#oh there was also an owl following me throughout. a blue eyes grey owl with a face more tyto than strix

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

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The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

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The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

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August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

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Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

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August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

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August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

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August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

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【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[coastalhorrors]

I Want To Believe (In Us)

For @oumasaiexchange s Autumn Exchange, written for recipient number 1!!

Prompt: Drama! I like angst with a happy ending. I adore bittersweet content in fanfics. And as art, I like anything with really pastel colors and cute things.

Word count: 4,924

Summary: Shuichi Saihara wasn't too keen on summoning the undead this late at night, especially when the temperature outside his beaten down Subaru Legacy had just gotten down to below freezing. 

-

Shuichi Saihara wasn't too keen on summoning the undead this late at night, especially when the temperature outside his beaten down Subaru Legacy had just gotten down to below freezing. 

The car itself rattled with each labored breath it took attempting to keep its inhabitants warm, and dust had started to pile up on the far reaches of the dashboard, but it was in better shape now than when Shuichi had gotten it. 

He had bought his car earlier that year from one of his Uncle's coworkers and had spent nearly half that amount of time trying to repair it. When he had gotten the car its seats were worn and stained with who knows what, and both the tail lights were out. There were also multiple dents on the trunk and on its sides, and upon seeing it Shuichi had realized why he had gotten the car so cheap. He had managed to fix the taillights and sanitize the inside, but from various investigations and some dubious late-night research, he figured those dents were just there to stay. 

He sighed as another sneeze sounded out from beside him and more dust scattered itself around them. 

"You're going to catch some sort of disease if you keep digging through the library's collection of occult tomes," Shuichi said, laying his headache-ridden skull back on the headrest. 'The black plague is back you know, and you're not immune."

He could practically hear the sly smile creeping its way onto Kokichi*s face.

"Aw, is my Shumai worried about me? Oh! Maybe he's just jealous that I'll find evidence of the supernatural before him, the Super High School Level Detective of all people!" He giggled mockingly, a childish lilt to his voice.

"Hardly," Shuichi replied wryly, gazing down drowsily at the dim blue light of the clock. 

11:47 P.M.

Thirteen more minutes.

Then Kokichi would try to summon whatever demonic creature he found this week in one of his many forums, historical books, or maybe even a newspaper, ultimately failing, and Shuichi could drive them back to the dorms so that he could watch more of the X-Files until he fell asleep. 

That had been their routine since about halfway through their first year at Hope's Peak Academy. Shuichi remembered the day when the infamous Kokichi Ouma had come to his dorm room one night, loud, out of rhythm knocking interrupting the peaceful quite Shuichi had become accustomed to throughout his small-time staying there. He had said he needed a ride somewhere and that he wasn't taking his chances with the questionable form of art that was public transportation. 

He also made a point to say that Shuichi was the only classmate he knew with a car, which was utter nonsense if you asked him. Mondo in the class three years above them had a motorcycle and made sure everyone knew it, and Kazuichi from the class above them was a mechanic for Pete's sake. Even Miu and Kaito owned their own trucks and Kirumi had a motorcycle she cherished dearly. 

Shuichi recalled brushing it off, Kokichi did enjoy his lies after all. And he didn’t mind going out that night, especially since he meant to go out anyway and grab some snacks for his study session with Kaito, Maki, and Kaede the next day. Which, coincidentally, he ended up almost missing because of how late he slept in. 

They ended up staying out until about 3:00 A.M. that night. Kokichi had said it was a stakeout for something Shuichi wouldn't understand, which was probably true considering to him it was a complete waste of time since the only memorable thing that happened that night was a particularly loud owl cooing from somewhere in the trees nearby.

And yet Kokichi came back a few days later with another reason to take Shuichi out into a field in the middle of nowhere, where the stars above shone brighter than any street lamp, and the tranquility was omnipotent. 

Shuichi had figured out where he was driving them to a few days in. It was a small field brimming with red and purple wildflowers in the spring and summer, near an old farm where a nice lady lived with her sheep and chickens. She had apparently inherited it from her grandfather who had been missing for years, it had made front-page news about two years ago. 

There was a shuffling from beside him, and when Shuichi looked over Kokichi seemed to be going through some sort of hastily written notes. Then he remembered what Kokichi's handwriting looked like and determined that it was probably actually pretty thorough, just too messy to read at a glance. He didn’t bother trying to read it, and he honestly wasn’t too interested in what it was pertaining, only because he knew even if Kokichi did try to explain it to him without lying through the whole thing he still wouldn’t understand why it was so important. 

The only words he was able to glean from his momentary glance were the title headers that contained such words as 'continued from page two','very dangerous', and 'what to do if…'.  He had no clue what Kokichi was trying to accomplish, or if he'd even succeed, he only knew that this was one of the things he openly took seriously. At least in Shuichi’s eyes, he didn’t know what the rest of his classmates saw. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the passenger's side door opened. "Well Shuichi, wish me luck in not getting my head completely obliterated by a demonic entity!" The smaller boy chirped, exiting the vehicle and trekking through the snowy field, occasionally sidestepping a slippery patch of ice hidden in the weeds. Shuichi watched the other boy for a while, followed him with dull golden eyes, how Kokichi gazed up at the stars for an answer to his question, whatever that was, how he scrutinized each star falling upon his gaze, always searching for something, even in the dead of winter. 

And yet Shuichi still couldn't figure the other boy out.

He didn't understand what was so important about this field if there even was anything really important about this field. He figured Kokichi probably wasn't above lying about taking Shuichi out someplace in the middle of nowhere. 

He'd have to keep going on these escapades with him to find out what was so important with this place.

Apparently, there wasn't anything important about the field. And if there had been, then Kokichi had completely blown it off. 

It was late December when Kokichi decided to take a look down in Hope's Peak Academy's basement. Which, granted was better than driving icy roads at the midnight hour, but at least in his car Shuichi had heating. 

The basement was dark and dank, smelling of dust and mold, and Shuichi got the distinct feeling that if he touched one of the walls on accident, he'd catch some sort of wicked disease. Kokichi, naturally, thought it was just right.

"You know Shuichi, this would be the perfect place to summon an unholy monstrosity," Kokichi said, walking beside him, flashlight in hand, round eyes glancing about the large room. "I wouldn't be surprised if there was a dead body hidden somewhere down here either." 

"Kokichi why are we down here? Don't you have anything better to do? Like studying for that physics exam maybe?" Shuichi said, ignoring the other boy’s previous statements, he had long gotten used to Kokichi's ramblings by now. He twisted his flashlight towards his right, coming across nothing but a slate grey wall and empty space. 

Kokichi gave him a wild look, violet eyes and bright white teeth gleaming from his light. "Oh Shuichi my beloved, when will you learn," he tsked. "I never study for those stupid things, we get them like every week, and as long as you pay attention in class, you're good enough." 

"You don't pay attention though," Shuichi said doubtfully, peering at him through his peripherals. "Earlier today you got into an argument with Rantaro in the middle of class." 

Kokichi grinned, "Oh you've got it all wrong! I'm a master at multitasking, a leader such as myself would no doubt be able to know what's going on in class whilst debating with my lab partner about whether or not contacting aliens is unethical!" 

Shuichi rolled his eyes back into his head, he should've expected an answer like that. 

"Ew, what's that creepy look on your face for?" He heard Kokichi say disgustedly. 

Shuichi hummed questioningly in response, somewhat quirking a brow, as his gaze fell back to Kokichi.

"You got an ugly smile on your face, you look like a sadist or something," Kokichi said, pointing his lithe fingers towards Shuichi's face. And to his shock, Shuichi realized he had let a small smirk cross his features. Unconsciously he took a small step back and raised his hands in defense. 

"O-oh it's nothing, I just remembered something funny from earlier," He said, hoping he successfully blew Kokichi's question off. 

He leered at Shuichi for a moment before something caught his eye ahead of them and he jumped forward. 

He sighed in relief, then paused abruptly. Why was he relieved? He had nothing to hide, so why was he so nervous under Kokichi's glare? Why did he feel so guilty all of a sudden? 

He eyed Kokichi, who had gotten a good few meters away by then, as he crouched down to pick at something on the ground. He was like a child, Shuichi thought, a really disturbing child, and he found himself wanting to let another smile crawl onto his face. 

He determined that Kokichi was way too charming for his own good. 

As the sun set on a snowy evening a few weeks after their basement escapade, Kokichi found himself back in the same boat. Not that he'd ever left, bugging Shuichi had been a hobby of his since late October. 

He sighed wearily and rested his head against the desk in his dorm. He had ended up pulling another all-nighter preparing for tonight’s investigation. They would be going down to the basement again, this time looking for a special type of worm Kokichi had heard about in a podcast. The midnight worm, as they were called, were bloodsuckers and could leap up to seven feet, maybe higher, and he wasn’t passing up the chance to possibly find such a rare specimen. 

Shuichi didn’t know that of course. Kokichi made sure he always goes into their little adventures blind. He liked watching the detective piece together the clues he was given, it was fascinating, especially for a runagate like him. The puzzled looks, the tentative movements, it was all just like sweet cream, and Kokichi was the cat lapping it up. 

His favorite was when Kokichi had planned a particularly difficult puzzle and Shuichi got fidgety. He bore witness to nose scrunching, nail-biting, clothes tugging, and the like. It made him extremely pleased to know that he’s stumped his starcrossed rival. 

Shuichi never learned of what those investigations were about, Kokichi never told him. And he could see how crazy it made the detective, not knowing just what he had gotten himself into. Which was the best part, Shuichi wasn’t entitled to come with Kokichi anymore, now that they had moved indoors for the deep winter. He could easily say no and reject coming with, and yet he just kept doing it. 

This also made Kokichi happy to see, as he had piqued the interest of Shuichi so much so that he just couldn’t say no. 

This was Kokichi's most nefarious plot yet. 

He'd keep coming up with these inspections, keep traveling from basement, to field, to the coast to wherever, as long as Shuichi came with him, until… well. He hadn’t figured that part out yet. He only knew that whatever it was going to lead to, it would be amazingly entertaining. 

Kokichi smiled to himself as he gathered up his notes on the midnight worms. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.

The corridors were quiet as he made his way down to Shuichi’s room, stark white walls clashing with the dark wood. Finally, he stood in front of the door of his acquaintance. His friend? His colleague. Though that still didn’t seem right as he knocked quickly on the door. A pattern Shuichi had no doubt gotten used to. 

There was a sound like someone had just set something down and some slight curious mumbling from inside when the door swung open. 

"Hello, there Mr. Detective! I’ve finally come to murder you in cold blood!" He lilted, stretching out the 'hello' for effect. 

The boy in front of him didn’t look fazed in the slightest, in fact, he looked almost expectant. 

"There you are, I was starting to worry if I had gotten my timing wrong," Shuichi said, clearly relieved. 

Kokichi grinned, "Aw, were you worried about little old me? Don’t worry, I’m always at your door on Thursday evenings, rain or shine!"

"Its Wednesday."

He shrugged, "Tomato, Tomahto. Ready to get moving? We don’t have all night."

Shuichi gave him a long look before blinking, coming back to his senses. "Yeah definitely, just let me grab my bag quick." He turned around, rummaging behind his door. He returned after a few seconds and gave Kokichi a courteous nod. 

He started forward, not looking back to see if Shuichi was following him, because he always was. 

"So what are we looking for today?" Shuichi asked. His footsteps were even, but Kokichi could feel the expectancy radiating off him. It made his smile return, even brighter this time.

"Oh you know I can’t tell you that, it’d be no fun that way. You are a detective after all." He called, looking over his shoulder. He saw Shuichi blow a small breath out of his mouth. He was glad to know the other boy was still interested. 

That was Kokichi's last thought before they descended the staircase into the basement. 

Shuichi had a problem. Quite a big one in fact. It had kept him up night after night, and the worst thing about was he couldn't even do anything about it. 

He was falling in love with Kokichi Ouma. Except there was something wrong with that sentiment, it being that he really couldn't fully say that he was in love. 

He had seen firsthand how people act when they're in love, he knew the consequences of it.

And Shuichi was terrified. 

He had seen relationships fall apart, sometimes while he studied at his Uncle's detective agency, and other times just out in the world. 

He remembered one time when he was younger and still lived with his parents, his mother had taken him out Christmas shopping. They were almost finished and were about to check out when an older guy, a high schooler he had assumed at the time, started shrieking about his girlfriend breaking his heart. And Shuichi was not too keen on replicating that.

Not that he ever thought he'd go on an angry rampage in a craft store decorated to the brim with wreaths and poinsettias, he liked to think he had much more self-control than that. 

No, Shuichi knew he couldn't deal with the aftermath of heartbreak, especially his very first one. It was common knowledge that high school relationships rarely ever last, and if they did, they developed into cruel, twisted and spiteful ones after a good while. And just thinking about the thought that he may never recover from a heartbreak that bad kept him up at night. 

Even more so now that there was a person he liked. Not loved. Definitely, totally not loved, he was way too young for that. 

But the way that Kokichi always had a puzzle for him, always made sure to keep some sense of mystery going, absolutely captivated him, and he was met with the mental image of a certain infamous mastermind playing a game of cat and mouse with a familiar detective. 

And his heart ached every time Kokichi brought him out somewhere now, as he watched violet eyes sparkle with delight at stumping him. He noticed that when the other boy was particularly excited for something, he'd twirl his hair around his finger ever so often. Which made his heart swell with something, all because Kokichi actually cared. He had spent numerous days, weeks even, of his life researching things for Shuichi to help him 'discover', and the thought that someone was there for him, and thought about him so often drove him insane. 

But high school relationships never last. It's not love. It's just some silly game they played. Nothing more. This was never going to go anywhere, so why even bother right? There'd be someone else when he was older, more mature. 

Shuichi was not going to ask Kokichi out, no matter how much he wanted to. Because as long as he kept reminding himself of that one simple fact that has so far been proven true and just, it would all be okay in the end. 

At least he hoped so anyway. 

Kokichi was suffering. 

Valentine’s day was just around the corner, and he was choking on hearts of red and pink, all because he went and started liking some stupid detective. A very handsome stupid detective. A handsome, and capable, but nevertheless foolish detective. 

He had done everything in his power to make Shuichi see him in that way, but it still hasn't worked, and he was starting to get frustrated. 

Kokichi had created case after case, researched day and night for something, anything to get Shuichi interested in him. And to a degree, it had worked. Now, they were what most people would safely call 'friends'. And that was well and good, but just friends, the thought of nothing more ever happening between them, made his stomach fall through the floor all the way to some sort of afterlife. 

But he couldn't stop trying. There was no harm in trying, only progress. At least that's what Rantaro and Miu would tell him when he lamented to them about his failing love life. That, and some other, less motivational words.

There was nothing left to do except suck it up, do some more exploration into things that might pique the other’s interest even more so than he had already accomplished, and continue with his plan. 

Kokichi was either doomed to fail or gain a mediocre at best win. 

Shuichi couldn't do this anymore. It was time to throw in the towel.

He couldn't take the late nights with Kokichi, the unnoticed glances he threw the other boy. The teasing was unbearable as well, he found it impossible not to be flustered around the other boy, and Kokichi would always respond with some snarky comment like, for example, accusing Shuichi of having a crush on him. 

Which really wasn't very nice at all, specifically because of the way Kokichi would stare at him when he asked the question. Like he was actually expecting some sort of answer. 

It made Shuichi's gut turn. Because really what was he supposed to say? 'Actually, you know what, I do like you Kokichi, a lot.' What kind of sadistic person would do that to themselves? People with a crush on a short, immature, liar that's who.  

No.

No, he was done with it. He had to end it now or else it would never happen. 

Shuichi had planned it all in his head. Each step in a specific fashion, planned carefully so that he'd have the best results. Which really would just be Kokichi not calling him out on the spot. 

Yet as he walked down the hall towards Kokichi's room, he felt his legs moving at an unearthly slow pace. He had to convince himself multiple times that it would be okay, that he could do this, and he wouldn't disintegrate while in the middle of speaking.

Because it was either this or more useless pining after a foolish dream.

As he arrived at the door, Shuichi realized he was shaking the tiniest bit and had to will himself to raise his hand towards the door. His fist clenched so hard, he wouldn't be surprised if he drew blood soon. Then the door swung open, and Kokichi Ouma stood in front of him, eyes wide and brows raised. 

"Oh hey Shuichi," he chirped pleasantly. "Are you stalking me now? Because you know, standing outside someone’s door is kinda creepy."

Shuichi felt his face heat up as he stumbled back a step. No doubt his face was as red as the wildflowers just starting to grow in the gardens outside. 

He quickly realized his fist was still raised and shot it down beside him. 

"Well, no actually, um, I have-" he started but was interrupted by the boy in front of him. 

"Whatever, anyways Shuichi we're going out tonight!" Kokichi exclaimed happily, grinning from ear to ear. Except something seemed off.

Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

"O-out?"

"Yup! Remember that old field we went to a few months back? The one by the spooky old murder barn? We're going back there tonight!"

Shuichi did remember that field. And that barn in fact, though he didn’t recall any homicides occurring near it. "You mean you’re going to make me drive you out there again?" Shuichi asked, knowing the answer already as Kokichi nodded his head casually. "Look, Kokichi, I would really love to drive you there but-"

"Great! It's a date then! I'll see you tonight Shuichi!" He said, leaning forward and dragging out Shuichi’s name in a way that made his heart leap.

And just like that, there was a door back in his face as Kokichi closed it on him.

He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. His choice of words and use of 'date' made his voice catch in his throat, but ultimately he decided it was just a coincidence. 

He decided to go along with Kokichi that night, and he’d tell him there that they couldn’t continue these late-night shenanigans. 

Tonight would be the last time. 

The air was cool with an early spring breeze when they arrived at the grassy meadow. It was nearly dark when the two left the dorms, so Kokichi had made sure to pack some flashlights. He laid down a small linen blanket he'd also made sure to bring over the fresh grass, they were going to be here a while he figured, so why not be comfortable? 

Shuichi stood awkwardly at the edge of the blanket, eyeing Kokichi wearily as he relaxed down onto it. "What’s that look for Shuichi?" He asked in a way that hopefully resembled his usual tone and hid the nervousness he was feeling. "If I was less humble I'd say you look a bit flustered."

He swore he saw Shuichi’s face turn pinker than usual, but he blamed it on the lack of light. Kokichi did, however, watch as the detective shifted his weight, clearly on the fence about something, before settling onto the blanket next to him. 

Kokichi looked up into the night, staring into the vastness of the universe. They had traveled far enough from the cramped urban cityscape to be able to see a majority of the stars that covered the sky like a curtain. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed coming out here so much. That and watching for otherworldly spaceships. 

Though that’s not why he brought Shuichi out here, at least not this time. Kokichi was going to confess. He was tired of waiting and of feeling his heart sink into what seemed like a black hole of hopeless aching. He didn’t care if he got rejected anymore, he just wanted it out. 

He took a deep breath and shoved his anxiousness into the corner of his mind. "You know why I brought you out here, right Shuichi?"

Shuichi turned to him, the hands on his chest fidgeting in habit, and an eyebrow quirked in intrigue. "If I was to give a wild guess, I'd assume you took me out here to look for extraterrestrials again?"

Kokichi smiled, he had figured that one out months ago, back when freezing snow still coated the ground in layers.

He was about to speak when Shuichi interrupted him. "Do you really believe in all that stuff? The aliens, the shapeshifting wolves, all the things you brought me with you to find?"

He turned to the other boy, eyes wide in shock, he hadn’t planned for a question like that, especially having been already busy with his own agenda. 

"I…Want to believe in them." Kokichi responded, surprising himself with such an honest answer. "It's more fun that way. There are so many boring things in the world. Stuff like that… Like spaceships and vampires and teeny leprechauns, it all just makes life so much more interesting you know? Just like…"

He paused, clamping his eyes shut tight in preparation for what he was about to say. It was now or never.

"Shuichi, you’re really smart you know?" Kokichi began, sitting up from the blanket, "like crazy smart, and so tolerant of everyone, even if they start wearing your patience thin. I could never do that. I think it's really admirable of you."

He felt Shuichi shift beside him and nearly combusted on the spot when he spoke. "Are you alright Kokichi? You’re not acting like yourself, do you want water? Or do we need to get back to the dorms?"

He winced, opening his eyes back up but looking to the left to avoid the others' intense gaze. "That too. You’re so kind. Too kind if you ask me, especially towards people like me who don’t deserve it."

"Kokichi-, "Shuichi started, but he had to keep going, or else he would never get it out. 

"Listen, I know it doesn’t make sense, and I know you’re going to hate me afterward but…" He sucked in a breath, "But I like you Shuichi. Like, I really like you. And I know you don’t like me that way, or else I would have known by now, but I physically can’t keep it in anymore Shuichi, if I did, I'd probably die on the spot. That’s… That’s why I brought you here…" Kokichi said the last words slowly, absorbing in sections what he'd just said. 

Now Shuichi would scream at him and tell him he’s worthless and foolish for somehow falling for him, and Kokichi would be able to go on with his life and finally get over this. He could deal with the hateful stares and glances in the hallways, as long as the truth was out.

He flinched slightly when he felt a warm hand wrap itself around his arm. "Look at me Kokichi," he heard Shuichi say in a soft voice that made Kokichis heart yearn. "Please?" 

Slowly, he turned back towards Shuichi. His face shone dimly in the moonlight, but still, his golden eyes stared through him fiercely, picking every bit of him apart. He didn’t seem angry, however, but he still couldn’t figure out exactly what Shuichi was feeling. 

Then, in a nearly inaudible voice said, "I like you too, Kokichi."

It took him a moment to figure out just what Shuichi had meant, but when he did, his heart jumped into his throat. 

"What?" He managed to choke out between nervous breaths. Shuichi really couldn’t be serious.

"I said-" he paused, seemingly trying to gather his words. "I said that I really like you too. I was just… Scared, I guess." He quieted again after that.

He was serious.

Kokichi made a small 'O' with his mouth and looked down at the blanket. Shuichi’s hand was still clasped around his arm. He could definitely guess what he was afraid of. Rejection, heartbreak, falling out of love. The like. 

"Well," Kokichi started. "We can always deal with that later, down the line when we get to it." He said, looking back up at Shuichi when something caught his eye. 

He gasped, "Look Shuichi, a shooting star!" Kokichi said, a childish tone returning to his voice. 

"That’s a plane, not a shooting star," Shuichi stated after looking up, clearly still a bit apprehensive from their conversation. 

"That doesn’t mean you can’t wish on it though." He said in a sing-song voice, he was tired of their serious discussion. Kokichi saw Shuichi glance back up at the plane. It was small compared to the open sky. He smiled. 

Kokichi stood then, brushing off Shuichi’s hand and stretching his arms and legs when he caught the look Shuichi gave him. 

"What are you doing?"

"I think, dear Shuichi, that we deserve a treat. Ice cream sounds good right now. And maybe some fries." Kokichi responded. Truthfully told, he had forgotten to eat all day due to his restlessness. 

Shuichi smiled up at him, and Kokichi saw him take a breath.  Yeah, that sounds nice. We should get going before it gets too late and nothing's open though." He stood and cautiously, reached out his hand towards the other boy. 

Kokichi took it. 

They walked back to Shuichi’s old car in comfortable silence. It was new, and it made Kokichi shiver at the thought of it, but it was welcomed. 

Right then Kokichi decided they could deal with their anxieties later. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy Shuichi’s company. 

[the-art-of-suffering]

Forest Fire chpt 1

It was a beautiful, sunny sort of day and Flash had managed to pull Shadow out from the confines of his apartment. He knew the solitude and blatant martyr could not be in anyway positive for the man, despite how certain Shadow was that his actions were for the best. He couldn't kill anyone if there was no one to kill, right? At least, that's what Shadow always said. As much as he feared having another episode and slaughtering someone, or worse; Flash, it was harder to deny the poor boy a day out. The two looked and acted like complete opposites. While Shadow wore dark leather and denim and boots, Flash wore pastels; a bunny sweater and some pale blue jeans, along with some flowery vans. Flash had bright blue eyes, fluffy honey-gold hair, and his skin was covered in freckles. He was no more than 5'4. Shadow, about 6'3, looked like a disheveled Disney villain, unshaven and unkempt. His hair was deep black and tangled, and didn't appear to have had a cut in quite some time. His eyes were an emerald green, his pupils thinned slits like a snake might have. There was an eternal shade around his eyes, like he was missing about 28 years of sleep. How edgy. Shadow walked with his hands in his pockets, two dog-tags jingling against his chest ever so faintly with each step. Flash walked with a bit of a skip in his step, clearly overjoyed he'd gotten the older male to give in and get out. As the bookstore came into view, Flash gasped, bouncing excitedly. He tugged on Shadow’s sleeve, pointing to the shop "Books! That's perfect, you like books, right?" Flash had an Australian accent, though it was faint, maybe it was worn down or maybe he was simply hiding it a bit. Shadows lips pursed, one brow furrowing. "I.. guess so.. Yeah." This was all the affirmation Flash needed. The Aussie tugged on his friend's sleeve once more, basically pulling him off into the bookshop with that.

The bookshop was old, and felt ancient. The smell of old books and patchouli permeated the place. Walking in sent a soft bundle of bells tinkling, and from around a corner a very, very fair skinned boy peaked out, soft, velvety mouse ears twitching nervously from between strands of his snowy white hair. Hair that was woven together elaborately; a large, thick braid, accented with smaller braided bunches woven in. And flowers. Small daisies and dandelions were scattered throughout. He wore a heather grey sweater that read 'BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS' down the front that was a size or two too big and hung off his shoulders and hid the entirety of his hands. From behind slim, thin spectacles, ruby eyes sparkled as he shyly approached, a thin, nervous little mouse tail twitches curiously behind him as he took in the couple that had entered. "Welcome to Gunderschein Books, how can I he-" He was cut off by his own clumsiness; he stumbled a bit but did not fall. His skinny little legs poked out the bottom of the sweater, adorn with floral tights and ended with second hand combat boots that didn’t seem to have a proclivity for staying tied. He straightened his glasses and shyly looked between the two guests. "So sorry, as I was saying, how may we help you? Are you browsing or needing refurbishing?" His smile was genuine and easy as he regarded both the brooding man that towered over him, and the pastel fairy that was only a few inches above him with a saccharine smile. While most of the reaction came from Flash, Shadows brows lifted as the boy nearly tripped right before them. Though as he came over, Flash gasped, eyes widening. His hands reached out, as though he could hardly believe it "Oh my goodness!! Your hair is so beautiful!" He motioned down at his tights "And those are so cute!!" He seemed awestruck someone so fea-like could exist. Shadow, while cracking a hint of a smile at Flash's joy, was much more interested in his ears. That was unique. While his curiosity piqued, he had no plans on commenting yet. Flash was far too excited about his outfit and his hair to even process Nim's questions.

Nim's eyes seemed to just sparkle in delight as he wiggled forward a few inches, his hands flapping a bit at his sides as he leaned back taking in the pastel glory before him. It may have been unprofessional, but how could he keep a straight face, faced with the most adorable person he had ever had grace his bookstore. "Oh my gosh but your bunny! It's the cutest thing in the entire world! When I was a kid I all I ever wanted was to have a pet rabbit! The Velveteen Rabbit was my very most favorite story ever and I cried when I didn't get one" Flash gasped again, looking down at his sweater. He tugged on the edges, holding them out as if to get a better look at the rabbit patch. "Oh!! I have bunnies at home!" He looked back at Nim, beaming "You can see mine, they're very sweet!" He nodded surely, as if to promise this. Shadow looked between the two, arms crossing. Admittedly, he was amused. This was.. undeniably cute, as sickeningly sweet as it was. Briefly Nim seemed excited but, it seemed to deflate for a moment, and when it returned it was a bit more controlled. "I bet they are darling little things, but, I'm being rude. You two came in to shop and I've completely blocked your way. " He shifted in place, turning half away and making a sweeping arch with a hand as if to motion to the whole of the shop. "To the left is our non fiction and reference section, straight back is fiction, and to the right is the clearance area as well as magazines, children's books, and miscellany. If you let me know what you are looking for I can check our logs to see if we have a copy?" He turned back, alert, his ears at their ultimate perkiness, as he looked between the two men. Flash blinked, shaking his head "Oh no, you aren't being rude at all!" He assured quickly. After looking around the shop, he turned his attention back to Shadow, rocking up on his toes slightly "What kinda books do you want?" He asked, head tipping. Shadow rubbed his neck, looking around as well. There likely wasn't anything here he couldn't just find online somewhere. He wasn't opposed to reading, by any means, it was just.. he didn't have anything in particular in mind. "Mm.. I don't know, uh.." he looked around once more, not wanting to disappoint Flash with such a lame answer. He looked to Nim, nodding just once "What do you recommend?" While his question wasn't one out of politeness to Nim, it was to Flash. Who, looked to Nim hopefully.

A twinkle flashed in Nim's eyes as he took a few dance-like steps backwards. "Well now, that depends a lot on what is important to you." Letting his gaze shift from Flash to Shadow, he tilted his head upward to attempt eye contact. "You see, books can be very intimate things. They are little stories that speak just to you. They can be friends or lovers, or they can take you far far away from the people who hurt you, or the bad things you have to deal with. So, let's pretend you're on like, a dating show, and tell me a little bit about yourself and I can play match maker for you and your perfect book. Or books. We know it can be hard to settle on just one sometimes. " He gave a little wink and laughter like the chiming of a thousand tiny bells spilled out of him, soft and sparkling. It was his favorite thing to do, after all. Find people books that they can escape into. He knew all too well how much a book can keep you safe. He knew that, if you read enough fairy tales, eventually they come true... Don't they? Flash sucked in a breath, cheeks puffing out in excitement. This was like some really cool game. He thought real hard, rocking on his heels. He hadn't planned on getting books but he couldn't say no now! "Mm.." he tapped his chin, "I think.. I like fantasy! Maybe a romance, but nothing scary. Something sweet. With a happy ending! And.. and some animals!" Shadow chuckled to himself at this; how fitting.. He decided to wait and allow Flash to get any stories he may want. After all, he really had no idea what to say for himself. While Flash at least had in mind what kind of book he wanted, Shadow was clueless as to both the book, and whatever Nim may want him to share about himself. Nothing that came to mind sounded.. as endearing as it did with Flash. Flashed like animals, he liked sunny days, he liked overly fluffy stuffed toys, he liked Owl City. Shadow liked.. well.. it almost felt as though he couldn't remember. It had been so long since he had felt such pure joy as Flash. Perhaps that was what was so refreshing about hanging around the boy. Feeling such innocent happiness vicariously through him.

Nim's tail curled into a little spiral shape as he made a tiny squeaking noise, excitedly listening to Flash's requirements. As Flash finished Nim gave a very soft hum, thoughtfully looking at the ceiling. "Well, follow me over to the fiction section, where all the best romance stories sleep. Off the top of my head..." He turned and began tip toeing over towards the well-marked fiction section, but he continued to speak over his shoulder. "I would recommend anything by Peter Beagle. He is most well-known for The Last Unicorn novel, which has a pair of beautiful love stories within the narrative, and lots of animals. I would also recommend any number of short story collections by Gaimen, he writes amazing animal companions. Anything by Mercedes Lackey might work too." He stopped next to a tall shelf, and almost to himself, began speaking again, but a little distractedly. "Oh. Oscar Wilde is amazing. And definitely try Diana Wynne Jones..." he starts plucking various books off the shelf. "Oh, how do you feel about pining, and slow burn romance?" Flash nodded along, agreeing with all the picks, though admittedly didn't know all of them. "Hmm... I've never read one like that!" He gave a sheepish giggle "I-I haven't really read a lot of books lately..!" Shadow took the few moments to wander over to the romance section, one that may have been slightly unfitting for him, by the looks. Though he recognized so many of the stories. Admittedly, he absolutely adored these stories as a kid. Such an unrealistic concept, something so far and foreign, something absolutely poetic and dreamy. A fantasy. He never had the best childhood. Looking back, the concept was equally unrealistic now. Perhaps he was never fit for love. He should have kept that idea as a fantasy, never anything more. Nim had pulled out a few more books, almost too many to handle. He struggled to look over at Flash behind the wobbling tower of them. "Honestly, those are my faves. Like beauty and the beast, you know? It's that slow build, two people discovering each other, learning to love each other's flaws. Learning that... there is someone for everyone, you know? and that in the end, everyone lives happily ever after. Or like, you know, in Tangled, or Sleeping Beauty... love is just, stronger than all that stuff. So. I'd definitely recommend the Lackey books, or Goodkind. Those are some long, slow, wonderful romances." He paused for a moment, realized he had sorta... grabbed a lot... "You know, we also rent books out, if you wanna try some before you commit to buying."

Shadow looked over to them, head tipping to one side. That was.. quite a lot of books. "We'll get 'em." He said simply, walking over. Flash blinked, looking from the pile of books, then to Shadow "O-oh that's far too many! Plus! We're here to get you books, not me!" He giggled sheepishly, shaking his head "I almost forgot.." Shadow just shrugged at this, taking the tower of books from Nim. He did so carefully, momentarily catching his ruby gaze as he did. His own eyes were unique, if not the most intimidating part about him. He smelled strongly of smoke and evergreens, a scent that was distinct enough to catch when he took the stack. Nim shivered just a bit under his massive sweater. So much was he caught off guard by the larger man that he was lost in wonder of him for nearly a minute as Flash debated against himself. He felt... predatory. Something that both intrigued and scared Nim. It was more than Nim wanted to admit, but his curiosity was piqued. Probably too piqued. Shadow stepped back, books in his arms, "Pick out ten, then, Flash." Flash pursed his lips in thought, feeling rather guilty he'd gotten so selfishly carried away. He lifted up a finger, "How about five for you, five for me!" There was a pause, the boy tapping his chin "Mm.. six for you..? No no, eight for you, two for me!" Flash decided surely, while Shadow just rolled his eyes. After a few moments of soft contemplation, watching the tall dark and handso-err. Tall fellow, Nim remembered what he was supposed to be doing, so he turned his attention back to Flash. "Well, what if both of you enjoy some of the same books, so some were shared? Also, if its money th-thats the problem I might be able t-to help." His stutter hadn't bothered him in a couple of years now, but it had also been a while he supposed that he had felt that instinctive tug telling him that he was too close to something dangerous. He swallowed it down, let it swim in his belly where it belonged. "I could u-use my employee discount f-for you. Save you fifteen percent."

"Money's not an issue." Shadow dismissed, eying some of the books in the stack "I'm paying.." Flash beamed at Nim, "Well still take the discount, if it's not too much trouble!" He looked back to Shadow, "Would you want to share the books? Or do you not like them?" He didn't seem offended in the slightest, just curious. Shadow shrugged in reply, looking to his friend, "Sharing is fine." There came a bouncing nod from Nim and a soft "Of course" to the mention of the discount as he turned once more to the bookcase. "T-there is one more book I'd like to suggest, especially if you two are going to be sharing. It's got love, and animals and it's a series, but I figure I can let you try the first. It's uh its..." He turned from the bookcase just as awkwardly as he had turned to face it, took a couple steps away, and then promptly returned with a small step ladder, climbed up the little thing, and successfully retrieved the desired book. "It has some sad parts in it, and has a lot of tension but it's one of my favorites. It's about a wolf who falls in love with a stag, but obviously she can't be with him because she feels like she is just a monster in his eyes. It's sort of like, Romeo and Juliet, but not? It's really good. Really uhm, sappy I guess?" He laughed a little, descending down the wee step ladder and held the book out towards Flash. "Here's book One. The Law of Teeth." Shadows faint little smile slowly vanished as Nim went on about the story. While he hadn't been particularly cheerful, his light attitude seemed to shift into one of.. simple silences. He was hard to read as his gaze shifted to Flash. The Aussie took the book, nodding. He peered at the cover curiously "Ooh.." he cooed "That sounds really interesting!" He grinned at Nim "Thank you so much!! You've been so helpful!" With another nod, Nim began wandering back towards the front of the shop, adjusting his glasses as he went, but stopping quite suddenly before making it the full journey. "Oh. All I showed you were the romance heavy books. I didn't show you anything else. What about you, Sir?" He turned his eyes up towards Shadow, a genuine eagerness to please filling his expression. "I got so carried away we didn't even hear what kinds of books you were looking for. I'm very sorry." Perhaps he subconsciously picked up on the shift in Shadow's demeanor, or perhaps he just really really wanted to please everyone who came into the shop. Whatever the reason, he felt as though his job just was not done here yet.

Shadow watched him for a few moments before shaking his head. He nodded down at the stack in his arms "This is fine." He said, though still his gaze never pulled away from Nim's crimson eyes. It was, on one hand, perhaps flattering that someone who seemed to indifferent could focus so much attention onto one person so easily. Though it was almost unsettling, in the same sense. Nothing about him revealed any blatant intent or emotions. There it was again. That tiny little voice that squeaked out 'Scurry! Hide!' that insisted to Nim that this man was sharp, and cold, and tempered. This man was teeth made of steel and he could probably smell your fear. And Nim was afraid. Just a hair's breadth. Perhaps his head was filled up with too many fairy tales and too much nonsense, but that twitch of fear, that flutter of butterflies in his belly... It sparked something very close to a wee little crush in his weak little heart. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel a bit infatuated with a customer, though. He was a foolish thing and wore his heart so far out on his sleeve it was practically in his hand, held out as an offering for anyone to take. All the same, with a vivid stream of a blush rising up his cheeks and into his ears, he gave a silent nod and sharply turned back towards the counter, took two stiff steps, tripped and stumbled the remaining few feet, grabbing onto the counter's edge to regain balance. The redness worsening he began to aggressively type things into the computer, presumably ringing up the total or putting in the discount code. He actively avoided eye contact.

Shadows eyes narrowed, keeping on Nim. He was intelligent but often oblivious to social cues that may be related to him. Usually, he'd miss one or two and take something the wrong way, and that was.. never good. Flash had used his innocent sort of charm to get Shadow out of many fights, though many, many more had not been avoided. But he found little annoyance in Nim. He had half expected him to be the quiet type to be unable to get more than three words out, or hold eye contact for a solid two seconds. But, this was not the case. At least, it hadn't been. Flash trotted over to the counter, standing on his toes again "My hair isn't as long as yours but you should teach me how to put flowers in it like yours!" He said, his sky-blue eyes practically twinkling "It's so pretty!!" Shadow slowly walked over to the counter as well, mostly just to stay with Flash. Each slow, strong step of his boots made a distinct, purposeful sound. He stood a pace or two behind his friend, watching down at Nim still, as though silently trying to figure something out.

Now, as the red seemed to be somewhat subsiding, into a more subdued rose, Nim softly answered Flash, though his voice was shaky. Was he... Was he about to cry? It was difficult to say, behind the spectacles and his head kept low, but there was definitely a shudder to his shoulders and a quiver to his words. "Oh, that. It's not hard. I actually get twisty ties, like.. y-you know. Around b-bread. Since your hair is shorter, I c-could do it for you if y-y-you wanted." He began scribbling down a hand-written receipt. "Your total will be $47.50 after the discount." He shot a nervous little glance up at Shadow, who he presumed would have the money, but quickly looked back to Flash, and forced a tiny little smile, for professionalism. Flash bounced, gasping "Would you really?" He asked, eyes wide with hope. Shadow shifted the books into one arm, letting them rest against his chest to ensure they wouldn't topple over. He pulled out his wallet with one hand, flipping it open. He skimmed the cash for a minute before pulling out a $50. He stowed his wallet and slid the fifty across the counter, looking to Nim "I don't want change." Maybe this was a tip, maybe he literally didn't want to deal with the change. Who would say? As Nim took the fifty and placed it in the cash box he stuttered out a squeaky little 'thank you' once more unable to really lift his gaze to the looming giant. He snapped himself out of his thoughts and gave a warm but slightly awkward smile to Flash. "Oh gosh, of course, I would love to. I have a little flower garden on the roof but I sometimes buy cut flowers from the florist down the street. Her flowers are always beautiful and freshly cut, so they last forever. I hope this doesn't sound too forward but I can maybe give you my number and you can text me whenever you and your uhm... " A glance towards Shadow was followed by a very small pause, as if his mind was trying to decide how bold to be. Not very it turns out. "..friend... are going to be nearby and I can pick some flowers up for you. It would be no trouble at all I promise." Flash looked to Shadow, absolutely overjoyed. What a new, wonderful friend they'd found. Shadow lifted a brow at his friend's excitement, but, once again offered him the faintest hint of an amused smile. Flash's joy was not uncommon but it was pure. The boy turned back to Nim, pulling out his phone. The case, of course, had a sweetly illustrated cat and rabbit. He brought up a new contact, holding it out to Nim, "Just go ahead and add your stuff!" He chirped, nodding surely. Shadow watched the two, remaining silent. Though he couldn't help but wonder. When they were going to be nearby..? For a moment he considered perhaps going out more. That was a foolish thought though, wasn't it? Such desperation, inspiration spurred by no more than a few minutes of conversation. On one hand it was stupid to consider seeing the light more just for the possibility of a friend. On the other, that was exactly what Flash and Jinx were both desperate to get him to do. But this boy seemed to be getting along quite well with Flash. The friendship was there, no more. It was as simple as that, as it should be. Before Nim could take the phone, he had to pull his sleeves up; they had fallen over his hands again. He was beyond gentle with the device as he gingerly tapped in his cell number. "Uhm, I'm free most any day after six. When my shift ends. You can also text me any flowers you like, and I'll try to get them? I can get flowers your friend likes too, and put them in his hair as well, if he likes." He offered the phone back to Flash, clearing his throat softly as he leaned in, whispering, "Please just text though. I can't talk on the phone, especially after dark." He seemed to be very serious about that last part, not mentioning it in a passing manner, but in an intensly solemn and almost, nervous way that had him making shy glances at the ceiling.

Flash tilted his head, but nodded. "Okay.. I'll remember that." He paused, jumping slightly "O-oh! I'm so sorry- what about your name? What do you want your contact to be?" He asked, quickly adding on as he gestured to his friend who still held the stack of books, as silent and ominous as always "I'm Flash and this is Shadow-" he paused, quickly correcting himself "E-er.. Valentine!" He nodded at this. Shadow just looked over at him with partially raised brows, giving him a sort of 'well, you tried' look. Shadow was more of an acquired nickname that had stuck for a surprisingly long time. Valentine was a bit more.. professional. Nim liked watching them together. He really liked Flash. He felt like, maybe if things were different, and he wasn't so trapped... maybe they could be friends. Maybe he could meet Flash's rabbits. He liked sha-valentine as well, even if he was a bit afraid of him. A subtle, sad little frown tugged at his lips as he wondered how long it would be until he actually saw them again. If he ever would. "Flash, and... Valentine. I'll remember that. You can just put me down as Nim, my birth name is way too long and ridiculous. " He seemed a bit antsy, momentarily chewing at a nail before adding. "How uhm, how far away do you guys live? Is it a long way away?"

Shadow was of course listening in on this conversation. He made a mental note to get the boy's number from Flash- but immediately scolded himself. No, this was stupid. This was none of his business, nor should it have been. But when it came down to it, was he really just scolding himself for potentially caring? Being concerned? Probably. For him, it was unwise. His luck had been unreasonably poor. He was fortunate he still had his sister and Flash. "Not too far!" Flash piped up, nodding "Shadow lives in an apartment that's-" he paused again, lips pursing as yet again he quickly corrected himself, seeming determined "Valentine lives in an apartment that's a bit from here kinda on the edge of town, and I'm actually in another one." While Flash still had hopes that Shadow would move into his apartment, at least the building, it was no use. Shadows apartment was nearly abandoned, inhabited by him and a... friend.. of his. The apartment held too many memories and Shadow had no intention of leaving it anytime soon. While it may have been better for his mental health to start anew and leave the past behind, he was holding onto fragments that would be lost. He was.. desperate. It seemed to bring a little bit of light back into Nim's eyes, hearing that these wonderful people weren't too far off. Maybe they would come and visit. It certainly would be nice. "Oh, that's so wonderful, I was afraid the trip here was a long one and I didn't want to make you guys come all the w-" Overhead on the next floor, something crashes, rattling the ceiling. Dust and bits of plaster flake off and drift down in cloudy puffs. The disturbance garnered a sharp recoil from Nim. He flinched, gave a small whimper and raised his gaze warily upward. "Oh, Oh no I uhm. I gotta...Excuse me. " He side stepped from behind the counter and started walking towards the front door. Before he could even make it ten steps, angry, muffled shouting echoed from the second floor, followed by what sounded like shattering glass. He hesitated to continue on, shoulders pulled up tight as he glanced back in the direction of the pair. "I'm so sorry, I know this is rude of me, but this will probably take... A while. I'd love to chat more but, I don't want to keep you waiting and...yeah. I'm.. I'm sososorry. " Flash's shoulders fell, brows knitting in concern. But he didn't want to press. He quickly offered a smile once more "Ill text you! And well visit again real soon, promise! It was really nice meeting you Nim!" He glanced to Shadow, who seemed quite interested in the racket. He pulled his gaze from the ceiling, to Nim, watching him intently. Though, it was time to go, it seemed. He gave him a single nod, before starting to the door. Flash waved to Nim, trotting out with Shadow to go out the books away in the car. Shadow, though, had a slightly different game plan. He'd help Flash with the books, sure, but then? Then he was coming back. Because why not? This smelled like trouble. And boy, was he well-acquainted with that. Though there was something.. too familiar about that. A haunch he didn't like. Shadow was no vigilante, and he was a murderer at best. But, there were some things that even he would not tolerate. Ever.

Nim had actually scurried out behind the couple. It seemed that in order to get to the second floor, the only access was an outdoor ladder on the side of the building. Which of course he scurried up in as much of a hurry as he could, disappearing into the darkness of the upstairs. From just down the road a bit of gossip had picked up as another crash resonated from the building. An older couple, probably in their fifties stood in the doorway of their own homey little shop. The wife clicked her tongue and shook her head, "Morris is at it again, Herald, should we call the police again?" The husband just made a low groaning sound and turned to retreat into their shop, calling over his shoulder. "Won't help with that kid lying for him, you know that." There was a tense, electric silence as the wife clicked her tongue again and seemed to give up the ghost of hope and turned as well, closing the door behind her. As far as the place where Nim had vanished into, there was no sound, just a door hanging open, and the darkness within.

Shadow was intent on picking up every word, while Flash preferred a more hopeful sort of blissful ignorance. He opened the door to his car and let Shadow put the books in, before looking to his friend. Shadow was watching the open door, head tipped. Flash bit his lip, brows furrowed "Shadow.." he said softly, "Lets go.." While he didn't really know what may be going on in there, he knew Shadow likely had a clearer idea, and was not above causing a scene. He didn't want that.. he didn't want any trouble.. Shadow watched the darkness for another moment longer before waving a hand, "Go on and go home, Flash. I'll be good." That was a blatant lie. He would try perhaps, but trying was often forgotten if he decided the matter was important enough to.. act upon. Flash whined, shaking his head, "Shadow, please, just.." Shadow looked back at him, "Ill catch up with you soon. It'll be okay. Go home, go through your books.. text your new friend." Flash pursed his lips, brows knit. He knew trying to changing the man's mind was futile.. Letting out a defeated breath, he nodded, adding a soft "Please be careful.." before he got into the car, reluctantly starting off. Shadow didn't act just yet, but he waited. He leaned back against one of the walls, arms crossed. He wasn't about to just barge in without cause. He wasn't above jumping to conclusions, though often he wasn't exactly mistaken with them. He'd seen a lot of shit.

There came a series of soft, but sharp commands from the room, and something about an 'embarrassment'. From within tiny snow white arms gingerly reached out and pulled the door closed. The voice that rumbled in the darkness was rough and a growling baritone. If Nim was even bothering to respond it couldn't be heard from outside. But the baritone only grew steadily louder until there was the sound of another shattered glass. And then a sharp, bright yelp that was not the overbearing roar of the unseen individual. It was short, like the sound of a kicked dog, it was mostly air and surprise with just the bits of voice that were spooked out of the throat. Shadows nails dug into the biceps of his leather jacket. Yeah, that sounded about right. Too damn familiar. And it took every single inch of self control not to climb that ladder and.. well. Hopefully, he'd keep that self control. Though it was fading, fast. He just needed a reason and he'd be all over it. It was none of his business. ... ... But that wasn't good enough. No, that wouldn't cut it. Fuck self control. He never had much anyways. Shadow stepped away from the wall and went up the ladder, giving three sharp knocks to the door. It didn't matter how well he knew this boy. This was not gonna slide. The noise from within ceased immediately with the delivered knocks. There was shuffling, whispers and it seemed like for just an instant something had fallen against the door before it was slowly cracked open barely a couple of inches. A bright ruby eyes peeked out, and as he saw it was Shadow, he stuttered out a bit of gibberish before his words worked again. "S-sir? Uhm I can be back down to the shop t-to assist you in a m-moment. I'm S-sorry." His hair was sloppy across his face as he gave a glance behind him and started to pull the door closed again. As he shifted his mouth, in its long thin line, came into view, blossomed red and violent, and dripped just the daintiest ribbon of crimson.

Shadow pressed his hand against the door, catching it before it could be shut. He pushed it open, reaching his other arm in. He hooked it around Nims side and pulled him out, shutting the door as he did. He held the knob tight, looking down at Nim as he lifted up his chin with his free hand. "Let me see you.." he murmured, scanning him over to place just how bad his injuries were. His skin was so milky, so pale that everything looked violent and raw. The bruises blossomed up so burgundy and so black. His shoulder looked squeezed by large fingers, his split lip was swollen, and plump, and may have been attractive on him if it had been given a different way. His sweater covered the rest of him, so if any other damage was done it wouldn't be seen. Nim was desperately trying to push against Shadow, futile efforts to force him away from the door. "It's not what it looks like, I'm fine. It was an accident, you should go now, please. Valentine, please you need to go." From inside the baritone called out a name presumed to be Nim's actual name. "Nimatia I told you to shut that door, you insolent whelp!" The words were slurred and clumsy and drunken, and they made Nim push against Shadow all the harder, holding back a choked sob, and another desperate 'please'. Shadow didn't budge, not an inch. He still gripped the knob as he watched down at Nim. He put his other hand against his shoulder, nodding once at the latter "Go down." He said, though if anything it was more of a command. A 'do it, or I'll make you'.

It seemed like for a moment, Nim was going to resist, like he still had all the fight in him to rebel against Shadow's words. Something in the tone of voice however, changed his mind and while he complied and started inches down the steps, he whimpered out the tiniest of pleas, just a single string of words. "It's not his fault, please." From inside the darkened building, there was the shuffling of clutter and the drawing of movement ever closer as the voice called out for Nim again. Shadow watched Nim begin to inch down. On one hand, he wanted to go with him and just get him away from all of this, at least for a bit. But on the other, he wasn't about to just walk away. He waited another moment, ensuring Nim would continue down.. He'd follow after him in a minute, but there was a more pressing matter at hand. Perhaps it was selfish to step in, maybe he was just itching for a fight. Then again, he was sick of seeing shit like this. It seemed to follow him, and he had lost his patience. So without another moment of hesitation, he went inside.

[elrosiafic]

Missing Half

In progress...more chapters to come...

George Weasley sat on his bed in the room he once shared with his twin brother, Fred.  He looked over to the empty bed across from him, the blankets still rumpled as they’d been carelessly strewn aside the last time Fred had slept there. He felt a hollowness in his chest, an emptiness somehow so heavy he was pulled down with its weight. An intense pressure had built up behind his eyes from which the tears still would not fall.

 George’s mind wandered back to the funeral that had taken place a few weeks ago. It had been a dismal affair. The morning had dawned with a soft blue, cloudless sky, the warm spring air and bright sunshine jarring unnaturally with his somber mood. In his mind, all was winter—full of sleet, snow, driving rains, icy winds, and piercing cold. But the mocking sunshine persisted all day.

 George had stood and watched as his brother’s body was lowered into the ground, listening to the sobs of his siblings, the wails of his mother, but all he felt was numb. He moved through the ceremony mechanically. As he listened to the eulogy given by his father, the words added by friends and family, he stood by silently, unable to speak. He knew Fred deserved better, knew he should do something, say something, but he just couldn’t find the words. He stood beside his family as one by one, mourners passed through to offer their condolences, the empty words surrounding him like echoes from a far-off distance. He tried to force himself to respond, but could manage nothing more than a grunt or a nod.

 Eventually they’d all gone back to the Burrow, the Weasley family along with their close friends. They ate and drank and talked about Fred, sharing memories and laughing through their tears, but George couldn’t bring himself to join in. He knew Fred would have wanted him to. Fred would have wanted this to be a celebration, a lively party full of the laughter and fun that he had been so full of throughout his life. But George couldn’t find that part of himself anymore. He felt as if all his laughter had died with Fred.

 As the night wore on, the guests had begun to disperse. Somehow, he had felt even worse as the numbers dwindled down until he was surrounded mostly by family. Unable to stand the pitying looks in their eyes as they all tiptoed around him as though he were made of glass, he decided he needed to get out of there. Resisting all protests and pleas from his mother to stay, George had returned to his own flat above the joke shop in Diagon Alley. His own flat. The words sent a chill through his bones. It was no longer theirs.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, George dragged himself to his feet. Shuffling over to his dresser, he pulled out a few items of clothing and threw them on. Shoving his feet into a pair of beat up old shoes, he left the room and ambled down the hallway into the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at his face in the mirror with a pained expression. Every morning he felt haunted by that image reflected back at him. He didn’t think he would ever be able to look at himself again without thinking of Fred. Bending over the sink, he rinsed out his mouth and straightened back up, staring at his reflection once more. After a moment, he pulled his wand out of his back pocket and aimed it at the face looking back at him. “Evanesco,” he muttered, vanishing the mirror. He sighed, wishing he could have vanished himself along with it. ­­

 George moved into the hallway and trudged down the staircase. Reaching the bottom, he pulled open the door in front of him leading into his joke shop. His joke shop, he thought again with a pang. How strange it was to be only one instead of two. He shook his head and stepped forward, moving into the dimly lit shop for the first time in weeks. He paused and let his eyes adjust to the gloom, the only light in the room peeping in from the gaps between the curtains. He thought of illuminating the lamps, but decided against it. He didn’t really want that much light.

 Moving through the deserted shop, past quiet shelves full of loud products, George looked around himself at the accumulation of his and Fred’s innovation. Picking up an item resembling a ­­shoe, he read, “Instantly silences footsteps. Perfect for performing pranks, hijinks, and general mischief. Always remain undetected with a pair of Sneaking Sneakers! (Additional shoe sold separately.)” He remembered this one, it had been his idea. He recalled the intensive development process, the long days of trial and error, as he and Fred spent weeks working out the kinks. It was hard work, but it had never felt like work, not with Fred by his side. They’d had so much fun together, enthusiastically testing out new ideas or building upon old ones, while even their failures were a boundless source of amusement to them. George tossed the Sneaking Sneaker aside despondently and moved on. He couldn’t imagine ever inventing anything again. He supposed his days as an entrepreneur were over now. He mulled this over, trying to decide how he felt about that. Shrugging, unable to muster up enough energy to care, he found it didn’t much trouble him.

 Suddenly he heard a distinctive hoot, followed by a tapping and fluttering at the shop window. Sighing, he sauntered over towards the front of the shop, squinting in the sudden glaring sunshine that met his eyes as he pulled back the curtains enveloping the casement. Lifting the catch that secured the windowpane, he pushed open the glass, letting a tiny grey owl swoop in.

 George recognized Pigwidgeon, his brother Ron’s owl, as it flapped past him, flitting erratically about the room before finally coming to rest on his shoulder. Holding out its leg, it presented a small scroll tied with a red string which George began to unknot.  

 “Get off it, Pig,” George muttered to the owl as it nipped at his ear, “That’s the last one I’ve got left.” Fishing around in his pockets for some owl treats Pig could snack on instead, he found a few dusty morsels, feeding them to the owl as he broke open the scroll. Unrolling the parchment, he recognized the handwriting as belonging to his sister, Ginny.

 Dear George,

I had to borrow Pig from Ron to send this. I hope he gets it to you on time. I told him to take it straight there, but you know how he gets distracted sometimes. I know you haven’t been answering any of our letters, but I’m going to keep writing to you anyway. Mum wants you to come around this Sunday for dinner. I wish you would. She’s driving me mad. She’s got this endless list of household “projects” that need to be done, and keeps us all busy from morning till night. She’s worse than she was before Bill’s wedding. You’d think after we finally defeated You-Know-Who, we could all relax a bit, but she won’t stay still. She’s also made it her mission to try to keep me and Harry separated. She thinks if she keeps us busy enough, we won’t have a chance to get up to anything. It’s completely unfair too, because she leaves Ron and Hermione alone. You’d need a crowbar to pry those two apart. They are practically joined at the hip, and frankly, it’s sickening. At least Harry and I can keep our hands to ourselves in public. Of course, with Mum around we have to. But I didn’t grow up with you and Fred without learning a few tricks about how to get around Mum.

Anyway, we miss you George. Come visit us soon.

                                          Love,

   Ginny

 George looked over Ginny’s letter before rolling it back up and sliding it into his pocket. He let Pig back out through the window without sending a reply. A vague feeling of guilt prodded at him. He’d been avoiding his family ever since the funeral. He knew it wasn’t fair to them, but he just hadn’t felt like facing them all. Not without…George felt the pressure behind his eyes increase as he thought of who would be missing.

 Abruptly deciding he needed to get out of the shop, George slammed the window closed, quickly latching it before making his way over to the front door. Pushing through, he paused only to lock it behind him before proceeding hastily down the cobblestone street. His only thought was to get away.

 Leaving the joke shop, George strode quickly down Diagon Alley, passing the many shopfronts and stalls without giving them a second glance. Having no real destination in mind, he thought only to put some distance between himself and the place he had just left. What he was actually trying to do was put some distance between himself and the great monster that dwelt in his chest, lurking just below the surface, waiting to pull him under. He walked swiftly, keeping up this hurried pace for several minutes, only slowing as the feeling began to subside.

 Moving at a more leisurely pace, George strolled around for a little while, idly looking into shop windows until, stomach grumbling, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Finding himself in view of the Leaky Cauldron, he decided to stop in for lunch and started to head that way. Stepping in past the courtyard and through the creaking wooden doors, George blinked around as he entered the dimly lit pub.

 Taking a seat at a table in the corner, George was soon approached by the innkeeper, Tom. Hardly glancing at the menu, he gave his order without giving much thought to what he wanted to eat. All food tasted much the same to him these days. While waiting for his meal to arrive, he stared down at the worn tabletop in front of him, tracing patterns in the wood.

 Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone approach until a tentative voice broke through his reverie. “George?” He looked up to see Angelina Johnson, his former teammate and fellow Gryffindor, standing before him.

 “Oh…uh…hi Angie,” he said once he got over the momentary surprise at seeing her there. He felt a mild apprehension as he sat waiting for the inevitable ‘How are you?’ accompanied by the well-meaning but unwelcome sympathetic stare he always got when running into any of his old classmates.

 But Angelina just looked at him openly before asking, “Mind if I join you?”

 “Er…yeah…of course,” he said, sliding over on the bench to make room for her.

 Tom appeared again, looking to Angelina. “What’ll you have?” he asked.

 “Just a butterbeer,” she responded. As he walked away, she glanced over at George and added by way of explanation, “I’m not very hungry.”

 “So…” George said, making a valiant effort at conversation, “What brings you to Diagon Alley?”

 “Just running a few errands. Been doing a bit of shopping, and I’ve got some letters to post, but I thought I’d stop in for a drink first,” she told him.

 Just then Tom returned with George’s food and two bottles of butterbeer. As Angelina reached into her pocket, George handed Tom a few coins, waving Angelina aside. “I’ve got it,” he said casually.

 “Thanks,” said Angelina with a smile.

 George began mechanically to eat his food while Angelina sipped her butterbeer. After a minute, she said to him, “I passed by the joke shop earlier. It didn’t seem to be open.”

 George looked over at her, hearing the unspoken question. “Yeah…” he said slowly, “I think we might be closing up shop.” Realizing he’d said ‘we’, he opened his mouth to correct himself, but quickly closed it again, looking down at his plate. He picked at his food as he awaited her reaction. Angelina looked at him for a long moment. George took a swig of his butterbeer, avoiding her gaze.  He didn’t really want to deal with any protests or be forced to explain or defend his decision.

 When she did finally speak, it was only to say, “That’s too bad. I was hoping to stock up on some WonderWitch love potions.”

 Surprising a laugh out of him, George began to cough, choking on his butterbeer. Angelina kept a straight face as she patted him on the back, a slight upturn at the corner of her mouth being her only giveaway.

 “You don’t strike me as the type,” said George when he was finally able to breathe again.

 “You’d be surprised,” she said, waggling her eyebrows with a grin.  

 George grinned back at her, his face feeling a bit strange as it stretched into the now unaccustomed expression. He wondered vaguely how long it had been since he’d last even smiled. Sobering a bit, he remembered exactly when it must have been. Grin fading, he went back to his plate, absently pushing food around with his fork.  

 Angelina continued to look at him warmly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she went back to nursing her drink. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly Angelina reached over and grabbed the fork from his hand.

 “Oi!” said George as she took a bite of his lunch. Smiling unrepentantly, she reached over to take another.

  “I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” George reminded her pointedly.

“You weren’t going to eat it,” she countered.

 Throwing his hands up in mock defeat, he pushed the plate towards her. “It’s all yours,” he said generously.

 She smirked at him as she replied, “Knew you’d see it my way.”

 George couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth as she finished off his meal for him. Twice in one day, he thought to himself, I must be setting a record. Throwing back the last of her butterbeer, Angelina banged the empty bottle back down on the table. “Ready to get out of here?” she asked him.

 George raised an eyebrow, but responded, “After you.” Following her as she slid off the bench, they left the pub and strolled out onto the street.

 Passing through the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, George paused and turned to Angelina. “Where to?” he asked.

 Angelina glanced at George and asked “Fancy a walk? I’ve still got these letters to send off.”

 “Alright then,” George responded easily and fell into step beside her.

 Heading toward the post office, they walked in silence for a while, George listening to the combined sounds of Angelina’s boot heels as they rang out against the cobblestones and his own worn out trainers as they thudded steadily along. After some time, he noticed their strides had synced up, their footsteps creating a soothing rhythm.

 All at once, George realized why this sensation felt so familiar. Until recently, he had always had someone by his side mirroring his footsteps. Not just someone, but Fred. Stumbling slightly, George missed his next step and immediately fell out of sync with Angelina.

 She looked over at him. “Alright?” she asked.

 “Yeah…fine,” he responded, and falling a little behind, he deliberately remained out of step with her the rest of the way, feeling somewhat relieved at the discordance.

 Approaching the post office, George stepped forward to pull open the door, pausing to let Angelina pass through before following her inside. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The place was packed with owls of every sort. While Angelina approached the counter, George wandered through the shop, taking in the variety of shapes, sizes, and colors of the many post owls.

 Coming across a very small, dingy-looking copse owl, George was reminded of the letter he’d had that morning from Ginny. That familiar feeling of guilt crept up on him as he imagined the disappointment on Ginny’s face when she saw Pig return empty-handed. The words of her letter ran through his head. We miss you. Come visit. The truth was, he missed them too. If anyone would be able to understand his grief, it would be his family. But that’s exactly what he was afraid of. He didn’t want to grieve. He didn’t want to face it. So, he kept himself numb, pushing away that awful truth, keeping it at arm’s length for fear that it would get too close and crush him under its weight.

 He shook his head, banishing these thoughts, and turning on his heel, went to find Angelina again. As he approached the counter, Angelina turned and looked up at him, her smiling face sobering into a more thoughtful look as she took in his expression. Her hand moved, halfway crossing the space between them, before dropping back to her side.

 George cleared his throat. “All done?” he asked her.

 Angelina nodded, looking at him for a long moment before responding, “Yeah.”

 George found he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Well then,” he said with false brightness, gesturing towards the door, “shall we?”

 Following her out, George moved away from the door and began to proceed down the walkway, when he found his progress hindered as Angelina grasped his arm, pulling him into an alley between the post office and the shop beside it.

Staring at her anxious face, George was dumbfounded. “What’s the matter?” he asked her, glancing behind them in confusion, wondering what she was hiding from.

 Angelina stared at him intently for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it again as though she were afraid of her own words. Finally, she opened her mouth once more and said, “I just…wanted to say…I mean, I know you may not want to talk about it, but…” she paused, trying to gather her thoughts.

 Halfway through this speech, George’s face began to grow white, and a cold pit of dread fell into the center of his chest like a stone into water, reverberating outward like ripples through his body.

 Taking a breath, Angelina said, “I just want you to know that I’m so…I’m so sorry about Fred.” George felt a stabbing pain go through his chest at the sound of Fred’s name. She continued, “I know those words are meaningless, but…he was such an amazing person, and I know it’s nothing to your loss, but I really c-cared about him…and I care about you, and…I’m so sorry that he’s…gone…” She finally trailed off, no longer able to make her thoughts coherent.

 Looking at him intensely, her eyes brimming with raw emotion and her mouth pressed into a slim line as she finished speaking, Angelina waited for his reaction. George felt a ringing in his ears as though a bomb had exploded nearby. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. That’s not normal, he thought distantly, bringing his hands up and gazing at his palms absently. Suddenly, he found his view obscured as she slid her hands into his, covering his palms and squeezing gently. Wrenching his eyes away from their now joined hands, he brought them painfully up to meet her gaze. Her eyes held a steady look, bravely meeting the anguish she saw swimming in his own. She seemed to be waiting for something.

 George vaguely supposed that he should probably say something, but he found his mind empty of thoughts. He opened his mouth as though the words might just fall out of their own accord. What did come out surprised him, his heart missing a beat when the sound reached his ears. “Fred…” he croaked, his voice breaking on the name. And as if that one word were the catalyst, he felt the dam inside of him suddenly break, the waters rushing in on him, drowning him in his own grief.

 He found himself suddenly on his knees, doubled over against the pain, Angelina’s arms wrapped around him as he sobbed uncontrollably. He didn’t notice how he had gotten there, and he didn’t notice anything else for a long time either. Angelina held him silently as he collapsed himself into his heartache, wave after wave of sorrow and anguish overtaking him. Neither of them spoke except for the single word that George found himself repeating unconsciously, “Fred…”

 It was some time before George came back to himself. He slowly became aware of his surroundings as his sobs quieted and the river of tears ran dry. He felt his knees pressing into the cold, hard stone as he sat bent over the ground, hands resting on his thighs. Listening to the sounds of his own ragged breathing, he then noticed Angelina’s arms, one wrapped tightly around his middle, while the other cradled his head against her. He felt the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out. She loosened her grip slightly as he quieted, leaning back to peer down at him. Straightening, he sat back on his heels, wiping his face with the back of his hand, his eyes still cast downward towards the ground.

He felt the coolness of Angelina’s palms soothing his feverish skin as she gently took his face in her hands, cupping his cheeks in her palms. As she rubbed her thumbs under his eyes, George looked up at her, watching as she dried his tears. He took in her expression of deep concern as her eyes focused on him, her own face wet with tears which she didn’t seem to have noticed. George reached up to return the favor, the backs of his fingers brushing against her skin as he gently dried her cheeks. She captured his hand then, grasping it in hers. She hesitated a moment, looking into his eyes, before pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

 Though still filled with an aching sorrow, George somehow felt a little bit lighter. As the storm inside him had passed, he felt something shift within him. Though the weight of his burden remained, it now seemed a weight he could carry. His sight felt sharper, the air in his lungs crisp and clean, sounds were more distinct, and even his thoughts seemed a little bit clearer.

 Looking at Angelina, George surprisingly felt no embarrassment over what had just happened, though he did find himself struggling for words, not knowing what to say. She saved him the trouble. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t exactly call this a cozy place to spend our afternoon,” she said as she stood up, then leaned down to offer him a hand. He took it, rising slowly to his feet, his knees creaking after resting so long against the cobblestones, legs tingling as the blood rushed back through his veins.

 “Oh, I don’t know,” said George, casting a glance around the cramped and darkened alleyway, “I think it’s quite a charming little spot.” With an appraising look, he added, “A few throw pillows, a couple paintings on the wall, I think we could really do something with this place.”

 Angelina rolled her eyes, but a smile was on her lips as she moved toward the street, calling back over her shoulder, “There’s no accounting for taste.”

 George lingered a moment before following, rubbing his hands roughly over his swollen face as he took a deep breath. Sighing it out, he ran a hand through his hair before following Angelina into the street. She glanced over at him as he caught up, bumping him slightly with her shoulder. He gave her a half smile and they walked on companionably for a while.

 As they approached the Leaky Cauldron once again, their footsteps slowed before finally stopping as Angelina turned towards him. “Well, I guess I’d better go. I’m heading back into London,” she told him.

 “Alright,” replied George, “It was…good seeing you again, Angie.” He looked down at her as she gazed up at him, one hand on her hip as the other shielded her eyes from the glaring sun.

 “You too,” Angelina replied sincerely, giving him a searching look before adding, “Let’s keep in touch, yeah?”

 George nodded, feeling something stir inside him as she looked up at him earnestly. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her smooth skin as they followed the curve of her cheek, lingering on her full lips, before moving back up to meet her deep brown eyes framed by long lashes.  “Absolutely,” he said.

 Angelina reached out, her hand almost touching his face, but dropping instead to his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

 George felt her hand slide down the length of his arm before reaching his own hand and squeezing gently. His fingers returned the gentle pressure before letting go. “I will,” he promised her.

 Angelina gave him one last smile before turning to leave. George watched her go with a strange mixture of emotion. Then, stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned away from the Leaky Cauldron and made his way back toward his flat. As he shuffled down the cobblestone street, he looked in shop windows and watched people walking by, catching bits and pieces of conversation as they flowed past him. He felt somehow more aware of his surroundings than he had in a long time.

 As George passed by the post office once more, he slowed his steps, lingering on the sidewalk. His hand resting against the door, he paused momentarily before pushing through and walking inside. Stepping up to the counter, he contemplated a stack of parchment and assortment of quills that were resting there, before selecting one of each and scribbling a short note.

 Dear Ginny,

I’ll see you on Sunday.

Love,

George

 Rolling up his letter, George selected an owl at random and handed over a few coins to the clerk behind the counter, watching as she attached the scroll to the owl before setting it free. As the owl took off, its wide wings creating a breeze as it flapped past, George felt something ease inside of him, a tightness in his chest he hadn’t noticed was there until it had suddenly dissipated.

 George then left the shop, stuffing his hands back into his pockets as he began the short walk home. As he approached the building, he decided to enter through the side door, feeling that he wasn’t quite up to entering the shop again today. He muttered the password he and Fred had set together long ago to ensure that only the two of them could enter. Listening as the lock clicked open, he turned the knob and pushed open the door, stepping into the front hallway before proceeding up the stairs. As he climbed up the two stories to his bedroom, he could feel his feet growing heavier with every step. Exhaustion began to creep over him, the events of the day leaving him emotionally drained.

 Entering the room, he paused only to kick off his shoes before collapsing face down onto his bed. His throat was dry and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He thought vaguely of dragging himself up to get a glass of water, but instead let the thought drift out of his mind again as he relaxed his body, burrowing further into the mattress. He was too tired to bother. His head felt fuzzy now, as though it had been stuffed with cotton. Turning his face to the side, he opened one bleary eye and looked over to the bed adjacent to his. A wave of sorrow rolled through him then, a distant, echoing feeling, and he closed his eyes again. Rolling over, he wrapped himself in his blankets and curled onto his side. Sighing, he let the exhaustion overtake him, sinking down into a blissful unconsciousness as sleep claimed him at last.