#okay maybe i have a slightly big ego. but i believed i could ace this math contest so i prepared hard for it and i got an award

[sleepless-crows]

i really believe that anyone can do anything. its just that we get better at the things we spend effort doing. and you'll only progress if you believe in yourself. like i believe i could draw if i spent hours learning how to. i believe i could play the piano really well if i actually practiced. i believe i can be a good dancer as long as i actually dance instead of just cringing at myself. i believe i can learn sleight of hand if i practice playing with cards every day. like it may be cliche and cheesy but my life motto really is you only live once. and i want to spend my life being able to do as many things as i can, acquire all the skills that i can, and live my life fully

[jisungsmochi]

rest your love - lee haechan

don’t worry!! i didn’t forget about this series hehe,, i personally really liked this one!! i’m probably going to try and write more often!

anyways pls enjoy,, i’ll link my masterlist for the other parts of this series (nct dream as ‘the vamps’ songs)

word count: 2.2k 

summary: “when the world gets loud, baby you can rest your love on me”

haechan never understood why people liked to be chased. he thought that all he needed to do was ask someone out and boom, a beautiful relationship. until he befriends you, and learns that sometimes people just need a shoulder to lean on, before they can rest their love on someone.

//

I see you move, so I do understand

Why you get attention?

I hear you talk, but I don't comprehend

Why I get no mention?

“it’s physically impossible to dislike me, i’m just a catch” haechan brags while walking to his first college class, his friends, renjun and jaemin trailing behind him.

“just because everyone liked you in high school, doesn’t mean people will in college. it’s a completely different ball game” renjun rolled his eyes at how overly optimistic and delusional his friend was being.

“ah let him live, he’ll find out soon enough” jaemin chuckles softly as he and renjun wave to haechan,  scurrying off to their own lectures.

haechan shrugs, not taking in any of his friends words. he stumbled into the classroom, scanning for an empty seat. he quickly made his way to a spare desk, pulling out all his materials. just as the tutor walked into the room, his eyes met those of, who he believed, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. you flaunted your way to the last empty seat, which happened to be next to the awfully cheery boy, smiling at you.

you weren’t having the best day, immediately regretting your choice of a desk mate. as soon as you sat down, haechan was a blabbering mess. he shot questions left and right at you, despite the fact you barely responded to any of them. you just assumed he wanted to make friends fast, or he was just a chatterbox. “so how are you doing on this fine day?” he mutters to you, but received a stern glare in response. you tilted your head to the front of the room, zoning in on your tutor. haechan would lie if he said he didn’t feel slightly deflated. usually he had no problem making conversation with strangers. but you were so cold, so uninterested, it really hurt his ego. maybe renjun was right, not everyone would like him. but haechan was an unbelievably stubborn optimist. he was going to befriend you, no matter how long it took.

//

And you know, you know where to find me

Yeah, you know where to go when you're looking for love

And you know, you know where I'm hiding

Yeah, you know

it had been over three weeks since haechan first met you and you still wouldn’t budge. you only spoke to him during group tasks, other than that you continued to ignore his advances. haechan got the message loud and clear that you weren’t going to pay him attention. it took a toll on his own self confidence, until renjun gave him a stern talking to,

“god don’t let her get to your head, dude!! she’s awful for not wanting to be friends with you”

haechan pouted, “but she’s so pretty, i can’t just ignore her”

at that moment, he received a notification on his phone.

y/n: is this haechan? i think you took my notes by accident

his eyes widened, how did you even get his facebook account?

he scrambled around his room, looking into his backpack and surely enough, there were your notes, prettily written up.

haechan: hello! i do have your notes, i can meet you somewhere to hand it back? maybe the cafe? we can get something to eat!

renjun was now peering over haechan’s shoulder, too invested in this interaction.

y/n: no it’s fine, just give it to me next class, thanks

after reading your message, renjun bursted out laughing.

“dude that’s brutal, she’s something else” haechan fiddled with his phone, glaring at the other boy. he clicked on your profile, sending you a friend request as he scrolled through your posts. he saw that your friends had wished you a happy birthday, almost a year ago. he then realised it was in a few days...

“i have the perfect plan to get her to notice me” haechan smirks, renjun rolling his eyes,

“you’re ridiculous”

//

it was a friday afternoon, when haechan stumbled into class. you looked over at him, expecting some type of greeting, but you didn’t hear a peep from the boy.

strange, you thought to yourself.

as you were preparing for the lesson, haechan pulled something out of his bag. you looked over, noticing a small pink box now placed on your side of the table. you raised your eyebrow at him, in which he whispered,

“happy birthday, y/n”

your face froze. how did he know it was your birthday?

you looked back at the small box, slowly moving your hands to open it. to your surprise, there was a red velvet cupcake, decorated with a ton of rainbow sprinkles. there was a tiny picket that said:

“happy birthday, cutie!”

you couldn’t hide your smile, which only made haechan swoon even more. you weren’t the type to make a big deal out of your birthday, but this gesture from haechan truly made your day. you bit your lip softly, eyes meeting his.

“t-thankyou, haechan. i really appreciate this” you smiled at him softly, not caring that you were now on speaking terms with him.

“anything for you, y/n” he cheerfully responded, turning his attention to the front of the room.

maybe lee haechan was worth letting in...

//

the days following, haechan would spam you with random texts throughout the day. initially you would have been annoyed, but after his generous birthday gift, you started to enjoy his company. although you wouldn’t say it to his face, you silently appreciated him.

“how is my beautiful, y/n doing?” he smirked as he walked with you after class. he’d always compliment you, each time making you gush inside.

“i’m alright, have a ton of homework to do though” you sigh, thinking back to the stack of work you had on your desk.

“oh poor thing! do you want to copy my work? i have it here right now i ca-“

“no, haechan, it’s okay. if i need help, i’ll just...call you or something” you paused, looking over at the boy whose eyes just lit up like a christmas tree.

“of course you can call me! call me anytime you want!” he exclaimed. you shake your head softly at him as you both continued walking.

once haechan met up with renjun and jaemin again, he couldn’t stop gushing about you.

“...and then she said i could call her! well she said she’d call me, but same thing” he explained your interaction to his two friends as they were eating at a local diner.

“so romantic” renjun sarcastically comments, causing jaemin to elbow him slightly.

“i think it’s a good step! i mean atleast she’s talking to you now” jaemin chimed in, feeding into his friend’s cheerful nature.

“yeah! i have a lot of hope for us” haechan smiles to himself, in which jaemin and renjun looked over at eachother before rolling their eyes.

you did end up calling haechan that night, as you were stuck on the very last question of the homework.

“y/n, it’s hard to explain, let me just send you my answer” haechan insisted,

“no, i feel guilty” you sigh, placing down your pen.

“it’s really okay, i want to help you” you bit your lip, eventually giving in.

“okay fine, but i’ll owe you something in return” you agree, hoping whatever he wanted wouldn’t be too bad.

“hmmm how about going to the movies with me this weekend? i know you wanted to see the new zombie one that just came out” he suggested. although you were shocked he was practically asking you on a date, were more shocked he remembered you talking about this movie.

“do you really think that is proportionate to what you’re doing for me?” you roll your eyes playfully, finding his advances quite endearing.

“yep!! take it or leave it” you hesitated for a moment, what’s the worst that could happen?

“okay fine, you have yourself a deal” you replied. haechan quickly put himself on mute (or so he thought), letting out a loud ‘YES!’, before returning to the call. you had heard everything, softly chuckling to yourself.

he was pretty cute.

//

That when the stars go out, you can rest your love on me

And when the world gets loud, baby, you can rest your love on me

“that ending was terrible” you pouted as you left the cinema with haechan.

“it wasn’t so bad, it could have been worse” he shrugged, leading you to the next location.

“hm i guess so, by the way, where are we going anyway?” you questioned, walking alongside him, observing your surroundings.

“this cool burger place i found online, here i’ll show you some photos” he pulled out his phone, swiping through the photos. you nodded along, agreeing to let him lead the way.

“y/n? is that you?” you heard a deep voice call, you head shot up, so did haechan’s.

“who’s that?” your mouth went dry. your body froze up. why was he here? why did he have to call out to you?

“oh my god it is you! long time no see” the mysterious boy approached the pair of you, completely disregarding haechan’s existence. he noticed how uncomfortable you were, eyes flickering between the boy and you. he placed his arm loosely around your back, the other boy’s eyes following in suit.

“oh i see, you’re dating someone. dang, i guess i missed my shot. he doesn’t seem like your type” the boy scoffed, arms folded as he stared you both down.

“w-we have to go” you finally bring yourself to mutter, pulling haechan along with you.

“y/n who was that?” haechan kept repeating, which only made you want to cry.

“he’s my ex, okay? just take me home” you sniffled, haechan immediately became concerned. he didn’t ask any further questions, driving you straight back to your place.

as he reached your house, he looked over at you, tears brimming your eyes.

“i-i’m sorry that our day was cut short. i was really enjoying myself. my ex and i ended on pretty bad terms and i would just like some time alone right now, i hope you understand” you sniffled, which made haechan’s heart ache.

“you don’t have to apologise. you know where to find me if you need me. i’ll be waiting for you to open up to me one day, y/n. however long it takes” he assures you, leaving you with a warm feeling in your stomach. you just nodded back at him, making your way into your house.

haechan sat in his car for a while, wishing he could take away all your pain.

//

you invited haechan to meet you at the local park. with no further questions, he rushed out of his room, eager to see you again. you waited patiently on the small bench, swinging your legs back and forth. you heard heavy footsteps approach, your eyes meeting those of the boy who radiated happiness.

“are you alright?” haechan starts as he takes a seat next to you, leaving a small gap between you both.

“y-yeah, i’m ready to tell you everything” you began,

“he and i ‘dated’ two years ago. i say ‘dated’ because well, i thought we were, but turns out he was just another player and i was just another pawn in his little game. it was my first relationship too, messed me up pretty bad. that’s why i tend to keep to myself, not really letting others in too much. he made me feel like every guy who gave me attention just wanted me for their own selfish needs” you sigh, eyes avoiding haechan’s. he wanted to hold your hand, but opted not to.

“he’s an asshole, you didn’t deserve that. i-i could treat you so much better i promise-“

“haechan, c-can we just slow things down?” you finally made eye contact with him, his face contorting into a confused expression.

“i know you like me, and i would be lying if i said i didn’t have a slight interest in you too. but i don’t think i’m ready for a relationship yet” you admit, worried for his reaction. but to your surprise, he didn’t feel sad or dejected at all. instead he smiled widely at you, leaning in closer.

“i’ll go as slow as you want. you can rest your love on me, whenever you need. i’m just glad to hear you like me too” he batted his eyelids, making you softly chuckle.

“thankyou” you whispered to him, moving closer so that your shoulders touched. the rest of the day was filled with random activities from the arcade, to a bike ride along the park’s trail and finally dinner. haechan came to realise that being with somebody wasn’t black and white. there was a grey area that lied in between. he didn’t care how long he needed to wait, all he knew was that he finally got you to like him. and that was enough to make him the happiest man alive.

[astraguardian]

Reel Him In

Fair Game Week Day 2: Date

Clover insists Qrow join him on their day off, on what may or may not be considered a date.

AO3 link

Relevant edit

“It’s not fishing, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Clover beamed at him and Qrow had to stop himself from groaning as he remembered the events of the morning.

“Should I be concerned that you won’t tell me where I’m going? Seems a bit suspicious if you ask me.”

Clover gave an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“You don’t trust your own partner? After all we’ve been through?”

Qrow snorted, eyes roaming up and down Clover, from the “Men want me, fish fear me” hat to the outfit that screamed ‘Dad’s first fishing trip.’ “I don’t trust anyone dressed like that.”

Clover huffed. “I don’t see what’s wrong with how I dress.” He stretched his arms above his head in a casual motion but lingered just a bit too long for it not to be deliberate.

As if Qrow needed a reason to stare.

He waited until Clover opened his eyes, likely to check if he had been looking, before giving the man a playful shove.

He had underestimated his strength again, and Clover, with his arms still stretched upwards, began to tip over. Qrow moved quickly, yanking down on the man’s nearest bicep and steadying him.

Clover blinked. “Qrow, I knew you didn’t like the outfit, but that was a bit far, don’t you think?” He burst out laughing as Qrow glared at him.

“Okay, old man.” Qrow opted for a lighter shove this time, barely moving the Ace-Op.

“Old man?” Clover raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re older than me, right?”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “A year’s difference doesn’t count when you dress like someone’s embarrassing dad.”

“You’re still on this? Wait, Qrow...” Clover stopped, his eyes widening. “Do you think I’m... embarrassing?” His voice squeaked on the last word and he had barely managed to say it without smiling.

Qrow smirked. “Oh, for sure.”

Clover sighed. “My own partner... We’re here, by the way.” He gestured to a large door.

“I’m excited to see what was worth all the secrecy.”

Clover merely grinned, unlocking the door with his scroll and opening it was a flourish. “After you.”

Qrow hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he still found himself surprised. In front of him was the most greenery he had seen since arriving in Atlas.

The ground was covered in grass, a small path of stones leading deeper in. The area was dotted with a variety of trees and bushes, many of which bore fruits or flowers. The plants led off into the distance, hinting at a space far larger than he would’ve expected to find within the academy. The ceiling, or what he knew had to be the ceiling, mimicked the sky, showing white wisps moving past an artificial sun. Qrow would even swear he could feel a light breeze and hear running water in the distance. It felt as if he had suddenly stepped through one of Raven’s portals and ended up somewhere far away from Atlas.

“Worth the surprise, right?”

He forced himself to turn back to Clover, who was smiling at him softly.

“Come on, it’s even better inside.” Clover grabbed his hand, pulling him inside of the artificial habitat.

Qrow remained silent as he let Clover lead him throughout the gardens, his focus split between the landscape and how Clover was ever so casually holding his hand.

They had been walking for a few minutes when Clover released his hand and plopped down underneath a tree, patting the ground next to him.

Qrow carefully lowered himself down, staring at a nearby river cutting in between bushes of pink flowers.

“Didn’t know there was something like this in Atlas, especially something this big.”

Clover hummed next to him. “Not too many people are able to see this. We have to limit access to ensure it remains in top shape. It mostly gets used for classes and research, but I like to come here to relax.” His voice dropped slightly. “I thought you’d like it too.”

“I do.” Qrow drew his gaze back to Clover, who was now staring out at the garden. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

Qrow’s eyes shifted down to the ground between them, where Clover’s hand was splayed out, supporting him as he leaned back. Finding himself emboldened by earlier, Qrow casually placed his hand down so that it brushed Clover’s, turning away slightly so he could see the other man look towards him in his peripheral vision, carefully watching for his reaction.

The hint of a blush was visible on Clover’s face.

That was unexpected. Clover was usually the collected one and Qrow struggled to remember a time when he had seen the Ace-Op nervous. He suddenly found himself with the growing desire to see the man even more flustered. Clover always played it cool, giving winks and tossing compliments that left Qrow a mess. Surely it was time for Qrow to return the favor.

He coughed, drawing Clover’s eyes toward him. “Gotta say lucky charm, as far dates go, this one’s been pretty good.”

The other man’s eyes widened, and his mouth fluttered open without any words coming out. A red flush was now clearly starting to form on his face, driving Qrow to continue.

“But hey, I guess it’s mostly about the company you keep. And well...” He made a show of looking Clover up and down. “Even a fisherman can be a reel catch.”

Okay, he might have been hanging around Yang a bit too much recently.

Clover started to splutter, now unable to look Qrow in the eyes. Maybe he had pushed his luck.

“I’m just teasing, lucky charm. I’m glad you brought me here, it’s really nice—“ He trailed off as Clover looked up, caught off guard by the intensity in the other man’s eyes. “Clover?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not the view I brought you here to see. You have more than enough time in the future to enjoy that view, so try focusing on the gardens for now.”

He didn’t give Qrow a chance to reply before nudging him with his shoulder. “Don’t try to be clever, old man. Besides, I thought you didn’t like the outfit?”

Qrow laughed, deciding to let Clover get away with stealing his insult this time. “Never suggested I was talking about the outfit.”

Clover rolled his eyes before shifting back to stare out at the gardens. “So, we’re considering this a date?” His voice was neutral, as if he had just asked Qrow how his day had been, instead of forcing him to give a label to what was happening between them.

Qrow gave himself a few seconds before replying. “I don’t know, what do you usually call it when you take guys here?”

That earned him a dry laugh. “Believe it or not, you’re the first guy I’ve brought here.”

“Oh?” Qrow tamped down his satisfaction. “I can’t imagine you having trouble finding someone willing.”

Clover’s eyes shot over to Qrow and he raised an eyebrow before letting his face fall. “This line of work doesn’t really leave much free time and, well, I’ve never really been one for casual dating.”

Which would suggest this wasn’t a casual date. Qrow’s brain froze slightly, though he found himself liking this revelation. It made sense, didn’t it? They were partners and they’d been flirting for a while now, if they were going to date then they’d have to be willing to commit to it.

Part of Qrow knew he should be terrified. He hadn’t had a long-term relationship since, well... ever, and pushing people away was kinda his thing. But this was the Clover Ebi effect; for once in his life, he actually felt safe. Clover never treated his semblance like a danger or a nuisance. He had barely even reacted when Qrow told him, because he was Clover freaking Ebi, kindest man to ever walk the halls of Atlas Academy.

“Qrow?” Clover’s voice was hesitant and Qrow realized he had failed to reply.

No words came to mind, so Qrow settled for plucking the dumb hat off of Clover’s head before the Ace-Op had time to react.

Clover let out an involuntary gasp, his hands automatically moving to reclaim the hat before stopping short.

Putting the hat on, Qrow found it to be slightly too large for him. “Your head’s bigger than I expected, must be from that ego of yours.”

“Ego?” Clover’s voice cracked slightly, his blush having returned full force.

Qrow smirked. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, Mr. Show-Off. Mr. I-Have-to-Backflip-or-I’ll-die.”

Clover huffed. “You say that as if you don’t like it.” His eyes darkened slightly. “And I don’t believe that.”

“Oh?” Qrow leaned closer, grinning. “What makes you so sure of that?”

With the speed of a trained huntsman, Clover reached forward, one hand pushing up the brim of the hat while the other nestled into Qrow’s hair. Qrow only had time to tilt his head slightly before Clover was kissing him.

The kiss was soft, sweet, and left him wanting more, meaning it was extremely fitting for Clover.

Clover pulled back slightly, seeming to savor the surprised look that was likely on Qrow’s face, before leaning back in. Qrow met him in the middle this time, shifting his body as he brought a hand up to cup Clover’s face.

When they pulled apart a second time, Clover leaned back, letting out a content hum. “You know, you never said if this was a date or not.”

Qrow groaned, pulling down the brim of the hat so it covered his eyes. “Yes, it’s a date. Happy now?”

“Very.” Clover reached out and adjusted the hat again, this time lifting it to the standard position.

“No kiss this time?” Qrow raised an eyebrow, enjoying watching Clover freeze mid-action.

“...No, not this time.” Clover coughed, attempting to hide his flushed face. “Later, maybe. We have a full day left and,” he rose to his feet, offering a hand to Qrow, “the majority of the gardens left to explore.”

Qrow took his hand, allowing Clover to pull him up. “Lead the way, partner.”

Walking through a sea of flowers, hand in hand with Clover, Qrow could see himself getting used to this.

[spectralscathath]

Queen, Knave, King

fair Game Week, Day 6: Atlas Ball/Mantle Battle

Clover Ebi is in love with a dusty old Qrow. He knows it, Elm knows it, even Robyn knows it.

Let the cards fall where they may.

Ao3 Link

Elm spotted Branwen as he skulked around the edge of the Schnee grounds, snow crunching under his shoes in the silence as his cape fluttered behind him, the cold winds bracing and biting at her cheeks.

She shrugged to herself and walked over, giving Vine a wave to let him know she was going off on her own. He gave her a simple nod back, drawing a smile from her. It was nice to have such simple trust with her close friend.

Most people usually assumed they were a couple, which was something that Elm didn’t mind, exactly, but she knew Vine was as utterly disinterested in romance as she herself was. It just wasn’t something she felt. She’d rather have a close friend to watch her back then a lover, and that was that.

Before Vine had joined the Ace Ops, that friend had been Clover. The two of them had just been specialists that Ironwood kept pairing up, his flexible weapon and clever mind pairing well with her sheer sturdiness and ample strength.

It had been an excellent distraction at first, to apply her Huntress skills again with an entirely new element, and this time with someone who had luck on his side almost all the time. Much less likely he’d go the way of her old team. That had been reassuring.

Somewhere along the line, she’d started feeding him. She couldn’t help it, cooking and baking were just as much in her blood as being a warrior was. Unlike the friendships of team SBLE, formed through four years of battle and school, Clover’s friendship was found over shared meals and stories of a world beyond Atlas.

So, when she’d seen her friend steadily falling head-over-heels for a grumpy spy with a reckless defiance and a dour attitude, of course she knew it was her solemn duty to make sure her friend wasn’t going to get another scar on his ironically unlucky heart.

“Hey! Branwen!” She called out as he migrated from the grounds to striding along the top of the garden wall, steps light and balanced with his hands in his pockets.

He glanced at her and raised a brow, shifting his weight so he didn’t fall as she jogged over. “You after something, Ederne?”

She put a hand on her hip and looked up at his perch, taking another moment to deliberate on her plan of attack. “You know, you’ve been here for ages now and I still haven’t gotten a chance to even talk to you.”

“Been busy,” he drawled, shrugging at her.

“Hanging out with Clover, yes, I’m aware,” she grinned brashly, watching as his hair puffed up a little bit like an actual bird’s.

“What’s it to you?” Oh he got huffy. Guess he didn’t like that.

“Nothing much, I just want to talk.” She toned down her volume a little bit. Not everyone was as gung-ho as she was.

“About Clover?” Qrow glared at her, and were his cheeks a little pinker or was Elm imagining things?

“Maybe. But also just in general. I’ve seen reruns of your team’s Vytal Festivals. You were pretty impressive in your Academy days.” So was she, considering she had the winner’s trophy still on her shelf at her place.

Qrow gave her a suspicious look before he sat down on the wall, one leg dangling down as he used his other knee to prop up his elbow. “You’re a tournament fan?”

“I have the boxsets,” she admitted without a trace of shame. “You’re not?”

“I watched the one my nieces were in and that’s it. Except for when it was on in Vale when Ruby and Yang were kids, then it was a big family outing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “What’s your angle?”

“No angle.” That got a scoff. “Clover’s a good man to have watching your back out in the field. A good friend off of it as well.”

“Thought you Ace Ops didn’t do friendship,” he rolled his eyes at her.

“We’re not schoolkids, it’s not like we’re a clique,” she smiled patiently, like she had when team RWBY had said the same. “It’s a job first, and the job comes first, out on the field. Sometimes tough calls have to be made, or sometimes you lose people.” She knew that one firsthand.

“Yeah. Friends don’t usually work for me anyway. It’s best when I work alone.”

“Because you’ve done so much of that recently,” she couldn’t help a grin, and the glare that he shot her was downright malevolent.

“It’s different when his semblance can protect him.” Qrow snarled defensively. There was something under that, though. Something guilty and unspoken, like there was an end to the sentence he hadn’t tacked on.

“It can do that, yes, just as mine prevents me from being knocked down, but is that really all there is? He’s a good guy, and he’s worth making a connection with.” Well, this was something of a shovel talk, so she may as well bring it full circle. In for a penny, out for a pound. “Just… don’t string him along and hurt him. His luck can’t protect him from everything.”

She reached an arm over her shoulder, patting Timber affectionately with a cheerful grin that showed one too many teeth. “And if you do hurt him, as in, maliciously, your ass is dead. No pressure, though.”

Qrow snorted. “You think you can take me on?”

“I think I’m the woman who jumped off Atlas City and walked away whistling.”

Qrow blinked at her, looking almost impressed. “Huh. I have a friend in Patch you’d probably get on well with.”

“Introduce me some time when the CCT goes up,” she chuckled. “Just do what you think is best for you. And if that’s Clover, treat him well, okay?” Because Clover kept tossing Qrow the soppiest looks when he thought no one was looking, and even last night over their weekly dinner at her place he’d talked non-stop for twenty minutes about how ‘utterly gorgeous’ Qrow apparently was.

Which, valid, she didn’t get it, but hey, it made Clover happy. That was what mattered.

Qrow was still making some grumbly squawks of what was probably denial at her, and she shrugged them off with her usual unshakeability. “Anyway, good luck~” She singsonged as she walked off, and the next words thrown at her head was definitely an insult.

--------------

“Robyn, something came up! Qrow and I are going to be late.” Clover’s voice rang tinnily in her ear with the sounds of combat and gunfire in the background, the earpiece hidden by her hair as it squeaked uncomfortably. She held back a wince as she walked down the alleyway, technically searching for survivors but really walking around as the perfect bait for one little scorpion, slightly homicidal.

Damn. Sure, she wanted to beat the everloving shit out of Tyrian on her own, but she knew that it was smartest to have back-up on this fight, as much as it stung her pride.

Looks like she’d just have to manage until Boy Scout and his boyfriend showed up.

She hoped they were dating, at least. She and Clover barely talked anymore, not since she made a Mistake, big capital letters. Even her ego had to concede that particular clusterfuck that had destroyed their friendship had, yes, been her fault.

Still, she recognised what Clover In Love looked like, especially his showing off. She wondered how much of his posturing out in the tundra had been to try look tough in front of her and how much of it was him posturing for that goth twunk.

While he’d not taken her hand, a fair response after everything that had gone down between them and their partnership, she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she’d finished her interrogation with ‘do you have a crush on someone right now’ like some teenage girl at a slumber party.

Her semblance, at least, never lied. Not the part she let herself use.

The rest? That didn’t lie either, but she wasn’t ever going to do that to someone again.

She wondered if the caped Huntsman with the hobo scruff knew how lucky he was. Clover was at heart a genuinely decent person, dumbass goody-two-shoes need to follow the rules aside, and his loyalty to Ironwood had actually turned out to be founded in common sense and actual loyalty instead of blind military obedience.

She wondered where his boyfriend stood on the whole Salem matter. Did he know too?

Well, he fucking did now.

She walked along, forcing herself not to look up at the rooftops of the alley around her. She was believed to be a main target for Tyrian, because of her ties to Mantle and especially the fact that she was alone now.

Tyrian was a predator, apparently. He’d want to skew things in his favour, and he probably thought a little bird all on her lonesome would be such an easy hit.

Robyn’s lips twisted into a vulpine smile, teeth flashing. Careful, Callows, this little birdy had fangs.

She heard boots land on the ground behind her and whipped around, her crossbow up and a bolt nocked and loaded. Tyrian Callows stood behind her, a mechanical stinger weaving almost playfully through the air behind him. He spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, brows furrowed with anger despite his smile.

“Robyn Hill!” He announced, crazed yellow eyes focused on her own. “You have such an impact on this city, it’s not what I would have expected from such a sweet-faced vixen like yourself.”

She loosed the bolt at his head, baring her teeth in a threat as he dodged it, an amused cast to his features. He was fast. Damnit. “If I’m so sweet then why do you want to kill me?”

Tyrian cackled at that. “I can’t have you bringing your hope and wonder everywhere you go, that just wouldn’t do!” He caught the next crossbow bolt between his fingers, faking a hurt look. “I find it… disappointing.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint.” She shifted her weight, ready to move the second he came at her. She missed her longbow. She would have liked to use it to beat him to death. Maybe Clover could steal it back from the military for her, if he wasn’t busy mooning over that scruffy weirdo.

Tyrian snapped the crossbow bolt in his hand. “Oh I know, my dear vixen. Are you waiting for your dearest friends to arrive?”

Robyn shifted uncomfortably at the possessive undertone to his nickname for her, her crossbow ready. Catch this one, bitch, go on. “So you figured it out.” That apparently wasn’t the only thing he figured out either. Fuck.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” He laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Why, Robyn dearest, I’m hurt! No, the pretty bird and his kingfisher got held up by the General’s own bots. The good Doctor made sure of it.”

That explained the gunshots. “Guess I’ll just have to beat you myself then, Callows.”

His chuckles faded into a wicked smirk, his eyes glowing purple for a moment as his blades extended on his wrists, shaped like a scorpion’s pincers.  “You missed my blades at your rally, but worry not. You will never escape me now, my dear.”

He charged at her, laughing as he blocked every bolt she shot. He slashed at her and she jumped, her boot landing on his head as she used him as a stepping stone before she landed in a combat roll.

Her next crossbow bolt was knocked aside by his tail as he turned to face her, smile plastered on his face. She set her jaw in determination, lavender eyes hard as steel. Clover and his boyfriend better hurry the fuck up.

-------------

Clover tied up a bunch of Atlas bots, leaving them stuck for Harbinger to slash through them like butter. He looked around for any others and let out a breath he’d been holding when he saw no more.

“Qrow, come on, we have to go.” Robyn was fighting Tyrian alone and like hell was he going to let her do that alone. She was good, but from what Qrow said, Callows was better.

Qrow pulled his scythe from a bot and nodded, following him along. “You think they figured out she was bait?”

“I’ll bet.” He flung Kingfisher at a rooftop and reeled himself up, aiming to use them to get the drop on Tyrian. “That’s likely where the robots came from.”

He missed Qrow’s mutter of ‘just like Beacon’ as he aimed for where Robyn was meant to be, trusting that Qrow would be hot on his heels. They worked well together. Trust was a logical conclusion.

That was what he told himself but according to Elm he was not subtle nor did he have any intent to be. He liked Qrow, quite a lot, and he was fine with that.

Also he was going to take that moment where Qrow made a luck joke to him earlier this evening and run with it because that was a potentially very good sign.

A good sign that he could think about later, as he heard the sounds of a fight up ahead, filtering up the top of an alley into the Mantle air, and sped up.

He skidded to a stop at the rooftop in time to watch Robyn land a vicious hook into Tyrian’s face, knocking him back just enough for her to wind up for a kick to his crotch. Tyrian’s tail hooked around her foot, before his hand glowed with a strange purple light.

Clover tossed Kingfisher’s reel down to snag on his wrist, yanking his hand out of the way as Robyn rallied and tossed a punch into his throat. Faster then even Clover could react, his other hand skated across her arm with that same purple energy, her lavender aura shattering to pieces as the stinger wrapped around her leg constricted.

He heard the sound of cracking bone all the way from the top of the building, saw the tip of the stinger extend, and yanked with all the force he could manage to get the bastard away from his old partner.

He saw a blur of red and brown-grey drop past him before Qrow’s heel hit hard against the side of Tyrian’s head, Tyrian’s tail flicking to toss Robyn against the wall before he turned all his attention to the new player in the arena.

Clover jumped down, taking one glance at Qrow to judge the situation. Qrow’s gorgeous red eyes locked on his as the other Huntsman gave him a smirk, before turning his attention to Tyrian with a dangerous growl. “Miss me, Callows?”

Clover tuned out Tyrian’s gleeful response as he ran over to Robyn and crouched, looking her over for damages. The impact against the brick wall at the end there had caused her hair to fall loose from her usual ponytail, much more like the flyaway mess he recognised from Academy days. “Robyn, status report.”

“You’re late,” she grinned toothily at him, sitting up. Her long coat was missing, likely shredded in the fight if the tattered fabric on the ground was any indicator. Her left leg moved with the motion and she winced a bit, looking at the damage. “I’m fine, go help your boyfriend.”

He decided not to even bother telling her Qrow wasn’t his boyfriend as right now they were on a timer. “I have a small field kit, let me see your ankle first and if he stung you, then I’ll go beat his face in.”

“Fighting for my honour now, Biceps?” She chuckled, blowing her hair out of her eyes.

“Who says it’s for you?” He paused when he noticed a skinny red tail, tipped with white, poking out of a cut in her trousers, thin and limp and raggedy looking. “You shaved it?”

She shrugged at him, looking a little wistful about it. “Faunus don’t run for politics, Clover. Half of Mantle still hates them. If I want to make real change, it had to be done.”

“I know, Robert.” He nodded and focused on getting the supplies, rolling up her pant leg and whistling at the damage. The skin was already darkening with a ring of bruises, her shin noticeably caved in. The puncture wound was just under her knee, sluggishly leaking a mixture of violet and red.

He heard her swear when she saw it herself and then she spat out a filthy curse when he gave it a small prod. “It’s fucking broken, don’t touch it, dumbass!”

“Do you want to do your own field dressings? Because I’ll let you,” he snarked at her, tossing a glance over to where Qrow was using Harbinger as a reversed blade, curved around his forearm, almost like he was holding a tonfa, and used it to block Tyrian’s blades.

“Just hurry up and splint it and shit.” Robyn gritted her teeth. “Distract me by telling me how long you’ve been dating five o’clock shadow.”

“We aren’t dating.” Yet, he added to himself.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Clover, what the fuck.��

“I’m working on asking him out.” He splinted her leg and she let out a sharp bark, the sound catching Tyrian’s attention. He charged at them before Qrow’s hand landed on his stinger tail, right under his telson, and yanked him back into their fight.

“Do it now, right now, after you beat that sicko, or else I’m telling him about the Haddock Incident.”

“Don’t you dare, Robert,” he dressed her sting and sat her against the wall. “Call a medic and a prison transport, we’re taking him in.”

Robyn grinned and raised her crossbow. “I got one arrow left, just for him. We’ll see him smile after that.”

“I’ll make sure you get the shot,” he knocked his knuckles against hers, careful not to touch the bare skin of her index finger. Some wounds went deep.

He pulled Kingfisher from his belt and cast the line forward, catching it on Tyrian’s tail as he yanked him back long enough for Qrow to land an uppercut and a shotgun blast right to his midsection.

Tyrian glared darkly at him, face twisted in a snarl as his eyes glowed like stars in the dark. Clover only had eyes for the genuine smile Qrow shot him, tinged with adrenaline and full of trust. He met that gaze with confidence, resolution setting in the furrow of his brow. Time to end this.

“Tyrian Callows, you’re under arrest.”

--------

I’m partial to Fox Faunus! Robyn, yes.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 5 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Gene tries to reason out some deep-seated denial, and Peter defends Paul.

           Normally, Paul could spend hours in clothing stores. Tight jeans, platform boots, designer blouses and ascots. Feathery jackets and animal print coats. He’d dressed as wildly as possible from the time he was twelve or thirteen on, saving up every dime to buy new clothes, always hoping they’d be the ticket to feeling—oh, like they did. Like other people must. Confident and swaggering. Gene had been like that from the very start, even though, when he’d met Gene, Gene had been easily forty pounds overweight and was wearing overalls that only emphasized his gut.

           That had been a pretty rude awakening for Paul. He’d realized it wasn’t in looking the part. Confidence was something inherent. Offstage, he couldn’t ever seem to purchase more than small slivers of it. And he didn’t think he could purchase it now (well, on Gene’s dime), in a mid-tier boutique, self-consciously shoving his way through racks of bras. Gene hadn’t told him to pick one up, but he hadn’t had to, either. He’d known he needed one from the start; it kind of hurt to run up stairs without any support, and the nightclub would be fucking awful without a bra, but he’d just kept putting it off. As if this female body would go away if he refused to acknowledge it, like a groupie left to linger in the Coop until morning.

           Speaking of groupies, he was still wondering about the one who’d cursed him. He could sort of remember her face as Suzie had described her, but it was puzzling. The S&M bit had been relatively light, no whips or toys, and she hadn’t come across like a nut. She’d said he’d had her before. That didn’t mean much, either. Especially in certain areas, he’d end up with some of the same groupies again. Sweet Connie, for one—the only girl Paul knew for a fact had fucked every single member of the band, and half its roadies—and there were plenty others. It was almost a wrestling circuit; the girls all knew each other, even if he didn’t know them.

           But what could he really have done to make that girl that mad? He couldn’t remember promising a chick much of anything in several years. Sometimes he’d get a bit sloppy with it, toss the girl some cab fare as he asked her to leave (she’d think he meant it as a tip, and throw it back at him), but he didn’t get off on humiliating them like some guys did. They came with the room, that was all. Stress relief. God knew he’d heard of plenty of rockstars and movie stars who’d Quaalude the hell out of whatever girl (or guy) they wanted. But he’d never done something like that. Fuck, his chicks were actually sober.

It really didn’t add up. Gene was triple the cad than he was, and he still had his dick. Peter and Ace cheated constantly on their wives, but Lydia and Jeanette hadn’t joined forces and sent a sex-changing demon after them. Whatever. He exhaled, taking four bras of slightly different sizes back to the dressing room and trying on each in turn, wishing he’d let the shopgirl help. The clasps were annoying enough that he ended up having to fasten the bras in the front, squashing his chest in the process, then turn the whole thing around just to put it on. The third bra out of the stack seemed to fit the best, a cream-colored underwire one that wasn’t too padded or too heavy on the lace and flowers. It looked okay reflected in the dressing room mirror, if a little stupid, paired with the boxers he was still stubbornly clinging to.

           After another ten minutes or so, he’d also picked out a few pairs of underwear and a pair of fishnet stockings. Another half an hour and he had a fake leather jacket, graphic tee, cut-off jean shorts, and a pair of boots. He didn’t really dig the ensemble in the mirror. More that he didn’t dig the unhappy girl in the mirror any more than he dug the unhappy guy he usually saw there. But maybe he’d look punk enough for CBGB. Would he need more clothes than that, though? On the chance that she didn’t show, or, worse, didn’t reverse the curse? Paul’s stomach churned at the thought. He got another dress, two blouses, heels, and a pair of jeans, deciding he’d write Gene a check for everything once this was all over.

           By the time he headed to check out, Gene was already waiting for him with his own bag of already-paid-for clothes. Paul tried to get a peek—he didn’t think Gene could go believably punk without intense help—but Gene held his two bags closed, pulling out a credit card to cover Paul’s purchases.

           “Hey, that’s not fair. I could use the laugh, show me what you bought.” Aggravating enough to have Gene watch the clerk ring up the bra and underwear.

           “Later.” Gene looked positively amused. Paul grabbed his own bags of clothes as soon as they were paid for, oblivious to the raised eyebrow the clerk threw Gene’s way for not carrying the bags for him.

           “If you won’t show me, don’t expect me to drive you anywhere for lunch.”

        ��  The clerk perked up.

“Your girl’s driving? She’s got you by the balls.”

           “You have no idea,” Gene said.

--

           They ended up going through the McDonald’s drive-thru for lunch without Gene having to divulge any of his purchases. Paul had dug up enough change from the middle console to pay for it, and he was chatting up a storm about CBGB’s semi-resident bands—Blondie, apparently, was a pretty good act—between handfuls of French fries.

           “It doesn’t hold a ton of people, either, so if the groupie’s there, we’ll know pretty quickly. It’s not wall-to-wall like at Studio 54.” Paul shook his head. “Have you gone over there yet, Gene?”

           “Not yet.” He’d meant to. The disco had just opened when they’d gotten off tour. The big stars had already marked it as their territory, people like Mick and Bianca Jagger, Diana Ross, and Liza Minnelli. The prospect of being in their league was its own intoxicant. “Have you?”

           “Yeah, once. Y’know, I saw Andy Warhol there. He said he wanted to paint me.” Even through the food, Paul sounded pleased. “I kinda blew him off, I think he was just trying to come on to me, but hell, it might be fun.”

           “Getting with Warhol?”

           “Getting painted by Warhol. Jesus, Gene.” He paused. “He’s not my type.”

          “You’re not his type, right now.”

          Paul looked a little stung, but didn’t retort for a second or two.

          “What do you care, anyway?”

           Gene stuffed about a third of the burger in his mouth and shrugged.

          “I don’t.”

          “Remember when he did the Marilyn Monroe screen prints? Everyone in my class was trying to make their own versions, and our teacher…”

          Paul kept trailing off about his art magnet high school. Gene was only half-paying attention. Something strange and almost possessive had curdled in the back of his throat. He took a swig of his cup of Coke, but the feeling persisted. Maybe it was the dissonance. Girls worth talking to didn’t dismiss fucking so casually. Paul wasn’t really a girl, sure—well, he was, but—

          “You’re not listening.”

          “I don’t know anything about art, Paul.”

          “You do. You draw. You used to show me your comics. Everybody knows something about art. Everybody knows what they like about it.” Paul exhaled. “Look, you’ve gotta be getting tired of my place. I’ll take you home, meet you at the club tonight?”

          “You really want to do that?”

          “Yeah, of course I wanna go to the club. I’m not losing my whole life because of one groupie.”

          “You’d be okay getting there by yourself?”

          “I—yeah, I’d be okay.”

          “Just take us back to your place.”

          “I’d be fine, really—”

          “No, take us both back.”

          “What, you think I can’t drive over there by myself?”

          “Maybe I like your company, Paul.”

          Paul reached for his soda cup. The edge of his mouth was starting to twitch up.

          “Yeah? Maybe I like yours.”

--

           By the time Paul pulled into the driveway, Gene was feeling a little sluggish. Two Big Macs, French fries, Coke, and most of Paul’s Sprite sat heavy on his stomach. He figured he’d take a nap on Paul’s couch or in his guest bedroom. Maybe play some records after, if that didn’t tear at Paul too much. Maybe get a quick dinner at a restaurant before heading to that nightclub—he almost thought he could talk Paul into it now.

           Paul seemed to have about the same idea. He kicked off the tissue-stuffed heels and headed to his bedroom, leaving the door open. Gene watched him hang up all his purchases before doubling back to the door.

           “I’m gonna sleep for a bit,” Paul called out. “You can turn the T.V. on if you wanna, I don’t care.”

           Gene nodded, and Paul shut the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He shucked off his own shoes and stretched out on the orange velour couch in the living room, feeling weirdly nostalgic. The last time he’d really been at Paul’s place for more than an afternoon, Paul’s place had been his parents’ place. They’d be at the kitchen table, talking about records, bumming their way through Beatles songs on their acoustic guitars, while Paul’s baby niece squalled in the background. He’d never admit it, but he envied the noise in that apartment. The coiled-up tension Paul assured him lay just beneath the surface was something he never saw.

           Paul had rarely gotten past the door of Gene’s house when his mother was around. His mother thought Paul was the Lampwick to his Pinocchio, eagerly leading Gene into a world of sin he’d already partaken in and a world of drugs he’d never touched. Paul’s ego had been sufficiently bruised by the assumption that he never tried to convince her otherwise. But Gene was sort of wondering now. If Paul had been a chick instead of a guy when they met, some mousey, bitchy friend-of-a-friend that played a little guitar and wanted to start a band, would his mother have liked him any better? Would Paul being a Jewish girl, if nothing else, have been enough to save him, her, whatever? Probably not.

           Would he have gone after Paul then?

           Probably.

           Anyway, it didn’t matter. He didn’t plan on going after Paul now. They’d get this reversed soon enough, and once the tour started back again, he’d be up to his neck in Playboy Playmates and groupies, all way easier on the eyes and the wallet and the brain than a girl with a gap tooth and a terminal case of nerves. Yeah. Yeah.

           He watched the cuckoo clock on the wall for a while, the one that Paul had gotten during their last Europe tour, waiting for the bird to pop out from the little hatch. But it, like everything else, seemed to be taking its time. Gene sighed, getting up from the couch and heading for the T.V.—what was on this time of day, anyway? Gunsmoke reruns? The only thing that stopped him from finding out was a knock on the door.

           He opened it without thinking, figuring it was the mailman delivering another of Paul’s occult books. Instead, he was met with Peter, wearing his version of casual—jeans, a vest, a pinstripe shirt, and a handful of necklaces—and a bewildered look.

           “You’re still over here?”

           “How’d you know I was over here?”

           “Ace told me. Where’s Paul?”

           Shit.

           “He’s not in right now.”

           Peter looked him up and down suspiciously.

           “Then are you gonna let me in?”

           Despite himself, Gene’s glance went to the bedroom door almost on automatic. If he could get rid of Peter fast enough, Paul wouldn’t wake up.

           “C’mon,” he said finally. Peter stalked in without hesitation. Gene had half-expected him to take a seat, but he didn’t, looming in the living room like he was certain he was being let out of the loop, without being told.

           “Look, maybe Ace can write off all sorts of shit, but I can’t.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “He won’t see anybody, he won’t talk to anybody. He gets into fucking voodoo. He has you call up Ace for his psychic. Says you’ll make sure Paul calls me back and he doesn’t. But everything’s cool, everything’s great—”

           “Pete—”

           “Something’s the matter. Paul ain’t that kind of a nut! Now, either he lost his mind or you’re pulling one on him, but either way, something’s screwed-up here. I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”

           “You’ll be waiting awhile.”

           “I’ve got time.”

           “Pete, really, he’s gonna be out until pretty late, don’t you think—”

           “No, I don’t. I’m staying. You want me out, call the fucking cops. Get a real nice headline going—"

           The bedroom door creaked open. Peter turned around immediately, Gene following suit. Paul was standing in the doorway, still in that floral dress from earlier that afternoon. Gene bit his lip.

           “It’s you again!” Paul seemed to cave in on himself with every word out of Peter’s mouth, stepping back. “You—I see how this is!”

           “Peter,” Gene started again, “Peter, listen, it isn’t—”

           “You fucking asshole!” Peter grabbed Gene’s arms, oblivious to or maybe just not caring about the weight and height Gene had on him. “How the fuck could you do that to him?!”

           “You’ve got it wrong, I’m not—listen, Pete, I—”

           “You’re fucking his girlfriend! Your best friend! Paulie’s fucking losing it and what do you do, you move in on his girl! Move in on his house! You motherfucking pig!” Pete advanced, or tried to. Gene twisted away his grip, grasping his wrists. Pete yanked himself free easily, stalking forward, forcing Gene back, closer and closer to the wall.

           “Pete, calm down.”

           “I won’t! This ain’t stupid band shit, Gene! This ain’t fucking solos! You got no right to do this!”

           “Stop it.” It was Paul. Gene stared, stunned, as Paul stepped out of the doorway and into the living room, face pale. Peter was watching, too, looking disgusted. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

           “He wouldn’t?” Peter started to laugh. “Baby, he’s done it to every chick that got within three feet of him.”

           “Pete, please.” Paul was biting his lip, breaths hard. “Pete, I’ve gotta tell you, listen—”

           “Don’t,” Gene cut in, but Paul didn’t listen. God only knew why. Gene could tell Paul was scared as hell, even as he stepped between them, taking Peter’s arms. Even Peter had about an inch on him now. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull back. “Don’t do it, you don’t need to.”

           “I’ve got to. Peter, I—” He let go of one of Peter’s arms, pulling down the right shoulder of his dress to expose his tattoo. “I’m... damn it, Peter, you know who I am.”

           Peter’s face contorted.

           “What the hell are you doing? What’s that supposed to prove?”

           “You and me, w-we went on vacation together last year. To Hawaii.”

           “Bullshit, I went with Lydia! I’ve never gone anywhere with you in my life!”

           Paul was staring at Peter like he’d just been slapped, but he kept his grip on Peter’s arm like a lifeline. Gene didn’t know how to help him. Part of him wanted to just go straight between the two of them and scream at Peter to get out of there, never mind the fallout on both sides after. But he didn’t. Instead he just watched as Peter tossed away Paul’s hold like it was nothing at all, shoving him back, hard enough Paul stumbled backwards, hitting his leg on the coffee table. Peter turned to Gene.

           “You think you can do anybody any fucking way, don’t you? Fuck Paul, right? Fuck him and his crazy broad. That’s the way you are. Loyalty don’t even matter to you.”

           “Peter—”

           “Forget it. I’m out of here.”  Peter stalked to the door, shouting as he yanked it open. “Don’t think I won’t tell him what you’ve done! I don’t give a shit if it splits us up!”

[plaguedparadox]

Whispers in the Dark - Chapter Eight

Colourful Friends

The morning sun blasted straight into my eyes with a sniper’s precision, waking me up from the sleep that I found myself entering shortly after coming home from one of Wilford’s interviews. The most recent one was about some sort of club and the weird occurrences that happened, the interviewee was the president of the club who was rather dismissive of anything odd happening but as Wilford’s interviews typically go, it went to hell and the reporter and I ended up in a weird space-like void to which the man had to teleport us out of.

It had been about a week since the incident at the manor and I couldn’t bring myself to tell the man that the broken soul of his beloved was following me around, quietly telling me stories of the three boys when they were children. It would be so much easier if I could just find what took her body and then help her get it back.

Are you okay? She asks softly as always as I lay on my bed, glaring at the window that dared to let sunlight break through it. “I’m fine...!” I mutter out as I turn away from the sun, shielding my eyes as I do so. Celine was colder than Damien for the most part but still had a very caring side, she just needed to be around the right people. A groan left my lips as I pull myself off of the sofa that I had collapsed on the previous night. My nights were rather dreamless, a gift from Celine so we wouldn’t have to deal with Dark.

Anti, or rather Ace as I had to call his feline form once Wilford saw him after attempting to collect me from the flat several days ago, was laying on the window sill enjoying the warmth the sun had to offer like an actual cat.

The Septic egos still kept dropping by even after Anti’s multiple attempts to get them to stop showing up. Their antics always made me laugh so I didn’t mind their visits. Heck, even the Iplier egos started to randomly show up from time to time, it was mostly just Wilford though as he wanted to be a bigger part of my life. It’s because you were a big part of Damien’s life. Celine had explained when I began to question it.

‘Ace’ let out a small groan like sound before making his way over to me, jumping up onto my shoulders just as he always did. A small purr sounded out as he nuzzled me in a lazy attempt of saying hello, turns out for a glitch, he was actually extremely lazy when he had the chance not that it was really a problem, it just made things easier on me.

“Hey, bud.” I greet the feline as I made my way over to the kitchen only to freeze as a suited man made his way around my kitchen, humming happily to himself as he did so. “Bim?” I call out to cause the show host to freeze in his spot. “Okay… Well, I’m guessing today is going to be even more energetic than yesterday…” I mutter to myself as I watch the man go back to frying what seemed to be burgers on my old grill. I don’t even want to know who he got that meat from. I thought to myself as I made a 180 and left the kitchen. I noticed a small cloud of pink smoke and rushed towards it, knowing it was my way to get to the HQ.

“Hello there, old chap!” My favourite moustached man called out as he pulled me into a crushing hug, nuzzling his face against the top of my head as he did so.

I let out a giggle, wiggling my legs around as he pulled me up into the air. “Hey, Wil! How are ya?!” I chirp out, enjoying the hug as I always did. Wilford always seemed to have the best hugs, mainly because they were so warm and you could always tell that he was being heartfelt. Wilford went on to tell me that he was doing good but Dark had begun to get angrier quicker if that was even possible. That might be my fault. He’s been trying really hard to drag you into the Void… Celine muttered as she thought over Wilford’s words. She was still struggling to believe that Wilford was her darling William but she wasn’t letting it get to her.

Wilford dragged me off to his office, making sure to avoid the other egos as he didn’t want to be slowed down. Something he typically did but he didn’t seem his typical hyper self, usually that meant he was back to acting like the Colonel but Celine would’ve let me know of William’s mannerisms before Wilford even noticeably changed like she had done before. I wonder if everything’s okay… I thought, curious as to what could be wrong with my dear friend. “Everything alright, Will?” The DA asks for me, it was like having another subconscious rather than just having a ghost talk to you - something I was used to now thanks to Celine.

Wilford gave me a swift nod as he made me sit down on the sofa, he seemed to ignore my questioning gaze as he sat down at his desk and glared at the paperwork that Dark had placed on it for him to do. The DA… Celine started, she had been examining the bond between the DA and I since she joined the party. Apparently from the Seer’s point of view the DA had been with me since before I stepped into the manor but despite the two being in similar positions the Seer couldn’t speak to her which ended up causing a lot of frustrated rambles when I was stuck in a situation where I couldn’t respond to something she had said.

It’s weird, to me at least, being a soul myself. That there’s only one soul present in your body. She mused as she always seemed to once she got thinking. Maybe… Just maybe… There’s a chance you really ARE her. I haven’t sensed her in a long time before your visit, after all. The Seer stated coldly as she thought, it kept reminding me of Blue Google’s way of speaking considering the android had a habit of multiplying whenever he was forced to multitask and only went back to his singular form once he was done. Oliver, the yellow topped Google, was the one that seemed to care for others but there was a chance that he was better at mimicking human emotions than the other droids. Maybe your magician friend could help in communicating with her? Celine asked.

Marvin? Maybe he could but Anti would try to avoid us being alone with him like he does with every other ego that isn’t him or Wilford. I reply, rather glad that Celine could read my thoughts in situations like this. I lay down on the sofa, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly as the sound of a pen scratching on paper filled the room - The Colonel was doing his paperwork. Let’s go speak to him once we get the chance. Celine’s voice echoed out in my head, making it ache slightly as it always did. I got used to the headaches shortly after she started to talk more regularly, however.

I hum quietly in agreement with the Seer’s plan before looking over to the Colonel. He always looked so serious but not dangerously so, which was a good thing - for everyone. “Old chap…” William spoke out softly, looking up and regarding me gently. “Did he ever tell you? Damien, I mean. He always spoke highly of you.” A small smile etched it’s way to the corner of his lips as he thought back to his old friend. “He adored being around you and well… It wouldn’t really be fair of me to expose any feelings when the main man isn’t here to admit them. It could be considered slander if it weren’t true!” He exclaimed, chuckling gently as he did.

“I’m not sure about what I could have done to make him speak so highly of me, Colonel. We were friends and I always made sure to act accordingly…” The DA spoke out, recalling how she kept her feelings from showing for the sake of her friendship with the man. “Just like I’m doing with you. Acting accordingly to what our relationship is.” She sounded rather melancholy, most likely at remembering the past.

It’s a shame Dames and I lost touch for a while… I’m sure I’d of heard plenty of stories… Oh well, the past is the past and unfortunately, the DA has no place in this world. Not when you exist. Celine’s words were ominous and sent a chill down my spine. “Bully…! You really were never told…? D-do you remember the poker night? The day we met?” The Colonel stuttered out, Celine’s previous stories coming to mind as I figured that he was shocked at the lack of remembrance, being someone who could remember quite a bit when from when he was intoxicated.

The DA narrowed my eyebrows in frustration and confusion as scenes of that night flashed through my mind. Bits and pieces were cut and some of the events seemed jumbled but nothing indicated a reason to remember the night except for the day after. “Unfortunately, it’s all a bit of a blur. I do remember Dames doing his infamous party trick, and flipping the bird at poor old Ben the butler rather clearly though. I could only do so much in my muted period.” She, or rather I stated. It was all a bit confusing, I was a version of her after all. “What were you hoping for me to remember, old friend?” I ask, my voice keeping the same vintage formal tone that the DA had whenever she used to speak, and tried her best to replicate now. It was a bit more difficult with the accents as I spent a good amount of time in England while she spent most of her adult life in America.

“O-oh… just something that happened pretty early on into the night. You and Damien sure got sloshed quickly didn’t you?” William laughed out, glancing off to the side as he remembered the events clearly. A small smile on his face indicated that what he was remembering was a rather happy moment for him. “With all those stories… I never figured he’d choose that night…” Will muttered to himself, not really caring if I heard the sounds of it. His attention soon drew back over to his paperwork, his face falling into a scowl. “Oh damn it all!” He cussed, flinging the paperwork to the side before standing up in a rush. His arms crossed and pouted, the air the Colonel naturally held dissipated, signifying one thing. “I left my jacket at yours, I just remembered!” Wilford was back.

A chuckle left my lips as I sat up. “Is that so?” I questioned, the DA going mute again. I watched as Wilford nodded his head rapidly, another chuckle bubbled its way up my throat. “Well then, let’s go get it!” I cheered out, the energy of the reported was practically infectious as I felt myself become more energetic.

In a puff of light pink smoke, Wil and I were back in my flat.

Ace was busy glaring at a certain orange glasses wearing android who in turn was busy trying bat away the burgers away from the man who made them. The game show host kept the android at bay by using his foot to keep him at a distance as he tried to satiate his hunger.

“Um…” I was rather confused about the situation but by this point, I had learnt not to question the men that now were in most parts of my life. “Bing, what’s going on?” My question alerted the two other egos to mine and Wil’s presence, the two breaking away in shock. Bim took the opportunity to scoff the burger down while Bing was distracted by trying to explain the situation. Apparently, the game show host recently aired another one of his shows and they always seemed to go the same way, which explained why he was grilling burgers earlier. I cringed slightly at the thought as I told Bim that he could keep my grill, I was very grateful that it was a portable grill that I owned.

“So, bruh, Dark’s still got a large stick up his ass or what?” Bing asked, his question directed towards Wilford. Wil just gave a small nod before walking around, trying to find his striped jacket. “Looks like I’m staying here then, the ass nearly ripped my arm off the last time I spoke to him, good think Googs repaired the damage that he did do…” Bing said out loud, looking around as he did as if he was trying to memorise surroundings.  

Bim sighed and shook his head as he watched the two more colourful egos do whatever they wanted in my flat. “The doctor and I have a theory that he’s acting out because the girl he likes isn’t paying him enough attention. We have the Jims looking into it.” The talk of the other reporter egos brought memories of two people sneaking around outside my flat, it was odd but Anti didn’t seem to be bothered by it so I didn’t check it out.

A huff left my lips once I put the pieces together. “So that’s why I’ve felt like I’m being followed recently, the Jims are investigating me!” I cry out in frustration, startling the suited ego next to me. Bim threw me a nervous smile, scratching his cheek gently as he did so, a small mutter of ‘surprise’ left his lips before his gaze fell onto the window that overlooked the street I lived on. My eyes followed his and soon landed on the twins that were peeking through the window, probably using the small balcony to keep themselves up. “Get your arses in here!” I hissed out, my patience with the troublesome egos had started to run thin even if I did adore them.

In a scramble, the Jims made their way into the flat via the now opened window. Bim and Bing had walked off to try and held the senior reporter find his jacket.

I proceeded to scold the Jims, making sure that they got the point that I didn’t enjoy being followed and that even if Dark was upset that the girl he liked was ignoring him, that girl wasn’t me as he most likely hated me for siding with Mark. They finally got the point and soon the twins and I found ourselves playing Mario Kart as we waited for the other three egos to find that jacket. What on earth could be taking them so long? I thought, hoping Celine would have an answer but all she did was mutter that she was wondering the same thing.

A few moments went by before my front door swung open, hitting the wall loudly. “Lass, guess who came to visit?!” A loud Irish voice shouted out. Sean! I thought rather panicked as I looked between the twins busy playing the video game and the Irishman. “What the fuck…?” He muttered out as he himself looked at the reporters. He rubbed his eyes quickly, most likely not believing what he saw.

“Surprise?” I question as I walk over to my friend. “It’s a bit difficult to explain but… Um…” I motion Ace to come over to our position, I give him a small nod and suddenly a familiar green fog wraps around us. When the fog dissipated the three of us stood in an unfamiliar park, Anti in his human form leaned against me, waving at Sean with a cocky smile on his face.

Sean didn’t have much to say as he slowly fell backwards, fainting at the sight of something he believed only to be a character. “Timber!” Anti jokingly called out as the YouTuber collapsed to the ground. The imp glitched over to the man he shared a face with, waving his hand around to see if Sean was joking. “Well, he’s out for the count!” A glitched out laugh sounded as the imp doubled over, holding his stomach.

A sigh left my lips as I placed myself next to the unconscious man, pulling his head onto my lap. “Anti, why are you so protective of me?” I asked softly, my hand gently running through Sean’s hair as I did.

The imp backed away in thought, it was possible that he hadn’t really thought of the reason and instead just acted on impulse. Anti gave a small shrug as he turned to look away from me. “I’m not sure… You’ve just been really nice to me, for no reason as well. I guess that I didn’t want to lose that.” He answered, a slight edge to his tone.

Liar, he knows exactly why. Celine hissed out slightly, her usual cool tone completely gone. I’ve sensed his presence at the manor before when the DA- The Seer cut herself off. Suddenly my body began engulfed in a warmth, similar to the hugging sensation from the manor. It is you… Celine muttered out, her voice far quieter than I was used to. It was rather upsetting to hear her, it sounded like she was about to cry. Don’t cry Cel… I thought as I wished I could hug the poor woman back.

It took a few hours to get Sean back to the flat as Anti left shortly after I asked him why he was protective and Celine had become silent after her hug so the hours it took to carry the Irishman back was a rather lonely experience.

My favourite bean was resting on the sofa as Wilford helped me clean up the mess that the Jims had made trying to help Wil find his jacket. Turns out he had hung it up in my wardrobe for safe keeping but no one even considered it to be in there until Dark showed up. Said demonic being was in my armchair reading a newspaper, looking rather smug to even be in my flat.

My gaze shifted from the demon to my pastel friend to see him giving me an apologetic smile. He had let Dark in so he could help find the striped article of clothing, something he couldn’t stop apologising for as he knew Dark would use his new permission for drop in at any time.

A groan alerted everyone to the fact that Sean was beginning to wake up. I share a look with Wilford before our gazes feel onto an unamused Dark. “We’re not leaving simply because your friend has woken up, he’s already seen Anti and the Jims, what’s the harm in seeing Will and me?” He explained as he stood up and walked over to the man lying on the sofa. He leaned over slightly, his arms firmly behind his back as he examined the man in front of him. “I just don’t see why you’d choose to make friends with someone like this, dear.”

‘Dear’. The word made me practically cringe coming from Dark’s mouth, the false warm tone disgusted me as it sounded so much like Damien. You won’t win me over with sweet words and pet names. I thought to myself, glaring at the suited man as I made my way over. “Who I make friends with is none of your business, Darky.” I purr, a sickly sweet smile on my face as I did so. If he didn’t have the siblings' souls attached to him, I’d punch him. I run my hands through Sean’s hair again as he began to awake properly. “Hey Bean, how are you feeling?” I ask softly.

“Ugh… like my head hit a rock…” The Irishman groaned out, holding his head gently. “What happened?” He asked, his eyes remaining closed as he sat up.

A small sigh left my lips, he didn’t actually hit a rock when he fainted the ground was just hard but exaggeration was a common thing for people to do. “What do you remember?” I question, my voice still soft as I continue running my hands through his hair as a comforting gesture.

Sean’s lips pursed as racked his head. “Honestly? Just this really weird dream. I decided to visit you, which was obviously true. But um, I saw two Mark’s playing Mario Kart and then your cat teleported us to a random ass park where Anti showed up! It was freaking weird!” He exclaimed, looking up at me but soon his face paled as he noticed the grey man that stood behind me. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” He asked, quickly looked away after he noticed me shaking my head. A gulp left his throat as he noticed the moustached man staring at him.

My gaze fell onto Wilford, noticing the man wave happily at the Irishman not bothered by the fact that he was being seen by someone who shouldn’t know of his existence.

A few moments went by as I watched Wilford interact with Sean, Dark and I only stepping in a few times when the reporter tried to interview my friend considering we knew how that it could turn out.

He’s so cute! I just want to hug him!

A warm smile made its way to my face as I walked over to the pastel man, pulling him into a hug. “Wilford, has anyone told you that you’re adorable?” I asked innocently, nuzzling my face into his chest. A small but happy squeak left throat as he proceeded to bear hug me and spin me around. Laughter would have left both our lips if the sound of static didn’t take over the room. Well someone’s being pissy.

Dark cracked a strained smile over at the pair of us before teleporting me into his arms. “Her and I need to talk. Alone.” He stated coldly as a thick blanket of black smoke wrapped around us. It seemed to emit an icy chill which stroked my cheeks. The sensation was terrifyingly familiar. Damien? My thoughts asked as if they were trying to reach him like they used to in the void.

The chill became stronger for a moment before disappearing completely once Dark laid a hand on my shoulder.

An involuntary shiver ran up my spine as I shook from the now missing cold, the mild chill from Dark’s hand radiated through my hoodie. A sigh left his darkened lips as he stood in front of me. “The past can never seem to leave us alone, my dear.” He muttered, gazing at me gently. It was a look that made my heart pound in my chest as it brought forward memories that I swore were not my own.

My lips pursed in annoyance as that damned pet name was spoken once again. “You said you wanted to talk…” I started, my gaze rather defiant in nature as I looked up at the demon. He did something to Dames, I just know it! My thoughts hissed out as I recalled the chilling hug from moments ago, the idea of Damien being hurt made my blood boil and my temper rise.

“So let’s talk.”

[philtaton]

Apple Tree

Summary: Laurent hates his neighbor. He really does. He calls him the "Crazy Greek". Read on [AO3] This is the most belated of all belated Secret Santa gifts of all times. I'm so sorry, but I was dumb enough to forget my computer when I was driving home for the holidays. But here it is and I hope you like it!  This is a modern!AU with our royal sons as neighbors who don’t quite like each other. For all other tags and/or warnings see the AO3 post. 

For @ambrotterswriting​ as part of the @captiveprince--ss​

The first time it happens it's because it is the hottest day of the past 50 years and Laurent doesn't know what to do with himself. He lies spread out on the marble floor of his kitchen, the windows and blinds closed, and he prays to the AC gods that they come back to him after being dead for three weeks and save him from his misery. You'd think that owning a penthouse apartment in Manhattan would make sure you'd never have to live through moments like this.

 When he feels like he's going to turn into a zombie any moment now – an overheated fever zombie – he drags his body out of his apartment and over to the guy he just refers to as the Crazy Greek. To say he has a feud with Damianos Basileus would be an understatement. It's been war for years. Whenever Laurent has people over, Damen makes sure to shut the party down precisely at 11pm and Laurent returns the favor by singing loudly in the shower whenever he hears Damen taking a bath. Which seems to happen often. Perks of sharing a bathroom wall.

 The door opens and Laurent watches the metamorphosis. Wide smile, an easy posture, all of it turning into a deep frown and squared shoulders within seconds. And then his voice. Hard as stone. "What do you want?"

 Laurent would be too proud for this on any other day. But now he's hot. And desperate. He's a hot, desperate mess. "Your AC… Is it working?"

 "Yeah, why?"

 Laurent doesn't wait for a real invitation. He just pushes past Damen, into the cool heaven that is Damen's hallway. Laurent shivers. "Oh my God."

 "Uhm. I don't want to interrupt, but… What the fuck?" Damen closes the door and just stares at him with wide eyes.

 "My AC has been down for three weeks," Laurent mumbles. "I'm melting."

 "If only that were true," Damianos growls, but then something strange happens. Because his frustration seems to be beaten down by something else and whatever it is, it makes him look a lot less crazy. "Do you want a coke?"

 The moan that escapes him isn't very dignified. "God, yes."

 The first time it happens it's because it is the hottest day of the past 50 years and Laurent doesn't know what to do with himself. He sleeps on Damen's couch like a refugee after he spent hours drinking iced coke with him and talking about everything and nothing and he doesn't question it when he stops thinking of Damen as the Crazy Greek.

 ---

 The second time it happens it has nothing at all to do with the weather. It's more that Laurent can't sleep and he tries to beat down his thoughts with the rhythm of Metallica blasting through the entire apartment. When Damen rings the bell, Laurent knows how things will go. Damen will say something grumpy because he has the soul of an eighty year old who thinks too much about his tax return and Laurent will try his best to come up with a sassy remark. Damen even opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say, the words are swept away and Damianos cocks his head. "Are you okay?"

 And instead of snapping back, Laurent turns down the music, completely resigned. "Sorry. I'll try to be more quiet."

 "Do you…" Damen pauses, apparently carefully weighing his words. "Do you want to come over and watch a movie? I'm bored."

 What Laurent learns that evening is this: Nothing works better to forget any dark thoughts than making popcorn with Damen and bickering with him about Hogwarts Houses and how they'd be sorted.

 ---

 Laurent remembers the first time they really yelled at each other in the hallway. Laurent opened the door to let in his friends the exact moment Damen opened his to let out a tall blonde woman who kept snapping at him. Both she and Damianos froze when they saw Laurent who was still not over the fact that the jerk had sent the police to his place a week earlier. He tilted his head and smiled at the woman.

 "Looking for better company than his?" Laurent nudged his head towards Damen. "Because I'm sure we'd have a glass of wine to spare."

 Jokaste really did stay that night even though she wasn't there for long. Now, almost two years later, Laurent regrets inviting her over. Because he has to listen to Damen who tells him that his brother is getting married to his ex. This time it's Laurent who suggests to watch a movie and make popcorn. He also suggests to go to the wedding together.

 Damen looks surprised while Laurent gives him a wicked grin. "Believe me, when I go with you, nobody there will be talking about you and her anymore."

 ---

 It's four months until the wedding. Four months of seeing each other almost every day. Four months of endless talks and countless laughs. Weird things happen. Damen learns how to crack a joke. Laurent learns how to blush.

 Two times Laurent is so tired from work he falls asleep during the movie. Two times he wakes up and finds himself tucked in with his shoes next to the couch and a pillow under his head. Damen never comments on it or teases him for it. Laurent is incredibly grateful for that. Both times he buys donuts and presses oranges while he makes coffee for breakfast. Damen looks different in the morning. Sharp and vibrant. Laurent smiles when he finds out that Damen is singing under the shower too.

 ---

 He was right. He told me he would steal the thunder, but I didn't believe him. Not really. I should have. He's golden threads and dark blue silk. He laughs at the jokes of my grandaunt. He dances with my niece and talks about football with Uncle Don. He charms each and every one at the entire wedding except for Jokaste who glares at him like it's her job and me who now looks like a complete idiot for complaining so much about the stupid neighbor when apparently he's the nicest boy they've ever met. I know the real Laurent, though. I can't be charmed. Not even when he looks at me as he dances. Not even when he smiles at me.

 And then I remember how I saw him standing in my hallway. The hottest day of all time. Eyes closed, lips parted, he moaned. And I wanted to keep hating him so badly, but he looked so delicate, his face flushed. So I asked him if he wants a coke. And now here we are and he looks like he belongs and I feel like I don't. Shouldn't have had so much fucking wine.

 ---

 He shouldn't have had so much wine. Laurent blames it all on that. Damen weighs a ton and he's leaning most of it against Laurent who tries his hardest to keep them both upright in the elevator while Damen keeps babbling something unintelligible.

 "All good, big guy," Laurent mumbles. "We're there soon."

 Dragging them both to the hotel room is a task that takes almost half an hour, but finally Laurent manages to push the door to the bedroom open and get them both inside. Damen falls into bed, his arms spread out. He's grinning like an idiot. Laurent feels strange.

 He grabs a pillow and a blanket and swallows hard. He's grateful they have a suite. "I'll take the couch outside."

 But then warm fingers wrap around his wrist and Damen turns over to reach up with his free hand and tug on Laurent's blazer. "Stay."

 Damen shouldn't have had so much wine. Or maybe Laurent should have had more. He feels like the world could shatter from every move he makes, but he still slips into bed next to Damen who just keeps on smiling and pulls him close. Laurent barely dares to breathe. "What are we doing?"

 There's no answer. Damen just nuzzles into his hair. His voice is thick with sleep. "You smell like the first warm day in spring."

 And with that, Damen falls asleep while Laurent stays awake, listening to his own heartbeat.

 ---

 This is what Laurent wants while he still lies in bed next to Damen: To never talk about it again. It didn't happen.

 This is what Damen wants: To remember what exactly he did to make Laurent look at him like this.

 This is what they get: Damen's best friend Nikandros doesn't knock when he comes in to wake Damen up to take him to the airport.

 ---

 The flight is tense. Not just because Damen's friend kept making accusations about secret and/or fake relationships from the hotel all the way to the check in. Damen has this tension written around his eyes that makes it obvious that he has a headache. As soon as they are sitting down to wait for boarding, Damen grunts that he won't go back home for at least fifty years. Laurent tries to understand but doesn't. He thinks the wedding was nice and that Damen's family was great. He also misses his brother.

 On the plane, they barely talk and it continues during their ride home. Damen manages a mumbled thank you when they reach their apartment doors and then they are both home. Laurent doesn't know why he feels like crying.

 ---

 They don't talk for two weeks.

 ---

 Laurent is drying himself off when he hears a faint cough and then another a little closer. Then the door to Damen's bathroom and once again a cough that makes him cringe hard because it sounds incredibly painful. He stands and listens a moment longer, then he shakes out of it and gets dressed for work. He forgets all about the cough until he hears it again the very same evening, this time when he's about to unlock his door. There is some sneezing too. Laurent rolls his eyes and instead of entering his own apartment, he rings Damen's bell.

 The sight in front of him can't be described as anything other than a tragedy. Damen is shaking slightly and even though his posture usually lets no doubt about his self-confidence (and his ego, Laurent thinks) right now his shoulders are hunched and his eyes red-rimmed. He's sneezing again as soon as he sees Laurent.

 "Come over to my place? I'm making you chicken soup."

 Damen squints. Suspicion isn't usually a flaw of his. Only when Laurent is involved. Still, he nods and trails after Laurent, his cough like a grater shredding his airways.

 "I hate being sick," Damen whines and he flops down on Laurent's couch, burying his face in one of the cushions. "I don't wanna be sick."

 "Cry-baby," Laurent replies, but he can't help and smile. Damen looks like a child.

 Laurent gets a blanket for him and makes him tea before he starts to chop up the ingredients for the soup. A little while later he carries two bowls and a basket of warm bread to the living room only to find Damen sound asleep. He's snoring softly. Laurent sets down the tray and sits down on his living room table. Even years later he won't understand why he doesn't just wake Damen up like any normal person would. Instead he watches him for a minute or two, his eyes tracing the curves and edges of his face as though they were a pencil. There is something irresistible about Damen's handsomeness. Like the phrase "easy on the eye" has just been made for him.

 Laurent reaches out and touches Damen's cheek, brushing away a strand of hair before he squeezes his shoulder. "Hey… Wake up. Food's ready."

 Damen blinks open his eyes and looks at Laurent like he just saw someone else. A ghost maybe. Or an angel.

 They eat together and watch Rocky of all things simply because Damen's eyes light up when he sees it's been added to Netflix. Laurent finds out that his Crazy Greek considered a professional boxing career once in his life and that he's trained in five different martial arts as well. Damen gets excited when he talks about close quarter combat and in a way that's adorable because it doesn't add up with the three layers of sweaters and the stuffed up nose.

 Laurent shares a few childhood memories himself. He's tried with fencing and lacrosse as well as some typical family sports like skiing and rowing. He also finds himself telling Damen that nothing has really been able to keep him excited except for his horses. That also reminds him that he hasn't been out of the city for way too long and he says it out loud.

 "We should go." Damen says things like that and he never ends them with a question mark. He has to put it all into perspective otherwise. "If you want to."

 Laurent nods. "I do."

 ---

 Damen's flu keeps him to the brink of death – according to himself, not an actual doctor – for four days. All four of them he spends in Laurent's apartment. They ease back into their friendship. It feels good. Laurent hasn't been aware of his loneliness until he met Damen.

 ---

  The countryside isn't made to keep distance. That's what cities are for. The buzz and the business keeps people at arm's lengths and Laurent has managed to keep it that way even for people close to him. It gets harder the moment they set foot into the cottage that looks cute and cozy but actually cost Laurent's family a fortune. His uncle is still secretly annoyed with the fact that it wasn't part of his parents' last will but rather of a trust fund for Auguste. The cottage, the ranch and the apartment in New York are the only thing that truly belong to Laurent. The money and the company will remain with his uncle until he's 25.

 'Soon,' Laurent thinks as he steps into the cottage that feels like one of the last corners of childhood bliss to him.

 It feels strange to invite Damen into this world that's so detached from his everyday life. It comes close to a miracle that Laurent's nostalgia isn't noticed and before that can change, he shows Damen the two bedrooms, the bath room and the kitchen. He also explains that it's a 30 minutes walk just downhill through the woods or a 15 minutes ride with the car to reach the ranch. It would be short enough to use the rest of the day for it, but they're both tired from the drive so instead they grab a bottle of wine and two glasses and sit down on the small patio to watch the slow change from day to dusk to night.

 Laurent nips from his glass and shrinks down a little on his seat. He's surprised when Damen slips out of his cardigan and holds it out for him. Laurent smiles, but takes it gratefully. Even when Damen shivers, he doesn't give it back but instead gets inside to bring him a blanket. After that they just sit and stare at the stars. The silence is comfortable and it's what Laurent enjoys the moth. As much as he loves to talk to Damen, he's one of the few people who know that sometimes people don't have to talk.

 It's only when the wine is gone that Laurent feels the sudden but urgent need to say it out loud. "My brother. He's dead. I miss him."

 Damen looks at him in the darkness, his face only half lit by a candle that's slowly burning down on the table between them. He doesn't say anything. He just patiently waits for Laurent to continue.

 "It's the first time I say that to anyone." Laurent even lets out a small laugh. "Stupid, huh? Considering the fact that I miss him like crazy every day."

 "It's not stupid," Damen replies and he rubs his hands to warm them. "Is he the guy in the pictures inside?"

 Laurent nods. "Yes. We came here with our parents. I feel like every corner of this mountain holds a story."

 The curiosity builds up a tension and Laurent feels it. And yet, all that Damen says is, "I'm sorry."

 "It happened ten years ago," Laurent answers the unasked question. "A drunk driver crashed into his bike. Nothing they could have done. Back then I wanted to sell this place. I… I thought I wouldn't be able to bear the memories. Now I'm glad I still have it."

 Damen swallows and reaches over to take Laurent's hand. Any other person, Laurent would have pulled away from. But there is a comfort he can find in this very moment that he just can't deny himself.

 "I can't even imagine what that must be like." Damen has the rare gift to offer sincerity in phrases that sound shallow from other people. "I don't even want to, I think."

 "At first, I wanted to kill the guy who's responsible," Laurent admits. He can feel his cheeks grow warm. "I found it so unfair that he was still alive while my brother was gone."

 "It is," Damen says, squeezing Laurent's hand. "It is unfair."

 "Yes, but I also believe in fate. A little bit at least. Maybe it's because that's the only way to cope. I think things that are meant to happen, happen. Things that are meant to be, will find their way."

 Damen smiles now. "Do you think it was fate we became neighbors?"

 Laurent rolls his eyes, but he smiles back. "Some twisted joke of fate, yes. But fate nonetheless."

 "Fate," Damen repeats and the sky sparkles a little brighter. It feels like they just exchanged their best kept secret.

 ---

 One time this tall brunette opens Damen's door to get the newspaper. She smiles at Laurent, all white teeth and smooth dark skin. She seems to be the embodiment of the word "curve". She's round and soft in all the right places. Even Laurent can see that.

 When Damen texts him that evening asking if he has time to go to the gym together, Laurent texts him back that he can just do a few push-ups into his new girlfriend instead. Damen texts back with a simple '???'. Laurent is getting more and more annoyed and contemplates not answering at all when in the end he clarifies that he means the girl that got him his newspaper this morning.

 'Gross, man. That's my little cousin.'

 Laurent stares at the words and blushes. He feels very stupid for a few days afterwards.

 ---

 It's getting cooler outside. Not just during the nights, but during the day as well. The mornings look golden, but they are fresh and Laurent wraps his cardigan tighter around himself. I don't think anyone else could pull off chunky crochet the way he does. But it looks right on him. Just like everything else looks right on him. It's a gift of Laurent to make everything he owns specifically his. I wonder if that happens to people as well.

 When he turns around he blushes and smiles. I roll my eyes and laugh because I don't know what else to do. I didn't mean to make him notice that I look at him. It just felt like such a magical moment. Laurent with a cup of coffee on my balcony, and both the sunshine and the wind have to go through him to get into my apartment. Every day could start like this.

 It's strange that I can't remember it. That moment when I started to look at Laurent and wanted him to stay for the first time. I always want him to stay these days.

 ---

 There is a fight that almost ruins everything. It starts with a harmless discussion and ends with a snarky remark from Laurent that Damen takes more personally than he should have. As a reply, he tells Laurent that he always thinks he's better than anyone else when in reality he's just a spoiled brat who's scared to let anyone or anything close.

 Laurent freezes at that. It's not necessarily the words that are spoken, but the tone of them. They reopen a myriad of wounds, small and big ones, all of them carefully sealed in their months as friends. They all start to bleed at once, a gateway of raw emotions that break loose.

 Laurent reaches for the glass he's been drinking from and throws it after Damen who steps aside and lets it shatter on the wall. It's like daggers fly between them. They use whatever information they've gathered in the past months to use it against each other, yelling and snapping back, both too furious to let it go. And then, from one moment to another, Laurent's anger boils up one last time before it implodes and turns into a hell of ice. He squares his shoulders, sets his jaw and swallows. "Delete my number. And don't come near me ever again."

 "Scared again?" Dex asks with an arrogant smirk.

 "Or maybe just done with you." Those are his last words before he storms out.

 ---

 They don't see or hear each other for three days. Then, there's a bonsai tree standing in front of Laurent's apartment. It's a small apple tree and there's a small note slipped between its branches.

 'You said that you like bonsai trees. I hope you like this one. I miss you.'

 ---

 Laurent puts the apple tree close to one of the big windows. He doesn't text Damen, doesn't go knocking on his door.

 ---

 After not hearing from him, I didn't expect to find a fruit basket on my doorstep. The note sounds like his voice.

 'You probably think you deserve one of these. (I miss you too.)'

 ---

 Laurent has his ear pressed against the door and he hears Damen laugh. Five minutes later he gets a text. Damen invites him over for pasta at eight.

 ---

 It feels stiff that evening. They have worn each other down. Now they are raw and vulnerable but so very determined to get back to where they were. Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes what you really need is just the will to try again. You know you wouldn't do it for just any person, but you will do it for this one.

 Most of their conversation is lighthearted. There's a lot of teasing involved and they are both relieved they're still able to laugh together.

 It's only at the very end of the evening that Laurent lets his eyes drop for just a moment before they find Damen's again. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't think. I fight dirty when I fight."

 Damen shrugs. "I think I managed to stand up to you. I'm a big boy, I can take it."

 "You only look big," Laurent says and manages a small smile. "It's all of the muscles. Deep down you're just a softie."

 Damen laughs at that. "You got me. Now how do I pay for your silence?"

 "No way you can think of to shut me up?"

 With a small hum, Damen's eyes flicker to Laurent's lips. Laurent's heart first skips a beat and then starts to race. The moment lingers, unfolds, stretches out until it snaps. Wordless, Damen shifts his weight and reaches out to cup Laurent's face. His thumb brushes over his cheek and then he leans in. He stops an inch before their lips can touch before he closes the distance between them and Laurent's eyes flutter closed when Damen's mouth is suddenly on his. It's not the kiss that takes his breath away. It's the promise behind it.

 A few seconds. Not longer. And everything is different. Laurent pushes himself up and the chair he's been sitting on almost topples over. His cheeks are so hot they boil tears into his eyes but they don't fall. He just blinks and excuses himself. "I'm sorry, I have to… I should go. I… I'll see you around."

 ---

 I don't know why I don't follow him. Maybe it's the panic in his eyes. You might catch an animal that's scared of you, but you'll never tame it. I know that it's just imagination, but I can still taste Laurent on my lips. It was more than just a kiss. So much more.

 ---

 Laurent paces. He's done this his whole life. When there is a problem, he only has to pluck it apart, piece by piece and to then from those pieces build a solution. It can't be that hard.

 Only this time the problem is Damen and whenever he thinks about him, he can't think at all. And whenever he tries to pluck him apart, piece by piece, he only ever finds a million new ways to look at all of them. When he rebuilds Damen from his pieces, he's only ever more than he has been before. And now there's the kiss. And Laurent can't even begin to wrap his head around that.

 The words from the fight ring once again in Laurent's head and he knows without a doubt that Damen was right. He's scared. So, so scared to let anyone close. He's been spending the past couple of years trying to convince himself that he can do it alone. That he's strong enough. That he can do it all. Letting Damen in means admitting that it's easier when there is someone else. It also means risking that he will lose it all again.

 He doesn't sleep. Not even when his eyes start to burn. His apartment slowly fills with the grey light of dawn and Laurent comes to the conclusion that the solution to the problem doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Laurent just wants. He wants Damen. He wants someone in his life.

 ---

 When he steps outside the apartment, he's wearing the clothes from yesterday. His hair is disheveled. He must look like hell. Damen is wearing a suit. He's on his way to work.

 "I've called you the Crazy Greek." Laurent's voice is quiet and hoarse. "Before I got to know you."

 Damen just stares at him with wide eyes. "I called you Resting Bitchface."

 Laurent laughs at that. A nervous giggle. It's a sound he's never made before. It's what you get from a sleepless night and falling for someone hard. "Are you still calling me that?"

 "No."

 "That's the thing," Laurent says and he takes just one small step closer while he fumbles with his own hands. "I still call you Crazy Greek sometimes."

 "Uh huh." Damen look skeptical and a little offended.

 "When you make me laugh," Laurent continues and once again he takes a step. "Or when you tell me one of those adventurous stories from your childhood. When you do that little happy dance when one of your teams score."

 "It's not a happy dance. It's a victory cheer."

 "Crazy Greek." Laurent closes the distance between them. "My Crazy Greek."

 And that's how one small word makes all the difference. Damen reaches out and touches Laurent's chin. A small touch that startles them into a new life.

 ---

 It's frantic now. Nothing of the caution from the hallway. Laurent stumbles into the apartment behind Damen who pulls him inside before throwing away his bag. He then reaches out to grab Laurent tight and lift him up just enough to kiss him without leaning down. It's different than the night before, giddier, but still holding that same promise.

 They are a whirling storm until they reach the bedroom and while Laurent still wants, wants this and everything and Damen with every fiber of his being, Damen slows them both down. There are feather light touches and sweet whispers, all of them compliments that make Laurent blush. With every step they take, he's feeling a little more at ease.

 He's always scoffed about it. 'Making love.' As if sex wasn't something purely animalistic and physical. But this is so much more than just that. Just like Damen, Laurent thinks. Pieces plucked together only to be rebuild and form something more. And how could he call that anything else but making love?

 Their kisses become open mouthed, their muscles tense up. It's getting hot and yet there are shivers run through their bodies. The pain of it is delicious, the clumsiness only attracts them to each other further.

 When it's over, they lie tangled up and breathless. They are more than what they were this morning. Laurent closes his eyes and wonders if he should be scared of changing. But then he tells himself that it doesn't feel like change. More like he's finally becoming who he is for the first time.

 ---

 It takes half a year to their next fight. This time it's a rational argument, but it's still heated and in a few ways mean because they try to make their case which apartment they should live in. Laurent talks about the better view and the extra walk-in closet. Damen talks about the security system and the mosaic tiles in the bathroom.

 In the end, they talk to the landlord. There's little money can't do. The hallway between their apartments is closed up and their apartment doors torn down. They turn Damen's bedroom into a small library with a fire place and Laurent's bathroom into a sauna. They redecorate the whole place together.

 In the very end, Laurent takes his apple tree bonsai and puts it on the table next to the new apartment door, where they keep the bowl with their keys.

 "Why there?" Damen asks and hugs Laurent from behind, placing a small kiss on the curve of his neck."

 Laurent hums and cranes his head to reach Damen's mouth. "There's only one place where it makes sense to plant an apple tree."

 "And where's that?" Damen asks with a grin.

 Laurent smiles as well and turns around in Damen's arms to look into his eyes. The answer is obvious to both of them. "Home."