atsumu replies.

“no,” the voice in his head retaliates.

“then i’ll respect that,” you tell him before the silence envelops the room again. 

-

“if there’s a beginning, there’s an end,” atsumu read out loud once from a quote posted with an ad.

and for him, letting you go was a means of evading the inevitable end. you were someone atsumu didn’t want to watch in desperation as the end chased the beginning he started with you.

time, or at least how it was with you, wasn’t something he measured by the hours of the day or the seconds in a minute. with you, time did everything but pass him slowly. and because he didn’t want you to end, atsumu chose to live in the mundane again.

the mundane where time passed him by the hourly schedule. where starting the day at eight and looking at the five pm end felt more eternal than tangible.

but at least, atsumu thought, even though you were apart—in a way, time for the both of you stretched.

in this case, the end of you was when you sat across him one day, a wedding invitation in between the two of you.

“why would ya’ want your ex at your own wedding?” he asks, and atsumu focuses on the rim of your coffee mug instead of the looped calligraphy on the white piece of paper.

he hears you laugh, and atsumu feels the muscles in his neck twitch. “look at her,” the voice in his head insists, but he clenches his jaw and tightens his fingers against the underside of the table instead.

“so we can have an ending,” you reply, voice almost like a resigned sigh and atsumu regrets his decision to look at you as soon as his neck snaps up.

you look refreshed. the look in your eyes telling him that you were far from his grasp. timeless, atsumu thinks. you’ve always looked timeless. always the one to personify the start for him.

the start being the beginning of everything that taught atsumu the roots of patience and love. the start to questioning the concept of the end and where he is in the spectrum of accepting to let things simply be.

“i thought our ending was the one from four years ago,” atsumu says slowly, just testing the waters and waiting for whether a shift in your calm will come or not.

it doesn’t. instead, you offer him a smile. one where he knows that if he tries to return would only look strained at best.

“did we really?” you ask him and atsumu can only open his mouth as silence renders him speechless.

so even as he sits across you, heart yearning and stomach clenching as the inevitable breathes its presence against his neck, atsumu realizes he’s never felt more far away.

he’s really always just yearned for you as time for him became a loop while for you, it became a witness to your journey.

then you look at him, you back in the present as you push the invitation with the calligraphy that doesn’t loop the letters of his name towards him again.

“i’ll understand if you won’t go, but i just had to put it out there that you’re still welcome to be in my life, atsumu. i don’t think i’ve ever let the chapter of you end.”

atsumu blinks at your words, wishing for his brain to start turning so you wouldn’t sit across him looking lost. sadness, he thinks, has never been a good look on you. so he wishes for his tongue and vocal chords to chime in a joke. anything—just so the haze that told him of your insecurities would clear.

atsumu only wishes to see your eyes.

and like heaven’s grace deciding to drop him crumbs of salvation, it does. you smile at him like you would an old friend and atsumu’s slapped with the reality that now that’s all he really is—an old friend.

time, to him, as he remained and chose to love you again from the mundane felt like it moved hour by hour instead of the four years that he just now realizes that you soared through.

the ring on your finger catches the light from the window. it’s bright.

he raises his head and meets your eyes which seem to glow in the dim lighting of the corner. it’s blinding.

“so see you later?” you say, smiling as you stand up and clap him once on the shoulder before moving past—and away—from him.

the chimes by the door tell him you’ve made it outside. he holds his breath. when he thinks of you, he’s still blinded.

see you later, atsumu resonates. and it felt like the see you later the stranger’s kid from the park used to tell him back when he was young. the one he never met again.

“yeah, see you around,” atsumu replies, to the traces of you, and to no one in particular.

he knows that this time, as he watches you walk away, a reunion isn’t promised. atsumu’s always believed that the universe has ways of letting stories end, so instead of waiting for the ellipses fade into an abandoned closure, like before, he chooses to write the ending himself.

this time, he listens to the universe and lets the inevitable finally catch up.

and as he sighs, watching you turn the corner and disappear, he allows for the end to arrive.

see you later, he thinks. in another lifetime, maybe.

-

[lucefrs]

          tl;dr: luce thinks about how she should have never ended up at georgetown in the first place, and the domino effect it had on her life. after flunking out of gallagher, she savours the summer. her and scott break up sometime after new years. a quick onslaught of success makes her feel wary, unsure how to not take up space she doesn’t deserve after doing it so many times before. she performs her own song in the lower east side.

                                                                      insp for the song she plays at the end. 

BEFORE.

luce is a bright child but lacks in the area of self discipline and application. she would benefit from paying closer attention during class discussion.

she knew from a very young age that she was not smart. at least not by the metric that institutions measure by. the unlucky curse that has kept her in the stream of academia is this: luce frear is smart enough. to graduate secondary school because it’s a key that unlocks america’s golden arches. to pursue higher education when she gets the encroaching feeling that she’s going to be found out that she doesn’t actually have any family friend's as guarantors. at the time, she doesn’t know how impossible georgetown is. but finding herself in the company of a man who will pay for her to do well, with a tutor that makes the s.a.t’s boil down to a formula of memorization and deduction is a genius move. those three hours are brutal, she struggles but she struggles through it, proud that only a handful of questions were left unanswered. it’s only after she's sat for it that she realizes how impossible georgetown is with it’s fourteen percent acceptance rate.

she uses his mailing address to apply, so it’s him that greets her with a sealed envelope that makes her stomach turn as soon as she opens the door. out of the corner of her eye she sees a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. she knows what the letter will say: her sat score’s a valiant effort, enough to get her into any state school, but by no means exceptional. bracing herself for his disappointment she pushes the folded paper towards him so she can pretend his disappointment’s directed at the words on the page and not at her. but the skin at the corner of his eyes pinches and there’s no crease between his brows and she knows something is very wrong. or very right. she’s not sure, at the time it’s all very muddled, thinking about how much she likes that there's no place for his smile to hide, and how that's going to be one of her favourite parts of getting old. his smile that runs right to the tip of his nose, bumps against her cheek when he kisses her. he’s kissing her. he’s happy. because of her. she’s made him happy. that's good. she's happy too. then he’s by the kitchen counter, shaking off the champagne from his hand that’s flows over the lip of the bottle and she’s saying things like, ‘   my sat scores were no where near the average,    ’ and he counters that she shouldn’t disregard the importance of supplemental essays and she makes fun of how he talks because she always does. a girl’s got nothing but a gut to trust, and every glass of champagne’s a fuck you to it. luce never pukes from having too much to drink. she pukes in his shower. luce is not smart, but she’s smart enough not to question how she got into georgetown university.

‘   god, you’re so smart luce. we could call it the boyfriend guesses my lip gloss challenge.   ’ she only hears the first part, boasting a smile that makes the apples of her cheeks swell, all rosy like. at the time gallagher had felt like a enticing romp, bound by infatuation, the glint of the dew that hung at the end of the school’s weeping willows sparkling so bright that her heart-shaped sunglasses couldn’t subdue it. luce has never waited for anything, but her first few months at gallagher felt like a gift the universe had hand-picked, oblivious of her christmas list doodled with music notes and brand names of dresses that cost seven hundred dollars, it felt like finding treasure. smart’s an understatement, genius is more apt. she lets this sentiment lead, when the offer to stay comes soaring towards at her like paper plane that falls right into the palm of her hands. it makes logical sense to stay. scott’s here.

she’ll adapt. but gallagher starts to feel worlds away, and as much as she digs her heels into the gravel, gravity starts to slip from her grasp. but how could she can complain? in outer space, anywhere she looks there’s an endless landscape of stars, bright and twinkling, beckoning her towards the nearly planet. but it makes her want to cry when she sees the blue-green dot recede into the distance.

PRESENT-ISH.

luce has her final exam tomorrow and she’s going to crush it. she’s so excited she can’t sleep. there’s no way she could fail it, unless she slept through it but that won’t happen because she has five alarms set and a scott for safe measure. she’s so excited her heart’s sprinting from her sternum to her stomach and it would be classified as nausea if she didn’t know it was just plain excitement. she winces at the brightness from her phone as she checks the time. 3:36. if she falls asleep in the next four minutes she’ll have a solid four hours, but as soon as she closes her eyes her heart runs like it’s just heard the start of the piston, and the percentage she needs to get in order to pass the class rings aloud and reverberates against her brain. forty six percent. she doesn’t even need to pass the exam in order to pass the class — she’s going to be a gallagher girl. whether she likes it or not. in the dark, her hand finds the nob of his bedside drawer, carefully sliding it open, her fingers tinkering inside to feel for whatever weed scott has, gifted joints or a prized gram for winning a dumb luck game. he always has something, even after he passes some of it on to seb. she doesn’t go far, slips out of his grasp and onto the lantern lit cobbled pavements, follows it strictly like she’s on a board in a game of snakes and ladders, stopping every time she takes a drag. she eventually falls against a bench like an abandoned rag-doll, limbs splayed every which way and falls asleep until she's woken up by the rev of a motorcycle engine set as her alarm. luce goes through the pre-test motions with due diligence, takes a shower and eats a proper meal, as though there's someone waiting to accuse her of self-sabotage. she picks up her tote that's packed from the night before and gives the test her all. it's not her fault that her focus wavered in five minute blocks, or that nerves make her feel as though there's an ongoing tussle in her tummy. she treats the residual high as something she couldn't possibly have controlled, it should've left her system by now. and she’s a hero for persevering through it. she tried her best. and in spite of it all, she still fails. thank god.

SUMMER.

she doesn’t want the summer to end. it does anyways.  

INTERLUDE

she's not the type to tuck herself into the booth, but harper’s gone to the bathroom and luce has a gnarly blister on the back of her heel, and her head’s been swimming in cheap liquor all night with no reprieve. she can’t get her head above water for more than a minute before falling back under. her gaze catches a couple in the corner, slow dancing to david guetta and her lips curl into a wry smile, his lips cushioned against his neck, murmuring something she’ll never know, and then they’re laughing — maybe about the fact that they’re slow dancing to memories, or because they’re in love, everything’s funnier when you’re in love. a tiny giggle, lost to the boom of the speakers escapes her, because she’s so in love too.

i miss you.   missing ur 🍆 spare nudes? 🙏🏼 ft? x

she holds down the backspace key and puts her phone away.

                                                         ***

‘   i don't know how to miss you in the right way,   ’ she says after a bout of silence, it makes her stomach lurch, like stepping off a ledge and finding the ground lower than expected. there’s no chance to blink back the tears, and she’s so in shock from what she’s just said that she makes no motion to cover her face from him, staring down the barrel of the webcam, like she’s on the brink of death. she’d give up the forty years of her life to get to the part where she can look back on this fondly, of a great love that once was. her child-like whimpers have her grappling for breath. ‘   it hurts.   ’ she manages to sputter out, and she knows it’s hurting him too. eventually, luce will blink away the last of her tears, because she needs this picture to really believe it.

SOMETIME, SOME DAY.

she's not so much herself as she is everyone else. there are pieces of her in the crescendo of what billboard deems the song of the summer. she’s etched in the familiarity of the bass in the last song played before last call — the resonant thrum of waking up blacked out on the front lawn of an ex best friend. the producer that the lead singer can't function without. the origin story of a grammy nominated album which started on the fire escape, exiled by roaches, a guitar slung like a rifle entering the wild wild west of cicadas and greeted by an empty ashtray save for a half abandoned spliff. a story deified for late night talk shows with parrot hosts and their fake squawks. it’s all made up names in CD booklets that no one looks at anyways. it doesn’t make her an enigma, she has a wikipedia page. record labels take her out for lunch, and she goes because she likes people, even the kind who gawk at her pretty face, drooling at the dollar signs in her doe brown eyes and blonde hair. of course, they love her, a girl who orders salad but doesn’t skip dessert — a reluctance toward fame but endlessly optimistic about the future of the music industry, splits the bill and turns a handshake into a hug when they express their keen interest in working with her. there’s a twinkling note of laughter when she pulls away and says, ‘    you’ve never even heard me sing. i’m not good enough.   ’ and she realizes with a twitch of bitterness that she doesn’t have to be, and things working out feels more like a curse when it isn’t deserved.

she talks but can't write unless it's in time signatures and treble clefs and if she does manage to write in a language comprised of letters ( which has only ever happened once ) she can't sing - unless it’s for boys she likes. so she poaches a voice, scrolling through the repertoire of people who have held her heart in their hands. her song is the last song of his set and it sounds like this. they smile through every note, she laughs at his falsetto in the last chorus. she plays her heart out with a vigour that leaves her palms moist, expecting that when the song ends there’ll be a silence broached by the slow clap of j.k simmons. luce lives in a movie and can feel the montage scene catch up to her. she can feel the lingering memory that never existed : a swollen belly and walls painted pink, a toddler that makes their white picket fenced garden a stomping ground, a cinematic pan across a fairy-lit paris, and night walks. when she looks over, she’ll see him, but she’s going to change the ending. her pinky hovers above the last key she played, letting the sound ring out into silence, before they’re met with fervent applause and whistles. this is the moment. luce looks into the crowd. she looks into the crowd and none of the faces are him because why would they be ? she hadn’t told anyone. the only person who knew was herself. it was hers. this moment is hers and she cradles it close, because she’s never had something of her own before. not really. but she likes the way it feels. the man who once held her heart in his hand kisses the top of her head and praises her with a plunging bow. she looks into the sea of strangers who watch her and she watches them back. this is the moment. hers alone. and she’s never felt less lonely.

[jaskiersvalley]

I must say that i fucking love your writing ❤❤❤❤my heart melts by how much Jaskier cares and loves his wolves. Just, god, so wonderful! Thank you so much!

There is something so good about Jaskier looking after all his wolves, isn’t there? And I’ve been thinking about Kaer Morhen and how it’s a place where witchers go to rest over winter. What would happen if we turned that on its head? This goes against everything canon but...have I ever been known to stick to canon here?

Each winter, Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen while Jaskier went his own way. It was an arrangement that suited them both, even if Geralt left it until the very last moment before leaving. Really, Jaskier just put it down to his sparkling, magnetic personality that Geralt was finding difficult to give up. At least, that was what he thought until he suggested that they spend a winter together. There was nowhere Jaskier really had to be and he was curious to see the crumbling remains of Kaer Morhen. Geralt was so sparse with details of the place, if Jaskier wanted to write epics about it, he would need to see it for himself.

After some hesitation where Geralt actually looked cagey, Jaskier turned big, pleading eyes at him and got a nod of agreement. Excitement had Jaskier’s heart soaring. He was finally going to see the nesting ground of witchers, see them at their most relaxed and in company of family. They stocked up a cart with salted meats and dried fruits along with any other things Geralt deemed necessary.

The trek up to Kaer Morhen was long, exhausting and Jaskier hated every moment of it. He couldn’t fathom why it had to be so winding, narrow and dangerous. One false move and it would be a slow yet certain death. Arriving at the keep, there was no warm greeting, no reunion of family. The food wasn’t taken to a communal kitchen or pantry. Instead, Jaskier and Geralt hauled everything up to a sparse bedroom and piled into a corner.

Other witchers arrived too, silent and slinking in the shadows. Geralt nodded at them but didn’t speak much. The most interaction they had with each other was on the training grounds. It looked gruelling. Jaskier winced at the blows they delivered to each other, breaking skin, pummelling each other, only to have Vesemir tell them where they were weak and useless. Suddenly, Jaskier understood why Lambert rebelled against being a witcher, why he hated it so much. All through the years, Jaskier had believed that winter was when Geralt could relax, spend time with family and not be wary. But instead, he was pushed harder, made to train, fight against his brothers with desperate brutality. Food was scarce, what they managed to bring with them had to be what lasted for the winter.

Things came to a head when Jaskier found Eskel in the stables, whispering apologies to a goat for not having enough food for them all. He looked miserable, clutching the goat to his chest, knife set to the side and ready, It was heartbreaking, awful and Jaskier had had enough. He’d snapped then and dragged Eskel up to Geralt’s room and gave him some of his own food.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir had looked disapproving when he found out.

“Your job.” Jaskier was livid, fury made him fearless. “You call this home? This isn’t family. This is a survival camp of the worst kind. You’re turning them on each other.”

He didn’t know what response he’d expected, Vesemir was a witcher and older than Jaskier could hope to live in the span of three lifetimes. Yet when the old witcher snarled, he didn’t back down.

“What would you have them do? Go soft over winter? Have them spoilt rotten so they don’t want to leave in the new season? Or if they do, they’ll be slow and reliant on others? No, they need to remember that the Path is a better place for them. This is how they get back out there each year.”

It was the most ridiculous logic Jaskier had ever heard. To make a winter so bad, witchers want to stay on the Path was disgusting. He sneered and glared at Vesemir.

“These aren’t the 900s, we live in modern times now. And I will not stand for your tyranny and bullying.”

Their altercation had been watched quietly by Eskel but also drew in Geralt and Lambert who were hovering behind Vesemir. Jaskier stared him down. “I’ll prove it. You just watch.”

With some help, he got Geralt and his stash of food down into the kitchen. Eskel brought his meagre pile down too, muttering shamefully about not having enough coin for more. However, Lambert lingered, hesitant.

“What do you want to trade?”

“No trade.” Jaskier shook his head. “We’re in this together. Everyone brings what they can, you’re brothers, not enemy.”

That evening, Lambert still hadn’t brought his stash down but Jaskier still served him a bowl of watery stew he had managed to put together from what was in the pantry. There was even a bowl left by Vesemir’s door. The next morning, Lambert’s stash had been added to the pantry.

Training was another battleground between Vesemir and Jaskier. They stood either side of the court, announcing they were both offering training. Strangely, Lambert was the first to head for Jaskier and it was just the two of them that morning, loyalty and fear making Eskel and Geralt stick with Vesemir.

Three days later, Geralt, head down, shuffled to Jaskier’s end of the training grounds and he sat down next to Lambert. As far as he could see, there had been no physical training or anything strenuous Lambert had been forced to do. It might change but he wanted a moment of peace, even if it was half a morning. Instead, he got offered a warm fur to settle in and Jaskier tried to draw him and Lambert into idle conversation.

After lunch, like a beaten dog, Eskel slunk closer. In the distance, Vesemir stood rigid, glaring. Jaskier looked up and set his book of poetry aside.

“Vesemir!” He shouted as the lone witcher turned to leave. Breaking into a run, Jaskier rounded on him and, without any preamble, pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay. You did what you thought you had to. Let me help though.”

It was one of the most miserable winters Jaskier had ever had. Despite careful rationing and pooling of resources, it was still a tough time. By the end of it, he could see the witchers were eager to leave, to get out of Kaer Morhen. Even with his care and gentle approach, the keep held too many bad memories, too many bad habits.

“Next winter, don’t come here. Come to Lettenhove. All of you.” It was a generous offer but the witchers obviously didn’t know just what he was offering. One by one, they agreed except for Vesemir. “You too, Ves,” Jaskier clarified. “Come and let me show you a winter you’re worthy of.”

The year passed, the witchers let loose from Kaer Morhen and dispersing without so much as a look over their shoulders. Spring melded into summer which bled into autumn. As winter approached, Jaskier made arrangements, had rooms prepared for potential visitors and returned home with Geralt in tow.

First at the door was Lambert, looking gaunt and exhausted. The year had obviously not been kind to him, his coin pouch looked light and that was without any supplies he needed to buy for the winter. He was shown to a room and Jaskier found him staring at the soft bed, not daring to touch it.

“You sure that’s for me?”

Jaskier simply helped take his armour off and pushed him into the bed, tucking him in. He would have laughed at the way Lambert looked so bewildered by the gentleness if his heart hadn’t been too busy breaking over the same thing.

Next, Eskel arrived, goat in tow. He was given a room of his own and Jaskier smiled when he was presented with a book of poetry as thanks for his hospitality. It was one he’d mentioned back at Kear Morhen as having never been able to get hold of. Chances were, it had cost Eskel a pretty penny.

When Vesemir knocked on the door, he looked deeply uncomfortable, as if expecting the whole thing to be a trap or to be turned away. He had a cart piled up with food for the season already. Jaskier showed him to his room without batting an eyelash.

Winter was so much better. The witchers still trained but there wasn’t the edge of desperation to their fights. Sometimes it was downright playful, Lambert clinging to Eskel and refusing to be thrown while Geralt pelted them with snowballs. There were other changes too. Slowly, the witchers softened. That wasn’t to say they lost their muscles, they still trained, kept sharp but there was a layer that Jaskier fondly referred to as ‘puppy fat’ on them. They weren’t locked away in a crumbling, cold keep and struggling to survive for another year. Instead, they were thriving.

While Eskel never strayed beyond the boundaries of the home, Lambert was out frequently. The one time he came home dejected because someone made a snide comment about how a witcher should be left out in the cold wilderness to freeze, Jaskier had gone out, a cheap lute in hand. He came back without said lute but the next day there were rumours Lambert heard of how the Viscount hand smashed a lute over someone’s head. After that, nobody dared question the appearance of witchers in the town. It was a well known fact that they were guests of Jaskier and were to be treated as such.

Vesemir’s last walls came crumbling down when, over dinner, rather than snapping and snarling at each other, the other witchers chattered away happily and Lambert laughed. It wasn’t the bitter, hollow bark of before. Instead, he leaned into Eskel with easy familiarity and giggled. Finally, Vesemir understood and he had no idea what to do with the regret and shame that witchers allegedly never felt. And yet, despite everything, a solid warmth settled on his left. Jaskier looked up at him with a smile. Someone settled on his other side and Eskel offered a soft shoulder nudge. It was Geralt who boxed him in from behind, hands on Vesemir’s shoulders and squeezing.

“You’re alright, old man,” Lambert said. “You did your best and what you thought was right.”

Come spring, the witchers were all raring to go, healthy, healed and ready to return to the path. They knew they had their roles and destiny to fulfil, wouldn’t even consider shirking their duties. However, now they had more of a reason to survive rather than sheer spite and not knowing how to die. Instead, they knew that, come winter, they would have a family once again.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

A Double Date at the End of the World

Melanie, Georgie, Jon and Martin have an interesting conversation in their journey through the tunnels.

Cw: second hand embarrassment and lots of teasing (I guess)

Melanie took the lead. Because of course she did. Martin made sure not to get in her way, still feeling awkward after offering help.

She was right. He didn't fare any better than her and most likely worse. The tunnels were darker and damper than he remembered, smelling faintly of earth and... Gas? He didn't dwell on it too much. He found it was better to file those bits of ominous details away until they inevitably come back up on their own.

On his fourth or fifth stumble around a corner Jon caught his arm to steady him. He was walking behind him and Martin was pretty sure he was clutching his backpack for support himself.

"You alright Martin?" He asked softly, his voice just below the level of echo.

"Y-yeah. Thanks Jon. How are you feeling?" Martin asked, his tone changing to worry. He noticed how Jon was during the conversation as they entered the tunnels. All of his worries from the last days in Salesa's home came back, along with the despair at finally having reprieve and knowing Jon won't remember it. Maybe this time it's different, he thought desperately. Maybe the effects will not be the same. God, he hoped so.

"I'm fine, I think. No different than before. It's not getting worse this time... Yet." Jon answered with a hopeful squeeze at Martin's bicept. It was a bit awkward, given they were practically going single file but Martin raised his hand backwards and gently stroked the hand that clutched him. It was dry and cold and all he wanted to do was turn around and warm it properly in his palms.

"Good. I'm glad to hear. Let me know if you start to feel any different."

"Okay. Thank you Martin." He murmured, and Martin could hear the fondness seeping into his name.

He recalled the frustrated argument they had right before Martin stormed away to cool off only to be found by the girls in the tunnels.

He recalled the quiet and uncertain way Jon said his name then before telling him he might be more focused after getting out a statement. It was a tone that made Martin stop his venting to really listen and look at Jon. God he looked so scared. It was the first time in a while he saw Jon like that. He instantly regreted his tirade and felt that same fear that he himself tried to suppress begin to make its way to the forefront of his mind. He realized that tampering it down by fantasizing of the violent ways they'd exact revenge on Jonah was doing exactly what he warned himself against while in his own domain. Sinking into his expectations instead of facing reality. So he went to cool off, get his head in order again and think realistically how to solve their problem instead of kicking walls and squishing sentient cameras (he shuddered at that memory).

He should apologize to Jon for his behavior. He knew Jon understood but still. Once they get a bit of privacy again he should make sure they talk it out. Clear the air so the bad feelings won't hang over them when they need to make a difficult decisions again together. Because that will come eventually and they cannot afford to falter because they weren't on the same page.

Having made that decision, Martin's reveries were interrupted by a noise of someone clearing their throat behind him.

He noticed that Georgie, who was bringing up the rear behind Jon, was trying to get their attention. He also noticed he had slowed down and had reached to fully grasp Jon's chilled hand in his.

"So," Georgie began and immediately Martin became worried. "You too, huh?"

Jon chuckled and as Martin started, reflexively pulling his hand back to quicken his pace. But Jon just held onto to him tighter.

"Yes Georgie, we are together now." He said and Martins heart soared the same way it did when Jon affirmed it in front of the Boneturner. It felt good that Jon wanted others to know. It felt so good to validate their relationship with an outside perspective when they have been alone for so long now.

"How long?" Georgie asked, a little too eagerly.

"Um, a couple of weeks before... all of this?" Jon said vaguely. Their time in the safehouse was interesting in regards to the buildup of officiating their relationship. The actual conversation about it took a while to happen even though they were already very much attached to each other from the moment they left the Lonely.

"Wait, what?" Melanie called out from the front, her voice echoing around them.

"Hah! I told you!" Georgie cheered.

"No way! I was so sure Jon would never have the guts. Surely not before the world ended."

"Wait. What's going on?" Martin was confused.

Georgie, still amused, explained. "Melanie and I had a... Wager when exactly you too would get together. She thought you both were too gutless to take the first step. I thought your unbelievably daft pining, at least from Jon's side of things would eventually become too much for him to handle."

"Georgie," Jon admonished, clearly flustered.

The explanation caught Martin off guard. He knew Jon had some semblance of feelings towards him after the coma. Some bits of chased conversation, vague massages in recordings, his offer to literally run off and become blind together. It wasn't blatantly obvious though it was far from subtle. But Martin never learned how much Jon actually wanted it during those months. Jon spoke about it more generally and didn't seem to want to go into specifics.

"What? You were so obvious about it even before your coma. And then you came over to try to pull us back in to help him... Well, I mean, come on!" Georgie said defensively. "It was pretty hard to miss."

"you should have seen him in the institute." Melanie jeered. "He brooded all day every day. You couldn't even say Martin's name without making him look like a kicked kitten. It was brutal."

Jon let go to cover his face while Martin started chuckling in hidden glee. "Melanie please. I wasn't brooding, I did not mope! Besides, we were all having a bad time."

"Yes but you were so melodramatic about it, like a heartbroken teenager. You should have seen the faces he made whenever Peter's name came up. Oh boy that was something."

"How do you mean?" Martin was struggling to keep his voice straight, every new morsel of information giving him more joy.

"It was the type of face you make when talking to a Tory. The type you want to strangle or punch and are debating which you should do first." Melanie was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Jon was always good at faces." Georgie giggled.

Martin couldn't help but laugh at that out loud. I was true, Jon did not know how to school his expressions.

Jon groaned "Martin don't encourage them please."

Martin half turned around to grin at Jon "They're not wrong though, are they? It is pretty funny."

Jon grimaced at him "Shut up."

Martin let the Eye contact linger a moment and in the dark he mouthed 'I love you' to Jon, hoping he could see. Judging by the affectionate huff he heard, the message was received. He turned back smiling and quickened the pace to catch up to Melanie's confident strides.

"God you guys are sappy" Georgie sighed. "At least it's an improvement to the mess you two were before."

"Truer words have never been said" Melanie seconded. "I'm glad I was wrong about how assertive you two are. It seems I need to reevaluate my impression of Beholding's baby and his lover boy."

Martin and Jon sighed simultaneously. "Please stop" Jon muttered, mostly to himself.

"Um, how about we change subject, hm? Yes, we're finally together and so are you and this is basically a double date at the end of the world so let's just... Conclude it at that." Martin said, hoping this assertion will work.

"Alright, yeah let's change the subject, shall we?" Georgie said in a dangerously mischievous tone again. "Jon, is that my What the Ghost merch you're wearing? Have you been wearing that the entire time now? You know I'll be needing that back. Our wardrobe is wearing pretty thin."

The tunnels were filled with Jon's groans and Melanie's roaring laughter as they continued onwards towards the survivors' camp to meet the others, finally take a breather and regroup to plan for their fateful future.

[daddy-chiluc]

No Future (unedited)

Tw: Breakup, depression

Vent fic

——

What was he to expect? He knew from the start it’d fall apart. Crumble and wilt away, not giving them nearly enough time to bask in each other’s love and warmth. No...there would never be enough time. It was all just faded memories, moments once filled with an untamed happiness turning sour in his mouth, his throat soar as the screams he wanted to let out where trapped. He was trapped. Trapped in his own mind as a pile of regret sat along his once confident shoulders. His burning eyes becoming dark, desperate to hide whatever painful memory had come to mind.

They were fresh. New. The moment he found out he was a Harbinger though it was too late. He was already so deeply in love it filled his lungs, drowning him, grasping at his heart strings and violently pulling him down deeper and deeper. He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have asked him to be his partner that night. Maybe they were just high off of Valentines day. High off of the floating, elated feeling of finally being loved by someone. Trusted by someone. Just reminiscing was enough to make his eyes burn. He didn’t want to remember. He never wanted to remember...but it felt like he didn’t have a choice.

They flooded him, swallowing him whole as he gasped for whatever remaining air was left. He felt weak. He should have done more. Why didn’t he do more? Childe could be suffering even more now. Suffering without his aid. This idea alone was enough to cause many sleepless nights filled with anxiety. The suffocating feeling of loneliness returning to its perch overhead. They never had enough time.

His memories were vivid. Vivid and gut wrenching. It made his fingers twitch and his work take up his desk space. He couldn’t distract himself anymore...at least not for awhile. No matter what he did or where he went, there’s was always that faint memory of him haunting him. Even on his darkest evenings, he’d go to his closet and grab the maroon shirt that hung idly behind. Burying his nose into the soft fabric his ex lover left behind, tears staining the dark fabric as his scent overwhelmed him, a broken sob breaking his throat.

He should have done more.

A sad smile caressed his features as his grip tightened on the forgotten shirt. He laughed coldly as he remembered his first kiss. Hidden in the restroom of the tavern as Childe looked at him so fondly. A look of pure adoration and love — the look he gave him burned into his memory as he remembered the Harbinger gently rubbing his thumb along his cheek while he held him so closely, the silent fear of letting him go dancing quietly behind his façade. A fear Diluc didn’t notice. A fear Diluc chose not to notice...because he himself feared the same thing.

He remembered the soft kisses they had, they were long and amateur, his heart fluttering like a teenager. He shouldn’t have been so elated. He should have ended it while it was still fresh...but this thought hadn’t come to mind at the time, far too enamored in Tartaglia’s love. His love blinded him.

His body tremors as recalled their first, and last date. The way they held hands. That’s when he got the maroon shirt. It was a birthday gift. That and many other items. But that was something he held onto dearly. Far too scared to let it go, terrified that he’d forget him. Forget what they had. Perhaps a part of him didn’t want to let it go. He wasn’t ready too.

He tried to recall their moments together. He remembered the day he was horribly sick. He wore his shirt all day, a heavy, nauseating feeling settling in his throat. He returned to the winery, Adeline aiding him as his workers took care of his work for the day. Childe had written him letters that day while he was out at Liyue, too far from Diluc’s reach. He had sent over music for Diluc to listen too, aiding him in finding sleep before he woke up heaving over a toilet.

After that it felt like things started to go downhill. Diluc sending and receiving letters everyday. Good mornings, afternoons and nights. He was so deeply in love with the harbinger that it became reckless. He listened to his stories. Storied of home and pets...stories of himself. How he had dated another male before the Fatui found out. That should have ended it right there...but he was so determined to make them understand.

Six months. Six months was all he needed. An absurd amount of time that was never achieved. The rest of his memories were blurry, his mind swarmed with that day. He had written and sent several letters to Ajax that day...but it wouldn’t subdue that uneasy feeling that filled the pit of his stomach.

The anxiety he felt that day. All he wanted was for him to be okay. To be alright. He didn’t care if he didn’t love him anymore. All he wanted was for him to be safe. Hours ticked by as he checked in with Adeline over and over, asking about any letters from Ajax and always getting the same answer. No sir.

Every time those words left her lips his heart would ache. Where was Ajax? He negotiated with himself, trying to come up with some logical situation. Perhaps he was just on a mission, or, maybe, Ajax had finally gotten tired of him. Diluc started to shut down. Becoming cold in his words and actions as he worked and worked, anything to push away whatever thought haunted him in the back of his mind.

When Adeline rushed to him with a letter however...and overwhelming sense of relief washed over him, perhaps a little too quickly. When he opened the black envelope, he quickly noticed it was from the Tsarista. He read through it over and over.

Ajax had ran from the Fatui? He was safe but...this woman could have very much so seen every “I love you” that Diluc and Ajax exchanged. Every intimate moment and their private love story was out on display for all of Snezhnaya to see. The red head’s body was numb. This was it. This is where it was to end. Only lasting for three, almost four months. It became apparent to Diluc now. It didn’t matter how long they waited...Ajax would never be able to be with Diluc. It was too dangerous.

Diluc had watched the fire mindlessly, asking Adeline go put any letter from Snezhnaya aside until morning. Even amongst the fire, the book that sat heavy in his palms wasn’t enough to distract him. It would never be enough. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat or focus on the task he had given himself. It was so short lived Diluc couldn’t do anything. He felt helpless.

He wasn’t sure when, but soon enough Lisa, Jean and Kaeya had silently made their way into his winery. They saw the winemaker sitting absentmindedly in the seat wearing a deep maroon shirt as he seemed almost lost in the flames performance. They were silent, the pain Diluc felt seeping just under they’re skin. The Uncrowned King of Mondstadt was happy with the Harbinger. Genuinely happy. He smiled and laughed more when he was with him, far too affectionate for a single person to even recognize that it was in fact Diluc with that Harbinger.

It was late now, midnight, and Diluc had disappeared to do his nightly routines. Lisa, the kindhearted woman she was, searched for him only to hear broken sobs from his bathroom as he sung a Snezhnayan tune through his cries. Deciding to let him have his space, Lisa notified Jean and Kaeya, a look of dismay dancing wearily along their features.

Too engorged in the agony the night had brung, they fell victim to sleep while Diluc grasped at the cold empty spot in his sheets. Where Ajax once laid as he quietly played the tune in his room, silently crying himself to sleep, slipping in and out of what was once peaceful to what was now a pained filled memory.

By morning, Diluc was too scared to leave the comfort of his linens. Too scared that if he left, what was left of Ajax would disappear too quickly. He wasn’t ready to let him go. He wanted to see the world with him. To move far away and own pets together, calling them their children and creating their own family out in the middle of nowhere...but now it was all just a dream too out of reach for Diluc to hold on.

Carefully, Kaeya walked in and held Diluc as he broke down in his arms. He had dealt with this woman that had intentions of hurting Diluc. He had read every note this woman had dare sent to the winery and disposed of them, a brutal back and forth of letters that should have taken days but it all happened within an hour. Diluc wouldn’t leave the bed. He would never have a happy ending...he couldn’t. The archons wouldn’t allow him to have a happy ever after.

Hours ticked by as he hugged Childe’s pillow, resting in his spot on the bed as he stared out the window. There was never enough time. He laughed bitterly at himself, Jean had even warned him this would happen and he made no effort to listen. No effort to put a stop to whatever forbidden love story he had hoped to achieve. Here he was now, lying pathetically in his bed because of this impossible love story.

Night had fallen once more and he had never been happier to get a letter from Ajax. He read it over and over. The Harbingers didn’t care for their little escapade...the Tsarista, however, would take “time” he said. Time. Something unknown to Diluc. There was no such thing as time. He knew if he stayed Ajax would only get hurt. He already suffers so much, Diluc didn’t want to add to that list if it wasn’t necessary.

And so...he wrote his, hopefully, final letter. He told Childe that he believed in him from the start, encouraging him to chase his dreams and to be himself even if others said not to. At that, he wished him the best of luck as he sent the letter, signing it and crying on his front porch.

They didn’t have a happy every after. What they had was no future at all. Their moments trapped behind an hourglass that would flop over and over in their minds. That’s all it was.

No future.

—

I’m sorry if it’s messy and a little ooc. I needed to vent pretty badly and Chiluc is my comfort ship and this situation that I went through is kind of the reason why I ship them at all.

Ah, the art of forbidden love.