#posting this now because I have to go to church and I don’t think I’ll have internet there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kleewie · 2 years

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speak now or forever hold your peace

summary: it’s your special day and you’re ready to tie the knot with the love of your life. but a certain letter ends up on your doorstep telling you to ‘don’t say yes’ and runaway with him now. hey, what’s a wedding without the drama? (in other words, a modern au about a special someone desperately wanting you to marry him instead. but this begs the question of who?)

→ pairings: diluc, & ayato

→ warnings: slight swearing. angst. fluff (if you squint), mentions of drinking and alcohol, gender neutral reader.

→ author's note: i was listening to speak now (taylor please release the album) and this idea popped in my head. i might write a part two with more characters if i feel like writing more aaaaa. there might be present tense issues since this hasn’t been beta read,, anyway, i hope you enjoy!

long post ahead!

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful! i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

the prologue.

“you dropped this.” ganyu says, handing a white envelope with gold engraving.

“a letter?” you ask, confused.

“earlier, you carried the bouquet and it slipped out.”

curiosity beckons you to rip the seal off the letter and pull out a card. the gold print catches your eyes while you repeat the words to your companions.

if second thoughts plague your mind, meet me at the back entrance of the church. i’ll see you soon.

“this has to be the worst time to be admitting to a fiancé steal-and-run,” keqing muses.

a joke, this has to be a joke. your thoughts sing. your wedding is in an hour. you should be preparing to walk down the aisle without a worry in the world.

instead, the notion of an objection to your marriage as you recite your vows makes your heart race— in the worst way possible. yet, the thought of who could have done this pops in your mind.

“any idea of who wrote it?” ayaka wonders, as if reading your thoughts.

the timing? the medium? the words? who else can it be?

“just a hunch.”

diluc: the first love

the first meeting with the heir to the ragnvindr corporation begins on the wrong foot.

hell, it begins terribly— you cringe each time the memory resurfaces.

a week before meeting diluc you meet his brother, kaeya—long story short, your father works for the ragnvindrs and wants you to befriend the brothers as they (crepus and papa) are good friends— and he tells you they are going to throw a surprise party for hothead’s eighth birthday.

one problem. he never explains what he looks like.

so on the day of the party, you lounge outside waiting for the birthday boy. and once a redhead arrives, it confuses you.

the invites practically say enter through the back entrance.

gosh, did he not read the invite? what if diluc saw! the party would be ruined!

thinking about it now, you wonder how distracted you were to assume a good looking boy with the rich-kid aura wasn’t diluc.

anyway, you rush towards him and hiss “what are you doing here?” while gripping his hand gently. “the party entrance is at the back door!”

he winces at your sudden friendly contact (or because you bluntly ruined the surprise, he is a smart kid. of course, he knows what you're talking about. yet he couldn't help but ask the question to rouse a reaction out of you) “party?”

“for diluc! his party?” you huff.

at the time, you think this kid has to be the dumbest monkey bun for being too slow to understand the vibe.

while to diluc, he thinks you are the pettiest pipsqueak to ever have lived— he assumes you knew who he is. but wanted to ruin the surprise anyway.

so when kaeya magically whisks through the front door with a smirk saying, “what took you so long, brother?” diluc reasons you’re in cahoots with the he-devil and instantaneously hates you a thousand-fold.

you being a smart kid, feels the resentment. and embarrassment fills up your whole consciousness.

yes. you spoiled the party. great job. and you feel so bad.

as you sincerely apologize, diluc cuts you off with a “save it,” and runs up the stairs to his house.

rude!

but you did ruin his surprise party (kids are petty like that.)

no worries, you do get to apologize properly.

well, after diluc accidentally pushes you causing you to land face first into his birthday cake— okay, to his defense, it wasn't premediated. someone left a bowl on the floor, near the table, he trips, and forces his weight onto your back, causing the whole issue.

though, diluc feels terrible.

yes, he still dislikes you for ruining the surprise (again, children are petty) but not to the point that he would intentionally hurt you.

so he genuinely apologizes.

you truthfully admit you had no idea he was diluc, while saying sorry.

and you become friends.

you both promise to let bygones be bygones.

still, each year on diluc's birthday, you unsurprisingly get a cake slam onto your face (candles excluded!) and he gets messages of “don't forget to bring the cake to diluc's birthday bash at 6:00 o'clock sharp!“ on random days before his actual day.

pretty much, you become the best of friends.

need someone to beat up bullies who laugh because you can't afford new school shoes? he's your kid! he'll pay for the hospital fees and buys two pairs of the shiniest shoes without letting you know it was him.

when bringing it up, he always plays dumb. “shoes? what shoes?”

and that's what you love about him, he never seems to claim the credit.

need a study buddy for high school entrance exams? he's your man! he will not stop until you master each and every subject matter, eyes closed.

and even if you do get failing marks, he never chastises you for it.

he simply encourages and promises he'll keep in touch.

just because you both go to different schools doesn't mean you'll lose your close friendship, you try to console yourself.

so imagine your surprise on the first day of class, seeing his red locks passing through the door. once your eyes meet, a small smile forms on his mouth. “surprised? don't think you’ll be getting rid of me anytime soon.”

and you're ecstatic. the chaotic duo together in high school! imagine all the fun trips, and school events you can attend together!

what are best friends for? obviously to have fun!

some days are particularly bad. like when you're sobbing your lungs out at three a.m. because someone manages to break your heart into a thousand pieces.

he's there too. always there.

imagine his surprise, hearing your heart-wrenching sobs over the phone. his soul breaks hearing you cry and his hands clench in anger; how could anyone hurt someone as wonderful as you?

he absolutely loathes your boyfriend.

ex-boyfriend, he corrects. by the way things are going he won’t accept anything less than stranger with a target on his head.

minutes later, he's inside your house with your favorite drink in hand, rubbing soothing circles behind your back with the other.

you apologize for wasting his time (you both have tests later in the afternoon) and listlessly laugh, “you'll eventually get worn out. my drama's a witch.”

“really?” he hums. “i could never get tired of you.”

more under the cut!

you exchange looks and feel the warmth of a blush crawl up your neck. while diluc coughs sensing the awkwardness.

maybe he does stand a chance. he hopes.

he leaves minutes later, slightly in a better mood to when he came.

yes, he feels awful seeing you cry. but seeing your reddened cheeks as a consequence of his proximity and comfort pacifies his shaky feelings.

things have been slightly awkward for the both of you after.

there have been lingering looks here and there, frequent touching of hands on the bus seat (“it's crowded, stay close.”) even gnawing thoughts of i don't think you know this, but i like you, without courage to say it out loud.

up until a certain incident happens.

with diluc's looks, status, and intelligence, no wonder he's the most popular student in the class. more like the whole year.

mountains of letters appear in his locker daily, and once in a while, a student proclaims their underlying love for redhead (to no avail, as he plainly acknowledges their feelings), finishing off with a “not interested.”

one day an extremely good-looking upperclassmen reaches out to him and confesses their feelings— you, feeling especially jealous, grumbles about how stupid he was to reject such an attractive person.

diluc, slightly annoyed at your assumption, rolls his eyes. “because i fell for you, obviously.”

your mouth gapes open.

what? no way.

his confession results into a game of hide and seek wherein, you: run for your life in sheer surprise (“oh god, this has to be the worst prank he's ever done!”); and him: chasing after you in complete frustration (“is it that hard to accept i have feelings for you?”)

in the end, he catches you underneath the oak tree and you both share a kiss.

how romantic!

both of you stay after school hours to clean up all the trashcans and mop buckets toppled over because of the hunt.

anyway, a relationship with your best friend is pretty blissful. almost very similar to your previous relationship (aka. friendship).

diluc teaches topics you have difficulty with, walks home with you after class, more frequent calls before sleeping at night, a little kiss here and there.

actually, a lot of kisses. and hugs.

with recurring “not in front of my face!” hisses from kaeya.

and retorts of “leave!” and “knock the damn door first!” from you and diluc respectively.

but with every relationship, there are ups and downs.

and one awful down changes everything.

the moment crepus dies—the ragnvindr family vacation (for diluc’s eighteenth birthday) results to a sudden a car crash, with both brothers leaving the incident unscathed but scarred— diluc becomes bitter and closed-off. a natural reaction to someone whose heart has been ripped out into a thousand pieces.

you have been trying to console the hurt man: calling him every night; caressing his hair as he falls asleep; assisting him with homework he’s too exhausted to begin; and hugging his body tight as he shakes in utter grief and sadness.

you’d like to think, slowly by slowly, it gets better.

and sooner or later, you’ll be able to reach out to your closed-off lover.

and it’ll be okay.

but when you’re too busy consoling someone whose heart is covered in sorrow, who’ll be there for you when heartache and sadness take over you?

constantly hiding your feelings become the new normal as you try to lessen the burden on your boyfriend.

until it reaches the breaking point and he lashes out, causing a big fight.

with the pressure of being the next heir to the ragnvindr company, the expectations of stakeholders, and the burden of protecting all he cares about, diluc couldn’t allow himself to be open to any risks.

“it’s impossible to pretend nothing’s wrong, when everything is,” diluc murmurs. “i’m not ready to get hurt again.”

your body shakes and you cry. “why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”

it’s a stupid argument.

it wasn’t supposed to end that way.

but it is, what it is: the fight that ended your relationship.

the timing of the quarrel conveniently (sarcasm) destroyed all chances of reconciling with your ex-lover as he decided to: stop attending classes as the last semester of the year ended days before your fight; and to add fuel to the fire, he disappears without a trace.

diluc changes his number, moves out of his apartment. spamming the company email proves to be pointless, and even reaching out to kaeya causes a pitiful look. “sorry, i can’t.”

the last time you’ve seen diluc was the fight. and knowing his personality, he wouldn’t show himself unless he wants to.

so when he appears at the wedding reception carrying a salmon-colored box, feelings of surprise, happiness, and confusion resonate your heart.

“am i dreaming? mr. ragnvindr attending my small wedding?” you jested. “why i’m honored.”

he hands you the gift, shaking his head. “i was invited.”

“i expected you to be busy, you-know, with your own wedding.”

the news of the engagement between the ragnvindr and gunnhildr families captured headlines for months now. of course, you know.

“father would’ve rolled around in his grave if i didn’t.”

you smile. after all these years, the sarcastic diluc you once remember shows his colors, albeit slowly.

your hands pull the ribbon off the present and you open the box. inside, a name tag with your name on it.

before you can inquire the meaning of the present, the master of ceremonies chirps, “now, ladies and gentlemen. we shall have the cutting of the cake!”

that’s your cue to proceed to the main hall and do the honors of cutting the dessert with your beloved husband.

as if sensing your confusion, diluc answers. “so they remember you as the marriage celebrant.” then adds “try not to fall on the cake.”

you burst out laughing. all this time, he’s still the pettiest brat you know. “i thought we let bygones be bygones.”

“i keep my promises.”

soon the mc ushers you towards the cake-cutting table, you taking your time talking must have taken a toll on the program flow.

a thought suddenly nags your consciousness. who wrote the letter?

turning your neck slightly, you see diluc walk towards a good-looking blonde woman, and his brother. a small smile creeps on his face.

of course, diluc didn’t write the letter.

he’s never one for regrets and second thoughts.

bonus:

“oh god!” you wail. “i failed math and science!”

diluc’s bewildered. all he hears before you bust down his front door are scrambled expressions of i’ll never get into college! and i’ll die alone!

you’re sixteen. you have your whole life ahead of you. how two failed quizzes develop into the slippery slope destruction of your complete existence confuses him.

bawling, you grip his wrist. “diluc— you have to attend my wedding.”

he knows you well. whenever something terrible happens, whether it be a failed test or even larger issues, your mind spirals down the road of bad thoughts, irrational beliefs, and unreasonable consequences.

a sarcastic reply almost escapes his lips, but the worried look on your face erases it completely.

“…i will,” he answers.

“you will?” you sputter, brows furrowed in confusion.

of course he will. what kind of person would he be to miss your wedding?

“i promise.”

ayato: the nemesis

no one manages to ignite the nastiest part of your soul like kamisato ayato.

i mean, you’ve met your fair share of handsome, rich, and smart men, but he succeeds in coming out on top as the worst of the bunch.

yes, he is good-looking, wealthy, and clever.

denying the fact is impossible.

but when someone talks about how kind-hearted he is?

how generous and caring?

it makes you blow a fuse.

you first meet him at a college party.

ayaka invites you to a close nit celebration with a few of your close friends, to celebrate the end of the exam week. her brother, who you’ve never met before as he skipped a year (or two), attends as well through her pestering. as she wants him to get to know her, quote “soulmate!”

you’ve only known the woman for a short while (four months) and you expect her own sibling to be as fun, charming, and generous as she is.

boy, are you wrong.

he arrives with his own friend group, all smiles, and takes the farthest seat away from where you, ayaka, and keqing (a classmate) are. he waves at his sister and returns to talk with a man with messy blonde hair.

ayaka annoyed at his indifference, hollers, “my friends! keqing and—” and pointing at you, “my closest confidant!”

ayato replies with a short wave and a smile.

he seems nice! (for now)

the party goes on: more glasses in hand, a few drinking contests, loud laughter, screaming, until it comes to a point where you feel dizzy from all the blinding lights— and your stomach makes this grumbling, gurgling noise.

you guessed it. you’ve eaten something bad. very bad.

muttering a quick “watch my drink,” you head outside. and ready yourself for any hurl that may sprout from your mouth.

while crouching behind a dumpster, you hear the chime of the door opening. the sight of blue hair catches your eyes, and you can’t help but listen into the conversation he’s having on his phone.

they weren’t being particularly quiet. i mean, it’s difficult to tune out someone shouting at the top of their lungs.

well, you’re not particularly blameless either. alcohol tends to turn the lightest of sounds into the heaviest of noises.

“having fun? meet anyone interesting?” the person on the phone asks.

ayato scoffs, “no one special.” he kicks a pebble before adding, “a few are nice, some are pathetic.”

his sudden display of hostility causes you to slip and, before you know it, his eyes meet yours. awkwardly, you grin. he returns the gesture with a smirk and walks back inside the bar.

a fluke, you reason. you’ve probably caught him at the wrong time. it’s easy to assume the bad in people out of context.

so you give him the benefit of the doubt.

the next day, you run into him outside the university courtyard with his friends. hoping (that you read the room wrong yesterday), you try to start a conversation with the man.

it ends fruitless though. he succeeds in ending the discussion as quick as possible with the excuse of having classes.

hey, sure! of course, you understand. classes are important.

so you disregard his unresponsiveness.

a comment from ayaka, irks you. “really? he’s free at the afternoons though?” only slightly.

it’s fine! of course, you get the picture. talking to strangers tire some people out.

so you forget his lie.

but every time you try to get to know your best friend’s brother, he always succeeds in turning the conversation into something one-sided, leaving you feeling neglected afterwards.

oh well. so what if he’s nice to everyone but you?

who cares if he gets along with all your friends?

it doesn’t hurt you one bit! (even if you’re the only one uninvited to hangout with his friends)

who needs a narrow-minded, rude, and overcritical jerk like him anyways?

thus, you ignore the douchebag with the passion of a burning suns.

except this time, he purposely steps on the paper (the air-conditioner blows it off your desk) that took you the whole night to cram and write by hand.

he does pick it up.

however, the ungenuine “sorry,” he quips (with his signature smirk) fuels your anger to the highest level.

and you lose your temper.

but not before scrambling to erase the footmarks left on your paper ahead of the due date. which was in five minutes, tops.

nevertheless, you do confront him about the issue a few hours later.

“listen here, you piece of shit. it took me hours to finish that paper. hours!”

“i apologized, didn’t i?” he gibes.

your face reddens in frustration, “you’re going to pay for that!”

he smiles. “oh? is that a threat?”

that becomes the day you place a target on his back.

and the start of frivolous payback fueled by pure animosity and bitterness.

you offer homemade donuts to the kamisato household (you visit for a project), specifying that the box with the blue ribbon is for the unfortunate creature ayato only.

he gives you the stink eye the next day. he must love the mayonnaise-filled doughnuts.

ayato returns the favor by replacing the cream-filling of oreo cookies with toothpaste. in your defense, the wrapper was completely sealed and untampered. it’s impossible to know how he did it!

one afternoon, you place sticky notes all over his car. imagine his surprise to see an assortment of ‘goodlucks’ and smiley faces on the yellow paper,

and the list goes on.

weird enough. no matter what pranks you throw at each other, it’s sort of an unspoken rule to never cause enough harm to seriously hurt one’s studies or reputation (feelings).

you hope.

hence it comes as a complete shock to see your own cellphone floating in a bucket of mop water. no matter what you do, the device doesn’t turn on, prompting you to buy a new one.

a cost you can’t afford either.

so you cry.

both from the stress and betrayal.

the initial anger from his neglect faded into something akin to dislike, closer to light bickering. it hurt more thinking how you were almost getting along. even if it’s not the most conventional way of becoming friends.

when ayato comes through the door. seeing as you’re late for another school project at the kamisato household (his sister begged him to pick you up) and he’s at the same building anyway, why not walk together? (with a bit of teasing along the way)

the first thing he sees are the tears streaming down your face. followed by your excruciating sobs. he instantly knows something’s wrong.

“what happened to your face?” he asks, softly.

cheeks flushing, you seethe. “how could you! stupid pranks, i understand. but destroying my stuff? you’re awful!” and another sob racks your body.

he watches your hands cradle a wet cellphone and right away, comprehends the situation.

you think he did this.

you think he deliberately hurt your feelings (and phone).

unexpectedly, the thought of you hating him wounds his conscience.

“i may dislike you, but i’m not heartless.” he mutters.

with glossy eyes, you stare at the man.

he looks sincere. the most sincere you’ve ever seen him.

'cause you’re too busy noticing his flaws and scheming

he’s telling the truth, isn’t he? i mean, he isn’t the type to lie and all. instead, he’s more likely to laugh and take the claim rather than play innocent.

...so you believe him.

but ayato senses the hesitation and sighs.

slightly irritated by your skepticism, he grips your chin with his fingers and gently pulls your face towards his—your eyes meet. “is it that hard to believe?”

you shake your head. almost immediately.

and the issue is solved.

you believe the jerk-face is telling the truth (calling him one to eradicate the sappiness and to keep up with your i-slightly-don’t-hate-you-but-i-have-to-pretend-i-do-for-reputations-sake persona).

and he trusts you'll treat him the same (and forget about his sentimental moment with you in the classroom).

did i mention, you also receive a new phone from him the next day?

you burst into ayaka’s empty classroom, holding up the new device. “please tell your brother i’m thankful. but did he have to flaunt his cash by getting the newest model? oh god—” you exclaim. “i owe him a kidney now, don’t i?”

your closest friend shoots a quizzical look and asks, “what phone?”

dazed, you look at her.

who else would’ve bought you the phone?

so you take her confusion as protecting her brother’s character (doubt the man would appreciate you advertising how kind and caring he is to buy someone, one who has smacked an egg on his head last week, a phone).

and you go on with your day, occasionally throwing the guy a stink eye.

by now, you realize your relationship with your adversary changes from ‘i slightly despise you so damn much!’ into ‘hey, some brat pushed me down the stairs. you in for some whooping?’

simply, he becomes the chaotic, manipulative, and scheming associate you can count on to teach you math problems, while being present for more sinister things.

like recording three upperclassmen threatening to pummel you for breaking their so-called angel’s heart. technically, ayato did the breaking. and why you’re being bullied in his place, you have no clue.

“really? suing them? are you insane?” you blurt.

ayato shrugs his shoulders. “why? prefer a hit man?”

“no— what? i can’t afford a lawyer!”

you don’t have to, he has you covered.

apparently his trust fund covers intimidation, lawsuits, and hospital bills (for, surprisingly, a fourth upperclassman trying to trip you after hearing the first three fail at their bullying tactics).

not only does he offer protection over bullies, he provides unsolicited relationship advice as well!

like the time you start dating a student from a different university. each occasion you try bringing up the man, he has no qualms in squandering the alleged person’s reputation.

you roll your eyes. “he’s not that bad! he’s kind and smart and loves the same music i do!”

“oh, really?”

“yes! really.”

ayato scoffs. “lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

this close, you are this close to throwing your drink at him.

good thing you don’t.

days later, the so-called boyfriend goes missing and the next time you find him is at a bar. dancing and kissing random strangers.

you’re too agitated at the i told you so smirk forming on ayato’s lips to berate the player for hurting your feelings.

anyway, besides the pranks and teasing, kamisato ayato’s a great friend.

though, sometimes you have your doubts.

especially when it comes to being the best man of your wedding.

why your husband decided on him, you absolutely have no idea.

“no. you will not bartend!” you hiss. “the last time you did, we ended up blacking out on a beach! on a random island! with thoma vomiting his guts out!”

ayato hums. “oh? your loss. it’s not everyday a special someone gets married.”

though, he senses your unrest. earlier, you were over the moon, excited for wedding. now, a feeling of dread radiates your form. mixed with the sudden outburst (asking to bartend was more of a joke, really), he knows something happened.

so he prods the subject. hoping it results to an answer (instead of him being kicked out from the ceremony).

and you, though reluctant, explain how a letter landed in your dressing room, begging you to stop and marry them instead.

eyes squinting at his, a sudden clarity forms in your head. “too low. this has to be the worst prank you’ve ever played! on my day— you’re nuts!”

ayato pauses, thinking. “i’m flattered, really, but i’m no wedding crasher.”

you shake your head, taken aback.

if he didn’t do it. who else would it be?

suddenly, the processional song chimes, causing you to flinch in surprise.

following the sound, an elated ayaka hollers, calling your attention to walk to your proper place (as practiced in rehearsals).

curiously, you peek at the quiet man. “you know, i still don’t really know why i used to despise you.”

ayato smiles. “i’m irresistible, aren’t i?”

bonus:

“you’re a bad liar, did you know that?”

ayato peeks at his younger sister. “oh, really?”

she knowingly places a hand on his shoulder. “everyone knows you’d wreck the wedding if you wanted to.” she pauses, “so why didn’t you?”

faraway, he watches as you bounce your legs in excitement. and soon, the doors will open, and you’ll walk towards the love of your life.

the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“they’re good for each other.” he lies.

though he never wrote the letter. sometimes he falls asleep with you on his mind. is it worth it? risking everything he holds dear, for a chance?

would you have fallen in love with him instead?

as symphonies of music reach his ears, a stinging thought sings.

‘would you have said yes if he asked?’

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful! i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

thank you for reading!!

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thecapricunt1616 · 6 months

Text

The Bear & His Honey - Chapter 16

♡ Chapter Inspo: Call It What You Want (Reputation - TS) ; I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck. Not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me. Which is more than they can say, I recall late November holdin' my breath, slowly I said "You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?"

♡ Summary: Carmy x Winnie are finally calling things what they are after 3 months of beating around the bush, YAY!!!

♡ W/C: 10,775

♡ Posted Date: 04/05/2024

♡ A/N: Here we have chapter 16 - I hope you all like it! I have been stepping back and seeing where I want things to go, & I think I have generally a good idea now, so I was able to finish up the next 2 chapters finally haha. As per usual thank you for reading, remember requests for one shots are open - or even if you want to see WxC doing something specific let me know! I am here to please hahah one shots I've already written are on my masterlist linked below! Also - no one has asked, but I usually see people will read one chapter, then go back and read all of them 1-15, so if you want to be on a tag list so you can keep up w/ the story just tell me in the comments and i'll make one!!

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Speaking of smoking, Weed, Smut!, Nervous Carmy, Mushy fluff!!!

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒫.𝒪.𝒱. 🍯

It was a few weeks later, and the beginning of spring had well arrived. The trees were becoming green again, the flowers were blooming, and Carmy and I were still hanging out nearly every afternoon, and he was staying over nearly every night.

That Friday evening, around 11pm, after Carmy had gotten off his shift, he came over to mine and had a shower after we ate dinner that he had made us before he came over. Tonight had been a favorite - a true garbage plate per my request.

It was currently 1 am and we were snuggled up in bed, mostly I was watching a rerun of Criminal Minds, and Carmy was distracted by his phone, texting with someone back and forth.

“Did y’wanna come w’me to Richie’s Sunday? We do Palm at his usually. He’s been textin’ me about comin’ over a little earlier to help with the lamb.” He said and I looked up at him from my spot snuggled up on his chest, my cheek adorned with lines from his sweatshirt since it had been mushed there while I watched the show, my hands playing with the tie of his sweats absentmindedly so I didn’t pick my nails.

“Oh- yeah. Sure. I didn’t know you like- did that. Y’re…religious? I mean- I know the chain and everything but..” I gently play with the charm between my fingers. He smiled a bit, forefinger gently rubbing over the dark red marks in my cheek from laying.

“I mean- nah. Not really it’s more like..tradition I guess? Palm Sunday and Easter were huge when I was growin’ up. I guess it’s just an Italian thing, but it’s like- second Christmas. The whole family gets together and has a meal” he said and I nod.

“Well of course I’ll be your date baby. Thank you for asking, I assume we’re doing church? Like Christmas Eve if it’s a big thing right?” I ask and he nodded a bit.

“You don’t…you don’t have to go. I mean- I don’t go unless it’s Christmas Eve or Palm or Easter Sunday. So..but I get it if y’arent comfortable” he bit his lip nervously.

“No baby- no…I think it’s sweet. I grew up Catholic too, well- Irish Catholic. But- I was baptized, so I’m rightfully Catholic. So we can get married someday and not go to hell” I giggled and he snorts a laugh.

“Oh thank god y’re baptized baby, how could we ever marry if you haven’t devoted yourself to our lord and savior” he teased, earning a laugh from me.

“Does this mean I get to crack out my veil again? What do I wear? Well I know I can’t have my tits out - but like, color scheme for your church, still red?” I asked and he rubbed my back gently.

“Yes still red baby.” He kissed my neck, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. “I didn’t know you wore a veil. You were dedicated, huh? Such a good little Catholic” he teased, pinching my bum playfully.

I laugh a bit “mmhmm- my mom was serious about it. I used to hate it but since I stopped believing in the Catholic god- er- worshiping him, anyway, I just think it’s hot. D’you think we could sneak away to the bathroom for a quickie during the service? I’ve always fantasized about fucking in a church it sounds really hot.” I said causing him to laugh into my skin.

“Babe. Holy fuckin blasphemy you trying to get on the big man’s ultimate shit list?” He bites my shoulder playfully.

“Ohhhh we’re way past it Carm. Plus- since he’s so big and mighty and he’s the one that created my twisted fucked up mind- it’s really him who thinks it’s hot. So if he’s mad it’s not on me” I giggled, poking his cheek. “D’you have a bite kink I’m not aware of sir?” I teased.

“Mmm no you just taste good, and y’so cute it just makes me wanna fuckin bite you I can’t explain it” he bites down on my neck gently, running his tongue over my skin.

“Awwww you have cute aggression?” I gently play with his curls and he chuckled into my skin, his breath causing goosebumps to appear.

“That’s a thing?” He questioned and I nod a bit, a wide smile adorning my features.

“It’s super sweet. Like…when I was at college studying, I took my first round of psych credits, and I guess that uh…when we see something that’s cute, or makes us really happy we wanna like squeeze it or bite it because we’re so overwhelmed with how cute it is that we’re like…searching for an outlet almost? But yeah, so thank you I guess. I do have the urge to just” I take his forearm, gently biting down and giggling into his skin and he chuckled.

“Y’can bite me. Maybe not in public so we don’t look like a couple’a freaks, but this is ok” he said and I released his flesh

“Oh yeah I’m just gonna bite you in front of all the staff at work next time I see you. I’ll do it when you’re really angry” I teased, lacing our fingers together and resting our hands over my tummy.

“Ugh no work talk right now baby today was fuckin’-” he rubs over his face with his other hand “remind me to never trust Richie with shipment ever again.” He grumbled, grabbing his phone to resume whatever he was doing. I mentally rolled my eyes.

Really, Richie? The one time. One time, that Carmy decides to let someone else start the day- and sleep until 5 am instead of 4- he fucks it up somehow.

“ ‘m sorry baby. You want a massage? It’s getting late. Maybe it’ll help you sleep, how’s your back?” I asked gently, rubbing his forearm.

He sighed a bit, putting his phone on the wireless charging pad on the nightstand that had begun living there since he had been sleeping over. “Hurts..Think I pulled a muscle ‘er somethin’ in my shoulder too, fuckin bags of rice were on the lowest shelf and I didn’t use my knees at all apparently” he said and I sat up, grabbing my massage oil from the nightstand.

“Alright roll over mister, no more work talk tonight, got it? Were Resting our brains now” I kiss his cheekbone and he nods tiredly, tugging off his sweatshirt and laying on his stomach.

“No more work talk” he agreed with an exhausted sigh. I warmed some of the oil in my hands, kissing the little freckles along his back as I did so and he hums softly.

“Okay so where should I start on the map baby?” I asked him. I had taught him the system my mom and I used to use when she’d give my brother and I massages as kids, where you tell a state on the map so she could better gauge where it was hurting.

“Fuckin’… Vegas to the Carolina’s. It hurts so bad babe” he said and I gently felt over his lower back, this was usually where we started, unless Wyoming and Nebraska which were more his mid back was hurting him worse, that only happened when he went too hard at the gym, though.

“It’s probably Texas. Usually Texas, babe” I said, gently working my thumbs with light pressure from the middle of his lower back outwards and he lets out a groan.

“Fuck Texas” he muttered into the pillow, causing me to giggle a bit.

“I’ve never been, I hear they have great Mexican food.” I said, adding a bit of pressure as I got to his hips where he held a lot of his stress.

“Mmm I’ve been- shit” he hissed as I work at a knot at the back of his hip. “Fuck- keep going babe- ahhh mmhmm- yes” he grumbles. I added more pressure and he sighed gratefully. “Thank you” he said softly, resting his cheek on his forearm, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“You’ve been? Lucky! Did you try the Mexican food?” I asked, dragging the pressure across his lower back and he moans out quietly.

“Mmhmm…Dallas…ACF conference- went in November. They do have great Mexican food. And the drinks are enormous, crazy strong for how cheap they were.” He said.

“Ooo that sounds like my kinda place. We should go on a trip sometime, if I could ever afford it that is. But a road trip would be fun” I gently rub up to his mid back.

“You don’t have t’pay anything baby, I didn’t know you wanna travel- where d’you wanna go? I just have to get the time off. That's the problem, not the money. But what’s y’dream place y’wanna go?” He asked.

“Anywhere. Well, anywhere with you. I’ve never been on a plane before, I took the train here. Cause my Grammy wouldn’t let me take a plane, since our Grandpa died in one- she says they’re bad luck. But I’ve always wondered what it was like. It seems fun. Are airports fun like they make it look in the movies?” I smile a bit, gently massaging over his ribs.

“No. Totally not. They don’t really put airports in tv and shit after 9/11 if you’ve noticed because now they’re a fuckin’ nightmare- but I mean…not as shit as being on a train for what- 30 hours babe? Y’not doin’ that t’go do that nanny thing right? I don’t want you sittin for 30 hours with y’hip.” He said and I shrug a bit, continuing to rub over his mid back with the pressure I knew he liked.

“I set a timer on my phone, and get up and walk around every 20 minutes, So it doesn’t hurt so bad. Also- it’s like…50 bucks cheaper so. 50 bucks toward my next therapy session” I say simply.

“50 bucks?! Baby. No. I’m buyin’ y’ticket and you can get there in 2 hours, so I can have you for an extra whole day. No arguing. It’s done” he said and I laugh a bit.

“Oh so you boss me around now?” I said and he smirks, looking at me over his shoulder.

“Hasn’t that been established? That I only make you do something when y’too stubborn to allow me to help?” He asked and I kiss his lips gently.

“Control freak” I teased, starting on his shoulders and his eyes flutter shut in bliss.

“Consider it payment f’r all the massages I’ll need when you get back. I dunno how I’m gonna manage babe it helps so much. Fuck ah- yes. There- there honey” he groaned as I drag my thumb with a good amount of pressure in the dip of his shoulder blade.

“Y’know you can see a real masseuse, Bear. You don’t have to torture yourself until I’m home again” I said, adding a bit more pressure and he whimpered, burying his face in the pillow.

“Mmm- don’t wanna” he said into the fabric as I work his other shoulder the same way. “Holy shiiiit. Baby. Fuck- fuuuuck me.” He moaned and I laughed a bit, rubbing my thumbs up to the base of his neck and back down. “Mmm shit- fuckin’ hurts soooo good”

I laughed at his bear like grumbles “Jesus baby. Thank god I don’t have roommates they’d think we’re sex addicts with the way you moan when I give you your massages” I straddled his hips as I work from the balls of his shoulders in towards his neck.

“Mm not my fault you have tiny magical hands” he teased and I laughed.

“Do not make fun of my little hands. I can’t help it, and it makes my life tedious” I joked, gently using the knuckles of my thumbs to release the tension in the sides of his neck.

“How is me calling your doll hands magical, making fun of them?” He said and I smiled, pinching his arm gently.

“May I remind you Bear who’s mercy you’re at right now?” I bite down on his neck playfully and he chuckles.

“My favorite girls” he counters and I smiled big, a blush creeping to my cheeks.

“You are a big flirt” I sat up, continuing to work at the base of his neck.

“I am being accused left and right t’night, of crimes f’which you have zero admissible evidence” he teased and I laughed, covering my mouth to not wake up the neighbors.

“Okay- we’re watching way too much criminal minds and SVU lately, admissible evidence, babe?” I shook my head, working on rubbing his biceps in sections since they were quite large.

“Not my fault I wake up f’work and it’s still on. That shit can’t be givin’ you good dreams babe. Y’need to turn it off” he said and I smiled a bit at his concern.

“Oh, and you when you go home, and turn on YouTube cooking videos until you pass out, that’s not giving you bad dreams about work?” I mused and he hums.

“No. Cause I usually don’t watch the English ones, my italian is spotty, which makes my Spanish shitty. And our French lessons have only gotten me so far. So- if my eyes are closed, nothin but noise” he countered and I roll my eyes with a smirk.

“And how do you know how much of everything to put in?” I ask curiously, massaging over his biceps.

“By the look” he replied as if that said anything at all.

“So, if I right now, gave you my water bottle- you could tell me how much water was in it?” I snort

“Depends, is there ice?” He asked and I raised my brows.

“ Carmy you can’t just- I mean you can guess. But you’ll have no form of accuracy.” I said and he hums.

“Think of it like Cooking is biology, and baking is science babe. 2 different sides of the same coin. I don’t need accuracy, I need flavor and balance. A good chef doesn’t solely stick to a recipe. But a good baker always sticks to a recipe. F’r cookin’ It’s about what the dish wants. F’baking it’s what it needs. So yeah I’m confident I could give you a fairly accurate measurement by look” he explained and I gently massage over his wrists, paying extra attention to them because of all the repetitive motion he did at work with all the chopping and stirring and whisking.

“Mmm I love it when you get all sexy technical chef on me” I kiss the top of his hand lightly and he smiled a bit.

“Well I’ll tell y’anythin y’wanna know angel” he said, covering his mouth with his hand as he yawned big. “Mmm. Y’always put me t’sleep” he mumbled.

I giggle a bit “that was the point. Geez like a colicky baby sometimes, so overtired y’can’t sleep” I said and he snorts.

“Mmm this is my favorite part” he rolled on his side as I took my place next to him and he lays his forearm over my tummy so I can lightly drag my nails across it for him.

“Spoiled, spoiled little bear” I teased, obliging him and gently dragging my nail across his skin with a featherlight touch causing goosebumps to appear.

“Mmhmm, the most spoiled” he said and kisses me sweetly I hummed softly, cupping his cheek and gently rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone.

“Just one more day” I said when he pulled away, alluding to his Sunday off.

“One more.” He said softly and snuggled into my chest as I continued gently caressing his arm, my other hand tangling in his muss of damp curls and scratching his scalp as I usually did to help him fall asleep.

This had been our routine for the last 2 weeks now, he’d come over after working out, we’d eat dinner, he’d have a shower, then we’d sit on the balcony and smoke together, then come in and get in bed, I’d give him a massage after cuddling for a while, and stroke his arm and give him scratches to help him fall asleep, since the first night I did it for him he was out in less than 10 minutes, (which was an all time record for him) - and he’d be little spoon until he fell asleep. Then when I eventually did as well- we’d wake up in the morning with me having stolen the title of little spoon once more.

He nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck, his warm breath hitting my collar bone. I focused on the tv and continued stroking his arm gently, a few minutes went by like that before he muttered a half asleep “night honey” bringing a small smile to my lips. “Night Bear” I said softly, brushing his curls off his forehead and gently kissing it, lingering for a moment before resting back on the pillow and continuing to stroke his arm gently.

I was woken by the sound of Carmy’s first alarm that he’d nearly knocked his phone off the nightstand trying to silence, before groaning tiredly and plopping his arm back around me, pulling me closer to him.

“Morning” I said softly, my eyes still closed.

“Mornin’ babe.” He said quietly, planting a soft kiss to my jaw. He’d been setting his alarm for 4:00 instead of 4:30 for the past week or so, so we’d get a little bit of snuggle time before he had to get in the shower.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked, lacing our fingers together and turning to face him, wrapping my leg between his and hooking them together.

“Alright. My back feels a lot better, thanks for the massage honey. How’d you sleep?” He rubbed over his face, yawning which caused me to catch it and yawn myself.

“Course love. I slept okay, had a really weird dream, wanna hear about it?” I ask and he smiled lazily, nuzzling his face into my neck.

“Mm. Always” he said softly.

“So-“ I giggle softly at the absolute bizarreness “so, Syd was there- oh I’ll have to send her a voice note about this. But Syd was there, and we were at my middle school? But it was here, in Chicago. And it wasn’t my middle school, it was a hospital? But my teachers were there. Well they weren’t my teachers they were strangers, but I like knew they were my teachers, ya’know?” He chuckled a bit into my skin.

“Okay, and what were you and Syd doin baby?” He questioned.

“Literally Carm- playing with a Ouija board? Like?” I laughed a bit, causing him to follow suit.

“Who were you trying to get ahold of?” He asked.

“I don’t know! But it was like scary lookin. I don’t even - oh! Yes! That’s how I know it was a hospital cause we were in this dingy like basement, and there was a gurney? Like. I dunno. Oh! And she was like” I laughed, shaking my head. “She was like Winnie- they’ll know the right ingredient. Like- like we’re summoning the dead for recipe advice? But she was so stressed like she was dyyying to find out what they had to say” I said and his chest vibrated with laughter.

“And yeah, that was it that’s the dream- dream Syd, and real Syd, both are OCD about recipes to the point of insanity” I said and he shook his head, planting a kiss on my temple.

“Thanks f’r sharing babe. Y’know, maybe the dead could help us out with recipes- dream Syd could be onto somethin’ ” he joked and I gently play with his sleep tousled hair.

“Mmm I think the only ghost that would give a shit about food they can’t eat- would be you and Syd baby. I can totally see that. Us hanging out in the afterlife, and you’re like ‘but honey, if I help them and tell them it needs more lemon it’ll be so good’ “ i mimicked him doing my best Carmy impression and he snorts a laugh.

“I do not sound like that, when did I turn into a fuckin- southside chain smokin’ uncle?” He teased and I laughed, poking his cheek playfully.

“Not too far off, you’re a north side chain smoking uncle in real life, so I guess the accent was a little off” I said and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah yeah. I’m down to half a pack a day now I wouldn’t call that chain smokin anymore” he mused, kissing my neck with open mouth kisses, trailing down to my collarbones.

“Mmm Bear?” I question and felt him smile into my skin before biting down gently in the fleshy spot between my neck and shoulder.

“Mmhmm?” He mumbled, his teeth still gently clamped around my flesh.

“It’s 4:09” I said, gently scratching his scalp with my nails.

“So that means we have..21 minutes, no?” He questions and I raise my brows with a smirk.

“And what are we doing with this twenty one minutes, Bear?” I muse and he lifted the covers, crawling underneath, and getting between my thighs.

“Don’t they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day?” he asked, kissing over my pantyline in the way that made my breath hitch.

“Real breakfast, baby. Which you refuse most the time” I told him, gently pushing his curls back, watching as he carefully slips my panties to the side.

He licks a stripe up my heat with the pad of his tongue, stopping at my clit and applying more pressure, open jawed, rubbing his tongue messily back and forth. I whined in pleasure, my head dropping back to the pillow.

He hooked my knees over his shoulders, pulling me closer by my hips and gently sucks on the sensitive bud that was now getting firmer and more prominent, flicking and smoothing his tongue over it in small circles, earning hot moans of satisfaction from deep in my chest.

“Oh-“ I breathe out, my voice coming out as more of a squeak then anything and my hips buck involuntarily as a jolt of pleasure cracks through me at his actions.

“Mmm so fuckin sweet” he grumbled into the slick flesh, the vibrations causing my core to clench around nothing.

“Holy fuck Carmy” I gasp as I felt his tongue lapping over my enterence, thrusting his tongue inside in one swift motion, humming in satisfaction as he felt me squeeze tightly around his tongue and I tugged his hair between my fingers.

“Ah- shitholy-fuckingchristCarm” I moaned out as he nudged the bridge of his strong nose against my clit with a pressure that was gonna drive me right over the edge- and fast.

“Mmhmm- mmhmm” I nod quickly, biting my lip hard as I feel that all too familiar tightening in my stomach, the pool building quickly and the dam walls getting ready to snap, all of my muscles tightening and my thighs quivering.

“Breathe” he reminded me gently, reaching up and grabbing one of the hands that had taken grip on his hair, lacing our fingers together and squeezing my hand gently.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, “sorry” I mumble sheepishly and he continued, humming happily into my slick when I gasp in a enormous breath as he flicks his tongue wildly over my clit, pressing my hips into the bed to make me remain still with his other forearm.

“Oh- oh- fuuuck! Ah- ahh! cumming! Yes- yes!!!” I cry out, squeezing his hand tightly, my head thrown back in bliss and spine arched off the bed.

“mm- shit- fuck- too sensitive” I whine, as he continued the rough assault on my clit, digging my nails into the back of his hand.

“I think I can get another one babe - cmon be good f’me, please?” he said lowly, his voice coated in thick, honey-like lust.

“Ah- fuck-fuck- okay- mmmmillbegood” I slur, my thighs pressing against his temples and ankles locked behind his head.

He removed his forearm from my hips. “Y’gonna be a good girl, mmm? Y’gonna stay still f’me? Er do I need t’keep holdin’ you?” He asks and I shook my head.

“Ill be still, promise” I said quickly, squeezing his hand gently.

“That’s my girl” he brought his mouth back to my clit, slipping two fingers in my entrance and curling them expertly into that amazing spongy spot he seemed to have memorized by now, that I could somehow never manage to get to so well on my own.

“Holyfuck” I groaned, tugging his hair taut and he moans into me, the vibrations on my over sensitive clit dragging me to the edge and leaving me dangling there.

“Ah- fuck mmm-d’that- keep doin’ that Bear pleeeease” I begged as I tug at his hair harder, earning a deeper moan out of him. My hips snap back into the mattress, twitching and shaking as I mewl and whine through my second orgasm, my back arched and hand leaving his hair to grip the sheets so I wouldn’t hurt him as I held them in a white knuckle grasp.

His alarm goes off for 4:30 a few moments after my thighs stop quivering in pleasure and hips finally stilled. He messily wiped his wet chin, mouth, and the tip of his nose on my thigh, slick with my arousal, before placing a gentle kiss on my mound, and popping his head out of the sheets, casually hitting the stop button on the alarm.

“Thanks f’breakfast honey” he joked, getting out of bed and stretching his back, before giving me a peck on the lips and heading off to the bathroom, leaving me fucked absolutely dumb.

“Anytime” I said tiredly, feeling exhausted once again after only a few hours sleep and being feasted on so intensely, and so early in the morning.

He left the bathroom door cracked so Persephone wouldn’t scratch the whole time trying to get in and investigate what he was doing, and I heard him start the shower before I rolled back over and fell asleep.

I was awoken by sweet gentle kisses about 45 minutes later, feeling the icy metal of his chain brush over my chin as he pressed lingering kisses on my forehead. “Hey sleepy” he said softly, rubbing my side.

The smell of his cologne and minty toothpaste hits my nose and my eyes flutter open. He was sat next to me, backpack and hoodie already on.

“Already?” I whine, laying over his lap and nuzzling my face in his tummy, breathing in his scent and wrapping my arms around him.

“Mmhmm. But 3:30 yeah? I’ll come pick y’up from the library we can have lunch in the car?” He gently runs his fingers through my hair in the way that made me sleepy, and my eyes flutter shut once again subconsciously.

“Can’t you call out sick?” I mumble into his sweatshirt and he chuckled. This was the same conversation we had nearly every morning.

“And do what princess? Mm? Follow you to the library and sit around while you put away books?” He joked and I huff.

“Yes. Exactly that.” I said and look up at him, puckering my lips, knowing I wouldn’t win this battle possibly ever unless he was actually sick.

“Mmhmm I’m sure y’boss would love to just have a chef loitering around all day waiting for her star employee” he teased, leaning down and giving me a sweet, tender goodbye kiss.

“Be safe.” I said softly when he pulled away, cupping his cheek and rubbing over his cheekbone with my thumb. He leaned into my touch, sighing softly and eyes fluttering shut.

“Always. We have a big catering order today, so if I don’t text back that’s why. What do you want f’r lunch in case I forget to ask?” He took my hand, gently kissing my palm.

“Mmm- dunno. Surprise me, nothin’ spicy but you knew that” I said, covering my mouth as I yawn.

“Surprise it’ll be then baby” he leaned in, kissing me once more before pulling away and rubbing my stomach signaling it was that dreaded time.

I sigh, sitting up off his lap and giving him a big hug, kissing his cheek with a smooch “have a good day baby” I said softly into his damp hair, kissing his head once more before letting him go.

“Thank you angel, lock the door behind me please” he said and I nod, following him to the door and see Persephone was sat on top of his shoes in the hallway.

“See I think Persephone says you should stay home too” I smile and he shook his head with a grin.

“Not t’day snowball” he picks her up, kissing her head and he licks the tip of his nose, causing him to scrunch it adorably.

“Ugh fish breath” he mutters and I giggle.

“She looooooves her Carmy, isn’t that right little baby?” I scratch her chin and he plops her in my arms so he can slip on his sneakers.

“Mmhmm and I love her too but duty calls, stinky” he tells her in a sweet voice and kisses her head once more before pecking my lips once he had his shoes on and opening the door.

“And put some panties on Winnie the Pooh” he said in my ear, spanking my bum lightly before heading down the hall.

I laughed “Sorry- I’ll make sure to put your leftovers away sooner next time” I call after him teasingly, shutting the door behind me and clicking it locked.

I was in the Young Adult section at the library, putting returned books back on the shelf, when I felt my phone start buzzing in my bra. I fished it out, abandoning my cart of books I’d yet to put away, quickly heading to the employee back room once I realized it was Carmy.

I clicked green answer button. “Hey Bear! How’s the-“ he cuts me off suddenly.

“Hey- um- hey. I need like- a huge favor baby”

He said nervously. I put a concerned hand on my hip, nervously pacing the break room. “What is it love? Are you ok? Are you hurt?” I asked, already on edge due to the anxiety lacing his tone.

“No- no I’m ok- it’s uh. Syd. She’s….fuck I’m sorry - her stomach? Something about her stomach. She’s in the office right now, she can like- barely move but she doesn’t want to go to the hospital and uhh.” I could see him in my mind nervously shaking his hand and pacing.

“Okay- okay I’m coming. Is it like a girl tummy ache- or something different?” I asked, grabbing my purse and light jacket I’d worn, quickly putting it on as I held my phone pressed to my cheek and shoulder.

“No - no way honey. This is like- she can barely speak - I’ve never…I’m scared baby.” He said, his voice cracking a bit.

“Shhh. It’s ok, it’s ok, Bear- Syd has had stomach ulcer problems in the past, I need you to get her to try and eat something, ok? Shes gonna say no, but she has to eat- the acid in her stomach is irritating her. I’m coming. I’m grabbing an Uber right now, breathe baby. It’s all gonna be fine” I said and he took a deep trembling breath.

“Ye’…yeah. Ok. Okay, I’ll see you baby, be safe” he said and I sigh softly.

“Always” I said softly and hung up. I shoved my phone in my coat pocket, untucking my hair and heading to my bosses office.

I lightly knocked, waiting for her ‘come in’ before nudging the door open.

“Hey- Family emergency, I have to head out. Could you let Jessie know I left some returns in the YA section?” I ask and she nods.

“Hope everything’s ok, call me if you can’t make it in Monday.” She said and I nodded.

“Thank you” I told her before shutting her office door behind me.

The Uber ride to The Bear was torturous, I’d texted Syd thrice - to no avail. She was constantly pushing herself so hard- that she was making herself literally burn from the inside out. I’d told her time and time again, from everything I’d learned in my 3 years at college- stress can literally kill you, and that she should really take some time off before she seriously injured herself- but unfortunately she never listened.

I got out of the car when we’d barely come to a full stop, rushing to the front door, stepping inside and seeing Sugar at the host stand. “Oh- thank god- Carmy is freaked out Winnie- he literally is convinced she’s dying- can you go cool him off? Please?” She begs and I nodded quickly, heading behind the counter and pushing the back door open to the loud kitchen.

Everytime I was here during the day, I made it a point not to come in this way because the environment made my skin crawl. The noise, the lights, the crashing of pans and pots, the yelling, the sudden bursts of flames while various chefs flambéd dishes that would singe your hair if you weren’t paying attention.

I swallowed thickly “uh- oops! Sorry” I squeak, quickly getting out of a foodrunners way as he briskly moved past me, shoving the door open with his hip and heading to the front of the restaurant with a large tray of food he held with one hand over his shoulder.

“Uh- behind you? I’m behind you!” I tried to call over the noise as I pass various people. Usually if I came through the front, Carmy greeted me and people parted for us like Moses and the Red Sea- but without his presence, I was just another body in here and no one seemed to even realize I was there.

I finally made it back to the hall where the offices were, taking a deep breath to center myself before pushing open the door.

Carmen was knelt in front of the big comfy couch in Sugars office, offering Syd some water.

“Winnie- if you don’t get your boyfriend the fuck away from me- I’m gonna peel off his skin and enjoy it” Syd said through gritted teeth.

“Syd- Syd- eat. Y’have t’eat.” He pleads and I shut the door to silence out all the noise.

“Carmy” I said softly and he looks up at me, concern and worry written all over his face. “Take a walk, yeah? Go have a cigarette ok?” I said gently and squat next to him, rubbing his shoulder that was hard as a rock with all the tension he was currently holding.

“No- no. She’s sick Winnie. She’s just bein’ a jagoff because she hates bein’ cared for. Cmon syd” he looks at her and she glared back at me with the fire of 1000 suns, a look that if I was quite honest- scared me slightly.

“Bear” I gently play with his curls, earning his attention once more. “What Syd needs right now, is the energy in the room to be calm, and you’re literally vibrating with anxiety. Please, f’me? Go relax. Ok?” I said and kiss his temple.

He huffs and got up, leaving the room with a hard closing of the door, but not quite a slam. I look at Syd, and before I could start, we both hear Carmy going off

“I’m steppin’ out f’r 5 FUCKIN MINUTES- If that GOD DAMN DIRTY BOWL I ALREADYTOLD SOMEONE TO WASH IS STILL SITTING AT THE EXPO WHEN I GET BACK HEADS WILL ROLL FUCKERS. MOVE. IM NOT FUCKIN’ AROUND T’DAYISN’T THE FUCKIN’ DAY “ he barks before we hear his heavy footsteps stomping off down the hall and a harsh slam of the back door.

Syd rolls her eyes and I gently sit next to her. “See what I have to deal with? And you wonder why I’m - fffuuuuck oh my gooooddd” she groans, keeling over and laying on my lap as she clutches her stomach. “Fucking kill me. Oh my god- kill me please” she moaned in pain.

I gently rub her arm, digging through my purse and taking out one of my vials of RSO I kept in there for emergencies. “Here, Y’gonna have to go home- but..it’s gonna make it stop” I told her.

“Give it. Give it. Whatever it fucking is. I’d literally take heroin right now holy shit Winnie it feels like I’m being stabbed” she said, hands shaking from how much pain she was in.

“Open.” I told her, tilting her face towards me. “Tongue up” I said when she opened her mouth and I squirt a decent glob of oil under her tongue.

She closed her mouth, nose scrunching at the taste “what the fuck is that weed?!” She mumbles and I nod.

“Mmhmm, well kinda- don’t swallow. Let it sit until the pain stops enough that you forget about it and wonder why your mouth is so full of spit” I teased, gently dabbing her sweaty forehead with a napkin from my purse.

“Thank you” she mumbled, closing her eyes and sighing softly as she waited for it to kick in.

“He was really worried, Syd.” I said after a few minutes of silence, when I knew the pain had started to dull since her hands had stopped shaking.

She shook her head in annoyance, unable to speak yet because of the oil and scrunching her nose as if to say ‘he shouldn’t be.’

“Y’re his only friend. Other then me, and Richie. But Richie raised him. Of course he’s gonna worry for you. Especially when you’re like- near the point of vomiting blood because of how bad this is getting. You have to do the surgery, Syd.” I said and with that she swallowed, sitting up and looking at me.

“No- no. Winnie. No! I’m- I can’t. I can’t and I won’t. It’s not even that bad and I’m not vomiting blood miss theatrics- I’m not gonna take 3 weeks off work to do a stupid surgery that isn’t even guaranteed to find anything wrong! What if they go in there and find nothing and I’m back at square one- and out of work for THREE WEEKS?! I can’t leave Tina yet, she- she’s. No. I can’t let her drown. Carmy too- a-and Richie. We can’t-“ I inturrupt her

“Sydney.” I said in a dead serious tone. “Y’need to get it. This is literally like - this should not even be a discussion at this point! The reason the doctor wants you to have it is because before they can just give you all these medicines to fix your gut bacteria that’s all shot from fucking stress- it’ll hurt you more on the very slim chance you don’t have a stress ulcer, but it is something with your stomach, Syd. It’s an exploratory surgery they don’t do those for no reason.” I said as Carmen came in and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

“Surgery?!” He exclaims and slams the door shut behind him. “What? Syd- what’s going on. This isn’t a stomachache you didn’t just eat somethin’ that’s not agreeing with you. What is it, Sydney” she said and I crossed my arms, sitting back and letting her do the talking.

A slow smile grows on her face, and she covers her mouth with her hands as she begins to giggle. Fair to say the oil has now done its trick.

“Have I ever told you, when you get mad, there’s this vein in your forehead- and- it’s- it’s so funny” she said, causing me to start laughing with her.

Carm’s eyes flickered to mine. “What the hell did you give her?” He asks and I shrug with a smirk.

“Somethin’ t’make her floaty, and” I shield my mouth from Syd so only Carm could see “agreeable” I mouthed and he smiled a bit, shaking his head.

“Syd.” He looks at her.

“Caaarrrmeeennnn” she replied in a sing-songy voice “I need to get back to the spice mixture for my cod now- but this was a great chat guys. Winnie- you’re the best” she said and got up, heading towards the door.

“Noooo ya’ don’t” Carmen stops her, spinning her around by the shoulders and leading her back to the couch. She groaned dramatically, sitting down next to me once more. “What is this about a surgery, Syd?” He asked, pulling up the rolling chair and sitting in front of us.

“A stuuuuupiiiidd surgery Carmen. Stupid. Doctors wanna slice me open and prod around hoping they find something. And then when they don’t i'll be stuck at home with my dad glued to my bedside, for no fucking reason, and I’ll loose three weeks minimum of work. And that’s if they find nothing. If they do find something, I’ll have to schedule another surgery and I’ll be out for SIX weeks.” She said and Carm nods, rubbing over his face for a moment as he thinks.

“And how long have they been buggin’ you t’get this surgery, Syd?” He asked finally, brushing his hair back and looking at her seriously.

“Mmm….” She crossed her arms, averting his gaze “7 months” she mumbles.

“What?!” Carmen leans forward in disbelief. “Say that- say that again? I know y’didnt just say you’ve been dealin’ w’this f’r a fuckin year” he said and she shrugged.

“They reccomended it a year ago, they’ve just been hounding me for the past 7 months. It’s really not that bad, Carm.” She said and he shook his head, getting up and going over to the filing cabinet silently.

“What are you doing?” Sydney sits up as he opens a drawer, thumbing through different file folders before popping out what looked to be a blank information sheet of some kind and plops back down in the chair, rolling over to the desk and beginning to fill it out with a pen.

“Carmen - what are you” she stood up, looking at the form he was filling out “no” she said, ripping it from under his pen and crumpling it up, throwing it in the wastebasket next to the desk. “Fuck you. No” she seethed.

“What’s going on?” I sit up.

“Syd- there’s like 50 million copies, I really don’t want to do it like this, but I know you aren’t gonna do it unless I make you do it.” He said and got up, walking back over to the same filing cabinet.

She followed him, holding the drawer containing the forms closed with her hand. “No! Carmen are you fucking kidding me?! You aren’t my fucking parent. Stop! We are equals here! You can’t do this” she said and he shook his head, resting his hand atop the cabinet.

“Sydney. This isn’t a discussion, are you really gonna make me say it, you’re really gonna push me?” He asked lowly.

She crosses her arms, “say it.” She countered chest quickly moving with rapid angry breaths.

“As your partner. I’m ordering you, mm? It’s an order, Sydney. Y’gonna go to the back, Y’gonna empty out your locker- because y’not gonna be around here for a while, and you are going to come back to this office, Y’gonna take the short term disability form I give you, Y’gonna call them, file. it. I will be checking, and then, Y’gonna schedule whatever fuckin procedure you need, and when your doctor clears you to come back in the kitchen, then, and only then will you return to work. I’m being more then fair, considering you’re making me force you t’do this, so I’ll be paying you your full wages while you’re out. Even though, im gonna have to train 3 dumb fucks to even-“ he shook his head, sighing deeply. “T’even keep us runnin’ half as well. So there. There. You wanted me to fuckin’ play mean mentor partner there ya go.” He said before opening up the drawer, plucking out another blank form and sitting back at the desk.

She scoffs, looking to me. “You’re just gonna let him do this?” She narrowed her eyes at me, brows furrowed with anger.

“Syd- this..this isn’t my restaurant…you only answer to-“ Carmy cuts me off.

“Do not. No. Sydney, out. Step the fuck out, now. Y’not doin’ this t’her. She fuckin-“ he shakes his head, rubbing his eyes before pointing to the door.

“Fuckin- go. Go before I say shit I’ll regret. Leave. Now.” He orders her and she left the office with a loud slam of the door.

I sighed, dropping my head back on the couch and closing my eyes, wanting to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby” he sighed, the soft sounds of pen on paper filling the silence.

“Not your fault” I mumbled, crossing my arms.

“I-it is. Babe I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bringin’ you into this shit. It’s not fair, she’s your friend” he said.

“Exactly- she’s my friend. I love her, Carm. She’s a hard headed fuck at times, but it’s because she loves being here. She just- has this idea that I have some semblance of control over what you do” I took off my shoes before sitting crisscrossed on the couch.

He snorts a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Well. I mean, not full control- but I listen to you” he gives me a small smirk and I roll my eyes.

“In our relationship of course. But I can’t honestly give you advice about that. Shes gonna cool off and apologize, to you too babe. Shes gonna realize we just want her better” I sighed softly.

He nodded, continuing to fill out the form. “I get if you don’t wanna sit around here, want me t’drive you home?” He asked.

I shook my head “why not? Well if I can stay back here. I don’t like being in the kitchen like at all” I said and he chuckled.

“Why? Too busy?” He asked

“Too busy, too loud, too bright, to many stabbey things, too many people, too many smells, too much yelling.” I said, pulling my kindle out of my purse. “But back here I have a comfy couch, my books, and my bear. So, I’m ok here” i smile a bit and he rolled over, giving me a peck on the lips.

“Thank you f’comin, honey. Really” he tucked my hair behind my ear.

“Baby, any time. If you’re ever scared, or need to talk, or just- I dunno…need a hug? I’m here. That’s what I’m for.” I said and he kissed my nose sweetly.

“Then I’m the luckiest guy alive” he said softly before kissing my lips in the way that gave me a feeling of a swarm of monarchs being trapped in my chest.

“Oh you are the mushiest ever” I said and kissed the cute little moles on his cheek.

The door slammed open and Syd comes in “give it.” She snipped, outstretching her hand.

Carm rolls back over to the desk, handing her the form and she plucks it from his hands. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and they look at eachother in silence, almost like 2 lions deciding if it was worth it to continue a fight over dominance.

“Please.” She said quietly after a few moments, her big brown eyes teary.

“Syd” he said softly, signing to her ‘I’m sorry’ over his chest and i bit my lip, looking out the window, trying to appear uninterested so that they could have some semblance of privacy.

“Then I want you to get your back checked out. Fair is fair, Carmen.” She said shakily.

My eyes flicker back over to him and he sits back in his chair, rubbing over his chin for a moment as he thought. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go to the doctor. Back pain is different Syd you know this. But fuckin’ whatever. I’ll go if it’ll make you get Y’r surgery” he said and she nodded once.

“Fair is fair” she outstretched her hand for him to shake, and he rolled his eyes.

“Really, we have to seal this with a handshake?” He asked.

“Fair, is fair.” She replied and he shook her hand firmly.

“And I’m sorry” she said to me. I nodded

“It’s okay, I know this is…it’s hard, kid. I get it. But did you have to give me the near impossible task of getting him to the doctor?” I tease with a smile.

The faintest upturn of a smile replaced her frown and she shrugs. “It’s his deal to go through on. I’ll be checking.” She repeated his words from earlier and he gave her a smug smile.

“And how will you do that? You don’t know what doctor I see, or if I’ll just go to an urgent care and have some random ass doctor write me a pain pill prescription and that’s it.” He countered.

“Oh- because I have eyes on you at every angle.” She told him. “I’m always watching.” She teased, closing the office door behind her when she left.

“What- is she gettin’ daily reports from you ‘er somethin?” He asks and I laughed, shrugging a bit.

“Mmm. Not reports. I don’t like tell her everything, but- mood reports” I giggle and Richie opens the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?! How are we gonna run this shit without Syd?!” He shuts the door behind him and looks over to me. “Sorry sweetheart, nice t’see you” he gives me an apologetic smile before turning back to Carm. “You let her go?!” He asks and Carmen looks at him as if he had 3 heads.

“Let her go?! No, jagoff. I told her to take short term, I’m paying her full wages as long as she needs, and she’s gonna be back when she’s fuckin’ better.” Carmy explained.

“Short term? Short term termination? Short term what?!” Richie asked frustratedly.

“You IDIOT. SHORT TERM DISABILITY!” He shouts at him and I flinch.

“Carmen” I said sharply, he quickly looks over to me.

“That scares me. Please. You don’t need to yell, Bear- also- you aren’t an idiot, Richie. He’s just…in a mood.” I said softly and Carm’s cheeks flush red.

“ok” he muttered, turning back to Richie. “It’s-“ he takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. I have it under control. What I need you t’do, is ask Nat for the login shit for the recruiting website she used to find the runners and shit. Can you handle that f’me while I figure out how this shits gonna work while Syds out?” He asked him calmly, but I could still…feel him. His energy. He’s way too wound up.

I wish I could just tell him to come home, talk it out with him, I knew all of this rage was just him burying his fear. He was so fucking scared.

“I can. I can do that” Richie nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “So- so what’re we doin’ what’s the fuckin plan?” He asked and I give him a look.

I knew he had to get out of here or Carm was going to rip in to him just because he could. “Richie, Syd just left- like 5 minutes before you came in here? Carmy is still working that out…can you- can you do me a favor?” I asked and his brows raised in surprise.

“Yea? Yeah. Wha’dyou need?” He asked.

“Can you go get that stuff from Nat and then make me a grilled cheese? Eva said you make really good grilled cheese. So Carmy can have some quiet time to figure this out, and you guys can tell everyone what’s going on together.” I look at Carm.

“Because you don’t have to do everything alone, you’re a team. Breaking difficult news is hard, but when you have the people you love with you, it can make it easier to bare the weight.” I said, looking directly at Carmen.

Carm nodded, swallowing thickly and biting at the inside of his lip nervously. “Sure- yeah. She uh…she said that?” Richie asked and I smiled, looking over to him once again.

“She specifically said - ‘My daddy makes the best grilled cheese in the whole wide world’ “ I told him and he smiled a bit, a light blush creeping to his cheeks.

“Alright well the kid has quite the flare f’dramatics, but I can make a pretty good grilled cheese. Comin’ right up” he said and headed back out to the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

Carm got up, locking the door, before coming over to the couch and laying down with his head in my lap. I knew he didn’t have the confidence to ask, so I gently start scratching his head in the way that he liked and his eyes fluttered shut. He let out a deep sigh, like a pressure valve releasing so it wouldn’t explode.

“So let’s make a plan, baby. I don’t think you need three. I think you know that but you’re planning for someone to drop” I said softly, gently stroking my nails through his hair.

“Cause someone will drop babe it’s how it fuckin goes. If I hire 2 we’re gonna be left short when one quits because they aren’t as good as the other one.” He said.

“Well why do you say that, baby?” I asked.

“Because no one’s gonna fight to be the best when they inevitably find out they’re a temp” he said and I furrow my brows.

“Carmen. You weren’t planning on hiring someone without telling them right?” I asked and he got quiet. “Carmen. Are you kidding me?! Absolutely not! Oh my god that is so- so mean baby!” I said and his cheeks heat.

“Well who the fuck is gonna wanna work here when we already have a full fuckin staff?!” He asked annoyed.

“Because you are the best fucking restaurant in Chicago, are you kidding me baby?! Just like you sent Richie to Ever to gain experience? There are fucking talented chefs Carmy, ones like Richie who don’t have the time to save and go to super nice culinary school like you did and garner that expirience. There would be a line out the door if you were honest and said ‘hey who wants a 2 month opportunity at a luxury fine dining restaurant that’s been nominated for best new restaurant by the JBF in its first year open’ “ I told him.

He was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. “I guess” he mutters.

“Babe cmon we can write the posting together. We don’t even have to do all this today. Don’t rush, y’know what would be a good idea?” I ask. He hums in response. “I think, that you should go back out there, work as usual, keep Syd’s stations covered best you can, and we can have a nice Sunday together, relax, recharge, and then we’ll have Palm Sunday dinner with the family, and then on Monday, you can come in fresh and rested with a great plan on what you’ll tell everyone with Richie.” I explain.

He contemplated for a moment, looking over at the desk in thought before looks up at me, “thank you.” He said softly. I gently caress his cheek with my knuckle.

“Nothin’ to thank me for, Bear.” I said and he took my hand, placing a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

“There’s too much to thank you for. We’d be here forever” he mumbled against my fingers with a small smile.

“You’re getting mushier by the day” I ruffle his hair and the doorknob jiggles.

“D’you still want this?” Richie calls from outside.

“Yeah! Sorry” I said getting up when Carmen got off my lap. I opened the door and Richie offers me a plate with 2 grilled cheeses.

“He hasn’t eaten” he said so only we could hear and I nod.

“Thank you, best cousin ever” I took the plate.

“Course, anytime. Oh Carm” he looks to him “user is MBerzatto87 password is fuckin password234.” He said and Carm chuckled a bit.

“I coulda guessed that shit. But I guess I was hopeful he gave more a shit about cybersecurity” he shook his head.

“RICHIE. DID YOU TOUCH MY ORANGE ZEST?!” Tina shouts from the kitchen and Richie heads back

“What the fuck would I need orange zest for?” He yells back as I shut the door, locking it once again.

“How do things always go missing?” I giggle a bit, sitting next to him and placing the plate on his lap, taking one of the sandwiches and taking a bite.

“Cause people at the same stations doin’ the same thing will think they already did their orange zest, and just take it.” He said, staring at the plate on his lap. “Also I’m not hungry” he put the plate on the desk.

I shrugged, putting my sandwich back on the plate. “Okay” I said, brushing off my hands before grabbing my kindle again and continuing to read.

“What- what’re you doin’ babe. Eat” he said, putting the plate on my lap.

“I’m not hungry” I said, not looking up from the page.

“Yes you are, you - you don’t ask for food unless you’re hungry, Winnie.” He said.

“Mm- I like it when we eat together. I don’t wanna eat by myself so, my appetite is gone.” I lie with a shrug.

“Y’really gonna be difficult right now?” He asked and in response, I playfully stuck out my tongue before going back to reading.

“Oh you are a child” he huffs, picking up the untouched sandwich and taking a bite.

“Oo! I’m hungry again!” I teased, grabbing mine as well and taking another bite.

He snorts a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Y’re lucky y’cute” he said before taking another bite.

I smiled, “I love winning you over. It’s my favorite game” I said teasingly.

“Yeah yeah, I’m just saving myself, you turn into a tiny demon when you’re hungry. Especially on your cycle” he said and I laughed.

“You’ve learned your lesson though so you don’t have to meet that demon again as long as you keep us fed.” I peel off the crust, setting it on the plate.

“You don’t like the crust?” He asked.

“No…well- I don’t know..really. I didn’t as a kid, but Chris did, so I always gave it to him. Never stopped” I said, staring at the crust on the plate as I got lost in memories of sitting in the school cafeteria with Chris over lunch, carefully peeling off the crust after taking my first bite and putting it on the top of the empty ziplock he’d taken his sandwich from.

“That’s sweet. I’m sure he’s happy you still leave it for him” he said. My heart melts at the sentiment and I gently kissed his cheek before resuming eating my sandwich.

“I don’t like pickles, so when we were kids- Mikey always picked em off for me.” He says quietly and I looked up at him. It wasn’t often that he brought up stories about Michael, so each one I safely tucked away in my mind where I’d never forget.

“I love pickles, I could eat a whole jar if you let me. I’ll always take unwanted pickles” I smiled a bit.

“Ahhh ok. So you’re a sour person not a spicy person. It’s usually one or the other” he said before finishing off his sandwich.

“Yes- exactly. You like spicy stuff? We haven’t eaten a single spicy thing” I said and he nods.

“Love spicy shit. But you don’t, so doesn’t really matter” he shrugged.

“Wha- Carmy. No! No you can eat spicy things, I feel bad. I don’t want it to always be what I like. Just like- make mine less spicy” I said.

“It’s fine babe, I try spicy stuff here all the time. Plus the food I like with a ton of spice in it is usually Indian and Filipino and shit where the whole profile is about the heat and the spice so-“ I inturrupt him.

“You like Filipino food?!” I asked and he nods

“Yeah- why, do you?” He asks and I nod happily

“My neighbor! Ms.Mendoza! She’s from the Philippines! Before you started bringing me dinner I’d usually stop by her place because she always made too much and asked me if I wanted it, you have to talk to her babe she’s like- amazing! I’m sure you guys will have so much in common she loves cooking- and she has like all these connections back home in the Philippines and they send her spice mixes and stuff for her to try. You have to try this stew- she calls it um..” I think for a moment “inew? Inihaw? Yeah- I think that’s it. Inihaw na leimpo! “ I said excitedly.

“Oh- the lady- the lady I met?” He asked and I nod.

“Yeah- I…I never asked- was she there when you got there?” I asked

“She- well” he chuckled. “Almost knocked me out with her cane cause I guess she thought I was trying to break in, cause I heard you screamin’ and I was trying to pick the lock, I told her I was a friend and she didn’t really believe me, but then she saw the flowers and she nearly dropped the keys getting the door open.” He said and my cheeks go pink.

“I’m…I’m sorry- she’s like….such a grandma. She’s been hounding me about a boyfriend since I moved in don’t mind her pushyness about it. She’s been trying to hook me up with her friends grandsons left and right” I finished off my sandwich.

“Well, she can stop looking now right?” He asks.

I brushed my hands off before nervously picking at my nail polish at the question. “What does that mean?” I asked and the room went eerily silent for what felt like minutes.

“Cause’…” he trails off. “Are you…are you still seeing other people?” He asks and I look over at him.

“No. No, Carmy. No just you..are you?” I asked and he shook his head. “So…what does that mean?” I asked biting the inside of my lip nervously.

“I…I dunno…” he looked at the clock. “I uh- I have to get out there, you still wanna hang out here?” He asked.

I swallowed thickly, realizing that I didn’t want to be here all day if he was just going to run away.

“So…what Syd said. You’re- you’re my boyfriend now?” I asked and he went pale as a sheet.

I stare at him, waiting for a response, and he opens his mouth like he was going to say something but he closes it again, nervously rubbing his lips together.

“Well- are you?” I ask.

“So- so Y’re like…my girlfriend now?” He asked.

“That’s my question, am I your girlfriend?” I asked and he shrugged.

“I guess? I dunno…I’ve never done this I just…kinda assumed?” He said rubbing his neck nervously.

“Well- I don’t remember you ever asking me…” I nudge his knee with mine gently.

“You didn’t ask me to be your boyfriend either!!” He said.

“Because I knew you’d freak out! And like- Y’re a masculine guy Carm I didn’t wanna make you feel insecure!” I exclaim.

“Okay fine! Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks, a small smile on his lips.

“Hmmmmm….” I put my finger to my lips, pretending to contemplate. “Of course I will dummy” I pull him into a deep wanting kiss and he hums happily, gently rubbing over my hip with his palm.

“Y’know y’mine baby I tell you like every day” he said, his breath fanning my lips.

I look up at him, biting my lip to contain a grin. “I dunno…I thought you said it just t’like..please me when we fool around, I didn’t know you meant it.” I said softly.

“I’d never say something I don’t mean baby, everything I tell you I really mean” he leans in, kissing me again. But this kiss was sweeter, somehow more intimate then the last. It felt…truthful.

I gently cup his cheek, humming softly and he pulls away when the doorknob to the office starts to jiggle and someone pounds on it.

“Chef?! We need more hands out here if we’re gonna be gettin’ this order out on time are you with us?” Tina calls through the door.

“Duty calls” he sighs softly. “You know where to find me baby” he kissed my forehead sweetly before heading back out to the kitchen.

➵ 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡♡♡

#carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #the bear fic #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear #carmy berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x oc #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x oc

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universitypenguin · 1 year

Text

Chapter 18 - Part II

The Princess & The Lawyer Chapter XVIII - Part II

Summary: Lloyd is rattled by unexpected news from Elliot that sends him into an emotional spiral and delays his return. Aiden is arrested for a shocking crime and Landon gives a profile of the stalker.

Word Count: 6,670

Masterlist

Warnings: Physical violence, strangulation, attempted drowning. References to stalking, the U.S. military draft process, war and military service, drug addiction, family estrangement, international adoption, murder, and death.

Author’s Note: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I was planning to finish it sooner, but I had a virus of some kind for the past week.

Chapter XVIII - Part II

The engine of the Mercury purred like the big cat it was named after as Lloyd exited I-15 and rolled to a stop at the light. He admired the way the hood gleamed in the afternoon sun.

“You did a great job on the body work,” Lloyd said.

“Thanks,” Elliot replied.

Ahead of them, the light was stubbornly red. Lloyd drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“I was shocked how many people showed up to the funeral,” he said.

“They weren’t there for him, they came for us.”

“I know. Can you believe Mrs. Wilcox stepped foot in a Catholic church? Do you think she’ll have to repent before the Baptists take her back?”

Elliot laughed. “No, they have a new pastor. He’s not as hardline as the old one.”

“Oh, man. I bet she hates that.”

“She stopped going to church for a month when he took over.”

Lloyd tried to imagine Mrs. Wilcox without picturing her going to church three times a week and couldn’t quite fill in the picture. The light turned green and he rolled through the intersection.

“What ticked her off?”

“The new preacher didn’t condemn drinking alcohol.”

“Ah… that makes sense. The no alcohol thing is one of her favorite rules. Did you notice she only played Baptist hymns during the service? I was sure she’d pick a classic for the finale, like ‘Amazing Grace’ but she went with ‘The Gate Ajar.’”

“She’s probably hoping to draw some converts to the Baptist with better music.”

“Hey, if the Baptists can drink now, she’s got a fighting chance.”

Elliot snickered. Lloyd scanned ahead for the turn off to the rehab facility.

“Did you know Uncle Joe served in the Marines? I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd said. “I knew he’d been in the corps, but only because I found his draft papers in the basement when I was a kid.”

“Draft papers? He was drafted?”

“His card got pulled in ‘69 and he did two tours. We never talked about it. I knew better than to ask. Eventually, it just sort of faded from my mind because he never brought it up.”

“Isn’t that weird?” Elliot asked.

Lloyd shrugged.

“Do you think that’s why he was… the way he was?”

The way he was. Lloyd contemplated the phrase. How was Joe? The first word that came to mind was quite simply: mean. The stern demeanor, thirst for vengeance, and his desperate need for control might have had roots in his time overseas. Who knew what effect the brutality of guerrilla warfare would’ve had on Joe as an eighteen year old. Lloyd wondered if his father had been in a similar state of mind as he’d found himself in at that age. Perhaps the simmering rage had been hardened into something more deadly by the explosive violence of those two years in the jungle.

“I don’t know. Maybe, but no one can know for sure. Even if it did, Joe wouldn’t have admitted it.”

Lloyd turned in at the rehab facility and parked near the front doors. Elliot checked in with the admissions clerk, who took his luggage and disappeared down the hall, giving them a moment to say goodbye.

“Were you serious about staying in touch?” Elliot asked.

“Yeah. I haven’t decided about the ranch yet, but we’ll need to coordinate on that when the time comes.”

Elliot stared at him. “Coordinate?”

“Joe left you half the ranch.”

“Come again?”

Lloyd clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “I’ll have the lawyer send you a copy of the will, okay? We’re business partners now. That is, unless you’d rather sell.”

Elliot looked dumbstruck. “Uh-huh. Yeah… I don’t know. Do you want to?”

“I haven’t decided. How about we wait six months to make a final determination? It’ll give you time to get back on your feet and I can think things over. But if you need cash now, I can arrange a sale.”

“We should talk about that… later.” Elliot glanced over his shoulder to the desk, where the nurse was working on her computer. “Hang on a second, will you?”

Lloyd watched as Elliot approached the nurse, then accepted a small green notepad and pen. He scribbled something down and ripped off the page before handing it back to her.

“Here. Since you were serious about staying in touch, don’t limit yourself to just me, okay?”

Lloyd looked at the paper. There were two unfamiliar addresses written down, one nearby in Park City and the other in Denver. He looked at Elliot. “What’s this?”

His cousin shoved his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders.

“I know you’ve never gotten in contact, which, you know… uh… speaks for itself… but I think you should have that. Just in case you change your mind.”

Lloyd studied the addresses and then Elliot’s anxious expression.

“If you’re still angry-” he broke off, sighing. “You can’t blame them for something that was out of their control.”

“Blame who? For what?” Lloyd asked, losing patience as Elliot skirted around the point without explanation.

“Ingrid and Josephine. They’re your family, too.”

Words died on Lloyd’s tongue, stolen by the impact of the revelation. He re-read the addresses and cemented them into his memory.

“Will you say something?” Elliot said, annoyed.

“I thought they were dead.”

“Dead? Why? You couldn’t find them?” Elliot asked.

Lloyd shook his head, “I never looked… because I thought… I figured…”

“Why would you think they were dead?”

“Joe always settled his debts. Always. If she ran away, that meant…”

He couldn’t finish the thought, but saw understanding flash in Elliot’s eyes.

“They’re alive, and they’d be thrilled to hear from you.”

“Thank you, Elliot.”

They didn’t hug goodbye, just nodded at each other. Then he watched his cousin walk through the double doors that led to a long hallway. Lloyd slid on his sunglasses and headed out to the parking lot. The note in his hand felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He shoved the paper into his wallet and climbed behind the wheel in a daze. He didn’t remember the drive from Salt Lake into Wyoming, but the next thing he knew, he was filling up with gas in Rock Springs.

He’d planned to drop off the Mercury in Salt Lake and have it shipped to D.C. Lloyd checked his watch and realized that appointment, as well as his flight, had long passed. There were a dozen missed calls on his phone. He wondered why he’d driven east, when he could’ve headed to Park City and seen Josie just as easily. It wasn’t too late to swing down to Denver and look up Ingrid; the stop wouldn’t be too far out of his way.

What would he say? After all those years of assuming the worst, he'd been wrong. He had to reach out to them and that terrified him.

They’d want to know why he hadn’t contacted them, why he’d let them go so easily, and ignored their existence for the past twenty years. How could he explain that the risk had outweighed the reward? Denial and avoidance and selfishness had cost him the most important people in his life. He cursed himself for it now and saw the stark truth - he’d given up on his sisters without a shred of factual evidence, leaning on emotional reasoning designed and tailored to protect himself.

He couldn’t explain that, not in his current state of mind, so he turned back onto I-80 and headed home.

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

You heard footsteps and jerked around so fast you nearly fell off your chair. The unexpected sight of the man behind you stole the breath from your lungs.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Easy, Princess. It’s just me.”

Jake raised his arms in mock surrender as you pressed a hand to your racing heart and inhaled through your nose.

“Zach let me in,” he explained.

“Sorry. I’m still on edge from last night. What are you doing here?”

He grimaced. Your pulse, which had just begun to slow, galloped in response to the expression.

“Did something happen with the case? To Lloyd? Is he okay?”

“Nothing happened with the case - as far as I know - and Lloyd… I have no idea. He called me at six-thirty this morning and threatened to rip me apart limb by limb. I’ve been ducking his calls ever since.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell him about Aiden last night, but I chickened out at the last minute.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Well, that explains the phone call. Come on, Diskant is waiting.”

He led you through the kitchen and dining room, into the living area.

Zach lounged in the ornate Fauteuil chair on the far side of the room, his right ankle hooked over his left knee. The perfect stillness of his posture belied his casual bearing. The frozen, statue-like demeanor made your heart sink, as your attention shifted to the tall man who rose from the couch to greet you.

“Good afternoon,” Diskant said, extending his hand.

You greeted him and settled on the loveseat with Jake, directly across from the sofa.

“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but early this morning, Aiden LeDoux was arrested for attempting to break into your apartment.”

The words hit you like a trap door opening under your feet. You didn’t know if you should celebrate or shudder.

“When? How was he caught?”

Diskant glanced at Jake, who shifted nervously beside you.

“I asked Jake to trail Aiden,” Zach said.

“Starting when?” you asked.

“Saturday morning,” Jake said. “I’ve been following him all weekend.”

Diskant spoke. “He found Aiden trying to pick the lock of your apartment door. Jake contacted building security and took video of the act, so we have clear evidence of the attempted break-in.”

Your arms squeezed around your midsection. “And? Where is he now?”

“Jail, but we expect him to make bail soon.”

“Right.”

Detective Diskant glanced at Jake before meeting your eyes.

“There’s something else… While investigating the break in attempt, Jake located something unusual. We found a hidden camera in the hallway. It was tucked behind the welcome wreath on your across-the-hall neighbor’s door. The camera was pointed at your apartment and was live-streaming to an unknown IP address.”

- - -

For the next two hours you reviewed every detail of your case with Diskant. You seized a throw pillow and hugged it to your torso, digging your fingers into its softness for comfort. The detective’s pen scratched on the page as he scribbled in his journal.

Landon had joined your meeting an hour ago, since his shift tailing Aiden became a moot point when his bail hearing was pushed to Tuesday morning. You felt Landon’s perceptive eyes on you, taking in every detail of your reactions.

“Remind me what initially caused you to suspect Aiden when you realized you were being stalked?” Diskant asked.

“No one else made sense. Aiden was the only person I’d upset recently, and he’d just gone through a stressful event, losing his job.”

Diskant frowned. Zach leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“I think we should consider other suspects,” he said.

“What leads you to that conclusion?” Diskant asked.

“Last night, when someone tried to turn us into road kill, Aiden was playing basketball with friends on the other side of town - Jake witnessed it himself. The initial contact from the stalker where he quoted: “Don’t ask who’s there…” that’s a line from Scream, which was released in ’96. In other messages I found more references to horror movies. He quotes Misery and Candyman verbatim in some of the threats. It’s hard to tell if the quotes were deliberate or if the phrases were naturally absorbed into his lexicon. The movies he’s referencing are from the 90s, well before Aiden started watching horror flicks.”

Diskant nodded. You noticed he didn’t take any notes.

Zach sighed and glanced at you, then continued. “The third factor is Aiden’s personality. I made it a point to talk to him a couple times while he was dating Princess. In my opinion, he’s extremely passive aggressive, which isn’t compatible with the increasing level of confrontation we’re seeing from the stalker.”

“What comments did he make that you considered passive aggressive?” Diskant asked.

“He was too good at the art of a backhanded compliment. When I first spoke to him he claimed to appreciate Princess’ independence in one breath and undermined it in the next with, ‘not everyone can handle things on their own, like she tries to.’ There were less specific things too, but overall, he just had a way of taking an innocent sounding statement and giving it a whiff of contempt that set my teeth on edge.”

Diskant clicked his pen and tucked it in his jacket. “I’ve been mulling over the possibility of other suspects myself. The main problem with that theory is the phone call Yvette received last night. Have you considered that Aiden might be working with a partner?”

Zach raised his chin. “Do you have a line on a potential partner?”

“Not yet, but putting together the timeline of last night’s events, Aiden called Yvette before going to the park for his basketball game, prior to the hit-and-run attempt. The phone call where he asked if you were home might have been geared towards finding out the exact opposite. I think it’s just as likely that he was trying to find out if you weren’t at home.”

“If he put up a camera in the hallway and saw that no one was coming and going from your apartment, that might explain him contacting Yvette,” Jake said.

“Once he knew the apartment was unoccupied, he could have sent his partner to distract you with the hit-and-run. We reviewed the security tapes, and it seems that the driver veered away at the last second. I don’t think they were trying to kill you, just frighten and maim.”

You squeezed the pillow tight.

“Landon, have you finished profiling the suspect?” Zach asked.

“Male, 45 to 55, highly intelligent, strategic, with organized behavioral patterns. Some texts seem pre-scripted and sent on a schedule. There are three main patterns of delivery: rapid fire, cluster attacks with intentional pauses, and a steady trickle.”

Diskant nodded. “I noticed the intervals, and the scheduled messages. He probably has a full-time job that keeps him occupied from 9 to 5.”

Landon inclined his head. “Agreed. His writing style shows the marks of higher education, which makes me think he works in a white-collar occupation. It would also explain the need for regular hours. The occasions where he’s made contact - the nephew’s birthday party, in the park on Friday night, and then the incident yesterday - they all occurred in the evening.”

“Consistent with the profile,” Zach said.

“His emotional tone shows that he suppresses enormous amounts of rage. I’m inclined to think he can’t contain it all the time, which would’ve led to court-ordered therapy, probably on a non-voluntary basis.”

“What about the fact that he hasn’t identified himself in the texts?” Zach asked.

“That’s why I’m not ruling Aiden out yet,” Landon said. “The coyness allows him to feign innocence. He’s being secretive and not taking ownership of his actions. That fits Aiden to a tee. Factoring the technological aspect of the hidden camera Jake found in the hallway, there’s a strong possibility Aiden is involved in the stalking even if he isn’t the driving force behind it.”

You swallowed hard, disturbed by the description.

“Does the profile ring any bells?” Jake asked.

You shook your head and plucked at the upholstery of the pillow.

“My questions about the stalker’s identity began from the texts as well,” Diskant said. “These messages don’t read like they’re from a romantically obsessed stalker who’s trying to win back their victim’s affection.”

“The primary motivation behind the messages is clear,” Landon said.

Zach snorted. “Yeah. He’s trying to terrorize her.”

“The person writing the texts is an emotional sadist. They’re motivated by the enjoyment of the hunt and provoking a response.”

Diskant was nodding before Landon finished speaking. “The movie obsession in the subtext of his messages isn’t based around enjoying the adrenaline rush of fear, like a normal person would. He’s identifying with the antagonists, like Ghostface and Patrick Bateman.”

“And our current theory is that Aiden is involved with this person?” you asked, fingers clenching in the pillow’s stuffing.

“It’s one possibility,” Diskant said. “I spoke with Aiden’s father this morning. He mentioned he searched Aiden’s phone for evidence of the messages after you spoke with him. However, after going through his son’s phone, he realized it wasn’t the only device he’d seen Aiden using.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Ledoux reports Aiden has a second phone. He thought it was for work, but he’s seen it several times since Aiden was let go from his employer. His father’s theory is that he wasn’t using his personal device to send the texts.”

Jake leaned in. “Do you have a search warrant for the house yet?”

“We didn’t need one. Mr. LeDoux owns the house, all we needed was his permission. We searched his room from top to bottom and couldn’t find a second phone. A team is searching the rest of the house as we speak.”

“Why is Mr. LeDoux being so cooperative?” Zach asked. “Is it possible he might be Aiden’s partner?”

Your jaw dropped. For a second you were shocked, then horrified. “Mr. LeDoux is too old for the profile and I only met him one time. He has no reason to stalk me!”

Landon spoke. “I went through Aiden’s publicly available writings when I was analyzing the text messages and compared them. Because of his proximity to the case, I also reviewed Mr. LeDoux’s writing and I doubt either of them authored the messages. But given the information Yvette provided us with, I’m still concerned that Aiden has something to do with the harassment.”

“When do you plan to interrogate Aiden?” Zach asked.

“I’m not allowing you to speak with the subject,” Diskant said.

“Why not?” Landon demanded.

“You’re emotionally invested in the case - that’s a recipe for disaster.”

After Diskant left, Zach and Jake headed to the office, while Landon stayed behind as your minder. You retreated to your work station in the conservatory where you stared blankly at your laptop for a few minutes before laying your head down on the desk.

“Are you okay?” Landon’s voice cut through your misery.

You glanced back and saw him standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the conservatory, sunlight glinting off his dark brown hair.

“No. Would you be?”

“Nope.” He crossed to the table and pulled up a chair, swinging it around to straddle as he folded his arms over the backrest. “Tell me where your head’s at.”

“Zach and Lloyd might go into overprotective mode. The minute I realized I was being stalked, I was worried about Lloyd’s reaction. After watching Zach’s response to Diskant’s theory…” you shook your head.

“Zach’s incredibly loyal,” Landon said.

“That’s why I’m worried!”

“Jake and I will handle them, okay? Bishop already suggested locking Lloyd away before we fill him in. We could always shove Zach in too.”

“Got a dungeon?”

Landon snorted. “Not one that will hold them. Listen. This is temporary. The stalking can’t go on forever. It won’t go on forever.”

“If Lloyd and Zach have their way it will be over quickly and violently. The latter part worries me. I want this resolved but I don’t want them going to jail on my behalf. Just thinking about it makes me sick.”

Landon’s lips pursed. “Can you think of any reason, other than stalking you, for Aiden to want access to your apartment while you were away?”

“No. I have no clue.”

“If he planted the camera in the hallway, I’m inclined to think it was placed to make sure you weren’t home. It’s straight out of the intelligence handbook to ensure you’re in and out of a target’s home while they’re gone. Given that Aiden’s father was an FBI agent, he’d know that much about tradecraft.”

You rubbed your temple. “I don’t understand why he’d do this.”

“There were no weapons on him when he was arrested. I don’t buy him as your stalker, but the evidence points to his involvement.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Nothing adds up.”

Landon ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it from its carefully gelled style. “You’re right. And until we get more evidence, it probably won’t. What are you doing in the meantime?”

“Searching for missing persons reports.”

“Okay then. Shall we divide and conquer?”

The next few hours flew by, filled with research and notes. Daylight slipped away but your eyes remained focused on the screen without pause. You pulled up another report and a moment later, elbowed Landon.

“Hey. Look at this. Li Wei Chapman, age 23, vanished in 1999 from Virginia.”

Landon looked over your shoulder. “Her last known location was at a bible camp her family owned in Fredericksburg.”

“Is that too far away from Harmony?”

“It’s only forty minutes by car. The serial killer was most active closer to D.C., but that alone doesn’t exclude this victim. She disappeared on June 14th - right in the middle of his active period.”

“Look at the notes,” you said, scrolling down. “Her daughter, Zoe Chapman, also went missing on the same day. She was two years old.”

“If she was his first victim, he might have chosen a location he knew well. Maybe he spent time at the bible camp and was familiar with the terrain,” Landon said. “Fredericksburg has a lot of wooded areas that could be used for cover.”

“How do you know so much about the geography of Fredericksburg?” you asked.

“It’s on the way to Latimer’s hometown. We use his uncle’s farm for our team reunion every year. This is good. It’s the first mother-daughter abduction we’ve found that matches the details of our victim.”

“Wait. Marco Latimer? He’s from Virginia?”

Landon arched a brow. “Yeah. Why?”

“His accent. I couldn’t quite place it. Where’s he from?”

“Kilmarnock. His accent is Virginia Tidewater, but it’s stronger than most because he grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere.”

He re-focused his attention on the missing persons report and was about to say something when the doorbell rang. Your head snapped up.

“I’ll get it,” Landon said.

You trailed after him, but stayed out of sight as he opened the door. A woman in her mid-sixties with ash blonde hair worn in a blunt bob waited on the other side.

“Hello, I’m Judy Lange. I’m looking for Lloyd’s house sitter. Is she here?”

“Yeah.”

Landon motioned you forward. Mrs. Lange’s eyes glinted in recognition when she saw you.

“Here are the pool keys, for Mr. Hansen. I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I promised I’d have them back before he returned,” she said, handing them over.

“Thank you, I’ll make sure he gets them.”

“Excellent. And if you need anything, we’re just two doors down.”

You thanked her for the keys and when she was gone, placed the keys in the bowl on the foyer table. Realizing how late it was you checked the time and frowned.

“When does Lloyd’s flight land? Shouldn’t we have picked him up already?”

“He’s driving back,” Landon said.

“What?! All the way across the country?”

“He’s bringing back a car, at least that’s what Zach said.”

Your heart sank. You’d confessed your love, and now Lloyd was taking his sweet time returning.

“What’s wrong?” Landon asked.

“I told Lloyd I loved him last night.”

His eyebrows rose sharply. “Damn. That took guts. Lloyd’s the most emotionally repressed person I’ve ever met.”

You groaned and sank down on the couch, head in your hands.

“What was I thinking?!”

“Maybe your confession wasn’t such a bad thing,” Landon said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Lloyd is skittish about sharing his emotions, but under the right conditions he’s made progress before.”

You rubbed your neck. “I’m worried that he might never say it back. If this relationship keeps going, I’m going to need the words, but I don’t know if Lloyd is capable of saying them… ever.”

“I think the real question here is, how long are you willing to wait to hear him say it?”

“I don’t know. I love him, but I hate the way it feels to be left hanging like this. Either I get over myself and accept his limitations or… we break up.”

“Perhaps there’s a third option,” Landon said.

“What’s the third option?”

“Give it time. Lloyd is capable of changing. Don’t forget that.”

“What am I going to say to him when he comes home?” you asked, running a hand over your hair.

“I’d wait and see if he brings it up on his own. But remember - talking about his feelings is his most underdeveloped skillset. If you don’t remember that, you’re going to be hurt when he fumbles the pass.”

“I can handle fumbling. What I’m worried about is the possibility that he might never try.”

Landon gave you a crooked smile. “Give him a minute to work things out on his own. Lloyd makes his best progress when he can move at his own pace. He’ll test the waters before he dives in. That’s why I think your confession might be a good thing.”

You groaned. “It wasn’t a good thing. I humiliated myself.”

“Or you made him feel secure. Lloyd’s always taking one step forward and two steps back with emotional processing. If he knows where he stands with you, that might serve as an anchor. He’ll never be one for eloquent declarations of love, but a blind man could see how he treats you. I doubt the words will come easy, but he’ll find his voice when he’s ready.”

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

It wouldn’t have been accurate to say that Lloyd spent the rest of the drive across the country chewing on the idea of reconnecting with his sisters. Rather, it was the idea that spent the rest of the drive chewing on him. Thoughts of Ingrid and Josie took center stage and refused to let him look away. By the time he was approaching the outskirts of Rockville, he was exhausted and sick of spinning through the same thoughts over and over.

By the time he parked the Mercury on the tree lined street outside of his townhouse complex, it was approaching midnight, and he felt like a zombie. His back ached and the bruise on his thigh from where Charlene kicked him throbbed. He felt every twinge of sore muscle from the explosion at Holbrook’s stash house as he unloaded his bags. When he stepped inside, the sight of Zach drinking whiskey on his living room sofa took him by surprise. It took a minute before his mind switched on and the details of the conversation on Sunday night came flooding back.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“How was the drive?”

“Miserable. I… stuff came up. I didn’t mean to take so long. How is she?”

Zach shrugged.

“I called Jake this morning, but he hung up on me, twice.” Lloyd crossed the living room and reached for the decanter of whiskey to pour himself a glass.

“Tell me what's going on,” he commanded.

Zach snorted. “Fuck, no. I’m not touching that subject with a ten-foot pole, that’s on Princess. But I’m glad you’re back. Shit’s gotten weird the last few days.”

“Explain.”

“You look like death warmed over, Lloyd. Go get some sleep. I’ll stay through tomorrow and then I’m clearing out so you and Princess can talk.”

He felt like death warmed over, too, which led him to climb the stairs without too much protest. Whatever you needed to share would probably go over better if he had a full night’s sleep before hearing it. Lloyd slipped silently into the bedroom and found you curled up on the far side of the bed. He stripped to his boxers and crawled in next to you.

When the mattress dipped, your lashes fluttered. For a moment, you opened your eyes, but they didn’t focus. He eased closer and you reached out to press a hand to his chest. Lloyd took that as a welcoming sign and closed the distance between you.

He pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered, “I’m home. I missed you.”

You blinked sleepily, trying to wake up, but failing to cast off the chains of slumber.

“Lloyd… home…” you slurred the words as you struggled to open your eyes.

“I’m here now,” he murmured, smoothing a hand down your back. You cuddled into his chest with a breathy sigh that made his heart skip a beat. He kissed your hair.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“S’okay. Glad… you’re back…”

Lloyd smiled, squeezing you gently as the weight of his worries melted away. You were happy to see him and he was holding you again. Everything would work out. Whatever challenge was lurking around the corner could be dealt with in the morning. As long as he could bask in the feeling of holding the woman he loved for the night, he’d meet the trouble head-on tomorrow.

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

In the morning, you curled against Lloyd and watched him sleep, enjoying the peaceful expression on his face. You were happy he was home, but dread clawed at the pit of your stomach. The conversation you’d put off was hours away and his reaction loomed large. Sighing, you showered and dressed before making your way downstairs.

Zach was at the stove, stirring a pan of scrambled eggs.

“Morning Princess,” he said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You forced a smile in return and opened a cabinet to grab plates. As Zach finished cooking, you set two places at the breakfast bar. You ate in silence with the approaching conversation weighing heavily on your mind.

“So, have you decided what to say?”

“Kind of. I’m planning on starting with the reasons behind my decision before I tell him the details.”

“If he explodes, don’t take it too personally. He’s been known to say things in the heat of the moment that he doesn’t mean.”

“It’s the uncertainty about the stalker’s identity that I’m worried about explaining. This was bad enough when I thought I knew who was behind it. Not knowing makes it even harder.”

“I’m meeting with Mr. LeDoux this morning. He kept a log of Aiden’s comings and goings for the past week and he’s willing to share it with me.”

“That’s good.”

“We’ll sort this out, okay? As for Lloyd, just bite the bullet and get it over with. He’ll come around once he calms down,” Zach said, and patted your shoulder.

You tried to take comfort in his words when your phone rang, interrupting your thoughts. Annabeth’s name popped up on the caller ID. You answered on speaker phone.

“Hey Annabeth. I’m here with Zach Hightower. Did you find something?”

“I have good news: you were right. The unidentified victim isn’t Julia’s sister!”

“Really? What did you find out?”

“There was an error in the initial comparison, which probably came about because of insufficient reference material. Julia came from a semi-isolated community that’s lived on an island for generations, her DNA is harder to interpret. With a deeper analysis, it became clear that Julia and the unknown victim weren’t sisters - they’re actually third cousins.”

“So the error was on Julia’s sample?”

“It can be difficult to interpret the genetics of a person with Julia’s background,” Annabeth said. “While China recognizes the Miao as an official minority, there's limited representation of her ethnicity in genetic databases, which is why the crime lab made a mistake.”

“Do you have a match on the unknown victim?” you asked.

“Based on ancestry DNA, the unknown victim is Li Wei Chapman. She was adopted by Frida and Lyle Chapman from Taiwan in 1977 and lived in Fredericksburg, Virginia.”

“Thank you so much, Annabeth. This is a tremendous help.”

“Glad I could assist. I’ve emailed you the full genetic analysis, but it might take a minute to download. The file is huge.”

“I can drop it off this afternoon,” Zach said.

You downloaded and printed the reports for him, but once he was gone, the anxiety returned. To occupy yourself, you returned to the missing persons reports, pulling up everything on Li Wei Chapman. The breakthrough opened up a whole new realm of possibilities - you hardly knew where to begin. An hour ticked by and you were struggling to focus. Lloyd was still asleep. You felt trapped within the four walls of the house.

It was too quiet. You were bubbling with energy as your mind raced with thoughts of what to say when Lloyd woke up and the possibilities for the investigation now that the unknown victim was identified. You tried to busy yourself by cleaning the kitchen and re-organizing your paperwork, but anxiety was gnawing a hole in your stomach and the attempts to stay occupied only amplified the restlessness. As you paced around the house, your eyes landed on the keys to the pool. They were still on the foyer table where you’d put them last night.

Weighing the risk, you decided that the pool wasn’t too exposed. It was in a fenced enclosure behind the townhouses, which meant there’d be a row of three story tall brick buildings and a courtyard with an eight foot high wall between you and the nearest street. Locked gates prevented visitors from entering the recreational area behind the townhouses except by passing through a home. Plus, Lloyd’s back gate was only ten feet away from the pool enclosure.

You found your regular one-piece suit in the front pocket of your suitcase, which you’d stored in Lloyd’s laundry room. After changing, you took the keys and made your way through the backyard, closing the wrought iron gate behind you, and dove into the glistening blue water of the lap pool. The coolness enveloped you, washing away the smothering anxiety that had been simmering all morning. With each stroke down the length of the pool, you felt the stress falling away.

- - -

Hidden in the shadows, a figure watched you splash through the water.

He’d spent all weekend figuring out where you’d disappeared to. Finding you and Zach at the Emerald Harp on Sunday night had been an incredible stroke of luck. Since then, he’d been waiting for the ex-SEAL to leave so he could approach you alone. His heart pounded with anticipation as he watched, obscured by a neighbor’s arbor. The structure was overflowing with the thriving yellow blossoms of a Carolina Jessamine that offered sufficient cover from the security cameras.

He’d been planning this for months, even before he’d begun messaging you. He’d learned your routines and watched you, waiting for the opportunity to get close enough. Slipping the balaclava over his face he moved through the pool enclosure gate on silent feet, reveling in the rush of being so close to his ultimate goal.

You swam to the end of the pool, your back to him, unaware of the danger you were in. Wanting to prolong the thrill of being invisible, he stayed out of your line of vision as you swam toward the end of the pool. You reached the wall and surfaced with a gasp, treading water for a moment before reaching for the ladder. Unaware of him, you climbed out and collected your towel from a nearby chair. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, pulsing through every capillary, and sharpening his senses. He bided his time and relied on the crepe soles of shoes to mask the sound of his footsteps as he drew closer.

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

Lloyd woke up, feeling well-rested and content. Beside him your spot was empty, and the sheets were cool to the touch. He listened but didn’t hear anyone else moving around in the house. A glance at the clock showed it was past ten-thirty. It surprised him to have slept for so long. Usually he didn’t sleep more than six or seven hours in a single stretch. He showered and brushed his teeth before descending the stairs, looking forward to seeing you.

As his foot landed on the bottom step, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

Adrenaline surged, and without hesitation, he sprinted to the backyard, where the scream had originated. Another scream guided him towards the pool enclosure. He crossed the yard in four strides and didn’t bother opening the garden gate, just leapt over it and pivoted toward the pool enclosure, nearly losing his footing as the loose gravel shifted under his bare feet.

You were locked in a struggle with a masked figure who had you by the throat. The masked man looked up and saw Lloyd barreling towards him. He threw you down on the concrete and seized a handful of your hair, then shoved your head under the water.

Lloyd charged. He slammed into the assailant and they tumbled across the hot cement, exchanging a barrage of punches and kicks. The masked man was stronger and more competent a fighter than he’d expected. An elbow to the jaw sent Lloyd’s head snapping back, and he cracked the crown of his head on cement. For a second his grip slackened, and the intruder broke free. Lloyd was on his feet in an instant, ready to chase after him, when he saw you unconscious on the ground.

The intruder was already disappearing around the corner into the courtyard. Lloyd knelt and pressed his fingers to your throat, feeling for a pulse. Your skin was ashen and your breathing shallow. Kneeling down, he cradled your head to his chest and stroked your cheek.

“Princess? Wake up… come on, honey…”

You didn’t stir. His hands trembled as he found his phone in the pocket of his chinos and dialed for an ambulance.

- - -

He paced in the waiting area, bubbling with tension as the doctors took their sweet time scanning you in radiology, where he hadn’t been allowed to follow. The door opened, and he spun around.

“What happened?” Zach asked.

“Someone tried to drown her in the swimming pool. I got there just in time.”

“You look like you need a bandaid yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Lloyd said.

“Princess?”

“A concussion for sure, they’re scanning for other injuries now.”

Worry lined Zach’s face. He crossed his arms and before Lloyd could question him further, the waiting room door opened again to admit Jake and Landon.

“What happened?” Jake demanded.

Lloyd gave him the run down and noted that Landon didn’t seem as surprised by the description of events.

“I stopped by your place and spoke to Mrs. Lange,” the dark haired man said. “She gave me a copy of the security tapes from the pool complex. I haven’t had the chance to look at it yet.”

Jake was already pulling out his laptop. They huddled around the screen and watched as the technical specialist reviewed the footage. The assailant had done a good job of avoiding being captured on his way in, but the frames taken after his fight with Lloyd showed clear images of him fleeing through the courtyard.

“Let me try this,” Jake muttered.

His fingers flew over the keys as he applied measurements to various objects in the footage, giving the software a frame of reference. The program calculated and analyzed for a minute as he isolated the figure of the assailant.

Jake read the result and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit.”

“What?” Lloyd growled.

“The attacker is only 5 '9, which means Aiden is six inches taller than the man who attacked Princess. It’s possible to make yourself taller, but six inches shorter? There’s no way he’s the assailant. We’ve been looking at the wrong guy all along.”

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

Next - Part XIX

Behind the Scenes: Lloyd’s post-chapter reaction

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

Masterlist

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

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

@badassbaker

@meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@thiskindahotkindamusic

@jesgisborne

@charmingprinces

@amiets2

@seitmai

@elle14-blog1

@chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-doctor-help

@terry2227

@jesevans

@openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen

@adoreyouusugar

@awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire

@liecastillo

@marantha

@literaturelove

@babyevansblog

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@thegirlnextdoorssister

@ladygrey03

@cynic-spirit

@rosedpetal

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87

@yiiiikesmish

@calwitch

@peachiestevie

@texmexdarling

@here4thefanfics

@rogersbarber

@spikeluv84

@dear-fifi

@crayongirl-linz

@bigcreatorwombatdreamer

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd x princess #the princess & the lawyer #the princess and the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen au #chris evans characters #chris evans character fanfic #the gray man fanfic #lloyd hansen x female reader

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kidstemplatte · 11 months

Note

I recently got a puppy and I had a thought- could you write headcannons/ fic about Terzo’s daughter wanting a puppy and he can’t say no to her even though he’s a cat person/ has cats.

okay several things first. yay, new puppy!! also of course!! this prompt instantly made me think of a meme i’ll put at the end of the fic hehe.

dad! terzo getting a puppy headcanons ��

^ okay it’s crazy that the picture i found of terzo with a dog just happens to be with a dachshund, i found it after i wrote this teehee.

“la mia stellina… i will get you anything in the whole world… just, please, not a dog.” terzo PLEADS his daughter, fighting to not succumb to her puppy dog eyes (fitting in this situation)

-“pleeeaaaase, papa!” she begs.

-“absolutely not.”

-“why not?”

-“there is no way in heaven we are getting a dog. we already have a cat.

-“binx needs a friend!” she says.

-“then it will be another cat. no puppies. no.”

-before he knows it, there is a baby dachshund now residing in his home.

-he sighs. ”you chose a… weiner dog?”

-“she’s a dachshund, papa! and she’s so cute!”

-it’s a weiner dog. yes it is. i literally do not accept any other hc. if terzo had a dog it would be a weiner dog. it’s short and silly just like terzo.

-“her name is farfalle.”

-“why farfalle? looks more like a sausage to me.”

-“because it sound pretty, papa! don’t be mean!”

-farfalle instantly takes a liking to terzo, she’s loving to everyone, but terzo more than anyone else.

-he’s not particularly fond of it. she tugs at his robes and jumps onto his lap and licks at his face paint.

-one day, as he’s relaxing in his dad chair™, he hears farfalle pitter-pattering across the hardwood floor. he’s preparing himself to scold her for chewing on his perfectly polished shoes, instead the footsteps come to a halt. suspicious.

-he looks down and sees her patiently sitting beside his feet, tilting her head and looking up at him with big eyes.

-he sighs. “fine.”

-he pats his leg and she jumps into his chair, curling up in his lap.

-he had to admit, it was kind of… cute.

-yeah, they become best friends after that.

-he and his daughter practically fight for her attention.

-farfalle follows him around ALL THE TIME while she’s at school and he lets her.

-sister imperator scolds terzo for letting her roam the church but he declares that he is papa, and he makes the rules.

-spends so much money on her. buys her a tempur-pedic dog bed and a gucci collar.

-primo tells terzo if the dog ever messes up even a single flower in his perfect garden she is going to become a nice sausage roll.

-but terzo insists that his little farfalle MUST see the garden. so he buys a stroller and goes on walks with his daughter while he wheels her through the garden. yeah. the clergy makes fun of him, but he doesn’t care.

-sings her the weiner dog song, if you know you know.

long story short:

i hope you enjoyed!!! tysm for your request! sorry i haven’t posted a fic in a while my mind is a wreck and college is weird!😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 more stuff is coming i promise!

/)/) ( . .) ( づ♡ thank you for reading!

-alice

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #terzo #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus #papa terzo #papa emeritus x reader #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #dad! terzo #terzo headcanons #ghost headcanons

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moonsapprentice · 5 months

Note

Can you do some general headcanons for the neighbors? If not that’s okay! I just really like the neighbors :]

Hii so I really love the neighbors but Mark and Jon are kind of bland to write ( FOR ME PERSONALLY !!! ) so I just did Eduardo bc I love him and I wanna peg him ( /j ). I’ll update this post if I think of any other stuff.

ALSO I’m trying out a new format for headcannons so I might be redoing all my old headcannons with this one. Think of this as a test run of sorts.

I also totally did not let this ask sit in my inbox for 5 months 😁

⋆✶✷𝔈𝔡𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰✷✶⋆

𝔄𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

✩ Eduardo has brown scruffy hair which perpetually looks like he needs a haircut. It’s a deep brown that resembles dark chocolate. Whenever he wakes up it’s completely all over the place and takes a shit ton of combing to manage as it’s thick. I’m also a firm believer that man has body hair. Chest hair, arm hair, happy trail, the whole 9 yards. The only part of him that he keeps a bit managed is his facial hair, which he prefers to have stubble.

✩ His eyes are the same shade of brown as his hair, but have speckles of hazel in them. Occasionally you might catch a hint of green in them from radiation (power edd episode). Also has pretty lashes but he’d kill you if you pointed them out.

✩ His skin is a deep tan with warm undertones. He absolutely loves hot weather, but he’s really bad about putting sunscreen on. ALSO. MY MAN IS CHUBBY ! ! ! HE DRINKS DIET COKE ALL THE TIME HE IS CHUBBY ! ! ! He used to be 6’1 but again, radiation made him taller. So he’s 6’3

✩ khaki pant enjoyer

✩ very hot body temperature. During the winter it’s awesome because you have your own personal full body heating pad. During the summer however. . .

✩ has dimples

ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔠

✩ one of his favorite things to do is to pick you up and literally throw you. Could be nsfw but also in a silly way. During the summer he 100% picks you up and tosses you in the pool, and before bed sometimes he’ll pick you up all gentle and sweet then toss you onto the bed like you’re a small dog.

✩ his love language is mostly acts of service and quality time, with occasional touch. The most common way he’ll express love is cooking for you.

✩ love/hate relationship with pda. If he’s around someone he hates (edd) he’ll purposely lay it on thick to annoy the shit out of him. Any other time though, he doesn’t do anything more than hand holding and brief kisses.

✩ when you’re alone with him he’s just the sweetest. Obviously a bit of a brat, but still sweet. He loves to cuddle.

✩ loves to kiss you on the temple and lips, loves to receive kisses on the lips and cheek. Sometimes the ear too, if you’re whispering something sweet to him.

✩ loves hearing your giggles when her rubs his stubble on you

✩ hugs from behind at any given moment.

✩ enjoys a good scalp rub. Scratch his scalp a bit and you’ll get endless kisses

✩ makeout sessions are also very common. He’ll prop you up on his lap and just hug and kiss you for hours.

✩ one time Jon walked in. Now he locks the door.

✩ as for love he likes to receive, he adores physical touch and words of affirmation. Especially if it has something to do with his appearance.

✩ surprisingly likes to be the little spoon more often than not. Of course he has days where he likes to hold you, but he likes to be scooped up

✩ especially because he can have easy access to your waist and your neck

✩ he dreams of settling down with you. He’d prefer to get married but would go at your pace. He’s open to having kids too, but could live without them if you don’t want them.

✩ carries you on his back

✩ purposely hides things/puts them on high shelves so you ask him for help (nothing super important, things like cereal boxes)

ℜ𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪

✩ deviled eggs fan

✩ sneezes and coughs obnoxiously loud

✩ snores.

✩ very loosely Christian. Believes in the faith but he doesn’t go to church every Sunday or anything. He wears a gold cross under his shirt

✩ grandparents immigrated from Mexico to England

✩ speaks Spanish (duh.)

✩ literally just acts like a cunt for no reason other than to make people mad.

✩ owns a ps4 and plays gta on it

✩ the most KNARLY hairy toes

✩ screams like a woman

✩ cannot handle scary movies

✩ fast and furious fan (I’ve never watched it but like he gives off that energy)

✩ goes to sleep early (9pm)

✩ would probably sleep in his boxers but I can see him wearing those goofy ass long dresses and the hat with the ball at the end. (Yk the one)

✩ prefers coffee over tea

✩ doesn’t really like energy drinks as he thinks they’re too sweet

✩ prefers things that are savory/bitter

𝔑𝔰𝔣𝔴

✩ his favorite position is cowgirl, specifically when he’s sitting up on a couch or something so he has your chest in his face. And so it’s easy to give you kisses. He also enjoys pushing you against walls with your legs around his waist.

✩ when you’re home alone, he loves to prop you up on the kitchen counter.

✩ HARD (haha) BELIEVER IN MORNING SEX ‼️‼️ If he slept as the big spoon, there’s a 60% chance he’s waking up hard. He’ll be all groggy, making sure you’re okay with having sex right then.

✩ during that situation, since you both are bit sleepy, he prefers spooning or missionary

✩ enjoys hickeys but only if they’re hidden. He likes to give them right in the middle of your chest (between your boobs, if you have them) so he’s the only one that’ll ever see them. There, and your way lower back. Right where your pants lay. He’ll take them anywhere but especially enjoys the tail end of his collarbone and on his pelvic bone.

✩ he mostly goes on the rougher side but not enough to hurt. During morning sex though, he goes very slowly and sensually.

✩ grunter and groaner.

✩ an average sex drive. He obviously has to dial it down because of the roommates, but if they’re gone for an extended period of time he jumps at the opportunity.

✩ he can get very loud too. He doesn’t even realize it until you smack a hand (or your lips) over his mouth.

✩ prefers boobs over ass (even if you aren’t fem)

✩ he can go 2 rounds on average, up to four if you’re home alone, and only 1 if it’s morning sex.

✩ creampie kind of guy

✩ 7 inches with a bit of a downward tilt. Trimmed but not shaved

GUYS PLEASE I PROMISE I’M WRITING FOR TORD SOON I WAS JUST RANDOMLY INSPIRED TO DO EDUARDO IM SORRY 😭😭😭 also if ur reading this I saw your Matt ask and I totally agree he isn’t written for enough!! I’ll get to him soon!

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cressthebest · 5 months

Text

nobody could decide which stories they wanted me to share. they want me to share all of them 😭😭

i’ll start with jesus and john and why i think they’re gay for each other, supported by biblical evidence provided by Seton Catholic Homeschooling of America.

• i took this course in my tenth grade year. i was only homeschooled for 9th and 10th grade. i was public schooled before then, and later went to boarding school for my last two years of hs. but that’s another post.

this is a long post. buckle in. i’ll have it all below the cut

• i no longer have the textbook title, and only have pictures from this text book that i took in a delusional haze when reading this in my catholic mother’s household, hoping that she wouldn’t look through my phones photos to find these images.

this is all from a catholic standpoint, other forms of christianity are not accounted for. if you do not want to see GAY CONTENT ABOUT JESUS, move along

this post is about to unlock so much of my old hyperfixation on the catholic church that i had before leaving.

first of all, as backstory for those who don’t know john:

• john is one of jesus’ twelve disciples and wrote the Gospel of John (I, II, and III) which is a hella important book in the new testament (the second half of the bible.)

• the books of john tell the story of jesus’ life from birth to death. now, that’s kinda gay to write about another man that much, hmm.

• john has also earned the affectionate title of: “The Beloved Disciple”

• he is also traditionally credited with writing Revelations (also known as Apocalypse, which tells how the world is gonna end. fun right!!), though scholars are unsure if he wrote it, or a different john wrote it.

okay, now onto the gay stuff:

• most people jokingly ship judas and jesus because of the angst of judas’ betrayal to jesus. however, i disagree.

• though, knowing their ages, shipping jesus and john would be quite problematic these days, it was quite an acceptable age gap back then. jesus was around the ages of 30-33 at the time of his death, and john was a young adult, about 18. (yikes)

• my evidence begins with the way john writes about himself and jesus in the Gospel of John. in his gospel, he never calls himself john. you guys know what he calls himself in his gospel?? “the discipline whom jesus loved”

😐

sir. could you be ANY more obvious??

so far, all of this info is directly from my catholic textbook.

WOW! that page unpacks a lot. let me elaborate on the way john leaned up on jesus’ chest. first of all, that’s a real bible quote. let’s go:

John 13:23-25

• “23 One of his disciples, the one Jesus loved, was at the table to the right of Jesus in a place of honor. 24 So Simon Peter gestured to this disciple to ask Jesus who it was he was referring to. 25 Then the disciple whom Jesus loved leaned back against Jesus’ chest”

the passage then goes on to john (the disciple whom jesus loved) asking jesus who’s gonna betray him.

• to FURTHER add to this gay af moment, there are PAINTINGS of it, completed by MULTIPLE artists. i’m going to provide the image in my textbook, and then images found online that i particularly enjoy.

above: lovely image! i cannot remember the artist for the life of me.

above: Jesus and John at the Last Supper by Valentin de Boulonge

above: Last Supper by Plautilla Nelli (portions of the image were cropped)

above: cannot find artist’s name.

• if you are interested in finding hundreds more of images like this, all you need to type into google is “john leaning on jesus”. you’ll get the images you need. trust me

• those were my largest pieces of evidence, but there are smaller ones i’d like to share. the textbook helped “gay it up”. i think the author of this textbook was a closeted homosexual. cause no way did a straight person write this thinking “hmmm that’s totally platonic and not at all queer, cause that’s how i feel about MY best friend.”

here’s direct textbook images:

• hmmm man who was closest to him you say???

• “intimate relationship with God”

• best friend? 🤔 are we sure about that?

• symbol of his greater love?

• AND he was the first to recognize jesus??

• y’all. they’ve got to be shitting me atp. no way were they not In Love

and finally, from my study questions:

y’all. special favors? exceptional love?

this textbook had me GOBSMACKED. jaw DROPPED. WDYM THAT JESUS AND JOHN WERE DEFINITELY IN LOVE???

conclusion:

• i HIGHLY recommend you looking up more pictures of john laying on jesus.

• i think of john/jesus as canon. there’s too much evidence to support my point. including The Bible. judas/jesus is like what fanfics are for. they’re the pair that everyone wishes happened in canon, but the authors sucked, so it didn’t.

• literally, drop any questions in the reblogs and comments. i’ll be HAPPY to answer.

(and jesus/judas shippers, i hope i changed your mind.)

#jesus x john #jesus x judas #anti catholic #anti christianity #(putting those in so catholics can filter this post out)#last supper #valentin de boulogne #ex christian #ex catholic #anti religion #ex religious #cress talks way too much

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re-re-redline · 24 days

Text

-Confession Headcanons: Constantine XI-

-No Spoilers For Traum-

In the main headcanons at least, it’s in the Endnote, though, and it will be highlighted in blue. So look out!

Foreword: If you haven’t read the Romance Headcanons I did for Constantine, then I advise that you do since this is a direct continuation of concepts and events that happened (or would happen may be a better phrase) in that set of headcanons. In less words, you may find yourself a bit confused. At this phase, I don’t have that many posts so scrolling through my profile shouldn’t be too much of a chore at the time of writing. But once I have more things under my belt, I’ll make a Masterlist.

That in mind, this time I’ll be going into the process of how Constantine confesses to you. It’ll start off with how Constantine plans the whole thing, how he executes the plan, and the aftermath. Now, good ol’ Redline is nobody if not someone who writes ridiculously long lists of headcanons, so all that good shit will be under the ‘Read More’ for the sake of everyone’s scrolling convenience as I have a feeling that we’re going to be here a good while.

Now, let’s get into how this pathetic bastard (affectionate) will confess to you.

Alright, post agonizing slow burn we have a Constantine who no longer has his head up his ass. Great. So, this is the part where he confesses immediately and everything’ll be all hunky dory and this list of headcanons is gonna be a short one. …Is what I would say if things were that easy.

Let me ask you something real quick. We all know that Constantine had two (2) wives, yes? Well, can anyone tell me how he proposed to them? Was it: A. He visited her home country and proposed in person and discussed the deets there, B. He spent ages writing the world’s longest letter as a proposal, or C. It just happened, fuck if I know, why are you asking me this, Redline?

If you picked any of these options then you are wrong. His first marriage with Theodora Tocco in July of 1428 happened because her uncle, Carlo I, got his ass beat by Constantine’s older brother, John VIII, and had to give up some of his territories along with marrying his niece off to Constantine to seal the deal. Micheal had jack all to do with this aside from helping his brother take Mystras and beat up Carlo.

His second marriage with Caterina Gattilusio in 1440 was the result of his wingman George doing the negotiations. The only part Constantine played in that whole thing was deciding on who he was going to marry.

Now why am I telling you this? I’m telling you this to inform you that Constantine has virtually zero experience in this field. He had John and George pull it off for him and even then the marriages were political in nature so there likely wasn’t any feelings to confess in the first place. Now, he may have grown feelings for his wives during their short time together but honestly, we have no idea. So it’s safe to err on the side that he’s got nothin’ since it does not require proof of any kind to hold this position.

This means that it isn’t a stretch to say that Constantine has no idea what he’s supposed to do or how he’s supposed to go about this. The only confessions this man has probably ever made were at church and even then it’s unlikely that he poured his heart out to whoever was listening on the other end thanks to how clammed up he is in regards to his own feelings, so this is new territory to say the least.

Yes, yes. He does know that a confession of one’s romantic feelings for another person is basically at its core just saying “I love you.” But HOW does one say “I love you?” It’s not that simple. It can’t be that simple. Constantine already feels pretty bad for being an idiot and making you put so much time and effort into romancing him, so he can’t in good conscience just give a plain old confession and leave it at that. It needs to be something more. It has to live up to your expectations and then some. It has to be perfect.

…And that kind of thinking is why this is going to be much harder than it needs to be.

The Planning Phase:

Instead of getting stuck on the words he’s going to say as that will certainly leave him hopelessly chained to his desk for far too long, Constantine decides to plan everything else first to be efficient. Namely: the time of the act, the location of the act, how he’ll get you into position alone without cluing you into his true intentions, and countermeasures for if things don’t go as planned.

…If this sounds to you like he’s planning your assassination then you aren’t too far off the mark concerning the angle he’s attacking this from, no pun intended. Constantine is framing this alien situation in a way that’s closer to the ballpark he’s more familiar with: violence. You may find this rather easy to forget and I don’t blame you for it, but this man is from the 1400s and his bread and butter is military affairs. Not a slight to his ruling capabilities, but Constantine is said to be a soldier at heart. We already know that Constantine not only has zero experience in the way of romance but also hasn’t exactly been one to make such direct statements about how he really feels. So it isn’t unreasonable to say that he would frame the issue in a way he can comfortably work with, it’s just that this angle only makes sense to Constantine and anyone who isn’t him looking at his notes would think he’s genuinely trying to end you. Which is NOT the case.

Anyways, let’s get into how Micheal plans what time he should kill you. Ideally, this should take place at a time where there aren’t many people out and about but he also has to account for the victim’s schedule so as to not make this seem like a premeditated action with a defined purpose. It has to look natural and based on a simple whim. It has to look like an accident. After he goes through what he already knows about you—whether you’re a night owl, a morning person or neither—he picks his time and hinges the rest of his plan on the chosen timeframe. The location must be open within the timeframe and it must be normal or at least not unreasonable for people to be there at the chosen timeframe. Ah, but it can’t be when there’s too many people and it can’t be when you’re likely to get called for something either. It’s a delicate balance to be sure but trust the emperor here. He’s got it in the bag now that he has this framed in a way he understands and excels in.

With the time chosen, the location is next on the dock. The ‘where’ of it all should be a location that, ideally, is large enough for him to comfortably steer you away from any potential witnesses or unwanted third parties and has the adequate cover to obscure the both of you to, again, keep away witnesses. It can’t be a place where it’d be strange for a group of people to be based on the chosen timeframe and the nature of the location. There’s plenty of choices no doubt, so let’s rule out a couple obvious locations that wouldn’t fit the bill.

Your Room. One would think this would be the ideal location. There isn’t a need to worry about third parties since this is a personal dormitory for one singular person: meaning that more likely than not, it’d just be you in there. Plus time is not that much of a concern since it isn’t necessarily strange for a person to say, be up at midnight in their own room. And this would be the premier location for the crime—er, confession had it not been for one thing. Servants have a strange and frankly rude tendency to barge into your room for literally any reason. Everything from having a strange dream to stubbing their toe is on the table for reasons to open the door and walk-in. Hell, he’s even heard of someone just walking in and sleeping on your bed without even asking first. With such ridiculous and wholly unpredictable occurrences being the norm, calling this location ‘unsuitable’ would be an understatement. Your room should be a potential contingency for terrible luck at best.

The Cafeteria. Hiding in plain sight is the name of the game for this one. The ideal timing would be during either breakfast, lunch, or dinner to reap the main benefit this location offers. The room would be filled to the brim with people conversing on and on at their respective tables, meaning that no one would actually be paying attention to him or looking for him at all as they’d be too focused on their own food and chats with others. It’s the perfect cover so long as no strange physical actions or particularly loud statements are being made. Not a problem for someone as naturally low-key and conspicuous as Constantine XI. The only variable he’d have to account for is your reaction. …At least that would be the only variable in a vacuum. The problem once again has something to do with you. You are the master of nearly every single servant in Chaldea. You are the first person they meet and your bond with them is tight from the word go. You are, in no uncertain terms, everyone’s friend. And that begets a variation of the previous problem: people being inclined to walk up to you for literally any reason. The ‘in plain sight’ buff that this location boasts only really works if both parties involved have the same level of notoriety as your average Joe or Jane Doe. If you saw Keanu Reeves, Marilyn Monroe, or Wendy Carlos sitting down to eat at your local burger joint wouldn’t you walk up to them to say a few words? Even if you’re not the type, the same can’t be said for everyone else. You are, as the Master of Chaldea, famous in a strange way and that fame brings with it many, many people in public spaces.

Your notoriety is the problem that rules out several locations and forces Constantine to—in general—get a bit creative. This is and should be a private affair between two parties, no more and no less. …Ah, but I should mention now, as I see the proverbial written corner in the distance, that I can only keep this vague façade up for only so long. I can only generally make passing comments about the details of this plan for so long. Constantine’s plan is based on what he knows about you as a person and thus the brass tacks ultimately comes down to exactly that. So, in the spirit of staying detailed, I’m apologizing in advance and politely asking you to step into the shoes of a slightly defined person. I hope you don’t mind.

Picture yourself a morning person. A morning person who isn’t one to hang outside of their room during non-work hours because you’re just that tired from running around farming all day, and that exhaustion sticks around even when you wake up in the morning. The timing in this scenario would be—obviously—bright and early in the morning and the location would be in the library when it first opens. The library has plenty of cover in the form of its several floors and towering bookshelves, giving it a good sense of privacy. With the timing being early in the morning, Constantine won’t have to worry about making it before closing time nor about witnesses since—while there are presumably a good amount of morning people—not many would just head to the library first thing. Plus, the library isn’t a place where you’d be inclined to refuse since it’s a low energy type of location with rather simple activities to do there, y’know like reading or watching old educational films. It’s perfect.

See how the brass tacks of knowing you fits into things? There are several different answers and plans Micheal could cook up based off of surface level info—just imagine if I painted a full person instead of a tabula rasa with a small wash. We could be here for hours. Our boi has definitely been writing for that long and then some with the several crumpled up paper balls in his trash bin of scrapped locations and times, the sorta-kinda accurate maps drawn from memory with lil’ X’s indicating potential positions and notes on the pros and cons of them. This is some serious business, you know?

Getting back on track with generally describing the planning process, let’s talk about how he’s going to get you alone without you catching on. Most of it is just him keeping his composure and acting natural, any excuse will work so long as he doesn’t give anything away. Besides, it’s not THAT hard to get you to hang out with him anyways. You’ve been hanging out with him for ages at this point (because the whole romance thing wouldn’t have happened otherwise), so just asking for your time and saying something along the lines of “I just felt like hanging out with you” if you ask why will do the trick. I mean, what are you gonna do? Interrogate him? Why? You’d have zero reason to since—from your perspective—there isn’t any reason to suspect an ulterior motive. As long as he doesn’t visibly panic or fumble his lines, everything will be fine.

That’s how he gets you to follow him to the location, as for how he gets you away from witnesses…Well, we’d have to get into brass tacks again. Please recall the previous example. Early in the morning, library. This one is actually pretty simple. Lure you to the film room, quietly lock the door behind him and go in for the kill. Easy. You’ll be bleeding out before you know it!

Now. You may have noticed the words ‘pre-planned conversation.’ Yes, the man is planning and leading the conversation you’re going to have with him and is planning on having at least 15 different backups in case the conversation veers into the wrong direction. The last thing Micheal wants is for you to say something like “Man, that mochi Muramasa made a while ago really hit the spot. Hey, actually, let’s stop by and see what he’s making today!” and you head in a completely different direction, throwing the entire plan out of whack. He’s also going to write a script for his confession, but that’s a brand new animal to be studied after…

The countermeasures. The old adages: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong” and “If it simply cannot go wrong, then it will anyways” are words Constantine lives by. Considering the nature of the universe this is taking place in, the scope of how things can go wrong is much, MUCH larger than you think it is. So. Let’s get into the most riveting ways that things could go horribly wrong.

The Apocalypse (Again):

It’s highly unlikely that an apocalypse could occur considering the state of the earth at the moment, but honestly. When have constraints like these ever stopped anyone from pulling insane shit ever? Maybe there’s a new Beast that slipped under the radar and has decided that now—just when Constantine decides to shoot his shot—NOW is the time to I dunno, evaporate the earth, atom by atom, with a black hole or something.

There isn’t much that can feasibly be done by our friend here. It is the apocalypse and he is, at the day’s end, just a man. So, the ‘countermeasure’ is really just postponing the execution and waiting for things to cool down before striking again.

Assassins:

Not the class, but actual assassins that are trying to kill you. One may think that it’s next to impossible for anyone to break in unnoticed, but if Koyanskaya can poison a cake (Lostbelt 3) without anyone noticing then enemy assassins breaking in to kill you is a possibility. It’s low, but the percentage is nonzero.

That in mind, the solution is just to kill them. Easiest decision he’s ever made. The difficulty comes in with HOW he’s going to kill them. You getting involved is a distraction that could potentially lead to you calling for backup and boom! Him getting you alone will be much more difficult since he has to get these people away from you without cluing them in on the plan. It’d be nice to be able to assume that everyone would dip after the job gets done, but there’s always that nonzero chance that even one could just so happen to ask to join. So really, it’s best that you are unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Constantine’s planning would hit a dead end here since the hypothetical assassins in this situation could appear at any point between him getting you to the location and him exiting the location and parting ways with you, hell, the hypothetical assassins could strike literally the moment he turns away. This means that, instead of planning a kajillion different ways to stop hypothetical assassins from killing you at various different points, Constantine would rather rely on his quick thinking and flexibility to resolve the issue.

If this frankly absurd scenario were to come to pass, then it’d end up being like that scene in The Amazing Spider Man 1 with Stan Lee jamming to some classical, completely oblivious to Spider-Man fighting The Lizard behind him with the room getting totaled in the process. It’d be hilarious, so much so that I’d recommend turning right back around and pretending like nothing’s happening for the sake of the bit if you end up seeing it.

That Asshole Sultan is Meddling Yet Again:

Ooh, you just know that Constantine’s fuming while drafting this section in his notes. From his perspective, Mehmed has been doing nothing but flirting and trying to steal you away from him. Hell, he even had the audacity to slip a letter—wax seal and all—under his door, written in Byzantine Greek that basically said “You know you can come to me for advice on romancing Master, right? I have a lot of experience in the field of romantic affairs so—” and the letter was promptly torn to shreds and burned. Who does he think he is?! And just what is he playing at here?! It’s almost like Mehmed is trying to seriously help Constantine here and is being sincere for once! Hah, as if that’d happen in a million years. Don’t worry Mehmed, you’ll get him next time.

If Constantine is unlucky enough to catch Mehmed on the way to the planned location then he’ll straight up just turn around and cook up an excuse to take a different route there. Maybe he forgot something, maybe he wanted to get a snack from the vending machine; whatever the excuse, he’s going to avoid Mehmed at all costs and is crossing his fingers that Mehmed didn’t notice the two of you.

If the sultan does notice, then that iconic yet infuriating smirk will crawl onto his lips as he saunters over to the two of you. And the moment he speaks to you, the whole thing goes bust. Mehmed is an unpredictable variable of the highest order and Constantine wouldn’t be shocked if Mehmed was some sort of plant who’s sole purpose in life is to piss him off and ruin his plans. There’s no telling how Mehmed will derail the whole thing or how salvageable the situation will be after the fact, so the best countermeasure is more preventative than anything. Head on a swivel, eyes peeled and fully prepped to make a 180º turn to a different route. If that fails, then Micheal will save it for another time.

Enemy Love Interest:

While this concept warrants its own list of headcanons, for the sake of this exercise I’ll skip to the end so to speak. Off the bat, I’d like to start by saying that I believe that Constantine would have noticed way early in the game if someone was pining for you. He may not have any real romantic experience, but he’s not dense. He can read people fairly well and he’s heard George gush about his wife enough to know what a person in love looks like. At this phase in the game, Constantine isn’t as worried as one may think. In fact, he’s pretty confident. You were the one to go out of your way to stick around him no matter how purposely stiff and awkward he was being. You were the one who tracked him to the most obscure places in Chaldea to hang out with him specifically. You were the one who put up with playing 4D Chess and Chinese Checkers because you knew that he liked those games. It’s safe to say that you do like him that way and the enemy has nothing on him. Constantine already has your heart and he knows it, he also knows that it’s highly unlikely that his opponent will change your mind if they do confess. So their really isn’t a reason to be hasty about it.

The solution is to simply go in for the kill, he’ll shoot his shot with you and that’ll be that. His opponent who, for as long as this has been going on for, has done jack all to sway you onto their side. There is no tangible threat here, there is nothing to be worried about. The only reason Micheal feels compelled to move fast is because he feels bad for making you wait. The opps can do as they please but it will amount to nothing in the end. And if they keep trying after Constantine confesses…well, let’s just say that the devil doesn’t hold a candle to a legitimately angry Micheal and leave it at that, ‘kay?

…Whew. That was a lot of words, huh? Well fortunately—or unfortunately depending on your perspective—we’re only halfway through. We still have Constantine writing what he’s gonna say and the execution of his plan. So strap in because I’m not letting you leave just yet!

The Scripting Phase:

This is the definitive hard part for our friend here. He can no longer frame this as something he’s vaguely familiar with, now he has to actually tackle this alien issue as it is for what it is. A matter of opening the door and proudly showing what is inside, as all people do. For a man drenched in denial and secrecy, to call this daunting would be an understatement.

After some deliberation and tossing a ball at the wall for about an hour, Constantine manages to break this task down into smaller pieces. In order for one to confess one’s feelings, one must know how one feels about the other person. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a confession in the first place. It is from putting words to the sensations felt by one for another that a confession would bloom naturally in one’s mind as an explanation for red faces and bashful words. That is what a confession is at it’s heart, no? An explanation for behavior that serves as an admission of romantic feelings.

Constantine sighs, he’s getting ahead of himself here. Simplify it into a few words. Understand feelings, define feelings, ruminate on now defined feelings -> write down thoughts, refine thoughts = Confession.

Seems, at its surface, simple enough. Self introspection is something that Constantine is familiar with, something he knew well from life and knows still after death. Close ‘friends’ they are to this day, meeting clandestinely when sleep runs late and distractions flaking when needed most. Yet here and now, in the sanctuary of his room, Constantine calls for an emergency meeting. Thus begins a long undefined period of intensive pondering.

He rises from his seat and lays down on the rug, its soft yarn soothing the aches in his spine from hunching over his desk for the past couple days. He closes his eyes. Start from the fundamentals, understand them, and the rest will follow.

The first question that must be answered is: “what are his feelings concerning you?” Admiration, something that is considered platonic at its base, is the first feeling that comes to mind. He doesn’t care, anything to get the ball rolling is good enough at this point.

To be plucked from normalcy into the world of the strange and mystical is something that most would buckle under the pressure from. Coupling that with the responsibilities that come with being humanity’s last hope makes for an ordeal that only few can truly stomach and even fewer can thrive in. Your rise to the occasion and continuance to persist with your goals in spite of the weight on your shoulders is deserving of high praise in Constantine’s eyes. But what deserves even higher praise is how true to yourself you’ve been throughout this journey, something that begets tinges of envy in the former emperor.

Tragedy after tragedy has befallen you and your comrades with parting words as common as their opposites, yet even with this awful state of affairs being your undeniable reality, you still have tears to shed each and every time. As tender as it was the day you set foot in Chaldea, your heart hasn’t changed one bit. No callouses, no scabs or scales; simply a raw, colorful mass in your chest beating and bleeding as it does, uninterrupted and unchanging. You’ve matured, became more knowledgable and wise but those changes have not brought the frigid chill that desaturates the lives of many. You’re still you. Kind, heartfelt, and honest you. This is a fact. A fact that Constantine can’t help but envy.

To be true to himself and to be honest about his feelings—to remove the hardened paper covering the tender heart shaped thing in his chest would undeniably be a show of weakness. Something an emperor cannot afford, no matter the era. He is supposed to be the paragon of strength and resilience, wise beyond his years and unflinching for his empire. He is the face of it and is often one of the first things thought of in relation to it. He is the person often attributed to its achievements and its failures. To show weakness would be not only an invitation for invaders, but an insult to everything his empire and people stand for. So he swathes himself in denial and lies to mask the truth of his composition, in hopes of one day being the man he’s supposed to be. When that day comes, he’ll be true to ‘himself’ and the loathing will come to an end. But for now, he’ll play the role he covets and stand at your side, envious yet admiring.

The second feeling that comes to mind is peace. The whiplash from distinctly recalling his cracked ribs, sprained wrist and the blood blinding his eyes to the calm of the present era was immense. Your nonchalance concerning the state of the world, however, hit him harder. It took a long time to get used to your calm disposition and it was in large part spending time with you that made the initial tension dissipate. The grand majority of your time with him was not spent conducting exercises or sorties into the battlefield, but rather recreational activities and dealing with the week’s Wacky Incident™ when it occurred. Somehow he found himself playing checkers with you weekly and somehow he found himself holed up with you in his room late at night to help you with the history homework Mehmed II tossed your way. It was a normalcy that was odd for the current state of affairs, but not unwelcome—no, it was sorely missed for the former emperor. When was the last time he had played checkers? Before his coronation…? No, maybe further back? Either way, to have these moments as a constant rather than a fleeting dream was perhaps the greatest gift you could have given.

This is not Rome and it never will be, his family is gone and so are all the people who knew him personally, yet while those things sting tremendously…it doesn’t hurt nearly as much when he’s with you. Your smile, your gentle fleeting touch, your eccentricities or perhaps lack there of, the conversations you two have had; they’re something akin to a campfire. Bright, beautiful, and most notably…

Warm is the word that comes to mind. Ever since he materialized in this paper colored world, he was cold. A fact that he didn’t quite register until he held your hand in his one day. Ever since then, he longed for warmth. Blankets, mittens, and jackets—they all served their purpose nicely, but that was all. They provided nothing more than an artificial way to retain the little heat his body gave. But even so, Constantine yearned for something more.

Another time, you hugged him. At its face it was nothing special, simply a gesture of gratitude for aiding you in getting out of having to do extra push-ups. The moment lasted for less than a minute, yet it’s presence lingered for long after. Through his extra layers, the blazer and waistcoat, he could feel it. Warmth, but of a different kind. It was something much more full and hearty, intense. It was you and it was overwhelming for the short duration that it happened, a burning sensation. What lingered thereafter kept the all too familiar chill at bay, and Constantine couldn’t help but feel bereft upon its disappearance. He wanted more.

Not too long after, Constantine found himself with burns from you again. But this time was different, you hadn’t even laid a finger on him. It was a discussion shared in his room. You had come to drop off a letter from Don Quixote but ended up sticking around for longer than intended. A point of interest on the walls. A single acrylic tile containing various flowers sat above his bed. At the time, his room wasn’t fully decorated nor nearly as organized as it is today, thus casting a spotlight on the lonesome, colorful square. You inquired about where it came from to which he happily explained. The flowers came from several people at several different points in time for several different reasons. The roses were from Nero as gift for helping her put together a concert, the chrysanthemums were from Miss Crane for New Year’s, the dandelions were from Paris and Asterios—so on and so forth. The conversation then turned into how the tile came to be, the trials and tribulations of creating something of this nature for the first time. He paused midway through after not hearing you respond for some time to check on you, only to have your visage set him aflame. Your expression at that point in time was unforgettable, something he’d think back to frequently. Your eyes shimmered with curiosity and attentiveness, your lips curled into a small smile—both zeroed in on him and him only. You hadn’t once spaced out during his, admittedly, long winded explanation and it showed in the way you were patiently waiting for him to continue. The burning sensation left him stunned, so much so that he almost didn’t catch you asking if he was alright. He managed to catch his breath and continued his explanation once more, his face several degrees hotter than normal.

With the raises in temperature you brought lay the signs of something under the surface. Something that Constantine had been ignoring just fine until one innocuous look backwards in time. Constant thoughts of you, wondering when you two will hang out again and being excited at the prospect, noticing things you’d like or would need and the subsequent desire to give them to you, the warmth he feels because of you…They all pointed to a disturbing conclusion. One that made him reject his feelings down to the very circumstances of their existence.

Then he felt cold.

Constantine opens his eyes. Admiration, a touch of envy, peace and warmth: these are the most notable feelings that Constantine feels around you. The second one, for obvious reasons, should be omitted from his confession. Admiration feels too platonic, too general—not romantic enough. Peace and warmth are what’s left.

To explain even a fraction—an iota, even—of the peace you have brought him during his materialization would require opening another door and showing what is inside that one as well. That prospect is less than pleasing as what lies within is not only unimportant to who he is now, but would most likely change your perception of him for the worse. To shatter his current veneer could quite possibly sour your taste of him, leaving an unsatisfying conclusion to the months of frigid misery he had carelessly inflicted on you and himself. It’d give you a strong reason to give him exactly what he ‘desired’ at the start of this mess.

No. No, it’s far to risky to make an opening like that. He can’t make a play like this at such a critical moment, it could ruin everything. It’s not…It’s not integral for you to know. It’s just supplementary information, stuff you can infer based off of the events that took place in his lifetime. He doesn’t have to confirm anything, not for now at least. It’s best to leave this be for another time.

What remains is warmth, something he has no qualms speaking of. The only thing to be weary of is to not sound like a madman or a wraith when he does. It’s very clearly romantic both as a concept and as a feeling. Only you have brought his temperature up like this and so consistently too.

The importance of the time when you held his hand and the time you hugged him could be attributed to his lack of touching people in general, that he will readily concede. It’s a strange thing to not only invade another person’s space but to go so far as to touch them as well. Why would someone do that? Is it to check if they’re real? Or is there simply no reason at all? Does there have to be? It’s weird. It’s a weird thing to think about. And it is also a divergence from the topic at hand. Constantine squints, trying to find his original train of thought.

Ah, right. Warm. That is how you make him feel. This should be the focus of his confession. He could add tiny bits of prose on how cute you are, but ultimately no more. The objective of this task is to—in written form—rip his heart out and serve it to you on a silver platter, not his eyes. It would be nothing short of superficial and insulting to the complex and charming sort of person you are. And Constantine would much rather snap his own wrist off than to give you the impression that he not only sees you on the surface level, but desires you that much too. He could wax poetical all day and night about how he could look at you forever or something but it’s just a nice bagatelle in comparison to the bigger picture here. Really, if one day your skin melted off and your hair went with it, so long as you carry your same warmth and remained yourself, then Constantine would love you all the same. It’s just a minor difference at the end of the day.

A hand slaps his cheek, it’s his own. This line of thinking will certainly lead to places too dark for the task at hand here, so he pivots and walks back a little bit of the way he came. …Right here should be good. Yes, this is where he’ll start.

Constantine gets up off the floor, sits back at his desk and begins writing. It starts off as disjointed paragraphs with only a barely tangible through-line but as time goes on, it becomes more coherent. More…straightforward. No more beating around the bush, no more forcing you to have to guess his thoughts and feelings; just clear and direct statements.

To have let you stumble in the dark looking for him while he sat curled up in a ball nervously peering at you through the gaps in his fingers is something he regrets deeply. How many bruises have you sustained from bumping into things unseen? How many times have you tripped and fallen over your own shoes? He couldn’t put a number to it even if he tried, not that he wants to anyways. It already hurts knowing that he put you through this unbearable limbo without even stopping to consider your feelings, imagining your pain through it all would only make his eyes sting.

So he writes and he writes and he writes and he writes—draft after draft after draft after draft with minor changes in between. There can’t be any misunderstandings here, so he continues ironing out even the tiniest of wrinkles in the fabric. The process is quite time consuming, so while we ‘wait’ for him to finish, I’ll answer some questions you might be having.

“If Constantine was so utterly lost at the beginning, then why didn’t he watch romance movies or read some romantic novels? Surely those would’ve gotten the gears in his head turning faster than making up an assassination plan and the subsequent marinating in his own thoughts.” And you’d be correct, it would have sped the process up significantly if Constantine simply took notes from various romantic media. But with that comes the potential for confusion.

At the beginning, Constantine only had a vague understanding of what he felt for you as result of the heavy mental censoring and retconning he subjected himself to in the early phase. His feelings at that point were an undefined, multicolored and shapeless thing that he just knew was love. So, if he were to just study fiction’s romance and shape his confession around that, he’d be left with various words that don’t fit quite well with his actual feelings. They’re not necessarily wrong, they’re just… The definition is… I-It’s actually…AGH! It’d either lead him down the path that he has already taken or cause him to use those words anyways in a janky mess based off what he’d think you’d want and what is commonly accepted. It wouldn’t be sincere. It wouldn’t be enough and he knows it.

“With all the writing he’s doing, wouldn’t it be easier to just send out his script as a letter? He could just skip the whole plan and rest easy knowing that he doesn’t have to worry about holding his composure or fucking up his lines and stuff.” And you know what? You’d be correct on that count as well. It WOULD be so much easier if Constantine just converted his draft into a letter and slipped it under your door someday. It WOULD be less hard on him to hide away from seeing your initial reaction. But you know what else this method is? Cowardly. It’s a coward’s way of confessing his feelings.

Constantine already uses several negative adjectives to describe himself: selfish, good-for-nothing, unfit, undeserving, weak—the list goes on. But one he will never ever apply to himself is coward. He’s the guy who stayed in his crumbling empire, ripped off the one thing that id’d him as himself and rushed into battle—not as himself—but as just some dude and died fighting for what he believed in as just some dude. He could have ran to the Morea then—hell, he could’ve ran years before the siege. But that would have meant forsaking everything he cared about, and that was something he couldn’t bare. This scenario is infinitely less intense and arguably less important, but is still deserving of that same attitude, that same passion. So no, he’s not going to chicken out of confessing in person and that’s based on principle.

The other reason is that you deserve better than just a simple letter. He, again, really regrets putting you through what he did and wants to make up for it. And being a coward is a terrible first step in that direction. This confession has to be something special, something that will stand out in your memories for years to come and act as a satisfying resolution to the struggles of these past few months. This confession needs to be something more than what it is. It has to live up to your expectations and then some. It has to be perfect. Constantine refuses to start with anything less.

Oh, hey. Would you look at that? Constantine’s finished writing his final draft. Let’s see here… It’s number… Fifty-three. Yeesh, I can’t imagine writing that many drafts since I mostly do everything in one doc and rewrite everything as I reread it. But I guess this is just a testament to how serious he is about this, huh? Fifty-three drafts, the first starting off a stream of consciousness and drastically changing until the last twenty which only had a few words replaced between them. Really, the only way you’d notice the changes is if you had the whole thing memorized beforehand. In his mind, a single word could change the meaning of the entire paragraph, so somewhere in the middle of this he got up to grab the dictionary and thesaurus from his bookshelf to just be sure. It’s not enough to know the general vibe of a word, you gotta know the definition too.

Contrary to the planning of how he’ll ‘kill you,’ Constantine hasn’t thrown away any of his papers. Not a single draft has been crumpled and sent to the graveyard next to the mahogany structure he writes on. The reason for this being is that these drafts symbolize his growth. Before this mess, Constantine wouldn’t have even given the idea of confessing anything to anyone—you especially—a glance, let alone writing his thoughts down at all. Writing these drafts was nothing short of monumental for our friend here, so he elects to keep them within the locked drawer of his desk for safe keeping. A memento of his first step in the right direction.

Someday, in the distant future, he’ll show them to you. He’ll read each draft one by one to you and you’ll both look back at this point in time with joyful nostalgia.

But that era does not exist yet, so I’ll leave it at that.

What comes after the final draft and a long break outside of his room is practice. The repetitive process of repeating the same set of words over and over again is intensely dull, so there isn’t much to be added here. Just know that he’s practicing a lot to make sure he won’t fumble his lines. Oh and he’s also going over the conversation he’s going to have with you on the way to the location where he’ll confess. But all that was in the previous phase, so I don’t need to repeat myself here.

After practicing a lot and feeling comfortable with the material, Constantine decides that it’s time to go through with his plan.

A Minor Interlude:

Hey. Do you recall all the way back in the Planning Phase what I said about brass tacks? No? Ah, well I don’t necessarily blame you if you forgot since that was…what? About 5,000 words ago? Anywho, I’ll restate it here.

The Planning Phase had two sections that relied on Constantine knowing you, so I couldn’t quite continue on with the same level of detail as I normally do without applying a definition to who ‘you’ are. That was when I painted a small wash on the tabula rasa known as ‘you.’ The brass tacks in the example scenario I am going to present to you are: you’re a morning person and the confession will take place in the library, early in the morning. Why the library? Scroll back up and find out! Nothing wrong with a lil’ rereading, right?

With that in mind… Final stretch, here we go!

The Execution:

“Deep breaths… Breathe in… and breathe out… Breathe in… and breathe out…”

These are the words that the subject of our observation had been mumbling to himself for the past twenty minutes, his body trying and failing to follow his mind’s commands. He is tense and has been for longer than his time leaning against the wall in the dim reserve lights of the hallway. But his initial tension tripled the moment he attempted to set foot outside of his personal sanctuary. His legs seized up and refused to move past the doorframe, his feet were comparable in weight to blocks of lead too. Getting here was a slog to say the least, but admittedly nothing he hadn’t seen before. He had been through worse and he knows that. The oddity this time around is that the situation at hand doesn’t even hold an ember to his past experiences. So why is his body acting like it is?

He supposes that this situation, in the back of his mind, holds that weight to him personally but not objectively, if that makes any sense. Constantine XI will not die today as a result of mishandling the situation, this is a fact that cannot be denied. But it holds that same weight since the change that would come as a result of his failure is, arguably, on par with if not more terrifying than death itself. Or at least that’s what it feels like right now, even though it wouldn’t affect him much outside of his feelings. Which Constantine himself hadn’t taken much stock in until recently, mind you.

This whole thing is ridiculous from start to finish, something he is painfully aware of, but he knows he can’t deny these feelings. Doing so would put him back on the path he walked on for so long—the path that led him to create this whole mess.

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? To just walk back to his room, or anywhere else for that matter and forget that this ever happened. He could retreat back into the safety of denial and wait for this to die its slow and agonizing death. Hide in between the lines of non-answers and excuses so that he never has to confront you directly about anything and force the responsibility of ending this onto your shoulders. The pain will subside for the two of you eventually and will be forgotten quickly after the fact, this is something Constantine was sure of at the time. But his recent introspection made him question if this was really the right method of achieving his initial goal.

There were originally two ways to go about your romantic advances in the early phase. One would’ve been to accept your feelings and the other would’ve been to reject them. Neither option was appealing. The first would have ended in your eventual demise and the second would have him snap your heart in half with his own two hands. In Constantine’s eyes there was no lesser evil between the two as they both ended in a form of misery, one by his direct action and the other by something he cannot control.

The first one couldn’t be spun in any direction to sound appealing. But perhaps he’s missing something in his views. Perhaps he has to look at things from a different perspective to find the solution. Maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.

Death comes for everyone. This is an immutable fact that no one can deny nor fight against, it’s the inevitable. With that in mind, does it really matter when that end comes for someone? Dying in 5 minutes, dying in a week, or dying in 30 years; does that really make a difference in the grand scheme of things? Under a darker worldview it doesn’t, so why should he deny his and your happiness when he clearly can’t do anything to stop your demise? So long as the short months you have with him are priceless and enriching, surely sealing your fate isn’t as much of a crime as originally thought since it was just going to happen regardless.

…As if. Death may be inevitable, but that isn’t a reason to condemn an innocent person to death for the sake of being happy. That’s not right. Nothing is worth killing you for and no amount of so-called ‘hard truths’ will ever persuade Constantine to believe that. You have an entire life left to live, cutting it short before you even see the fruits of your labor would be horribly selfish at best and demonstrably cruel at worst. To be the person that stole your happy ending would utterly crush this man’s heart to pieces. Something he knows for a fact that he can’t live with.

The only other option that remained was rejecting you, but thinking on it more made it clear at the time that he couldn’t bare that either. The undefined feelings he held for you made Constantine a little selfish, you see. He enjoyed being the person that you hung out with frequently. He enjoyed being one of the first people you came to for assistance. He enjoyed having a piece of your schedule all to himself and he enjoyed having that spot so close to your heart. Were he to kill things off here, then you would most likely begin to drift away from him and move on to greener pastures. You’d find someone else and they’d make you happy, much happier than a man who couldn’t even do the bare minimum of what was asked of him so long ago. The thought of that, much to his own confusion, brings the bitter taste of jealousy. He should be happy for you in that scenario, right? …So why didn’t he feel that way? The answer would not be found until his introspection months after.

Both options led to a form of misery, neither of which he wanted to bring upon himself or you. So what’s left? The third option, a secret option, was to not do anything at all. It sounded infinitely better than killing you or losing you.

Silence is also an answer to a question, a lackluster one to be sure but an answer nonetheless. If he simply ignored your advances, then eventually the situation would resolve itself. He could frame his inaction as ignorance and prevent the scale from moving either way simply by doing nothing. He could still be as close to you as he is and not squander his chances with you break your heart. It’s the perfect solution.

…Not.

Those few months were the most miserable he’s been since he materialized and as he stands here outside of your room, he can say with absolute certainty that he never wants to go back. It’s that reaffirmation that shakes off most of the desire to turn around and keeps his shoes planted where they are.

Constantine lets out a long sigh, reminiscing isn’t going to do him any good at this phase. He needs to be here in the now and focused on what’s to come. Nothing will change if he doesn’t. He starts from the top, and—

“…Hm?”

Constantine flinches and whips his head in the direction of where the voice came from. His eyes catch their identity, but doesn’t stick around. His gaze averts to the wall behind, stealing glances from the safety of his periphery. He knows exactly who this is.

“Oh hey, Constantine. What’re you doing at this hour?”

It’s you, clad in your pajamas with a water bottle in hand, standing in the direction of the exit. From what he could guess, you had come from the cafeteria to get some water to help you sleep. No matter how exhausted you were the day previous, you always woke up on time. A blessing for your duties and a curse for yourself.

Constantine moves to stand up straight to greet you properly, raising his hand in a small wave. It takes him longer than he’d like to form a genial smile, and if he had to guess his own reflection then he’d say that this was on the lower end of his forced smiles. That said, it doesn’t take him long to respond.

“Good morning, Master. I see you’re well?”

Beside your head was the white wall everyone was well acquainted with. Mostly a metallic white and a nice blue section off at the bottom to spruce things up a bit design wise. Though I suppose depending on who was asked the color was more akin to a pine green, which Constantine disagreed with. On another note, a noticeable pause hung in the air before your reply, he’s sure that you shrugged.

“…Eh. Deathly exhaustion aside, I guess I’m alright. But pleasantries for the sake of pleasantries isn’t your style, so I have to ask…Why are you standing in front of my room at five forty-something in the morning?”

You never did miss a beat, did you? That’s fine. Constantine came prepared.

“Well, I was resting a bit from my walk. I didn’t sleep very good last night, so I’m trying to tire myself out by doing a few laps.”

“…”

“Uh-huh…”

You made zero effort to conceal the fact that you were unconvinced. You probably had your eyebrows raised and your arms crossed too to add to that, if he had to guess. In other, more ’important’ news…There was a bit of a dent in the wall just a few feet away from your shoulder. It was barely noticeable, even for someone who was scanning the walls it’d have a decent chance of being missed on first blush.

Whilst Constantine was staring at the wall, you dropped your two cents.

“Well, good for you on exercising, I guess. But that stuff only makes you more energetic. Just go lie down and read An Elementary Treatise on Determinants. It’ll put you to sleep in minutes.”

Constantine shook his head. As good of an idea that was, he’d probably focus too hard on understanding what he’s reading than letting himself sleep. Plus, mathematics reminds him of a certain four-eyed bastard and he really doesn’t want math related dreams either.

“A good suggestion, but the book would have to be something like how water boils or the history of paper clips. …I’d rather not think of math before bed.”

Constantine hears you chuckle and unscrew your water bottle, in the corner of his eye he sees you raise it up to your face.

“I feel that.”

You pause for a moment and lower your water bottle.

“Well, that Lewis Carroll book aside, I can’t really help you. So, I hope your walk goes well. Good ni—”

Constantine immediately rushes to cut you off, the distance between the two of you cut by over half.

“A-Actually…! I…I’d like to ask…Would you mind accompanying me? We haven’t seen each other in some time, so I thought I’d—“

“Sure.”

“I know you’re tired, but—“

“I said sure, stupid. Now where are we going?”

Your hand connects with his elbow, a playful love tap he presumes was to reorient him back in the now and away from what’s in his head. He takes only a second to silently appreciate the gesture, before giving you an answer.

“The library. It’s about to open soon and I heard that a few films and radio recordings have been added to the archive as well.”

“Oh yeah, War of The Worlds is one, right? I read about that one back in school. I still don’t believe that people thought an alien invasion was going on just because some dude on the radio said so. Y2K made more sense.”

“Well, why don’t we listen and find out why they might have thought that way? I’m sure that it wasn’t just an average reading that frightened them to that extent.”

“I’ll believe it when I hear it, Micheal.”

So far so good, if he had to say so himself. Aside from a few hiccups on his end, the conversation went exactly where it needed to and he’s pretty sure you haven’t caught on to his plan yet. After all, that initial awkwardness would most likely be attributed to the fact that he’s been avoiding you, not that he was going to confess. He just has to keep steady.

The walk to the library was, fortunately, uneventful. Thanks to the time, not a single soul crossed their path and there didn’t seem to be anyone shadowing them either. The tranquility and the ease of everything made Constantine wonder if he wasted time with planning as thoroughly as he did. The conversation between the two of you flowed so naturally that he didn’t need to pull out any of his backups or redirect it any way. In fact, it was so smooth that it felt just like old times, before this mess happened and before he realized what that fluttering feeling in his chest was.

This nostalgic feeling pushes him forward and takes out a good chunk of the tension in his shoulders. This is what he wants to return to and if he succeeds then he will have this and much more along with the ability to give that much back to you. The prospect…makes him feel warm.

You both walk into the library to which the daytime librarian, Murasaki Shikibu, greets you both and kindly asks if you two need help looking for something. You asked where the new radio recordings were being stored and Murasaki gladly told you their location: Film Room C. They were in a box on one of the tables since the night shift librarian forgot to put them away yesterday.

The film room—or more accurately rooms plural—was located on the second floor. There were three separate viewing rooms, each with their own: projectors, phonographs and gramophones, old timey radios, and one of them even had a pianola! All of which were either donated, made, or were here from the ‘beginning.’ The biggest contributors to the whole shebang being Thomas Edison, Antonio Salieri, Marie Antoinette and, surprisingly enough, James Moriarty. Er, the younger one, specifically.

The shared interior of any one of the rooms is difficult to describe if you haven’t been inside, but I will do my best.

The layout can be simplified with two shapes. Picture a vertical rectangle and, in the middle of the southernmost line, draw a small square. The square is the projection booth and the rest of the rectangle is the auditorium. One exits the projection booth from either one of the side doors. At the northernmost line would be where the projection screen is, and in front of that would be three rows of seats clustered to the front. The rest of the auditorium is devoted to holding the various records, cassette tapes, and film reels. In the gaps left between the wall and projection booth are shelves for these things, and those shelves move along the wall some more and stop at the middle of the room so as to not block the light of the projector. In front of each one is a wood table that seats six people. The aesthetics of the room, such as the wallpaper and flooring are the same as the library, so I need not waste time recounting it here.

Constantine led you to Room C, the room next to the one with the pianola. He opened the door and stepped aside to let you pass first as he usually does. As soon as he stepped in after you, he gently closed the door and reached behind him to turn the lock. This is it…after this radio broadcast will be his confession.

It didn’t take long to find what you both were looking for. The 1938 CBS broadcast was stored on a small cassette tape with the barely legible note: “Ask Tesla for…” something or whatever. Clearly the person who wrote this was very tired at the time of writing since the ink was smudged beyond recognition on the latter half of the message.

You placed the tape down on the table and Constantine could feel your gaze settle on him.

“So. Do you want to play this on one of the cassette players with some headphones or use one of the radios?”

“Hmm…I’d like to use the radio for immersion’s sake…but I’d imagine that they don’t take cassettes.”

“Wrong. They do take cassettes, look here.”

You reached over to one of the radios on the table and pulled the top half off to reveal…a cassette player. You make a hand gesture towards it and speak once more.

“Edison wasn’t too happy with the fact that we had a bunch of records and tapes, but nothing to play any of them on. So he made it his personal mission to make the phonographs and cassette players for them. After that he made these radios for playing old broadcasts more ‘realistically.’ So that’s how we got these. Pretty cool, right?”

“Huh…I had no idea that Thomas Edison felt so strongly about these sorts of things.”

“Contrary to popular belief, lionhead has a life outside of one upping Tesla. Shocking, I know.”

You huffed.

“But that’s neither here nor there. Take a seat. The runtime on this is about an hour so if we don’t start now then I’ll pass out on your shoulder twenty minutes in.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, well it’ll be your last if you don’t shut your trap already.”

Constantine couldn’t help but chuckle at your crabby remark. You may be fully awake in the mornings but that didn’t mean you were happy about it.

“Huu huu huu. Keep laughing and I’ll strangle you with your own tie.”

The sounds of your unceremonious shoving of the cassette echoed throughout the small auditorium, and the tape began to play in all of its crunchy glory.

What followed for the next hour was a surprisingly quality reading disguised as an actual news broadcast. There were some portions of the dialogue in the beginning that were a bit too descriptive for normal conversation or reporting and the immersion shattered to pieces with the time skip near the end of the professor at Princeton recalling his memories of the martian invasion and how the world is after the fact. It did make sense since this broadcast WAS supposed to be just a dramatic reading of the H.G. Wells book of the same name, so that’s not really a dig at the people at the radio station. All in all, a solid use of a single hour.

Constantine could see you stretch out of the corner of his eye as he put the cassette back where he found it. Next came your voice.

“Well, I’m officially convinced. The people who tuned in after the beginning announcement definitely had no idea that they were listening to a reading, not with the quality of the voice acting and sound effects.”

“Agreed. Though there are some lines that do sound as though they’re from a book, it did sound mostly real. …Until the end that is.”

“Yeah, that time skip was way too jarring. I think they should’ve cut the reading off earlier.”

“…………”

The legs of a chair scrape for a few seconds and the chair, he assumes, hits the desk. The soft pitter patter of your slippers inch closer to his location before stopping a comfortable distance from himself. You cut through the silence.

“Hey…”

“…………”

“…I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I really…”

Oh… Oh no…

“…Are you alright?”

“I’m fi—”

“………”

Constantine manages to cut himself off from playing that automated message. He can’t start off with a lie, no, he has to be honest. You deserve better than lies. Well, really, you deserve better than him but your pursuit for his heart lasting for as long as it has must mean that you’re okay with that. That you’re okay with settling for someone like him and that…Well, that boggles the mind, doesn’t it? But he’s not complaining. No, he’s glad. Very glad. And he’s finally going to let you know that.

“You know what, Master? I-I’m not…”

Constantine takes a deep breath and forces the statements from his mouth. The amount of effort it took to dislodge the words from his esophagus left him feeling a bit tired, but…

“I’m not alright. I haven’t been alright in a while, actually.”

Relieved. Constantine is feeling relieved. His shoulders have gotten lighter and his throat doesn’t feel as closed as it used to. Hehe… Maybe this isn’t so bad.

“It’s not because of you, or anything. No, this… This is all my fault and I take full responsibility for everything that has happened between us recently. And… There aren’t many words I know of that can accurately describe how utterly apologetic and regretful I am of these past few months. Ugh…”

Constantine was slouched over the table with his head in his hands. He wasn’t quite ready to look at you yet and your vague blob-like appearance in the corner of his eye was beginning to make him nervous because, ironically, he isn’t sure how you’re taking this. Which is exactly why he didn’t look at you in the first place. You could be very pissed right now for all he knows and the fact that he doesn’t know if that’s true or not is both making him feel better and worse at the same time.

Regardless, he continues, hoping that you can hear him through the wall he put in front of his face.

“I haven’t been this miserable since…since a while ago and I-I don’t want to go back to that.”

Constantine pries his hands off and lets them hit the table with a bit more force than necessary. He stands up straight and exhales. This is it. This is everything he’s been working towards. Just stay calm and recite the script.

“Which is why I need to tell you—”

Finally, after about and hour and a half of purposefully avoiding your countenance, FINALLY does Constantine look you in the eye. And what he sees gives him pause.

It’s you, clad in your pajamas and fluffy slippers with an empty water bottle in hand, bedhead on full display. That makes sense since you weren’t really expecting him or what he’s dragged you into. The sight, in the initial few seconds of him registering it, brings to mind a potential—no, near future that you will share. Someday, maybe very soon, he’ll get to see you like this everyday when he wakes up. But that’s if and only if he can get the words out.

Which he can’t.

Your expression stole the air from his lungs and suddenly the room feels much smaller. On your face sat that same look that you gave him that set him on fire. Your eyes shimmered with curiosity and attentiveness, your lips curled into a small smile—both zeroed in on him and him only. You weren’t angry or anything of the sort, no you seemed… You seemed happy with him and that, well, that’s amazing! That means that he hadn’t lost you yet.

Ah, that face… That beautiful expression… It’s positively strangling his ability to recall just what he wanted to say. Not a single word of any of what he wrote is coming to mind, but maybe… Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe this is how a confession is supposed to be.

Constantine, after a moment, chuckles and simply lets the words fall out as they go.

“Haha…Master… I had planned this meeting from start to finish, but it seems to have fallen through at the most critical moment. I should have expected as much, really, with the way you affect me. …While not ideal, I’ll move forward anyways. I have to. For your sake… And my own.”

It’s a great feeling for one to speak their mind like this after ages of keeping everything under lock and key, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. Not even after getting the foot in the door. The embarrassment of forgetting his heartfelt and perfect confession is already enough to drag him back to his room, but the real thing Constantine has to contend with is the rather incessant fear of what you’ll say to him when he’s finished. That face, for all he knows, could be a mask for what you’re truly feeling at this time. And that idea scares him to his core.

Constantine takes a step forward, removes his gloves and places them in the pocket of his blazer. Hesitantly reaching to grab your hand from your side to hold in both of his. This is not a gesture of affection. Just like how he locked the door soon after entering, this too is his way of forcing himself to go through with this. At least that was the initial idea. The man sighs upon feeling the warmth of your hand, he can’t help but consider falling into the temptation of placing it on his cheek like he had pictured so many times before. Mm, maybe later. The elation of feeling the warmth he had missed after so long of denying himself of it being enough for him for now. Constantine can feel his face getting hot as he musters up the courage to continue talking.

“I… I have so many things I want to say to you… But the words disappeared the moment I look you in the eye. Holding your hand isn’t making things better either, but I can’t seem to let go. The feeling of both… Is—it’s so… How do I put it? It’s… It’s warm. You are warm. You keep the cold away long after we part ways and every time I think about you… I feel as though I’ve been set ablaze. Not literally, of course! I-I mean it in more of a metaphorical sense. You don’t set me on fire, it’s just…”

Constantine raises one of his hands to cover his face, though it only really obscures his eyes from you. He knows the way his lips are pursed and the red on his face will give away what he’s feeling at the moment. Flustered. An emotion that he’s certain that you’ve seen on him before, but not as strong as it is now. He breathes a long sigh before speaking once again.

“Master. Your feelings for me… I reciprocate them in full. I know that may be hard to believe due to my…recent actions, but I do feel this way. I do cherish you deeply and I find myself thinking of you a lot in my off time and I… I…”

“………”

The thing about change is that it does not happen overnight. No matter how hard a person tries, you just can’t build Rome in a single day. It takes time. As commendable as it was for Constantine to take his first step into being more honest with you emotionally, that is all he can do right now. Take that first step, I mean. He can spare nothing more as forcing as much of his feelings out as he did left him drained. This is not his default state, after all. The amount of energy it takes to commit an action like this is twice if not thrice more than normal, leaving him now with not even fumes left to burn.

It’s important to pace yourself and find out what your limits are, but ultimately one will never know where their limitations lie until they push them. And right now, it seems Constantine XI has found his and, at the supposed moment of truth no less.

His mouth not complying with his mind causes his already high stress levels to increase, his legs beginning to shake in response. Constantine wants to start this off right and petering out at a time like this would only serve to force him to play catch up with you when he could be spending that time joyfully on equal footing.

This is, of course, under the assumption that you’ll accept…whatever this is.

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to worry about that for much longer as he feels something warm touch his face. It’s your hand resting on his cheek, your thumb slowly drawing circles.

“I know.”

“What…?”

“I already know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Astonished, flabbergasted, and stunned: these words are close but simply not enough to convey his feelings upon hearing this revelation. Those two words have done no less than recontextualize everything that has occurred during and perhaps a bit before those few months. It makes much more sense now that he’s been made aware of this. But the newly formed ideas rattling around in his skull are, as of now, assumptions. In order to be sure, he does what any slightly confused person would do. He asks you to clarify.

“Since when?”

“Hm?”

“When did you know?”

“Ah…”

You place your free hand up to your chin in contemplation for a few seconds before sighing in what appeared to be defeat.

“Well, I’ve had a bit of an idea that you did a long time ago… But it wasn’t really confirmed for me until that time we watched Pride and Prejudice together a few weeks ago.”

Constantine felt the visceral desire to cringe upon recalling that night. He had always prided himself on being the bigger man in most situations, but something in him—which he now understands to be jealousy—just wasn’t having it that night when the Father of Conquest decided to sit next to you and sling his arm on your shoulder. The whole thing ended in Constantine swapping seats with you and throwing a punch after not being able to resist the very normal urge to punch people you don’t like.

Oh, of all the ways for a person to figure it out, WHY did it have to be the one time where he couldn't keep it together in front of you? Just…why?

“Hehe… Don’t look like that, Micheal. I thought it was pretty cute.”

Shaking his head free from the cringe, Constantine swiftly moves the topic onto something that doesn’t make him want to bash his head against the wall out of shame.

“Another thing, if you knew already then why didn’t you tell me?”

You simply shrugged.

“I just thought you needed time and space. You’ve always been the type to keep to yourself and deal with stuff on your own, so I didn’t want to butt in on something you weren’t ready or wanting me to see. So I waited.”

Yep, that’s exactly what he assumed. Ever the considerate person, you patiently waited for Constantine to get comfortable enough to act on his own. You weren’t worried since you had the knowledge that he liked you that way and you likely were confident that you were clear about your feelings. All that was left to do was to wait for him to make a move.

You chuckle.

“Guess I made the right call considering that you look like you’re going to pass out any second now.”

“Do I really?”

“Yeah, you’re sweating bullets and your legs are shaking real bad. I think you should go to bed, I know I want to.”

A tempting offer to be sure as he is feeling rather exhausted, but he knows he can’t leave just yet. He still has to say at least those three words before he can call this a successful confession. But the moment he opens his mouth, you pinch his cheek and cut him off.

“Don’t. If you have to try this hard to say it, then maybe you aren’t as ready to say it as you think you are. Telling someone you love them should be easy, almost as easy as a slip of the tongue but more genuine than that. It should be like saying the sky is blue or that fire is hot or that Emiya’s cooking is top notch—y’know like stating an obvious fact. That’s what that should be.”

Constantine attempts to respond only for you to gently shake his face a little and cut him off yet again. If it were any other person, he might well have been pissed for their audacity to treat him so disrespectfully. But your adorable pout contrasting your no nonsense attitude—plus the fact that it was you doing this—was melting his heart down, leaving him neither wanting nor able to do anything about it. You huff and add onto your previous statement.

“I’ve already waited for you once, and I’ll gladly wait some more if it means I never have to see you like this again. I don’t like seeing you struggle this hard just because you think I’ll hate you for something as ridiculous as not saying ‘I love you’ out the gate. Besides, it’s not like we’re on a time limit either, so we can take this as slow as you want. So no more of—”

You wave your free hand around in the air.

“—this because you look like you’re going to keel over. Okay?”

“Haha… Sure, sure. I’ll pace myself.”

“Great. Now that we have that sorted out, can we please go to bed? I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Er… We?”

“Yeah, we. If you’re not comfortable with it, then that’s cool, but I want to take a nap with you. Again, only if you’re okay with that.”

After months of barely seeing you, the answer was obvious.

“Sure, just give me a moment to change when we get there.”

You nodded, taking your hand off his face since it didn’t seem to you like Constantine was going to say something silly anytime soon. It rests at your side for only but a moment before being taken by Constantine, who—despite the awkward way he went about it—was smiling to himself and looking off to the side.

This whole thing was messy from start to finish but it was a success nonetheless. That in and of itself is something to be proud of and no amount of stutters and stiff phrasing could take that away from Constantine. Sure his preparation was ultimately a huge waste of time and perhaps an unconscious stall on his part, but it got the ball rolling in how our friend here was going to go about this. A long winded warm up if you will.

He hasn’t told you everything and fumbled in forgetting his explanation as to why he avoided you for months. But maybe that’s for the best. It took Constantine a tremendous amount of effort to tell you the surface of his feelings for you, explaining what happened over a decade ago to make him do this is probably going to be like pulling teeth. And it’s not like he’s necessarily gotten over it either, but he is less worried after thinking about it more rationally during that long introspection he had before today.

It’s the modern era with modern technology and modern medicine, leaps and bounds ahead of his time. Dozens of debilitating illnesses are extinct, curable, or manageable. That being said, does he really have to worry about you suddenly falling ill and perishing when you have legendary physicians at your side? Probably not. Plus you’re not his spouse, so maybe the curse isn’t after you yet. Maybe he’ll have much more time with you than he initially thought.

But thoughts like those are for a different time. For now, Constantine is content holding you in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. His last coherent thought being:

“Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

The Aftermath:

HAHAHAHA! What? Did you really think I’d make it that easy? That I’d let this all wrap up nicely with a neat bow and call it a night? Absolutely not! That’d be unrealistic.

The floodgates wouldn’t just open up all the way just because Constantine decided to change and be more open about his feelings. Things don’t work like that. You know why? Because the hinges have rusted over, not only from disuse but also from Constantine himself adding water and salt onto the hinges themselves for years. He had not nor did he ever desire, in the past, to have the proverbial floodgates open completely, let alone as much as they did now. Really, he preferred to have the gates open about…hm. About three inches. Just enough to let a little bit of water through and just enough to deceive you of the water’s color. After all, water in a glass appears colorless, but water in a lake appears a deep blue. See what I’m getting at here?

Due to Constantine’s own self sabotage—which he didn’t think it was—made it so that he just couldn’t get the words out even if he wanted to. He’s been like this for years, decades even. There’s no way that he can just up and force the floodgates open all the way on a whim. No, it would have taken extreme circumstances to have that happen right now, like you dying in his arms or something similar.

Now, don’t think that the proverbial floodgates and their rusted hinges are something akin to the Theodosian Walls in terms of strength because they’re not. He has broken down before—the mounting pressure of everything that happened in his life has caused the gates to fly off their hinges and after a quick breakdown alone somewhere, Constantine fixes it and pretends like nothing happened.

That’s how he’s been and the damage is far too extensive to simply be resolved with a single day’s determination. Though, I should say that his efforts now are a damn good first step in the right direction.

Ultimately, it’s going to take Constantine a while before he drops the ‘l’ word and perhaps a bit longer before he explains himself as to why he avoided you. It’s also going to take a few hiccups along the way with Constantine regressing a bit into his old habits of keeping his pain to himself. Change isn’t linear just like it isn’t swift, the bastard takes the scenic route that makes most people hurl from motion sickness and doesn’t apologize for it in the slightest. That’s kinda what it’s like.

But he’ll get there someday and when he does, he’ll look back on this whole thing and laugh about it with you.

Until then, it’ll be slow moving forward.

Endnote: 13,726 words later and here we are! I was not expecting this to be double the size of the original Romance Headcanons but when have I ever spoken shortly about something?

During the long ass writing process of this, I stumbled into school starting annnnnd my inspiration running dry quite a few times during this. But what got me kicking was watching a series of videos about Monogatari. The way the person phrased things and spoke about what was going on and the themes of it all had me captivated and inspired me on how to write what I was stuck on at the time, that being the Scripting Phase.

The Planning Phase was all fun and games, serious but not too in deep. Poking around the issue a bit, if you will. The Scripting Phase was the serious part, full of feelings—both good and bad. That series of videos and their wording heavily influenced how I worded things in that section, so if it seems different than everything else I’ve written so far, then now you know why.

Another thing was the music I was listening to. Shoutouts to Sabbath (Saya no Uta), Piano Alley (Yume 2kki) and Faraway Forest (Yume 2kki) for being my background music for nearly the entire duration of the writing process. I don’t know why, but those songs seemed to fit in perfectly with the mood I was going for. I am way too picky with my soundtracks because I can’t listen to a single bit of spoken word while I write AND the tempo has to be just right before I can comfortably get my noggin joggin’ on the page.

So. I know that Constantine not directly saying that he loves you is yet another blueball on my part (refer to the omitted section of the RHC) but I hope that reading this whole thing before and after the Execution Phase provided the explanation as to why I didn’t do that. Constantine is not a perfect person and I never want to write him as though he is since that’d be way too bland and untrue to his character (or my rather depressing interpretation of it.) Constantine fucks up like everyone else does. In Traum, he arguably fucked up by openly holding Johanna as close to his heart as he did because that gave him a massively exploitable weakness that Kriemhild took advantage of and iced him with. If he had kept Johanna a well kept secret, then he most likely would’ve stayed in the game longer than he did and he wouldn’t have had to worry about the consequences of his bestie The Pope getting ganked and how that would affect Reinstatement Realm morale.

I also think that his unfinished confession is much more interesting and leaves room for him to grow as a person. If everything was solved in less than a week, then that’d be lame and would have his character hit a dead end after the confession. Mm, but you could argue that—since this isn’t a series—I shouldn’t be concerned with things like time since in that scenario where it is one it’d be more noticeable if I put everything in a timeless vacuum as opposed to here where it’s just me yapping as youth say. I could have omitted time entirely, but I think that swathes of his development would be missed if I did and the payoff would have been less rewarding, both for the man himself and the reader.

I guess the fact that I view the headcanons I write as less of “What if my blorbo were to interact with ‘me’ in this given scenario” and more like “How can I use this scenario to broaden my understanding of my blorbo and what does his actions, thoughts, and feelings say about him as a person” type of shit is why I have these long ass posts that take a million years to write. And I worry that I’m leaning too much into character analysis as opposed to—in this set of hcs specifically—the romantic aspect of it. I feel like this might not be romantic enough, if that makes sense. So uh, if you feel that way then do let me know. I’m not sure how I’d about fixing that, or if I can without losing the substance that I loosely pride myself on. Makes me wonder if other fanfiction writers have the same issues I do, hehe.

But those are just Redline things. Back onto the behind the scenes, I—with much shame—am confessing that I have omitted something yet again due to length. I was originally planning on adding a bonus of what would happen if you beat Constantine to the punch but I kinda chickened out since I felt that it would take a lot of words to write even remotely well and that might put the word count above the blog’s current record holder “What it Means to Protect You” (WIMTPY) at 21k. I don’t think I’ve ever read a list of headcanons that ever came close to 21k, so I think that’ll be maximum if I ever somehow find myself writing that much. And I hope for your sake that I don’t since, I don’t know about you, but WIMTPY lagged like hell when I tried scrolling to specific parts of it, so I don’t want anyone to suffer that.

One last thing before I let you be. About the preview I released… I thought it’d be hilarious if I made it look bad since it was unfinished and I was having a time crummily drawing the header-footers and the squares with just my fingers. Though, it seems that the joke didn’t fly over that well, hehe, my bad. I might have to change my very vague™ April Fools’ plans for this year, or not do anything. So it wasn’t a complete loss on my end.

Anywho, that’s all for now. I have a lil’ something coming very soon that I had in my trusty back pocket for a certain someone’s arrival when the event drops, so look forward to that! But until then…

—Redline, over and out!

#Constantine XI #Kōnstantînos XI #Constantine XI x reader #Kōnstantînos XI x Reader #Constantine fgo #Kōnstantînos fgo #Fgo #Fate grand order #Fgo x reader #Fgo headcanon #Fgo headcanons #Fate series #Fate go #Type moon #I sincerely hope for everyone’s sake including my own that this set of HCs will be the permanent record holder for word count #13k how did this happen #I grammar checked everything using that TTS method I spoke about in an earlier post so I hope that this is wrinkle free in terms of errors #By the way I drew a diagram of the Film Room so I could explain it better. It looked like ass but it did get job done.#In case anyone was wondering I write my Foreword first before I even start writing and the Endnote after everything’s done #So past Redline absolutely called it when she said that this was going to take a while

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