#maybe i should come clean and endure her disappointment and judgement so i can at least breathe without the weight of this lie on my chest

[tardis--dreams]

Me: I will finish my Bachelor degree by October :)

My professor: no ♡

[kpopfanficsforthesoul]

Choices- Yeri (Red Velvet) and Nayeon (Twice:) Part Two

PART ONE

Prompt: A newly turned wolf, you find your way into a supportive pack. Still learning the ropes, the alpha and beta’s daughters decide to befriend you. However, things get a little tricky when they both fall in love with you. How will it end? Only you can make the choice...

Genre: Romance/Drama, Werewolf!AU

Pairing: Yeri x Reader, Nayeon x Reader

Author’s Note: THE WAIT IS OVER! I’m so sorry this has taken me like eleven years to write... this is honestly such a good prompt and I love being creative with it! I hope you guys like this continuation!

One thing you didn’t know the beauty of before you became a wolf was the invigorating feeling of falling asleep staring at the infinite and majestic galaxy of shining stars in the night sky. 

You woke up in a daze, the dark purple hues replaced with a light blue as the sun blinded your eyes. You squinted as you sat up, glancing over as you felt a pair of arms around your waist. A small smile crept its way onto your face as you glanced beside you to see Nayeon sleeping soundly, cuddled up closely to you. One thing you didn’t know before you got here was how cuddly wolves were. 

“Nana, wake up.” you teased, ruffling her dark black locks. She slowly opened her eyes, smiling at the nickname you had given her. 

“Did we fall asleep on the roof?” she giggled, sitting up. 

“I believe so.” you replied, rubbing your eyes. “Thanks for talking with me.”

You and Nayeon had a deep and meaningful talk the prior night. You were sleepless for days after you had found out that Yeri was your mate, and she found you staring at the sky on the roof of her house. 

You were a wreck, not being able to understand why the wolf inside you had chosen her. Not that Yeri was a bad option by any means. You were certainly captivated by her beauty, and enchanted by her maturity which demanded respect. 

“Oh god, what time is it?” Nayeon exclaimed, frantically looking around for her phone. 

“It’s 8:45...” you told her, looking down at your own phone. 

“Oh my gosh!” Nayeon shouted, frantically standing up and jumping back through the window to her bedroom. 

“Wait, what’s wrong?” you asked, slowing crawling though the same entrance. 

“The pack starts running in fifteen minutes!” she exclaimed, pulling her dark curls up into a ponytail. “Get downstairs right now and eat all the healthy foods you can. I’m sorry, I was planning on making you a nutritious breakfast for your first run with the pack... gosh I’m such an idiot...” she cursed, frantically running around her room. 

You decided to obey, not wanting to know what Nayeon was like when she was in a rush. You walked down the steps to the quaint little kitchen, grabbing some granola bars and peaches to eat. After sitting at the table for a little while, your friend’s feet came pounding down the staircase. She ran over to you, a hairbrush in her hand and several bobby pins between her teeth. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as she yanked at your hair with the brush. 

“Alpha Kim will introduce you to the pack today, you need to look decent!” she told you, brushing though several knots at once. “You’ll have to transform into your wolf for the first time and if you want your coat to look nice you’ll have to keep your human hair in check...” Once she finished grooming you, she came back around and took your half eaten granola bar away from you, taking a bite. “Go brush your teeth, your fangs should look nice and clean.”

You simply smiled and did as you were told, knowing her assertiveness was a sign of her care for you. You were very grateful to Nayeon for everything. For saving your life, for taking you in, and most of all for being your best friend. You didn’t know why, but she cared about you so much more than anyone else you had ever met. How could someone who barely knew you be this kind? Maybe she was just that selfless. 

“Y/N come on! We can’t possibly be late!” Nayeon demanded, waiting for you to follow her out the front door.

“Stop... stop!” you pleaded, deeply panting as you slowly trotted over to a lone tree stump off the running trail. You were well behind the rest of the pack, not being able to keep up with their superhuman speed yet.

Nayeon slowed down, her dark eyes meeting yours as she turned around to come over to you. “I’m coming!” the fluffy white wolf declared as she trotted over to you. 

Your own wolf had a thick black coat, which you had discovered after transforming with the pack. However you still had your glowing green eyes, which you received after meeting Yeri, your soulmate. 

“I’m sorry Nana...” you huffed, catching your breath. 

“It’s alright Y/N...” she told you, putting her white paw over yours. “But... since my mom isn’t here I’m expected to run with the pack to represent the Beta family.”

“You should go then...” you sighed, staring at the grass below you. 

“I’m not leaving you here!” Nayeon insisted, looking into your eyes. 

“Run along, Nayeon.” a calm and soothing voice demanded. You both turned around to see a blonde wolf with shimmering emerald green eyes. “I’ll walk with her.” 

“Yeri...” Nayeon replied, looking at her with serious eyes. “Are you sure? Won’t your father be disappointed?” You gulped at realization of who this wolf was. 

Yeri smirked, letting out a short chuckle before she began walking closer to the both of you. “Disappointed that I took the initiative to help our newest recuit? I don’t think that’s an issue. Besides, my four older sisters are there to represent us. You’re the only one who can represent your family. You need to run with them. Our pack is incomplete without a Beta member.” You and Yeri locked eyes for a short moment after she spoke. 

“Thank you Yeri... I appreciate it.” Nayeon told her, looking into your eyes for a moment before trotting off. 

The blonde wolf took her place in front of you, a small smile forming on her face. “You good?” she asked you with a smirk. 

“Yeah, I’m fine...” you smiled, the pungent fumes of fresh roses choking your senses as she stepped closer to you. Yeri’s scent was intoxicating. With every second it convinced you she was your true soulmate, the loveliness clouding your judgement. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“No problem!” she chimed with a glimmer in her eye. “Wolves have very different endurances than humans. It’s often difficult for new recruits to adjust to it. Let’s just start jogging for a little bit, then we’ll kick up the speed.”

“What happens if we can’t catch up with the rest of the pack!” you asked, black fur flying back in the wind as you followed her. 

“They’ll wait for us.” Yeri explained, eyes locked on the trail ahead of her. “Packs are built off of loyalty. No wolf ever gets left behind.”

“That’s a relief... sorry I’m so slow...” you sighed. 

“Don’t worry about it!” Yeri chuckled, running a tiny bit faster. You pumped your legs faster to keep up. “You’re going to get stronger each day, Y/N. I can see the strength and determination inside you.” 

There was an odd comfort in conversing with Yeri. It felt really good to hear her think so well of you. However you couldn’t ignore the fact that you both seemed to be avoiding the subject that had kept you up all night... that your wolves were pursing each other as mates. Regardless of the conflict inside you, you didn’t want to bring it up is she wasn’t going to. You two ran on for a good amount of time, picking up the speed slowly. 

“Ah...” you gasped suddenly, feeling your chest tighten. Your legs instantly slowed down, your chest going in and out rapidly as your breath grew obnoxiously heavy. 

“What’s wrong?” Yeri asked, looking over at you with concerned eyes. 

“I just... need another break...” you pleaded.

“Okay, let’s go over by this tree...” she suggested, leading you off the trail. 

You both stood in silence as you caught your breath, nothing but the sound of your panting filling the atmosphere between you. 

“What am I doing...” you muttered, staring at the pavement. 

“What do you mean?” Yeri asked, looking up at you. “We just ran for a pretty good distance, you should be proud of yourself!”

“No Yeri, I mean...” you began, gritting your teeth in frustration with yourself. “What am I doing here? I left my whole life behind to join this pack who’s shown me so much kindness... and I can’t even keep up with them!”

“Y/N...” she began, stepping closer to you. “Y/N, look at me.” Your bright green eyes locked in on each other as she continued. “You belong with us. You are not a burden! Now you are going to stay strong and finish this run because I know you can!”

A sudden determination filled your spirit which seemed to spill from the enchanting green tint of Yeri’s eyes which matched yours. Something about her trusting in you gave you so much strength as you darted off down the trail. The feeling of the wind through your fur as she ran beside you felt so invigorating and fufilling. For a good minute, it was just you two, side by side as the sun glimmered off your coats through the leaves of the tall woodland trees that towered above you. You both shared the same fresh morning air, footsteps and heartbeats matching each others as you ran on. Your instincts began to kick in as you felt yourself meeting a low level of that inhuman speed that came along with being a wolf, and you didn’t grow tired until you noticed Yeri slowing down.

“What’s up?” you asked, trotting backwards to meet her. “Why are we slowing down?”

“Because you reached the end of the trail!” she cheered, holding her arms out and as you both emerged from the forest, gesturing to the crowd of people in front of you. You realized that it was the pack in their human forms, erupting into applause and cheers with the alpha family in the center. You smiled at Yeri, the two of you transforming back into human form before walking up to everyone. 

“You did it Y/N!” Nayeon cheered, running up to you and engulfing you in a hug. 

“Congratulations Y/N, you’ve completed your first run with our pack.” Alpha Kim congratulated with a sincere and calm smile. “May you have many more with us.”

“Thank you Alpha...” you said, bowing your head slightly before him. 

“Hey Y/N...” Yeri began, unintentionally pulling you away from Nayeon. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up?” you asked, following her away from the crowd as everyone began to walk back to their homes. 

“I really enjoyed running with you today...” she began, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear as she gave you a small smile. “Do you want me to, I mean... would you like me to train you?”

“I’m sorry?” you asked furrowing your brows. “Train me in what?”

“I mean, wolf training.” she continued. “I could teach you how to use your wolf strength and speed to its fullest, and adjust your endurance. I could also teach you about wolf customs, and what it means to be in the pack.”

“Wow, that’s really kind of you!” you exclaimed. “I would like that a lot! But... why would you want to do that for me?”

“Well it’s a win win! You get to learn about the pack and... I get to get to know you better.” she told you with a small smile. 

“Okay... when do we start?” you asked, a tiny blush forming on your cheeks.

“Tomorrow. My place. Noon.” she nodded, stepping a bit closer to you. She gave you a quick hug, stopping for a bit after she pulled away. “Do you smell vanilla?” she asked, wafting at the air before linking arms with her sister Joy and walking away. 

As soon as she had gone, Nayeon instantly grabbed your hand, giving you a warm smile before leading you back to her house.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you entered the air conditioned alpha house. It was an unusually hot and humid fall morning when you and Yeri had went out for a run together. After running a decent distance, she invited you to the house to cool off before your history lessons began. 

“I’m proud of you, I’ll get you some water.” she smiled, patting your shoulder as she walked past you to the fridge. You couldn’t ignore how healthy and toned her physique was. Her strong arms and soft abs were very visible, as she was wearing only a lime green sports bra and black yoga pants. Her long blonde hair was tied up off her neck in a cute top bun. 

You were brought back to reality as she tossed a water bottle at your face. Suddenly, you heard a loud commotion as Yeri’s older sisters came in from outside. Usually the five ran together every morning, but Yeri had diverted to run with you, allowing the rest of the girls to run some pack errands. 

“Hey Y/N!” Irene smiled as she waved to you. 

You waved back, standing quietly by the fridge. 

“So how did your run go?” Seulgi asked Yeri, hopping up on the counter and taking a bite of an apple. 

“It was great, Y/N’s getting faster and stronger by the minute!” she told her, giving you a warm smile as she said so. You tried to ignore the blush creeping up your cheeks. 

Wendy walked up to her youngest sister, taking her hair tie out and ruffling her blonde waves. “Y/N couldn’t have asked for a better teacher than our little green eyed maknae!

As Yeri swatted her sister away, you gulped as you almost choked on the water you were drinking. So Yeri’s eyes were green before you become soulmates? Maybe that’s why she wasn’t bringing up the fact. 

“You alright Y/N?” she asked, looking over at you concerned. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just swallowed too soon...” you responded, coughing in between your words. 

“Yah, since you did so well today, you two deserve a treat.” Joy suddenly said, plopping a large cake with vanilla buttercream frosting and red sprinkles in a glass container down on the counter. You and Yeri both scrambled over to it, gasping at the sugary goodness. 

“Ooo, what kind is it?” you asked, taking the lid off. 

“It’s Red Velvet.” Joy responded. “It’s our favorite. Mrs. Peterson gave it to us as a thank you for helping her with yard work.”

“You two go ahead and eat all of it, I can’t eat anymore cake!” Irene whined, walking into the living room and plopping down on the couch. “We get so many each day!”

“We’re the alpha daughters!” Yeri exclaimed, cutting out a piece for you. “This is supposed to be a perk. 

“Well you two can eat it while you’re teaching Y/N about wolf stuff.” Seulgi retorted, flicking Yeri on the forehead before jumping off the counter. Wendy and Joy followed her into the living room to watch cartoons with Irene. 

Yeri rolled her eyes before picking up the cake. “Sometimes I question if I really am the youngest one of these girls.” She looked at you before leading you up the stairs to her bedroom.

“Your bedroom is so nice!” you told her before sitting down on her large canopy bed with the softest silk sheets you had ever seen. 

“Awh, thanks!” she said, sitting down next to you with a couple books in her hands. “Shall we get-” she stopped midsentence, leaning closer to you suddenly. She took took a deep whiff of the hair by your neck. “Hey, what perfume do you use? It smells amazing!”

“I’m not wearing any perfume...” you laughed, leaning back on your arms. 

“Oh... how do you always smell so good? You have such a strong smell of warm vanilla... it’s intoxicating to me.” she giggled, flipping open the pages of her book. “Let’s start with origins of the werewolf...”

You bit the nail of your thumb, feeling anxious at the mention of your scent. Nayeon said that was one of the signals of soulmates. “Wait, Yeri...” you interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Can I ask you something first?”

“Sure, what’s up?” she asked in response, setting the book down on her lap. 

“Why... did you want to start training me?” 

“Well you’re the omega and I wanted to help you...” 

“Yes, but I know omegas come in all the time. What makes me so special that you came for me in the woods on my first run?”

Yeri stopped, looking at the ground for a moment as she twirled her thumbs together. “Do you want me to be honest with you Y/N?” 

“More than anything.” you told her, looking into her shimmering green eyes. 

“When I was running at the front of the pack with my sisters, it was like... this is going to sound insane...” she put her head in her hands before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking over at you, “it was like I felt something calling out to me in the back of the woods. Like... like something was wrong. I could sense your distress for some reason... which is crazy because that usually signals that we’re...” she stopped, looking at the ground again. 

“That we’re what, Yeri?” you asked, putting your hand over hers and leaning in closer. She glanced over at you, squinting as she looked in your eyes. 

“Y/N, what eye color were you born with?” she asked suddenly. 

“Brown.” you responded briefly. Her eyes went wide as the realization hit her. 

“So when you came to the pack your eyes turned green... I smell strong vanilla whenever I’m around you... and there’s a deep connection between us...” she began putting the pieces together before looking at you. “Are we soulmates Y/N?”

You nodded slowly. Yeri gasped before throwing her arms around you in a tight hug. You hugged her back, holding her tight. 

“So like, what’s my scent?” she asked, pulling away and wiping her tears that threatened to spill a small tear. 

“You smell like fresh roses, misted by a newborn rain.” you told her, smiling. “It happened the second I locked eyes with you. Our wolves chose each other.”

Yeri smiled before giving you another hug. You didn’t know where this was going, but you wanted to cherish every second you had with her.  All you wanted to do was get closer to her. 

“Incorrect!” Yeri exclaimed, hopping off the log you were both sitting on and pointing at you with a big grin on her face. 

“What are you talking about?” you yelled back, kicking your feet in frustration. Yeri was quizzing you about wolf history in the woods. It had been about a week since you had both recognized that you were soulmates, and from then on you were with each other non stop. After all, your wolves were drawing you together. 

It was the early stages of winter, autumn disappearing in an instant. A fresh layer of snow lay of the ground and the cool air nipped at your cheeks and nose. 

“You got the question wrong! The first legends of werewolves originated from ancient Greece!” Yeri laughed, clapping her mitted hands together. “That means I win!”

“Ugh, come on Yeri!” you whined, throwing your head back in frustration. “Don’t make me do it!”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but you know what my prize is!” 

You groaned, hopping off the log and turning your back to her. You clenched your fists, waiting for the impact. And then, the snowball hit the back of your head, knocking you off balance. 

“Hey, that was too harsh!” you complained, facing her again.

“Oh yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” she teased, putting her hands on her hips. 

“You’ll find out Kim Yerim!” you threatened. You shrieked a war cry before running towards her. She yelled running away from you. You suddenly transformed into your wolf to run faster. Yeri saw this as you caught up to her, instantly letting her blonde wolf take her place on the snow covered trail. You felt the cold air pumping through your lungs, and suddenly you jumped on top of Yeri, thowing her to the ground as you both began to wrestle each other. Giggles escaped both your lips as you pinned her to the ground.

“Say uncle!” you demanded, pushing her face into the snow.

“No, never!” she retaliated, squinting at your impact.

Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat from behind you. You both glanced behind your shoulders to see Nayeon standing on the trail, arms crossed with a scowl on her usually cheerful face. 

“Nayeon?” Yeri asked, pushing you off of her. “What are you doing here?”

“Is it a problem that I’m here?” Nayeon asked with a cold chuckle. “You two have been spending all week together...”

“What’s up Nana?” you asked her, transforming back into your human form. Yeri did the same as Nayeon softened at the mention of your nickname for her. 

Nayeon walked up to you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer to her. “Sorry Yeri, but I’m taking her back now. After all, she is staying at my house.”

“I see.” Yeri muttered, looking at the ground as she brushed a blonde curl behind her ear. “How’s your family?”

“My sisters are home but I have yet to hear from my mother. Please tell the alpha and luna that I said hello.” Nayeon responded curtly. She gave a cold glance to Yeri before walking off down the trail with you.

“Bye Yeri!” you said, waving behind your shoulder at her as you were pulled away. She gave a short wave, saying nothing before walking back to her house in the opposite direction. 

Nayeon held your hand as you both walked in silence to your house. 

“Nayeon...” you said suddenly, looking over at her. “What was that about?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, all the coldness in her melting away now that you were alone. She squeezed your hand and gave you a warm smile before walking on. “I haven’t seen my Y/N in days. And my sisters are home, so I want you to meet them!”

“Alright...” you nodded, walking on and deciding not to argue. The truth was, you did feel bad for not spending time with Nayeon in a while. You cared about her so much, and had not forgotten all she had done for you. 

After a short walk through the woods, you both arrived at the familiar two story house that belonged to Nayeon. To be honest, you didn’t even know that Nayeon had sisters, you just wondered why there were so many extra bedrooms upstairs. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been talking to her for the past week. You kicked yourself for neglecting the girl who had saved your life. 

“Girls!” Nayeon cheered, cupping her hands around her mouth as she walked in through the front door. She laced her fingers with yours, sending a warmth through your body as she led you to the kitchen. There stood eight beautiful girls, some tall and some short, some with dark hair and some with light hair. All their eyes landed on you as Nayeon let go of your hand and gestured to you. “Sisters, I’d like you to meet Y/N!”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you Y/N!” one with long brown curls and the brightest eyes you had ever seen cheered as she walked up to you. “I’m Jihyo. Nayeon may be the oldest, but I’m definitely the strongest in our family!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Jihyo...” another one with blonde hair and bangs scoffed as she hopped off the counter to greet you. She looked at you with her large dark eyes. “I’m Momo, the most skilled member.”

“Skilled doesn’t make you smart!” the girl with short black hair sneered with a slight smirk, lightly hitting Momo on the shoulder. “Y/N, I’m Mina. Don’t hesitate to come to me when all the other girls become annoying.”

“We are not annoying!” one with curly light brown hair cried, reaching into the cookie jar. “I can’t help it I’m the cutest one!” She cupped her hands around her face with a cute smile.

“Oh, give it a rest Sana!” the tallest one teased, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m the jewel of us all. ‘Tzuyu, the gorgeous maknae...’“ she smiled, immitating a news anchor. 

“Oh my gosh, you and your big head...” another girl said, her arm wrapped around one girl’s waist, who gave an approving nod. “Chaeyoung and I work as a team. We know how to get things done for mom, unlike the rest of you who just sit in front of your vanities all day.”

“Hey Dahyun, you two wouldn’t get anything done without me, the charismatic one!” the last girl chuckled, who had short hair and a clear smile. 

“Jeongyeon, can we please get back to welcoming our new member?” Nayeon pleaded, gesturing to you again. You had remained silent throughout all of this, smiling at their playful sibling rivalry. 

“Oh, right...” Jihyo giggled, gesturing for the other seven girls to gather around you. “Welcome to the Beta family Y/N!”

“It’s an honor to meet all of you! I promise to contribute to all of the hard work we must accomplish.” you said, bowing to them with a slight smile. 

“I’m sorry my younger sisters turned your greeting into an ego game...” Nayeon scoffed, glaring at the eight girls around her. 

“So like, who’s she staying with? Do we finally get new roomates?” Sana exclaimed, looking up at Nayeon with a bright smile. 

“I call Chaeyoung!” Dahyun demanded, the two wrapping their arms around each other. 

“You can have her. I want someone who doesn’t snore. Mina?” Tzuyu asked, linking arms with her older sister. 

“No!” Nayeon exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “We’re all staying in the same rooms we’ve had since birth. Jeongyeon with Momo, Sana with Jihyo, Mina with Dahyun, and Chaeyoung with Tzuyu. And since I’ve always had my own room, Y/N will be staying with me.”

All the girls groaned and whined, stomping their feet and scowling. They then all dispersed, walking around the kitchen in different paths as they were before, You giggled at all of them. Each looked a bit different, but you could tell they had the greatest sisterly bond in the world. 

“So, why were the eight of you gone all at once?” you asked, leaning against the wall.

“Well, our mother is off on a mission right now. As Beta, it’s her job to negotiate with neighboring packs and as second in command, maintain order within the pack. She called us in for back up about two weeks ago, and Nayeon, being the oldest, volunteered to stay home with the pack to keep things in order.” Jihyo explained, examining the fridge. “Hey, I think we should make Y/N a Beta family welcoming dinner, what do you guys think?”

“That’s a great idea!” Momo cheered, hopping off the counter again. “Jihyo and I can make some noodles, while Sana and Mina make the salad...”

“Dahyun and I will make dessert!” Chaeyoung announced, walking over to the pantry.

“Tzuyu, you and I can make the side dishes!” Jeongyeon cheered, patting the maknae’s shoulder.

“And I will keep Y/N company while you all make dinner!” Nayeon cheered, leading you up the stairs to her bedroom. 

“Wake up sleepy head!” a million different voices shouted at you in different pitches. You grumbled, opening your eyes to see the bright and cheery faces of eight girls over you.

“Well this isn’t how I thought I’d wake up.” you giggled, rubbing your eyes before putting your hands behind your head. You stretched, yawning a little bit. The girls all laughed at your sleepy antics.

Sana put her hands on your shoulders, giving you a light shake. “Y/N, come on it’s time for breakfast!”

“Yeah Y/N, you need to build up your strength for the big run today!” Mina told you, brushing a hair away from your face.

“Big run?” you asked, sitting up a bit.”What do you mean?”

“I thought we told you last night?” Chaeyoung said, scratching her head before glancing to Dahyun, who shrugged lightly.

“Oh no love, all I remember from last night is you all shoving one hundred different kinds of delicious foods down my throat.” you replied cheekily, making all eight girls giggle.

“Y/N, the pack is running all the way to the Emerald Forest today!” Jihyo exclaimed, putting her hand on yours. “We only go every quarter of a year since it’s such a long run.”

“Yeah so you better come with us and eat!” Tzuyu told you. “You have to try the cinnamon rolls I made! They’re the best thing on the table!”

“No way maknae, my egg tarts are to die for!” Momo retorted, slapping her sister on the arm.

“I think we all know that my maple brown sugar oatmeal is the best. It’s filling, and sweet.” Jeongyeon said cheekily, causing the girls to go into a riot about who made the best breakfast dish. All eight were yelling at each other, playfully hitting each other and pulling each other’s hair. You erupted into a deep laughter at all the commotion, your giggles floating over the quarreling.

A loud, high pitched whistle broke through the turmoil. Everyoen silenced, glancing behind them to the doorway. Nayeon stood with her arms crossed, impatiently tapping her foot and glaring at her younger sisters.

“I thought I told you all to get dressed, not to pester my sleeping Y/N!” she exclaimed, walking closer to the group. You bit your tongue, holding back from laughing at the scene that played out in front of you.

“Relax Nay, I got it under control!” Jihyo grumbled. “Sana-”

“I don’t care what you were all arguing about, just head downstairs and start filling your plates!” Nayeon demanded, pointing her finger to the door. The eight younger girls groaned, mumbling about how unfair their unni was. Tzuyu turned around before she walked out, blowing you a kiss before Nayeon ran over and pushed her out.

“I am so sorry about them...” Nayeon laughed, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Awh don’t worry about it Nana, it’s nice to have people to talk to. They really are such nice girls.” you replied, sitting up in your bed. “How come you didn’t tell me there was a big run today?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot about it too. I seem to have a million things to think about with my sisters home. Not one of them knows how to do laundry properly, so I was doing laundry all night!”

You giggled, getting out of bed and walking over to the vanity to put your hair up. You patted on some lotion before walking into the closet to get dressed. “So maybe you can settle the argument for me. Who’s breakfast dish is the best?”

Nayeon chuckled, getting up form the bed. “I love anything those girls cook for me. However, I have to say, Tzuyu’s cinnamon rolls are amazing.”

“I can’t wait to try them!” you exclaimed, spritzing some perfume before emerging from the closet. Nayeon’s back was to you as she was putting on her shoes.

“Just don’t tell her how good they are. That girl doesn’t need a bigger hea-” Nayeon stopped mid-sentence, mouth dropping open as she looked at you. You were wearing a breezy mint green floral dress with a pastel pink silk scarf and some two toned flats. You blushed a bit before addressing her.

“What, too loud?” you asked, snickering a bit at her shock.

“Nothing, it’s just...” she blinked in disbeleif, shaking her head. She walked closer to you, taking you hand in hers and rubbing her thumb on the back of it. “You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled for a moment, feeling a dig in the pit of your chest. Everything felt serene when you were with Nayeon. She was like your rock. She made everything feel calm and peaceful.

You came back to reality, shifting your weight towards the door. “Come on Nana, let’s go eat.” you uttered softly, tugging her hand. She caught up with you, ruffling your hair as you both ran down the stairs.

“Woah Y/N, our Yeri must be a pretty tough trainer!” Irene commented, running slightly behind you, her wolf’s red fur flying back in the wind.

“Someone’s getting super fast!” Seulgi joined in She ran next to her oldest sister, her wolf being a light caramel brown just like her hair.

You had to admit, you had been picking up a lat of speed very quickly. When Yeri was your running partner, all you ever wanted to do was train. In fact, she was running right next to you right now.

“Don’t give me the credit unni, Y/N is a fast and disciplined runner.” The blonde wolf responded, giving you a smile. Your heart warmed at Yeri complimenting you. For a second, you thought you heard someone groan behind you, but when you glanced back, you only saw Nayeon and three of her white furred sisters.

The pack halted at a beautiful silver river in the middle of the Emerald Forest. The air was crisp and fresh, and a glittering sheet of pearly white snow crunched under everyone’s paws.

“Everybody drink up!” Alpha Kim declared, his grey coat glistening in the sun. “We’ll take a half hour break to enjoy the forest before running home!”

You trotted over to your new Beta family of nine snow white wolves. Your own black coat stuck out from the rest of them. Nayeon gave you a smile before nodding toward the river. “Y/N, the water here the freshest you’ll ever taste!”

You leaned down, slurping up the icy cold water. It was refreshing as it dripped down into your tummy. The river was cold, but not yet frozen over by winter.

As your lungs readjusted, you looked over to the other side of the river, locking eyes with your green eyes soulmate. The blonde wolf noticed, smiling at you and winking. It was crazy, but you could smell her rosy scent again, even all the way across the river.

“Rival wolves!” someone shrieked, interrupting your thoughts. Everyone in your pack glanced up to the top of the hill, seeing fifty dark wolves running towards your pack. Fear struck in your heart as you glanced at Nayeon in desperation.

“Everyone, prepare to attack!” Alpha Kim shouted, starting a howl that all the wolves replicated.

“Y/N, stay in the middle!” Nayeon demanded, leading her sisters into a protective circle around you. All nine girls took a fight stance, prepared to defend you who didn’t know how to fight yet.

Your first thoughts went to Yeri. You made panicked glances around at all the wolves fighting. You finally found your blonde mate, who was currently fighting off two wolves. You took comfort in the fact that she was the strongest of all her sisters as both wolves cowered to her.

Nayeon glanced back to you. “Y/N, stay sharp!” she demanded. “We’ll protect you.”

You looked back over to Yeri after nodding to Nayeon. Yeri was helping her sister Joy, who was kneeling and examining her bloody paw. The redness seeped into the pure white snow.

A giant, burly, menacing black wolf was creeping up behind Yeri. Neither her or her sister seemed to notice, only focusing on Joy’s wounded paw. As you caught the eye of this menacing wolf, you noticed that it was the same pair of glowing yellow eyes that met yours the night you were turned into a wolf.”

“Choi Joomin!” you exclaimed, remembering Nayeon’s words about him being a well known assassin from a rival pack. Without another thought, you sprung out of the circle formed around you, sprinting towards the scene.”

“Y/N NO!” Nayeon cried in desperation behind you.

Nothing else was in your mind other than protecting Yeri. You quickly leapt in front of her, meeting of the eyes of your former attacker, who was mid-pounce. When the blow hit you, everything went black.

Author’s Note: OH MY GOSH! I finally wrote the second part to this story!!! I am  SOOOOOO sorry it took me this long! You guys deserved this long ago. I’m eternally grateful for your patience. Thank yous so much if you came back to read this. Thanks to quarantine, I’ll have plenty of time to HOPEFULLY finish this story. I love you all, stay safe.

All my love,

Marie <3

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 25)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 5.7k story words: 202.4k (so far) chapter: 25/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: @auroraphilealis kicked my ass into gear tonight because i got home and she was like... are you tired... because you could post tonight. and then patiently sat there with me while i edited.

a/n2: shorter than normal, but it’s been less than a week? i think? you better hope good things come in small(er) packages. also a bit more homophobia than normal this chapter, be safe kids. don’t let people talk to you like this if you can help it.

“Isabella,” Dan muttered, empty and shaken. It took him nearly a full second of staring at her to meet her eyes.

She was perched on the back of the lobby sofa, her long legs stretched out in front of her, hooked at the ankle. In her hands was a manila envelope — something that seemed incredibly out of place given the rest of her sultry, borderline inappropriate, appearance. Two months ago, Dan’s eyes would have traced over her curves in the tight dress, probably gotten turned on by the fact that it was so short that he would definitely be able to see her lacy underwear if he just bent down a little. Her hair was in immaculate loose curls, her makeup overstated and dark. She hadn’t changed a bit since Dan had seen her last.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me up, Danny?” Isabella asked, one eyebrow raised, a sickeningly sweet smile on her lips. Pointed, blood red nails drummed against the yellow envelope as she waited impatiently.

The question was enough to finally shake Dan from his numb stupor. His eyes flickered to Todd, who was watching the scene carefully and looked ready to intervene if necessary. Their eyes met, and Todd quirked his head, silently questioning if Dan needed help. Not bothering to be subtle about it, Dan held up one finger and shook his head.

“Well, Danny?” Isabella asked — taunted more like.

Dan’s attention snapped back to her, his blood nearly boiling just from the thirty seconds of interaction. “Definitely not,” Dan spat harshly, spinning around without a second glance, storming off towards the lift. Isabella had always had the tendency to bring out the most… passionate side of him. Usually not in an attractive way.

He only got a few strides away before Isabella was calling after him again. “Oh, but I really think you should. I’ve got something that I think you’ll be very interested in.”

Dan slowly, warily turned around. Isabella had stood up, and was smugly fanning herself with the envelope. Dan’s mind sorted through possibilities, trying to figure out what it could possibly be — if there was anything that would be important enough that he’d willingly let her into his flat. He was coming up short, though. Whatever was in that envelope was a mystery to him.

“What is that?” Dan forced out through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the envelope.

“Something special for you. See, I’ve got a meeting with Tatler on Friday, and I think we should talk about what I’m going to say,” Isabella explained. Her voice was dripping with forced honey; she was talking to him like he was a small child.

The small amount of blood that had still been in Dan’s face drained away.

Suddenly, it seemed like there could be a lot of things in the envelope: his sexuality, Phil, a distorted version of their break up…

All things Dan wasn’t keen on Isabella spilling to the public.

Unsubtly, Isabella shifted her gaze to Todd. “Away from prying ears.”

“Todd,” Dan said as he tore his eyes from Isabella to look at the doorman. “I’ll ring down if I need you. Be on alert, please.”

“Yes Mr. Howell,” Todd agreed. The familiar, polite smile that he usually sported had been replaced with a grim look of concern. His brows were furrowed together, his eyes alert, his chest puffed out. He looked ready for action.

The clack clack clack of Isabella’s stilettos echoed as she crossed the lobby, a wicked smile pulling her lips too tightly against her teeth. With a resigned sigh, Dan followed her, feeling like he was marching to his grave, not his own flat.

Dan wordlessly pushed the call button for the lift, worriedly spinning his key back and forth in his hands. When the lift doors opened, Dan stalked forward silently, Isabella following behind without any further invitation.

A flurry of emotions — anger, disappointment, fear — was making Dan’s hands tremble. Three times, he unsuccessfully tried to guide his key into the correct slot, his shaking hands missing every time. With every failed attempt, he felt the intensity of Isabella’s stare increasing, felt her disdain growing.

His fourth attempt was interrupted by a loud, derisive scoff. “Do you have nail polish on?”

Dan tugged the sleeves of his jumper over his hands, suddenly self conscious about his nails again. Using his clothed knuckle, Dan jabbed the button for his flat before protectively crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I thought only fags did that,” she ridiculed, sounding repulsed. “Oh wait, I forgot. You’re a little queer boy aren’t you?”

Dan tried not to flinch, tried not to let her see how much the words had affected him. They sounded far too much like the playground taunts he’d endured in primary school, the jeers of the boys on the football team in sixth form.

Phil likes them, Dan’s mind supplied weakly as he tried to block her out. Her opinion of him didn’t matter anymore — and, really, never did. He just wanted to find out what she had in that fucking envelope and get her out of his life again.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to end.

He was supposed to have been able to curl up in bed, maybe watch a cheesy rom-com while drinking a glass of wine, and fall asleep still high on his date with Phil. Instead, he was currently stuck in the most tense lift ride in history, with his ex-girlfriend, all while trying to push through the gnawing feeling in his stomach that something was very, very wrong.

Dan was so on edge that the ding of the lift doors startled him, causing him to jump and yelp quietly. Isabella laughed at him — a laugh full of contempt and judgement. Ashamed, Dan ducked his head and led the way off the lift.

He came to a halt in the foyer, not wanting to let her further into the flat if avoidable. The closer she was to the exit, the easier it would be to throw her out once Dan figured out what the bloody hell she was after.

Dan stared at her anxiously, his eyes pointedly flicking down to her hands.

He expected her to tell him what the fuck this was about, but she brushed straight passed him, deliberately ignoring Dan’s obvious attempts to keep her out of his flat. Frustrated, Dan trailed after her, following her closely down the hallway and, apparently to the lounge.

His path was cut short, though, when she abruptly stopped just inside the lounge entrance, and he ran smack into her.

“What the fuck, Izzy?” Dan bellowed, confused and annoyed. She was the one who’d wanted to go further into Dan’s flat. What the fuck had she stopped for? Dan pushed around her, taking the state of the lounge. Everything about it screamed date— and date with a man, at that. The white flowers looked lovely on the bar cart, situated between two untouched glasses of red wine. The rest of the lounge though… well, frankly, the rest of the lounge was kind of a hot mess.

The sofa pillows were all knocked the floor. The blanket was disheveled and had a very distinct white streak on it — and the towel on the sofa was covered in matching, obvious stains. There was an open bottle of lube on the coffee table, a few drops of which appeared to have leaked out now that Dan was looking more closely.

Dan wasn’t exactly sure what he expected from Isabella, but it was probably something along the lines of a screaming fit followed by having the flowers thrown mercilessly at his head. What he didn’t expect, was Isabella huffing dramatically but entering the room without comment, carefully skirting around all of the dubious objects to sit on the rarely used armchair.

She sat primly, on the very edge of the chair, her thin legs crossed in front of her. Dan wondered, briefly, if she was sitting so precariously because she was uncomfortable — he wondered if she thought maybe they’d fucked on that chair.

He almost wished they had. He almost wished he’d bent forward over the cushion and let Phil take him from behind. Almost wished that he’d come all over the cushion and not bothered to clean it up, wished that he’d stained the spot she was sitting.

From her perch, Isabella’s scornful eyes scanned the room, but she didn’t make any comment about the state of the lounge— even though it was painfully clear what had happened earlier. Somehow, the silent disapproving was almost more hurtful than a snide comment would have been.

Chucking the soiled towel to the side, Dan settled onto the sofa. He picked up one of the discarded pillows and hugged it close to his chest, relishing the small bit of comfort it provided, and waited.

“I’m not asking to get back together. It’s clear that…” Her eyes dropped down to the lube in front of Dan, “That you’re with the tarado from the coffeeshop,” Isabella finished, her voice alarmingly neutral despite the derogatory language.

Dan jerked his head once in an attempt at nodding. It was taking every single bit of Dan’s self control to be civil right now, and he knew if he opened his mouth, nothing but hate would come out.

“I’ve come to make you an offer. One that I think could be very beneficial for both of us.”

Ah hah! Dan thought bitterly, that was why she was being so calm, so un-Isabella. She wanted something from him. Of course she did. All Isabella had ever done was take take take. Why would it be any different now?

“Consider it a no,” Dan spat.

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say, Danny. That’s very rude.”

“Well, I think you’re a bitch, so. Forgive me.”

Isabella closed her eyes, long fake lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and took a few deep breaths — apparently Dan had managed to rattle her a bit. Good.

Her eyes opened again and she flashed Dan a forced smile. “Like I was saying. I’m making you an offer.” Dan opened his mouth to rebut again, but Isabella held up a hand to silence him. “As you may have seen, my appearance in the media has… gone down some since we stopped dating.”

Her voice was tense, and it looked like she was barely managing to retain her dignity during the admission. Dan bit back a hateful laugh, and merely nodded in acknowledgement.

Not that he was… completely certain what he was agreeing to. He’d hardly kept up with her media presence since he’d dumped her. In fact, he’d blacklisted her name wherever possible, so… yeah. He had no real idea.

It was a little satisfying to hear she’d fallen from grace, though.

Isabella continued, her tone carefully even. “And I’ve noticed that rumors have been flying around about you and that —” Isabella stopped abruptly, seeming to choose a nicer word at the last second. “Boy.”

Dan nodded again. His teeth dug into his lip so harshly that, if he was less worried about what Isabella was getting at, he’d be worried that he was drawing blood.

“I think we should get back together — publically,” she added hastily before Dan could react. “And if you want to keep dating the pen — Phil, that’s fine.”

Dan’s jaw dropped. For several seconds, all he was capable of doing was staring at her, trying to process, trying to figure out if she’d really just said that.

When the meaning of her words finally sunk in — that she apparently wanted to be his beard — indignant anger roared up again. “And what,” he cried, “You’ll keep fucking around with other guys?”

Isabella flinched at Dan’s harsh word choice, but clearly tried to remain pleasant. “It’s only fair that I’m allowed to see other people, if you are,” she replied haughtily. Her tone was blunt, terse.

“Really?” Dan finally let out the bitter laugh he’d been holding back. “As I recall, you took the liberty of seeing other people even when I wasn’t allowed to.”

“Suétalo,” Isabella said dismissively. She finally opened the envelope and pulled out two small stapled packets. “I had a contract made for us, and printed one out for each of us. Don’t worry, the lawyer is a very discreet man.” Isabella slid one of the packets across the table, narrowing missing the small puddle of lube. “The terms are listed on the second page.”

In a daze, Dan leaned forward and plucked the contract off the table, setting his phone down in exchange. He turned the page to see what Isabella was talking about. It was long — like, it appeared to carry onto the next page long.

“As you’ll see,” Isabella started, opening her packet to the same page. “We’ll go on two dates together each week, unless one of us is traveling. At least one date will be on a weekend night, and both dates will include drinks and dinner. I will attend all events with you, as your date. Charity events, publicity events, award shows, and other work events do not count as one of the two weekly dates.”

Dan’s eyes followed along on the paper, where each term was written in excruciating detail.

“You will start coming to my work events,” Isabella read off the next point on the list. Chillingly, this was the most professional and direct Dan had ever heard her sound — a change that was definitely alarming. “You will attend all runway shows I am a part of, and bring at least one famous friend — Phil doesn’t count.” Phil’s name still sounded like a curse word on Isabella’s lips, but at least she was using his name. “You will also stop by any major photoshoots I have. I want the media to see you actively supporting my modeling career.”

Dan’s mind was reeling. Fleeting pictures of runway shows flashed through his mind. They’d be boring, unbelievably dull. Especially since she tended to do a lot of shoots for high end women’s lingerie — something he was never planning to buy again.

Well, maybe not never, Dan thought as his eyes caught on his own nails.

Isabella continued on, not noticing that Dan’s mind was drifting. “We will also maintain a constant social media presence. We will both post at least one picture or tweet about each date, in addition to at least two other posts per week.”

Out of habit, Dan’s eyes flickered to his phone at the mention of social media, and he saw that it was lighting up with what looked like a third message from Phil. Dan really wished he could lean forward and look at them right now.

“Every other month, we will go on a trip together, which will all be at least a long weekend. Vacations can be a part of international work events, but posting on twitter and instagram is expected to increase.”

Dan looked back at the page, his eyes falling on the last term just as she mentioned it.

“And of course, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but you’ll obviously limit the amount of time that you’re seen in public with Phil. You won’t be seen out with him at nights, and if you get food together, you will always eat at predetermined unromantic restaurants.”

Everything about this was bullshit — there wasn’t a single term or idea that Isabella had presented that seemed rational or acceptable to Dan. He’d hardly even bothered to pay attention as she was reading off the contract, but this rule — the implication that he’d never get to have a night like tonight again —

That was the last straw.

Dan threw his contract onto the table, noticing that it definitely landed in the little puddle of lube. Good.

“Why the fuck would I agree to any of this?” Dan seethed.

“It’s the perfect solution. You’ll be in a relationship, so everyone will stop speculating about you and that boy. And at night, you can—” her eyes flicked down meaningfully to the bottle of lube on the coffee table, “— get fucked without anyone knowing you prefer it up the ass.”

“I don’t just bot—” Dan snapped his mouth shut before he could say any more of that sentence. That wasn’t a conversation worth having. “I’m not going to let Phil be my dirty little secret.”

“But isn’t that what’s already going to happen?” she asked simply, patronizingly. “You’re not coming out, so you’re going to have to limit your public interactions, anyway. This way, you have the added benefit of having a girlfriend.” Isabella smirked widely, looking like she well won the fight already. “People won’t pay as much attention to you and Phil.”

Fuck, Dan hated, hated the fact that there was a shred of sense in what she was saying. He was going to have to be subtle with Phil — not that he’d never had to do that in the past — and a fake relationship with Isabella really would do wonders about the rumors that were already circling, would be just enough for people’s heteronormative minds to make them stop questioning his sexuality.

“And what happens if I don’t say yes?” Dan demanded roughly.

“Well, see I already have a meeting set up with Tatler, and I did promise them an inside scoop…” Isabella trailed off suggestively, a look of mock concern on her face.

“Cancel, then,” Dan ordered through gritted teeth.

“Oh Danny, that would be so rude though!” She batted her eyes, her voice falsely sweet. “I’d have to give them a different story.”

A feeling of dread washed over Dan, rushing from his stomach all the way up his throat.

“What story?” he managed to ask.

“Turn to the next page, and read along under breaches of contract,” Isabella prompted, a note of triumph in her voice — a tone that made Dan very wary.

Dan did as she said, and found nearly an entire page of her loopy, cursive handwriting — presumably so the lawyer wouldn’t know the contents. Heart pounding, Dan tried to skim the paragraph, but his hands were shaking so much that the paper was illegible.

He didn’t really need to read, anyway, because Isabella was smiling a vicious grin, leaning forward and explaining herself. “I’d have to tell them about how during our whole relationship, you were interested in men and fantasized about them — and even how you made me wear a strap on when we had sex. About how you were determined to stay together because you wanted people to think you were straight, because you didn’t want to be gay.”

Dan’s heart wasn’t pounding anymore. In fact, it felt like it had completely stopped, and crash landed into his stomach. He wasn’t ashamed of liking men, had never wanted to not be attracted to them. It was just easier to explain to the media. But still, he’d never… strictly adhered to gender roles. He knew he had a fairly large LGBTQ+ fanbase — a fanbase that would be crushed to hear that he supposedly held such internally homophobic views.

Isabella didn’t stop speaking, still sounding smug and triumphant. Dan listened — painfully forced himself to listen — as he stared at the uncapped lube on the table.

“And then,” Isabella gasped in mock horror. “Imagine my horror when I came over one night and caught you in bed with Phil, getting fucked from behind…”

Fuck her, Dan cursed internally. He hadn’t even had the chance to do that with Phil yet, and here she was putting these false, horrible images in his head. Images of him and Phil not being as good as they’d been, images of Dan finally getting to feel Phil only to have Isabella burst in.

They’d been so fucking good for months. These weren’t the images of their first time that should be flooding Dan’s mind. Especially not tonight.

“I’m so scarred from it, it was so hurtful.” Isabella wiped away a fake tear, her long pointed nails smudging the black eyeliner under her eyes. “And then I’ll tell them how we tried to fix our relationship, how you told me to sleep with other men because you knew you weren’t man enough for me.”

The knife in Dan’s gut dug a little deeper, twisted a little further. On top of it all — the accusations about his confidence, his pride in his sexuality, his dignity… to add on the fact that Isabella cheating had been his suggestion.

Fuck. Dan’s eyes snapped shut, tears on the verge of spilling out. He felt one leak out, trickle down the side of his nose, and he willed it to disappear. Willed Isabella to not see it. Willed himself to not wipe it away and draw Isabella’s attention to how deeply she was affecting him.

“And,” Isabella sighed melodramatically, her dark-stained lips pulled into a nefarious grin. “In the end, I had to leave you because it was too much pressure and too much shame. You begged me to stay, but I had to do what was right for—”

“You fucking wouldn’t,” Dan seethed, cutting her off before she could finish her story. “Not a single fucking detail of that is true.”

Isabella cackled — literally cackled; her head fell back, a humourless laugh mocking Dan. “It’ll be my word against yours, though. And the media usually sides with the victim.” Isabella shook her head, and shot Dan a look filled with insincere pity. “But if you’re willing to risk it…”

“You bitch,” Dan roared, interrupting her again. He leapt to his feet — to do what, he wasn’t sure. “You signed a non-disclosure agreement! I could sue you for going public about my sexuality!”

“You could,” Isabella agreed, but the smirk on her face made Dan feel like he’d just lost another battle, not won one. “But it wouldn’t be a quiet trial, and when people found out you were suing me because I told the media that you weren’t straight, that would just confirm my story in their eyes.”

Dan’s heart was beating roughly against his chest, his mind speeding through a million different scenarios as he tried to make sense of what Isabella had said, tried to figure out if there was a different way to spin it.

Shit, fuck.

Dan sunk down back into the sofa, defeated. That was exactly how it would appear. And the media probably would side with her, the story she’d concocted would tarnish any good reputation he had.

And Phil.

Fuck. Phil.

Phil’s entire livelihood depended on his personality, his brand. Having an affair was about as off brand as it got for Phil. It would probably destroy him. Dan, at least, made music — music that some people would continue to listen to even after finding out he was a piece of shit. But Phil would probably lose everything. And, shit, it would break Phil’s heart if he viewers thought he was capable of such immoral behavior.

“I — I need to think about this,” Dan muttered. Against his will, he crumpled forward, his legs drawing up into his body. He was so fucking overwhelmed, so hurt. Tears pricked at his eyes again, and this time he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold them back.

To his surprise, Isabella dropped the other contract onto the table and stood up. “You have until five tomorrow evening to drop off both signed copies at my flat. If they aren’t there when I get home from work, I’m telling the other story.”

Dan didn’t have it in him to look up. The tears in his eyes were rapidly accumulating, and he was afraid that if he looked at her, if he met her eyes, he’d well and truly break down.

Her heels clacked loudly as she rounded the table, coming to a stop directly in front of Dan. Her long, manicured fingers reached under his chin and tipped his head up. A loud, wet kiss was pressed to his forehead, surely leaving behind a perfect dark red mark from her lipstick.

Her lips felt like fire against his forehead — and not in a good way. It took all of his strength to not recoil, to not give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d intimidated him.

“I own you, Dan Howell,” she whispered in his ear.

For a split second, Dan was worried that the pretty cocktail, the expensive wine, the fancy dinner, would all come back up. The fear wracked his body so hard, so aggressively, that Dan was sure that he was about to throw up.

With a rough swallow, Dan forced himself to look up. His eyes followed her as she crossed the room, watching as she came to a halt by the bar cart and spun around again. A wicked smile painted her face, a devilish glint in her eyes. Her hip popped out, one hand dramatically resting on it.

“Remember Dan,” Isabella threatened, her voice dropping low and properly angry for the first time tonight. “If you don’t sign or if you, say, try to tell the media about this little arrangement tomorrow, I’ll just —” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the mirth on her face ruining the illusion. Two fingers delicately pushed on the flower vase with just enough force to send it toppling to the floor. There was a loud crash as the vase shattered, water running everywhere, the flowers falling limply amongst the debris. “Spill. See you tomorrow, Danny.”

A loud screech hurt Dan’s ears as she turned abruptly, her stilettos scraping across the wood floors. Dan tore his eyes from her swinging hips, his gaze shifting to his feet. Looking up, looking at Isabella’s retreating form, the damage of the flowers, the contract on the table, it was all too much. His sleek, black shoes were a better place for his attention right now.

When the lift dinged, the unsigned contracts and destroyed vase were the only evidence that Isabella had been there at all. Well, that and Dan’s crushed soul.

Mechanically, Dan started to kick his shoes off. He got one foot half free before he realized that it would be better to leave them on because of the shards of glass.

“Jesus on a fucking tricycle,” Dan muttered under his breath, his brain not fully grasping on to everything just yet. He shakily pushed himself off the sofa, and shoved his phone into his back pocket. He’d deal with Phil’s messages later, when he could stand it better.

Dan made his way to the kitchen, trying his best to sidestep around the scattered flowers — it was a pretty crap attempted, admittedly, given the loud crunch of glass beneath his feet

The cabinets were barren, especially since he hadn’t replaced his mugs yet. He definitely didn’t own much by way of glassware. But still, he rummaged around his cabinets, desperately looking for something he could put the flowers in so that they wouldn’t die.

Everything he could find was far too short (like his drinking glasses) or far too fat (like his mixing bowls). In the sink, Dan spotted the drink pitcher, the one that he’d made gin and tonics for him and Phil in just two nights ago.

Good enough.

Dan dumped out the watery remnants of the drink, doing his best to rinse it out a little bit even though he barely had the emotional energy to even hold the heavy glass pitcher. Hot water swished through it once, twice, three times, and Dan hoped it would do, hoped that he’d gotten enough of the toxic liquor out that he wouldn’t kill his beautiful flowers instantly. Smacking the sink handle to the right, Dan waited for the water to get cold, and then shoved the pitcher under the stream of water, numbly watching the pitcher fill.

He must have zoned out, because all of a sudden the water was bubbling over and cascading down the sides. “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Dan muttered, slamming the handle down to stop the water flow, and carelessly dumping a portion of the water out.

Realistically, he’d probably dumped too much of the water out — it was only just barely half full now. Fuck, was he capable of doing anything right tonight?

He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. The flowers would have to deal with half a pitcher of water, at least for tonight.

Without bothering to wipe down the mess of water, Dan turned on his heel and took the drink pitcher back into the lounge.

Now that he’d had a few minutes of distance, the mess of the flowers looked even more disastrous. Before, he hadn’t realized just how shattered the vase was, hadn’t noticed the way the piece of glass he’d stepped on had turned to crumbs. He certainly hadn’t noticed the massive puddle of water that was slowly inching its way across the room.

Fuck.

He should have brought a towel.

And a maybe a rubbish bin for the glass, too.

He was such a useless fucking bastard.

He sunk down anyway though, his bum landing right in the middle of the water, probably sitting on a few pieces of glass, too — not that he was capable of feeling that right now. Dan numbly gathered the flowers, one by one, shaking each stem off before placing it in the new pitcher. One rose had snapped in half during the fall, the stem too short to let it stand with the others. It wasn’t perfect anymore. It, too, had been tainted by Isabella.

Dan considered throwing the stem out — hell, for a brief moment he considered throwing all the roses out — but he didn’t have the heart to do it. He wanted them, they were important to him. He just didn’t want them to have been fucking touched by Isabella.

Resigned, Dan shoved the broken flower in with the others, letting it fall all the way down, and pushed the pitcher away so he didn’t have to look at it right this second.

He turned his attention to the glass. The flat, heavy bottom of the vase was still intact, so Dan laid it out as a temporary place where he could pile the broken pieces. Shard by shard, Dan picked up the bits of glass, dropping them into a small mound. His hands were shaking far too much to be doing this. Each time he picked up a sliver of glass, he nearly cut himself. Objectively, he knew he should stop. He should just leave the mess, maybe text the maid and ask if she could come tomorrow instead of Friday, and go to bed.

But for some reason, Dan knew that the knowledge that the glass was sitting here, scattered around his lounge, would eat away at his soul. He knew he’d never be able to sleep if he didn’t at least try to fix it now.

He couldn’t fix Isabella tonight. He didn’t have any magic solutions, didn’t know how to make the whole situation go away. The one tiny fucking thing that he could do was to get rid of the damn glass.

So god fucking damn it, he was going to clean up this fucking mess.

And so Dan sat, methodically finding chunk after chunk, sliver after sliver, and adding them to the growing mountain of glass. Under the bar cart, there was a particularly jagged piece — it was all sharp angles and rough edges. Dan could tell it looked more dangerous than the rest. Nonetheless, he reached out for the shard anyway, his fingers slipping as he fumbled for the piece. The top of his finger scraped against it harshly, and Dan recoiled, his hand flying to his chest.

He looked down, expecting blood, but instead saw a small red scratch leading up to his nail — his previously perfect silver nail that now had a wobbly line drawn through it, the polish scraped away.

A sob caught in his throat, and Dan drew his knees up to his chest, letting the pain and anger finally wash over him. He was furious and hurt and scared and he had no fucking clue what to do.

So he pushed the mountain of glass away, let his head fall forward, and cried.

Sob after sob wracked his body, and soon he was gasping for air, his vision blurred with tears. His body was trembling, and tears were running down his face. The fancy Versace sweater was probably ruined by now, given how many times Dan had messily wiped his nose on it.

How long he cried for, he wasn’t sure, but eventually the insistent buzzing of his phone in his pocket drew him out of his stupor. Shifting as little as possible, Dan dug his phone out of his back pocket, sighing deeply when he saw the hairline crack that was now running across the screen.

Phil :) was calling, and Dan didn’t have the heart to pick up. If he answered it, Phil would be able to tell how upset he was, would wonder what had happened, if he’d done something…

Dan couldn’t enjoy the high from tonight any longer, but that didn’t mean Phil couldn’t. He’d call Phil tomorrow, explain to him the two shitty options — a fake relationship or a reputation wrecking story — in the morning. Dan pressed the side button, making the buzzing stop, and waited for the screen to go back to normal.

His eyes stared at the fracture in the screen, and drifted up to the pile of glass. He needed to not be alone, though. Not right now, not tonight. He needed help.

Dan unlocked his phone, and tapped call on the top contact in his favorites list.

The phone only rang twice.

“Dan? How was your date?”

“C-can y-ou,” Dan’s voice was wretched, his breaths too uneven for him to speak properly. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to collect himself. “I n-need you t-to come over h-here n-now.” A broken sob escaped Dan’s throat. “P-please,” he added.

“Of course, love.” A warm, concerned voice tried to console him. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

a/n: don’t kill me. 

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 5

Author’s note: Some more moments between Arthur and Eddie in this part! Hope you enjoy :)

From Arthur’s POV

THE BASTILLE

Letting ourselves into the lazy saloon, Eddie and I made a beeline straight for the back as the same bartender greeted us, recognizing our faces while he cleaned the bar with a rag.

The saloon was still full of the same pretentious pricks from the last time I was here, and the further I made my way into the fancy building, the more their eyes seemed to be stuck on me and my sad attempt of putting together an outfit that was actually decent.

Heh, still looked better than them, though.

“Welcome back, Eddie!” The bartender exclaimed. “And you too, mister. What’ll it be for you folks today?”

The pianist slid some money across the surface. “Two beers, please.”

“Comin’ right up.” He reached under the bar and popped two caps off with a soft hiss, placing a pair of bottles in front of us as we enjoyed our drinks.

“Say, Mister Ryan,” the man continued, “how’s your work at the theater going?”

Eddie took a sip. “It’s going well, thankfully. At the moment, I’m preparing for a show.”

“That’s good.” The bartender tugged his head towards the saloon’s piano. “Y’know, if you’re ever lookin’ for more work, our pianist’s thinking of quittin’ his job soon. He’s planning to move out somewhere in the country. Wants a more...‘laid-back’ lifestyle, he said.”

I let out a boisterous laugh at that. “Hah! Laid-back...”

Eddie considered the offer. “If I ever find the time to do it, I’d certainly love to play here. Lord knows I could use the money.”

The bartender smiled. “Excellent. Well, I’ll leave you boys to your drinks. Have a fine day now, y’hear?”

“Thanks, mister,” Eddie replied. “You too.”

Turning to face me now that the man was gone, the young musician took a breath and barely opened his mouth to say somethin’ before someone else was calling out his name, interrupting us for a second time. Jesus. And people wondered why I weren’t much of a social butterfly.

“Eddie Ryan?” A woman asked. “Mister Ryan, is that you, darling?”

Peeking behind the boy’s figure to see who was talking to him, I spotted none other than Lillian Powell herself sitting in the same place as before, comfortable as always while makin’ sure the rest of the saloon wasn’t.

“Oh, Miss Powell,” Eddie greeted, clearly not particularly pleased to see her. “Starting the day off with a drink, eh?”

She let out a puff of smoke from her mouth. “Indeed. Same as you, evidently.” Lillian moved her gaze to me, her eyes narrowing. “And I see you brought the cowboy with you.”

Eddie glanced at me. “Oh, him? He’s just a friend of mine. We met recently.”

“Is that so?” She said with an...almost jealous expression. “Are you planning on taking him to the gala later this week?”

The young man quirked a brow, turning to me. “I don’t know. What do you think, Arthur? Would you like to come with me?”

Well, finding a way into that gala was certainly easier than I anticipated. I gave Eddie a nod.

“...Sure,” I answered with a shrug. “Why not?”

Lillian took a drag, huffing out another cloud. Though I couldn’t tell if the smoke comin’ out of her nose was due to the cigarette or annoyance.

“I suppose I’ll make an invitation for your friend, then. I look forward to seeing you there, Eddie. The gala will certainly be a night to remember with your piano-playing skills.”

The musician chuckled gently. “Thank you, Miss Powell. I look forward to attending.”

She smirked in a flirtatious manner. “You should, darling. It’s going to be quite the ball. There will be tons of people as well as music, drinks, and of course the chance of witnessing a drunken brawl. Mister Daniels and Robinson still aren’t over the fight they had at the last gala. I’m sure you remember that, yes?”

Eddie laughed at the memory. “How could I forget?”

Practically chugging the rest of his beer down in an attempt to escape the endless conversations, the pianist placed the empty bottle down and stood back from the bar, straightening his coat.

“Well, it was nice to see you again, Miss Powell,” he lied, “but I’m afraid I must get going. I’m on a...rather tight schedule today.”

“Oh, okay,” she said with a pout. “Take care of yourself, Eddie. Alright? Don’t stress yourself too much. I know how hard you work.”

Eddie sighed. “I wish I had the option. Anyways, good day, Lillian. I hope to bump into you at the gala. Until then, farewell.”

The boy brought his attention back to me with an expression on his face that screamed “help,” beckoning me out the saloon as I finished my own drink.

“Ready to go, Arthur?” He asked. I set down the bottle, walking next to him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” he replied in a relieved tone. “Then let’s get going.”

Shoving me out of the Bastille, Eddie and I took a huge breath of fresh air the minute we stepped outside, both of us glad to be away from the grandiose atmosphere of the saloon. And also to distance ourselves from that wretched woman.

“You are quite the popular feller, ain’t you?” I joked.

“Sadly, yes,” he said. “But in Saint Denis, fame brings you money. And right now, I need it. Still, it was kind of you to join me for a drink...even if it did last for about two seconds. Will you be heading off now?”

I whistled for my horse, watching the streets as my companion steadily trotted her way towards me.

“Yeah. As you know, I ain’t really much for big cities, and...I’ve got a few things I need to take care of.”

“Ah, I see,” Eddie responded, sounding a tad disappointed. “Well, it was fun running into you again, Arthur. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only man not wearing a mask in this city.”

Oh, if only he knew.

Giving my horse a welcoming pat on the neck, I mounted the majestic creature and secured my feet in the stirrups before taking hold of the reins, admittedly somewhat sad to leave Eddie behind as I reminded myself I had a job to do.

Then again...it was still rather early in the morning, and I had already completed my task of finding a way inside the gala, which was more luck than skill, to be honest...but maybe there wasn’t any need to part ways just yet.

I glanced down at the lonely pianist, coming up with a last-minute idea.

“Y’know what, Eddie,” I proposed, “you’ve been showin’ me around Saint Denis these past couple o’ days. Why don’t I give you a peek of the world outside the city? Show you what else is out there.”

The boy looked up at me with a hint of hope in his big eyes.

“...You’d do that?”

I shrugged in a relaxed manner. “Sure. Everyone needs to get out once in a while, and I’ve spent enough time here, I think. Why don’t you come with me? Explore the country for a bit? We won’t be gone for long. Just enough to catch our breaths.”

Eddie was obviously excited, but displayed some hesitance.

“...I-I’d...love to.”

“Heh. Don’t be shy,” I reassured him, patting my horse. “She can be a little skittish ‘round strangers, but she’ll warm up to you soon enough. C’mon.”

I reached a firm hand out, helping Eddie onto the mount as he tried to get used to the height.

“You good?” I checked.

“Yeah...” he answered, his voice soft with uncertainty. I didn’t think Eddie realized he had wrapped his arms around my waist. But I didn’t mind.

“Alright,” I tightened my grip on the reins, “I’d suggest you hold on, then. This girl can go fast. Hyah!”

OUTSIDE SAINT DENIS

A WHILE LATER

Galloping as if there was no tomorrow, I bolted through the open fields hugging the city as Eddie held onto me for dear life, the force of the breeze ruffling his hair up a bit.

Out here, I felt so free. I didn’t have to endure the irritating chaos of Saint Denis’ coal-driven factories, greedy merchants, whistle-blowing lawmen, or the constant chatter of a thousand strangers.

Out here, it was just me...and Eddie. Ridin’ our way through endless miles of meadows and smooth hills as we glided towards the mountains towering in the distance. It made me feel so small -- so insignificant...and I loved every minute of it.

Snapping the reins out of excitement, I urged my horse to run faster as her heavy breath quickened and Eddie’s grasp strengthened around me, making me laugh on the inside. The boy certainly knew his way around the city -- I’d give him that -- but it looked like this was his first time ever settin’ foot into nature.

Well, I guessed it was my turn to show him the ropes, for once.

Sprinting across a small stream, I began heading for one of my favorite spots in this area as droplets of cool water splashed onto us, giving me a much-needed sense of refreshment. There wasn’t a single person in sight, and the only company we had at the moment was the dozens of different species scrambling through the untouched land, including groups of rabbits that would always scramble underneath me every once in a while.

I had to admit...I was enjoying myself with Eddie. It wasn’t too often that I got to travel with a friend like this, and it was even more rare that I actually had a friend in the first place.

But spending time with Eddie...it made me feel at peace. I never experienced the same sort of tension with him as I did when speaking to others -- even Dutch -- and it was always so exhilarating to be around him. He passed no judgements. Made no assumptions. Cared nothin’ for where I came from, or who I was. All that mattered to him...was what I did.

Taking a sharp turn into the woods, I led Eddie through a thick grove of trees as spots of sunlight danced on the dirt road beneath us, and leaves rained from the canopy of branches above. There were all sorts of insects and birds flyin’ along with us, and the further I rode, the more Eddie’s arms relaxed around me.

The boy no longer seemed tense or held back by fear. Instead, he looked just as content as I was and brought his gaze to the sky, unable to hide the blissful smile that shined on his face as he watched the deer prancing at our side.

I was...I was happy that I brought him out here. It had been so long since I had someone like this in my life, and I sure as hell didn’t expect to find another in Saint Denis.

At first glance, that city looked like nothing but a dreadful, cramped cesspit to me, and I remembered being annoyed at Dutch for makin’ me search through the place.

But after meeting a man such as Eddie, it only made me wonder what else Saint Denis was hiding beneath its surface. I always assumed it was the same as any other city, and had it pegged for a nest of corruption...but I guessed it weren’t all bad. Not if Eddie was there.

Finally reaching the spot I had been searching for, my horse suddenly slowed down to a halt once we found ourselves at a section of the Kansas River. We were surrounded by tall, beautiful trees, a seemingly never ending stretch of clear water, and the early sun hovered above us as its beams broke through the white clouds. To me, it was paradise.

“Here we are,” I announced, turning around to pat Eddie’s shoulder. “Ain’t it just the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

The boy slowly gazed around in awe, his mouth dropping open with wonder as he took in the world around him. There was a look of inspiration in his emerald eyes, and the longer he stared at the view in front of him, the less he knew what to say.

“...Oh my...God...” he whispered. “I...I may never go back home.”

I chuckled lightly at his response, a little amazed myself at how gorgeous this place was. I had wasted so much time worrying and stressing and constantly thinking about the gang that...I forgot to just stop for a minute, and take a damn breath. It was...a nice change of pace.

“I come here a lot,” I explained. “It’s just...one of those places, y’know. Makes you feel separated from...the rest of the world. I like it here.”

Eddie agreed. “I can see why. I almost feel as if Saint Denis doesn’t even exist anymore. That city seems like it’s an eternity away now.”

Slipping my feet out of the stirrups, I turned around to face the pianist.

“Here,” I said, “lemme help you down.”

Preparing to hop off, my horse suddenly let out an alarmed neigh before I could do anything and began rearing wildly, causing both me and Eddie to tumble onto the ground as I rolled around in the dirt, whirling in confusion.

“What the--?” Eddie blurted out, somewhat dazed from what just happened. “What’s going on?”

A nearby growl answered the question for me.

Prowling towards us with a hungry glare in its eyes, a lone wolf stealthily approached me and Eddie, its paws just barely kissing the ground as if it were getting ready to jump. It didn’t look like there were any others around, and this one was still relatively far away.  I raised a calming hand, attempting to make sure neither the wolf nor Eddie made any sudden moves.

“...Whoa, there...” I warned, subtly reaching for my gun, “...easy, boy...”

The wolf continued to creep in my direction, showing no signs of leaving. The last thing I wanted to go trigger-happy in the middle of the wilderness where god-knows-what was roamin’ around, but I also didn’t wanna see my newest friend get eaten alive.

Whipping out my revolver, I fired a few warning shots just next to the beast and scared it off while Eddie stayed back.

“Go on!” I shouted. “Get! Leave us alone!”

The wolf instantly turned on its heel and let out a frightened whimper, scurrying away before it disappeared into the distant forests. I didn’t hear any other howls or see any signs of other beasts lurking in the area, and so far, no one seemed hurt.

I let out a sigh of relief, checking on Eddie.

“There it goes. You alright?”

The boy rose up from the gravelled ground, patting dirt off him.

“Yeah...I’m okay,” he confirmed, slightly shaken. “You look like you’ve dealt with your fair share of wolves before.”

I holstered my gun, scoffing. “Too many times. I had to save one of my idiot friends from an entire pack of ‘em once. Bastard got more than a few scars to remind him to stay the hell away. Just glad I could save you, too. Oh, and uh...sorry ‘bout the clothes.”

Eddie looked down at his stained coat, chuckling in amusement. “Yes, it seems every time we cross paths, I always end up covered in mud. No worries, though. At least they aren’t blood stains. Thank you, by the way. I’d probably be dead now if you hadn’t been here.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Walking over to my horse, I carefully approached the spooked animal before giving her a comforting rub on the neck, attempting to calm her nerves as she whinnied nervously.

“Shhh...” I whispered softly. “Easy, girl. You’re alright. There ain’t nothin’ can hurt you now. You’re okay.”

I reached into my satchel to feed her a quick snack, only to realize the accessory was missing from my person when my hand touched air.

I backed away from the horse, glancing around as I searched for the damned thing.

“The hell? Where’s my satchel? Agh...it must’ve dropped somewhere when we were bucked off.”

Eddie pointed to a bag on the ground along with a number of items scattered next to it and knelt down, closely examining them. They must’ve fallen out when the satchel’s flap came loose.

“Is this it?” He asked, taking an open book into his hands. “Here, let me...help...”

The boy’s voice faltered out of nowhere and he paused mid-sentence, causing me to cock my head in curiosity as he took a sudden interest in the book.

“...What is it?” I urged, throwing a casual glance in his direction, only to damn-near have a heart attack.

Eddie had found my journal.

...And he was now staring at the portrait I made of him.

Christ, out of all the drawings, it had to open on that page?

Slowly standing up from the ground, Eddie mindlessly continued to examine the quick sketch as his eyes nailed themselves to the drawing, his face covered with amazement.

“...Arthur...” he breathed out, “...did you...did you draw this?”

I waved a dismissive hand, trying to change the subject.

“Ah, it’s nothing. I just...make doodles sometimes. Of places I’ve been to, things I’ve seen...people I’ve met.”

Eddie chuckled in an impressed manner. “What do you mean, it’s nothing? Arthur, this is incredible. I had a feeling you were an artist, but I didn’t expect this. It looks...just like me.”

I scratched the back of my head, my cheeks startin’ to feel a bit heated. Oh, good lord-- was I actually blushin’ like some flustered adolescent? I couldn’t believe it. What a goddamned fool I was.

Clearing his throat, the boy hurriedly closed the journal when he noticed my awkward behavior and handed it back to me, averting his gaze out of embarrassment.

“Erm -- I’m sorry,” Eddie apologized. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive. It’s just, you have a lot of skill, and I’ve...well, I’ve never known anyone who could draw like that.”

Calming down slightly, I stared at the portrait for a moment before peering at the musician, biting my lip in thought.

“...You wanna keep it?” I offered. His expression lit up with gratitude.

“...Could I?”

“Sure,” I replied, carefully tearing the sheet out. “I can always make another.”

Eddie gently took the drawing into his grasp, holding it as if it would break at any moment.

“I...thank you, Arthur. I really appreciate this. I’ll keep it close, I promise.”

The young man slipped the piece of paper into his coat, making sure it was secure before giving me a little smirk.

“What?” I said, chuckling.

“Oh, nothing...” he teased. “I just knew you weren’t as rough as you acted. Though I suppose it’s good that you least know how to act in the first place. Many other people -- like myself -- are clueless in the wilderness. You must think me quite the city buffoon.”

I laughed with a shrug, leaning against a nearby tree.

“Well...that’s the thing,” I said. “You don’t have to act out here. This is all nature. There are no pretenses, no masks, no guessing. Just one rule: treat the Earth right, and she’ll treat you right back. Most o’ the time, anyway...”

Eddie gazed into the woods, looking at where the wolf from before ran off to.

“I can see why people say it’s dangerous now. We haven’t even been out here for an hour yet, and already we’ve been attacked by something.”

“It’s really not so bad,” I reassured, patting my holster, “so long as you know how to defend yourself.”

An idea struck me. “Um...do you?”

The boy shook his head. “I can throw a punch well enough, but...I’m useless with a gun.”

I pushed myself off the tree. “Well then, lemme show you how to use one. I’d sleep better knowing you could. But first, we’ll need somethin’ to aim at...”

Searching the place for a target, I suddenly remembered that I had some empty bottles of Guarma Rum in my saddlebag and began digging through the seemingly bottomless pit, fumbling for them before yanking them out.

“Here,” I presented. “These’ll do.”

Pacing around while Eddie watched me, I decided to put the bottles on a tall-enough boulder just by the water as I set them down next to each other, stepping backwards once they were in position.

I unholstered my gun, beckoning the other man to come closer to me.

“Alright,” I said, “I ain’t much of a teacher, but I’ll shoot one, show you what I know...and then we’ll see if you can hit the other. Sound good?”

Eddie gulped. “Sure...I guess. You’re the expert here.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”

I aimed the revolver at one of the bottles. “Okay, so what you wanna do is...just make sure you got a firm grip on the gun, but don’t lock your arms. Keep your hands steady, align the sights with whatever it is you’re tryin’ to shoot, take a breath...and...” I fired the gun, instantly shattering the bottle into a pile of shards, “...shoot on the exhale. Got all that?”

The pianist still appeared a tad uneasy. “...I think so.”

“Good,” I handed the gun to him. “Now you try it.”

Hesitantly taking the revolver from me, Eddie gripped the weapon with both hands and took aim, his brows furrowed in concentration. I sauntered behind the boy, doing my best to guide him.

“Steady...” I reminded him. “And brace yourself. The recoil has more of a kick than you’d expect. Takes beginners by surprise sometimes, heh.”

Following my instructions, Eddie breathed in like I told him to and fired on the exhale, only to end up shooting the rock below the bottle.

“Okay...not too bad for a first try,” I encouraged. “Why don’t you give it another shot? See if you can hit the bottle.”

Pulling the hammer down, Eddie prepared another bullet and readied himself before pointing the gun once more, doing the same as he did before. The man seemed less afraid of the weapon this time, and the sense of uncertainty was gone from his determined stare.

Perhaps I’d make a gunslinger outta him yet.

“Alright...let’s try this again.”

I decided to give him a little more help on the second attempt and used my hands to position his own, pushing his arms out so they were extended farther.

“Try aiming a bit lower...” I suggested, gently holding him in place. I couldn’t deny that my heart was beating faster than before.

“Now, remember...relax. Don’t think too much about it. Just aim, breathe in, and...”

Eddie fired a second bullet with a thunderous bang, causing the bottle to blast into a dozen broken pieces. He gasped in surprise.

“Oh!” He exclaimed happily, his voice energized with disbelief. “I...I did it! I actually did it! I hit the bottle!”

I laughed along with him, proudly patting his back.

“See? You ain’t such a buffoon, after all.” I rested my elbow on his shoulder, giving him a wink. “Well...maybe a bit.”

Eddie tittered, returning the gun to me as he looked in my eyes. “Fair enough. Thank you, Arthur. I mean it. You’ve...you’ve shown me so much already within these past two days. I’m glad I met you.”

I smiled at him. “Me too. How’s about we get you back to Saint Denis first, pay a visit to the gunsmith...and buy you your very own weapon? You shouldn’t need it in the city, but it never hurts to be armed.”

He nodded in acceptance. “I’d like that. But...could we spend some more time out here first? The day is still young and, well, to be frank...I don’t want to go back.”

“The country’s growin’ on you, is it?”

Eddie grinned. “It might just be. Even with the wolves.”

“Ohh, don’t you worry. Saint Denis has plenty of its own wolves. They just ain’t as cute.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “Just wish I could skin them as well.”

A chortle escaped me. “I knew I liked you for a reason. Now c’mon.” I mounted my horse, gesturing for Eddie to join me. “There’s still a lot for you to see out there. You ever been to the Elysian Pool?”

The musician grabbed my hand and lifted himself up, wrapping his arm around my waist again. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

I tapped my spurs into the horse’s side. “Well, you will have now. It’s just north of here. I think you’ll like that area. The people there ain’t the friendliest, but the waterfall is somethin’ to behold. Now, let’s get going.”

Breaking into a sprint, Eddie and I continued our journey across the vibrant land as the sun finally reached its peak in the sky, warming up the world below with a cozy embrace.

I honestly wasn’t expecting to be out here this long, and Dutch was probably wondering where I had gone by now, but the more time I spent with Eddie, the less I wanted to return to camp or Saint Denis.

Being with that boy was like shuttin’ the rest of the universe out, and at the moment, that was exactly what I needed. So much shit was always happening with the gang whether it involved the O’Driscolls, the Pinkertons, or just arguing within the camp. Barely anyone there could stand each other now, and even Dutch and Hosea seemed to be drifting apart.

I just...couldn’t stay there. It always left me in such a sour mood. Gave me this constant sense of anger -- even more so than usual.

It...it just felt nice to finally have someone I could relax with. Someone who wasn’t part of the mess that I called my family. Who hadn’t been damaged by the world yet.

I only hoped I could protect him.

After all, I was probably the least safe person to be around in these parts, considering all the people hunting me down...but I just couldn’t bring myself to push Eddie away. He was the best thing I’d found out here so far, and...I was actually starting to like him a bit too much. The same way I used to like Mary.

It was a foolish dream to pursue, I knew. Eddie deserved someone far better than me, and I wasn’t meant for a life like that.

Though, I also couldn’t deny the feeling of joy I experienced around him. Just seein’ his face alone was enough to wipe away my worries. ...He did that unlike anyone else I knew.

I supposed, for right now, I’d just flow along with it and see what happened. Our current relationship seemed harmless enough, and I certainly didn’t mind being friends with Eddie...but the minute Dutch finished robbing Saint Denis of all its money, I’d have to let him go. Whether I liked it or not.

It was the last thing I wanted, and I wished I could just stay with him, but I couldn’t put Eddie’s life in danger. Not like that. Being close to me was too much of a risk, and he didn’t deserve to live with that kind of fear.

He deserved happiness.

Something that I was, and would forever be incapable of giving.

[drarrymylove]

Oh! You are doing prompts? I know you can do angst because your soulmate story hurt my heart multiple times. *Sniffles* This is probably silly and I only had a few moments to think of it. But.. what about Draco making a list. Like, 'The 8 reasons I hate you.' Maybe they had a break up and definitely need to get back together. Each number on the list gets progressively weaker until he just admits that he hates that he misses him.. or some shit.

It shouldn’t have surprised Draco that Pansy found a way to break into his flat.  Her abrupt entrance did startle him, but not enough to move him from his place on the sofa.  

“It looks like a fucking crypt in here.  Have you died?” Pansy asked, dropping her things on side table.  She pushed Draco’s feet from the sofa so she had a place to sit.

“Piss off,” Draco mumbled, “I told you I would need some space.”

“Yes, you did, but you’re being an insufferable drama queen.  No one has seen you in weeks.  You skipped my Yule party last week and I’m still furious.”

“You didn’t invite me,” Draco said.

“I never invite anyone!  You know that!  But you’ve always been there.”

“Sorry.”

“Really Draco?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Bloody anything! This isn’t you, you’re laying here in the dark.  No one saw you on Yule.  I’m not letting you spend New Year’s as a blanket burrito on your sofa. Fuck this, I’m turning on some lights,” Pansy lit the lamp on the table beside her.

Draco flinched away from the light, shielding his eyes.

“Merlin, you look like shit,” Pansy said.  

Draco couldn’t argue or even be offended.  He hadn’t even showered in a couple days.  

“I’ve come off weekend-long firewhisky binges and still didn’t have bags under my eyes like you’ve got now. The Draco Malfoy from the first week of December would be mortified to see the Draco Malfoy from right now wasting away like this. You do realize you broke up with him, right?” Pansy said.

Draco bit his lip to keep it from trembling.  Keeping the tears from his eyes was a more difficult battle.  

“Whatever.  I really didn’t come here for you.  I’m being entirely selfish,” Pansy started.

“Which surprises no one,” Draco interrupted.

“Damn right it doesn’t. I’m here to demand you attend my party tonight.  I’ve made bets with, shall we say, certain friends.  You could make me quite a bit of money if you show up.”

“What do you, of all people, need with more money?”

“Who are you, of all people, to ask a stupid question like that?”

“Fine,” Draco said, “How would I help you win your bet.”

“I bet them I could get you to come,” Pansy said. “No one believes me.”

“So everyone just wants to gawk at me and mumble things like ‘poor thing’ and ‘wow, he fucked up’? No thanks, I’ll just stay home.”

“Why would anyone think you’re the ‘poor thing’? You’re the one being an arse. And now a hermit.”

“You really do suck at this,” Draco said, settling back into the sofa cushions.

“I was upfront about my intentions and motivations.”

Draco didn’t answer.  

Pansy looked around the flat, making no effort to keep the judgement off her face.  She stood, gathered a number of empty dishes from the coffee table and sent them to the sink with the flick of her wand.  A few cleaning spells later, she stopped to look at the jumble of papers the teacups and empty plates had previously hidden.  She picked up the one that was the least crumpled.

“The hell is this?” she asked.

“Paper.”

“Wise ass”

She smoothed the paper out a bit more and turned on the overhead light.  Ignoring a groan from Draco, she sat back down with her new found treasure.

She read, “Eight reasons I hate Harry Potter.”

Draco sat up and reached for the paper.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Pansy said.  She twisted quickly, digging her feet into Draco’s chest. “You interrupt me even once, and you’re getting PT’d.  And don’t even think of threatening me, I know your wand’s in the kitchen.”

“Fine.  You want to read it, go ahead.  None of that is a secret,” Draco said, doing his best to cross his arms with Pansy’s feet in the way.

“Number one.  He asked me to marry him,” Pansy read. “Darling, you’re supposed to hate your partner AFTER years of loveless marriage and disappointing sex. Was the sex already that bad?”

“No,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

“Explain,” Pansy said.

Draco’s eyes widened.

“Not the sex, good lord, I mean why this is number one.”

“I didn’t want to be some achievement on his road to being normal.  How would I not notice that he asked me to marry him less than 5 minutes after Weasley asked Hermione to marry him?  I refuse to feel like he only asked me because all his best friends were being paired off and he didn’t want to be left out,” Draco said.

“You are so stupid.  You should have at least kept the ring,” Pansy said.

“I didn’t bother to look at it.”

“You said no before you looked at the ring!? Who the hell turns down a Greta ring!?”

“Greta?”

“You know, the blacksmith everyone says has goblin blood? She only makes custom orders and her current wait list is almost eight months just for the consultation.  Even then, she isn’t guaranteed to take the commission. You could have been so spoiled.  Poor Granger didn’t get a ring. Well, not her own.  I think she ended up with an heirloom from her muggles.  But he didn’t have it when he asked.  If she was disappointed, she did a good job of hiding it.”

He had been planning it for at least a year? Draco chest felt tight as he forced himself to take a deep breath. When he didn’t speak, Pansy looked back to the list.

“Number Two: He refuses to look presentable even when it’s important,” she read. “Aww, poor baby, were you forced to endure his poor judgement for wearing white socks with black trousers and black shoes?”

“You saw him! We were celebrating my completion of the training program at St. Mungo’s.  We went to one of the nicest restaurants in Wizarding London and he couldn’t be bothered to fix his hair or put on a decent set of dress robes and-”

“He was wearing a SAINT LAURENT SUIT YOU IGNORANT PUREBLOOD!”

Draco was gobsmacked.

“He bought the suit in my shop! That is one of the most expensive muggle lines I carry.  Yes it was muggle, but the suit alone was three-thousand muggle.  That’s- that’s more than 600 galleons.  Plus the shoes, the tie, the damned pocket square.  I squeezed every last galleon I could out of him.  He was better dressed than you that night!  I even made, I mean, convinced him to get the solid gold cuff links and tie pin, I’ll admit, that was the easy part, but you- Draco.  I’m insulted.”

“It can’t be helped that I don’t share your enthusiasm for Muggle fashion.”

“It’s not enthusiasm. It’s expertise, and as for his hair…you weren’t complaining when you couldn’t keep your hands off it.  It was rather off-putting.”

“Number three: Kissed me in front of Mother,” Pansy continued.  “Okay, I’ll give you that one. He probably picked up that casual and indecent displays of affection from his friends.  I bet Ron kisses Hermione in front of his parents.”

“I mean, it was embarrassing.  I know Mother knows we kiss, but-”

Pansy cut him off, “I’m still angry about the blatant disregard for the way I dressed him for your celebration dinner, you don’t get to speak until you apologize. Number four: I hate Potter for forcing his friends on me.? Hurry up and apologize because you have to explain to me how this works.”

“I’m sorry I expected a wizard to wear wizard’s robes to a restaurant in wizarding London. What do you mean explain?”

“I mean why is it so bad to spend a little bit of time with his friends?  It’s a small price to pay isn’t it?  He is very good at pretending he isn’t miserable when he comes to brunch with us even when Blaise flirts with you right in front of him or when Millicent kept showing him pictures of her cats.  When was the last time one of his friends talked about his arse while making direct contact with you? Hm?  You do realize you don’t have to be their friend.  You just have to, well, had to, love Harry enough to let him have his favorite people all in one place for a little while.  That’s what he did for you.  He hated me for ages, but after a while, it didn’t matter.  We both wanted to be around you and that meant sometimes being around each other.”

Draco pulled away from Pansy, finally pushing her feet off him.  He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his chin on his knee.  “You’re making it difficult to stay angry.”

“If you want to stay angry, try harder.  I’m literally reading you a list of all the reasons you hate your ex-boyfriend.  It’s not my fault your list sucks.”

Draco was now fighting tears.  Unwilling to admit they were from anything but frustration, he let Pansy continue.

“Number Five: He shuts me out. I don’t understand,” Pansy said, with noticeably less venom to her words.

“He won’t let me in.  I know things still get to him, even after years.  He still has nightmares.  He never talks about it.  Harry will still have days where he looks so far away and he won’t talk to me.  I’m right there and he shuts me out.”

“But you’re there.”

“I’m always there.  I never kick him out of bed when his insomnia keeps him awake and he won’t sit still.  I don’t leave when he is in a bad mood for reasons he won’t discuss.  I don’t get angry when he won’t stop making noise,” Draco said.

“Making noise?” Pansy asked softly.

“He gets anxious sometimes.  He taps his fingers, bounces his knee, tics that make noise that drive me mad, but I don’t say anything because I know he can’t help it.  He never talks to me about it though.  Even when he gets really bad and doesn’t notice he’s rapping his knuckles on the table; I’ll take his hand, hold his hand, to make him stop instead of telling him he’s getting on my nerves.  When Harry would look at me, I could tell there was so much still bothering him that he never talked about,” Draco said.

“But you’re there,” she said again.

“Yeah.”

“You are not hearing me.  You are there for him.  That is what he needed from you.  Not everyone is able to talk about things.  The things he went through, what you went through.  There aren’t words enough to say what keeps you two up at night.  Some day, that may change.  But Draco, you don’t talk about anything either.  Being with Harry was enough for you.  You have said that to me on more than one occasion.  You had no words for the hurt, the anger, the shame and regret.  You never opened up, but you said that having someone who knew and understood, having him made each day bearable.  Maybe that was what you were to him, too.”

“Not anymore though,” Draco said, his words catching in his throat.

“Which brings me to the next one, I suppose. Number Six: He didn’t try to stop me.”  

Draco hugged his legs tighter.  Turning to face Pansy, he said, “He just let me go.  I said I didn’t want to be his safety net.  I didn’t want to be the stand in while he tried to create his own version of what all his friends have.  If he wanted me, he had to want me. He has always been so self-sacrificing; I would hate myself and eventually him if he was only with me because he thought that was what was expected of him.”

Pansy brushed her fingers down Draco’s cheek, “Sweetie, this is going to sound terrible, but no one wants you two together.”

Draco gave a short laughed, “It’s only funny because I know what you mean.”

“Good,” Pansy said, smiling. “I want you two together.  I know his friends were rooting for you.  Your mother loves him for some reason.  Probably for how happy you were with him.  If he wanted to live up to the proverbial ‘everyone’s’ expectations, he would have stayed with Ginny.  Sure they could have been happy and loved each other.  But they would have gone their entire lives knowing or maybe just wondering if maybe there wasn’t something a bit more, you know?”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t fight for me.  He has not come to see me, sent me an owl, a text, anything.  I can’t go to him.  What would I say? ‘I know I threw our future away because I was scared you would eventually get tired of me and it would kill me when that day came, but I’m back now so let’s pretend nothing ever happened.’ I do not see that being a reasonable start to conversation.” Draco said.

“I do.  Did you not hear yourself?”

“As much as I love the sound of my own voice, I don’t remember word for word what I say when I’m mid-tirade.”

“You said you wouldn’t marry him because you were scared. Number Seven,” Pansy said as she continued to read the list, “He let me ruin everything.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“This is the same as number six, nothing but more trademark drama queen,” Pansy said.

“Anything.  He could have said anything and I would have stayed.  Harry said nothing and just let me leave.  At this point, how do you fix something like this.  Maybe right then, or even the next day.  It has been almost a month and Harry does not want me back.”

“How many times have you called him? Sent him a text or an owl?”

“None, but-”

“How do you know he doesn’t want you back,” Pansy asked. “You are a complete mess and you have not once tried to contact him either.  How do you know you didn’t break his heart?  How do you know he’s not hiding on his sofa practically growing mushrooms, too?”

“Why would he? He asked me to marry him and I threw his ring on the ground, and said I refused to be an accessory simply so he wouldn’t be the only one of his golden trio that wasn’t living the picture perfect domestic bliss.  I would hate me for the rest of my life if I had done that.”

Pansy looked up at Draco with tears in her eyes, her hand pressed over her mouth.

“What?”

She shook her head, moved her hand enough to speak, “You threw a Greta ring on the ground.”

“It was still in the box.”

“Small mercies, I suppose.” Pansy brushed the tears from her eyes, avoiding her makeup, and read the last item on the list, “Number Eight: I hate how much I miss him.  I hate that he deserves someone who can love him half to death and make him so very happy.  I hate that I am not the one doing that right now.”

Draco got up off the sofa and made his way toward the kitchen, “It is just a stupid list.”

Pansy watched as he poured water into a glass straight from the tap and drank it down.  “Yes, Draco.  Most of these things were pretty stupid.” She looked at the clock, “You know, there are still a couple hours before midnight.  You can still make it to my New Year’s Day Countdown.  I’m sure we can find you someone to kiss at midnight.”

Draco looked back at Pansy. “You could have just said that Harry was there.”

“Yes.  Harry is currently at my house, at my party, while I’m here begging you to stop being an idiot.  Like I said, there are a couple hours before midnight so for the love of all that is magic, wash up first.  You smell almost as bad as you look.”

Draco said nothing even as Pansy left.  There was no way he was going to stroll into Parkinson Manor just before midnight expecting a kiss and Harry’s open arms.  There, also, was no way he could stay home.  Before he could let himself become overwhelmed, Draco decided to start with something he could definitely handle.  He would start with a shower.

It was almost ten minutes past midnight, and Draco had not yet entered the ballroom.  The new year was already ticking by, the champagne bottles were all open, confetti and glitter covered the floor, and all the kisses were over. Draco took a steadying breath and entered the ballroom. Almost immediately, Harry stood in front of him.  Draco couldn’t look him in the face.

“Happy New Year, Draco.”

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

A short silence was followed by a rush of words, “I had no idea Ron was proposing to Hermione that day.”

“Pansy helped me figure that one out,” Draco said.

Harry broke another long pause. “I know you said you didn’t want to see me again.  I really needed you to know that though. I know how much it upset you,” he said, and he turned to leave.

Draco panicked and grabbed Harry’s hand.  Draco’s words caught in his throat before he was able to force them out, “Tell me this is over, that we are over.  I’ve ruined everything.”

Harry shook his head and turned to face Draco, “It’s only over if you say it is. I meant what I said.  I will be yours forever if you will let me.”

Draco was still unable to look at Harry.  He nodded and said, “Yeah, but that was before. I can’t make the past four weeks not exist.”

Harry took Draco’s chin in his hands and force Draco to look him in the eyes. “Draco Malfoy, I will be yours forever if you will let me.”

Draco felt a mix of disbelief and relief, “Anything. Anything you want.”

Harry smiled and the everything was right again.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the one you kissed at midnight.  I was too busy being a coward outside the ballroom door,” Draco said.

“I resent that implication,” Harry said. “I haven’t kissed anyone all year.” Then he leaned forward slowly, as if silently asking permission when Draco’s lips met his.

The kiss, however brief, was soft and sweet and left Draco’s heart pounding. He smiled and said, “Now you have.”

“Now I have. Can you stay with me tonight? Can we go soon?” Harry asked.

Draco answered, “I meant what I said, too. ‘Anything you want’ Harry.”

[hoe-imaginess]

HCs or draft scenario of Sasuke having a thing for Itachi’s s/o.

in some AU where the Uchiha massacre either didn’t happen or it happened later on bc i need Sasuke to be at a decent age to actually like Itachi’s s/o who is probably a good few years older than Sasuke k anywayyyy here we go

Sasuke

It was just a crush. A childish, naive crush. Sasuke was mature enough even at a young age to try and convince himself of that. There couldn’t be any other explanation for it.

But as the years went by, the spiral of confusion and want grew worse. It’s then that Sasuke’s childish crush manifested into an actual fixation.

He was older then, old enough to know that a shinobi should never let feelings overshadow his duties. But it was becoming difficult. Time he should have spent focusing on training was interrupted by thoughts of them. Thoughts of his brother’s lover. It was wrong, somewhere he knew that. But most of all, it was unfair.

Jealousy had always made a barrier in the love Sasuke felt for his brother, especially in recent years. Itachi was the prodigy. The family’s pride. The perfect shinobi. He had everything Sasuke didn’t. And now, he had one more thing that Sasuke could never have.

For a while, he was thankful that Itachi was so secretive about it. The less Sasuke had to hear about it, the less it hurt him. Itachi never brought his partner to meet the family, not at first. Sasuke knew it was the right thing to do. Hide all evidence of a life outside duty from their father. That’s how he wanted it.

But the truth came out sooner than Sasuke expected. Their father wasn’t pleased, as anticipated. Sasuke remembers his angry voice carrying through the house as he reprimanded Itachi. He went to eavesdrop, wanting to hear how his big brother would defend himself. Itachi was collected, not at all discomposed. He defended himself with the deference of a son to a father.

It upset Sasuke, for some reason. Why did his brother have to be so respectable? So perfect, all the time? How could he trust composure in this situation? 

Itachi told their father the truth, that he had a lover. But duty always came first. He could manage his personal life as well as his shinobi life. It was an easy compromise for Itachi. He wouldn’t lie, he wouldn’t try to save himself from the admonishment he knew was inevitable.

Sasuke never found out how the ordeal concluded. But some time afterward, Itachi brought his partner to the house for the first time.

At first, Sasuke thought it was a stupid joke. Maybe Itachi had snapped. He was going to bring his partner before their father as an act of defiance. He was going to risk it all.

But no. Itachi’s partner had dinner with them that night. Sasuke couldn’t take it all in. They ate like a family. Harmonious, calm. Sasuke tried hard to find the underlying tension in the room, but there was nothing. He tried to find the disapproval in his father’s eyes. There might have been a scrutinizing gaze every now and then, but nothing that suggested he preferred Itachi’s partner not be there.

Sasuke almost felt guilty for being so disappointed by his father’s tolerance. Never did he think he would deplore the absence of his father’s fury and judgement.

Even after Itachi’s partner leaves, Sasuke expects the discourse to ensue. Their father will likely begin his delayed critique. Tell Itachi he doesn’t approve, and that this should be the last time he ever brings his partner around again.

But no, he does no such thing. He doesn’t seem entirely pleased, but there’s no blatant disappointment like Sasuke expected. Fugaku just doesn’t comment. He goes to his study without a word.

Their mother asks for Sasuke’s help cleaning up after dinner. As he puts away plates, Itachi returns from walking his partner home.

“______ seems very nice, Itachi,” Mikoto says as she washes a bowl. “I’m happy for you, son.”

“Thank you, mother.” Itachi comes to stand at Sasuke’s side. At first, he thinks Itachi expects feedback from him too. He searches his brain for something that will satisfy both Itachi’s expectation, and his own spite. But then he takes a plate from Sasuke’s hands. “I’ll take it from here, Sasuke. Go sleep. You have academy tomorrow.”

Sasuke doesn’t complain, he leaves without a word. But his anger is still profuse, so much so that he gets almost no sleep that night. His mind is swimming with thoughts of his brother’s lover, and how desperately he wishes his feelings for them would just disappear.

~

“Sasuke?”

His kunai hits the bullseye just as he turns at the sound of his name, at the sound of that voice. He knows it’s them without needing to look, but he has to, no matter how badly he wants to ignore them.

“_______.” He hopes he sounds as bland as possible. Any little effort to brush them aside serves to soothe his ego.

They smile at him. It’s a friendly smile. An innocent, non-intimate smile. An obligatory smile you would give your boyfriend’s younger brother. It aggravates Sasuke. It makes him feel so… irrelevant.

“I was wondering if you’ve seen Itachi,” they say. “He was supposed to come back from his mission this morning, but I haven’t seen or heard from him.”

Sasuke feels a twinge of annoyance. Itachi had come back that morning, just as scheduled. It must mean he was too busy to bother giving his parter notice. It frustrates Sasuke in two respects. How could they expect his older brother to take time out of his busy schedule to report his whereabouts every second of the day? It was naive of them… Then again, how could Itachi leave them in the dark? It didn’t seem fair. They deserved to know, as Itachi’s partner. If anyone can empathize with the pain of feeling neglected, it’s him.

But ultimately, he turns his anger onto his brother’s partner. Why come to him? Why was he his brother’s keeper? Why couldn’t they have gone to bother his parents? He’d endured it all his life. Living in Itachi’s shadow. People only bothered paying him any attention because of that. 

“I don’t know.” He looks away from them then, throws another kunai. It hits the bullseye.

They wait for more, but nothing comes. It seems as though he’s completley returned focus to his training.

“Oh… okay.” He hears the uncertainty in their voice. The awkwardness. He almost regrets his attitude, but he won’t go back on it now. “I’ll see you then, Sasuke.”

He doesn’t say goodbye. He won’t even turn to watch them leave.

~

Sasuke can’t remember how many nights it’s been now. It feels like an endless cycle of frustration, humiliation, and hurt pride.

After the first night Itachi had his partner over for dinner, Sasuke would have assumed it to be sufficient enough. And rightfully so. All that was meant to be accomplished was introducing them to their father. He didn’t even need to approve of them, only acknowledge. That should have been enough. There shouldn’t have been any reason for them to keep coming over, acting so congenial, like they were supposed to be some sort of family.

Yet here they were, sharing dinner with his family once again. Sasuke had found reasons to skip dinner the last two times, but his mother wouldn’t hear it this night. She said it was rude, even disrespectful to Itachi’s partner.

“Please forgive me if I’ve been imposing,” they say at one point, sincerely apologetic. Sasuke wishes there were a flattering undertone to their words, that they were merely feigning the sincerity just to gain the favor of his parents. But no, it’s genuine. Sasuke can see that, and so can his parents.

“No need to apologize, dear.” Mikoto smiles at them. “It’s a pleasure to have you over.”

“I just feel so intrusive sometimes.” They pick timidly at their food, still not completely assured. Then they bow just slightly. “I understand how busy you are, Fugaku-san. I would hate to feel as though I’m taking away from the only time you have with family.”

Fugaku only gives a hum in response. At first, Sasuke thinks that’s all he’ll offer. Guilt and anticipation rises in him once again, hoping that his father will disregard them as a simple nuisance. He shouldn’t be so pleased with the thought. But then Fugaku continues, much to his surprise, “It’s no trouble.”

Sasuke feels his heart rate pick up. It wasn’t fair. How could their father be so lenient? And now, out of all times? When Sasuke’s composure was hanging by a thread?

Itachi’s partner seems relieved and pleased, maybe even grateful. Their smile is gleeful, but they compose themselves. “Thank you.” They bow again from their sitting position. “Please let me know if my presence is ever an inconvenience.”

There’s a silent consensus then. Their family was always one to forfeit prolonged conversation where they felt it was unneeded. Itachi’s partner’s courtesy was satisfactory, it seemed. But to Sasuke, it was just pathetic. 

They eat in silence for a few calm moments. Sasuke succeeds in containing his frustration for only that long. But there’s a point he can no longer stay quiet. 

“Now.”

The rest at the dinner table pause their eating to look at him. No one says a word, expecting him to continue. When he doesn’t, Mikoto cocks her head. 

“What is it, Sasuke?” she asks.

“Now,” he repeats again, more firmly this time, not meeting any of their eyes. Itachi watches him closely, the calmest out of the company.

Sasuke sees that no one catches on. And although the confused, expectant silence he receives is enough to make him regret his outburst, he doesn’t care at this point. 

“You’re being an inconvenience now.”

There is no reply from anyone. Maybe they’re trying to decide whether he’s serious, or if it’s just some cruel joke. He can feel their gazes. Confusion. Disappointment. Anger. Embarrassment on his mother and brother’s part.

“Sasuke,” his mother hisses under her breath, as if no one else in the confined room will hear. He looks to see his mother’s expression, a desperate plea for him to go back on his word. To explain himself. To apologize. But he won’t.

Itachi’s voice is the one that starts to break down his facade. The fluid coolness behind it seemed to have that effect. “Why do you say that?” he asks Sasuke.

It’s not at all said in anger. It’s much less a serious inquiry than it is a critique. Even his expression is calm. Unreadable, as usual. That makes it even more unsettling.

Sasuke finally looks at Itachi’s partner, the gaze he had been avoiding the most. He sees the hurt in their eyes, the inevitable hurt that shouldn’t disturb him as much as it does. Yet his anger can’t subside. 

“If you’re so uncertain about whether you’re imposing or not, then why do you continue to impose?” In spite of his racing heart, he tries to sound as impassive as possible. He should stop while he’s ahead, he knows that. He’s only digging himself into hole. 

Itachi is looking at him, and Sasuke feels the sweat gather at the back of his neck. Will he respond? Will he defend his partner? Sasuke can’t be sure. 

“Sasuke, don’t be rude.” It’s their mother that reacts again, her voice thin and anxious. Fugaku says nothing, only watches the scene unfold. 

“Sasuke…” Itachi’s partner is having trouble finding their voice, expression a painful mixture of sorrow and uncertainty. “I’m… sorry if I did anything to make you think that.”

Sasuke doesn’t respond. He doesn’t think it warrants a response. He wouldn’t even know what to say. He’s done enough. He knows that. 

He pushes off from the table, stands, and leaves before anybody can say anything else. He thinks he hears his mother protest. Itachi’s partner looks to him for an explanation, but he says nothing. 

They look down into their lap, feeling an embarrassing, ashamed heat warm their cheeks. They feel like crying. Being in the Uchiha clan leader’s presence was stifling enough. But to have their insecurities confirmed, by the youngest of the household, no less, was defeating.

“I think I’ll go,” they say, standing and trying to quell the threat of tears. 

“No, _____, it’s alright.” Mikoto pleads, but her reassurance doesn’t reach their ears. Fugaku remains silent, neither approving nor disapproving.

Itachi too offers no reaction, undisturbed even as his partner leaves without a word. He can only stare at the spot where Sasuke once sat. 

~

He’s sitting on the back porch when Itachi finds him. Not that he had really been looking. He knew it’s where Sasuke would be. Too proud to evade the damage he had done and leave the house, but too anxious to face anyone directly. If he was going to contemplate what he had done, it would be here in his own home.

Sasuke knows the footsteps that approach him are Itachi’s, but he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t quite know what to expect. He’d been trying to anticipate what this confrontation would look like. Part of him appealed to the cynicism that had thrived thanks to his jealousy. Maybe Itachi didn’t care about his partner. He wouldn’t be angered by Sasuke’s words. A slight on his significant other would not be a slight on him. Maybe Itachi had even been hoping that someone would chastise them, that a weight would be lifted off his shoulders. Maybe Sasuke did him a favor.

But that was unlikely. Sasuke knew his brother well. Itachi wouldn’t invest time into someone he didn’t genuinely care about. Maybe he was angry. Maybe this had damaged their relationship permanently. 

Sasuke would be lying if he said the thought didn’t hurt him, but he couldn’t face his regret and despair now. He couldn’t let Itachi see it.

The older Uchiha stops behind Sasuke, keeping his distance. 

“I’m sorry, Sasuke.”

Sasuke won’t turn around to look at him, but his chest tightens. He pretends not to know what Itachi is talking about. But Itachi sees through it. 

He knows. He had known the entire time. His dinner outburst was the last confirmation, the push Itachi needed to finally amend for the turmoil he assumed Sasuke had endured all this time.

But Sasuke’s back is still to him. He won’t dare look at his older brother. He doesn’t want to see his pity, his fruitless remorse. It would only make it all worse.

“I didn’t know it would come this far,” Itachi tells him. “I didn’t know it would affect you this much.”

Distress rises in him. “What are you talking about?” Sasuke knows he doesn’t sound convincing. Even if he did, there’s no fooling his older brother. But it’s the only thing he can do now to salvage what little pride he has left.

Itachi seems to respect this, even though he doesn’t back down. That wouldn’t be fair to Sasuke. “I should have known not to bring _______ here. Not this often. It was unfair of me. For that, I’m sorry.”

Sasuke says nothing in return. He can’t process all of this. Knowing that his brother had been aware all this time is both embarrassing and infuriating. How could he let him go on like this? Looking like a fool? Itachi was right to admit his own discretions, at least. He should have known better than to bring them around, he should have better than to jeopardize his younger brother’s sanity.

Sasuke felt betrayed, in one way. Somehow understanding, in another.

“Do you even like ______?” he asks his older brother. It comes out quietly, a sentiment that had been floating in the back of his mind for years now. He regrets it immediately. He didn’t seem to know when to hold his tongue when it came to them. Itachi narrows eyes.

“Yes.”

Sasuke doesn’t know what answer he was looking for. Even if he had said no, he wouldn’t be any more disappointed or relieved.

“It’s not what you think it is,” Sasuke insists, even though he knows it’s useless to snake his way out of this now. Itachi knows. Apparently, he’s always known. What more was there to hide?

“Whatever you say,” Itachi says. Not condescending, but acknowledging that he won’t break Sasuke’s bluff no matter what he does. He’ll respect that. “What do you want me to do, Sasuke?”

Sasuke suddenly bubbles with anger. He stands, rounding on his older brother. “Don’t make any decisions just because of me.”

“I won’t, unless you want me to.”

Again, Sasuke doesn’t know if that makes him happy. His older brother was a loyal man. To his family, and to those he cared about outside of his family as well. He respects Itachi for that. He always has. The fact Itachi was willing to choose him over his own lover should please him, but it doesn’t.

“I won’t say a thing to anyone, Sasuke,” he promises, as if it will mend the situation. Itachi knows it won’t. “I never did this to hurt you. Just know that.”

And Sasuke does. He never once imagined Itachi was parading his partner around to spite him. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that Sasuke felt something for the same person as his brother. He never imagined they would be in this situation.

He doesn’t respond to Itachi. It’s not to be difficult, not to be petty. He simply has nothing more to say. Nothing will repair his pride now, and nothing will change what’s been done.

Itachi understands, and figures his brother wants to be alone. He’ll need some time to himself before going back in to face their mother anyway, furious and ashamed by her son’s behavior. Itachi wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

Nevertheless, the consequences are set in stone. Itachi leaves his brother, knowing this. But he wonders where it will lead them.

~

Itachi stops bringing his partner to the house. At first, Sasuke feels a twinge of guilt.

He loves his brother. He does. That Itachi made a sacrifice like that for him is touching, but upsetting. He didn’t like knowing he was being pampered. That a routine was being modified for his sake. For his stupid, confusing feelings.

There’s even a point where Sasuke is certain they’re no longer dating. He pondered it often. Did Itachi break up with them? When? And how? How did he do it? What excuse did he make? Even Itachi made up a lie, some scapegoat to save Sasuke’s pride, Itachi’s partner would have to know it was a result of what had happened that night at dinner. Sasuke hated that thought.

It seemed that all he had tried to do up until this point was make them dislike him. Maybe it would keep them away, and his feelings would die down. It was the only solution. Yet now that it had happened, he wasn’t satisfied at all. He felt only empty.

He finds himself training more often, and more ardently. It takes his mind off of the anxieties swimming in his head. He thinks he’s found a solace there alone in the woods, wearing himself out day after day, something to take his mind off of the confusing, harrowing reality of his situation now. But anguish always seems to find him. 

He can sense their presence before they even say anything. His heart nearly stops. Why the hell did they always find a way to disrupt his peace of mind?

Their footsteps stop somewhere behind him. How far, Sasuke doesn’t know. But he can sense they’re keeping their distance. Good, Sasuke thinks. They should know better than to provoke him after all that had happened. Yet another part of him wishes he had the courage to face them, too look into their eyes and see the damage had had done.

“Sasuke,” they say. He doesn’t like the sad reticence in their voice. The guilt he had hoped would stay dormant creeps in once again. “I’m sorry. For whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you and Itachi.”

Sasuke works his jaw, never cursing his own brashness as he did now. He should have never said anything that night. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have let his brother be happy. He should have let his lover be happy. 

“It’s nothing you did,” Sasuke tells them. But it’s a lie. They made his feelings run out of his control. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But they had succeeded in making him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t known before.

They smile a sad smile. Even though Sasuke can’t see it, he can feel the change in the air. They probably don’t believe him, but there’s a grim acceptance between them then. 

Part of him wishes they would just leave. The other hopes that they don’t, fearing that this will be the last semblance of peace they’ll ever have between each other again.

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care about them. As far as he can tell, he succeeded in ruining his brother’s relationship, which had never been his official goal, but he supposes it only aids the process of ridding himself of trivial feelings. So why did it hurt so much? 

“Whatever happens, Sasuke, I hope we can still be friends. If that’s what you want.”

He grits his teeth. What reason did they have to be so congenial? After all he had done to them? It was stupid of them. It was pointless. How could they be so pathetic?

“I don’t care,” he responds. He takes a kunai and throws it at its target. He thinks it lands the bullseye. But he’s not paying attention. He can see, hear, and feel nothing but their disheartening presence. It’s almost overwhelming.

They would be disheartened, but they expected this sort of reaction. 

They asked Itachi before whether speaking to Sasuke would be ill-advised. Itachi didn’t seem to have an opinion. He said it was their choice. Whatever would ease their mind. But he did warn them that Sasuke would likely not react well. 

And above all, Itachi said they shouldn’t mention that they were still together. 

Itachi didn’t tell his lover about Sasuke’s feelings. He would respect his brother’s privacy. All Itachi said was that any talk of their relationship would be better left unsaid. And they understood that. It didn’t seem to make Sasuke’s spirits lift at all though. That’s what was so disappointing.

“I’ll see you around then, Sasuke.”

He’s still resonating with silent anger as they say it. He can’t stand the guilt within him. But before he can turn around and even think about amending his mistakes, they’re already gone.

Sasuke sighs in dismal defeat, but knows it’s better this way. 

[asthora]

The Last Dance

The Courier and Benny have their final face off and there’s only so much room for ambition in New Vegas.  Eventual Courier x Benny.

Crazy.

Goddamn mother-fucking crazy.

Benny doesn’t know if he means himself or the broad bathed in blood who’s just smashed in a Legionnaire's head with the heel of her boot.  God, he thinks he fucking loves her.  

Ha, love!

He’s confusing love for lust.  He does that often.  Once, he thought he loved a hooker but when he realized he remembered every detail about her tits, but not her name, he threw the notion of love out the window.  This is similar.  He knows the courier’s tits too.  Saw them a couple of nights ago in his suite.  Thought he would never see them again but hey, he’s thinking he might have a chance at round two if she decides to let his mangy ass go free.

A fucking pipe dream.

The courier empties a clip then uses the butt of her rifle to break one guy’s jaw then another poor soul’s nose.  Her companion, a man with a buzz cut who screams NCR even without the stupid beret, finishes them off with a few efficient shots to the gut.  Benny has never seen so much blood in his life.  Something about it is arousing.  Or rather, watching the courier do her dance of death is arousing.  The bodies, the blood, the severed limbs, it’s somehow just the right background for this celestial wasteland bitch.

How can this be the same gal he ravaged in his bed a few nights ago?  He wonders if he made it up.  A dream he conjured.  No, he couldn’t have.  The image of the courier laid out across his bed like a four course meal has been the only way he’s been able to survive the fucking nightmare he’s endured in this camp.  That night was real, just like this impossible slaughter is real.

He’s wandered into the world’s best show.  A front row seat to the showdown of the century.  She unceremoniously beheads Caesar.  Takes a fucking baseball bat to his head like it’s 2077.  A home fucking run.  Then his goddamn lapdog, Vulpes, the most evil son of a bitch from here to New Vegas and back, is just laid out like a nice steak, butchered and bloodied and fucked over until he’s ground brahmin and the courier is standing over his body triumphantly.

Benny can’t believe he bagged this broad.  

She’s a nightmare.  A daydream.  A scourge on this earth and she isn’t finished purifying the desert just yet.

The courier moves on, leaving the confines of the tent while he stays put on his knees, tied up like slaughterhouse brahmin waiting for the send off.

“Christ,” he says under his breath.

Off to the side, the severed head of Caesar is looking back at him with wide, startled eyes.  What a sight.  Any other day he would rejoice, the great Caesar is dead!  But he’d like to rejoice in the comfort of The Tops or at least somewhere that isn’t the dying black heart of the Legion.

He waits patiently, because that’s all he can do.  He listens to the sound of bullets flying and grown men screaming.  He wonders about the logistics of taking out the entire Legion camp, something the NCR has been wanting to do since the skirt wearing assholes plopped down across the Colorado.  He guesses it all came down to the fact that she had the balls where the NCR’s turned blue.   Then it helped that she had the jump on them.  She had Caesar's trust.  Never did the wrinkly old bastard think that a woman could send him flying from his pedestal.  Maybe that was all she needed.

A risky move, one Benny isn’t sure he would make, but he trusts the courier to do things right.  She has more luck than Lady Luck herself.  She’s also batshit crazy.

He’s beginning to wonder if the crazy broad is ever coming back when a weird silence settles over the camp.  There isn’t even any pathetic moaning of survivors.  The bitch killed them all.  He laughs into the void.

Dead!

The flap of the tent rustles and Benny straightens and lifts his chin, as if that’s going to help him look any more authoritative while he’s down on his knees like a New Vegas tramp.  He supposes he should have taken this time to think of how he could convince her to let him live.  But, the time has passed, and he blames dehydration and an empty stomach for the poor judgement call.

He’s as good as dead.

The courier walks towards him.  She takes big strides, walks with shoulders thrown back and her chin held high as if she’s going somewhere important.  She crouches right in front of him, so close he could count the freckles that pepper the bridge of her nose if he was so inclined.

“So pussycat,” he says.  “What’s next?”

She cocks her head  and gives him a shit-eating grin.  If he was nervous before, he’s sweating bullets now.  To think just seconds ago he was pondering walking out of this camp a free man.  The look in the courier’s eyes is downright devilish.

“I didn’t really plan this far,” she answers.  A lie.   Of course she did.  She’s like him, she sees all the angles and plans appropriately.  She knows exactly what she’s going to do and she’s gonna let him sweat over it for a few minutes.

“Time keeps on ticking, babydoll.  If you don’t make up your mind soon, we’ll be dancing in the dark.”  He laughs, but it sounds brittle and forced.  Fuck.  Charming his way out of this one is out of the question.

She laughs too.  “I like the dark.”

The courier stands up and puts a hand on her hip.  She’s wearing next to nothing, ripped jeans and a white tank top that has a few holes and more than one blood stain.  How is she not dead?  Maybe it’s all the crazy in her that keeps her kicking.  If two bullets to the noggin can’t send her off, the Legion can’t touch her.  She’s goddamn immortal and he doesn’t have a chance up against her.

“I get it pussycat.  Fair is fair.   And eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  I deserve the worst,” he says.  Trying to woo her cold cold heart with pitiful moaning isn’t his best card, but doesn’t have the ideal hand to work with.  He’s going to count his blessings and remember she didn’t stick him with that switchblade she had stuffed in her bra the other night.  She’s had the chance to kill him.  Or maybe she was just waiting for this moment.

She raises an eyebrow.  “So you’re ready to die?”

“Well,” he gives her his slickest smile, the one that makes broads collapse into his arms.  “I wouldn’t say ready.  Just accepting and  thanking god above that a barn-burner like yourself is the one to bump me off and not some common wasteland fink.”

“You know how to charm a girl, Benny.” She deadpans.

“It’s a talent, what can I say?”

She lets out a long sigh.  He can tell she’s thinking, but he isn’t sure about what.  Which way to kill him perhaps?  Is she considering crucifixion?  He wouldn’t put it past her.  But maybe, the cross isn’t her style.  A good throat slash perhaps, or maybe she wants to send him out the same way he tried to kill her.  Bam bam.  

He wishes she would just do it so he wouldn’t have to keep waiting.  He’s been on his knees for so long that his legs have gone numb.  The first few hours were torture.  He felt every grain of Mojave sand through his slacks, biting his skin and eventually making him bleed.  He doesn’t feel anything anymore, wishes that the feeling would extend to his racing heart and sweaty armpits.  He wishes she would just kill him so the fear would go away.  He hates fear.

But she doesn’t seem to want to get the show on the road because she just stands there.  She looks at him for awhile.  She chews on her lip.  Circles him, running a hand through his greasy hair.  He would like it if she wasn’t tearing at the roots.  At one point she stops and starts cleaning the blood from her fingernails with water from her canteen and a decently clean portion of his dusty checkered coat.  Benny wants to fucking scream.

“Pussycat-”

“No,” she says.  “Don’t speak.  I’m enjoying the silence.”

She goes back to her circling.  This time she has a knife.  Sometimes she pokes him with it.  Gentle, not hard, just enough to sting but not enough to draw blood.  He knows he’s being teased.  Oh, she is a nasty one.  Every single jab chips away at his oh so holy pride, his carefully crafted cool cat image.  The bitch knows where to hit him where it hurts and he isn’t sure if he should applaud her or fucking lunge and try to rip her throat out with his teeth.

Woah.  Slow down there Benny-boy.

What a thought.  What a very tribal thought.  

Goddamnit, she’s wearing him down.  He has to focus.

But he’s tired, dehydrated, and he’s pretty sure he has a concussion from all those beatings the Legion so kindly gave him.  And she keeps going and going and going.  When he think she’s going to stop, she doesn’t.  He’s a doormat.  The courier wipes her boots on his slacks, spits in his hair, prods his bruises until he makes unholy noises.

Fuck he hates her.  He loves her.

At one point, her companion, the NCR fuck with the stupid hat, comes in to check on her but she waves him away and keeps up her torture.  Isn’t she afraid of Legion reinforcements?  Doesn’t she want to get out of here?  Move on with her life and leave him bleeding into the desert like the rest of her enemies?

Benny tries to think of it in a good light.  He’s the worst of the worst.  Her number one bad guy.  He’s getting the star treatment.  Caesar wasn’t important enough for her to kick and toss around in the dirt.  He should feel flattered.  That helps prop up his ailing ego a bit.  He holds onto that as she slaps him.  Once, twice, ow.

She crouches in front of him again.  She’s even closer this time.  Like really close, like oh boy, he can smell her.  Fuck.  Her baby blues are shining like neons.  She smells like sweat and blood and gunpowder.  A heady blend of the wasteland’s choice aromas.  She smells like Boot Rider, looks like New Vegas.

“I think I’m done,” she says.  “I’m getting bored.  You aren’t mouthy today, Benny.  I’m disappointed.”

He gives a tired smile.  “Sorry, honeybaby.  You caught me on a bad day.  Blame the concussion and the broken ribs.”

The courier pats him on the shoulder.  “You’ve been a good sport, Benny.  The best out of this whole goddamn game.”

“Well now I’m flattered, baby.  You’ve been 18 karat yourself, a real gasser.” He says.

“Ready for the send out?” She whispers.

“Endsville, next stop.”

The courier smiles and runs her finger along the rusted blade of her knife.  So she’s going with the classic hack and slash.  Here she is again, catching him off guard.  What a broad.

He thinks about closing his eyes but he ain’t a fink.  He squints a little instead.  He doesn’t want to seem too eager to meet the executioner’s axe.  She leans in closer, closer, closer.  The edge of the blade is up against his throat.  It’s warm like it’s sucked up some of the Legion blood and now has a dark heart of its own.

He waits.

Any minute now.

Tick tock.

Why the fuck is she taking so long?

The courier lowers her blade and the rope around his wrists suddenly falls into the dirt.  Is this a joke?  He looks down at his bleeding wrists and flexes his fingers.  They’re stiff.  The blood rushing back into his hands is painful and his vision goes blurry for half a second.  He isn’t sure if he should rejoice just yet.  What if this is a trick?  Another cruel torture device?  He watches her carefully as she reaches behind her and pulls out Maria.

Fuck.  Maria.

His number one broad.  His companion.  His first love.

She sets it before him gently as if she were setting down a puppy.  The courier looks up at him.

“I can’t fucking kill you.  I would like to but it just doesn’t feel right.  You deserve worse than death.  Life will fuck you over more than I can.” She says.

“You letting your number one most wanted walk free?”  He can’t believe it.  He just can’t.  The bitch is crazier than he thought!  He was ready to die and now he gets to live?  No, this isn’t how this works.  This isn’t how the law of the wasteland goes.  Like he said, and eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  That’s how it goes here, that’s how it’s always been.  Even in Vegas.

The courier smiles.  “You’re a fucking prick and I hate you with every fiber of my being.  I’ll kill you one day but it isn’t today.”  She throws her canteen at his feet and stands.

“So this is it?  You just gonna let me go free?” He says, clumsily grabbing Maria and checking the clip.  One bullet.

She bites her lip.  “Free is a relative term.  I have one rule.  You can’t come to Vegas.  You step one goddamn foot across the line and I’ll blow you sky high.”

His heart drops to his stomach.  His golden city gone.  His goddamn home snatched away like a child’s toy.  Benny grinds his teeth together.  Would it be a waste to put this one bullet in her head?

Yes.

There isn’t going back to Vegas, something told him that the moment he left the courier naked and asleep in his bed.  Once he crossed into Legion territory, once his plans reached the ear of the Chairman via the courier, there was no way he could walk back into The Tops without one of his boys blowing his brains out.  He went behind their backs, lied to them.  He broke rule number one of the Boot Rider code, a code that still hadn’t faded no matter how hard he tried to scrub it out.  He’s back to being a wastelander.  A wanderer.  A nobody.  And Vegas?  Well, he trusts the courier enough to do the right thing.

“Alright,” he says.  “You’ll never see me again.  Scramsville here I come.”

“Great!  Then we’re finished here.  Time to cash out.”

He can tell it gives her great pleasure to say that.  The courier slings her rifle over her shoulder, sticks her knife in her boot, and leaves Caesar's tent for the last time.  He doesn’t move.  He doesn’t know what to do next.  All he’s got is a checkered coat, one bullet, a half empty canteen, and the memory of a golden city in the middle of the desert.  The courier has taken it all from him.  Every moment of pain, every trial, every move he’s ever made has been for nothing.

If Benny were a man of superstition, which is isn’t of course, he would maybe chalk it all up to fate.  But fate ain’t a thing.  There’s the doing and the done and the rise and the fall and this here is the fall and he’s got no one to blame but himself.  A plan ain’t perfect when you fuck up murdering the one person who needed killing the most.  So this right here, this whole fucked up situation, the reason he’s on his knees beside Caesar's detached head, is because he couldn’t do it right.

No more blaming the Courier for his mistakes.  Time to own up, stop being a fink.  Benny knows he could keep crying in the rain over spilled brahmin milk but that’s not the Vegas thing to do, that ain’t the Boot Rider code.   So he stands, shakily at first, his knees wobbling like an old man’s and when the world stops jumping and jiving he puts one foot in front of the other, unsure of where he’s going for the first time in his life.  Benny walks, his city’s lights forever behind him.

Note: This is the first part of a longer story I’m trying out. There is more just not sure when I’ll post the rest.

[anotheraldin]

Find yourself waiting at one of the many vibrant railway terminals scattered across the Indian landscape for a few hours and you learn a lot about the country. Yes, gazing into the depths of your gracefully aging cell-phone, the greatest repository of information ever manufactured, might afford you some valuable insight into the political realities shaping your world, but as the battery starts to fade, and you come to grips with the reality that there are no charging pods in railway stations probably built through the hard labor of your forefathers under the occupation of the British (stations they would later suggest was a vital service provided by their colonialism, something the inferior races should be greatly appreciative of), you reluctantly submit to the unyielding badgering of your mind telling you to put your phone away lest you need it later only to find it as dead as your general awareness when on the tiny device. 

And as you shove your phone into your pocket, the deep crevice of an otherwise delicate kurta, forced to stare out into the abyss of an underdeveloped world – you slowly start awakening to the reality of your circumstance. At this very moment, you’re witnessing the breath of this land as it breaths, its heart as it beats, its soul as it clamors. You awaken to the realization that – in that very pensive ambiance – you’re experiencing the social realities that shape those very political ones of which you were attempting to gain insight as you creased, in frustration, the edges of your eyebrows peering into your phone.

Wait for an hour and you find yourself confronted by an Indian Bruno Mars. Rather, the vocals of Bruno Mars were it to bellow its melodious tunes to an upbeat Bhojpuri funk with similar spirit and angst. As you see him carrying a bucket and mop, going bogey to bogey on a momentarily abandoned passenger train, finally making his way over to your bench and courteously asking you to lift your feet so that the mop could clean the filth that lay underneath - you can’t help but wonder the circumstances which brought him in front of you.

Images flash before your mind of a singer, the likes of many that reside practicing their vocals within the passing alleyways leading to your small room in a pitiable part of the inner city. Guys sitting beside you during lunchtime in small shacks as they eat a few pieces of bread with lentil soup, the one meal on which they must persevere the entire day in pursuit of their dreams. You see them joking and belittling each other (as young men often do), completely unperturbed with the knowledge of the inevitable end to their dreams. If lucky enough, they’d join a street band performing at the countless daily marriages which take place across this nation, wearing bright attire from a different generation, and making just enough to feed themselves and their children the same two pieces of bread and soup once or twice a day. And if they weren’t lucky enough, then they – much like our Bruno – would have to grab a mop as their instrument of choice and strive to make ends meet the best they could. Yet despite all that, they would still sing atop their chords with the same fervor of those celebrities living lavishly, swimming in the adoration of an ocean of fans. A childish perseverance that refuses pity.

Wait for another hour and pity catches up with you in the form of an elderly man as he rolls his paraplegic body on a cart towards you in shame, extending his hands in hope of some sustenance. With the cheekbones of John Wayne, and arms sun-burnt with what resembles decades of hard labor – you again begin to wonder at what led him to submit his dignity in front of you. 

You see flashes of a hardworking man. One that would lift bricks – a crown of honor on the turban above his head – as he carried them from one end of the construction site to another. You see how, after working in this life for decades supporting his family and loved ones the best he could, he was crushed under a misplaced foundation as it fell upon his tired knees – the fault of contractors and owners as they forced their laborers in haste, those that would laugh at the notion of safety as one would laugh at the punchline to a bad joke. And yet, as those contractors fell soundly asleep that very same night – next to their unconcerned wives and children – this man wept at the cards he was just dealt. As he stared into the eyes of his aging wife weeping next to him in the hospital bed, and at the tears of his young children that could no longer be afforded an education – he lost, in that moment, the honor with which every man is sent – a right bestowed at birth by his Lord. 

And yet, as he accepted his fate, he did the only thing he knew possible. In order that he may keep feeding his children, he bought a small cart on which to support his body and started begging strangers for their mercy. Strangers that, in turn, would mock him or claim that he was running a business and reminisce about the affinity of the poverty stricken towards scamming the truly poor hardworking middle and upper class citizens who earn their wealth. Projections of their own miserable insecurities, hearts that would make even stones weep in envy. And yet this man persevered, losing a bit of himself every time as he extended his hand forth – knowing very well he would most likely receive nothing but arrogance and judgement – the image of his children hungry at home flashed before his eyes, motivating him as he continued from person to person seeking the only potential for help afforded to him in an otherwise unforgiving society.

Wait for a third hour and you see a couple, husband and wife, walking behind what seems to be a bright young woman – their daughter no doubt – leading them towards a train that had just arrived moments prior and parked in the terminal next to yours. Your curiosity grows for a moment, wondering why they’re holding on to her as they make their way towards the platform, only for it to quickly dissipate once you see the whites of their eyes fogging what lies beneath. You see these three making their way back and forth, clearly struggling to find the right bogey – but as they climb each and every single wrong one, you see this woman grabbing a hold of her parents and gently helping them up and down, clearly sweating herself but not letting the struggle reflect in her voice. A voice which only answered in the affirmative to any request of her ailing parents. You see them as they finally sit down for a moment in the bench next to yours. Clearly tired from the search, she walks over to the nearby counter serving snacks and, unrolling the crevices of her frayed sari, she reveals a meager twenty rupee note with which she purchases a bottle of rail neer (water). Walking back to her parents, she gently opens the bottle and lifts it up to their lips, slowly quenching their thirst with her own bare hands. After a few more minutes, she finally gets up once again – leaving them in search of the right bogey on her own – and, upon finding the proper one, returns quickly to take them to their assigned seats. And as they pass from view, you find your attention start to divert once again. 

You remember your own past, the time you worked at a nursing home. You remember the elderly woman that would make her way out to the front gates of the residence daily in wait for her son, only to return in disappointment every time. You remember conversing with another elderly abandoned mother, “son, do you know why I’m here?” “Why, ma’am?” you hesitate to respond. “Because I wasn’t wanted elsewhere,” she replies in a somber tone that reflects both a deep sadness, and a profound acceptance of her miserable fate. As you see the train start to depart half an hour later, their bogey passes by you and you catch one final glimpse of them sitting together – a picturesque memory of the perseverance required to be a family in India.

Wait for a fourth hour and you feel a slight tug at the hem of your cloth. A young girl, no older than six or seven, with shadows of dust marking the edges of her browning hair and a tattered frock speaking to her struggle and endurance in the ocean of apathy she must swim in daily. She stares deeply into your eyes, a piercing glance reflecting all the passion and determination of a girl on a quest to save the world. In reality, she seeks only to do her part in providing for her family. 

When she realizes she’s caught your attention, she lifts a handful of pens and with nothing but the absolute surety of a completed sale she asks, “How many would you like?” “None,” you reply. Bothered by an already prolonged delay, the only thing crossing your mind is the forethought of the soothing sleep only a gently rocking train can afford to provide. What need do you have for a pen? She doesn’t budge. Shooting a frustrated glance across your way, she repeats, “How many would you like?” “Leave me alone,” you beg. “No,” she replies, “Buy a pen.” “I don’t have money,” you lie. “Buy a pen,” she retorts, clearly seeing through your slowly weakening defenses. “I don’t need it,” you try to utter only to be stopped, “Just buy it.” “Here, just take some money and leave. I’ll lose the pens anyways –” you plead. “No, I don’t beg for money,” she cuts you off defiantly, almost offended at even hearing such a preposterous notion. “Okay,” you finally succumb to the barrier of resolve relentlessly tugging at your knees. As her stern glare finally breaks, and a smile blossoms from the edges of her arched dimples, she reaches down and hands you your pens quickly grabbing the cash extending from your hands. And when she gleefully skips away, glad to have made the sale of five pens (a number whose mystery you have yet to solve), you glance down to see that you’ve wholly overpaid five rupees from the total cost of those pens. Too tired to grow angry, you instead choose to reflect on what these five rupees may mean to her. 

Maybe she wakes at the break of dawn, in a hut made of straw and mud much like the other houses in the area, and grabbing a frayed bucket she heads out to the nearby public well to gather some water for her family as her mother starts trying to scrape together whatever pieces of bread and soup may have been left over from the previous night’s meager provisions in order to make her children breakfast. As this young girl and her siblings finish their meals, just barely enough to keep their backs from arching, she grabs her stash of pens – given to her by her father who’s left for the week towards the coal mines in the locality just to provide pennies for his family – and heads out to do her part. How many streets must she have crossed that morning – seeing other pretty young girls her age with hair glistening in the sunlight, spreading the crisp scent of coconut from the oil their mothers must have applied on them before sending them on their way? How many clean frocks and white socks must she have encountered heading to school while she turned towards the station? How many backpacks must she have seen being carried, containing anything from notebooks and erasers to sharpeners and even pens? Pens much like the ones she held in her quivering hands as she made her way to the train station? Pens which helped feed and sustain her, the same pens – at that very moment – being irreverently discarded by those other children in the carefree pursuit of their education? 

Despite your original efforts not to, you begin to grow in anger. Anger not at the fact that she took those extra five rupees from you, but that you didn’t accidentally slip her some more. Anger that you’ve lived your whole life in a haze of ingratitude and anger that you’ll probably return to this state of ingratitude once the memory of this poor girl starts to fade. This girl woke up today much like how she woke up yesterday and will do so again tomorrow, her life depending on the unwavering perseverance for which she must resolve her being lest she perish as a mere statistic, one which politicians will abuse for power, and the masses will continue to ignore for something more entertaining and distracting from their own miserable, empty lives.

Wait for a fifth hour and your face finally lights up. As you see your train slowly approaching the terminal – all those people around you start to become distant memories. You quickly bounce up, and upon finding the correct bogey, you make your way to your bed in anticipation of the long, relaxing journey that lies ahead. But after you’ve laid down the sheets, shown the conductor your ticket, called your loved ones to let them know you’re still alive, and curled up next to the pillow on which you’ll soon fall asleep – all those individuals simultaneously start returning in the form of overwhelming sensations that envelope your entire being. You think about where you are and what really defines this place. And as you start reflecting on the events of the evening, you happen upon a compelling reflection.

You realize that what defines life for many in India, and maybe even for those all across the developing world, is that very same perseverance you've been witnessing repeatedly these past few hours. You realize how much you’ve taken for granted your entire life, whether it be the material – in pens or money – or the abstract – in education and wealth. You realize that living in the developing world means having to strive and persevere on a daily basis in order to be afforded what you otherwise considered an afterthought. You realize that having a family isn’t a right, but a blessing for which people strive their whole lives to sustain. You realize that being able to fall asleep every night with a full stomach isn’t a right, but a treasure striven for and earned through the sacrifice of blood and sweat. You realize that having a good education isn’t a right, but a privilege from which people far more deserving remain bereft.

And you realize that, ultimately, living here – or indeed anywhere in the developing world – means persevering against all odds to survive, waging a war in the pursuit of contentment against a tide that seeks to drown all but those that remain swimming until they’re blessed to strike shore.

-Muzammil Ahmad.