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guqin-and-flute · 4 years

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Holding Me Holding You [Ch. 3]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

It takes him a cursedly long time to decide that being useless is unacceptable. Carefully, he steps around the weeping boy to retrieve his guqin from his table, settle on the bed, set it across his knees, and play. He begins with a quiet song of calming, feeding gentle power through the chords, the intention of calm and ease. His eyes are on Lan Fu’s back, watching as the stuttering sobs slow, as he rubs his eyes, wipes his nose on the carpet. Sniffs.

Xichen can still see the occasional flash of his eyelashes as he blinks--still awake. And so he continues, transitioning easily into one of the lullabies his mother had sung him, a song about the moon and a crane and loneliness. He had never been able to find it in any traveling musician’s repertoire, nor in the Lan archives. (Perhaps she had written it. She had had the time.)

Its familiarity sinks into his aching muscles and sodden mind like the memory of her warm hands, her tilted smile, the scent of the incense in the Jingshi. I know, he tries to lace into the song, as if he could speak directly to the boy’s soul instead of his young mind. This feeling you miss, I know. I’m so sorry.

She had always been able to calm them when they cried.

He watches when Lan Fu’s breathing evens as he bridges into a melancholy Gusu melody and he chances to slow his fingers and soften the plucks. When the song hangs unresolved in the middle of a phrase and the child remains unmoving, he lifts him from the floor as painstakingly careful as he can and tucks him back into his little barricade of bedclothes. Lan Fu doesn’t even twitch and something like relief trickles through him.

Now, Xichen’s fingers buzz from the memory of song and the quiet of the night is now worming its dark tendrils into his ears.

Alone.

Being from the Lan Clan, things like solitude and silence should be old companions, as familiar as the clear mountain air. But tonight, they simply remind him of death. The silence of wonderless snowfall. A hollow too cold to glean rest. The silencing talismans still glow from the corners of the house, therefore he is disturbing no one by breaking the rule of curfew. Though his eyes are coals burning dully in their sockets, sleep is not returning--and he would be sorrier if it didn’t hold the promise of more restless nightmares in its depths.

And so he meditates instead. He continues to play, without design, letting his hands lead and the practice of sinking into himself is good enough to take the ragged burn off the edge of existing, flow and breath to focus on instead of inadequacy. In and out. Down and through. The tangled panic of the horrible screaming fit fades like a painting, flat, distant. Like a whetstone for his mind, a methodical sharpening--he cannot be useful if he neglects his focus. He still feels like a leaden mass of cotton wool and too tight skin that’s been given a thorough beating, but the calming of his qi is helping, however marginally.

His fingers wander over the lullaby again, turning the ghost of his mothers voice over in his mind carefully, like cloth worn thin by handling. Breathe. Let it slip away.

The Song of Clarity crests too brightly and so sinks into the song of laying spirits to rest, rippling out in muted twilight tones. For those I could not save. For those who cannot find rest.

Wei Wuxian’s red rimmed eyes and awful, mirthless laugh creep into his mind’s eye, and the dark waters of the song bubble with the feeling of loss and regret, the surface darting with shadows of anger and fear and uncertainty and--

He takes a breath. Lets it go. Continues. And for him. For who he once was. For who he is to Wangji.

Perhaps it is unfair to extend such a softness to the Yiling Patriarch. A betrayal to the hundreds upon hundreds who lay dead, the hundreds more who are now bereft; parentless, childless, weeping. Alone. Xichen still holds the taint of his power as a burn in his lungs, in his wounds. Perhaps this impulse is why tragedy keeps befalling the Lan while they are under his care. But he can’t help himself. Xichen had known the boy laughing and teasing, had known him bruisingly arrogant without a shred of ill intent, had known him sunny and whole and by Wangji’s side, in his thoughts.

For him, then. For that boy. For what he had meant.

Gone, too, now.

Breathe.

The memory of Wangji’s fear, etched more deeply than anything Xichen could recall on his face, the utter agony--

This aches too deeply, the heat of it tightening around his throat, and so he, too, lets that go, for now. Just for now. Breathe.

His fingers trip over the strings on their own, formless, plucking sound from nothing. Some time ago, his eyes had closed.

He longs for daylight and voices. Warmth.

Warmth.

The notes are a repetitive little rivulet.

Gold. Hair hot from the sun. Gentle, smooth mouths. Laughter.

Da-ge. A-Yao.

That ache in him flares anew. He wants them. He wants them to hold him. He can almost feel A-Yao’s hands, soft but strong, cradling his face, smelling of jasmine and him. Breathing deep only brings sandalwood incense and the oil for his guqin strings, but even remembering loosens his chest. Breathe.

The stream of notes is tumbling slower and slower, spaces widening. They mean something….

Mingjue would take him in his arms, let him rest, let him melt onto him, warm and sturdy and familiar...he would be safe...held...loved….

The notes are words. The guqin language. I miss you. I miss you. I….

Something brushes over the back of his hand and Xichen startles upright, groggily. But it had been his own hair lowered by his dipping head. Shaking himself, he sits up straight. Incorrect posture, imperfect meditation. Selfish daydreaming.

Start again.

When the hour to wake comes, his fingers are raw and his back and neck are knotted like a gnarled tree, but it is enough. He can rise and do this, because he must.

Lan Fu stirs after Xichen has bathed, dressed, and set out food on the table. The calming effects of the guqin playing still seem to lay over the child and though his fingers throb, Xichen feels a distant gladness. It had not been quelling a ghost or a puppet or an imp. Just a boy.

A boy who will apparently eat nothing but bread. “Some congee?” Xichen offers almost desperately for the fourth time this meal.

Lan Fu gnaws on one of the buns that he has in each hand, staring at him blearily with no further response. Of all the trials he has faced the past few days, this seems like it should be the most easily conquerable and yet Xichen retreats again to nurse his steaming cup. The tea is scalding and strong and he can feel it's energizing work seeping through his blood. Much needed, because Xichen is realizing that he has the tendency to slowly spiral and sink down into himself whenever he stays still too long. He needs to be afloat and alert. He downs the cup, and pours another. Lan Fu is watching him closely. Doggedly, he drains 2 more and is pouring a fourth when the child scrunches his fingers in the universally recognized ‘give me’ gesture. "Wanna?" he says through a mouth full of bun.

Xichen folds into a tired smile. "You won't like it. It’s too bitter."

This produces an insistent whine and a two handed reach, the buns falling, neglected, to his plate. "Yucky," Xichen insists, but finds himself reaching for a spare cup, into which he dribbles a negligible amount of tea before handing it to the child. “Swallow first.”

Eagerly, Lan Fu tips it into his mouth. Then screws up his face in the most comical display of dismay Xichen has ever seen and spits messily onto his plate. “Eeyurk!”

Despite himself, a laugh breaks from Xichen. “I did tell you. Yucky.”

“Yucky,” Lan Fu echoes, sticking his tongue out. He’s reaching for the buns again when Xichen is suddenly struck by a nostalgic bolt of inspiration from when Wangji had been a terribly picky eater. He presses his fingers and thumb together to form a rudimentary little head that he pokes up beside the child to use like a mouth to speak.

“Hello.”

The boy looks quickly to Xichen’s face, eyes round and mouth agape, expression clearly asking; ‘are you seeing this?’ Xichen mirrors his astonishment, eyebrows raised, as if, he too, can hardly believe it. Lan Fu returns to staring at the hand-head.

“I’m Chatty Hand. What’s your name?”

“A-Fu.”

“Are you hungry, A-Fu?”

Immediately, chubby little hands fasten on the flat blade of Xichen’s pressed fingers, Chatty Hand’s “top jaw”, slow delight spreading across his face. “Nuh-uh.”

“I’m starving--let’s eat together! Here--” with A-Fu’s hands still attached, Chatty Hand lowers itself and pretends to munch on the congee growing cold in front of him. “Mmmm, yum. You try.”

A-Fu grins and pushes the hand back down to his bowl with enough force to drown it. Chatty Hand complies, making more exaggerated sounds of satisfaction. After this happens another 2 times instead of actual eating, Chatty Hand grabs the spoon in its ‘mouth’, scoops up a little congee, and bobs up to A-Fu’s face. “Open up!” it chirps.

Thankfully the boy does and proceeds to chew on it with his mouth wide open after it’s poured in, a fact which Xichen is both too exhausted and too willing to accept literally any victory to amend, right now. The rest of the meal follows suit, Chatty Hand feeding food bits to an incredibly entertained A-Fu. A few times, the child makes his own little imperfect pincer of his first 3 fingers and holds things up to Xichen’s mouth, which he obediently takes with proper appreciative ‘mm’ noises.

Chatty Hand had always made Wangji smile when they were young. In some strange, sleep deprived way, it was almost nice to see it again.

After a rather perfunctory bath that was full of far more splashing than Xichen was used to, he is dressing the boy when he looks at the door with sudden understanding and asks with excitement, “Niang?”

With difficulty, Xichen forces a small smile and ties his little shirt closed. “I’m going to take you to be with some friends. Does that sound nice? You can play.”

Thankfully, A-Fu simply nods and goes back to attempting to undo all the laces that Xichen has just fastened.

When they finally leave, A-Fu in Xichen’s arms, they find that the day is the sort with gray, misting rain which leave parasols useless and beads in fine little droplets along A-Fu’s downy hair and face, leaving him blinking. Xichen smiles and carefully wipes his face clean with his sleeve and allows himself a wave of fond sadness at the door of the temporary house for newly orphaned Lan children. While it had been fraught and exhausting, being able to care for this little armful of life in the midst of this crisis had also been...grounding. And he is unbearably sweet.

But every excuse was gone, now, and it’s time.

When they go inside, A-Fu is clearly unconvinced. He stands, clutching the leg of Xichen’s robes with an iron grip and staring at the handful of older women and the tumble of children under their care. (There are more than a dozen of them. The grief in Xichen’s chest tightens its grip around his heart.) A few of the caregivers beckon to A-Fu, holding out toys and Xichen nods with an encouraging smile when his serious little face turns up to him in question. It takes several minutes but, warily, he ventures over, step by uncertain, clunky toddler step to sit and becomes enraptured with a little doll one of the women holds out to him. He even smiles when a little girl rolls a ball toward him. All is going perfectly.

It’s when Xichen has given all the information he knows about A-Fu--his parentage, his peculiarities, his fondness for buns--and turns to slip out that a familiar cry shatters the scene and has him going still.

Xichen should go. He should go out the door and continue his day. These are experienced caregivers, mothers and grandmothers--they know how to calm a fussing child. A-Fu will be happy, he will be cared for, he will be better off--

Instead, he turns, slowly. A-Fu charges straight into his shins, hands scrabbling as he wails, “No no no! No go!”

“A-Fu--”

“No! P’ease!”

Why was that ‘please’ just as effective as a knife to the heart? It sways him sickeningly. All the other children are staring at them with huge, frightened eyes, uncertain.

“Up! Up, p’ease! No go! Up!” He’s bouncing on his toes, hands thrust up at Xichen desperately. His face is terror stricken, crumpling.

It’s alright. Xichen can try to explain to him. Can at least give him a proper goodbye. He kneels as several of the women converge on them, speaking in soothing voices.

“Xiao-Fu, why don’t you--”

“Shhh, not so loud, come here, zongzhu has a lot of work to do, we can’t bother him--”

A-Fu is attempting to climb him, latching onto his neck with an almost choking grip, feet scrabbling on his chest to get better purchase and, automatically, Xichen wraps his arms around him for support. The child is shuddering, crying again. “A-Fu, why don’t you go play with your friends?” He murmurs, rubbing his back slowly.

“No. No,” he moans back, refusing to raise his face from Xichen’s neck.

“They have toys and food and games, here.”

“Yes, look!” One of the women beams, the expression overbright on her exhausted face, and twirls a shiny something on a stick, making it flutter.

Another slides her hands around A-Fu’s torso, gently attempting to pry him off and he lets out the most earsplitting wordless shriek into Xichen’s neck, loud enough to send shards of pain through his head and, automatically, his arms clamp back around him, halting her progress. A-Fu’s frantic noise has his own pulse up, thanks to the excess of morning tea and nausea sheers its way through him, driving up a useless wave of anxiety and helplessness and what is he doing, what is he doing--

“It’s fine,” he manages to say with startling calm. “I think he just needs time. It’s fine. I can keep him with me for now.”

“Zongzhu, we know you’re very busy, are you sure? Xiao-Fu, don’t you want to come play with your friends?”

He keeps rubbing A-Fu’s back as he stands. It makes his head spin but he smiles with what he hopes is reassurance. “He didn’t trouble me yesterday. We can try again later. It’s fine.” He distantly notes that keeps saying that.

This is selfish, he knows. He knows the boy should be with people who know how to take care of him, who can entertain him, who can maybe bear to properly explain to him that his mother isn’t coming home. He just...can’t stand any more screaming. He wishes it was empathy but fears it's something closer to cowardice, but, in any case, it's easier. Kinder. (He hopes. It's hard to tell.) And he truly doesn't mind. The inertia of him had helped thus far.

It’s alright. It’s what it needs to be, right now. There is nothing for it.

Once they leave to start Xichen’s duties, it becomes clear quite quickly that the previous arrangement of A-Fu slung on his back is no longer satisfactory, as A-Fu keeps crying and squirming. After some trial and error, Xichen manages to fashion a rudimentary harness out of the same sash that fastens A-Fu to his chest, facing out to take in his surroundings. He likes to hold onto Xichen’s thumbs as he walks.

Visiting Wangji is...disheartening. He is no worse, but neither is he much better. His bedclothes are thankfully clean of blood and Xichen accepts this as the gift that it is. But he is still unconscious, still white lipped, hot skinned, and breathing unevenly. The unknown boy nestled on a smaller mattress on the floor next to him is no better. In fact, he’s crying in his sleep, tiny, weak little whimpers that tear at Xichen’s chest. So he kneels beside him, using the cloth and bowl of water left by the doctor to wipe his damp forehead. “Sad,” Lan Fu remarks, pointing at him, craning his neck around to look up at Xichen’s face. He, himself, is thankfully calm, now.

Xichen nods, pats A-Fu’s chest in acknowledgment, peels the hair wisps off of the sick boy’s sweaty neck. He wishes he knew what to call him. Wangji would know. When the child’s face and neck is cleaned of sweat and he is tucked back in, Xichen sits on Wangji’s bedside, ignoring the burning pull the position puts on his neck from A-Fu’s weight on his chest, and allows himself to stroke the hair back from his brother’s face as well.

Perhaps Wangji would not want it--he was particular about touch. Perhaps he would resent Xichen for his part in all that has happened.

But for now, he simply lets himself sit and methodically smooth his hair. When Wangji sleeps and that austere expression is gone from his face, Xichen can see reflections of their mother in his brows and nose. Can see echoes of what he remembered of his father in his hairline and jaw. Most of all, though, Xichen can see A-Zhan, the boy that had let Xichen care for him, once upon a time. He couldn’t miss his brother if he was right in front of him, but he could surely miss the ease with which Wangji used to lean on him. Miss what he had meant.

He lets out a shaky breath, carefully.

Please don’t leave me. Please. Please.

Holding the order of what must be done in his mind is a bit like grasping at water by midday and whatever clarity his meditation had brought him is quickly being dulled by the grate of exhaustion. It feels as if everything is balancing on the thin edge of a knife--the Clan’s morale, Wangji and the child’s health, the future, the next necessary step. Treacherous ground. Continuously wobbling. He is failing, again. Failing to do what is necessary simply because his mind and body refuse to cooperate.

When he requests a stimulant from their lead doctor, there is no hesitation and, in fact, he pulls it from his inner pocket. Xichen frowns. “Please make sure that you are also taking care of yourself,” he cautions. “We cannot have you falling ill at a time like this.”

The doctor bows and raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. Xichen isn’t stupid, even as he swallows the concoction and thanks him politely. He’s aware of his own pallor and dark circles--had been confronted with them in his mirror this morning. He can feel the grinding ache behind his eyes, the very weight of his own body attempting to drag him down to simply curl up in the dirt. He is aware of the hypocrisy, here; especially when he worries so when A-Yao does the same, staying up for days until he’s strung out and shaking. Until Xichen has to beg him to come to bed or he simply physically can’t go on any longer.

He knows it’s unhealthy. He knows it’s not ideal. But there is just...nothing else that he can do. It is a morbid balancing act he is performing and with any one component removed, he feels as if he might spiral out into some yawning void of...something. Despair? Helplessness? Madness? Simply keep moving. Simply be useful. Take the next step.

The rest can come later.

#BRO I feel so fucking smart--I imported the html from AO3 into the HTML formatting here and it KEPT ALL THE ITALICS #AAAAAAAAAAH #Also do not be fooled by the concentration of relatively fluffy stuff in this #The next chapter is going to be :) not that #3zun raise jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my stuff #my fic #okay not THAT smart the formatting still fucked up

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akitokihojo · 4 years

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Chasing the Seasons - Cruel Summer’s Epilogue

And there you have it, folks. I have literally no self control. :)

Have an epilogue almost half the length of the original story. Thanks for reading!

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It was hard. It was impossible not to think of each other throughout the entirety of every single, passing day.

Maybe it was a blessing, but within the week of returning from their trip, Kagome was thrown right back into the swing of things. She had to scramble to buy the two books she still needed - one she got lucky with, the other she had to purchase from an overpriced seller on eBay, get any other necessary items for the term ahead, make sure all registration was properly done, and get herself re-acclimated to a generally normal sleeping schedule. She stayed busy. Busy enough not to constantly wonder how Inuyasha was fairing. But, unfortunately, that never prevented her from incessantly checking her phone.

The habit came on quickly and was difficult to kill off. In her spare moments to breathe came her opportunities to light up the notifications page. Even in class, jotting down notes, listening to the professor drone on and on, Kagome just couldn’t stop herself from tapping her phone’s screen to see if she’d missed anything while her cellphone sat directly next to her notebook. There was nothing to expect, she was aware of this. She was forewarned of their unaligned schedules. She was aware they weren’t in a relationship. This was what they’d tried to prevent; the thick feeling of unintentional dejection that clung to the insides of their chests like tar.

Was it ironic that Kagome was still knocked down to her ass? No. She wasn’t sure irony was the right definition of this. The truth was, unknowingly so, she and Inuyasha had contradicted themselves from the start. It was all innocent in the moment, wanting to soak up every minute with your soulmate until you couldn’t anymore. Trying to make the best of a given situation. It made sense then. Hell, she even knew this was going to hurt when they had to part, but no one could have ever prepared her for the aftermath.

See, it wasn’t a relationship the two should have planned to avoid, even if it was for the sake of ease. The moment they connected with each other, they were set in stone. That’s not your typical, monogamous relationship. What Sango and Miroku had, what they’d worked to build - that was a relationship. They chose each other. But, fate chose Inuyasha for Kagome. That red string tied their souls together, one half fulfilling the other, so what they had was an irrevocable, irreversible, and irreplaceable bond. They had a companion. A partner. Yes, all synonym’s for a “relationship,” but vastly different in context. A relationship you could turn off. You could end it. You could do so by bitterly cutting ties, or mutually understanding things weren’t working. You couldn’t do that with a soulmate, though. Having a soulmate is the universe’s way of saying, “Hey, I made this person for you. They’re pretty and nice. You’ll like them, I promise. You’ll like them so much, you’ll literally never feel whole without them once you meet. It’s not a flaw in the design, trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

In other words, the distress they wanted so badly to avoid, the obligation they felt toward one another, it was all entirely inevitable. What they, instead, should have done was prepared their minds and bodies to have to adjust to the emptiness. Because, eventually it would dull. Eventually, it did dull. The ride to that point, though, was nothing short of crippling.

He wished he’d known exactly what to say when he’d discovered who she was, what she was bound to mean to him. He wished he’d understood the conflict in his argument and how he was so wrong. A part of him even wished they’d never met. Not yet, at least. Much like how he’d originally hoped she hadn’t dreamt of him so he could carry the burden alone and find her in the future. He was insane. Absolutely, confoundingly mental. Since when had he developed a glass heart? The moment he heard her laugh, saw her in that dress, spoke to her, felt the powerful pull toward her. That’s when. He’d say it was the moment they kissed, because logically, that was the exact moment it happened, but he had to be real with himself. If he’d turned away and ignored her presence from the start, there was still a part of him, a significantly smaller part but a part nonetheless, that would have felt lost. Lost was still better than broken, though.

Inuyasha had decided after the second week that he was going to pull away. In the moment, he understood the rationality behind it. It was to deaden the senses toward one another. It would make it easier in the long run. They’d grow used to the other hardly being there, they’d go about their lives, they’d get excited when one of them popped up on the other’s phone for a quick and friendly check in because it was so rare, then go about their business. Wash, rinse, repeat until the day they could properly reunite. It had to happen. He was miserable, and even though she wasn’t saying anything, he knew she was, too. That was after two weeks. Fourteen days without the other. He kept checking his phone, he was physically fighting the urge to call her, he was forcefully throwing himself into his work so he wouldn’t continuously consider dropping it all to run off with her before it was too late. So, it only made sense to cut the chord. This wouldn’t work if he didn’t. This would only drive them crazy and encourage the ache that lived in their chests to rampantly deepen as if it owned them.

Oh, was he so fucking wrong.

Everything worsened. So bad, he felt sick sometimes. He’d wake up at three in the morning with the heaviest sadness climbing the walls of his stomach and threatening to make him vomit. His lungs sometimes acted as if they couldn’t hold a full inhale of air anymore, and his exhales were shallow and dry. He was angry. Always angry. He had a short temper to begin with, but even he would catch himself on occasion and realize he needed to chill. His work was being affected negatively, his appetite was shot, sleep gradually became a thing of the past, and as the main turmoil seemed to dwindle after a while and he felt dull, listless, he became known as “cold” around his immediate peers. He detested himself. He could see it clearly, but it was so difficult to correct his demeanor when he didn’t have much ambition to do self work on top of his professional labor. He was becoming Sesshomaru.

He’d sunken. Deeper than his bitterness. He’d sunken so far, it was laughable. The answer was right in front of his face. Clear as day. This was his doing. He was the cause of his own misery. Why would he ever think creating a larger distance from her was a good idea? She wasn’t your average girl he had a nice conversation with and would eventually like to see again. She was a being literally born for his sake. And, he was born for hers.

Two months and four agonizing days later, and Inuyasha had finally come to his senses. He couldn’t continue this. He just couldn’t. What he’d done was essentially attempt to withdraw his soul from the match until it was suitable for him. He’d attempted to go against fate, and fate was giving him the hell he deserved. He could only hope Kagome didn’t feel the weight of his idiotic mistake, too. It was bad enough picturing her feeling alone in this, because it’s not like he was acting as much support, but imagining her crushed with withdrawal pain as well was just something he couldn’t live with.

Inuyasha could have texted. He could have called. He sat staring at his phone for hours, a murky liquid sloshing in his chest as if a clogged drain kept the remnants of this toxicity from leaving his body. Text messaging wouldn’t suffice. It would do nothing for him at this point. A phone call would be better; he’d at least be able to hear her voice. Still, it wasn’t good enough. The only thing that would be was seeing her beautiful features with his own eyes. He felt so horrible. Awful. He thought life’s plan would be his enemy, but truthfully, it was him. He was his enemy. This was his fault. And, if she didn’t answer, he deserved nothing less.

Kagome gently tapped her finger against a key on her keyboard, not quite pressing into it, just hitting her nail against the plastic square for the sound as she sorted out her thought process before typing out the next sentence of her report. Her laptop screen was split in two; one side her Word document, about eight hundred words into a three thousand word minimum assignment, and the other side her internet browser with multiple tabs open to fully cover the topic. Add to that with her iTunes playlist minimized in the corner and running through, and the open notebook at her side with her scribbled notes from her previous lectures in this class, and she was completely in the zone. So much so, that when her Mac started chiming with an incoming FaceTime call, her phone coming alive with the same, loud notification - that was really just overkill - Kagome jolted with a startled gasp.

Then her heart sunk into her abdomen. Both pleasantly and disturbingly. This was her first time hearing from Inuyasha in weeks, and her first time seeing him since she left for home.

Quickly, Kagome pulled her hair out of its messy bun, scrunching her unruly waves and running her fingers through her self-cut bangs. She could only hope her face was looking okay at the moment, because she really didn’t have much more time to make herself look presentable before she missed the call entirely. As she paused her music and answered, she held her breath, waiting for the connection to set. Inuyasha’s face appeared on her laptop screen, his mouth covered by the sides of his curled fingers that he’d comfortably rested against, but she could clearly see the corner of his lips curve and his cheeks slightly push up when he smiled at seeing her. And, she sighed out happily.

He was in a dimly-lit room, his chest bare and birthmark visible at the very bottom of the camera. His silver hair was hued with the temperature of the rosy lighting, one of the ears atop his head giving a tiny flick at the sound of her joyful giggle. God, she’d missed him.

“There you are.” He softly rumbled, amber eyes gazing at her with adoration, and he dropped his hand, his expression reading one of subtle relief.

“Hi.” Kagome whispered, too elated to speak clearly. “How are you?”

Inuyasha held up a finger with a soft hum to quiet her. “Give me a minute. Stand up.”

Wordlessly, Kagome scrunched her nose bemusedly, her smile hardly faltering.

“I need to make sure you’re in one piece. Stand up.” The hanyou said clearly, raising his brows expectingly.

She replied with a gentle laugh, rolling her desk chair back and standing up for him.

He took as much of her in as he could, as much as the camera allowed. Her long, black hair, her gorgeous face, her neck, her shoulders that were donned in a green, flannel shirt that was a little too large for her and hung to about mid-thigh, the black tank top underneath, the short pajama bottoms that hardly covered much but looked comfortable as all hell, the thighs he loved so goddamn much. She was there. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to be able to physically feel her right now, to hold her.

When Kagome felt like he’d had enough, she sat back in her chair, pulling herself up close to her desk. “Good?”

“Good enough,” He said. “What are you doing? Are you busy?”

“No.” She fervently shook her head.

“Are you on your laptop or phone?”

“Laptop.”

“You’re doing homework, aren’t you?” Inuyasha chuckled, leaning his head to the side with a cock of his brow.

“Yes, but it’s not due until Friday. Don’t worry.” She quickly assured, not wanting him to think he was interrupting anything important. Of the classes she was currently registered in, this one ranked low in the difficulty aspect. The assignments were just tedious. Truthfully, even if it was important, she’d gladly push it aside for him.

He wasn’t going to try and argue against that. If she could talk, he was going to take it. This wasn’t the moment to be cautious, this was the moment to try and heal. “What time is it there?”

“A little passed eight. What about you? Are you in Europe?”

“Yeah. In London. It’s, uh, a little passed four here.”

“In the morning!?” Kagome pressed, inching slightly closer to her screen in exasperation.

He laughed, lazily running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

“What time do you have to work?”

“Gotta be there by seven. Don’t waste your breath telling me to go to sleep, I’m not hanging up until I’m good and ready.” Inuyasha stated, leveling Kagome with a stare that brought her to close her mouth. He could tell by the way her brown eyes fluttered downward, by the way she lightly pinched her lips together, by the way she glanced back up to him that she was silently grateful for his refusal. It was warming, but it increased the guilt he felt, and he couldn’t prevent the way it wavered his expression.

She’d caught it. Immediately, she’d noticed. “What’s wrong?” Her tone was soft, concerned.

“Nothing.” He dismissed. “How are you doing?”

“Inuyasha, what’s -“

“How are you doing?” He’d asked it in a way that told her he wasn’t looking for the broad aspect of her life in general. He was looking for how she was handling their separation, the ember in his eyes not quite glowing to their full potential, and she knew it wasn’t just the camera’s inability to capture their radiance. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to answer the way he wanted. If she thought about it, it hurt too bad. She didn’t want him to know that; she didn’t want him to try and shoulder the burden for himself.

“Well,” Kagome began with her tale. “I’ve been pretty busy with school. My internship doesn’t start until January, though, so I’m trying to appreciate the little downtime that I have right now. And, my classes this term aren’t so bad, they’re -“

“How are you doing?” Inuyasha inquired again, the words enunciated slowly, his tone progressively deepening with care.

“Busy.” She answered steadily. “Staying busy.”

He knew she was intentionally avoiding a direct answer. That bad, huh?

“Tell me, Kagome.”

She swallowed thickly, a yank on her chest reminding her that she wasn’t all that okay. She missed him so much. So fucking much. How could she tell him that it hurt not talking to him? How could she apply that pressure on top of everything else he had going on right now? She just couldn’t. They knew this was coming, they knew they wouldn’t be totally available for each other, you just never know how bad it will feel until you’re experiencing it. She wasn’t allowed to expect anything from him, and she understood that, but being apart and not knowing when the gap will end created an emptiness that was indescribably difficult to manage.

The longer she let his question sit, though, the harder it became to keep her expression straight. She felt it before she could stop it, the crinkle of her brow and the frown on her lips, then her eyes began to burn with brimming tears and she swiftly leaned out of the frame of the FaceTime window.

He took a small opportunity to curse himself while she wasn’t looking, while she was busy guarding her tears from him; something she should never feel she had to do. “Come back.”

She hummed a no.

“Right now.” He ordered gently, his voice gruff.

“Don’t worry. I’m good.” Kagome laughed, seemingly at herself, the sound wet. The arm still in view moved as she sloppily wiped her face, still laughing, and when she sniffled, it even brought him to chuckle lightly as he rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Babe -“

“See.” She came back into the frame with a smile, her face red but cleared of tears. “I’m fine.”

Inuyasha bit his lip, his chuckle that time more on the dubious side. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?” She asked, her smile fading.

“Because, you’re not fine and this is because of me.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Shut up,” He shook his head to quiet her. “Just listen, okay? I really fucked up. I thought it would be best if I backed off so getting over the hump of this would be easier. I didn’t know where that would leave us, but I, for some stupid fucking reason, had convinced myself that it was necessary.”

“Did it help you? Feel better, at least?” Inuyasha could see the compassion in her eyes, in the way she worried her bottom lip, in the genuine tone she held.

“Not one bit. I’ve never felt worse, actually. I can’t do it. I can’t stay away from you.”

“Inuyasha, you have your career. It’s not wrong of you to try and detach from a stressful situation, because unfortunately, that’s what this is. There’s no way around that.” She stated directly.

“Stop trying to make me feel better.”

“Stop trying to blame yourself.”

“Stop trying to justify my actions for me, Kagome.”

“Stop trying to act like your actions were malicious. Unless they were?”

“No, of course -“

“Then, shut up.”

He blinked, surprised at the growing heat in her tone.

“It’s not that I’m trying to justify what you did, I just understand why you did it. I can’t be upset at you for that. In retrospect, it’s really not all that bad. You didn’t make a promise to me -“

“I made multiple.” Inuyasha argued, cutting her off. “I told you we’d still talk, I told you we’d still see each other.”

Kagome huffed, her exasperation rising. “I really, really don’t understand what you’re getting at here, Inuyasha. Why are you so upset with yourself when we left each other knowing this was going to suck? I certainly didn’t know what the right thing to do for us was. I still don’t! We have conflicting schedules and lives right now, and from the moment we found out we were soulmates, you warned me that this thing between us wasn’t going to immediately work out. So, why are you suddenly villainizing yourself? It’s like you want me to be mad at you!”

Inuyasha leaned his chin into his palm, his mouth covered by his fingers as his golden eyes drifted to stare at the surface his phone was placed upon. His heavy sigh was emphasized, but Kagome remained quiet, waiting him out, letting him gather his thoughts. When he was ready, her soulmate lowered his hand, but he never looked back at her, his expression almost communicating shame.

“I could have been doing more. That’s just it. I could have been doing more. I avoided more thinking it would help, and I avoided the bare minimum thinking it was right for the long run. I can’t stand the thought that your sadness is worse than what it has to be because of the route I took. So, yeah.” Inuyasha met her gaze. “Maybe you being mad at me is what I want, because I can fix that. Ultimately, I feel like I need to fix something. But, on top of that, I feel so fucking helpless and stuck, and like anything I choose to do is wrong.”

Kagome had figured out pretty early on that Inuyasha wasn’t the type to openly show his feelings. He was smooth, he was passionate, but he was subtle with his messages. And, early on, she realized she was the lucky one that got to experience this side of him. Especially now, she could see his guard lowering so she could fully understand what was going on in his head; something she felt, if she wasn’t his soulmate, she’d have to work very hard to see after a significant amount of time and a significant amount of trust was built. Inuyasha was, by nature, protective. And, she could tell he was hard on himself. So, when he feels like he failed to protect her from harm in any way, shape, or form, he’s going to jump to take the heat for it. When the blame is on him, he can compensate to rectify the situation, tend to your wounds, step up and do better, but that’s just not logical. If he continued to do that, he’d eventually run himself dry. Kagome understood what he was getting at with his decision, and yes, it hurt to a degree, but she still didn’t see him as a bad guy. It wasn’t his responsibility to make sure everything was okay. In fact, he had good intentions.

“How can I help you right now? Tell me what you need to hear.” Kagome said evenly.

Inuyasha pondered for a moment, eyes flickering away and meeting hers again when he spoke. “Tell me the truth about how you’re doing. Don’t duck out of view. Be straight with me.”

She could already feel her eyes prickling with fresh tears, her face heating uncomfortably as she honed in on the emotions she’d swallowed over and over and over and over throughout the months. “I’m sad.” Her voice trembled, but she took in a deep breath to give him what he needed. “I’m really sad. I feel helpless, I feel stupid, I feel tired. I’m lonely.” She finally began to cry, and it took active effort not to hide it from him, terrified he’d feel responsible. “I miss you. And, I’m angry. I’m angry that we have to go through this in the first place, and all I want to do is call you so I can listen to you talk - and I don’t even care what the topic is or if you’re not even talking to me, but someone else - I just want to hear your voice. I don’t like that you’re upset, and I want to take it away from you just as much as you want to take it away from me, and not being able to is frustrating. But, if you expect me to blame you for any of this, that’s where you’ll succeed in making me mad at you. I know for a fact you would never intentionally do anything to hurt me, and you can’t get me to picture you in that light. Do I like that you stepped back? No. Of course, not. But, honestly, I didn’t even know it was an option to have more of you, so no harm - no foul. You tried, it didn’t work, and now you’re here. So, now what? Where do you want to go from here? What’s our next step?”

Inuyasha had been holding his breath, clenching his jaw shut as he digested Kagome’s powerful sincerity. At least twice during her admittance he’d considered buying the first available plane ticket to her, even if that meant he could only be there for an hour. He spoke on a whim, uncaring of the irrationality behind it if that’s how it appeared. He wasn’t going to listen to her pain and do nothing about it when, now, to him, the answer was obvious.

“We ditch our original idea that things won’t work until we’re done with our shit. When I said that, we’d just had our first night together. It didn’t sound sane then to jump into anything when we were confused, new to each other, and freaked the fuck out. Even as you left, it made sense to hold onto the idea to wait, but it’s just not working. The pull on our souls to be together is too strong.”

Kagome hastily wiped her face using the sleeves of her shirt, sniffling in an attempt to clear her emotions. “Inuyasha, we can’t drop what we’ve worked for. Especially you. I won’t let you.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying we manage a long distance relationship. I’m going fucking crazy over here, Kagome. Fuck the boundaries, fuck the time difference, fuck anything that works against us. Why are we putting ourselves through this? God, it doesn’t fucking make sense! This is so stupid! If you want to call me, call me! I’m yours! If you’re lonely, let me keep you company the best way that I can! If I want to see that gorgeous smile of yours, I’m fucking going to! I’ll learn your schedule, and I’ll work through mine for you. I will never be too busy to tell you that I love you, it’s as simple as that. We’ll make this as easy as possible, I don’t want it overwhelming you with classes -“

“No, screw easy.” Kagome objected with a brusque shake of her head. “I don’t want easy, I want you.”

“So, yes?” Inuyasha breathed, and it was evident it held the release of a substantial amount of tension he’d been harboring with for far too long now.

“Yes.” Kagome laughed with relief, her shoulders dropping. “Did you think I’d actually say no?”

“I don’t know. It’d be pretty stupid of you if you did.” He joked, chuckling. Fuck, the sound of her giggle was like the most wonderful song he’d ever heard. “God, I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“Soon.” She whispered.

“Not soon enough.”

“Does this mean nothing has to hold us back from each other now? I can send you messages without worrying about bothering you, and -“

“Hey, woah, wait.” Inuyasha’s brows furrowed, a frown marring his face as he cocked his head to the side in question. “I told you not to hesitate before. You’d never bother me.”

“I know, but it was still kind of confusing. I just wanted to tread carefully. Especially since I wasn’t hearing from you, so sending you texts or pictures just didn’t seem appropriate.”

The hanyou dropped his head down to the table, the sound of the bang coming through loudly on the speakers, and his ears wilted slightly as he groaned dramatically. “You’re kidding me. How many pictures did I fucking miss out on!?”

“No! None!” Kagome frantically tried to dispel his aggravation, waving her hands before her even though he couldn’t look to see. “I’ve hardly taken any pictures, or looked remotely presentable to have anything to show off, I swear! It was just an example!”

“Fucking liar.” He grumbled.

“No, I’m not lying! See,” Kagome grabbed her phone from beside her, unlocking it with her thumbprint and opening the photos app. Inuyasha glanced up at her with a grimace, disdain for himself written all over his face, but she ignored it as she showed him the screen, mindlessly scrolling through while trying to see where she was at in the small window of herself on the FaceTime camera. “It’s all stupid screenshots I save for later or send to Sango. There’s a couple pictures of myself the day this term started, but those were for my mom because she collects first day of school pictures. Then, we’re back in summer vacation. And then, that’s all before we even met.”

“Hold it!” Inuyasha abruptly demanded. Kagome stopped scrolling, pulling back her phone to see what he was looking at. “Go back down.”

“Hm?” She questioned, putting the screen back up to him so he could guide how far back he wanted her to go as she slowly slid her finger along the glass of her phone.

“A little more. There. The blue shirt. Let me see that one.”

Again, Kagome glanced at her phone, selecting the image he was looking at as she felt her cheeks flush. It was just as the weather began warming up and she drove ten hours home to surprise her mom for her birthday. Rightfully, she’d done her makeup for the event, her hair, and wore a cute blouse that fell off her shoulders to reveal the few freckles littering her skin beneath. And, in the selfie she’d taken, she’d ruffled her loose curls further, the smile she wore was a little on the sultry side, and the light hit her chocolate eyes just right. With the hint of embarrassment, Kagome presented the picture to Inuyasha. His growing, crooked grin ignited a flurry within her stomach, the sensation quickly traveling through her chest and over the surface of her entire body.

“Send it to me.” He said huskily.

“What? You want this one?”

“Like that’s even a question. Send it over.”

Flattered, she complied, texting it to his number. His smile brightened, then his FaceTime screen paused as he picked up his phone from the table and clicked her text. Though she couldn’t see him anymore, she could still hear him, and his exhaled breath upon seeing her photo had her ready to melt into a puddle on the carpet beneath her seat.

Inuyasha released a tantalizing chuckle, whispering a hoarse, “Fuck.”

“What?” Kagome giggled, her embarrassment increasing and her face growing hot.

“Just -“ He paused. “Fuck, baby.”

“Come back.”

“Hang on, I’m setting this as your contact picture. That way, whenever you text or call, this picture will pop up, and if anyone looks over at my phone, they’ll have a good moment to envy me when they realize what my girlfriend looks like.”

“Inuyasha!” She laughed, slapping her hands to her cheeks to hide the maddening blush.

“Hey, and that’s just your face.”

“Stop!”

“Man, if they saw your ass -“

“Inuyasha! Oh my god!”

He popped back onto her screen, setting his phone back where it had been with the most satisfied and cocky expression.

“Send me one of you.” She said, shaking her head and laughing the humility off.

“I will. Later. Promise.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Kagome asked with a genuine tone, her smile unfaltering.

“Yes and no.” He answered honestly. “I’m not going to one hundred percent feel better until I’m back with you. But, at least I have you now.”

“You’ve had me all this time, Inuyasha. I would have waited for you for as long as you needed me to.” She swore she saw a tint of pink ripen his cheeks. “Are you going to try to at least sleep a little before work?”

“I don’t want to hang up yet.” He replied, his voice dying away with his empowering sincerity.

“I know you don’t need as much sleep as a human, but you still need some.”

“I’m not that tired.”

“Have you been sleeping well lately?”

“Why do you want me to hang up so bad?” Inuyasha chuckled lightly.

“I don’t. Not at all. I haven’t had my fill of you yet, either. But, I know you. When you get stuck in your head about something, you don’t sleep well. Now, there’s less to keep you up.” Kagome said, her tone as gentle as ever.

“You worry too much.” He dismissed with amusement. “Ten more minutes, then I’ll head to bed. Happy?”

He meant what he’d said as he spoke it, but it was impossible to remember the time as he continued to speak with her, made her laugh, witnessed her beautiful smile that had him smitten all over again. She helped him forget his grief from just moments before, she helped him feel like time hardly missed a beat with them. She told him she loved him before pushing him to go to sleep after a while, and his heart felt as if it sputtered elatedly.

From then on, they communicated as often as they possibly could. He memorized her schedule like the back of his hand the moment she’d graciously sent it to him, and if anything ever ended up changing, like a canceled class, a fever that kept her bed-ridden, or maybe she was staying out longer to get lunch or dinner with a friend, she’d never hesitate to tell him. Not so he knew not to bother her, because it wasn’t like that with them. Both of them were a wonderful priority to each other. He just liked knowing she was safe. He liked knowing when she was home and when she got home. There was literally only one part of her schedule he did not like, and he let it be known. Twice a week, she had to take a late class. It was with a small group, it was in a building on campus located far from the parking lot, and it got out at nine-forty-five in the evening. Meaning, twice a week, she was alone and vulnerable on a ten minute walk back to her car, then again at her apartment complex during the few minutes it took for her to get inside her place. She called him paranoid and he pridefully accepted it. He’d rather be labeled paranoid from his need to protect his girl than careless.

Since it wasn’t practical to even request for her to drop the class and see if it had a better timeframe next semester - especially given she was in her final year of college and the courses she had left were pretty much solidified - he had Kagome call him the moment she got out of class. She tried to argue that it was too late, or too early in his timezone, but he didn’t give a crap. He usually got up around six-thirty in the morning, five-thirty on the days he went to the gym. A five-fifty wakeup call wasn’t going to impede on anything, and it took him telling her over and over he’d stay up all night if it meant he got to make sure she was safe to get it through her head that the fight she was putting up was pointless.

Honestly, what better alarm than a call from Kagome? What stronger sense of productivity than to start his day by keeping his girl company as she ended hers. She had the audacity to call him with a normal voice call the first couple times around, but he quickly fixed that by swapping it over to FaceTime. As shadowed as she was in the night, he wanted to be there with her in the best way possible. He honestly didn’t like her being too distracted while she walked, but he couldn’t help but want to hear her talk. And, she’d let it accidentally slip one time that she was a sucker for the groggy voice he had early in the morning. Naturally, he’d milk that for all it was worth and tell her a little about his day prior. As soon as she’d reach her car, he’d remind her to check the backseats; which she really didn’t need to be reminded to do. Nine times out of ten, she was already doing it to make sure no one had broken in. Then, he’d stay on the line with her for the fifteen minutes it took her to drive home and find parking in her complex, and by the time she was inside her apartment, he was usually sipping the last of his morning coffee. On a good occasion, Kagome would walk into a madhouse and secretly flip the camera around to sneak in glimpses of her best friend frantically attempting to work on last minute assignments due by midnight while she was strung on ramen noodles and late night espresso shots she really shouldn’t be allowed. The hardest part was swallowing his laughter until Kagome was safely shut inside her room. And, the sweetest part came when she’d give him this cute as shit nose scrunch as she smiled and told him to have a good day while eagerly awaiting his cheesy, cliche, timezone-inhibited reply of, “Get some sleep. I love you.”

Her midterms were hard on her, and he tried to support her through them the best he could, but her finals of the first semester were proving to test her limits. She was busier than ever with studying and assignments, she was exhausted, and a couple times she’d called him having a minor breakdown just because she knew he’d be able to talk her down and get her back to thinking semi-rationally. It was common in overworked and drained minds to be hard on yourself, he knew as well as anyone else. With their schedules at their most hectic yet, him heading meetings and really grinding down on a shit place his company acquired, texts weren’t often seen until hours later. Calls were always answered because he knew that if she was calling, with their plates being as full as they were, it was serious, but texts were unfortunately unanswered until both of them were home and had a small moment to breathe. That’s when things began to really weigh on them again. It went unspoken. On both ends. But, if he could feel the stress of not being able to even say he loved her while she was awake, if he could feel the torture of missing her even more than he already had before, he knew she could, too.

With the utmost amount of tenderness, Inuyasha began to put together a surprise care package with as many things he thought she’d enjoy that would fit in the box. She was in the midst of her exams, he knew, but given she’d been able to get a couple out of the way already, she was bound for the remainder the following week, and then she was heading home for Christmas break, he wanted to get this out to her as soon as possible. He was just missing one major component.

As he returned to his loft at the end of his long day, he texted Kagome to see if she was busy, and within the minute she responded saying she wasn’t. Stealing the opportunity, Inuyasha FaceTimed her, the call swiftly answered with the usual chime of the video connection. A laugh rose from his throat that he couldn’t swallow in time. The camera was angled downward on what he assumed was her laptop, exposing Kagome blinking sleepily as she laid stomach-down on the purple comforter of her bed, an arm rested beneath her temple as a pillow and a tired smile appearing on her lips.

“You just said you weren’t busy.” Inuyasha said, loosening the tie around his collar.

“I’m not.” Kagome giggled. “As you can see, I’m clearly doing nothing.”

“You’re napping.”

“I was simply resting my eyes.” She coolly stated, her brown eyes fluttering closed for a small moment.

“Were you studying?” Inuyasha chuckled, removing the tie entirely and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt with his free hand, finally feeling a little more comfortable.

“No, I was working on an essay. But, then the words started to blur together, and nothing made sense anymore, and next thing I knew, I was laying down.”

“Move the camera, I can’t see your whole face.” Without missing a beat, Kagome used her non-pillow hand to scoot her laptop a little to the left. God, even as spent as she was, she still looked breathtaking. Inuyasha smiled, sitting down on the couch and taking her in while she seemed so peaceful. “Perfect. You’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up.” She grumbled playfully. “Did you just get home?”

“Yeah. Before I forget to ask, can you do me a favor?”

“Only if you talk in your British accent.”

“That was a one time deal, dummy.”

“Again.” Her tone was cute, and her nose scrunched in the manner that usually suckered him into anything. She even pushed herself to prop up her chin so she looked more awake, adjusting the camera accordingly, her elbow sinking into the thick blanket beneath her.

“I was drunk when I agreed to it in the first place.” He feebly attempted to argue, rolling his amber eyes.

“Take a shot!” Kagome encouraged.

“I’m not doing it.” He chuckled.

“Please?”

“Nope.”

“Please?” She pushed on with her adorable voice, making it smaller, dragging out the word.

Inuyasha sucked in an inhale, flexing his jaw in an attempt to resist her. With every ounce of willpower her had, he shook his head to tell her no, exhaling his strain and smiling as he slid his tongue over his canine tooth. With a defeated huff and a pout, Kagome gave in.

“Fine. What do you want?” She asked teasingly.

“Your address.”

“Hm? You don’t have that?”

“I’ve never needed it before.” He laughed, the evidence of her groggy brain coming through.

“Oh?” She piqued, cocking a sly brow. “And, what would you happen to need it for now?”

“I’ve got something for you.”

“A Christmas present?”

“No. Your Christmas gift will be sent separately. This is just a gift.”

“What is it?” Kagome asked excitedly.

“None of your business.” He chuckled. “Send me your address.”

“So bossy.” She joked, grabbing her phone from beside her computer and sending him what he’d requested.

“Got it. Thanks, babe. You can go back to sleep now.”

“Wait, no. Don’t go yet.” Her eyes had grown larger, almost pleading, and Inuyasha had to wonder if she could ever give him an expression he wasn’t utterly weak for. “Unless you’re busy, then I totally understand.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do right now than stay on the phone with you, baby.” He grinned, his heart thundering as she beamed brightly and pushed herself to sit up for him.

Kagome came home from her final exam of the semester - of the year, really, considering when they returned from break, it’d be after New Years - feeling pumped for finally having everything out of the way while simultaneously ready for the longest nap of her life. All she needed to do was proofread her very last paper and press submit by tomorrow, and she was ready to head home for Christmas.

She’d stopped at Starbucks for a celebratory peppermint cappuccino, in light of the holiday, grabbing one for Sango while she was at it, because the poor girl was still knee deep in two of her remaining projects. As she entered their apartment, her best friend popped out from the little kitchen entry, clearly not intending to scare the shit out of her, but doing so in her powerful excitement.

“Hi! You got a package in the mail!” Sango shouted, a packet of spaghetti noodles held in her grip.

Kagome clutched her chest over her heart with her free hand, lucky she didn’t drop the carrier of their hot drinks all over the place in her terror. “How many?”

“Noodles? I don’t know, I mean I’ve never tried to count -“

“Espresso shots!”

“Oh. Oh! I don’t want to talk about it.” Sango swiftly dismissed, grimacing.

“How many!?”

“Enough to give an elderly man a heart attack, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, I’m gonna kill Miroku for getting you that thing.” Kagome seethed, finally recovering and dropping her bag by the tiny dining room table.

“Is that a coffee for me I see?” Sango sang, dancing her way over to her best friend.

Kagome groaned, taking her drink out of the carrier and begrudgingly handing it to the over-caffeinated girl. “A mistake.”

“Thanks, friend!” She squeaked. “Open your package, I want to see what’s in it! I saw a familiar name written on top!” Again, she was singing, more so to be teasing this time but Kagome only laughed.

“Did you mean, mine?”

“No! Oh my god, it’s on the coffee table.”

Kagome’s attention turned, noticing for the first time a decently-sized, brown box waiting for her in the living room. Sauntering over, she looked at the labels, Inuyasha’s name and return address sitting in the upper-left corner. Truthfully, she’d forgotten to expect anything from him, the thought of a gift pushed to the back of her mind by her insane schedule.

She flicked up the packing tape with her nails, peeling it from the top and opening the package to reveal several things waiting for her inside. She grabbed for the shirt folded nicely and crammed on the side. At first glance, it seemed large and comfy, but then when she turned it over to see the band name on front, she realized it was one of his favorite, old shirts he’d worn while they were together. Instantly, she pursed out her bottom lip in adoration, hugging it close.

“Wait, there’s a letter!” Sango pointed gleefully, sipping her coffee as she watched Kagome open her gift.

Kagome gently placed the shirt over the rim of the box, grabbing for the folded paper to open it and see a little letter written in her love’s handwriting.

A couple notes as you open this:

– Snacks for your downtime.

– A new heating pad for your cramps since I fucking KNOW you haven’t gotten rid of that shitty one yet.

– Vanilla body spray from a little shop out here, because I know you like that scent. And, I like it on you.

– Two of my shirts. They smell like me. Wear them to bed and I’ll be right there with you. Send me pictures in them, too. I mean it.

– Chapstick, because you go through that shit like crazy. It’s the kind you like, don’t freak out.

– The last one is self explanatory. Open it. Put it on. Tap it three times.

Kagome had to resist hugging the piece of notebook paper to her chest, wanting to hold the sweet gesture as close to her as possible but refusing to crinkle the page. She gently placed it on the table, moving the shirt she’d already looked at to the side and grabbing for the other one. It was another band tee, a little less worn than the other but his homing scent radiating from it and bringing tears to prickle at her eyes. She bunched beneath her nose, really taking it in while she fought to hold her composure, too happy for words.

Finally setting it aside, she reached for the cute bottle of body spray, taking a little whiff of the perfume that smelled so sweet before setting it down and reaching for the little packet of chapstick, giggling along with Sango. He’d sent over a package of chocolate chip cookies, and two bags of chips she’d never had before but she was excited to try tonight, having already planned on putting on a movie and vegging out. The new heating pad made her laugh again, the box in pristine condition. Then, lastly, a small, blue and purple, gradient-blurred box sat alone in the package, the image of two wrist bands posted on the front.

Kagome carefully opened it, greeted with a black bracelet of sorts as she removed it completely from the packaging, the top of it harboring a small, oval widget.

“What is it?” Sango asked.

“I don’t know. He told me to put it on and tap it three times.” Kagome shrugged, handing it to Sango so she could strap it securely around her left wrist. As it was fastened, Kagome went ahead and tapped her finger to the face of the device, watching a thin strip of blue light illuminate over the surface she touched.

It was hardly thirty seconds later that her phone began to ring, Inuyasha’s contact picture filling the screen. Shocked and joyous, Kagome lunged to answer her phone.

“Hi!”

“You got it.” He hummed, the soft sound of chatter and passing cars filtering through in the background.

“How’d you know?”

“Still haven’t figured it out yet?” At her lack of an answer, Inuyasha chuckled. “Okay, are you wearing it?”

“Yeah.”

Three slow vibrations tickled the part of her wrist beneath the oval device, a purple light shining with each sensation. Kagome’s jaw dropped with her breathy gasp, pure bliss written all over her face. “Oh my god, was that you!?”

“Yup.” He laughed.

“You tapped it three times!?”

“Yup.”

“It’s like I can feel you!” She was so happy, so absolutely euphoric to receive some form of touch from her soulmate, her tummy fluttering wildly and body enticingly warm. There was no fighting the tears that flooded her eyes, her heart so wonderfully full.

“Are you crying?” He chuckled as she sniffled.

“Shut up!” She laughed. “I love it all so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome, baby. This way, whenever we miss each other but are too busy to talk, we can just give this thing a few taps and we’ll literally feel it. Especially, since you’ll be starting your internship next month. This thing’s really gonna come in handy.”

Kagome gave out a pouty whimper, grabbing his shirts and curling up on the couch to hold them close. “I just love you so much. Thank you.” She playfully whined.

“I love you, too.” He laughed.

“I can’t believe you gave me your favorite shirt.”

“I can’t believe you’re about to send me a ton of pictures in it.” He countered, his tone completely serious.

“With or without pants?”

“Slut.” Sango joked, walking away and downing her hot beverage.

“What do you think?”

“With or without a bra?”

“Fuck.” He whispered, taken. It was a thin, white shirt. If she wore it well and wore it right, he might be able to catch a glimpse of something he was sorely aching for.

“Got it.” She teasingly said. “Are you out and about right now? It’s kind of late there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m at a bar with some friends. Stepped outside to call you.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Not as much fun as I’d be having with you.”

“Go back inside,” Kagome giggled. “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome.” He breathed, content.

“Let me know when you get home safe, please.”

“I will.”

“British accent?”

“Not drunk enough.” Inuyasha laughed.

“Dang it! Okay, love you. Bye.”

“Love you.”

Winter break was relaxing and necessary for a reset, and whenever Inuyasha wanted to text, call, or FaceTime, she was available for him. Their bracelets didn’t get much use then, but Kagome still refused to take it off unless it needed to charge. Once she got back into the swing of school for her very last term, was introduced to her internship and the responsibility she held, was thoroughly buried in homework she struggled to catch up on during her off days, that’s when they came through.

If she ever tapped it, he was incredibly fast to respond with touches of his own, as if he was right there for support. She adored him. He was so amazing. He was so kindhearted and good. Her favorite time to receive those sensations from him were late at night, sometimes while she was dozing. There was nothing better than being woken by sweet vibrations from the love of her life who was just getting started on his own routine on his side of the world. He woke up thinking about her, and there was no better feeling. And, if she was ever looking for a little excuse to hear his voice, she’d send him three taps in the dead of night. The best time was between two and three in the morning. The first time she’d done it, she’d come out of a nightmare. As soon as she’d opened her eyes in the darkness of her bedroom, she’d immediately forgotten the happenings of which, but she was still awake, still slightly shaken, and still looking for a smidge of comfort. She tapped three times, he tapped back, and she sank into her bedding happily. But, then her phone started chiming with a FaceTime call from him. She reached up, flicking on the lamp on her bedside table and answered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, donned in his business attire and sitting at a desk, the look of concern etched on his face.

“Hm?” Her voice was rusty but small, the vaguest, confused grimace on her lips.

“Why are you awake?” He chuckled, slightly recovering.

“I had a bad dream.” Kagome pouted. “I just wanted to touch you. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His grin was tender. “I was worried something had happened. Are you okay now?”

“I’m okay, I promise.”

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’m right here if you need anything.”

God, it was so serene to hear that. And, she lapped it up, realizing that he’d reach out to see that she was fine if he noticed she was up at an off time. She was often awake super late working on assignments, or studying when a test was approaching. Only a couple times had she actually gone out with friends - which he was typically aware of. But, if it had been a little while since she’d last done it - because, he’d catch on if she did it too often - she’d send him some sensations, waiting for her own in reply, and then her phone would light up with a call from him to check on her.

Around spring break, blessed spring break, she was packing up to head home again. She was just two weeks away from completing her four month internship, and her wonderful, gracious, brilliant supervisor arranged it so she could work them when spring break ended, so she could see her family for the allotted time off. Her younger brother was interviewing for a couple of colleges, utilizing their grandfather’s connections to their fullest capacities, and her mom thought it would be a good idea to make it an entire family outing. As far as she knew, they were going to Connecticut, and though she wasn’t sure what all there was to do out there, she was still just looking forward to the event.

Inuyasha rolled his golden eyes as his brother droned on and on, hoping the motion wasn’t too obvious behind the restaurant menu. The idiot literally flew him out for a lunch meeting. A lunch meeting. The U.K. to Chicago for a lunch meeting. Maybe this was a glimpse at his future when he took partnership at the company, maybe this was intended to be purposeful toward his increasing leadership roles, or maybe Sesshomaru made it a hobby to waste peoples’ time. Honestly, he was willing to bank on the first suggestion, and even the second - his spite just sprouted the third, but it was hard to tell with his non-communicative brother. Everything was basically just left up to surprise.

Only once in the last fifteen minutes had he been addressed, and everything else Sesshomaru discussed had basically nothing to do with him, nor was it information anyone at the table would necessarily deem valuable. After the redeye flight he’d sat on, the dull walkthrough of the facility Sesshomaru was currently whipping into shape, and the headache Jaken was causing just by existing, all Inuyasha wanted was a fat lunch to make it all worth it. Also, he’d pay someone to tell his brother that not every update needed to be a fucking meeting.

Knowing they were still ages away from ordering anything more than water, Inuyasha propped his cheek in his palm, glancing out the window he sat next to. His golden eyes mindlessly swept over passing people, the charming, cobblestone street a good home for boutiques and cafe’s to attract attention. Older women wore smiles as they chatted with their companions, men walked hand-in-hand with their partners, young girls filtered into shops, and Kagome’s bright grin as she picked on the guy next to her even managed to clear the annoyed frown from his face.

His heart stopped. Kagome? What the fuck?

There was an exhilarating jolt that coursed through his body, his heart remembering it’s purpose and pumping powerfully against his ribcage as he studied the girl as best as he could from where he sat. Was it her? Long, black hair, slim figure, kind of short - he’d groan loudly if he could have from his building agitation. These were all general factors of identification. He needed to see her face or hear her voice.

Turn around. Turn the fuck around.

And, as if she sensed his need, she twirled around as they continued on, her smile as beautiful as ever in the dress she donned as she spoke with the elderly man behind her, walking backward to keep up. It was her.

It was Kagome.

As calmly as he possibly could, which was a feat on its own, he whispered into his brother’s ear that he needed to check in on something with his own facility. Work-related meant there was a good chance Sesshomaru wouldn’t gripe. His brother gave him an empty stare, and Inuyasha pressed that it was important, to which Sesshomaru gave a nod of approval and momentarily dismissed him to slip outside. The second his foot was out the door, the hanyou bolted, chasing after that sweet scent of hers that he could pinpoint anywhere. They couldn’t have gotten too far, she had an old geezer on her tail. Still, the further down the road he got, the more narrow and crowded the street became.

A huge part of him couldn’t even believe they were so close to one another right now. It was hard to digest; hard to understand that this was real. His heart was pounding, his stomach was in a violent flurry, his fingers were shaking with a debilitating need to grab onto her and never let go. His eyes scoured the area, looking for his girl, his love, his soulmate. If he ever met fate, he was going to punch that fucker in the throat and then thank her for the opportunity - because, as kind as she seemed to be, she was still a petty ass bitch for putting them through this.

Free from the claustrophobic street and coming into a large, open, touristy square, he spotted her from behind a good ways ahead. Without thinking, unable to stop himself even if he tried, he shouted her name, his lungs pumping air fervently as the anticipation for her to see him knocked the wind from his diaphragm.

Hearing a thunderous bellow of her name, Kagome abruptly stopped walking, startled while a frenzy of flutters erupted in her abdomen. She spun around, searching the area for the voice, the call, her mom asking what was wrong beside her but she couldn’t answer.

Her breathing stopped, her heart sputtered, her body heated, and the biggest surprise overtook her when she spotted Inuyasha where they’d come from at the far end of the square. She didn’t even pause to process. Kagome ran to him, sprinted, enveloped in ecstasy when she saw him running toward her, too.

He’d braced to catch her and she threw herself into his arms, her own encircling his neck as he squeezed her tight, spinning her around once before setting her toes back to the ground.

“Oh my god, what are you doing here!?” She cried, unwilling to let go yet.

“I flew out for a meeting; I’m just here until tonight!” Inuyasha replied, holding her so tight his body curved protectively around hers.

“I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I didn’t want to mention it! It was last minute, and it’d be like salt in the wound! I thought you were in Connecticut, anyway!”

“No, I had it wrong!” She laughed, more from the overwhelming happiness than anything else. They finally let go of each other, but Inuyasha cradled her jaw with his hands, keeping her to him, and Kagome held onto his forearms, tightening her grip to attempt and still her trembling fingers. “His Connecticut interview is on a different date. This was apparently a Chicago interview trip all along.”

“You dummy.” He laughed, pulling her in for the kiss of a lifetime.

He breathed her in, holding her close, his shoulders curling over her as she whimpered beautifully into the breathtaking kiss. It heated him thoroughly, making him feel whole for the first time since August.

“I swear,” She sighed as they broke apart, but he interrupted her with another kiss. “I texted -“ Another kiss, this time accompanied with a tiny growl to shut her up. It only made her giggle. “You.”

“I haven’t been able to check my phone. I’m so sorry.” He murmured breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I just can’t believe you’re here!” She squealed, bouncing to hug him again.

“Fuck, baby. I’ve missed you so goddamn much.” He laughed, engulfed in sheer bliss. “Was that your family I saw you with?”

“Yeah.” Kagome smiled, allowing him to let go, though their hands quickly sought the other’s out, fingers pleasantly entwined for a sense of completeness.

“I’d like to meet them.” He said with a quick peck to her cheek before gesturing for her to lead him over. She was giddy, practically skipping as she guided him through the square to where her mother, grandfather, and brother waited; two of which looking more confused than anything while the awaiting woman seemed nothing less than sweetly content.

“I’ve never seen my daughter run to anyone so fast in my life. You must be Inuyasha.” Kagome’s mother chuckled, the sound smooth.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He greeted kindly, holding out his hand for her to shake.

“Inuyasha, this is my mom, my grandpa, and my brother, Sota.” Kagome said.

Her younger brother held a grimace of bemusement, and she rolled her eyes, her head lolling to the side in mild exasperation.

“My boyfriend.” She clarified.

“Oh!” Sota’s expression cleared, like a lightbulb literally flickered on over his head. “Cool. The sweet-talker.”

“Oh my god.” Kagome mumbled, tucking her embarrassment behind Inuyasha’s arm as he laughed.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me.” The hanyou agreed with a smug grin, shrugging. It wasn’t a lie; he knew the level of his own game.

“Yeah, my sister never shuts up about you. How do you turn it off?” Sota sarcastically asked.

Kagome’s jaw dropped in shock and Inuyasha pinched his lips together to stifle his laugh. A look of humored fear struck her younger brother as she narrowed her eyes, silently mouthing the words, “I’m gonna fucking hit you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, boy.” The old man greeted, interrupting the siblings and taking Inuyasha’s hand to shake. “It’s a wonderment to see proof that the concept of soulmates still exists in this era.”

“I can’t agree more.” He nodded earnestly, squeezing Kagome’s hand as he still held it.

“If my son were still here, he’d damn the whole thing and insist on giving you a hard time to make sure you deserved Kagome.”

“I guess you’ll have to do it for him then. I’d happily take the challenge.”

“Shit, you are a sweet-talker.” Sota murmured, casually ducking behind their mother when Kagome sent him an incredulous glare to shut his mouth.

“I like to hear that.” Her grandfather stated.

“Are you here on business?” Her mother asked in reference to his professional attire, dressed to the nines thanks to Sesshomaru’s need to be uncomfortable, her genuine smile never having once faded.

“I am. Yes. I saw you all passing by the window of the restaurant we were having a meeting in. I couldn’t stop myself from running out.”

“What?” Kagome gasped. “You were currently in the meeting you were flown out for? And, you just ditched it!?”

“Don’t worry!” He laughed, giving her hand another comforting squeeze. “I told Sesshomaru I had to take a work call, so he thinks I’m on the phone.”

“Your brother was in the meeting, too!? How much longer can you pull this off before he grows suspicious!?”

Inuyasha pulled the cellphone from the pocket of his slacks, his humored expression deadpanning as he noticed a recent text from Sesshomaru telling him to wrap up the call so they could get on with business. He shifted an apologetic frown toward Kagome, pressing a long squeeze to her palm.

“Thought so.” She compassionately smiled.

“I’m sorry.” Came his whisper.

“Mama, I’m gonna walk him back, okay?”

“No, you don’t -“

“Alright, dear. We won’t go far.” Her mother beamed, waving a goodbye.

“It was so nice to finally meet you all.” Inuyasha politely said before turning around, dragging his soulmate off with him.

She hugged his arm close, the body heat of hers radiating through his suit. They didn’t say much on their walk back, which he intentionally took at a leisurely pace. It was a moment to respect; to savor. He wanted to memorize the prints of her fingertips that held his hand, every ridge and line of her skin engraved into his own. He wanted to absorb every ounce of warmth she had to offer, and be privileged to remember the exact rhythm that her lungs worked at. And, when they neared the restaurant, he physically felt the wrenching sputter of her heart, and though he knew it was from ache, he wanted to remember that, too. Because, it was for him. Because, she loved him. Because, she didn’t want say goodbye or any variation of the word. Because, it helped him realize that he was truly the luckiest bastard in existence.

Inuyasha turned around to face her, his hands instantly cradling her jaw and threading through her soft hair. “I’m sorry this was so short. I’m so sorry, Kagome.”

“Stop. Are you kidding me?” She lightly giggled. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you until you finished up in Europe. Even if this was short, I’m so happy right now.”

“You promise?” He asked for his own reassurance, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Pinky promise.”

Inuyasha curved her chin up in his grasp, kissing her deeply, taking every last bit of her in as he could. Her taste, her scent, the feel of her body pressed against his, everything.

“Get in there, business man.” She breathed, gently rubbing the tip of her nose against his.

“I love you.”

“I love you so much.” Kagome placed one last, sweet kiss to his lips before giving him an encouraging nudge in the direction of the door. “See you later.”

“Tap twice to let me know you’re back safe with your family.”

“I will. Go.”

“Wait, one more.” He laughed, reaching for Kagome and pulling her in for a final, hungry kiss. She melted in his grasp, sighing delightfully, fucking with his mental stability. “Now I’ll go.” He rumbled sedately.

Composing himself, Inuyasha calmly entered the restaurant, crossing to the side his meeting was held on and taking his seat at the window with an apologetic look for the inconvenience. He was glad Sesshomaru didn’t ask questions; for once grateful for the general look of disinterest his brother’s face had seemed to be stuck in for as long as he could remember.

Three slow sensations tickled his left wrist and Inuyasha reflexively went to give them back, stopping himself as he looked out the window. Across the street, Kagome stood in her floral dress, the breeze blowing gorgeous strands of dark hair into her face. With a warm smile, she bit her lip, tucking her hair behind her ear before waving to him. A grin grew on his face, one he knew wasn’t subtle at all but who the fuck was he to care? That was his girl, his Kagome. Without removing his eyes, Inuyasha tapped his device three times, watching her brown eyes flutter down to see it illuminate and then smile even wider before gifting him with one last glance, and walking away.

From that point on, things were easy. Easier. It was still hard to be apart, but the sense that everything was going to be perfectly fine settled any nerves that had the tendency to get aggravated. Kagome’s schedule gradually cleared as she finished her internship and locked away the experience under her belt, and her classes weren’t as strenuous as the end of the school year approached. She was freaking out a little to try and lock down a job after graduation, as any graduate would be, but calming her down had become a simple task for Inuyasha. Frankly, he wasn’t worried about a damn thing anymore. He wanted Kagome to experience that level of tranquility, too. Everything was bound to fall in line for them from this point on, within their relationship and out, and if it didn’t happen organically, Inuyasha would personally see to fixing it, himself.

Interestingly enough, a plan was set in motion. A chain began to form, unbeknownst to both of them. Until he received a call from a number he didn’t recognize. On a whim, he answered, surprised to hear the soothing voice of Kagome’s mother on the other end; apparently having had Sango play the in-between intelligence that stole his number from Kagome’s phone. With the simple question she presented, the offer on the table, the hanyou cleared his schedule with no debate necessary. His answer was an immediate, “I’ll be there.”

Kagome stood with her graduating friends, waiting for the call that directed them all to get in line in the respectful categories of their majors, donned in celebratory dresses - and button-ups for the guys - beneath their gowns, caps held in their hands until absolutely necessary to put them on and ruin their hair. All of them were proud, joyful, excited, and albeit slightly nervous. Of course, as the ever so reliable one of the group, Sango pulled through with a small - and easily concealable - bottle of tequila. All of them pretended to be surprised that she would pull this stunt, but it would be a lie if anyone would expect anything less of her. Especially on such a jubilant day. Everyone took a straight swig from the bottle, passing it along to the next person until the circle was complete and everyone felt a little more pumped and prepared to cross the stage and wrap up their college career.

After the ceremony, the cheers, the jumps for joy, and the loud pops of confetti that damn near gave everyone a heart attack, students filtered out into the the courtyards to find their families. Kagome was dragged to the side with Sango and Miroku to wait, shadowed by trees in the large lawn dozens of students spaciously inhabited. Multiple times, Kagome felt she should try to find her family, worried they’d gotten lost in the crowd and maybe wandered to a different courtyard, which wasn’t difficult to do at her large school, but Sango insisted she stay put and just wait, claiming she was worrying too much. All she could do was constantly check the phone in her hand to make sure she didn’t somehow miss any notifications from her mom or younger brother.

Moments later, the warm voice of her mom called her name and Kagome beamed with happiness, running to hug her mother, hoping she’d succeeded in making her proud with her accomplishment. Her brother hugged her next, and then her grandfather kissed her cheek, all of them rosy in the face from smiling too much.

“Who’s the stud?” Sango flirtatiously asked, waltzing up to casually join the group and nudging her arm.

Kagome looked at her curiously, then followed the path of her eyes when Sango notched her chin to her left. Against a tree not too far away, a handsome man with short, silver hair leaned, an infamous, crooked grin adorning his face while his arms were nonchalantly crossed in front of his chest. He wore dark jeans with a light, untucked, button-up shirt, dressy enough for the occasion while still maintaining comfort.

“Oh my god!” She cried, carelessly dropping the things in her hands into Sango’s grasp and running over to her cunning boyfriend. “You’re here! You’re here!”

Inuyasha met her halfway, stealing her into a tight embrace as she still bounced on her feet, too excited for stillness, laughing.

“When did you get here!? I FaceTimed you this morning!”

“I know, I was bunkered in your room at your mom’s house.”

“You were at my mom’s!?” Kagome pulled away, completely taken aback.

“It was her idea for me to surprise you.” The hanyou couldn’t bite back his amusement, chuckling and ecstatic that they’d pulled it off without an inkling of suspicion.

Kagome spun around, pinning her best friend with an audacious stare. “You knew, didn’t you!?”

“Of course, I knew! I played a roll in getting him out here!” Sango laughed.

“And, I just knew because that’s my right.” Miroku added, throwing his arm over Sango’s shoulders.

Kagome, too grateful for words and hoping her smile showed all the thanks she could possibly give, spun back around to Inuyasha, hopping back into a hug and robbing a kiss from him. “I can’t believe you’re here! Did you watch?”

“From start to finish. I’m so proud of you!”

“How long are you here for!?”

“Two days. You’ve got me for two days, baby.” Inuyasha squeezed her tight, pulling apart so he could kiss her on the forehead.

Sango and Miroku had parted to find their own families, and Inuyasha and Kagome enjoyed a night out to dinner with her own, celebrating her achievement before she headed back to her own apartment, rightfully dragging Inuyasha home with her.

They were merely in the hallway outside of her apartment before it hit them like a freight train, maddening desire catching up with them after months and months. Their lips had crashed into each other’s, their kiss heated and loving and mind numbingly hot. She was stumbling backward to get to her front door while Inuyasha held firmly around her waist, the two of them actively refusing to part until they absolutely had to - which just so happened to be when she dropped her keys while trying to unlock the door with one hand.

They both laughed, wonderfully flustered, and though he let her go so she could reach for the lanyard that held her keys, Inuyasha took residence behind her, his fingers gripping her hips and pinning his body to hers. His job was to make it difficult for her to get anything done, because in his eyes, he wouldn’t be doing it right if she could concentrate through his ministrations. Lips grazed over the tender flesh of her neck, his searing breath trailing over tended to spots and making her quiver where she stood. Kagome’s fingers were fumbling over keys, and he just fucking knew his girl was biting her lip to keep from making a peep.

God, he was so hard already, ready to fuck her over and over. And, over. And, over. And, if she asked nicely, one more time. He had so much pent up frustration for her to take in, and sleep was for the wicked. Her neck tasted so good, her reactions - stifled as they may be - made him feel borderline feral.

Finally, Kagome unlocked her door, throwing it open and spinning around to claim Inuyasha’s mouth and pull him through, allowing him to shut and lock the bolt.

“Sango?” He murmured into her kiss.

“Not home.” She breathed.

“Sure?”

“She’s smart. She’s not home.”

“Oh? Yeah?” His husky tone piqued in ruttish interest, one of his hands coursing through her hair to snag blissfully at the back. “You already knew what was gonna happen, baby? My little slut.”

Kagome could only reply in a moan, gripping the front of his shirt as she tried to guide him to her bedroom without tripping. She’d left her cap and gown in her car, leaving her donned only in the new dress she’d gotten just for the occasion. It was form-fitting, hugging every curve of hers beautifully, accentuating her perfect tits, her grabbable ass, the straps thin and the hem ending above mid-thigh. Through the door of her bedroom, he wasted no time in locating the zipper, dragging it down her back to release the dress’s enviable grasp on her. The straps fell from her shoulders easily, and Inuyasha gladly dragged them over her arms, flawlessly pushing the dress down her chest, her waist, her hips, and to the floor where she stepped out of it and kicked her flats off. Her breasts were concealed by a strapless bra, and after she eagerly undid his shirt and shoved it off of him, he yanked the useless delicate down to reveal the gorgeous and tempting sight of her hardened nipples. Inuyasha’s mouth instantly claimed one, not bothering to take his time. He was needy for her. Too much time played a cushion between them and he needed the fervent reminder of what she tasted like, how she felt while she laid helplessly beneath him as he fucked her, the erotic sounds she made when he hit just the right spot that made her clutch the bedding and arch her back.

Inuyasha pulled her to follow him as he sat on the edge of the mattress, sucking and using his tongue to flick her nipple within his mouth. Without instigation, she straddled his lap, allowing him to do whatever he wanted, and he rewarded her by grabbing her ass and maneuvering her to grind against his erection. His jeans hindered the sensation he craved, but the way she trembled told him how much she loved it all.

Easily, he unhooked the bra still wrapped beneath her supple breasts, unable to remove the wretched thing fast enough, and switched to pay attention to her neglected nipple. His hands made home on her ass, massaging, giving a little spank, but mindful to be frugal in how often he allowed her to grind into him. He’d stop her if she tried to do it herself, and just to show her he was in charge, he would sometimes only move her in simple, light motions that gave her limited satisfaction. The pleading whimper she made was music to his ears, and he gave a taunting chuckle in response each time. If only she knew he was just getting started with her.

“You miss me, baby?” He whispered hoarsely. Kagome whined, almost gasping as he littered steaming kisses over her chest. “No, no. I asked you a question. Answer it.”

“Yes.” She replied breathlessly. “I missed you so much.”

“Good girl. I missed you, too. All those pictures you send me almost make me lose my mind. I was so fucking close to buying a ticket to see you when you sent me the ones of you touching yourself. You know the ones?” Another keen, breathy and voiceless as he nipped her ribcage lightly. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” She sighed at the exact moment he ground her against him.

“The ones where I know what you’re doing, but I don’t get to see anything. Not a fucking thing. You’re such a little tease, you know that?”

That time, Kagome gave a satisfied and sultry giggle, licking her lips in response.

“Oh, you do? You’re a little too proud of yourself there, baby girl. You like driving me crazy?” His voice was deep, throaty, driving her wild and Kagome could barely manage a pout while she nodded that time.

“You wanted me to buy that ticket to you, didn’t you?”

Another nod, her teeth biting down on her lower lip as he pushed his hand between her pussy and his pelvis, dragging his fingers over her lace panties to taunt her as she created the respected space to allow him, again, to do whatever the hell he wanted to her.

“All so I could fuck you?” That time he whispered, feeling his hot breath bounce off her soft skin. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?”

“Please.”

“Oh, come on now. You can do better than that.”

“Inuyasha.” She trembled, her hips bucking mildly when he applied a little more pressure to her core.

“Do it.”

“Please.”

“Fucking beg me.”

“Please.”

“Give me more, baby.”

“I want you so bad.” She whined, her fingernails raking over his shoulders.

“I know you do.” Inuyasha gently pushed her to stand, following closely, one of his hands going into her hair to softly grip while his other undid his jeans, all the while leading her backwards toward the far wall. “But, that’s not what I asked. You need to beg me for this cock.”

“Please. Please, I want it so bad. I’m begging you. I’ve missed you so much. I need you.” The plead was almost too genuine, each waver to her tone like a lick of fire to his flesh, and he smiled arrogantly, tightening his grip on her hair and pulling her in for a feverish kiss.

He pinned her to the wall, pressing his body against hers, feeling the way her chest rose and fell with each heavy sigh. In his devotion to make sure she was going to get everything from him, including a refreshment course on how powerfully he worshipped her body, he steadily dropped to his knees, kissing down along the way. To drag those wanton breaths from her lungs, he place scalding kiss after kiss over the cloth of her panties, teasing her before giving in with a content chuckle. After pulling them down her gorgeous legs, Inuyasha licked his lips, propping one of her thighs over his shoulder as he set to his delectable feast. Fuck, she tasted so ungodly delicious, bringing a deep groan to rumble from his throat. He alternated between flattening his tongue to drag it over her entire pussy and playing with her clit with the very tip, and when her legs quickly began to tense and wobble, he wondered just how much she’d be able to take. He held her thighs, taking a deep lap with his tongue and then sucking on her clit, swallowing her juices. In the sexiest voice, the most desperate moan he’d heard from her yet, Kagome cursed, her hand gripping at his silver hair.

“Fuck, baby. Please.” She rasped, trying to pull him up.

Like a sucker, he complied, drowning her in a deep kiss while his hand curved around her throat. Kagome’s adventurous hands scraped down his bare sides, blindly making sure he’d undone his pants before finding the band of his boxers and reaching through to pull out his cock. Her palm was hot and he was throbbing. Using one hand brought a groan from his throat, and as she incorporated a second one, he couldn’t prevent himself from rolling into her grip, captivated by her mind numbing touch.

Inuyasha pushed her hands away, taking the liberty to curl her arms around the back of his neck as he leaned down, picking her up by the thighs and pushing her solidly against the wall for support. Without missing a beat, he gingerly pushed inside of her, hissing an unrestrained, “Shit!” Her legs wrapped around his hips, his girl ready to take him all in, and the sight of her mouth hanging open from the blissful intrusion had him going mad.

He moved his palms upward, gripping her ass as he began to thrust into her. It almost felt like it had during their first time together; so lost in each other it was impossible to stop. So enraptured, so taken that it would be debilitating to hold back. He could see Kagome losing herself, keening, grasping him tighter as her head dropped to his shoulder. Fuck, she was already shaking, enjoying herself too much, and it brought a wicked grin to Inuyasha’s face.

“You like that?” He teased.

“Harder.” She shockingly answered, lightly digging her nails into the back of his shoulders.

He had an unhinged need to give her exactly what she wanted. She was light in Inuyasha’s arms, easy to move, easy to manipulate, easy to fuck, but for better grounding, he further trapped her placement against the wall, their gasping mouths just centimeters apart as he thrusted deeper into her with nearly-bruising force.

“That what you want?”

“God, yes.” Kagome mewled, allowing her head to rest against the wall, a sinful smile growing on her face.

Inuyasha lavished her open neck and throat with adoring kisses, nips, licks, and sucks, intentionally leaving his mark. She was his. He wanted Kagome covered in his hickies, he wanted her smothered in his scent, he wanted the world to know that fate didn’t have to play a part in their union; Inuyasha would have willingly chosen Kagome time and time again.

Feeling the searing and overwhelming pleasure of her pussy claiming him, he pulled away from the wall the smallest amount; enough to give him room to play. He moved her hips, bouncing her on his dick as if she were the one fucking him, absorbed in the way her entire body responded. She was trembling, her voice broken, her legs squeezing him harder, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, and as she sucked in a shivering breath to hold, Inuyasha claimed her mouth, kissing her as she came on his cock.

Her legs were unstable, wobbly, but he set her down anyway, encouraging her to wrap her arms around his waist so he could support her as he guided her over to the bed, languid kisses peppered as they went. As they reached the mattress, Inuyasha smiled into his kiss, spinning her around and pushing her to bend over the edge of it. Kagome’d caught herself on her hands, temptingly biting her lip as she glanced over her shoulder at him before crawling further onto the bed to brace on her knees as well. Inuyasha shoved his pants and boxers down a littler further so they were out of the way, giving his cock a couple of jerks as he observed the tantalizing sight before him. Daringly, Inuyasha smacked her ass, his eyes rolling back ecstatically when she gifted him with a sensual sigh.

He spit into his hand, lubricating his cock before kneeling onto the mattress behind her and pushing inside, filling her whole. His pace started slow, but it was too simple. Kagome wanted more and she was willing to take it on her own, moving herself back and forth to match his rhythm and push him deeper inside of her. Altogether, Inuyasha stopped, allowing her to do as she pleased for a moment because the way her ass bounced against his hips was just too sexy to ignore. But, when she seemed to be thoroughly pleasing herself, he reached for her waist, anchoring himself as he pushed so hard into her that they both groaned loudly. She’d almost lost her balance, her hands clambering forward to clutch her comforter and support herself. Muscles engaged in her back, accentuating the curve of her spine, and Inuyasha felt a dangerous heat bubbling inside of him.

He’d completely admit that he’d lost himself to her in that moment, absolutely captivated by the way her body contorted, bounced, flexed, and ultimately welcomed his aggressive thrusts with how hard, how deep he fucked his girl. Reaching forward, Inuyasha safely gripped her hair, supporting her waist with his free arm as her scooped her torso up to meet his, the angle a little different while her hands grasped the forearm he held around her front, and her moans took on a pitchy effect.

“Play with yourself.” He ordered in her ear, releasing her to fold over completely with zero hesitation to do as he said.

He’d anchored himself by gripping her hips, enraptured by the beautiful expressions displayed on his soulmate’s face while she rested the side of it against the blanket, one of her hands tightly clutching the bedding by her shoulder while the other had glided between her thighs, massaging her clit. The way her breathing increased, her body responding to the ample stimulation, it was sending him spiraling, clenched curse words slipping off his tongue like they were the only hope of remaining grounded for however long it took to force Kagome to succumb with him.

“Come on, baby. Come on.” He gently coaxed, her squirming testing his willpower.

“Don’t - don’t stop!” She begged, muffling her voice with the comforter while she continued to vigorously rub herself.

Fuck, those words were like a fire hazard, building the heat that was already threatening to burn him down. Inuyasha clenched his jaw shut, grunting as he forced himself to maintain everything exactly as it was so as not to throw her off. What this goddess wanted, she got, and if she told him not to stop, especially in that desirable, whimpering manner, then obey he would.

“A l-little harder, please.”

Son of a bitch, she was going to be the death of him. The politeness, the submissive way she requested what she needed to reach climax had Inuyasha soaring, his fingers gripping harder so as not to reveal that they’d tremble against her supple flesh if he didn’t. That didn’t prevent him from bequeathing an ounce more of fervency to get her closer, closer, the enchanting sound of skin slapping skin all he could focus on until she rolled her hips in an irrepressible reaction to the orgasm fervidly overtaking her, the shuddering gasp she released proving to be the absolute end of his discipline. With just a few more powerful bucks of his hips, Inuyasha pulled out in time to cum on her back, biting back curses as his core went taut.

Sleep was for the wicked. So he said. Inuyasha had cleaned Kagome up, taken care of her after to make sure she was okay, gotten her water from the fridge while she was in the bathroom, and the moment their heads hit the pillows, they were sedated, lethargic, yet so greatly inclined to resist the pull of sleep. Kagome laid in his arms, eyes closed but still conscious, still whispering little stories to him that made him laugh. His bottom arm was loosely curled around her, but he earnestly tended to her with his other, stroking her hair, her cheek, her shoulder, massaging her temple to relax her, satiating his own desire to softly stroke her bottom lip with his thumb. It was a moment he wanted burned into his memory for as long as he lived. How easy it was to worship her, to love her, to respect her and cherish the light that she offered by just being. How simple it felt to just exist with her in such an insignificant moment that still meant the world to them both. It almost hurt, how much he adored Kagome. It was a pain he gladly accepted, though. It was a pain that reminded him he was alive, fortunate. It was a good pain. It made him question who he’d ever be without her, and then it made him immediately squash the thought as he silently swore he’d never let a living soul hurt this woman. Ever. He’d give his life for hers without a second thought.

What didn’t seem to hurt so much anymore, though, was parting. Goodbye was always bittersweet, but the both of them also felt complacent. The hard part was gone and passed. Had been for a little while. And, four months later, their path was reaching an alignment.

He’d succeeded. Inuyasha was finally receiving his promotion in his father’s company, attaining his share of the partnership. It was a huge weight off his shoulders, and a moment he couldn’t help but hope his late father would be proud of.

This also meant he was coming home.

The moment Sesshomaru and he finished speaking about the upcoming changes and their next course of action, Inuyasha purchased a ticket for a flight home for the following week. The call to inform Kagome was nerve-spiking, because he anxiously awaited her excited reaction. He anxiously awaited closing the gap and ending the remainder of their madness. And, she didn’t fall through. God, when her voice got so high pitched because she just couldn’t contain herself, it brought the dumbest grin to his face.

Momentarily, she’d been staying with her mom, the job she was currently working lackluster and only a means of experience for the time being. Not too long ago, Inuyasha presented the idea of them finding a place together whenever he got back - which would involve her relocating to a different state and leaving her job - and he’d be a fucking liar if he said he wasn’t nervous as all hell that she’d decline. It was a big move for them, but one neither of them could neglect to acknowledge would eventually happen no matter what. Considering the incredibly obvious circumstances. To his surprise, she’d enthusiastically agreed.

As unsure as everything was, no apartment to come home to but a hotel to stay in until they found a place of their own, the couple was just too happy to care about the details. Finding an apartment would be a simple task, anyway, since money wasn’t a thing to worry about in Inuyasha’s book. Kagome packed her things and got to their new city a few days ahead of him, and though he watched her roll her eyes time and time again over their FaceTime call, her boyfriend actively refused to allow her to stay in a hotel that looked remotely shoddy. They were looking online together before she’d left, but he proved to be resolute in his decision, deciding on one he’d approved of and booking it for her with his own card. Oh, he got an earful for that since she felt it wasn’t fair he was paying for it, but he took it all with an arrogant smile. This was his way of taking care of her. Kagome could protest all she wanted; it was done and set in stone, and Inuyasha felt no inking of regret.

She’d caught a taxi from her hotel to the airport, practically bouncing in her seat the entire ride there, which escalated into a vibrating anticipation as they sought out the terminal he’d be landing in. Kagome was so giddy, so excited that she felt like she was high, her chest weightless and fingers slightly shaky from the overabundance of endorphins flowing through her system. Inuyasha’s flight was scheduled to land by ten-thirty that evening, but surprisingly the airport still had a good amount of foot traffic within. It was physically impossible to fight off her body’s reaction to bob from foot-to-foot while she stood idly in the waiting area, but it was all she could do to stay put when people started flowing out, a nearby, electronic board stating his flight had landed moments ago. Taking her cue, Kagome unrolled the small-sized poster paper in her hands, “Cujo” written on the front of it in bold, decorative handwriting. She’d warned him she’d do this if he continued to make fun of her the other night, the two of them having too much fun joking around, but he clearly thought she was full of it. The moment his silver hair came into view, though, ember eyes staring down at his phone, the hanyou donned in jeans, a loose tee, and a hoodie, Kagome just couldn’t contain herself. The paper loosely rolled back up on its own in her hand as she dropped it with the other, squealing loudly and sprinting over to her boyfriend. Inuyasha glanced up, a bright smile appearing on his face as he opened his arms and caught her when she jumped into his hold, her legs wrapping around his waist and body hugging him as firmly as she could.

“Hi!” He greeted, holding her securely and laughing.

“I missed you!” Kagome squeezed him tighter, too happy to let go yet.

“You have no idea, babe.”

She leaned back in his arms, just enough to kiss him, smiling gleefully as she peppered his lips in affection over and over. “Welcome home.”

He was hot, happy. Thankful. Licking his lips to welcome her taste when she pulled back to smile at him.

“What’s the sign say?” He smirked, letting her know he hadn’t missed the fact that she was carrying a poster. Kagome laughed, unfurling it to show him, and he groaned with feigned annoyance. Inuyasha hiked her up in his arms, easily tossing her over his shoulder as she yelped and laughed even harder, supporting her upper body with her hands braced on his back. “Where’s the fucking trashcan? I’m throwing your ass away.”

“Inuyasha, no!” She pleaded meekly in the midsts of her giggle fit.

| Cruel Summer |

#I literally started this thinking it would be 5k words tops #and Nikki literally called me out and said YEAH OKAY #hahahahaha help me #inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #InuKag fanfic #InuKag fic #soulmate au #cruel summer #chasing the seasons #akitokihojo #smut #lemon

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willddheartt · 4 years

Text

Its Mortifying To Be The One Who Remembers | Randall Carpio

Summary: Thinking you’ve done something wrong to make Randall ignore you, you try reaching out many times, only to be ignored. Loosely based off Hold On by Chord Overstreet.

Warnings: sad, angst(?)

Word count: 1.4k

Masterlist

I can't imagine a world with you gone

Just yesterday you were talking to Randall like you always have, like friends. You were laughing and joking around. And just like a switch flipped, today he’s acting as if he doesn’t know you. You were a stranger to him.

You wondered if this was some kind of sick joke or if you had done something but he wouldn’t answer you. Your texts would send but no answer ever came, and every time you’d call it would go straight to voice mail.

Can you hear me screaming "Please don't leave me"

Your heart hurt as you went about your everyday life like normal, only without your only friend who always stuck by you. You wondered if he was acting this way because you were pushing him away slightly. But it couldn’t be, Randall’s always been there for you, even when you were distant, and when you came back he always greeted you with the same kindness as before. It didn’t make sense.

Hold on, I still want you

“Hey, it’s just me again,” You sighed into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail, “I don’t know what I did but if you would give me a call we can sort it out. Whatever hurt you I didn’t mean it… I miss you,”

At this point, you were sure your messages were getting thrown into the void instead of delivered to his phone. It’s been a month and he’s made no effort to call or text you back. You’ve lost people before, but nothing compared to this. Losing someone you’re so close to just like that, without a reason or explanation hurt way worse than any breakup you’ve ever been through. You wanted nothing more than to call and hear his voice on the other line, not some automated voice mail.

“Leave your message after the tone,” The robot spoke from the phone. By now your heart stopped dropping every time it went to message. “Listen, Randall,” You said softly, “I don’t care that you’ve been ignoring me for a month, just please come back. I need you.” You sobbed.

Helplessly praying, the light isn't fadin'

You still saw him around campus when you were reading in the grass. He’d be throwing a football around with one of his new friends, you wondered if he’s the one who replaced you. There were a few times where they caught you staring, you’d wave and look back down to your book or laptop. A few times you thought that he’d come over and talk to you but that never happened. You felt like you were grasping at strings every time you thought he was coming over to you. You would be alright if he went on without you at this point, you just wanted a reason. Why did he leave without an explanation, that was so unlike the Randall you thought you knew.

Come back, I still need you

Another month passed, still with no sign of Randall. It’s like you didn’t even exist to him anymore. You picked up your phone, dialling his number for the last time. This was going to be your final message, you couldn’t continue to hope he was just having a bad week and was dropping off the grid, as you normally did.

“Hey, Randall,” You sniffled, “Me again. I just wanted to let you know this will be my last message.” You paused, swallowing hard to suppress the sob that was trying to escape your throat, “I miss you and all but I’m not going to keep waiting to see if you come back to me, its been two months. You know where I am if you ever change your mind about what you did. I’ll always be willing to talk,” You stopped again, closing your eyes as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “I-” Hearing the tone signalling the end of your message you hung up the phone.

Curling up onto your bed, you fell into a puddle of tears. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, but that also made you miss your afternoon classes, which didn’t help your mood at all. The only thing you had to distract yourself was the lectures and useless theory work for your classes.

I don't wanna let go I know I'm not that strong

You had a bad week and an even worse past few months. Finally, your roommate agreed to let you have the dorm to yourself for the weekend, saying she was going to visit her parents. You went straight to your dorm after your last class, laying in the dark quiet room you felt yourself drifting and out of consciousness. Just as you were about to fall asleep frantic knocking come from outside your door. “Someone better be dying or there best be a fire,” You mumbled as you got up to open the locked door

You stumbled back a few steps when you opened the door and saw Randall standing on the other side with puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Your first thought was you had to be dreaming, you must have drifted off to sleep without noticing and this is just some cruel dream, but when you felt the tears falling down your cheeks you knew it wasn’t. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to choke any words out you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying you face in his chest as you let your sobs fall out freely. His arms wrapped around your back tightly, and you both sobbed. You didn’t care that it had almost been three months with Randall ignoring you, it was stupid but you didn’t care, you were just glad he was the one who knocked on your door.

You stood in your doorway, holding each other for what felt like ages. The effect of a single hug was astounding, without saying anything you could tell he had a good reason for what happened and why he was MIA. Without pulling out of the hug you walked backwards to your bed, pulling him in your dorm with you. “I can explain.” Was the first thing Randall said. You were just glad to hear his voice instead of the automated voice message that was set as his voice mail.

Randall sat you down and explained why he was gone and what happened within the time since you last seen him, almost three months ago, until now. You were rendered speechless. You had just been told that magic and werewolves are real, and the secret society that’s rumoured to be around campus is totally real as well, it felt like your entire world was flipped inside out. For all, you knew now, ever mythical being that you ever read about as a kid could be real.

“So that’s why you were gone?” You finally managed to say. Randall nodded, “I would have told you sooner but when they wiped my memory then took the ones of you too. I didn’t even know until tonight when I got them back. You don’t know how sorry I am,” He sighed “I’m sure you got my messages?” You asked He nodded, “I listened to them all then came over here.”

“Okay,” You whispered to yourself as you took a deep breath, “I’m gonna tell you thing now, or I don’t think I ever will,” You said, looking up at Randall to see him nod for youtube continue. “When you were gone, and I was under the impression you just left, I believe I realized something,” you started. “I thought it was already too late to tell you so I entertained the thought, more than normal. Anyway, I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not in my life in some way or another,” You spoke turning to face him, “Now I’ll be okay if we stay friends but-” You cut yourself off, your rambling took away the small bit of confidence you had a second ago. Looking back down to your lap, the words caught in your throat.

“What?” Randall asked softly as his hand came up to brush your cheek. “I love you,” You whispered, leaning into his touch as he cupped your cheek. Softly he kissed your lips, shocking you, pulling away before you could react your lips pouted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.

“I love you too,” Randall spoke, “The entire time I didn’t have my memory I felt like I was missing something, like when you leave without your keys, only I couldn’t figure out what it was.” He paused to hold your hands in his, “It was you. I was missing you.” You smiled, and tears filled your eyes. You were happy to have him back, and as he kissed you a second time, you knew you were able to call him yours.

Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you

#the order #the order imagne #randall carpio #randall carpio x reader #randall carpio imagine #jack morton #jack morton imagine #jack morton x reader #alyssa drake #alyssa drake imagine #alyssa drake x reader #hamish duke #hamish duke imagine #hamish duke x reader #lilith bathory #lilith bathory imagine #lilith bathory x reader

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handlewcaare · 4 years

Text

art by: kajuhz

The concept of Justice was a profit.

Oftentimes would Beaut replay the scene in his head. Not the ones in which he would portray the handsome knight or the chivalrous prince, but of his own savior; he who was bestowed a graceful light atop of his crown. His physique but a mountain compared to Beaut’s shuddering frame, cowardly under what he assumed to be his final hour.

“It’s fine now.”

The baritone resounded as divine as cathedral bells. A voluminous tone that held no wry contempt of what monster curled in front of him. There was no rehearsed spiel of what justice was, but it left Beaut to determine his own interpretation of it in his stunned awe.

Many would have called justice a caped Crusader, many would have called it a quivering hand that held the knife they used to impale their abuser, many would have called it the rope that suspended the guillotine’s blade. In the end, it was but a trophy to be won over the carcasses of villains Beaut would periodically encounter.

Justice was as fine as wine in his perception. It was the promise of dictating who would be fit to surpass him in the top of the A-Class threshold, it was the champagne dinners he would hold at every New Years or the awards he would win in for a role he partook when the hours were slow. It was not a gruesome lifestyle, outside of what brutality he enacted upon his villains, but it was profitable.

Until it came along.

It coming in the form of a walking cadaver draped in an old beige coat that was rancid with nicotine and whatever disease it caught this week. It’s shoulders were hunched and it never enacted in a spatting match reserved between Tatsumaki and Metal Bat. Rather, it kept to itself and only periodically placed its input in a phantasmic and haunting tone. Ironically, it ran a detective agency down in F-city and was quite renowned for its capabilities. However, what irritated him most was not because it’s regeneration, not in truth anyways.

“Why wasn’t I notified about his recruitment?”

It was often that the H.A. would negate Beaut about new recruits, especially one whom had made headlines about his week-long war with a conflagrant dullahan Griffin. Though, the sole purpose of his presence at the threshold of A-Class was to prevent lesser men to weasel their way without proving their worth. He knew that Kamikaze’s disciples attempted to do so numerous times with their false valor.

“Well, he has a high amount of endurance,” Sitch clarified. The portly man hastily patted his temple with a handkerchief. Without a doubt, Amai knew how to intensify the ambiance with but the sneer of his tawny glare. “Not just that, but I don’t think he’s human—“

When veins bloomed at the nape of the idol’s neck, Sitch hastily continued, “our intern, Iwaizawa, tried to recruit him the first time and his wounds healed while he refused. Poor man was horrified when his arm just fell off and grew another one.”

Regeneration was nothing of a unique feat, but it was one in which Amai specialized in. Clean cuts to his appendages often wrought nonchalance when he secured it back on. The muscle fibers would make haste to keep his tendons and bone secure. The carbon of his skin would shatter into a spiderweb fracture, but it would never quake under the pressure. Yet, he could only find offense that they would insinuate his was not just as good—if not, better.

“And like I can’t?” He could probably do so while performing a live concert.

“He survived numerous injuries; burns, teeth, claws—the whole nine yards—he didn’t stop walking either.”

If there was anything Amai was, he could be rational at times. His lip nearly turned stiff with a grimace, though the aspect of someone possessing a similar ability than him was enough to curdle his stomach. It was a hideous, warped perception of himself that he faced; the Beaut he was prior to his body enduring so much stress that it became a diamond. Who gave this thing the audacity to be the very thing he couldn’t withstand?

He felt his blood curdle in private rage, though he knew better than to lash out at someone who could potentially hinder his reputation. Tabloids would shrill about his monstrous temper and equate him to nothing but another Terrible hero; a spoiled brat who should have been proud of the golden spoon in his mouth.

He would have told them his spoon was spray painted, but that was too worthy of a risk.

“I want to interview him,” Amai said as he briskly stood up from his seat and collected his pristine coat, his voice stiff to bottle up his frustration. “If he’s abnormal, I want to make sure he doesn’t have ill-intentions.”

“I... highly doubt he would,” the reluctance to correct Amai was prevelant, as he was the reason they were even able to make a fortune off the expense of strong heroes with exaggerated sob stories. “He refused to enlist initially.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants you to think.” Something evoked the creature to come back, be it that someone fed it on their porch or gave it a promise didn’t matter. It was worthy of an investigative welcome.

——————————

Hounding after the cryptic amidst F-City was hardly an issue. What with the newest talk circulating the nicknamed ‘deadman detective agency’ and tourists seizing photo opportunities, Amai could only wonder what made it worthy for the city to nestle the gemstone close to its chest.

Was it being a little hole in the wall? Was it the fact that it held some nostalgia to the Griffin’s demise? He didn’t particularly care either way, other than it lived in an absolute shithole. The windows were makeshift plastered with wood and duct tape.

Not an environment he would imagine himself being in, but it was better than visiting Puri Puri Prisoner.

Knocking on the door only fueled his muted irritation. What he was greeted with was a pallid being, one who barely looked passable for an anemic. Along its lips balanced an unlit cigarette and his gaze flickered briefly to the branching sutures underneath its clavicles. The aroma it carried however was rancid, vile nicotine and ink seemed to manifest itself through the partially opened maw of the door.

For a moment, Amai brought a knuckle to clog one of his nostrils discreetly, “hello,” his Hollywood smile couldn’t have been anymore amiable than it was. His smiling equanimity easily masquerading his suppressed resentment, “I wanted to say congratulations on passing your Heroes Entrance exam.”

One could weigh the loss of interest along the creature’s stern countenance, “usually, I am involved in the recruitment process. However, I was a bit busy and I missed my opportunity to get to ask you a few questions.

“My name is Handsome Kaimen Amai Mask,” he informed as he extended a hand for the cryptid to take, “you can just call me Amai Mask.”

It was glacial, the way the detective’s hand clasped his. There was not a semblance of rough, course callouses or warmth to radiate under the skin. He shuddered under the grasp that could only be best described as rigormortis. What it lacked in conversational pieces, it compensated for in its uncanny valley of humility. He supposed not all monsters slammed their doors in people’s faces.

“It’s nice to meet you, Amai Mask,” it’s phantasmic murmur was reserved to the spirit that haunted its shell; a conch that knew too many secrets. When Amai withdrew, he felt the itching need to investigate whether he was as humble as he appeared to be. If he truly did do investigative work for the good of others and not himself.

“I would like to talk to you privately,” he said, “after all, your thoughts are very important to hear.” They weren’t, not even the H.A. Could deny that blatant fact.

The reluctance in It’s pause was also uncanny (he could never fathom why there was always a hint of hesitation with him), however the carcass gradually complied by opening the barely stable door wholly open. “Leave your shoes by the door, if you don’t mind?”

He could feel his gums bleed under his clenched teeth, only releasing them when he cheerily complied. “Not at all.”

————————————————

The office was illuminated by a single bulb. It’s jewelry but the rotating fans above and a single chain within length to pull. The interior wasn’t much in the way of impression, as half of it was hastily constructed.

Tarp laid sprawled over one side of the office, only being held down by a jar of plaster for the jagged trauma across the masonries. If that wasn’t enough of an indication there was a skirmish, the creature’s desk was haphazardly concocted with duct tape and splintered wood. The remnants of burnt petals remained prominent under the sprawled files of evidence.

Along one (partially) unblemished wall was the map of F-City’s tri-state area. Polaroids pinned to each segment as they caressed scrawled notes pertaining to specific cases. Few even had a red string connected to one another.

“You really are a detective, huh?” The idol mused as he gingerly laid his coat atop of one of the chair cushions—the one that wasn’t nearly as collapsible as the other—before he sat down, “I assumed it was just part of the aesthetic.”

“Old habits die hard,” the walking cadaver remarked. The way it settled into the seat in front of Amai reminded him of something of an old soul. Its sigh fluttered when it leaned back, “though, I can’t say I’ve done much investigation work nowadays.”

“It’s a nice hobby to have,” he didn’t want to stay too past his curfew however, especially if this reanimated corpse wouldn’t want to talk shop. Fortune came in toast master’s, “what are your thoughts on the exam? Was it too difficult?”

“Do you want my honest answer or the one you want to hear?” It asked as it flicked the lighter to ignite the end of It’s cigarette. The sizzle of tobacco and paper evoked a hint of irritation that Amai’s vocal chords were not taken into consideration.

“Preferably both,” it was unbearable the way it implored. If it was an attempt to get on his good side, it was certainly a poor one.

An eventual drag from Zombieman’s cigarette accented his robust quip, “it was stupidly easy,” he said, “though I dunno why you have questions about traffic safety.”

It was a typical query, aside from the essay questions many heroes skimmed past with a few haphazard answers. The idol simply crossed his knee over his leg, “we had a lower rank lose his lisence,” he elucidated, “ironically, he passed the exam with flying colors.”

Whether he spoke too much or there was too much perception in that thing’s brain, it raised a brow, “and why isn’t he in S-Class if he’s lower rank?”

“He’s simply not strong enough to surpass me,” he was rather pathetic in all honesty. Save for his valiant speeches and his ability to look for lesser people, the C-Rank gatekeeper wasn’t much to write home about. “If I’m being honest with you, very few people manage to get into S-Class.”

At that moment, Amai knew it wasn’t the same as the others; there was no petulant demand for higher paychecks or an un breakable instrument. It was a blind gamble he didn’t anticipate for something that looked like it could find more entertainment staring blankly ahead.

“—and you’re telling me that a ten year old is physically stronger than an adult man?” The Zombieman didn’t bother to suppress his snarl this time. His lip curled underneath the plumb of smoke, “that’s bullshit.”

“No, but he’s not physically stronger than me,” Amai clarified once more. It wasn’t in the matter of everyone else, but of whether he deemed them worthy to surpass him in rank. He felt his brow twitch when the rancid odor of nicotine whisped as dangerous as a threat. Fortunately, his furor could only bubble a laugh, “What, would you prefer us to hire podcasters to try and placate a rampaging bull from killing civilians?”

“I dunno,” the horrible cardboard cutout of a detective said as its russet glare punctured through Amai’s tawny ones, “you seem to like the sound of your own voice pretty well.”

The hospitable charade melted from the heat of his aggrevation. Hot wax of a pristine neighbor dribbled off the exposed veins along his nape and down his chest, “excuse me?”

“In one of your interviews,” oh, it knew him already, “you said that justice isn’t something wholly to a hero, that everyone has their part somehow,” it never once deviated its intrusion to the far corridors of Amai’s glare. It was dauntless, especially when it knew that his neck and shoulders began to grow slightly larger. Yet, it talked as passive as it would in front of a criminal; as if it had the right to accuse him of anything.

“Here you are, however, saying that someone needs to be beyond average in order to be adequate for saving people. Be it that they’re a kid with a high IQ, an angry jock or a chaotic pixie,” the detective paused as it obstinately clenched it’s cold hand around the partially finished cigarette. The fire snuffed out without a protesting burn to it’s skin, “makes me wonder what you’re hiding if you’re only letting ‘strange’ people in.”

Should Amai be allowed to be Beaut once more, he would have never been accepted in. Beneath the masquerade of a teen girl’s fantasy was a hulking, grotesque beast who could only watch the rose petals wilt from the outside. It was as if this thing, this abomination, was aware of that. As he abruptly stood from his seat, he felt his gloved hands clench at their sides.

“If you want to be kicked out from the S-Class, I can make it happen,” the threat did nothing to provoke the pathetic punching bag out of his seat. Rather, it only prompted him to scoff a scalding hand to rub more salt into Amai’s wound, “my regeneration can best your’s. If you really want a satisfying exam, I am more than happy to oblige.”

Eventually, the mild irritation that highlighted the creature’s glare subsided for a slight revelation. What one would have envisioned to be a skirmish only halted midway when it stated something of a reflection to his dare.

“You’re projecting.”

What?

The incredulous look that stained his handsome features only prompted the thing to resume casually, “you’re projecting. You didn’t come here for a warm welcome; mentioning strength, the regeneration, what justice means.

“if I join a pop idol group, that just about ticks off all your boxes, doesn’t it?”

Being relevant was what rusted justice. In an instant, Amai seized ahold of It’s neck, its skin nothing but cold rubber under the pads of his fingertips. There was not a pulse to drum, not even when the harbinger of beautiful reckoning sneered. His eyes wide as they attempted to search wildly for a semblance of absent fear.

What he didn’t comprehend was that there was a barrel nestled close to his sternum in the same movement. Just as he would try his hand on how effective this monster’s regeneration was, he snapped out of his blind haze when there was a subtle knock to rap along the office door.

“Mr. Zombieman?” The voice was small, a little too petite to be a woman’s, “it’s me, Dr. Hajime, can I come in?”

It was a gamble neither wanted to try their hand in. For one that it would have gotten Hajime involved and the other was that it was a sure fire way to have Amai Mask’s reputation be tarnished. What reality of him being the harbinger of rightful justice would have dispersed by his own lack of control. He would have been no better than the monsters he hunted.

As the two reluctantly withdrew, the detective made no attempt to mouth “get out” at the sneering idol.

When prohibited to enter, Child Emperor’s eyes bloomed in awe when he discovered Amai Mask simply retrieving his coat from the chair, “oh-!” The boy squeaked, his shoulders jolted and there was a tighter hold along the tiny trey of chocolate cake, “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” the detective said. Had Amai not known better, he would have assumed it could actually smile, “what’s the cake for?”

“I just thought we should celebrate you getting in and all!”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t stay to listen to their futile conversation.

—————————————

Relevance rusted Justice.

As Amai skulked away to leave the two be, he could only glower at how the creature allowed Child Emperor to join him. His lip turned stiff at the revelation that there was hardly any private celebration he would have. It was never homely, but a grandiose party with strangers who didn’t know him by Beaut.

He’s a stupid kid.

No, Dr. Hajime is actually quite brilliant. It was his counterpart, his pseudo-father figure that was the idiot. To insinuate that he would even bother projecting his envy on the likes of some insolent vigilante was something worthy to laugh at.

When he meandered home into his mansion, there was no one other than himself to occupy the space; no one with a cake or to press a kiss along his cheek in greeting. His phone would blow up with useless messages and notifications from strangers, but it wasn’t warm. It was as cold as the handshake he had.

He didn’t bother to change out of his clothes when he went to bed.

#one punch man #opm #what kendall writes.#character study #Amai mask #Zombieman #Zombieman OPM #handsome kaimen amai mask #child emperor #not really an origins HC #but I wanted to do something a little different #it won’t lemme link Kajuhz #>:/

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forever--darling · 4 years

Text

not too far away - s.m. (part eight)

a/n: where things finally heat up between them and the past catches up

warnings: 8.5k words of shawn fluff, silent confessions, and scary past times

VIII. a millstone around one’s neck

him

Another week had passed since the night Shawn had an anxiety attack and showed up at Y/N’s door. Since she pulled him inside and into her arms where she began to sing one of his songs. Never Be Alone. Right in his ear. Since he had fallen asleep on her couch limbs tangled with hers. The last week had been just as heavenly as the first besides that small hiccup in there where Shawn threw a party and called her drunk to come over. He knew since then it had been probably perfect.

They seemed closer than before which was almost impossible. But they were, because before that night, before Shawn’s anxiety caused him to break down, his hand didn’t brush hers like it did now just to have an excuse to touch her. Or when they were lying around at one of their apartments they had never had their bodies pressed against each other desperate for that warmth.

Something had changed between them and he was sure. Because though before when he would see her his heart would beat out of his chest and he felt dizzy it didn’t compare to how he felt now. Lately, he had been catching himself to always have his eyes on her or if she was in the room he had to be close to her. Shawn wasn’t entirely sure what had changed between them but he knew that she felt it too. Because she couldn’t keep her eyes or hands away from him either.

It was truly like they were in their own perfect little bubble and Shawn never wanted it to end but he knew that it would have to. He was due to be going back to LA soon for meetings and studio sessions. He didn’t want to leave her or his home but a part of him was excited to be back in the studio. With all of this time spent with Y/N and all these feelings that had developed, he had never been so inspired before to write.

There were times where he would suddenly stop whatever he was doing to grab his guitar or notebook to jot some lyrics. This happened a lot when they were together. One minute Y/N would be rambling from across the table of whatever restaurant they had decided to eat out at and Shawn would be scribbling down words on a napkin with a pen.

He was going to miss her and how he felt when she was around because after going so long without her he wanted to spend every moment with her he could. LA was only a week and a half away and he wasn’t sure if before he leaves he should act on these feelings or not. If he should finally reveal to Y/N that she made him blush like a schoolboy and his heart to beat loudly out of his chest. If he should tell her that she made him the happiest when they were sprawled across the couch laughing at the dumb conversations they would have.

Was he supposed to tell her that he had never felt this way about someone or was he just supposed to board his plane lips sealed scared their friendship would be tarnished if he decided to take that small leap of crossing that line that represented friends and something more than that? Was he supposed to refuse, letting the truth slip from his lips and spend weeks on end with the constant thought of what if haunting his mind? The what if he had told her that she was more than just his best friend. Shawn wasn’t sure which was the right thing to do and it was starting to drive him crazy every time he saw her.

It had been another one of those days where by the end of it Y/N was at Shawn’s apartment sinking into the cushions of his couch after ordering takeout. She had one of his hoodies thrown lazily across her torso and her short hair was straight and tangled, wisps tickling the sides of her neck. A textbook was open across her lap, her fingers thumbing through the pages as she attempted to write down everything she thought she needed for an upcoming test in one of her classes. Her makeup from the day had been worn away and her mascara was smudging slightly under her eyes.

With her legs stretched across the length of the couch, her toe poked at Shawn’s thigh as he sat near the other end, The guitar sat in his lap against the black pair of basketball shorts that hung off of his bottom half. His hair was a fluffy mess falling into his eyes but he made no move to push it away. He wore a grey Harvard hoodie with the sleeves pushed up. The gold chain of his necklace around his neck peeked out from within the hoodie, sparkling against the dim light coming from the lamp in the room. His eyes were screwed shut as he plucked at the strings of the guitar and hummed along to the song he was playing.

Small slivers of sunlight were able to be seen through the city buildings but within a few minutes would be gone. Disappeared behind the city to be replaced with the moon and the stars. Shawn and Y/N had been in this position for almost forty minutes, him playing his guitar and her studying. It was quiet and nice and put Shawn’s beating heart a little at ease that her attention wasn’t on him but on her Biology notes. The moment didn’t last very much longer though as he heard a heavy sigh and the sound of a book being slammed shut.

His humming came to a halt and he opened his eyes to look at the girl next to him who suddenly appeared frustrated. His fingers continued to play the chords, knowing them by heart, as Y/N dropped her book and notebook onto the floor beside the couch. She sat up and scooted closer to Shawn causing his fingers to falter over the strings playing the wrong chord. His fingers stopped their movements and he placed the guitar down beside him upon noticing how Y/N’s lip was forming into a pout.

He turned his body to face her, his elbow leaning on the back of the couch as a chuckle fell from his lips, “What is it?”

She huffed, “Just don’t want to study anymore is all. When do you have to go back to LA?”

Her voice sounded so soft and like she was scared of the answer. She was so innocent and it caused a smile to pull at Shawn’s lips. His fingers began to play with hers as he answered her question, “Not for another week and a half. I was supposed to leave sooner but since your birthday is on Thursday I told Andrew that I’d be staying for it.”

Almost like with a snap of his fingers, Y/N’s mood changed. Her lips pulled into a large smile and her eyes sparkled as they stared back at Shawn. She scooted even closer, her knee now touching his. “Really?”

He nodded, “Yeah. Did you really think I’d go home before then?”

She shrugged, “Well I just thought you would have more important stuff to do in LA.”

Shawn felt his heart beating out of his chest and he mumbled out his next reply as his head began to lean closer, “Yeah but none of its more important than this.”

Y/N’s smile only widened as her fingers locked around his. Her cheeks began to blush and was now noticing how close Shawn had gotten to her. She could feel his breath fanning across her face and could smell his cologne. Words were caught in her throat and she didn’t know what else to say as her eyes continued to glance back and forth from his plump pink lips and amber eyes.

He knew the way she was looking at him. The way her eyes were tracing his lips and how hard she was gripping his hand. She was intoxicating to him. From the small freckles on her nose to the way her lashes fluttered open and close, and to the tingling she sent up and down his hand from her fingers touching his.

He knew she wouldn’t make the first move because if she was going to she would’ve by now. Shawn’s eyes glanced towards her lips that appeared glossy from the chapstick she had put on earlier and felt his stomach shake at the way they were parted ever so slightly. This was it, he knew that and once he moved forward there was no going back. This was something he had been trying to do since they were fourteen and he wasn’t about to back out this time because they weren’t two fumbling teenagers anymore though they felt like it.

Taking a small steady breath, Shawn leaned forward but stopped when his nose brushed against hers. His eyes had closed and he could hear the intake of breath that had passed through her mouth. He needed to know he wasn’t wrong, and that she wanted him too. He made the first move now she had to do the rest. It felt like forever waiting for her to make a decision to either indulge in what he was offering or push him away.

Suddenly he felt her smooth lips brush his softly and Shawn felt his whole body ignite at the feeling. She was hesitant he could feel it at how her lips were barely touching his. The was new territory for both of them, they had never kissed each other, and Shawn knew he would have to be the one to initiate the situation. He pressed his lips further against hers as his hand moved up to cup her cheek. The kiss was slow and soft only lasting a few seconds before she pulled away from him, seeming to be at a loss of breath. Her eyes fluttered open staring into Shawn’s and at that moment he couldn’t read how she was feeling.

Her face was stoic as small uneven breaths passed through her mouth, fingers squeezing his. She was quiet and motionless. Her face was only inches away from his and he had to contain himself from attaching his mouth to hers again. He knew this would take a minute or two to process because they had just kissed. They had been friends for fifteen years, only friends and they had just crossed that line because friends don’t kiss. Or at least kiss like that. Shawn was certain of his feelings but there was a chance Y/N wasn’t of hers. It made him nervous and worried that she was about to reject him or worse run out the door.

But as her pretty eyes glanced back down to his lips, all his thoughts and all his worries disappeared in his head as his attention was now solely on the girl in front of him. Shawn felt his breath hitch in his throat as Y/N’s hands took a hold of his shoulders pulling his lips back to hers.

He reacted instantly hands finding a place on her cheeks, his thumbs brushing against the flushed skin. Her lips molded perfectly with his and he had never felt a kiss like this in his life. His hands were tingling against her face and he knew that they weren’t close enough. He needed to be as close to her as possible. His hands dropped from her cheeks and landed on her hips.

He pulled her forward desperately until she landed on his lap, legs on either side of his thighs. Her arms looped around his neck as her fingers moved down to dance across his spin causing his whole body to shutter. In response, Shawn pressed his tongue against the seam of her mouth asking for access. Her lips parted for him and instantly his tongue delved inside. This was not like the soft kiss they had just had. No, this was hot and passionate. Teeth clashing and tongues winding. They had definitely not done this before but he liked it.

He could feel her heart beating against his chest and it finally registered in his mind that he was kissing Y/N. The thought made him smile into the kiss, his teeth hitting against hers. At the feeling, she couldn’t help but smile too. Geez, why hadn’t they done this sooner he thought as his hand began to knead at her hip. Y/N was moaning into Shawn’s mouth causing his stomach to stir but as his thumb pushed deeper into the spot at her hip, Y/N’s lips detached from his and a hiss fell from her mouth.

His eyes widened in worry as Y/N began to rub near her hip in pain where his hand had just been. “Are you okay?”

She looked back towards him, eyes locking on his red swollen lips and nodded, hand moving to his chest, “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I pressed that hard,” he admitted sheepishly hand moving to stroke the top of her thigh worried about touching near her hip again

“Shawn it’s okay, you didn’t,” she replied quietly looking worried and confused as her fingers laced with his on her leg.

“Is there something wrong then?” he asked eyes locking with hers.

“I don’t think so. I’m sure it’s fine.” she tried to reassure him but Shawn knew that by the sound of her voice it sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than him.

her

There it was. That large white building made of windows and was always a bustling mess. You stood outside the automatic glass sliding doors that opened and closed letting people in and out. Your heart was beating loudly against your rib cage and your hands were shaking in your pockets. There were two possible outcomes by the end of the day and nothing was scarier than finding out which one happened to be your fate. Your head was pulsing and your throat felt dry because though this place had been home to you for some time you hoped you would never have to go back. You tugged on the sleeve of your cardigan anxiously as you began to count back from ten, deep breaths falling from your quivering lips.

As you made it to one, your eyes fluttered open and you moved one step at a time towards the front doors. You passed a bench that sat along the pavement and sat alone upon the wood was an old man. His hair was wacky and his clothes were wrinkled. His shoulders were slumped and his fingers curled tightly around a gold ring. He had no doubt probably just lost his wife and though all hope probably seemed lost his head raised and he sent you a small smile as you passed. One of reassurance you weren’t sure but that’s what you were going to say it was.

It calmed you down a little. That a man who had just lost the love of his life had enough in his heart to offer you some encouragement though that’s what he clearly needed at the moment. Hospitals were multiple things to people. To some, it’s a place of new life, to others a sad ending. Very few it’s a place of home and overall a place of redemption. You had always thought that that’s what it had been when you had exited through those glass doors healthy and desperate to start your life. Now you were unsure because here you were about to find out which role this hospital would be playing for you once again and you prayed that it was a kind one.

As soon as you were inside and the doors closed behind you, it suddenly felt like you had never left. The walls were still that off white color that was scrapped in certain places where hundreds of gurneys had bumped into as they hurried down the halls.

The air still smelt of medical supplies and bleach. And those chipped walls were still covered with those framed uplifting pictures that had always made you roll your eyes every time you were due for another check up but now only filled with you dread. Plastic signs hung high near the ceiling directing people where to go in the large building but you had the route printed in your mind. The sixth-floor left wing.

If that wasn’t all the one thing that had definitely not changed was how noisy and busy the whole place was. Never seeming to be slow or quiet. Medical staff ran from one place to the next, heavy footsteps echoing across the tile floor. Beeps of machines passed through your ears so often you weren’t sure which direction it came from and the blaring sirens of the ambulances never ceased from the parking lot. It was all the same, as it had been so many months ago and ultimately now. You just hoped that the one thing that would be different would be you.

The elevator was busy, as usual, and you leaned against the back wall fingers laced across your stomach. Your eyes were trained on the numbers of the elevator as it continued to move up passing one floor after the other. 3, 4, 5. It stops and the doors open letting a handful of people to file out of the small compacted traveling box. Another unsteady breath passed through your dry lips as the doors closed and the elevator began to move again. Within seconds it stopped and you felt your stomach drop. Floor 6.

Squeezing by the remaining people in the elevator you exited fingers taping at your sides as you advanced forward towards the nurse station and almost felt relieved at seeing someone you didn’t recognize. Someone who wouldn’t question you or pity you at the symptoms you were feeling. Someone who didn’t know you or your past history and treat you like any other patient who walked in for a consult because if it were someone you knew then you would have to face the reality faster that this was actually happening.

The nurse sat typing away at her computer not noticing your hesitant presence inching your way towards the desk. She had golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Young, no doubt, and maybe new which would be a better chance that she didn’t know who you were. Her head lifted as you placed your hands nervously on top of the counter, fingers tapping obnoxiously. Despite the noise, she smiled, her decency no doubt because it was a requirement of the job.

“Good morning,” she chirped, causing your head to pulse at the preppy sound.

“Hi,” you smiled weakly, “I have an appointment with Dr. Myers.”

The nurse nodded before she began to type at the computer again, looking for the appointment. She smiled but within seconds it dropped. You knew right away why it had. She had probably seen it. The title that was given to you as soon as you had left this hospital. Past patient and to be back all this time later wasn’t a typical check-up which meant one thing. “Y/N, yes you’re right here,” she replied trying to smile but it proving to be hard to muster, “It should be only a few minutes, why don’t you fill out some of these forms.”

With that, she handed you a clipboard and a blue pen where you took a seat in a cushioned chair eyes falling onto the white sheet. It asked basic questions most forms had like why you were at the hospital in the first place but then they started to get specific. Ones that ask about your specific illness and treatment you had undergone. Each question became just as painful as the next to answer and you were sure people could see your distress as you passed. Here you were, nineteen, alone back at the hospital with not a single person knowing.

You couldn’t begin to think about how you were going to tell your family that you had a check-up at the hospital. Or how you would tell them the exact thing none of you wanted to hear if your results ended up being the opposite of what you needed. Most of all what the hell were you supposed to tell Shawn because he had yet to know about any of your hospital visits in general.

You knew that if the results were bad, it would be a strike to the chest and would probably send you crumbling to the floor. All your armor you had spent so much time building around yourself breaking within seconds and in a way you didn’t want or need. You were starting to hope that if that was the outcome today, the worst news any person can hear, maybe it would kill you right then and there. The shock itself would have done it. What a way to die, you thought as you stood up and handed the clipboard back to the nurse who was done trying to send you sad smiles.

That’s when you heard the squeaking of shoes coming down the hallway, you knew right away that it was from those black faded Sketchers. Sure enough, as you turned to look you were met with the sight of Dr. Myers looking just as he had ten to eleven months before. His short grey hair was now a little longer and was obviously gelled to the side and his face now held a grey scruffy beard to match that looked more white than grey at some angles. He still had those bushy dark eyebrows and those kind brown eyes and even though this wasn’t the circumstance neither of you wanted he smiled.

Reaching out for you, he pulled you into a hug which you returned instantly, eyes shutting for a second as his voice spoke into your ear, “I know this is far from the way we wanted to see each other again but it’s good to see you, sweet girl.”

“I wish I could say the same Dr. M. I really do,” your voice whispered cracking as he pulled his arms back from around you and sent the saddest smile you had ever seen from him.

“I know,” he sighed wrinkles deepening on his forehead, “Well let’s get this over with, yeah?”

You nodded and followed after him as he led you down the long hallway away from the nurse station and the young nurse who had been sat watching the sad encounter in silence. You followed the kind-hearted doctor, you had known for the past almost four years, all the way down to the end of the hall. Slowly entering the exam room, you plopped onto the table as Dr. Myers pulled up your chart. He scanned over it as he leaned casually back against the desk. Finally, his head lifted to meet your gaze and asked the first question of what would be a very long checkup,

“So what exactly have you been feeling to think that the cancer is back?”

him

“When are you just going to admit that you two are more than friends?”

“Aaliyah, what are you talking about?” Shawn chuckled towards his litter sister as he began to back away his clean clothes into the duffel bag on his old twin sized bed.

Shawn had been commuting back and forth from Pickering to the city so much that the drive now felt like nothing. It once was unbearable but now seemed like the peaceful time he had to be left with his thoughts. Where music lyrics would form at thoughts of her and her short Y/H/C hair and pouty pink lips. Y/N now seemed to drown his mind and with it being only hours since his lips were attached to her for the first time, he swore he could still taste her. He was giddy at the fact that he would be seeing her again later in the night at her apartment.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen because the night before after Y/N had suddenly felt a pain struck her where Shawn’s thumb was digging into, their actions from before didn’t continue. Instead, she placed a soft feathery kiss at the base of his neck and crawled off his lap. At first, Shawn was worried about what it had meant but all that worry disappeared real fast as soon as the TV was turned on and he found his limbs tangled with hers.

Light kisses became a normal thing for the rest of the night. Whether it was the neck, cheek, nose, forehead -- not the lips though. Nope those seemed like off limits for the last remaining hours of their nightly hangout and all Shawn could think about was that she was this forbidden fruit that he wasn’t allowed to taste, to savor, and the only made him want her more.

As for when Shawn came home in the morning, everyone could sense the change in him. He was happier than he was usually which seemed impossible but as of the night before had been proven wrong. Karen and Manny saw it easily. There was a sparkle in his eye and he couldn’t stop smiling. They had a feeling of who might have caused it but didn’t have the slightest clue of what had happened.

The only person in the Mendes family that had an idea was Aaliyah. She knew from what she walked into that one day his room to the way Y/N got all red and flustered when asked about Shawn that there was more to the two of them besides friendship. She was determined that if she wasn’t able to get it out of Y/N she would be able to get it out of Shawn. He knew that too because of the look his sister was giving him. He knew that there was no way he was going to tell her but ultimately spill a little just to put the younger Mendes at bay.

“Come on, I’m not dumb. Ever since you and Y/N got reunited you two have been different. You think I didn’t see what was going on in your room that one day. And if it isn’t how red Y/N’s face gets when I mention you that gives it away, your smile clearly does.” Aaliyah fell onto Shawn’s bed a knowing look in her eye.

He huffed seeming to ignore her as he continued to pack away his clothes and in response, he got a light kick to his arm from Aaliyah as she continued to talk, “Look, you’re my brother. Which means I know you. I know what you’re like when you have a crush, and you're showing all those same signs except now they’re on like steroids.”

He sighed, movements stopping to stare at the bright eyed fifteen year old who was obviously too smart for her own good. “Aaliyah…”

“What? You should just tell her,” Aaliyah reasoned sitting along the edge of the bed staring up at her older brother, “Because we both know she isn’t going to tell you how she feels first. She’s always needed a little push but it’s not a bad thing.”

Shawn shook his head unable to stop himself as his lips began to move, “Yeah you’re right on that one. What would you say if I said that you were also right about the fact that it’s way more than friendship for me.”

Suddenly Aaliyah’s smile widened and she jumped from the bed with a gasp, “Really?”

He nodded knowing that what was done was done. The gig was up and though it was his sister that was the first person to know he had never felt more relieved to finally admit the very thing that had been haunting him for a while now.

“Well, then I would say that I have the perfect way for you to tell her!” Aaliyah said excitedly, “Her birthday is on Thursday right, so you could throw her a party. Make it huge, you know. Invite all of her friends and family, make all of her favorite food, and play all the songs that she seems to always have to dance to when they're on. Make it a night to remember.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Y/N isn’t one who likes being around a lot of people and definitely doesn’t like big parties.”

Aaliyah crossed her arms across her chest and a determined look filled her eyes, “Yeah but if you haven’t noticed Y/N isn’t exactly the same person she was four years ago. She has short hair and for some reason likes you so.”

“Hey,” he chuckled trying to sound offended but couldn’t help but realize she had a point, “Alright, I’ll talk to Katherine and Brad about it but no promises.”

“Didn’t expect any,” Aaliyah grinned, “Finally it’s going to happen. You and Y/N.”

Shawn smiled at the happiness that filled his sister’s tone and couldn’t help but be over the moon about it too, “Yeah I guess it is.”

The two sadly weren’t able to sit happily thinking about all the possibilities that could happen on Thursday because of the sudden ringing from Shawn’s phone. He picked it up from the spot it was on his bed and froze at the name that was across the screen. Seconds went on with it just ringing, he was unable to form a coherent thought. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until the phone was already in his hand and he had accepted the call.

“Look, Shawn, I stayed away and gave you your space. It’s been weeks but I can’t do it anymore. I need answers, now!”

The voice was loud and impatient as it traveled through the phone. He couldn’t process anything that was happening and the only thing that fell from his lips as a response was, “Lauren…”

her

“So?”

Dr. Myers looked at you with a stone reaction. He wasn’t showing any emotions and you knew that he had plenty of practice over the years to perfect that face so his patients couldn’t figure out what he was about to say before he said them. It was that look that made you sit on the edge of your chair because that face didn’t tell you if the news was good or bad. It didn’t tell you if you were fine or were about to have to fight for your life. It was the one thing that you didn’t like about Dr. Myers. That he had a poker face like no one else you’d ever seen.

With your test results gripped tightly in his arms after being poked and prodded at for hours, you swore you could feel your heart stop in your chest as he opened his mouth to speak, “The good news is it’s not nearly as bad as it could’ve been. Treatment will be easier since you came in this early. It was the right idea to come in.”

And there it was.

Just like that, all your questions had been answered and all those what if’s had fallen straight out of your head. The possibility of walking out healthy as can be, gone. Vanished in thin air with a few tests and a sentence. You were no longer the girl that had beat cancer but now the girl with cancer. Again.

Your head fell into your hands and a heavy sigh passed your lips. You began to rub your temple hoping it would rid the sudden headache you were feeling that paired with the feeling like your stomach had been pushed into your chest. You knew all the questions to ask and knew what steps to take but at that moment all you could think was shit.

“Okay,” you breathed slowly raising your head to look back towards Dr. Myers, “So what’s next?”

“Well thankfully, the ovarian cancer is only around stage I. The small number of Mets you have, are clumped together in one region near where your left ovary used to be.”

Ovarian Cancer that’s what you had been left to deal with at sixteen. Stage III. It had spread through both your ovaries and after years of chemotherapy that hadn’t been working you had been forced to get a hysterectomy just before your eighteenth birthday. They removed your ovaries, uterus, and fallopian tubes and leaving in its place three scars on your stomach and the reality that you would never be able to have kids.

You were a bald teenager who had felt like her life was about to be stolen from her but luckily from the surgery and the chemo, the cells started to shrink. About a year ago you were stated that you were cancer free and had been discharged. Your hair grew out to where it was now, about the top of your shoulders, and you had started to feel normal like any other young adult in your area.

You had lost so much in those four years and never thought you would have the chance to be normal again. Then you had gotten into the routine that would become your life and Shawn came back and everything seemed bearable again. Now here you were, life crashing to your feet once again with no understanding of how you got there.

That was the whole story. The one you couldn’t tell anyone. The one you couldn’t tell Karen, Manny, or Aaliyah. And most importantly the one you couldn’t tell Shawn. You were weak and an ugly mess. You were dying and then you weren’t. You were back to being healthy and being yourself so how were you supposed to tell the boy, who had taken your heart with him when he left his home town, that you had almost died. Everything about it was messed up and what made it even more into a fucking mess is that it seemed like history was repeating itself and this time you weren’t sure you were going to be able to come out on top of it all.

“I just don’t get it,” you mumble, letting out a dry laugh that resembled anything but happiness, “My ovaries are gone. My uterus and fallopian tubes are gone so how is that there are cancer cells are where my ovaries used to be. How can it be called Ovarian Cancer when I don’t have fucking ovaries?”

Dr. Myers looked at you sadly, “The hysterectomy can help prevent or stop the progression of Ovarian Cancer but it doesn’t cure it or keep you from being at risk.”

“Yeah I guess not,” you scoffed, “Let me guess, more chemo? Surgeries? I’m going to go bald again and wait to hear when you’ll be cutting into me next? Is that it?”

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Myers took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on your arm, “Shh. I said that it’s a good thing you came in when you did and that the Mets are small. For treatment, I want to do something that’ll be easier on you and get most, if not all, of the cancer in one try.”

You sighed knowing where his mind was moving right away, “Surgery?”

He nodded, “Yes. I think I can cut out most of it and there’s a good chance that if I do that it will stop the progression of the growth and maybe stop the cancer altogether.”

“But there’s a chance that it won’t work?” you asked eyes gazing up towards him.

“There’s always that chance, yes, but there’s a chance it could work too,” he stated trying to get your hopes up but you both knew it wasn’t that easy, “The other thing is I want to do it as soon as possible. The faster we get you into surgery and get it over with the less time we give the Mets to grow or spread.”

You take in the information but it leaves a hole in your chest at how fast everything was happening. You could barely think straight that you were living with cancer again and now you were supposed to get treatment right away. “Is there a risk that I could die in surgery?”

“Every surgery has its risks,” he tried to swerve the question but what he said was enough to answer your question, “And I think with yours, you should have some time to think about it but I also think we want to do this sometime this week.”

Thinking about his words and letting them set in, you were about to respond, when the door to the exam room burst open. In the doorway, was the dirty blonde nurse, in her late forties, that happened to be your favorite nurse in the whole hospital. She had been the first one you saw every morning and the last one you saw at night. She was there every single day helping you through the effects of the chemo and had become a part of your family. She was the person there for you on days where your parents had to work or James couldn’t get away from college. She even became your friend when Demi couldn’t make it in to visit.

She was in light blue scrubs and her long wavy hair was pulled back like it always had been and her skin looked more golden. But her smile, however, was just as bright as it had been the last time you saw it. As soon as her eyes landed on you, she quickly had you pulled into her arms. She was smiling but upon noticing you with Dr. Myers her smile vanished and worry took its place.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” she asked frantically hands holding your arms, “Are you okay?”

You shook your head causing her eyes to widen, “Not really Patty.”

“It’s back isn’t it?” Patty asked sadly which you nodded and suddenly her eyes were locked on Dr. Myers, “Have you called her parents yet? I’m sure they’d like to know.”

As Dr. Myers was about to reply you cut him off, “No, that’s okay. I’ll tell them myself.”

“Actually Y/N, Patty’s right we should probably have them here as you discuss treatment options,” Dr. Myers replied.

You shook your head feeling the grip of Patty’s hand on your arm tighten, “It’s okay. Like you said the treatment should be easier. If you think I should have the surgery, I’ll have the surgery. The only thing is I don’t want it until next week.”

Dr. Myers eyes instantly widened, “Y/N, hun, that’s not the best idea. You want it as soon as possible-”

“No, Dr. Myers I actually don’t,” you cut him off, “There’s a risk to every surgery and I could die on that operating table. I’m turning twenty next week and I want more than anything to celebrate that with my friends and family. I need to be alive to see my birthday and there’s a chance I might not if I have the surgery before then.”

You knew that Dr. Myers didn’t agree with your choice. Patty didn’t agree with your choice but how could they? They just wanted what was best for you as their patient. This meant the sooner you had the surgery the better but you weren’t ready. You needed to tie up any loose ends before you were placed on that table.

There was a chance you couldn’t make it and yes there was a risk the Mets could spread and the surgery could get more complicated but there was a chance you could die in surgery anyways. You needed to tell people what you were thinking and most importantly how you felt before you aren’t able to anymore. That started with your friends and family knowing the whole truth about the last four years and now.

“I know you don’t agree with what I want to do but all I’m asking is that you accept it, please,” you mumbled watching as Dr. Myers nods his head.

Giving him a small hug, you send him a small smile noticing the way his eyes were glazed over. He wiped at his eyes and tried to act like he wasn’t about to cry but you both knew he totally was about to. Your smile widened as Patty placed a hand on your shoulder rubbing it softly in comfort.

“If that’s the plan then we’ll look through everything about the surgery in a few days. Why don’t you go home and be with the family and we’ll meet soon. Alright?” Dr. Myers said clearing his voice.

You agreed with his words and with another hug given to him and Patty, you left the exam room promising you would be back in a few days. Walking back down the long hallway, the nurse at the nurse’s station looked up to meet your gaze. The corners of your lips lifted and you sent her a small smile as you moved into the elevator. For once it was empty and it made you slightly relieved that you had it all to yourself.

Your thoughts were quiet as the reality of it all finally began to set in. You were scared and had no idea what to do about it all but knew that you didn’t need to worry about it. Walking out of the sliding doors you were once so scared to pass through, hours before the truth was finally revealed to you. You had a small look into what you would have to do next but had no idea what the outcome would insure but as you passed by the bench in front of the hospital you found that it was empty. The old man was gone but though he wasn’t there, as you passed the bench you felt like there was still hope despite the news you had just heard.

It was getting late now, the sun long had set, and the chilly night had arrived. Shawn was supposed to arrive at your apartment an hour ago and a part of you was starting to get worried. You were sprawled across your bed, hair tangled in a small bun, while dressed in a pair of sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Your laptop was open on your lap, and you were researching other cases or survival stories of Ovarian Cancer. Desperately, you wished for just a few minutes you could think about something else and not have to worry about this but how could you not think about it.

You were living with cancer and though you should have picked up your phone and called home right away you couldn't find the strength to do it. Telling anyone seemed impossible and you had no fucking clue how you were going to get through this next week. Shawn would be leaving after your birthday, you were having the surgery sometime after your birthday. Were you supposed to tell him and finally reveal everything to him or let him, board, just like he had four years ago, with no idea of what you were keeping from him. It was a scary thing to think about and you knew worrying about it wasn’t going to do you any good. One day at a time, you thought to yourself.

Shutting the laptop, you shoved it aside on the bed and slumped down into your pillows. You stared at the ceiling head spinning when you started to hear a light tapping hitting against your bedroom window. At first, you thought it was nothing, and just your mind playing tricks on you but then you heard it again. It was every few seconds and as you climbed off of the bed and approached your window there was another tap, this one louder.

Pulling back your curtains, your gaze landed on the fire escape expecting someone to be standing there but it was empty. Instead, there was a figure down in the dark alleyway. Their hand was clenched back and it looked like they were about to throw something. Hesitantly, you unlocked your bedroom door and slid it open and from the dim lighting of the street lamp nearby you were just able to make out who was standing alone throwing pebbles up at your window.

His curly hair was muffled and a smile pulled at his lips as the small rock in his hand dropped back to the ground. You raised an eyebrow, confusion passing over your face. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged as he began to climb up the fire escape, “Trying to be romantic.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back against the window sill, “You know I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“I’m late and I know but I’ll explain everything,” he promised as he dashed up the last remaining steps.

He came face to face with you and the lighting from your lamps gave a soft yellow glow to his rosy face. He was smiling as his amber eyes scanned your features. He was leaning forward, upper half through the window, nose close to brushing against yours. You wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you again but you knew that you couldn't give into him so easily. Sending him a smirk, you began to back away from the window an amused glint passing through your eyes.

“Shawn, can’t you just use the front door like a normal person?” you asked the question teasingly as you sat on the edge of your bed, comfy sock covered feet sliding back and forth across the floor.

He chuckled swinging one leg after the other into your room before he closed the window behind him shielding out the cold breeze. “Yeah, but what would be the fun in that?”

You watched as he slipped off his coat and threw it onto a nearby chair revealing that grey Harvard sweatshirt he had been wearing the night before when he kissed you. Slipping off his shoes, he set them aside as his gaze fixed back onto you and your messy hair. “What you do today?”

Becoming stiff at the question, you let the lie pass your lips without a second thought, “Not much. Basically did this.”

“You laid around all day?” Shawn asked a smile widening as he flopped down onto the bed next to you.

“Pretty much,” you lied again eyes looking down towards his black joggers not able to look up at him.

“Must be nice,” he commented hand reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear causing your cheeks to warm instantly.

“How was your day?”

“It was good,” he smiled hand dropping from your face down to his side, “Went home to grab some more clothes, hung out with Aaliyah for a little bit. It was good.”

As he answered, his smile dropped a little and you knew there was something more he wanted to say. Something he was keeping to himself. You always knew when he wasn’t telling you everything and there were times where you wondered if he could tell the same with you.

“What is it?” you asked inching closer to him, leg now touching his softly.

He sighed running his hands through his curls, “I got a call from Lauren.”

“Oh.” It was the only thing that came out of your mouth which you instantly regretted when you saw what look it made appear on Shawn’s face. Worry.

“She wanted to meet up and talk about some things which is why I was late,” he explained hand reaching out to touch you but he decided against it at the last second worried you might pull away from him.

“What did she say?” you asked voice quiet as you stared into his eyes desperate to hear that they weren’t getting back together.

“She said,” he paused tugging on his curls for a second, “That she isn’t over everything that happened between us. She said she misses me and that she still has feelings for me.”

“Oh.” There was that word again. Your eyes fell away from him once again to your hands in your lap scared of what he was going to say next. Taking a deep breath, you fell back onto the bed, eyes locking onto the ceiling. “And what did you say?”

“I just told her how it was. That we were together a long time ago and that things were different now. That I didn’t feel the same about her and how there was maybe someone else,” he mumbled waiting for your reaction.

Your heart was beating loudly away in your chest and your ears had perked up at the last statement. If it wasn’t for the way he had kissed you the night before that gave it away you wouldn’t have a clue who he was talking about now. It was clear though that Shawn had some sort of feelings for you and you needed to make it clear that you had some sort of feelings for him too though you weren’t entirely ready to admit it out loud.

Sitting up quickly, you grab Shawn by his torso and pull him down with you. Your back sinks into the mattress as Shawn’s body weighs down against yours. Both of your legs had immediately tangled with his and Shawn laid on top of you, elbows on either side of you so he wasn’t putting all his weight onto you. His curls droop across his forehead and a smile stretches across his lips. Cheeks getting rosier by the second. Reaching your hand up, you cupped his cheek in your palm, thumb beginning to trace his bottom lip.

For the longest time, you two just laid there, entangled staring at each other in silence. Your thumb tracing his lip as he stared at you like you were the best thing he had ever seen in his life. Licking his lips, his tongue poked out of the other side away from your thumb as his smile softened and his eyes locked with yours.

You didn’t know if it was from the lightning or from the haze you suddenly were feeling but his eyes looked greener than that familiar brown you had seen most of your life. It was a hazel green where the brown still was still there but in small little specs. Your head was clouded with so many emotions and as he opened his mouth to finally speak you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered.

Your thumb stroked the edge of his lip again as two words fell from your lips, “I won’t.”

next part

#shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #my writing #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes angst #shawn x reader #shawn x y/n #shawn x you

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alexandenigtscreations · 3 years

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

Part 4:

Somewhere in the distance and fog of his mind he registered a door swinging open. There was a loud clatter and shredding of metal that set his teeth on edge, scattering what little assemblance of thought he’d managed to collect.

Something- something wasn’t right.

Shrill beeping cut deep into his skull- Juno pressed a hand to his temple, opening his eye to stare up at the canvas.

Nureyev was out there- fighting.

Nureyev was out there fighting while Juno was cowering under a blanket like some god damned child- But no, ‘worse than a child’ , even as a kid he’d probably be out there right now, fists swinging to protect those important to him.

Damn, even dead Ramses O’Flaherty could still talk his ear off.

Stop it Steel. He shifted, groaning as stab of pain shot through his stomach-

He- oh- he didn’t feel good-

There were more sounds from outside, sparking metal and weighty clangs- accompanied by the the telltale hum of a blaster charging- Nureyev didn’t fight with a blaster, which meant-

No-

Juno forced himself into a sitting position, a sodden cloth sliding off his forehead. The world washed out in vertigo, the nausea once again clawing at his insides. Damn it-

He groaned, clutching at the couch arm for dear life.

It felt like an eternity for him to get his bearings- He needed to get to Nureyev, he needed to help . That little black box wouldn't mean a damned thing if something happened to his knight in stolen armor.

You’d just get in his way- a nasty part of himself hissed. You’re no good to anyone like you are now-

And god was he aware of that, couldn’t so much as sit up without feeling sick- he gritted his teeth cursing himself for getting hit in the first place.

Hell, hadn’t Nureyev proven time and time again how he didn’t need Juno? How could he fend for himself? He’d practically carried Juno the last leg to their pick up point, probably making his injury worse. .

The battle wages on in Juno's mind, to go or not to go- To go or not to go, To go- God, he's had hangovers that treat him more like a lady than this.

Or not to go- He hunched over, hugging himself tight-

To go - even the THEIA Soul hadn't done him this dirty-

Or not to go- admittedly he'd been heavily sedated in a hospital ward at the time and couldn't remember much of the whole thing-

Or not to go-

Juno was just about to let his aching body sink back into the cushions when he heard something that flooded him with fear.

Nureyev screamed-

The last time he’d heard the man scream was in Miasma’s compound. It was something that his nameless thief just didn’t do.

He was hurt-

He needed help-

Juno lurched to his feet, barely able to disentangle himself from the canvas and take up his blaster.

He heard Nureyev again, this time softer than before. It only served to spur Juno on.

Juno flung the door open. Propping himself up on the frame, he surveyed the scene. A handful of drones were closing in on where Nureyev was tangled in a series of bins. He was struggling to get upright and not getting very far-

Juno took aim and fired.

It was hard to aim true with his shaking arms. The shots never seemed to line up quite right and for a heart stopping moment, he thought he hit Nureyev. Terror bit deep into his chest as Juno watched the man fold in on himself, getting impossibly small.

Oh, no, no, no, please no-

The next thing he knew, the thief leaped up with a flourish. A flash of silver arced through the air, knocking something to the ground next to Juno’s feet.

A drone.

He- hadn’t noticed it- which seemed impossible, it was so close- He hadn't noticed it until Nureyev acted-

“Nice- shot-”. He gasped, feeling his face twisting into a grimace. The knife sensation reared its ugly head; cutting edges worrying away at his core. It was too much, too much! God. It drowned out all thought leaving only pain.

He let out a low whine and sagged against the door frame, feeling sicker than ever. Dimly aware of that musical baritone talking to him, saying his name and cool hands cupping his face-

He could scarcely make out the words over the rush of blood in his ears. But he wanted to. He’d do anything for that wonderful voice.

“uno- Juno-” Nureyev was saying “love, do you think you c-can stand for me?”

All Juno could do was let out an unhelpful groan. Long thin arms wound their way about him, attempting to pull him upright. But it hurt - it hurt so much. He folded over the pain, dropping even lower.

“I need you- to work w-with me- Detective-” Nureyev said through gritted teeth. That’s when he remembered the blaster shot.

Hell

He needed to help out- he needed to stand- He rearranged his leaden legs to gain leverage from the ground, pushing up underneath him and-

Something tore within. Like so many wet chords snapping- breaking apart. Juno cried out in agony.

“I know love- I know- but I need you to keep up the stride-”

Nureyev didn’t know- couldn’t . How would you know what it would be like? To come undone from the inside out- To have every step unravel you piece by piece.

How could you know something like that?

He wished to be belligerent, to argue back or something, but instead he just keened into Nureyev’s side, his body on fire.

“Just- a bit- more-” Juno’s stomach lurched as he was deposited back onto the cushions. Nureyev muttered something soothing in a language he couldn’t quite focus on, before messily transitioning back to Solar. “I’ll be back Love, I’ve s-strings to tie up.”

Strings to tie up- that seemed pleasant. Juno felt like his strings had been cut. He curled in on himself trying to bite back another pathetic sound. Trying to hold himself together even as his heart threatened to hammer him apart. Trying to breathe.

Just.

Breathe.

By the time Nureyev returned, Juno was feeling- not better- but certainly more stable. The thief, however, was limping worse than ever. His hair worked free of the careful styling, his complexion pallid and flushed under what remained of his foundation. He was shaking too. At least, Juno thought he was shaking, it was hard to tell through the mental fog.

“ ‘Reyev- ” he croaked.

Nureyev’s expression softened, “Juno- How are you feeling?”

“Like I ate nails fer’ breakfast- you?”

“Nails f-for breakfast? What an unusual culinary choice.”

Juno huffed in amusement immediately tensing around another throb of pain. They seemed to be getting more frequent. “Don’ make me laugh- naugh’ fair-”

“Apologies Detective.” Juno didn’t miss the way Nureyev peered out the window- Worried about being followed- the thought surfaced hazily.

“Is- are they tracking us?” Juno inquired.

“I’m not sure how they’d be track-” he trailed off, those bright eyes flashing in a shock of recognition. “Of course- Juno- that’s it!” Nureyev pressed an excited kiss into his knuckles before hobbling off to retrieve his coat, where it had been left to dry.

“Babe?” Juno asked, not following the frenzied search through all the rubbish packed in those bottomless pockets of his.

Nureyev made a triumphant noise, extracting a small bundle of cyan fletched darts, their noses buried in a cork. Juno wanted to ask, but found himself instead enjoying the flush of triumph on Nureyev’s face. It was an expression that was all Peter Nureyev without a hint of a mask, a smile pulled wide over those pointed teeth, eyes sparkling behind his glasses, hair tussled with strands framing his face.

“Do I wanna know?”

“If I told you they caught my eye- w-would you hold it against me?”

“You telling me you took ‘em because- they were shiny?” Juno chuckled, regretting the act instantly as the pain flared.

“I s-suppose that’s one interpretation-” he affirmed, freeing a dart and analyzing it. Looking for ways to disassemble the thing. The miniscule vial within was still full, which was something.

__________________________________________________________

Nureyev scrutinized the dart, turning it this way and that before gleaning an understanding of the shell’s mechanics. Sure enough, a simple twist was all it took to remove the fletching, revealing a small honing chip.

He let out a short, disappointed hum.

“I regret to inform you that your hunch was- correct.” He held the chip up for the Detective’s inspection.

“Ya-you jus’ don’ like surprises-”

“Don’t be absurd, surprises k-keep life interesting. However-” he glared at the offending chip over his glasses “T-today has already been more interesting than what w-would be comfortable.”

Juno rewarded him with a snort, his gentle hand came to rest on Nureyev’s back.

The touch was light, but sent an achy chill through him even as he chased the pressure. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t feeling well at all- and it was more than the pain in his leg. Juno’s fingers drifted up to his shoulder, his thumb tracing clumsy circles into the damp material of his shirt.

A trickle of sweat trailed down his brow accentuating the pounding in his temples. A few minutes rest- then he could deal with the microchips- somehow.

Perhaps he had said something out loud because Juno rasped “Rita-” Nureyev frowned, wondering why Juno would be bringing up his ex-secretary now. “She’ll know wha ta do-”

It snapped into place so fast it made his head spin. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d have kissed Juno on the spot. Still might.

Of course! Rita would surely be able to help them deal with the chips! Of course!

He settled in and made the call.

“Hiiiiii~ This is Rita’s Work Space Spectacular!” came her usual upbeat tone. Nureyev put her on speaker between the two of them, nothing subtle way Juno perked up.

“Rita- how god it is to hear from you-”

“Ohh! Mista Ransom! I thought you was gonna be the Captain! Checking in on the- well- never mind. But I heard you was held up somewhere safe till old Rita here can get back to you all but I’m so sorry Mista Ransom! I don’t know when the Carte Blanche will be able to circle back! I am trying my best, I really am but this is just like Delton: Age of Destruction! Where the bad guys weave a real dense net of radioactive algae to capture-”

“Rita-” Juno cut in.

“Princes Valkyrie of-”

“Rita!” he was louder now, raising himself up on an elbow with a pained hiss. “Rita- please- there's a- chip-”

“Not a Soul -” she gasped, sounding utterly terrified “Mista Steel! That took a hundred and ten percent of my energy last time, and a whole building collapsin’ on you! With everythin’ that’s going on right now I don’t know if I can-”

“N-not that Rita- we’re- ugh- ” Juno’s chest stuttered as another spasm passed through “We’re- alrigh-”

“Really Mista Steel? You don’t sound alright.” Rita’s concern mirrored Nureyev’s own. He almost envied her the luxury in indulging it instead of shoving it to a dark corner of his mind in favor of the more immediate threat. The only one he was qualified to handle.

“We have k-kept Vespa in the loop, she is aware of our situation. Juno is referring to t-the-” he trailed off pinching the bridge of his nose trying to think past the fog “the- locating- er- tracking chip. Half dozen of the things really- we require your assistance in d-dealing with them.”

“Oh! Tracking chips? Why didn’t you say something soona Mista Ransom! I can do that for you no problem! One Sec!”

Nureyev hummed appreciatively, smoothing back his slackening hair and plucking off residual crawlspace cobwebs.

“Just put the coms in front of the chips and let me see what’s what.”

“You c-can do that?” Not for the first time, Nureyev was left in awe by the resident hacker of the Carte Blanche.

“Little trick I picked up with Mista Steel!” he could practically see the large warm smile lighting her face from here. “Just gotta hack into the Universal Positioning System and tap into the uplink relay and-”

He left her to it, listening to her chirp away about anything and everything that came into her mind. He’d long held a suspicion that this display was an advanced system of a free association memory palace- rather like those remarkable drawing notes of hers. Something that seemed to be unique to Rita.

Nureyev leaned back and focused on breathing, threading his fingers with Juno’s and taking the opportunity to search the lady’s wrist for his pulse point. The Detective gave a violent full body shiver before he could locate the beat.

“Nur-” he puffed “cold-”

“Apologies.”

Juno hummed, pulling Nureyev’s arm closer to the heat of him. He was being drawn in, like a moth to a flame. A beautiful goddess by the name of Juno Steel. It was nice there, he could feel his heart through his shirt, where his arm rested against his chest. He drew nearer still, lulled by the rhythmic clacks of Rita’s fingers as they danced their way across the keys.

“Ah Ha! And there you have it! Those nasty drone demons can’t be following you any more, Mista Ransom!”

“Wait-that’s- that’s it?” Nureyev could scarce believe it.

“Yep! You’re all set! Rita took care of it for ya! Actually a lot easier than I thought it would be, which is good cuz it’s really buzzy at the moment!”

Nureyev gave her profuse thanks, a weight lifting from his chest.

“What was that Mista Ransom? Couldn’t quite understand ya there-”

“Oh- Just- t-thank you...Rita.”

“Sure thing Mista Ransom! If there’s anythin, and I mean anythin else that little ol’ Rita can help you with, don’t be afraid to give me a hollar! And, well, Just take care of yourself and Mista Steel okay? I know that ain't somethin I gotta ask with you but, you’re far away and I’m just worried sick about you two! Okay? And just in case, you should keep an eye on those little devices, just cuz I-” she cut off. Someone in the background seemed to be talking to her. “Oh, right away Captain A! Sorry Mista Ransom, I gotta go!”

“Understood, and thank you again-” but she was already gone.

Conversations with Rita usually left him mentally reeling and oddly touched in a way he couldn’t truly begin to unpack. This conversation was no different, adding to the mounting folder that was Rita in his mind.

He thought about filing this discussion away in future consideration too, but- that didn’t fit- perhaps it would be saved for an upcoming poetry session when they were once again safe aboard the Carte Blanche.

Yes- that would have to due.

And again- more evidence that something was happening on the ship-

He bit his lip, thinking- and trying his best to blot out worst case scenarios.

A hand searing with fevered heat, brushed the nape of his neck. “Babe- come under tha covers- ge-warm.”

Nureyev hummed, it sounded so inviting, and he was so cold.

“Perhaps-for a moment Love-”

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #jupeter #peter nureyev #rita redacted #juno steel #fic #fanfic #my writing #AlexandeNight #junoverse #blaster shot wound #poision #tw description of illness #etc #it's getting finished #slowly but surly!#:D

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asmolbirb · 5 years

Text

A Dandelion By Any Other Name

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: K Word count: ~3.7k AO3 link in the notes (as I’m not sure whether Tumblr is still hiding posts with external links from the search)

“Something’s wrong with him. I need you to fix it,” Geralt growls. He’s holding Jaskier by the back of his collar, and he pushes Jaskier forward now, in case Yennefer had any doubt who he meant.

“It’s really nothing,” Jaskier babbles. “A temporary affliction. I’ll be right as rain within the fortnight, don’t you fret.” He pauses. Then he goes limp in Geralt’s grip, causing Geralt to lose his balance for a split second. “On second thought, Geralt, I’m feeling quite weak, and also feverish, and there’s a strange ache in my right thumb. There’s nothing for it, I shall simply have to ride on Roach while I recover, though I warn you this illness is nigh incurable–”

“He seems fine,” Yennefer observes, speaking over Jaskier.

Geralt only shakes his head. He lets go of Jaskier, who crumples to the floor with a surprised cry, to shrug his pack off his shoulder and root around in its depths. After a moment, he pulls out something clutched delicately in a loose fist, and when Yennefer reaches out for it, he unfurls his fingers to drop a single dandelion into her palm.

Jaskier has picked himself up off the floor by now. He brushes himself off with exaggerated gestures. He is conspicuously silent.

“He’s been coughing those up for at least a week. Maybe longer,” Geralt explains. “He won’t tell me when it began.”

Yennefer examines the bedraggled flower. Half of its yellow petals are missing, and the brown center is coarse to the touch. “He’s been coughing full blossoms for the past week?”

“He is right here, and he’s telling you, he’s fine,” Jaskier insists again. He is summarily ignored.

“Yes,” Geralt says to Yennefer. “Is it a curse?”

Yennefer huffs a laugh and rolls the flower between her fingers, watching as a few more petals detach from its center and float to the ground. “Some might call it that.” She turns her gaze to Jaskier, and Geralt does the same. Jaskier’s eyes are wide, a plea writ large upon his face. When he catches Yennefer looking, he shakes his head slightly. Whatever he is asking doesn’t seem to deter her, though, because she smirks and says, “Your bard’s in love. Rather desperately so, if the state of this blossom is any indication.”

“Fuck,” says Jaskier.

“Love?” says Geralt.

“There is no cure,” says Yennefer. “At least, there is none that I can offer. The flowers feed on unrequited feelings; whoever he loves must return his feelings in order to starve the flowers of their fuel, and no potion in the world can force someone to love another. Now, I can offer a palliative measure--”

“No,” Jaskier says quickly, all humor gone from his voice. “I know the treatment of which you speak, and I don’t want it. I’ll deal with this myself.”

Geralt rounds on him. “You’re no healer,” he points out. “If there is a treatment, take it! Even a temporary reprieve may give you time to seek another cure.”

But Jaskier only shakes his head. “It isn’t that easy,” he says, and he sounds weary to the bone, stripped of all the pretenses he dons like a second doublet. “All magic comes with a price. Isn’t that right, witch?”

Yennefer nods. “The treatment temporarily removes the flowers by utterly eradicating the victim’s affections,” she explains to Geralt. “With nothing to root in, the flowers will wither. But the flowers are not uprooted entirely, and if he were to fall in love again, they would return, this time doubled in quantity. At that point, the only outcomes are true cure or death.”

“I would have to be a fool to willfully hasten my own death,” says Jaskier. Silence reigns for a long moment. Then Jaskier brightens, albeit with visible effort. “Do you both have cotton stuffed in your ears? As I’ve been saying all this time, this affliction is temporary, and this little detour was a complete waste of time. Come along, Geralt, you’ve got monsters to kill, and I, ballads to compose.” So saying, he heads for the door, leaving Geralt and Yennefer standing alone in the foyer of the abandoned cottage she has claimed for herself.

“He will die without the treatment, unless he is able to eradicate his feelings himself,” Yennefer says as Geralt shoulders his pack once more. She holds the flower out to him, but he shakes his head in silent refusal, and she crushes it instead, releasing a shower of brown and golden dust. Geralt can just make out patches of faint yellow smeared upon her fingertips. “The disease starts with petals and progresses to full-stemmed flowers. For him to have been coughing blossoms for a week already… It would be kinder to put him out of his misery than let him suffer through the rest.”

Geralt grunts in acknowledgement. With a final nod of thanks, he turns to follow after Jaskier.

“Men and their pride,” he hears Yennefer sigh just before the door closes.

Jaskier refuses to stay with Yennefer, going so far as to threaten to steal away on Roach in the middle of the night if Geralt tries to keep him here against his will.

“You could try,” Geralt says in a low tone. Nonetheless, he sets a course for the nearest town. It is a detour from the border they had originally been pushing toward, but Geralt would prefer to have a healer close at hand in case Jaskier’s condition deteriorates further.

If Jaskier notices Geralt nudging Roach further to the west, he says nothing of it. Instead, he keeps up a constant stream of chatter, pausing only to retch dandelions into the tallgrass every so often. They set up camp once the sun has sunk beneath the horizon, leaving in its wake a painted sky and a noticeable chill. As Jaskier works on setting a pile of kindling aflame, Geralt leaves to hunt down dinner; when he returns, wild fowl in hand, he catches Jaskier trying unsuccessfully to hide the growing pile of dandelion blossoms tucked in against his lute case.

“Who’s the unlucky woman?” Geralt asks, stepping into the firelight.

Jaskier starts, dandelions spilling from his hands. He hastily brushes them away. “Gods, Geralt, must you always sneak up on me? This is why you have an image problem, you know. Don’t get me wrong, the whole tall, dark, and murderous vibe is fantastic -- really brings out the color of your eyes -- but the skulking tips you firmly into the realm of, well, somewhat unhinged.”

Geralt only glares at Jaskier, waiting for him to tire himself out, and sets about roasting the fowl.

“Anyway, killing my beloved won’t cure me,” Jaskier continues blithely, “so don’t even think about it. Not all problems can be solved by whacking away at them with those oversized butter knives you carry around.” He settles cross-legged next to the fire with his lute balanced across his knees and strums a few chords.

“Then how?”

Jaskier shrugs, picks out a quick flurry of staccato notes. It is not a melody Geralt has heard Jaskier play before, and with a flash of surprise, Geralt realizes Jaskier is nervous, is using the lute as a shield, seeking a familiar comfort in the midst of an uncomfortable conversation. “The same as any disease: by letting it run its course.”

“You mean to let it kill you.”

“Would you miss me?” Jaskier asks, and he sounds genuinely curious, as though he has no idea how Geralt might answer. “Would you think of me, from time to time? When you have to bathe yourself and can’t quite reach all the parts that ache, you’ll regret showing no thanks when I was there to handle such unpleasantries for you.” Jaskier clicks his tongue. “I can’t bear the thought of you downtrodden with guilt, wishing you had shown me proper appreciation while I was alive. For the sake of sparing you such a depressing fate, I shall fall upon the sword and graciously allow you to shower me with compliments. Go on, Geralt, do your worst.”

“How can you be so nonchalant about your impending death?” Geralt snarls.

Jaskier scoffs. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. Geralt, you have, on multiple occasions, willingly waded into the cavernous maw of a selkiemore. You have lost all right to comment on the nonchalance with which I may or may not approach my impending death.”

Geralt shifts uncomfortably. It’s different for him. Every bone in his body, every ounce of blood that flows through his veins, has been intentionally tailored to keep him alive even in the face of certain death. Jaskier, on the other hand, is indescribably fragile. Geralt could break him without expending any conscious thought. Quite a few things could break Jaskier without expending any conscious thought. Including, apparently, Jaskier himself.

“Besides, this whole conversation is pointless, seeing as I won’t die of this,” Jaskier adds. “Feelings are ephemeral, as you well know, Witcher. These, too, will fade, and the garden in my lungs with them.”

“Then take the treatment. If you mean to cast off your feelings regardless, quicken the process and spare yourself this pain. This uncertainty.”

Jaskier smiles and strums another series of chords. Something about the notes infuses the air with a melancholy that lingers even after the song fades. “A fool’s errand. Have you ever been in love, Geralt?” He doesn’t wait for Geralt to answer. “You would find as many descriptions of love as creatures that have walked this soil. For a cuckolded husband, love is an empty promise, a harbinger of heartache; for the devilishly handsome man climbing out the window, love is sweeter than wine and indescribably more potent. And yet there is one overarching constant, and that is that love burrows into your soul. It builds itself a little house and plants its roots into your heart, until it is so intricately braided into the core of your being that to rip it out would be almost more painful than letting it tear you to shreds in the first place.” He looks up at Geralt, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. His fingers dance absently across the strings of his lute, repeating certain sequences once, twice, before tripping into another partial melody. “I would simply be trading one pain for another, don’t you see? It’s as much a part of me as all the rest. And what good is a life without the things that make it worth living?”

Geralt watches him in silence. In Geralt’s experience, the things that make life worth living only carry meaning if one is alive to enjoy them. “No love is worth dying for,” he says finally.

With a loud gasp, Jaskier clutches his lute to his chest and shoots a scandalized look at Geralt. “He doesn’t mean it, darling,” he croons to the instrument. His eyes flutter shut as he presses his cheek to its neck. “You are worth the world to me. I would face a coven of succubi without fear to keep you free of harm.”

Geralt studies Jaskier: the tension stiffening his shoulders, the way his lips are pursed as though to suppress a cough. After a moment, Geralt decides to allow Jaskier the out. “And where would you find a coven of succubi interested in enticing you?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re a horrible friend, Geralt,” Jaskier comments, but there is no heat in his voice, and his shoulders loosen fractionally. He turns away to litter the ground with more dandelions, and Geralt has an unsettling feeling that he has only acquired more questions in his quest for answers.

Jaskier wakes up with a rasp in his voice and dandelions clustered on either side of his bedroll, evidence of a fitful sleep interrupted by his need to periodically clear his airways of detritus. The yellow blossoms are interspersed with flecks of green from leaves and budding stems that have joined the mix. Geralt frowns at the sight. Despite Jaskier’s protestations, it is clear his disease is worsening. The realization sits uncomfortably in Geralt’s stomach, like days-old meat or sour milk.

They break down camp in companionable silence, with Jaskier pretending his sleeplessness was due to the rough ground and humid air and Geralt pretending he doesn’t see the flecks of blood painting the ground near Jaskier’s lute. Despite the obvious pain Jaskier is in, he acts as though nothing is amiss, and he spends most of the day working on a ballad to commemorate Geralt’s recent victory over a pack of drowners.

It is easy to let Jaskier’s voice fade into the background as Geralt mulls over what little he has gleaned in the past 24 hours. Desperately in love, Yennefer had said, and yet Jaskier has given no indication of having fallen in love at any point in the past few months; he has not slipped away to engage in any clandestine trysts, nor has he bemoaned the abrupt and dramatic departure of a paramour. He has prattled about fair-haired maidens here and there, but never for long. Certainly never to the extent of suggesting someone had built a home in his soul.

Nonetheless, some such suitor must exist. If the flowers were not evidence enough, Jaskier had all but admitted it when he’d cautioned Geralt -- rather unnecessarily, in Geralt’s opinion -- against violence the night before.

That must mean, then, that Jaskier is willfully keeping the identity of his beloved secret from Geralt.

The irritation churning in Geralt’s belly grows. Of course Jaskier owes Geralt nothing, not company nor gratitude nor his heart bared upon his sleeve, and it is his right to keep whatever secrets he wishes. But Jaskier has never been one for discretion, has in fact made a point of oversharing and bestowing upon Geralt knowledge he had never asked for, and Geralt doesn’t know how to respond to being locked out by the bard now.

Anger coils tight in Geralt’s chest, leaves the taste of wood ash ground into the backs of his teeth. Would Jaskier have ever told Geralt that he had fallen for someone if Geralt had not seen the flowers tumbling from his lips? Would he have waited until his throat was bloody from the violence of his coughing, until he was gasping for breath between bouquets of dandelions? Or would he have left Geralt to wake up only to find Jaskier cold to the touch, lute cradled delicately in his arms, chest still, a spray of dandelions peeking between his lips--

“Oren for your thoughts?” Jaskier says, breaking Geralt out of his reverie. “You’ve been quiet today, Geralt. Quieter than normal. Don’t tell me my melodic stylings have finally wooed you! I appreciate you coming to your senses, of course, but perhaps you could delay that epiphany by a day or two? This unfinished mess of a song is hardly a shining exemplar of my talents. It would be the height of embarrassment to have rendered you speechless with this.”

Maybe Geralt still feels a little wrong-footed by realizing Jaskier is a better actor than Geralt had thought, or maybe it is simply the nature of things that churn in the belly to come rushing back through the mouth, but Geralt blurts out, before he’s quite figured out the rest of what he wants to say, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Tell you what, exactly?” Jaskier asks slowly, sounding lost. “That the ballad is unfinished? I wouldn’t have thought you needed that made explicit, considering your two very functional ears and all.”

Geralt grunts impatiently. “Your disease,” he says. “You knew what it was from the start. Why did you hide it?”

That hunted expression is back, thinning Jaskier’s lips and hunching his shoulders and sending his gaze skittering sideways. “Because there was nothing to tell,” Jaskier hedges. “I’m simply a fool who has given my heart to another, and now I’m on a quest to retrieve it. It’s not really a team activity, is it?” His lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile.

A shadow passes over his face then, and he holds up a finger, says, “Give me one moment, please,” and disappears into the underbrush just as wretched coughs begin to wrack his body.

Geralt nudges Roach to a stop and waits. Jaskier emerges some minutes later, breath ragged, a yellow floret clinging to his bottom lip. “What was I saying?” he asks.

Geralt’s eyes are drawn instantly to the splash of yellow, such a stark contrast against the pink of Jaskier’s lips, the piercing blue of Jaskier’s eyes. He is no closer to knowing who has planted dandelions in Jaskier’s lungs, nor why Jaskier is running away from them instead of into their arms, nor what Geralt has done to lose Jaskier’s trust and confidence so thoroughly. But it is becoming glaringly evident that Jaskier doesn’t want to talk about this, least of all with Geralt, and Geralt refuses to push him on the only boundary he has ever set for the sake of slaking Geralt’s own selfish curiosity.

“Hmm,” he says after a moment, instead of what if you’re wrong, instead of what if you fail, and he pushes Roach forward so he won’t have to see Jaskier spitting blood into his handkerchief.

Moonlight illuminates the planes of Jaskier’s face, highlights the bridge of his nose and the expanse of his forehead peeking out from beneath messy night-blackened locks. The fire has died down to a pile of glowing embers littered with the bones of their dinner, and in the distance, Geralt can hear a coyote calling. Geralt can hear a great many things, actually, even without having consumed the appropriate potion: the rhythmic chirping of crickets permeating every inch of the night, the whisper of wind rushing through the foliage, the way Jaskier’s breath rattles in his chest.

He traces Jaskier’s recumbent figure with his eyes and wonders how long Jaskier will be able to sleep tonight before the need to breathe wrenches him awake. Nearly every blossom passing through his lips now is anchored to a stem, though the stems extend only a few centimeters before tapering to jagged ends sticky with sap. Even without knowing when Jaskier first started coughing up dandelion petals, Geralt can see that Jaskier doesn’t have much time left, but the nearest town is still a day’s ride away, and a longer journey by foot.

Getting Jaskier to a healer quickly won’t matter, though, if Jaskier refuses the treatment anyway. Jaskier seems hellbent on throwing his life away, and for what? The thrill of butterflies in his stomach? Some poetic notion of embodying the same grandeur he romanticizes in his songs?

Respect may not make history, but dead bards tell no tales. Or something like that. Geralt has never been good with words, not like Jaskier.

That’s why Jaskier was the one to finally rehabilitate Geralt’s reputation, after all, and that, too, with only a single song. Geralt has no doubt he would have spent his whole life trying unsuccessfully to outrun the shadow Blaviken had cast upon him had Jaskier not chanced upon him in Posada. It is Jaskier who can sway whole courts in his favor while Geralt stands aside and watches, Jaskier whose coin pays for rooms in inns and bath salts and new clothes. Jaskier is the one with the ability to grasp at straws and spin golden tales from them.

It is not a talent Geralt has ever wanted -- silence is a powerful weapon in its own right -- but it is one he has come to appreciate. He cannot deny it is easier to rend a wyvern in half when he has the prospect of a warm bath to look forward to, and Jaskier’s gentle hands washing the grime from his hair besides. It is easier to stomach three nights of tasteless wild game when he knows Jaskier’s songs will earn them flagons of mulled ale at the next tavern. It is easier to shrug away the insults still occasionally hurled his way, the fear and disgust that so often paint the faces of the very people who hire him, when he has only to look to Jaskier to find admiration and fascination and laughter and--

“Ah,” says Geralt, realizing quite suddenly that there is a warmth in his chest, as though someone has snuck into his heart and built a home there, a crooked little thing with a furnace that heats him through to his core. Somewhere along the way, Jaskier has woven himself indelibly into the tapestry of Geralt’s life, and the thought of untangling their threads no longer fills Geralt with the relief it once did.

And then-- “Fuck,” says Geralt, remembering that Jaskier is desperately in love with someone who isn’t Geralt, so deeply that he is willing to die for them. Come morning, they will both be coughing up flowers, side by side. And isn’t that disgustingly poetic, to offer a garden to someone who already has one growing in his lungs? The both of them hurt, both of them hurting, wanting and unwanted, together and yet both so utterly alone.

The story of Geralt’s life: It’s like something out of one of Jaskier’s ballads.

Geralt awakens to Jaskier’s face blocking his field of vision. Jaskier’s eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. It is a rare sight, as Jaskier has never been one to relinquish the comfort of a lazy morning without incentive, and Geralt immediately fears the worst. His gaze flies to Jaskier’s bedroll, where he prays he won’t yet see the long stems that signify the final stages of the disease.

Thankfully, he doesn’t.

In fact, he doesn’t see any flowers at all, only a handful of loose yellow florets scattered upon the ground, occasionally being shuffled about by the light morning breeze.

“If you change your mind,” Jaskier says shakily, drawing Geralt’s attention back to him, “I’ll kill you. Not only for breaking my heart twice over, but for sentencing me to death by dandelion, of all the blasted flowers on the Continent. Do you know how few things rhyme with dandelion? I couldn’t have had roses or lilies or sage growing in my lungs, just waiting to be immortalized in song?”

“If I change my mind, I’ll give you the sword myself,” Geralt tells Jaskier, and drags him into a kiss that tastes of dandelion and desperation and something worth dying for.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #fanfiction #the witcher #neko writes fic #neko makes words #AAAAA it's finally done #fucking christ i have put WAY too much effort into crafting some of the sentences in this fic

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doomstypewriter · 4 years

Text

I finally brought myself to writing something for the Untamed/Mdzs fandom, would you look at that!

This fic consists of one chapter and an epilogue (that I shall write next week).

AO3

Summary: A collection of moments over the years in which Lan Wangji waits and struggles to survive his grief. -- How could someone so vocal in life lay so silent in death? Missing. Wei Ying’s spirit was missing from the land; his body too, not even there to bury, to memorialise. He would never dress in anything but white for the remainder of his life. Wei Ying was missing and Lan Zhan missed him.

Words: 2439

TW: This is heavy on angst. Really heavy, and at some points it can kinda hint at depression (not fully, but I have left a window for it to be able to be interpreted as such). It also deals with a lot of grief. (If there are any other things that I need to add to this list, please, do tell me).

“It must be one of the worst ways of suffering, to lose someone you hold so dearly, don’t you agree, Hanguang-Jun?”

Jin Guangyao’s comment caught him by surprise. Today was not a day in which he felt with the disposition to gift his attention liberally, less after having spent it on listening to the rest of the sect’s leaders.

They had gathered in a council to discuss politics and, of course, the repercussions of demonic cultivation two years after its founder had passed away. Exactly two years later.

Nobody had let go unnoticed the entrance of Jiang Wanyin. It did not seem out of the ordinary, given that he found himself leading one of the most powerful sects, however, that was not the reason why he stood out. Even if every eye had set on him, no one had the guts to stare at his face on the second anniversary of his shijie’s death.

Maybe that is why refocusing his attention from a place of bitter introspection to a conversation he did not wish to have served him of very little comfort. Anyhow, he could not afford to offend Lianfang-Zun.

Before he even got the chance to intervene, his interlocutor spoke again:

“My apologies”, he retracted with the usual mastery, “perhaps today is not the best time to talk of such things, having so many other important matters to discuss”.

A glance at the expression of veiled pity and shame that his brother and Jin Guangyao, respectively, shared let him know what they had said wordlessly. A warning, or rather a petition. “Please treat the grief of my brother with kindness”.

Lan Wangji nodded, not knowing any better way to reply.

‘Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you never say much, do you? Don’t worry, I’ll speak for both of us’ that’s what Wei Ying would have said, had he been there, with his lively smile and his skills balancing Lan Wangi’s own.

There was no response.

Yet another evening without an answer.

He did not believe that his fingertips could hurt after years being used to playing for hours, to testify for that were the callouses he’d earned with the extensive practice that had made him such a good instrumentalist and fighter. Yet, the pain still flowed from the strings to his fingers, howling through chords without response.

How could someone so vocal in life lay so silent in death?

Missing.

Wei Ying’s spirit was missing from the land; his body too, not even there to bury, to memorialise. He would never dress in anything but white for the remainder of his life.

Wei Ying was missing and Lan Zhan missed him.

His uncle gave him an eyebrow raise in all but the expression when he chose A-Yuan’s courtesy name. Lan Wangji could not help but to get a sense of estrangement by looking at his shifu, when had it become like this? By asking that, he did not mean the open air of disapproval in their conversations, that started the moment Lan Wangji fell in love with Wei Ying and consolidated itself when he attacked the elders, he knew as much. No.

When had his uncle begun to see Wangji as a looking glass, that offered passage to a vision of his own worst nightmares and greatest failures?

Even worse, how could he have become the living ghost of his father?

Shizui meant to yearn. His uncle could tell who Lan Wangji was yearning for, but could he see his own yearning, the agony present in his eyes every time he watched him and Xichen? Most likely. The knowledge of that truth must weigh heavily.

The arrival back to Gusu was swift. Both he and his brother traveled light, as per usual when urgent matters occurred.

Such was the case of a conflict regarding intense resentful energy within Qinghe, for which Sect Leader Nie Huaisang had appointed them. An outburst of demonic energy had subjected great commotion within a minor city and was said to need urgent attention. Nie Huaisang, not knowing how to deal with the issue himself and concerned to further disclose it to the other sects, as it would surely catch the eye of Jiang Wanyin and arise his own resentment over a certain somebody, had instead opted for writing to his brother and request his help. Upon reading the letter, Xichen asked for his assistance in this occasion, saying that their uncle could attend to the matters of the Lan Sect in their absence. Lan Wangji obliged.

The incident turned out to be, indeed, of most interest. A circle of local and external parties had reunited inside of a crypt hidden beneath an inn to perform a ritual of sorts. As a direct consequence, the establishment above, along with all of their clients, had been blown away by the never-before-seen resentful energy. He had recommended for the place to be sealed off and purified every ten days for the next twenty years to ensure the safety of those living in the city. His brother and him then focused on shedding some light on how it all came to be, but were unable to reach a satisfactory clarification, given that the main culprits had perished and Inquiry proved to be ineffective. They theorised their spiritual conscience had been shattered, too, by the resentment’s magnitude.

After almost three weeks away, they set back to Gusu, promising to further investigate using the resources within the library, but settled the matter closed for the time being. Riding their swords was most welcome as a means of travel, reducing the journey to two days, instead of the week it would take by land.

Gentians’ fragrance filled the air on his path back to the Jingshi. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself he had missed the comfort of its familiarity. Even if said familiarity meant the pang of memories and grief, returning gave him a sense of peace.

He entered his living quarters. Any and all thought left his head with what presented before him. Not what, who.

“Lan Zhan!”

Wei Wuxian sat by the desk, drinking from one of the uncovered vases of his hidden stack of Emperor’s Smile.

“Don’t look at me like that”, he pouted. “I know it’s against the rules, but you can’t possibly be so mean to someone who has just traveled for a week to see you” Wei Wuxian finished adding a smile.

“You’re back”.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. An air of doubt passed through his expression.

“You once asked me to come to Gusu with you”.

“Hmm��.

“What can I say, it is your fault for not saying when…”

Wei Wuxian stood up, leaving the wine behind, to get to where Lan Wangji stood.

“Now I’m here, can I be here?” he stole a quick glance at Lan Wangji’s hands, as if trying to make up his mind, and then took both in his, bringing the two pairs together in between them. “What I’m saying is, I want to stay by your side, teach A-Yuan to shoot arrows, feed the rabbits, and whatever boring things you do in Gusu, I want to do those with you”.

Wei Ying’s smile hid a shade of embarrassment, the novelty of a realisation, a confession.

This very thing gave Lan Wangji a surge of confidence to kiss the hands that intertwined with his. A softness enveloped each kiss, not only because of the pressure but for the years of longing enclosed in each contact.

“You love me”.

“Ah, Hanguang-Jun, am I such a bad influence that you’ve become this shameless? What would your uncle say?” Wei Ying gifted him with a mischievous grin. “Don’t be mad, Lan Zhan, I’m only teasing you, it’s too easy”.

A trembled ensued when the pressure of Wei Ying’s lips caressed his hands, mirroring his previous gesture.

“I do love you”.

Oh. Lan Wangji said to himself.

Another realisation.

“Wei Ying did not love me”.

The one in front of him laughed in response.

“If so, then who am I?”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and kissed his forehead, making him catch his breath.

“Not real”.

He woke up to the tickling of tears. A trail of bitterness stained his face. The merciless reality of the image of the Jingshi, turned monochrome by the dimness of night, rendered him helpless. How small it seemed to be in a world made so big by the hole torn with Wei Ying’s absence. His heart’s willingness to deny the facts, to rush back and check the Burial Mounds once again, surfaced yet another night. This vain disposition had to be snuffed out. Wei Ying would not come back to Gusu with him.

And the knowledge of said truth did grow heavily indeed.

A-Yuan, now turned Lan Shizui, grew up faster than anticipated.

Of course, that was not true. Everybody becomes older at a steady pace, set by time only. And yet… the years had seemed to merge in such a way that it simultaneously appeared to him that an eternity had been caught in the blink of an eye, but he had not possessed a second to taste it. How could he? Moreso when the aftertaste left such sourness.

If only Wei Ying could have guided Shizui for all these years. He had to wonder how their… his son would have turned out to be. Would they recognise each other in the sharpness of their minds? Could Wei Ying’s smile show on Shizui’s face as more than the infrequent sliver he so desperately searched for? Seeking it just to feel shame at his boldness immediately afterwards. He had always vowed to treat Shizui as his own person, succeeding at it for the most part, but, at certain points in time he could not help but to ponder on the shadow his former soulmate casted onto the child.

Oftentimes Shizui came to the Jingshi to practice his skills on the guqin. Most should assume he did so in order to receive advice regarding his playing, such was the case… almost every time. There were moments, seconds, in which he could see the pride in Shizui’s eyes. Of course, such behaviour was forbidden and he quickly censored himself.

But it was there, nonetheless.

“You stopped” Lan Wangji observed, finally, opening his eyes and dropping his meditation position.

Shizui looked up from the table in which he had laid out a piece of paper and writing utensils. When did he do that? Oh, Lan Wangji must have been too entertained by his own thoughts to notice it in time.

“Yes, I did. Should I go over the pieces again, father?” he asked, gesturing to retrieve the guqin.

“That won’t be needed”.

“Then I will be leaving momentarily, it will be nine in not so long”.

Lan Wangji answered by giving a small nod.

“Thank you…”

“What is it?”

“I made this once I finished practicing”.

Shizui moved towards him, holding the piece of paper loosely in his hand. He placed it carefully on the table in front of Lan Wangji. And there it was: a drawing. Not unlike the one Wei Ying had made of him so many years ago. The style appeared far less whimsical, yet, not as observant as it’s counterpart. How unfortunate, the implications of said realisation. Did Wei Ying pay attention to him to such an extent?

No need to wander about what could have been. For it was pointless.

Shizui’s linework showed off preciseness and finesse, paired up with a great sense of depth in the interpretation of lights and shadows. Lan Wangji could not help but to smile at the display of talent.

“Thank you, A-Yuan”.

In spite of having stated his intent to leave, Shizui stood in front of him, as if debating something. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. Right after a change of expression, he threw himself at Lan Wangji’s side and hugged him tightly.

“Hmm?”

“I’m afraid. Sometimes you leave somewhere distant, father, and I’m afraid”.

‘Please…’ Lan Wangji pleaded stricken with panic.

Mishearing a collection of sounds.

If someone had told him that would bring upon him the most terrifying experience of his life… Lan Wangji would have simply given them a look of disdain. How could that elicit fear from him when he had been witness to the love of his life letting go of one bleeding arm. He thought about the Xuanwu of Slaughter, that cave where Wei Ying had fallen asleep while he sang to him, looking so pale it almost appeared as if death had claimed him already and spared him. Gods, death had pardoned him from falling alongside Wei Ying! He could think of no greater torture.

And yet, he found himself running like a desperate man through the outskirts of Dafan Mountain, dodging natural obstacles with none of his usual poise.

An eco.

That’s what had set him so far off who he had barely managed to see himself become during the last sixteen years. His spirit, his heart, mummified shrouded by the mourning clothes he had begun to wear to somehow memorialise the departure of his life.

That attire flung forward and backwards, moved by the winds.

Please.

Jin Guangyao was right, all those years ago. Now that maybe, maybe, he could be returned to him, loosing him again would only bear the worst king of suffering.

Have this not be another call without answer.

No matter what uncle saw when he stared at him.

He would accept any new whip scar a thousand times over to just have him be real, wake up in a world where he existed.

Anything.

Anything would be better than missing him so. Better than the memory of the initial years, spending every night crying himself to sleep for the first time in his life. Better than breathing just to pretend the sensation filled the empty within his lungs.

He ran. He ran like his life depended on it, because, maybe, it did.

With each step the world burned and it didn’t matter. The sound became clearer and nothing else mattered. He had lived through sixteen years of snuffing hopefulness and finding sustenance in the memory of a song he had once sung in a cave, but, now that he heard it, maybe it had been worth it.

He began to sprint in spite of how scary the idea of a world with him suddenly became, a place where he could lose him again. His figure almost flew across the forest, because he would not allow it. Lan Wangji was never losing Wei Ying twice.

Right then, he reached the clearing.

Thanks a lot for reading!!! If I butchered the spelling of some name or term, please tell me!

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filmisastory · 5 years

Text

The Stars in the Darken Sky

Summary: As months have passed, Tommy is met with a woman who he could not let go.

Tommy notices the way how the Christmas lights glistened against her brunette hair, the little wispy hair encasing her petite features and the delicate fingers that had once wrapped around him were now enfolded around the cold glass of whiskey on ice. His blue eyes continue to gaze over the way your red stamped lips forming slight words whispering.

She looked different, he thought, better than he has remembered than the past months.

Her laugh, the giggles followed was one of the few details that have continued to engrave his mind. Even before his post to the war and the following years later, he still remembered the way how her head slightly tilts backward with the fine lines of her smile widens showcasing your pearly white teeth.

It had been a series of a few months since he has seen her. You.

The first nights after you have left the rear end of Birmingham have left him in irascible. He loathed her, he remembered as his mind unconsciously combs back through his memories.

The first nights were filled with hate that lingered on his skin, though it once was lingered now seeped into his veins. A type of hate that turned into the annoyance of her creeping in the back of his mind. That annoyance turned into self-loathe, a loathe that he hated himself for missing the way her eyes looked upon his. The way how her sight made him feel too noticed. And most importantly, that self-loathe turned into despise because he despised how she had bewitched him, - danced around her fingers in tunes that she loves to hear.

The Shelbys have reasoned with him of course, the endless conversation of “she’s just another girl who left Birmingham”. Polly out of the lot tried to reason Tommy the most, with her speeches that would enter Tommy’s ear and out the other. It did not help him of course, perhaps subdued the pain over time.

Nonetheless, as months have passed, the memory of her fades with. As the sun and booze continue to coax him through the day though just when he thought he had gotten rid of her. It was only then when the moon creeps into the night sky lingering amongst the white clouds that paint the dark cloak of Birmingham. It’s only then when the little stars creep out of the darken the painted sky, he remembers. He remembers dark eyes glooming through the night sky, reflecting the shimmer she once held in her eyes as if they are the stars. Heavenly from afar, yet the burned at the touch.

And that was her.

Yet, as months passed and the linger touch of her hands, her perfumed scent that he once remembered, and the way how her lips formed her voice that rings through his ears continue to fade from memory. Just only left was the shimmer in your eyes, and the tilt of your head following with your set of giggles engraved his mind. Perhaps, if another set of months continued, he would’ve - maybe forgotten them too.

It was only then when your presence stunned him in this late evening Christmas Eve party. It all started with her laughter, that echoed in the hallway, at first, he thought it was a memory echoing in his mind, hearing things when he shouldn’t have been.

But when your presence walked through the arched doorway, and the face he remembered once all too well - he seemed to have forgotten to breathe.

As the minutes passed the memories came flooding in with as well. Her presence carried throughout the room, as she engages in conversation with her peers.

Tommy stood there aghast. Even as if the clock ticked by, he stood there for 33 minutes staring at the way her lips ghosting through conversation with Ada.

He wondered if you noticed him across the room blended with an array of people. He wondered as to why you showed up months later. Questions after questions ran through his mind endlessly as his fingers probe around his vest and pockets for a cigarette.

“Stop starin’ at her - will ya?” Arthur’s thick voice interrupted Tommy’s train of thought, “Your eyes will fall out of yer head”, he states, as his fingers passed a lighter to Tommy’s palm. The lit cigarette held between Tommy’s lips as he inhaled as if it was the last air he was able to grasp onto.

“What is she doing here?”, Tommy asks as the cig leans off his lip, “Who knows.” Arthur shrugs, as he sips from his glass, “Isn’t she supposed to be married to some bloke from London?” He asks, with a confusion lingered on his features. It was then now Arthur and Tommy Shelby are staring at her, noticing the way she postures amongst her peers.

There were a lot of rumours that started to float its way from London to Birmingham - whether Tommy knew if she moved to London, he didn’t - hence the rumours. The more Tommy thought about it - the less he knew. The less he knew whether why she left and who she left for.

Nonetheless, gossip continued to sway through town - some say she found an upper-class man and took her away from the slums of Birmingham. Others say she carried a child and moved to London, while a few mentions that she was unsatisfied, and fed up with the life of the Peaky Blinders and went straight.

Just when he thought he knew everything about her - he didn’t. Though, of course, he was not blind, he was well-aware of the men she beds with, as he could recognize the slight marks left on her skin in the dawn of morning.

The jealousy had always reined within his skin when he could smell the lingering scent of men - yet it still did not stop him from wanting you. Perhaps he is bewitched, he thought, by the palm of your hands.

The slight Christmas vinyl humming in the background did not subside the nerves breaking down his inner chords - it was the fact; it had been 38 minutes and the night have not even started.

“I need a stronger drink”, Tommy states briskly, turning to brush against Arthur’s shoulder. His feet carry through the wooded hallway to the white-washed kitchen. As his hands continue to scour through the cabinets hoping any type of alcohol would drink away his worried state of mind. The rustling of the cabinet doors and the clashed and clink of the glass raises the echoed noise amongst the wall.

He got himself a brandy of Irish whiskey - pouring on top of the layer of ice into a cold glass. Hoping the drink will whisk his wants and needs far away.

“Mind pouring another glass?”, A voice interrupts Tommy’s actions. The cigarette that once held within his lips has now fallen into the sink, the burning ashes disappearing into a mild of wetness covered by the thin layer of left-over water.

“Fuck”, he states in shock, as the drink almost fell out of his grasp and his eyes immediately turn to the voice he easily recognized at once. Just when he thought he banished at every memory he and you ever made; it came flooding back.

Your voice. The sound of your accent has not changed, and it was still angelic to his ears - again he loathed himself for feeling this way. Tommy leans on the counter, his right hand held onto the comforting of the cold glass as his left hold onto the edge of the counter - almost grasping onto a lifeline he did not know he needs.

His eyes stare at her physique, her posture is leaning against the door frame, as the silver flapper dressed wraps around her figure. Her brunette hair has grown as he remembered she never enjoyed her hair being a shorter length.

Her red bow lips smirk like an angel was carved by the hands of a Goddess. The Christmas lights hanging from the hallway ceiling are now flickering behind her - giving a sense of heaven-like aesthetic. Was this heaven? Is he dreaming? Tommy questioned his thoughts.

“Here”, Tommy interrupts his thought and gestures his glass towards hers. She took steps forward and immediately Tommy’s breath was taken away by your beauty, as he feels the familiar touch of your fingers grazing over his encasing the cold glass. She’s real, it’s real, Tommy’s conscious reassures him.

The desperation of another touch lingered on his fingers, as he poured himself an additional drink. His fingers clutch onto the glass to subside the tremble he feels. His eyes gaze over the way her lips devoured the drink before her - slowly, sensual like that Tommy’s eyes fluttered in reaction. Her dark eyes opened gazing towards his ocean ones.

“Irish whiskey?”, she asks with her linger accent. “Haven’t had one in a while”, she states with a slight chuckle leaving her lips. He was silent, perhaps the words he could not find were not able to leave his lips.

“Your hair has grown”, she mentions, her eyebrow rose in curiosity added with a small smile.

He coughed under his breath, “Yeah, haven’t gotten the time”, he comments as his fingers continue to grasp onto what was once cold, now warm glass due to the sweat of his palm.

“So how have you’ve been?”, she comments hesitantly. “Swell", he pauses, "how’s London?”, he replies. Confusion littered on her face, “London? - ah, I see the rumours have dispelled, hasn’t it?”, she pauses, “The wisp of gossip - it never really surprises me”, as a smirk hangs onto her features. She notices the way his eyes analyzed her fingers especially the small rock stacked on the thin band of the ring,

“Engaged, not married, Tommy”, she comments. He subsides with a slight nod to her comment, as a sigh leaves his lips, “8 months”, A pause, “Pardon?”, she questions.

“8 months since you left, where have you’ve been?”, he questions. “It almost sounds as if you are integrating me, Mr. Shelby”, she said with an amusement laced between her teeth,

She slowly turns away from the frame door leading herself into the wooded hallway, as if she was stringing Tommy along - like a rope on a pet - and he followed. Slowly increasing his steps as he if was chasing her trying to catch her and he was. His feet carried himself out of the whitewashed kitchen to the darken yet, glistening hanging lights above flickering to the beat of the sound of his heart.

His eyes noticed the curled hair pinned behind her neck and the low cut showcasing her naked backside. He did not know where she was taking him, but he followed willingly - his fingers clung onto the drink as if it was for reinforcement of reality.

She walked like a beauty, he recognized in thought, he studied the way her feet pointed forward and the straight shoulders leading herself in a direction - it was then when he recognized all the familiar feeling of his heart being sunk into his shoes. As Tommy realized how desperately he wanted her. The touch of her was close - close enough to grasp onto the loose curls that hang around her neck, yet just as if the cat chases the mouse, he wasn’t able to hold her within his grasp for too long. His fingers could never hold onto her, as it once did before.

A small delicate gasp leaves her as she stunts in her position standing alongside the doorway leading into a room where Tommy kept materialistic items, he was not able to put elsewhere. Immediately, Tommy’s eyes flung to where she was gazing at.

“I see, you kept my novels”, she comments. Her gaze is kept on a grand bookshelf that is strung along against the wall - amongst the books, were knick-knack household items placed around the shelves and the side tables next to the fur lounge chairs.

The room was a tad careless - a few specks of dust laid on the dark wooden shelves and it was clear to her that this room has been kept untouched. He watches the way how her fingers graze over the delicate spine of the books. He notices how her lips form whispering the titles - it’s as if a flash of memory flickers behind her eyes.

It was then in that moment, Tommy urged his vocals to fall, but as if it the words vomited out of his mouth, he could not bring himself to stop, as his vocals betrayed him. “Who’s the lad?” Tommy comments, almost too quietly, but it was enough for her ears to capture the delicate lace he carried among the words he said.

Your eyes looked over to Tommy, as he stared through yours. The same ocean eyes who used to taunt her dreams - the same eyes that once in the past made her re-arrange her mind so there would be room for him to stay. But as the past months caught up to the present days - she never knew how much room he occupied in her life. So, she looked at him and saw the nerves seeping out of his pores as Tommy sips on the drink, a little longer than usual. The trinket sound of your fingers playing with the glass, half-empty in your hand was heard - it was the only sound that echoed within the four walls.

“Do you care?”, her voice enters Tommy’s ears. “No”, he comments, nonetheless it was a lie. He did care. He cared a little too much. Though, knowing that her hands could break his heart - he did not want her to know. Sometimes, perhaps, though the clever lies secretly say the truths. And she knew.

She rose her eyebrow in amusement, as her eyes divert from his back to the bookshelf, as she took a novel from the shelf opening the pages. He waited for an answer, whether she would comment on her whereabouts for the past 8 months or whom she fell in love with while he waited to dwell within his own home - hoping she would come back. Tommy silently scoffed to himself, thinking he was a fucking pathetic puppy - in a lot of ways he was.

He lusted over a woman and it all started with her eyes, a touch of hell and a linger of paradise.

Her body faced the shelves as her fingers slowly turn the pages - eyeing the writing she had written between the letters of the words she once believed in. “He’s French”, a quiet murmur escapes her lips. In reaction, Tommy’s eyes fluttered with a tinge of annoyance. Fucking France, he thought. His hand placed the glass on an empty shelf, as his hands scoured over his pockets for a cigarette.

A sigh leaves his throat, as he continues to rim the cig between his lips - for a mere of thought,

“So, you moved to France, eh?”, He questions, as he lit the stick. Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices hers gazing at the bud light burning at the end of the cigarette before returning her eyes to the pages once more. “The city of love isn’t it?”, she murmurs. “Isn’t love the same elsewhere”, he comments with a hint of irritation and displeasure ringing in her ears. “Perhaps”, she says with a slight chuckle.

There was a silent pause - and just like he knew, he would never truly find the answers he desperately looked for. “I see you have expanded your business, Tommy”, she comments. The way his name left her lips is the same as how his breath has left his lungs - the exasperation of needing air, yet she was all he needed. “Yes, some things have changed”, he commented, almost out of breath. He sucks on the stick, longer than he intended to.

“I guess, that’s what time does”, she pauses, “It changes everything, doesn’t it?”, she questions, almost as if it was to herself, yet as a statement rather than a question. Another silent pause. The only sound left was the exhale and inhale of their lungs - the tension lingered in the air and within their bones.

“What are you doing here?”, he questions with stern displayed within his voice. “I miss Ada and Polly – “ “Cut the bullshit”, he retaliates.

“I was in town truly, so I thought perhaps, I swing by to visit the people I care about, family and friends, talk about old times, while we drink some whiskey”, she clings her drink in the air - in cheer motion. “Then we go upstairs and sleep together eh?”, He comments. Her eyes immediately gaze at his, closing the book with a sound of smack echoing from the pages. “Perhaps, Tommy”, she comments with an amusement dancing on her lips, as her smirks delves onto her features, “Just now, on way to the kitchen, I changed my mind.”, She pauses, “So, I’ll just have one more drink, and dwell you on the memories of France, Italy, and London with a man I love, then I can go.

Her comment nonetheless stunted him. It was if she was the ocean and he was a boy who loved the waves that taunted him, yet, he would still willingly venture into the sea only to be drowned by the currents.

He didn’t know whether the comment she made was to torture, torment, and taunt him as usual - she always loved to play him like a violin, tuning the strings to her likening. “So, you changed your mind”, he murmurs with a slight head nod towards her direction. A small smile etches on her lips. He continues to inhale on the cigarette, as his forefinger grazes over his upper lip, in thought.

“He’s lovingly sweet and kind to me”, she pauses, “So what makes you think after 8 months, how dare you think I would’ve gotten in bed with you?” “Doesn’t matter now, you’ve changed yer mind”, he states as a smoke leaves his lips. A small sigh leaves her lips, as her fingers shove the book back in its place. There again was another moment of silence, whether to dissipate the unresolved tension that would lead to raised voices - a moment of serenity as needed. “Have you found someone, Tommy?”, She whispers curiously. His palm reaches into his hair trying to smooth out the sweat and nerves seeping out of his hairline. He ignores her question, “Yet, your still here”, the husk of his voice echoing her ears.

“Are you so certain that I would leave too soon?”, she questions quietly, with a lace of tease leaving her lips. “You always love to show up in inconvenient times”, he comments, “I am an inconvenience”, she retorts.

“Always”, he states as another smoke leaves his lips. “I hadn’t spent a day without thinking about you, and yet here you are”, his hand gestures to your figure. “You know I hate reunions, y/n”, he comments again, as his feet shuffle closer to you. “I’m aware”, she comments almost whispering on the words she said. “I don’t want to sit here and dance around on what we want to say or mean”, he pauses, “So, now...I know your happy where ever you are”, his feet inches a few more, “Your fiancé is kind, and you changed your mind about sex because you don’t love me anymore”, the words he said left a snap of a twinge hitting near his heart.

Because now it’s a reality.

“Are you so certain?”, She questions, “That I’m not in love with you”, she states. “I was, but not anymore”, he comments, “You left”. “I did”, she whispers. Whether he knew what that comment alludes to - if she did love him or restated that she did leave - he chose the latter.

“Now, you came back”, he motions as the gentle touch of his fingertips graze over the open back of her dress. He can see the goosebumps that have risen over her bare skin. Just as his fingers lower to the end stern of her back, a shallow gasp leaves her lips.

“I did”, she quickens with her comment. Tommy’s lips lazily lay over her exposed neck as she faces the books in front of her. Only heard was the nature and quicken paced of her breathing as well as his. A small sensual kiss turned into a possession laced over his lips, marking all the exposed bare skin it was seen to the eyes. His firmed yet calloused hands held onto her hips almost clenching at the seams.

As her right hand held firmly onto the shelf, the left snaked loosely to the seams of his pants. As her hand palms his cock firmly, in reaction to Tommy’s fingers tightened. His voice involuntarily sends a hiss to her ears.

In return, she starts to take notice that he is slowly, but surely enough rutting against her palm in forwarding motion. As slight moans leave his lips and the quickened inhale and exhale was noticeable.

His eyes are closed, at the faint touch of her hand only to be taken away as he hears the echoes of faint laughter creeping in the hallway. Immediately, your body turned almost pushing Tommy off to the armchair of the lounge. A short and small grunt leaves his lips. He quickly used his feet and any leftover gravity to balance the almost-fall.

As her hands smoothed down the dress and the loose curls around her neck only to feeling a burn to the touch due to Tommy’s possessive lips and teeth. The laughter and chattering of the guests slowly passed by and the silence quickly fades over. As Tommy continues to slightly sit on the edge of the armchair, and your eyes frantically look over his calm figure, though you seemingly notice his heavy chest rising over and over.

Perhaps, it was the way he stared at you or the way his head motions you to come with him, nonetheless, you followed. Both of you strode along, in the dark hallway that led to the steep stairs, you recognized yet the feeling was still unfamiliar. He notices the way how your eyes kept gazing towards the fixture of the houses - notice the slight difference from which the house grew without her.

His hand held onto the doorknob to his vacant room, almost reassuring himself - what for, he did not know. She moved across the room - her first sight landed upon the giant windows she once loved. “It’s snowing”, she comments with a small smile. The snowflakes were thin and delicate, but it fell so slow - too angelic like. It covers the first layer of faded green grass and the dark skies cover the shadows of his land.

“No stars”, she sighs, eyes gazing at the night sky. “They’ll come out soon”, Tommy whispers, as he wraps his arms around her figure from behind, holding her as if she was the last flower to soon wither away.

The feeling of his bulge against your backside was felt and it only left a silent chuckle underneath your breath. Your body slowly turned to face Tommy’s features and the arms are now wrapped around your waist, placing you against the chilled window - sending a frisk of nip at your spine.

The room was dark, no candles, no light except the snowflakes reflecting from the window, where you can see the fine lines of his features, the ocean blue eyes you once was familiar with daily, now has been months - a faded memory that is slowly becoming alive again.

Your right-hand grazes his cheek, as his eyes flutter out of reaction. He was the first to lean out of impatience. His lips laid over yours - almost hesitantly as if he debated himself within, but soon enough he gave in like he always does.

The feeling of his lips on yours was the taste of luxury you’d always recognized - and no matter the trips to the city of love or the views of Vienna’s beach - they never somehow compare to visiting Tommy.

The kiss grew harder as your hand wraps around his neck reinforcing the stability of your posture. His tongue breaks through your lips first, leaving a small gasp. It was the mere touch of his hot tongue meeting your cold due to the whiskey drink merely sent a great shiver down his spine. Your tongue met his as his hands find your backside grasping onto your right leg as it hovers his side of the leg - he pushes his hips forward to meet yours as the gasps left both of your lips.

The continuous rutting and blood thrusting through their veins only heightened the feeling more - it consumed them. And for the first time - they let it. “Fuck”, he whispers against her lips, as his hips buck into hers. A shallow breath leaves her lips, and the darkened eyes he loves has only grown intensively.

He moves his feet backward falling onto the white-sheeted bed, as her hip is buckled onto his. As she was on top of his bulge only enforcing the movement harder and quicker. To which only increased his fingers clenching onto the seams of her dress.

Out of impulse reaction, his fingers crawl underneath the opening of her loose flapper dress, trying to pull it over her head opening - she followed with his motions. She laid over him with only black lace undergarments as he threw the dress across the room, not caring for where the cloth lands. His eyes expressively gaze over her body, as her hips continue to move forward, dry humping at his bulge.

Another groan leaves his lips, as a small gasp leaves her lips when Tommy flips her over leaving him laying on top of her. The brisk of his fingers clench onto the base of her hair underneath her neck as he struts his hips forward meeting the core of her opening.

Her fingers tremble at the touch of unbuttoning his vest, following with his shirt exposing the nakedness of his chest - the tattoo she recognizes once more. Tommy leans back onto his knees, leaving the touch of your hair empty - as he unbuckles his pants, pulling down the undergarment with as well.

The heavy heaving between his chest as yours was heard amongst the walls - echoing in the floorboards and the wooden framed bed. His nudity exposed within the front of her, as his eyes and fingers grazed over her thighs grasping onto the bottom laced of her underwear. Only a shallow breath leaves her lips as the chilled air touches the heated opening. Your fingers followed with unclasping your bra, as his eyes flutter to the sight.

He slowly, but firmly presses his abdomen against yours, as the head of his cock tease the entrance resulting in a sequence of slow whines, and furious grunts from his end. It was silent, not another word was said. Usual profanities were common amongst, but, perhaps, the unfulfilled and unspent of 8 months have left them silent, mourning at the loss of their time. The feeling of his slow thrust, while his blue eyes stared within your darken ones - only ensured a groan leaving his lips, “Fuck, this is what”, he pauses, “I have been missing”, he grunts almost annoyingly. The agape between his lips matched yours, sometimes the feeling was too strong for any vocals to hither.

His cock stretched the feeling of your walls and it only pulsated the feeling even more. The forward motion of his cock entering and leaving only to enter again, repeatedly, left numerous grunts and moans escaping both of their lips.

Your fingers scratch his backside and he push harder, only for profanities to leave his lips. As your legs tightened onto the base of his thighs wrapping him tightly only enforcing the treasured feeling between.

Sweat layered upon the side of his face. Sometimes a drip or two beads of sweat lay in between your breast pressed against his chest, not caring of the mess between. Her gaze held onto his as the erotic sense of pleasure keeps rising till it was too much to consume. She can feel the sweat of his legs encasing with hers as his leaked cum intertwines with the arousal wetness of her inner walls.

The groans turn into quiet yet shallow whimpers as it echoes among their ears. The bite of her lips and the darkened eyes gaze at him and that alone consumed and exploit his pleasure. As their eyes continue to stare within each other perhaps, holding onto the time they had left - holding onto the feeling before it falls within out of their grasp.

The time came closer than before, it ticked and ticked till the clock struck at its hand. “Tommy”, a whimper leaves her lips. As a groan leaves him, and the heavy breathing echoes within their lungs - his body gently lay over hers from exhaustion and the sweat and exposed emotions he held are now laid.

Her hand grazes over his backside, as he pulls out leaving a hiss as your voice echoes shallow whimper at the feeling.

As your eyes landed on the ceiling, slowly shifting to the window - still no stars, you noted in thought. Your feet almost carried you to the flapper dress you caught a glimpse of - until a hand grasp onto your wrist holding you in place.

His eyes match yours, and what left his lips did indeed cracked a part of your known cold heart, “Stay”, he whispers, almost as if it was a statement, opposed to a question. Whilst, turning on the lamps next to the bed, as your eyes see the mere glimpse of hope and desperation.

So, you did. You stayed.

The hours pass, as both of you shared the white soft sheets - the dark sky keeps pulling in closer to the night. The room was filled with chatter amongst you and Tommy, as you shared your memories in the cities you have visited. The cities you prolonged and marked the stones you walked.

As the minutes ticked by, it only increased the conversation at hand - the rumours you denied, the changes that Tommy has made within his business, and the flirt and tease left your lips only increased the burning hunger he had within his core.

This, of course, endures another fucking placed at the hands of Tommy.

“Fuck, darling”, he grunts, as he continuously shoves, pulls, and shoves his cock within your wall. The once chilled glass was damped to the sweat from your back as he held you against the glass window. Your fingers grasp onto the side of his shaven hair as his lips are fallen upon your neck.

You can feel the sense of him being near due to the shallow push and pull increased within his hips as your legs clamps around his - almost clinging onto him. His hands grasp onto the side of your arse and lower legs, his fingers clenching into the skin once more before a low grunt leaves his lips and still leaving a few shallow thrusts.

A loud groan leaves your lips as your head slightly strikes against the glass. Again, the harsh breathing continues to beat within your lungs. -

Your feet meet the end of a pillow, as Tommy lays against the headboard, smoking the last bud of the cigarette. You were half-sitting, and half-laying at the foot of the bed, watching the way at how Tommy express his words. And he watches on how her eyes catch and studies his.

Again, the minutes ticks by.

“What do I have to do to make you stay?”, his questions catches you off guard. Your head turned from the time, 2:52 am, to Tommy’s head tilted meeting your gaze.

You hummed in a teasing manner, tilting your head in thought, “Perhaps, you just have to catch me”, she whispers with a twinge of amusement laced within her teeth - as usual.

His eyebrow rose in curiosity and the fine lines held the smirk he felt within on his features.

A loud gasp leaves your lips, as his hands quickly grasp onto your ankles pulling you down with the bedsheets. She laughs and giggles and to him, it sounds like the promised land.

He pulls her within his arms, as he draws the bedding sheets back to hoping you would voluntarily to fall asleep within his bed. He saw the hesitation within your gestures, nonetheless, you followed as your body laid next to his, tucked within the white soft sheets. He turns his figure to facing yours as you followed his. Both of you were now faced to face - as his eyes gazed into your darkened ones.

“This wasn’t right Tommy”, her voice whispered, her eyes fluttering as sleep creeps within her - though the words hissed like venom to his ears.

“Then you go back”, he comments as he inhaled sharply. She quietly hums, as her eyes start to flutter closed, as sleep took over her. It was only then he was gazing and memorizing the delicate lines within her feature - as if it was a photograph taken in time.

“Can I see you again?”, she hears Tommy say but does not answer.

Tommy jolted to the dark taunt of his dreams, his eyes peeled and adjusted to the heavy slight pitch black of his room - only light from the window. As his eyes almost flutter at the close, it was only then a bright light that passes through the dark cloak of the night sky that shines its embers through his room. Tommy turns over, only to see the vacant side of his bed.

His heart sunk.

As if it was the ocean, once again he drowned within the waves. Immediately, his feet carried his calves to the open-curtained window, eyes quickly gazing over a black automobile. The headlights beaming away from the window towards the trees as it stops in motion.

“Fucking bloody hell”, Tommy hiss underneath his breath as his feet moved in action, propelling himself to run as fast as he could. With his feet and his body carried his undergarment and the nakedness of his chest scampered down the dark narrow and wooded hall, only to hear a heavy door closed shut.

His eyes frantically scoured over the steps of the stairs, as his feet now carried himself down passing the lit Christmas tree - it felt so far, the door, yet it was mere seconds before his fingers held onto the knob twisting. Feeling the same twist within his heart, as if a knife staked and wring his bloody heart.

The sharp cold slapped his skin, as the pitch sky was hanging over. The feeling of snow and cold stones scrapped against the sole of his feet, as his eyes saw the world caved in. The shadow of her in the black vehicle, moving from his grasp.

“Wait!”, he screams into the cold-wisp air. The crushing wind now invading the layers of his skin, as the black vehicle motors down the road only for Tommy to chase barefoot.

Chasing her try to catch her.

He continues to chase after the vehicle down the long driveway, shouting desperately to stop, only to turn at its right onto the main road, fading from view. His feet stops, as he watches the taillight of the faded car.

Heavy heaving left his lungs, and the harsh icy air continues to scrawl his skin. Shivers sending through his bones, as he hung his head looking down upon his feet covered in the layer of snow. He turns defeated at hand, his teeth clench onto his lips. Holding onto the emotions that threaten to burst at its seams.

He cursed her name. The words left his mouth laced with spite. Yet, he knew if she came back strutting again, he would welcome her with open arms - perhaps hesitation, but still open arms.

His feet slowly, but surely walk him along the dirt road leading to his home. As his eyes and ears picked up the wind - slowly his gaze looked upon the dark cloak that covers Birmingham.

He saw appearing like in little flickers of light - stars. The stars creeped out of the darkening sky haunting his ocean eyes.

The same-very stars that remind him of her.

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