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stubbychaos · 5 years ago

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Mind Over Matter

Part 1

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A particularly rough day at the infirmary leaves you exhausted and dead on your feet, but a familiar blue Mandalorian decides to make it a habit to walk you home--a habit that you think you can get used to.

Rated: M for darker themes. Please read with caution if you have any past experiences with abusive relationships or grew up in a toxic environment.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: Descriptions of abuse, injuries and broken bones, though I tried to keep it pretty non-detailed. Extremely brief mention of drug use. Other than that, this is mostly heavy angst/hurt/comfort, with a dash of tooth-rotting fluff and tenderness.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

You see the blue Mandalorian four weeks and five days after your initial meeting.

Not that you’re counting or anything.

The heavy-infantry warrior is waiting for you after a particularly rough day where you don’t leave the infirmary until almost three in the morning, though he seems unfazed by being awake at such an ungodly hour, lazily leaning against the side of the building with thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Your wild mane must be an absolute mess after a sixteen hour shift, long locks fighting against the elegant braids you styled your hair into over half a day ago and your vision is borderline blurry as you almost walk past the Mandalorian without noticing him.

You’re not even aware of the way his visor slowly follows you as you tiredly stumble out of the infirmary, hellbent on getting home in one piece so you can get a couple hours of sleep before your next grueling shift.

You’re only a few steps past the massive warrior when he clears his throat loudly and you finally register his presence as you slowly turn around on your heels with narrowed eyes. You’re blinking owlishly at him to confirm he’s actually there and not some figment of your wild imagination, or some fatigue-induced hallucination, and you perk up a little when you realize that he’s really there. The vivid moonlight seems to emphasize the lighter blue in the hollows of his steel cheeks and you think his armor looks far more polished and less dingy than the last time you had seen him.

“You uh, hey--you--”

‘Way to speak so eloquently,’ You chastise yourself, realizing you’re making a fool of yourself when he cocks his helmet to the side as he seems to notice how fatigued and incoherent you are. Perhaps a cock of the helmet is the equivalent of a raised brow and you think he must be amused by your delirious state, though he doesn’t point it out and allows you to be a bit of a mess without making you feel bad about it.

“Saviin’ika,” He greets you with a polite nod, hands falling limply to his sides as he slowly approaches you, seeming completely docile and passive while he observes you through the guise of his shiny visor.

“Mandalorian,” You mumble blearily through a mighty yawn and you hear him sigh a little when you rub your burning eyes, though you remain as diligent as ever and force yourself to focus on any new wounds he might have obtained, “You’re not injured again, are you? I can go get my supplies if you need stitches again? I might even have some bacta pa--”

“No, saviin’ika, I’m not hurt,” He chuckles and you notice the way his visor seems to scan your face closely, making you feel self-conscious of the deep bruise on your flushed cheek and your sore bottom lip that is split in the middle and currently healing, “Had some business to take care of in the village. Thought I would check up on you.”

“Ch-Check up? On me?” You raise your brows at him and tiredly rub your eyes, suppressing another yawn before speaking, “At three in the morning?”

“It is only safe for me to come out when it’s dark and there are less people wandering these streets at this time,” He informs you, offering you his elbow, just as he had a month ago after your initial meeting, and you take it this time without any hesitation, “Because of the Empire, our kind are now nearly extinct and we have been forced into hiding; because I am the strongest in the tribe, I am usually the one chosen to go on hunts or provide supplies. When I come out of the enclave, it is solely to provide for my people and protect them.”

“And walk me home?” You add inquisitively, wincing when your little smile tugs at your sore bottom lip, “Which you really don’t have to do by the way. I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to have to feel obligated to check up on me. I know you may not think so, but I’m tougher than I look.”

“I never believed you to be weak, saviin’ika, and I do not feel obligated to do anything,” The huge warrior observes closely as you struggle to keep your heavy eyelids open and you think they must weigh as much as his armor; you wonder if the metal ever weighs down his body after an exhausting day and you can’t even begin to imagine how heavy that cannon must feel on his back, “I heard talk earlier of raiders wreaking havoc on shop owners and villagers. Wanted to make sure they didn’t steal shit from the infirmary again; you were already low enough on supplies as it was.”

You shudder when you think of the robbery from a couple months ago and you hate the feeling of helplessness that washes over you when you remember how overpowered you had been at the time.

Of course you still had the vibroblade that the Mandalorian had let you borrow, but you weren't exactly skilled when it came to wielding any kind of weapon and the raiders probably would have laughed at any feeble attempt to protect yourself. Still, it didn't stop you from carrying the weapon inside of the pouch you normally kept your credits in and you hoped that if the situation ever called for it, you wouldn’t hesitate to use the beautifully crafted weapon.

“You...” Your cheeks are burning at the way his tone softens a little when he confesses his worry, “You were thinking about me? About the infirmary? But you’re...”

“I’m what?” He huffs, stepping a little closer and towering over you in a way that you think is supposed to be intimidating, though you have to force your giggles away as he tilts his helmet downwards to regard you properly. For some reason, you find it difficult to find him imposing when he had once offered to let you stab him if you had simply felt threatened by his presence. You think that any hopes the Mandalorian had of intimidating you flew out the window the moment he surrendered and gave you one of his weapons, something so incredibly rare for the fearless warriors.

“Grouchy? Stubborn? Kinda cold and rough around the edges?” Your answers come out as more of a rapid fire of questions and when he cocks his helmet further, you quirk a brow up at him in a challenging way, “Besides, you were the one that said after you walked me home, I would never have to see you again.”

"Were you hoping for that?"

"No," You reply earnestly, still gazing up at him with a fond expression, "I'm glad you're here. Especially since I just got off from a sixteen hour shift and can’t even see straight," His helmet jolts to the side a little to get a better look at your face and you know he sees your newest injuries, along with the glossiness that shines in your unfocused eyes. His modulator picks up a strange noise that seems to get caught in his throat and you wonder what must be going through his head as he closely observes you, his helmet dropping a little bit.

You knowingly smile.

“You do care, don’t you?”

He huffs a little as you latch onto his elbow with both of your hands instead of just one and you’re surprised that he seems to miraculously remember the way back to your shoddy hut, easily guiding you through the bleak village where very few linger in the deserted streets. You’re grateful for the way his body is built like a brick wall, easily supporting your weight whenever you sway or sag from exhaustion. The blue warrior doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest by your vulnerable state, remaining diligent and cautious as he gently tugs you past a shady looking group of five or six men that barely spare you a glance, most of them glaring at the heavy-infantry warrior with disdain.

After working fifteen hour days--sometimes longer--every single day for the last three weeks, you find that your grueling job is catching up to you and you wonder if he had somehow sensed your extreme fatigue from wherever he had been working, though you don’t entertain the silly thought.

He had informed you that his main priority upon leaving the enclave had been to provide for his tribe; you had been nothing more than a lingering thought scratching at the back of his mind. Either way, you’re grateful that he had waited for your shift to end, knowing that tonight was probably the most you had ever been exhausted in your life. You can’t even see clearly or think about anything other than your uncomfortable bed and you’re certain that you’re in no condition to be walking home alone at such a dark hour where only the cruel emerged from their hiding places to prey on the innocent.

“I wanted to make sure those lowlife criminals didn’t steal medical supplies,” He insistently repeats, though something about the terseness laced in his deep, softer baritone makes you think he’s lying, “Besides, you don’t make for bad company, saviin’ika. Probably the only one I’ve met in this village that I don’t want to kill.”

The way he rushes through the last sentence has you grinning tiredly up at him, his visor barely glancing at your soft features before taking in your surroundings and scanning for any threats that linger in the sparsely populated village “So you were thinking about me, Mandalorian.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, little nurse,” He scoffs and you try to imagine the huge man underneath all the metal blushing or sweating from nerves, though you highly doubt there’s much that gets under his armor, let alone his skin, “Like I said, I already had business to take care of and happened to be in the area. Wanted to make sure you haven’t gotten yourself killed or accidentally stabbed yourself with my vibroblade.”

You roll your eyes, “If I recall correctly, you were the one that got stabbed, not once, but twice, in the same day. Besides, even if I was a fool that managed to stab herself, at least I have the mental capacity to fix my own wounds.”

He shakes his helm at the sass that suddenly fills your quiet voice, “For someone your size, you’re a ballsy little thing.”

“Only around people I know won’t hurt me over it,” You murmur, brows furrowing a little when you process his words a little more thoroughly, wondering if you’re starting to cross the line with him, “You did not strike me as the kind of man who would mind it.”

“I don’t,” He confirms your suspicions and squashes your worries, then for good measure, adds in another sentiment, “I am glad you do not fear me anymore, saviin’ika.”

You wince as a smile pulls at your split bottom lip, though you find it’s well worth the pain, “Me too, Mandalorian.”

He grunts and you wonder if all Mandalorians are bad at expressing their emotions with words, though you don’t think you mind as he urges you a little closer against his side when a cold breeze has you shivering. Perhaps he prefers speaking through little gestures and you think you prefer that over useless words and promises that can easily be broken.

You decide to stop teasing him then, not wanting him to grow uncomfortable around you and despite your better judgment, you can’t stop yourself from pressing your cheek tiredly against the small pad of dark brown leather that peeks out from underneath his pauldron. The cold sensation from the leather and metal feels good against your bruised cheek and you hope he doesn’t push you away, though you suspect he would have done so already if he was uncomfortable by your close proximity. Perhaps he senses that you need some sort of close contact with another human being where it won’t leave you feeling broken and absolutely terrified and for whatever reason, he’s willing to entertain your pathetic request.

You wonder if he enjoys the intimacy of someone who isn’t covered from head to toe in thick armor, if he ever craves skin on skin contact after spending an entire life surrounded by cold metal. Briefly, you remember the way he had tensed and how his chest had heaved a little the first time you touched his hot skin when you had been stitching up his stab wound and rubbing that bacta salve into bruised skin; you wonder how long it had been since he felt someone else’s skin against his own.

Does he ever crave it? The warmth of another human being? Does he ever long for a tender embrace after an unbearably long day of carrying the weight of heavy blue armor and massive weapons?

You aren’t even covered in metal, yet you often find yourself craving such intimate touches whenever you find yourself falling asleep at the end of the day, all alone and cold without the comfort of another. It isn’t necessarily something sexual that you yearn for, but something deeper where you can bare your soul and scars to another human without fearing their judgment. You aren’t sure if it’s love or companionship you wish for--perhaps it’s both--and you wonder if you would ever find someone who would accept you for everything you are and all of the hardships that came with loving someone like yourself.

“Keep your eyes open, saviin’ika.”

His deep baritone jolts you awake and you didn’t even realize you had stopped walking, your eyes closing as you sag against him and Maker… how long had it been since you slept more than one or two hours a night? Your eyes feel drier than the Tatooine deserts and your feet ache from all the blisters that had formed on your soles and the back of your heels after walking in ill-fitting boots nonstop for weeks.

Your back and neck both throb in pain from the position you constantly have to sit in whenever you’re patching up a patient or filing paperwork and your fingers feel horrifically stiff as they curl tightly into the blue Mandalorian’s elbow. There’s a horrible pin and needles sensation prickling painfully in each of your shoulder blades and you think you must have pinched nerves there--just another check mark on your seemingly never-ending list of afflictions.

You try to ground yourself before responding to your unlikely companion, willing yourself to not slur your words as you quietly speak up and ignore the fog that clouds your mind and makes it hard to think straight.

“S-Sorry,” You murmur even though his tone hadn’t been admonishing in the slightest, but more concerned than anything, “Just a little tired.”

“A little?” He scoffs again and for a moment, you fear he’s going to inform you that you are a fool for not taking care of yourself properly, “You look like you haven’t slept more than a few hours since the last time I saw you and… you look thinner--almost malnourished. Have you not been eating? Your body needs nourishment, saviin’ika.”

“I--” Your cheeks flush when he turns his helmet down to look at you and you sheepishly avoid the expressionless gaze of his shiny visor, “Credits have been a little sparse lately but uh, I’m fine, really! I’ll have a ration bar or something when I get home.”

You’ve always been a terrible liar and you’re certain he easily detects the slightly higher pitch of your tone and the way you gnaw on your bottom lip as you avoid his intense gaze. His visor is still pointed at the way your cheek is pressed half against his dull blue pauldron and half against the leather padding that pokes out from the metal and you wonder what he must think of you clinging so desperately to his arm, though you barely know him. Despite his huge, intimidating stature and his reputation as a fearless Mandalorian, you think that there must be something so soft and warm that lingers somewhere deep inside of him--far beneath the cracks of his metal armor--that he doesn’t get to display often.

Perhaps he’s just like you, having grown so accustomed and desensitized towards the cruelty and violence of others that he’s willing to take any soft touch and sweet, intimate moment that the Maker will allow him to have. It’s a peculiar thought--that you could have possibly anything in common with the massive warrior--but as he supports the majority of your weight against his side, you feel like you’ve never related to anyone more than the blue Mandalorian, despite your stark differences.

“I could…” He lets out a strange sound that sounds distorted and garbled as it gets stuck in his modulator; it sounds like a groan of frustration, though you think it’s directed more towards himself, rather than you, “I can carry you the rest of the way home, that way you can get some rest. You look like you’ve been on your feet all day.”

The sweet offer knocks the breath out of your lungs and while you’re utterly touched by his kindness, it also fills you with guilt that he would feel the need to go out of his way just to give you a tiny amount of reprieve, “Y-You really don’t have to do that. I just--I can walk--I’ll try to be faster, I-I promise! Besides, I’m sure you already have enough weight to carry around, what with all that armor and your weapons; I wouldn’t want to weigh you down anymore.”

“I’m used to the armor and weapons,” He insists, visor pointed at your pale face as he drops his tone into something gentler, though the deepness of it warms your cold cheeks, “You haven’t been eating or sleeping and you can barely stand up. Just… let me carry you home, saviin’ika. I don’t mind.”

“But--”

Before you can weakly argue with him, he easily slips his elbow out of the gentle grip of your hands and he’s bending down at the waist to slide a thick arm underneath the backs of your bare knees, efficiently knocking you backwards into the safety of his other arm. A graceless squeak escapes your mouth and your arms scramble to find purchase around his shoulders and neck as he effortlessly scoops you up into his arms, suspending you high above the ground and you think this is the most awake you’ve felt in the last month as you peer down at the rocky terrain beneath his big boots. Your stiff fingers painfully curl against the cloth that’s bunched up at his nape as he hikes you up a little higher up his chest so you can comfortably rest your head between his pauldron and the lip of his helmet.

“A-Are you sure about this? I don’t want to tire you out and--”

He huffs out an amused noise and you think you feel his chest rumbling a little, though it’s hard to tell with his cuirass in the way, “Do you think I would be doing this if I wasn’t sure? You don’t weigh anymore than my armor or weapons, little nurse.”

“‘M not little,” You mumble tiredly, giving in and nestling your face into a more comfortable position against his neck so his armor isn’t digging into the black and blue skin that’s covering nearly half of your face; your eyes grow unbearably heavy when you inhale his clean, spicy scent, “You’re just a big brute.”

He barks out a laugh then, making you pout a little against his neck, though you decide quickly that you like the unfamiliar warmth of his laughter, “You're not little? Sure, saviin'ika, and the sky isn't blue, water isn't wet, I'm not a Mandalorian, you're not a--"

"Okay, okay," You huff, trying your hardest to sound annoyed, though his sarcasm has you smiling against the soft material of his tunic, "Hush, Mandalorian, I am trying to get the rest you were so hellbent on me having in the first place.”

“Fine,” He grunts and you think he’s done antagonizing you for the rest of the small journey, but then he speaks your name softly and you think it’s the first time he’s ever used your real name, rather than some sort of nickname, “One more question and I’ll leave you alone.”

You make an inquisitive humming noise, barely paying attention, though his following question has your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick and nauseous.

“The bruise on your cheek and your lip… was that him? Your father?”

You’re actually kind of surprised it’s taken this long for the Mandalorian to say something, especially with how quickly he had called your father out on his deplorable actions during your initial meeting. For a moment, you contemplate just closing your eyes and pretending like you’ve already fallen asleep, but something tells you that the warrior is far smarter than most would think and you know he would be able to easily detect your facade.

You remain silent for a few seconds, thinking of the circumstances surrounding your painful punishment and you remember how you had initially told the Mandalorian that the bruises inflicted on you were for your own benefit, so you could be better. You think of how angry your father had grown at you two nights ago for no rational reason other than coming home high off of spice and already in a bad mood after a long day of work. Your eyes fill with tears and your chest heaves when you remember the weight of his palm colliding with your cheek and how hard you had hit the ground from the heavy blow; it had completely thrown off your equilibrium and the only reason you had stood up right away was because you had been forcefully yanked up by your bicep.

You remember forcing yourself not to scream later that night as you forced your aching shoulder back into its socket, not wanting him to wake up after he’d finally pass out.

“Saviin’ika…”

His voice is a low growl, but you swear you hear a soft twinge from somewhere beneath his helmet and something about it has tears burning your dry eyes.

Perhaps it’s just your imagination or wishful thinking.

“Does it matter, Mandalorian? It’s done and over with.”

“You say that, yet you know it’s only going to get worse,” He mutters and you feel the way his leather-clad fingers curl lightly against the inside of your knee, as if he’s trying to ground himself, “It may just be bruises and split lips now, but how long before it turns into broken bones and concussions? What will you do then?”

“Same as always,” You whisper, eyelids growing impossibly heavy as your body finally starts to give into exhaustion; you decide not to tell him you’ve suffered plenty of broken bones in the past and you’re more than capable of patching yourself up after a particularly painful punishment, “Survive… it’s the only thing I know how to do, next to helping others.”

“It is not what you deserve though,” He insists just as quietly and you think you hear the natural baritone of his voice from where your ear is pressed just underneath the lip of his helmet, “You would let him break your spirit so easily? Let him hurt you so badly without putting up a fight?”

“I think my spirit was broken long ago, Mandalorian.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever confessed such a thing and it leaves you feeling exposed like a livewire, terrified of anyone getting too close because you don’t want anyone to suffer because of your own trauma and emotional baggage. Something tells you that the blue warrior is all too aware of the atrocities that one can experience in a lifetime and you think it wouldn’t weigh down on him if you explained to him everything you’ve been through and everything you fear. You would like to think he would remain unwaveringly sympathetic and kind if you recounted the horrible torture your father had put you through since your mother’s death, but a tiny part of you fears that the powerful warrior would believe you to be weak--at least weaker than he already sees you as.

“I think you are wrong,” He argues quietly, sounding as calm and soothing as ever, “I don’t think you are broken, saviin’ika. Maybe a little lost and confused, but not broken.”

A tear trickles from your eye and you pray to the Maker that he doesn’t feel it soak through his thick cowl, though you know better and the Mandalorian is far more perceptive than most give him credit for, “Do you remember when you were walking me home the first time and you said I should fight for a better life? Do you truly believe there is any way I could possibly feel happy and safe on a planet like this, Mandalorian?” Your voice cracks a little and you tighten your arms around his muscular shoulders, thinking that even though you’ve only met this dark blue warrior twice, he’s been the only good thing to happen to you since long before your mother’s death, “I have come to terms with my fate long ago and I no longer feel sorrow or pity for myself, nor do I want you to feel it for me.”

“It is not pity.”

He’s repeating the same words you had spoken to him when you gave him that jar of salve, knowing he had nothing to give you in return and you nearly sob into the crook of his neck at the realization that he seems to remember everything from your initial run-in with him.

Most people forgot about you as soon as they left the infirmary.

“Then what is it?”

“I… I don’t know,” He answers honestly and you’re grateful he doesn’t come up with a lie to make you feel better; you didn’t take the big blue warrior for a dishonest man, “I just know I don’t like the way he treats you--the way he looked at you like you were nothing more than a burden than to him. Has he always treated you that way?”

You hum a little and bury your face further into the slope of his neck, “Please don’t make me talk about this, not when I already live with it every single day, Mandalorian.”

“Ni ceta.”

You don’t know what it means, but you take it as an apology by the regretful tone in his modulated voice.

Tears form at your waterline and you don’t have the strength to force them away when he lightly strokes your kneecap with a leather thumb. You don’t sob or make a show of your sadness and exhaustion, but you let his warm cowl soak your tears as they fall from your eyes on their own accord. It’s been a while since someone has held you while you cried--at least over a decade--and something about the way he comfortingly caresses your knee or says something in his sacred language every now and then brings you an overwhelming sense of catharsis that you have never felt in your life.

He’s murmuring something to you in that low baritone, but you find yourself being pushed under a massive wave of exhaustion after such a long day and it’s suddenly difficult to focus on his what he’s saying when all you long for is some rest and peace of mind. The taut slope where his shoulder meets the bottom of his neck is surprisingly comfortable and even though you had never been much of a drinker, his warm, comforting scent leaves you feeling delightfully intoxicated.

There’s a soft pressure rubbing circles against your ribs and he’s still murmuring, but everything is so hazy and his warm body isn’t doing anything to keep you awake or coherent of your surroundings and you realize just how much trust you’re putting into this man that you’ve only met twice. He could easily take you to some unknown location and take advantage of you, but you have no fears of him doing so and find yourself growing completely limp against his broad chest, your fingers unfurling from the bunched up material at his nape.

You’re trapped in a strange limbo between wanting to fall asleep completely and wanting to savor his warmth and deep baritone, but every now and then, you feel the Mandalorian curl his big arms tighter around you or you hear a deep murmur from underneath his helmet--always something in his native tongue.

If you ever see him again after tonight, you promise yourself that you’ll ask him what all of these words mean--what he’s calling you when he refers to you as ‘saviin’ika’--and you pray that you see the big blue Mandalorian again. You never thought that you would find solace in the massive warrior’s company or that he would have surprisingly gentle hands whenever he touched you, especially after all the stories you had listened to as a child. Since meeting him, you no longer fear the Beskar-clad warriors that live underground, but more so those who live above and torment and prey on innocent people for no reason other than to satisfy their own sick desires.

You childishly wonder what the Mandalorian thinks about you--what he feels for you.

Perhaps you’re just acting like a fool who has a crush on someone you don’t even know, someone whose face can’t even see, though you’ve never cared too much about physical appearances, especially when someone has a kind heart. You think that despite his cold disposition, the Mandalorian has a warm soul buried underneath all those weapons and armor and you wonder if he only displays it when he’s surrounded by his tribe and others he deems worthy.

Does he deem you worthy of exposing such vulnerability, despite only knowing you so little? Is there something different he sees in you that he’s never felt with anyone else in the village? Does he see something familiar and comforting whenever he looks into your eyes through the safety of his expressionless visor?

You wonder if you’ll ever find out the real reason as to why he sought out your company tonight, if he truly wanted to check up on you or if he genuinely enjoys your company.

His voice barely trespasses the fogginess that’s clouded your mind and you’re more than half asleep when you feel yourself slowly being lowered, dizziness washing over you as he attempts to remain utterly gentle. Realizing that you have been restlessly sleeping in his arms the entire way home, you turn on your stiff mattress until you’re curled on your side, the uninjured side of your face pressed into your flat pillow as you slowly convince yourself to give into exhaustion.

The Mandalorian, however, isn’t finished taking care of you and you barely hear him shuffling around as he pulls something from one of the pouches attached to his utility belt.

You think you’re dreaming when you feel something cold and tingly rubbing against your flushed, bruised cheek, though it’s not enough to cause any excess pain. You can feel rough calluses covering his thick fingertips and they promptly freeze on the apple of your cheek when they graze a particularly tender spot, causing a small whimper to expel from between your chapped lips.

The Mandalorian’s modulated voice is gently shushing you and you know you’re having some sort of sweet dream when you realize his hand is bare, simultaneously coarse and soft and so deliciously warm as it caresses your cold cheek and soothes the intense pain there. Eventually, the pain gives way a warm, numbing feeling and your breath catches in your throat when you feel that coarse skin glide along the bottom of your lip, stroking gently along the thin gash in the center.

A soft cry pierces through your lips, louder and sharper than the previous one, and you don’t know whether it’s from the dull, throbbing pain or from how tender the warm pressure is against the tender wound. Another hush has you slowly turning on your back and you force your eyelids open, realizing that you’re definitely not alone in your little bedroom. The blue Mandalorian is slightly hunched over you as he tentatively swipes a slippery thumb along your injured lip, though you feel the rough digit lightly graze your upper lip once or twice, despite it being completely unscathed.

You realize he’s using the salve you had given over a month ago for his ribs and when your eyes flicker to the jar that he’s holding in his gloved palm, you’re surprised to find that it’s barely been used, maybe only a quarter of it missing. The bright moonlight that pierces through your window emphasizes the bright blue gel and hesitantly, you let your eyes wander back up to the hollows of his cheeks and you find that the color is almost similar to the healing ointment in the glass jar he holds so gently.

He must not realize you’re awake because his helmet jolts a little when you speak in a breathy whisper, lips barely moving so you don’t ruin his skilled fingers that are tending to the minor wound.

“That salve was for your ribs, Mandalorian.”

“The pain in my ribs was annoying, but not unbearable,” His thumb continues to lightly rub the healing ointment against your plush bottom lip until it’s fully absorbed into the tiny gash and you can already feel the immense relief that follows in the wake of his rough digit, “There were others in the tribe who could have used it more than me.”

You smile sadly when he lightly strokes the apple of your cheek, inspecting the severe bruising there, “Yet you waste it on the nurse that gave it to you in the first place. My pain is not unbearable either, silly man.”

“It is not a waste,” He says in a cool, deep rasp and your eyelids slip shut when he strokes the tail of your brow soothingly, “Besides, it will be good for it to heal faster.”

“Mm,” You’re mind is growing hazy as he moves to the end of the bed to untie the laces of your worn boots and gently tugs them off, as well as your socks, “Why’s that?”

“The faster it heals, the less tempted I’ll be to leave the same marks on your father--or kill him,” The gruffness of his deep voice nearly makes you chuckle, but then you hear him utter something in his native tongue and he promptly speaks up again, “Your feet are covered in bruises and blisters; how long have you had these boots? The soles are completely worn out.”

“I’ve been living off of ration bars,” You tiredly remind him, gracelessly flopping onto your stomach and lightly kicking his hand away when you feel his thumb graze an intense blister on the back of your heel, “New shoes aren’t exactly high up on my list of necessities.”

He grunts his displeasure and you hear him shifting around a little before you feel his hand between your shoulder blades, followed by his deep voice; you think you hear something nervous brewing in his usually calm tone “Do you want me to take out your braids so your hair doesn’t get tangled?”

You pray to the Maker that he doesn’t notice the way you shudder a little at just the thought of more close contact with your unlikely companion, though you’re certain he hears the shakiness in your voice when you quietly speak, “S-Sure, if you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything and you hear a bit of shuffling before the mattress next to you dips and creaks underneath his weight; it nearly makes you giggle at how massive he must look sitting on your little bed. The Mandalorian is endearingly gentle as he unclasps the tiny silver cuffs that hold your two thick Dutch braids in place, setting them aside on the nightstand next to your little vase that contains your beloved violets. You don’t have many belongings nor are you materialistic by any means, but your plants and your mother’s hair beads are items that you cherish and value over anything else that you own.

After plucking the wildflowers from the weaves in your braids and carefully dropping them next to your mother’s hair beads, his hands deftly unwind one of your long braids, slowly and carefully, as if he’s worried of tangling your thick waves. The feeling of his fingers gently carding through your unruly mane has you closing your eyes in bliss and you shiver a little when you feel his blunt fingernails lightly scraping against your scalp to undo the braiding at your crown. You’re grateful that the bacta salve you concocted seems to be healing your split lip, because you can’t stop yourself from smiling so softly when he unweaves your second braid and combs his bare, thick fingers through your long hair.

“Pel,” He breathes, his vocoder barely picking it up as he strokes down the length of your hair before picking up a lock of it and bringing it up to his visor, inspecting it with seemingly great interest, like he’s not used to handling longer hair.

It’s deathly quiet for a few moments and you think he’s going to simply stand up and leave, but then you feel the rough pad of his index finger gliding up along your bruised cheekbone, though his touch is so achingly soft that you don’t even feel an inkling of pain in his wake. Your eyelids squeeze together tightly as you try to commit the sensation of his skilled fingers to your memory, though you fear you won’t even be able to remember it even in the sweetest of dreams that the Maker would kindly bless you with.

A shaky exhale wracks your body when his index finger continues it’s sweet ascent up to the cartilage tip of your ear before he rotates his hand a little so he can run all of his fingers through your hairline, coming to a blunt stop at the base of your skull to affectionately stroke your scalp. After having your hair in braids for such a long amount of time, the relief that his fingers rub into your tender skin nearly lulls you to sleep and you have no idea how long he sits there, merely massaging your scalp and stroking your long waves.

As if realizing what he’s doing is wrong or selfish, the blue Mandalorian is quick to drop a thick, wavy lock of hair that he had been inspecting and awkwardly clears his throat a little. The mattress rises when he stands tall in your little room and even though you’re sleepy and drowsy as hell, you dread the thought of him leaving you in solitude until your father arrives later in the morning right before you leave for work.

“Mandalorian.”

You’re surprised he hears your muffled voice as he slowly makes his way to the curtain that separates your room from the rest of the hut, turning to you before leaving, “Saviin’ika.”

You smile softly at the nickname, despite not knowing what it means, and you turn your head so he can hear you more clearly, “Will I see you again?”

“Are you always going to ask that whenever we part ways?”

“Depends.”

His helmet cocks to the side inquisitively as you turn back onto your side and curl your knees up to your chest, peering at his dark silhouette with soft eyes and shivering when his strong baritone pierces through the silence of your little bedroom.

“On what?”

You wonder if his visor somehow allows him to see the smile tugging at your lips that are still slick with salve, along with the pink tinging your warm cheeks.

“If we’ll keep finding our way back to one another.”

You see the outline of his broad shoulders and how they seem to deflate from the vulnerability in your bashful voice.

“Goodnight, saviin’ika,” His voice is raspy and you wonder what it must sound like without the old modulator in his blue helmet, “I’ll see you sooner than you could wish for.”

Somehow, you doubt his words, but it’s the first time you can remember falling asleep with a smile stretched across your face.

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Ni ceta=Sorry (lit: I kneel)

Pel=Soft

Author’s Note: I wanted to put this at the end of the chapter, since it’s kind of long, but I sincerely want to thank you all for your kind words; it’s really encouraged me to write more. You guys are all a bunch of sweethearts and I really appreciate it!

I honestly wasn’t expecting to get such positive feedback on the first chapter, especially since Paz doesn’t play a super huge role in the Mandalorian, but I’m glad we’re all still thirsting over our big blue grouchy boi and I’m so excited to continue with this story!

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #mandalorian #my writing #the mandalorian fanfiction #why did it take me so long to find a gif for this chapter #even then #I still don't like the one I chose #that's what happens when you stan a character that has less than a minute of screen time lmaoo #anyways #EVERYONE IS TOUCH STARVED AND PAZ HAS HEART EYES UNDERNEATH HIS STUPID BLUE HELMET

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Text

Callisto (Full Prologue)

Prologue Part One - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 Part Two - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

When I first started this story, I was of two minds whether to put all of the prologue at the front or scatter it throughout the fic. I started with 700-odd words of it and drove into the body.

It fast became obvious that I really needed to build a lot more into the prologue as the OCs were empty shells and I needed to explain the story behind them and why Jeff is so determined.

So at the end of Part Two, I stopped and went back. This is the result. Nearly 5000 words of Jeff Tracy landing on Mars. It can stand as its own story, but it definitely leads into the planned events for the novel, Callisto. Either way I hope you enjoy it. Be aware that the first 500 words or so may be familiar as they were part of the original version. Don’t worry, the rest is new.

Of course, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 and @janetm74 for all the amazing support and help with this fic. Plus @onereyofstarlight my go to science officer on this voyage. You guys are absolutely amazing and I couldn’t have done this without you ::massive group hug::

Now this is done, I can finally go back to writing the novel chronologically. I have to say that this is going to be one hell of a ride.

No warnings needed.

-o-o-o-

2033

“Another boy?”

Jeff grinned. “Yeah. Another one.” He couldn’t help but stare at the photo that had landed on his screen as a good luck token from Earth.

He did of course, know about Lucille going into labour the night before and it was for that reason he hadn’t had the sleep he probably should have pre-history making Mars landing. But honestly, to get this signal from that little blue planet a good eight months away…his heart swelled…his beautiful baby boy had a shock of red hair that screamed their Irish ancestry down through the hundreds of years since their family had left the old world.

Lucille sat holding him, looking tired but ever so proud. Her dark hair was tied back and the sparkle in her eyes brought a lump into his throat. Her mother, pink hair and all, sat beside his wife holding his two eldest boys on her lap. Scott had his hand on Virgil’s arm as the now second youngest reached over towards his baby brother, a frown of concentration on his face.

“He’s beautiful.”

Jeff startled a little. Berry was breaking regs and leaning over the back of Jeff’s pilot couch, her straps unfastened. The cockpit was pretty snug in the lander, most of the room taken up with safety equipment and interfaces, leaving little for the padded personnel support.

He shot an eyebrow in her direction and she smiled a dare back at him. The astrogeologist wasn’t one for breaking the rules, she just liked to taunt him a little.

Ju, in contrast, was checking her harness was secure a second time. “Creating your own crew, Tracy?” Her auburn eyes smirked at him. “Aiming to replace us?”

He grinned. “Could be.” Dare he mention that his four-year-old eldest could already name all the controls in this cockpit? His grin widened. “But we can’t replace the first person to set foot on Mars, now can we?”

Berry snorted, a little abashed. But it was, after all, her part to play once they made touchdown. The words had been rehearsed, the order of exit decided. For very specific reasons, the first human on Mars was going to be Kate Berrenger.

Berry had worked her ass off to make this mission a reality. Her specialisation onboard was astrogeologist, but honestly it was far more. The woman was talent on legs. It was she who had designed much of the equipment they were deploying on the surface, she who had hunted and gathered the funding, she who had put in the sweat and tears to make this work. And Ju wasn’t far behind. The two of them were quite a powerhouse pair. Jeff considered himself and Lee lucky to have been chosen for this mission. Of course, he’d known Berry for a very long time, worked with her for most of it, but it wasn’t a given that the team that had helped populate the moon would also be the first on Mars.

“Given how many life support pods we’re dragging down there, I bet your boys could drop by in about thirty years or less.”

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, Berry?” The thought was tantalising. Not to put pressure on any future careers – Lucy would kill him – but he would hope that at least one out of three might follow in his footsteps.

Maybe?

He turned around and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. “Major Tracy, tell your team to secure. Two minutes to separation.” Sinclair was his usual grumpy, nervous self.

“Roger that, Orbiter Control.”

He glared at Berry and the redhead bit her lip with a smile, green eyes dancing, before sitting back and strapping herself in preparation for the sequence.

She didn’t stop smiling though.

“So watcha gonna name him?” Lee prodded him with his eyebrows from beside Jeff.

A last glance at the photo before he returned to separation prep, fingers tight in his gloves. “Are you going to remember this one?” An eye in the engineer’s direction.

“Sure.”

Running his fingers over the controls, Jeff ran through pre-flight. “Name my eldest.”

Lee grunted, his eyes darting away. “Not important right now.” A flick of a switch. “I’m green across the board.”

“A-ok.” Jeff ran through the last sequence of checks…and ran them again…for luck. “Orbiter Control, we are green for separation.”

“Roger that, Cornerstone. Separation in sixty seconds on my mark.” A breath. “Mark.” Another pause. “Good luck.”

And the countdown began.

Jeff ran his eyes over everything again. The great ship that had journeyed so far from home was preparing to split in half. The lander at the top of the vessel was to pull away from the orbiter and its massive propulsion engines to begin the historic descent to the Martian surface. Eight months in space, so much preparation time and so many sacrifices before that, had all led to this moment.

History in the making.

His eyes combed the readouts watching like a hawk. The computer had control, but computers could only do so much.

Still green across the board.

Quiet, his fingers touched the screen where the photo had been. “John Glenn Tracy.” A breath. “His name is John.”

Displays shifted as the countdown hit zero and machinery grunted. The Cornerstone drifted apart from its propulsion module and floated free far above the red of the Martian surface.

Jeff eyed his instrumentation and sent a prayer to his family back home.

Today was an important day.

-o-o-o-

Lee watched Jeff side-on as he clicked his helmet into place. Taylor was a realist and he knew he wouldn’t be here without the crazy pilot.

It was Jeff’s drive that had gotten them this far. It was like riding a rollercoaster of determination and outright luck. From the Airforce, through space training and their sojourns on Alfie, Lee had tied himself to the man’s coat tails and hadn’t looked back.

God, it had been fun.

Jeff Tracy was a tsunami that crashed through everything and took everyone with him.

And Lee went willingly.

When they had been chosen for this mission it was a dream come true.

The countdown dropped to zero and machinery clunked as the lander separated smoothly from the orbiter. She drifted momentarily before the computer engaged thrusters to push her gently out of orbital alignment.

“We are five by five for atmospheric entry.” The words he uttered were almost rote after so many practise simulations back on Earth.

Atmospheric entry on Mars was considerably different to entry on Earth. Terran atmosphere was more like soup in comparison to the barely-there Martian atmosphere. Still made for a warm entry though, friction was friction after all.

“Trajectory achieved.” Jeff’s voice was confident and firm. As always.

Lee eyed the computer readouts, mentally ticking off procedure as the lander dipped into the outer reaches of the atmosphere and shifted to its entry interface.

Forces wrapped themselves around Lee and his body responded. After so many months of weightlessness, this was going to be a challenge.

“Ready for deceleration burn.”

The landing module sported early entrance stage retro thrusters designed to slow the vehicle to reduce the friction on the spacecraft’s skin. A new innovation that had proven essential in many return trips to the moon in preparation for the creation of a habitable dome on the satellite.

And here they were attempting to do something similar on Mars.

Cornerstone shook as her thrusters engaged exactly on time.

The craft roared.

Lee revelled in it.

“Three minutes to subsonic.”

“I really hate this bit.” It was barely heard above the commotion.

Lee snorted to himself. Ju was an astronaut in every sense, but she had a thing regarding atmospheric entry and the microscopic bits they could be exploded into if something went wrong.

“We are on track, Ju. Not a thing to worry about.” His voice reassurance itself, Jeff could sell the moon cheese if he so felt like it.

“Orbiter to Cornerstone. Tracy, we have a problem.”

Lee blinked. Sinclair’s voice was ominous.

“Orbiter, detail?”

“Cornerstone, weather has kicked up on the landing site. We have a developing dust storm. Looks to be a big one.”

“Orbiter, we are fixed for descent. Please advise severity.” Jeff’s tone was frustrated and Lee couldn’t help but echo it.

Data landed in Lee’s console and while Jeff continued to monitor their descent, Lee examined the situation. “We have a category five dust storm developing over the landing site. Orbiter is right, she looks like she could actually do some damage.”

Mars dust storms were generally all gust and no guts. The air density and pressure forced storms that were dramatic to look at, but generally little more than a windy day on planet Earth. This one, however... “It’s an anomaly.”

Jeff’s eyes darted from his console to Lee’s, grey eyes assessing the data. “Ju, your opinion?” They had to make the decision fast. Altering their trajectory now was possible, but fuel was precious. Any extra used now narrowed their safety margin for later.

The meteorologist’s fingers darted over her board. “Unusual strength, I agree.” Lee glanced in her direction as she frowned. “But Cornerstone should be able to handle it.”

“‘Should’ is not a good enough assumption, Zhang.” Jeff was frowning. The lander’s retros cut out as they reached a safe enough velocity to manoeuvre and Jeff’s hands curled around the yoke.

Lee’s finger darted over his board and brought up the outside cameras.

The red planet stretched out before them, her slightly blue tinted atmosphere contrasting against the rust of her surface.

That surface was churning.

Ju was outraged. “How the hell did that develop in the time it took us to separate from Orbiter? She was as calm as a sleeping baby!”

“I don’t care about then, I need now. Zhang, recommendation!��

The woman grunted. “I say go. If you think you can handle it. It is well within Cornerstone’s specs. Your decision, Major.”

Jeff’s lips thinned, his eyes darting across the readouts. A moment and he hit the comms switch. “Orbiter, we are go for landing. We’ve come this far, might as well go all the way.”

“Tracy, are you sure?”

“Humanity never got anywhere taking it easy.” He glanced at Lee. “Hold onto something.”

Cornerstone began her turn, orientating her nose to the sky so her retros could lower her safely to the Martian surface.

Or in Jeff Tracy terms, ‘spinning so she could park her ass’.

As if reading Lee’s mind, the glint in Jeff’s eyes was something to both be wary of and to celebrate.

Out of the four of them, Jeff was the most reckless, the most daring. But as he was the pilot, it sometimes called for it. Jeff had already saved them from becoming just another crater on Earth’s moon by pulling the most unconventional manoeuvre ever seen on the satellite when a landing thruster misfired on approach. The craft had shot off on a completely unpredicted vector that would have ploughed them into moon dust...if Jeff hadn’t reacted as fast as he did. He flipped the craft with its remaining three thrusters and, shedding the majority of their velocity in an energy dump that had Lee’s stomach on the outside, planted their craft like a sack of potatoes.

They had landed roughly, but they had landed alive and Lee was still amazed his friend had been able to do that.

So, if they were going down in a cloud of red dust, Lee was quite happy to have Jeff at the controls.

Not to say that Lee himself wasn’t handy with a spacecraft. He had his own experience to be proud of. He flew, but his realm was more the mechanical. He was here as back up and maintenance.

For those times the Tracy fix wasn’t quite enough.

A sigh. He eyed the billowing clouds below as they rapidly approached. They were history in the making. Whatever happened here today would be taught in schools for decades to come.

He had faith in Jeff. They would land, Berry would take those first important steps on a new planet, say the rehearsed words, and join Neil Armstrong in the halls of fame.

But first they had to get there.

-o-o-o-

Jeff swallowed as the cloud of dust loomed beneath the lander. Numbers scrolled across his console. The computer should be able to handle most of it. Its programming was solid. Lucy had made sure of it.

The thought of his beautiful wife...little Johnny.

Dust swelled and wrapped around their craft and visibility became...bad.

Cornerstone shuddered.

Mars dust was a bastard of a thing. Ever so fine and carrying a tiny electric charge that on occasion interfered with instruments.

This was one of those occasions.

“We have blackout on three primary sensors.” Damn. Two others flickered, the screen fritzing a moment.

His fingers darted over controls in an attempt to compensate for the data loss.

Lee was muttering beside him and stabbing at his board. “Rerouting to back-ups.”

Their screens flickered and cleared somewhat.

Numbers plummeted.

Beyond the blinding dust the digital readout that marked the surface of the planet approached.

Far too fast.

Retros crucial to start the landing sequence did not fire.

Shit.

It took seconds for him to compensate and move to manual, but that was enough for the craft to fall many more metres so, when he did manually trigger the burn, they were lower than they should be.

Cornerstone roared as he pushed more energy into braking.

“Lee, we need primary thrust or we are so much pancake!” Her four landing thrusters were not slowing them enough. The math in his head was churning out a fatal result and their history-making attempt was fast turning into a shitfest. “I need that power now.”

“You have it.” Short and sharp as Lee’s hands darted over his console.

On Jeff’s board the main thruster icon lit up.

It wasn’t meant to be used this way. The main thruster was for launching. It was far more powerful than they needed to land. But if he didn’t slow Cornerstone, she was going to take on a big red rock and lose.

The computer ran calculations and spat numbers out at him.

“Firing main thruster.” The icon flashed, Cornerstone roared and g-forces wrapped around all of them and squeezed.

No one said anything for the second of burn that slowed their descent ever so rapidly. Everything shook, the ship’s superstructure groaning.

Jeff’s eyes tracked their velocity, counting down as the surface of the planet rushed towards them. Visually they couldn’t see it. Virtually it looked ready to slap them in the face.

But the main thruster compensated, slowing the craft just enough for the landing rockets to do their job.

Jeff killed the big one and concentrated on the landers to take the last of their speed.

Cornerstone slowed. Five hundred metres. Four hundred metres. Three hundred metres. Two hundred metres. One hundred metres. Landing struts deployed. Fifty. Thirty. Twe-

The whole ship slammed to a stop, its structure groaning and tilting for a second before righting itself. Alarms began shrieking, red lights flashing all over his board.

What the hell?!

The readout had them stalled nineteen metres ‘above’ the virtual surface. Virtual was obviously not lining up with actual.

Another metallic groan and the ship tilted slightly again. This time it stayed tilted. No doubt a landing strut had taken the brunt and folded.

One red light screamed at him more than the others.

Beside him, Lee confirmed his fears. “We have a fuel leak.”

Shit!

He was unstrapping himself even as the craft groaned again. Something sparked not far away. Lee was a split second behind, listing the reason for the malfunction. The exterior hull, and the mangled landing strut responsible.

A rupture in the external hull. Hell.

Jeff undocked a diagnostic pad and slapped it on his belt.

Martian gravity made itself known. So many months without its native pull, Jeff’s body protested the sudden movement, but they didn’t have time. Precious fuel was escaping.

He hit the ladder leading out of the cockpit at a run, feet locking around the struts and his hands pushing him down. The whole sensation of gravity, but only a third of Earth’s was baffling. His body caught between expectations and stumbling along the way. Ultimately, he partly fell his way down through the access ports, hands grabbing at the railings barely preventing him from colliding with each deck.

Cornerstone’s fuel tanks were attached to her four landers, with a fifth fueling her main launcher.

It was number three that was the problem.

His boots hit decking and he scrambled for the airlock. Beside him Lee had a toolkit and they both barrelled through the door sealing it behind them.

The pumps cycled and the pressure dropped, their suits shifting with the change, and then the elevator was lowering them to the ground.

As the doors opened, they were faced with a wall of swirling dust.

Jeff did his best to ignore it but it fast became a problem. The maintenance tab in his hand was directing him to climb ladders up the side of the vehicle, but he could barely see the tablet, much less the ladders themselves through the red dust.

“Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.”

“Right behind you, Jeff. Wouldna want to lose you either.”

It was simple, but reassuring nonetheless. Fumbling, he found the landing strut. It was skewed in a way that even in the thick swirling haze, he could see was far from the right angle for correct support.

Hooking a foot into the lowest rung, he snagged his friend and urged him up the ladder ahead. If anyone was going to save their asses in this situation, it was Lee.

If Jeff could land it, chances were Lee could fix it. The man could jimmy two sticks and a rubberband into whatever was needed. Hell, he’d done almost exactly that on the moon at least twice.

This was just another challenge. Jeff had landed them, no matter how roughly. Now Lee would be able to fix it.

Jeff clung to that maxim.

But the question wasn’t about skill, it was more about whether or not they were going to damn well be able to see what they needed to see in order to do what needed doing.

Red obscured everything. The speed it was all flying past spoke to his earth senses of gale force winds, but the pressure on his suit was little more than a windy day.

Not enough to affect the spacecraft.

Mars was obviously educating them early that this was not Earth. Not in any way shape or form.

Their clamber up the strut was partly a blind one, but they made it to the damaged side of the craft. Through a mixture of touch and virtual readout, it became clear that the outer hull had buckled, forcing the inner hull into the fuel tank. Most of it had held, but there was a small microfracture and the pressure differences were bubbling solid state fuel into gas at a rate that, if it didn’t deplete the tank, would likely cause an explosion that would solve all their problems with a history-making finality.

Jeff climbed up beside Lee as he fumbled at his tool kit. The tank was dislodged off its mounts, something they would need to remedy later, but it was still inset from the hull.

Jeff put his body in position to block the main flow of the dust and wind, jamming himself up against the still warm hull of his ship.

A little less dust swirled over the bubbling crack and Lee didn’t hesitate. Before Jeff could blink, gell bondtape landed smoothly over the area, the engineer sealing it with an electronic nudge from a set-wand. The electricity lined molecules up like soldiers and locked them in place bonding them to whatever the tape was adhered to. They had used the same stuff on Alfie two years ago when one of their habitats had tried to make one with the lack of lunar atmosphere.

An extremely simple solution for a very dangerous problem.

His heart, still adrenalin-fueled, refused to believe the danger was over.

As if reading Jeff’s thoughts, Lee smirked at him through the haze. “Never leave home without it.” A sigh as he ran a gloved hand over the seal. “This should hold for the short term. Once we are sure the strut is stabilised, I’ll give it a good going over. Hopefully, we can lose this storm in the process.”

Jeff would have liked to claim it couldn’t blow forever, but both of them knew Mars storms could be unpredictable and last for months if they so chose to.

Lee ran a scanner over the strut’s connection to the launcher. How the hell the engineer could see the readouts, Jeff didn’t know.

For all future excursions to the Red Planet, Jeff was going to recommend helmet based heads-up displays.

“She’s safe for now. A little bent, but she isn’t going to fall over. Hopefully, once we get out some of the heavy lifting equipment we can bend her back into shape if we need to.” Lee stood up. “Hull patching is going to be an ass, though.”

Jeff’s lips thinned and he dropped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “One thing at a time. We’ve got this, Lee.”

Lee grunted. “How the hell do you keep spinning the optimism, Jeff?”

A snort. “What? You’d prefer doom and gloom?” He shuffled back towards the ladder. “That’s it, Lee, we’re never leaving this god forsaken rock. Welcome to your new home.” He raised up his hands and as if the gods declared him some kind of Moses for that very moment, the dust clouds parted as if they were a red sea of sand. Sol, so much smaller this far away, poked its weak light through the hazy atmosphere and lit up the bare red rocks of their temporary home. While on one side, the billowing wall of dust storm swirled on its way, on the other red mountains rose up to a weak blue-red sky.

Lee shifted down beside him. “You know, I figured you had an agreement with the gods of physics, but isn’t this a little ridiculous?”

Jeff was too captivated with the view to respond.

Cornerstone was on the plateau they had been simulating for months on end. She stood tall and proud, if a little crooked and pinker than her promo shots.

“We made it.” The words fell from his lips.

Lee clung to the ladder beside him. “Yeah, that we did.”

Sunlight flickered weakly in the atmosphere and a gust of wind dragged more dust across the view.

Jeff shifted. “We better get inside before that mess starts up again. Take advantage of being able to see where we are going.”

Lee didn’t respond immediately, his eyes combing the jagged horizon. “Thanks, Jeff.”

A frown. “For what?”

“Getting us here.”

“It was a group effort, Lee, you know that. Couldn’t have done it without the team. Couldn’t have done it without you. Hell, you just patched a hole that could have blown us up.”

Lee grunted.

“Are you guys going to hang outside all day, or do we have to guess the sitrep?” Berry’s tone was tight.

“Roger, Berrenger. Situation secure. On our way back in.”

It wasn’t until they reached the elevator that he realised exactly what had happened.

And who he was.

By the doors, protected by the shadow of the lowered module was a single footprint that hadn’t been blown away by the wind.

“Aw, hell.”

Lee, as always, stepped up beside him. “Yeah. I guess that makes you the first man to walk on Mars.”

-o-o-o-

Ju was furious. “It was Kate’s right to be the first!”

The vacs in the airlock had sucked everything off their suits to the point Lee was surprised his hair wasn’t standing on end despite the helmet.

As it was, his hackles were somewhere near orbit as they stood in the conference room that doubled as a mess. “And what exactly do you think we were supposed to do? The ship was going to explode.” It was simple to Lee. Sure, he was all for equality, it was a given, but they would’ve been all equally dead if he and Jeff hadn’t done what they did.

“You didn’t give us a chance!”

“I’m the engineer here, Zhang. There wasn’t time! The decision was made and we are alive because of it.”

“Then why weren’t you first, Taylor? Why the hell was Tracy even out there? He’s not the engineer!”

Beside Lee, Jeff straightened. “Standard procedure, Zhang. We work in pairs. If you think I was going to let Lee go out in that on his own, you’ve been serving while wearing a blindfold.”

The short, dark-haired woman stepped up to the Major, her eyes fiery. “It was Kate’s place in history and you stole it!”

Lee flared. “We did what was necessary! This was not a publicity grab, for Christ’s sake! It didn’t even occur to us until we were returning. It was about saving our lives, Zhang. How can you possibly think it was anything else?”

“Because it always is.” She waved a hand at Jeff. “Always the hotshot. Always the first. Always the hero. Do you ever think, Tracy? Do you ever think about those you barrel past?”

Jeff glared down at the meteorologist. “I will not apologise for my achievements, Zhang. This was an honest to god accident.”

“Due to decisions made by you.”

“What the hell, Zhang?!” Lee pushed forward. That was taking it too far.

“We should never have tried to land in that dust storm. We should have waited it out.”

“You said we could take it!”

“But it wasn’t my decision, was it?” Her tone was a positive hiss at Jeff.

“Screw you, Zhang-“

“Taylor!”

“Jeff-“

The man was still the damn tall walking wall when he wanted to be. “Lee, stop.” He glared at Ju. “I will not apologise for my command decisions either, Zhang. What was done, is done.” His stance softened as he turned to Berry.

She had been ominously quiet the entire time.

Jeff sighed. “I’m sorry, Kate.”

The red-haired astrogeologist straightened away from the bulkhead, her arms still folded across her chest. Lee had always liked Berry. She had her head on much straighter than Ju ever did.

Ju was like a terrier with a bone.

The bone variety today was definitely Jeff-flavoured.

But there was only kindness in Berry’s eyes as she looked up at the Major. “This sucks, Jeff, it really does.” She looked down a moment. “But it is what it is and I guess it was what it was meant to be.” A shrug. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for third on Mars. Still pretty momentous, I think.”

“Kate, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Jeff took a step towards her. “It’s not official. It was a stupid repair. We can do the ceremonial step onto the planet anyway. No one has to know.”

Her head tilted to one side. “So, the ship miraculously healed itself?”

“Berry-“

She closed the gap between them, placing a hand on his arm. “Jeff, honestly, it’s not what is important here. You took the first step. We still have plenty of others that need to be taken. My ego can keep.”

Zhang flared again. “Kate, this was for women-“

“Ju, enough. It doesn’t matter! Humans have just landed on Mars, for god’s sake. I would have thought we would be a little less worried about the gender of the person taking the first step and more worried about the fact we did it without blowing up.”

“It was supposed to be you.” Ju wilted in defeat under Berry’s glare.

“Well, it was Jeff, and I think he is no less deserving than any of us.”

Jeff’s voice was quiet. “Are you sure, Kate?” The use of her first name was a rarity for the major, there was a friendship between those two almost as long as the one between Jeff and Lee. Hell, if Jeff hadn’t met Lee’s sister, Lucy, the engineer wondered what might have eventuated in that department.

Not that he had ever had to worry about that. Jeff was a complete sop for Lucy. His sis had the man wrapped around her little finger.

If that made Lee feel just that touch more protective of the crazy pilot, then so be it.

Kate straightened, her shoulders strong. “I’m sure.” Then her lips curled up a little. “Besides, my lines were so much more elegant than ‘Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.’”

Jeff snorted and shrugged. “If I’m going to make history gotta make sure my best friend is with me.”

Zhang made a disgusted sound and stormed out of the room.

Shoulders dropping, Jeff sighed. “Guess I need to work on my phrasing.”

But Lee was too wrapped in the moment, a little too proud and grateful to care. “She’ll live.”

The grunt from Jeff reminded Lee that they still had months to share living quarters with the fiery Ju.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.” Berry squeezed Jeff’s arm before reaching out to Lee as well. “Thank you, both of you, for getting us down safely. We’re on Mars, guys. Let the party begin.”

The smile in her eyes was honest and ever so heartening.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Jeff Tracy #lee taylor #mars #callisto

25 notes · View notes

villainscomplex · 4 years ago

Text

this, at least.

hey so anyway yall know how there was that big boom of angsty ship fics right

,,,,,i wanted to write one too and I have no other excuse

!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!

Also on:

AO3

Wattpad

FFNet

Quotev

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

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

And he does.

Asahi jerks awake violently, legs tangled in his blankets and hair plastered to the back of his neck, cold with sweat. He still feels like there’s — what? He doesn’t know the source of the pain, only that it is sheer pain, radiating through the core of his very being. It’d be easy to think it’s something simple, a bullet wound or head trauma, but the way it nestles into his chest and takes root there begs to differ.

In his dreams — nightmares, they prefer — Asahi is made of fear and desperation, of please, no, and the unnerving feeling that he’s forgetting something. There’s always someone with him, always whispering his name, fingers cold on his face.

It’s always the same scene.

He steps into a doorway and panic swells in his chest, but he’s never sure what triggers it. There’s nothing in the room but darkness, and then his feet come out from under him, and he is falling. The ground is far, and he falls forever and ever, until time stops short. He crashes into it in one graceless dive, shatters apart, and reforms at the seams with the sweet familiarity of agony.

He’s sure, with every fiber of his being, that something is missing. He doesn’t know what, or who, only that it is missing and the absence feels like a hole in his chest, a hollow place where the pain doesn’t reach.

Asahi leans forward in his bed, struggling to catch his breath. His hair falls like a curtain around his face. He can’t remember why he keeps it long, only that the idea of cutting it feels wrong, and so he lets it grow.

Suddenly, his bed feels unappealing and cold, and he staggers out of it into the quiet of his apartment.

If his life was a story, the narrator would say something like this — Azumane Asahi is a twenty-six year old man with severe amnesia and a wedding ring on a necklace, to which he doesn’t know the location of the missing pair. And that’s it, they’d say, just a detective with no memory and a lot of anxiety. He doesn’t think he’s important enough of a character to warrant any sort of life story.

His phone is where he left it when he’d arrived home the night prior, tossed onto his side table in a fit of weariness. The screen blinks dimly back at him, still miraculously alive, but only with about six percent to spare and at least three new messages to speak of. They’re all from one of the few people he actually texts, and even without looking at the contact name, Suga’s typing style is distinctive from Daichi or Shimizu’s.

He checks the time in the corner of his screen. It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning, which isn’t a bad time, but it’s still earlier than he normally gets up. Going back to sleep is about the most unappealing thing he can think of right now, so even if he isn’t a morning person, he plugs his phone up, clicks on the shabby TV, and goes to make a pot of coffee, listening to the steady drone of the early weather report.

The ring around his neck is a cold weight against his bare skin, small and heavy against the hollow where his throat meets his clavicle. It rolls and clinks softly against its chain as he moves, a quiet, ever-present reminder of a past he doesn’t remember.

It’s easy to make assumptions. He doesn’t know who has the pair to this ring, only that it feels too important to get rid of, so he keeps it around his neck. For all he knows, he was married once. Someone else had — maybe still has — the pair to this ring. He doesn’t remember being married or who his partner is, but he’s sure they must exist.

Maybe they’d left because he’d forgotten.

Asahi tucks the assumption away before his anxiety can take it and run. He’s got a life now and he can’t go ruining what he has by overthinking whatever he used to have. Lacking the vast majority of his memories hadn’t stopped him from rebuilding his life these past few months, bit by bit.

It’s only been a few months since the accident and even though he doesn’t remember it personally, that’s all everyone keeps referring to it as. The accident, like he’d gone and suffered a massive memory loss by total coincidence.

Asahi kind of hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been an easy recovery. He supposes nobody ever really thinks about what would happen if they lost a chunk of their adult memories and nobody would tell them why. He’d had friends to support him through it, even if he had taken a while to remember the three of them, and because of their support he’d been able to get back on his feet.

He’s still a rookie at this detective work, but sitting down and poring over the facts and figures of the cases he’s investigating is oddly comforting.

Light peeks out from over the horizon as the morning settles in, blanketing the world outside and the living room within in a sheet of pale light. Asahi’s eyes ache from his lack of sleep. The bags beneath them have gotten worse, and he’s sure he’ll inevitably get scolded about them when he sees his friends again.

By the time Asahi arrives at his workplace, the city around him has come to life. It’s never quiet here by any means, but once the sun is up, it seems everyone takes to the streets at once. He leaves early to avoid the rush, but always inevitably catches the start of it and makes it just in time, stumbling into the doorway of the detective agency’s office.

“Hey, Azumane,” the receptionist greets with an easy smile, leaning over the desk to be seen, “just in time. Still relearning the trains?” Asahi isn’t too familiar with Narita, but the man is calm and rarely bothered by high stress situations, and he appreciates the cool head and easy attitude first thing in the morning. He’d been one of the first to make sure Asahi had felt welcomed here, and Asahi is eternally grateful for it.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, averting his eyes, “it’s a lot to get used to all over again. I keep hoping I’ll just jog my memory somehow and miraculously remember.”

Narita laughs. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in that head of yours.”

Asahi doesn’t stick around to chat much longer, heading up to the main office. There’s only two others inside, both at their desks doing very different things. Akaashi, ever studious, is hunched over a case file from a recent completion of his, scribbling away. Kozume, on the other hand, their resident cyber specialist, reclines back in his chair, tapping away at his phone and looking like he’s half asleep. “Azumane,” Kozume yawns, “there’s some files on your desk.” There are in fact — Asahi turns to confirm — files on his desk.

There’s also a boy there.

His back is to Asahi, but he can see the slicked black hair, wild and dark, sharp against the evident paleness of the boy’s skin. The boy visibly straightens when Asahi turns to look, whipping around in his chair.

Okay, no, a man. A grown man.

Asahi feels a little like deer in headlights, caught in the sharp stare of the man’s golden eyes, interrupted only by the equal shock of bleached blond hair in the forefront of his bangs. Asahi feels pinned in place by that unblinking stare, and it takes him a moment to remember to move.

He circles to his desk a little hesitantly, starkly aware of the other man’s stare following him the entire way around. It’s still on him when Asahi seats himself on the opposite side of the desk, and Asahi steels himself to meet it, smiling nervously.

“Hello,” he greets, “I’m Azumane. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “I’m Noya!” The man declares, gives no further context, and slaps a file down in front of Asahi. “I need you to look into this.”

The words CASE CLOSED stands out in stark red lettering on the front. Asahi resists the urge to frown. It isn’t uncommon for them to receive requests to look into closed cases, but generally speaking, they’re a waste of money and time.

“Listen,” he starts hesitantly, “honestly, I’m still very new at this. Could I recommend you to one of our more experienced investigators?”

Noya shakes his head adamantly, looking appalled at the mere suggestion. “No!” He says, loud enough that Asahi flinches. “This is important to me! You have to do it!”

“I-”

Noya stares at him, lips turned down, eyes wide in a silent plea. Asahi takes the file.

There’s no photo inside, but it's very clearly labeled as involuntary manslaughter. The victim had only been twenty-five, but the details are absolutely minimal. There really won’t be a lot he can do with this, even if he does accept it. He’s sure the case is closed for a reason.

“Look,” he starts, raising his eyes.

Noya is gone.

Asahi leaps out of his seat, file in hand. Noya had just been there. He’s not surprised the man is fast, but Asahi hadn’t even accepted the case yet, and Noya hadn’t even stuck around to answer questions. Asahi races out of the office and into the entry lobby, head swinging from side to side in search of the shorter man.

“Narita,” he asks, leaning over the side of the receptionist’s counter, “did you see where that man went?”

Narita frowns at him. “What man? I haven’t seen anyone pass by.”

“I-” Asahi sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to yank it out of his half bun and just resigns himself, tucking the file under his arm. “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” Narita gives him another odd look as he turns away, returning to the main office. When he enters, Akaashi and Kozume both glance up strangely, matching the look Narita had previously given him, but Kozume loses interest much quicker than he’s gained it, as if this is a perfectly normal, everyday incident. Akaashi’s gaze tracks him all the way back to his desk, and only then does it fall away, leaving Asahi to his own devices. For a long time, Asahi just stares at the file. Case closed stares back at him, bold and red and final.

It isn’t to say that it’s quite uncommon for them to get a closed case to investigate. Generally speaking, it’s recommended to avoid closed cases. More often than not, they lead to dead ends and more broken hearts than when they began. The police may not investigate as much as private detectives, but they weren’t always wrong by any means. But Noya hadn’t given him too much of a choice in the matter, so against his better judgment, Asahi opens the file.

It’s almost pathetically small, three pages at most. There’s no photos, but from what Asahi can gather, it’s a twenty-five year old man who fell victim to an armed robbery incident, whose death was ultimately ruled involuntary manslaughter as a result. The culprit had never been caught, but the man’s partner had suffered some sort of collateral damage. There’s no further information on any of the three; the partner is unnamed and there are no photos of the man or the partner.

There’s nothing here that points to the case being anything other than what the file says, much less any sort of connection. He considers, briefly, that maybe Noya is the partner and wants the man brought to justice, but he doesn’t have any confirmation to this theory. It just seems like a home robbery turned homicide.

It’s essentially a dead end. There’s no address to begin the investigation and no family on the file to contact in regards. If Noya is the partner, Asahi could start there, but if he’d suffered some sort of trauma related to the incident, then Asahi has to take his testimony with a grain of salt. And this is all based on assumption — he doesn’t even know the extent of Noya’s personal involvement with this entire situation.

Noya hadn’t left him any contact details.

The thought strikes him abruptly, and Asahi sighs. This isn’t going to go anywhere without Noya’s cooperation. Asahi hadn’t agreed to investigate it in the first place. Resigned, he closes the file again and slides it underneath a few others on his desk, where it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of the rest of his work.

When he leaves that evening, files tucked away in his bag, the sun hangs low over the horizon, lethargic orange rays reclined across the darkening sky. It’s as beautiful as it is ominous, and Asahi ducks his head to avoid wandering eyes as he hurries to the train station, long coat swishing behind him.

The temperature sinks as it grows late, and despite his scarf, Asahi’s face burns with chill by the time he gets to the stairs leading down into the train station. People swarm around him, talking and huddling, faces as red as his own and stark with the relief of getting somewhere decently warmer.

Close enough to the rails to actually get on the train, but not close enough to get trampled by those trying to get good seating, Asahi tucks his chin into his scarf and takes a steadying breath.

He wonders if he was always an anxious person like this; had too much noise always been overwhelming to him? Had he ever walked with his head up, unconcerned about the opinions of those around him? Was this ever present bundle of nerves set deep in the square of his chest just a side effect of a tragic accident that nobody will tell him about?

He slides his thumb over the crest of the wedding ring on his necklace, a motion that feels like nothing but pure instinct, and then nearly yanks it clean off his neck when a hand grips his elbow, hard, and he flinches.

Asahi looks down.

Staring back up at him indignantly, lips fixed into a frown and golden eyes wide, looking as if he’s entirely unbothered by the cold despite being in nothing but a t-shirt and basketball shorts, is Noya.

“Azumane-san!”

Asahi is unbelievably shaken right now. After all, the odds that Noya would show up at the same train station as him were slim, even for this side of the city, but here he is, grip hard on Asahi’s elbow. If Asahi had gears in his head, they’d be stalling right now, and the little embodiment of his consciousness would be trying to restart it to no avail.

When the wires finally reconnect, Asahi gasps. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

The words come out more demanding than he intended, but it’s too late to apologize, so instead, Asahi strips off his overcoat, and then the coat beneath it. Goosebumps prickle over the nape of his neck where it’s exposed to the cold, and he hurriedly yanks the long coat back on, handing the other off to Noya. Noya, who has since let go, looks a little surprised as he accepts it.

“I’m fine!” Noya huffs, but he pulls the jacket on regardless.

The sleeves slip past his fingertips, effectively dwarfing him. Asahi thinks it would be rather comical if he wasn’t so upset at this precise moment, but even swallowed up by Asahi’s undercoat, Noya feels like a force to be reckoned with, a storm lying in wait.

Asahi can’t put his finger on it, but Noya’s brash personality seems familiar, somehow. Mentally, he goes through his limited list of friends. Sugawara fits the bill closest, but even his chaos is of a different sort.

The train whistle breaks him out of his thoughts. He spots the lights as it barrels down the tunnel.

“Have you solved the case yet?” Noya asks, gaze still fixed on Asahi, unwavering.

Asahi frowns at him. “Listen,” he begins, turning his gaze back to Noya.

His words die in his throat. Noya stares back at him, eyes glittering in the faint light of the underground station, wild hair stirred around his face by the gust of cold air the train brings with it. The doors hiss open, but Asahi doesn’t move to get on yet. People stream by them on their way on or off the platform.

He can’t say no. He doesn’t know what it is, but Asahi is suddenly resigned to seeing this through. Noya’s eyes are intense and focused, hard with determination and a type of fire that Asahi can’t remember ever seeing before. He can’t say no.

“I haven’t,” he says, “but I’m going to investigate it as best I can.”

Noya’s grin makes him think that perhaps this is the right decision after all.

The train whistles again. Asahi starts, whirling back around to the platform. Oh no, the train’s going to leave.

“Are you-” He begins, glancing back to Noya, intending to ask if he’s getting on the same train.

Noya is gone. Asahi stares incredulously at the spot where the man had been, dwarfed in Asahi’s coat. He turns, glancing a full circle around himself, trying to spot that shock of blond in the crowd, but no, Noya is gone.

Maybe he got on the train.

Asahi follows suit, tucking his overcoat a little tighter around him as the doors slide shut. The people on the platform all blur together in a mass of color as the train pulls away, but Asahi swears he catches the piercing stare of golden eyes. It’s gone before he can think too hard about it, and Asahi spends the train ride and subsequent walk home staring into space. He hadn’t gotten Noya’s contact info.

“I’m home,” he says to no one as he opens his door and steps in, taking his shoes off.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Sighing heavily, Asahi drops his bag onto the floor by the door, where it tips to the side and lets a few papers and files slide halfway out. He pays it little mind, figuring he can think about it later, and makes his way down the narrow corridor into the bedroom at the back.

It’s sheer muscle memory that gets him through his nightly routine, and by the time he lets his hair down and flops into bed, he’s too exhausted to think. The somber tendrils of heavy sleep drag him deep into the sheets.

He dreams. (He has nightmares.)

Wake up, wake up, wake up, the voice is saying. Asahi, please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Please, no. Please, no.

This time, when Asahi jerks awake, the sun is still low below the horizon and his phone reads 4:36 A.M, but there’s no chance of him going back to sleep so he dons a hoodie and decides to do something with himself. In the end, Asahi goes for a run. It’s been a while since he’s just gone out like this, so he takes the short route that loops through the backside of a local park. Asahi jogs what he can, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t nearly as in shape as he clearly had been once. He can tell he used to be muscular and healthy prior to the accident, but he’s hardly been focused on maintaining that post memory loss. Still, running feels natural, so he tries to keep it up.

He runs into Noya again. Asahi rounds the bend, huffs of breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air. There’s only a handful of other souls up and about this early, and from what Asahi can tell, they’re all out running too. It’s a nice change of pace to get his mind off of everything, but it’s clear the universe has other plans. As he nears the park’s massive lake, he spots a figure sitting right at the bank of it, leaning precariously over the water.

Even from this distance and without his glasses, he recognizes Noya’s wild hair paired with the white t-shirt and black shorts combo. Noya’s back is to him, but he visibly straightens as the sound of Asahi’s footsteps approach, head twisting around to fix those ever startling eyes on the taller man. “Azumane,” his eyebrows pinch, “what are you doing here?” There’s this nagging feeling in his chest. It strikes him as odd again; something about Noya is so unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s sure if they had known each other prior to his memory loss then someone as headstrong as Noya seems to be would have said something about it by now, but Noya doesn’t seem bothered like Asahi is. He shakes it off.

Something seems off. Noya is quieter, more pensive. His gaze has returned to the surface of the lake immediately after confirming that he knows the person approaching him. It’s a strange change from the loud, fierce boy Asahi has started to know him as. “Noya,” he greets softly, joining him carefully by the water. “I was out for a run. Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?” “Oh,” Noya seems to remember something, “I forgot your jacket. Sorry.” Asahi shakes his head. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I was going to come running. It isn’t like I’ve done this in a while.” Noya is staring at him again, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He’s frowning — it’s only a faint, downward quirk of the lips, but it seems so out of place on Noya’s features that it catches Asahi off guard. A matching frown slips onto his face.

“Have you made any progress?” Noya asks suddenly, peering up at Asahi intently. “With the case, I mean.” “Noya, it’s only been a night,” Asahi reminds him gently. “I’ll look into it more later, but nothing’s changed from when you asked me yesterday.” “Yesterday?” Noya echoes, as if confused. “Oh… Right. When you gave me the jacket. Okay.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asahi persists. “I’m fine! Listen, I’ve gotta go, ‘kay? I’ll catch you again sometime soon.” Noya takes off before Asahi can so much as consider asking about contact information. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck only contacting Noya whenever they happen to run into each other in town. Belatedly, near the tail end of his run, he realizes that Noya must live nearby, to have been at the park.

So why had he been all the way across town yesterday? Asahi glances back, as if the answer will appear behind him. The cold wind replies, whispering through the bare branches of the trees. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is too familiar about Noya to forget. Maybe it’s just the man’s strange tendencies or the way he seems so desperate for the case to be solved as soon as possible, but Asahi just can’t get rid of this feeling. He doesn’t know what it is yet, only that it feels too important to completely dismiss a third time.

So this time, he tucks it away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“Oi, Azumane,” Kozume leans around his laptop, “what was that new file you got? An investigation?”

Asahi starts at the sound of his voice. After the two loudest members of their agency had gone off on lunch, the room had finally become quiet enough for Asahi to focus on his research. His desk is in clutters, public records scattered across the surface, laptop balanced precariously on the corner and held in place only by half of a large, opened book. Asahi is in the middle of rereading the case file when Kozume speaks up. He's so focused that, in his surprise, he nearly takes out his laptop himself. Kozume just lifts one disinterested brow, strands of dark hair slipping back into their usual place over his face. “Uh,” Asahi begins, eloquently, “something like that. Client wants me to look into a closed case. I think he’s probably got some pretty personal roots in it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t a good idea to reopen old wounds.” “You’re too nice, Azumane-san.” Akaashi remarks from his desk without looking up. “Sometimes, it’s best to put a stop to it before it can start.” “Then again,” Kozume muses, “I guess we are getting paid for this, huh?”

They lapse into a mutual silence again.

Asahi feels like there are still eyes on him, but Akaashi is still looking at the paperwork on his desk and Kozume has returned to his laptop screen. The rest of the employees aren’t here, and Narita is presumably still at the front desk. With a faint frown, Asahi shakes the feeling away and returns his attention to the files.

His information is severely limited. That’s the biggest issue. If there had been an address on the file he could have started his investigation there, but Noya would be the easier source. The only issue with that is that Asahi still hasn’t gotten Noya’s contact information to ask him about it. That being said, he’s not even sure if Noya actually knows anything or if this just happens to be a personal investment of his. Asahi isn’t in the habit of prying about people’s personal connections to a case. As long as he can get their information and go on about his business, he’s content, but Noya is so forthright and intense that Asahi can’t help but be curious.

It bothers him, but he doesn’t know why.

“Oh,” says Kozume, voice breaking into Asahi’s thought process abruptly again, “another robbery. I wonder if it’s a chain?”

When Asahi looks back up, Kozume is still looking at his laptop, but now he’s leaning closer to the screen, visibly reading something. He turns away and wheels his swivel chair over to the side table by the door to retrieve the remote.

“Last I heard, there wasn’t any correlation between the places that were being hit.” Akaashi replies, gaze lifting from his papers. “They’re thinking it’s separate cases, but who knows. The police don’t read too into situations if the evidence is obvious.” “Lazy asses,” Kozume scoffs, clicking through channels on the overhead TV.

“Robberies?” Asahi speaks up, confused.

He hasn’t been actively keeping up with the news outside of early weather reports recently, a little more concerned with his own issues and his work. It’s more than enough to balance work and the whole memory loss thing, and while he definitely should be better about keeping up with the rest of the world, it hasn’t been his main concern as of late.

Kozume settles on a news channel. The news anchor is in the middle of reporting on the subject at hand — another local robbery. It’s the third in the past two weeks, but there’s no evidence to connect it to the other two. This one had targeted a tiny, one bedroom home on the city outskirts. Asahi frowns at the news coverage. He doesn’t understand why anyone would target a place where there was unlikely to be anything to be gained, but he feels bad for the homeowner. The newscast says they came out undamaged since they weren’t home at the time, but nonetheless, he understands the feeling of having your life uprooted suddenly.

Asahi shakes his head and returns his attention to the files before him, scribbling notes down on things to look into further and potential leads. He’ll have to remember to find Noya again and get his contact information this time. Noya is the best lead he has at this point, and hopefully he can get something out of the other man to get him somewhere in this seemingly dead end case.

In the background, the television drones on.

When evening gives way to the end of his work day, Asahi finds himself searching the rush hour crowd for the tuft of electric blond that he’s becoming so familiar with. He can’t figure out why he’s trying to find Noya here; after all, he’d come to the conclusion that he lives on the other side of town, so he doubts he’ll see him here. On the other hand, it’s possible Noya works over here too. It’d be a strange coincidence for him to be in the same working and living situation as Asahi himself, but it’d make sense as to why Noya had come to their agency in particular. It's possible that it's also the opposite way around, with Noya living here and working on the other side of town. All of the facts Asahi knows check out with one of those theories; it’d explain why Noya was at the train station, too.

But by the time he gets to the station, he hasn’t spotted Noya anywhere. Even amongst the people waiting on the platform, he can’t see the wild, dark hair, and there’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it’s a persistent feeling, and more surprisingly, one that doesn’t feel new. He can’t imagine forgetting someone like Noya, but he’d forgotten someone like Suga already, so his memory loss isn’t discriminating.

The train whistles a warning. Asahi startles, hurrying on instinctively. He hadn’t even realized the train had pulled up. He looks for Noya one more time, but upon confirming that the other man is nowhere to be seen, averts his gaze to his feet. The train doors hiss shut around him, before it lurches into motion, pulling away from the platform.

It’s strange, he thinks, how lonely the platform looks disappearing behind them.

When the train comes to a hissing stop at his destination platform, Asahi’s phone begins to vibrate aggressively against his thigh. He waits until he’s clear of all the people to check it, unlocking the screen to several tests and a missed call from Suga. Just as he’s going to check the texts, Suga’s name lights up his screen again. Asahi nearly drops his phone in his haste to answer the call.

“Asahi!” Sugawara practically yells. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

Asahi slowly brings the phone back to his ear as he walks, having held it away in his haste to avoid having his eardrums blown out.

“The news?” He echoes. “Like the robberies?”

“Yeah! Apparently, there was another one! I guess the person tried to fight back and get this - they ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”

Asahi grimaces. If all of these robberies are connected, then it could be a problem. Generally speaking, most robbers would flee if they were caught or met with resistance, but if this one had no qualms with hurting people, it could get dirty. Asahi is hoping they aren’t connected, but it’s starting to look doubtful. He’ll have to catch up on the situation when he gets home.

“That’s-”

Asahi cut off, turning his head to follow the abrupt streak of color that had caught his eye. He’s a few blocks from his apartment, at best, but now he turns around entirely, gaze searching. He spots it again just in time to watch it vanish through the door of a tiny coffee shop. Asahi hesitates.

“Asahi?” Sugawara calls from his phone. “Hellooo? Earth to Asahi! What happened?” “S-Sorry, Suga,” Asahi says quickly, feet already guiding him towards the building, “I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Huh? Hold on, wh-”

The line goes dead as Asahi jabs the end call button, shoving his phone unceremoniously back into his pocket as he enters the cafe. The bell chimes gently overhead as he pushes the door open, and someone at the front calls out a greeting that he only half hears. He’s busy thinking about how Suga will be upset with him later for hanging up so abruptly; he’s thinking that maybe he should feel a little worse about that than he does, and it has him wondering if he’s less of a friend for it. He’s busy thinking about how he’s sure to get an earful later, but his body is moving across the cafe, toward a booth in the corner where he can see the backside of dark, wild hair, and the small flick of a tag sticking up from the inside of a white t-shirt.

The man in the booth lifts his head when Asahi rounds the table, piercing gaze fixing onto the detective. It’s as if he comes back to earth all at once, awareness lighting his eyes and his expression picking up in something vaguely resembling surprise. “Asahi!” He half yells, slamming his palms into the table and standing in one motion.

Asahi flinches at the abrupt shout and one of the employees glances their way. Ducking his head bashfully, Asahi makes himself as small as possible as he slides into the booth across from Noya, reaching out to gesture Noya back into his own seat. Preferably, he thinks, as quietly as possible.

Luckily, Noya drops unceremoniously back into his seat, staring intensely at Asahi.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I…” Asahi grimaces, knowing how strange this is going to sound, “I saw you coming in. You never gave me any sort of contact, so I haven’t been able to reach you for anything regarding the case.”

Noya visibly straightens. “Have you figured out something new?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“Oh,” Noya continues, cutting him off, “I don’t have a phone.”

Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it? It’s just Asahi’s luck, he supposes. Still, he’s got to figure out some way to keep up contact with Noya, since he’s Asahi’s only sure link to the case.

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.

“Okay, then take mine,” Asahi grabs a napkin from the table, fishing a pen from the front breast pocket of his jacket. “And if you can, just let me know if you come across anything new. Can we meet again sometime here to sit down and talk? Like Friday?” Noya takes the napkin and with surprising tenderness, folds it, and tucks it into the pocket of his black basketball shorts. He’s staring at Asahi still, but Asahi can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

“Okay,” Noya says, “Friday.”

And there it is again; Asahi meets his gaze and he feels like he’s missing something, like there’s a piece here that he should be aware of. He can’t shake it, that feeling that he just knows Noya from somewhere, from before all this.

“Noya,” he breathes, “have we met before? Before you came in with the case?”

Noya scrutinizes him for a long moment, almost unresponsive, as if the question hadn’t even registered to him. There’s something off about the entire moment, the motionless state of someone who feels like he should always be moving. Slowly, his lips pinch into a frown, just a little downward tilt that looks so off on his features. His expression darkens, hooded over like a shadow fell across him.

He looks unsure. He looks scared.

It’s only for a moment, so quick that Asahi is sure it must have been his imagination because then Noya is laughing, loud and rambunctious and more like the one that seems familiar to Asahi.

“No way!” He decides. “You must be imagining things, Azumane-san! There’s no way you’d forget someone as cool as me!”

Asahi feels like his veins have frozen over. He’s cold down to the bone.

“Of course,” he agrees, smiling shakily, “that’s true.”

There’s a seed of doubt rooting itself in his chest, and Asahi is too scared to try to figure out the root of it.

He stands again, bidding Noya a good night, and hurries out the door before the other man gets another word in edgewise, but he feels Noya’s gaze follow him out the door. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, and he takes it out, preparing himself for the earful he’s going to get.

Something is reassuring about Suga’s ranting on the other end. It gets him home.

When he looks over the case again that night, he writes details about the recent robberies down on a notebook next to it. He gathers what he can from the news and more from the internet. Tomorrow, he’ll get more info on it from Kozume, and Friday, he’ll get what he can from Noya. He doesn’t know yet if he’s making progress here, but he’s hoping for the best.

At this point, it’s all he can do.

It isn’t until he’s getting ready for bed, braiding his hair back out of his face, that the thought strikes him. He’s thinking about the tiny coffee shop, about the bell over the door, about the way Noya had called him Asahi. He has the distinctive memory of introducing himself only as Azumane.

So where had Noya gotten his given name?

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“You look different,” Noya remarks.

Asahi feels like he’s having deja vu. He hardly knows where the week has gone, and now he’s back at the tiny coffee shop with Noya. They’re seated in the same booth as before. Noya’s shirt tag is sticking out. Asahi has his hair loose.

“It’s the hair,” they say, in sync, and Noya grins when Asahi cracks a smile.

“Finally!” He laughs. “I was starting to think you couldn’t smile properly! You’re so nervous all the time that I was starting to wonder how you’d ended up in this line of work.”

Asahi tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, I’m sure it probably wasn’t my dream career, but I don’t remember enough about my old life to know how true that is. I guess it seems like a pretty unpredictable career, but it’s routine enough to be comforting.”

Noya frowns at him. “Whaddya mean you don’t remember?” Asahi winces. Outside of the fact that nobody else wants to discuss the accident, Asahi tries not to talk about it too much. Trying to remember gives him an intense migraine, and he hates the pitying looks he gets from it. He hates feeling helpless, and there’s this part of him that wouldn’t be able to handle it if Noya looked at him like that.

“I had an accident a while back,” Asahi replies vaguely, waving one hand dismissively, “nothing important.”

Noya’s watching him like he doesn’t believe him. Asahi avoids his gaze; he has the distinct feeling that Noya will see right through him otherwise.

“Okay,” Noya finally says, “then what about that necklace you’re always playing with? The ring. Are you married or something?”

Asahi doesn’t even realize he’s messing with it until Noya points it out. He’s busted, caught like a deer in headlights under Noya’s drilling questions. His words die in his throat, lips parted but nothing coming out.

I don’t know, he thinks, clenching his fist around the ring. He shoves it back into his shirt and grips the edge of the table, focusing on keeping his hands there. “No,” he manages, smile tight again, “but it doesn’t matter. We’re here to talk about the case, remember?”

Noya’s gaze flicks down, but he doesn’t push it.

“Right.”

Noya talks. It’s not all connected, more stream of thought and dropping details as they come to him, but Asahi listens. He takes notes, putting things that he knows already on one page and things he’s hearing for the first time on another. Some of Noya’s tales have nothing to do with the case, but Asahi lets them slide, and then he realizes that Noya hasn’t been talking about the case for a while.

But here’s Asahi, pen down and still listening. There’s something about Noya’s energy that’s so easy to get wrapped up in, and Asahi hadn’t even realized he was in it until it was too late. Maybe it’s the way Noya feels familiar to him, like second nature, or the way he’s sure he must know Noya from before, but the sensation is contagious, quick like electricity and quiet like a thief.

“Azumane-san?”

Noya’s voice breaks into his thoughts again. Asahi starts, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped writing, or when the case discussion had ended and the casual talk had begun, but he does realize, belatedly, that they never got their coffee. The baristas bring them out here, he’d noticed, so it strikes him as a little strange.

“Sorry,” Asahi tells him, “I just realized we don’t have our drinks.”

As if on cue, Noya’s gaze moves from Asahi to the woman approaching their table. Asahi tears his gaze away from the man in front of him to focus on her as well, putting on his most polite smile as she sets the coffee down in front of him.

“Here you go,” she says, “sorry about the wait.”

She turns to leave, and Asahi realizes that she’s only brought his drink.

“Sorry, ma’am?” He calls quickly. “What about my fri-”

He turns to gesture at Noya and falters. The seat across from him is empty; Noya is gone. The employee gives him a strange look, glancing between him and the empty booth across from him. Asahi swallows his sentence back down, where it feels like a thick lump in his throat.

“Nevermind,” he says instead, “thank you.”

She glances at the booth opposite of him again and then seems to simply accept it as strange, for she turns and heads back to the front, leaving Asahi alone with the ghost of Noya’s electric presence.

He ends up getting a to-go cup for his coffee.

Asahi doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, only that he gets there and he comes back to awareness when he’s unlocking his front door. He falters, hand on his doorknob, gaze fixed on the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. Everything comes back all at once. Is this the right thing to do? Should he have just followed the advice and refused the case upfront? He doesn’t even know when Noya had slipped out. Had it been the brief moment he’d turned his attention to the girl at the shop? Asahi hadn't even heard the bell.

Why hadn’t Noya said anything?

Asahi is starting to think he’s getting too ahead of himself, thinking one normal conversation and a borrowed jacket makes them friends or something. But there’s the thought he’s been hesitant to admit to himself; he wants to be friends with Noya. Something about the other man makes him feel comfortable, regardless of his eccentric nature, and he’s starting to think that maybe Noya was right about his career choice being the wrong one for him.

He can’t afford to get attached to every other person he meets in this line of work. Noya is the first, but Asahi can’t say for sure if he’ll be the last, and Asahi doesn’t even know when the line in the sand got washed away. He doesn’t know if it happened halfway through their conversation or the first time he’d realized something about Noya was too familiar to ignore. Still, Noya had been right about one thing: there’s no way Asahi could have forgotten someone like him.

It’s the only reason Asahi is hesitant to let the feeling of familiarity go.

He realizes with a start that he’s still standing outside, so he pushes the door open and ducks into his apartment. Whatever he ends up deciding to do here, he’s got all the information he thinks he’s going to get from Noya. For now, he needs to crack down on the case. The longer he drags this on, the worse it will get for the both of them. He wants to give Noya the best chance he has of moving on from this, and the only way to do that is to solve it as soon as possible.

Asahi takes his shoes off at the entryway and heads into the living room, setting his bag down next to the low table in front of his couch. He yanks his hair up into a half-hearted bun and collects his notes and files, adding them to the growing pile on the table. Clicking the television on for background noise, he gets to work sorting. The details are still minimal, and the progress looks minimal, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, there’s still that robber at large, and while Asahi has no surefire proof to connect the two outside of a gut feeling, he’s learned very quickly to trust his gut.

He glances up at the TV just in time to catch a glimpse of a reporter standing in front of a house, door caved in and front yard taped off by obnoxious yellow crime scene signs. It catches his attention immediately, so he glances down at the caption.

Armed robbery. Voluntary manslaughter.

Asahi’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes dart down to the file. What were the odds?

What if it hadn’t been involuntary? The file states that the person had been found dead at the scene, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from a robbery gone wrong. Robbery. Check. Armed suspect. Check. Had they considered a lack of qualms against hurting people? Asahi flips his notebook to a fresh page and begins charting all the locations the robber had hit thus far. Maybe there’s some sort of pattern they’re overlooking, a rhyme or reason to the places the robber is targeting.

His facts are minimal but sure.

The robber only targets houses, never businesses. The types of houses vary. No known pattern thus far.

The robber is armed and dangerous. Generally, there’s minimal damage to any people they happen to rob, but when those people get in the way or fight back, it’s a different story. There have been people both hospitalized and killed.

The robber has no qualms about killing people who got in the way.

Asahi stares at the page. Finally, at the bottom, he writes Noya? beneath his list of facts. He doesn’t know what the precise connection is with Noya’s case in all of this, but if he can predict where the robber is going to strike next, maybe there’s something to be found there. That’s only if the police themselves don’t beat him there first. Either way, hopefully, some sort of confession would come out and Asahi could call this closed properly. If this is unrelated, then he’s going to have to think of something else fast.

It’s nearly four in the morning when he finally talks himself into going to sleep, but it’s restless at best, and he rises early. He’s off on weekends, so they’re his only opportunity to go get things done if he doesn’t want to go right after work. The case weighs heavily on his thoughts for the entirety of his morning run. When he passes the lake he’d run into Noya at that time, he pauses, only for a moment, to glance around, but Noya isn’t there.

Asahi keeps running, but he’s starting to feel less like he’s keeping active and more like he’s trying to get away from something. He feels like he’s running away from a lot of things, as of late. It can’t be helped.

Azumane Asahi is a coward, he tells himself, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a lie at all.

The next time he sees Noya, it’s on the same route and nearly a week later. Asahi finds himself searching the route consistently without even knowing if Noya even lives in the area, hoping to catch some sort of glimpse of the other man. He hasn’t heard anything from Noya since the day at the coffee shop, and he’s starting to grow a little concerned.

His traitorous heart says something else, but Asahi tries not to listen too hard to things made of glass.

There’s rustling overhead when Asahi passes beneath a tree. It’s followed by a loud yowl, and it’s this that makes Asahi falter in his steps. He pauses, turning his head up to squint into the branches. The early morning sun is bright, near blinding, but the shadow that covers Asahi blocks it out.

He sees the little tag sticking out of the collar of the white shirt first, and then the outstretched arm, pale and skinny, reaching out to a higher branch. Asahi can mostly only see the person’s silhouette, but he knows that figure anywhere.

“Noya?” He calls up hesitantly.

Golden eyes fix on him immediately. Noya looks vaguely surprised, arm still outstretched, lips parted into a perfect little circle. There’s a cat a few branches up from his perch, a skinny little tabby with all of its fur puffed out. Its teeth are bared at the other man, a low growl rising in his throat.

Asahi hasn’t ever seen a cat react like that to someone. Usually, the strays around this area are calm, used to the joggers and families who come through the park trails all the time. He frowns a little at the sight, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to shield his eyes as he peers up.

“Oh,” says Noya, “Hey, Azumane. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I run here every morning now,” Asahi frowns, “you already knew that. What are you doing up there?”

Noya gestures to the cat, who swings at his moving hand. “I came up to save him, but he won’t let me anywhere near him. I think I’m just gonna grab him and deal with the consequences later.”

“What.” Asahi intones.

Noya reaches for the cat.

“What?” Asahi repeats. “Wait, no-”

Noya stretches out of his crouch and snatches the cat in one quick motion. The tabby immediately begins yelling, claws sinking wherever they can reach. Noya yelps, and then takes a surprised step back into mid-air. Asahi shouts. All at once, Noya and the cat come crashing down through the branches, and Asahi slides down on his knees beneath them, breath leaving his body as they collide.

Asahi groans softly from his place on the ground. Noya scrambles off of him, eyes wide. He’s still holding the cat, who looks shaken, but overall unharmed.

“Asahi!” Noya gasps. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry!”

Asahi waves him off with one hand, sitting up slowly. His torso aches where he’d ungracefully caught them, but at least they seem unharmed. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, and he looks around for the tie, only to find it snapped on the ground. It’d been fraying, so he isn’t surprised, but it’s still a little inconvenient.

“It’s okay,” he manages, when he finally catches his breath, “are you two okay?”

Noya beams, holding the cat up victoriously. “We’re totally fine!”

The cat bites Noya’s hand. Noya drops the tabby, and he bolts without so much as a glance back. The short man sulks as he stares after the vanishing animal, crossing his arms over his chest. There are claw marks down the length of his forearms and branches still stuck in his black basketball shorts.

“Rude,” Noya says, getting up.

He offers a hand to Asahi, but Asahi, a little doubtful that Noya can lift him, stands on his own.

“You should be more careful,” he says, frowning.

“I had it handled!”

“You fell out of a tree.”

Noya purses his lips. “You know. Fair.” He sticks his index finger out as if to agree that Asahi has a point. “You got me there.”

“How did you even get up there?” Asahi asks, gazing up at the tree.

There aren’t any visible branches that Noya could have used to climb, and Asahi has to admit that even with his height, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the lowest ones. There’s no way to get a handhold on the trunk, either, so he’s not sure how Noya got up there to begin with.

Noya shrugs. “I climbed? The cat couldn’t get down so I went up to help him.”

Asahi sighs. “Okay, Noya. My apartment isn’t far from here, so let me at least treat the scratches. It’d be bad if you got something.”

Noya hesitates, but then he looks down, inspects his arms, and grimaces a little.

“Okay, lead the way.”

Asahi tucks his hair behind his ears and turns, starting at a steady pace back up the pathway. Noya keeps at his heels, carefree and cheerful as he turns his arms over, inspecting his new battle scars. It’s almost endearing, Asahi dares to think, but he’s still not over how the cat had acted with Noya. Asahi is sure Noya isn’t a bad person, but he’s never seen a reaction like that in the months he’s been running here.

He frowns back as if the tree itself will give him answers, but it stands tall and silent, shadowed against the pale blue sky.

When they climb the steps to Asahi’s apartment, the realization hits him like a bullet. He’s bringing Noya into his apartment. How had they gotten here? Is his apartment even clean? It’s so plain that he doesn’t know what Noya is going to think about it. Had he done the dishes already or were they still sitting in the sink?

Anxiety settles in like a second skin, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re already at the door and Noya is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it. Asahi tries to hide the way his hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and opens it, letting Noya into the dark entryway.

Noya kicks off his shoes at the entrance, and Asahi follows suit, stepping in ahead of the other man. The sink is clean. The living room has a few books on the table and stray papers from his brainstorming session the other night, but otherwise it isn’t unacceptable. He flicks the light on and crosses to the table, shoving the papers messily together.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, “make yourself at home and I’ll grab my first aid kit.”

Noya plops onto the couch, looking around like a curious child. Asahi feels strange having someone over like this. He seldom has company, especially new company, and he feels like he’s being assessed for some sort of test. Clutching the papers to his chest, Asahi hurries into his room for the first aid kit in his bathroom.

Noya is still sitting on the couch when Asahi returns. His gaze is fixed on a photo hanging on the wall. It’s of Asahi, fresh out of the hospital, Suga and Daichi standing just behind him in the frame. Shimizu had been the one to take it, and it’s one of the earliest things he still remembers. Noya frowns at it a little, like he’s struggling to think about something, and Asahi just figures he must have zoned out.

“Noya?” He says as he nears.

Noya straightens, almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to Asahi as the other man crouches in front of him, opening the first aid kit and setting it aside on the table. Noya gets the hint and offers out his arms while Asahi prepares a cotton pad for cleaning the scratches.

“Ouch,” Noya hisses once Asahi starts dabbing over them.

Asahi shakes his head, holding Noya by the wrist to keep his arm steady.

“Are those your friends?” Noya asks suddenly.

Asahi glances up at him, and then back at the photo. “Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back onto his task. “The one with the silver hair is Suga. The dark-haired one is Daichi. Our other friend, Shimizu, took the photo, but she’s not very fond of being in them. They were there with me when I was in the hospital for a while.”

“What were you there for?”

Asahi grimaces, remembering why he’d avoided the subject the last time he’d talked to Noya. “Uh,” he starts hesitantly.

He can feel Noya’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Asahi gets the feeling that he’ll spill everything if he does, so he stubbornly keeps his focus on treating Noya’s scratches.

“It’s okay, Azumane-san,” Noya laughs, “you don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”

Asahi exhales, a little relieved. He wraps up Noya’s first arm, having finished treating the scratches there. Moving onto the second one, Asahi grabs a fresh cotton pad. He frowns as he sets back to work.

“Noya,” he starts, “where did you go, the other day? At the cafe, I mean?”

Noya stiffens a little under his grip.

“Sorry about that,” the other man mumbles, “I had an emergency I had to handle, so…”

“Oh,” says Asahi, unconvinced, “okay. I was just worried… You just up and vanished without saying anything.”

Noya doesn’t go into any more detail, and Asahi doesn’t push it. He gets the feeling Noya isn’t telling the whole truth, but he’s not going to try to force it out. He has his own secrets, and he’s sure Noya has plenty himself. Despite seeming like a very open person, he’s come to notice that Noya is strange, like he’s never quite there most of the time, and the times that he is, he seems so full of life that he’s ready to burst with it.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Noya’s voice is painfully soft.

Asahi’s heart aches. He doesn’t know why that gentle voice hurts, only that it does something strange to him. He catches himself holding his breath, as if even that will break this moment. He knows better. He knows better. He doesn’t know Noya, and Noya doesn’t know him. They’re client and employee, nothing more.

Asahi doesn’t even know himself. How could he even hope to let someone else know him?

“It’s okay,” Asahi gets out, but his voice sounds foreign to himself like it’s coming from someone else speaking in his place instead of him.

Something about the intimacy of the moment makes Asahi feel like he’s an outsider, watching his own hands and fingers tenderly take care of Noya’s newly acquired scratches. He knows there’s more on the man’s face, but he’s scared to raise his gaze. He’s scared that whatever is happening is going to shatter the moment they make eye contact. Asahi is going to realize it’s all in his head, or Noya is going to realize it’s strange for him to be in what is essentially a stranger’s house.

He feels like he knows Noya. The feeling won’t go away, but Noya has told him that he’s sure they’ve never met. Asahi couldn’t forget someone like him, and Asahi is inclined to agree. He’s stalling now, and he knows it, and he’s sure Noya knows it, but neither of them say anything about it as Asahi cleans over the scars a second, and then a third time.

Finally, he bandages the second arm. Noya’s skin is cold beneath his grip, freezing like the other man has been standing in negative temperatures for hours. Asahi knows this isn’t the case, so he assumes Noya must just run cold in comparison to Asahi himself. Noya seems unbothered, either way.

“Thanks,” Noya finally breaks the silence.

Asahi dares to raise his gaze. Noya’s eyes are trained on him, sharp and focused with such intense clarity that Asahi is momentarily taken aback. Noya looks as if he’s a page ahead of Asahi, waiting for him to catch up. Asahi isn’t sure if he should, much less if he wants to.

“Well,” he replies, averting his gaze to get another cotton pad, “I wasn’t just going to leave you after I watched it happen. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem like you’d neglect taking care of them.”

Noya grins crookedly in the corner of his vision. “You’re right,” he says, “I would. But that’s not all I was thanking you for.”

Asahi pauses, mid-turn, pad raised to start in on the scratches on Noya’s face. He blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“That was for everything,” Noya continues. “I know this case isn’t easy on you. I’m sorry I dumped it on you, but something told me you’re the only one who can handle it, and I always listen to my instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So I was saying thank you for putting up with all of this.”

Oh, Asahi thinks, and then says, “Oh.”

Noya laughs. “Oh?”

“Sorry. No, wait. I mean… You don’t need to thank me.” Asahi reaches out, carefully starting to clean the scratches across Noya’s cheek.

“Ow,” Noya says, again.

“Sorry,” Asahi frowns, knowing there isn’t much he can do about the pain.

“It’s okay. I got myself into this, so I’ll tough it out!” The golden-eyed boy declares.

Asahi smiles to himself. Noya’s energy is near contagious, and he’s just about forgotten about his previous anxiety of having the other man in his house. Noya seems nonchalant and uncaring, like he doesn’t care to judge how Asahi lives either way.

“There,” Asahi says, putting bandages over the last few scratches. “Done.”

Noya gives him a double thumbs-up, grinning so widely it looks painful. “Cool! Thanks, Asahi! You’re the best!”

Asahi holds both hands up placatingly. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

“No!” A fire lights in Noya’s eyes, and he reaches out, grabbing both of Asahi’s hands so abruptly that the brunet squeaks. “It’s true! Don’t go selling yourself short, okay?”

Asahi’s voice catches in his throat. He wants to protest again, but Noya’s gaze is so intense that he physically can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod in agreement. It seems to satisfy Noya, so he releases Asahi’s hands and hops up from the couch.

“Alright! I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? We’ll get this done!”

Noya reaches out, bumping Asahi’s shoulder with his fist. The little tap startles Asahi back into reality, and he scrambles to his feet, following Noya to the door and watching him put his shoes on. At the door, they both hesitate. Asahi looks down at his feet, but he can feel Noya’s gaze on him.

“Be safe,” Asahi says, finally.

Noya stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he reaches out, squeezes Asahi’s arm, and then turns away and bolts down the stairs. Asahi watches him jog down the road, and then vanish over the crest of the hill, out of sight, but never out of mind.

Maybe, he considers, he should have tried to make him stay.

Asahi stares at the hill Noya had vanished over for a long moment longer. He stares as if he’s waiting for the other man to turn around and come back, citing that it’s too late to head home, and the trains aren’t running anyway, so it’d take a while on foot. Asahi still doesn’t know if Noya lives nearby or closer to the agency, but either way, he could have thought of something.

He stares on, but Noya doesn’t come back. Finally, Asahi closes the door behind him and flicks the lock.

“You’ve been busy lately,” Kozume remarks, the following Monday, without looking up from his Switch screen.

Asahi doesn’t know how he gets away with playing video games at work so often, but he supposes as long as Kozume is efficient at his job, their boss doesn’t really care. He’s starting to give Asahi some eyes about the case he’s on, so he knows it’s time to hurry up and wrap it up.

Narita comes in, bearing coffee. He hands them out to each of the others in the room, setting Kozume’s next to him and handing Akaashi’s off. Crossing to Asahi, he offers out the coffee.

“Same as usual? How’s it going?” He asks.

Asahi accepts the warm drink from the receptionist. “It’s going,” he sighs, “I haven’t made too much progress outside of some guessed predictions. My sole witness has this habit of up and vanishing and apparently doesn’t have a phone to contact.”

Narita nods sympathetically. “Client isn’t making it easy, huh? This is probably your first one of those, but I see them come through all the time. It’ll work out, so don’t stress too much.”

“He can do with a little stress,” Akaashi comments, taking a sip of his coffee.

Narita turns to give him a withering look and then turns back to Asahi. “Anyway, drink up while it’s warm and then go back into this thing with a fresh mind, yeah? Good luck, Azumane.”

Asahi watches the receptionist go, and takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch away. The moment of pain, however brief, does its part to make everything come into sharper focus. Three days from now, he’ll have been slugging through this case for a month. That’s the time limit he’s going to give himself; if he hasn’t figured this out or made any significant progress in the next few days, he’s going to tell Noya he can’t do it.

Resolution set in his mind, Asahi dives back into his work with renewed vigor.

“Don’t stay too late,” Akaashi says, later that night.

Kozume is already long gone, and Akaashi had finished his work, so he’s getting ready to leave too. It’s just Asahi now, with everyone else out. The black-haired man puts his jacket over his arm and strolls out. Only a moment later, Narita peers in.

“Azumane? Someone is waiting outside for you.”

Asahi glances up, confused. He hadn’t been expecting anybody, but it’s as good a reason as any to change location. He nods in acknowledgment to Narita and hurries to pack his things, pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.

Outside, he glances around in search of the person. It takes him a minute to spot them, but when his gaze shifts down, it catches on the streak of blond in Noya’s hair. The other man looks up when Asahi emerges from the building, and then stands immediately when he realizes who it is.

“Noya?” Asahi questions, surprised.

“Hey,” Noya smiles crookedly, “sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I was out and I just ended up here. Are you getting ready to head home?”

Asahi readjusts his bag. “Yeah, I just finished for the night. How did you end up way out here again?”

Noya opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again, frowning in confusion. Finally, he just shrugs a little, as if he isn’t sure himself.

“I just did,” he says. “Can I walk with you?”

Asahi hesitates, but finally nods in concession. Noya falls into step beside him as he heads out towards the train station. It’s later than Asahi usually leaves, and the streets are nearly empty now. The sun is starting to set beneath the taller buildings in the distance, and Asahi gets the feeling it will be well past dark by the time he gets home.

“Do you live around here, Noya?” Asahi asks, glancing down at the other man.

He recalls seeing Noya back near where he lives, as well, but maybe the shorter man just gets around a lot. This is his chance to finally figure it out, so Asahi seizes it.

Noya hesitates a little, lips parting like he’s going to speak, then closing again. “Uh,” he starts, glancing around, “well-”

Noya cuts off, gaze catching on movement nearby. There’s a girl, no older than seven or eight, stumbling down the sidewalk. Even from this distance, Asahi can see the scrapes on her knees. She’s bawling, rubbing her face with the back of her hands, but steadily making her way down the sidewalk nonetheless, like she’s on a mission.

Asahi exchanges a look with Noya, and they both hurry toward her. Noya reaches her first, crouching in front of her and starting to talk. Asahi is a short pace behind him, catching up just in time to hear the child speak through her tears and sniffling.

“A bad man came into our house,” she sniffles, stuttering around her hiccups, “and Mama told me to run away and get help, but she’s stuck there with him!”

Asahi’s blood goes cold. This is it. The one time he hadn’t been trying to find the man and it practically fell into his lap. Noya is clearly thinking the same thing, expression hard and eyebrows downturned. He meets Asahi’s eyes and nods.

“Hi,” Asahi says, crouching down, “I’m a detective. I can go help your mama, but I need you to tell me which house is yours. Can you do that for me?”

The girl sniffs, looking up at him. “T-The one with the flower mailbox Mama and I painted…”

Noya is already running. Asahi squeezes the girl’s shoulders, getting back to his feet.

“Listen carefully. We’re going to go help your mama, so I need you to be brave for me, okay? Find someone and ask them to call the police for you. We’ll make sure your mom is safe.”

The little girl’s gaze follows him as he runs after Noya. He has no chance of catching up with the spitfire of a man, but Noya waits at the door for him, clearly trying to find a good way in. Asahi glances into the shattered window. The coast seems clear. He gestures to Noya and creeps around to the front door, opening it slowly.

It doesn’t creak, and Asahi thanks any god that exists as he and Noya sneak into the quiet house. Asahi puts a finger to his lips, signaling for Noya to follow him. Together, they quietly round the corner and immediately come face to face with the robber.

They catch the man by surprise. Asahi sees it in the glance he gets of the man’s expression before he’s forced to leap out of the way, bullets riddling the wall where he’d just been standing. To his right, Noya hisses from his spot on the ground, and Asahi has to suppress the nausea that rises in his chest at the sight of red blossoming across Noya’s shoulder.

“Noya,” he gasps, scrambling over, “I’m so sorry. I should have reacted faster. You’re going to need medical attention-” “Asahi,” Noya’s grin edges on pained, but he’s pushing through, nudging Asahi away. “I’m fine. I'm tough, remember? So don’t worry about me. I’ll live, so worry about that kid’s mom first. You bust that guy for the both of us, okay?”

His fingers brush Asahi’s cheek, cold against the skin there, and Asahi’s everything zeroes in on just that sensation. He focuses on the way that Noya’s hand feels against his cheek, electricity at his fingertips. He focuses on the way that regardless of whether he’d known Noya before or not, he knows him now, and he wouldn’t ask for it any other way.

Kissing Noya feels like second nature. He’s careful of the other man’s shoulder, even if it’s nothing more than a brief press of lips, but when he pulls away, Noya exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

“Stay safe,” he tells Asahi, “‘cause if you die on me, I’ll summon you back and annoy you as a ghost.”

Asahi laughs. “I won’t. Get somewhere safe, Noya.”

He squeezes Noya’s hand and then hurries into the hallway, keeping low and staying alert. He doesn’t know where the robber is, but the robber doesn’t know his location either. But only one of them has a gun, and it isn’t Asahi, so he’s at a disadvantage here. His priority is getting the woman out safely, but he hasn’t seen her yet, so he’s hoping she’s already hiding somewhere safe. His and Noya’s arrival had distracted the robber for a moment, and he just has to hope the moment is enough if he can’t find her first.

Asahi ducks behind the couch just in time to avoid being seen by the man who creeps in through the next hall. He drops to his hands and knees, sneaking around the side to watch the man’s slow progression towards the kitchen, where he assumes there’s a side door. The man’s gaze sweeps the room once, twice. Asahi creeps forward when his back is turned, and the moment he takes a step to move away, Asahi lunges.

He’s scared. God, he’s terrified. He shouldn’t have made any promises to Noya. He isn’t immortal. If this man gets the upper hand, Asahi knows he has no chance.

But he can’t think about that. Right now, he can only focus on survival, on grappling with the man before him for control over the single gun. The robber’s eyes are wide, wild with disbelief. Asahi can’t figure out what he’s so surprised about; surely, he’d expected someone to come after him eventually for all of this? Asahi pulls and the man resists, They shove and turn and twist, brute strength against brute strength, fighting for control of the situation. A stray shot shatters a vase, and there’s a muffled whimper from the closet next to it.

The woman.

Asahi has the upper hand. It’s only for a moment, but the sound distracts him, and the moment is more than enough. The robber twists around and slams his elbow into Asahi’s face hard enough to send him pinwheeling back into the coffee table, head slamming into the wood hard enough to make his vision go black, and then blurry. The aftermath leaves Asahi feeling like there’s an army in his skull waging war against the bones, pounding relentlessly against his forehead.

It hurts. It hurts. He can’t think. He can barely see straight.

He’s been in this situation before.

When he manages to get his vision to focus, only a little, he is staring down the barrel of the gun. The man’s chest heaves, expression twisted in fury, all bared teeth and vicious stance. And this is it — Asahi has no chance here. This is the end, and his promise to Noya will go unfulfilled after all. He thinks about Noya, laughing loud and free, holding his hand to the sunlight so the golden band on his finger glitters. Except Asahi doesn’t know where he picked up that memory. His head is pounding, a steady thump, thump, thump against his skull. His head is pounding and he is thinking and Azumane Asahi is going to die here and now, just like the man in the case he’d been trying so hard to solve. He can’t even close his eyes, watching the man’s finger on the trigger as if in slow motion.

But it never comes.

Instead, there is Noya, howling bloody murder, all feral motions and vengeful anger, streaking out of the hallway and barreling into the man. They both hit the ground and the gun skids away from them. Asahi’s shaken, but he still notices the lack of red staining Noya’s white t-shirt. Asahi trembles, but he realizes right away that Noya’s wound looks as if it had never existed to begin with. Noya looms over the man like a wraith, teeth bared, golden eyes glittering with a promise, a threat, and Asahi thinks to grab the gun before the man recovers from Noya’s winding attack. The would-be thief writhes beneath the other man, but Noya is unyielding and less hesitant than Asahi.

He takes the flower pot off the table and breaks it over the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Asahi is left in stunned silence, clutching the gun, staring at Noya as he hunches over the unconscious man, shoulders heaving with every breath. Asahi is still concerned; he can’t see Noya’s wound, or any sign of it, but for all he knows, Noya had just managed to find an extra shirt. It’s doubtful and farfetched, but it’s the only possible explanation, isn’t it?

“Asahi,” Noya gasps, “Asahi, are you okay? Did he hurt you? You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t noticed, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Asahi touches his head and his hand comes away red. He stares at his fingertips, dizzy, and finally sinks to his knees. Noya scrambles off of the man and barrels right into Asahi, straddling his waist to lean over and inspect Asahi’s head. Outside, sirens wail as their backup arrives, and Asahi sighs, relieved that the little girl had found somewhere safe. The officers come flooding in. Asahi feels like hell, but he’s more worried about making sure everything gets taken care of, so he directs them to the woman hiding, and then to the unconscious robber on the ground. It’s over.

Reaching out to touch Noya’s face, Asahi feels like sobbing. “I’m okay,” he rasps out, “I’m okay. You got shot, though, didn’t you? You shouldn’t do reckless things with a wound like that.”

Noya scrambles back off of him and out of Asahi’s reach before the detective can inspect his previously injured shoulder. He takes a little step aside, gaze averted, frown fixed on his features. Asahi’s eyes follow him as he moves away a little.

“Noya?” He frowns, moving to stand.

One of the officers shouts. Asahi’s attention catches on the shout and his gaze follows, catching sight of the previously unconscious man thrashing on the ground. He’s on his stomach facing Asahi, and one of the officers is straddling his back to cuff him. It’s his expression that catches Asahi’s notice, the sheer rage, face twisted up in hatred. His eyes glitter furiously, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” He shouts. “You both died! I know I killed you, so why the fuck are you still alive?!”

Asahi’s heart falters in his chest. His head hurts. God, it hurts.

“I robbed you months ago! I shot that boy to death! You were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”

He keeps shouting it. Asahi is cold to the bone, dropped into an endlessly deep pile of fresh snow with no way out. All he sees is the man’s face, and all he hears is dead and his head hurts so much. He’s supposed to be dead? He’s alive, though. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have memories, and he’s supposed to be dead. What boy had he meant? Noya? Did that mean Asahi had known him before after all? Had they both lost their memories?

Something is screaming in the back of his mind to come out. Asahi clutches his head in his hands, feeling panic swell heavily in his throat, suffocating him. His vision is dark at the edges and the gun is on the floor beside him, just within his gaze.

“Asahi,” Noya croaks behind him, voice soft and pained.

Asahi, it echoes and echoes and echoes, and all at once, everything slams back down. He remembers, and he doesn’t know how he could ever forget. The wedding band burns against the hollow of his throat like a brand. He watches, dumbstruck and breathless, as the robber is hauled out. He remembers who he is. He remembers who Noya is.

“Yuu,” he gasps, whirling around.

But the other man is gone.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

Asahi hates the smell of hospitals.

The nurse tells him he’s fine to leave, but he needs to come back for another check-up in a week to make sure there isn’t further head or brain damage. The doctors know his memory has returned, so they’re hopeful, but Asahi can’t share their joy. He goes home, empty-handed and desolate. He’s thinking about everything, about Yuu, about the wedding band around his throat. He doesn’t know where the other man had vanished to this time, but he hopes he’d at least had the sense to get medical attention.

And a week goes by.

In the seven days that Nishinoya Yuu is gone, Asahi dreams.

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

Except this time, he doesn’t. This time, the pieces reconnect themselves. He is not the one in pain, nor is he the one being called out to. In his dreams, Asahi comes home to their shared home and finds Yuu on the floor, riddled with gunshot wounds and already bleeding out. In his dreams, Yuu is unconscious, and Asahi is sobbing, his voice cracking as he tries desperately to call the police.

“Yuu,” he’s begging, “Yuu, please wake up.”

In his dreams, Azumane Asahi does not make it home in time to stop his husband from fighting a robber. Azumane Yuu had fought alone and lost, and by the time Asahi had gotten back, he’d already been half-dead. Asahi hunches over him, pleading with any god that might listen.

He doesn’t know when he got up, only that he’s standing. He doesn’t know when the man appeared around the corner, only that he’s surprised by his appearance, and when they fight, Asahi does not win. He sees the table come into his line of vision.

There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.

Asahi wakes slowly from the darkness as the pieces slide together in his mind. Suddenly, everything makes sense. He hadn’t given the theory any thought before; it’d simply been the most unbelievable thing, but now he’s sure. It all makes too much sense. The name, the vanishing acts, the same outfit all the time, the strange looks Asahi would get when he would bring Yuu up with others, the missing bullet wound in his shoulder.

Yuu is already dead.

Asahi thinks the cold chill of resignation is the hardest part.

When he sits up, Yuu is sitting on the end of his bed. Asahi can see the door through his blood-stained shirt. The sight makes his heart ache anew. How cruel, he thinks, to make him fall in love with this man all over again, only to lose him once more. Had he really ever had Yuu to begin with?

Yuu looks like he had the last night Asahi had seen him as Azumane Yuu, and not Noya. His face is pale and hollow, golden eyes set into his features, a shade duller than Asahi is used to seeing them. His shirt, previously white, is riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Asahi is scared to even breathe for the fear of Yuu leaving once and for all.

Yuu doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. Yuu knows this is a fact. “Right?”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi chokes out.

It isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. He has so much more he wants to say to Yuu. He wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to tell him that it should have been Asahi who’d died that day. Yuu had so much to live for, and Asahi barely knows how to live for himself. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how they were supposed to have a whole life ahead of them. Their adventure had only just begun and it had been torn out from beneath them before they could take the first step.

Asahi chokes on his breath. It isn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

He wants to say, please, don’t leave me again.

Yuu’s form flickers. Asahi covers his mouth to stifle the sob there. Yuu is in front of him now, gaze soft with acceptance. Even in death, he is the stronger of the two of them. Even now, his unwavering dependability makes Asahi feel safe.

“Asahi,” he says, ghostly fingers brushing past the strands of hair by Asahi’s ears, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Asahi manages. “Why are you sorry? Yuu, I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hadn’t gotten held up that day-”

“Then you would have died too.” Noya cuts him off.

Yuu stares him down, golden eyes piercing, and Asahi falters beneath that gaze.

“Asahi, I’m saying sorry because I promised you forever, but I have to go now. I love you so much, you stupid crybaby. I love you more than anything, and even if we were reborn, I’d find you again in ten thousand lifetimes. It’s always going to be you. You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’d do everything the same if it meant I had the chance to love you.” Asahi feels like he’s suffocating in his own words. He wants to grab Yuu and hold him close, but his hands pass right through the other man’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he sobs, “Yuu, I don’t want to go without you. I don’t know how to socialize properly, and nobody else reminds me to take my meds. I can’t ground myself alone when I have an anxiety attack, and you always know what to say when I have a nightmare. I’m not brave. I let people walk over me when you aren’t there to tell them to lay off. You can’t leave because I don’t know what to do without you. I’m brave when you’re around because you make me feel like I can be.”

Yuu laughs. It’s a strangled half sob.

“Someone as cool as you shouldn’t be such a crybaby. You’re your own person, Asahi. You don’t need me or anyone else, even if you think you do. I’m not the one who makes you brave. You do that. And I need you to be extra brave for me now, okay?” His smile wobbles as he reaches out, hand hovering over Asahi’s cheek. “I need you to be brave enough to live the rest of your life, even if I’m not there to live it with you. I wish I could stay and make you as happy as you made me. I wish we could travel the world and have kids and grow old together. But I’ll always be with you.” And this time, when he reaches to touch Asahi, his palm settles over the ring strung around Asahi’s neck and stays there. The point of contact is warm, pulsing out into Asahi’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. Asahi is so tired of being scared.

He manages a shaky laugh. “You still have my jacket.” Yuu smiles, something soft that touches the edges of his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffs, “sorry about that.” Asahi covers the hand Yuu has over his chest with his own. “Yuu,” he says, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have, and I’m sorry I never said that enough. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life we deserved. But I’ll keep living for you, as long as you promise to wait for me. Find me again in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that. Please let me fall in love with you again.” A single tear slides down Yuu’s face.

“Always,” he says.

Asahi does not get his coat back, but he feels it like a pit of warmth in his chest when Yuu is gone. He sinks slowly forward, gathering the blanket up in his arms and pressing it to his face in a futile attempt to gather the last bits of Yuu’s presence from the fabric. But he’s gone, and Asahi is alone again, with nothing but the ghost of his memory and a promise. His room is empty and the pit of warmth in his chest is a sorry excuse for Yuu’s presence. He’s alone for now, but he’s going to be brave, and he’s going to find Yuu again in the next life. He may not have him now, but he’s never going to let him go again. He has that.

His fingers close slowly over the ring dangling from his neck, pressing the memories there deep into his chest where they’ll make a home.

(And this, at least.)

#asanoya #azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu #major character death #unreliable narrator #marimo writes #haikyuu!!#marimo give asahi a break challenge

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sapphicambitions · 5 years ago

Note

heyyy so for a fluffy Joe/Nicky prompt: the first time they slept in the same bed. can be completely voluntary and cute or a 'there was only one bed (DUN DUN DUNNN)' type of situation or anything else you want really :)

i fucking FINALLY finished this. it only took me so long bc i am incapable of writing something short. i hope you like it and that it was worth the wait. xoxo

Five years.

Five years, they’d been travelling together.

Five years after they’d laid down their swords. Five years of stumbling through each other’s languages and stumbling along the countryside. Five years of trying to understand their affliction and coming up with no answers.

And five years of sleeping in the fucking dirt.

“I’m just saying, we should at least look and see if the town has an inn before brushing it off,” Yusuf mumbled in Arabic, picking at his bread. “It never hurts to check,”

“You know that towns make me nervous. Too many people,” Nicolò responded, his Arabic sloppy, but doing his best. (Yusuf had picked up on Italian easier than Nicolò had with Arabic, mostly because the former merchant already had a few other languages under his belt.) He only glanced briefly up at his travelling companion, his chest tight with anxiety. Thus far, they’d kept to the outskirts of society, avoiding anyone who might become suspicious of them, and Nicolo was not eager to break that tradition. He didn’t see the point in risking their safety for something as simple as bed to sleep on when the ground was right there.

“I know,” Yusuf said, and Nicolò noted that his companion’s eyes were genuine and understanding. That was one thing Nicolò appreciated about him, that he never made Nicolò feel stupid for having these concerns. The look in Yusuf’s eyes made the knot in his chest loosen a little bit. “But it has been many years since I’ve slept in a bed, and I think we can take the risk,” Yusuf continued.

Nicolò sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just don’t want us to get recognized or ambushed,” He said, switching to Italian. “We’re safer when we’re away from people,”

Yusuf could have debated him, and Nicolò knew that he could because the former merchant always had a way with words, but instead he simply stared at Nicolò from across the campfire. Stared with those pleading brown eyes, begging with the crinkles around eyes for Nicolò to see reason and well-

Nicolò could never say no to Yusuf’s eyes.

Not when they crinkled like that.

He huffed and poked at the fire with his stick. “Fine,”

Yusuf cheered.

Yusuf was the one to get the room, because he could speak fluently to the innkeeper in his native language, and Nicolò could only speak passing phrases of Arabic. So instead he waited outside, leaning against the wall until Yusuf came back with a twinkle in his eyes and a bounce in his step.

“A bed, Nicolò,” he said, slinging his arm around Nicolò’s shoulders and leading him towards their room. “We get to sleep in a bed tonight,”

Nicolò’s heart started beating faster at the touch.

It was fine. It was nothing. It was casual.

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” he mumbled back in Italian, trying to make his voice sound relaxed and not like he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Yusuf tutted at him. “Come now, Nicolò,” he said, matching Nicolò’s tongue with crinkles around his eyes. “Maybe you will be less cranky when you’ve had a good night’s sleep,”

Those fucking crinkles.

Nicolò shoved Yusuf off of him, causing the other man to laugh, and Nicolò hoped it covered the blush that had crept up his face.

Not that he was blushing. He was not blushing.

He was not.

Yusuf teased him the whole way to their room, but when he opened the door, he fell silent and stood frozen in the door frame.

Nicolò frowned, unable to see over his companion.

“Yusuf? Is something wrong?”

“I, um,” Yusuf said. “I may have forgotten to mention one detail to the innkeeper when I was reserving a room,” He turned around and gave Nicolò an uneasy, sheepish smile, which was extremely unlike him and only increased Nicolò’s worry.

But then he saw over Yusuf’s shoulder, into the room, and-

There was only one bed.

Nicolò turned his steely gaze to Yusuf, who was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyebrows expressively high with embarrassment.

“I might have forgotten to mention that I had a travelling companion,” He said.

“So I’ve gathered,” Nicolò said, walking into the room and surveying the rest of it. Other than the bed shoved in the corner, it seemed standard and fine. Not that he’d ever slept in an inn before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

“I can go back and ask him for-” Yusuf tried to say as he shut the door behind them, but Nicolò shook his head.

“We don’t need to risk him remembering your face,” He said, scuffing at the rug next to the bed with his boot. “I will just sleep on the floor,”

Yusuf crossed his arms. “Absolutely not. I won’t have you paying the price for my mistake. You can take the bed,”

The corner of Nicolò’s mouth twitched upwards. “Yusuf, you have been complaining about sleeping in the dirt for the last five years, and there is finally a bed in front of us. You must take the bed, I insist,”

Yusuf grinned, and it lit up his whole face. “We seem to be at an impasse, my friend,”

Nicolò crossed his arms too, mirroring his companion. “Well, what do you suggest?”

And then Yusuf, who had always been very direct with his words for as long as Nicolò had known him, looked down at the floor, looked at the bed, then looked at the wall and said: “We could share the bed,”

Nicolò’s heart fell into his stomach in a swoop so massive that he nearly choked on his own spit. He coughed ruggedly, trying to clear his throat out as he felt his cheeks grow warm again. He couldn’t look at Yusuf, couldn’t let his embarrassment be so blatant on his face, so he quickly turned to fuss with his back and what little belongings he had. “Share the bed, hmm?” He said once he could properly speak again, trying to sound casual.

Because it was casual.

This was casual.

This was fine.

It wasn’t like he’d been in love with Yusuf for years.

It wasn’t like he didn’t spend every waking moment feeling like his heart was going to rip out of his chest the longer he looked at Yusuf. Wasn’t like he often cough himself staring too intently at Yusuf’s muscles, wasn’t like he had vehemently protested Yusuf cutting his curls, wasn’t like the slightest touch between them made his palms sweaty and his throat dry, wasn’t like he would do anything just to see the crinkles around those eyes.

“Nicolò? Are you alright?” Yusuf asked, in that genuine voice he always approached Nicolò with, that voice that made Nicolò’s head fuzzy.

Nicolò decided that he had two options.

He could strongly protest the idea of sharing the bed, fling himself to the floor and refuse to get up again till the morning, he could shut this off here and now, once and for all.

Or.

“I’m fine to share the bed,” He mumbled in sloppy Arabic, his back turned to Yusuf.

He didn’t know that he wanted to see the reaction.

Yusuf cleared his throat. “Great, that sounds great to me,”

And then they were silent.

Which wasn't entirely unheard of, for the two of them. There was a three month period at the very beginning where they travelled in complete silence. There were some weeks that Yusuf missed his home more fiercely than usual, and was quiet as they travelled. Some days where they moved together in a comfortable silence as there was nothing to say.

This, however, was not one of those times.

The tension in the air was thicker than blood as the two men readied for bed, Nicolò sorting their belongings and Yusuf washing his face in the basin in the corner.

Which, Nicolò made the mistake of looking over at him just in time to see Yusuf splash his face with water, lips slightly parted, water glistening through the curls of his beard and Yusuf turned his head ever so slightly to-

To make eye contact with Nicolò, who was staring at him.

Nicolò looked away so quickly he might have gotten whiplash.

If he were the type of man to curse, he would have brought down the heavens by now.

“So, which side do you prefer to sleep on?” Yusuf asked, patting dry his face with a cloth.

Nicolò shrugged, trying to maintain casualty. “I have no preference,”

“Good,” Yusuf said with a chuckle. “Because I prefer the left side,”

And then there they were, the two of them standing next to the bed.

Just standing there.

Nicolò wanted to die a little bit, but only because he knew he would pop right back up.

“Um,” Yusuf said, running a hand through his curls. “After you?”

Nicolò looked at the bed, and then back at Yusuf. “You should probably get in first, since the left side is against the wall,”

“Right,” Yusuf said sheepishly. “Wouldn’t want to climb over you,”

More silence.

Nicolò prayed for mercy.

Yusuf clamored into bed and climbed under the sheets, leaving plenty of room for Nicolò to slide in after him and pull the covers over the both of them.

Nicolò blew out the candle, and then there they were, laying with barely a hair’s length between them, shoulder to shoulder.

And Nicolò was barely breathing.

He didn’t realize how hyper aware he would be of someone else in the same bed as him. And they couldn’t touch, obviously. That would make it weird. And he didn’t want to cross the invisible line dividing the bed and also didn’t want to fall off the bed, he laid as still as humanly possible. Were they human? Would Yusuf wake up if he moved a little bit to reposition and lay on his side? What if Yusuf rolled over and knocked him off the bed? What if Yusuf had to get up in the middle of the night and crawled over him? What if he accidentally crossed the line while he was sleeping? What if Yusuf woke to them touching and freaked out? What if Nicolò freaked out and made it weird? What if-

“Nicolò?” Yusuf’s voice was softer than the wind. “Are you awake?”

“I am,” He responded.

He heard Yusuf inhale, and Nicolò could almost hear him thinking. “I am glad that we found each other,” Yusuf whispered in gentle Italian, almost like he was extending an olive branch in speaking Nicolò’s language. “Sometimes I think that...” He continued. “I think that my blessing isn’t this immortality,”

Nicolò swallowed. “Then what is?”

“My blessing is that I found you,”

Nicolò turned his head to see the shape of Yusuf in the shadows, Yusuf who was already staring at him. It was too dark to see the crinkles, but Nicolo knew that they were there. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have Yusuf’s knack for words, couldn’t spout off poetry that could perfectly capture how he was feeling, didn’t speak Arabic fluently enough to extend the olive branch back.

But there was one thing he knew how to do.

He surged forward and kissed Yusuf.

The response was immediate.

Yusuf pulled him closer and Nicolò’s hands immediately went to those beautiful curls he spent all day staring at. They moved in perfect synchronization, lips moving as one and Heaven Above, it was perfect. It was everything Nicolò dreamed a kiss would be. It was everything he dreamed Yusuf would taste of. It was everything.

When they did pull away, gasping for hair, Yusuf knocked their heads together.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” He said, and Nicolò laughed.

“How long?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Yusuf kissed the tip of his nose. “Since you fell off your horse that one time,”

“No,” Nicolò groaned, hands going up to cover his face. “You can’t be serious,”

“I am,”

“That was one of the most mortifying moments of my life,”

“And the moment I knew I had fallen for you,”

“You’re lying to me,”

“I’m not, habibi,” Yusuf laughed, pulling Nicolò in to kiss him again. “I would never lie to you, I swear it.”

Nicolò grumbled in Italian to that, but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

“When did you know?” Yusuf asked in return.

“Always,” Nicolò answered immediately. “I’ve always known,”

“Oh,” Yusuf said with a soft voice, cupping Nicolò’s jaw. “That is a very long time,”

“Almost as long as you’ve been sleeping in the dirt,” Nicolò quipped back, and the two of them dissolved into laughter again.

“I am glad that you kissed me,” Yusuf admitted when they finally settled down again. “I wasn’t sure we were ever going to have that,”

“You have all of me,” Nicolò said, turning his head to kiss Yusuf’s palm. “As long as you will have me, as long as I live, I am yours,”

“That is a very long time,” Yusuf said again, rubbing his thumb against Nicolò’s cheekbones. “Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything,”

“Then I am yours, as well,” Yusuf whispered. “For as long as we have on this Earth, for as long as we live to see another sunrise, you will have my heart,”

Nicolò pulled him in for a kiss again, and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until sleep crept upon him, and then he fell asleep in Yusuf’s arms.

And he slept peacefully for the first time in years.

#lesbianlaynie #laynie writes #laynie rose answers #immortal husbands #kaysanova #ill post it on ao3 tomorrow #the old guard

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early2000smovieimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Being apart of the Denali clan and meeting your mate Emmett for the first time would include~

(not my gif)(requested by @ateliefloresdaprimavera )

- It had been more than fifty years since you’d joined the Denali clan; living as there sister since WWII and keeping relatively quiet while doing so. As far as you could remember you had always enjoyed your alone time which was in great contrast to your sisters who always had a companion with them whether human or vampire. You supposed that was why you’d never met any others like you and your sisters, save for a few nomads who visited the area; mainly Laurent in his short stay with you.

- Of course you’d known about the Cullen's, how couldn’t you? Your “families” were close, close enough that your clan considered them cousins. But you’d never been interested enough to go off and meet them.

- It was only when you heard of the Cullen’s upcoming wedding that you became interested. A human and a vampire... how fascinating.

- It wasn’t a secret that you were good at designing clothing; you’d made quite a few dresses for your sisters which made them the envy of any party they went to. Even so, it was a surprise when you got a letter asking you to help make the soon to be wedded Swan girls dress. But you were flattered and happily agreed, it’d been a long time since you were able to create a wedding dress for someone.

- Soon enough you got sent the details and got straight to work. Of course having vampire speed definitely helped.

- A few days before the wedding one of the Cullen's were supposed to come and pick up the dress so when a knock came at your door you were ready for it. What you weren’t ready for was to open the door and find the most beautiful man you had ever seen on the other side. Emmett certainly wasn't ready to see you either.

- Emmett is an absolute unit, he’s massive, muscled, gorgeous; he took your breath away the instant you saw him. And you were... god how could he describe you? Perfect, beautiful, angelic; he couldn’t believe that you actually existed and were standing before him.

- Emmett falls for you hard so he immediately puts on the charm but in his own adorably goofy way.

“If I’d have known they had an angel hidden here I would have visited a long time ago.”

- Once you get done introducing yourself and regaining your composure you take him to the dress. He’s not a fashion guru but he compliments the little details you put in and is visibly amazed by what you’ve created. It’s really adorable the way his eyes scan the entire dress like it’s an intricate work of art.

- The two of you talked for a while, getting to know each other and making pleasant conversation. He definitely “subtly” flirts with you the entire time and by “subtly” flirts I mean he continuously compliments you and tries to woo you without any shame.

- You were both disappointed when he had to leave but promised you would see each other at the wedding. Before now you weren’t exactly looking forward to attending but it was safe to say that you had officially changed your tune.

- It wasn’t long until the big day arrived but the wait had felt like forever. You were amazed by how enamored you could become with someone who was practically a stranger and yet you couldn’t help yourself.

- You and your family got dressed up and quickly headed to Forks carrying your gifts and chatting animatedly about how exciting this all was. Your “sisters” relentlessly teased you about seeing “your true love” again but you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed by them.

- Once you arrived your sisters introduced you to the other Cullen’s and you got to work helping the family set up the last details. Emmett came bounding down stairs the instant he heard your voice, a huge smile on his face.

“There’s the little dressmaker!” You couldnt keep the smile off your face once you saw him.

- As much as the two of you loved watching the wedding you couldn’t help but sneak glances at each other every now and again. He thought you were beautiful in normal clothes so imagine what he’s thinking seeing you all done up.

- With the way Alice keeps bringing you up and asking about your meeting and conversations he’s starting to piece together why she chose him to pick up the dress and... he’s ecstatic. He can’t wait for the two of you to get together.

- He definitely asks you to dance. There’s no way he would be able to go the entire day without asking.

- Emmett’s a big lovable goofball and he uses that to his advantage. He has you laughing and having the time of your life the entire time you’re there. He loves your laugh.

- You have to stifle a laugh when he makes his best man speech; he can still see your poorly concealed smile and he loves it.

- Theres no way he’s letting you go home without asking you out so when you’re just about ready to leave he gets you alone and shoots his shoot.

- The two of you make plans to see each other again and you leave the Cullen place with a big smile on your face.

#emmett cullen imagine #emmett cullen #twilight vampires #twilight imagine #twilight headcanons #twilight headcanon #emmett cullen headcanons #emmett cullen headcanon

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carmichealroyals · 5 years ago

Photo

PRINCE WILLIAM AND PRINCESS MARIA THERESA’S ENGAGEMENT INTERVIEW: HEAR DETAILS OF THE PROPOSAL, THE TOLL OF WARTIME ROMANCE

Today, TRH Crown Prince William, Duke of Brevell and Princess Maria Theresa of Monte Vista sat down with Monica Tennet, chief royal correspondant for the BCOW to discuss their engagement, including how the couple met, how the Prince proposed, and the struggles of being in a relationship while war rages around you. Read the transcript below!

Monica: ...Thank you, John. Well, everyone, today I am here with the Winden Territories favorite young couple, Prince William and Princess Maria Theresa of Monte Vista. Thank you both for sitting down to chat with me -- I know these must have been a busy few days for you both.

Prince William: Just a little, Ms. Tennet.

Princess Maria Theresa: It has been an absolute whirlwind, it’s nice to just sit down for a few minutes. *chuckles*

M: So, let’s rewind: how did the two of you first meet?

PW: Well, it’s hard not to know of each other when you run in such similar social circles, but if I’m remembering right, the first time we met was at... Mary’s birthday ball?

PMT: Yes, that was it.

PW: So, Grand Duchess Margot’s birthday ball. It was my and Belle’s first foreign event besides the tour in Sedonia, and it was still one of the best nights of my life, between the dancing and the food. And the excellent company, of course.

PMT: Margot introduced us when we all sat for the group portrait. She had already known William from attending the Duke and Duchess of Daven’s wedding with Grand Duke David and thought we would hit it off. I’ll be the first to admit, I had a small crush when we were first introduced.

PW: As did I, but I was so nervous around her that I didn’t register it until after I came home, and by the next time we met, well...

M: You had just broken things off with Fiona Holbrook.

PW: Yes, I had. I want to make it clear that at the time, I didn’t want to end things when it wasn’t on my own terms, but my father wasn’t going to let up. I saw Maria when I entered the ballroom with Belle, and it turns out that crush had never really gone away.

PMT: I knew little of that situation. I simply thought William was being a gentleman by asking me to dance on our own. But then, again, we didn’t reconnect until Margot’s wedding.

PW: And at that point, I was with Lady Rachelle.

M: The timing was never right, was it?

PW: It certainly didn’t feel like it. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into an introductory History class to find Maria there. Getting to know each other away from the pressure of royal life made me realize just how in love with her I realized, and that was it. I knew that I didn’t want anybody else, even if she turned me down a hundred times.

M: Let’s talk about the proposal. How did it come about?

PW: Well, earlier that day, my father told me that I was going to be going to the front to fight alongside the other Allied Powers in the war. I was devastated, not only because I felt like I was unqualified, but because I wouldn’t be able to continue living in the bubble I had put myself in. We had talked about it before, of course, and we had wanted to wait until we had both finished school at least, but we didn’t get that chance.

PMT: We each made promises to each other. William promised me that he would stop thinking so negatively and that he would come home so we could be together, while I promised I would wait for him. I also made him promise to stop fussing over doing an elaborate proposal -- I didn’t want that. Just the promise to each other of getting to be together when it was all over was enough.

PW: Still, I wanted to do something. Before I left, I managed to get into Maria’s apartment and leave her this ring in a box on the counter, along with some flowers, a note, that sort of thing. I had full intention of doing the getting down on one knee, proclamation of love when I came home, so I said it was for then.

PMT: It’s been so hard keeping it secret all this time. Every time I went out in public without it on, it didn’t sit right with me. I’m just glad we can talk about it now!

M: Prince William, you came home after being medically discharged following a skirmish in Shang Simla. Did that have an impact on your relationship at all?

PW: I don’t want to touch on it too much, but it did. I felt like I wasn’t what someone as amazing as Maria deserved anymore, but she reassured me, told me she didn’t care. She has been a massive support system for me as I’ve recovered and gone through physical therapy. I won’t ever be fully rid of the injury due to its nature, but knowing that Maria has been there through it all and will continue to be is more than I could ever ask for.

M: Let’s switch to the ring, then. It isn’t one we’ve seen before -- can you talk us through the process?

PW: Maria deserved something fully to her taste, not something that had belonged to someone else in my family. She had already been accepted in, she didn’t need something labelling her as ours. I knew she didn’t like pieces that were terribly flashy, so I consulted with a few different designers and collectors of vintage pieces to get the look just right. I especially liked the look it has of a sun of sorts -- she is my light in the darkness, and always has been. I was just too blind to see it.

PMT: As soon as I put it on, I loved it. It’s exactly what I always pictured for myself.

PW: That was the real reason I left it for you to find once I had already gone -- so you couldn’t immediately tell me you hated it.

*Monica, Prince William, and Princess Maria Theresa all laugh*

M: Princess, you’re marrying the future King. Are you nervous at all?

PMT: I would be foolish not to be. I’m aware of the responsibility that I’m going to inherit one day, and of course I want to perform my duty to the best of my ability, but at the end of the day, I know it will be worth it with William there. I think he’s more well-suited to the task than he thinks he is. *she gives him a playful glance*

PW: Your optimism never fails to astound me.

PMT: It isn’t optimistic -- it’s realistic.

M: Finally, let’s talk about the wedding itself. Have dates been set?

PW: Nothing yet. We’re still trying to work that out with the government and the Monte Vistan royal family.... we’re well aware that this wedding will be as big as my parents, if not more. It’s intimidating, but all we can do is take it one step at a time.

PMT: We are both so lucky to have so many friends across the Simtinent that I think it will be a miracle if they all fit into the church. Whenever it is, though, I’m looking forward to it. I told William I wouldn’t care if we had a big splashy wedding or not before he left, and I still don’t. As long as I get to spend my life by his side, that’s what matters to me more than how long and impressive the guest list is.

M: Thank you both again for sitting down with me, and congratulations once again on your engagement. I think it’s safe to say everyone will be eager to hear more details as they become available. Back to you, John.

#carmichealroyals #sims royalty #sims royal family #sims 4 royalty #sims 4 royal family #sims 4 legacy #the sims 4 legacy #the sims 4 #the sims 4 royalty #the sims 4 royal family #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal family #ts4 legacy #TS4 #simblr #gen2

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crossyourheart-twff · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 1

Edit: Here’s a link to Ao3 in case the visibility is bad:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812213/chapters/57212440

Edit 2: Edits and formatting has been fixed!

The Mirror asked for a name. It was a simple enough question under normal circumstances. The problem was, these weren’t normal circumstances, therefore the person standing before it had no idea what to say. Not when the Mirror was talking, not with a room full of robed strangers craning in for a better view, and definitely not when a name could reveal so much…

“State thy name,” the Mirror droned again.

A name.

The figure considered giving a fake one, but if the mirror was magic, would it know? Would it sense the lie and expose them for what they truly were? The seconds tick-tick-ticked away at the audience’s patience. It was late and the already antsy students couldn’t wait forever. Even the more dignified ones that stood to one side of the mirror shuffled about. One rolled his eyes, another examined the moon out the window. State thy name…

Thy name...

Huh. Now that’s an idea.

The figure before the mirror cleared its throat. In a voice they hoped sounded appropriate, they answered, “Parker.”

There. Their name.

Their surname.

One of the students by the Mirror gusted out a sigh of relief. Parker suspected it came from one of the shorter ones, the red head, perhaps.

“Parker,” the Mirror repeated, not a hint of suspicion- or of any emotion, really- passed across it’s pallid face as it spoke, “The nature of thy soul is,” the Mirror closed its eyes. Parker didn’t breathe. The chamber was so quiet, the only sound was the creak of wooden benches as the other students leaned forward. At last, the Mirror opened its soulless eyes, “unknown to me.”

A wave of chatter broke through the hall. Parker swallowed. This couldn’t be good.

The Mirror was not finished. It spoke louder as if to compete with the flurry of whispered speculation, “I sense no magic from this one. There is no color, no shape. They are not suited to any dormitory.”

No magic.

Well, Parker could have told it that.

In a rush of green flames, the Mirror’s face vanished and the glass went dark. Whispers moved throughout the hall, the sound made the skin on Parker’s neck prickle. It was like sound the wind made through a palm tree before a thunderstorm, only much less comforting. What happened now? Parker’s thoughts went into overdrive, searching the memories of the last half hour to see if, somehow, they contained the solution to their current problem.

It started with the fire. There’d been a burst of flames so hot they’d singed the hair on Parker’s arms… Wait no. That wasn’t quite right. The fire wasn’t the problem, it was the demon cat. What was his name again? Ah, right. Grim. He was, after all, responsible for the explosion that knocked the lid off the coffin In which Parker woke. He’d made sure they were well aware of that. Of course, it wasn’t quite as shocking as the fact the demon cat could talk. Oh! and what’s more, he had the audacity to demand Parker give him clothes!

“Give me your uniform,” Grim crouched low on Parker’s stomach, “or I’ll roast you!” The fire at his ears flickered a brighter shade of blue as if to emphasize his threat. A scream tore through Parker’s throat as they shoved the creature away before sprinting out of the room.

Then again, Grim didn’t have all the blame…

“No magic!”

Parker snapped out of the memories as a masked man strode down the aisle to the dais where the mirror stood. Headmaster Dire Crowley, right on cue.

“Ahh, there you are!” He’d said just as Parker ducked behind one of the stone columns that lined the outer walkway. The stranger didn’t look any different than an average man, but what got Parker’s attention was the crow mask that hid the top half of his face. Like a fancy plague doctor. “I thought I saw someone come through here. Are you one of our new students? Honestly. The entrance ceremony is already well underway! You should be there with the rest of the first years and look at you! You’re not even properly-“ He rounded the column and stopped at once, “Oh. Oh, dear.”

Back in the present, Crowley reached the top of the dais.

“There is absolutely no way you were meant to be collected by a black carriage. Since the founding of this institution, there has not once been an error with student selection! How in the name of the Great Seven has a non-gifted-?” Someone in the crowd coughed and Crowley turned to the waiting students. As if suddenly remembering the sea of shocked faces gaping at him, he straightened. If they hadn’t known any better, Parker could have sworn he’d almost let the truth slip in front of the entire school.

“Where are we going?” the hem of Parker’s new robe dragged along the cobblestone path. The bird man had done something with his hand (magic?) and transformed Parker’s casual attire into, well, the robe.

“To the entrance ceremony, of course. Weren’t you listening?” The birdman didn’t take his eyes off the path ahead.

“Entrance ceremony…” Parker had to jog a bit to keep up his long gait, “Where am I, exactly?”

This time the birdman did glance over, “Still dazed from the trip? Very well. This,” he gestured to the building around them, “is Night Raven College, the most prestigious school of magic this side Twisted Wonderland,” even through his mask, Parker sensed his pointed look as he added, “for young men.”

For young men… oh. Oh.

The birdman must have caught the understanding as it settled across Parker’s face, “Now you’re getting it.”

”Then why am I here?”

“Ah, now that’s the question, isn’t it?” he said, “ I’m afraid if you haven’t a clue, then neither do I.”

Parker almost tripped on the hem of the robe. With a huff, they hitched it to up to their ankle and caught up to the birdman, “So, who are you, then?”

“I am Dire Crowley,” the birdman gestured to the campus around them, “headmaster of this fine establishment.”

They stopped in front of another set of doors. Where the entrance of the library was massive, these doors were a more accessible size, with intricate details carved along the post. Parker managed to catch a scarab beetle and lion’s head amongst the ornamentation before Headmaster Crowley regained their attention.

“Now, keep your hood up and stay here while I wrap up the ceremony. Soon as the students have vacated the hall, I’ll come fetch you,” he instructed.

“Okay?” Parker frowned, “Why can’t I just go inside? What was the point of,” she gestured to her robe, “this?”

“Because,” Crowley said," if a young la-“

The doors to the ceremonial hall opened then. Another man, this one unmasked and much bigger than Headmaster Crowley stood in the thresh hold.

“Headmaster,” the man seemed relieved to see Crowley, he opened his mouth to speak when Parker caught his eye, “Ah! Looks like we missed one! Come on, then! We just finished the dormitory assignments.” The man grabbed Parker by the arm and dragged who he thought was a student inside.

Crowley straightened his mask and addressed the room, “Well. It seems we’ve had a rather eventful evening. Consider today’s entrance ceremony over. Students, please follow your dorm leaders to your quarters. I expect to see everyone ready for lessons in the morning.”

No one moved despite the dismissal.

“Not a minute to be wasted,” the headmaster clapped his hands, “to your dorms at once!”

“Yes, Headmaster Crowley,” the red headed dorm leader said, then went on to lead his dorm out of the hall. Parker ducked away as whispers washed over the room. Row by row, the students left, each trailing behind one of the figures that stood at the dais. Parker didn’t dare meet any of their gazes. A minute passed as they waited to be sure the room was empty. After all of that, they couldn’t risk slipping up now. Once they were both certain they were the only two left in the hall, Parker ripped the hood away.

Her long hair tumbled free down her back.

“What was that?” she cried.

Headmaster Crowley shook his head, “There goes my Diamond Crown Academy theory… Well. You have my sincerest apologies for the spectacle. I can assure you, it was never my intention to subject you to such humiliation. Either way, I’m sure you’re ready to be sent home. If you’ll just step in front of the Dark Mirror.”

Parker did as she was told. After everything she’d been through, she was ready to go. Never mind how she ended up in that coffin in the school’s basement. Never mind where that stupid demon-cat had scampered off to. Soon she would be home, Crowley wouldn’t have to worry about the consequences of a girl winding up in a magical all-boys school, and she could chalk this whole thing up to a bad pizza dream.

“Excellent,” Crowley nodded once, “Now, picture your home clearly in your mind.”

Eyes shut tight, Parker called up every detail of her apartment, from her roommate’s theatre mugs to the chipped paint on the bottom corner of their front door. It was all there. Now it was Crowley’s turn to address the mirror. In the same tone of voice he used on his students, he raised his hands.

“Dark Mirror!”

The Mirror sparked to life in a rush of green flames. Crowley continued once the face reappeared, “Guide this one back to where she belongs!”

Parker braced herself for the room to spin, for some wind, or a free fall. When nothing happened, she heard Crowley clear his throat.

“Once more!” he commanded, “Guide this one-“

“I cannot,” the Mirror interrupted.

What.

“The place where she belongs is nowhere in our world,” the Mirror said, “Her home does not exist.”

Parker’s face turned cold as her blood drained away. Her home did not exist? What did that even mean? Crowley frowned, a finger tapped his chin as he admitted, “This is quite unusual indeed. Tell me. Where exactly do you come from?”

Parker couldn’t help but feel like he was suddenly suspicious of her. As if she somehow had anything to do with this! “St. Augustine.”

The headmaster didn’t move. In fact, Parker swore he didn’t even blink underneath his mask. She tried again.

“I’m from St. Augustine,” she said, “Florida?”

Still, Crowley did not respond.

“In the United States?”

A beat. Two beats. Three.

“I have never heard of such a place,” Crowley said at last.

Something cold shot through Parker’s chest, “You’ve never heard of the United States?”

And that was when, for the first time since she awoke, Parker truly felt afraid.

Well, except for the stuff with the demon-cat. He was terrifying.

One important note! Diamond Crown Academy is used with permission from @phoenix-manga, it is NOT my creation but it IS there’s!

This is a little slow, but it should pick up in the next chapter! Thanks for reading!

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hysteriium · 6 years ago

Text

The Irony of Fate [2]

Gif not mine!

(A/N): Uhhh this gif kills me holy fuck LOOK AT HIM- UGH. OK, SORRY this took so long lmao, my writing has honestly been so slow lately. I’m trying to fix that but idk I guess it’s a work in process. ALSO!!!! I’m so GRATEFUL for y’all! You’ve all been so kind and supportive with the series, I honestly thought I was going to be swamped with hate! I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it, and love Arthur as much as I do. It’s really made me feel better about my shitty writing. So without further ado, I’ll let you read. Sorry for the monster essay!

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn’t seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word Count: 3,400

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warnings: None!

!! SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE !!

Anxiety coursed through (Y/n) like a turbulent storm, its rage coursing throughout her body, numbing her fingertips. Her mouth was abnormally dry and her attempts at swallowing - to try and lessen the prominence of the drought within, were all in vain. Counting down the seconds in her head silently, her jaw ticked. Large multicoloured drapes burned into her eyes, their bright colours harsh if looked at for too long. As she stood behind them, backstage, the familiar, upbeat music filled her ears, a tune she had known since teenagehood. In person, the arrangement of instruments beyond the curtains sounded different. It was raw. Loud. Unfiltered. The difference was something she found she prefered, it’s authenticity shining through.

Despite the nostalgia, and the thrill of her dreams coming true, the song was hardly comforting, adding to the growing nausea in her stomach. Solidifying the presence of the knot within.

The fact she was there was surreal.

The crowd, in response to the anthem, went wild, clapping on cue, along with the song.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” Murray shouted. His renowned dance moves, which had him swinging to the beat, were perfectly timed.

Although (Y/n) was shrouded by the massive curtains in front of her, she could practically hear the smirk on his face. Sickly sweet and, dare she say, sickly fake. While she was eternally grateful to be where she was, the disingenuity unsettled her. It rubbed her the wrong way.

Good ratings meant more money, and more money meant fewer problems.

“Now, tonight, we’ve got an extra special guest,” he said.

(Y/n) swallowed.

She felt her fingers twitch in anticipation while the majority of the public oohed at Murray’s news.

“She’s a gorgeous woman…” a handful whistled, earning a soft chuckle from the host, “though I must say, she has an even lovelier voice.”

“It’s quite funny actually, I met her on the street the other day. I was blown away when I first heard her performing. And...I usually don’t do this, but I just had to have her on the show. You all know how much I love talent.”

“However, there was just one thing that left me confused. I asked her, ‘why on the streets?’” Murray gave a quizzical look, “with such a gift, you’d expect her to be in the clubs!”

“She shrugged her shoulders and told me, ‘you gotta start somewhere’.”

“Now while I respect that, starting from humble beginnings and all, I told her, ‘honey with a face like that, you don’t gotta go around singing on the streets for money,’ if you know what I mean.”

The spectators laughed, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes in response. Suddenly, she was glad she was hidden. She wouldn’t want her annoyed expression to give the wrong impression. She didn’t want to be labelled. The last thing she needed was to wake up and read some shitty news article painting her as a ‘diva’ and ‘ungrateful’. Gotham thrived on negativity, so once that was out there, she’d never recover from the defaming blow. Sexist jokes or not, fighting up against one of the most dominant television personalities in Gotham, as well as the media, was a deathwish careerwise.

“Now that’s enough from me, you’re all probably sick of my face. Please welcome, (Y/n)!”

Swiftly, the live band played their tunes, signalling her entrance. Murray directed attention to the infamous curtains, his arms stretching, his fingers wiggling towards the material. Screams of joy echoed off the studio walls.

At the sound, her hands raced to her form-fitting black dress, smoothing out the wrinkles before the curtain opened. When they did, they were slow. A cringe formed its way onto her face as the pully system squeaked along. As ready as she’ll ever be, she cemented a smile, hiding the wince, and walked through the drapes, deciding against waiting.

Feeling a little dramatic, her form hunched over into a bow. A leg darted behind the other, with one hand in front, another resting against her back. Wolf whistles decorated the air at her arrival, though they were promptly replaced with roaring laughter as she made her way towards Murray and planted two firm kisses on both of his cheeks. Eventually, the clacking of her heels signified movement from the older man as she moved to occupy the yellow chair next to Murray’s desk.

Murray made a face after her display of affection, a look although (Y/n) couldn’t see, with his back towards her, she knew it transpired because of the public’s response. She could only imagine the face: one of shock and surprise, or perhaps confidence, as he winked towards them. Either way, both weren’t hard to envision, and the thought made short, distinct, puffs of air release from her nose in amusement.

Shortly, he followed her lead and took a seat behind his table.

“You’ve got some flare kid,” Murray chuckled, and (Y/n) could tell a genuine smile had replaced the false one. A twinge of pride wriggled in her chest at the realisation.

“Are you nervous?” Murray asked suddenly, his eyes flying to the hands in her lap, fidgeting, “you seem nervous.”

She shot the audience a look, her teeth clenched as her eyebrows flew up.

“Yeah,” was all she said, her tone coming out high and unsure.

Laughter.

“You’re already doing great. This your first time on live television?”

The reminder that this was live exacerbated her anxiety, her leg threatening to bounce. The pressure was on; if she screwed up, everyone would remember.

“Pretty much,” a hint of fear wavered her voice, and the laugh that followed was shaky, “this is really surreal.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he flicked his wrist at her, “it’ll be second nature the way you’re headed.”

Her hands flew up to her cheeks, a tinge of pink coating the area while she tittered, “thank you, but I’m not so sure of that.”

“So humble!”

Murray adjusted himself in his chair, his leg crossing over his other. He leaned forward towards the singer, form angled away from the onlookers. His concentration was solely on her.

“So (Y/n), what have you got planned for us tonight?”

A diffident expression crossed the woman’s features as she recalled her song.

“One of my favourites. Put On a Happy Face by Tony Bennett.”

Murray nodded.

“Interesting choice. But, a classic.”

His formerly interlocked hands were thrown into the air, giving a signal to the band. At this, (Y/n) stood up from her seat, and headed towards the already arranged set up towards the end of the stage. Once she arrived, she gripped the cylindrical microphone with both hands, its body supported by a stand. The object was cool against her heated fingertips.

The music started, the funk infectious and the woman’s hips began to sway.

----

Arthur barely held the gasp within him when he gazed upon (Y/n) ’s form, her flattering black dress a spectacle to behold. Her bow, cute and pure, converted the gasp he was restraining into a lovestruck sigh.

He was sold, struck by the arrow of the little rascal Cupid himself.

She looked just as good on TV.

He found it endearing how honest she was, admitting to her nerves. In his eyes, she was genuine, not like the scum that riddled Gotham’s streets; not like those who laughed at him; not like Randall.

Similar to a child who was urgent to take in his favourite cartoon, he moved himself closer to the screen, a meter away at best, as he sat cross-legged. The tickling sensation of excitement shot throughout his slender body.

As the music started playing, the overly happy tune seized him. When the camera panned on (Y/n) ’s walking form, he took in every little detail. The sigh she let out when she reached the microphone. The wobbling of her hands, which she tried to hide by clutching the device. The movement of her throat, suggesting a swallow. The jaw that clicked.

Arthur saw it all.

Then, she started singing.

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

The spectators interjected, drowning out a portion of the lyrics as they released sounds of support.

As Arthur leant into his tv screen, he was absolutely convinced nothing could deter his eyes, his hypnosis. Not even the whining of his mum, who had been entirely obstructed from viewing the screen.

He hadn’t even realised she was there, he’d forgotten all about her.

Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy

It’s not your style

You’ll look so good that you’ll be glad

You decide to smile

Arthur wished he was there in the room with (Y/n). In the crowd. To see her pretty (e/c) eyes glance over him and shoot him a wink. Or perhaps a smile. Anything - like the acknowledgement she gave him days prior. Just something to know that he really existed. That he wasn’t riding through life like a doormat - invisible, stepped on, beaten up and chucked around. No one really noticed the object, nor cared to, as it dejectedly rested below the door. Day after day.

Pick out a pleasant outlook

Stick out that noble chin

Wipe off that “full of doubt” look

Slap on a happy grin

Arthur began to grin when she saw her nerves were starting to leave her. Oh, how badly he wanted to applaud her. Encourage her.

And spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy face

One hand released the microphone, moving to her face as she traced the outline of her upturned lips, a short, accidental giggle slipping out. It made Arthur’s heart swell!

The band complemented her style perfectly. Their contrasting deep voices were melodic as they harmonised with her humming.

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

Arthur found his form lightly swaying to the tune, his grin extending from ear to ear, impossibly deeper.

She was really into it now, and he could tell she could feel the music rushing through her, now a conduit for the art. When he saw the confidence which had manifested, growing with each passing second, his mind swarmed with joy, his mind conjuring a bundle of soothing words he noiselessly projected through the cubic barrier before them - to her.

And if you’re feeling cross and bickerish

Don’t sit and whine

Think of banana splits and licorice

And you’ll feel fine

She disconnected the microphone from the stand, bringing it under her chin. Quickly she departed from her spot with a small spin, strutting across the rest of the stage - something that got the fans rowdy; wooing. Her body swung to the beat, shoulders moving with her.

I knew a girl so gloomy

She’d never laugh or sing

She wouldn’t listen to me

Now she’s a mean old thing

Now incredibly expressive - antithetical from when she first began - she accompanied her singing by miming the lyrics. A fist rocked below her eyes imitating tears in a burlesque manner, and a fake frown contorted her features. Though, no matter how sad she pretended to be, Arthur knew just by the twinkle in her eyes that she was bursting with happiness.

So spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy, happy face

Put on a happy, happy, happy face

During the final verse, she had moved closer to the camera, dragging out the closing note with a high.

Oh, come on bubby, smile, it’s your birthday!

She made direct eye contact with the lens and winked.

Arthur’s chest tightened at the action, and he couldn’t help but take it personally; as if the playful act was directly meant to be for him. Him and only him.

Applause nearly deafened Arthur as it reverberated around the room, projecting shockingly loud for such a small device. Scrambling, his hands tried to lower the volume. Unfortunately, in his rush, his clumsy hands instead knocked up against another button, changing the channel entirely in the process.

Regrettably for Arthur, the noise emitted only worsened. Although the tv was no longer on the Murray Franklin show, it was now on a channel playing an old war movie. Explosions and the earthshaking noises of artillery filled his crappy apartment, gunfire jolting his poor, unexpecting form. Letting out his shock with a shout, and a string of curses, his hands automatically moved to cover his ears - a reaction he midway stopped; gaining some control, he felt the device vibrate beneath his fingertips when they finally discovered the volume button. When he had readjusted the strength, he returned back to the station, free from the clamour, the show now on commercial break.

He sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

Why was he so fucking clumsy?

Even the smallest things he couldn’t seem to get right.

Gentle snoring shifted his awareness from his self-deprecating mental exchange, and when he looked over to the noise, he saw his mother asleep in her chair. Her head was tilted against her shoulder, her mouth open. It was a sight that made him laugh through his nose; something that managed to halt the negativity which began to swarm in his mind, like a vicious cloud of hornets.

Arthur didn’t know how his mother could one minute be the lightest sleeper on earth, then the next, swing to the other extreme. It was a miracle she slept through his fuck up, but then again, if she were in a deep sleep, he was confident enough to bet she’d sleep through a natural disaster.

It was honestly impressive.

Emitting a soft groan as his palms pushed himself up from his sitting position, he trailed from one end of his apartment to the other. He opened one of the squeaking cabinets near the bathroom, the small storage space containing miscellaneous items. Though, it mostly harboured their modest collection of towels and blankets. As his eyes skimmed the shelves, from top to bottom, they soon fell onto what he was searching for. On the very bottom, his hands gripped onto an old quilt. It was soft to touch, though when he moved to collect it, he felt small pricks against his flesh as his arms maneuvered to fit its length.

Feathers.

The floral pattern, which was a chaotic blend of reds, pinks, whites and cremes was gaudy and straining to look at. Arthur guessed it was a victorian design, and it was quite apparent that it was a style he wasn’t fond of. He didn’t think he ever understood the things his mother liked. It was definitely a selective taste.

Shaking away his absentmindedness, and the staredown he was giving the blanket in his hand, he moved back to the living room, rounding behind his mother’s chair as he gently placed the cover against her. She was still snoring, some of them morphing into snorts. He honestly did try to contain his giggling, but most of it slipped out. To try and lessen the ache in her neck she was bound to wake up with tomorrow, he lastly righted her position.

The upbeat music coming from the tv began again, letting Arthur know his favourite show had returned. Hurried, his lips pressed up against his sleeping mother’s forehead before returning back to his spot in front of the tube.

“Welcome back, everyone! If you’re just tuning in, we have the lovely (Y/n) with us.”

For what was probably the 100th time, the crowd responded to Murray, who was sitting back at his desk, gaze set towards the camera.

“And I’ve got good news for you, kid!”

(Y/n) looked up at the host from her chair, eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you-”

Murray interrupted.

“I’ve set you up with a few clubs. We can’t let talent like yours go on without reward, it would be a disservice. On behalf of Gotham city, I think we can all agree we need some joy in these troubling times, and your presence just seems to radiate it.”

(Y/n) was evidently stunned. Suddenly, to her, some of his awful jokes had been worth it.

“This isn’t a prank, right?” she turned to the audience, eyes expanded wholly making the audience explode into chuckles. Arthur found himself joining in.

“I assure you lovely, we wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Your first gigs gonna be at Pogo’s comedy club. And yes, although it is a comedy club, they’ve made an exception. It’s best to start small and work your way up into the bigger names.”

Arthur’s chest constricted.

He went there all the time!

He could see her perform!

Talk to her!

Finally have the chance to introduce himse-

“So what do you say, darling?” Murray piped up, his eyes giving her an encouraging glance.

Arthur leaned forward, nose about to touch the screen in anticipation.

Her hands found her cheeks as she tried to conceal the spreading heat. Even in darkness, she was convinced the crimson flush would be bright enough to light up the room. While Murray had said a few off comments here and there, things she didn’t agree with, he truly had been welcoming to her. She thought maybe, just maybe, she had been too harsh on him.

“I-I don’t know what to say?!”

Please say yes - please say yes - please say yes.

“You could say, yes?” Murray shot her a playful look.

The woman finally nodded, adrenaline and joy manipulating her quaking frame, “yes! Yes! Thank you so much!”

Arthur’s fists shook in the air, a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding, released.

(Y/n) got up from her seat, shooting up like a rocket as she made her way behind Murray’s desk. He followed her actions and removed himself from his chair, and accepted the hug she pulled him into with a ‘whoa’.

“Well, there you have it, folks! Pogo’s, Friday night, at seven. Be there or be square!”

With a little whisper to (Y/n), she was sent off, back to the area with the microphone.

“Goodnight, tune in next time, and always remember-”

Instantly, the legendary keyboard tune started playing, and (Y/n) prepared herself to sing once more.

“-that’s life!” Arthur mimicked.

For one final performance, the camera panned away from Murray, setting on (Y/n) as the credits rolled. Arthur relished in the sound, the lyrics hitting his very soul.

That’s life (that’s life), that’s what people say

You’re riding high in April, shot down in May

But, I know I’m gonna change that tune

When I’m back on top, back on top in June

I said, that’s life, (that’s life), and as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks,

Stompin’ on a dream

But I don’t let it, let it get me down

Cause, this fine old world it keeps spinning around

He sunk into the numbing feeling of the lyrics, forcing himself to close his eyes. He didn’t even realise the song was nearing its end until she reached the final verse.

My, My!

With the expression of dazed euphoria, Arthur opened his eyes, watching her part from the microphone, the credits now over.

“Thank you,” was the only thing she said, her beaming expression the last thing Arthur saw.

The show ended.

Arthur, who was abandoned by the gentle, radiant hue of the cube before him, was consumed by the darkness. It dwelled within the room as the device had been switched off by his lingering hand.

He didn’t know how long he sat in silence for. His mother had finally stopped snoring.

He didn’t want to watch television; didn’t feel like it. He wanted to soak in the episode he’d just witnessed - flick through the memorable moments for the rest of the night.

He wanted to think about what he’d say to (Y/n) when he finally met her officially - he wanted it to be perfect. While the little wave she gave him days ago would have been such an insignificant action to most, it wasn’t to Arthur. It was real.

And the fact that he knew it was, reeled him in like an unsuspecting fish speeding to bait.

Well and truly, Arthur was bewitched.

The sombre air surrounding him - a mood that always seemed to cling to him - and the dim blue hue which encompassed his apartment, strangely didn’t feel so bad for once. Hell, he didn’t feel so bad for once.

With the image of her smile repeating in his head, he didn’t feel so...

Alone.

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker 2019 #joaquin phoenix joker #x reader #joker imagine #fanfiction series

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olliethealright · 5 years ago

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Three Steps From Home - Update #1

trigger warnings: religious content, abusive relationship, mental health, slight self harm implications, conversion therapy

disclaimer: these are my own words and ideas, please do not use my words or ideas without permission from me.

Hi everyone! Today I’m going to do a lil update on one of my current WIPs, Three Steps From Home. I’m going to be talking about the first four chapters, aka the first 4500ish words. If you want a more detailed description of the book or the characters, my last post is the introduction to this project, so you can find more details there.

chapter one - casual acquaintances - 969 words

theme song - like or like like, by miniature tigers

In this chapter, we meet the point of view character, Jude, as well as his love interest, Aaron. This chapter is mainly to introduce Jude’s voice and worldview, as well as how he sees Aaron without really knowing him. The inciting incident comes near the end of the chapter, when Aaron sits down to talk to Jude for the first time and the two strike up a conversation and Jude tries (and fails) to make a move.

“Even my mother’s Saturday night bingo group, who hated outsiders like they hated blasphemy, wouldn’t stop talking about you, or ‘that boy Aaron from the coffee shop,’ as they called you. ‘The cute one with the accent’. On those nights, I sipped spiked lemonade and passed out homemade cookies and tried not to hang onto their every word whenever you came into conversation”

“I supposedly worked from home, but I couldn’t stand home, so I worked from your coffee shop and pretended I wasn’t just another kid with a pile of student debt and a semi-failing career, living with his mother like an absolute loser. I pretended I didn’t watch you every time the production line of presentations got dull, every time the words swam from the page and my brain turned the texture of the dollops of whipped cream you put in hot chocolate”

chapter two - microwave dinners - 1347 words

theme song - untitled, by EDEN

This is the chapter where we meet Jude’s mom, who is honestly a piece of work. Jude is 21 at the start of the story, living with his mother as he saves money and continues to take computer science classes. His mother’s religion is a big source of tension in the story, and their unhealthy relationship is the centerpiece of this chapter. Jude comes home to find his mother watching a televangelist program, which eventually leads them to a fight, implying his mother’s wish to send him to conversion therapy, as well as alluding to Jude’s dad, who is not present in the story for unknown reasons.

“It was my dad who insisted on naming me Jude. He said it was biblical, but not overly so, not like the names my mother had picked. He always told me I was named for the book of Jude so I would remember what would happen if I lost my faith. Really, he named me Jude because it was near impossible for my mother’s native Spanish tongue to get right, and he liked watching her frustrated, he liked helping her get there”

“As it was, we walked on eggshells. My dad was no longer there to be a buffer between her anger and me. His name hovered in the air between us like a bomb, every time I brought him up, she would cross herself and mutter something like a prayer and get angrier by the second. I made myself scarce in hopes she would forget that her no longer perfect child still lurked under her roof like an unwanted animal, taking up the space the man she once loved did not”

chapter three - tea at midnight - 1042 words

theme song - perfume, by mehro

This chapter is very cute and wholesome, it balances out the sad feels you get from chapter two. In this chapter, Jude asks Aaron to hang out, and the two end up at a 24 hour tea shop, where they stay and talk until they have to get ready for work the next morning. There’s not much to this chapter events wise, but it does mark their first dateish thing, and it develops their characters a lot. It’s definitely one of my favorite chapters because of how light and dreamy it is.

“Maybe it was because I picked up a Mandarin-to-English dictionary to prove my point, but you obviously didn’t buy my story. You watched me over the corner of your fourth novel-in-progress, eyebrows raised so high they disappeared behind the rims of your glasses.

You glanced at your watch and sighed. ‘You know I’m going to have to kick you out in four minutes, yeah? Is there something I can get you?’”

“We sat in the cafe until we had created an impressive mound of dirty tea cups and the morning sun kissed our cheeks. We only left when we had to get ready for work. I was exhausted, an important afternoon meeting I had neglected to prepare for loomed like a distant storm cloud, but for the first time in a long while, I was happy, and I think you were too”

chapter four - circles - 1155 words

theme song - they’ll like me when im sick, by flatsound

This is my least favorite chapter in the book so far, and I’ll probably rework it, so everything in this part is subject to massive change (even more than the rest of this post). Basically, this is the chapter where both Jude and the reader get the sense that Aaron has problems he doesn’t talk about. Jude comes into Aaron’s coffee shop at his usual time and notices that Aaron is kind of out of it. Aaron’s coworker eventually convinces Jude to take Aaron home, and Jude spends the rest of the day trying to figure out what's wrong (spoiler, he doesn’t figure it out). This chapter also has a bit of a reflective aspect, as Jude criticizes himself for the things he should have done better.

Again, this chapter is a mess and I don’t know how to explain what happens well. Sorry about that lol.

“When I opened the door, your coworker’s eyes widened in a look that demanded attention. She jerked her head at you twice, a spectacularly unsubtle gesture, and then pointed out the door and in the direction of your apartment”

“Fifteen minutes later, you slipped into the booth next to me instead of across the table, breaking our little routine for the second time that day. You pressed your back into my shoulder and brought one knee to your chest, your other foot dangling over the edge of the seat. I squeezed your hand under the table (always under the table) and tried not to worry”

Well, there it is! I hope you enjoyed this update if you’ve made it this far! As always, let me know if you have any questions about the story. I hope you have a nice day!

-ollie

#threestepsfromhome #book #writing #writer #autor #shortstory #story #novel #nanowrimo #fun #nanowrimo2020

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alj4890 · 6 years ago

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RCD Appreciation Week Day 1 Prompt

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) with the first day's prompt being a holiday.

(Thomas x Amanda) taken from my storyline And Then I Met You

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @annekebbphotography @gibbles82 @cora-nova @bella-ca @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @pixieferry @lolablackwrites @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker . @trappedinfandoms @rcd-appreciation

Masterlist

Table for One

Three weeks before Thanksgiving

With a soft click, Thomas turned off the bathroom light and took a moment to simply enjoy the sight before him. Amanda had fallen asleep with a few open books around her. Her laptop was propped on his bed pillow and a notepad had slipped off on her side of the bed. A ballpoint pen hung loosely between her fingers.

He wondered if he would ever truly get used to the thought of her as his wife. They had been married for a little over eight months, and yet there were times he still found himself in awe of her. His lips curved as they typically did when seeing her in his bed. It was amazing how she had found that unknown empty niche in his life and filled it as if it had been created specifically for her.

He walked silently over and began to clear away the books, careful to mark her place, and laptop. He eased the pen out of her grip and glanced down at her notes. His eyebrow lifted. She had created quite the list of ingredients.

"Thanksgiving dinner options." He muttered and turned off her lamp.

Amanda's eyes opened when he eased into bed beside her. She smiled sleepily when he softly kissed her. "I didn't mean to doze off."

His lips brushed hers again. "What are you up to?"

She moved closer in his embrace and placed her lips on his neck. "We have a holiday coming upon us and I want to make it special for you. I am afraid I don't know much about Thanksgiving other than what I have learned from movies. So, I was doing some research."

"Do you have something similar in Cordonia?" He closed his eyes when her hand drifted lower.

"Hmm." The vibration against his neck made his heart race. "I suppose our celebration of the day Queen Kenna united the Five Kingdoms is a combination of your Independence Day and Thanksgiving. Perhaps our King Hunter's Day of Plenty is a closer match."

Thomas captured her lips in a deep kiss. "What is that holiday?"

"It is a day where baskets of food and needed items are exchanged. Lords and Ladies of the realm were to share their bounty with neighboring nobles and the people that worked their lands. It has evolved over the years to almost a second Christmas with the givers trying to outdo each other with extravagant gift baskets." She explained. Her lips traveled to his ear and she spoke softly while teasing his earlobe. "Though from what I read about King Hunter's reputation with the ladies, I believe there were quite a few who received a rather special basket from him."

Thomas could not remember history or holidays for that matter ever holding his attention as well as this particular conversation was. He kissed her when she began to ask about Thanksgiving.

"I would like to continue your traditions." She gasped when his lips moved down her neck. "Thomas!" A surprised laugh burst out when his fingers brushed her ticklish ribs. She smiled when she heard his chuckle before he lifted his head.

"My family never followed a tradition for Thanksgiving." Thomas explained. "In fact, my parents made it a point to plan some type of work or leisure activity to avoid getting together with extended family."

Amanda's eyes searched his face in the dim light of the moon filtering through the crack in the drapes. "Oh. Well, how have you celebrated it as an adult?"

"Alone." He explained. "I spend the day relaxed, order something special for dinner, and finish the night watching a movie while drinking an expensive bottle of something special." A smile slowly formed with a memory. "One of my best Thanksgivings was after my first movie was so well received. I had refused invitations to various gatherings and ordered Beef Wellington for my dinner. I then opened an excellent bottle of port, had a decadent piece of chocolate cake, and watched Frank Capra movies. It was absolutely perfect."

Amanda's brow puckered at that one detail that seemed to go against all her research. "You normally spend Thanksgiving alone?"

He nodded. "I prefer it. I look at it as a day to recharge before being forced to spend Christmas and New Year's with people." He pressed a heated kiss to her lips. "Do not worry about creating a massive turkey dinner. I don't need it."

Before she could argue for something a bit more traditional, he diverted her attention to stealing every thought she had with his lips.

____________

The night before Thanksgiving

Amanda grinned at what she had secretly arranged. The table was set perfectly and all was made ready for the next day's quiet relaxation. She quickly took some pumpkin muffins out of the oven and placed them on a cooling rack. She readied Thomas's coffee pot for the morning.

"Breakfast finished." She muttered while checking items off her list. "Dinner ordered. Dessert?" She smiled at the triple chocolate cake sitting under a glass cake cover. "Ready. Bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon to pair with the Beef Wellington and the Graham’s Ne Oublie Tawny Port for something extravagant." She lifted the elegant black bottle that had cost nearly eight thousand dollars and set it on the counter. She thought it would make her husband's Thanksgiving even better.

Amanda checked the theater room and had It Happened One Night and Meet John Doe ready to play. She then returned to the kitchen to compose a short letter. She pressed her lips to the bottom once finished and smiled at the kiss mark.

She set the folded note on the kitchen table and quietly crept upstairs. Thomas had fallen asleep hours ago. She grabbed her cell phone, shut the door, and left the house.

_____________

Thanksgiving Day

Thomas opened his eyes. He had an unusual feeling that something was off. He rolled over and frowned at Amanda's undisturbed side of the bed. Had she fallen asleep downstairs? He got up and went to find her. He yawned on his way to start his coffee and could smell the lingering aroma of ginger and cinnamon.

His wife had made her pumpkin muffins. Between those and her pumpkin cookies, he couldn't seem to get enough. His lips curved at the whimsical muffin tin she had used that had shaped the muffins as turkeys, leaves, and acorns. Yawning once more, he noticed the folded note sitting on the kitchen table.

His frown deepened when he noticed the table had been decorated and set for one. He read what she had written.

Dearest Thomas

Happy Thanksgiving! I have tried to recreate your favorite one. You don't have to worry about anything today except relaxing. Dinner will be delievered around five. I ordered your Beef Wellington. I also have a very rare port for you to enjoy with your chocolate cake. Frank Capra movies are set in the theater room. Enjoy your needed solitude, my love. I will see you tomorrow.

All my love,

Amanda

Thomas stared at the letter in utter disbelief. He thought back to the night they had discussed Thanksgiving. What had he said to make her think he wanted to be by himself today? He told her he needed to be alone with her. That was blatantly understood now that they were married.

He dropped the letter and went to find his phone. He called her to see where she was. When there was no answer, he tried to control his temper. His voice held an edge of barely restrained rage when he left a voice message asking her to call him immediately.

He checked the hall closet to see how much luggage she had taken. Nothing had been used making him even more perplexed. He started checking the guest bedrooms, hoping she had decided to spend the day in there.

"Where did she go without luggage?" He muttered to himself. He went back to their bedroom. Only a small satchel was missing. His shoulders slumped as he returned to the kitchen.

The hours dragged by. He tried to relax but couldn't turn his mind off. He checked his phone every five to ten minutes, expecting her to call back. His dinner was delievered promptly and he sat down at the kitchen table.

He hated every moment of it. Amanda should be here, he thought. She can't just up and leave me on a holiday after making me used to her. The loneliness was felt acutely and all because it was a holiday, one he wanted to spend with her. He missed her laughter and gentle teasing. He missed the conversation they would most likely be having right now about Frank Capra's work. Thomas wanted her home with him, reminding him how much he had to be grateful for.

The past year with her in work and marriage had been the best of his life. He needed her there to tell her that. He took a sip of the wine she had picked for him and frowned even more. It was as if it was meant to specifically be paired with his dinner. How could he make her blush with compliments for creating a perfect holiday meal if she wasn't there?

He forced down the solitary meal. Thomas then saw the port. His eyes widened at the three silver ringed bottle. She had truly outdone herself with her generosity and research. He cut a piece of the cake covered in dark chocolate ganache. He opened the extremely rare bottle of port and took a deep breath. Hints of honey, dried fruit, orange zest, and caramel wafted up. He poured a glass and took it with his cake into the theater room.

He started the movie and grimaced. She would pick the romantic one first. Just like Clark Gable's grumpy cynical reporter, he too had fallen for and met his match in a wealthy society lady. Much to his relief, his was not quite as difficult as Claudette Colbert.

He took a sip of the port and closed his eyes. It was sublime. The bite of chocolate cake that followed set off the notes of flavors to create a moment of gastronomic perfection. Now if he only had his wife to thank properly.

He finished his glass and slice of cake by the time the first movie ended. Thomas picked up his dishes to take back to the kitchen. He glanced out the bay window looking out over his backyard and stilled. Was that a light flickering in the newly rebuilt guest house?

He moved closer to the window and focused on the faint glow that seemed to be from a television screen. With a grim smile, he grabbed a set of keys and set off down the cobblestone path.

Amanda had turned the lights off while snuggling under a blanket. She picked up her plate of pumpkin pie and jumped when a woman's scream came out of nowhere in the movie, The Uninvited.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have gone horror, even 1944 horror." She mumbled with a nervous laugh.

Thomas leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. He waited for her to notice that she was no longer alone. Her attention was focused on the movie as she reached for her glass of milk. It was empty prompting her to get up. She paused the movie then let out a scream when she saw Thomas in the shadows.

She set her glass down and clutched her chest. "If I didn't know better, I would swear you were trying to scare me to death. Need I remind you that this is Thanksgiving, not Halloween."

His eyes narrowed. "I am well aware what day it is."

She calmed her heart and sat down. "Is something wrong? Your dinner wasn't late, was it?"

"No." He replied, slowly advancing on her.

Whatever she saw in his expression had her scooting across the small couch. When she ran out of space, he pounced on her. Her laughter made him smile as his lips touched hers. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him even closer. "You didn't have to end your Thanksgiving early on my account."

"About that...what gave you the idea to leave me alone?" His dark gaze closely observed as confusion clouded her hazel eyes.

"You told me you preferred spending the holiday alone. That you needed time away from people." She gently smoothed his hair off his forehead. "I wanted you to have that."

Thomas's deepening frown made her eyes widen. "Listen very carefully." He ordered in a serious tone. "Whenever I say I want to be alone, it will always mean I want to be alone with you." His intense dark eyes searched hers for understanding.

Her lips eased into a smile. "Oh." She pulled his head down and met his lips in a tender kiss.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to not give in to smiling back at her. He needed to stress this point. "It doesn't matter if it is an American holiday or a Cordonian one, we will spend them all together. I don't care if you hear me say I loved spending one alone, that will no longer be the case. Is that understood?"

"I understand." Her voice was soft and filled with emotion.

He swallowed and sat up. "Good. Now get your things. We are going back to our home."

She cleaned up the few dishes she had used and gathered the couple of items she brought over. He took her bag from her and turned everything off. She paused outside while he locked up their guesthouse. He wrapped his arm around her as they walked silently back.

He dropped her things on the kitchen table and took her into the theater room. He sat down, pulling her with him and hit play on the next movie. She curled her legs under her while getting more comfortable against his side.

As a scene unfolded with James Gleason's character dealing with phone calls caused by Barbara Stanwyck's, Thomas stiffened.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?" He asked..

Her eyes widened again. "What calls? I didn't receive any." She left him to check her phone and came back grimacing. "I had it on silent."

He tugged her back onto the couch and relaxed once more when she settled next to him. He pressed a sweet kiss to the top of her head while he told her how perfect his meal and port was. She blushed some at his bragging on her and then even more when he told her the ways he intended to show his appreciation.

Later that night as they laid in bed, they breathlessly spoke of what they were most thankful for. Each blessing expressed began and ended with a kiss that became more and more intense as the lists went on.

Thomas held Amanda close as the chimes from the downstairs clock revealed it to be midnight. She smiled while her hands slowly roamed his warm skin. "I think this might need to be our annual Thanksgiving tradition. I can't think of a better place to tell you how thankful I am for you."

His lips curved while his arms tightened around her. "Our tradition." He kissed her, groaning when she pushed him back against the pillows to continue the kiss. He broke away to cup her face. "I believe you and I are going to have many holiday traditions that are perfect for us."

#choices thomas hunt #rcd thomas hunt #rcd appreciation week #thomas hunt x oc #thomas hunt x amanda #holiday prompts #thanksgiving

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vvivacious101 · 6 years ago

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Regarding Cas and Dean

I’m falling down a rabbit hole so deep less than 33 hours before Season 15 premieres. I was thinking about Cas and Dean and then I was rewatching Season 1 and then I was reading this amazing meta about season 5 and then 7 and then I was fast-forwarding through season 7 and 8 to go through all the Dean and Cas scenes while then getting bombarded with truly delicious speculation regarding season 15. It’s too much I can’t bear it. It was so much that for a brief moment in time it was my absolute reality and the best feeling in the world. God, this single season a single moment in this entire season will define it in its entirety and I have no idea where the pendulum swings. Though in the deepest depths of my heart I’m a true believer, I still need to keep my head a little sceptical if I don’t want to go bat shit crazy. It’s even crazier to realise that by this time next year I will know everything there is to know about this story and I have no idea what my heart will be filled with then and it will be too much if it is regret. It’s making me crazy.

I wasn’t even thinking about the premiere till like the 5th when it suddenly became the only thing I could think about. I feel like I almost want the time to get here already when I get to watch it because once I do atleast that will be one thing less to worry about and we can finally get settled for the long haul when this feeling will probably return with full force in March. I know I said this before when they announced that this would be the last season and I felt bereft like there would be something missing from my life when this show got over even though at the time of that announcement season 14 wasn’t even over yet. That feeling is hitting me hard right now, it’s killing me.

Especially the question that is Destiel. I have been thinking a lot about these two because the resolution to this single relationship is going to define television history. We will finally know once and for all.

Supernatural loves Dean and Cas because it can’t seem to figure out a way to break the dynamic but it also loves yoyoing with these two and their feelings. It’s almost like for some reason every time Dean and Cas seem to be headed towards the same page somebody changes the book and they have to repeat the process all over again.

So, let’s go back to the beginning the very beginning.

Season 4

Dean and Cas meet for the first time at the end of Lazarus Rising that is episode 4x01 in what will go done as one of the most iconic scenes in television history. You might not remember the details but you can still remember the way that scene made you feel. It was gloriously intense and there is just so much happening in it. It was the scene that launched a thousand ships. On a deeper level, this scene is already laying down the foundation of Dean and Cas’ relationship. But for my purposes, we don’t need to go very deep. On the surface what this scene really is, is antagonistic. Dean tries to kill Cas from the moment he lies eyes on him then he proceeds to deride him and not believe him only for Cas to then hit a nerve. Dean is caught off guard and clearly has no faith in Cas because he spends the very next scene arguing against the existence of angels with Sam.

In 4x02 Dean and Cas again meet at the end of the episode. This scene is different in a way, Dean is so caught off guard that he is extremely raw and vulnerable and he is also being extremely true. This scene ends with Cas threatening Dean and taken together with the previous scene seems to depict a trend of rising antagonism between Dean and Cas. It becomes increasingly apparent that things can go one of two ways weather Dean yields or Dean breaks.

Then comes episode 4x03 “In the Beginning”. Dean and Cas share 5 scenes in this episode. With the first three scenes ending on the same note with Dean asking a question and Cas metaphorically hanging up the phone on Dean. The fifth scene of this episode ends with Cas threatening Dean were it hurts - Sam. These three scenes at the end of the first three episodes of season 4 showcase a trend with Cas being increasingly aggressive towards Dean. But 4x03 doesn’t have 4 Dean and Cas scenes it has 5. The fourth scene is just a few seconds long but it is the most significant moment in Dean and Cas’ history. This is the moment that changes the trajectory of their entire relationship. See for yourself.

The moment when Dean and Cas look into each others’ eyes is a moment that is truly indescribable because in these few second there is so much happening. Dean is vulnerable and he is looking for assurance and he gets that assurance and support from Cas who has the gentlest expression on his face. This scene is significant because following this Dean starts calling Castiel Cas and the next time Dean and Cas see each other Cas will be the one expressing doubts. When I said I saw this going two ways I didn’t anticipate the fact that Cas could be the one to yield.

This scene is significant, it is a turning point for Dean and Cas, for the season and for the entirety of Supernatural.

But, you see Supernatural loves to muddy the waters so it follows this milestone of an event by a threat which has immediate repercussions. It takes your focus off but still when you see Dean and Cas in 4x07 you don’t question the fact that all of a sudden Cas is no longer aggressive towards Dean. There are two scenes between Cas and Dean this episode. The first one is special because in the first nine scenes Cas has on this show all nine also feature Dean and eight of them feature no one other than Dean. But, the first scene between Dean and Cas in 4x07 also has Sam and Uriel. In a scene in which Dean and Cas constantly forget there are other people around. At one point of time, Cas steps up to Dean and reminds him that his decision could result in Hell on Earth and Sam replies offscreen because the focus is still on Dean and Cas. Dean’s expression seems like he was caught off guard but Cas he doesn’t even move his gaze off Dean like during the entire time Sam is speaking up Dean atleast flicks a glance at him and Sam is behind Dean so it’s not like looking back is convenient but the guy it is convenient for doesn’t flick a glance. At another point in the same scene, Cas talks to Uriel without moving his gaze off of Dean’s face. And this is were association comes in by this point we have started associating Cas with Dean to the exclusion of all else there is already a bond forming between these two characters. And the next scene in this episode showcases just that, Cas has doubts, has questions and he reveals this secret to Dean. Cas is an angel for an angel displays of emotions are tantamount to treason and Cas is committing a crime but he already trusts Dean with his deepest darkest secret, a secret that will later in this very season result in torture for Castiel.

The next time we see Castiel we see SPN at work trying to dissociate Dean and Cas as they are now in direct conflict in a scene that starts at the end of 4x09 and continues into the beginning of 4x10. They try to do this by bringing in Anna who is an angel and also a love interest for Dean. As Anna comes into the picture all of a sudden Cas and Dean don’t seem to have much to share especially in the face of a canon love interest and this is were the show seems to contradict itself, because at a point when Dean and Cas’ relationship seems pretty insignificant we have Uriel tell Dean this.

Dean: Don’t normally see you off leash. Where’s your boss?

Uriel: Castiel... Oh! He’s... He’s not here. You see he has this weakness, he likes you.

Then in a later scene in the same episode, we have the awkwardest exchange in all of history. Anna kisses Dean in front of Sam, Cas and Uriel. This kiss is really weird especially because Cas doesn’t avert his gaze the entire time they are kissing. This kiss makes you uncomfortable. Anna and Dean feel wrong.

Now, this is where I am going to say this SPN does seesaw on Dean and Cas but it never consistently tries to rid itself of the dynamic thus invariably becoming the very reason it exists. So after a while, it seems pretty implausible that the creators have no idea what they are doing, even if Cas is seeing Anna kiss Dean why is the focus solely in Cas’ face there are two other people in the room. It doesn’t end here we have Cas at the mercy of Alastair and all of a sudden Dean who is in on the plan of letting Heaven and Hell fight it out suddenly risks his life to save Cas from Alastair. This is significant both ways Alastair is Dean’s tormentor and Cas is Dean’s saviour so he is literally choosing to save himself from all the torment he has faced. Secondly, Dean might be repaying his massive debt to Cas by saving him but the fact that in doing so he has to stand up to a demon who tortured him makes this rather off-focus scene significant. Thirdly, maybe at this point, we can safely say Dean likes Cas and is willing to save him even when their goals don’t align.

There is a little season featuring these two in a small scene in 4x15.

Dean: What the hell?

Cas: Guess again

Dean: It was you. If you wanted our help, why the hell didn't you just ask?

Cas: Because whatever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite

Dean: These are good people. Don't you think you could make a few exceptions?

Cas: To everything there is a season

Dean: You made an exception for me

Cas: You're different

It is not significant from their relationship’s POV but I would like to point out 15 episodes into the season and there isn’t a single Cas seen that also doesn’t feature Dean and with the exception of just three scenes these scenes haven’t featured anyone except Dean.

4x16 is the first time Cas grows as a character and shares scenes with other characters for the very first time. This is also a Cas-centric episode. The episode starts with Uriel ordering Cas to torture Alastair for information but when they get to the location Dean wants to talk to Cas alone. This is the first time we see Dean express concern for Cas and Cas manages to convince Dean to torture Alastair something Dean does with a very heavy heart but something he also does because Cas and specifically Cas asks him to. The last scene of this episode is absolutely heart-breaking because I don’t think that Dean has ever been this vulnerable in front of any character before. Dean is a tough guy who believes the motto “fake it till you make it” and for the first time, that facade is stripped clean and revealed.

In 4x18 we have Dean pray for the first time and Cas sees it as a sign of faith personally it seems more like faith in Cas then in Heaven as a whole and this is exactly when you know things are different. Dean is more invested in Cas then in the entire concept of Heaven. Also, this episode is where we have Cas slyly helping Dean which is so amazing because it starts cementing Dean and Cas as a team.

So just when they establish Dean and Cas as a team guess what the next episode these two characters star in is about. Of course, it’s about breaking the dream team. This episode is significant because if Dean had just gotten to Cas on time a whole lot of pain could have been averted but of course, that’s not the story. Dean and Cas are back to their starting points and that’s exactly what I meant by Dean and Cas relationship just yoyo-ing all over the place. In season 4, it has always been two steps forward and four steps back. This is going to change in the season finale with Cas taking a stand that is going to cement this relationship but season 4 while amazing isn’t the perfect Destiel season. That’s coming. Also, given what we learn in season 8 it is apparent Castiel has undergone re-education.

In the very next episode, we again have Dean express concern about Cas’ wellbeing and we have Cas recruit Dean into Heaven’s service the very thing he was going to stop but we don’t know this at this time.

Season 4 starts something that is going to define Cas and Dean’s behaviour and that is the held gaze. Cas and Dean hold gazes for seconds on end and in 4x21 they break their own personal record.

4x22 is EPIC. It is. It is an amazing episode but let’s be honest I only care about Cas and Dean at this point. This episode has Dean convincing Cas to betray and disobey Heaven and he does it not two episodes after he was severely reprimanded for his emotions which apparently are doorways to doubt. Cas literally blasts the script and throws about the pieces. At this point, you can’t argue how much of an impact Dean has on Cas like convincing an angel to rebel. It’s not even about what he does but how he does it. Lots of eye contact in this one. There is this one particular moment when Cas has his gaze turned away from Dean something that I really think hasn’t happened till this point and Dean dips his head to catch Cas’ gaze and kind of makes him turn his head os that they are making eye contact again and it is such a subtle thing but it is so there. What does it even mean? I don’t think I have ever seen two characters behave this way then when Cas decides to do the deed he comes barging in and knocks Dean into a wall covers his mouth and just holds his gaze. I couldn’t get a single thing from Cas’ eyes but apparently, Dean learns an entire plan from looking into them. I mean I guess he has had a lot of practice. One more thing I would like to mention is that when Zach reminds Dean he swore obedience to Heaven and its angels and Dean looks towards Cas, at that moment it is pretty clear Dean wasn’t thinking when he made that oath because he literally made it to Cas and only to him when he sees his oath extrapolated to include Zach he isn’t happy in fact you can almost say he feels betrayed. Then in the last scene of this episode that they share together, we have Cas say that he is making it up as they go along and Dean looks at him with like so much awe. That was definitely something.

Season 4 is a lot of fun to revisit because well it is the season that gave birth to Destiel and it is fun because these two share a lot this season. It was the first time Dean is in so much conflict with Sam and he is actively kind of embracing whatever he and Cas share as a crutch to hold himself up. But this is still the baby stages, there is a lot of fun to come.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural season 15 #supernatural season 4 #dean #cas #destiel #i wrote whole paragraphs on season 4 #but then I apparently didn't save it #and it got deleted #so I had to write it again #can anyone understand the pain I'm in

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nekoabiwrites · 6 years ago

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Of Princes and Potions - Chapter 8

...I don’t know what to say before this chapter...

AU: Royal, Fantasy Pairing: Pining Logince Words: 2895 Warnings: Sympathetic yet still a lil shit Deceit. Anything else, please let me know.

Summary: Roman has a run in with his favourite wizard and his friend, but the two seem skittish and nervous around him. He wonders about this to several people and they all knowingly tell him cryptic things. Roman is determined to figure this all out.

“And thus, concludes this week’s session. I hope that you will find this informa- Where are you going?”

Roman visibly jumped as his tutor used an accusatory tone with him. He turned and grinned wide, acting as though he wasn’t trying to run out of the room they used for the tutoring sessions, “I thought you were finished, sir. I also have something planned that I need to be on time for, so if it is okay with you-”

“Sit down, Your Highness. The tailors will understand if you are a few minutes late. My classes do not end until I dismiss you. I tell you this every week.” The tutor sighed disapprovingly.

The prince knew better than to attempt to argue with the stern man. He trudged back to the seat he’d been slumped in and threw himself back down, his arms folded in defiance. He watched as the tutor raised an eyebrow at his actions but didn’t acknowledge them any further. Instead, the man went on a long spiel about the independent work he was assigning the prince to complete before their next session.

“Now…” The tutor paused, watching the eager prince sit up straight in his chair finally, “You are free to leave.” He had barely finished his sentence before Roman was out of the door. He sighed once more, the tiredness clear in the exhale.

Roman walked as fast as he could down the corridor, wanting nothing more than to be away from the awful, small, stuffy room they used for the tutoring session. He didn’t even know why it was necessary for him to still have these sessions. Sure, he was learning about the relations between his kingdom and others that neighboured nearby as well as several other important things he’d need once he took the throne from his father, but he still didn’t see why it was needed.

After turning a couple of corners, the prince slowed to a leisurely pace. His mind seemed to clear, and his mood immediately brighten. All he could think about was the upcoming ball, especially as there were only a few more weeks until representatives from all nearby kingdoms and all the noble children would gather in the castle ballroom to celebrate him. Every single detail needed to be absolutely perfect and Roman used any and all downtime he had to dream up the perfect party.

His thoughts were paused when he noticed two figures further down the corridor he’d now turned into. It was obvious from the first glance that it was the wizard and the knight captain, which was an odd combination in Roman’s mind, but he accepted it.

“Greetings, Sir Virgil and Sir Pendry!” Roman called from the end of the hallway.

Immediately, both of the other men seemed agitated. From the distance Roman was at, even he could see that they both tensed significantly, and their faces turned paler than he’d ever seen. The wizard turned sharply and practically sprinted up the corridor away from him, while Virgil stood his ground in the centre of the space, seemingly trying to act as a barricade in case the prince decided to chase after the retreating man.

Roman continued his pace, through he was extremely curious as to why his presence had caused such a reaction. Upon his approach to Virgil, he began to ask questions, “What was all of that for? Where did Sir Pendry run off to? Are you two hiding something from me?”

It was immediately clear that the knight captain was incredibly nervous to be near Roman at this moment. He laughed shakily and tried to seem calm, but failed miserably as his voice started to shake as well, “Why would we, need to hide anything from… from you, Your Highness?”

Roman cocked his hip and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow in order to provide a non-verbal answer to the knight captain.

“W-well, anyway, Logan just… uh, I mean, Sir Logan needed to, um… do some… thing… really important.” Virgil was visibly sweating now. The prince watched one droplet slide from the knight captain’s forehead and down his cheek, which was swiftly wiped away with a sheepish laugh. Very suddenly, Virgil stood to his full height, “I just remembered, I had somewhere to be. Goodbye, Your Highness.” He turned sharply on his heel and walked briskly down the corridor, following the path the wizard had tore down only a minute or two prior.

“That was, by far, the oddest interaction I have ever had…” Roman muttered to himself as he watched the retreating back of the knight captain. It took the prince a moment to comprehend as much as he could about the situation he’d just been a part of. He was fixated on it as he continued his journey towards his own room.

His two personal tailors were already waiting for him once he arrived.

“I am incredibly sorry for the delay. I was kept longer than intended by my tutor.” Roman dramatically spoke as he entered through the large doors. The two inside were quick to reassure the prince that nothing was wrong, which had Roman smiling.

After ensuring the prince was comfortable and ready, one wheeled out a mannequin that was wearing an already completed outfit.

“Is it up to your standards, Your Highness?” asked one of the tailors with a bow.

Roman couldn’t respond with words for a moment. The piece was absolutely stunning. He’d given his request, as well as a few designs he’d quickly sketched to the tailors a few weeks ago and they had accommodated everything he wanted and did so much more. He approached it and gently ran his hand over one of the sleeves that were freely hanging.

“It is wonderful. You have truly created something from my wildest dreams.” Roman finally said, a genuine smile crossing his features as he turned to both of the tailors in turn to thank them.

If there was one thing Roman loved, it was getting a new outfit for a ball. They were always massive occasions and it was really the only place he could wear some of his more outrageous outfits. He was helped into the new outfit by the tailors and stood in front of the mirror, taking in every detail. How the pure white of the outfit contrasted against his tanned skin, how the detailed additions stood out as features against the garments as they were so bright and vibrant. He truly felt like a prince in the outfits he wore to the balls, and this was the best one yet.

The two tailors quickly busied themselves with pinning the extra fabric, so it sat perfectly on Roman’s body. They made conversation with the prince, getting him to elaborate on his plans for the ball and what he was going to do leading up to the event. Roman was more than happy to tell anyone who would listen about all the thoughts he had, so he began to ramble – which led to him going far off topic and just ranting about anything that came into his head.

At one point, he managed to get onto the topic of his sparring with Virgil and the rest of the knights, which then led him to talk about his relationship with the knight captain who managed to uphold such a scary reputation.

“I think he is far too harsh on everyone and really needs to improve his attitude sometimes. He barely even seems to respect me or my person, especially when he bests me in a duel. He is far too cocky for his own good. Though, I guess sometimes he can get rattled. I mean, when I ran into him on the way here, he was extremely nervous about something or other, which was odd. I’d never seen Sir Virgil so emotional.” Roman mused aloud, not really thinking about what he was saying, “Oh! Speaking of emotional, I also saw Sir Pendry talking with him just before and the man just ran away when I called out to him. Now, that was extremely off-putting. I thought I was really getting somewhere with him, especially after all of that effort I put into our conversations…”

There was a light snort of laughter from his side. Roman turned his head sharply to look at the tailor, who titled their head up to make eye contact with the prince, “I’m sure your effort has not gone to waste, Your Highness.”

“Yes, I am sure Sir Pendry only left in a hurry as he had something going on in that odd tower of his.” Said the other tailor from behind him.

“Exactly. Do not think you did anything wrong, Your Highness.”

“We can assure you that your relationship with Sir Pendry is far from damaged.”

Roman’s suspicions were aroused by their choice of words, “What are you implying? Are you both keeping secrets from me?” The only response was a small smile as the tailor who had been sharing his gaze turned back to their work.

The rest of the session passed in silence as Roman pondered what they had said with scrutiny. He did ask at regular intervals for more information, almost getting to the point of demanding they tell him what they knew or else they’d receive punishment. However, the tailors were finished before he got to that point. Both of them quickly removed the outfit from him and said their goodbyes, leaving the prince all alone in his room with his thoughts.

Roman, with nothing else to do with his time, resigned himself to attempting to get the independent work he’d been tasked with by his tutor earlier. But, no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind was always pre-occupied with the strange behaviour of the wizard and the knight captain, as well as what the tailors had said to him that day. Even as he ate, his mind would not falter on the matter. This led the prince to walk out to the stables in the low evening light.

The best way for Roman to clear his head was to get out on Allegria. The feeling of being so free, able to fly wherever he wished in the sky was what he needed to throw away almost any thought that plagued him for too long. Roman assumed he would be unimpeded as he retrieved the pegasus, as this was not a time that Demitri tended to the horses at the stable. However, it seems the animal handler was mixing up his schedule as he was there when the prince entered the building.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Demitri said as he bowed low.

“Good evening.” Roman responded, his mind solely focused on retrieving Allegria and just getting out in the skies.

As he reached her stall, Roman was able to hear the other man walking around behind him. He opened the gate and led the proud animal out before finding her reigns.

“Isn’t it quite late to be going for a flight, Your Highness?” Demitri asked. His tone was cocky, confident and definitely held a hint that he knew exactly why the prince was going out on a late-evening flight.

Roman didn’t even respond as he fitted out Allegria, so she was ready to be ridden.

“It is obviously none of my business.” Demitri spoke up once more as Roman hoisted himself up upon the pegasus once they were outside, “But, I don’t think this flight will help you as much as you think…”

Roman snapped his head towards the animal tamer, who was now wearing a smug grin, “What do you mean? Tell me, immediately.”

Demitri shrugged noncommittally, “It’s obvious that something is bothering you, Your Highness. I am simply saying that your usual actions are unlikely to help you, is all…”

The prince narrowed his eyes, watching every movement of the other for anything that might give away anything else, “I simply know that Allegria needs her exercise and that is all.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I must just be seeing things.” The animal handler continued to speak, even as Roman coaxed his steed into turning away from the scarred man, “I am sure it has nothing to do with the nervous state that I saw Sir Logan in earlier today…”

Roman’s interest was immediately piqued. He tossed his leg over to the other side and slid off of the back of Allegria, who was already frustrated at having to wait so long to get going, but he ignored her frustrated sounds, “What?! What do you know?! Tell me!” Roman approached Demitri, getting as close to the man as he was comfortable in.

“I just saw him running through the corridors earlier, soon followed by Sir Virgil and then yourself. I simply put the pieces together, Your Highness.”

There was something this man wasn’t telling him, Roman was sure of it. The glint in his eyes was giving him away. The only thing Roman needed to figure out was how to get the secretive man to spill and tell him everything.

“I am not going to elaborate further, Your Highness.” Demitri said with a victorious smirk, “It would be mere speculation and that would not be helpful to you.”

Roman could only watch as the animal handler walked back into the stable, his mind still trying to think of anything he could do to get the information out of him. He eventually gave up and got back onto Allegria. Just as he was preparing to get her up in the sky, he heard something from behind him.

“You have nothing to worry about. Everything is going just as you want it.”

The prince had no chance to ask for clarification from Demitri as Allegria, tired of this useless back and forth, took off on her own accord, making her rider scramble for a proper hold on her. This did have her receiving a verbal scolding, but she barely seemed to care.

The pair soared through the skies for a while, enjoying the breeze and the freedom, and yet Roman was still lingering on everything. What Demitri had said, what the tailors had said, how the two men had reacted to his mere presence. Everything was adding up to have Roman believe that everyone was simply hiding something important from him. Though every time he attempted to think about what it could be, Roman’s mind swung back to think about how the wizard had reacted and how everyone alluded to their relationship being fine, that nothing was wrong. It puzzled the prince, but also had him just aching to know more.

So, when his eye caught the lit-up window in the highest tower, Roman couldn’t help himself. He headed straight for it, assuring his pegasus companion that they would not be hitting the wall this time.

Roman was immediately overcome with a strong feeling of need upon seeing the wizard hard at work in his tower. Once he was close enough to distinguish some of his features, Roman had Allegria slow even further, so they were approaching as such a speed that it allowed the prince time to truly appreciate the sight of magic user.

The man was utterly gorgeous, even if all Roman could see was the back of him. His cloak was once again resting on the mannequin behind his bookstand and the wizard had his sleeves rolled up – presumably - to get them out of the way. His hair was a mess in just the most attractive way, which had Roman’s thoughts drifting to something that was far from appropriate.

Soon enough, the prince was within range of the window. He had Allegria stay in place as best she could as he knocked on the window softly. Roman watched as the occupant of the room jumped harshly and turned in the blink of an eye to see what the noise was. When he locked eyes with Roman, Logan immediately turned a shade of red that rivalled the adornments that Roman wore daily and he rushed up the spiral staircase, tripping twice in his haste.

Now, the crown prince of the kingdom was far more confused. He’d expected the wizard to approach the window in order to open it, so he could snarkily tell the prince to leave. But instead, he’d fled once more. Roman was lost deep in thought as he took Allegria back to the stable, rid her of her flight equipment and left her in order to return to his room. He sat on his plush window-seat, looking out over the darkened kingdom after changing for bed. There was no way their ‘relationship’, as everyone else seemed to enjoy calling it, was alright, not after how the wizard continued to respond to him. Roman’s heart ached as a thought crossed his mind.

“He must hate me for something…” The prince muttered sadly to himself.

It was only a minute of self-pity he allowed himself before a flame of determination sparked in his eyes. Roman had a ball to prepare for, that was what his primary focus should be. And if he managed to impress the wizard at the same time, well… that was just a bonus, right? Roman slipped himself under the covers of his bed, a new-found passion making him excited for the upcoming weeks. He’d prove himself, no matter what.

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