#next chapter will also be angsty

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

An Unwavering Light - Chapter 5

Rating: T/ Teen for violence (in previous chapters) and mature themes including ones about trauma, grief and depression.

Setting: begins before the confrontation with Aizen and co. in Fake Karakura Town arc, and goes from there to the Thousand Year Blood War arc. This chapter takes place between chapters 422-423 of the manga.

Music to listen to: Wasteland by Royal & Serpent (YT | Spotify), Existence (Piano) by by Magome Togoshi (YT), Machi, Toki no Nagare, Hito by Shinji Orito (YT), Compassion by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify), Valtari by by Sigur Rós (YT | Spotify), and Ekki Múkk by Sigur Rós (YT | Spotify).

Fic synopsis: During the confrontation against Aizen, the unthinkable happens. For Hitsugaya, a vow is broken, and for Hinamori, her future is unknown. With everything in shambles, how can they piece their lives back together? Or their bond?

Chapter synopsis: While Hinamori continues her physical recovery in Twelfth Division, she gets a visit from Nemu. Hitsugaya considers his way forward, but it's harder than expected. Can a much needed conversation with Rangiku put him on the right track?

AN: Well, this is long overdue. I sincerely apologize for the delay with this chapter, and please know going forward there won't be a delay as long as this between chapters. I want to note that I try to write these chapters kind of like stand alone fics -- it's my bread and butter after all -- so I hope you can enjoy each chapter, whether you're someone who has just stumbled across this fic or has been reading it from the beginning.

Now, on to the chapter itself! We're in the recovery arc -- yes I'm giving this fic arcs -- which will be the focus of this chapter and the next. Prepare for some slower chapters, but I'm confident it'll be worth it in the long run! Also, while there will be not much hitsuhina, we've still got brotp goodness with Hitsugaya and Rangiku!

For anyone who remembers it, I wrote a fic featuring this same scenario for Hitsugaya in A Life Without Her. As mentioned, some of these fics or their ideas will end up being incorporated into this fic, whether it was a new POV or written differently. While there are similarities between the two, I chose to split this scenario across two chapters and include some new material to make it work better for this fic.

Thank you for your patience with how long it took to get this chapter out, and I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: BLEACH and it’s character’s belong to Tite Kubo.

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_________________

Hinamori can barely breathe in the frigid air. She rubs her arms and huddles into herself, and despite the cold, the ground beneath her feet is brittle and warm. There’s only darkness around her, reminding her of the first time she came here.

“Tobiume?” she calls out, but her voice does not echo.

She turns in all directions, squinting to find any sign of her zanpakuto spirit. She almost misses the twinkle in the distance, a tiny dot of red-orange light. She winces when prickly grass stabs her soles and steps over the tree roots when the backs of her feet brush against them. Her pace is slow, even as everything in her wants to race to the glimmer blinking at her.

The air is scentless, and she longs for the sweeter floral scents of the trees around her. More than that, she wishes she would see. She’d spent years in this darkness, trying to hear her zanpkauto’s voice and understand what this place was. As the decades went on and she gained her Shikai, Tobiume’s flames grew so large they illuminated the floating world around her in vibrant colors -- whether it was through igniting cracks baked into the earth or giving light to the sun and moon high in the sky.

The ground, though still warm, is cooling slowly beneath her feet the closer she gets. The glimmer is a group of embers, glowing beneath logs that threatens to cave in and extinguish them.

“Tobiume!” Hinamori half sobs. “You’re so…”

Her walk turns into a run, and she falls to her knees before her zanpakuto spirit. With shaking hands, she lifts the wood away. She feels around her and finds a few twigs. She breaks them in half and nestles them into the embers, but they do not catch alight.

Hands falling to her lap, Hinamori slumps by the meager warmth as the ground beneath her cools and the air freezes the tips of her fingers and toes.

_________________________

Hinamori comes out of her inner world at the same time a door slides open. She isn't conscious of it, her senses still hazy from the lack of quality sleep and the medication they've been giving her to numb the pain. Despite the the murkiness clouding her mind, she can't forget what she just saw. With a wince, she attempts to reach out to her zanpkauto.

“You’re awake.”

She blinks, then registers who stands in the doorway. “Kurotsuchi-san,” she rasps.

She can't remember the last time she spoke with Twelfth Division's lieutenant, let alone saw her.

Nemu says nothing until she's at Hinamori's bedside. "You shouldn't move. Were you wanting your zanpakuto?"

Hinamori can only nod. Nemu wheels the table closer to her, bringing Tobiume to be more than within an arms reach.

Hinamori could weep from the kind gesture. "T-Thank you."

She rests a hand on Tobiume's scabbard, and a pulse runs up her arm, as though a numbed limb was finally able to feel again. These days it took touching her weapon to fully feel her connection to her zanpakuto spirit, and after what he'd seen in her inner world, she understand why.

She turns her attention to Nemu. Had her fellow lieutenant expected her to still be unconscious? They’d taken her for another procedure, but she can’t remember if it was earlier today or only a few hours ago. Time passed strangely in this division. There’s no clocks in most rooms, and very few windows. The only way she is able to keep track was when someone brings her the small mushed-up meals, and even then it can be hard to tell when they're all taste and look the same.

Hinamori musters up a small, wobbly smile. “It’s good to see you.”

She meant it too. Most of the Shinigami who have come to her room -- either to check on the equipment she's hooked up to or to wheel her into and out of an operating theater -- have been strangers. She can’t remember the last time she saw someone familiar.

“Have you been awake for long?” Nemu asks, clasping her hands in front of her.

“No, I just woke up.” A half-truth, given she can’t remember when her dreams ended and her entry into her inner world began.

Nemu stares at her, saying nothing. Hinamori would’ve been unnerved if she wasn’t used to it. It had been particularly prevalent when she first joined the Women’s Association; she’d watch and rarely speak unless spoken to.

“How have you been?" she asks.

There’s a brief, slight furrow in Nemu’s brow, but if vanishes just as quickly. "I've been well."

"That's good. Did you need to check on the machine or give me something?”

“No, I didn't come here for either of those things. I…came here to check on you.”

She widens her smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

Nemu nods as her gaze falls to the side. “It’s nothing.”

The haze in Hinamori's mind lifts a few more layers, and she realises she can finally ask someone. “Can you tell me how has everyone else been? What’s been happening out there?”

Nemu bows her head, considering her questions. “I may not be able to tell you everything.”

“Because you’re not allowed to?” Hinamori asks, swallowing nervously.

“No, because we don’t have much time. I am expected to be with Mayuri-sama for a test on a new reishi device in ten minutes.”

“Oh…then, tell me what you can.”

Still, Nemu hesitates. Is she concerned about the time? Or about what she can tell her? She shouldn't have put her on spot. Hinamori opens her mouth to dismiss her request, but then Nemu begins.

_________________________

Shiro-chan? Hey, Shiro-chan, where are you?

_________________________

“Can you feel this?”

Isane, crouching on the floor, gently drags the pointed end of a brush across the underside of his foot. Before he even answers, his toes twitch in response. “Yes.”

“Good. Your leg and foot are responding without issue. There’s slightly higher sensitivity in your left leg. Captain Unohana may request that you come in for another assessment in a week to make sure this isn’t. Even if that were the case, it won’t be an issue for you in your everyday life or in combat.”

Hitsugaya nods. The division member behind Isane, Mori, writes down her findings and observations as she speaks. Isane stands and, once he stops writing, Mori takes the brush from her and hands her the reflex hammer from the tray.

Hitsugaya takes this moment to briefly glance at Rangiku, still sitting in the chair at his bedside. She’s not really with them, her gaze hazy and focused on the floor.

“Next, we’ll test your arm,” Isane says, coming to his right side. “Like with your leg, we’ll test your tendons and joints first, then the dexterity of your fingers. First, keep your arm relaxed while I hold it. Tell me if you feel any sensation, particularly any pinching or pain.”

He does as she instructs while she lifts and bends his arm at the elbow. She finds different points in his arm and bounces the hammer off them. Like with his leg, he watches his arm respond, seeing the muscles flex or the joints making his forearm and hand sway to one side. She reports her findings for Mori to write down while she goes down the length of his arm.

He’s instructed to curl each finger one at a time, then together to touch his palm, and finally each other. She gets him to do the same with his left arm. If someone who had not known what happened to him saw this, they’d think the arm is no different from the right. His muscles respond the same way, his fingers are just as flexible and responsive as their counterparts, and he feels nothing abnormal going through and up his nerves.

Done with those tests, Isane then instructs him to hold his arm out straight, then at several different angles. Again, nothing abnormal.

“Your arm is the same as your right.” Isane nods to Mori, who puts the clipboard under his arm and begins packing up the instruments on the tray. Rangiku, having looked up some time ago, gives Hitsugaya a small smile.

“We’re done with testing,” Isane says, drawing both of their attention. “We’ll present the findings to Captain Unohana. She should be visiting you in the next three hours.” Then to Rangiku. “She’ll want to assess your condition as well, Lieutenant Matsumoto.”

“I don’t think she’ll find any problems,” Rangiku says, and Hitsugaya expects her to wink and make some light-hearted comment, but she only adds, “I’ve been feeling better.”

Isane grins. “I'm glad. You seem better, from what I can see. Captain Unohana said she would come to your room first.” Back to Hitsugaya. “Then she’ll see you, Captain Hitsugaya.”

“When can I be discharged?”

His abrupt question shifts the mood in the room. Mori, having finished packing up the tools, freezes behind Isane and his surreptitious gaze goes between her and Hitsugaya. Both lieutenants’ smiles fade, but Rangiku is the only one who looks away.

“Although it’s ultimately up to my Captain,” Isane says, “I would advise staying today and getting discharged tomorrow.”

Hitsugaya clenches his jaw. “Can I ask you to pass on a request for early discharge along with your assessment to Captain Unohana?”

“…Yes, I will let my Captain know about your request.” Isane bows, and Mori follows suit. “I have to tend to other patients. If you need anything, Mori-san will be in the room across from yours.”

Rangiku bows her head in return, and Hitsugaya is slow to follow.

“Thank you,” he says.

Both straighten, and after receiving a nod form Isane, Mori leaves the room first. Raising his head, he it feels wrong to end things there.

“Kotetsu.”

She halts and turns to him. Her shoulders stiffen, as if dreading what might come next. “Yes, Captain Hitsugaya?”

“I apologize for my words to you yesterday.”

Isane, stumped, can only blink at him. He can sense Rangiku’s confusion, but he doesn’t look away from Fourth Division’s lieutenant.

“I didn’t act as I should have," he clarifies. "Thank you for arranging the Hojiku-Za procedure with Twelfth Division, and for bringing me back to Fourth Division.”

Isane’s gaze softens, both with relief and pity. Although the last thing he wants is the latter, he can’t be annoyed by her reaction.

She nods. “It’s all right, Captain. In emergency situations we can act differently from how we normally would. If you’ll excuse me.”

With a final nod to Rangiku, she leaves.

Hitsugaya expects his lieutenant to fill the silence immediately after Isane is gone, but it pervades until he speaks up. “They’ll be serving lunch soon. You should get back to your room.”

His words snap her out of her reverie, and she stiffly stands up. “Yeah, I suppose I better.”

Her lips don’t close, and he waits again for what she’s dying to say. He can sense it coming, about to crash over him like a tidal wave, threatening to turn the dull throb in his chest into an inferno.

“You should take Kotetsu’s advice.”

Again he’s stunned.

“It’s good news,” Rangiku elaborates. “I’m glad your limbs are all right. Still, she’s right. You should rest for another day. If I’m discharged today, Mingawa-kun and I can handle things. Hell, he can handle things for another day without either of us, he told me as much.”

“He visited you?”

“Yes. He wanted to visit you too, but you were in Twelfth Division at the time.”

He doesn’t doubt his Third Seat or his lieutenant, knows they can handle things for a short while. Even so… “I’ll discuss it with Unohana.”

The slight drop in the corners of Rangiku’s mouth says more than her words, “I’ll try to come back after Captain Unohana visits you. If not, then I'll see you tomorrow.”

He nods, and she takes it as her cue to leave. He stares after her, and an unease churns in his guts.

She’s not herself. She should've brought it up by now. Or did he just want her or someone to finally bring Hinamori up? Was that why Isane had tensed up before? She and Rangiku and everyone else have to be holding back, and waiting for him to ask about her again.

He keeps staring at the empty doorway until the world around him becomes a haze. Alone again, the memories of yesterday threaten to crawl back in.

With a shake of his head, he looks down to his limbs. His arms rests on his lap, palms facing up, and his feet dangle an inch from the floor. He pulls the robe up – using his left hand as well as his right – until his legs are visible from the knees down. He lifts them and stretches his toes, gingerly splaying them then curling them in and out. Identical in every way, just as he remembers.

He used to have a litany of scars across them, and while the right holds a few more recent ones, his left had been spared since he his Academy days. He can’t say why that is, other than with his right leg being the dominant one, it’s always the one he put forward first in battle, making it more vulnerable to attacks.

Lowering his legs and smoothing the robe back over his knees, he turns his attention back to his arms. He lifts his left one to the ceiling and flexes his fingers again; open, shut, open, shut, open. He twists his wrist to look at his palm, then at the back as he lowers it.

The fingers of his right hand ghost over the flesh of his left forearm. It’s completely unblemished, lacking the faint scars he’s known for years. The deep, tiny one on the left side of his wrist, a mission that had gone badly and served as a reminder for him to always be on guard, no matter the circumstances. The circular one on his upper arm, from bring nicked by a Hollow’s claw, and close it was the one that had shrunken over the years, from a bad fall and tumble he had as a child. The one that went from his elbow to loop around to the front of his forearm, a wound from his first days as a seated officer on a mission; it’d gotten so faint it was barely noticeable unless one were looking closely. He traces a finger over where it used be, gone forever.

After a pause, he touches his left hand. His right hand is calloused, roughed by years of training and battle. The skin of his left is smooth and softer, as if it had never lifted a weapon before . As if all of his training had been for nought. It might as well have been. He couldn’t protect her.

His right fingers dig into his left palm, and his left fingers dig in on top of them. They don’t stave the memories away, nor the whirling torrent of something that threatens tears to bead in his eyes.

Why?

His limbs shake, and he bows his head. Shutting his eyes, he breathes deeply, haltingly. Sweat breaks out on the back of his neck and on his temple.

No, he can’t, not here.

But his breath doesn’t return, his head won’t stop pounding, his chest won’t stop hurting. He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough to see blotches of white and red behind his eyelids.

It doesn’t stop the images of that day race up to meet him. It doesn’t stop the echo of her last words filling his ears until they’re ringing. It doesn’t stop the surge of bile racing up to his throat.

He needs to get out of here.

His eyes snap open. Without thinking, he slaps his feet on to the floor and pushes himself from the bed. He ends up buckling and yelps when his knees and elbows hit the floor with a hard 'smack'.

The door opens and Mori comes rushing into the room. Hitsugaya doesn’t look him in the eye. He lets him and another division member who Mori calls out for lift him back into the bed. His breakfast ends up in a bucket that Mori barely gets to him in time. He doesn't remember when his breathing calmed, if the sweat had been wiped away or dried on it's own.

He can barely respond to their questions about what happened. He’s caught in that state again, between the past and present. But this isn’t the battlefield; this is the aftermath.

I’m stuck here, he thinks while they pass him a glass of water. He sips it obligingly. It's enough to make them leave with reassurances that their captain is on her way. They’ll tell her what happened. Will she enter the room with a look of pity? Of disappointment in her fellow captain’s conduct? Of knowing?

He’s too weak to punch the pillow he rests his head on, and soon, his eyes shut into a restless nap.

____________________________

“Shiro-chan? Hey, Shiro-chan, where are you? Shiro-ch -- Oh, he’s asleep.”

He heard her shuffle around him. He didn’t know why he was pretending to be asleep – he knew really but he refused to admit it to himself. He kept himself composed, eyes shut, posture relaxed against the veranda’s floorboards.

He sensed her hesitation, deciding whether or not to wake him. After several more seconds, she left, her footsteps retreating back into his house. They paused, then the front door slid open, and they continued to the front.

____________________________________

Hitsugaya watches the night pass, eyes on the ceiling, having tried to fall asleep only to startle awake a few hours later. The sounds and images of battle rush away from his ears and eyes, as if sucked off by the wind.

He grazes his fingertips over Hyourinmaru’s hilt, but still his zanpakuto says nothing. It's strange to not have him here, in presence or voice. But then again, he’s not even sure he himself has anything to say.

He considers asking for medication for the pain in his chest and head, but it would only be a temporary measure. And it’s not like the limbs he’s regrown; he cannot start afresh with either his head or heart.

He recalls Unohana’s assessment, and her final verdict that he will stay for another day, with additional tests of his limbs scheduled for tomorrow due to what happened today. He hadn't been completely truthful with her, but he sensed she knew that.

He can’t stay here. He has to...what?

His furrow lifts away as it hits him. He has not idea what he's going to do.

_________________________

He heard Hinamori and Granny’s tones rather what they said. Hinamori unsure, and Granny with a smile in her voice. She was likely telling Hinamori about what he’d been up to – gathering watermelons from the patch they used to frequent. The evidence of his journey lay at the door, with six large watermelons stacked up.

There was a teeter of Hinamori’s laughter, then Granny said something before resuming her sweeping. Hinamori’s footsteps returned to his house, but he frowned when they scurried around. They went to one closest and then another, pause there, then wondered back to him.

_________________________

The tests are the same as the ones conducted yesterday. The only difference is there’s another involving walking around the room and picking things up. He ignores the strange indignation that comes with the latter, knowing it’s a sense of pride that wouldn’t help him.

In the moments between the tests, he thinks about the revelation from last night. He can't believe he's been so oblivious and short-term in his thinking. He has no plan, no way forward. He’d wanted to escape from here, but to do what?

Upon completion, Isane determines there’s no physical issues preventing him from being discharged tomorrow morning. Not long after she and Mori had left to hand their results over to Unohana, Hitsugaya stands from his bed and leaves his room.

Walking down the hallway, he receives a few looks from Fourth Division members, but none question him or advise him to return to his room.

He goes to the room where whisps of Rangiku’s reiatsu emanate from. His brow furrows seeing someone else in her room. Hanataro is stripping the bed of its sheets, with fresh ones folded in a hamper on the floor.  

He makes to leave, but Hanatato looks up. “Oh, Captain Hitsugaya.” He bows his head. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there. Did you need something?”

“I was looking for Matsumoto.”

 “Oh, the Lieutenant is out in the gardens. ” He points to the window. “She wanted to get some fresh air.”

Hitsugaya takes a few steps into the room and looks outside. Sure enough, she’s there, sitting on a backless bench beneath a tree offering very little shelter. Her shoulders are once again slouched, and her hair curtains her face from view.

“She mentioned you may come to see her,” Hanataro adds. “I don’t think she’d mind if you joined her out there, i-if that’s what you want to do, that is.”

“I see. Thank you.” He hears Hanataro ramble something else, but pays it no mind as he leaves.

He slows himself to a stop outside of his room. A passing officer glances at him, slowing their steps when he doesn’t move. He makes to go in, and they continue down the hallway, convinced he’s returned to his room.

He reflects on his surroundings, telling himself he isn't stalling. The walls out in the hallway are a pale green. There’s chatter coming from another room, and there’s a brief waft of flowers in the air, breaking through the medicinal and clean scents he’s gotten used to.

He can retreat back to his room, let this gumption slip away. He hadn’t even realised he’s been building up any sort of courage to speak with Rangiku. He didn’t want her pitying or wary look, he’s gotten enough of those kinds of stares from everyone else. More than that, he finds himself fearing if she’ll bring up the battle. If she’ll bring up Hinamori. Hadn't he wanted someone to? Hadn't he he anticipated it?

Even so, he’s like a child, trying to avoid what hurts. It’s inevitable they’ll discuss it. It might helps him decide what to do after he leaves Fourth Division. With that in mind, continues down the hallway and turns off at the nearest exit to the gardens.

A strong breeze greets him, one that ruffles his robes and hair and sends orange and brown leaves from the trees twirling through the air and spinning on the ground and veranda that encompasses the courtyard.

He steps down into the gardens, but pauses when he spots Rangiku. She hasn't budged since he saw her through the window. He wonders how long she’s been sitting out here like this, if she even realises how much time has passed.

His frown deepens when he recalls a folktale from his childhood, one involving a woman so overcome by sadness she never rose from the chair she sat upon after losing her lover. Over time, her skin turned to stone and her tears watered the flowers that grew around her feet until her eyes too turned to stone.

He shakes his head against the thought that his lieutenant could become like that. That whatever was eating her up would consume her whole and transform her into a shell of who she was. He bites the inside of his cheek at the thought of what he believes is causing her to be like this. He hasn’t yet learned Gin’s fate, but it's more than likely the same as Tosen’s. Aizen held little regard for those who served him – Halibel’s demise was evidence enough of that.

Pushing the thought of the traitors aside, he continues down the pebbled footpath. His hands, loose at his side, brush shrubs that line the path. It’s oddly nice to feel something that isn’t material or metallic. He takes a moment before continuing run his left hand over the leaves. Again, like he never lost it in the first place.

Hearing his footsteps, Rangiku raises her head. Some of her hair is still in the way, leaving one eye of out view. She gives him a wane smile. “Captain.”

He sits down next to her without a word. They remain silent for some time. The air around them is strange, but not uncomfortable.

He turns his head a fraction to his lieutenant. He wonders if she’s angry with him. She should be, and so should anyone else who is Hinamori’s friend.

“They’re letting me go tomorrow,” she says after a minute.

He doesn’t respond right away. “Me as well.”

“If you need extra time --”

“Absolutely not.” It comes out harsher than intended.

In the face of his frustration, her smile returns, albeit smaller and wistful. Then, crossing one leg over the other, she changes the subject. “Minagawa came by this morning. He said he's visit you too.”

He folds his arms across his waist. “He did. He mentioned there’s catch up on paperwork, but he’s otherwise kept other admin running smoothly.”

“He’s always been a hard worker. We should let him have a break. Hanae-kun, too. He’s been helping him. ”

Hitsugaya nods. “Neither of them may want to.”

“Stubbornness. I can’t speak for Hanae-kun, but you and Minagawa always had that in common.” It’s her attempt at her usual lightheartedness, but it doesn’t quite reach her voice.

Hitsugaya only scoffs, and its similarly half hearted. He folds his arms. “I’ll bring it up with them tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope they take you up on it.” She tilts her head back. Her hair slips over her shoulder and her bangs brush along her cheekbones. “They deserve it.”

Unsure what to say, Hitsugaya lets her comment hang in the air. They return to silence, and he allows himself to take in his surroundings. He’s had quiet moments in his room, but they were not the sort that brought him the peace. Though his mind is still heavy and his chest still aching, the susurration of the leaves and the smells of nature are soothing. It reminds him of his childhood, of days spent in the forest.

“I know what happened.”

The statement is like a stone breaking through glass. It's so sudden he flinches. He’s been waiting for this, but even knowing it would come still didn’t make it any less impactful. With a quiet, strangled grunt, he looks at Rangiku.

He’d expected accusation at worst, pity at best, and he had strings of words prepared for each, but he’s rendered speechless by the compassion and horror in his lieutenant’s gaze.

“I saw most of it from the ground. I had no idea he’d…” She takes in a long breath, her tears remaining unshed. “It wasn’t your fault, Captain. You have to know that. Everyone was under his power.”

He unfolds his arms and grips the bench beneath them.“Regardless, it happened.” And I should’ve been strong enough to stop it. "And you're wrong. I'm the reason she's receiving organ recovery treatment right now."

She leans forward, adamant. “No, you're not. You and the other captains couldn't have known. And I know your feelings about Twelfth Division. Believe me, you’re not the only one who feels that way, but Hinamori is receiving the best treatment she can right now. She’s alive, sir. There has to be a way forward from this.”

No matter how much he tried to prepare himself for the mention of her, his heart lurches and his grip on the bench becomes white-knuckled. “So, you know what she feels now, do you?”

Rangiku winces and her gaze goes to ground. “Of course I don’t, but you don’t either. I don’t think either of us can imagine what she’s going through right now.”

He could retort that he’s known her longer, can predict her reactions to anything, but the words don’t even reach his throat. Because they’re not true. He didn’t predict her actions during the invasion of Ichigo and his friends or when Aizen had set up for them to all find Central Forty-Six slaughtered.

Even when he’d retraced his steps to get back to her, he’d thought he of all people should’ve known she would act the way she did for Aizen’s sake. in the minutes before he found her on the brink of death and the man who’d slain her grinning not even ten steps away from her,

What’s to stop her from hating him now, even when she knows the truth?

He stares into his lap, both of his arms in his peripheral. Both taut from his harsh grip, but one is trained but was unable to find the strength to protect her, the other is new and too soft. “How could she feel anything else?”

Rangiku takes in a long breath, and the exhale is quiet and dragged out. “It’s not for you to know or decide whats she feels. She'll know this wasn't your fault, that you never wanted this to happen. When the time comes, you can cross that bridge, sir,”

Will that bridge ever present itself? This could be the end. She may never be able to look him in the eye again, may never forgive him for what he’s done. He wouldn’t forgive himself, can’t forgive himself.

As if hearing his thoughts, Rangiku says, “We have to be there for her when the time comes. We should visit her when we can."

His throat goes dry at the thought. All this time, he never once thought of seeing her. It should’ve been so obvious, the first thing to come to mind with planning a way forward.

"Is that wise?" he says, "considering..."

“I know it’ll be hard,” she adds, “but it’s the only way you can start again. If not at Twelfth Division, then when she’s in Fourth. You can ask about her condition all you want to those treating her, but you won’t know how she truly is and where you stand until she you see her.”

It’s not like Rangiku to be this forward and insistent. His stomach roils at the idea of seeing her. Of course he’d be anxious about seeing her, but perhaps it's the right thing to do.

He returns his gaze to hers. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, do you feel prepared to resume your duties tomorrow? If not, you should continue to rest here for as long as you need.”

He can’t tell if she frowns at the sudden change of subject or the uncharacteristic rasp in his voice. He could cringe from it, but he manages to remain stoic. He’s on the edge, and if she continues speaking about Hinamori he may let everything out.

She shuts her eyes and presses her lips together in a tight line. She lets out a quiet, resigned sigh through her nose. “No, I’ll be fine.”

She won’t be, but like him, the work will be a distraction. So, he nods. “Good.”

_______________________________________

After Hitsugaya returns to his rooms, the day passes with only lunch and dinner as interruptions before dusk. He expects a visit from Unohana, can sense her reiatsu coming up the hallway. She turns off into another room briefly, before coming back out and going to another.

Hitsugaya lays back on his bed. Tired of staring at the ceiling, he turns on to his side, staring at the bedside table where his dinner tray had been an hour ago. He forced himself to eat against his lack of appetite, and the food is heavy in his stomach.

His gaze wonders to the door and he returns to tracking Unohana’s reiatsu. She moves into another room -- Rangiku's he realises belatedly. Sensing she stays in her room for a particularly long time, he shifts his attention to his hands, resting in front of his face.

He never thought he’d miss his scars. It seems like something Eleventh Division would mourn. Perhaps he can understand now why so many of them hold such pride in them. It’s a sign of a past battle, one survived and victorious over.

He has no proof of that anymore. Had he really learned from his past mistakes?

He shuts his eyes on that thought.

__________________________

He schooled his expression back to neutral before she came out on to veranda. She knelt at his side, and it took everything for him to not open his eyes when she lifted his head. It wasn’t far off the floorboards, but enough so that she lodged something soft underneath. A pillow?

Then she unfolded something – a sheet he suspected. “Would he need this?” she asked herself. “It’s getting colder in the evenings, he might be out here for a while.”

He pressed his lips together, hoping she didn’t see it, managing to stifle a laugh. She could be so strange. Thinking of whether he’d need a sheet or not, doing something like this when she didn’t need to.

That made something his chest tighten. He tried to ignore it. He’s meant to be annoyed at her right now.

As if she read his mind, she finally spoke again. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.” She sighed. “I wish I’d brought the news up differently. I didn’t think you’d be so upset by it…”

He wasn’t upset, he was annoyed, he told himself.

“I don’t understand though. I always thought you didn’t care whether or not I got into the Academy.” Then, to herself, more quietly. “Was I wrong? Did I miss something?”

He didn’t fully understand it himself. He always told himself he didn’t care what she did or where she went. It had been easier in the beginning when they hardly knew each other, but it took more effort as the years went by.

He should 'wake up'. He needed to stop this.

She let out a weak chuckle. “What am I doing? I should be saying all of this to you when you’re awake.”

She stood, paused for a moment. He could feel her eyes on him. Was she waiting for him to wake up? Or did she know he wasn’t really asleep? If she did, she wouldn’t have indulged him for this long, surely.

“I promise I will next time. I don’t want things to be like this before I leave.”

After several heartbeats, she left. He heard her put her sandals back on, slid the front door open, then closed it, a quick goodbye to Granny, and finally her footsteps scraped against the dirt as she rushed back into the Junrinan.

He doesn’t open his eyes until then. He twists on to his back and throws an arm over his face.

He hated the pillow pressed beneath his head, and the folded blanket left at his side within arm’s reach. He hated the painful tightness in his chest. He hated that she was going to Academy. He hated that he had been a brat to her about it. He hated that he knew what she wanted to say and that she was none the wiser.

__________________________

He awakens from a restless nap at the sound of a muffled voice. Unohana, outside his door, but she isn’t asking to come in. She’s speaking with someone else. He can’t make out what they’re saying.

Eyes half hooded, he’s back to staring at his hands.

"...you won’t know how she truly is and where you stand until she you see her."

He holds on to Rangiku's words while waiting in the stillness. They remain at the forefront of his mind when Unohana comes in to check on him and confirm he’ll be discharged tomorrow morning, and even in the hours after she leaves.

The idea of seeing Hinamori does nothing to ease him into sleep.

__________________________

Hinamori sits by the embers, knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped around them. She couldn’t fall asleep, so she chose to retreat to her inner world again. She doesn’t want to go back to that darkness she's been floating in, as tempting as it can be.

She thinks about what Nemu had told her yesterday. She hadn't told her how the battle had ended or what happened after she had lost consciousness, and Hinamori isn't sure if was because they ran out of time or if she was keeping it from her. She tells herself it didn't matter for now.

Her friends are safe, some are being treated in Fourth Division, others have already returned to their duties. Despite the relief that brought, Hinamori wanted to ask about those who hadn’t been brought up, but too exhausted and disorientated, she chose to leave it. Even if she had the strength, however, would she truly ask?

She knows Rangiku is recovering, but her injuries had been so severe, was she truly all right? The memory of her falling to the town below, and then of her on concrete beside her as Izuru tended to her injuries made Hinamori wince. With a shake of her head, she ponders on what else Nemu had told her about her friend. How had she gotten from the Fake Karakura Town back to the Soul Society before the battle's end? Why had she?

She chooses not to think about Gin and Tosen’s fates – Nemu hadn't brought them up, but the fact she’s safe should be evidence enough they were immobilised, either imprisoned or cut down. She worries about Izuru and Hisagi. How are they coping with the loss of their captains? What about Rangiku with Gin?

The thought of Hitsugaya leaves her shaken, and she the cold that’d permeated her body and now her world makes her tighten arms around herself. She's not ready to think about him yet, but Nemu said he was recovering in Fourth Division.

Then there was Aizen. The thought of him sends a shudder through her, and she has to swallow back tears. The memories of what happened are too fresh, too confusing, that if she were to think on them she’s certain that darkness would come back.

She gazes down at her hands. They’re cast more in shadow than light. After everything, it hadn’t worked. Her training, her will, her escape that could risk her place in the Fifth Division, it was for nothing.  How can she face anyone? If she had at least proved herself in battle, would anyone have questioned her abilities? Would they see her as weak and unfit for her role now?

Tobiume’s voice cuts in and out as a whisper too quiet to hear. Hinamori returns her gaze to the embers.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

She reaches a hand in, unfurling her fingers in the orange glow. It doesn’t burn, it never has. It flows over her in waves like the sea.

“I’ll make this better…” She bows her head and rests her temple on her knees. “Somehow.”

_________________________

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[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Just Kiss Already

Plot: You and Logan are finally beginning to navigate your relationship and your new lives together. Logan is carrying dark secrets, and finally opens up to you.

A/N: Oh lordy I'm finally done with it. It turned out so fluffy in the beginning and angsty in the end. It'll get better! (Then worse)

Warnings: Mentions of war, past history of violence, anxiety, a bit of jealously, a bunch of fluff towards the beginning, angst near the end, mentions of a past assault (not logan or reader) Logan just needs a hug, so does reader. Also logan is probably not super accurate to his character..?

Word Count: 7470

Prev<- ❤️ ->Next

Years of aching for someone you weren’t sure cared about you the same you did for them was forgotten about the moment Logan came back into your life.

The comfort and safety you always felt in his presence resumed, the admiration of the man you grew to know for over a year in a jungle had only grown stronger as you watched him adjust to a new life and do it with grace. Perhaps it’s because he’s done it before, he knew the drill. Yet still, you found yourself falling for him all over again. You knew him as Logan Howlett, soldier. While you both shared a closeness, there was still a war, there was always an air between you that prevented anything further developing. The most that would happen between you would be conversations of the future, lingering touches, and side glances. Now you could know him as Logan Howlett, friend. Although that’s not necessarily what you’d call your relationship.

Things were unspoken between you.

You found yourself truly looking forward to going out now, because he was going to be there. Although you didn’t go to the wild parties that Rose likes. That wasn’t Logans style and honestly wasn’t yours either, albeit you did it to please Rose and told yourself that it was a good idea even if you ended up dreading the whole ordeal anyway. You and Logan found yourselves doing more…Domestic activities. Movies, festivals, dinners, lunches, the local bar, even the gym. 

“You wanna go see the Exorcist tomorrow night?” 

Logan turned his attention away from the drunken people very badly singing karaoke at the small stage the bar had. The karaoke machine was a new addition to the lively bar, adding more atmosphere to the place that was already unique in it’s burnt orange and brown color scheme, neon signs, and pop art littering the walls. You were sitting in a booth together, his arm draped loosely around you. He quirked his brow in questioning. 

“The Exorcist?..” He asked, then smirked. “Ain’t that a movie about demons and all?”

“Yeeesss.” You respond with a singsong voice, meeting his eyes. He sipped his whiskey, not breaking eye contact from you. 

“No.” He says after firmly setting his beer back on the table. He licked his lips of the droplets of whiskey left on them, and you couldn’t help but stare and think, ‘I could clean that up for you’

You think a lot of things about Logan now. You don’t plan to stop. At one point you would’ve felt guilty to think something of a friend. You and Logan could not be considered friends anymore.

“Why not?” You asked in a whine. “I wanna see it! It looks good! My friend Marie says it was cool!”

“It’s gonna scare you. Just like that last movie.” He says. “Then I gotta listen to you whine about it. You’re gonna call me and complain about being too scared to sleep. Then neither of us will get any sleep.” 

“So?” You grin. “There’s an easy solution to that.”

“Is that so?”

“You just come stay with me after, and then I won’t be too scared. Your presence will scare off all the bad guys.”

Logan raised his brows up. “Yeah? Where am I gonna sleep then? Your couch?” He leans in, and you felt a deep crimson blush burning at your cheeks under his flirty stare. “Not very comfortable.” 

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.” You say, and you could feel your breath hitching at the idea. Logan smiled, but it wasn’t his usual sweet smile he gave you. This was something darker and more…lustful, that you were beginning to see more often when you two talked. Lately, all your conversations turn to something flirty, indiciating the rising tensions between you. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but Rose interrupted.

“Alright! Here you go, me and Adam got refills for you guys.” She says, as her- and Adam, who was the leather daddy you seen her makeout with the night Logan came home. Apparently he’d made enough of an impression on her to keep him around. You and Logan separated, occurring to both of you just how close you’ve gotten in the booth. He never removed his arm from your shoulders though, his hand gently squeezing the shoulder it was resting on, as you gave him a side glance, noticing a hint of pink on his ears. 

Things were very unspoken between you.

The way your relationship has developed since he returned was something you thought you would only dream of. 

You got to see more of that playful, boyish charm Logan had that you saw hints of in Vietnam. The charm that made you always crave to see more. Not that you couldn’t love his broody self as well. Each had their own perks that made you smile, where you couldn’t help but think ‘he’s so cute.’ The way he’d tease you, not in a mean way, more loving as he pokes fun at things such as your outfits, though you’d see the sliver of desire come across his eyes when you come in with those high-waisted jeans and low cut top, highlighting your figure for him in ways he didn’t get to see with your army scrubs. You watched him open up to the world. He’d gotten a great job at the local lumber mill, and even fixed his cabin up a bit, considering it was left empty for years while he was gone. He decorated, got new furniture and everything. Rose implied it was to impress you but you think he was simply just trying to…Make a home for himself after being gone for so long. 

He was taking up hobbies like boxing, which you certainly enjoyed watching, as you’d go to the gym with him occasionally in attempts to committing to your own workout (news flash, you aren’t very successful). You weren’t exactly a fan of the fighting, you didn’t like seeing Logan getting punched, but lord the intense concentration on his face, how his brows crease as he scowls at his opponent, the way sweat covered his body head to toe after brawling for an hour. You may not have understood the appeal of fighting each other. A male thing, it must be. You watched the boys in Vietnam do the same thing, practicing boxing and wrestling and all, although that was probably more practice than a hobby.. You did understand the appeal of observing. At least, observing him. 

You watched Logan as he quickly dodged and punched his opponent, effectively knocking him back. A few more swings and it was a knock out. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, shaking your head as you still didn’t understand the whole appeal. Male ego? Still, there was a certain…attraction to seeing how powerful he really can be. You knew that he was actually holding back when he boxes. If he applied his real physical strength- the mutant aspect to his strength, the other side would be down in seconds. Instead, Logan used boxing as a way to focus on his own movements, teaching him to be quick on his feet and defensive.

Logan was watching you as you were distracted with your gym bag, taking a heavy drink of water from his bottle, he took in your outfit, the way it hugged your body and curves, you had worn a workout outfit before, shorts and tank top and it was driving him wild as he kept an eye on you while you were running on the treadmill. Seems like no matter what you do, or wear, you always drive him crazy.. Grabbing a towel, he patted his forehead and hands dry, as he walked to the otherside of the ring where you were, perched on a bench. He nodded to his opponent, a coworker from work, before climbing over the ropes and hopping to the ground. You always waited for him to finish up when you went to the gyn with him, and the both of you would go to lunch together after. 

“Enjoy the show?” He grinned. You rolled your eyes. 

“Enjoy the senseless punching each other? Totally.” You scoffed, but it was merely teasing. You were glad to see him enjoying himself. You stood up from the bench, going to grab your bag, but he picked it up for you instead, stepping close to grab it, his chest bumping your shoulder and you turned to look at him. Your eyes met and you felt that familiar electricity run between you both.

He looked down at you and the look he gave you felt like he wanted to eat you alive. It led to a warm feeling that sunk low in your belly. You noticed Logans nostrils flared and his eyes darkened. 

“You sure you didn’t enjoy that sweetheart?” He says in a low voice, “Watching me?” 

He lowered his head down towards you, and you felt like your heart was in your throat. You saw his eyes flick down to your lips. You swallowed but before you could say anything-

“Hey Logan, good job today man-” 

Logans coworker and sparing opponent came up behind him, smacking him on the back and starting conversation, forcing Logan to step away from you, the heat of the moment evaporating. Although you saw him glance at your while his friend talked, and there seemed to be the lingering look of desire, excepting softer. Yearning. 

You knew though it wasn’t always happy for Logan though. You knew of the nightmares he’d have, the fits of panic. There was things he didn’t tell you. You didn’t ask. You knew if and when he’s ready to talk, he will. 

You found yourself happy with Logan, the way things are. You had felt such need for him for so long, and now that he was here- you surely thought you’d be desperate for his love and attention. Simply though, you enjoyed the time with him. Things didn’t feel…rushed. Maybe it was because in Vietnam, you constantly wondered if you would wake up to an attack, or a bomb, or something. You savored the small joys, like a warm Coke, or music on the radio, or just being able to laugh with Logan. Now though you’re able to enjoy those not just because you don’t have to worry about threats on your life, but because now you know that you and Logan had the rest of your lives to understand each other, for something to work out on it’s own time. It had be a couple years since he came back, and you both moved towards something steadily. 

1975, Alberta, Canada

You were working your shift at the hospital. The hospital had just built a new wing- an emergency center, and you were one the lucky nurses to get transferred over. Apparently your history of being in Vietnam made them think you’d be a wonderful addition to an emergency wing where being quick on your feet, and attention to detail was important. 

Of course they were right but you would have liked to had a choice in the matter. 

Especially since they decided you were to be the charge nurse as well. Without asking. 

Now you were bombarded with all sorts of new duties. Stuff that you didn’t even know existed in doing. Honestly, you believed that this was just the Chief of Staffs way of dumping stuff he didn’t want to deal with on you. You had medical forms to fill out, request forms to put in, and patients to worry about-

Huh, that felt like deja vu….

You were out in the main lobby, acting as triage for now. They were quick in putting you in charge of nurses, supply and drug lists, and various other adminstrative work, yet not quick in hiring more nurses to help you out. Anytime you complained, your boss would remind you,

 “What an absolute honor it is for you to even have this job, with all the womens rights going on. Those ladies would kill to have a job like yours! I mean, i’m sure you wouldn’t be able to find a job THIS progressive at another hospital…” 

What a dick.

“Hey honey,” You heard Rose behind you, and you turned in your chair and gave her a sneering smile.

“Well hello-” You greet sarcastically. “Hows life on the 3rd floor?”

“Whew! Someones bitter.” Rose chuckled. “It’s great, actually. I get breaks, lunches, and all I gotta do is assist the doctors with no extra responsibilities. No uh, administration work, or lack of staffing, or y’know, dealing with someone who shoved something up their ass.” She bragged.

You scoffed. “You got it completely wrong. I’m very happy here. Mind you.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, you totally look happy.” Rose crosses her arms, an amused smile as she looked down at you in your seat. She looked up, and an even more amused look came across her face. “Although I think your day is about to get better.”

“What?” You blinked, before turning to see who she was talking about. 

You would be embarrassed by how fast you smiled and got up from your chair, but honestly you could’ve cared less. 

Logan had walked in, wearing those jeans you loved on him, a jacket resting over a flannel, and a white t-shirt. He does like his layers, but in snowy Canada- you needed it. He spotted you, and smiled as you both approached each other in the lobby- which was fairly empty, meeting in the middle. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. 

“You going on lunch soon? Figured I take you out, since you’ve seem so stressed lately…” He smiles. 

“Oh-” Your shoulders slacked. “That’s sweet, my lunch was an hour ago though…” You pursed your lips together, “Sorry.”

“Oh, well, how about a break then? I’ll…get you a candy bar or something.” He says, a small shrug of his shoulders, his smile fading into something more genuine and close. You perked up.

“Yeah, that actually sounds good, I can take a break. Wait for me outside, I’ll be right back.” You hold your hand up, turning to go back to your desk and say goodbye to Rose. She was watching you guys in amusement as you walked back to her, grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair, and your pager off your desk, and shooting her a Don’t you dare say anything look. If you thought she was riding on you hard before Logan came back, she got ten times worse. She says the tension between you two was practically unbearable. You have no idea what she’s talking about.  She gave you a knowing smile and you rolled your eyes, turning around and pulling your jacket on as you walked back towards the entrance, letting another nurse know you were going on break and to page you if anything is needed. 

You met Logan outside, where he was currently banging on a vending machine with his hand. You smiled at the sight, this tall lumbering man, scowling at the machine. 

“Yknow you need to give it money first?” You called out to him, and he lifted his head and smirked. 

“Ate my quarters.” He says. 

“Watch- and learn.” You wink. You reached into your jacket, pulling out a few quarters, sticking them into the coin slot, you pushed in the slot- but not fully, as you reached into the vending slot, able to pull it open just enough to grab the candy bar- and pull back the coin slot, your quarters still in place. You pulled the quarters out, and held up the candy bar in victory as you tilted your head, and beamed victoriously. 

Logan chuckled warmly. “Ain’t that stealing bub?”

You mock gasped, “Me? No way.” You say, holding your hand out, you gave him the quarters. 

“I was supposed to get you the candy bar yknow.”

“You did.” You say nonchalantly as you opened the wrapper, breaking off a piece to hand to him, before biting into the candy yourself, humming happily at the treat- much needed after the day you’ve been having. “Thank you-” You add as you chew. He shrugged, eating his piece of candy you shared with him. “So, anything exciting going on today?” You asked.

“No, just watched tv.” He says. “Started reading that book you suggested.”

Your eyes went wide and you smiled big, “Really? What you think?”

“Pretty good so far, I’m only on the first chapter though.” He shrugs. He glanced around, clearly thinking about something. “You wanna go to Reillys tonight?” 

“Reilly’s? Sure, I’m in.” You nodded, taking another bite out of your candy bar. “You want me to see if Rose and Adam-”

“I always actually thinking just me and you.” 

Your heart fluttered. 

“I mean, I know we do stuff all the time but…” He shrugged. “Just…Something, so we can talk.” 

“We’re talking right now…” You tease gently, rocking your body back and forth, but the blush on your cheeks told Logan you thoroughly agreed with the idea of going out, just the two of you. 

“Different kind of talking.” He says. “The kind where you wear something pretty, and I buy you a drink.” 

You couldn’t hide your giddiness at his words, letting out a small breath as your blush ran deeper, you looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice…” You say tilting your head. 

He looked relieved for a moment, before returning to his usual demeanor, as he leaned over you, looking down at you like he was going to eat you alive. “So it’s a da-”

Your pager went off, and you groaned. “Sorry.”

“They can’t survive 5 minutes without you, huh?” He grumbles.

“Apparently not.” You turned your pager off. “I gotta go, but thanks for the candy bar Lo-” you hold up the empty wrapper, you reached for his hand, wrapping your hand around his, and squeezing it. He squeezed it back. “So tonight?”

“I’ll pick you up at 7. Sound good?”

“Great.” 

You began to let go, but he lifted your hand up, kissing the back of it as you watched him, his eyes making contact with yours, before finally he let go. You bit your lip, trying to hide your fluster, quickly turning away to go back into the hospital, as you felt butterflies go through your body. As you tried to go back to work, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you wanted to wear tonight. 

The day went by slow as hell- mainly because you couldn’t stop watching the clock. You got off at 4, giving you nearly 3 hours to get home and get ready to go out. 

The entire time you wondered if this was the start for you and Logan. After 5 years, becoming such close friends, sharing intimate moments, and shared connections in a similar past- you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Logan was the person for you. You denied that idea a long time, purely just a person who cared deeply for the people you found closest to you. Now though, you couldn’t deny the rapid flutter of your heart. You thought back of all the ‘close call’ moments you had with Logan. Moments where you nearly kissed, admitted your feelings- usually moments that got interrupted by something or other. You always took that to mean that maybe it just wasn’t your time yet, but you felt a charge with Logan today. The way he came all the way down to see you at work, to ask you out tonight when he could’ve just called you when you got off, because he knew your hours- surely he had been thinking about you as well.

When you got home, you tried your best to keep your cool. You didn’t tell Rose initially- but your nerves started to get to you. What if you were overthinking it? What if you dress up to nice and give off the wrong impression? Rose though, could read you- the way you were nervously pacing around the house as you anxiously cleaned real quick before you got ready. 

“What is going on with you?” She asks, following you to your room, as you pulled open your closet and started searching your outfits. 

“I- Nothing!” You say, but you start blushing, and cover you face. “Okay, I think Logan asked me out tonight, and he said something about wearing something pretty but I don’t know I uh…” You bit your lip. “I’m wondering if I took it wrong.”

“Okay, hold up- time out. Logan asked you out?!” Her voice pitched up as she stepped into the room.

“I don’t know! He said he wanted me and him to go out to Reillys- just me and him, to “talk”, and then when I pointed out we do that all the time and he said the kind of talking where I where something pretty and he buys me a drink.” You explain, all in one breath as anxiety wracked you. You didn’t know why you were so nervous, it was Logan, one of your best friends, you didn’t need to be nervous over him but you were.

Rose stared at you like you were insane. “Okay, first, breathe.” She says holding her hands up. “Second of all. It’s a date.”

You sigh as you took in a breath. “I don’t know what to wear it’s- been awhile.”

“Oh, I know.” Rose looked you up and down. “Could’ve had some practice while he was still gone but noooo.” 

“Rose-” You whined.

“Alright calm down- Lets start with whatchu got in that closet of yours.”

You and Rose spent the next hour trying to put together the perfect outfit. She convinced you to wear a black, satin slip dress, something that complimented your figure perfectly- while still remaining neutral enough- seeing as they were all the rage and often seen worn in bars anyway. She helped you with your hair and makeup, complimenting your features while keeping a more natural look. Rose herself was all about the wild makeup- flashy colors, paint as much as you could, but since this was a possible “first date”, she agreed something more natural and light was appropriate. You picked your colors that complimented your skin tone well, and did your hair in your favorite style. You thought you looked pretty nice- but nerves still crept at you.

You were no strange for looking nice, but you really haven’t been on a date in years. It wasn’t like you didn’t know how flirt- considering you and Logan been flirting for over a year since your reunion. You wondered if this was what it was between you and Logan, would things be different? How is this going to impact your relationship? 

Rose noticed your sudden lackluster demeanor, her hand going to your back. 

“He’s gonna love this.” She smiles warmly at you. “The man is TOTALLY obsessed with you already. This is gonna send him through the roof! Lookatchu!” she coos.

You giggled, shaking your head. “Thank you.”

“I’m just so glad to see my girl finally growing up.” Rose says, with fake emotion in her voice as she pretends to wipe a tear from her eye, it made you laugh more- helping you ease your nerves. 

You opened your mouth to retort her comment, but the landline started ringing. Wondering if it was Logan, you quickly went to answer it. 

“Hello?”

You heard a man asking for your name.

“This is she?” You respond, a little confused.

He said your name again. “It’s Frank.”

“Frank?- Frank Jones?” You say in surprise, as the doctor, a man you considered your mentor years ago from Vietnam, came to your picture. “Wow, it’s been awhile, how are you?”

“Uh..Fine. Listen, you okay?” 

“Yeah…” You say slowly. “Why?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just checking on you.” He says. “Did you ever end up going to med school?” 

“Well, no I just hadn’t really-”

“That’s fine. Listen, be careful, okay?” 

“Frank, what are you-?”

“I know you and Logan Howlett are friends.” His voice suddenly toward low, and warning.

You blinked, as you looked at the phone in confusion. Your brows creased, as you felt something weird turn in your stomach. 

“You…Know Logan?”

“I can’t stay on long. I’m just calling to check on you. You need to be careful, especially around Howlett. Don’t get involved in anything.”

Before you could respond, the line went dead. You stared at the phone as you heard the beeps, turn into a flat line, before you hung up the landline. Rose looked at you in questioning. 

“That was…weird.” You muttered. 

“Who was that?” 

“A doctor I worked under in Vietnam.” You look at her. “He was really cryptic though, and he knew me and Logan were friends, I don’t think I ever told him about Logan. He told me I needed to be careful.” 

Rose raised a brow, then crossed her arms. “Okay, I was excited, now I’m scared.” She says. “Why would this guy conveniently call you when you’re about to go on a date with him?”

You shrugged, chewing on your lip. Since Logan had come back, you knew he was carrying something, a weight on his shoulders. He never told you what though.  All you knew was him being apart of a operative CIA team and he left it. Anytime you two talked about Vietnam, or anything regarding it- he’d get this haunted look on his face, like he was going to be sick. So, you never forced him to talk about it. Sometimes it would just come up, it being an impactful part of your life- something you still try to find meaning in today, understand what it did to you and your future. There was a time you never wanted to think about it, but then there’s times it’s all you wanted to think about. Logan though, seemed to never want to go back to it. Whatever he’s done, whatever he’s seen, it was enough for him to want to forget. 

You wondered if Frank Jones knew something about it. Was it bad enough that he had to warn you? You never felt unsafe with Logan. He has been nothing but respectful and safe- not just to you, but the people around you. Rose has stated multiple times that just having Logan nearby has made her feel more comfortable as well. 

“Are you okay?” Rose asked, putting a hand on your shoulder, you looked at her, and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll..talk to Logan about it later. Or maybe try to find Franks number, call him back or something tomorrow.” You say. She nods.

“Maybe I should go with you…” She says. You saw the worry on her face. Rose was never the type to be fearful or shy away from anything. You smiled.

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’m just going to enjoy the evening, right?” 

Rose forced a smile, but you could tell she now seemed hesitant to let you go off alone. Before you could say anything else, you both heard knocking your door. 

“That’s probably him-” You say, as you attempt to shrug off the weirdness of that phone call. You went down stairs, immediately stopping at a mirror to check your hair and makeup- Rose following you, before you went to the front door and opened it. 

You were a bit taken away by how nicely dressed Logan was. So, this is a date

He was wearing a clean white button up dress shirt, tucked into dark blue jeans, and his typical leather jacket over the shirt. His hair was slicked back, and he looked a mixture of nervous- and excited to see you. You noticed one arm behind his back.

Any worries you had originally went to the back of your head as you took in his handsome figure. It was that you never seen Logan dressed nice- but he was dressing nice for you.

Logan seemed to have the same reaction to you, his eyes trailing over your body, and you see his jaw tense up. 

“You…You look beautiful.” He says softly. A deep blush came across your cheeks, and you took a deep breath to regain your composure. 

“Thank you,” you say politely. “You don’t look so bad yourself?” You smiled, giving him a knowing look. He chuckled, looking down at himself, almost as if he was embarrassed.

“I got you these.” He says, dropping his arm from behind him, and pulling out a bouquet of flowers. “I…Thought you’d like em.” 

They were Peonies- your favorite flower. You remembered months ago walking past the local flower shop with him, and you had gushed over how beautiful they were. Honestly, they made you think of him- the way they start as all closed, before slowly opening up as they become exposed to warmth, the sun, and water. It's what you think of Logan, the way he was always closed up in himself, only to finally begin to open up, as you watched him blossom from the quiet and reserved soldier, to a man finally accepting a life full of joy and possibly…love.

You were surprised, he remembered, and even went out of his way to bring you a bouquet. 

“Lo- they’re-” You laughed softly taking them. “They’re beautiful! Thank you!” He nodded in acknowledgement, you turned back to the house, “Let me put them in some water and we can go-”

“Here girly, I got them, you go on.” Rose came to the rescue, grabbing the bouquet. “Hi Logan.”

“Hey Rose,” Logan nodded politely to her, sticking his hands in his pockets casually. “How are you?”

“Fine.” She smiles. “Go on you two, go on your date.” She urges. Still blushing- a warm heat spread across your face, you turned back to Logan. “I won’t wait up!-” You heard Rose call out as you shut the door behind you. He smirked, taking his hand out of his pocket, and reaching for yours.

“Ready?”

When you arrived at the bar, you both agreed for opting to the small table towards the back, allowing you a little privacy in your conversations in the bar, which was packed as usual on a Saturday night. Logan was a complete gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pushing it in as you sat. 

“What would you like to drink?” He asks, 

You gave him your order, and he left to go up to the counter to get them. You sat at your table and waited, you took in the atmosphere, adjusting your dress a few times and playing with your hair. Your eyes turned to the counter, where you saw Logan standing, palms pressed to the counter- clearly waiting for your drinks, but something you noticed.

His head was turned, talking to someone. A lady who looked to be around your age, with dark hair that went past her shoulders. She was absolutely beautiful, and she was looking at Logan in a way that twisted your stomach. 

It was no secret that Logan turned heads, and before it never really go to you- perhaps because you knew you were just friends at the time, that you didn’t have a right to be jealous (although it had struck your mind). Logan had never entertained anyone though, and no one has ever approached Logan while you guys were out together- although you definitely seen the stares. You honestly had never considered other women flirting with him- or him flirting with other women, because you yourself had not flirted with anyone- except him.

Maybe this time it was because you two were actually moving forward. Although you couldn’t say that with certainty. You just did not like the eyes she was making towards Logan. You couldn’t see his face, and his body language was fairly neutral, but you felt a small irritation in the fact that he was even talking to her. 

Get a grip, it’s a bar, people talk.

You saw her laugh, flipping her hair a bit, and her hand went to his forearm

Oh for gods sake. 

The bartender brought the drinks, and he grabbed them, a polite nod to her before turning back to you. You felt a small relief that he wasn’t sticking around to talk to her- whoever she was. 

“Here you go.” He handed you your drink, then moved to sit next to you. You smiled up at him, before turning to sip on the straw, before glancing at him again.

“Who was that girl you were talking to?”

Real smooth.

“Hm?” He looked up at you as he took a drink from his whiskey, he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, I don’t know. Some new person in town.” 

You forced a smile and nodded, and Logan seemed to sense your slight tension- a noticeable change when just a few moments ago you were happy and joking around. He leaned forward towards the table again, and he grabbed your hand, holding it on the table as he looked at you.

“So, how was the rest of your day?” 

You relaxed at his warm tone, the way he started a new conversation. You answered his question, and you both fell into a deep conversation- the way you normally do. Not just about your days, but you would turn towards anything. Recently, it was the politics happening in the States, where mutants were being treated as if they were some sort of criminals. Some folks in government were trying to bring back the bill over mutant regulation, the same bill that had been shot down over a year ago. It bothered you- and worried you greatly that mutants were still getting flack in a time of great social change. Canada hadn’t seemed to address any issue of mutants, possibly because there’s no actual “problem” to address, and maybe it made you a little more thankful that you moved to this country. Something in you though, your heart tugged at the thought of those people getting mistreated. 

Logan though, always knew the right thing to say- to put your mind at ease. 

During the night, Logan complimented you, not just your physical looks, but the type of person you were. He always had a hand on you, usually holding your hand, but sometimes he’d reach out- a soft smile on his face as he’d cup your cheek. His thumb rubbing softly against your skin, making your eyes want to flutter shut. 

There was a new energy charging between you, as you both began to feel open to something newer between you, something more romantic. 

You never noticed the dark haired woman again, even as she sat at the bar counter- staring and watching you both continue on your night.

After, you and Logan strolled through the town, admiring the night life and people watching. Logan, normally keeping an arm around your shoulder, had one around your waist, keeping you close to him. You laughed, and you flirted, you teased each other. You felt warmth in you, the way he kept you so close- almost protectively. 

It was getting late, and you both knew that it was getting close to the end of the night, but there was something burning in you. The phone call from earlier had creeped its way back into your head. You didn’t want to ruin the mood, especially since Logan had dropped his arm from your waist, to grab your hand. You needed to ask though, because you knew if you didn’t and you never found out what it was about it’ll probably come back and haunt you later.

“Hey, Lo?” 

“Hm?” 

You stopped, and he stopped with you. You were standing on an empty street, one of the smaller neighborhoods of the town, not too far from yours. It was quiet, peaceful, one of the times you could really appreciate moving to this small town- all because of him. You purse your lips together, unsure how to tell him what happened. 

“Something wrong bub?” He asked, looking at your concerned face. He brought a hand to your chin, examining you as if he was trying to read your mind. 

“Something weird happened, before you came to pick me up.” You begin. “I got a phone call from an old colleague, someone who was in Vietnam. Doctor Frank Jones. Do you know him?”

Logans brows creased, and shook his head. “Not familiar with any doctors. Just you.” He smiled. You nodded, eyes darting away from him, feeling regretful now that you even brought it up. 

“Well he knew you.” You say. “Or…I don’t know maybe he doesn’t…” 

His smile dropped and he stepped closer, dropping his hand from your chin. “What did he say?” 

“He said he knew that we were hanging out, together I guess. He…Told me to be careful. Around you. Then he hung up.” 

Logan frowned, his brows creasing together. You saw his jaw tense up, as he looked up from you, looking around the empty neighborhood. 

“Do you know why he would say that?” You asked softly. Logan looked back at you.

For a moment, he looked angry his lips pulled tight as his eyes narrowed- but then his expression softened, and he looked just plain upset. “I….” He swallowed. “I’m not fully sure. I suppose I can guess though.” 

“You can..guess?” You asked. 

“Look…I…If he was in Vietnam then maybe he knew about me. About the team I was apart of.” He says. “I didn’t want to tell you this. I…I didn’t want you to look at me differently. To be scared of me.” 

“Lo.” You put a hand on his chest. “I could never be scared of you. You being secretive from me though…That scares me.” 

He brought his hand to yours, squeezing it gently, before pulling it away. “After you left, me and Victor got into some trouble. He went after some girl in one of those villages. He got stopped by the commanding officer- not the one you knew, we had a new guy come in. Victor killed him.”

You gasped. “What- are you serious?” 

“It gets worse.” He says. Guilt flashed across his face. “I…Tried to defend him. He was my brother, the only family I got. We’d been serving together for years and I just- thought it’s what I needed to do but… They sentenced us with a death squad. Well, you can guess what happened.” 

You stared at Logan with wide eyes, unbelieving of what he was telling you. He never said anything once, about any of this happening in the letters you communicated back and forth and that…hurt you more than anything. You knew Victor was a bit of a wild card, the man hit on you more times than you care to remember- Logan usually coming to your rescue for that. For him to do something to hurt someone innocent- and then to kill a commanding officer? You didn’t know what to think, as you looked back up at Logan. 

He was clearly struggling as he talked about this. Now you knew why he never wanted to talk about it, why he went silent- with the look in his eyes like he was seeing ghosts. It wasn’t just Vietnam that happened, but that. He opened his mouth, taking in a breath as he spoke his next sentence.

“Obviously it means that they figured out we were mutants, and couldn’t die.” He continues. “We got approached by this man, some kind scientist in the military. He was working on this project- and figured that me and Victor were perfect. He saw our strength, our- mutation. Thought it would be helpful.”

“The operative team you were on.” You say. He nodded. 

“Team X. At first it was just stuff around Vietnam, then we branched out to other countries. Just classified missions, breaking into communist parties, getting intel- sometimes we’d take out a few bad guys but then it just got worse and worse and…The team was becoming brutal. The things they were doing. I couldn’t do it.”  

You reached for his hand, and he looked down at where you were holding him. Then he looked back up at you.

“I thought maybe I was doing something good.” He says quietly. “Helping the country, ending wars. I hadn’t known anything other than violence until you showed up. You made me want to be better and…I just became worse.” 

“Lo-” You stepped closer. “No- No, it’s….” You searched for your words. “You’re not a bad man Lo. You just…Got dealt bad cards. You left, you knew these things were wrong. That’s important. You keep going everyday trying to be better and do better- I know you do, I see it.” 

“That doctor, whoever called you. I didn’t know him. He was right though. You should be careful.” He says gently. “I wondered if I should have even come back when I left the team. I knew you were here, that you had been waiting for me and I didn’t want to disappoint you.” 

“I’m not scared of you Lo.” You say softly. “I know you would never hurt me.” 

“I came back for you.” He says softly. You looked into his eyes, and he looked away, shame on his face- as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek. You leaned forward, softly pressing your lips against his. You gave him room to pull away, but he returned the kiss back. 

Despite everything he just told you, you couldn’t bring yourself to be angry- not at him for not telling you anything, and not for the things he told you he committed. You knew it was something he had been clearly carrying around, a deep guilt he held inside himself- guilt being an emotion that you knew yourself all too well, a feeling that any soldier feels when they come home and you weren’t even a soldier. Guilt may have been his cross to bear, even if his intentions were good, honorable even- and it led to bad things. You knew that it was going to take time, for him to work through this and while you couldn’t heal him or fix him, you could support him- hold his hand and push him to keep going. It was just yet another casualty of war, a man, led to believe he was doing the right thing- only to realize it was all the wrong thing after all. 

You had spent years wondering about your own actions, you wanted to help people, that’s why you signed up. Though you wondered; did you just become another number, another reason for the fighting to keep going? Did your participation support the violence when all you wanted to do was stop it?

There was only thing you knew. It was all in the past. 

The war had been over for 2 years. 

It was time to move on. You didn’t know how you deal with the moral dilemma of knowing the things you done, how do you make up for it? 

You did know that you were glad that you and Logan both made it. Standing there tonight. Perhaps it wasn’t the most romantic conversation- but as Logan pressed his lips to yours, eager and almost demanding, his hands grabbing your hips and pushing you against him- you could feel it. The relief he felt as if he just admitted his sins to his god. You knew Logan Howlett was a good man, that all he wanted to be was a good man. 

Maybe that’s all that was important in the end. 

You parted from you kiss, lost for words- and your breath, and he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his grip on your hips tight, as if he was afraid to let go.

“You should be.” You say. “That kiss was overdue.” He let out a small laugh, knowing that it’s not what he meant- but he could be sorry for that too. You brought your hands up to cup his face, your fingers softly scratching at his beard, making his eyes flutter shut. “We’ll work through this. Okay?” You say softly. “You don’t have to bear this alone anymore.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” He mutters softly.  

“On the contrary, I been waiting for this for awhile. You owe me.” 

He smirked. “That so?”

“Mhm.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” He says softly, pulling you closer against him. You wanted to kiss him again, but you could tell what he really needed, was a hug. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning into him- hugging him tightly, and he responded with the same, burying his face into your neck. 

You’ll be alright.

[cupoteahatter]

Aiming to get Chapter 9 of OMG out by new year’s, I’m about halfway through right now and trying please pray for me to a deity of your choosing.

[crookedghosts]

method acting (put a little love on me)

Ch 4/ 5 || 23k words total || Jason Grace/Leo Valdez || Modern AU - Wedding + Fake Dating || AO3

“You’re the best gift a guy could ask for, have I mentioned that?” Leo murmured into Jason’s shoulder as they settled into the darkness.

“I’d call it a tie,” Jason hummed in return, shifting to drape an arm around his best friend.

“Deal,” Leo sighed happily, thinking something along the lines of doing exactly this forever. It was a dangerous game, getting used to this domestic bliss. But they still had a week of it. A week to soak it all in, this taste of falsified heaven. 

...

"For those that know about the infamous Yancy Prep Field Day, or its later manifestations at Goode High as brought to you by Student Council President, Madame Chase…” Annabeth winked at the crowd, then. “This should come as no surprise. Annabeth, would you like to introduce the first activity in the Percabeth Games?”

She wore a wicked grin, and Percy had stars in his eyes looking at her with an excited anticipation for what he knew was to come. “Capture the Flag!” ... Jason and Leo make a pretty good team, until they don't.

[coffeebanana]

there’s nothing more satisfying than a nice fluffy flashback scene in the middle of an angsty fic…

you know. to really drive home all the hurt 🤭😇

[otterandterrierwrites]

[adrift-in-thyme]

Ok I caved

CHAPTER 7 IS UP

Link bonds with Sky, eats at the Lumpy Pumpkin, gets an official nickname…And realizes that Hylia might not be as far away as he thought

[sweetorangepoptart]

😈😈😈

[dreamlandxrunaway]

yall.... I think you're actually getting an update for 1cdat... no fucking way! after a year... and... some... more :')

I'm actually gonna post it in a day or two... or maybe even in less than 24h... depends on whether I feel like making a teaser or not hahahaha (ig I could aways just make the moodboard for it anyways hahaha, I'll see what happens)

Well... those are some good news about that damned smau... but.. that also means that now I have to start the second part of what was supposed to be a one parter that I separated in two once I realized that... maybe... just maybe... it's not a good idea to post a 14k+ chapter like that with the spead i write at 😭😭😭 I can't possible make ppl wait for two years... one was enough LOL

[foxgloveinspace]

fox your tags on the falcon/pigeon video are sending me

i can’t wait for the rest of your fic because those tags are going to haunt me. i need to witness how falcon/pigeon coded sam and rinzler are (i still want to say rizzler every time i see his name)

ok, but the thing is, is that this is totally how i see them, in the sense that Sam does some dumb shit, and kinda flirts without expectations, but it WORKS. It works on Rinzler, and he's just stoically standing there.

but also, in this annalogy of Sam being a pigeon and Rinzler being a hawk, the pigeon is a god.

So a god is doing dumb things (like trying to take off on a lightjet without knowing how to make it work completely) with witty one liners and it's working.

[angstigone]

guys, as am finishing with the csm manga (as in I am almost up to with the volumes) does anybody has recs for a new manga series to start.

I am reading and enjoying sakamoto days but also I was thinking of spy x family because it’s very cute and the design as well. but also I’d like finished series or not enormous ones because think about my wallet!

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P7)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: just when all you thought life couldn't get any worse for Bunny... well y'all were wrong. Also this hasn't got a lot of rafe in it ngl but I swear the next chapter will have A LOT of them together.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs (smoking), throwing up, mentions of a strip club, mentions of harassment (implied assault), Bunny in distress :(, pretty angsty tbh, arguing

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13)

The soft glow of daylight pressed against the edges of the blinds, but Y/N's room remained cloaked in a sleepy dimness. The air was thick, a mix of stale perfume and forgotten laundry, clothes lay draped over the chair in the corner, an empty glass sat on her nightstand, and a few crumpled receipts peeked out from under her bed; she hadn’t had the energy to clean up. Her phone buzzed against the mattress beside her, the vibrations rattling slightly against the sheets before settling into silence. Then, a few seconds later, another buzz. And another. She already knew who it was before even glancing at the screen.

Bambi  :  You gon be in tonight????

Bambi  :  Been dead without u girl

Bambi  :  ??? You good?

Bambi  :  At least let me know you’re alive tf

Y/N let out a slow breath, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. The messages glowed on her screen, but she didn’t reach for them. Instead, she just lay there, her limbs heavy, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to answer- she just didn’t know how, she wasn't sure what to say. 

Another buzz.

Bambi  :  If you ignore me again I’m showing up at your house. 

Bambi  :  Ima ask tommy where you live i'm sure he’ll find out 

Bambi  :  Don’t play with me.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but it faded just as quickly as she let out a small sigh, finally grabbing the phone with sluggish fingers, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

She typed. 

Deleted. 

Typed again.

Bunny  :  I’m fine

Bunny  :  Just taking a little break omi 

She stared at the message for a second before pressing send. It was enough to get Naomi off her back. For now, at least. She let her phone fall back onto the bed beside her, rubbing her tired eyes with the heel of her palm.  A knock at the door made her heart jump. Her breath hitched, fingers curling slightly into the sheets as she pushed herself to sit up.

"Y/N?"

JJ's voice filtered through the wood, and her shoulders relaxed just a fraction, relieved it was his voice.

"Uh... can I come in?"

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat, sitting up a little. The door creaked open, and JJ stepped in, his eyes flickering around the messy room before landing on her. He hesitated, shifting awkwardly, and she could tell he wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t. "Uh..." He scratched at the back of his neck, flipping his cap backward before exhaling through his nose.

 "Can I borrow some money? Jus' for gas..."

Y/N just nodded, moving robotically toward her nightstand. Dragging the draw open she pulled out a fifty and handed it to him without a word, forcing a small smile. He took it, stuffing it into his pocket, still lingering like he had more to say. He hesitated before he asked, voice softer now.

"You okay?"

"Yeah- yeah, I'm good" 

She replied quickly. JJ nodded, rocking on his heels before glancing toward the door, "Me and the Pogues are doing a fire at the Chateau tonight... you wanna come?"

"Um... sure. I'll think about it."

Y/N hesitated, rubbing her fingers over the fabric of her bedsheets. A small grin tugged at his lips, and he gave her a nod. 

"Well... catch ya later sis?"

"Catch you later J"

She exhaled, forcing another smile. He lingered for a second longer before slipping out, shutting the door behind him. She listened, waiting patiently before hearing the sound of the front door closing. Y/N let out a small groan, rubbing her face before finally pulling herself together up off the bed, moving toward her dresser to pull out her uniform from the top drawer, pushing it shut with her hip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time she'd stepped into the country club, she was already met with the sharp-eyed stare of her manager. He stood near the entrance, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the polished floor, "Maybank," he called the second he spotted her.

"You're twenty minutes late."

"I’m sorry, I— overslept."

Y/N exhaled through her nose, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as the scrawny man in front of her, Mark- was it? She wasn’t too sure he’d only joined last week but one thing she was sure of- he was a total dick. Mark scoffed, clearly unimpressed at her petty excuse as he looked her up and down. 

"Well, don’t let it happen again. We’re busy today, you’re needed in the restaurant. Get to it."

"Yeah, of course" 

She muttered under her breath, already walking past him. He was such a prick, thinking he was above everyone else just because he got to wear a different uniform. But at the end of the day, he was just as much of a pogue as the rest of them. The restaurant was a mess of voices and clinking cutlery, yummy mommies and uninterested fathers wrangling hyperactive kids, older couples sipping on overpriced wine. It was the busiest she’d seen it in a while. Y/N sighed, making her way near the bar where a few other servers were already scrambling around, piling margaritas and mojitos onto trays. She reached under the counter, pulling out her designated apron and securing it around her waist before grabbing her notepad and pen, just another day in paradise. As she tightened the knot on her apron, she felt a light touch on her arm and she turned to find Sofia standing beside her, brows pulled together in concern. The brunette girl greeted, her voice soft but laced with curiosity.

"Hey" 

"Hey" 

Y/N replied, offering a small smile and Sofia's frown deepened just slightly. 

"Are you okay… you’re late today."

Y/N hummed, already knowing where this was going. She was never late. Not to work, not to anything really, she always made sure she was on time- well except for today. She assured her friend, forcing her voice to sound as normal as possible.

"Yeah Sof, I’m fine- I just overslept" 

Sofia gave a slow nod, but she wasn’t convinced. Dropping her voice, she leaned in a little closer and she whispered.

"Is it your dad?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. A warmth spread in her chest, the kind that only came from knowing someone truly cared. Sofia was sweet always like that—no one else in her life really looked out for her the way she did. A soft smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she shook her head. "No," she murmured. 

"He’s being… okay."

Sofia studied her for a second before giving a nod. "Alright," she said, clearly not wanting to push. Then, as if sensing the need for a subject change, Y/N asked, "So, what section am I in today?" Sofia winced, dragging out the word, 

"Weeeelllll—"

Y/N groaned, "Nooo, Sof."

"I’m sorry, okay? I got the balconies, and because you were late, Bailey took the outside, so—"

"-so I got stuck with center" 

Y/N finished, already dreading it. Sofia gave her a look of sympathy, but it didn’t help much. The center section was the worst. It was where all the entitled families sat- the ones with spoiled kids who flung food without a care in the world, and mothers and fathers too glued to their phones or their own conversations to notice. Y/N groaned, slumping against the counter. 

"I swear you did this on purpose."

Sofia snorted, nudging the girl with her shoulder, "Yeah, totally. I plotted this entire thing just to ruin your morning."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. She let out one last exaggerated grunt before pushing off the counter, "Fine. But if I get mashed potatoes in my hair, you're cleaning it out for me."

"I guess it's the least I could do..." Sofia laughed.

After that she didn't see the girl once because the lunch rush was in full swing, and Y/N seemed to be drowning in it. The noise of the restaurant buzzed in her ears- cutlery clinking, bratty kids shrieking about not getting dessert, chairs scraping, and the constant hum of voices layering over each other. She barely had a second to breathe between tables, and it didn’t help that she had the worst kind of customers. She was in the middle of jotting down an order when a voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Hello? Are you even listening?”

Y/N blinked, looking up at the middle-aged woman with an unimpressed frown. She asked, forcing her best polite voice.

“Sorry, ma’am. What was that?”

The woman scoffed shaking her head, “Unbelievable. I said no onions on my salad- are you writing this down?”

“Of course, no onions.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, scribbling it onto the pad. She could feel the heat rising in her face, but she kept moving. There was no time to dwell- she had to drop off one table’s drinks, check on another’s meal, and now, grab a fresh batch of plates from the kitchen. She pushed through the kitchen doors and made a beeline for the counter, spotting the steaming plates waiting under the heat lamps. She reached out, grabbing one—

“No! Wait that's h—”

Yet Elijah’s warning came too late. The moment her fingers curled around the plate, a searing pain shot through her palm. She let out a sharp, instinctive whine, immediately jerking her hand back and waving it in the air.

“Shit!”

Elijah’s eyes widened, “Fuck, Y/N, I forgot that one just came out.”

“It’s fine. It’s okay. I should’ve checked.”

She exhaled through her teeth, shaking out her fingers and blowing on her palm. Elijah still looked guilty, but she didn't have time to listen to his apologies, so she quickly grabbed a rag to pick up the plates properly, her hand still stinging as she placed them down onto a tray and balanced it on her hand, pushing back through the doors. However, the second she stepped out, her manager was waiting, arms crossed.

“Maybank, pick up the pace. You’re falling behind.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek so hard she almost tasted blood. She wanted to snap, to tell him that maybe if they weren’t understaffed and she wasn’t stuck serving every entitled asshole in this place, she wouldn’t be behind. But she swallowed it down, nodding stiffly instead. She walked past him, her burned hand still throbbing, head pounding, and for the first time all day, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it through her shift without completely losing it. 

After leaving the, somewhat happy, family with their meals, she glanced around at her tables- which all seemed relatively contect. So with that sacred moment of peace she slipped behind the bar, reaching for a glass to pour herself some water, when a voice stopped her. “Maybank.” She turned to see Camilla, the head of house, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. Her expression was neutral, but there was a knowing glint in her eye.

“Just sat two guys in your section. They look like they tip well...” 

Camilla said with a slight smirk. Y/N exhaled, setting the empty glass down. Guess I’ll get my water later she thought to herself as she nodded, smoothing her apron as she made her way toward the new table. As she approached, she took them in- two men, mid-forties, dressed in tailored suits with loosened ties. They had that rich look about them, one of them had slicked-back hair, his Rolex glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The other had a sharp jawline and expensive prada sunglasses perched atop his head. Y/N pulled out her pad, forcing a polite smile. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I’ll be your server today—”

She glanced up, and the moment her eyes landed on the man with the sunglasses, her stomach dropped. His smirk was slow, spreading across his face like he was enjoying a private joke. His gaze dragged over her, lingering just a little too long. Y/N felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Well, well,” he murmured under his breath.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She pretended not to hear, gripping her pen a little tighter as she asked, keeping her voice even.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?”

The man with the sunglasses let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Whiskey on the rocks” he said lazily. His friend ordered a beer, and Y/N quickly scribbled it down, ready to get away from the table. But just as she turned, the guy hummed. 

“You must really like serving people, huh?”

Her stomach twisted. She knew exactly what he was implying. She didn’t let herself pause, didn’t let him see her react. Instead, she simply nodded, keeping her face blank as her jaw ticked.

“That’s my job, sir” 

She said albeit sarcastically before walking away. Yet even as she put distance between them, she could still feel his eyes on her and suddenly, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed a shower. Y/N quickly typed the orders into the system, her fingers moving almost mechanically, but her mind was still focused on the two men at table 5. The words from the guy in sunglasses were still echoing in her mind, and it was hard to shake the feeling of discomfort creeping up her spine. As she was trying to center herself, she saw Sofia passing by with an empty tray in hand, Y/N practically reached out to grab her arm, making Sofia stop in her tracks.

“Hey, uh... can I ask you a favor?” 

Y/N’s voice was low, almost pleading, and Sofia immediately tilted her head, looking at her with concern. “What’s up?” Sofia asked, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face, sensing the tension. She hesitated for a second, her eyes darting over to table 5, where the two men were now deep in conversation. 

“I know I don’t usually ask, but- could you just take over table 5 for me?” 

She asked, her words a little rushed trying to keep her voice as steady as she could, trying to keep the nervousness from showing. Sofia’s eyes shifted over to the table, quickly taking in the two guys who were talking and she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure, what’s wrong?” 

“Oh, uh... one of them was just being a creep, and I don’t want to serve them anymore. They’re just freaking me out, you know?” She tried to make it sound casual, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. Sofia nodded without missing a beat, her face hardening with understanding. 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Y/N let out a small sigh of relief as Sofia gave her a reassuring smile. She slipped behind the bar, and reached for a glass of water, the coolness of it a welcome distraction from the heat of the day. But as her fingers brushed the glass, her mind wandered- unsurprisingly, to the two men she just served. She’d kept her two lives separate for so long and for months, she had succeeded. But now… now she could feel them bleeding into each other. It should’ve been obvious. She should’ve known that eventually, something would snap. But Y/N had buried her head in the sand, living like this dual existence was sustainable and now it was all crashing together. Her hand tightened around the glass, maybe she should’ve expected it sooner, maybe this was just karma catching up with her. But what did she do now? With a sharp exhale, Y/N jerked her head away from the counter, pulling herself back to reality. The sound of the kitchen buzzed back to life, and she set her glass of water down with a quiet sigh, abandoning the brief moment of peace. The kitchen doors swung open as she grabbed a tray of dishes,the smell of garlic and tomatoes hit her first- rich, hearty, the kind of smell that reminded her of family dinners at Sofia's house. But then, the overpowering scent of fish and anchovies mingled with it, and Y/N felt her stomach lurch in response.

Her body instinctively recoiled, but she continued to walk with the tray, forcing herself to ignore the growing nausea that started to pool in her chest. As she placed the plates down in front of her table, the scents lingered too long, curling around her senses and twisting like a knot in her gut. She barely heard the customers thank her as she turned quickly on her heel. Her stomach churned, the tight feeling in her chest growing. It wasn’t like this normally, she had always been able to deal with the smells, even if they weren’t her favorite, but today felt different.

Without another thought, she bolted for the back, pushing past the kitchen staff with a quick “excuse me” and “sorry” she didn’t really register. The bathroom was just a few steps away, and she barely made it to the toilet before her body reacted to the smells. Her knees buckled as she knelt, gripping the sides of the porcelain toilet, dry heaving into the bowl. Nothing came up at first, just the acidic taste of bile burning the back of her throat. It wasn’t long before the contents of her stomach caught up with her, and she threw up, the sensation heavy in her chest. She breathed through it, barely able to steady herself as her body trembled. She stayed there for a few minutes, resting her forehead against the cold edge of the toilet, willing the waves of nausea to pass. 

Finally, she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and rinsing her face under the cool tap. Her reflection in the mirror didn’t look like her- not entirely. Her hair was disheveled, eyes a little more tired than usual. But she took a deep breath, splashing some more water on her face as she took a deep breath, making her way back into the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft buzz of the overhead lights hummed in the quiet gas station shop, the air thick with the scent of cheap coffee. Y/N walked down the narrow aisle, her eyes scanning the shelves in a daze, she needed to pick up some bread, eggs, and milk—simple things. Her hand brushed against the shelf, the cold bottles of milk sending a faint chill up her arm. She placed the bottle into her basket and moved through the next aisle but then, her gaze caught something- something tucked away on the edge of the shelf in a blue and white box. The name on it stared up at her and she couldn’t ignore it. She stood still for a moment, her fingers tightening around the handle of the basket, as if the weight of the box was too much for her to attempt to lift. She picked it up slowly, feeling the smooth cardboard beneath her fingers. Her thumb ran over the price tag, and she let out a small, exasperated huff as she read it: $13. Jesus, that was steep for something so small.

She stared at it for another moment, almost as if waiting for the price to drop but it didn’t and the shop remained empty, just the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the soft shuffle of her shoes against the linoleum floor. With a quick glance around the shop, ensuring no one was there to see, she shoved the box into her basket.

She needed it. 

Even if it didn’t make sense, even if it was a stupid purchase, she needed to feel some semblance of control. The cashier stood behind the counter, chewing gum slowly, her eyes uninterested as she scanned each item with a mechanical precision. The click of the scanner was the only sound in the otherwise silent shop. Y/N could feel her gaze on her, a heavy, almost judgmental stare as the woman worked through the items. The cashier's eyes flicked up as she reached the box. She scanned it, then raised her eyebrows slightly, her gaze flicking from the box to Y/N, as if silently questioning her. She didn’t say anything though, just let the moment hang in the air, her gum popping softly between her teeth. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit she never seemed to break, and cleared her throat.

 “Can I get a bag?” 

Her voice came out quieter than she expected, the cashier nodded, not bothering to make a show of it, and began placing the items in the bag leisurely. The sound of the plastic crinkling felt like an eternity to Y/N, each second stretching into the next. It was torturous- like the woman was dragging it out on purpose. Finally, the woman looked up at her and said flatly, 

“$20.50.”

Y/N’s hand immediately went to her pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as she pulled out the cash. She placed it on the counter without a word, almost too quickly, and the cashier took the money, handed her back the change, and Y/N took it with a muttered "thanks," her voice barely audible. She grabbed the bag, turning quickly to head for the exit, relief bubbling up at the thought of being out of there. 

But as her hand reached the door, she paused.

Her gaze flicked to the small W/C sign on the wall, the letters simple and stark, and for some reason, her feet seemed to move of their own accord. Without thinking, Y/N walked towards the restroom doors and slipped through them. 

She now found herself sat on the toilet, her elbow resting on her knees, her head leaning into the palm of her hand. Her other hand absently fiddled with the plastic turning it over, looking at it every few seconds waiting for some sort of sign, some hint of change. But nothing. Nothing had changed. It was just plastic- empty, meaningless plastic. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion in her body. It had been a long day, and her mind was tired, her thoughts heavy and slow. She closed her eyes for just a moment, just to breathe, to try and center herself, to stop feeling so damn overwhelmed. She let out a soft sigh, as if to release all the tension she had been carrying. When she opened her eyes again, the restroom’s faint fluorescent light made everything look almost surreal. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting. 

But when her gaze dropped, something froze in her chest.

She was gripping the plastic now, harder than before. Her knuckles were pale from the pressure, but it didn’t matter. The small screen was glaring up at her and in that harsh, glaring light, the one thing she hadn’t wanted to see was right there. Her throat was tightening, and for a moment, it felt like the room was closing in on her. She stared at it, her mind running in circles, her breath shallow.

She hadn’t expected this. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N slammed the door behind her with more force than she intended- its harsh thud reverberating through the quiet space. She rushed into her room, her heart pounding in her chest, she didn’t even notice the noise; her mind was elsewhere, racing. Panicked. The weight of the little plastic screen clung to her like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. Her hands were a little shaky as she dropped to her knees beside her bed, reaching under it with frantic urgency. She pulled out the tattered brown shoe box that she had kept hidden, the one filled with money she’d saved. Her fingers fumbled with the box’s worn edges before opening it and pulling out the small pile of cash. She began counting quickly, 

Two hundred and fifty dollars.

Her stomach twisted at the sight of it. Two hundred and fifty dollars. That was it? Barely enough to make it through the month—food, bills, gas. She knew she hadn’t been at the club for almost three weeks but she never really noticed how much of a difference it made- without it her payout at the country club, well it was practically nothing. She cursed under her breath, shoving the cash back into the box. How was she supposed to make it work? This wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t even close.

A sharp knock to her bedroom door pulled her out of the downward spiral she found herself tumbling through. “What?” she snapped irritably, blinking away the haze of frustration. She shoved the box back under the bed as the door opened. JJ walked in, a little lighter than usual. He had a joint behind his ear and a grin plastered across his face. 

“You ready to get lit sis?”

Y/N paused, still kneeling on the floor, her hands clenched into fists. “What?” she asked, her tone sharp and confused. JJ spoke out, walking deeper into her room like it was his own,

“C’mon, you ready to go to the fire?” 

Her mind flicked back to that morning when he had asked her if she wanted to go to the Chateau with him and the Pogues to spend the night, maybe smoke some weed, have a few beers. It felt like a lifetime ago now that they’d discussed it, and she couldn’t shake the weight in her chest. She pushed some hair out of her face, shaking her head slowly as she pushed herself off the floor. 

“Look JJ... I don’t know if I can do that tonight.”

JJ, oblivious to the undercurrent of panic in her voice, walked past her and pulled open the doors of her closet already rifling through her closet causing her brows to pull down into a frown. He spoke nonchalantly, grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank top looking at them before shrugging and tossing them onto the bed close to where she stood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah- you just need to loosen up Y/N” 

 “I really don’t want to JJ” 

She said, her voice tight as she sat on the edge of the bed, her leg bouncing up and down nervously, but her brother had already made his way towards where she was , pulling at her shoulders shaking her lightly, trying to convince her. 

“Just loosen up, Y/N. You’ll come to the chate-”

“-I’ve got bigger fucking problems than spending a shitty night getting high by some fire!” 

She burst out, her chest tightening with the outburst. Something inside her snapped, and she stood up abruptly, pushing his hands off her. JJ stepped back, surprised by the force of her movement. The words hung heavy in the room and she immediately regretted saying them, feeling the lump in her throat, the guilt crawling up her neck. JJ stared at her, his expression frozen for a moment. He hadn’t expected that- neither did she. He stood still for a beat, and then, shaking his head, he mumbled, 

“Should’ve guessed you didn’t want to spend time with your brother and his shitty friends, right?”

Y/N’s face softened for a moment, but the words stung, and she felt that familiar ache in her chest. She started, her voice breaking just slightly,

 “JJ—”

He didn’t wait though, instead he turned on his heel, walking toward the door, his lips pursed in frustration. Before she could say anything else, he slammed the door behind him. Y/N stood there, alone, heart pounding in her ears. She tried to sit there on the edge of the bed for a few more minutes after he heard the front door slam shut to try and calm herself, but her mind was running too fast. The words she’d snapped at JJ kept echoing in her head, the way he’d walked out, the hurt in his voice when he made that comment about not wanting to spend time with him. She knew it wasn’t true. She did want to spend time with him more than anything, but everything was just... overwhelming. 

Her gaze flickered over to the duffle bag sticking out from the back of her closet. The zipper was slightly open, revealing the pink sparkle of the clothes inside. She hadn’t planned to go back there tonight, but the weight of the situation was too heavy- she needed the money now. She couldn’t just let it all sit on her shoulders while she waited for something to change. Y/N sighed, dragging herself off the bed with more effort than she cared to admit. 

She had no choice but to make it work. 

It always worked, somehow. 

The duffle bag felt heavier than it should as she pulled it out from the closet, her fingers brushing the rough fabric. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold it in her hands, but now, with everything else piling on top of her, she couldn’t ignore the fact that it might be her only option. She unzipped the bag slowly, pulling out the set she hadn’t touched in weeks. She stared at the two piece, at their tight fit, the heels in the bag she knew would be a bitch to walk in but would make the money flow. There was a strange sense of finality in the way she laid everything out on her bed. 

Y/N quickly pulled her polo top over her head, hand reaching to her back to unclasp the bra she was wearing; trying not to think too much about the decision she was making. She pulled on the panties, feeling the familiar fabric settle against her skin, dragging on the pair of shorts and t-shirt JJ had thrown out her closet over the set. As she grabbed the duffle bag again, her stomach twisted in knots, but she pushed the feeling down. She shoved everything into the bag, and as she walked out of her room, heading for the door, her hand lingered on the handle of the front door for a second longer than it should have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car hummed under her, tires rolling over the familiar streets, but her mind was a million miles away. She wasn’t driving fast; in fact, she was barely even looking at the road, her gaze flickering from the rearview mirror to the side window. The night stretched on like a thick fog in front of her, and all she could do was try to sort through the thoughts fighting for space in her head. She should have been heading straight to the club, her destination set, the routine of it all keeping her grounded. But she couldn’t shake the nagging pull, the thought she’d been running from for so long. 

The thought of what he had said to her.

She came to a slow stop at the red light, her eyes catching the turn-off for Figure 8. She bit her lip, her mind racing. She could do it- this one night would pay for it, for all the expenses. She wouldn't need to slave away for hours at the club every night for the next two weeks. But the longer she thought about it, she didn't think she could do it, the thought being clouded in guilt and in hesitation. The light flickered green, and Y/N’s foot hovered for a second.

Her car made a slow right turn, the headlights illuminating the driveway of the house she’d never imagined stepping foot in. The driveway was empty except for the black Range Rover, parked against the stillness of the night. The lights were off inside, except for the soft glow coming from a window upstairs. Y/N’s heart was thumping, the tension coiling in her chest.

She shouldn’t be here. 

She felt herself fidgeting with the steering wheel, her nails already bitten down to the skin, she was out of the car before she even had the chance to fully think the idea through. The driveway stretched in front of her, empty and lonely and her footsteps echoed in the quiet as she walked up to the door, her thoughts scattered and panicked. She raised her hand, and knocked.

Once.

Twice. 

The sound was sharp against the night, the quiet too loud in her ears. She crossed her arms, staring at the door, waiting, her breath shallow as the seconds stretched on. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself now. The door creaked open, just a little, enough to see him, his silhouette framed in the darkness

Rafe stood in the doorway, a surprised expression crossing his face as his eyes slowly raked over her. His lips lifted into a smirk as his gaze lingered, reading her.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, a hint of amusement in his tone. 

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you anytime soon.” 

His gaze flickered over her, narrowing slightly, processing the change. The girl who had slapped him just weeks ago, who had shot down his offer without a second thought, was standing here now, looking... different. 

Vulnerable, maybe?

Her eyes never left his, the tension between them palpable in the night air. She stood there for a second, her lips pressed tight, and then, finally, she spoke.

“Does your offer still stand?” 

She asked, her voice steady but her posture tense, her arms crossing over her chest, as if bracing herself for whatever would come next. Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. 

“What?”

“You said you wanted me to dance for you,” she clarified, her eyes now unwavering, “privately.”

Rafe blinked, his confusion momentarily replacing the usual smugness in his expression. He stared at her, trying to piece this together. The last time they’d spoken, she turned down the idea without a moment of hesitation and prior to that she’d slapped him across the face for suggesting something like this, practically hurling insults at him. And now, here she was, standing in front of him, asking for the very thing she had so firmly rejected. He scratched his bicep slightly as he moved to cross his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe, his eyes flicking over her again, narrowing as he tried to make sense of her sudden shift in demeanor. 

“Why now?” 

He asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. Y/N's jaw tightened- was he really expecting her to explain herself? To give him a reason? She just needed this—needed him to say yes, because she didn’t have time to waste. “That’s not important,” she replied, her voice a little firmer, a little colder now.

 “Does the offer still stand or not?”

Rafe’s eyes stayed locked on her, the gears turning in his head as he considered her. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her. The attraction had always been there, but it had grown stronger in the past few months. Seeing her again, after all this time apart, made something inside him ignite.

He wanted her- and it wasn’t just about the power and control anymore. 

There was something more now.

He ran a hand across his jaw, his gaze flicking over her, up and down, assessing her in a way he hadn’t before. The silence stretched, his fingers still brushing over his stubbled jaw as he thought it through. But the thought of having her all to himself, the idea of pushing this thing between them to the next level, the idea of making her his- really his- he couldn’t shake it. Finally, he dropped his hand and gave her a look that told her what she needed to know before he even said it. 

“It still stands.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her eyes flickering in relief. She nodded once, a small, sharp motion, “So, can I come in?”

Rafe stepped back, the door creaking as he swung it wider to allow her through. His hand lingered on the doorframe, just for a moment, before he released it. Y/N hesitated. She was standing there, staring at the threshold, as if her feet had rooted to the floor. She had no idea what she was walking into- no idea what would happen when she crossed that line but she needed to. 

She had to.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, the door shutting behind them with a soft click.

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[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt.2

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

Warnings: Language, sexual themes (it's the patient)

A/N: So, this chapter is much beefier than the last. To anyone new here and my writing - I'm a long-winded bitch, so I apologize in advance 🤣. This chapter also uses slight dialogue from the show. There is a scene in this I took from my time working in the ER during the 2020/2021 pandemic. 100% this actually happened. It was traumatizing lol. Thank you, guys, so much for taking such an interest in this fic! For showing so much love and loving on this show along with me (and Dr. Robby lol) because it's fantastic and deserves all the fics and all the love! I truly am grateful and hope that you enjoy this chapter. Much Love, Jenn 🖤

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me. Thank you for putting up with me lol. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word count: 7524

Previous I Next

7:00 AM - 8:00 AM

You’d been staring at the screen for what accumulated into an eternity in the ED. The longer you kept staring, kept from just choosing one of the damn patients on the board, the bigger the risk grew that Dana would notice.

Or worse - Robby. 

If Dana took notice of you willfully choosing to stare off into premeditated space, you were willing to bet your firstborn she’d reprimand you first and tell Robby second. She'd shoo you away from her desk with a fervor usually saved for psych patients, as if you had cooties. With your current calculations on how this morning started, either option would be unpleasant. 

Whether any of you liked it or not, you were here, and that meant one glaringly - neon sign bright - reality. Robby was going to be your fucking boss for the next twenty-four hours. And not in a kinky way. At least, not the way either of you used to enjoy.  

From the moment the briefing ended, the disdain at your presence made it painfully clear that you were not welcome. Everyone dispersed in true manic speed to meet the batshit energy that constantly swirled inside the Pitt. It was the place that kept on giving even when you politely asked to be put in time out - because damn you needed just a moment to get your shit together. But the ER was in its own solar system, and it required everyone who walked inside to be ready for whatever was thrown their way. You didn’t get a say - weren’t allowed to say no or ‘hard pass’, on cases that came flowing in and what dictated an emergency. You were either ready or you weren’t. You either made it or you cracked.

There wasn’t any damn structure here. Just spontaneity with a dash of madness but, in that madness, greatness could be born. Adamson always said you never knew what kind of doctor you were - the depths of your compassion - until it was tested in the blood, sweat, and fire of the Pitt. 

You’d been tried, tested, and by the end knew exactly what kind of doctor you were. What kind of doctor you strived to be - like Adamson. Just like Robby. But it’d been two very long years since you’d been able to call this madhouse home. The ease of set-timed patients with a patient history readily at your fingertips had spoiled you. Every question that needed to be asked without actually asking was answered and waiting just for you to see. Pre-existing conditions or possible new ones with known side effects were readily available for you to view.

So, yeah, you were panicky - terrified - about heading out onto the floor with a thousand unknowns. It wasn’t helping that Perlah and Princess hadn’t greeted you with more than a sneer and an eye roll that’d impress your fifteen-year-old niece. Robby and his flock of med students bounded off to make rounds that lasted less than three minutes before rapids began flowing through the ambulance bay. With any luck, you’d have one solid minute to look over the board, dissect what room held the most viable case to close, and head there. 

Just jump right back in and pray you didn’t fall flat on your face. 

The numbing sensation that resonated earlier in your chest returned with a vengeance. It didn’t start gradually, but collided against your nerves; exploding like a colony of ants that bit and tore leaving behind flashes of panic. You tried to lead the sensation out through your hands with a subtle shake. If you allowed the anxiety to fester itself it would no doubt become housed to you the entire shift.

You were better than this. You interned in the Pitt. You chose to stay after you’d obtained a full-time position. Two years away from this damn madhouse shouldn’t have affected you this strongly but that wasn’t accounting for outside stimuli…

But looking up at the large TV monitor, new names being added to the FirstNet system with brightly colored labels, it made you want to scream. It made you feel hopeless.

Fuck. You were better than this. 

The background erupted with shouts from an incoming trauma. Two severe traumas from the sound of rushing feet and Robby’s directions. You didn’t hear most of what the paramedics relayed to Robby and the med students. You did, however, catch the word degloving as they rolled into trauma rooms one and two. You did not envy the med students.

You gave your hands one last shake as your eyes combed over the patient list one more time. You’d found a possible ingestion of a foreign object by a child in triage room eleven. Simple. Easy. You were already going over possible orders to give. An x-ray was to get a better picture if the obstruction was heading downward or if an endoscopy would be necessary for removal. What signs to look for as you assessed the child while making sure they were still alert and swallowing normally. You thought of how to introduce yourself when a familiar voice thrust you back into the present. 

“Forget how to read a patient board, Fullerton?”

Dana’s words were pure ice. The years of friendship and playful jokes appeared to be burned to a pile of ash. You didn’t need to look at her to know she wasn’t regarding you with a friendlier expression than Perlah had moments before. 

“No,” you sighed, your eyes finally dragged from the screen to her. “Just taking in the options.”

“This isn’t a buffet, in case you forgot. I know it runs easier and less dirty for you guys upstairs, but down here time is a precious commodity.”

“I am well aware of how simple consultations can turn serious, Dana.”

“Oh, you do,” she gasped in mock surprise. She’d removed her glasses from her nose and held them against her chest. “I guess that means you should stop wasting time and do your job. Don’t want your Press Ganey scores droppin’.”

“Not that I don’t love the pep talk, Dana. I’m just curious, are you going to be riding my ass this hard the whole shift?”

The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The ears of every available RN and technician who sat around Dana’s nursing station no doubt heard. The verbal back and forth so early in the morning was beginning to give you whiplash.

“I don’t know, sunshine is there a reason you think I shouldn’t? You know,” she began, her body involuntarily inching closer. Her shoulder leaned in closer so her barbed words could sink deep enough to wound. “What a surprise to learn that this whole time - the entire fucking two years you were gone - you’d simply been up-fucking-stairs.”

It was in those last few words you saw it. It was so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t dialed in. No matter what Dana, or anyone else, said to you today, it would never compare to the carnage you’d left behind with your silence. The pain of seeing the hurt you’d left behind, sharp and unforgiving, was like a lancet; slicing through the tough hide you’d prepared for the day. 

“Dana -” 

Shit, you did not need your voice to crack. You did not need to crack. 

Unluckily for you, she wasn’t in the mood to hear from you. A hand rushed up to brush off whatever weak attempt at placating her she knew you would try and send her way.

“I don’t want to hear it, kid. Months I was worried sick about you. Just to find out you chose to forget we even existed down here. A literal ghost walking back into our lives right when we’ve just about healed. You’re a real asshole, Fullerton.”

She lifted the glasses back to rest on the bridge of her nose. The coolness of her stare reminded you - if her final words didn’t - that you weren’t a welcome sight in the Pitt. Your presence threw off what little harmony they coveted, the family dynamics, and you knew she would fight to preserve it - to protect Robby -  and everyone else in the process.

Your tongue pressed against the side of your cheek. A weak balm to cool the warring wave of emotions that rapidly replaced the anxiety that moments ago threatened to shatter you into embarrassing little pieces. Now you only felt like shattering for an entirely different reason. 

Dana tore her gaze away from you and answered an incoming phone call. Whatever emotions she contended with were conveniently pushed down because she had a job to do. So did you. You found yourself wanting to say to hell with today; with Gloria and all her standards. You hadn’t agreed to be fucking public enemy number one. 

It didn’t matter how anyone else saw you. What mattered right now was the glaringly obvious pain you’d caused to someone who was the Pitt’s raining surrogate mother. Who’d checked in on you, and brought extra food from home because she miraculously knew you’d forgotten yours. A friend that invited you to her family’s Christmas Eve dinner your first year as an intern because you didn’t have family to celebrate with. The woman who’d held you when you’d lost your first patient and scolded you about smoking cigarettes even though she smoked herself. 

You wanted to be stubborn. To wait for her to get off that damn phone so you could try and explain, but really what could you say? It wasn’t just Robby you left. You’d chosen to abandon ship with all of them aboard a sinking ship. They never even knew they needed life jackets in the first place. 

The cool stare of the nursing staff made your back itch. You needed to get away and get back to why you were here. What you were damn good at doing. Clearing your throat, you made your way around the nurses' station. The stride of your steps was suspiciously close to turning into a jog. Although, you’d never admit that out loud.  The sooner you could get to the patient's room the more normal this day would be.

“Holy shit, Fullerton? Is that you?”

The chipper tone and the laughter behind it had warning bells going off in your head in a matter of minutes. You only knew one surgeon who took glee in other people’s discomfort. 

Yolanda Garcia, the resident pain in the ass at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, beamed at you like the cat who was dangerously close to eating a new canary. You had a not-so-sneaking suspicion you were the canary in this scenario. 

“I don’t know, Garcia does it look like me? It’s too early for you to be hallucinating.”

“Does Robby know you’re here?”

Oh, she had to be eating this up. The sheer mayhem she knew this would cause - psychologically speaking - must have been making her toes curl. She was beaming, practically euphoric from the very thought.  Her feet were no doubt burning to run and tell him as if he didn’t already know. 

You tried to sidestep around her obnoxiously grinning form only for her to shadow your movement. 

“It’s great to see you haven’t lost that dream of auditioning for the Wicked Witch of the East, Yolanda.”

“Robby is going to flip when he hears about this.”

“Great. Why don’t you run along now and tell him,” you quipped while patting her arm. “I have patients to attend to.” 

“I bet you do.”

This time when you moved to sidestep her, Garcia didn’t make any move to follow. No doubt too busy riding her broom to be the harbinger of doom all over again for one specific unfortunate soul. 

“Are you aware that Fullerton is here? Just walking around the Pitt attending to patients?”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock that once Garcia saw you, she’d use you in any capacity to rile him up. Hell, Robby was willing to bet the minute she’d noticed you - whether walking or inside a patient room - Garcia would’ve encroached on your space. The two of you historically had one of the worst feuds Adamson said he’d seen between interns in years. It didn’t surprise him that even after you’d both secured your jobs within the hospital it never ended.

What did surprise him was how breezily she asked her questions. She hadn’t even taken five steps into trauma one before she fired each one off in his direction. His hands crossed his body to grip his shoulders. He needed something to steady himself and each finger that dug into the meat of his biceps was all he needed to help keep him centered. Keep his head in this room with this patient and not somewhere else.

“Yes, Dr. Garcia I am well aware she is here.”

He watched the exchange between Collins and Garcia and nodded his approval at Collin’s when she stood her ground and called for a popliteal block instead of morphine. 

“Where’s the next guy?”

“Next door. He’s a bit worse.”

This was something he could do. Something his mind could piece together and work around. Robby knew medicine. Saving lives wasn’t the hardest part of his day - it was having to try and make sense of his own that held that prize.

Garcia was in the middle of giving one last instruction of what she wanted before she fully followed him into the room. Dr. Mohan and a med student, Santos, were in the process of intubating Mr. Wallace. 

“How do you feel about that?”

Robby had been so laser-focused watching them place the tube that he hadn’t heard Dr. Garcia the first time. So, of course, she asked again. 

“Feel about what?”

He was under the impression they were focused on the patient. He should've known better when it came to Garcia. She was relentless until she got what she wanted.

“Come on, Robby, let’s not be coy. You expect me to believe you don’t have big feelings about her being down here? You guys were engaged - ”

A split second. That was all it took for him to become glaringly aware of the room. Of all the people in it, they no longer were singularly focused on the patient but split down the middle. While Garcia effortlessly watched over the med students and their progress, she equally watched him for any sign of a reaction. 

He needed to put an end to her question before she overshared information that first-day interns had no business knowing. Robby found himself itching under the watchful gazes of staff. Princess in particular he caught glancing up from where she was handing over instruments. 

“I don’t see how that information pertains to anything dealing with our patients, Dr. Garcia. How about we stay focused on the task at hand.”

Robby saw the smirk on her face. A dog with a bone. That’s what Garcia was going to be like all fucking day because she was just eating this up. 

He put himself back in motion - being the watchful attendee as Dr. Mohan successfully placed the intubation tube. 

“I’m in!”

“Good! Well done.”

Robby could do this. He could be a doctor. He could be the attendee overseeing and teaching others. He could do this. He could do this. He listened closely as Dr. King checked for the patient’s medical history - there was none. He listened to Yolanda give off medication to administer before shipping Mr. Wallace up to CT for a scan. Once Robby was sure everything was moving smoothly, he moved around the foot of the patient’s bed to stand next to Princess. 

“Do me a favor,” he asked gently, “Swap out with Jessie for me, would you?”

Their degloving patient screamed in a language no one knew but - Robby was hoping - Princess would know. He was following behind her when a familiar - and unwelcome voice - called out behind him. 

“Dr. Robinavitch. Do you have a moment?”

No. He would never have another fucking moment for Gloria. She effectively used up every last moment he had left to spare when she dragged you down here. Robby was barely holding on to what small pieces of sanity he had left. He didn’t need any more shit to deal with before 7:30 am. 

“Ugh, I’m a little busy right now, Gloria. One sec.”

He meant no fucking seconds but he still had to play nice, right. Robby was never good at playing politics. Adamson told him countless times it was the unseen added responsibility of an attending. The constant hounding from the administration staff and CEOs demanding doctors and nurses carried more than just keeping people alive. 

Gloria followed him through the rooms and stood at the side. Her presence was a constant reminder to him that she wasn’t going to leave empty-handed. 

Robby did all he could to monitor the med students’ and his residents as they made their assessments. When Princess notified him she couldn’t figure out the language, Robby took it as a small win to allow him to grab language services, giving him a few seconds to breathe. 

It was short-lived. 

By the time the officer walked in, Gloria had her fill of being on the back burner. She wouldn’t be ignored any longer and they both knew Robby was no longer needed. His residents’ had both patients stabilized and were finishing up preparing them to begin proper treatments. It left him the odd man out. It left him having to take a walk with Gloria. 

The walking and talking was about metrics - Press Ganey scores. The endless bitching about low numbers that couldn’t be fixed without proper staffing was affecting patient satisfaction. It was easy for Gloria to pin the poor numbers on Robby, Abbot, and the entire Pitt staff. Easier to claim they just weren’t already busting their ass hard enough instead of admitting they were short-staffed in every department. That their metrics and data issues of force-fed shitty scores could be solved simply by hiring more nurses - paying better wages. 

But everything Robby ever said - tried to tell Gloria until his vision reddened - fell on uncaring ears. 

After everything he tried to tell her again all she latched onto was when he used the word “Pitt” instead of the official term of an emergency department. Derogatory. That was what she called it. Incompatible with institutional images.

Robby wanted to scream. 

“You know what's incompatible with the institution's image? Me speaking to the media about people who code in our waiting rooms and people who get shitty care in our hallways waiting for an ICU bed for days.” 

“I’ve heard about doctors who tried that and found themselves out of work.” 

The thinly veiled threat wasn’t lost on him. The next words he would’ve liked to have said to Gloria in response, he was forced to cover up under a mirthless laugh. 

“I know today is difficult for you - “

Fuuuck no. No. He was not doing this, especially not with Gloria. No matter what was said after this, Robby could feel the cusp of a storm riding at the frayed edges of his psyche. Knew it was there with each passing millisecond as he waited for it to implode. 

“Everyday is difficult down here,” he bit in. 

“Boarding is a nationwide problem. Your predecessor, Adamson, sure as hell knew that. Or wasn’t that something he taught you?”

And there it fucking was. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to rain in the tidal wave that roared in his ears. The cautionary warnings of a catastrophe brewing beneath the surface only grew louder. 

It wasn’t even fucking 7:30 yet. 

“Fuuuuck. Wow. Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Gloria would never back down. She was as strong and determined as anyone Robby ever met. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found her impressive, but this wasn’t any other circumstance than her riding his ass like she usually did. 

Robby shook his head again to try and clear the black dots from his vision. It was just a brief shake. His eyes skimmed across each full bed that held a waiting patient. The universe must have perfect timing with fucking with him today. In that brief look, Robby watched you appear from behind a patient curtain. A reassuring smile on your face as you spoke one final time to the family of three inside before you closed it shut behind you. 

You weren’t aware he’d seen you - that he was watching. It was a split second but live wires only needed one second to find a conduit to create sparks that burned down everything around it. He shook his head to try and clear it. His gaze landing back on Gloria with a new bone to pick. 

“Don’t you think you should’ve cleared it with me before you brought Dr. Fullerton down?”

Before his sentence finished, Robby could tell by Gloria’s response she found his question idiotic. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware the board needed to clear every decision with you first, Dr. Robby. Also, weren’t you just complaining about the lack of staffing?”

“I was saying to hire more nurses - not to bring down a doctor from a whole other floor.”

“A doctor who has been with this hospital for close to a decade, trained by Adamson, and you, might I add. Look, I get it. You two have…history. Which is one of the main reasons we frown upon fraternization.”

“Please, spare me the HR talk, Gloria.”

“You need to put your big boy pants on, Dr. Robby. Fullerton is staying down here whether you like it or not. Don’t like it, can’t manage the crisis or who the hospital chooses to staff down in the ER, you can either step up or step aside.”

Gloria didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gave him one last condescending look, one Robby hoped he mirrored back to her, before turning on her heels and walking away. His eyes followed her for a few seconds, debating if he wanted to chase after her. Just hand over his badge and call it quits because the feeling of defeat weighed so damn heavy on his shoulders that he thought there might be a chance he’d never get back up. 

Instead, he turned to look at the nursing station where Dana was casually walking. He knew she heard the entire conversation. He just didn’t want to have to repeat what just occurred or discuss it in the slightest. 

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and was ready to return into the fray because he could handle that. He could help patients. He could be the doctor they needed. Before he even moved a step Dana motioned for him to come towards the desk. 

The little devil on his shoulder warned him that he might end up regretting it. 

“You know, Robby, I’ve been thinking - “

“Why do I feel like this isn’t going to go well,” he sighed. 

Dana simply waved him off before she continued. 

“You aren’t being very realistic on the whole, ‘stay in the triage only’ demand. You want her to just waste her skills by only helping out in the front?”

“She won’t be wasting them,” he huffed. 

His hands reached out to grip the edge of the counter. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He did not want to have this conver -

“I think you’re just hoping that’s where she stays so you don’t have to see her.”

“One can dream, Dana.”

Robby did not trust - nor like - the coy look he received in response to his words. 

“Who am I to get in the way of a man’s dream?” She replied, her eyes examining him in a way he hated. No one could hide anything from Dana.  “Although, if I know you -“

“Dana -“ he warned. 

“ - I would be willing to bet -“

“Dana, I’m being serious -“

“ - that you want to see her.”

“Now why would I want that?”

“You’ve been scanning the halls every few seconds since we’ve been talking, Robby. I don’t think you’re admiring the wonderful view of bodily fluids and stale piss scent.”

“Alright I’ve had enough of your idea of what I’m assuming is a half-assed pep talk.”

“Just…be honest with yourself, Robby. You both got a lot of unresolved tension with a dash of a shit ton of issues. Probably be better to hash it out when you can, and in private, instead of exploding in front of interns or patients.”

Robby wanted to question if she was willing to do the same. Would Dana be able to have you come to the desk for patient transfer information, for updates, calls; and for everything and not be as affected as he was? Robby remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d lost you - felt lost without you. 

Robby wasn’t ready to confront you. Hell, he wasn’t ready to be alone with you and try to talk like civil adults. He wasn’t there yet and maybe he wouldn’t be. What he could be was an attending physician. He was great at that. 

He could do that.  Everything else would just have to wait. 

Upon further examination of the little penny swallower in 7 North, he showed no signs of abnormal drooling or trouble swallowing. Palpitating the stomach didn’t have any response of abdominal pain or tenderness. With a few more questions about possible fever or trouble breathing, you felt confident in informing the family an x-ray would be needed just to verify the penny was making safe travels down to be…expelled. Easier and less invasive to exit that way. 

You told them once you were notified the x-ray results were ready, you’d come to speak to them about the next steps. Hopefully, it meant they could be discharged in an hour or less. Which meant you had an hour to kill between waiting for the results. After reading the chief complaint on the board for 12 South, you thought it was a solid contender for a quickie. 

As it turned out, it was the worst idea you’d had that morning. 

When you pulled back the curtain and began the examination, what you’d found waiting for you under the dressing gown wasn’t on your bingo card. Actually, it should never be on anyone’s bingo card. Not ever. 

You’d tried to come up with any other option than needing to consult Robby. He didn’t want to see you throughout the day - ever. It was a sentiment you equally shared with him and one you happily would’ve avoided except…you need the advice. 

You need to present the case and get some solid, solid advice and, quite possibly, traumatize him in the process. You couldn’t be the only one subjected to seeing what you saw at freaking 7:37 in the morning. The only issue: you had no fucking clue where he was. 

In true Pitt fashion, doctors were bouncing from one room to another. Already you’d heard McKay call earlier about needing a crash cart. When you’d run out to assist, Mateo, a newer RN you’d yet to meet let you know they had it - if you were needed they’d call. 

You also knew that after 7:30, rigs would be bringing in elderly patients from the nursing homes. Another thing that would keep Robby busy and make it near impossible for you to try and consult with him. It was already going to be a battle just to keep him from turning and bolting in the other direction when he saw you. 

This limbo of time left you a few minutes to run to the break room and take a blissful sip of your more than likely room-temperature coffee. It didn’t matter: caffeine was caffeine and you would take it any way you could get it. You just had to make one last pit stop before you disappeared. 

You circled the nurses' station and found the exact nurse you were looking for sitting at one of the station’s computers. You had to hand it to Perlah, whether she saw you coming or sensed your presence like a disturbance in the force, she refused to glance up from the screen. Her eyes scan over something repeatedly as her fingers pound into the keyboard. 

“Perlah, have you seen Robby?”

She still wasn’t looking up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping her P heavily. 

“If you do see him, can you let him know I’m looking for him?”

“Nope.”

Your lips tucked into a grimace as your gaze peered over the edge of the computer. Perlah’s eyes didn’t lift once. 

“Okay. Great talk.”

“Mhmm.”

Yeah, today was off to a really fantastic start. 

There wasn’t any point hanging around the nurses' station for longer than was embarrassingly needed. You took the loss in stride, and by stride, it meant with a heavy sigh of defeat that had your feet dragging that defeatist attitude into the breakroom. Where you found one of Robby’s newest med students sitting at the break room’s table. 

If you felt defeated, you weren’t sure what the proper word for her would be. She looked like a reprimanded child instead of a doctor. Her small frame was tucked in tight, like a fetal position with her forehead almost completely collapsing onto the table. 

You weren’t able to catch any of their names earlier because you all but missed morning rounds. All you knew was she was one of Robby’s four interns and by far the youngest from the looks of it. 

You eyed her warily as you moved towards the side counter. You’d stashed your coffee on top of the microwave and, once in hand, immediately brought it to your lips for a long pull. 

Yep. It tasted as good as you thought it would. 

The girl brightened once she realized you’d entered. Her nerves had her eyes darting down and back up again seemingly unable, or just not comfortable enough, to keep them trained on you. 

“You’re one of Robby’s new med students today, right?” A timid smile rose and fell on her lips. You watched while she tried to make out if you were friend or foe. In an attempt to prove the former, you offered up a warm smile as you introduced yourself. 

“Victoria Javadi - MS3.”

“It’s a pleasure, Dr. Javadi. May I ask what you’re doing in the breakroom instead of out in the Pitt?”

Your question was meant to be that: a simple question. No ulterior motives were waiting in the wings especially not the lecture Adamson gave you your first year when he caught you napping in here. But your simple question extinguished what little bit of life had lit up in the young girls’ eyes. 

“I - I - my foot hit a gurney during Dr. Collin’s and Dr. Langdon’s demonstration on the degloving patient. It was nothing.” 

It wasn’t nothing. Whatever happened was everything to her and not in the best of ways. 

“That’s okay. It happens,” you shrugged. “I stuck myself with a needle once.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice timid and eyes unbelieving. 

“Oh, yeah. My second year of residency too. The patient became combative while I was trying to administer the medication. The needle got jammed in my clavicle.” 

You couldn’t believe it - it earned you a laugh. A nervous one, but it was still a laugh. You watched her as she brightened and dimmed; a constant flux of warring thoughts that you weren’t sure which side was winning. 

“Whatever happens out there, don't let it get you down. We never stop learning as human beings or as doctors. Everyone out there has made a mistake in some capacity. Hell,” you snorted as you pushed off from the kitchenette’s counter, “Michael got hit with a bedpan once.”

“Michael?”

God, you’d gotten too familiar. Your memory of that day makes you have a Freudian slip into the days you called him more by his first name instead of his nickname. 

“Oh, uhm, Dr. Robby. I’m going to head out but if you want, once you’re done here, you can come find me. I’d be more than happy to teach you.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure Dr. Robby is just having me take a break. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” 

You were tempted to tell her to come find you anyway, just in case. In case it didn’t go how she thought when she did finally check back in with Robby. Whether she verbally agreed to the offer or not, you hoped she knew it was still there. This was a teaching hospital after all. 

Dana and Robby were walking back to the nurses' station. He’d just gotten one major surprise of finding out Javadi was Eileen Shamsi’s daughter and while he was all for surprises, that was one he'd like to have been prepared for. 

Just like Dana had warned him, via Perlah, that you were looking for him he saw you standing there waiting. For him. He’d had all of five seconds to come to terms with the fact you were both about to have your first direct conversation in over two years. After two long years of no contact, it was about work. 

He should’ve been happy it was just about work and not all the other bullshit that’d accumulated over those two years. He should’ve been fucking thrilled, but he wasn’t. Robby had so many questions - so many things he wanted to say. There was so much to say - to ask - and instead here he was preparing to discuss something easy. 

Robby and Dana split up at the middle entrance. She returned to man her station in the center of this circus, while he came up to stand beside you leaning against the nurses' station. Your fingers tapped on the counter while your chin rested in your other hand. 

“Something’s got you deep in thought.”

Robby knew the answer - knew it because outside of himself, outside of Jake, you were the only other person he knew inside out. Your fidgeting fingers, a tick he knew well, would tap out a Morse Code of a problem you were trying to solve. The faster the tapping, the closer Robby knew you were coming closer to asking for his opinion. You’d done this all the years you’d worked together and at home when you couldn’t decide if oregano was an okay substitution for Italian seasoning. 

“Cock rings.”

“Excuse me?”

Robby could feel his eyebrows skyrocketing towards the ceiling. He rocked forward and back on his feet while the fists he’d buried inside his hoodie pushed against the fabric. His body subconsciously leaned towards you because, well hell, he couldn’t believe those two words just left your mouth. 

He hated that his eyes caught the slight uptick in the corner of your mouth. The same corner where all your sarcastic ass smirks originated before they blackmailed their way to full-blown smiles. What Robby hated the most was how that small bit of familiarity took a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed walls he���d built. Fucking hated how his lips betrayed him by beginning to match the playfulness in your eyes. Loathed entirely how his heart did somersaults like he was a teenager again and the girl he’d crushed on just looked at him like he hung the stars. 

“Cock rings.” You said it like it wasn’t the lewdest thing he’d heard all day. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “What do you know about them?”

This was fucking absurd, was all he could think. 

“Uhm, why exactly is this your question?” 

“Jesus, Robby, I’m not asking if you’ve used them. My patient in 12 South - was brought in by his mother for supposed swelling and pain in the inguinal region. Upon examination, found he attached sixteen key rings as makeshift cock rings along the length of his penis.”

His brain was still in the process of trying to comprehend the scenario you’d just fed him. That was his excuse for his eloquent reply, “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“I sincerely, with my full chest, wish I was. He’s traumatized. Mom’s traumatized. Shit, I’m traumatized, but I can’t figure out a safe alternative to removing the rings without causing damage.”

“What are you two discussing?” 

Dana seemed to arrive at the best and worst possible moment because Robby didn’t know how to answer that question. Apparently, you had no problem informing her it was - 

“Cock rings.”

Robby wondered if Dana’s stunned-to-silence expression was how he’d looked earlier.

“Well, shit, Fullerton this is the wrong department for that - “

“It’s my patient in 12 South. He decided to MacGyver himself some cock rings out of key rings.”

“What about MacGyver?” 

Langdon slid a tablet back on the charging station - gaze laser focused between you and him. One of Langdon’s brows rose in silent question that Robby could only answer with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry but who is MacGyver?” Dr. King asked, eyes shifting with expectation between the four of them for whoever would give up the answer. 

“MacGyver’s an old 80’s TV show where the detective guy gets himself out of sticky situations by using random stuff.”

“Random stuff?”

“Anything eye level,” you quipped. 

“Okay, anyways, Fullerton,” Langdon butted in, “What’s with your MacGyver patient.”

“Cock rings.”

Robby swore if he heard the words “cock” and “ring” come out of your mouth one more time he was going to fucking combust.

“Cock…rings?”

From how green Mel looked after stuttering out those words, Robby was sure he wasn’t alone in his earlier sentiment. 

“They say it’s meant to enhance stimulation by restricting blood flow to the penis. I’m pretty sure men buy them because it enlarges the penis making it thicker with the possibility they’ll last longer in bed. You can currently pick one up on Amazon.”

“Jesus,” Dana mumbled. 

“Really?” 

Mel took a giant step closer to the edge of the desk. Her earlier discomfort was removed by the idea of garnering new information. The warning signs were blaring loudly when you whipped your phone from your scrub's back pocket. 

“Oh, yeah and they come in different styles of materials - “  

“Oookay.” Robby heard more than enough. If he was being honest with himself, fuck he hated how it bothered him hearing you talk so casually about sex toys. Toys he knew, for a fact, the two of you never used because he never needed the extra help. He knew every inch of your skin; how you liked to be handled and touched. Could recall with crystal clarity the plains of your body, mapped out to memory by his hands, by his mouth, and the way your breath would hitch just before a moan slid past your lips. If any asshole was touching you now - he wasn’t fucking doing it right. Clearing his throat - and his fucking head because Jesus H. Christ - he rested his forearms on the counter as he leaned closer to you. “Can we please move past showing my med students unnecessary sex toys?” 

Robby was leaned down enough that the next time you looked at him it was direct. Direct and ready to challenge him every step of the way. A spark of some hidden remark you were burying back under your tongue brightened his favorite color of iris. 

“Squeamish, Michael?”

And there it was again. That fucking smirk. 

The use of his name falling so casually from your lips was a gut punch that stole the air from his lungs. He couldn’t stop the pinch of his eyes that narrowed in on you. 

Did you just lean closer?

“Not particularly, no. I am, however, making sure we aren’t having an unnecessary conversation that doesn’t pertain to the care and wellbeing of our patients.”

“Sex education is fundamental education. Dr. King asked a question and I was teaching. This form of teaching does pertain to my specific patient who used a similar style of material usually made for this particular toy and, because of lack of education, thought key rings would be a supplementary alternative rather than a safer one. In showing Dr. King the types of materials safely used, and how obtainable and discrete it is to get one, she could educate someone else if she finds herself in a similar situation. Also, it’s 2025, Dr. Robby - we don’t kink shame here. We educate on safe sex practices.”

“Here, here!”

Robby shot a look in Dana’s direction and caught the wisp of a smile before she turned away. 

“What a great speech just to cover up your kinks, Fullerton.”

Robby couldn’t tell if Langdon was trying to bait you on purpose just to rile you up or to get you to slip up. He got neither in return. 

“You found me out, Frank.”

“Alright, enough.” He needed to cut in before you both went back and forth in an endless loop of who could irritate who the most. It was just a little over half an hour into the shift. “Dr. Fullerton, is there anything else?”

“Ugh, yeah. You still haven’t given me your opinion.”

“Because you never asked a specific question,” he reminded you. 

He watched you consider his words; your lips rising into that small pucker. It was your tell that always let him know the debating was over and you were ready to listen to what he had to say. 

A part of him hated the familiarity that rested between the two of you. Fuck, you hadn’t changed. Not in any way Robby was able to notice. It was barbaric; and painfully unfair that every mannerism and every glance housed years’ worth of memories. The most painful part of being reminded was the remembrance of loss. 

Loving you had been as easy as breathing for him. Until it wasn’t. 

The communication the two of you held so easily for years was torn apart during the pandemic. There was too much happening and not enough support mentally when the PTSD started. When the sleeplessness and hopeless feeling began to press a weight down on his chest - his existential crisis bloomed red and bright. Robby didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. 

And then you…you’d…

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Your words cut through the fog in his mind, bringing him roaring back to the surface. “If you have a few moments, I would like to get your opinion on my patient and what you think will be best for this particular…situation.”

Robby pushed his arms off the counter. An arm swept out in the direction of the hallway south to indicate you could lead. 

“Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

You clapped your hands together before you took a step forward. You hadn’t expected him to agree and the giddiness at winning a battle - or not having to fight one? - intoxicated him. A ghost of a smile tilting the edges of his lips unwillingly up. 

The two of you’d made it about five feet before Myrna rolled herself from beside her latest haunt. 

“Hey Sugar Tits, where are you skipping off to?”

“Myrna, I’ve expressly told you, my name is Dr. Robby.”

“I’m not talking to you, Fruitcake.” 

“It’s me,” you whisper to him before returning your attention to Myrna. Never stopping. Always moving. “I can’t talk now, Myrna. I have a patient.”

“You always say you have a patient,” came her gruff reply.

It was the first hint her chipper demeanor was about to expire. 

“Yes, because this is the ER; where I work.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice talking to you again too, Myrna.”

The walk to 12 South wasn’t quick enough. Every step and moment he spent walking beside you sent a flood of memories rushing to the surface. Robby didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to pretend you hadn’t shared a life - that he hadn’t spent time loving you in every way he could. 

“Fruitcake, huh?”

Your words cut through his thoughts and, at first, he’d been grateful for the interruption. Grateful until Robby noticed the teasing gleam in your eyes. How he could spot the mischief that darkened your eyes and didn’t have enough time to prepare. 

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

He didn’t need to look to know you were side-eyeing him.

“It could be worse.”

“Oh, no I doubt that.”

“She could call you something less delicious.”

His hand was mid-reach to pull back the curtain. Your sentence pulled him short and forced him to look down at you like you’d just grown a second head. 

“You think fruitcake is delicious? Nobody thinks fruitcake is delicious.”

“True, but it’s arguably better to be called a shitty holiday dessert than, say, something like cocksucker,” you shrugged, moving yourself around him to push behind the curtain. 

He was supposed to be angry with you - and he was. He fucking was but…it was easy, almost too fucking easy, to forget the last few months that led up to what dissolved your relationship. It was easy to forget you’d both broken each other in different ways. Robby should’ve hated you, but he couldn’t, and, because of that, he was grateful you couldn’t hear the chuckle he tried to shake away before he followed in after you.

____________

As always thank you so much for your support and for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Much Love,

[egophiliac]

I know we're not on the Hearts chapter but, I have a feeling the SSR will be Cater? But also him having the tear animation, since I have a feeling his dream will be a bit like Ruggie's q-q

I'm leaning towards either Cater or Ace, personally! Trey and Deuce have kinda already had their character arcs -- though someone else did mention to me that they thought it might be Trey, because so far all the vices have gotten one. though that might just be coincidence. we'll find out I guess!

my red-string-on-corkboard theory is that Ace is gonna get his arc + UM during whatever goes down with Grim, so while I could be completely wrong, I think it'd be nice if it were Cater's time to shine! ...also I am VERY curious as to what his dream is gonna be. 👀 like, I don't think he's gonna be all angsty or anything, he's a pretty cheery guy even though he pretends to be more vapid than he is, but...what would he be like if he were less. y'know.

(also I kind of want him to get the focus just because I think it'd be a shame if all he got was a super-quick 'oh his dream is to have a billion followers or whatever, now let's go on to the next person'. c'mon Twst. give him some love.)

[yuansie]

(2) even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. slight ooc caleb (i have not read homecoming or wtv that chapter is called BC my laptop died on me. but maybe ill get to it today since i got it on my bros pc HELP), NOT canon compliant oops (no higher being placing a curse on zayne, no experimentation done on mc and caleb bc josephine is a good person this time BYEEEE), mentions/descriptions of crying, a kiss YUCK, caleb himself is a warning tbh. if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. sfw but make it lowk very angsty but fluffy ish at the same time.

wc. 4 k

a/n. not proof read, we die like redacted i mean what who said that. posts this rn bc i dont want to wait till midnight to post haha #lolsies also, i feel like the mood just progressively gets worse for yn 😭 like i give yn brief happiness and then BAM im like her opp, someone needs to take me out bc why am i doing this to her 💔 sorry yn i swear i love you 💔 happy early update bc im going to be busy w hw this weekend ❤️‍🔥

winter blues seep into your skin when you’re thirteen and alone during your winter break.

mc, caleb, and granny josephine went on a vacation outside linkon city, your mom has been working night shifts at the hospital as of late, your dad is in skyhaven, and zayne won’t be coming back this break.

in fact, he hasn’t once visited during his breaks from school since he started college.

you sit at the living room’s window, watching outside the glass as white specks fall from the sky.

snow.

despite being inside the comfort of your home, shielded from the biting cold of winter, you feel like your whole body is frozen over.

it’s so cold.

and caleb isn’t there to keep you warm.

a soft chime comes from your phone that sits on the empty space of the large couch you’re on. the phone was a gift from your dad after you told him that you’d like to talk to him and zayne more often. the screen turns on, and you stare at the notification.

zayne li: Hello.

the screen dims for a second before brightening again.

zayne li: I would like to say something.

there’s a knock on the door.

you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the device. you’re getting ready to type a response when another knock is heard, then another one.

and another one.

and another one.

with a sigh, you place it back down and head towards the front door. you don't even bother to check through the peephole beforehand and just open it.

“you’re here.” you gape at the older boy standing on your porch. zayne is taller now, his hair the slightest bit longer, his features a little sharper, but his hazel gaze is still warm and gentle. he stands in front of you, a suitcase to his left, and he wears a scarf around his neck along with a black trench coat.

the corners of his lips are curved upwards into a small smile. “i’m here.”

you want to hug him, but instead you open the door wider. he walks in and his body acts like clockwork whenever he’s over: he takes off his shoes and places them neatly next to yours, he hangs his coat if he has one with him at the moment, he takes a step forwards and turns around, always looking back at you to follow.

you fling yourself at him, and he catches you with ease. the tension you held melts away with his touch. your feet are in the air as he holds you tightly, and it makes you laugh. he was always taller than you, but not this tall. zayne’s cheek is next to yours, and you’re suddenly aware that despite standing outside in the biting cold, he’s actually quite…

“you’re—”

“warm.” you mumble, nuzzling closer to his neck.

zayne hums. “so are you.” you feel his smile.

like always—before he left—you take him to your room where you both end up talking and talking until the sky is dark, both of you on your bed.

“zayne, you still haven't made any friends?”

zayne looks away from you. “have you made any friends?”

you stay silent, and he continues with a quick glance at you. “he’s still distant?”

“yes…”

caleb’s been distant ever since the start of eighth grade.

you no longer study for tests with him because she needs help, and it's not like you need to study anyways because you’re so smart. while there is truth in his words, you always study with him because you like being with him.

you’re alone at lunch because he wants to keep her company—not that she needs it since she already has a group of friends.

honestly, you saw this coming from a mile away. the perfect excuse came in the shape and form of mc. you knew he regretted it, knew that he would act like nothing happened while slowly distancing himself from you.

it was the only solution he had after what happened that night.

in the beginning of june, you come to realize that there’s been a weird tension since you gifted each other the necklace. you don't know how you didn’t notice it sooner: the way he hovers closer to you, how his hands ghost your skin when he brushes against you, how his eyes linger on you for a beat longer than usual.

he titters over the fine line that is your friendship, crossing it for a second before retreating back.

you tried, you really did try, but he makes it so easy; it’s so easy to love him.

“what’s the occasion?”

you glance to the side and find caleb peering over your shoulder with ease, the silver chain of his necklace glimmering as it dangles against your shoulder, his eyes staring at the steam wafting into the air from the apple pie, his gaze flickering over to you. his lips curl upwards, his boyish smile making you tense slightly before relaxing. you focus on the pie. “just wanted to bake one.”

“*just ‘*cause you wanted to?” his tone has a teasing lilt, but you know that underneath it lies curiosity and skepticism. he doesn’t believe you. there must be a reason because why else would you bake a pie so late? why would you invite him over in the evening and ask him to stay?

so you tell him half the truth. “i haven’t baked one in a while,” you mummer, “and…”

“and?”

you love him. you love his stupid smile and the stupid freckles on his skin.

you take a quick look at him. the yellow light above the stove casts shadows over his face from his hair as he looks down at you. he’s grown too tall and now you stand right at his shoulders, his shoulders have gotten wider. his features from his childhood are starting to grow sharper. he’s no longer the eight-year-old boy with big, round eyes; he’s a soon to be fourteen-year-old with a sharp gaze.

dang it.

you love caleb. you love caleb’s stupid laugh and his stupid personality.

you slowly breathe in. “i’m leaving tomorrow noon, so… i wanted to be the first.”

he hums. “the first to what?”

“to wish you a happy birthday.”

at this, he snorts. “my birthday is tomorrow.”

“actually,” you point at the digital clock of the stove, the green numbers reading midnight. “it’s right now.”

he remains silent as you open a drawer, fishing out a lone candle and a lighter. carefully placing the candle onto the pie, you light it and turn around, forcing caleb to take a few steps back. he blinks once and then twice, staring a the burning candle. his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, barely noticeable to the naked eye had you not been so close to him. and his eyes, a light shade of amethyst, have golden specks in them that flicker.

“happy birthday to you.” you quietly sing, a smile present on your lips. you watch as his gaze snaps to you, how he stares intently at you. “happy birthday, dear cal, happy birthday to you…” you pause before quietly adding, “make a wish.”

caleb doesn’t say anything. he looks at you for a beat longer before lowering his head and closing his eyes, pursing his lips and then blowing out the candle. he stays like that, with his eyes closed, for a few seconds. then, his eyes slowly flutter open, staring at you immediately. heat blossoms on your neck and crawls up to your cheeks. you abruptly turn and place the pie down on the counter, fumbling around in search of a knife.

“what did you wish for?” you laugh nervously, your heart skipping a beat because you can still feel his gaze on you.

he doesn’t say anything.

“cal?” you turn around, your breath hitching in your throat, eyes widening at the sudden proximity. your heart hammers inside your chest. no, it isn’t from the close proximity, it’s from his eyes. they stare at you with an intensity you have never seen directed at you.

only at her.

his pupils are dilated, his amethyst gaze flickering down before going back to your eyes. “i wished for something only you,” he pauses, licking his lips, “can grant.”

“and what would that be?” your voice is barely above that of a whisper. you tremble as he gets closer, and your back meets the rough edges of the counter. your hands grab onto it to steady yourself, and his hands rest on your hips, strong and calm.

caleb crosses the line.

he leans in closer and closer until your noses are touching, your lips almost connecting. his eyes don’t stray again and remain on yours. “do you trust me?”

“of course, i do.” you breathe out. “more than anyone.”

“then… please grant me my wish.”

and he closes his eyes, the sliver of space separating each other no longer doing so. his lips are on yours, and your eyes are shut tight. it’s brief, the kiss, and caleb pulls back. his breathing comes out heavy and unsteady before he’s diving back in, the next kiss now intense and burning.

he hums. “you’re shivering… am i making you nervous?”

of course he is.

you love him.

the words are right at the tip of your tongue.

“…screw you.” you huff, feeling embarrassed.

you love him.

caleb pulls away just the slightest bit, the corner of his lip lifting into a lazy grin. “maybe in the future, yeah.”

maybe…

“caleb xia!” you hiss, releasing a hand from its tight grip on the counter to smack his arm. “what is wrong with you?”

“a lot of things,” he sighs, resting his forehead on your own. “but you know how to deal with that.”

maybe he loves you, too. maybe he loved you all along.

“shut up.”

his grin is now soft against your lips. “whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

you freeze.

pipsqueak.

and just like that his touch is gone and he’s already a good distance away from you, almost as if you burnt him. tears prickle at your eyes, and they want to fall down your cheek. you will yourself to not cry, to not let him ever have the right to see you cry. he only stares at you with horror swimming in his purple irises.

caleb fucking xia was thinking about her while kissing you.

pipsqueak.

pipsqueak.

her.

her.

HER.

it's always her.

never you.

the warmth he showed you was never truly for you. was he projecting his desires on you all this time? in his mind, was he seeing her in you?

dang it.

how could you do this to yourself? how could you forget?

he will never be yours.

“i—”

“this never happened,” you say, harshly wiping away the stray tear that managed to fall. your voice is wobbly, but you try to remain calm as you twist around and stare down at the stupid apple pie.

“y/n—”

you hate him.

you hate him.

you hate yourself.

“it’s late,” you mumble. “i have to wake up early for my trip to verona… you should go now.”

you know that caleb has been distant since then, feigning that everything is alright in front of mc when you returned a week before the start of the new school year.

now look at where you are.

the necklace that hangs around your neck is heavy and cold to the touch.

“what’s that?”

“hm?” you look down at what he’s eyeing. “oh. cal gave this to me.” you lift it with a finger.

“…caleb gave that to you?” he asks.

“uh-huh.”

he pinches his brows together. “you wear that despite how he’s acting towards you?”

you shrug, though you don't look at him. “he still—”

cares? he still what? what are you trying to say? who are you even trying to fool: zayne or yourself?

zayne says your name, his voice low. “you put far more effort into this friendship than he does. it should be the same.”

you tense up. zayne is right; you put too much effort into a friendship that won't last much longer, the fire that once burned so brightly in the beginning now dying. it’s only a matter of time before embers are all that is left.

but caleb is the sun to you, and you’re like the moon. so close yet so far, forced to only see and feel it for a brief amount of time. has your time run out with the sun? are you going back to the shadow of the earth?

and to caleb, she is like the sun. he is mercury, the closest planet to it. a planet that yearns to get closer to her even when he is right there, willing to be consumed by the sun’s fire.

“have you thought about what the principal said?”

before the winter break started, the principal of your school asked you if you’d like to skip grades. much like zayne, you were far smarter than the kids in school. according to the principal, you could graduate early like your best friend.

the front door bell rings, echoing in the silent house. you get off the bed, mumbling, “i’ll be right back.”

you head down the stairs and open the door, blinking in surprise at the girl.

“we’re back!” she grins, and holds a bag in her hands up to her eyes. “i come bearing gifts!"

“you must be freezing,” you step to the side and let her in as she laughs.

“i am! it’s pretty cold outside.” the girl slips a glove off one of her hands, pressing it against your cheek. she giggles when you flinch at her cold skin.

weird. zayne was so warm even after standing outside for who knows how long before you let him in.

she takes a step inside and slightly bounces on her feet. “i won’t take long! gran is almost done with dinner.” she quickly takes off her other glove.

“did you just come back?” you ask, closing the door.

“an hour ago!” the girl says. “i wanted to play in the park first since it's snowing, you know! caleb got too tired afterwards so he went back inside to take a nap.”

“oh.”

she doesn't seem to notice the disappointment in your voice, instead opening the bag. she takes out a box, a snow globe inside. the crystal ball holds a close replica to the night sky, and when you shake it, white specks fly. “i had it custom made! i remember that you said you liked winter and the sky when it’s nighttime because the deepspace tunnel isn't noticeable.”

“you remember?”

“of course, i do! you know, i asked caleb for advice on what to get you. he said something small would be fine, but i wanted to make it really special for you. for you two being best friends and all, he has terrible memory when it comes to what you like!” she huffs through her nose, shaking her head. “he was so surprised when i decided on a snow globe and told the old man how i’d like it to look.”

he forgot about what you like while you remember every single little detail about him. of course, he doesn't remember.

you aren't her.

“there’s a little switch at the bottom that lights the bottom up. i asked the old man if he could make the base like one of those nightlights that cast different shapes on the walls, and…” with a pause, she grabs your hands and continues, “i really hope you like it.”

you put the snow globe gently down on the nearest surface, and take hold of the girl’s hands, squeezing them. “i love it. thank you so much, mc.”

she lets out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hands back. “i’m so glad! really, i’m so happy you like it. i wanted to show you my gratitude for not treating me differently since the incident.”

“anyone could tell that you didn't like being treated like you were a frail flower.”

“caleb didn’t.”

you’re about to say something when a glint catches your eye. you look down and see a silver chain around her neck. “what’s that?” you ask.

the girl beams and takes out a necklace that was neatly tucked inside her shirt.

your heart sinks to the floor and shatters.

“isn’t it cute?” she holds the chain out, a small, silver sun hanging from it. the purple gem in the middle glimmers in the lighting of the living room. “i found this hidden in caleb’s things and he gave it to me, said he was planning on giving it to me because he said i’m like the sun.”

you’re a blind fool.

you were so blind to that fact that you’re a moth and caleb’s a flame. you got too close to the fire and now you’re left in pain.

the worse part is that you knew—you knew, and yet you still decided to get close, to delude yourself into believing that there was more to what meets the eye.

you actually accept the truth you didn’t want to: caleb can never and will never be yours.

it’s time for the sun to set in your sky.

you never imagined to experience your first and last winter break of high school when you’re fourteen. you always imagined that you’d be eighteen alongside caleb, that you’d graduate together after four years of rivalry for the valedictorian spot of your graduating class. you thought that you’d get to see him tryout for the basketball team and watch him make it, that you’d cheer him on during his games and even go to the ones at different schools. maybe you’d find a sport that you liked and try out for the team, and caleb would be there every step of the way because you know he’d say something stupid along the lines of him claiming to be your hype man. on exam weeks, you imagined that he’d somehow find a way for you to help him study and then you’d barely review a single thing because caleb would drag you to the park to hangout instead. you thought that you’d see each other apply to the academy and watch each other getting in.

your first and last year of high school couldn’t have been more different.

your goals are to reach the sky, to move to skyhaven and attend the aerospace academy, to get into the DAA afterwards and work alongside your dad in his fleet. you and caleb used to walk on the same path, yet now you walk it alone. you study alone, you work alone, you persevere alone.

caleb doesn't.

he studies with friends because she tells you about it whenever she texts you, or sometimes you happen to pass by the library and see him inside with a group of people. he works with friends, and you see it firsthand when you hurry past the gym and happen to catch a glimpse of him and group of people together. he perseveres with friends because she tells you about how caleb is always doing a group project with his classmates.

he isn’t alone.

even now during winter, you see him head out almost everyday. she tells you that sometimes it's because he’s hanging out with friends, other times he tells her it's a secret. if it's a secret, then he's probably planning a surprise for her.

and you’re proven right when you decide to scroll down the moments page, your finger hovering over a picture she had uploaded. it’s slightly blurry, but you can tell that she holds a necklace to the camera with a bright grin, caleb’s lips matching hers from behind. the caption read: caleb got me a necklace for my birthday! and it’s a pretty thing—the chain is a vibrant gold, a beautiful charm in the form of a sun hanging from it with a pink gem at the venter. it is pretty, unlike the necklace he had gifted you. the silver chain has lost its color, now sporting random splotches of bronze, and the beads have scratches on them, the color chipping off little by little.

it is a replacement; or rather, it is meant to finally get rid of the one you gifted him that he gave to her. maybe he thought it was a bothersome stain that he desperately wanted to get rid of, to finally be free of his last attachment to you.

you click on caleb’s profile and block him.

you need to uproot the already grown plant in your heart, you need to yank it and toss it out.

“earth to little star~”

little star, a nickname your dad gave you shortly after you were born. you asked him why he calls you that one time, and he told you that it’s because you likes to think you’re one of the stars he sees in the sky when he’s far from home.

you look up to find your dad standing over you, smiling.

“you were so focused you didn’t even hear me knock on your door,” he says, sitting down next to you on your bed. “what's troubling you?” his lips curl upwards into a mischievous smile. “are you sulking because zayne hasn't texted you yet?”

and just like that, caleb no longer haunts your mind—the sadness, however, clings to you. that won't leave.

you purse your lips and huff. “i do not sulk while i wait for him to respond to my texts.”

you want to tell your dad that you sulk because you prefer talking to zayne in person. you miss seeing him in front of you. but you won't tell him; you know that he’ll tease you and then tell your mom and then she’ll tell zayne’s mom and then zayne will know.

your dad cocks an eyebrow at you. “are you sure about that?”

“yes.”

“uh-huh,” he slowly says, “whatever you say then.”

you fall backwards onto your bed and squint your eyes at the older man. your dad doesn’t have his uniform on; instead, he wears his pjs. it makes you realize that you almost never see him this… free. he doesn’t wear what ties him down to the fleet. and yet… something is plaguing his mind, weighing down on his shoulders so that it slumps.

“something on your mind?” you ask.

he slowly smiles, his middle and index finger pinching your nose softly. “what would you say if i decided to retire from the fleet?”

you shoot up, eyes wide. “what?”

your dad sighs, his smile still there. “well, i’ve been thinking a lot. my little star is fourteen and she’s set to graduate this may. you’re growing up so fast, and i haven’t been there. shouldn’t it be time that i stay home to watch you keep growing?”

“…is that what you want?” you finally say. you tilt your head to the side and eye your dad, gauging his expression.

he looks content.

“yeah,” he breathes out, slow and steady. “that’s what i want.”

your dad’s shoulders are relaxed, and you think that like him, you’d like to watch him grow older with your mom.

it’s a shame that doesn't happen.

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[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Eighteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, silverstone 2021, racing injuries, detailed description of a panic attack, angsty as heck

Notes — Uh....... welcome to the Silverstone chapter (im sorry)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Silverstone) 

In the days leading up to Silverstone, Lando filmed a video for Quadrant. Amelia sat just out of shot, watching the gameplay unfold with a grin that said, this is ridiculous, and I’m having the best time watching you all make fools of yourselves. When Lando stacked it and landed awkwardly on his arm, she was there in an instant, fussing over him.

A small portion of the clip made it into the final edit. Her on her knees, laughing, while Lando pouted dramatically, waving his arm around like it was much a more dramatic injury than just a scratch. It was lighthearted, sweet. 

Everyone went crazy for it. 

—

WhatsApp — 2021 F1 Groupchat

Lando N. Quick question. does anyone have any spare gloves?

Valtteri B. Like... racing gloves?

Lando N. Nah, just regular gloves. Leather, ideally.

George R. I’ve got some driving gloves in my car.

Pierre G. Of course you do.

George R. What’s that supposed to mean?

Pierre G. Nothing, nothing.

Lando N. Can you bring them to me? Amelia’s a bit icky about touch today, thought gloves might help. We’re heading to the track now and I couldn’t find any at my parents' place.

George R. Yeah, I’ll give them to Will.

Lando N. 👍

—

It wasn’t a stim. It wasn’t a meltdown.

It was just… discomfort.

She sighed in relief as Lando slid the brown leather gloves onto her hands. She swallowed, wiggling her fingers and letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

The leather was soft and probably expensive, considering the gloves were George’s.

Lando squeezed her hands. “Better?”

She nodded, smiling. “They match my boots.” She held her gloved hands next to her knees, where her brown riding-style boots reached.

He snorted, laughing softly. “I don’t think George planned that, but I’m glad you feel fashionable, baby.”

Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Daniel wandered over, wiggling his eyebrows. “Excited for your home races, mate?” The question was aimed at Lando.

Amelia watched Lando, noticing how his face shifted; something complicated, something soft, but also guarded.

“Yeah. Just want to do well,” he shrugged, his smile a little too tight.

She frowned, instinctively leaning in. “You will.”

His smile flickered, uncertain. “I hope so.”

—

Max didn’t ask about the gloves. He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her into his driver’s room, ignoring her confused protests.

He slammed the door, sat on the cabin bed, and stared at her.

She hovered, uncertain, glancing at the door before looking back at him. “Um…”

“I want to tell her the truth,” he said, eventually.

She stared at him for a beat, trying to decode his words, and then, slowly, her eyes widened. “You— I thought you told her months ago! Are you serious?” She choked out.

Max winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I know I should’ve done it sooner, okay? But I— I didn’t want to spoil it…”

Her anger flared, a sick heat bubbling in her stomach. “I told you to tell her the truth. That I’d hate to be lied to like that. And you carried on?” She was trembling. “So…. What. She still has no idea? About you, about all of this?”

He lowered his gaze, shame written across his face.

Amelia took a deep breath, stepping back. “I can’t even look at you. How could you—” She choked, nauseous, thinking of the girl who had no idea she was about to be dragged into this mess. “Has she told you she loves you?”

He was silent.

She let out a pained sound, high-pitched and sharp. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just… pass your thoughts on the car after practice to GP, yeah?”

Then she turned and walked out, her body coiled tight, her mind a storm.

—

She stormed through the garage, ignoring the stares from the engineers, and found Lando, her dad, and Daniel standing together.

Her dad spotted her first, eyes going wide. “Hey, honey. Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “I need to hit something.”

All three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Her dad sighed, glancing around. This wasn’t new. It had mostly happened during puberty. She’d always been hard to anger, but when it did happen, she needed an outlet.

“We’ve got some old tire blankets we can pile up. Should be soft enough.”

She nodded, her gaze distant.

He instructed a mechanic to start gathering the blankets in the back of the garage, away from the cameras and spectators.

Lando cupped her face, bending to meet her eyes. “You okay? What happened?”

“Max is an asshole,” she spat.

He blinked, shocked, before stepping back and nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go help with the tire blankets.” He hurried off.

She looked at Daniel.

He shrugged, making a face. “Max is an asshole sometimes, isn’t he?”

She nodded, jaw tight.

Then, out of sight of everyone, she took her frustration out on the tire blankets.

— 

Max won the sprint race, setting his brakes on fire on the grid in order to boost the temperature in his front tires and give him a better start. It was risky, but it paid off, and he won. That took precedence over the extra work he’d given the garage crew overnight.

Another haul of points in their fight against Lewis.

Amelia didn’t have it in her to celebrate. She forced a smile for GP, nodded at Christian, but stepped away from the pit wall and headed straight to the back of Max’s garage, where Jos was sitting.

“Did you know about her? His girlfriend?” Jos asked. “I assume you did.”

Amelia stared at a spot of engine oil on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to push for more, but she stood up and walked away before he could.

Lando finished P5. He fought with her childhood hero on track and came out ahead. For that, he deserved her attention.

— 

She found Mark Webber just before the F2 feature race, holding a folded white envelope. She passed it to him as discreetly as possible, careful of the cameras and prying eyes around them.

He took it, glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Let him open it when—if—things go wrong. It’s a good offer. The best he’ll get.” She’d made sure of that. She wasn’t about to let him slip through the cracks if Otmar did what she suspected he might do.

Mark studied her for a moment. “You made this happen?”

She nodded.

“Come on, kid,” he said, after a beat, gesturing ahead. “I’m sure Oscar would love a chat before he has to get in the car.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Do you think he’ll mind if I look at his steering set-up? I’m so curious—”

—

Lando drove them from the track to the hotel. She liked his car. All sleek, black lines and a polished interior that looked like something out of a magazine.

“Is this your dream car?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

It was nearly ten, the sky darkening, and Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other casually draped over her inner thigh. She’d swapped out her team kit after the sprint for his favourite skirt, keeping it casual but elegant for the evening’s media events. Daniel had made him do a shoeey on the main stage. 

“No.” He shook his head, glancing at her with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“I’ve always wanted a Jolly.”

She blinked, momentarily stunned. “A— A Fiat Jolly?”

He nodded, his grin widening.

She couldn’t help but smirk. “A Jolly? That’s your dream car?”

Lando shot her a mock glare from the corner of his eye. “Baby…”

“Sorry, sorry!” she laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I just— I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shook his head, exasperated but still smiling, his eyes warm with amusement. “I’ll get one, baby, and I’ll force you to let me drive it everywhere.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll be able to match all of my outfits to it,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Lando rolled his eyes.

— 

Max and Pietra were waiting for them in the hotel lobby the next morning. Amelia squeezed Lando’s hand as they approached, giving him a fond glance before skipping over to Pietra, who greeted her with a bright smile and a glance of appreciation.

“That dress is gorgeous!” Pietra remarked, her eyes lighting up.

Amelia smiled, twirling a little. “Thanks. It’s my favourite. Oscar De La Renta. I can wear it on the pit wall as long as I throw on a team jacket.” As they walked through the lobby, Amelia leaned in, lowering her voice just enough so the guys wouldn’t overhear. “He won’t say it, but Lando thinks it’s a lucky dress. Pushed me into wearing it today.”

Pietra smiled knowingly.

“Baby!” Lando’s voice called from behind them.

Amelia turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

“You got your iPad?” he asked, him and Max now caught up to them.

Amelia patted her bag, feeling the familiar weight. “Got it.”

“Good. Keep a close eye on it today, yeah? Group chat’s a bit tense at the moment.”

She frowned. “What’s my iPad got to do with your group chat?”

He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him. He kissed her. 

— 

Everyone could feel the tension between her and Max.

She sat in the strategy meeting, arms crossed, her focus locked on the data sheets in front of her. The only time she spoke was to correct a mistake or suggest a differential, her tone cool and efficient. Max, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, the weight of whatever was unspoken between them hanging heavy in the air.

When the meeting ended, she walked with GP to the garage, discussing overcorrection and heat cycles. 

She managed to avoid Max entirely. 

But just before the cars were due to leave the garages to line up on the grid, Jos found her. He was calm, but there was something demanding in his expression. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” he said quietly, eyes hard. “But I need you to put it aside and focus. This is an important race. He needs to win.”

Her response was a sharp nod, her jaw set. Without a word, she walked over to Max’s car. She leaned into the cockpit, eyes meeting his through the visor. The surprise in his eyes at the sight of her was fleeting; she knew he hadn’t expected it. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“If you don’t tell her by next weekend,” she said, voice low but firm, “I’ll find her and tell her myself.” Then, before he could react, she kissed the cheek of his helmet. Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Win it, broer.”

Straightening up, she glanced at the mechanics; her unspoken signal to let him go. She turned back to Jos, who watched her with quiet approval. He gave a small nod, and she walked away. 

— 

She rarely walked the grid while the cars were setting up, but something about this year pulled her there. She found Lando under his umbrella, shielded from the sun, sipping from his bottle.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. She kissed his cheek, adjusting his fireproofs. “Be safe, do well. Love you.”

He pulled her in for one last kiss before she moved on. She glanced at the cars, each a blur of metal and energy; smiled at the mechanics, and shared a quick squeeze with Fernando. Finally, she caught Max’s eye. He stared at her for a long moment, before offering a small smile.

“Ah, Amelia Brown!”

She spun around, coming face-to-face with Martin Brundle.

Well aware of the camera, she forced a smile through the nerves. “Hi! How are you?” she asked, deliberately avoiding the lens.

“Good, good! So, we saw you give Lando a good luck kiss. Think McLaren’s got a good shot at scoring double points again today?”

“I hope everyone does well today,” she replied, only a slight tremble in her voice, “but of course, I hope Max comes out on top.”

He laughed, somewhat distractedly, giving her a quick nod before leading the cameraman away.

She glanced back at Lando. He was watching her with a proud, warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned, head down, walking off the grid toward the pit wall.

— 

GP settled beside her a few minutes later, handing her a comms clip. She gave it a cursive glance before she slid it into her ear and tugged her defenders on over the top.

“Makes it easier, huh?” he said through the comms, voice quiet and crackly, no need to shout through the defenders like usual.

She smiled. “You’re smart.”

“Coming from you?” He let out a long breath. “That’s the highest of compliments.”

She giggled softly, turning her focus to the screens in front of them.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that was nothing new; it always was during the formation lap. The calm before the storm. Her gaze bounced between Lando and Max, just as it always did, and not for the first time, she wished she had two sets of eyes.

They lined up on the grid. She chewed on her bottom lip, head tilted as she kept an eye on the tyre temps on Max’s car.

He hadn’t set them alight this time. Improvement.

Five lights. Four, three, two.

Lights out.

Max led from Lewis through the first corner. Her fingers fisted into the hem of her dress.

And then—

And then.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Max ahead. Lewis closing. A slipstream through Copse.

Contact.

Suddenly Amelia was on her feet, hand clamped over her mouth.

She sucked in a shaky breath, barely hearing the roar of shouting from the garage, the pit wall, the radios. Yelling. Chaos. Outrage.

GP spoke into his earpiece — calm, measured. “Max? Max, come on. Talk to me.”

Her stomach dropped. He kept repeating his name, firm but steady, and she heard every word. The comm was still in her ear.

Someone’s hands landed on her arms; steadying her, holding her upright. She didn’t look, didn’t need to. Everything else faded.

She begged silently. Prayed. She didn’t know who she was praying to… she didn’t care.

“Red flag!” someone shouted. Or maybe whispered. Everything was warped and sharp all at once.

She blinked. Jos appeared in front of her, speaking, his lips moved but she couldn’t hear him. Just the ringing.

And then—

“He’s moving! Max is getting out of the car!”

The breath punched out of her. Her lip wobbled. Her knees gave a little.

“Fuck,” she whispered, broken and small.

He pulled her into him, arms wrapped tight. Unshakable. Steady.

She sucked in a sharp breath against his shoulder.

— 

They showed her on the main feed.

A cutaway from Max’s crash, the Red Bull pit wall — GP calm and collected, Christian furious, and Amelia… utterly devastated.

She tore her eyes away from the monitor and stared at the floor. She was in the medical wing now, waiting.

51G’s.

A brutal shunt. Career-ending, for some.

Not for Max.

Him climbing out of the car unassisted had been a statement. A declaration. He was still in control. Still standing.

She looked up when Jos stepped out of the examination room. He gave her a nod, then gestured for her to go in.

She entered, and stopped cold.

Max sat on the bed, bruised but upright. Alive.

Her breath hitched. Tears welled instantly.

“Zusje,” he sighed.

She crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her arms around him. Not too tight, she didn’t want to hurt him, but close enough to feel his heart beating, his lungs working, the warmth of him. Real.

He stroked her head, let her cry it out.

When she finally pulled away, lip trembling, eyes darting, he asked, “What did you do?”

So she told him.

Panic in her voice, regret tangled in every word. She’d thought about it, imagined how she’d feel if it were Lando in that crash and no one had reached out. How small and useless and broken she’d feel.

Max’s eyes darkened.

“You called her?” he demanded, already reaching for her phone. “How did you even—”

“It’s too late,” she said quietly. “She’s already on her way.”

Max froze.

“I’m not sorry,” Amelia added, steady now. “If I were her, I’d want to know.”

— 

She barely made it to Lando before he climbed back into the car for the restart.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck. His arms wrapped tight around her, lifting her off the ground with the force of his hold. “I love you so much. Please be safe. Please, Lando.”

He pulled back just enough to make her meet his eyes, steady and sure. The eye-contact made her squirm, but it was important. “I’ll always come back to you, baby. Always.”

She let out a shaky breath, a small, high-pitched sound caught between panic and relief, and hugged him once more before his engineers pulled him away.

Pietra hesitated beside her, hands hovering, then dove forward, wrapping Amelia in a hug despite the warnings both Max and Lando had given her.

“You looked so scared,” she said gently, in Portuguese.

Amelia nodded. Didn’t pull away. Let herself be held. Over Pietra’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Max. He looked concerned, like he was ready to intervene, to pry them apart, but Amelia just sniffled and pressed her face into Pietra’s shoulder.

It was nice to have a friend. 

— 

“Amelia—”

She ducked her head, jaw tight, eyes hard, and turned on her heel without hesitation.

Her heart stuttered, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was angry… furious, really. He’d carried on, celebrated the win like he hadn’t just sent his rival spinning into a tyre wall. Accident or not, it didn’t sit right in her gut.

And maybe it wasn’t fair.

But Lewis had ignored her before, in Austria.

Now, it was her turn.

— 

@/verstappie11 seeing amelia so scared after the crash was scarier than the actual crash. like can somebody hold her please!!!!!!! i never thought i’d be so happy to see jos verstappen lmao

@/pitwallprincess no bc the way the broadcast CUT to Amelia literally holding back tears while GP is stone-faced and Christian is raging… a genuine greek tragedy 

@/helmetcamwhore wait why did Amelia look like she was about to sprint to max’s car herself 😭 give her a hug pls omg

@/softlandon4ever it’s the way Lando dropped everything to hug her before the restart… like. weeping. actual soulmates.

@/mercmafia She said “I hope Max comes out on top” on the GRID and then he COLLIDES with Lewis in lap 1??? nah idc what y’all say she’s the problem.

@/tifosislut69 Amelia Brown crying on live TV was not on my bingo card today. she looked DEVASTATED. get this woman a therapist now!

@/chequedflagged I get that she's emotional but Amelia being all cold to lewis post-race in the paddock was giving bad vibes… 

@/gp2engine not everyone’s fave stem girlie Amelia Brown walking past Lewis like he doesn’t exist post-race. SHE’S MAD MAD

@/papayapixels watching Amelia literally fold into Pietra’s arms while Lando’s pulled away by engineers… god this garage has SEEN things today

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