#max is the calmer guy the voice of reason between the two of them and charles is the crazy motherfucker who thinks he is spider man

[maxemilianverstappen]

People see a one second toaster quality video of Charles Leclerc standing still and think he is the chill guy who is just vibing out of the Lestappen duo, as if this is not the same mother fucker who went after robbers in his Ferrari at night in Monaco Miami Vice style without thinking what might happen when he'd catch them.

[danielxricciardo]

for the song prompt list #38 with max please 🥺

Summary: One sided love with Max Verstappen

Warnings: angst, swearing

Word count: 2.7k

38. “You wouldn’t know love if it crushed your fucking chest.”

One-sided love is like waiting for something that is never going to happen. It is like looking into those eyes that will never look back into yours. It is like having someone in your heart but not in your arms. It is suffocating. It starts eating you from inside.

It starts from the moment you meet them. The eye contact that chills your spine, the butterflies somersaulting in your stomach, just the mere thought of them sends goosebumps all over your skin. Your eyes wander and you can't concentrate whenever they're around; despite feeling a little embarrassed for approaching them, you do so anyway and exchange numbers in the hope that at least a friendship will develop. I mean, they're cool, you're cool, you should hang out or something. Or whatever.

It becomes harder to remain nonchalant. Your moderate interest in this person turns into the non-stop checking of your phone to see if they've contacted you... absolute elation when they do, and utter, utter despair when they don't. But you keep telling yourself that it's cool, you don't even know them that well, and they probably don't even want to know you (otherwise they would be making an effort by now, right?).

They text you something vague and impersonal every once in a while, and this is enough to send your heart soaring into the sky. You respond straight away, and they don't. And as this continues, your self-esteem begins to drop, and you question everything.

Why aren't they contacting me? I expect they're just busy. Or is it me? Are three texts in a row too much? I don't wanna seem stalkerish... but I don't want to look like I don't care about them. Am I too fat? Would they prefer me if I lost weight, or had a car, or my own place? Probably. Why am I thinking about them? They'd never think about me like this.

It hurts, from the pit of your stomach to the backs of your eyes. You can't concentrate on anything. You forego activities with friends and family, to keep yourself available for this person just in case they want to meet up with you. You feel sick every day, your appetite drops, your enthusiasm for everything decreases, and you are left with the most bitter, raging emptiness you've ever felt in your whole life. And it's all your fault.

Despite the pain it causes you, you carry on quietly pursuing this person. You silently scream to yourself 'THEY'RE OUT OF MY LEAGUE! THEY WILL NEVER EVER WANT TO BE WITH ME! DON'T THINK ABOUT THEM!' but it's so overwhelming to hear yourself saying it that you try and ignore the voice of reason inside your head. Because right now, your heart is taking control, and there's nothing you can do about it.

You wish they were a part of you, that they could give you a chance, to let you be the best partner that you could possibly be. You wish you could hold them, and talk to them, and kiss them, and sleep beside them, and protect them... but you can't.

The reason you put yourself through all this pain, is a simple fact that you love this person so, so much. And even though the rational side of you is telling you to give up, a small, pathetic part of you says 'They might care about you one day...'

It hurts. Hurts real bad.

True Love doesn’t hurt. Expectations, possessiveness, insecurity, jealousy, and emotions do.

Memories don't hurt. Love doesn't hurt. It is the attachment that hurts. It is the expectation that hurts. It is the imagined future that is now broken that hurts.

Unrequited love hurts the most. You will love someone no matter what they have done to you and that someone may not love you back no matter what you do. That hurts. Those expectations hurt.

To love is always selfless and that feeling is always unconditional. Love is always unconditional. It may sting seeing him with someone else, but you will be happy for him for their happiness is more important to you when you truly love them.

When we lose someone that we love so truly and they walk out of your life for some reason, it hurts. This doesn't mean memories will haunt us. It is the collapsed future that hurts us. Living in the past with the ones we love brings us tears, not because that is lost, but because there was something that could have been forever, but it isn't now. That hurts. That stings and we tend to associate it with good memories. Sometimes we love people more than the memories they gave us. We fall for the person, not just for the memories. We love, we live life to create beautiful memories for us and the loved ones around us.

Expectations hurt in proportion to the emotional investment. Whenever we are too much attached to someone or something, we grow attachment and that attachment leads to expectations. These expectations when fulfilled are an awesome experience. But when we are too much emotionally invested and when those dreams aren't coming true, it stings and hurts and kills from within.

Getting over it is by forgiving and moving on with life accepting that you will never get over that true love. Forgiveness is your trait. It solely depends on you and not on the other person. You want to forgive them because you want peace of mind and don't want to hold grudges against anyone in your life.

Feelings and emotions are real. If you truly love a person, you will love them forever, even though they can't see you that way. That's why love is always unconditional. You love that person because you want to, not because you have that hope that someday he will love you back. If you just hope for being loved back, that's not love, to begin with, it is just some business deal. You love him because your feelings for him are real, deep, and true.

You met Max a long time ago. You were both in Formula 3 in 2014 and got along really well. You started to see each other outside of racing and after a while, you could call yourself friends. But you had feelings for him. Even before you get to know each other properly. You tried so hard to show him that you were interested in him, but nothing. Either he was oblivious or he was not interested in you. Either way, you were hurt, and that was seen in the way you competed. You lost your ambition, there were some days when you cried before the race because you didn't feel able to compete, and Max had no idea you were feeling that way because you wouldn't let him see you when you were at your lowest point.

You gave up racing and Max ended up competing in Formula 1. You weren't jealous of him, you knew you never had a chance to get there, but he deserved it, and all the hard work he put in helped him. You were with him, you encouraged him every time, on the phone, if you could not travel, or in person when he asked you to be with him.

'I need my best friend, Y/N, please. Can you come to the race on the weekend?'

And no matter how much it hurt you to hear that he considered you just his best friend, you wouldn't let your tears fall on your cheeks and tell him you'd be there for the weekend. Every time. It doesn't matter that you had something else planned, you never refused him.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for coming!" you heard Max. You look up and see your best friend coming towards you, ready to hug you. You instantly smiled. No matter how you would feel when you see him you can't help but smile.

"Of course I came. I wouldn't be anywhere else," you say and you are taken by surprise by the sincerity with which you uttered those words.

He takes you to meet some people and you were happy because he seemed well, he seemed delighted with his place there.

"Do you miss it?" you heard Daniel asking you, but you had no idea what he was talking about. "The racing," he continued as if he had read your thoughts and knew you had no idea what he was talking about.

"Oh," you shrug nonchalantly. "I mean, yeah, sometimes, but it's fine."

"Is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly your mind is somewhere else. I thought it was because you were here and that brought back some racing memories, but it's different, isn't it?"

"Okay, Daniel, I appreciate the free therapy session, but I'm fine, seriously. I'm just happy to be here to encourage Max."

"Talking about me? Man, I'm feeling like a superstar," your best friend says coming between you. "I don't know about you guys but I want to get drunk."

"Are you even allowed to get drunk? It's Wednesday, don't you have press conferences tomorrow?"

"I'm in!" Daniel says and you roll your eyes. Of course he is.

Getting drunk with two boys you swear have ADHD was not a good idea.

Technically speaking, you weren't drunk, you drank a bottle of beer all night so you could take care of the two boys. Drunk Daniel was ok. He was not very agitated, he was even calmer than usual. He was sitting on the couch, laughing louder than usual, but it wasn't a cause of concern for you. Max on the other hand was a different story. Being drunk, he seemed very attracted to the balcony and that stressed you a lot. You tried to explain to him that it is dangerous on the balcony and that it is much more fun inside. You hardly convinced him.

"You're not funny at all, Y/N!"

"I'd rather know you're alive, Max."

Daniel went to bed at about 11:30 PM, but Max showed no signs of being tired. No matter how much you told him about tomorrow's busy schedule, he didn't seem to care.

You were lying on the couch, staring at the TV, and Max was on the floor, quietly for once. You wanted to ask him if he was feeling well, but he spoke before you could say something.

"Do you believe in love?"

Those five words knocked the air out of your lungs. Love? What made him ask you about love?

"Yes, I do," you answer and hope that he'll be satisfied with what you said.

"What is love anyway?"

"That depends, Max. Love is different for everybody."

"Well," he said and turns to look at you. "What is love for you?"

You sighed. What was love for you? Max. But you can't say that.

"Love is a broad term, Max. It can have different meanings for different people and can vary according to the context. At times love is synonymous with respect. At others, it is all about caring and sharing. At still others, it is a trail of concern, affection, and connection."

You didn't know you started to cry until Max kindly wiped off the tears on your face. Who would have thought that talking about love in front of the person you loved the most in this world would have made you cry? You whisper a 'thank you' to Max and get up to take a napkin from the kitchen.

"We're best friends, right?" you hear him coming towards you and he sits down on the kitchen chair.

"Sure," you answer, wiping away your tears.

"What you described. About love... I think I feel that for someone."

You heard something break and you were sure it was your heart. What you felt in that moment was what? Jealousy? This is human behavior. We, people, have the tendency to imagine ourselves with the person on whom we develop our crush. And this is totally normal, everyone does that.

Initially, it's all roses and unicorns. We start to imagine how our life would be with the other person, how we would treat them, what gifts we would give them, how we will take their pain away and how we will happily live after.

But life doesn’t work how we want it to work, does it? Then comes the second phase where we start to realize the differences between you and your crush, but still we hold on to it because in our minds that person is just too perfect to be wrong.

And then comes the thirds phase where we see our crush getting into a relationship with someone else. We even think that our crush doesn’t deserve that person, my crush deserves me! I’m better than that person. But that’s how it works, things fall apart. They break. That’s life. And at that moment, it broke your heart and you knew you want to know nothing about that other person. But you were hurt. He was drunk, yes, but you still had a crush on him, even if your feelings for him couldn't be reciprocal.

"That's... That's great, Max," you bit your lip to stop your tears from falling. "Let's go to bed."

"I think I always loved this girl but I never told her. Maybe I should," he giggles and you feel your blood boiling in your veins.

“You wouldn’t know love if it crushed your fucking chest,” you yell at him and you were sure Daniel was now wide awake. Max was watching you with wide eyes. "Stop talking about things you have no idea about," you shoot a glance at the clock. 12:25 AM. Looks like a lovely time to go for a walk in a foreign country you've never been to before. You collect your phone and wallet and march to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I need fresh air. Go to bed."

"I'm coming with you, Y/N!"

You opened the door and left, not letting Max come after you. You started to run and in front of the hotel, you stopped. Where to now? You have no idea where you are or what is near the hotel, and you desperately needed to put some distance between you and Max.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Running like that? Are you crazy?" you hear a pissed Max behind you. You tried to wipe the tears in a desperate attempt to look like you haven't been bawling your eyes out. "What happened inside?"

"Nothing, Max."

"Let's talk about it. Please."

"Talk about it? Fine. Let's do it! What should I start with? The fact that I've had a crush on you for three years or should I give you some love advice for the girl you like?"

"Say that one more time," Max said, walking towards you.

"Say what one more time?"

"You liked me for the past three years?" he was now in front of you, feeling his hot breaths on your face, and you could smell the alcohol.

"That is not relevant."

"Why not? I should know if someone has feelings for me, no? At least that's what I deserve, I think."

"Stop being so fucking cocky, Verstappen. This is not a joke," you puffed. "Forget I said a damn thing," you started to walk back into the hotel.

"Well, if I have to forget what you said that means I'm not allowed to tell you that I've liked you too for the past three years, right?"

You stoped. He said what? You were dreaming. Maybe you were the one that drank a lot. You were drunk, that's the reason why you just heard Max confessing his feelings for you. Or maybe you were both drunk.

"Max, let's go to bed. You've had a lot to drink, maybe we'll talk in the morning if you remember anything."

He came to you and hugged you from behind.

"I know what I said. Sure, I've had a few beers to drink, but I know that what I'm telling you now it's the truth."

[fics-of-my-mind]

Trust - Chapter XII.

Just like at our last encounter, I recognized his unique scent before I even saw him. I imagine it didn't take him long to find me, not even with my face in the cover of my palms. When I did look at him, Nick was standing in front of me, hiding us from the prying eyes.

He was wearing a black suit with an also black plain T-shirt and he looked extremely hot. His hair was styled in its usual way, his stubble made him even hotter. Nick's posture was composed, but at the same time commanding. He stood with his hands in his pockets, giving me the illusion that this was just going to be a friendly, 'no-worries' chit-chat.

For a long minute, he didn't say anything and neither did I. His eyes didn't move from me as I was inhaling the cigarette smoke. He waited until the last drag, until I put it out, and tried finding something else to calm my recurring nerves now that Nick was standing in front of me, so close.

'Go, gather your stuff and say goodbye to your friends,' he said after, his voice quiet, but his tone nowhere near asking or suggesting. He didn't give me the chance of resisting – and maybe I didn't even want to have it. 'I'll wait for you by the back entrance.'

There was this sudden urge in me. To tell Nick to go, fuck himself, or just to simply walk away from him. He couldn't order me, he had no right. This wasn't just one of our fantasies, where he could just control me, hell, this was real life. And after these past few months he just couldn't expect me, jumping at his every order.

Except I wanted to. So badly, that I even scared myself a little. I wanted to go with him, I wanted him to order me around, to control me. Clearly, this was the submissive part of me, the one that only showed up when I was around Nick.

As much as I hated it, as much as the educated, stubborn individual in me wanted to say no, one more glance at his hard eyes convinced me that there was just no point. This needed to happen at some point.

So, I just nodded, going back to the crew and gathering my leather jacket.

Warnings: mature content, BDSM content Pairing: Nick Jonas / Other Female Character This fanfiction can also be found on Wattpad by fnntth

I don’t own Nick Jonas or any other recognizable characters. This fanfiction is completely fictional, its only purpose is entertainment.

Chapter XII. - Insane, inside the danger gets me high

Recommended song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzVQkO92wNw

I was the one that walked away, so me being hurt that he didn't reach out had no base. I still was, though. I've expected Nick to call, text or something, yet it was three days later and not a single thing happened. I've found myself with my fingers hoovering over his name in my contact list more than one time, but decided against it. Part of me was proud, the other – saner – part knew that nothing changed between us just because I moved to LA. I didn't move here for him, I kept telling myself. I didn't let him know that I was here for a reason. I didn't need more drama. I couldn't take more heart break.

So, I tried forgetting that it happened. I ignored Erica's questions on why I suddenly felt the need to leave, concentrated on work and getting myself familiarized with my environment. Days later I could almost perfectly clear Nick Jonas from my mind once again. There was only a microscopic chance of ever running into him again, wasn't there? Two times it could happen, but three... I didn't believe in those things, at least not anymore.

We went out with my coworkers (mainly Erica) three more times in the next two weeks. Two of them were dinners in edgy and cool restaurants, the third one was to a club, much less known and popular than the one we went to that night. All three times were amazing, though I was looking around like a lunatic, afraid that I was going to run into Nick. I was a little bit paranoid to be honest.

Almost exactly three weeks later Erica brought up the topic of going back to the first club, the OAK. I even surprised myself by agreeing. Ever since the first encounter, I've gotten more and more used to the idea of the probability of running into Nick again, and as surprising and unexpected it was the first time, I've accepted that what had to happen would happen anyway.

Not saying that I wouldn't feel awkward, or if I'd be able to handle the situation perfectly, but getting to know these laidback people, the LA crew, they somehow made me worry less. It was a sharp contrast with my usual attitude to things, but I really tried to fit in and to let loose a little. Maybe I needed it.

When on Thursday night we were sitting by the bar with Erica and a few of her friends and our coworkers, I felt so balanced. It felt like I was making friends, that I wasn't so alone as I felt, that I could really fit into this crowd. It was great, finding like-minded people in a foreign city, away from home. They made me happier, calmer, and I was having more fun than I've ever expected.

Actually, I was in such a relaxed space of mind, that I didn't even flinch when, from the other side of the bar I found myself once again face to face with Nick. He was looking at me from an approximately 20 feet distance, leaning on his elbows, a drink between his hands. I felt the grin freeze to my face, but other than this, I think I handled the situation better than expected. I was surprised – finding it ridiculous that this was the third time we were just running into each other if we count Barcelona -, but not nearly as shocked as before. Now I had the chance to prepare for meeting him, and made my peace with it as much as it was possible.

This time I did no turn my glance away, neither did I start running from him. I just sat there in my seat, with my coworkers around me, still talking about something, oblivious to the fact that I wasn't listening. All my attention was on Nick and him only. I don't think I saw anyone else from the hundreds of people around us, just Nick. His face was completely expressionless, yet he did not look at anything else, only me. His eyes looked at me with a hard glance, which I stood for what seemed like long minutes.

I only looked away when Max, one of the only – gay – guys from the office handed me another drink, making me turn my eyes to him. I thanked it, then took the drink and my purse and announced that I was going to go out for a quick smoke. I needed it, even if I wasn't as stressed as last time when I was in the same room with Nick.

Not turning around to see if he was still at the other end of the bar, I walked to the back area of the club, one of the designated smoking places. It was still quite early – barely midnight – so there weren't many people outside. I choose a spot by the wall of the club, hidden by some big and beautiful cycad palms, trying to get a private moment, and just inhale the calming smoke. I've been smoking less since I was here, which was weird. I didn't found it too important, probably it was because of the 'healthy' living style of this city.

I closed my eyes, trying to quiet my screaming thoughts, my screaming desire to go and find Nick and ignore any principles I've had before. This connection we've had... It was something I've never experienced before. Never did I believe it when you read in novels or see in series that they couldn't stay away. Something like that just couldn't be real. You couldn't feel that for another person. Except I did.

Just like at our last encounter, I recognized his unique scent before I even saw him. I imagine it didn't take him long to find me, not even with my face in the cover of my palms. When I did look at him, Nick was standing in front of me, hiding us from the prying eyes.

He was wearing a black suit with an also black plain T-shirt and he looked extremely hot. His hair was styled in its usual way, his stubble made him even hotter. Nick's posture was composed, but at the same time commanding. He stood with his hands in his pockets, giving me the illusion that this was just going to be a friendly, 'no-worries' chit-chat.

For a long minute, he didn't say anything and neither did I. His eyes didn't move from me as I was inhaling the cigarette smoke. He waited until the last drag, until I put it out, and tried finding something else to calm my recurring nerves now that Nick was standing in front of me, so close.

'Go, gather your stuff and say goodbye to your friends,' he said after, his voice quiet, but his tone nowhere near asking or suggesting. He didn't give me the chance of resisting – and maybe I didn't even want to have it. 'I'll wait for you by the back entrance.'

There was this sudden urge in me. To tell Nick to go, fuck himself, or just to simply walk away from him. He couldn't order me, he had no right. This wasn't just one of our fantasies, where he could just control me, hell, this was real life. And after these past few months he just couldn't expect me, jumping at his every order.

Except I wanted to. So badly, that I even scared myself a little. I wanted to go with him, I wanted him to order me around, to control me. Clearly, this was the submissive part of me, the one that only showed up when I was around Nick.

As much as I hated it, as much as the educated, stubborn individual in me wanted to say no, one more glance at his hard eyes convinced me that there was just no point. This needed to happen at some point.

So, I just nodded, going back to the crew and gathering my leather jacket – something I couldn't let go of, even if we were in LA and it was still hot. I said my goodbyes and even though I was faced with Erica's prying eyes, I just smiled at them, saying that I'll see them on Monday.

Nick, loyal to his promise, was waiting for me at the back entrance, clearly to avoid attracting the attention. He just silently acknowledged my reappearance and stepped out of the way, letting me exit first.

'Are you okay to drive?' I asked when he lead me to a black, expensive-looking car, my first words to him this evening. We were, after all in a club and I did see him with one drink in his hand.

'Wouldn't drive you otherwise,' he nodded, opening the passenger side door for me. You see, with Nick, little gestures like this, like opening a car door, or putting my safety first... They were to blame for me having these feelings.

We got in and after making sure I've fastened my seatbelt, Nick started driving. He looked good behind the wheel, but then again when didn't he look good. The car was posh, yet not something that people would notice right away. It wasn't too big, not like a Range Rover – the go to celebrity car – and even though I paid no attention to the branding, I was sure that it was something American, after all cars from home were the cars Nick liked.

Neither of was saying anything, only the low sound of the radio broke the complete silence in the car. It should've been tense and uncomfortable, yet I felt more comfortable than ever since our 'no worry' day in Stockholm. Being here, close to him again, running into each other against all odds... I just felt like I had to be in this car with him, like I was in my perfect place.

I'm not trying to state that I wasn't nervous about what was going to happen, because I was. But Nick's presence next to me made my anxiety almost completely go away. It's not like things could be worse between us than they are now... Really, I couldn't imagine anything worse than not speaking to him for months – and this was a thought that calmed my nerves instantly.

I desperately wanted to ask him where we were heading to, but didn't find it in me to break the silence. I trusted him anyway, more than I'd like to admit. I was sure that he had a concrete idea in mind, and I felt perfectly comfortable with trusting myself to him. He made me feel safe, safer than I felt since I moved here.

Nick wasn't looking at me at all, so I tried focusing on the road too, not wanting to stare too much. It was extremely hard though, I wanted to watch him drive, hold onto the steering wheel and occasionally turn the volume of the radio up or down. I wanted to reach out, hold his hand.

We drove for about half an hour, through neighborhoods that I didn't recognize (no surprise there) and ended up at one of the spots on the outskirts of the city, where you have that amazing view to all of the lights. Like the place where they were dancing in the beginning of La La Land. The true LA spot.

I was surprised and quite honestly in awe of the amazing view. I could feel Nick's glance on my face as he turned off the engine, but I was way too preoccupied with the city before me. That was probably the first time that I felt some kind of love for Los Angeles.

He didn't get out of the car, just unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back in his seat.

'What are you doing here, Milla?' he asked after a few minutes of letting me admiring the night lights.

'I was fired,' I started, not looking at him, but still out on the windshield. 'then I was relocated. So now, I guess, I live here.'

I made sure that my voice had barely any emotions in it, not wanting to get all emotional with him again. As much as I trusted him, the proud part of me didn't want to let him see, how much the whole thing has affected me. I'm pretty sure he knew anyway, after all he did know me better more than pretty much everyone else.

'Since when?' he asked, his voice not telling me anything.

'For a little over a month now,' I shrugged, not even blinking.

'Seriously? A month?' I could hear the annoyance in his tone. 'Look at me when I'm talking to you, Kamilla,' Nick said, which made me turn my head towards him without even thinking. He used my full first name, which was the first reason. The fact that his tone was authoritative and full of repressed anger was the second.

'Yeah, what's the big deal about it?' I asked, even though I knew exactly what his problem was. My words didn't exactly make Nick happier, instead he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His beautiful dark brown orbs were glistering with many emotions, anger for one.

'The big deal?' he asked, frowning. 'Did it ever occur to you to tell me?! To not let me find out by making me think that I'm hallucinating you in some club?! Is that really too much to ask, hm?'

Nick was angry. He was actually mad at me. I've never seen him like this before, his eyes even darker than usually, his face prim, and his tone cold. I felt like a kid at his scolding, someone that was instantly regretting her actions, whereas I knew for sure that I did the right thing by not contacting him.

'What difference does it make?' I asked, raising my eyebrows, my tone annoyed with his reaction, with him thinking that he had a right to tell me off. 'It's not like me living here changes anything.'

It didn't. Our situation was still the same.

Sure, we were now in the same time zone, but this has always been just one of the obstacles between us. I had no idea why Nick was this upset, what he saw in this thing that I didn't, why this was such a big deal for him.

Nick looked at me silently for a second, his face still full of passion. My mind was working in a strange way, but in that moment, I wanted to close the distance between us and kiss him.

'It changes everything, don't you get it?' he exclaimed, his handsome face losing the control he so preciously treasured and letting all the emotions run freely. 'Fuck,' Nick mumbled, and without another word to me opened the door of the fancy car and got out, shutting it behind him with a bang.

I was shocked. Probably because I've never seen him be this upset, or because I didn't understand where most of his anger was coming from, but I felt really confused. Nick started pacing in front of the wooden fence, keeping us from falling down hill-side. I gave him a few minutes, using the time to regain my composure after his sudden outburst.

When I followed him and got out of the car, closing the door behind me much softer, he turned towards me for a moment, then stopped in his place, in front of a wooden table and bench, leaning to the table. This time he was the one not looking at me.

'Nick–' I started, but he cut into my words immediately.

'After I saw you in the club,' he started much calmer than a few minutes ago. I walked around the car, stepping closer to him, but keeping a good two feet distance. I wanted to be closer, to hold his hand, to kiss him, yet I had to control myself. One of us at least had to hold on to the control. 'I went home to Priyanka and... I couldn't do it,' he said, slowly shaking his head.

Not like I expected him to suddenly break off his marriage. That wasn't the reason I moved here and honestly I was shocked that he'd even think so.

'It's okay, I—' was cut off again.

'I told her that I couldn't call myself her husband in good conscience when I was having feelings for another woman.' This was the moment he raised his brutally honest glance to meet mine. I froze. He. What. I... I parted my lips, then closed them again, not finding my voice. 'She left the next morning. She's been in India ever since. We're separated.'

Nick told this with objectivity, clearly making sure that no emotions were audible in his voice. I could see that he was waiting for a reaction from me, but I wasn't sure that once I found my voice I'm going to be able to respond the way he expected me to.

He left his wife. He did it. He left his wife, Priyanka Chopra for me, without talking to me at all. True, I was the one that ran away three weeks ago, but still. My brain froze, trying to process this information.

I was so... startled. I felt the sea of emotions, anger, relief, guilt, nausea happiness, love. This wasn't something I would've expected, not in a million years. And as in awe as I was, part of me was also annoyed with him for this.

'What do you expect me to say?' I asked eventually, still keeping my distance from him and crossing my arms in front of my chest. Nick raised his eyebrows at me.

'Well, a little more than this, to be honest,' he said quite coldly, making me even more furious. 'I did, after all, just leave my wife...'

'I've never asked you to!' I exclaimed. 'You knew it, you knew that I never wanted to be the woman you leave your wife for! I never wanted to break your marriage!' I was shouting at him and I felt gratitude that he brought us to a place where there were no people other than us.

How could he do this? I couldn't understand, I just couldn't. He spent months lying to his wife, then another few months trying to fix their marriage that she didn't even know was broken. And after just seeing me at some club, he suddenly decides he just can't take it? What was this? What was going on in his mind?

'I didn't leave her for you!' he screamed back. 'I left her to be able to look into the mirror. I finally did the fucking right thing and this is what you are angry with me for?!' I looked at him with parted lips. Was he really, doing the right thing? Was this how things should've happened from the first night? 'This is just about you being scared again,' he added in a much quieter tone.

'I'm not scared!'

'Really?' Nick raised his eyebrows. 'Not calling me to tell me you moved here, running away when you see me at the club, being angry when the last thing keeping us from having a chance gets out of the picture... It seems to me, Dear, that you are, in fact, terrified of this turning into something real.'

I was. I was terrified of this. Never being in love, only experiencing heartbreak and never unconditional love in my life... Having almost zero experience... These things didn't exactly make me confident about starting anything with anyone, especially with Nick. And him, the person that knew about my history, about my doubts and fears being the one to throw it at me, felt like he just betrayed my trust a little.

'Fuck you, Nick,' was all I could say, then I turned around and starting to walk back to the passenger side.

I only got a few steps away when I was yanked back by my arm with such force that I collided into Nick's muscular chest. There was a moment of pause, my hands on his chest, one of his still on my arm, while the other around my waist, us looking deeply into each other's eyes.

I knew what was next and as much as I wanted to walk away from him, as furious I currently was with him, I couldn't stop it. After all these months, after imagining this moment for thousands of times, I wanted this. I longed for this, I needed this. And, after not finding real resistance in my eyes, Nick was the one closing the distance between us.

The moment his lips touched mine, every last bit of my anger towards him was gone. He pulled me closer by the waist, running his other hand from my upper arm into my hair, trying to make sure there was absolutely no distance between us. First it was just out lips that touched, savoring each other. Nick tasted like sweet, like peppermint, bubble gum and whiskey. God, I never wanted to let him go.

When Nick's tongue asked for permission, I instantly granted it. The moment our tongues touched, I couldn't hold back a deep moan, running one of my hands to the back of his hair, which earned a groan from him, while gripping onto his T-shirt's material with my other hand.

It was extremely hot, sloppy, yet such a turn on that I was sure my panties were already ruined. It didn't stop me from grinding up against Nick, especially after he spread my legs with one of his thighs between mines. When one of his hands slipped down to my bum, pushing me even harder onto his thigh, creating friction – yay black mini dress – I couldn't help but gasp. I felt Nick's excitement by my abdomen and as hot and steamy as this was, and as much as I wanted him, this wasn't the place or the time.

This kiss was everything I was waiting for the past months, ever since I met Nick – well, probably even before that - and I never wanted to let him go. When neither of us could catch any more air, we slightly parted, our foreheads leaning onto each other. I was still tangled in him, his leg not moving from between mines, his hands resting on my waist, while my hands laced behind his neck. Even our lips were still lightly touching as we both grasped for air.

'I don't want you to be scared,' Nick mumbled softly on my lips with so much affection in his eyes that I could almost feel myself blush. 'Not with me.' I was still at a loss for words, so I just nodded. As scared as I was of this, Nick was the person I trusted the most on this word. 'Let's get you home.'

The ride to my apartment was similar to the one here, except the moment we sat inside the car, Nick reached out and laced our fingers. I couldn't hide the stupid smile from my face and he looked much more relaxed too.

Not like anything was resolved between us. Not like we got anywhere. But quite honestly, I didn't care. The boy I've been in love with for way too long has just told me that he was technically single, and that he had feelings for me. He just kissed me. And I wanted to enjoy this moment. I had time to worry tomorrow.

'I'll walk you to the door,' he announced the moment the car stopped in front of my apartment building and got out right away, walking around the car and opening the door for me.

'I want to invite you in so badly,' I said, when we reached my door. It was true, I wanted him to come inside and never leave. 'But...'

'You need to think,' Nick nodded, immediately understanding. 'It's okay, Dear,' he said with a soft smile on his face, still holding my hand. 'How about I come over tomorrow afternoon?'

'Okay,' I nodded, smiling up at him, deep into his beautiful eyes. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, to do to him. 'Nick, I...'

'Shh,' he shushed me, as if recognizing that my head was all around the place. Nick stepped forward, closing the distance between us and kissing me on the forehead delicately. 'We'll talk tomorrow, okay?' I just nodded, the urge to kiss him flaming up once again. I stepped even closer, minimizing the distance between us, and standing on my tiptoes – in my heels – so I could reach his lips. Nick didn't pull away.

This kiss was much more innocent than the one before, our lips barely touching, yet it felt so intimate. Nick's hands were on my waist, while mines rested on his upper arm and neck. It didn't last for long, yet it was the perfect ending to this night. Nick gently pushed me away before it could get any more heated.

'I need to leave, or you won't be able to stop me from fucking you right now,' he mumbled onto my lips, sending heat through my body with his words. Would that be such a bad thing? I wanted him, he clearly wanted me. There was no Priyanka to stop us.

'Who says I want to stop you?' I asked with a playful smile on my face, raising my eyebrows. Nick stepped back a little.

'The first time I'm inside you after all this time,' he started, never moving his glance from mine. I could feel the blush creeping onto my face. 'I don't want it to be in the heat of the moment. I want it to be just like you and I both imagined it.'

'And how would that be?' I licked my lips, which made his gaze instantly lower, following my actions.

'Passionate, raw, earth shattering,' he chuckled. Nick raised his hand, running a finger on my chin, not letting me move my glance from his eyes. 'When we're having sex, I don't want your mind racing. I don't want you worrying, or thinking about the outside world. I want to be the only thing on your mind. And if we let it happen now, that wouldn't be true. Your thoughts are all over the place, and as much as I'd like to spank them out of you, not the first time I have you.'

'So, you'll come over tomorrow?' I asked again, biting my bottom lip, blushing at his raw honesty.

'I'll bring you dinner,' Nick nodded, and with a last kiss on my temple, he turned around, leaving me by my door.

I couldn't help but raise my hand, touching my lips, where moments ago Nick's were. I felt so incredibly happy.

[forestwater87]

Secret Santa 2018 - Chapter 1

Hello! So I participated in @campcamp-secretsanta​ again this year . . . although I’m afraid that I did go a little overboard. My recipient, @pikablob​, asked for Gwenvid and Dadvid and was okay with both fluff and angst, and I’m playing with the idea a little bit, but in order to do that well, it’s looking like it’s going to turn into a 4-to-5-chapter fic (which has no name, as of yet. Suggestions are welcome). Because I know “Read More”s don’t always work, especially on mobile, and I don’t want to make people scroll past over 20 pages, I’m going to post the story in chapters -- two today, and ideally one each day through Christmas. (Once it’s all completed, it’ll go up on AO3.)

It’s not a Christmas-themed fic, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Happy holidays!

He decides that this will be a healing year, a fixing and replacing and making-things-new kind of year.

They all need a little bit of that, he believes.

CHAPTER ONE: NURF

It starts when Gwen mentions that she doesn’t have anywhere to live after the summer, that she’ll have to move back in with her parents unless she finds something better.

(“And, like, anything better. This old guy in the park asked me if I wanted a sugar daddy and I was thinking about it.”)

When David suggests she stay at the camp year-round like he does, he fully expects she’ll turn him down. When she half-smiles and says that it’s better than any of her ideas, he thinks she’s kidding, chuckles numbly and looks back down at his phone.

When she doesn’t make any more plans to move out, he wonders if maybe she’d meant it.

When she starts peppering him with questions about the rest of the year, how he makes money and keeps himself busy and keeps the place from falling apart and keeps himself from freezing or starving to death, he realizes that she’s completely serious, that she’s serious about living here, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek raw to keep from grinning. Because when she says it’s better than nothing she means he’s better than nothing, that she prefers his company at the very least to that of her parents or of strangers and up until this moment he hadn’t ever considered that she might think he was better than literally anything.

So when she critiques his plans and makes her own, when she buys two rattling space heaters for the cabin and when she leaves for a whole weekend and returns with the rest of her life’s belongings in the back of the campmobile, David is quietly, glowingly happy.

(He is even more happy when she finally muscles past the mean little voices in her head and kisses him. They’re in the middle of Rowing Camp and they’re supposed to be watching the campers but they’re in a child-sized rowboat on the lake under blue sky and fluffy white clouds, and when she kisses him he almost forgets all of those things and nearly topples them both into the water.)

(He is even more happy when he realizes that kiss wasn’t a one-time fluke, but apparently a pattern, something to be repeated so many times he loses count.)

(And he’s the happiest he’s ever been -- quietly again, though, a warm gentle bubbling kind of happiness because he knows how defensive Gwen gets when she’s embarrassed -- when she finally admits that it’s not because she has no other options and it’s not because she’s bored, but because she just happens to like him better than either of them ever realized.)

So it begins.

The predictable doesn’t happen, and Max’s parents show up at the end of the summer to take him home. Both David and Gwen let out a sigh of relief, because the boy’s constant mutterings that they don’t care about him and wouldn’t bother to show up had been getting to them, and until he’s safely ensconced in the back of a ratty green two-door sedan they weren’t fully convinced Max wasn’t going to be left behind.

They spent so much time worrying about the predictable, however, that the unpredictable slips completely under their noses until the hours grow heavy and golden and damp, the threat of mosquitos looming as the air cools, and they look around and realize that something has gone wrong, and a camper has been left behind. It just isn’t the one they’d been prepared for.

Mr. Nurfington, an impatient female voice tells Gwen over the phone, hasn’t lived at this number for three weeks. He’s wanted for possession and resisting arrest -- what they might elevate to aggravated assault, the landlady adds, the coolness dropping from her tone as the conversation turns toward gossip, and Gwen should just hear what the police found in his trailer -- “but nobody’s heard a thing from him. His lease expires in two months and as soon as it does, I’m putting all his stuff on the lawn and the coons can have it.”

(Gwen sincerely hopes she means raccoons.) “Did he leave any contacts?”

Just his wife, who won’t be released for another sixteen months -- longer, if she keeps starting fights with the other inmates. There’s an uncle, Gwen knows, but a little digging reveals that he was sentenced to twenty years less than a decade ago, on charges that turn her stomach.

She sets down the phone and puts Nurf’s papers away, and tries to figure out how to explain all this to the two redheaded children sitting on the dock. Two very different versions, she decides, and calls David inside to give him something almost indistinguishable from the truth except that some of the more unsavory details are politely omitted, because at least one of them deserves to sleep that night and for some reason Gwen feels like David’s faith in the world ought to be protected.

Grimy and sweaty from the cabin’s closed-in air, she goes to the showers to wash away everything she’s just learned and leaves David to tell Nurf the version of the story they’ve agreed upon: that his father is gone, nobody is coming to pick him up, but it’s okay because they have a second bedroom in the cabin and this will surely be all better by tomorrow.

It isn’t, and only David is surprised.

It’s a good thing they have a bus, because the Sleepy Peak school transportation system won’t come pick Nurf up all the way at Camp Campbell. Of course, he flatly refuses to let QM drive him to school in a full-sized bus, which neither David or Gwen can really argue. Which leaves her with two options: either dropping Nurf off at school in the campmobile every morning before killing a half hour reading fanfiction on her phone before her job at Camp Corp begins, or driving the exhaust-belching, dangerously clanking bus to work and getting a few minutes of extra sleep.

She decides David is less likely to get himself killed with the bus than with Nurf, and resigns herself to a deeply uncomfortable morning commute.

The most surprising thing she learns on these quiet, sullen mornings is that Nurf is . . . a morning person. Not like David, of course -- no one is quite like David -- but he doesn’t drag his feet, is always sitting by the flagpole with his backpack (new, cheap like it’s made out of old tarp, all they could afford) between his feet when she staggers outside with a to-go cup of coffee and a fistful of David’s trail mix. Nurf doesn’t talk, but he’s attentive; he draws nonsense patterns in the dew on the Campmobile’s windows, and after a few weeks of this strange arrangement he’s comfortable enough to flip through the radio stations.

He likes classical music. David will tell her that he once asked to turn up the Farmer’s Almanac.

(Gwen confesses to David one night that she’s halfway convinced he’ll become a serial killer or something. It’s one of the few serious fights they’ve had, though less a fight than her sitting in shock-stone silence while he gets splutteringly, hand-wringingly angry at her. Tells her that she can’t ever say anything like that ever again -- can’t even think it -- that they’re counselors year-round now and that means never, ever giving up on their campers -- that if -- that as a child -- that he knows what it’s like to be a lost cause and Nurf will never feel like that as long as he’s at Camp Campbell, and that he needs her to be on board because this is hard and scary and he can’t do it alone. Even if their campers weren’t . . . such unique individuals, he would need her, and she can’t ever -- ever -- )

(He’s red-faced and shaking when he runs out of breath or out of words, she can’t tell which, and she tugs him half into her lap and kisses his temple and tells him that of course Nurf will be fine, they’ll all be fine, and she didn’t mean it and it’s okay. And she listens to his breathing even out and, not for the first time, she hates David’s father with every ounce of her being.)

So she trusts Nurf, for David’s sake. And she tries to understand him, for all of theirs.

The seasons will change one more time before she finds herself truly liking him, but she thinks maybe that’s just because neither of them are as good at trusting or understanding as David is.

The fall settles into a pattern of quiet cars and loud buses, of Summer Camp Extended -- which is how David likes to think of it, maybe needs to think of it, because the alternative is that he’s become a father of an aggressive boy the rest of the world forgot about -- where the activities are school for Nurf and work for himself, where the afternoons are spent trying to remember seventh-grade math, buying groceries, waiting for Gwen to come home from a job that demands much longer hours than it offers pay. Sometimes there are regular camp activities, too, when he can cajole Nurf into going for a hike or learning how to fish (though they can’t eat anything they catch in Lake Lilac; the fish there have been declared dangerously mutated).

He spends his mornings as a bouncer at Muffin Tops -- Bonquisha got him the job, and he knows that he looks wiry and weedy and not all that intimidating but the crowd is much calmer during the day than it will get as the evening rolls around, and he believes he can take care of himself if he needs to. (And he has to admit, he enjoys the funny looks his school bus gets when people cross the parking lot.) The customers are polite, if not especially chatty, his coworkers are friendly, the job is mostly standing outside and enjoying the fresh air. It suits him -- strange, unexpected, but surprisingly well-fitting.

David isn’t nearly as adept at metaphors as Gwen, but he thinks quite a few things in his new life could be described that way.

This is the first time he’s able to take just one part-time job, and let the rest of his hours go toward fixing up the camp, and so every patched-up set piece and wobbly table leg repaired he considers a gift from Gwen, who is answering phones and fetching coffee so that he can make Camp Campbell his own, not just legally but in spirit.

He decides that this will be a healing year, a fixing and replacing and making-things-new kind of year.

They all need a little bit of that, he believes.

David isn’t used to devoting this much attention to a single camper. (Not even Max, who has always been a special case.) It’s surprisingly difficult, this one-on-one closeness; he finds he much prefers the scatterbrained chaos of a room full of children. It suits the way he thinks, bouncing frenetic energy, instead of this careful plodding observation and cautious trial-and-error.

It would probably be different with almost any other camper, he has to admit. Nikki, for example -- she constantly needs to be moving, and he would be running to keep up. Harrison would probably be causing trouble, fires he would literally have to put out. Nerris, who can talk for hours at a time about the things that interest her. Preston swanning around the empty Mess Hall, always trying to find an audience.

Nurf, however, isn’t like the children who are sparkling firecrackers that dance and blaze until they get tired and fizzle out. Nor is he like the quieter campers, who still get bored and act out in ways they undoubtedly think are random but really are more like predictable bursts. But Nurf doesn’t seem to have much energy; he goes from school to homework to whatever little activity David can talk him into to bed without seeming depressed or bored. Gwen suggests that maybe Nurf would act out and bully the other campers because he was overwhelmed by the constant noise and activity, and after a week or two of helpless observation, he decides she must be right and leaves the kid to his own devices. Maybe he just really is quiet; it occurs to David that he only ever really noticed Nurf when he was causing problems, and it pains him that this realization comes just as he makes the decision to step back.

“Of course you ignored the well-behaved ones,” Gwen tells him one evening, curled up against his side with her cheek on his shoulder. “What are we supposed to do, let the Problem Trio destroy the camp while we try to get Ered to drop the ‘too cool to talk to anyone’ act?”

He knows she’s right, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about withdrawing. He throws himself further into camp rehabilitation instead, letting Nurf do homework and play on his phone (finally relinquished to him at the end of the summer) and do whatever else fills his afternoons, and tries to ignore the prickling panic that lingers at the back of his mind and tells him this is not okay, this is not how a Camp Campbell counselor should act.

The problem is, of course, that up until this fall it’s exactly how he’s always acted.

The other problem is that he and Gwen were wrong about the kind of person Nurf is; he isn’t a firecracker, no, and he’s not a Max-like schemer and instigator, a controlled burst of dynamite. But just because the tension bubbles under the surface doesn’t mean it’s not there, and eventually it has to boil over.

The tipping point appears to be David asking over the dinner table how his homework is going. He’s deemed it a nice, neutral topic of conversation, one that isn’t likely to veer into uncomfortable directions about his home life or the bizarre situation they’ve all found themselves in or what’s going to happen next. It’s safe and familiar ground, and whenever he’s grasping for something to talk about he returns to it gratefully, knowing it’ll never trigger a landmine.

Until it does.

“Sure, let’s just talk about homework,” he snaps, the hint of his slight damp lisp becoming more pronounced with irritation -- not that anyone would dare point it out to him. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Is my homework done? Do I need help with my homework? How was school, and what kind of homework did you get?” He slams his hands down on the table, making the dishes (and Gwen and David) jump. “Do you even consider the psychological ramifications of making an impressionable child feel like they are nothing but the sum of their academic achievements? And I am impressionable!” he adds, shoving his chair back and standing up; David notices for the first time that he’s grown a bit over the summer, enough to almost loom over them while they’re still seated. “I’m still just a kid, you know!”

He swallows, trying to find the right words (and keeping a careful eye on their silverware). “Well, of course you are, Nurf,” he begins carefully, with the distinct impression that he’s feeling his way through waist-deep water in the dark. “But it’s our job to make sure that you’re . . .”

How does he finish that sentence? ‘Okay?’ ‘Happy?’ ‘Safe?’ He’s not sure Nurf is any of those things, and the thought of being responsible for them makes his stomach coil and his fingers shake.

“That you’re engaging in an activity,” Gwen cuts in smoothly, placing her hand over David’s underneath the table. Her touch and the last-minute rescue both hit him like a lifeline. “Since camp isn’t in session, school is kinda your activity.”

Something flickers in Nurf’s expression, doubt cutting through the increasing red-faced belligerence, and David thanks whatever higher power might be out there for Gwen. She’s always understood the more difficult campers better than he does; it must be the Psychology degr --

Clouds roll in dark and heavy behind his eyes. “Why does everybody sign me up for activities I don’t want?” He picks up a napkin and began shredding it -- David wonders if he picked it up from Gwen, or if he’s always had that nervous habit. “I never asked to go to school, you know! My mom never went to school, and she’s only suffering from a lifetime of consequences made from bad decisions that she didn’t have the education or emotional framework to prevent!” He tosses the shreds of napkin to the table, the three of them watching in silence as the uneven confetti flutters over their food. “Everyone does that!”

“Well, that’s not . . .” David glances at Gwen, who shrugs. He felt less helpless when Nurf was throwing knives at him. “You have to,” he finishes weakly. “It’s good for you. And I thought you liked . . .” He wracks his brain desperately for scraps of what limited conversation they’ve had on their afternoon drives home from school, “history?”

“Ugh!” Nurf whirls around and pulls back his arm, then launches his water glass into the wall. It doesn’t break -- David bought shatterproof dishes for the camp long before any of his current campers started coming here -- but the sound is massive in the silent room. We should’ve had him sign up for Baseball Camp, David thinks wearily, watching the watch drop down the uneven wood surface. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to not have the vocabulary sophisticated enough to express what you’re feeling?!”

David rarely considers himself helpless, but as Nurf reaches for his mostly-uneaten plate, face still dark with bottled-up impotent fury, he feels like he’s been attacked by Daniel again, limbs as weak and useless as if they were tied to his chair. “I . . . think you have a great vocabulary,” he begins, taking the first steps into this sentence without having any idea where the end of it is. But his instinct is always for positivity, and it’s true that Nurf’s intelligence impresses him; he may have taken for granted, in some ways, that this is the one camper who he can always rely on to be direct, his words and his fists both brutally honest. “Usually I just say I’m mad.”

“I AM mad!” he shouts, but he drops the plate to the table instead of throwing it. His voice is loud enough to blow Gwen and David’s hair back like a strong wind, and they’re both too surprised to even wipe off the bits of potato that flew up into their faces from the plate’s hard landing. “I’m mad because you don’t know what to do with me, and the state doesn’t know what to do with me, and it’s the end of summer but I’m still at camp because nobody knows what they’re supposed to do with me, which is the exact reason why I ended up in Boot Camp in the first place, and all I can do is do homework until someone decides what’s going to happen to me and I don’t know why everything is this hard!”

His arms drop to his sides and his shoulders slump, eyes widening and staring blankly into a spot above their heads.

“Wow,” he says after a moment. “That’s a lot of dark stuff for a twelve-year-old.”

The Quartermaster pokes his head into the Mess Hall. “Anyone died out here?”

“No, QM,” Gwen says, giving David a sideways glance before grabbing the butter, reaching over Nurf’s plate like it wasn’t sitting in a mess of food in the middle of the table, “we’re good out here.”

The Quartermaster grunts and disappears back into the kitchen, where an unsettling grinding noise David can’t quite place begins.

Nurf picks up his plate and sets it back in its place, stealing David’s napkin and settling it over the spilled food left behind. “I should, uh, clean up everything, shouldn’t I?”

“After dinner,” David replies, keeping his voice as calm and unaffected as possible. “You should finish eating before it gets cold.” As he sits back down and reaches for his fork, he continues, “If I help you get the Mess Hall back in shape, Nurf, do you think you’d be able to give me a hand with the canoes? I’m trying to get them ready for one last trip before the lake freezes.”

“Is this a punishment because I threw things?”

“Absolutely not.” David feels like he’s walking on a very narrow bridge, with horrible drops to either side but something warm and potentially wonderful on the other end. “You don’t have to say yes.”

Gwen, still keeping her gaze on buttering her roll, mutters, “You could always do homework instead.”

David freezes, giving her a look because what on earth does she think she’s doing? But then Nurf lets out a small, barking huff of laughter, and the evening settles back on its axis almost tangibly, a kind of metaphysical thump that he thinks they all feel, because in an instant the air is lighter than it's been since the end of the summer.

“For what it’s worth,” Gwen says after a few minutes, “even if it’s hard, I think you’re better at handling your feelings than you think you are.” Her eyes flick over to the empty glass and the water stain on the wall. “But maybe we should also buy you a punching bag over the weekend.”

“He needs a shrink,” Gwen declares later that night, then flops back onto the bed, covering her eyes with her arms. “We can’t afford a shrink.”

David is quiet for a moment. “I could . . . get another job,” he offers finally, the waves of reluctance rolling off of him, and she flaps her hand in his direction dismissively.

“No, shut up. This is your dream. Stop being stupid.”

He catches her arm, fingers closing gently around her wrist, and kisses her knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, not even pretending to argue. “I love you.”

She rolls onto her side to face him, feeling her face heat up. “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “I know.”

(She’s not sure why being told she’s loved embarrasses her. She’s even less sure why it’s so difficult to say it back. Her degree could not be any more useless.)

David bundles her up in his long arms, pulling her to his chest and rolling onto his back so she’s sprawled on top of him. He kisses her nose, beaming. “It’s okay, Gwen.”

She buries her face in his chest and lets him pet her hair, lets herself be loved.

(By the time she finally gets the courage to tell him that of course she loves him -- has, in fact, been in love with him since before he offered to let her live at the camp year-round -- almost all the leaves have fallen and the air is ice-breath freezing and he laughs, not at her but with the kind of giddy joy that can’t be contained in a smile. He kisses her and wraps her in his coat and it gets dark and Nurf yells that it’s time for dinner before they’re willing to pull away enough to escape the bitter chill.)

He gets therapy, eventually. Mr. Campbell still has all that money tucked away, and when the Millers hear that he wants to put it toward bettering himself and learning from his mistakes, they’re more than willing to unfreeze his bank accounts, just this once. So when David takes Nurf to the small white-bricked building where his own infrequent therapy sessions are held, he brings Mr. Campbell along for the ride. It settles his nerves about lying, because it isn’t technically a lie; Mr. Campbell is going to counseling, he’s just not using it.

When Mr. Campbell came forward one evening and offered the idea, David was shocked by the generosity, and a little suspicious. As soon as he smoothly suggested that they kill time at, say, The Only Bar or Muffin Tops while the little tyke was in there getting his head straightened out, things became a lot clearer.

(He didn’t spend long thinking it over, though. At the end of the day, an hour a week in a darkly-lit bar or strip club isn’t much of a sacrifice.)

On non-therapy days, David continues fixing up the camp, making sure to go out of his way to ask Nurf if he wants to help.

And to his surprise he . . . does, more often than not. Even more surprising is the fact that he’s rather good at this kind of hands-on work. He’s a tinkerer, like David is, and understanding blooms warm in his chest as the camper-who-isn’t-really-a-camper-anymore settles himself among the detritus of the camp unprompted, sorting through broken and disorganized supplies with a touch that’s strangely delicate, like he’s used to accidentally -- or not-so-accidentally -- breaking things.

Nothing gets broken that autumn, though. And no dishes hit the wall, either.

(When he mentions all this to Gwen, she shrugs and says, “Sure, makes sense. He liked to help Preston and Dolph out with their theater shit sometimes, right?” and again he feels like a terrible counselor.)

It’s largely David’s responsibility to take care of Nurf, which he expected and doesn’t mind. She works full-time, after all, and Gwen has always been a bit hands-off around the campers; she’s . . . not exactly maternal, and the unusualness of their new situation makes her far more uncomfortable than him. Her support largely comes in the form of common sense, observations he’d completely miss and ideas that never occur to him. Though she has a wonderful heart, Gwen is all brain. It works well -- David isn’t all that brainy, but he’s better at throwing his heart utterly into something.

So he does, with the kind of squared-jaw hopeful determination that leaves him exhausted and unable to sleep each night, his brain running over and over with thoughts and hopes and fears and ideas, above all ideas that multiply and branch until they’re full-scale plans. Plans full of holes, plans perhaps doomed to fail, but that’s what Gwen is for, when he’s finally ready to share his plans. When the heart has hung up activities and topics of conversation and a thousand ways to get Nurf to open up, scaffolded with lunatic, reckless optimism, she listens and writes in her journal and shores up the weak spots, tugs down his excitement so that his hopes don’t rise so tall they’ll collapse in on themselves.

She’s the rope around his ankles that makes sure he won’t build something he can’t get down from, so he doesn’t have to worry about anything except building.

And what does building look like with Nurf?

Quiet, at first. For someone who can so eloquently describe his issues, he isn’t really very chatty, and most of the time they work on their respective projects in silence. (One of David’s plans, tentatively titled Get Nurf to Share More About His Day, gradually deflates under the realization that he just doesn’t like talking about his day, and pushing him to share about classes or friends is more likely than not to result in him shutting down -- or throwing something. He puts it aside for now.)

Other plans are more successful. Teach Valuable Real-Life Skills is one; he picks up on things like carpentry and plumbing with an adeptness that exceeds even David’s most extravagant hopes, and soon he’s scrambling to find more things that tap into that well of enthusiasm. Sports, Violent Video Game Nights (which Gwen largely participates in because David is a bit squeamish about such things), Hiking and Mountaineering that is so much easier with only one or two people to corral instead of a dozen, and he’s already making plans for winter: skiing and snowshoeing and maybe even snowball fights, if he can teach Nurf how to do so without getting anyone hurt.

Learn Nurf’s Languages is a trickier plan, constantly ongoing. The slight slump of his shoulders that means something went badly in school, and the way he either does or doesn’t want to talk about it based on how fidgety he is. The jutted-out jaw and sullen silence that means he’s stumped and doesn’t want to admit it, the habit of clenching and unclenching his fists when he’s trying not to get angry. The little questions and observations that seem to come out of nowhere -- “Is there enough wood for the winter?” “I think the draft is coming from QM’s store; there’s a hole near the foundation” “When will you find out who’s coming back this summer?” -- that all add up to the same thing: a kid who’s trying to figure out what their future is going to look like, and if he’ll be in it.

Whenever he’s particularly helpful, uncharacteristically so, David takes a few extra hours that day to do something fun. He doesn’t know how long any of this is going to hold together, but he wants Nurf to know in no uncertain terms that for as long as it’s his and Gwen’s decision, that answer is going to be yes.

[softfics9]

Post-Its - Chapter 1/5

Fandom; SF9

Main Pairing; Kim Youngbin/Kim Inseong

Side Pairings; Kim Seokwoo|Rowoon/Baek Juho|Zuho

Summary; Meeting your new housemate for the first time is always going to be nerve-wrecking right? Well what if you've been living together for six weeks and still haven't met? That's surely got to be worse.

Genre; Fluff, Slow Burn, College AU

Trigger Warnings; None

Word Count; 2,161

Rating; G

Author Notes;  Ok so this is my first attempt at writing a proper member/member fanfic and I was super nervous but I got a lot of encouragement from people on the SF9 Amino which encouraged me to continue with it. It’s very slow burn just so you know, but if you bear with me I hope you’ll think it’s worth it.

 Characters ages are slightly different; Hyung line (Youngbin, Inseong, Jaeyoon) - 23 Middle line (Dawon, Rowoon, Juho) - 21 Maknae line (Taeyang, Hwiyoung, Chani) - 20

Beta’d; Yes! by @raven-blackwillows

Cross-posted on; AO3

Other Chapters; Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU STILL HAVEN'T MET YOUR HOUSEMATE?!!"

Honestly, that was a mild reaction to the bombshell Youngbin had just dropped on his friends. He had been expecting a lot more, well he wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting but it definitely involved more yelling and curses thrown his way. Maybe it was because none of them had gotten to drink their coffee yet. Yeah that was probably it, once the caffeine kicked in and they were awakened from their post 8am lecture slump the real reactions would come.

"Wait, hyung, we're six weeks into the semester and you moved in to your apartment a few days before the semester even started. How have you not met the guy?"

Juho was the first of his five friends to speak up in the heavy silence that surrounded them in their usual meeting spot. Right behind the university library there was a stone bandstand, mostly sheltered from the elements by the big old building itself. Every Monday after their 8 am lectures, they grabbed coffee from the little cafe on campus and convened there to talk about their weekend or whatever else was on their minds. They were a bit of and odd assortment, if you saw them together you might just assume they were classmates or had just bumped into one another. But actully, they had been together as a group for five years now.

Youngbin was the oldest by two years and in his fourth year in university, and for that reason was assigned the role of the "dad" in their group. It fit him though, he was a born leader as demonstrated by the fact he was voted co-captain of their universities dance team. The next eldest were the anime couple, Juho and Seokwoo, with their deadly looks people often thought they had walked straight out of a comic. Juho looked sharp and with his deep voice people assumed he was cold, but in reality he was like a puppy. Seokwoo was the official "mom friend", always making sure everyone was wrapped up warm and cooking whenever they came over to stay. His status as the most attractive guy on campus was not an exaggeration, sometimes he was mistaken for a model rather than a student. The couple had made it official at the start of their uni days last year, despite everyone insisting they had been dating since the day they met. Then the three youngest members, who had just started university a month and a half ago but were already known on campus. Taeyang was often compared to the sun, and his enthusiasm for dance had gotten him scouted for the team during the first week. Youngkyun, like Juho, was often mistaken for a cold city guy, but he was even softer than his hyung and was the biggest scardey cat in their group, a weakness that was exploited mercilessly. Finally the youngest Chanhee, or as Youngbin affectionately called him, the spawn of satan in a puppies body. He had everyone wrapped around his little finger, and had been promised a spot on the dance team if he finished in the top three in the universities first showcase at Halloween, which was in less than two weeks time. The five had become friends thanks to a stray football, lost cat and a mothers good intentions...but that is a very long story, better suited for another time.

"Yeah, hyung how is it possible for you not to have met your housemate? You literally live together."

Chanhee seemed to have woken up after taking a sip of his cavity inducing drink, honestly it shouldn't have been allowed to be labeled as 'coffee', since it was more sugar than anything else. But if it got him through his history of education classes on a Monday morning, then Youngbin would let him be.

"Well, it seems like we have schedules that are exactly opposite. My schedule always starts at 8 in the morning during the week, and between dance practice and volunteering I'm always out of the apartment super early in the morning. And by the time I get back after classes or work in the evening, he's already left for his job. The only time we're in the apartment at the same time is after he gets back from his night shift and we're both sleeping."

It was true, Youngbin honestly had no idea what his housemate was like in person having never seen his face or even heard him moving about in his room. It was frustrating and honestly getting a bit awkward at this point. He might be passing the person he is living with on campus every day and not even knowing.

"Wait, if you've never met him how do you know he works a night shift, maybe he just goes out drinking every night or something?"

The caffeine seemed to have finally kicked in for Taeyang too, the boy returning to his usual observant self. This statement got the attention of the group and they all looked at Youngbin expectantly, waiting for an answer. Before he could tell them anything, he took a large swig of his coffee because he knew he would need it for the questioning that was sure to soon follow.

"Well you see, we've been talking to each other through Post-Its on the fridge, he uses pink and I use boring old yellow. It kind of started as an accident really, but now it's just a daily thing."

Youngbin gave it fifteen seconds max before his words registered in his friends heads, and there it was, he could see a light glimmering in Youngkyuns eyes.

"Post-Its, you mean the colourful pieces of note paper that people stick places to remind themselves of things? The ones you keep borrowing from all of us?"

He understood straight away, and Youngbin couldn't help the slightly guilty flush he felt colouring his cheeks. He had been borrowing Post-Its from all his friends for the last two months to talk to his housemate, since he was too cheap to actually go and buy them for himself.

"Hyung, why are you using sticky notes to communicate with your housemate instead of texting or, oh I don't know, actually talking face-to-face?"

A unanimous nodding of heads came from around the group at Juhos point, and he could tell by the incredulous looks in their eyes that he wasn't going to get away with just any old answer.

"Well, like I said it started by accident. One morning I had used up the last of the milk in my cereal and I knew I had to remind myself to get more, and since I had a Post-It on hand at that moment in time I just wrote "Buy milk" and stuck it on the fridge. But when I got back from class that evening there was a pink note on the fridge instead, and it said "I got milk and eggs since we were out of those too. I'm Inseong, it's nice to finally (kinda) meet you!" and then obviously I wrote him a note back to say thanks for the groceries and to introduce myself and it just sorta escalated from there."

There was just a long period of nothing as his friends took in all the information. Youngbin had wanted to tell them from the start but he kept it to himself, feeling like it was something almost intimate between him and Inseong, and he hadn't particularly wanted to share it.

"Binnie hyung, I know that look on your face, you get like this when you're crushing on someone. I'm telling you right now, as your friend, I cannot let you start pining for a guy you've never even met."

It was the first time Seokwoo had spoken since his outraged shriek in response to Youngbin telling them he had yet to meet Inseong when they first sat down. He seemed much calmer now, and less likely to nag Youngbins ear off for doing something stupid. But he could still feel the judgmental looks from five pairs of eyes.

"You can't really be crushing on him can you hyung? Like Seokwoo said, you haven't even met the guy, and you've only spoken to him through yellow pieces of paper."

"He uses pink Post-Its Juho, and I don't know why but I just feel like he gets me. Like, it's not just grocery lists we leave for each other, they are also notes of encouragement or information about the day or plans and it feels really domestic to me."

Youngbin hoped they wouldn't push him into saying any more than that, because he didn't want to tell them about the time he had found a note saying "I'm sad" and felt his heart crack a little, or the time Inseong had made extra dinner and left it aside for him when he knew Youngbins dance practice was going to run late. He didn't want to explain why he felt the need to write a Post-It telling his housemate about his 100% on a quiz before he even told the rest of his friends, or how his heart soared when the note he got back said "I'm proud of you Youngbinnie!". They were very personal feelings, and he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to acknowledge what they might mean. Youngbin thought he had been in love before, during his first year of college, with a classmate- Kim Youjin, tall and handsome and wickedly clever. They dated in secret for three months before Youngbin confronted him about making their relationship public. But Youjin wasn't ready to come out just yet, and so he left, breaking Youngbin's heart in the process. There are no longer any hard feelings between the two, but that was the first time Youngbin had felt a true ache of pain in his chest from something emotional. How was he supposed to explain to his friends that he felt that same aching pain when he saw unhappy thoughts expressed on a pink piece of paper.

"Hyung, I am happy that you finally decided to tell us about your little situation, but what I'm struggling to see is why now?"

It was Youngkyun, again with his sensible observations. None of the others had given much thought to why Youngbin was suddenly telling them this over their Monday morning coffee, but he had, and Youngbin couldn't help but grin. Law was certainly the right thing for him to be studying. But now they were all looking at him expectantly, and he sighed knowing that he had to give something else away if he wanted their help.

"Ok, well I am sorry to break it to you Woonie but I do think I am developing some sort of feelings for him. And the reason I told you guys is because I need help making a plan to meet him."

It wasn't very often Youngbin directly asked for help, he would always try to work things out by himself first, and even after that he never admitted to needing help, but would gratefully accept it anyway. So when he did ask them to help, they knew it was something he was serious about and they would do anything they could for him.

"Do you have his phone number hyung? Why not just text him and ask to meet up?"

"Yeah, or ditch your last class and go home early to meet him, would that not work?"

Taeyang and Chanhee both had pretty solid ideas, which in any normal case would be a perfect solution. Only, Youngbin didn't want to text Inseong out of the blue to ask to talk, that sounded too ominous, and arriving home unexpectedly might do more harm than good.

"You are obviously bothered a lot by this, and if you are then chances are that your housemate is too. Why don't you just leave him a message saying that you would like to meet him properly, and leave the ball in his court."

Of course it was responsible mom Seokwoo who came up with the most reasonable plan, and it gave Youngbin a small bit of comfort that he wouldn't be overstepping any boundaries by giving Inseong full control over meeting up. Maybe Seokwoo was right and he was just as anxious to meet Youngbin, but if that wasn't the case then his offer wasn't forced. And besides, it most certainly couldn't get any more awkward than the current situation.

"Thank you guys, for the advice and for not making fun of me too much."

They all laughed as they filed out of their group spot into the autumn sun, their coffee was all gone and Youngkyun had a 10 am lecture to go to. They said their goodbyes at the square as they went their own ways and Youngbin couldn't be more thankful he had such a calm and understanding group of friends.

[shadow-and-mist]

Saints of Blasphemy: Chapter 1

"Pilot"

It's been hours since the lights had been switched off. Stillness claimed all the building as the rumble faded slowly within the dark. Soon after, it left it's place to rising snoring voices of the thin breathing shadows of big breathing fleshes. A man with a flashlight shattered the darkness that was laid on his way, walking with a baton on his left hand; causing echoing tickerings that would wake up the most vicious beasts in their light sleep. Not that all those animals are known for being the light sleepers already, ready to strike and guard in moment of distress even if they're deeply dreaming about the girl they used to see next door. The man walked around 45 feet forward, leaving footprints of thrice amount, with two big guys accompanying him. He was not afraid and took brave steps until he reached his destination.

"Saints. It's time to get up."

The man with the baton spoke with a commanding voice, directing the light right onto the bunk bed that the men were sleeping on. The man on the top murmured with a sleepy voice, as his peer straightened up a tiny bit without any grumbling. A sudden strike on the iron with the body of the hard baton got the murmuring guy tumbling out of the bed, and it now woke all the beasts, and flinched some.

"Ahh... Was it... Was it really necessary? I was going to get up anyway... Gah..."

The man was either in a brief shock caused by the sudden violent voice or he had trouble waking up. No matter which is the case, the man that ruined his sweet sleep replied with a voice varying from the sincere friend to the boss.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Now get up. Hurry."

The guy on the bottom didn't even flinch at the sudden strike, he slowly got up and washed his face at the sink that was just next to their bed, as the other one continued talking after clearing his throat.

"Well, I know how much you like to take me to a night trip, Jerry, but please, can't I get some... like... me time or something? Like, you're more tedious than my ex, Natasha, you know..."

"You never had a girlfriend named Natasha."

His peer replied with a mild smile after drying off his face with a cheap gray towel that was probably white once. Then they both slowly took a stand against the source of light; head down, wrists over each other and arms extended forward.

"Well, yeah, you're right, brother. You know very well that I don't have a thing with Russian chicks no matter how hot they are."

The jailor in lead, Jerry, carefully placed his baton to it's socket and unlocked the prison door with wary steps as his men walked into the cell with a rush, handcuffing the brothers and taking a deep breath afterwards. Jerry, filled with the air of safety, too, slowly walked towards the brothers with a proud manner.

"Uhm... Hey, Jerry... Is your wife Russian? I could always make an excepti-" Jerry punched the talking brother in the face before he could finish his sentence and covered his big mouth with his hand, which is even bigger.

"Shut the fuck up now, Tommy, you know that I have the keys of the solitary.

"You know that it won't stop him, right?" his peer replied with a bored face now.

"Jesus, how do you even endure this, Jeff? he replied to the man as he took a step back. Tommy's smile, swimming in blood, was revealed and he licked it as they all started walking in the hall.

"You've been hearing him for only five years now. Add fifteen to that, and you get used to it. Barely."

As they were walking in the dark, this time with more feet in harmony, grunting and growling voices could be heard from the men in other cages. It was not the first time that the jailor woke everyone with a crash, even the neutrals that were doing their best to stay away from trouble were furious. They all blamed the duo, the Saints, and they got reasons to blame them.

"So, Jerry, did you ever bang a Russian?" Tommy asked out of nowhere and the jailor remained silent. Having no response, he turned to his brother, Jeff and whispered.

"She was probably an agent anyway."

Jeff was enjoying the view that his brother's blabbering was capturing the jailor's mind, bothering, and, even, maddening him along the road. It took five minutes walking between the roaring cells, and ten more under the bright lights. Every jailor and every clerk that faced them grimaced, almost looking disgusted of their presence. They made it to the biggest room in the whole building and Jerry knocked the door and entered in alone.

"Here we go again."

"Just leave it to me." Jeff replied his complaining brother when the jailor Jerry appeared once again.

"The manager is waiting for you. Tommy, don't forget to mention about crazy adventures with your... imaginary girlfriends. I'm sure Mr. Jones would like to hear about them." he said and departed with his men with laughter.

"Yeah Jerry, don't forget to mention me to your wife! I'll be expecting a call!" he shouted and Jeff dragged him inside the room.

The room was looking formal, tidy and black. Three things that Tommy couldn't stand. The man in the room, the so-called manager was slightly overweight, wearing a white striped black suit with galluses, smoking a Cuban cigar and gazing directly to the duo.

"What the hell did you guys do? Do you know about the consequences? Have you ever thought about it?"

"What about it?" Jeff was rather calm when the manager was in distress.

"Do you know about the man you recently killed, Jeff?"

"Yeah, sure. Which one?"

"You're surely driving me crazy here. You know, the one that you slit the throat of? Ring any bells?"

"All due respect, you're not being very specific here." he answered with a serious voice, which got the manager rising. He stood up and got to the yelling part quickly after.

"You slit his throat for fucking fourteen times, Jeff! His head was gonna draw apart from his body. Everything in his cell was painted red with his blood!

"Oh, yeah, that was a good one." Tommy laughed and approved but Jeff didn't even take his keen eyes off the manager.

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy!" the manager yelled out with all his voice. He was left breathless afterwards and opened the side window to get some air in.

"How did you get in his cell in the first place? He was a max-secured case... I just don't get it. This isn't a fucking playground. Just because you're sentenced to death, it doesn't mean you should bring the fucking death!"

"He committed a sin."

"Oh, yeah? That's what they taught you back in the church, Jeff? Be a slasher if someone commits a sin?"

"Oh, you would be surprised." Tommy got in once again with an attempt to share laughter, but seeing the furious eyes of the manager, he stepped back.

"What did he do, anyway? Did he call you a son of a bitch or something?!"

"Well, not me."

"Are you fucking kidding me? You killed a valuable prisoner just because he said some shit? Your Tom there left no mothers in their peace, Jeff!"

After a few minutes of silence, the manager, now with a calmer manner, poured some news to the brothers with a glimpse of both satisfaction and despair in his eyes.

"You should know that they're asking for execution. This time there's no bailing out of this. Even if they don't put you on the chair, Russians and Italians will get you done for good. You got no friends left here."

"We don't need any. We never needed one."

"You're not aware of the situation, are you? You guys are really bigot, bloodthirsty monsters."

The so-called brothers stood still as the manager looked at them in the eye for two or three minutes. His eyes were now filled with only despair, it looked like he was pitying, or even, feeling sorry for the duo. He made a quick call to the Jerry and other jailors that were in charge of the solitary.

"The court will decide on the execution matter this Monday. Five days from now. Tomorrow you can go back to your cell, after it's search is finished, but I recommend staying in the solitary and spending those five days together. Alive."

The jailors knocked the door and took the silent brothers. As they were leading the men to solitary, Jerry was very amused that that they were going to the boxes. It meant a victory for him. He messed with Tommy on the road but the Saints were unresponsive to anything they said or done. They both were thinking and saving their words. Jerry opened the door of one of the closed, dark iron cages and waited Jeff to get in.

"What time is it, Jerry? I'll have the lawyer visiting me as early as possible."

"It's five, but you can't make a call anyway, so enjoy your misery here."

"And why's that we can't make a call?" Tommy asked curiously and Jerry looked at his mates to prepare them for the moment.

"Because, I, don't feel like it is needed.""

"I just wish your dad didn't say the same thing about condoms, you shit."

"Oh, just get in the box and cry me a river, Tom."

Jeff was standing in the dark, waiting for Tommy to get in, but he didn't intend to step back as he was very furious. All the laughing and mocking of the jailors did nothing but to add to his rage. He was keeping himself back, constantly checking his brother's face, looking like waiting for permission but Jeff was just shaking his head slowly to each side.

"Yeah, listen to your big brother and get in now, Tom." Jerry said with a serious voice in middle of a laughter and Tommy took it as a humiliating challenge and just stood upright in front of the door, not moving a bit and gazing at Jerry.

"Tommy, just get in. No more trouble."

Jeff said, knowing that it would be no use. Jerry, seeing his headstrong stance, pointed Tommy with his finger and his men kicked the young boy down and beat him up with batons for a minute or two. They threw the Tommy like a garbage sack to the solitary cell and closed the big, iron door afterwards. Jeff walked to his brother that was laying on the floor and offered his hand to get him up but he refused when Jerry's smirk covered the sliding window on the door.

"I don't care what the manager says, you'll be here for days, no food, no water. Perhaps then you will learn how to behave, fucktard."

The sliding window was then closed and it now was totally dark inside. The laughter of the jailors faded with distance and Tommy slowly crawled to a corner. The brothers' eyes didn't adapt to the dark yet, but hearing the coughing and spitting, Jeff realized that his brother was having trouble breathing.

"Lungs?"

"I'll kill that bastard."

"He didn't do anything."

"I'll kill those two motherfuckers too!"

"You did it to yourself, Tom. Manager was right about one thing, you gotta think about the consequences."

Tommy stopped coughing and his breathing turned to normal after a five minutes or so, the dark now was accompanied with a complete silence which bothered him.

"Then why did you kill that man? You knew that, he was not our business."

Jeff remained silent and he crouched to a corner as well.

"You think they'll put us on the chair this time?" Tom continued.

"No."

"You still trust that old fuck? He sold us out, bro. Don't you get it?"

"I trust no one, Tommy. Especially him."

"Then how can you be so calm?"

Jeff, again, didn't reply and he lied on the floor. Using his arm like a pillow, he made himself comfortable on the hard consecrate ground.

"Take some sleep, will you?"

Tommy didn't say anything in response. He crouched down and hugged his legs. He stood like that for five to ten minutes until the sense of exhaustion took over his body, and he too, slowly gave up himself to sleep.

It was not the first time they were locked up in a small box, or young, chatty one took a harsh beating. The execution warning was not new to the brothers either, but Tommy was feeling different this time. He was not afraid of dying but who would welcome the death anyway? He knew something was happening but they hid it from him. As he had nothing in his hands more, all he could do was to trust in his big brother, Jeff, who also have been acting very strange lately. The bond between the so-called Saints were very unique, they wouldn't mind to kill or die behalf each other, which came from the sense of family, which made them brothers in the first place.

While they were sleeping on the floor, approaching footsteps beyond the door opened the tired eyes of Jeff. The door got opened and four officers, that were not with Jerry, looked inside and called for Jeff, when Tommy was, again, murmuring in his half-sleep.

Jeff quickly got up to answer the call and followed the officers. Jailors were leading him to meeting room with a rush, Jeff didn't say a word on the road but he was confused that Jerry wasn't there. It was early for his shift to be done and there was no chance that they slept for more than five hours already. He entered the meeting room to see his lawyer, wearing an expensive dark-scarlet suit and looking at him with arrogant eyes. Jailors took him to his seat and engaged to lock his handcuffs to the table, but the lawyer insisted that it was not necessary. The jailors nod and left, now it was only Jeff and the swelled head in the room, facing each other.

"I got some news, dear Jeff."

"Good ones or the bad ones?"

"Depends on you. They really want to put you on the chair this time."

After a few seconds of silence, a grin covered the face of the lawyer and he continued.

"Congratulations."

"I did what you asked. Get to the good news."

"Well, the request will be discussed on Monday. I can do something about it."

"And?"

"Did you do your part of the deal, Jeff?"

"I got the man. He can't talk anymore, so your dirty arses should be safe."

"Yes, but did you get any papers, or a phone, anything?"

"His cell was empty."

"How do you know?"

"They always tell the truth when they're against me. Especially if I am holding my knife."

"I see...I have one more request, then."

"We had a deal, and I did my part. Now it's your turn."

"I don't think you're on a seat that you can negotiate, Jeff. Do not get angry, I have only one more request. A small one. Then I'll get you two out of this."

Jeff was feeling stuck. He knew that he was dealing with the devil himself, but he had no other chance. He was in the hands of the man, and he could ask for anything to be done and then leave the brothers to trail of the incoming death. Jeff knew the danger, but he had no chance but to agree to his terms. They discussed the "small request" that was undeniable, and jailors came and took Jeff when his meeting time was over.

"Two days. I'll see you Friday morning."

Jeff said and gazed upon the lawyer as he was being taken out. He expected to be in the solitary once again, but instead, the jailors dragged him to the other way. The other prisoners, seeing that they're out of their pit now, were clenching their fists and expecting the jailors to leave. Another group of jailors were dragging Tommy there as well, and he was swearing to some other men that were threatening him on the road. The brothers, formed together at the entrance of the prison yard, facing all the other convicts, knew that they were the food in a lion's cage.

"Oh, hey, brother. So, what do we do now?" Tommy asked with a worried voice.

"We stay alive."