#now onto the actual analyzing. of course they never intended the couch to be a symbol for grief; but it becomes so.

[wikipedie]

grief is like a really ugly couch

I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room—but eventually, you learn to live with it. ― Jodi Picoult, Leaving Time

[yandere-sins]

hiya! i see that requests are open :] i was wondering.. if you haven’t written this already, can you write what would shigaraki’s reaction would be to his darling willingly giving him affection? maybe it was completely out of the blue or he got injured and his darling was worried, etc!!

thank you!! 🥰🤍💕

Thanks for requesting!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

In no one plans does it ever say to get beaten up.

But no matter how disgusting the blood on his tongue tasted, no matter how little he could see through the bruised eye, there were days like these where plans didn’t work out the way anyone wanted them to. No one said anything as the League of Villains retreated to their hideout, some limping, some holding their heads in pain. A few of them sighed as they passed their leader. Others clicked their tongues in disapproval, moral lower than any of them ever felt before - that meant rock bottom.

Everything had been going so well for so long, Shigaraki foolishly had already forgotten the feeling of losing. He was strong, resistant, and in good company, and yet, maybe his concentration had been off, his perception slow, or maybe it simply was a bad day. Still, no matter how he tried to justify the bitterness of failing, in the end, he could only bite his chapped lip in frustration.

It took him longer to unlock all the locks and bolts on the door to his room on that day. Everything ached when he lifted a finger and using both hands almost felt like tearing himself apart. It definitely had been too long that he experienced a real beating like this, making him painfully aware of every muscle and every bone in his body again. But even more so, knowing that this was a setback in his plans was even more bothersome than all the pains combined.

Still, Shigaraki decided he’d deal with the consequences and further planning the next day. There was no nerve left in his brain to keep grinding the loss over and over again, analyzing it, and plan out improvements. Nothing good could come out of his frustration, he realized, as he almost disintegrated the costly, sturdy locks of the door. But catching himself at the last second, Shigaraki reminded himself of their trustworthy duty of keeping what was behind the entrance exactly where it was and that it would be a waste to lose them too.

Even though you must have heard the door open and fall into its lock again behind him, you weren’t immediately apparent in the dark room. Shigaraki grumbled a sullen, “... back,” looking around once more, trying to make you out as he set aside the few hands spared from the fight. But heaving a deep sigh, he realized you must have been hiding or locked yourself in the bathroom, shying away from his presence as always. If t wasn’t him dragging you out for his own sick pleasure of being with you, you were the last person he thought to be willing to come to him.

And for once, he didn’t have the strength to pull you out of whatever orifice you had crawled into.

Letting himself flop onto the couch he had brought in just for you, Shigaraki let out a long groan. The cold leather felt good on the bruises on his face, even though it told him you hadn’t used the couch in a while. He didn’t like that even though he tried to make it homely for you after all your complaints, you didn’t take advantage of the amenities he provided, but Shigaraki felt too exhausted to get upset.

Minutes passed in silence as he tried to get his mind off replaying the lost battle over and over. It was so unfair, so cruel that the brilliant plan failed to retrieve the items he wanted. Still, even if he calculated disturbances because of heroes, he didn’t think they’d sent an army of them to stand against him. It was just so freaking frustrating, his body immediately started to itch everywhere.

Shigaraki wouldn’t have assumed for you to make a move, but he could clearly hear how uncomfortable you were as you contemplated moving out of your hiding spot. The shuffling of your clothes was louder now that there were no games on, and neither of you were talking, so he noticed you trying to get up a few times before sinking to the ground again hesitantly. He only sighed in exhaustion, wondering what he could do to make his face stop itching.

You had long ceased to be a threat to him, even if he didn’t have a brilliant achievement to boost that day either. It wasn’t like you two had come to any kind of understanding, a middle ground even. Still, he at least seemed to have earned enough respect or fear from you so you wouldn’t try anything funny when he was asleep. Perhaps he was too trusting, but it wasn’t like you weren’t scared enough of him and his quirk.

“Shigaraki...?” you whispered, testing with a tiny voice if he was sleeping already. He could hear your fingers curl into the leather, causing it to let out air loudly, which made both of you flinch - him from the headache, you from fear. Grumbling quietly about the disturbance, Shigaraki propped himself up on his forearms, looking up at where he assumed your position from beneath his unkempt hair.

“What?!” The words came out much harsher than he intended, but truth be told, he wasn’t in his right mind ever since he returned, so there wasn’t even any mercy left for you. You made a step back, the floorboards creaking under the sudden pressure, and you let go of the couch, too afraid he might snap.

“A-Are you...” you stuttered, annoyingly so. Shigaraki just wanted the world to be quiet that night. To have some peace after all the trouble. “Are you okay?”

Sighing, he plopped down into the couch again, letting his arm hang from the cushions. Of course. The only time you were actually worried about him, he was actually not okay, and he told you as much. “Not really,” he confessed, and silence fell over you two again before he heard you round the couch to stand by his side. It would have been so easy to grab you and pull you to him now, and maybe on any other day he would have, but even that seemed too exhausting to him.

“Do you need some water? Or should I go ask someone for bandages?”

With your questions so innocent, it made him snort loudly. “So you can run away?” was his counter-question. If not for the darkness in the room, he would have seen you tense up, read your body language to determine if you had planned something or if you genuinely were just worried, but Shigaraki couldn’t be bothered with the necessary actions if either of that was true.

“I was just asking,” you whispered, discouraged as he thought he heard in your voice. Your presence shifted away as you went and hid again, and it actually gave his heart a slight, additional sting when you seemed to settle somewhere. Ultimately, the silence was what he had wanted, but now that he had refused your presence for the first time ever since he took you for himself, he realized that it helped neither of you.

“If you really want to help...” he mumbled, taking a deep breath as he thought his words over, realizing they were foolish. “Come and scratch my face.”

There was nothing in response to this, only more silence, and now he truly felt stupid for even bringing it up. He could scratch himself just fine and probably better than a second person could, but really... it would have been nice if you were the one doing it. It must have only been seconds, but it felt like whole minutes passed before he heard another stir, and the warmth of your presence returned to him, slowly sitting down next to the couch. He turned to his side, waiting expectantly for you to act, hoping it would be soon as the itch grew stronger.

“It’s not good to scratch it,” you mumbled, and Shigaraki couldn’t help but click his tongue at you lecturing him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, just scratch it!”

Until the last moment, he honestly didn’t expect you’d do as he said, and it was almost amusing that when you did reach out, you still would resist his instructions, doing as you pleased. Instead, you seemed to want to smother him between your palms, laying them over the extensive areas of his face like cheeks and forehead, constantly alternating between them. It didn’t help, the itch still remained, but he would be a liar to say he didn’t actually like it.

Your touch was much gentler than what he expected you’d use when you finally touched him. Much less pressure and more tenderness than what he was used to from being touched. It was actually, truly, really nice.

“More,” he mumbled, and you gasped loudly as he reached out his hands to grab your wrists, tugging away his pinky as to not hurt you. No matter how nice it was to feel your touch, Shigaraki couldn’t help but grow needy even after all that happened that day. Perhaps because of what happened that day, he couldn’t help but want more and more of the comfort of your touch, ultimately pressing your hands so tightly against his skin, the bruises began to ache. But it didn’t matter. It all didn’t matter because it was your touch, and even if you tensed up, you didn’t pull away. You were so warm, and your so skin soft, so even if it hurt, it hurt good; just right. It made him feel alive even.

It was exactly what he needed after this long day.

“Do this more often,” he mumbled, dragging your hands from the top of his head down to his lips and start again. “Touch me more...”

You could have scratched him right then and there, plucked out his eyes for all he cared, and ripped off his skin, but your touch, combined with the warm, jittery pulse he felt in your wrists, gave him an unknown satisfaction, one he’d have liked to experience regularly.

“Don’t stop...”

His voice was shaky - needy and greedy at the same time. He rubbed his own face with your hands over and over, which felt almost as good as scratching but hurt like hell at the same time. Yet, he wished these feelings would never stop, so he could enjoy them infinitely. Screw plans and the future if only he could have your touch all over him until the end of time. So even if it didn’t resemble the way you touched him before, Shigaraki couldn’t get enough of your hands, only ever wanting more.

Was it truly too much to ask for? Shigaraki wondered as his grip loosened on you. You yelped as he accidentally lost control over his pinky while drifting off to sleep, giving you a second of stinging pain before you tore yourself from him trying to deal with coming into contact with his quirk. Only a satisfied smile was able to cross his lips before he was overtaken by exhaustion, hoping that this was reminder enough to not try anything funny while he slept. But honestly, as happy as he was now, he would have even enjoyed having your hands around his throat. It didn’t matter where, as long as you never stopped making him happy with your touch.

And god, was he happy he fucked up his plan that day.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

OXYCONTIN OXYCODONE (HCI CONTROLLED RELEASE TABLETS)

—tim grabbed the bottle from the stash of medicines in his apartment, shakily pressing down on the lid to open the locking mechanism. 

OT00367K 300514-0H WARNING: OxyContin is an opioid agonist and a Schedule II controlled substance with an abuse liability similar to morphine.

—because thank god alfred somehow managed to keep the batcave infirmary stocked with many different drugs and painkillers. tim remembered the money making people blink, the professional suppliers delivering to an unknown location, leslie turning a blind eye, going so far as to help them sometimes. it gave tim access to whatever he needed to take for his own apartment.

Oxcodone can be abused in a manner similar to other opioid agonists, legal or illicit. This should be considered when prescribing or dispensing OxyContin in situations where the physician or pharmacist is concerned about an increased risk of misuse, abuse, or diversion.

—leslie had glanced at him strange, so tim took her into the medbay and pulled up his sweatpants. the swollen, bruised colour of his ankle was striking against his pale skin. to her credit, leslie didn’t even wince, just used firm hands and warm fingers to examine the wound. tim had asked her not to tell anyone, and the injury was minimal enough for her to purse her lips and nod. she demanded a checkup in a week. with some negotiating, tim moved it up to a week and a half. “be careful with those,” leslie said, gesturing towards the painkillers. “of course,” tim responded easily.

OxyContin Tablets are a controlled-release oral formulation of oxycodone hydrochloride indicated for the management of moderate to severe pain when a continuous, around the clock analgesic is needed for an extended period of time.

—tim leaned against the wall of his bathroom, finally gripping the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it off. a myriad of colours greeted him, everything from mottled yellow to angry violet to the dark red of the blood flecked around the wound on his side. it was stupid, so stupid. damian had come out of that encounter fine, just a couple bruises to the forearms. tim, on the other hand, had to suffer a slice to the side with a knife, all because he’d hurt his ankle and ribs a day ago and hadn’t been able to flip out of the way in time. the pain had been unnoticeable yesterday, but today, it went past his entire body being on fire and instead felt like he’d been dipped in ice. tim was ready to claw his skin off his torso and fix his ribs himself, but he settled for tipping a couple pills into his palm.

OxyContin Tablets are NOT intended for use as a prn analgesic

—tim allowed himself a couple seconds, taking a few deep breaths, the way dick had taught him to push through the pain. then, pushing off the wall, tim stumbled into his bedroom. forgoing dinner, he shrugged his sweatshirt back on and collapsed onto the bed, letting out a hiss of pain when he landed on a bruise. he shuffled over to his favourite side, staying on top of the covers, moving his injured ankle into a somewhat comfortable position, and waited for the pills to kick in as he drifted off to sleep.

OxyContin 80 mg and 160 mg Tablets ARE FOR USE IN OPIOID-TOLERANT PATIENTS ONLY. These tablet strengths may cause fatal respiratory depression when administered to patients not previously exposed to opioids. 

—when tim woke up the next day, it was hard to breathe. hypoventilation was nothing new with stronger painkillers, though, so tim groggily stood up and made his way into the bathroom. the bruises had darkened, and the wound was gaping. turned out tim’s initial assessment was wrong: he needed stitches after all. on the bright side, the pain wasn’t as bad today as it was yesterday. tim popped a couple more pills and took out his medkit.

OxyContin Tablets ARE TO BE SWALLOWED WHOLE AND ARE NOT TO BE BROKEN, CHEWED, OR CRUSHED. TAKING BROKEN, CHEWED, OR CRUSHED OxyConton Tablets LEADS TO RAPID RELEASE AND ABSORPTION OF A POTENTIALLY FATAL DOSE OF OXYCODONE.

—bruce needed his help with a black mask case, and he’d called jason in as well, because no one knew the villain like the former crime lord. but jason was also working a human trafficking case with dick, and while things were getting better, dick was still one of the people that routinely defied bruce’s authority, quieter than jason but much more intense. but damian had asked him personally to come (well, he’d said he wanted to show him how to groom alfred the cat, which was practically the same thing), and cass was visiting from hong kong. so, for probably a couple rare hours, everyone was going to be in the manor, and if alfred and cass had anything to say about it, peacefully. tim gathered the information he’d layed out, and made his way towards the manor.

Possible Side Effects of OxyContin include: Drowsiness and/or weakness,

—tim stopped in one of the sitting rooms in the manor, dropping onto the couch after feeling the ground sway underneath him. he probably needed to eat something. knowing what his family would say if anyone found him in this state, he used trembling hands to take his computer out of his backpack, and pull up some mindless case under the pretense of work. he forced his eyes open, letting the blue screen cut through his vision. he had a good night’s rest, so the last thing he needed was to sleep right now. besides, look at dick! the man could stay awake for days on end, or keep going for weeks on minimal sleep, never get slow or sloppy in the field with exhaustion, and kept a warm and welcoming smile on his face the entire time. the least tim could do was put his injury to the side and stay awake for the first few hours of the night, before everything delved into screaming matches and arguments.

dizziness that may be accompanied by a headache,

—tim could feel everybody staring at him. they were analyzing him, taking stock of his weaknesses, he just knew it. and he couldn’t blame them. he could barely keep his head propped up, sitting in front of the screen. he flinched every time a particularly sudden or loud sound cut through the air, making his brain scream and his face wince in pain. tim’s fingers were rubbing his temples, but the effect was laughable against the pounding in his ears, the pounding of his head. “tim,” bruce’s voice caught his attention, deep but not quite gentle. “why don’t you get some water, hm?” tim nodded, then went to stand up stumbling slightly and grabbing the chair for balance. bruce moved to steady him, but tim held a hand out to stop him. he was fine. the floor was moving, the walls were spinning, but he was fine. “just a little tired,” he waved off to bruce. “don’t worry. i’ll grab an energy drink or something later.”

nausea,

—jason’s brow was furrowed as tim forced another bite to his mouth. across the table, dick’s head tilted in question and he asked “i thought alfredo was your favourite?” tim’s smile didn’t feel all that forced when he brought it up, and he forced another bite past his lips. “i’m just not that hungry. i had a snack in the afternoon.” his stomach was rolling, clenching, sizing up and- “if you would like something light, master timothy, i’m sure we have some crackers and soup. you can eat the alfredo another time.” alfred really was too kind. tim’s hands were clenched around the fork, and it took everything he hand not to curl up on his stomach, to heave as he opened his mouth to say “no thanks alfie. i’m good.” 

and vomiting, 

—tim couldn’t take it anymore. he pushed his chair back and left the table, far more rudely than he’d ever been before, barring an argument at the dinner table, and raced upward, willing his uncooperative feet and busted ankle to cooperate no matter the dizziness. he could hear the confused cries of his family behind him, but ignored them. tim threw open the door to the bathroom, having the mind to close and lock it, before falling over the toilet, heaving up the little pasta he’d managed to force down. and when that was done, there came the fire. the pain in his stomach as he tried to throw up what wasn’t even in his stomach anymore and oh was that blood? that wasn’t a good sign.

among other side effects. For a complete list of all possible side affects, ask your doctor or pharmacist.

—there was pounding on the door, and tim heard dick’s voice calling out his name. “fuckin’ pick the lock!” jason’s voice was angry. of course it was angry, the one time his family hadn’t come to blows and tim had ruined it. couldn’t he have held it together for just a few more hours? suddenly, there was a loud crack. cass had kicked the door in. she leaped into the bathroom, immediately over to him, with dick hot at her heels. jason was leaning against the doorway, keeping damian or bruce from coming in.

Previous medical conditions, such as lung problems, head injury, liver or kindey problems, adrenal gland problems, convulsions or seizures, alcoholism, hallucinations or other severe mental problems, and past or present substance abuse or addiction may heighten the negative effects of the oxycodone. 

—voices filtered into tim’s mind, but everything sounded like he was underwater. muffled, quiet. the quiet was nice. if only his headache could get with the program. there were hands on his shoulders, cupping his face. they were warm, and felt strong. he was safe. there was a part of him screaming, though. get up, open your eyes, stop being weak! stop being pathetic! the others could do so much more than you, so just stop acting like a victim and be useful for once! the voice was demanding, and tim tried to do just that, the dizziness had come back with a vengeance and the room was spinning. or maybe his vision was whiting out, because everything flared a bright, brilliant white before tim was plunged into darkness.

Pharmacist: dispense the attached Medication Guide to any patient taking OxyContin Tablets.

OT00367K 300514-0H

i don’t actually know how OxyContin works so all of this may be horribly wrong. this is just what the warning label said on a bottle i found in the medicine cabinet.

tag list:  @comicsandhoney @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @astroherogirl @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg

[ghost-in-between]

More Than Enough - Christmas Truce 2020

Merry Late Christmas @dailudannos! I’m sorry again that this is extremely late. Kinda funny thought that we had each other :D Hope you enjoy this sall piece. (I don’t think I’ve written Technus or Skulker ever for more than 2 lines, so I hope it’s still fun to read.)

Headaches were different for ghosts. Or maybe it was a weird personal thing for Technus. He hadn't asked. All he did know is that headaches sucked and being a ghost sucked and Christmas sucked.

Almost on autopilot, he was decorating the tree in the living room, putting ornaments too close together or too far apart. It wasn't his living room, or his tree, or his ornaments. The only reason he cared enough to put up with this was because Skulker had so nicely asked him to. Why he'd want to spend his time with Technus, he had no idea.

There wasn't much about him, really. He was the kind of person that was so lame that they try too hard to be cool. Skulker was the kind of person that was just cool without trying at all. Technus didn't know when they had started hanging out or how, but he still wasn't sure how much longer Skulker would want this. Neither was he sure how many more ornaments fit on this tree. Was this an appropriate amount yet? Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Are you sure that's enough yet?"

Turning around, he was greeted by a smug grin, framed in metal. Unsure, he glanced at the tree, counting the ornaments silently, until he was interrupted by a chuckle.

"I was teasing you. It's more than enough.

Letting the air escape his lungs and coughing to hide his embarrassment, he closed the box of tree decorations. "I know that," he grumbled. A sudden increase in pain made his grip on the box loosen, but he managed not to drop it. Headaches always left a lingering wave of pressure rolling through his entire body. It was as though the pain didn't know to stay in one area.

Skulker grabbed the box from his hands and set it down by the table. "You good?" he asked, lightly masking his concern behind a grin.

Technus nodded, forcing a grin onto his face as well, dropping it the second the other turned away. Pretending to be cheerful for one holiday should really not be this hard. Music started playing from an old-timey record player, the tunes crackling gently as a Christmas song filled the air. "Oh, really? Is this necessary?" Technus wondered, less irritated about the song choice than the technology.

"Yes," Skulker confirmed, winking at him. Technus didn't have a response. "Be glad I didn't sign us up for the choir."

Oh god, the choir. Technus remembered hearing other ghosts talk about it. It might have also been in the weird newspaper that Ghost Writer has been sending out. He didn't care much for it. All it did was give him more headaches. "Yeah," he agreed, sinking into the couch. "I wouldn't have joined if you'd signed us up though."

Picking up some green and red lights, Skulker chuckled. "You think I would have given you a choice?"

"I would have simply not done it." Technus shrugged, watching the other finish up the decorations, by hand, no ghost powers.

"That's what you think." Skulker fiddled with the lights, getting them tangled up. "But-" He tugged on them. "In reality-" They got even more tangled. "You would have- ugh." He threw the lights on the ground in frustration. "Stupid lights."

"Here let me." Technus got up and swiftly pulled them apart, handing one end over to Skulker so they could hang it up together. He didn't get a thank you, but the fact that Skulker quietly accepted his help told him enough. The hunter was tough but he never failed to remind Technus of his soft side. It made him feel special. But it also scared him.

"I think that's all the lights I had left. I put some outside. Remind me to take them down again as soon as Christmas passed."

Technus nodded as he returned to his position on the couch. Couldn't have anyone see Skulker being a sucker for Christmas decorations of course. Another spike of pain made him screw his eyes shut, pushing himself into the cushions. Why did he have to be plagued by headaches, all the time? Part of him felt like he knew what caused them, but it was buried somewhere in his mind and he didn't have the energy to dig it out.

"What's wrong?"

Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of Skulker, looking at him suspiciously.

"Nothing." He forced himself to loosen his shoulders and shake off the pain. "The record player is just painful to look at." Skulker rolled his eyes at the comment. "Shouldn't you like all technology?"

Technus crossed his arms. "I have standards."

"So do I, that's why you're here."

Taken aback by the compliment – flirt? – Technus blinked and shook his head. Skulker did love to tease him. "Because I have standards and won't spend Christmas Eve without anyone to admire by epic power and wit?"

Skulker pushed him lightly, or at least lightly for him. "Me? Admire your power and wit? Dream on."

He know it was a joke, a tease. But then why did it feel like a jab between his ribs? "Ah, of course," he said, intending to make it sounds confident and like he was playing along to the joke. Instead it came out sounding bland and disappointing.

Skulker looked the tiniest bit horrified, uncomfortable, like he didn't expect this response and now had to think really hard on how to react. "I mean, you-" He cut himself off. Had he realized it was the truth?

The headache was a constant pounding by now, shaking his limbs. This was beyond stupid. He was letting his own thoughts get him down, on Christmas Eve, a day that was supposed to be cozy and nice, apparently. He didn't get the hype, really. A knock on the door interrupted the awkward situation and Technus quickly got up to check the door. Only on Christmas would he ever witness anyone actually knocking before entering. Swinging the door open, he was met by the sight of Ember and a bunch of other ghosts, wearing Christmas hats. Before he could say anything they took a deep inhale and started singing.

"Oh, please no."

Skulker came up behind him, looking torn between being amused and irritated. "Guess you couldn't escape them fully, after all."

Technus felt him look at him from the side, hoping his expression wasn't betraying how tired he felt and how much he regretted not saying no to today. It was silly, maybe. One day wasn't so bad, one song from a choir of people that wouldn't have stopped by his lair anyway. Not that he would have wanted that. Of course not.

Suddenly he was being pushed back inside, before Skulker said "Thanks, Merry Christmas!" and shut the door on the other ghosts.

"What-" Technus looked at Skulker, at the door, then back at Skulker. "Why did you do that? I thought you enjoyed it?"

"But you weren't."

Taken aback, Technus focused his gaze on the wall behind to Skulker, unsure what to say. The pain in his head felt loud. As a ghost, he didn't need to sleep, yet he felt so, so tired.

"Why did you come?"

"What?"

Skulker was mustering him, like he was trying to analyze his thoughts. He was glad that telepathy was an uncommon ghost power. "You don't like Christmas, so why did you come here today."

He thought about it, thought about his feelings for the holiday, about his feelings for Skulker, about the constant ache in his body that reminded him that he was different from the technology he controlled. "I don't know," he admitted.

Nodding, Skulker sat back down on the couch, patting the space next to him. Afraid of what was going through the other's head, Technus hesitantly complied. He opened his mouth to say something, apologize, maybe, but Skulker was faster.

"It's okay. I think I need to apologize."

Wait, what? Technus was so surprised even his head seemed to clear for a moment of confusion.

"Don't give me that look. Listen-" Skulker looked directly at him, unafraid. "I think I've been taking you for granted."

"What, no-"

"Please. Let me finish, alright?"

Technus nodded.

"I've been taking you for granted because I assumed if I enjoy hanging out with you, then so do you." Technus felt the movement on the couch as Skulker shifted. "And not just that. I've been assuming that if you tell me you're fine, you are fine. But you're not like that, are you?"

Looking away, Technus shrugged. He wasn't the tough one. It didn't really matter, did it?

"Hey, I know I'm the one wearing a metal suit, but you're the one that makes himself untouchable. You can tell me when something is wrong, you know?"

It sounded so foreign to him, yet the concept seemed familiar. He was untouchable when he encased himself in hardware or when he turned intangible, but was he untouchable as a person? Was he even still a person? As if in response, an invisible knife plunged into his head, making him stop the habit of pulling hair in through his nose. Yes, it seemed to say. Just because he died, he wasn't not a person anymore. He still felt pain, just a little differently.

Glancing at Skulker, who looked so genuine that it was hard to imagine him on the hunt, he sighed. It was Christmas, he was here, the lights on the tree shining on them and mixing with their own glow. Would a bit of honesty, a bit of showing weakness even be able to ruin this?

"I just," he closed his eyes for a moment. "I just have a terrible headache." Skulker seemed surprised, whether it was at the fact that he was troubled by a headache or that his words had gotten through to him somehow, he didn't know. "And I'm tired," Technus continued. "And I don't like Christmas." Before Skulker could reply, he smiled at him. "But," The headache was still pounding in his head, but he felt like he was letting himself be wrapped in a blanket. "I guess I'd still rather be tired here with you, than alone. So if you still like me when I'm weak and lame-"

Skulker took his head , effectively making him shut his mouth. "I like you how you are, strong and interesting and right here."

And Technus believed him.

[excitedduck]

A Different kind of Harry Potter Love Story

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K Rowling. I do not in any way own the characters and settings used in this story. The plot is the property of the author (me) of this story. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

The info you need to know before reading this story: This story starts off in June of 1998, slightly more than a month after the Battle of Hogwarts. I know it seems like a very short amount of time, it is, but in my story, everyone has had time to morn and isn’t wallowing in sadness for those lost in the war. Oh and this is a Hermione/Ginny fanfic. That’s all. Now onto the actual story.

                                                        Chapter 1

                                                  Hermione’s POV

When the war ended with the Battle at Hogwarts we were all devastated. Our school was in ruins and our friends were dead, but I have to admit I was kind of relieved that Hogwarts was welcoming us back to complete our final school year. 

It’s been more than a month since the battle and now, in June, I’m finally getting a ride with Harry to the Burrow, newly refurbished. We decided that it would keep everyone’s spirits up if we spent the summer at the Burrow just like we would have before the war. It’ll be fun, I hope. It’s kind of been weird between me and Ron after the kiss. We’ve been trying to make it work, but there’s been no spark. I think both of us noticed it after the kiss but decided to ignore it because of our history as friends. I know it’s over. We both know it’s over. It’s just kind of... Awkward. At least I’ll have Ginny.

The closer we got to the house, the more nostalgic it felt. “It looks the same! Doesn’t it Harry?” “Yeah. They called some friends to help them fix it.” Harry sounded the same as he has sounded this past month. Tired. “You okay Harry?” He knew I was worried, he had barely slept this past month. “When we get there, go take a nap. I’ll get everything ready.” He just looked at me and nodded with a tired smile resting on his face. This summer is going to be good for him. I know it.

After we got out of the car I started to take the bags out, only to feel some arms squeeze around me. “Hermione, I can’t believe we get to spend the summer together! I’ve been dying to talk to a girl for once. My brother’s a bore.” I smiled as I saw Ginny’s bright brown eyes and smile facing towards me. Ginny’s always been really pretty, but it seems like this past month has added an edge to her look that only makes her more attractive. “I’ve missed you too Gin!” She was one of the most important people in my life, of course I missed her. And that’s when I saw him. 

“Hey ‘Mione.” 

“Hey, Ron.” 

We both nodded at each other, and that’s when I realized that we both knew it wasn’t going to happen. 

After seeing our exchange and pausing to think, Ginny went to hug Harry. You could see that both of them weren’t really into it. Both of them had decided to take a break. Harry wasn’t in the right place to be in a relationship. There was too much on his mind. I saw how he was this past month, he really wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. I stared at Ginny and hoped she knew that too.

After packing everything away I sighed a sigh of relief when I noticed Harry sleeping on the couch. I quickly kissed him on the cheek and went outside to breathe in the countryside air. “Mione?” I turned to see Ron’s face. His features were exactly the kind I found very attractive. He’s one of my best friends, and Ron was my crush for years, but it didn’t work. It never could’ve. I can see that now. I could see it from his concerned face that he knew that too. 

“Ron. We don’t need to talk about it. We both know it didn’t work, we’re just better as friends that’s all.” 

“Thank Merlin! I thought we were going to have a bloody awkward conversation about it right now.”

“I’m glad the decisions mutual,” I said as I stretched out my hand for him to shake. He took my hand and pulled me into a hug. “I missed you ‘Mione.” 

“Me too Ron, me too.”

We sat in the garden watching the sunset, talking about anything and everything, slowly letting it sink in that that part of our lives was now in the past.

After we finished talking I noticed Harry wasn’t on the couch anymore. He probably just went to sleep in his bed. I walked up the stairs slowly as to not wake up anyone in the house, then I opened the door to mine and Ginny’s shared room only to notice her staring up at the ceiling completely awake.

“Something on your mind?” She turned to look at me and slowly slid up, now sitting on the bed she paused to look at me. “Just thinking about stuff.” She analyzed me as if trying to understand something about me. “Harry stuff?”

“Kind of. I’m just thinking about how good our break up was, and how lucky I am to have him as a friend. Are you thinking about Ron stuff?”

“Not really. At least not anymore. That chapter of my life is over.”

“I guess we both had problems with love

 As she said that I felt myself blush as I saw her. She was in silk shorts a dark navy blue and a matching silk top that fit her perfectly. Her eyes stayed on me as I moved to sit down on my bed. We stayed there in silence staring at each other for what felt like an eternity until Ginny laid down on her bed and said, “I’m happy you decide to come Hermione.”

“I’m happy I did too.”

I wish I knew why my sleep was so restless that night. Maybe it was the feeling of being watched.

That’s all for the first chapter. I know it’s very short, but I just wanted to test out this story. The story starts getting slightly more interesting next chapter. Hope you liked it! Bye! ~ExcitedDuck

[gyeommark]

Fire and Ice || Mark Tuan (M)

Genre: Fluff, Smut.(a lil bit)(okay probably more than just a little bit)

Mark x Reader

Words: 2.3k

A/N: In between a lot of shit in my life and some awful writer’s blocks, I finally got this done! It took me forever but I love me some Mark smut. I hope you like it! Also! Slowly but surely getting the requests done!

Requests are O P E N

The sound of teeth chattering was the only thing hearable in your home. Maybe you were exaggerating or maybe it was because Seoul’s weather was out to get you, turn you into an ice sculpture and shatter you until you no longer existed.

Even with the heater turned on, thermal clothes, two sweaters, fuzzy socks, one of Mark’s warmest hoodies and a thousand blankets you still felt like your toes would fall out any minute.

Your lip started quivering in remembrance of your oh-so-lovely-and-tropical home country. You never knew how much you loved its deliciously warm weather until you were in South Korea, wondering how it was possible to have temperatures of minus 10°C at best.

Two years had almost passed since you moved to the other side of the world and yet you still managed to turn into a human popsicle whenever winter came around.

You hated it most whenever you had to be alone, which was almost all of the time because it was unforgivable for GOT7 to miss an Awards’ show. It was understandable, of course, and you appreciated it because you always loved seeing them perform even if you weren’t actually there but still... You hated not having Mark by your side to maintain your body temperature at a reasonable level and spoil you with his love to make you forget about your bad mood.

You groaned when you remembered Mark’s promise to have lunch with you today. His effort to spend time with you, even when his schedule was so hectic, made your heart flutter and your stomach flip continuously but the mere thought of leaving the blanket fortress you had built on top of your bed to face the deathly cold weather was unpleasant, to say the least.

The things I do for him. You thought as you begrudgingly hopped off the bed to get ready and go on your merry way.

You were sure you looked as ridiculous as you felt, barely able to walk due to the amount of layers of clothing you had on, like a penguin going to war but much less adorable.

Mark had taught you in detail the how-to’s to avoid people whenever you went into the company building, which came in handy now that you looked exceptionally ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were in a secret relationship but you liked to keep things as quiet and private as possible.

You strived to make it to the practice room in time and even with the occasional jog and the sprinting to avoid some suspicious looking group of girls, you didn’t even shed a drop of sweat.

Groaning, you peeked through the door, not wanting to interrupt anything in case they were still not allowed to go on a break. You locked eyes with Mark through his reflection in the mirror, earning a flirty wink from him before he burst out laughing. You took that as your cue to wait for him on the small couch that was around the corner.

After around ten minutes of you waiting and watching random videos on your cellphone, you felt someone flopping down on the free spot next to you. Startled, you looked over to see a sweaty, blushed Mark.

Your insides clenched in both desire and jealousy.

It was not fair for him to be that hot. Pun intended.

He put one hand on your thigh and your body immediately felt the heat he was irradiating, which was very much appreciated. You smiled, content, as he rubbed gentle circles with his thumb.

–Has anyone told you you look adorable today?– Mark chuckled as he stood up and offered you a hand. You took off your beanie and your scarf for him to actually see you rolling your eyes at his remark.

–Funny–. You scoffed only an instant before being dragged to another part of the building; one you had never been to and you wondered if it was okay for you to actually go in there. You didn’t say anything, though.

With your hand still engulfed in his, Mark opened the door to a lounge room of sorts. There were a couple couches, a coffee table, a thousand cushions, a stack of blankets in the farthest corner and a big T.V. hanging on the wall. You were too busy analyzing the furniture and general decoration of said room to notice Mark letting go of your hand to turn up the heat and light up about a thousand little candles.

The gentle lavender scent met your nose and you immediately looked for Mark, who was gently placing your food on the small table. You smiled at the sight of him and for the first time in the last couple weeks or so, you felt warm inside.

You reached out to try and help Mark set up the table but he shooed you away, gently forcing you to sit on the couch as he gave you a chaste kiss on your lips; the touch was gentle yet, still, an electric current shot up your body, something that happened when your love for him grew a little more.

He sat down next to you after he had finished setting up the food and handed you some chopsticks; your fingers brushed against his and his eyes widened beyond belief. You wondered if there was something wrong.

–You really are freezing–. He said, half jokingly with a hint of concern in his eyes.

You sighed, thinking it would be something more serious than his idiotic observation.

–You think I would be wearing this obscene amount of clothes if I wasn’t?– You cackled, ignoring his burning gaze on you as you grabbed some chicken to start munching.

It had been a couple minutes of you eating, music played softly on the background and as you ingested calories, you started to feel your body temperature rising slowly. Mark was still staring at you, his food untouched which was very rare of him.

His hand slowly crept to the side of your face, pushing your hair away. You blinked rapidly, turning around to see him. He pressed his palm on your nape; the contrast of his pleasantly hot hand against your ice-cold skin made you shiver. Mark started massaging your neck gently, making a happy hum escape from your mouth.

–The food’s going to get cold, Mark–. You mumbled, eyes still shut, enjoying the feeling of closeness.

–I care about you being cold. The food can wait–. He scooted closer to you and still with a hand tangled in your roots, he started pampering the exposed skin with butterfly kisses.

With a shaky hand you disposed the chopsticks, now forgetting about the food, much like him.

You crooked your head to the side, giving him more space to work and your hand slowly found its place on his leg, gently stoking him as he unzipped your top coat with his free hand.

Now that there was more skin exposed, he took it as a chance to move down and nibble on the thin skin of your collarbones, making you moan unconsciously, which only made him more eager to be close to you.

Slowly, he started pushing you onto the couch as he took your coat off your shoulders. You suddenly forgot about your hatred towards the weather. Your hands tangled in his hair as his own started traveling under your various sweatshirts, softly caressing your sensitive soft skin. He sucked on the spot that melted you, right beneath your earlobe; you were sure he’d leave a bruise but you couldn’t care less.

His hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it with expertise and immediately his right hand cupped one of your breasts as the other roamed further south, fidgeting with the button of your jeans.

As he finally got it undone, you felt him pinch your oversensitive bud, making you moan as he teasingly twisted it between his index finger and thumb. You threw your head back and bucked your hips upward, earning a low groan from Mark as you brushed against the now noticeable tent in his pants.

Mark’s ability to undress you in the blink of an eye surprised you even more than before, throwing all the layers to the ground, exposing your torso, making him bite his lower lip. Your icy hands found their place on the waistband of his loose pants and slowly but surely made their way up, just a couple inches; enough for your finger tips to brush against his boiling skin, making him hiss as you tossed his own shirt away.

His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them, filled with lust but you could still see a hint of worry hiding somewhere in there. You gulped, suddenly remembering where you were and how the odds of someone walking in on the scene where incredibly high.

Your eyes widened in surprise, shaking the worry off of your mind, when you felt Mark pulling own your pants only enough to grant him access to where you desired him most. And oh, you wanted him.

His fingers brushed like feathers against your entrance. His eyes were fixed on your face, memorizing every reaction, analyzing your features to assure your pleasure.

You gasped when he palmed you softly before starting you rub your clit. Your back arched again and you pulled him on top of you with one hand behind his neck.

You were ice and he was your fire. You were melting underneath him, with your chests pressed together; you could feel his rapid but steady heartbeat and he was surely feeling your erratic excuse of a pulse, too.

He rubbed your womanhood in constant circular patterns, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled slightly when he made you feel even better.

Mark sighed lewdly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he attacked your neck with small bites and wet kisses making you even more unstable than you already were.

Your free hand traveled hesitatingly down his torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever it touched. It reached his waistband again and with a swift move, your hand slipped inside his underwear, making him gasp against your earlobe.

–It’s not fair to do all the job alone–. You said, justifying your actions. He giggled and without a warning, he slipped two fingers inside of you, making you moan as you felt him stretching you delightfully.

Your cold touch on his shaft was something that he wasn’t particularly used to but somehow, he loved it. You rubbed him softly a couple times from the base all up to the head, running a fingertip carefully over the slit, making him shake in expectation on top of you.

His fingers pumped faster inside of you in response, making you both sigh and moan in synchrony. You smirked.

You grabbed him and started pumping him slowly at first, your other hand tugging at the ends of his hair, sending him into the start of ecstasy. Mark took that as a clumsy chance to slip another finger into you and suck hardly onto your collarbone.

Your pumps were faster and sloppier, too, even if you tried to concentrate enough on rotating your wrist to give him more pleasure. It was difficult to be coordinated when he was so adamant on hitting the blissful spot with his long fingers every two seconds.

Juices started to flow from you when the knot in the lower region of your abdomen made itself present.

You sighed again into Mark’s ear when he hit the g-spot with more force than before. The sounds you were making were enough to drive him off the edge but there was still one thing left in his mind.

–You still cold, babe?– He managed to say as he propped himself up on his left elbow.

You nodded quickly even if it wasn’t entirely true. You knew your skin was cold and your touch was the one of an ice cube but you couldn’t feel it anymore. All you could feel were incessant fire flames emanating from your center and reaching even the tiniest of nooks inside of you.

He retreated his digits, making you pout at the loss. You dethatched from him too, even when you loved the feeling of his pulsing under your palm. Your walls were clenching; you wanted him again.

Mark laid on top of you again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he looked into your eyes before giving you a passionate kiss with his hand still attached lovingly to the side of your face.

It was in that moment, when you were distracted by the feeling of his soft lips against yours and your tongues dancing together, when you felt him filling you up again. You didn’t even notice him pulling down his pants. His thrust was hard and fast but precise. You moaned against the kiss.

The pressure on your abdomen reappeared stronger than it was before. Your walls clenched unceasingly around him, driving him crazy. He tried really hard to start off slow and build up the pace but your touch was making him see stars and he knew it wouldn’t last long.

His jaw hung low as his thrust gained speed and strength. He hit that spot with every one of them and you didn’t know if you would be able to handle it. Your left hand found its spot on his back, trying not to scratch him a lot with every thrust but it was almost impossible.

Your back was arched beyond belief and when Mark hid his face on your neck again, biting into it, you could feel the release already.

He pumped into you one last time, holding you close and biting into you to stop him from being loud. Both your breathings were quick and uneven, making you giggle as you struggled to control yourselves.

After around then minutes of just laying there, tangled in each other, Mark raised his head to speak up.

–The food’s surely gone cold now–. He smiled widely, looking at you in the eye. Your heart fluttered as you smiled back at him.

M A S T E R L I S T

[a-fools-jester]

🖤

Platonic Crying and Falling Asleep Together.

This took forever, and it’s long and angsty. Basically, Mrs Hudson and Papa Lestrade comfort a heartbroken Sherlock, who hasn’t left his flat in weeks and hardly eats or sleeps. It’s after the wedding. Unrequited love. Angst. References to depression, a previous teenage love, mental illness and involuntary treatment. Be warned. Sorry this took a while, darling. @savedbyholmes​ I hope you enjoy it. Story under cut.

Sherlock let out a long sigh, a cigarette in his hands as he stared out of the window where the rest of London was also in a state of restless gloom. Rain tapped away on the window, and down below people walked through the streets without a glance at once another yet obviously craved the interaction. He’d seen their types before; the emotionally needy wife who hated her family because she married too soon to the wrong man, the naive and somewhat desperate young lady who was orphaned as a young child and was now in need of a knight in shining armor, the man who spent too much time playing video games or working on the computer to escape the reality of being alone.

They all craved actual valuable human interaction yet often turned away from it willingly with the faulty reasoning of I need someone, not anyone. They had a specific type of person in their mind, and if the person didn’t live up to their standards, the person was dismissed and they would lose contact within months.

That’s how their social lives went, always in a constant cycle of making and losing friends. It all looked so tedious, yet so many people claimed that it was fun and a vital part of being human. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want to be human. He didn’t need friends, or their petty small talk and trivial problems. It was all so dull and boring it made him want to gag.

Mrs Hudson puttered into the kitchen, tutting at the smell of tobacco in the flat. “Oh dear, smoking again, are you?” she said in a slightly disapproving tone as she set a tray of biscuits on the table. “You know, if you miss John you should just call him. I’m sure he’ll want to solve a few cases with you, even with the wife and all.”

“He’s newly married and has a regular day job, Mrs Hudson. Even I know it would be wrong to put him in anything akin to danger now that someone other than myself would be greatly affected,” Sherlock said quickly, still curled up into a ball on his chair as he stared out the window, wrapping his arms around himself tighter and trying to focus on the world outside. “He’s busy.”

“When was the last time you left these rooms?” Another sigh as Mrs Hudson opened the fridge, seeing that it was painfully bare. She was worried. She shouldn’t be worried. Sherlock was fine, absolutely fine, there was nothing to worry about.

A car passed by, almost skidding on the slippery ground as it did. An emergency perhaps. “I don’t know, I don’t like to keep track of unimportant events.”

“It’s been three weeks since you left the flat, to be exact. You sulk in here all day like a ghost and hardly eat and hardly sleep. The only light ever turned on in here is that blasted lamp that makes everything warm and yellow, all because you’ve been spending your days just staring out of that window as if you’re waiting for something!” she snapped, hands on her hips, looking like about 5'5” of motherly concern and anger. “Or maybe, I should say someone.”

“Mrs Hudson, you and I both know that sentiment is of no value to me and-”

“Actually you and I both know you love him.” There was a beat of silence, as if the entire world had stopped to listen into the conversation. Her face softened as she lowered her voice. “I know you do, Sherlock, I was at the wedding. I heard everything you said. It was actually quite heartbreaking, I’d say. Even that handsome detective inspector Greg, almost shed a tear over it.”

Sherlock stared at his hands, feeling much more like a chided schoolboy than a grown man being yelled at by his landlady. “And what-” he cleared his throat before continuing, “would you suggest I do then? He’s married off with a woman. I can’t- I don’t- What do I do?”

He hadn’t faced her yet, but she walked over to stand beside him- he had turned his chair so he could fully watch London through the window some time ago- and placed a comforting hand on his face. Sherlock leaned into the touch, finding that after three weeks of almost complete silence that could drive even a monk insane, he craved the physical contact. “Why don’t you go out and talk to people? I know it’s hard, always has been hard for you, but it can’t be as bad as this, can it? I haven’t the slightest idea what else to do, Sherlock, I’m worried you’re wasting away in front of me and I can’t do anything but watch.”

The words bring back memories of another time, a different world, a different woman holding his face and weeping as she begged him to be okay. Don’t do this to yourself, can’t you see how much we love you, look at what you’re doing to our family, look at what you’re doing to-

“I’ll… try.” He nodded, trying to shake the memories of his mother out of his mind as he did so. “There’s no need for you to worry. I’m fine.”

Mrs Hudson gave a teary smile as she pulled away. “Of course, dear. I’ll be heading down then. Give me a yell if you need anything.” She left, and Sherlock suddenly felt his limbs weigh heavier with the knowledge that he now had a promise he fully intended to break. He couldn’t go out there with the people. The noise, the crowds, the emotions that he could feel just radiating off them, their stories screaming to be heard with their every breath and every blink. It was too much. All of it was just too much.

The days passed quicker then, and after another week or two, it was Lestrade walking up the steps this time with a grim determination in his step. Sherlock already knew what was coming before he had fully stepped into the room and prepared himself for it. Mrs Hudson hadn’t been able to handle him and now she sent in the second link in the chain, dear old Lestrade who took up the role of the firm but gentle father while Mrs Hudson claimed the role of the heartbroken and perpetually teary mum.

The flat was hauntingly silent when Greg entered, a stillness in the air that made the entire flat feel as it was cut off from the rest of the world, an isolated little bubble untouched by time and mortality. Sherlock’s outline was what Greg’s eyes fell on first, a motionless and lonely figure beside the window, staring out with dull eyes, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. He looked small and fragile in the light; the shadows dancing on his features from the streetlights outside made him look awfully young.

“It’s my life,” Sherlock said after a beat of silence, feeling Greg’s eyes on him, deciding to strike preemptively without turning to look at him. “I can do with it what I want. What I want is to stay in my rooms and take a break from the chaos in everyone else’s lives.”

Greg paused, before his footsteps continued, and finally stopped at the couch where he took a seat on the armrest. “Maybe, but you won’t be the one grieving for the second time if something happens to you.” Sherlock could feel the weight of his gaze, calculating, analyzing. “You could have called me, you know. We’ve been through this a lot of times, I thought you knew by now that when you have a relapse, you can call me. I can help you. We can all help you.”

Maybe I don’t want to be helped, Sherlock wanted to snapped back, suddenly feeling something akin to rage festering in his veins. “I know,” he said instead. His voice sounded monotone, he realized belatedly, but he can’t find it in himself to care how dead inside he sounds. “I’m sorry.”

They all cared so much and it hurt. Sherlock didn’t want them to care, he just wanted to be alone in his suffering, wanted to have all the time in the world to wallow in his pain. After hiding the pain for the better part of a decade he had the right to want to drown in it, to hold onto it as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. It gave him something to focus on. The constant ache in his chest reminded him that he was alive. He was human, and the breaking inside of him meant there was a heart in there somewhere that was able to be shattered.

There were a few minutes of silence. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Yes.”There was no point in denying it when it was clear that he had; his once tight clothes were now a size too big for his thin and awkward frame. The t-shirt he now donned hung off his shoulders as he stared petulantly out of the window, a blanket thrown over his shoulders not because it was cold but just to have something between him and the rest of the world.

A tapping, impatient, filled with the need for breakthrough but the desire to be calm and patient; the self-contradictory psychological state of an officer used to being obeyed immediately and a man of a soft heart who always wanted to be trustworthy and understanding. “How much weight?”

“Ten pounds.”

“God, Sherlock,” Greg breathed, and Sherlock knew the look of disappointment-not at him, never at him, at the situation, Greg would always insist- and bitter sadness would be on his face if he decided to turn around. He didn’t. He wasn’t strong enough to look into those sad brown eyes. He wasn’t John. He didn’t have the bravery of a soldier. “If you take this any further, I’m gonna have to tell Mycroft to put you on a 5150. This is beginning to go from unhealthy right into suicidal territory, you realize that, right?”

Another car passed by outside. It was raining again, less of a drizzle and beginning to seem more like a storm. The time of warm days and sun bathing were over it seemed, the weather had begun to shift into constant gloom and rain.

“Sherlock, please-”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock cut in, tone becoming almost desperate, almost pleading for Greg to stop his arduous quest of trying to save him from himself when he wasn’t willing to be pulled back from the edge yet. “Greg- Greg, I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.” He bit his lip, not quite sure he couldn’t do, but he knew that whatever Greg was asking him to do was too much. Greg didn’t understand; the moment his feet hit the ground they’d shatter, the moment he stepped outside he would dissolve and the rain would wash him away.

Greg let out a bone-deep sigh, and Sherlock could hear the words that hung in the air between them, buzzing and crackling, ready to snap and sting, to burn and devour. There were a sea of unsaid words between them, and Sherlock didn’t know how to swim through it.

After a few minutes of silence, Greg finally let out a  defeated sigh, the tension dripping away when he spoke. “Mycroft… he um, told me to give you this,” Greg said, pulling out a bottle from his coat pocket and placing it on the coffee table between him and Sherlock. He watched as Sherlock finally looked in his direction, meeting his eyes for one heartbreaking second where Greg could read everything that flew through the young genius’ mind before they fell to the bottle. “He told me to assure you that it’s your choice whether or not you want to take them. If you do, tell him or me, and I’ll supply you with it. He doesn’t- it’s probably not best that-”

Sherlock understood immediately and nodded. “You think I’ll try to kill myself. Understandable, I suppose, given the… situation. What is it? A mood stabilizer or sedative or…?” he tried not to pay attention to the cracking of his own voice at the word sedative, tried to ignore the way his tongue felt dirty saying it. The word always made the image of dark rooms and broken bones flash through his mind. His time away hadn’t been completely forgotten yet by his mind, and there were still days when he woke up with stop, enough- please, it’s too much, I can’t spilling from his lips before he fully woke up and realized he was no longer a nameless government agent in Serbia or a hostage being held captive by a group of terrorists in Russia.

He was home and he was supposed to be safe; happy even, now that he was free from the clutches of Moriarty’s contacts. He wasn’t supposed to be considered a threat to his own life when he spent two years fighting for his desire to live, to survive. He grit his teeth and forced himself to survive through sheer will

“A fast-working mood stabilizer that’s used to treat bipolar disorder, anxiety, major depressive disorder and autism, from what he told me. It’s a relatively new drug, called… Clonazify?” Greg said as he read the label, and Sherlock nodded, his eyes still staring at the small bottle on the coffee table. “There’s only three in there right now, so you can give it a try, see how it works for you.”

“Alright,” Sherlock responded, slow, soft, and desolate.

A few moments of silence passed, before Greg broke it by standing, not knowing what else he could say. “Well, I’ll be heading out then. I’ll probably see you in three days.”

As he turned to leave, Sherlock finally spoke without having to be asked a question. “Greg?” he asked, and Greg gave a noncommittal hum, turning to face him again- he’d turned his face to the window again, but Greg could make out the moisture glistening in his eyes. “It hurts.”

His stomach lurched as he listened to Sherlock’s words, watching with horror and heartache as Sherlock’s face contorted to one of pure agony; Sherlock must have been holding this in for a long while. Greg stayed silent, listening to Sherlock. “How do you do it? I never thought- I never knew how much it could hurt to- to- to love somebody and- and then have them- have them…” Sherlock trailed off, turning his face to bury it in his hands, shoulders quaking violently.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Greg breathed, feeling his chest ache as he walked over to hold the crying boy close. It was a bit awkward of a position, Greg had to bend over slightly to properly embrace him, but Sherlock leaned into his touch as if he was a man walking through the Arctic terrain barefoot and Greg had just offered him warmth and shelter. He let Sherlock cry into him, wondering how long Sherlock had been waiting to say the words out loud, how long he’d kept his bleeding heart caged up like a wild, merciless, untameable beast. “That’s right, just let it out. It’s okay to cry, muffin, I’m here, I got you.”

And Sherlock did. He cried like a broken man, his shoulders trembling and his chest heaving with every sob. Greg could do nothing but hold him close and murmur sweet nothings in his ear about always being there, about how it was all going to be alright, about how the pain wouldn’t last forever. It took Sherlock a long while to quiet down, and he just leaned into Greg’s arms, his eyes heavy and his insides feeling vacant and empty, as if he’d been hollowed out.

Some time during the whole thing, they’d ended up on the couch. Greg had moved them there at some point, so that he would be more comfortable holding Sherlock close to him. They stayed silent after that, Sherlock getting a bit of much needed rest in Greg’s arms, feeling warm and secure before he fell asleep. When Sherlock woke up, he was surprised to find that Greg was still there; awkwardly, he extracted himself from the dozing older man’s arms. “Apologies for… that,” Sherlock said when Greg woke, his years working as a cop obviously making him more alert than others.

Greg let out a groan as he halfheartedly stretched, his shoulder popping as he sat up and tried to get blood flowing in his arm again. “No need for apologies. Though, a cup of tea would be much appreciated,” he said with a faint smile, watching as the lanky man went to the kitchen and prepared some tea for two. When Greg looked out the window he saw that it was now about evening, the sky a dark hue of navy blue, almost time for dinner for most ordinary people.

Sherlock returned with two cups in his hands, and passed it over. “So… Greg…”

“Yes?”

Sherlock fidgeted in his seat, the glazed over look of sleep still in his eyes. “Can you tell Mycroft I’m fine? I don’t want him to start a war because he gets distracted during a meeting or something. He tends to worry.”

Greg nodded, “yeah, I’ll tell him. He’s a worrier is what he is. Always nervous about this thing or that. I don’t know how he can be both very anxious about things like doctor appointments and weight management, and also very confident about meeting with different world leaders.”

They talked amicably for a while longer before Greg left, and Sherlock found himself staring at the chair he’d spent the last month or so glued onto, watching the world as he slowly wasted away inside of the haunted walls of 221B Baker Street, too caught up in emotions to do anything but exist. After thinking it over, he decided to pick up his violin, not sure what to play, not sure how to play the song that was playing inside of his mind.

With slightly trembling fingers, he played a shaky and haunting lament that conveyed all of the things he couldn’t say, all of the emotions he didn’t know how to express. As he played the heavy and melancholic tune, his mind began to supply him with memories he didn’t exactly ask for.

10 years old, sitting in the doctor’s office- Dr. Peacey, his name was- and staring at the ground as mummy talked with the man about him. Sitting across from him, Mycroft gave him a look that Sherlock didn’t quite understand, probably understanding more of the medical terms than he did. He didn’t understand what was wrong, he just knew that it hurt. Something hurt. Everything hurt. All he wanted to do was sleep and forget that the world existed around him, and mummy decided to drag him here, to this weird man who kept asking weird questions about how he slept and how he played with the other kids and if he ever heard voices no one else did. He wanted to go home.

13 years old, sitting in a hospital room, an IV connected to his arm as he laid there with his limbs feeling heavy and his mind feeling clouded. Mummy stood outside, weeping into dad’s shoulder, and Sherlock could barely keep his eyes open long enough to see Mummy nod to a doctor. “Now that you’ve done the paperwork, is it alright to put him in our psychiatric ward now?” Sherlock was wheeled into the Pediatric Psychiatric Ward, where everyone was weird and somehow he fit right in. Nobody looked at him funny there. Nobody called him a freak. Another teenager there, a cynical and misanthropic boy with dark hair and dark eyes, had given him a book about being able to read body language and the complex psychology behind every subconscious action or choice a person made. The boy never told Sherlock his name, always hiding behind the pseudonym Richard, but he influenced Sherlock in mastering the art of deduction.  

Sherlock put the violin down abruptly, not even finishing the note he was on, feeling his hands begin to tremble more violently. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going. With a shaky breath, he took a seat on his chair once again, staring out of the window. He could remember it so clearly now, the restraints, the sedatives, the months he spent trying to get his diagnosis, doctor after doctor, the bottle of pills in his trembling hands as he stared into the mirror, the way his insides burned and tried to expel the unwanted chemicals back out, pain- so much pain, his mum crying time and time again, the way he always felt so angry with everything, the way he always felt angry with himself, the way nothing was okay and everything hurt and suddenly Richard-

“I cannot seriously be thinking about Richard right now,” Sherlock said with a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he balled his hands into fists. A sad realization hit Sherlock: Richard was his first love. John was his current love.

-Richard swept him off of his fucking feet, shattering the darkness and lethargy with his touch and his words. Sherlock fell arse over tit for him, color sweeping over his life once again. One day Richard was there, the next he was… gone. Sherlock asked the staff, asked his parents, asked the doctors but nobody had anything to say about where he’d gone. Nobody told him that Richard was dead.

“Sherlock, love?” Mrs Hudson called as she walked up the stairs, and Sherlock snapped back to reality. He unclenched his fists and took a sip of tea that was lukewarm now that he’d let it sit out. Mrs Hudson looked at him, eyes holding in them a sorrow that Sherlock wished he never experienced for himself. “Oh, Sherlock, you’re awake. Come then, let’s get some food into you. I brought you some chicken and chips, as well as some brownies.”

She set it all down on the table, and Sherlock knew he had to make a choice. He could remain sitting in his chair where he could sink into the pits of darkness lapping at his feet or he could stand and go into the kitchen and eat whatever Mrs Hudson had prepared for him. His knees creaked when he stood, and Mrs Hudson flashed him a bright smile. She was old, Sherlock thought as he looked at the wrinkles on her face. She was too old to be dealing with him and his mood swings, too old to be the one helping him bear the cross he carried.

“Oh, did I ever tell you about this one time in primary? You see, the teacher was…” Mrs Hudson rattled on about her life, and Sherlock listened, nodding and smiling when appropriate. It felt like a machine only doing as he was programmed to do. Something in his chest felt empty, but he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid or concerned about it. There was too much pain and he knew that if he felt all of it, he would come apart under the pressure. After they finished their meals, Mrs Hudson looked at him, then at the bottle of pills on the table. “Do you think you should drink them now? If you’d like to, that is. It’s not my place to assume things.”

It wasn’t usually a question. Most people demanded he take it, forced it on him even as he thrashed and bucked beneath them and their needles. Most people never asked him if he wanted to. Most people never thought much of the silent boy who lurked in the shadows, thinking of him more as a case, as a patient than a person who might have some things to say about his treatment. Mycroft was the only one who listened to him when he was younger and nobody cared what he had to say.

Then Greg came into the picture and took an interest in his life and promised that he’d always be by Sherlock’s side any time that he might be needed. And Mrs Hudson came along and took the role of the caretaker, always placing down a tray of food in front of him like the doting mother she never got to be. They all cared. They all cared so much, too much, and it made no sense why they would damn themselves like that. Yet he appreciated it. As much as he said he detested it, he loved it, he loved the way their touches made him feel safe, loved how their voices could silent the taunting words he’d heard throughout school. They could make the rumbling in his brain go silent, just for a little bit, just enough to push the cloud of darkness away.

Sherlock nodded, “I think now’s a good time to take them, actually. I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me.” He gave her a smile, and he knew that she understood what he was really saying but was too afraid to speak out loud.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for being you and making my life just a little bit more bearable.

Thank you for not ever leaving me when I needed you.

[worksofphiction]

April Fools Fic

Summary: This whole thing started out as a joke. Phil hadn’t meant any harm. He just wanted Dan to know that he could also pull a cheeky prank.. Genre: Fluff + Tiny bit of Angst (if you squint) Word Count: 6,994 Reading Time: 00:25:46 Disclaimer: Characters are works of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended. I do not own Dan or Phil and as far as I know, this will never happen. <3

So Ao3 is down until 3:00pm…RIP.

I’ll post it here when it comes back up, but for now, happy April Fools Day folks. This thing was totally not planned so I’m sorry if it’s kind of meh. <3

This whole thing started out as a joke. Phil hadn’t meant any harm.

It was early in the morning and Phil was used to a quiet house until 12:00 when his best friend and flatmate would wake up. He rolled out of bed at 9:00, regretting his choice of staying up with Dan the night before because he had a lot of editing to do and he had already yawned thrice since he had left the bed. As he took his morning shower, he remembered that it was April Fool’s Day and he laughed a little, excited about the new DanandPhilCRAFTS video that they were scheduled to put out that day. Phil had never been one for pranks and a couple years back when Dan had the idea of pretending that they were a thing, Phil turned him down because he wasn’t really comfortable with that - especially after what happened in 2012, and they came up with the craft idea which was pretty amazing anyway. People really responded well to that.

But Phil was no stranger to a good old fashioned trick. He always got excited as a kid because in his house, April Fools Day was always just an excuse to play little tiny tricks on his friends and family. He remembered dying his family’s milk red one year and flipping his kitchen table upside down. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the harmless pranks that he’d pulled in the past, kind of itching to do one this year.

Dan was not an easy target however. He was one of those people who, like Phil, found little pranks hilarious and more often than not, Dan was playing them on Phil. Whether those pranks were jumping out and scaring him and filming it for the world to see or putting flower in his hairdryer after a shower, Phil knew it wouldn’t be easy to get Dan back because he was always expecting it. Especially on a day like today. One thing he had gotten pretty good at however, was snapping pictures of Dan while he was asleep or not paying attention. Those were easy. Dan couldn’t be on guard when his eyes were closed or he was lying on the floor and brainstorming a video. He obviously trusted Phil enough that he wouldn’t bother him too much while he was taking a catnap or slouching over on the couch and drooling. But Phil was not above taking those photos. They were admittedly pretty funny. His fists balled when he thought about the picture Dan took at the oscars party, shaking his head and deciding that he was going to get Dan back today. He was going to play a harmless little prank that would get Dan back for that sneaky little photo.

Phil stepped out of the shower and got himself ready for the day. He pulled on some sharks and dolphins and padded out into the hallway. Dan’s door was still closed. Perfect. This was the opportunity he was waiting for. Usually, Phil didn’t go into Dan’s room without an invitation, but Phil figured that since it was a special occasion, he would be let off the hook when Dan found out.

He placed his hand on the handle of the door, gently twisting it and sliding the door open a crack. Luckily, the door was totally silent. The position of Dan’s bed made it easy for him to snap a picture without even opening the door all the way. Phil didn’t even have to slip his head in. He could just point the phone and shoot. Plus, Dan was lying on his back and there was no way he was going to be able to see Phil even if he was awake. Phil slipped his hand into his pocket, grabbed his phone and aimed it through the crack, onto Dan’s sleeping form. He couldn’t see Dan’s face in the frame which his friend would probably appreciate because he knew how particular Dan was about his appearance in photos. There were no chances for fringe checks today as Phil quickly took the cheeky shot and backed out of the room within about two seconds flat. He didn’t want Dan to wake up because how the hell would he explain that one? “Yeah, I’m just creeping around and watching you while you sleep?” He didn’t even really have time to look at the photo itself, all he knew was that Dan hadn’t caught him and he had finally gotten him back for that one during the oscars.

He snickered as he entered the living room and turned on the usual. Some re-runs of the British Bake Off would do. After all, he wouldn’t want to watch an episode the he hadn’t seen before. Dan would surely be pissed if he missed some more curdled cake tears. He opened up Twitter and scrolled through some of his feed. There were plenty of celebrities and friends that were playing into the day, having the same ideas about pranking their followers. Phil rolled his eyes at some he saw on Casper’s Twitter and one he saw on Zoe’s. He laughed at some cute dog gifs, some compilation of dogs falling into snow, then his thumb drifted toward the top of the screen. He clicked on the little icon in the top right, a blank canvas ready to receive his little prank.

@danisnotonfire April Fools! Sincerely, your flatmate who is getting stealthier!

He quickly attached the photo and then hit send faster than he had ever sent a tweet. He was excited for the world to finally realize that it was not only Dan who could pull a good prank, Phil was just as capable.

For forty seconds, he was happy. He was proud of himself and he was just about to continue watching his program when he heard a loud bang and a door swing open.

“Phil Lester!” Dan’s scream was loud and Phil could hear it clearly, as if Dan was sitting right beside him. He smirked a little because he had a feeling he knew what was coming his way. He loved riling his best friend up like this. But he thought too soon, because suddenly he heard his friend stomp down the hallway and Phil’s brow furrowed. Those didn’t seem like friendly stomps. They seemed like actually angry stomps.

Sure enough, Dan’s face appeared in the doorway and then the rest of his body, his pokemon trainer trakkies hanging low on his hips and his shirt left on his bedroom floor. When Phil looked up at Dan’s face, expecting a smile, he was greeted with pure anger.

“You need to delete that tweet right now,” Dan ordered with a hostile tone. Whatever was left of Phil’s smile fell from his face and a frown took its place. He was frozen. It was just a prank. What was Dan so angry about? “NOW PHIL.”

Phil’s eyes widened and he crossed his arms.

“Why? What’s the problem? You took a picture of me a few weeks ago while I was sleeping! How come I can’t-”

“Phil. Delete the photo.” Dan was rubbing his temples, clearly flustered and upset about this as Phil reached for his phone.

“I mean, fine, but I don’t understand-”

“Did you look at it?”

“Hm?” Phil was scrolling and leisurely making his way to twitter where he found his post and thumbed over the delete button.

“Did you look at the photo before you bloody posted it?” Dan asked, putting his fists on his hips. The tweet was deleted and Phil was unsure what Dan was on about. He navigated to his photo album on his phone and opened up the photo. He glanced up at Dan who was still fuming, raising his eyebrows as if he was daring Phil to take a good hard look at what was in front of him. Phil was entirely confused, but he looked down and analyzed the picture.

“Of course I looked at it. What are you-”

Phil stopped.

Oh.

He didn’t think he had ever fucked up so completely.

Not in his entire life.

Dan seemed to notice his realization as he probably could see Phil turn as red as the tomato on their counter.

“I. Wasn’t. Sleeping.” Dan said through gritted teeth, his face turning a soft shade of red as well.

Sure enough, Dan was right. Phil hadn’t looked closely enough at the photo he took to notice that Dan was in fact not asleep, he was very much awake, taking care of a unique problem that likes to surprise their gender in the morning. Phil had zoomed in and although it was hardly noticeable when looking at the picture from afar, Phil could clearly see Dan’s monstrous hand, wrapped around what could only be, without mistake, Dan’s dick.

“Oh crap.” Phil said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He heard Dan scoff as his heartbeat stopped.

“Oh crap?” Dan asked. “That’s all you have to say? Oh CRAP?”

“I-I’m SO sorry…oh my god.” The reality of what had happened finally hit him and he self declared himself as the worst friend in the entire world. “Oh my god. Dan. I should have-”

Silence.

“I should have looked. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just-” He couldn’t finish a sentence he was too embarrassed. He couldn’t even imagine what Dan felt like right now. Half the internet had just seen his dick and here he was, standing in the door, probably plotting Phil’s murder.

But Dan only narrowed his eyes and stared at Phil who swore he was about to cry and Phil watched as he took a deep breath, releasing it and nodded with pursed lips.

“Next time, just check before you post a photo. You should know better.” Dan said the words flatly, turned on his heels, then fled the room, his bedroom door shutting with a slight slam. No yelling. No screaming. Just a calm voice and then nothing.

Phil was left shaking, in disbelief. How could he have been so stupid? Dan was right. He should know better. Their life was documented left and right. Their followers were relentless. They picked out little blemishes and claimed they were hickeys. They always had to check their side tables for incriminating objects because they would never live it down if they left fucking lotion on the desk. God forbid. The phandom dug for this kind of shit and Phil had just handed it to them on a silver platter. And oh fuck, now he was getting tweets. Shit shit shit.

Phil was a complete flop.

But right now, the internet was the last thing on his mind. Dan. Dan was the first. Dan was probably fuming. Hell, he would be too. Phil had literally shown his most private parts to the world and he hadn’t said more than “you should know better.” There was something wrong about that. Dan must be really really mad. With good reason of course. But it was rare that Dan didn’t voice his opinion so Phil needed to suck up his own terror and embarrassment and go make sure his friend was doing alright.

He got up from the couch and he migrated to the closed door that guarded his best friend’s room (he wasn’t even sure if he held best friend status anymore to be honest). He knocked lightly and shuffled so he wasn’t standing so close to the door.

“Dan?” He called once there was no answer. “Dan can I come in?”

“I’d rather you not.” Dan’s voice was monotone and Phil could tell he wasn’t a happy camper. Phil stayed silent and waited a few seconds. That seemed to be the answer Dan was going with and Phil couldn’t tell if he was meant to try harder or just back off. But Dan seemed to make that decision by yelling out to him again. “But if you’re just going to stand there silently, then you might as well.”

Phil didn’t think that sounded like an invitation, but he took it as one, desperate to fix this. He would do just about anything.

He opened the door slowly and found Dan sitting at his piano with his hands over the keys. He wasn’t playing, Dan didn’t play very often, he just liked to sit there when he was thinking, sometimes playing a note to jive a memory or something. It seemed he wasn’t even doing that today. Just sitting on the bench with his back slouched and his head staring blankly at the Guild Wars shrine above it. Phil would have smiled if he wasn’t in such trouble. Dan was awfully cute when he was thinking really hard about something. Not that he was thinking that right now. The room was awfully tense.

“I’m really-”

“I know.” Dan spat out. He didn’t give Phil the chance to apologize. Not even a little. “I know you’re sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

“Y-you’re not?” Phil asked meekly.

“No.” Dan sighed, his hands fell from their position and he looked up at the older boy. “I’m not mad. It was a mistake. I get it.”

Phil let out the breath he was holding, running a shaky hand through his fringe.

“I’m just frustrated. There’s nothing we can do about it now. You deleted the tweet. So…” Dan just looked to the floor. “I’m not mad at you, Phil. Relax. I’m just mad about the situation.”

Phil blessed his friend for being so understanding. Phil thought to himself that he might not be the same. He was impressed if he was being honest. Dan seemed a lot more collected than Phil would have been.

“How can I help?” Phil asked, the guilt in his stomach still making him want to hurl. Dan shrugged.

“You can’t. What’s done is done.” Dan said, turning his body and his fingers back to the keys. “Just…try not to respond to anything. People are already…”

There was a slight hesitation.

“…talking about it.”

The guilt reminded Phil again that it was his fault, Dan’s dejected voice sounding rather sad. Phil wished he could turn back time.

“Well…” Phil started. “If you think of anything I could do…”

“Yeah, okay.” Dan said, nodding, staring at the poster again. “I’ll let you know.”

Phil nodded and shuffled on his feet for a minute before deciding that he should leave Dan alone for a bit. The last thing Phil wanted was to be a bother. He left the room and closed the door, going back to his reruns, not really paying attention anyway.

-

Phil didn’t see Dan again for at least a few hours. Phil thought that maybe he would be hungry, but Dan must have had snacks stashed away because he didn’t leave his room again until nearly suppertime. Phil couldn’t help but think it was his fault. In retrospect, perhaps he should have left the flat so Dan could have some space away from him.

But Dan did show up in the doorway of the lounge and asked if Phil wanted a pizza. Phil checked the time and only then realized it had gotten that late. He nodded and Dan disappeared again to order their usuals.

Phil expected Dan to take his pizza and hide out in his room again, but he brought it to the lounge and plopped himself down in the sofa crease that Phil had left open for him if he had decided to come join him during the day. Phil tried not to act surprised with the younger boy opened the lid of the box and took a photo of it and then tweeting it. Phil understood that it would probably be pretty bad if he had gone radio silence since the incident. But while he was trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring at Dan, studying what he would do next, he suddenly noticed the brown eyes on him.

“What?” Dan asked, his voice quiet as he bit into a slice of pizza. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Phil nodded and snapped out of it. He grabbed a slice and took a massive bite.

“Phil?” Of course it was after that bite that Dan decided to say something and Phil turned his head with his full cheeks, earning a tiny chuckle before Dan kept going. “I have to talk to you about something.”

Phil’s heart fell to his stomach. Suddenly he wasn’t sure the bite was going to go down. Had Dan finally come to his senses? Was he going to move out? Did he not trust Phil anymore? Were they not allowed to be friends? His mind was whirring and apparently Dan could tell from his wide eyes that Phil was thinking into a hole.

“It’s really important so I need you to listen for a second.”

Dan had never used this tone on him. Even if Phil wanted to talk, his mouth was full of pizza and it felt like it had been sewn shut. He just nodded gently, hoping that was enough to let Dan know he was in serious mode. Dan just fidgeted with his sleeve and was barely making eye contact.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but seeing as we met unfortunate circumstances this morning, it sort of seems appropriate…” Dan started, his face turning a shade of red that Phil hadn’t seen in a long while. The haircuts they got a few days before revealed Dan’s cheekbones that were flushed a pretty pink. “I think you should know that I haven’t been telling you everything I should be telling you, Phil.”

What was Dan on about? Did he kill someone? Was he suddenly confessing to a life of crime and a death sentence? Who actually was Dan Howell?

“You know how you always tell me that I should let you know if I’m having irrational thoughts? You know…the ones that put me in an existential crisis?” Dan started, his eyes dropping to his lap. Phil nodded and Dan saw it in the corner of his eye. “Well I’ve been having some of those thoughts. For a while now. And they’re not the normal ones. You know, the ones about death? Those I can usually tolerate. But these…” Dan played with the hem of his shirt. “…these thoughts are a little more difficult to deal with.”

“What do you mean?” Phil spoke up, not too sure where Dan was going with this.

“Phil, when you caught me this morning, I wasn’t just thinking about some random hot guy on pornhub,” Dan admitted as his voice got quieter. “I was thinking about you.”

Phil nearly choked.

What?

“This started a few weeks ago and I can’t seem to get it out of my head. I just…I know I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about my best friend, but I feel like I should come clean before it gets any worse,” Dan said, his voice kind of frantic now, almost like he was worried he wouldn’t get everything out before Phil said something to shut him down. “And I get it if you totally hate me…I just-”

“No, no, I don’t hate you…” Phil trailed, his mind blanking entirely. “I just didn’t…expect it, is all.”

“Yeah…” Dan said. His head was hung and Phil was totally lost. This day had been a roller coaster. It was like the Universe had decided that it was going to screw with Phil’s life today. No mercy.

Phil thought about what Dan just said, Phil’s eyes locked onto the pizza box in front of him. He thought hard. A few weeks was a long time to fester on a crush. Why did Dan think it was a good idea to tell him about it? Did he expect Phil to feel the same way? Oh no…Phil felt himself getting hotter. He loved Dan, a lot. He was his best friend. But he most certainly didn’t think of Dan in the same way that Dan was describing. Dan was a wonderful human being and Phil knew that he was objectively good looking but Phil had never looked at Dan that way and it didn’t really seem possible for him to think of him as anything more than a pal. What the hell was he supposed to say? Dan was sitting there quietly, his emotions on the table and his best friend was staring at the food in front of him like some sort of dumbass. God, Phil was not on his A-game today. He wondered if it had anything to do with…

That was it.

April Fools Day.

Suddenly, Phil understood what was going on here.

“Oh!” Phil exclaimed, seeming to startle the boy beside him as he jumped, his head snapping up to Phil’s face which was sporting a wide grin. “I see what’s going on here.”

“Y-you do?” Dan’s eyebrows raised and his eyes looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Don’t play dumb, D-slice. This is payback for this morning!” Phil laughed, clutching his stomach and nodding. “Very funny. You nearly got me for a second.”

Dan was silent, staring at him with the same shocked expression for moments before Phil saw Dan’s slightly agape mouth turn at the corner and he released a small chuckle as he turned to face his own pizza.

“Yeah. Ha. April Fools.” Dan grabbed his half finished slice and neared it to his mouth. Phil kept eating at his own, patting his friend on the back.

“Good one, Dan. I nearly believed you.”

“Mmhmm.” Dan said, shoving more pizza in his mouth and averting his eyes from Phil’s gaze.

“You’ve gotten really good at blushing on command.” Phil was impressed. He wished he could pull something like that. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t cut out to be a prankster. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Nah, I think I’m just going to head to bed.” Dan said, closing the box. He barely ate anything and if Phil knew Dan, as he did, he would guess that something was bothering him. Then again, Dan’s dick was on the internet and Phil understood the sour mood he might be in because of that.

-

The events of April Fools Day passed and Phil realized that Dan was not getting any less weird. He was still awfully skittish around Phil and Phil rarely saw him unless they were eating together or doing something important that required both of their presence. The internet had calmed down and it became quite evident who the real phans were. Sure, people freaked out and both Dan and Phil avoided social media for a while, but clearly without even asking them to, the fans picked up on the mistake and they pretty much stopped circulating the image. Much like with the Valentine’s Day video, their fans were looking out for them and that made Phil very happy. He hadn’t wanted to mortify his flatmate but if he had to do it, it might as well be to their loyal phans.

But this made Dan’s behavior super weird because now that the image was not a part of gossip and such, Dan was unwarrantedly acting unusual. Phil didn’t like how quiet it was around the house. It was two weeks since April first and Phil had seen more of his own face in the mirror than he had of Dan. And that was surely unusual.

Phil was lying in his own bed, thinking about everything Dan had said to him. When had he started acting strange? It was surely after April Fools Day and that was the last time they had an actual conversation. What had they talked about? Ah, right, Dan’s April Fools Joke. Phil laughed a little to himself when he thought about it. That was a pretty good one. Phil thought about how quickly he fell for that one. Phil was always a little on edge about that sort of stuff. The internet could really get into your head sometimes. At first it was really annoying that so many people that didn’t know him shipped him with his best friend. He thought it was invasive and kind of weird, but he would be lying if he didn’t worry sometimes about the thoughts they had about each other. They spent nearly every second with each other, it’s impossible not to accidently think about the other during odd moments or dream about the other in a weird situation. But Phil was always afraid that one day, one of them was going to wake up in love with the other and the other wouldn’t feel the same way. He didn’t think something like that could happen, but when Dan said what he had said the other day, it scared Phil for a moment. That would have been a nightmare. Phil wouldn’t have known what to do.

Phil thought back a little further to when they first met. Phil would be fibbing if he said he didn’t feel something for the younger boy way back then. He probably would have fallen for the joke a lot more had he still felt that way. The way Dan was all those years ago, small and insecure, totally unsure of who he was as a person and what he wanted to do. Phil had fallen so hard for him that he deemed it dangerous. He didn’t want to influence the impressionable boy at the time so he forced himself to get over his little crush and try to remain friends, guiding and befriending the boy so he would have someone to lean on. Since that beginning year, he hadn’t thought about Dan in that way. Dan had grown, matured, become someone that Phil was proud to be friends with and the internet was convinced that it was all because of Phil. Phil would never think that, but he knew he had a part in it. He chuckled a little as he thought about 2009 Dan and all of his issues. He was so cute and unsure. But now Dan was hot and confident, and Phil couldn’t believe he just thought those words. He shook his head. He didn’t need these thoughts to come back. He tried so hard to repress them and for some reason, opening this box of thoughts was something he only did when he was really tired and full of alcohol. He had no reason to open it while entirely sober and also awake.

But that’s not how thoughts work and now he was thinking about Dan’s smile and how much his cheeks had changed. They had gone from fleshy and pinchable to soft and sculpted. Dan’s eyes had changed from doe eyes to beautiful brown orbs that stared back at Phil with conviction and passion. Phil absolutely loved Dan’s eyes. Dan called them muddy and Phil shut that down real quick. Dan’s body had changed, turning from a lanky boy who didn’t know how to strut, to a thick and comfortable figure that could walk around with enough confidence to put Phil to shame. There really wasn’t a negative to Dan’s appearance, Phil thought. He was also just genuinely nice and suddenly tons of memories flooded behind his eyes. Ones where they ventured outside in the middle of the night because Phil just wanted some chocolate ice cream. Ones where they stayed up all night talking about silly things, Dan’s head leaning and grinning into Phil’s shoulder. Ones where they shared a bed on the tour bus because Dan’s back was in pain and Phil didn’t want to see Dan wince.

Phil was in too deep and he sat up. He needed to stop. He couldn’t think any further into this hole because on a very real note, he knew it was dangerous. This is why it was an April Fools joke, because these thoughts were invalid. It was too ridiculous. Dan knew that. Dan and Phil were not destined to be. Or they would be together already. It didn’t matter how many people shipped them, they were just friends and that was all they ever would be.

But for some reason, Phil was feeling a slight bit of disappointment and he told his brain to shut up.

-

Phil was in trouble. He shouldn’t have thought about it. Because now Dan was still being distant and all Phil could think about were the things he missed about him. His smile, his eyes, his thighs, his witty humor. He literally could list it all off the top of his head because that was all he could think about. His heart rate would spike when Dan came in to ask him a question and then his whole body would deflate when Dan shuffled off to his bedroom again. Something was wrong with Phil. He knew that he was being irrational. As Dan had joked a couple weeks ago, the thoughts were difficult to deal with.

Normally, Phil would tell Dan about this kind of thought. If it weren’t about Dan, he would have already told him. But Dan wasn’t wrong on April first. Phil wanted Dan to tell him if he ever thought things like this. It had been a joke but that’s why it was so believable. Because Dan would have told him if he had actually felt this way. But that worked both ways. Dan would expect the same from him. Phil froze, his finger stopping its scrolling through Tumblr. He needed to talk to Dan. It was only fair.

He checked the time and made sure it wasn’t too late but when he realized it was only 7:00pm, he was sure his flatmate would be up. He stood and stretched, kind of nervous. He knew it would be no big deal but he hated that him and his friend were on such bad terms. Phil would just mention that these thoughts were coming about because he missed Dan. That’s all. He was sure of it. Maybe they could do a few movie nights a week. Something to make sure Phil was getting proper Dan time. Maybe then it wouldn’t freak Dan out so much, coming clean and telling him that it was no big deal.

He arrived outside of Dan’s door and he knocked, feeling strange. He and Dan hadn’t had a proper conversation in weeks.

“Hey, Dan?” Phil called. “Do you have a second?”

“Yeah, sure, Phil. What’s up?” Dan called, inviting Phil in. Phil opened the door, slowly as usual and tried to keep his body from trembling. He wasn’t nervous. This was no big deal. Dan understood missing people, right?

“Can we talk?” Phil asked, playing with the hem of his shirt. Dan looked at his computer, clicked a few things, and then closed his laptop, scooting over on the bed and patting the space beside him.

“Sure.”

Dan still looked a little sad. Phil didn’t really have a point of reference, considering he hadn’t seen his flatmate in so long, but he liked to think that he knew Dan pretty well and this was not a joyous version of Dan.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

Dan looked confused. “Why would I laugh at you?”

“I don’t know…just…don’t, okay?” Phil requested again, trying to get Dan to understand how embarrassing this was for him to admit.

“Pinky swear. I won’t.”

“Alright…well, first of all, I want to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been kind of distant recently and I wanted to see-”

“I’m fine.” Dan jumped in, clearing his throat. “Just haven’t felt the best the last couple weeks. I think I caught something.”

“Oh…alright. Well are you feeling better?” Phil asked, hoping that meant that he wasn’t going to be hiding out as much.

“A bit.” Dan answered, not looking at Phil.

“Well…that’s good,” Phil mumbled, picking at the sheets below him. “Um…so the reason I ask, is that I have been having…”

Phil contemplated his sentence.

“I just…miss you, is all. And I keep having these…” Phil looked at Dan who didn’t seem like he was paying much attention. His face had fallen and he was looking at his own lap. “…thoughts.”

That’s when Dan’s head snapped up. Phil jumped a little.

“Thoughts?”

“Yeah…thoughts,” Phil clarified, nodding. “I don’t know where they came from but I know we have an honesty thing going on and I just wanted to tell you. I’m sorry I hope that’s not weird…”

“No, no…not weird.” Dan stumbled over his words, his eyes looking more than interested all of a sudden.

“And it’s funny,” Phil paused to let out a nervous laugh for a second. “When you were joking a couple weeks ago, you mentioned these thoughts and you said they were difficult to deal with. And I know that was a joke…but it’s funny because they are awfully hard to deal with.”

Dan gave a half laugh but his eyes never changed. They were glued to Phil’s.

“But don’t worry!” Phil quickly added. “I’ve figured it out.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Dan asked quietly, almost like he was expecting something.

“Yes! I know why I’ve been having them,” Phil declared, hoping Dan wasn’t freaking out too much. He seemed a little scared. “I think it’s just because I haven’t been around you much. I keep thinking these things because you aren’t around. So I’m glad you said you’re feeling a bit better because maybe now those thoughts will start to go away. You know?”

Dan didn’t nod. He didn’t answer. He just stared.

“I’m sorry, perhaps I should have said something sooner…” Phil said, trying to read Dan’s reaction but Dan was not moving. He wasn’t even blinking and Phil wasn’t sure what to think. “Are you…okay?”

That’s when Dan blinked and he looked down, his face getting pink again. Phil saw the color wash over his cheeks.

“What are these uh…thoughts…about?” Dan coughed, not looking up again. Phil narrowed his eyes. Dan wanted to know what he was thinking about? Wouldn’t that just make this more awkward? He wasn’t going to argue with his best friend though, especially if he wasn’t feeling well.

“Um…nothing really intense. Definitely not like what you were joking about,” Phil laughed a little, watching Dan shrink a little. “But do you want to know something really embarrassing?”

Dan looked up through his fringe and nodded slowly.

“I used to have the biggest crush on you, Dan.” Phil chuckled. “And for some reason I just keep thinking about it.”

Dan had now gripped the sheets in his hand, totally frozen. Phil hoped that what he said wasn’t too weird. He wasn’t really thinking right now and he realized that maybe telling your best friend that you used to like them was not really the best way to go about keeping a friendship.

“Sorry…that’s probably…” Phil didn’t know what to call it. TMI? Not necessary info? Crazy?

“No. It’s fine…um. Me too.” Dan said, almost mumbling. Phil’s eyes went wide.

“What?” he laughed. “You too?”

Dan was smiling now, his cheeks pink. Phil could almost see his 2009 best friend in the face that Dan was pulling.

“How have I never known this?” Phil asked, kind of amazed that this had never come up. “I mean, I got over my crush in 2010! We’ve been best friends for seven years. How come we never talked about this?”

Dan was silent again, refusing to look up from his bedsheets below him as he picked at the duvet with his fingernails.

“I mean…when did you get over yours?”

Dan stopped. He froze and Phil kind of thought it was a little creepy. He looked like a mannequin or something even more uncanny. He was staring wide-eyed at his hands and he wasn’t even blinking. Instead of the blush that was previously over his cheeks, the color had drained and Dan was looking paler than ever.

Then he mumbled something that Phil didn’t quite catch.

“What?” Phil asked, leaning a little closer to the boy who was shrinking before him.

“I didn’t.” Dan repeated, louder this time.

Now it was Phil’s turn to freeze. What did Dan mean he didn’t? That would mean…

“Wait…”

Dan looked up and met Phil’s eyes. He looked scared. Like he had just told Phil something he shouldn’t have. He was one hundred percent vulnerable and suddenly it clicked. Dan had not been joking a few weeks ago. He had not been trying to get back at Phil for pranking him. Dan had been completely and entirely serious…and Phil had just laughed.

Oh God.

Phil was being a worse friend than he thought.

But Phil didn’t have time to think about that right now. His mind was taking him back to 2009 when he looked into the younger’s eyes for the first time in person and fell for him. Now that he knew Dan felt the same way, everything was different. Now that he knew that Dan was still feeling the same way, everything was different. Everything that Phil had thought about in the past few days was rushing back to him. Dan’s eyes, his lips, his hair, his whole body. Every inch of Dan. Every single thing.

And Phil felt stupid.

He felt so stupid that he hadn’t thought about Dan like that in so long. Dan had changed so much but as Phil stared into his beautiful brown eyes, he realized that Dan was the same as he had always been. That handsome young boy who just adored Phil and would do anything for him. But now, Phil would do the same for Dan. And was that what you called love? Was Phil in love?

Well holy shit.

This was a lot to realize all at once and it was clearly showing. Phil’s face was a range of emotions but he wasn’t sure about any of them. He had no idea if he should feel angry for not knowing, happy because he felt this way, relieved because of the lack of pressure, or sad because he lost so much time while running around like a chicken with his head cut off. Dan clearly saw the confusion though and he just let Phil work it out in his head for a little bit. Phil could feel the corners of his mouth turn up a little and Dan’s eyes shifted down to view them. He was mimicking Phil’s smile and it seemed that Phil’s was growing.

Phil was racking his brain, trying to figure out the perfect thing to say. Anything to say. He just didn’t know what to do.

Luckily, Dan knew him better than anyone else. He could see the moment it all clicked for him and it was Dan who broke the silence. Not with words but with a gentle kiss to Phil’s lips.

Phil jumped, gently of course, but he kissed back and that was the moment. The moment of clarity. He was kissing Dan. Dan Howell. Youtuber, best friend, flatmate and the love of his life. His lips were soft and inviting and it seemed like they had practiced this moment for ages. It seemed like Dan had given this kiss a lot of thought which warmed Phil’s heart. He wondered what other things he didn’t know about Dan, if this had been something that he had hidden for seven years. What had Dan thought about those stupid little dates he went on with those stupid girls a few years ago? What did Dan think when Phil complained to him about being lonely and not being able to find anyone? What the hell was Dan thinking when he had caught Phil naked a few years back, having forgotten his towel and walking back from the bathroom? This explained so much and nothing at all and while he kissed the younger boy with the brown fringe, he let his hands tangle into the back of his hair, letting their lips continue their dance until Dan was through. This must have been the moment Dan had been waiting for and it must have taken entirely too long. It’s too bad Phil was so dense. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to wait.

But now he understood. He understood it all.

The kiss broke slowly and they sat breathing heavily for a moment with their foreheads pressed together.

“This isn’t some sort of sick way of getting back at me or something, is it?” Dan asked, his insecure self showing and Phil’s heart melted. He shook his head and chuckled a sad chuckle.

“Of course not, Dan. I would never do that to you,” Phil said, promising Dan something with his words. He hoped Dan didn’t think those things for long. Phil really wasn’t the pranking type.

“Good. Because I’m about to say something really stupid and I want to make sure it’s worth it.”

Phil said nothing, kissing Dan lightly on the lips and smiling in support.

“I love you, Phil Lester.” Dan whispered. “And I’ve loved you for seven years.”

Phil’s heart was a puddle. Dan sounded so sweet and it was as if 2009 Dan was sitting inches from him and telling Phil himself. Dan had probably waited for years to say those words. In that order. To Phil. He could feel the waterworks happening behind his eyes. He felt guilty - of all things. Because he was just not realizing how much he loved Dan. He supposed that he knew, deep deep down, but he wouldn’t let himself think about it. But now that he was…oh, now that he was. He could feel the way Dan’s words affected him. He could feel the butterflies in his stomach.

“I love you too, Dan Howell.”

Before he could say or do another thing, Dan kissed him again and this time, Phil didn’t think he was ever going to let go.