#not to mention he won’t bat an eye at playground violence because that’s what he did as a boy

[aetherdecember]

Another snippet from my Flipping the Coin au. Probably won’t make it into the actual fic, but I’ve been obsessed with these two and keep finding myself writing moments like this ^^

…

Mordred was sprawled over Arthur’s chest, with his thumb tucked in his mouth, and blue eyes serious as he listened to the story with the gravity of a judge. The two of them are slumped in their favorite armchair, the red velvet blotchy from numerous spilled drinks, sticky snacks, and misguided attempts at crafts. It was too warm for a fire, but in the dim evening, with the lone table lamp for light and the window cracked open for a breath of air, it took Arthur back to countless evenings spent in another room. One built of stone and lit only by candle flame.

Aloud, Arthur read, “Because he was the king…”

Personally, it wasn’t his favorite retelling, but Mordred had seen his name on the cover and insisted on hearing it, so he had conceded. Maybe he should’ve waited until Mordred was older before telling him that there were stories about characters who shared their names, but in these last few years, the events from long ago had been so close to mind Arthur had wanted to share it. He assumed Mordred would fixate on the sword fighting and tournaments. Instead, Mordred had picked a book that started with babies being sent out to sea.

“Two by two, he carried—“

Mordred pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Did you really do that?”

“No.” Arthur marked his spot with a finger and ruffled the thick, black curls. Still damp from the bath, they were in need of a comb. And soon, if Arthur hoped to avoid dealing with tangles. “I never did that.” Dipping his fingers to tickle the back of Mordred’s neck, he smiled as Mordred giggled and tried to escape. “I could never.”

Sitting up, Mordred’s knobby limbs found all of Arthur’s soft spots as he settled knees first on top of Arthur’s chest. “If you had to, could you?”

“Would you,” Arthur automatically corrected.

“Would I?” Mordred’s pitch went comically high. “Nooooooo! Would you!”

Arthur gave him a look, one that Mordred immediately leaned in and mimicked with a giggle. “Would I, Arthur Penn, a man far removed from the ancient past, cast a boat full of babies into the ocean? Absolutely not.”

“What if Merlin told you to?”

He’d never had to. History hadn’t played out like that. But Arthur couldn’t tell his young son that he definitely knew it hadn’t happened because he couldn’t even explain his own past and all that entailed. All Mordred knew was that his father was named after King Arthur, so that meant he’d been named after Mordred. Because they were father and son and that was how it was supposed to be. He didn’t know that in another life they hadn’t been related and that the first time Merlin met Mordred he had helped save him.

“Nope.” Arthur popped the ‘p’. Out of Mordred’s sight, he set the book on the ground. It was time for a better story anyway. “Not even then.”

“What if Merlin did it?”

“Listen, let me tell you about the—“ He almost said ‘the Mordred I knew’ but luckily stopped. Instead, he says, “—the story I heard. It took place when Uther was still king. The first time Arthur met Mordred he was only a little boy…”

[sxfterhearts]

scarred

29. [11:04 am]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff + slight angst, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse, bullying

➳ word count: 3,027 words

➳ summary: 29. “Well, what do you want to do?”

➳ author's note: once again, thank you to @jinyoungot7​ for this beautiful gif :”) and guys!! i’m so sorry for the delay, but here’s part 2 of wounded/24/7:25pm!! 🤗 i’ve decided it’ll be a 3 part story hehe i hope this is a good continuation of the 1st part!!! thank you for showering me with love and as always, any feedback is welcome + appreciated! feel free to drop me a msg or an ask if you’d like 🥰

wounded // scarred // healed

“Wait up!” You yelled, your thighs burning as you tried to jog up the steep, narrow alley. Just twenty minutes into your walk and you were huffing and puffing as though you ran a full marathon.

“Come on, Y/N!” Came Yugyeom’s voice from far ahead, growing more and more distant as the black puppy tugged and pulled on its leash, leading him further and further into the winding maze of streets and back alleys. “You can do better than this!”

“I’m trying,” You muttered to yourself, taking a deep breath before going full steam ahead in an attempt to catch up with the boys.

It was a miracle that you three got this far, really. It took you nearly three weeks to convince Yugyeom to volunteer at the dog shelter run by your best friend’s mum. Every time you brought up the topic, he would either ask you about homework or fake a wince, prompting you to inspect his latest injury. He finally agreed last week. Your birthday was coming up soon, and he asked you what you wanted as your birthday present and how you were celebrating, in the bluntest way possible. “Well, what do you want to do?”, were his exact words.

One thing you learned in the past month since you sat with him in your family’s restaurant was that Kim Yugyeom was not one to beat around the bush. If he wanted to know something, he would ask about it without batting an eyelash. If he had an opinion, he would state it in the most straightforward, yet nonchalant way possible. You supposed it came with years of being labelled the quiet kid. It made sense that he was awfully efficient with his words.

Naturally, you had asked him to fulfill your birthday wish of visiting the shelter together. “Don’t you want something more substantial? Like a present that could either be useful or memorable?” He wondered curiously.

“This is memorable, Yugyeom.” You told him, looking him square in the eyes. “You won’t just be doing me, or the dog shelter, a favour. You’ll be helping me create a happy memory. Nothing is more valuable than that.”

Sweat trickled down your back as you jogged the final stretch towards Yugyeom who was taking a rest on a bench in the neighbourhood’s park. Charcoal, the black Pomeranian puppy you two were responsible for this morning rested comfortably on his lap, thoroughly enjoying all the attention Yugyeom was giving him. You watched as you slowly approached the pair, trying to commit the peaceful scene into your memory. The morning sun casted its brilliant glow upon them, and you could just make out the beginnings of a fond smile gracing Yugyeom’s features as he smoothed his hand, the one with just a lone plaster on the thumb, repeatedly over the puppy’s soft fur.

It was nearly picture perfect, if not for the sudden yelp the boy emitted when the puppy licked across his wrist. There was a shallow graze from when a piece of glass sliced through the skin from two days ago, which had just started to heal. If not for that Friday nearly a month ago, you wouldn’t have insisted on staying at the restaurant until closing time and would’ve left around dinner time like you always did. Ever since then, you always waited until Yugyeom came in with his order just in case he needed someone to patch him up. You distinctly remembered how relieved you were that night because the glass missed a vein or an artery. Yet, the thought left you disgusted. You shouldn’t be feeling any form of relief at all. Regardless of how shallow his injuries were, his uncle was still being abusive. You shook your head to clear your spiralling thoughts.

“I think he tired himself out.” Yugyeom said in a slightly strained voice when you arrived by his side. The boy was flapping his injured wrist repeatedly in the hopes of alleviating the stinging pain.

Without a word, you kneeled and took his wrist in yours, blowing on it with earnest. While it was true that a dog’s saliva had potential healing capabilities, you didn’t want to risk an infection. Especially judging from Yugyeom’s earlier reaction and the way his skin was just starting to clot, you figured it was best to leave it alone. The newly formed scab looked pink and tender, but it was on its way to healing properly.

Unbeknownst to you, Yugyeom started to squirm in his seat. He was getting flustered by the way your dainty fingers danced across his skin, and the cool air that soothed and blew his pain away. From this vantage point, he could look down and watch the glistening beads of sweat as it rolled down the side of your face, your soft lips pursed tightly in concentration. It was distracting. “I… It’s fine, Y/N.”

You released his hand and handed him a packet of tissues from your pocket, already missing the smooth feel of his arm under your fingertips. “Maybe I should take over?” You cocked your head towards the dark little ball of fluff lying on his lap, its tongue stuck out in an adorably goofy way. “Scooch over, Kim.” Scooping up little Charcoal in your arms, you moved to sit beside Yugyeom. You marvelled at the tiny creature lying curled up atop your legs. He was barely five months old and took up nearly three quarters of your lap. Just as your hand moved to pat his head, the puppy looked up and playfully gnawed on your fingers.

“Treats?” Yugyeom suggested, producing a brown paper bag from his pocket. “He could be hungry.”

“Here, I’ll do it-”

“Charcoal, do you want some treats?” Yugyeom spoke in a high-pitched tone, as though he was playing with a baby.

Before you could stop him, the boy had already reached out his palm full of treats for the puppy. You breathed an audible sigh of relief when you realised it was his relatively uninjured hand. “Look at you, Kim Yugyeom. You’re a natural when it comes to puppies. Who would’ve thought that you were so reluctant to visit the dog shelter just a week ago?”

He quickly shushed you, his fingers enveloping the puppy’s flappy ears to prevent him from hearing you. “Charcoal doesn’t need to know that, okay? Besides, this little guy changed my mind.” Yugyeom let out a fit of giggles when the puppy gobbled up all the treats and ended up licking his palm instead. “It tickles,” The boy squealed.

You watched, amused at the softer side of Yugyeom that was surfacing in the presence of the black puppy. “You know, the Imo at the shelter always talks about having way too many puppies. You could always adopt one. I think it’ll be good for you, you know? Having a furry companion can be a huge source of comfort and emotional support.” You suggested, your tone as gentle as possible due to the sensitive nature of the topic.

Yugyeom peeled his eyes away from Charcoal and connected his gaze with yours instead. You couldn’t really articulate it or fully understand it, but there was something in the way he looked at you that struck you as inherently sad. “Listen, Y/N, there’s something I need-”

“Yugyeom hyung!” A boy exclaimed from the general direction of the playground. The two of you whipped your heads around and followed the voice until finally you saw a boy, probably a middle school student, with a long fringe identical to Yugyeom’s, waving enthusiastically.

“Bambam!” Yugyeom waved back, beckoning the younger boy over to where you sat.

He sprinted across the field in a matter of seconds, giving Yugyeom a typical bro hug as a way of greeting. “What are you doing here, hyung? And who is this? Is she…?”

Yugyeom hurriedly clasped his palm against the younger boy’s mouth, muffling his words. He pinched Bambam’s cheeks teasingly instead. “Behave, kid. This is Y/N, and this is Charcoal.” With the younger boy distracted by the little puppy, Yugyeom took this chance to give you a brief explanation. “Bambam is our neighbour. We play soccer together with Mark hyung.”

“Hello, Bambam!” You greeted with a wide smile as you watched the younger boy coo at the puppy. You never met any of Yugyeom’s friends before, so this was a first for you. It seemed that beyond his tough exterior and bad boy façade, he was just a normal boy who loved puppies and playing soccer with his friends.

Just as Bambam reached for Charcoal’s tiny paws, to your dismay, you noticed that his knuckles were a familiar shade of black and blue. “Bambam, your knuckles…” No way, you thought, was he like Yugyeom?

“Bammie,” Yugyeom started in a scolding tone, sounding far more mature than he usually did. “Are those rascals still bothering you? I thought you told me that they stopped.”

“Yeah, well,” Bambam looked like a deer caught in headlights. “It was just, you know, a small fight, nothing too serious. I swear! I’m completely fine. It doesn’t even hurt, really!” The younger boy scrambled to explain himself.

“Where are they? Are they here?” Yugyeom seethed, his tone dripping with dangerous venom and his eyebrows forced together in a frown.

Bambam peered over his shoulders briefly at the playground before shaking his head profusely. “No, just forget it, hyung. It’s fine.”

“Take me to them, kid. Right now, and I’m not going to ask twice.” Yugyeom moved to stand before directing his words at you. “I have to go take care of something for a bit, I’ll be back.”

You nodded, speechless. Sure, you’ve seen Yugyeom mad before, but hardly to this extent. The only incident that came close was when he stopped that classmate of yours from striking you across the face. As the two of them walked away, your mind began to race with irrational thoughts. You pondered the list of possible scenarios as your hands absently stroked Charcoal to calm yourself down. Was Bambam getting into fights? But why? Could he be the target of bullying? The young boy seemed so innocent and harmless though, why would anyone do that? It just didn’t make sense. Those long agonising minutes seemed to stretch out as you waited and waited for them to return, praying that they would still be in one piece.

After what seemed like a lifetime, you felt Yugyeom’s presence once again as he collapsed onto the seat beside you. “Oh, hey.” You muttered, voice small and uncertain.

“Hey yourself.” He replied with a small laugh, intrigued by your worried expression. A few moments passed, and then, “Are you going to ask what happened?”

You turned your head to face him, quick enough that you felt a slight strain in your neck. “Are you injured?” You started prodding at his body, mainly inspecting his fingers, his palms, his arms and his face.

The evident worry written across your features amused Yugyeom to no end. He wanted nothing more than to iron out the creases on your forehead and turn your frown upside down. “Of course not. The little rascals who bullied Bammie are nearly half my size. I could’ve taken them out like a light.”

You flinched slightly at the unwanted imagery that filled your head. “Please don’t say that, Yugyeom. Please don’t tell me you got into a fight. I don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already do.” You confessed.

“Not to worry, I just gave them a stern talking-to and sent them on their way, unharmed. They scattered like little mice, honestly.” He was met with your confused stare. “Basically, Bambam is Thai. His classmates picked on him because of that. The kid’s parents don’t know about it but I’ve seen what they did to him. I had to stand up for him and protect him. I couldn’t just watch from the sidelines as my friend got hurt over and over again.”

His words left you stunned once more. You had heard rumours of him getting involved in fights with bullies in lower grades before, but this was the first time you got confirmation from the boy himself. You never thought that the cuts and bruises he showed up with in class were actually battle scars he suffered when defending someone else. He stood up for the kids who had no one, just like how he wished someone would stand up for him. So much for that bad boy façade of his.

There was a sudden urge within you to give Yugyeom a big hug for what he’s gone through and what he’s done for others, and so you did. It was more of a side hug, due to the puppy now napping cosily on your lap, with one arm coming around his middle and holding him close to your side.

Yugyeom didn’t know what to do at first. Should he stay still? Should he say something? He decided on reciprocating in the end, his other arm resting securely on your petite shoulders. In those few moments, the two of you were enveloped in a calming silence, filled only by Charcoal’s soft snores and the rustling of luscious leaves above your heads. Yugyeom could only hear his own heart beating thunderously in his ears.

“I’m sorry for all the pain you’ve experienced, Yugyeom.” You started, causing Yugyeom to shake his head in response. None of this was your fault, yet you felt the inexplicable need to apologise. “Thank you for being so brave and so kind to your friends and to those other students who got bullied.” You paused to sniffle, hot tears already pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I’m… I’m sorry that, all this time, all these months, I could only watch from the sidelines as you got hurt, over and over.”

"No." He replied resolutely. "You didn't just watch from the sidelines, Y/N, you need to… Wait, no, are you crying? Why…? Don't… don't cry." Yugyeom panicked, trying his best to quiet you down. He didn't have a clue on how to comfort a crying girl. He tried to rub his palm soothingly over your back, but you didn't stop.

It wasn't until Charcoal, who had been woken up by all of the fuss, moved around in your lap and began pawing on your stomach. He even tried to lick your face, but he could only reach the bottom of your chin. You broke out into a giggle, and Yugyeom finally let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

“Don't cry anymore, you're an ugly crier.” Yugyeom said just as you were beginning to calm down. Before you could retort, he continued, “In my case, there was no way for you to shield me from my Uncle's punches or tell him to bugger off. You did the best you could for me, I don't even know why you're doubting that. You didn't have to patch me up when I was injured. You didn't have to be kind to me when I've never even spoken a single word to you. And yet week after week for the past semester you would sit there beside me, silently cleaning my wounds and covering them with those cute yellow plasters. You didn't have to, but…” He reached into his backpack and produced a yellow handmade card. “You didn't have to, but you became my friend.”

“What’s this?” You accepted the card gingerly while wiping stray tears off your wet cheeks.

“Your birthday card. Happy early Birthday, friend. Don’t read it until you get home, yeah?”

You inspected the yellow card, with Yugyeom’s signature chicken scrawl and random stickers of smiley faces littered all over the surface. There was even a Rilakkuma plaster, identical to the ones you would stick on him, at the top right corner. It was one of the most heart-warming cards you had received.

“Yugyeom, I…” You turned to face him. The scar right in the middle of his face, the one you first saw when you met him at the restaurant, caught your attention briefly before you finally met his eyes. You held his gaze, trying to convey a whirlwind of emotions through eye contact alone. Gratitude, happiness, fondness, touched, awe-struck. “Thank you,” You uttered sincerely, as it seemed to be the most appropriate response.

//

You read his card the minute you got home, sitting cross-legged on top of your bed.

Dear Y/N,

Happy Birthday! I wish that you will celebrate your birthday well with your family and friends. May each year be happier than the last.

I’m not good with words, as you always remind me, so I will just cut to the chase. First of all, thank you for being the light amongst the darkness of my life. There are not enough words in my vocabulary (or the dictionary) to express what you and your family has done for me. I will never forget it and I hope to repay this huge debt in the future.

Secondly, there is something I need to tell you that I cannot bring myself to say out loud. I am not brave, which is why I have to say this through a letter. Mark hyung got a job two months ago at our local football club as an assistant. Perhaps your mother has told you this, but his increased independence has resulted in the greater severity of my Uncle’s violence. Last week, after watching hyung play, the coach offered to get him transferred to Incheon United FC. Incheon is a distance away from Namyangju, which means we won’t be able to come back for frequent visits, but it is a good chance (and perhaps our only chance) to get away from Uncle.

This is what I keep telling myself whenever I think about leaving this town; about leaving you. As much as I would like to stay beside you, I have to break free from him.

I leave the second week of school holidays. If you find it in your heart to forgive me, let’s have one last bowl of naengmyeon together, okay?

Your friend, always,

Kim Yugyeom

For the nth time that day, the boy had left you speechless.

[milomeepit]

21 Sanders Street Chapter Eleven: A New Addition

//Amazing art by the wonderful @divinedrabbles can be found here!

First | Previous | Next

Story Warnings: Death, violence, crime, police, strained marriage, non graphic mention of torture, cursing, mental trauma, stabbing, gang, pregnancy Chapter Warnings: showers, pregnancy, mentions of babies and children, talk about parenthood, food mention Rating: Young Adult Ships: Endgame Logicality and Prinxiety

After Virgil Diaz went undercover, nothing was quite the same at the station. Sure, the squad still went to coffee at the cafe down the street, Logan still fussed over his wife, Roman still risked life and limb to get an adventure. Patton still made cookies on Fridays. But nothing was the same. Not really. The thing, though, was when Virgil came back. That’s when it all changed.

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself. However, stay tuned and keep an eye on your notes for a tag in an update regarding this AU! Because- knock on wood- I think I’ve finally found a solution for my almost year-long writer’s block for it! :D

Logan groaned as he rolled over, swatting at his buzzing alarm clock blindly. He sat up, looking around the room and yawning. Sunlight dripped through the gaps in the curtains, lighting the room in a gentle golden glow.

Arnold padded up to him, headbutting his arm and meowing. Logan absentmindedly stroked the cat’s back, noticing the distinct lack of warmth in the bed beside him. Celine must have already gotten up. Odd. She normally stayed under the covers as long as she could, cuddling up to him and whining for more time.

Logan picked up his hairbrush from his bedside table and made his way towards the sound of running water that drifted from the bathroom. He pushed open the door and paused, drinking in Celine’s sweet singing from the shower. Like a siren, her voice seemed to curl around the room, soaking into his skin and clinging to him.

Of course, that could just be the steam from the boiling hot showers she took.

His gaze traced the outline of her body through the frosted glass, smiling gently. “Enjoying yourself in there?”

Celine gave a start, then turned to grin at him. “I didn’t hear you come in, don’t scare me like that!” She chided, running her hands through her hair, lathering shampoo along her blonde locks.

He chuckled, padding over to the sink and plucking his toothbrush from the holder. “Sorry,” He apologised insincerely. “It absolutely won’t happen again.”

Celine stifled a giggle. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it won’t.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page!” Logan started brushing his teeth. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Not much. I was thinking I could try baking that four layer cake recipe your mom gave me?” She hummed in response.

Logan spat foam into the sink, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, excellent. I’m certain you’ll do wonderfully.” As he drew back from the sink, he noticed a small pink and white stick laying on the bench. “Hm?”

Celine squinted through the glass. “What’s wrong?”

Logan picked up the stick, peering at it. “Is... is this...?” Looking it up and down, his eyes landed on the thin double lines. 

Celine’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! Hang on a-” She scrambled to turn off the shower, then grabbed her towel and started drying herself off. “It’s, uh... yeah. Surprise?” She smiled, an awkward and forced smile, looking up at him.

Logan met her gaze, seeing the anxiety clouding her face. “Hey, hey...” He set down the pregnancy test, cupping her face in his hands and touching his forehead to hers. “It’s alright, breathe.”

In his mind’s eye, he could already picture their future, little snapshots of family moments to come.

Helping their child with homework; the two of them hunched over a table, papers haphazard as they poured over books. They’d complain about the confusing names of different bones as they scrawled notes into their workbook. He’d laugh, and Celine would chime in with some mnemonic as she set down cups of tea in front of them.

Or he and Celine sitting on a picnic blanket in the park as summer sunshine warmed their faces, watching their child clamber over the playground. Logan would dig through the cooler and pull out juice boxes and sandwiches for the three of them to snack on. They’d drop down from the monkey bars and scamper over, taking the sandwich with a happy, “Thank you, Daddy!”

Their child nervously sitting in the driver’s seat for their first driving lesson, panicking over the various buttons and mirrors. Logan sitting beside them, gently instructing them how to turn the wheel, reminding them to check their mirrors as they turned in the empty parking lot he’d chosen to help them feel more comfortable as they learned how to control the car.

He could imagine bouncing a toddler on his knee, their chubby cheeks scrunching up as they giggled. Celine scooping up the squirming child, tickling them as they shrieked in delight, reaching out towards him; “Daddy, Daddy cuddle!” 

As he brushed back hair from Celine’s face, he could picture her sitting on their bed, cradling a teeny tiny baby in her arms, a serene smile on her face as she sang to them, her voice soft and sweet and beautiful. His chest swelled with emotion, and he smiled, pulling her close against him.

“Logan, I'm still wet, you're gonna mess up your PJs-” Celine protested, eyes wide.

“Don't care, not important.” Logan responded softly, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is amazing! We're going to be parents. I can't wait to tell the others!”

“Let's- maybe let's not tell everyone? Just yet?” She pulled back, chewing on her lip before she continued. “I mean, it's kind of soon, don't you think?”

He blinked, thrown slightly off guard, then nodded. He understood that. There were a lot of variables they couldn't predict, and while they were both healthy young adults, it would hardly be prudent to tempt fate. “Of course, of course.”

She smiled, raising a hand to rest on his cheek. “I love you, so much, you know that?”

Logan flushed at the warmth of her words. “I love you, too, Cel. And I can't wait for this- next chapter in our book, right?”

Celine laughed, and Logan soaked in the sunshine of her smile, feeling giddy to be here, to be with her, to be alive. He picked her off her feet, twirling across the bathroom as she squealed in delighted surprise. “Lo!” 

He paused, suddenly setting her down. “Wait, no, gotta be careful, I don't want to hurt them, or you-” 

“Logan, it’s alright, calm down!” Celine giggled. “I'm fine, they're fine, it's okay. We're okay. You don't need to worry.”

“Alright, alright, I'm calm.” He grinned, kissing Celine before bobbing down to her belly.

He rested his hands on her waist, gazing lovingly at the smooth expanse of skin, unchanged for the time being. He wondered how large her bump would be. It was different from woman to woman, he was pretty sure. Roman's mother had never had a particularly large belly throughout her pregnancies, but Dawn had swollen up like a beach ball fairly early on.

“I promise I am going to do everything in my power to care for the two of you,” Logan murmured, dotting kisses over Celine's stomach.

“Hey, that tickles!” Celine whined, batting at his shoulder lightly. “If you're going to turn into a Hallmark movie cliche, could you at least do it with a firmer touch?”

Logan chuckled, sitting back on his heels and looking up at his wife, admiring the flush dusted across her cheeks as she crossed her arms playfully. “I love you. I love you so much,” He repeated softly.

She broke into a smile and held out a hand to him. “Come on, sweetheart. How about we go have a crack at that cake to celebrate, huh?”

21 Sanders Street Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed! :o):

@pattson @royallyanxious  @wisepuma23 @redisawerewolf @lacrimosathedark  @lucifer-in-my-head @2queer2deer @crayonthegreat @rose-gold-roman @my-happy-little-bean @thats-kat-with-a-k @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @davidthetraveler @just-a-random-word @wolfishhel  @the-no-name-system @everythings-comin-up-aces @awkwardcaitlin @pr0bablypr0crstinating @generalfandomfabulousness @nyamafriend @the-average-loner @livsig @theresneverenoughfandoms @daughterofsomnus @mrtacothethird @jam-the-fan @swlotakulady34 @sher-soc-the-famder

[agapaic]

[fic] water on the bridge

he tian x mo guan shan 

tags/notes: swearing, mention of blood

synopsis: after-shot of chapter 243. originally it was a standalone fic inspired by chelsea cutler’s new song water on the bridge, and then we had a storm here last night and it just... grew from there.

links: read on ao3

It rains hard enough to bruise after that, the kind of rain that leaves acid in the air, that falls hot and leaves skin cold like sweat, that soaks into every open shutter and every car window, that punishes flower petals and pelts down street crevices and fills up the skyscraper gutters and bubbles out the drains, that soaks every piece of fibre and wood and body stupid enough to be running around in it. That has the uncanny ability to wash away every last remnant of violence that might still bear its mark: dirt, shit, piss, vomit—and blood.

Guan Shan, doubled over at the waist, each breath a stinging pinch in his lungs, blinks away the reddened rainwater beading in his eyelashes, a cut on his head washed somewhat-clean, the grazes on his knuckles stinging.

They’ve found a shop-corner awning to huddle under while they wait out the fading sound of running footsteps and metal bats smashing against railings, just audible beneath the raging peals of lightning. The men chased them through half a mile of the city, but the boys were smaller, faster, and it was inevitable that they would outrun the gang eventually. 

The city was their childhood playground, and they knew the game.

‘Idiots,’ He Tian mutters, rubbing at his wrist, right where Guan Shan had pulled him.

Guan Shan glares at him. He Tian hasn’t got a scratch on him. Boy-fucking-wonder with his dark looks, stupid height, and the ability to throw a loaded punch or swinging kick or jab beneath the ribs or crushing stab at a throat.

How? Guan Shan wants to ask, and doesn’t. Questions like that are worth something more than their answer, and Guan Shan isn’t sure he even wants to know.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Guan Shan warns him.

He Tian wrings out rainwater from his shirt, but it’s ineffective. The whole thing is soaked. They both are. Guan Shan needs hot water and a bottle of iodine and his bed and sleep for thirteen hours. His skin is pricked with goosebumps, and he knows it won’t take long for a fever to kick in if they stay out long enough. His home’s a forty-minute walk away. He winces.

He Tian notices.

‘Sure,’ He Tian remarks, tone lazy, but still edged. ‘And if I hadn’t, you’d be lying in the gutter with your head caved in and a broken back. And then who would I have to play with?’

‘I’m not a fucking chew toy,’ Guan Shan spits, and breathes through his gritted teeth as a stabbing pain pushes through his ribcage. He ignores it.

By now, the rain has slowed down, the storm a quick thief in the night. Guan Shan hasn’t heard thunder for a few minutes, and the water drips from the awning like stalactites, not the steady river that ran down building window frames an hour before. By morning, the sun will have burnt away any memory of the night—the fight, Guan Shan’s burgeoning pain, the blood and loosened teeth splattered into an alleyway.

He remembers his father’s odd, humoured saying: There’s nothing a rainstorm and a few swigs of baiju can’t make right. Usually one of them will let you see a rainbow.

Thinking about it, understanding it now for the first time, the acid abates under Guan Shan’s tongue, and he goes sullen. ‘And they wouldn’t’ve killed me,’ he tells He Tian. ‘I’m not that valuable to them. You’re the one who made death be a thing.’

He Tian snorts. He leans back against the store window. There’s water threatening to drip from the dark strands of his bangs. Guan Shan watches it, and somehow it manages to piss him off more. He wonders if he should be grateful for it: that his anger towards He Tian is somehow enough to blur the stabbing pain in his back.

‘Seemed valuable enough to me,’ said He Tian. ‘What is it? You owe them money?’

‘I don’t owe ‘em jack shit.’

He Tian waves a hand. ‘Semantics,’ he says. ‘You. Your mother. Your father. It’s all the same, once it comes down to family.’

‘You know fuck-all about my family. About family at all.’

Maybe it’s an unfair jab, but Guan Shan isn’t a stranger to it: He Tian’s empty home, a studio apartment for one. It tells an easy story.

‘I think you’re wrong about that,’ He Tian says. He cocks his head. ‘The first part, I mean.’

‘Yeah?’ Guan Shan goads.

‘Yeah.’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes. Keep going, he thinks. Piss me off enough that at least you’ll think I’m grimacing for your bullshit and not because someone swung a metal bat into my fucking spine.

The thought comes in tandem with the memory of He Tian launching a kick into the guy that had swung it—instinctive retaliation. Not because they’d hurt Guan Shan, but because it was point-for-point, and He Tian wasn’t one for losing.

‘I know that your father’s in prison,’ He Tian corrects, voice neutral like he’s talking about school homework. Like they’re kids who live easy lives. ‘I know that your mother’s handling two jobs and extra shifts where she can get them. I know that money is more important to you than how much you hate me.’

His father used to tell him not to hate people—that no one ever deserved that kind of energy from him. That if they were abhorrent enough, cruel enough, unkind enough, then their punishment should be shunning. Ostracisation. Barring from any part of Guan Shan’s life that could hold negativity. Lock out the people that hurt you until they can’t hurt you anymore.

And then his dad got locked up, and anger and the poison that came with it—hate—was all that Guan Shan had. For fuel, for his medium, for expression.

It takes different forms. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes it’s a sneer, sometimes it’s curling darkness in the back of his throat; sometimes it’s a tear-soaked pillow; sometimes it’s raging cries smothered and muffled with a curled fist, cutting against his teeth. Sometimes it’s just a glare, directed more often than not, lately, at He Tian.

He almost says, I don’t hate you. An homage to his father, rotting away in that cell, thirty years older in the face, in his weathered hands, in his eyes, since last Guan Shan saw him. But that would be a lie. He doesn’t know what he feels for He Tian, but the burning—spite, cynicism—sure feels a lot like hate.

‘D’you want a prize?’ Guan Shan says. ‘A gold star for your efforts?’

‘If you want to reward me,’ He Tian says, lowly, ‘there are other things I have in mind.’

Guan Shan glares at him. The remarks brush off him now, a sticky residue left in their wake. It’s a discomfort that he’s almost grown used to them. Almost.

‘Fuck off,’ he mutters.

He Tian sighs. ‘If you need money… If your mom—’

Guan Shan cuts in. ‘You think if it was that easy I wouldn’t have asked already?’

‘Please. Like your pride isn’t what gets in the way.’

‘At least I have some.’

He Tian looks at him. ‘What you have is a chip on your shoulder. A real fucking deep one. Not pride, which is fucking overrated anyway. But don’t dress it up, Guan Shan. No offence, but you can’t afford to.’

Guan Shan bites down on his tongue. He fights off a wave of sudden nausea, and chooses his next words carefully. ‘You’re a real cunt sometimes, He Tian.’

‘Surprisingly, I don’t even have to try.’

Guan Shan wants to laugh at the straight honesty of it. He almost does, but his ribs won’t allow the movement, and he bites back the whimper of pain that threatens to make itself known. Some spark of amusement must show in his eyes, though—He Tian’s returning look is one of dry amusement, and the wryness of it is appealing. It creates some shared humour between them. A camaraderie that lingers on friendship.

Guan Shan thinks it’s a shame things like this—gang fights, She Li—have to inspire something like warmness towards He Tian. He thinks, too, that it’s a shame it can’t be like this all the time between the two of them. In that case, Guan Shan might not be nervous of his company so much, might not feel that twisting knot in his stomach at the mere mention of He Tian’s name.

It could be easy between them, but He Tian’s own words echo back at him: Surprisingly, I don’t even have to try. Things can’t be easy, because He Tian doesn’t know how to make it otherwise.

It’s starting to make sense why He Tian is the way he is. It’s in his hardwiring. Against those men, He Tian knew what to do. Where to block, where to hit, where to dodge. When to run. It was instinctive and natural. It makes sense why He Tian throws punches so easy at Guan Shan: it’s his language. It’s how he gets what he wants. And he’s smart about it. 

He didn’t hold and fight when the odds were too great—not like Guan Shan, who hedges his bets and would have stood his ground until he gurgled his last bloodied breath. There was stupidity in it, some bizarre moment of heroism and martyrdom in He Tian’s plan. But above all there’s a rationality in it—in him—that’s almost frightening. The way he looks and assesses and judges. Knows where and how to strike and does it exactly as planned.

Guan Shan doesn’t understand the nature-nurture argument, but he knows that no one’s born like that. They get used to it—they adapt to an environment where it’s kill or be killed. Stand up and keep throwing punches or get put down. They conform. They acclimatise to the conditions, like Guan Shan did.

Or they get trained.

Who turns a kid into a creature like that?

‘Did you start it?’ He Tian asks, pulling out a sodden pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Guan Shan thinks, Good luck lighting those, and says, ‘They insulted my mom.’

He Tian pauses, cigarette propped in his mouth, then shrugs. ‘Fair game,’ he mutters out the side of his mouth. It takes four swipes of the lighter wheel and a good shake before it sputters out a flame. He Tian’s first drag is long and deep, and he exhales smoke with his eyes closed. Guan Shan shouldn’t be surprised that He Tian gets it lit.

‘They said… said something about my mom paying the debt by taking customers.’ He spits the last word, foul and sullied in his mouth.

He Tian opens his eyes, and latches them onto Guan Shan’s. ‘And you didn’t want me to cripple them? They deserved it.’ He spits on the ground. ‘Fuckers.’

‘I know they deserved it,’ Guan Shan grits out. His breathing is feeling sharper now, his lungs harder and more painful to fill. ‘I was thinking about us not getting thrown behind bars. I’m in uniform. You think they wouldn’t be able to pick us out from a line of kids at school?’

‘For a second there I thought you just had a moral compass.’ He Tian takes a drag. ‘And anyway,’ he says, smoke clouding around them until Guan Shan’s eyes water. ‘You wouldn’t have to worry about that. Not with me.’

‘About what? Prison?’

He Tian nods. ‘It’d be taken care of. My family. You’d be—I’d take care of you.’

He stubs out the cigarette on the brick behind him, and grinds the rest of it out under his shoe for good measure. Guan Shan watches the motion, and eyes the flecks of blood on He Tian’s white sneakers. They cost about as much as a month’s rent for Guan Shan’s mom, and he wouldn’t be surprised if He Tian throws them in the trash when he gets home.

‘That’s nice of you,’ Guan Shan says blandly, unsure what to do with the gesture He Tian’s just offered him. It wriggles under his skin and makes him shake with it. What would He Tian want in return for something like that?

Suddenly, Guan Shan’s ribs twinge, a jagged burn that feels like a serrated knife on his insides, and he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut against the tremor it forces through his body.

‘Guan Shan? What’s wrong?’

When Guan Shan opens his eyes, blinking away the tear-blur, He Tian’s leaning over him, blank-faced, a hand on Guan Shan’s shoulder.

‘My—it’s my back,’ Guan Shan pushes out. ‘Where the bat—Hey!’

It’s maddening that it hurts too much to break free of He Tian’s hold on his shoulder when He Tian yanks his shirt up to his throat, but he forces himself to still as He Tian’s hands wander the pale skin of his abdomen, and as He Tian steps behind him to press at the back of his ribcage and—

‘Fuck!’ Guan Shan shouts, voice hoarse. He’s close to vomiting, vision swarming, and he knows it’s not the muggy, after-storm air that’s making his skin burn.

‘Fractured rib,’ He Tian mutters, barely loud enough for Guan Shan to hear. ‘Maybe broken. There’s already bruising so if it’s punctured a lung—’

‘I can’t go to hospital.’

He Tian looks at him flatly, but there’s a question lingering there too. Guan Shan’s not unused to being looked at like that by He Tian, like there’s some enigma in Guan Shan yet to unravel before him.

‘If your lung’s punctured then you’ll die,’ He Tian tells him. ‘Don’t be an idiot about this.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Guan Shan says, throat tight. His teeth are chattering now, and he’s only half-aware that He Tian’s mostly keeping him standing. It had been fine before He Tian started fucking pushing at him, like always, and now it’s like the pain of it is all that he can register, like always, and everything else is backdrop that he has to fight to focus on. ‘I can’t afford it. My mom—Those guys had every right to do what they did. Should’ve killed me. My mom could get a place for herself. One less mouth to feed—’

‘Oh, fuck off, Guan Shan,’ He Tian snaps. ‘That chip I was talking about? Really fucking big right now. Be grateful that I’ll pretend all this is delirium when you’re better.’

‘You don’t—’

‘Understand? I understand that you’re an idiot. You don’t understand what I meant by I’ll take care of you.’

‘And owe you what?’

He Tian looks exasperated. ‘I don’t know, Guan Shan. Do me the favour of just staying alive, alright? That’ll be enough for me.’

‘’Cause you need someone to play with, right?’

He Tian’s expression is almost fond, almost regretful, but mostly arrogant. ‘Right. Exactly. That’s all.’

Guan Shan shakes his head and puts an arm around He Tian’s shoulder, knowing He Tian can take the weight. ‘Just—just get me some fucking morphine, yeah?’

He Tian rolls his eyes. He starts walking them towards the street, dialing a number in his phone in one hand, the other wrapped around Guan Shan’s waist as a crutch. Each step ricochets a white burn through Guan Shan’s torso, and he’s trying to remember how he managed to run half a mile through the city with only the high of adrenaline and He Tian grinning at his side, wild and dark in the night and marvelous.

‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep,’ He Tian says, dial tone humming at his ear loud enough for Guan Shan to hear, and Guan Shan supposes that’s as good as it’s going to get.

[please like/reblog/consider commissioning me if you enjoyed my work!]