#ive wanted to draw a bright bathroom mirror piece like this for a while

[mokadevs]

wuh oh

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 7

Neil x Reader

Chapter 7: Wicked game

(see chapter 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: it’s time to come back to life, and sometimes it involves Neil dragging you to a social event

warnings: 18+, language, alcohol mention (beer is considered alcohol, right?)

author’s note: 3k words. It’s not exactly what I had in mind for that chapter, but they have a mind of their own, as always. 

Almost there.

The song for this part is Stone Sour - Wicked Game (acoustic, live)

Enjoy and let me know what you think, please? All feedback is greatly appreciated.

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas​ @neutron-stars-collision​ @ergunbilge​ @invertedneil​ @wanderedaway​ @i-wanna-b-yours​ @wonderwoman292​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver​ (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

It didn’t matter how many times you saw him do that, the effect the sight had on you was pretty much always the same. Filling your mind with thoughts that were quite counterproductive, one could say.

The veiny patterns covering hands and forearms. The long fingers running through the buttons. The tilted chin, extending the neck, drawing attention to that impossible jawline. The slight pout. The brows drawn together in concentration--

You smacked your tongue and shook your head

“Y’know what, those shirts of yours are so rude, but the way you wear them, the rolled-up sleeves?”

Neil looked at you through the reflection in the mirror, puzzled. “What about them?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely disrespectful,” you sighed heavily and leaned against the door frame.

Playful lights danced in the blue eyes. “Oh yeah?” he teased, giving himself a final glance-over before turning to you. “And what you’re gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” - you shrugged, crossing your arms - “because you insist on dragging me to a social event.”

The faint resentment ringing in your last words didn’t get lost on Neil.

“So boring of me,” he said as he closed the gap between you, trying to keep a straight face. He put his hands on your waist and smirked. “But maybe after that we can come back here and continue the conversation.”

As you fixed his collar, a shade of smile hid in the corner of your mouth.

“Really wanna listen to me listing all the things that drive me mad about you, huh?” you asked smugly, gliding your fingertips along the delicate stripes of the greyish beige shirt.

Neil’s thumbs brushed over your hip bones as he hummed, “I have a feeling it might lead to a rather pleasant conclusion.”

When you let out an amused scoff, his lips captured the snarky comment that was bound to follow. He pulled you closer and lifted you up, and the next second you were sitting on the edge of a vanity cabinet, breathless from the kiss, tugging at the striped shirt.

A buzz right next to you.

You jumped, startled, and glared at the phone. “Is it too late to tell Matthias the Uber driver that we’re not going anywhere?” you asked without too much hope as you nuzzled your face to Neil’s neck, breathing in his scent, unwilling to let this moment end too quickly.

Neil chuckled and stroked your arms. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun.”

You still didn’t know where he was taking you - he’d assured you that it would be casual, and that was basically all you cared about. He knew you enough, and you trusted his judgement, after all.

“It better be,” you pouted, pulling back, but as soon as you met the bright blue eyes your heart sang in your chest. After spending all that time in the darkness, not sure if you’d ever see his face again, you caught yourself taking an extra second every now and then, just looking at him. How the light played on his features, now soft in the elaborately illuminated hotel bathroom. How his lips curled whenever he found your gaze. How utterly stunning he was.

Smiling gently, you ran your fingers through Neil’s disheveled mane, taming the blonde mess if ever so slightly.

“Let’s not keep Matthias waiting, then,” you sighed and slid off the cabinet.

-------

The afternoon was quite warm for late autumn. As you were arriving at your destination, you watched the sun shining through the scarce leaves left on the trees, adding vibrance to their colours. Too mesmerized to pay attention to the route, you recognized the place only when the car stopped. The training site. You turned to Neil in confusion, but he just wiggled his brows and proceeded to thank the driver and got out of the car. You followed him out and right through the gate of the now-empty paintball outdoor facility which served as a front for the agency’s base, hidden a bit further inside the forest.

“Picking up something on the way?” you asked, matching his pace as you strolled towards the training grounds.

Neil shook his head and smiled mysteriously. “Not really.”

“Alrighty then, keep your secrets,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “Aren’t we a tad overdressed for a little playground fun, though?”

“A rematch?” he pondered and smirked. “Didn’t plan on that, but it’s tempting.”

Indeed. “I’m kinda out of shape, but keep those baggy trousers on and I’m game - wanna beat you fair and square again.”

Neil let out an exasperated huff. “Baggy?! They might be a bit loose but --”

You giggled at his offended expression as he got busy looking down at the target of your remark, ready to defend his fashion choice. Your laughter was enough to stop Neil in his tracks, and when he met your playful gaze, he reached out and drew you into his arms for a tight hug. After a brief moment of perplexity, you eased into his embrace, moved by the force of sudden affection.

When he pulled back, you touched his cheek. “What was that for?” you asked, searching the blue eyes, but finding nothing but joy there.

“Being cheeky.” He scrunched his nose while tapping the tip of yours. “And brilliant,” he added, and for a second you were sure there was something else he wanted to say; instead, he laid a gentle kiss on your lips. “And maybe stalling a minute longer before I’d have to share you with all these people.”

You gaped at him, about to ask what people, but Neil already grabbed your hand and led you around the corner of the building - and you heard them even before you spotted them.

“Oi, there they are!”

“Finally!”

“We’ve just considered sending a rescue party in case you got lost in the woods!”

The unexpected eruption of cheers and greetings made your fight-or-flight reflexes kick in, but as you instinctively took a step back, Neil squeezed your fingers reassuringly.  

A split-second exchange of looks.

All right?

When he saw your tiny nod, he let go of your hand, focusing on the team gathered at the makeshift chillout zone. “Not everyone has your poor sense of directions, Seb,” retorted Neil, flashing his teeth in a grin.

The young man’s protests got drowned in laughter as you approached the group together.

"Luckily not the case with our rogue here,” said Ives, elbowing his way in between other people. He shot you both a disapproving look, toned down by a smile dangling in the corner of his mouth. "Really, roofs? Didn't know you had it in you, mate."

"Me neither,” admitted Neil, going in for a clasp of hands and a brief hug. “When I saw that gap, I was sure that was it. Someone convinced me otherwise."

“The secret is to avoid looking down,” you shrugged, meeting the commander's amused gaze.

"Thanks for bringing our favourite nerd back in one piece." As Ives extended his hand, there was something serious about his expression, mixed with a sense of relief, and you realised he must have been in the response team Neil had called for help.

“My pleasure.” Beaming, you shook his hand. “Thanks for providing backup.” And scraping me off the pavement.

Neil’s gasp was almost theatrical. He smirked and nudged Ives lightly. “Aw, I’m your favourite?”

“Careful, that privilege may be revoked any minute,” grunted Ives in a weak attempt at keeping up appearances, but he couldn’t fool anyone. Now that you had a chance to observe them in the after-hours situation, the bond between the two men was clear as day, and your heart warmed up at the thought.

Waving back at Mahir, you scanned the group for other familiar faces. Wheeler, a couple of people you recognized from the HQ halls, and a bit isolated from the others - the big man himself, manning the barbecue station.

Overwhelmed by the attention you got from the team, you excused yourself and walked up to The Protagonist. You couldn’t help but smile at the confident vibe he radiated with as if he spent every weekend doing nothing but this.

“So dad of you, boss.”

He flopped a sizzling piece of meat to the other side, glancing at you humorlessly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with polite concern.

“Grand, healed up nicely, thank you.” You circled your shoulder and grinned. “Not in a marathon condition, mind you, but that’s not exactly new.”

“That’s good, Neil was worried about you.”

Not sure if it was the lack of eye contact or something else in his presence, but you decided to stop ignoring the gut feeling.

“You don’t like me,” you said, tilting your head. A mere statement of the fact; you weren’t hurt, only curious. “It’s okay, you don’t have to, just been wondering why.”

TP sighed heavily. And when he finally met your gaze, the dark eyes were sad, only deepening your confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Then something cracked and a shiver ran down your spine, because suddenly, in front of you there was a man who’d seen a lot, suffered too much, and cared even more. The weight of it all slumped his shoulders, and for a short while, he seemed almost helpless. Taking a quick look at the hollering group, he sighed again. “It’s not your fault, it’s--“ he hesitated, searching for the right words. As he found them, there was no sign of the vulnerability from a moment earlier. “It’s a stressful business.” He sent you a crooked smile. “And I’m still mad about that watch.”

The lie was obvious. But the things you saw in his eyes made your chest clench painfully, and…did you really want to know?

Besides, that might have been a truce offering, and you weren’t bent on holding a grudge. Not with him, anyway.

“Hey, wasn’t it technically your idea?” you grinned, shrugging off the weird sense of dread.

A smile finally reached the dark irises. “I guess it was,” he admitted and patted you on the arm. “There’s some beer in the mini-fridge, could you --”

“On it.”

When the clank of bottles sealed your peace treaty, you caught Neil’s happy stare. You pointed at the beer in your hand in a question and he nodded, so you grabbed one more and joined him and the others.

That unfortunate mission must have been some sort of rite of passage in these guys’ eyes because out of the blue, you were no longer an outsider. The Cavalry accepted you with open arms as one of their own, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was a nice feeling, though. Like you belonged. You saw some curious glances, but they came from a good place, and even the suspicious voice in your mind gave in under the cordial, jovial energy of the group.

Soon enough, you were joking with a young medic, having a balancing stand-off with Wheeler, or listening to crazy stories from some old operations, until everyone had enough booze in their systems that allowed them to direct some of the questions to you, as well.

“So is Neil a decent locksmith now?”

You puffed out your cheeks in a musing grimace, but when you spotted Neil’s raised brow, you started laughing. “I’d say even more than decent. Honestly? I don’t think there’s much more that I can teach him, he needs to polish his skills in real life now.” Mocking a teary sniff, you added, “They grow up so fast!”

Nobody would know that you did so while actively ignoring a faint sting in your heart.

You refrained from meeting the attentive blue eyes, though. Just in case.

“Oh cool, then what about a little contest?” Seb clapped his hands cheerfully. “You versus Neil, we could time you, and to make it fairer we could put a blindfold on you --” as he stopped for a breath, he realized - with some help from Wheeler’s elbow to his side - the slight faux pas.

But you barely acknowledge a curse and a mumbled apology cutting through the awkward silence, too busy exchanging amused looks and stifled giggles with your student.

“Neil, would you like to explain?” you asked, schooling your features.

He bowed his head as if he was accepting a great honor. “Gladly.” Neil took a deep breath and his eyes lit up. “See, my dear friend, had you known anything about lockpicking, you’d learnt that sometimes it’s easier to do that with, for example, your eyes closed. You need to listen to what the lock has to say because it’s all about feedback--”

You watched as Neil gave a full lecture, citing your own words from what seemed to be a lifetime ago. He did it with passion and understanding of the craft you’d never dreamed to see in someone else, and yet was so familiar when it came to him. Absentmindedly, you placed a hand over your chest, as if it was enough to stop it from bursting.

You couldn’t be more proud.

Neil finished his rant and looked at you, only to be met with all the appreciation and validation in your gaze, and he beamed even wider.

“All right, damn, we can cover Neil’s eyes then,” sighed Seb, a total resignation in his voice sparking a roar of laughter from the group.

----

As much as you enjoyed the energy of the team, your social batteries were getting drained, and you needed a moment for yourself before you could carry on.

Walking right outside of the periphery of light from the garlands, you let your gaze slide across the training equipment, now barely visible in the moonless night. The leaves crumbled under your feet as you smiled at the memories. Maybe one day you would actually complete the full run? You pulled on the sleeves of your sweater, hiding your hands from the cold evening air.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced over your shoulder at Neil, keeping his distance, ready to give you space. With him, it was always in the details he’d picked along the way, effortlessly weaving them into everyday life. “Not at all.”

Neil perked up and joined you in the shadows, inhaling deeply.

“Funny how the scent of the forest changes with the seasons,” he mused and you grinned, turning his way.

“That’s what I call a pick-up line,” you snickered and drew a long breath. “But you’re right, it’s too easy to forget that once you become a permanent city creature.”

He chuckled and lightly rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly, fixing your oversized scarf.

“Yeah.” You brushed your cheek against his fingers, longing for his touch, now that you were somewhat hidden from the prying gazes. “You?”

Neil moved closer and wound one arm around your waist, then cupped your face gently, pressed his forehead to yours, and murmured, “Now I am.”

You hummed happily and slid your hands under his open jacket, resting them at his chest, and closed your eyes. Only then realizing how tense you were, you relaxed in his embrace, savoring his closeness. A steady heartbeat under your palms. The warmth carrying undertones of Neil’s cologne. A featherlike graze of his thumb over your cheek. His nose nudging yours.

But soon enough, you had to break a stolen moment. Trying to stifle a yawn, you hid your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he cooed, biting back a giggle. “That tired?”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled against him on the verge of another yawn.

“Sure you are.” He kissed your temple. “The party’s almost over anyway, judging by decreasing amount of idiotic ideas per hour. Gonna call us a cab soon, all right?”

As you nodded, Neil tightened a hug and reluctantly let you go.

“Be right back, I’ll check if there’s any coffee left,” you said, gesturing towards the tables with beverages.

As your luck would have it, there was just enough for one sip.

A sudden sneer was enough to wake you up, though.

“Hell froze over.”

Mahir walked up to the mini-fridge to grab a beer and you met his mocking stare with furrowed brows.

“Vincent must be chattering his teeth now,” you joked, unsure where the conversation was heading. “Why?”

Mahir scoffed at the remark about your old associate, but he was still studying you closely, confusing you further. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Dude, you’re killing me today,” you sighed, wiping a hand through your face. “Thanks, but what for?”

“You and Neil?”

And when you shot him a puzzled look, he waved his bottle at the place where you stood together a moment before.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, you deadpanned, “Oh.”

Bloody hell.

“I thought you weren’t doing the whole love thing anymore.”

The pulse pounded in your ears, although not loud enough to tune out the sirens blazing in your head.

No.

It came out harder than you felt it. “I’m not.”

No, no, no, no, no.  

Mahir grimaced doubtfully. “Uh-huh.” He looked over your shoulder at the team gathered together in the distance and raised a brow. “Does he know that?”

You couldn’t force yourself to follow his gaze. The panic drained your face of all colour, and that was enough of an answer for your friend.

“I see.” Mahir shook his head, losing the enquiring manner. His features softened as he patted your arm. “Neil’s a good guy.”

Please, no.

“They always are,” you choked out bitterly.

Not again.

“You know what I mean,” insisted Mahir, searching for your eyes.

That the history was not gonna repeat itself?

...or that he didn’t deserve any of it?

“Yeah. Maybe.” You faked a smile. “Excuse me.”

Pushing past him, you went inside the building. You needed to be alone.

Oh, the irony.

Weeks of deliberately avoiding the topic. Tricking yourself into thinking that you can keep it casual. That it didn’t matter that much. That it was nothing but a self-indulgent fling.

You couldn’t breathe.

Lesson learnt, huh?

Barging into one of the restrooms, you got to a sink. Clenching your hands on the cold ceramic, you fought nausea tearing through your body.

Pathetic.

The gasp for air turned into a sob.

...and then everything went quiet.

You raised your eyes to the mirror.

Your reflection was staring back at you with determination.

It was time.

(next chapter ->)

[heesgf]

zeen out of curiosity can u ship ur mutuals with sb?

hihi!!! omg i’ve always wanted to do this so im rlly happy someone finally asked🤧🤧💖 im gonna put this under ‘read more’ bc i have a lot to say!! pls enjoy :’)

((i want to apologize in advance bc i have the sweetest mutuals ever and im gonna be writing a lot for each of them bc i love all of you guys!! sm!!😚))

hyunsuk

firstly, im gonna ship hyunsuk with @forhyunsuk (courtney ilu💞)!!! when i think of the two of you, i think of really cute and spontaneous dates in the summer :’)) like getting ice cream and going to the beach!!! maybe burying him all the way in the sand and then running away jsdiojs. i also imagine you two doing this cute thing where you go to clothing stores and pick out the randomest, most CRINGEY items you can find LMAO, and then you make each other do little fashion shows???? long story short: u have him wearing a bright yellow romper and a trench coat…and he has u wearing weed socks with overalls and a sombrero??? WILD🤪🤪 but ya’ll are the cutest!!! and at the end u take rlly sweet selfies and cuddle at home :’)) sweet bbys!!!

i also wanna ship hyunsuk with my love, sim ( @hyunsukmyass ) !!! i feel like you guys would travel together uwu🤧💘??? i think of the sweetest domestic life, and there’s nothing more beautiful than exploring the world with the person you love?? i see you guys sitting together on planes and you always!! have your head on his shoulder, and he’s holding your hands, caressing it gently, and kissing it softly when you take off :’)) sometimes he’d just slump over into your seat and you’d wrap your arms around him!! he’s not asleep, he just wants a piece of you sim sdijsojf💖💖💖 he takes LOTS of photos of you while you’re sleeping omygod!!!! and they go all over instagram…. uwu u guys are the cutest couple ever!!! (w/ the best ig feeds ever DAMN) 

lastly i ship hyunsuk with lika, @moonxlika (world’s cutest person uwu😚)!! lika, you guys are so that adorable couple that joke around with each other like crazy, but when things are serious, u always have each other’s backs!!! if u come home after a long day, and ur upset or really tired, suk is ready to FIGHT SOMEONE FOR YOU😤😤💪 (bc he wants his baby to be happy always :’) but once u explain to him that it’s just a bad day, and there’s no one to fight, he immediately takes u into his arms and u guys eat every snack the convenience store has to offer, along with every cheesy movie u guys can find on netflix!! (maybe u guys are doing other things more than watching the movie but that’s none of my business🍵🍵🍵) also i mean kissing jiofsj nobody come for me pls im fragile

seunghun

@seunghunn my angel maddi !!!!💕💕💕 it’s no surprise that i ship you with seunghun!!! you guys are definitely the sweetest couple on this entire planet, and i think you guys would have the randomest, but MOST FUN, dates ever??? like seunghun would randomly pull up at ur house 2pm on a saturday (he didn’t even tell u tf??) he calls you, and when u look outside, he’s waving at you like crazy!!! and he’s smiling SO HARD!!! and ur just staring at him like ‘:ooo ????’  u kinda wanna go back home and change bc ur wearing sweats, but he looks so cYUTE and excited, you just jump into the car uwu❣️❣️❣️ and that’s when ur adventure begins :’))) he takes u to a finger painting place??? u guys promise ur going to draw each other omg; u decide to be a lil playful and paint him kinda funny looking, and long story short, he chases u around the place and threatens to rub his paint hands on ur face🤧 he gets somehow manages to get some on ur lips??? it’s ok bc he kisses it off uwu!!!! maybe call poison control???

next i ship seunghun with the lovely vale @seunghunies 💘💘💘 vale omg you and seunghun,,, literally the cutest concept ever :’)))) i feel like the two of you would love to venture out into town casually?? like he’d pick you up after school and you’d drive into the city!!! and believe me, the two of you look so in love, people would be staring in awe left and right🤧🤧 when hun sees the tip of your nose getting red, he takes his scarf off and wraps it tightly around u!!! and then he kisses ur nose for good measure uwu :’))) !!! when it gets darker, he’d drive a little bit toward the hills, and you would cuddle against each other and watch the stars… u guys would talk about everything!!! when u go off on lil rants abt ur day, he’s just staring at u like 😻😻😻 oh he’s so in love with u!!!!!!

and ofc i wanna ship seunghun with the beautiful @kimseunghoney 💛💛💛 christina when i think of you and seunghun, i think of adorable morning dates!!! i can see you and hun starting off ur days together at a cozy little breakfast place, and the whole time, he’s just giggling and staring at u with the fattest heart eyes!!! i think seunghun would buy u things spontaneously?? like ‘here’s a bouquet of flowers bby, i saw them and thought of you’ or ‘here’s a sweet treat for my sweet girl✨’!!!! uwu uwu uwu, you two are really just the cutest!!! sometimes, in the morning, if he has to leave before you, he’ll leave a sweet love note on the bathroom mirror. not that you’d ever forget how much he loves u, bc trust me, he says it everyday!!! but he just wants u to smile :’) he loves u sm💖

byounggon

@byoungggon ess, my angel, i obviously ship you with gon!!!💫💕 i see u guys as the adorable couple that literally everybody can’t help but fall in love with??? like you will wear gon’s oversized grey hoodies, and his camera roll will be filled to the brim with photos of you!!! anyone from miles away would be able to tell that u two are so in love with each other??? and if it isn’t obvious enough, this boy shows up to every single music performance u have, with a beautiful bouquet of red roses, the widest smile, and the LOUDEST WHISTLE IN THE WORLD!!!! hes always in the front, and he’s always cheering the loudest bc he’s so proud of his bby uwu🤧 u guys are the sweetest couple ever!!!

@speckofglitter tiyi i would ship you with byounggon too!!!!💞💞💞u can’t tell me y’all wouldn’t be the chillest couple that hangs out at parties, and y’all look so sweet talking to each other, everyone’s kinda just gawking at u!!!! also, driving in the car and listening to music??? THAT’S KARAOKE TIME!!!! ppl driving past might look at you guys like 👀 but y’all don’t even care!!! you’re too busy screaming lyrics at the tops of your lungs and laughing together omg :’))) why are you two so cute omygod…

@hynusuk taryn we don’t talk that much but I know you and gon would be the best couple ever❣️❣️❣️ i can totally see him sending you lyrics to his next song late at night, and his heart is beating so fast because he just loves you so much!!! and you’re melting bc the lyrics are about you, and they’re the most beautiful things you’ve ever read :’))) I feel like he’d make you mixtapes!!! and whenever ur feeling down, you guys would take spontaneous trips around the city and maybe makeout a lil hehe😚😚!! cuties

yedam

@yeetdam dara my angel!!! i ship you the human emobident of sunshine, yedam😚✨✨because he’s such a smart bby, and so are you, I can see you guys studying together before a big exam :’))) perhaps ur a liiiiiittle unmotivated so yedam makes a deal with you 👉🏼👈🏼!!! if u study with him for a couple hours without any distractions, he will sing you to sleep for every question you get right :’)))) and bby!!! u get all those questions right, so you are SET❣️❣️❣️ the night before your exam, yedam cuddles you in his arms, and sings you the sweetest lullaby you’ve ever heart uwu!! and the next day, when your exam is finished, he gives u the sweetest kiss😭😭 and then u guys race to the nearest icecream shop and eat icecream until u drop!!!!

@yedarnit how could i not ship you with yedam???? that would be blasphemous jskssk🤧 you guys are SO that dreamy smart high school couple that everyone loves, not only because they’re incredibly ADORABLE, but also bc you two are so mature and down to earth???💕💕💕 i can see you and yedam cramming for tests at the school library, and you guys do that so often, perhaps the librarian is ur #1 fan??? she is the biggest micro and yedam supporter omygod💘💘💘 sometimes the two of you fall asleep, and you’ll rest your head on yedam‘s shoulder while he has his arm around you!!! and she is MELTING at the sight of y’all!!! ofc, she snaps a couple pics, and when u guys wake up, she shows them to guys!! tbh, y’all are kinda melting too???? damn cute!!!

doyoung

  @doyeongs j, you and doyoung are the most angelic couple ive ever seen???💗💗💗 i think you two are the resident sweethearts at your highschool, and literally everyone, including the teachers LOL, is in love with ur relationship!!! I can imagine doyoung making jokes under his breath in class to make you laugh, and you can’t help but burst out laughing every time!!! most of the time, ur teacher thinks u guys are so sweet, she doesn’t even get mad :’))) i also see doyoung walking you home❣️you guys basically just gush abt ur days, and talk abt how much u miss each other :’))) maybe when he notices you shivering, he hands you his jacket, and maybe when he sees the blush on ur cheeks, he leans in to kiss it uwu!!!!

@sonjuyeonnie lydia i ship you with doyoung too!!!💝💝💝 the purest couple ever :’))) i think you and doyoung would spend a lot of time together during school; and he’s always getting in trouble bc he does dumb things to make you laugh (all in good fun ofc!!! nothing bad). i can see doyoung teasing and playing with you!!! like sometimes he’ll just kneel down in front of you and be like “hop on😎”!!! and then he piggy backs you the whole way home and you’re just giggling the whole time :’))) cutest bbys!!!

junkyu

miss haejin @junkyuity …. u KNOW u and kyu are my one and only😞💝💝💝 me, you, kyu, and gon are richmond gang :’))) the strongest group out there uwu!!!! I could talk abt you and kyu for days BUT, one thing i rlly always think about is how u two go on the sweetest, most casual dates!!! like to a cute lil convenience store somewhere omg :’))) u two would share a strawberry milk with one straw, and maybe have some instant ramen if ur hungry, or other snacks!!! perhaps he’d steal a couple of ur snacks when u aren’t looking, but tbh, you aren’t that mad??? bc the second you raise an eyebrow at him, and ur like, ‘hmmm🤔🤔🤔… didn’t i have more pocky???”, he immediately bombards you with the sweetest kiss!!!!💕💕💕 and let’s just say,,, it’s so heart fluttering, u forget everything??? yeah… u guys are the cutest💘💘

[kpopandcream]

Palette -  IV (Final)

Pairing: ReaderxSehun

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Dark Themes.

He was the beginning of spring and you were the end of fall and he went forward while you went back, meeting somewhere in the middle. It was odd, feeling so akin to someone you hardly knew, but it was the colour of his hair that begged you to put him down on paper and carve his name into your heart.

Word Count: 9.0K

Part Masterlist

Summer droned on as ceaselessly as ever. The sun waxed and never waned. The still blue waters rippled when the slightest wind came by. The trees stretched and creaked, growing outwards to shield the grass beneath it from the rays above. Baekhyun had dyed his hair blonde to match the light outside and even he shone when you looked at him. Sunglasses were out. Barbecues were out. School was out. There was life in everything, every strand of the town except the house across from you, whose lights hadn’t turned on since Grandma Oh’s passing.

Rather than seeing less of Sehun, you somehow saw more of him. He seemed to run from his parents, who’d come immediately to care for him and the other affairs that came along with death. They had put up a picket sign and were figuring out how to sell a house quickly so they could return to their day jobs. His father, who was quite handsome for his age, seemed particularly detached. He drove between cities, staying for weekends. Those were the days Sehun would stay out longer, begging to just rest on your roof for a few more minutes- to look at the stars for a few more minutes.

You remembered standing near him at the funeral. He hadn’t shed a tear about it, telling you he was trying to be strong. He said he wasn’t going to let this hurt him but you saw how his body ached. The muscle beneath his jaw shook as he looked down at her in her coffin, nails painted a beautiful deep red as she liked it. She wore a dress covered in yellow spots, little shining dots that scattered around a deep blue dress. You wondered what you he was thinking as he stood beside you, hand in yours and holding it so tightly. You wondered what he was thinking as hi fist clenched when she was lowered into the ground.

Mostly, you wanted to cry for him. The town had suddenly taken to him and Grandma Oh. They gave him hugs and told him thank you for caring for her, told him they were proud. They offered to give food and time, offered to take a few things off him and his parents hands. It would have been kind, you decided, if you hadn’t heard a few of the town gossips who’d just given him the most sincerest condolences whispering by the dinner table with wine glasses in their weathered hands.

“You know,” one started, bright red lipstick smudged over her lip line, giving the slightly taller one a fixed look as always, “I want to say I feel bad for the kid but how can I? Yes, the death is obviously tragic but…”

“She was still cracked, you mean,” the other said, whispering lower. Was it out of shame?

Red lips raised her glass and nodded feverishly, whispers low but harsh, “and did you see him during the burial? Not even a tear.”

“Cracked as well.”

They both nodded, taking sips out of their glasses before their eyes fell on you by the table set aside for food. You had slammed your teacup onto your plate, a small crack forming up the side where the handle was. Your eyes were on theirs as well and you could feel the way they froze up, colour draining from their faces. They both turned away, slightly embarrassed you hoped as they detached themselves from their spots but not before they gave you a small nod and smile.

“You okay?” Baekhyun’s hand came to your elbow, catching your attention as he came from behind you. He kept the contact as he came around to face you, free hand coming to unwrap your fingers. He didn’t meet your eyes as you spoke.

“Do you hear this shit?”

All he could do was nod, slowly uncoiling your fingers as he murmured for you to relax. He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, silver glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. He looked as if he’d heard it before and it broke your heart. Was no one standing up for either of them?

“You can’t do anything about it. People talk all the time,” he reasoned quietly, still trying to give you comfort. It wasn’t working.

As you moved out from under his touch, you scoffed. “They’re just acting like Sehun can’t hear them and he can. It’s not fair.”

Baek gave you a small nod, not saying much. He still didn’t like Sehun but you could see he was keeping his comments to himself. All he did was tell you to go and find him and that he’d text you later, giving you what seemed like a smile and walking to his table.

Maybe it would have been better for Sehun not to know what people said. You didn’t tell him but you knew he heard it. He kept hearing it, having the words haunt his steps, or getting upset with you when you would tell the pharmacist to fuck off during a town meeting as he whispered in the back row. He would just tell you it was okay, that it all was okay and that he didn’t mind. You minded and maybe you projected that for a while but he was less and less enthusiastic to go outside.

It did affect him.

On his best days, he would continue to babysit with you. He said the kids made him feel better, like he could see pieces of himself when he was younger in them. He would lift Kihyun into the air like an airplane and his laugh would ring through your house as Inguk chased after them, asking for his turn. You would play in the pool, a child on each of your shoulders and they’d wrestle until they exhausted each other. He tried really hard being a happy person for them, to be as exciting as before but he was having difficulty. It didn’t particularly help that, after a particularly tiring day, you four were on the couch and Inguk lifted his head off Sehun’s chest to touch his face.

So softly, he said, “I miss Grandma Oh.”

“Yeah?” Sehun asked, raising his eyebrows a bit. He was calm on the outside, no part of his body tense either. You look at him, over your book and saw the way his eyes seemed to glisten until he blinked the shine away. His hand grasped Inguk’s, who was tired and had messy hair from his partial nap. With a sadness filling his tone, he nodded so slowly and held Inguk’s hand gingerly, murmuring, “me too.”

On his worst days, Sehun would stay inside. He would ask to just lie on your bed for a little. You didn’t know what to say or do, and he told you he just wanted to be somewhere quiet so you left him alone. You would sit on your stool where the light was the best and fix up little paint blots. You would draw at your desk or read by the window. Sometimes you could feel his eyes on you but you wouldn’t turn to look at them. It would only make him look away and retract. Though, sometimes you would just climb in bed beside him and hold him. That seemed to make his muscles relax but his brain still worked at light speed and you didn’t know what to say to help him, not to mention that he didn’t particularly talk much when you asked him how he felt.

Though, your only breakthrough was about a month afterwards. His parents had been coming in and out now, leaving him mostly alone. They wanted him to come back into the city with him but he refused. You watched the conversation over an icy dinner table with over baked potatoes and gamey meat. It was the second time you’d met his parents as Sehun’s partner and you couldn’t decide if they had taken to you, mostly because they seemed to ignore the fact that you were there half the time.

“I’ll stay here until they sell the house then,” Sehun decided, not looking up at his parents as he cut his slab. He was having a hard time, the meat not giving in. His mother gave you a small overlook before sighing at her son, lips pressed together.

“But there’s nothing to do here anymore.”

Okay, maybe they didn’t like you, you decided, nostrils flaring just slightly but trying to keep your temper in check. Sehun only exhaled, placing his utensils down rather roughly and giving both of his parents a face of steel.

“I’m staying whether you think I should or not. It’s better than me doing nothing in whatever suburb we live in and trailing along behind you to your frigid business lunches anyways.” He wasn’t lending much kindness in his tone, being quite distant with his parents. His father was the one to speak, straightening his back and stretching his cashmere sweater over his white button up.

“Sehun, son,” he started, trying to reason but there was something threatening in his voice, “maybe you should listen to your mother on this.”

You didn’t feel it was your place to say much but there was Sehun, beside you and positively growing with irritation. You wondered how he made it these past years, if he even stayed at home or if he was left alone often. The thought made you frown and slowly, your hand found his over the table. Your fingers laced just slightly, making him put down the fork in his left hand. His temper didn’t deflate but his tone did and that was all you needed as he explained why he was to stay. His parents, with disapproving eyes, didn’t agree but left him alone for the time being. Perhaps in making yourself visible, you’d avoided an argument between the three.

Your mind reeled as your brushed through your hair that night in front of the mirror in your bathroom. You’d taken all your makeup off, realizing you had been wearing more recently and staring at your face made you feel bare. It was as if you’d taken of a mask that didn’t cover you up but brought out more of you and there you were, barren and naked and still, the thought didn’t scare you. Yet, the knocking at your window did cause a little scream to bubble out through your mouth.

You ran from your bathroom to your window, seeing a shadow and sighing. The messily done hair could only be one of two people and, pulling apart the curtains, you were glad to see it was Sehun. He was sitting on the small ledge that you used to climb down from your roof, waiting patiently as you lifted the window for him to climb in. He sure took his sweet time, sluggish and wearing sweatpants despite the heat. His shirt was loose and hung from his shoulders, dipping so you could see his chest as he climbed inside. His hair was fading out.

Rather than moving in and causing a storm, he stood by your window sheepishly. He leaned on your frame and tugged just slightly at the curtains that rested under his legs. His eyes, deep and swirled with darkness, were bearing into yours. You were surprised they didn’t pay any attention to the length of your legs with the shorts you were wearing, or the bareness of your shoulders from your thin shirt. No, they were focused on your face, solemn and trying to hold themselves back from what they wanted to show.

Taking his lip between his teeth, he bit down before slowly asking, “can I sleep here tonight?”

It caused your eyebrows to arch up, unsure what he meant or wanted from it. He didn’t make a move to clarify it and you didn’t know what to say. You weren’t particularly uncomfortable with it, you just didn’t want your brother busting into your room to steal your toothpaste like he always did and then snitching on you. A little tilt of your head was all Sehun needed though and whatever was holding his shoulders up fell from beneath their weight. He curved forward, exhale ripping past his teeth as his hands came to cover his face. He seemed to show years of fatigue, dark circles you hadn’t noticed before peeking out from under his fingers. You didn’t know what to say to help, standing there looking like an idiot looking at him.

You hesitated, taking a moment before murmuring, “lie on my bed and I’ll turn off the lights, okay?”

He nodded, seemingly dragging himself across the floor. Despite his weight, he lay down lightly and watched you pace as you tidied your room, put your face cream on and hurried to the light. He was still curved inwards, the feeling of his eyes small and non judgemental. He seemed to need you more than he meant to in the moment, begging for your attention as you hustled. Then, those dark eyes were lost without the light and, as you bumped into a few things on your way to the bed, only his breathing kept you on course. Even his arms that snaked around your body were an anchor, pulling you onto the soft white sheets and asking if he could keep you there.

All you had to do was run your fingers through his hair, which had never stopped interesting you- never stopped making you fall for him. He rested his head on your stomach, laying diagonally as you lay straight. You placed a small pillow beneath your head to prop it up and waited for him to speak with bated breaths that were lost in the darkness. It took moments for the darkness to distill, allowing what little light there could be from the moon and passive streetlights that appeared ever so often down the road. Still, you could only make out the best of him, his shoulders and the way his ribs rose and fell with breath, the curvature of his chin, his long legs. As you tried to massage love into every touch, he seemed to relax and the moon cast deep blue across his body.

“Sehun,” you whispered, begging yourself to be quiet even though you didn’t want to be, “what happened after I left?”

He raised a shoulder to shrug before curling in closer to you. With a light bite of your lips, you only pressed as much as you could, hoping to get some sort of response.

“Did you guys get into an argument again?”

“They just don’t- they don’t get it,” he huffed, trying to keep himself temperate, “they keep thinking that this is just another business transaction. You know they won’t stop talking about how much the funeral and ambulance costed? They go on and on about it.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, not knowing what else to say. You’d never experienced this loss, this feeling of nothingness. Nothingness was an often occurrence but not this way. You hadn’t had someone ripped from you and this was hard for you to completely understand. Though, you tried. You let him speak and hoped it was enough.

“I kept wondering why they were so cold when I was younger but I think I get it now. They’ve never loved anyone and, on the off chance they do, they don’t talk about it or show it.” Sehun sounded so bitter, like he’d figured out why he couldn’t stand them. You didn’t know what to say, keeping your tongue between your teeth but nothing came out. There was just the steadiness of his breathing and your heartbeat, which matched perfectly.

Slowly, quietly, he muttered, “my parents were never what I wanted to be. My grandparents were everything to me and now they’re gone; I’m alone.”

“Hey,” you managed, finding your voice. His words stirred something within your stomach, pulling your hands to reach out and pull him the slightest bit up. He straightened, turning to look at you with cheeks damp. You hadn’t even noticed the cracking in his voice, nor the small spots on your shirt. All you cared for was the way he looked under the moonlight: so utterly broken and tired. He looked so defeated and it broke whatever heart you had inside of you.

With your thumbs running under his eyes slowly, you shook your head and tried to console him. Little pricks formed in your eyes, though you tried to push it down as you spoke. “You’re not alone, Sehun. You’ve never been. You had your grandparents, you have Chanyeol, you have Dongmin and Soojin, all those university friends you have. They’ve called you and asked to see you. They care. They’re all here for you, okay? You’re not alone.”

“Maybe,” he hummed and you didn’t know what else to say. Though you tried to convince him, he didn’t seem much too intent on believing what you said. You blamed it on how upset he was, knowing he’d come to his senses soon. Not knowing what else to do, you watched the way he moved from lying down to sitting on the end of your bed. He looked perched to leave and you didn’t want him to. Not at all.

Shifting down, you came behind him and reached for his hand, fingers entwining easily. He was as soft as butter and he melted in the way you spoke, giving you a nod the moment you asked if he wanted to stay for the night. He didn’t want to show you he was upset, rubbing under his eyes before clearing his throat and taking to lying down next to you.

After he settled into his spot, arms snaking around your waist again, the room went silent. Yet, you could still hear the gears in his head turning and turning in a never ending cycle. He felt so restless and, when you turned on your side to face him, he had his eyes on you. They were half-closed but intent. He wasn’t thinking much but you and it showed in the way his eyes seemed to adorn you with a sadness you hadn’t been able to recognize in them before. It was something he hadn’t dared to show until that night, where his thumb came to draw a line across your cheekbone and he beckoned you closer with nearly silent words.

“I have you too, right?”

Whatever tears threatened to fall fought harder against their barrier. Allowing a tear by, you nodded and brought your head under his. He wrapped his arms tighter around yours and you figured maybe you could blame that for the constriction in your throat as you held him back and muttered a cracked, “of course you do. Of course.”

His chest, rising and falling in irregular patterns, was the only indication you had that he heard you- that he was comforted. His body seemed to allow you to fit right into him, creating locks when you were a key. You couldn’t feel the water forming on his cheeks, though you supposed he knew you knew. There wasn’t a secret in his heart you didn’t hear and not a secret you didn’t want to hear. It was a moment you only believed existed in movies but then again, it was so imperfect. There was no lighting. There was no stunning leading lady. There wasn’t an easy solution. Yet, there was him and there was you and for each other, it was all you needed.

You looked at Sehun from the passenger seat, with his mouth pressed into a line and his eyes squinted once again under his cap. The sun was high and would’ve convinced you it was later than it was if it wasn’t for Baekhyun’s snoring from the backseat. He was cuddled into a bundle, clinging onto a blanket because Sehun’s air conditioning was too high for him. A hat was placed on his face to hide him from the sun, though his mouth was slightly ajar from how long he’d been asleep. Sehun wasn’t impressed, though he didn’t say a word. He only gave you a small look from the corner of his eye which caused the corners of your lips to crawl slightly up your cheeks. His struggled not to follow and so, he turned his attention back to the road. As you looked out the window, Chanyeol’s face came to your memory.

He rolled down the street a week ago to stay with Sehun for a while before having to be called back for work. He suggested a party, eyes nearly as big as his ears on his small head. He looked goofy but charming, especially when his lips stretched to form a smile. With a black hoodie on and jeans and an infamous black cap on despite it being night time, he’d asked to meet you one last time before he left. You remembered seeing Sehun laughing from your window before coming down, Chanyeol’s hand smacking his shoulder as they giggled like kids.

Ears sticking out of the cap’s rim, the opening of your door alerted both of them who looked genuinely content in each other’s presence. Sehun’s shoulders were fully relaxed which you hadn’t seen in a while and it gave you whatever hop was in your step. So comfortably, his hand came into yours as you said hello to both men, taking a spot beside Sehun. Chanyeol’s hand was perched on the top of the car and he looked so casual, leaning there and looking at you both.

“So you’re coming, right?” He looked at you and Sehun as if you were the only people he could see, smile lazy but constant with little indents in his cheeks. You went to open you mouth before realizing you didn’t know what he meant.

“To what?”

The two men exchanged looks before Sehun exhaled deeply and muttered, “I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Chan’s mouth dipped down to create a wide circle as he shook his head. “How could you?”

Sehun attempted to console his friend, who had dramatically placed his hand over his eyes and turned his head to the sky. “I was just so caught up with you being here-“

“Oh cruel world!” Chanyeol interrupted, hand finding his heart and clutching the material there, “perhaps we should just cancel! Our sweet Sehun, he’s forgotten us all.”

Sehun, chest quivering from laughter, reached out and placed his free hand over Chanyeol’s, professing, “I’ll never forget again, I promise.”

His friend, hardly containing himself, came up with some sort of punishment and you couldn’t help the way you laughed at them. Your voice rang clear through the street and it seemed to give Sehun some sort of joy as he looked back at you and clutched your hand the slightest bit tighter. Chanyeol’s eyes, also on you, felt like a sunset: kind and soft in all the right ways while being impossibly radiant. It was a wonder seeing the two together, Sehun’s hair fading but still true to its colour.

“We’re having a party, y/n,” Sehun explained, tapping Chanyeol’s chest as he continued, “this one’s planning it for me and all my friends when I come back this weekend.”

Chanyeol nodded, looking down the road behind you before coming back to your face, saying, “we would’ve gone down together but I’ve got a work thing.”

Sehun mouthed ‘work thing’ and used halved quotation marks, hardly avoiding a swatting from Chanyeol. The two only found it funny, playing off each other under street lights that barely illuminated them. You couldn’t help but think you could stand to see Sehun smile like this again, so leisurely and happily. He seemed without a care and you were grateful for Chanyeol as he wrapped up the conversation and got into his car. He was adamant on getting to the city before midnight but it wasn’t going to happen. He just wanted to let you and Sehun have your own time alone for a while.

As he sat in the seat, picking at his wheel while Sehun ran inside to get him a water bottle for the road, you leaned on the car. You didn’t know what to say so you didn’t say a word, uncomfortably comfortable looking at the stars in the sky. Chanyeol didn’t seem to mind, keeping silent until he cleared his throat, voice coming low.

“I hope Sehun hasn’t been a burden to you, y/n. He’s very upset and very heavy sometimes and I’m sorry you had to bear him on your back alone, especially through the worst part of it.”

Arms crossed, you blinked and mouthed like a fish before forming the words, “he wasn’t a burden at all.”

Chanyeol’s eyes caught yours through the windshield and he smiled sadly, giving you a little nod. “Then good. He really likes you and I don’t want it to be a mistake.”

“Mistake?” Your eyebrows raised in time, unsure where the conversations was going to take you. With the widening of his eyes coupled with the fast bumbling of his words, you saw he meant no harm. He, just like most people, didn’t think before he spoke. His hands tightened around the wheel out of embarrassment, redness forming on his cheeks in an instant.

“That’s- that’s not what i meant, you’re not a mistake, of course you’re not. I just worry about him. I want him to be happy and he is with you. It hasn’t happened in a while, is all,” he trailed off, taking a bite to his lips as his eyes moved from your face to the road, where it disappeared into a dark distance spotted with lights.

“You’re a very sweet friend, Chanyeol,” you hummed, not knowing what else to say. Your hand rested on his shoulder through the opened window and he looked at you from under his cap with a sheepish smile. He didn’t believe in your words at all but he didn’t reject them and you supposed that was alright for the moment.

Sehun’s hands were filled with other objects Chan left in his house as he came outside and to the other side of the car. He looked at you for a moment through the open window with a bit of a smile, talking all the while to Chanyeol about how he’ll message him before you came as he placed all of Chanyeol’s items on the passenger seat. Chanyeol took to throwing some of them in the backseat haphazardly, exchanging one final joke before saying his goodbyes. Yet, before he left, he looked you straight in the eye and, cheekily, told you to invite Baekhyun as well.

“We haven’t seen him in a while. It’ll be fun, no?” His eyebrow moved up, engine running as he waved and said goodbye to a confused self and a slightly annoyed Sehun. He came over to you and scoffed, shaking his head.

“Baekhyun, huh?” You copied Chanyeol’s face, arms crossed once more with a little smile. Though you didn’t know why he’d want Baekhyun there, you didn’t press. It was better to let him say how they knew each other on his own time, though you walking away and saying goodnight sure hurried along the process. Or, at least, made him tug you into his arms for a slow kiss, nose bumping against yours as he did so. You both had ridiculously small smiles stretched across your lips, leaning to give each other more and more until you heard a slight knocking behind you. You turned your head just in time to see the curtains in your front window shifting and snorted.

Adjusting in your seat to look at Sehun properly, which dealt with loosening your seatbelt and folding your legs awakardly, you stared at his profile. With a small nudge from your foot, you caught his attention and his very quiet ‘what?’

Whispering back, you hummed, “so why did we invite Baekhyun?”

“Because Chanyeol asked,” Sehun responded very simply, shrugging like he didn’t know. You only clicked your tongue and shook your head.

“Not good enough.”

“Guess we’ll never know then,” he crooned, shrugging again with a coy look on his face. You only pouted, poking him once more with your foot before he lightly tapped it to tell you to stop. Your lips pushed out further, legs retracting into your body as you turned away.

Quietly, jokingly, you mused, “so mean.”

You only got a little smile in return, an airy chuckle filtering past his teeth.

The details of the night were quite blurry seeing as you didn’t really seem to look past Sehun. You were slightly on edge with the amount of new people you were meeting, most of them friends of Chanyeol’s and Sehun’s from a competition they entered long ago. They all seemed to be well acquainted and comfortable, arms slinging around each other or calling each other pet names. There was a particularly bubbly man whose smile stretched across his whole face and became brighter than any light. You made a point to talk to him when you were left alone for spare moment and found out his name was Jongdae. He was quite warm and you wondered briefly what colour you would paint him if you could.

Before long, you were ripped away from him but not before deciding he was the colour of a light sky. You only hopped just outside, hand taken in by Chanyeol’s very large one only for a moment. There was a gathering of everyone apparently and, from Chanyeol calling people over his shoulder as he pulled you through his apartment onto his patio, it was important. In the middle of the semicircle balcony, there was a small black tin with a fire coming from it. Sehun was focused on grilling a marshmallow, eyebrows furled together and lip pulled in. You found a little smile on your lips, released by Chanyeol and coming over to place a hand on his back as you stood beside him. He used to flinch when you did that. This time, he did not.

Your eyes didn’t meet, too focused on the low burning light rather than the clamour behind and in front of you as a few people came to grab their own marshmallows or just seats near the fire that Chan had haphazardly set up. Your hand ran a little streak up and down Sehun’s back as you came closer.

“Are you having fun?”

You saw him nod from the corner of your eye, shoulder now bumping against his upper arm. Both of your gazes were fixed on the orange light, the cool heat that rose and created small spires of smoke. Patterns formed in the fire and, if you stared hard enough, you could see your future inside of it. There was orange everywhere, apricot right in the middle where your heart lay. It caused your hand to fall from Sehun’s back and somehow find his fingers, holding on lightly so as to not make him feel obligated. Though, he tightened his grip and leaned his head down slightly to nudge yours.

You shifted slightly to face him only to be met with his lips on your forehead. His other hand had placed the marshmallow stick elsewhere, though you heard a light clatter on the floor. Yet, he came to pull you closer and his arms, slow and strong, wrapped around you. Yours came into place as well, elbows at his waist while your hands came just under his shoulder blades. He held you as if he was protecting you, and he breathed so steadily. Even his heart seemed to calm against your ear, matching with yours in an instant.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the light snapping of the wood burning next to you drowning out all other conversations for the time being. You didn’t say anything back, not having much to say. All you did was press further into him, hands sliding further up and eyes closing tighter.

Somehow it felt as if you’d cocooned each other, slowly and surely shutting down the fires that ran through your veins wildly. You’d shut off all routes and forced the wild horses back into their pens, pushing further and further back until all the remained of the fire was between your hearts. There it thrived blue and then white, bound to stay there no matter how many more roads were formed over time or how weathered its restraints got. This was its place, you both seemed to decide, since it couldn’t hurt anyone. Your body stopped sizzling and started living, chin lifting to look him in the eyes.

His lips pressed against yours to seal the promise, once and then twice and then he just looked at you. He brought his thumbs to your cheeks and gave the smallest smile but you saw it in his eyes- in the way they reflected the golden light so his eyes turned the colour of sweetened coffee.

“I’m happy,” he said so quietly, you would have lost it. For the first time, you didn’t struggle to say it as well and that meant the world to you.

��Me too.”

Somehow, food got passed around. Chanyeol was a fan of hot surfaces, seeing as he still had his makeshift fire going, his stove on inside, and was grilling food outside as well. Baekhyun had taken to managing the food inside, though he wasn’t very good at it. You supposed that was why someone named Yixing followed him. His laugh could be heard from the patio, and you thought it was very beautiful seeing a whole band of friends getting together. You hung around Chanyeol for the time being, seeing as he was alone and Jongdae was very, very preoccupied. Sehun was around as well but you couldn’t find him and mostly didn’t want to get lost in the large den Chan had for himself.

As you leaned on the railing, breathing in the partially fresh air beside the barbecue, Chanyeol spoke. He tried making it nonchalant but you knew it was nothing of the sort. Though, you didn’t particularly mind the concern.

“How are you liking tonight?” He was holding a long metal utensil, twirling it around as he closed the hood to stifle the smoke. You offered him a smile as you turned your head, shrugging lightly.

“It’s nice, I just don’t know anyone,” you decided. You’d much rather be home with Sehun, watching a stupid movie or letting him sleep or taking care of Kihyun and Inguk. You missed them quite a lot these days.

Chanyeol chuckled, “yeah, it’s like that. Sometimes we’re a little unapproachable. Next time, it’ll get better.”

You quirked up an eyebrow at that, turning to fully face him. Your elbows propped themselves up on the railing and you fixed him with a look, confused. “What do you mean?”

“They’re just not used to Sehun bringing girls is all,” he explained, lifting the hood and waving the cloud of smoke so he could turn the pieces of beef and chicken, “he doesn’t do this at all. Doesn’t really date and stuff so, you know. There’s reason to be cautious, I guess.”

“And are you?” The question came from your mouth in a rush, pressing the man by accident. You didn’t want to be disapproved by his best friend and somehow, it meant a lot to you to be accepted by his friends.

Chanyeol only shook his head, closing the hood again and grinning. “No, I’ve seen you two. I think you’ve got us all convinced, especially after that show in front of the fire.”

Your cheeks stung a bit and you forced out a little laugh, dropping your eyes to the floor. Chanyeol didn’t really seem to notice, though he did come to stand beside you and nudged you slightly with his elbow. He was being kind, you decided, liking him more with every passing moment. He seemed to be very good in his heart, where all his friends lay.

“Do me a favour will you?” He focused on the goings on inside, the kitchen and living room walls made of glass facing the patio and pressed his lips together for a moment, thinking. “Keep him smiling like that, will you? It’s a hard thing to ask but I haven’t seen him happy in a while.”

His black hat was still on, covering his forehead but his eyes were too bright to be sheltered. Ears sticking out to stretch his comfortable smile again, he focused on you for a moment, saying, “it’s not just you, I know that logically, but you’re a big part of it. I love him like he’s my family, you know. I just want him to be happy.”

“So do I,” you agreed, somehow signing a contract whose terms you’d written yourself long ago. It was only a matter of time before you’d locked his name to your heart, you decided. Today was as good a day as any.

Chanyeol seemed satisfied, small imprints forming on his cheeks and a hand came to the top of your head. He rubbed just slightly before going back to his barbecue. As he did so, he hummed, “then we’re more than good now too.”

You raised your eyebrows once again with the hood. As he clamped his utensil together once more with a silly grin, he gave you a wink through the smoke and said, “welcome to the family.”

There was a large sound of metal dropping from inside, followed by a cacophony of laughs mixed with complaints. It broke your eye contact with the man in front of you, eyes coming to find Sehun doubled over in laughter. His eyes were crescents, staring at the spilled mess in Chanyeol’s kitchen.

“Those asshats,” Chanyeol huffed, shaking his head. There wasn’t a trace of anger in his face though, here was just a small smile as he turned back to his food. A few of the boys as well as their partners came to help Baekhyun and Yixing while Sehun only placed his hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder and continued laughing. You could’ve sworn you heard him call the boy an idiot but there he went and hugged the shorter man. It gave you a little smile.

“So,” you hummed, taking your eyes from the mess. Minseok, who you believed was the shorter, catlike figure, came up to you three as well, taking your words before you could ask them.

“I can’t believe you invited Baekhyun, Yeol,” he started, a little laugh on his lips. His eyes were bright and his hair was dark and he was very warm, extending his hand to you for a proper handshake as Chanyeol shrugged.

“I’m Minseok by the way, we didn’t get a chance to say hi.”

You shook back, though it was uncomfortable for you as you said your name, though pushed the conversation forward with a small, “I didn’t know you guys even knew each other. I’ve known Baekhyun nearly all my life.”

Minseok raised his eyebrows, lips curled upwards and he looked between you two before saying, “then you have to know about the competition he entered. We were all in it for a month or so.”

You only blinked, not knowing what he was talking about. Chanyeol piped up, also seemingly surprised though he played it off well. His eyes were fixed on the grilling meat, new slabs on now.

“Baekhyun sings, right?” He waited for you to acknowledge that before continuing, the small metallic press of the hood down filling the air as you nodded. “We all entered a singers-dancers competition a long time ago when we were in high school. Sehun’s team won against Baekhyun’s because of the better overall vocals and dance, although Baek’s had some of the best on his team.”

“Are you kidding me?” you said before you could stop yourself, slightly in shock. Chanyeol nodded as Minseok turned to point out the people on the teams.

“It was Baek, Kyungsoo, me, Yixing, and two guys who aren’t here right now that lost,” he explained, showing you the men around who stood and talked. They all had drinks in their hands, seemingly at home with the other team members and their former opposition.

“You guys are still friends though?” The question slipped past your teeth without you realizing it, the whole connection seeming unclear. One month of a high school summer couldn’t be so entirely life changing.

Minseok’s pinky was used to point in the general direction of Sehun, who was running a hand through his hair as he talked to who you thought Kyungsoo was. “It was Sehun who suggested we meet afterwards. Said he really liked us since we lived together for that month. I think he got comfortable enough, especially with Chanyeol.

“If anything, it was them two that kept us together.” His smile was soft, looking inside at the gathering. He seemed just as sweet, though more careful with his words than Chanyeol was. He took is time and paced himself, he was calculated but for once, it didn’t throw you. In fact, it made you quite happy. You were learning as much of Sehun as you could in a good light and you were glad to hear it.

“We didn’t do anything,” Chanyeol hummed, looking at the sizzling heat beside you with a focus, “we just suggested it. You all came.”

Minseok only shrugged, though he mouthed some sort of ‘don’t listen to him’ and gave you a smile. Chanyeol didn’t notice it and, as you counted, you found three people missing. Minseok only mentioned two and you frowned.

“Where are the missing friends?” Your question was innocent enough but it seemed to make the two boys sad. Minseok looked at his shoes for a moment before turning his gaze outwards to the city and Chanyeol looked at his reflection in the black metal.

“They moved back to China after a while because of some family problems,” he offered, though you were sure you shouldn’t press. They were upset about it and you made sure to keep your mind from it. Quickly, you tried to find another topic, picking up the strings of another conversation for the sake of filling the air.

“And what team were you on?” You gave Chanyeol a small look from the side of your eye, catching him shrugging just slightly smugly.

“Winning team, of course.”

Minseok, breaking from his ice, proceeded to make a sly comment about how they cheated, to which Chanyeol feigned his offence and they bickered for a few moments. As they did so, you looked past them and found Sehun chatting with Baekhyun once more. He had laughs bubbling from his chest easily, happily at that and it filled you with some sort of comfort. If there was one sight you’d like to see more of, it would have to be him just like that- happy, smiling, laughing. In that moment, everything was painted gold and filmed in your mind just the same.

—————————————————

Cards were strewn across tables and board games were left unfinished. There were many little bottles that dotted Chanyeol’s living room table and his kitchen counters. The entire house seemed to be in perfect disarray, bothersome to no one and politely quiet. Chan took to leaving the two of you alone to clean, claiming he was going to take a shower and come right back. He’d fallen asleep, face down on his bed with his limbs splayed out by the time you went to check on him. He hadn’t even changed.

Sehun leaned against the door frame behind you, your hand still on the knob of the door. His quiet breath hit the back of your neck as he huffed a laugh, murmuring, “typical.”

With his head, he nodded for you to go and you followed his step, shutting the door quietly behind you. Padding down the small hallway that bled into the living room, you were just in Sehun’s long shadow. You walked in his steps, amused by the attempt until he flicked the light off and shot you a small grin. His lips were kind enough but his eyes were on fire tonight, happy and teasing. As he came to try and press your back to a wall, you proceeded to take tiny little steps to your right in an attempt to evade him.

As you escaped his first forward advance, holding back a little squeal as you ducked under his arm and dashed to somewhere in the living room where it was the darkest, you found a giggle building in your chest. It was so unfiltered and so unforced, taken away by the silence of the household and held in your body like some sort of sweetened candy. You continued to repress your laughter, though your lips stretched over your teeth and hooked around your ears as Sehun continued to chase you around.

He thought he cornered you in the kitchen but you only climbed onto a counter to jump past him and into the small foyer. You danced around your shoes and then around his arms, which nabbed at you and held you fast. A small dart of your tongue onto his skin made him loosen his grip for a moment and you escaped yet again, cackling in silence as he called out for you in bated whispers. You were out of breath when you found yourself in the darkest part of the apartment and then arms came around your front and held you to a body made to shelter you of all noise and sounds. You didn’t fight, leaning into his touch and chuckling.

His lips reached your ears, whispering lightly that he caught you. You hummed just as he pressed those lips to the skin below your ear and traced a small line down your neck. It took all there was in you to be silent, though the tilt of your neck for him to see and have more under his touch was enough for him to know. He kept on his small path, shifting the collar of your shirt down just for a moment to press where he wanted. His hands made their way further across your body, securing you to him until you turned to give into him.

There he was, so close to you. His mouth worked in ways that made you wonder how you ever let him stop, lifting on your toes to get further into him. Sehun made a slight sound from the back of his throat, low and curt but it was enough to get you both to start moving. You needed something, somewhere to sit and be- somewhere where the bare pressure of his chest could be felt against yours. You rushed and hit the tables along the way, kicking cans, laughing and shushing each other to be quiet until you hit the large sofa and tumbled forward onto it. His back hit the leather first, chest a cocoon for you to fall into and steady yourself.

He said your name in what could only be the thickness of lust. It dripped from his tongue like a sweet sugar you let fall in your mouth. You clung onto his shirt and then his shoulders when that was removed. He felt like he was made of marble and cinnamon just the same, a solid powder that moved at your touch, that begged for more. There was the pressure between your legs, the way his jeans tightened against themselves, there was his eyes. God, his eyes. Cinnamon, coffee, chocolate, and apricots. He was them all and he tasted of them on your lips.

Letting go of your inhibitions, you let his name past your lips just at the end, when your breath had escaped you and your mind went blank of all but him, And he was there. He came to press his lips to yours, to have your air shared, to look at you like you were made of the most amazing things in the world. He didn’t say it and neither did you. It wasn’t as if you had to at that point, hearts racing to come down and match each other again. No, there was no need. All you cared for was the smile on his lips as he lay beside you, inching closer and closer so he could see more of you.

Perhaps that was the first time you saw him and what he could do,, looking into his eyes to find the man who’d made you suddenly feel so wonderfully okay.

Sehun was ice, cool and hard but soft to touch. When a smile broke out on his face, he became sunshine. You imagined him as a pale spring morning, a chill just covering the warmth underneath. Once, you tried to paint him or, rather, the way he made you feel. It was impossible to understand, colours flying everywhere but none of them harsh. All of it became a horizon with a rising sun made of snow and strawberries and the smell of apricot. There was kindness at the heart of it, around the edges of his face and the curvature of his eyes. There was passion in his skin and the colours that stained it. There was home.

You made it when he wasn’t doing so well and when you felt him slipping from your familiar hands. You tried to contain him in a little canvas in hopes of him coming back to you. You even kept this painting in your room, far from anything that dared to harm it- far from the eyes of judgement that follow you and the fires of your own soul. You were scared he’d never be himself again. You were scared to consume him like you consumed yourself. Your insides burned when inspired, flames licking at the corpse that lay inside: the very same corpse that would become new when he touched you, when he spoke, when he smiled.

And yet, there he was again. You saw the crystals under his skin. You felt the purity of his breath on your skin. You touched the sunset within him and found that he was still in tact. He was whole. He was happy, and you were there to experience it with every new fact you found out and every new friend. You were there and what a privilege it was to be there.

You’d fallen asleep about an age ago and Sehun had been looking at you all the while. The way your eyelids fluttered like wings waiting to take flight made him wonder what you were dreaming. The colouring of your skin forced his hand across your cheek and down until it rested on your arm. You were lying on your side, mouth open the smallest crack and in this ridiculously shocked way- like a fish out of water. He lied across from you, head on another pillow because he knew how particular you were about people on yours. He watched your chest fall and rise and felt your breath on his collarbone. He watched you sleep like it was a movie he never wanted to end- something he’d never quite catch again. You’d never be this young and somehow he thought he might never be this in love, at least not in the same way.

Your arm was between your bodies, palm facing up and fingers curled just slightly inwards. He played with them, flattening them against the leather just to watch them curl again. He didn’t know how many times he’d done it, a silly little smile on his face, but somehow his hand ended up in your own. It was wrong of him to think so but he knew that you were supposed to feel safe holding his hand; somehow you were holding his and he’d never felt more protected. Under the shell of your fingers, he rested the hand that could’ve swallowed yours and tried to fall asleep again. He couldn’t, but lying there next to you was his favourite part of the whole summer.

The way the sun streamed in over the rolling hills and hit your face in that perfect orange that looked like his fading hair, the curtains that danced across the floor but never touched it when the wind blew, the feeling of your hair against his cheek: it all amounted to one thing. There was such a purity that came from loving you, one so hot it burned white into his soul. He didn’t know where it came from or how or why but it didn’t matter. He would let this flame take him if it meant he could have you.

Sehun wanted to laugh at the way he felt, to brush it off and make it nothing, but he couldn’t. It meant too much to him that he should sit there and see you sleep or hear your heartbeat. It meant too much to him to hear you laugh or watch you smile. It meant too much for him to know he was part of the reason you started feeling better and that he brought you out of your own hell and you did him.

With a quiet inhale, he came closer to you. His thumb found a little spot on your cheek to rub at and his lips came to your forehead and there was nothing to say, if only too much to say. He wondered if you knew how much he adored you from top to toe, in such a manner as he never had anyone before. Though, he supposed that, when you flickered your eyes open and focused to see him, you did.

“Good morning,” you whispered, voice broken and throat dry. Your cheeks bunched up as you smiled, eyes closing and arms coming for a stretch. It took all there was in Sehun not to just tell you then, profess it in all ways known to man and unknown as well. All he did was smile back and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, murmuring ever so quietly:

“Good morning, y/n.”

A/N: Wah hello! I know I haven’t been active as much but here we are with the final piece of palette! I truly hope you enjoyed this part along with the series, it’s been such a pleasure writing it. Eventually, I will upload an epilogue seeing as there are a few scenes left unwritten but for now and for me, this will be it. Thank you so much for reading it and I hope to see all you exo-ls with my next exo fanfic.

[essiefreds]

A Reason to Hurry

Just a one-shot about my favorite Stephen King book, The Long Walk. 

There was buzzing, and blurs, and no sensation beneath his waist, but that was okay. Garraty hadn’t expected there to be anything other than that. Beating your head repeatedly against the hard pavement of a street would do that to you, he had thought, before doing that exact same thing. His entire goal had been to knock himself out, perhaps even kill himself if he was lucky enough, anything to get to wherever that dark figure that had beckoned him had been.

Or… wait. Had he beat his head against the pavement, and then gotten shot, or was it the other way around? Because, he had most definitely been shot, which possibly explained the lack of feeling in his legs. But… that didn’t make sense. Why would they have shot him? He had won the Walk. Right?

Unless he hadn’t. Garraty suddenly had the very insistent urge to fight someone. He had walked down them all. He had. Stebbins had been the last one, and he hadn’t been sure if he would walk down Stebbins, but something inside Stebbins had cracked, had split in half, had created the separation between before the Walk and after the Walk. After the Walk was supposed to be good, supposed to be bliss. Everything he wanted, that was what the Prize promised.

So… what was going on? Because he certainly hadn’t been given anything that he wanted, unless the shot that had been fired at him had actually killed him. Surely, though, wherever he was supposed to have gone after death wasn’t… wherever he was.

Garraty realized then that his eyes were opened. He decided that the first step to figuring out what the hell was going on would be to open them.

He did, and was met by a bright light that made him want to close them again. Instead of doing that, he settled for a middle ground, and squinted instead, trying to get some type of bearing. He thought that he would be greeted by a familiar face, at least, whether it be a living one or a dead one, but neither was there. Instead, when his vision had cleared, he saw he was gazing up at a white ceiling, of a room with white walls.

Hospital, he thought, and then he groaned, weakly, and allowed his eyes to shut again. Dammit. God dammit all!

Why didn’t anything go right, ever?

Why did he change his mind so much?

During the majority of the Walk, he hadn’t realized how much he had wanted to live until it had sunk in that he wouldn’t live unless he walked down everyone. And he had. And once he had, he had immediately wanted to die again, which was the reason he’d signed up for the Walk in the first place. What was wrong with him?

Garraty forced himself to sit up, and groaned again. The feeling that had been missing in his legs before suddenly came rushing back, all at once, and it sent up a dizzying sensation to his head. He tried to put his hands around it, to hold it, but found that one arm was attached to an IV, and the other was wrapped up in a sling. He blinked at the sling for a moment, wondering what had happened to warrant that, and then decided he must have landed on it funny when he’d hit the road or something and broken it.

He licked his lips, which weren’t exactly chapped, but were definitely dry, and glanced around again. He was in a hospital room for sure; he could see the white curtains drawn across the single window in the room, and next to his bed was a small table that held a TV remote and the button that patients could use to call for a nurse.

Ignoring both of these things, Garraty shifted, really wanting to be able to sit up, and wondering if his bed was one of the ones that could lift his toso up by pushing a button. He used the arm that was connected to the IV to feel around, but he didn’t come in contact with anything that felt promising.

He then realized that he really needed to piss.

Gritting his teeth, he used his injured arm to push himself upright. A small hiss emerged from his clenched teeth, but other than that, he resisted from making any other sounds, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He’d had enough of people watching him urinate while he had been walking.

At least he wasn’t paralyzed, like he had thought he had been. He was able to turn his body enough to rest his feet on the floor. He flexed his toes, gazing down at the white bandages that were wrapped around both of them, and realized that walking was going to be just as much of a struggle as it had been before. Oddly enough, a lyric from a Genesis song drifted into his head: I can’t dance, and I can’t talk, the only thing about me is the way that I walk.

Garraty grinned, although he imagined it looked more like a grimace than anything. He probably looked the same as the bank robber who’s about to get shot by the cops.

He tried to put some weight on his feet, which he’d rested on the floor. They ached, sure, but he thought they would be able to hold him up. So, which as much effort as he was willing, Garraty pushed himself to a standing position… and didn’t immediately fall over.

“Nice one.”

He started at the voice, which had sounded like it had come from behind him. He spun around, expecting to see someone there, but it was only the blank wall of the hospital. And moving so quickly had made him dizzy, again, and his feet were shouting, now.

Garraty cursed at them, amiably, and then he shuffled slowly towards the partially opened door that led in the room’s water closet.

He avoided looking in the mirror over the sink until he had finished washing his hands after relieving himself, and when he did, he was surprised by how clean he looked. His face was thinner than it had been, but someone had shaved him while he’d been out, and his hair had been trimmed. There were the light shadows of bags under his eyes, and there was no glimmer in them, not even from the reflection of the bathroom light.

It was then Garraty realized that he should have been a dead man, and he was one, somewhere deep down.

He suddenly had the desperate need to meet that part of himself. He looked around the bathroom for something that he could use, something to speed up the process. In doing so, he ripped the IV out of his arm, but that was fine; he wouldn’t need it, anyway, not where he was going.

His eyes settled on the mirror again, and after a moment, his fist raised to meet it as well. The glass shattered, leaving a broken version of his reflection. Garraty punched it again, and several shards came loose. He grabbed for one, cutting his fingers open in the process, and pressed it against his wrist.

Almost at once, it flew from his hand.

Garraty blinked at the glass shard as it clattered to the ground. He then realized that his hands were shaking, and decided he must have dropped it. He exhaled slowly to steady himself, and grabbed another shard instead, holding onto this one a bit tighter. He moved it towards his wrist, and suddenly, there was another hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand holding the shard, keeping it from cutting open the other.

“No, Ray.”

Garraty blinked, and followed the arm of the hand that had grabbed his wrist to a shoulder, and that shoulder to a neck, and that neck to a head. He dropped the glass shard out of shock, and fell to the floor as he gaped up at McVries, who was gazing down at him with a fire in his eyes.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said, quietly.

“Oh, let him.” Garraty’s head swiveled to the left as Collie Parker pushed himself off of the wall, moving closer to where McVries stood. “Let him get what he deserves, like the rest of us.”

“None of us deserved it, Parker,” said a voice with a slight Southern drawl, reproachfully, and then Baker was glaring at Collie.

“Sure we did,” Abraham sighed, leaning his arm on Collie’s shoulder, gazing down at Garraty with a reproachful expression. “We all signed up for the damn thing, didn’t we? And none of us backed out, even though we could have.”

“Should have,” Olson corrected, approaching them on McVries’s otherside. “I’d definitely take it all back, take a chance to start over.” He looked down at Garraty as well. “I did it wrong, after all. Isn’t that what I yelled before I got my intestines shot out?”

“Something like that,” Pearson agreed, moving up on Baker’s right. “I honestly can’t remember.”

“The point is, Garraty,” Baker said, dryly, glaring at the others, “that you don’t want to kill yourself.”

“You really don’t, pal,” Parker grumbled. “Live, I guess, since you were the one that outlasted the rest of us. I guess that’s what you deserve.”

Garraty couldn’t believe it. They were all standing over him, looking how they had before the Walk had began, all looking raring to rip, to put it in the Major’s words. None of them looked dead, and yet they were talking as if they were.

He remembered that he was supposed to be dead, then, too, and reached for a piece of glass.

“What did I say, dammit?” McVries growled, kicking the one that he made a grab for away from him. “Stop it.”

“I don’t want the Prize,” he whispered, looking between all of them. “I really don’t. I just want it to be over. I’m a dead man.”

“Well, no,” Abraham said. “You’re actually not, since you’re alive.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Garraty insisted. “It… it should be any one of you. It should be… it should be someone else, someone who actually wanted to win the whole time. I -”

“Garraty, shut up for a second, and think,” Olson interrupted. “If you hadn’t wanted to win, you would have sat down like Pete, here, or attacked the soldiers like dumbass Parker over there.” He gestured towards the two of them with his head, and Parker showed him his middle finger in a one-man salute. Olson ignored him, and continued to gaze at Garraty. “You didn’t, and you won, and now you should… well, keep winning, I guess.”

“I don’t want to keep winning,” Garraty said, and his voice broke. He drew his knees to his chest, and placed his forehead against them, gritting his teeth again as his eyes burned. “I didn’t want to win!”

“Lower your voice, asshole,” Pearson hissed, “or some doctor will come busting in here and wonder why you’re crying on the floor. Get over yourself.”

“He’s right, Ray,” Baker said. “You won. You might as well get used to it.”

“You should have won,” Garraty said, feeling desperate. He looked up again, and looked at all of them. “All of you.”

“There’s only one winner in the Long Walk, Garraty,” McVries said, and his offered him that thin smile that had gotten on his nerves so many times during the Walk. “And guess what, baby? You’re him.”

Garraty wiped his eyes quickly on his sleeve, trying to figure out what else there was to say. By the time he’d lowered his arm, however, they were all gone, leaving him alone in the bathroom, amidst the shards of the shattered glass. Garraty blindly grabbed for one, wanting to do anything to bring his friends back.

Instead of a friend appearing this time, it was Stebbins, and he was gazing at Garraty, a glint in his eyes, one that Garraty thought looked dangerous.

“You actually going to do it?” he asked, and Garraty blinked at him, before looking around the bathroom. No one else was there. He turned his eyes back to Stebbins.

“I want Pete,” he said. “I want Pete and Art and Hank and…” He trailed off. Had he really never learned what Abe’s first name had been? What was wrong with him?

Stebbins was smiling at him, but it wasn’t anywhere near the smile that McVries had given him. “Then do it, Garraty,” he offered, gesturing to the shard of glass he was holding. “Do it and you’ll have them.”

“Fuck you,” Garraty said, and he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to himself or to Stebbins. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you…”

As he chanted, he pressed the shard of glass into his wrist, and Stebbins let out that low laugh that he had uttered so many times on the Walk. Garraty lifted a glare to him, but Stebbins was gone.

Garraty turned his gaze down to the shard of glass again, and started to push pressure on it. Before he could actually cut into himself, however, a hand covered his.

“Ray, please.” It was McVries again, but Garraty did not raise his eyes to look at him. “Please don’t do this. You won, you should stay alive. You’re actually one of the only winners who might still be sane enough to actually enjoy his Prize. You have to help Scramm’s wife, remember? Like we all promised?”

“Come back,” Garraty growled. “Come back, and I won’t do it.”

There was a pause, and when McVries spoke again, there was a bit of humor in his voice: “I’m not the one who gives you anything you want, Garraty.”

“McVries.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why…” Garraty trailed off again. There were so many ways for him to finish that sentence.

“Because I was never joking,” was McVries’s reply, even though Garraty hadn’t actually asked a question. “That’s why.” The hand around his squeezed a bit tighter. “Let go of it, and get back into bed, Ray. Please.”

Ray hesitated a moment. He thought that if he didn’t let go of the shard of glass, McVries would be forced to stay with him, and he really didn’t want him to leave. He hadn’t wanted any of them to leave, even Stebbins.

He released a sob, and dropped the shard of glass. All of the air seemed to leave the room as McVries’s presence left as well, and Garraty stayed where he was on the floor, crying like a man who’s lost everything.

And who was to say that in gaining everything, he hadn’t?

“Do you need anything else, Ray?”

He looked up from the book he was reading and at Jan, who was watching him with careful eyes. She was always so careful around him, nowadays, like she was afraid he would break if she even said the wrong thing?

“No thanks,” he said, and he smiled at her to show her that he meant it. “I’m all right.”

She nodded, and then she ducked inside the house, closing the door behind her. Garraty hesitated a moment, and then he sighed and closed the book as well. He ran his hand over the cover. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. Baker had said it was his favorite book. It only seemed right that Garraty read it.

He turned his gaze forward, studying the vast plains before him. He hadn’t wanted a big house, he’d told his mother when they were making the decision on whether or not they would move as part of his Prize, but he had wanted to move. The house that they had lived in had been too small, carried too much badness in it, from his brother’s death to his father’s removal by the Squads. It was just a bad place to be.

They hadn’t left Maine, though, just moved into a bigger town, closer to the border. The house was bigger, too, but not by much, and it had a porch. That was one improvement Garraty had been insistent on. He had wanted a porch, badly, and a rocking chair. He loved his rocking chair.

He hummed to himself, a tune that didn’t match up with any real song, and leaned back in the chair, making it tilt backwards. He picked his feet up, a little, and it moved forward again. He smiled, and closed his eyes. It was the simple things that made him happiest, he’d realized after some time had passed. It wasn’t all the money, it was all the small things that he hadn’t been able to experience before the money.

He had sent plenty to Scramm’s wife, just like he and all the other guys had promised. She hadn’t even written him back, and that was okay. He hadn’t wanted her to write him back, which was why he hadn’t included his name with the gift. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from receiving a tiny photograph of a grinning baby boy in blue coveralls several months later.

Lead lined, too. That had also been a promise, and he’d made good on that one as well. He hadn’t been able to go to any of the funerals, but that was okay, too, because all that mattered was that Baker had gotten his lead lined coffin, so that none of the creepy crawlies would be able to get to him.

Garraty partially wished that all of the guys had had a wish that they had wanted fulfilled, if they bit it. He wished that he could send Parker’s family enough money to help cure an ailing member, or that he could make sure Abraham’s ashes were spread exactly where he had wanted them to be. He wished that Pearson would have the saying that he wanted on his tombstone, pr that Olson’s mother knew that he had walked even past the point where he should have. He wished…

He wished.

He exhaled, and looked down at the book again. His chair rocked again, and he startled, because he hadn’t meant for it too. Looking around, he saw that McVries was there, pushing it for him. McVries grinned, gave him another push, and then moved around to stand in front of him.

“What do you wish for me, Ray?” he asked, and Garraty shrugged.

“Maybe… maybe that you’d get your scar fixed, before you were buried, I don’t know,” he said, and McVries laughed.

“Is it that ugly?” he queried.

Garraty quickly shook his head. “I just figure that… I don’t know, it’s a reminder of a shitty time, so you would like it gone.”

“Can’t get rid of the shitty times, why get rid of the reminder of them?” Garraty shrugged, and McVries smiled at him. “You’re the sweetest, Ray. The world’s lucky to have you.”

“Why do you keep coming around?” he asked, and McVries raised an eyebrow. “I’m serious. Don’t you have anything better to do than torture me?”

“I’m torturing you? Sorry. I can go.”

“No, don’t,” Garraty said, probably a little too quickly, because McVries smirked at him. Garraty grunted, and leaned back in his chair. “What’s it like?”

“Not time for you to know that yet, pal,” McVries replied, settling down on the porch step. After a moment, Garraty stood and joined him there. McVries gestured towards the plains. “Wheat?”

Garraty shook his head. “We don’t grow wheat in Maine,” he said.

“Oh, right,” McVries replied. “I forgot, sorry.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, and then Garraty exhaled a breath. McVries glanced sideways at him. “I thought I’d be happy, eventually,” he said, “but I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

McVries nodded wisely. “Makes sense,” he said. “You did experience ninety nine deaths, some of them the deaths of guys that had become good friends. I don’t think anyone expects you to be happy. Content, for sure, but not happy.”

“Shouldn’t I be happy, though?” Garraty asked, that old desperate feeling creeping back into his chest. “I mean, when you stopped me from killing myself before, all those times, it’s like you knew something that I didn’t.”

McVries smiled, but this time it was sad. “I know a lot of things that you don’t, Ray,” he said.

“But like what, Pete?” Garraty demanded, angry now. “And why can’t I know them?”

“Because you won,” McVries said after a moment. “That’s the one thing you lose when you win; whatever the other ninety learn when they get their ticket.”

“Then what did you know that I didn’t before you got your ticket, all those times you Musketered and saved me?” McVries did not respond, and Garraty huffed, facing forward again. “Fuck you, then.”

“I knew that I was going to get my ticket,” McVries murmured, and Garraty glanced at him. “I knew it, and Baker knew it, and I think all us guys knew it, at least after a certain point.” He met Garraty’s gaze. “I always knew I was going to sit down.”

“You didn’t have to,” Garraty whispered at last, and McVries offered him that thin smile.

“Sure I did,” he replied, standing, “because you were the one who was going to win.”

Garraty stood as well, but did not follow McVries as he stepped off the porch. “Are you going to come back again?” he asked, and McVries looked back at him, a glimmer in his eyes that Garraty would never have again.

“I don’t know,” he said, grinning. “Funny how I know everything except that, huh?” He dipped his head. “Take it easy, Ray.”

With that, he turned and walked away towards the plains, and when Garraty blinked, he was gone.

The door opened behind him, and Jan stuck her head outside. “Who were you talking to?” she asked him.

Garraty shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “No one,” he said. “Is lunch ready?”

Jan nodded, and went back into the house. Garraty followed her, walking slowly, not in any hurry.

[fadefromthelight]

No. 10 - Blood Loss

Summary:  Everly’s dizzy and he needs something not even from this world. Brooklyn doesn’t know what to do.

Read on: Ao3

Everly heaves in deep breaths, his eyes wide and darting. Sweat collects at his brows, sticking the wispy threads of silver hair to his forehead. He leans against the door frame, his knuckles whitening. Brooklyn stands a few paces away, her hands hovering outstretched. “Everly, what’s wrong?”

He shoves a hand into his pocket, pulling out a thin, translucent vial. A deep blue liquid rests inside, charged with an energy that Brooklyn can’t decipher. It tingles across her skin almost like electricity. It was a mirror of the magic Everly wields. “I’ll be fine.” Everly’s voice wavers, and he licks his lips. He opens the vial and drinks from it.

“What is that?” The question tumbles past her lips before she can stop it. She back tracks quickly. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

He caps the vial, shoving it back into his pocket. He draws in a breath, slower this time. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s magic. In a more concentrated form.”

“And you can drink it?” Brooklyn could barely grasp the concept of magic. She only believed Everly after a demonstration of the strange substance. It still confused her to no end.

Every narrows his eyes, brows pressing together in concentration. “Yes, technically. But we don’t go around drinking magic, it can complicate things.” He glances at her, and frowns at her confusion. “Magic exists in everything in Sytaria. The atmosphere, the produce, even me. But…” Everly tapers off, looking away from Brooklyn with an expression she can’t decipher.

“It doesn’t exist on Earth.” She finishes. “That’s why you have to drink it.”

Everly nods. “I want to make sure that I’m not left without magic.”

It’s barely detectable but Brooklyn can taste his magic, bitter and bright against her tongue. A thought slowly crawls through her mind and she doesn’t know what to do with it. It can hurt to ask. “Can I try some?”

“No!” Everly voice cracks with something she can’t identify and he shoves a hand into his pockets. Magic arcs along his skin, the bright blue thin sparks against his clothes. Brooklyn steps back, fear running through her chest. She can’t stop it. He sighs, his voice softer when he continues. “I don’t think it’ll be a good idea.”

Brooklyn accepts the answer, even if it feels like Everly’s hiding something. “Alright.”

Everly pushes away from the wall and grabs the keys from the table. “I’ll be back.”

He leaves before she can respond.

——

The lights in the hallway before her apartment flicker and buzz. She slips the key into her door, unlocking it and stepping inside. She’s greeted with a thick darkness and the heavy sound of coughing. She turns the lights on, stepping into her apartment. “Everly? Vanessa?”

There wasn’t a response for either. She didn’t expect one from Vanessa, she was often working late. But Everly should be here. He told her that he wouldn’t go running off alone anymore. Despite the lack of magic, her world is more dangerous than Everly knows.

The living’s empty, the blankets spilling off and piling onto the floor. The coughing continues and Brooklyn traces it to the bathroom. They start to sound more wet. She knocks on the door. “Everly, are you okay?”

Coughing fills the silence between the two of them but it subsides and Everly’s voice croaks out from the other side. “I’m fine.”

“Can I come in?” Brooklyn doesn’t trust him to be honest. He’s been hiding something for a while and she might finally get some answers. She doesn’t wait for his response before opening the door.

Everly stands leaning against the sink half-dressed, meeting her gaze in the mirror. Large bruises mar the surface of his skin, a deep rich purple color hinting with wisps of red and bright against the pallor. He holds a bloodied towel to his lips, his teeth stained red.

“What’s wrong?” Brooklyn whispers, leaning over and opening the cabinet beneath the sink.

Everly places a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do that. I have it under control.”

Brooklyn pulls out the first aid kit and drops it on the counter. “You call this having it under control?” She gestures to the towel and bruises. “I don’t even know how you’d get something like this.”

From Everly’s gaze, she could tell he does. He tightens his grip on the towel. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” Brooklyn’s hands shake as she opens the kit. Band-Aids and neosporin rest against a sparse amount of gauze. She shuffles around until she finds some bruise ointment. She opens it and holds it out to him.

He sighs and leans further into the counter. “That won’t help.”

“Then what will?” Brooklyn throws it back into the kit. “The CVS is open 24/7. They must—”

“Brooklyn stop.” Everly’s voice is pained and fragile. There’s no echo of the magic it usually possesses. “Nothing from this world will work.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice is small and she doesn't want to accept what she knows she should.

“It’s that—” Everly leans over the counter, digging his fingers into the plaster. He coughs and shudders through him. He sways and Brooklyn grabs onto him, his skin cold and clammy beneath her touch. She guides him against the wall, sitting on the floor beside him.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Her voice trembles. She has no idea if they can even do anything.

Everly shakes his head but blood seeps through his fingers and she can’t just sit there and watch.

“I’ll be right back.” She leans him against the corner of the wall.

“No—” Everly coughs, the words catching between the blood coming up. He turns over and vomits on the floor. It’s just as bloody. “—don’t.”

“They’ll help you.” Brooklyn leaves and grabs her phone from the table. Her hands shake as she dials 911.

It only rings once before it connects. A woman speaks from the other side. “911, what’s your emergency?”

Brooklyn walks back to the bathroom. Everly’s slumped against the wall, his hand limp at his side and his head’s lolling. “My roommate was coughing up blood and now he’s passed out.” Her voice is edging on hysteric. She reaches over and presses her fingers against his throat. His pulse is fast but weak.

“Can you give me you and your roommate’s names?”

“I’m Brooklyn and his name’s Everly.”

“Alright Brooklyn, can you give me your address?”

Brooklyn gives her address. “It’s the third room on the right. We’re in the bathroom. I think the front door is unlocked”

“An ambulance is coming your way. ETA is about ten minutes.” Clicking bubbles up from the receiver. “Are there any visible wounds?”

“No. There are only bruises.” Brooklyn her hand against his throat, feeling his pulse and hearing the ragged sound of his breathing.

“Don’t try to move him until the paramedics arrive.”

“W-Will they come in time?” Brooklyn asks, unable to stop herself. Every minute feels like it’s dragging out.

“They’ll be there. They’re five minutes out.”

Draws in a shaking breath. Everly can hold out for that long. His breathing is labored but it isn’t weak and his pulse still beats against her fingers. “Alright, thank you.” She hangs up the phone.

The next five minutes are both the longest and shortest she’s experienced. The paramedics slam open her door and rush into her apartment. Two of them crouch beside Everly and the other drags her out into the living room. Brooklyn is asked questions that she can’t remember, her gaze trained on the bathroom. The paramedic placed her in such a way that she can’t look in. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse.

The two paramedics pull Everly out on a stretcher and Brooklyn follows them. They carry him down the four flights of stairs, going as quickly as they can. She watches them, feeling detached and disconnected. She can feel the gaze of her neighbor’s on her back but she doesn’t even give them a glance.

She hadn’t realized it, but she had Everly’s coat bunched up in her hands. It had unraveled from the scarf he so often weaves it into. Something settles in the pit of her stomach. That couldn’t be good.

The paramedics load Everly into the ambulance and Brooklyn joins them. Once inside, they start hooking him up to monitors and place an oxygen mask over his face. His breath fogs it, mixing with blood at the occasional cough.

“Pulse is dropping.” One of the paramedics calls out.

“Ready the defibrillator.” Another one responses.

Everything shudders to a shaky stop as she watches the first paramedic apply electrodes to Everly’s chest and hears the heart monitor flatline.

“Clear!” The second paramedic calls out. The other two paramedics step back and the second one turns on the machine.

Everly’s body arcs and all the lights in the ambulance flicker. But the heart monitor resumes beating and Brooklyn can breathe again.

The first paramedic removes the electrodes and wipes off the gel on Everly’s chest. The second paramedic turns to the driver. “ETA?”

“Less than two minutes.” The driver responds, taking a sharp right.

The second paramedic nods and continues to watch the monitors.

They pull into the hospital and roll Everly into a room. Brooklyn waits outside the room, watching the nurses and doctor work from a far.

——

Everly wakes in bits in pieces, everything a murky blur of half formed memories. He’s greeted by a white room, wires and monitors flanking him on both sides. An IV in tucked into his elbow, a bag of blood and a solution he couldn’t identify are connected to it. He resists the urge to remove it. For now.

He shifts, his chest aching. His magic twists inside of him, a hunger that he can’t bay gnawing at his stomach. His gaze settles on Brooklyn sitting curled up in one of the chairs. His jacket is in her lap, bunched up in one of her fists. He pushes himself into a sitting position. “Brooklyn.” He hisses.

She startles awake, almost falling out of the chair. “Everly! You’re awake! I should call—”

“Don’t.” Everly pushes her hand away from the call button. “They’ll only interfere.”

“They want to help you.” Brooklyn glances back at the call button but settles back. “It's more than what you can say about yourself.”

Everly doesn’t dignify a response to that. “You have my clothes, right?”

Brooklyn blinks at him, confusion flooding her expression. “Yes.” She starts, hesitant. “But where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m getting out of here.” Everly gently extracts the IV, letting it drop.

“Don't do that!” Brooklyn stops him from pulling off the electrodes. “Those are helping you.”

“I already told you this.” Everly hits her hands away and pulls off the monitors. It only takes him turning around and shutting them off to silence them. “Nothing here can help me.”

“But you’re doing better here than anywhere else.” Brooklyn hovers over him, biting her lip.

“Not if I can get home.” Everly swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. He’s steady enough. “Now give me my clothes.”

“You’re going back?” Brooklyn’s voice wavers, a strange mix between confused and pained.

“Yes.” When Brooklyn doesn’t move, Everly holds his hand out to her. “I can’t survive here.”

She frowns but hands him the bag with his clothes and drapes his jacket over the bed.

Everly pilfers through the bag and grabs his pants. He pulls them one and removes his gown. He puts on his jacket, buttoning it up to his throat and zipping on his shoes. Brooklyn watches the whole thing with a half-lidded gaze.

He removes the vial from his pocket. It pulses against his magic and everything within him burns. The vial’s only half full, but it’ll have to do. He uncaps it and down the entire thing. It’s bitter and runs sticky down his throat, settling heavy in his stomach. But his magic coaxes to life in his palm.

He summons his book with a flick of his wrist. Brooklyn’s eyes widen and she steps back. “What is that?” She licks her lips. “What are you doing?!”

“I need to remove our influence.” Everly flips through his book, landing on a specific page. Kaiden rests on his shoulder, peering over the pages.

“Y’know, there are easier ways to deal with this.” Kaiden flips the pages to another spell. He taps his fingers on it.

Everly doesn’t respond. He flips back to the page he was on and shoots Kaiden a glare. Kaiden steps away with a shrug of his shoulders and a thin grin. He disappears.

Kaiden’s gotten more irritable since the last time Everly’s seen him.

Everly presses a hand against the book and tears the world apart.

Only to rebuild it the exact way he wants.

[snarkyowl]

Five time - Chase Brody [Fin]

Suicide attempt tw. A Failure’s Plight

[Not super pleased, it’s kinda scattered, but I tried]

Chase didn’t remember much beyond his wedding day. His first wedding day, that is. Past that day, he wonders if he really even does have a past. He’s not a real person, and neither are the people he calls his family. His kids, his ex wife, his ego children. None of them are real, are they? They’re all doomed the moment they’re forgotten by an ever-expanding mass of fans. One day those fans will lose interest, one day Jack will quit youtube. Then what?

The egos die.

The egos fade.

Sometimes he wonders what the point is, then, if that’s the case. Why try so hard like Schneeplestein does, when life is so fickle for an ego. They could be gone in the next week, no trace of them left. Yet they still live life like it matters. Like they’re real people.

They’re not.

He’s hollow as he regards the mirror. His face his pale, circles dark under his eyes. He hasn’t slept properly in god knows how long, and for what? The other egos, of course. The only things that gave his life any kind of meaning. Currently, the source of his agony.

They didn’t do it intentionally, he understood that well. The lack of worry on their part was because of hard work on his. The lack of gratefulness he knew stemmed from his striking in their weakest moments, when their minds were just a bit too boggled to really stop and appreciate what was being done.

Not to say they didn’t thank him because they did, but they never seemed to know the lengths he went to for their sake. Hours and hours of his life spent repairing a mask that could easily just be replaced, hours making the soup just right for the “german doctor,” hours staying awake to make sure the hero didn’t sneak off to fight crime again, hours keeping himself up to make sure the glitch and the creator had a peaceful sleep.

What was he, in all of this? The piece that was important, but only for the fact it kept the others running. He wasn’t important because he did anything. His ex-wife could tell you that much.

Stacy wasn’t unkind. He’d treated her wrongly, he deserved some of what he got. Some of it he felt may have been to much, but at this point he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe he didn’t deserve to see the kids anymore, maybe he deserved to have her leave him with the kids in tow. Chase didn’t deserve much, did he?

A hollow laugh left his mouth as he glared at his mirror self. No, he didn’t deserve anything. His anger built suddenly, and he struck out. The glass shattered under his fist, cutting into his knuckles and spilling scarlet over the sink. He leaned back, cursing softly and looking numbly at his bleeding fist.

He left the bathroom in relative silence, bloodied hand dripping at his side. He slipped into his room to grab his gun, the real one this time, and headed outside. No need to make a mess for them to clean up, that would be mean.

Time becomes a blur as he settles outside, the birds chirping and the sun casting rays through the trees around the backyard. In front of him in the treehouse he built for the kids and Anti, by hand. All alone. The kids never visit anymore, and Anti goes there to avoid him. He wishes he had burned it.

As he presses the gun to his temple, he vaguely hears the sound of someone crying out. Maybe it’s his name, or maybe just a cry of horror and shock.

Either way, they’re a bit late.

He wakes up to steady beeping and a warm hand on his.

It’s bright as he slowly blinks his eyes open, squinting against the lights in the room. He finds he’s been shaded a bit poorly from the worst of it, eyes fluttering as he tries to find the face of the person holding his hand. They leave as someone else comes in, but Chase has fallen under again before he can process who.

Schneeple watches as Chase slips back into unconsciousness, glancing over to Marvin who’s a sniffling mess again. Sighing, the doctor adjusts the iv bag before motioning the magician over for a gentle hug.

“Go tell zhe ozhers he’ll be vaking up regularly soon, okay?” He asks gently, and Marvin nods.

“Y-Yeah. Okay.”

As the magician shuffles out, Schneeple allows himself a moment to crumble. A moment to tear up, shoulders shaking with the effort not to cry. They’d almost lost Chase twice now, and both times he could have stopped it.

He could have.

He should have.

So why didn’t he?

When Chase next comes around, the room is darker but the beeping is still a constant sound filling the room. He finds it a comfort rather than an annoyance, and breathes in time with it. Sort of. Looking around, he finds a mop of green hair resting on the bed beside him. The color of it assures him it’s not his glitching son, nor his creator. No, this is either the magician or the hero. Not the doctor for the lack of a coat or the normal clothes Schneep would wear.

The figure, who is soon revealed to be the hero, snorts and lifts his head. He meets Chase’s eyes, and Chase watches as his widen in surprised horror. Chase is about to speak when the hero stands, chair clattering noisily behind him. Chase grimaces at that, but watches in bewilderment as the hero dashes out.

He comes back in with Schneep, and Chase holds his breath.

“Ve need to talk.”

Chase feels like crying as Sean helps him into the house and to bed. Wants to cry as Sean sits and holds his hand for a little while, neither of them really knowing what to say so they let their actions speak for their words.

Sean calls him dad as he leaves.

Chase is just letting the loneliness set in when Marvin comes in, smiling despite the pain in his eyes.

“Marvin the Magnificent is here to provide you with endless entertainment!” He exclaims, but his voice isn’t loud enough to cause Chase any pain.

He’s planned this, and Chase appreciates that. Marvin stays for god knows how long performing as many tricks as he can for Chase, and by the time Chase murmurs he’s tired there are at least twelve doves in the room.

Marvin looks panicked before he sees Chase smiling softly at one of them as it coos to him, and realizes this mistake might have been the right one to make. (He leaves the door open, just in case).

Chase sleeps a lot that week, but in between Marvin and Jackie provide him with entertainment. Sean comes by one afternoon to give Chase a few options for mental health, and while Chase feels embarrassed he needs that help he’s still relieved Sean cares enough to have gathered so much info. He finds out later that week Sean made a very emotional video begging those watching to get help rather than take their lives. The emotion in the video worries the fans, Sean tries to explain it away as something he’s worried about. It is, and always has been, but now it’s even more of a concern.

Chase hasn’t seen Anti, but as though summoned the glitch appears. He looks upset, expression dark and stormy. He approaches Chase too quickly, like he’s going to lash out. Chase braces for it, draws in a breath he knows he’ll need if-

Arms wrap tightly around him, holding him close, and the glitch breaks down. Chase is caught off guard by it all, and quickly holds him close. Tries to comfort him, but nothing is working. Finally, Anti finds his voice. “You aren’t supposed to leave! Dad’s aren’t supposed to leave!”

Chase winces at that, holds Anti a little closer. “You’re right, they aren’t-” “But families support each other. You kept us all afloat, but we left you adrift.” Anti’s sniffling and still sobbing a bit, but he’s determined to get it all out.

“I’m not mad, Chase, but-” “I’m not leaving again, Anti, I promise.” Chase lets it out suddenly, and Anti blinks at him.

“We aren’t going to give you reason to leave.” Anti states, and while the whole dialog sounds odd Chase feels better.

“Wanna go get your favorite injured dad a milkshake?” “Only if I can have one too.” “Y’know what? Call everyone in and we’ll have a milkshake party. Just the family.”

He wasn’t okay, but maybe- just maybe- he could be.

Even if he wasn’t, he had his family with him.

[gogh-bot-blog]

Everything Else

Originally published in Gravel magazine.

Mozart was crazy. Flat fucking crazy. Batshit, I hear. But his music’s not crazy; it’s balanced, it’s nimble, it’s crystalline clear. There’s harmony, logic. You listen to these, you don’t hear his doubts or his debts or disease. You scan through the score and put fingers on keys and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away… — “Everything Else”, Next to Normal   My favorite confessional poet is Anne Sexton, who committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning at age 45. A book of her poetry, published posthumously, featured her therapist:   I have words for you, Dr. Y., / words for sale. / Words that have been hoarded up, / waiting for the pleasure act of coming out, / hugger-mugger, higgiliy-piggily / onto the stage.   When I was in kindergarten, a boy hit me in the forehead with a toy truck during playtime because I asked to play with him. I sat in the corner and cried. Eventually, the teacher called me over. What’s wrong? she asked me. I don’t have any friends, I replied, sniffling. The teacher called all of the kids to the front of the classroom and asked them to raise their hands if they were my friend. Everybody raised their hands. I don’t know why, but this was probably the moment that I became crazy.   Or maybe I was crazy all along.   She laughed when I told her this story. She said it was incredibly sad and funny. I’m glad she saw how funny it was. Then she asked me, have you ever written about this?

Eunoia is a dated term for mental health. Literally, it means beautiful thinking. However, some of the most beautiful thinking has been done by people with mental illness. Consider the incredible artistic achievements of people like Vincent van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, and Sylvia Plath. And if you look for mental illness in artists, writers, poets, musicians; the list goes on.   We were running about Whole Foods. I say running because she kept forgetting things on her list and going back. We probably circled around the store three or four times, picking up various items along the way. She was in constant motion. Couldn’t stand in one place. Got excited over a jug of coffee. Perhaps she didn’t even notice, but I did: a slight fidget, balancing on one foot at the cash register. We looked at the things she’d ended up buying and laughed. Talking constantly. I am attuned to these kinds of things. She had told me, though, that she felt manic. I wished I felt as manic as she did, but I was not; rather, I was plagued by a familiar moroseness, a heaviness.   Asked about JS, I mused well, I think you’d win a fight with her.   A few months after the breakup with JS, I fucked a fashion designer from the city. He was kind of cute, dyed hair and a stutter. He slept in my bed with his arm around my waist. I slept uneasily. In my dream, I saw JS. It was the first time in a while I’d seen her face in my dreams. I don’t remember what she said, but I woke up all at once warm and shivering, cold sweat dripping down my forehead. I snuck out from the boy’s grasp and went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking into the mirror, I thought how strange it was. I started to cry. He gave me his shirt afterwards.   I don’t usually see people’s faces in my dreams. I rarely ever learn a person’s face. This is a condition known as congenital prosopagnosia. In fact, I only come to individualize the faces of people I’m in love with. When I told her this, she said it was very romantic. I did not tell her that I had come to know her face.   There is a thing known as a flow state: when words come out of your brain like blood seeping from a tapped vein, an insatiable passion for the task at hand. Manics often get into flow states. The world is poetry, you breathe it like air. Maybe this is part of why we are so successful in art. Love is also like a flow state.   She’s a doctoral student in the psychology department. But she told me that she used to write as if seized by a certain fervor for it, for the language, for poetry. I imagined Van Gogh and his passion for painting, his insatiable hunger. I thought I wanted to kiss those lips stained with yellow paint. Yellow, the color of the edges of a street, the boundaries of a self crossed like two neurons, the actualization of a synesthetic dream. To imbibe it is to take all of that in, the passion, life thrust under your tongue. I wanted that.   When I was a child, I sat by myself at recess. The teachers saw that I was always alone; they gave me chalk to draw on the sidewalk. My hands dusted with pastel yellow, I would watch the other kids play. It’s not easy for me to admit, but I hated them. I truly hated them. My heart was so full of hate that I couldn’t bear to watch them anymore, and I would go to the bathroom and cry. I’ve never been a good person.   Sadness is part of the human condition, said one of my writing professors, a woman who seemed perpetually rather flummoxed by the world. Without it, you’d be a monster. I wanted to ask, with sadness, am I not a monster?   For me it was different. I, too, was seized by passions; but they occurred for me in successions, a pattern sometimes disapprovingly called serial monogamy. I was like that with my writing, too. But when I was engrossed in the page, or lost in her eyes, everything but the space between my canvas and I disappeared. Everything else goes away.   I wrote constantly when I was in love with JS. Everything I felt was transferred to the page. She was my muse; she was the gasoline to the fire behind my eyes.   Kay Redfield Jamison wrote an entire book about the connections between mental illness, particularly bipolar disorder, and artistic talent. It’s called Touched with Fire.   My heart has holes in it. They’ve been there for a long time; before JS, I’m sure. But maybe I could have ignored them before that. Not anymore. I wanted to patch them up, fill them with cement, or gorilla glue the pieces back together and pretend that it was the same as it was before. A clean canvas, a blank page, a fresh start. But it’s never been the same. I’ve always been different from other people. Maybe that is why I write. To escape the sadness of being alone. The desolation, the emptiness, the misery of a life condemned to this certain loneliness.   Sometimes I try to fill the holes with other people’s loneliness. It never works. I knew right away that she wouldn’t be a suitable shape to fit there, like a square peg in the round hole of what I really needed. I was filled with this dread of knowing. But when I looked at her I would forget.   Everything else goes away.   I was ten years old when I first decided I was going to kill myself. I wanted to slice off my arm with an old circular saw, patched with rust, and die in a pool of blood on the hard cement floor of my garage. I daydreamed about it, wondered endlessly what it would be like to die there, cold and alone and smeared with bright red, a baptism in blood.   It was Anne Sexton’s therapist, Dr. Martin Orne, who encouraged her to write poetry. Perhaps he thought that poetry would be a form of healing, a way to expel her demons through the pen, exorcism in the act of creation. Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard, she said. I am a collection of dismantled almosts, she said. Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.   But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.   Lithium is like an emotional straightjacket, or at least like wearing a shirt that’s too tight. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel the way you felt before, not manic or depressed or happy or sad or anything. You wonder if you can even write. I didn’t write for months after I started taking it.   She told me she feels sadness only fleetingly. We’re opposites, I guess; two sides of the same coin. I live in a state of melancholy permeated briefly by manic interludes. But I wonder if mania is really like happiness. Or is it like a saccharine substitute for happiness, itself almost a deeper form of sadness?   I remember hanging upside-down on one of the hospital couches and pacing up and down the long hallway, smiling cheerfully at anybody I passed along the way. The doctor informed me point-blank that I was manic. I’m happy, I said. There’s nothing to be happy about, she told me.   Although the official diagnostic term was changed to bipolar disorder in the DSM-IV, maybe this is why some people identify more with the older term manic depression. Vincent Van Gogh’s stay at the little yellow house in Arles, France, from February 1888 until he was committed at the St. Remy asylum in 1889, was arguably the most prolific period of his entire career as a painter. He believed that the growing disruption of his inner chaos stirred within him this compulsive creativity: The more I am spent, ill, a broken pitcher, by so much more I am an artist... a kind of melancholy remains within us when we think that one could have created life at less cost than creating art. His time in Arles culminated in an episode wherein he cut off a portion of his left ear and attempted to give it as a gift to a prostitute, requesting she keep this object like a treasure.   Perhaps, in the end, this is the ultimate display of love: to give a piece of oneself to the other. To be something more than a memory, something tangible, something real. It’s a distinctly human error, this drive to be treasured.   I was sitting across my kitchen table from her. She was wearing my pajama pants and my sweatshirt, an oversized blue one that falls in folds around her thin wrists. I thought it looked better on her than it did on me. She had a look of deep consternation as she studied. I was quiet. I was watching her mannerisms, an absent-minded gesture of her fingers as she stared into the screen. The harshly azureous light of her laptop illuminated a sharpness in her almost perfectly symmetrical face, a ubiquitously beautiful face.   Perhaps it is not simply that the artistic temperament comes in tandem with emotional pitfalls, but that inner turmoil fuels the creation of art. If Van Gogh had not been crazy, would he have painted at all? Perhaps, like his brother Theo, he would have settled to be an art dealer, and never dirtied his hands with the business of creation.   Do you ever feel like I do, that you know a lot of people, but you’re still very lonely? But sometimes, maybe just when the stars align quite right, I meet someone that sees me. That looks at me like I’m not invisible.   She came up to me in the courtyard one day, a small green space in between the psychology buildings that’s mostly overgrown with ivy and shrubs. I was pacing back and forth, taking long drags and blowing smoke into the October sky. She asked me to bum a cigarette and smiled and said, I’ve seen you out here. You have a very thoughtful walk.   You always say the right thing, Elliot. You toss out aphorisms like you’re handing out daisies, she said. (Aphorism: either a pithy observation that contains a general truth; or, a concise statement of a scientific principle.)   And you know it’s just a sonata away. And you play, and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away. Everything else goes away...   She says she finds solace in her loneliness. I wonder if I could ever come to view things the same way. I’ve been alone for a long time, since my childhood. It wasn’t a tragic childhood. But it was solitary. For my whole life, I’ve wanted to find whatever it is that breaks down this invisible wall that divides us, that brings the fragments of people together into one, into a mosaic of shared humanity that I’ve never quite fit into.   I feel like I can tell you anything, she said. You’re very understanding. I feel like you understand me. I smiled sadly.   Is talking easily about something the same thing as healing a wound? About her family, about foster care, about the scar on her thigh? She gave a small laugh, like it wasn’t really a big deal. It’s not my place to say something like are you really okay? No. I couldn’t heal her. She couldn’t heal me. I just wanted to listen, to understand you in the way I have never been understood. That’s why I write.   Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,   I thought to call JS. It rang only twice; I knew she’d blocked my number months ago. I wanted to say, but I was always there for you. I wanted to say, but I loved you. I wanted to say, but I need you, I need you, I need you. Please. Two rings. Silence. leaving the page of the book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the love, whatever it was, an infection.   She told me about enneagrams, a theoretical model of personality. She told me that I was a type four, the individualist, which she qualified as the suffering artist: expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, temperamental. In love chiefly with my sadness. I wanted to say, and you are not?   I’ve changed, she says.   But why are you still here?   We read Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. Her voice grew incredibly impassioned as she read aloud: I say something about how clinical psychology forces everything we love into the pathological or the delusional or the biologically explicable, that if what I was feeling wasn’t love then I am forced to admit that I don’t know what love is, or, more simply, that I loved a bad man.   Sometimes I would wait in the spot where JS and I would always meet together before class, as if she’d appear there again if I waited long enough. She never did. I found myself there, cold, alone, staring at the sky in its seemingly infinite vastness. Eventually I stopped waiting.   I want to write again, she told me one day, sitting outside the front of her house, smoking a cigarette. The smoke drifted into the gray sky and faded like the unintelligible, inexplicable fragments of a dream upon waking. You should, I said. It was the best healing I knew of.