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bpro-cardstories · 4 years ago

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Tomohisa Kitakado SSR

2019 ー New Field [新境地]

“Say, Tomo, are you really alright with it?”

『Event: Pirates of Legend (1st - 9th August 2019)』

Part 1

ーKitaKore’s apartment.ー

Tomohisa (surprised): ‘A request for me….. To write a script for a drama series?’

Tsubasa: ‘Yes. Because it’s in the form of a competition it’s unknown if your script will actually be used. You were supported by a famous script writer and invited to “co-write” a script.’

Tsubasa: ‘The theme will be “battle”, but outside of this, you are free to write anything.’

Ryuji: ‘Hee, so far there have been writing requests such as columns or comments….. Scriptwriting for a drama series is a first, isn’t it? It sure is an unusual offer, Tomo.’

Tomohisa: ‘Yeah, I honestly was surprised. Why did he nominate me, I wonder?’

Tsubasa: ‘The client is a TV station producer who worked on many hit dramas.’

Tsubasa: ‘It seems that while he was watching Kitakado-san’s appearance in a program, he took notice of the atmosphere and your speech which was intelligent and had a good feeling to them.’

Ryuji: ‘Hehe. That producer must be watching Tomo closely.’

Tsubasa: ‘He also read the columns published in magazines by Kitakado-san, and said that you have excellent writing abilities and sufficient topicality. Therefore, if you are interested then you are asked to get in touch with him.’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘I see….. I appreciate that he even read my columns. And to be valued to such an extent makes me happy.’

Tsubasa: ‘It’s not often that I hear of said things, so I think he is not simply complimenting you, but they do really like Kitakado-san’s writing.’

Tsubasa: ‘Since it’s a rare change, would you like to try it out?’

Tomohisa: ‘You’re right….. I’m very grateful for the consideration. By going beyond acting there will be a lot of things I will be able to learn through standing on the side of production for one time in the future.’

Tomohisa: ‘Since I like writing, I’m interested in putting together a story. If I can challenge this, it might be a really great stimulus.’

Tsubasa: ‘If so, thenーー’

Tomohisa: ‘But I will turn down the offer this time.’

Tsubasa: ‘Eh……’

Tomohisa: ‘There are many wonderful professionals in this industry. It feels wrong for an amateur like me to suddenly take part in a competition. If I participate just because of topicality, it’s rude toward the contestants that earnestly submit a script I think.’

Ryuji: ‘........’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Should turning down the offer become an inconvenience then that’s a different matter, however….. There’s no problem I hope?’

Tsubasa: ‘Of course, please don’t worry about it. You are right, because it’s of a different nature than your usual work, Kitakado-san’s feelings are most important regarding this matter. Then I will later inform him of your rejectionーー’

Ryuji: ‘Wait a minute, Tsubasa.’

Ryuji: ‘Say, Tomo, are you really alright with it?’

Tomohisa: ‘Ryuji…..?’

Part 2

Ryuji: ‘You actually…… don’t really think that joining the competition is rude, do you? That thinking is even more discourteous I think.’

Tsubasa: ‘R-Ryuji-kun……’

Ryuji (angry): ‘I mean it’s the truth, it’s like saying you all lose to a script of an amateur’s topicality.’

Tomohisa (baffled): ‘........’

Ryuji: ‘That producer must know that it’s natural that there will be lots of scripts from professionals. As a producer for programs even more so. Yet, he purposely gave you an offer, Tomo. Isn’t it better to think more thoroughly about the meaning of it?’

Tomohisa: ‘........ The meaning of purposely choosing me, huh?’

Ryuji: ‘Exactly. …… It’s true that Tomo may be an amateur in relation to scriptwriting. But doesn’t the feeling to try it out apply to both professionals and amateurs?’

Ryuji (upset): ‘If you seriously are prepared to work hard, then you ought to take this chance.’

(It may be the first time I see Ryuji-kun persuading Kitakado-san about work in such a manner. All the more as Ryuji-kun might feel that this work will be meaningful for Kitakado-san.........)

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘........ Thanks, Ryuji. You’re right, maybe I was a bit conceited here.’

Ryuji: ‘I- I didn’t say that........’

Tomohisa: ‘No, it’s fine. Thank you for making me realize. It kind of opened my eyes. It seems like the offer itself was unexpected for me and my mind didn’t catch up.’

Ryuji (sighs): ‘........ I thought so. It was unlike Tomo to find a reason to not accept even though you had an interest in the offer.’

Tomohisa: ‘Haha, it’s as Ryuji says.’

Tomohisa: ‘........Tsubasa, I’m sorry, but ignore my answer from earlier. Would it be fine if I think about the offer a bit longer? My own feelings included, I want to properly think about whether I have enough time to face the production.’

Tsubasa: ‘Kitakado-san........ Of course!’

Tsubasa: ‘These are the materials for the competitions. I will contact the other party, so please take your time to consider.’ ________________________

ーAnother day. In the meeting room.ー

Tomohisa: ‘ーーHello, Tsubasa.’

Tsubasa: ‘Kitakado-san, hello.’

Tsubasa: ‘It has been one week since then....... Did you come to a decision about the scriptwriting competition?’

Tomohisa: ‘Yes. I faced myself and........ Came to a decision.

Tomohisa: ‘I want to participate in the competition.’

Tsubasa: ‘........! I’m glad to hear that........ I thought that it was a really good chance so I am happy as well.’

Tomohisa: ‘Thanks, Tsubasa. I got excited when I read the material for the competition and was able to convince myself once again that this is what I wanted to do.’

Tomohisa: ‘Besides, it’s important for us to open up new work fields from now on I think.’

Tsubasa: ‘Fufu, I am certain that this will be a big step. If you have decided so, I need to start adjusting your schedule........ I wonder how much time you will actually need to write a script?’

Tomohisa: ‘About this…… When I read the materials I tried to write one. Won’t you look over it for me?’

Tsubasa: ‘Eh........ You tried to write a script, you said?’

Tomohisa: ‘Yes. I wanted to test to what point I’m able to write alone. I thought that it’s important to let the producer know what writings other than columns I can produce.’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Since I jumped into the world of professionals, this much preparation and readiness is a must.’

Tsubasa: ‘Amazing........ But is it fine that I will read your script beforehand?’

Tomohisa: ‘Of course. If possible, I want to hear your honest thoughts and impressions on it.’

Part 3

(Kitakado-san’s first script........ Just what kind of story could it be.)

Tomohisa (laughs): ‘Since the theme was “Battle” I wrote a story with “Pirates” as the motif, which I associate with the theme.’

Tsubasa: ‘ “Pirates”........’

(So, it’s probably mainly intense action. ........ Oh, it takes place in Japan.)

(........Huh? There are........ no battle scenes. The “pirates” appearing in the story are at the checkpoint that’s on the sea.)

Tsubasa: ‘........ How strange.’

Tomohisa: ‘Hm? Is there perhaps some inconsistency?’

Tsubasa: ‘Ah, no........! This story is very interesting. The appearing characters are charming and the dialogue is lively. It’s possible to become engaged in the story because thanks to your stage directions the scenes naturally emerge.’

Tomohisa: ‘I see, glad to hear this.’

Tsubasa: ‘But ........ This work is different from the usual “Pirate story”, is it not?’

Tomohisa: ‘Haha, that may be true, indeed. Pirates are pirates, but I chose “Murakami Kaizoku*” as the motif.”

Tsubasa: ‘ “Murakami Kaizoku”?’

Tomohisa: ‘Yeah. When you hear “pirates” the image of a group that gloriously steals the treasure with showy swordplay and firefights comes to your mind. But Japan’s pirates........ The “Murakami Kaizoku” are a group that fights to “protect” the important things.’

Tomohisa: ‘They seem to have been a group, also called the Japanese feudal lord of the sea, that was working for the sake of “protecting” people’s lives, livelihood, and above all, the peace of the sea.’

Tsubasa: ‘So that is why they do not start a fight by themselves.’

Tomohisa: ‘Exactly.’

Tomohisa: ‘........ Modern and extreme “battles” are perhaps better suited for entertainment and entertainment for drama series. But I think “fights” aren’t not only there to mutually hurt or steal from each other. To protect what’s dear, one overcomes their weaknesses. Everyone faces this kind of “battle” everyday.’

Tomohisa: ‘I want to write the kind of story where the viewer sympathizes and is inspired, even if the time or circumstances are different, is what I thought.’

Tsubasa: ‘A “battle” that does not leave the viewer behind........ That is incredibly like Kitakado-san. This is why you can feel a soft warmness despite the heart-breaking scenes.’

Tomohisa: ‘Fufu, if it’s how you feel, then I’m happy.’

Tomohisa: ‘It’s worth writing just because Tsubasa said that.’

(To be able to produce such a wonderful script in a mere week, Kitakado-san really is extraordinary........)

Tsubasa: ‘I would like to continue reading your script without a rush, but........ More importantly, I would like to quickly submit it to the producer. I am sure it will be more than what they expected.’

Tomohisa: ‘That’s good to hear. But if this script isn’t what they wished for, then don’t hesitate to tell me, I will rewrite it.’ ________________________

ーAnother day. During a photo shoot.ー

Tsubasa: ‘Uhm........ Ah, Kitakado-san!’

Tomohisa: ‘What happened for you to be so flustered........ Wasn’t it a different location today?’

Tsubasa: ‘That is true, but there is something I need to tell you as soon as possible. It’s about the script the other day, I received a reply from the producer.’

Tomohisa: ‘........! What did they say........’

Tsubasa: ‘It was praised that the result was beyond their imagination. And they were pleased about the subject at hand, which was like Kitakado-san. Moreover, it will be adopted as a solo script by Kitakado-san, instead of a co-written one........’

Tomohisa (surprised): ‘Solo script?’

Tsubasa: ‘Yes! It was decided to make it into a drama, outside of the competition. It seems that it will be in the frame of a two hour special drama.’

Tomohisa: ‘Made into a drama........ This time everything really is beyond your expectations.’

Tomohisa: ‘But I’m incredibly happy about it. I wonder if it’s fine that there are no problems with the content of the script and to receive such a big chance?’

Tsubasa: ‘It looks like there will be some corrections needed, however, they said that they want to go with the content as it is. And........’

Tomohisa: ‘There is more to come?’

Tsubasa: ‘Yes. When the production of the drama happens, if possible, they want Kitakado-san to be involved with the castings as well.’

Tomohisa: ‘Me........ Involved in the castings?’

Part 4

Tomohisa (baffled): Is that true? I didn’t think it was possible for me to choose the actors.’

Tsubasa: ‘If you wish, they will move to make it come true as much as possible. For this reason, should you have a performer in mind, do not hesitate to........’

Tomohisa: ‘........ If so, then there’s one person I’d like to ask.’

Tsubasa: ‘Is that so?’

Tomohisa: ‘Since he’s a veteran, it might be difficult. However, when I was writing the main protagonist, he came to my mind. So I was thinking to myself that I would be delighted if he plays the role........’

Tsubasa: ‘In this case, it will not hurt if we let them know! The producer is eager to gather a good staff and performers as well.’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Thanks. ........ How do I say, there’s a mysterious feeling I have never felt before. The world I imagined inside my head becomes reality........ The actors and actresses will bring the lines I wrote to life. They’re just ordinary letters, but I’m able to witness the moment they turn into living words.’

Tsubasa: ‘Fufu, even I am getting excited myself.’

Tomohisa: ‘Tsubasa, you also read the script, is there someone you imagine to play this particular character?’

Tsubasa: ‘Let me see, I ........ Ah, before that, I have an important matter to tell you.’

Tomohisa: ‘Hm?’

Tsubasa: ‘It’s regarding the casting, they also like to ask some B-PRO members to appear.’

Tomohisa (surprised): ‘From B-PRO, too?’

Tsubasa: ‘Yes, as Kitakado-san’s name will be listed, they want at least two other names to be listed as well.’

Tomohisa: ‘I see........’

Tomohisa: ‘........’

Tsubasa: ‘Uhm........ is something wrong?’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Yeah........ I just thought about how it’s a bit troubling, because it’s not possible to have everyone appear, I assume? It’s a given that, no matter who I choose, they will deliver a good performance. And yet, I have to choose from them.’

Tsubasa: ‘You are right........ Choosing among the members does feel awkward. However, this is not about the quality of their acting ability. If you choose them based on whether they suit the role or not, then it should not be such a worrisome matter I think.’

Tomohisa: ‘That’s true........ Then........’

Tomohisa: ‘........But, what to do. The role that suits Ryuji this timeーー’

Ryuji: ‘What about me?’

Tomohisa (surprised): ‘Ryuji! What about the shooting?’

Ryuji: ‘It just finished. I heard your talk from the middle on....... Tomo, are you worrying about me by any chance?’

Tomohisa: ‘That’s.......’

Ryuji (sighs): ‘Haa....... As I thought. Listen, do you think I will sulk if I can’t appear in the drama?’

Tomohisa: ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s just that this work is my first script. Since Ryuji encouraged me so much....... Besides, I do really love Ryuji’s acting. So if I am choosing from B-PRO, I want it to be Ryuji after all.’

Ryuji: ‘But there’s no role for me, is there?’

Tomohisa (dejected): ‘Uh.......’

Ryuji: ‘Good grief.......’

Ryuji: ‘There must already be a set image inside Tomo’s head. You absolutely can’t stray away from it. I won’t forgive it if Tomo’s important work will be ruined by such a thing.’

Tomohisa: ‘Ryuji.......’

Ryuji (smiles): ‘And in the first place, if I was appearing in the drama Tomo penned then I’d be the leading role, am I right. The content as well must be even more refined.’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Heh....... You’re right, When casting Ryuji, it has to be a script that was written for Ryuji.’

Ryuji: ‘Exactly. So for now, concentrate on producing good work. That’s also part of a professional’s work, no?’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Yeah. Thanks, Ryuji.’

Tomohisa: ‘.......Say, Tsubasa.’

Tsubasa: ‘Y-Yes.’

Tomohisa (winks): ‘To be honest, when I was writing the script, there were characters for which members came to my mind.’

Tsubasa: ‘.......! Please let me hear about it.’

Tomohisa: ‘Thanks. Uhm....... This role is heroic, fun and soothing. Since he’s a moodmarker I was thinking of Hikaru when I was writing the script. As for the other role, he comes with honesty and seriousness who doesn’t hesitate to throw away his life for the sake of his comrades.’

Tomohisa: ‘So I think this role might suit Kazu.......’

Ryuji: ‘.......’

Part 5

ーDuring the drama production, at the beach.ー

Lighting staff: ‘Put the lighting a bit higher.’

AD: ‘The last location bus is arriving! With this all the performers for today are gathered!’

Tomohisa: ‘....... It’s the start of the filming, huh. From here on out we’ll earnestly start filming now.’

Tomohisa: ‘.......’

Tsubasa: ‘.......Uhm, Kitakado-san. Are you fine?’

Tomohisa: ‘Eh?’

Tsubasa: ‘No, somehow you looked stiff for a second....... Since we are shooting at the sea all day, you will be hit by the salty sea breeze. If you are not feeling well, please tell me right away.’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘I’m fine. My body is fit and healthy, there’s no problem.’

Tomohisa: ‘But, perhaps....... I’m a bit nervous.’

Tsubasa: ‘Eh.......?’

Tomohisa (pensive): ‘It sure is unusual for me, I agree. I just don’t know it myself really well, this sensation I’m feeling for the first time. I didn’t feel like this when I appeared in dramas....... Is this what you call pressure?’

Tomohisa: ‘A great number of people are working to realize the script I wrote. It’s been like this ever since this project started to move. Seeing the preparation for the shooting before my eyes now....... It looks like I came to realize this fact at last.’

(For Kitakado-san, who usually is the one who calms down everyone, to be this nervous....... It’s also a first for me. The words I should be giving at this time.......)

Hikaru: ‘Uwaah~ I’m so super nervous~!!’

Tomohisa: ‘.......Hm?’

Hikaru: ‘Did you see, leader? The actress who’s standing by the location bus!’

Hikaru: ‘When I was a child I watched her dramas in the morning, she played the mother in it!? I can’t believe there would come a day where I would be co-starring with her....... Aaaah, that makes me so nervous!’

Hikaru: ‘Leader, write down lots of letters of “person” on my hand** I will drink them! I will chug them down all at once!!’

Kazuna: ‘Calm down, Hikaru. It’s not our turn yet.’

Hikaru: ‘Uuh~! I know, but.......!’

Kazuna: ‘Hm, I do understand you though. There are nothing but talented performers around here, it’s nerve-wracking. But everyone should have the same desire to produce a good drama....... Don’t let yourself be swallowed up by the atmosphere and let’s rise together.’

Kazuna: ‘Let’s fight the pressure and move forward, just like our roles.’

Tomohisa: ‘.......!’

Kazuna: ‘Ahead of overcoming your weaknesses, there’s the future. For this reason, no matter how scary it is, even if your legs are tremblingーー You need to walk without stopping.’

Hikaru: ‘L-Leader.......’

Hikaru: ‘Uuuh, you’re so cool~! I’m mesmerized~!!’

Kazuna: ‘H-Hikaru, lower your voice a bit.......’

Hikaru: ‘You’re right! It’s the lamest to lose to yourself! Alright, I’ll also do my best!!’

Tomohisa: ‘....... Haha.’

Tsubasa: ‘Fufu....... Hikaru-kun is just as usual.’

Tomohisa: ‘Yeah. Kazu as well as Hikaru, they both are strong.’

Tomohisa: ‘I....... have to become strong, too. I can’t stay like this.’

Tomohisa: ‘If I don’t fight with the same feeling as the actors and actresses as part of the crew, I can’t deliver good work that many people can enjoy.’

(....... A dignified look. Yeah....... I’m sure he will be fine from now on.)

Producer: ‘Alright, it’s time. Shall we gather once before we start filming? Kitakado-kun, come here!’

Tomohisa: ‘Yes, I will.’

Tsubasa: ‘....... Everything is going well.’

Tomohisa: ‘Yeah, then, I’ll be going.’ ______

Tomohisa: ‘....... Tsubasa.’

Tsubasa: ‘Kitakado-san? Do you need something.......’

Tomohisa: ‘No, just....... Thanks.’

Tsubasa: ‘Eh?’

Tomohisa: ‘I’m very grateful that this gives me an environment and opportunity to continue taking on new challenges. That’s why, thank you, Tsubasa.’

Tsubasa: ‘....... You are welcome. The possibilities are limitless. Let us take on all kinds of challenges from now on as well.’

Tomohisa (smiles): ‘Yeah. Then....... I will go fight alongside everyone.’

Tsubasa: ‘Yes! Please do so, Kitakado-san.......!’

END ______________________

* Murakami Kaizoku (村上海賊): “[....] Murakami Kaizoku was the country’s largest group of pirates. Contrary to the usual activities of pirates who loot ships for money and goods, the Murakami Kaizoku’s primary occupation was enforcing order for the safety and security of navigation, and ensuring orderly trade and distribution in the Seto Inland Sea.[....]” [Source: japan-heritage.bunka.go.jp]

** Writing the letter for “people” (人) on the palm of your hand and swallowing is something like an encouragement ritual in Japan. Perhaps you might have seen it in some anime before, like Shokugeki no Soma, or in J-Dramas. This article explains the history behind this action.

#b project #b-project #tomohisa kitakado #ktkr #myps #card:2019

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spooks-and-tea · 5 years ago

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Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader)

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, sexual situations, the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: wow I’ve been on this site for ages, nearly as long as Criminal Minds was on air, lol, but this is my first fic posted here. I plan to make this one into a few parts if people like it. If this has any relation to other fics it’s not intended. Literally just an idea that popped in my brain. I’ll also eventually add it to my wattpad .@ kittentastic

Word Count: 3,119

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11.

It was an average, lonely, autumn night. Halloween was nearing and you didn't have anywhere to be. Long estranged from the people you once called family, and friends, you were starting a new life in L.A.

Yeah, you were one of those small-town girls with big-city dreams. You wanted to be an actress, a dream your father had once encouraged. When he suddenly died, you had nothing left but a new step-mother who discouraged your dreams and was more than happy to disown you when you reached 18 years of age; a classic Cinderella story.

It had taken a while, getting yourself through university and saving up enough money to move out to L.A. Now you were 27 and living your dreams...partly. You worked at a coffee shop in Hollywood; a great way to meet people that could potentially cast you in a big production, but that plan had yet to come to fruition. Every audition would have someone else in mind for the part.

Today, you had finished yet another round of auditions for everything from small commercial bits to tv shows. You poured yourself a glass of red wine after finishing your microwavable meal-for-one dinner. Wine would always be your go-to drink after your dissappointing days, it was great at helping you sleep. You clicked on the tv and sipped your drink from your criss-crossed sitting position and soon found a Criminal Minds marathon that was just starting. It almost seemed like fate as tomorrow you had an audition lined up for the very same show.

You smiled as the bright, happy, Penelope Garcia came into the shot, followed by the rest of the BAU. You absentmindedly bit your lip as Dr. Spencer Reid came into frame.

Like a large percentage of the show's viewership, you found the handsome genius slipping into one or two of your fantasies. You may have daydreamed about the Dr. being a real person and walking into your workplace to order coffee and whisk you off your feet. You may have also woken up from a few dreams involving the handcuffs he was currently restraining an unsub with.

You wondered if you would get the part. Would it be odd having to pretend this dream-man was real? You'd hope you could contain your blushing around Matthew at least.

You finished your drink and stretched out on the couch, already feeling your eyes growing heavy. You found your mind wandering as you grew more and more tired, hardly paying attention to the episode. The last thought you had before you drifted off was, "what if Spencer Reid was a real person?"

Bright lights of assorted colors and shapes danced behind your tired eyes. You felt a tugging sensation that seemed to pull you from your core. It felt warm and safe, like it wanted to protect you. A hum grew louder and louder in your ear canal, followed by a crackling wind. It was like an electric storm. The smell of coffee and a woodsy vanilla filled whatever place you were in. It was odd, you knew this, but you weren't scared. Something told you this was right. Your body began to rise higher and higher until a loud snap echoed around you, shattering your surroundings.

"Whoa, sleeping on the job now Y/N? Did someone tire you out last night?" A woman's voice broke through the fog as your mind caught up with you.

Wait, am I still dreaming? That voice...it sounds like...

"Pretty Boy, you wanna check her for a pulse?"

And that is definitely...

"I-I don't think that's necessary."

You slowly lifted your head and opened your eyes wide. Your blurred vision slowly grew used to the bright indoor lighting. Your eyes widened as you saw none other than JJ, Morgan, and Reid. Yes, the fictional characters were standing in front of you.

How was this even possible? You had to be dreaming, or maybe you were forgetting and you were at a very strange audition. Yes, that had to be it, logically.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty. Rough night? I didn't think Reid's Doctor Who nights were that wild, I might have to tag along and chaperone you two next time." Morgan greeted with a teasing smirk.

"How late did you two go for last night?" JJ asked, leaning against the desk that you had been sleeping on, and sipping her coffee.

She directed the question to you, but you didn't remember this dialogue in the audition script. When you didn't answer, Spencer spoke up.

"She texted me when she got home safe at 9:43pm. I made sure she left early as the rain was starting up. Now, of course, she could have stayed up longer, but we continued to exchange texts until she texted me goodnight at 10:15pm."

"Goodnight texts? Remind me and JJ here why you two aren't dating again?" Morgan crossed his arms looking between you and Spencer.

You blinked, taking a chance to finally look around. There were no cameras in sight. Above you was a tiled ceiling with office lighting. No directors or normal-looking crew members were around.

"Matthew?" You asked, directing your question to a stuttering, red-faced Reid.

Everyone turned their attention back to you. Reid, or Matthew, raised his eyebrow at you. And turned to look if anyone was standing behind him that you could be talking to.

"Who is Matthew, Y/N?" He asks, cautiously.

Oh my god. I must be dreaming.

You stood up and slowly reached out to Reid, who was standing closest to you. You gently poked his cheek. He looked almost afraid at your actions.

"Spencer?" You lower your shaky hand. He felt real, he was standing in front of you. You could smell his morning coffee.

"Yeah?"

"Pinch me."

"What? Why?"

"So I know that I'm not dreaming." You could feel his eyes prodding you, profiling.

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor-"

You grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on your upper arm.

"Pinch me. Hard."

Spencer winced as he did what you asked of him. He obviously did not want to hurt you. You felt your nerves fire off in pulses of pain where he pinched. You sharply inhaled and he immediately dropped his hand.

"Oh my god," you stammered, "ohmygodohmygodohmygod."

This is real. Spencer Reid is real.

You slid back down in your chair and looked at an open mouthed JJ and Morgan, staring at you in shock.

"What kind of kinky shit are you two into?" Morgan narrowed his eyes at Reid.

"This is no time for teasing Derek. I think she's suffering from a concussion." JJ reached out, concerned, feeling your forehead for a fever.

"She doesn't have any visible signs of bruising. Y/N do you remember hitting your head on anything, or experiencing whiplash today?" Reid, growing serious turned your chair towards him, raking his fingers through your hair to check your scalp for any tender spots.

For a moment you had to stop yourself from sighing, it just felt nice, and it was Spencer.

"No I'm-I'm fine, my head feels fine." You answered.

"What's the last thing you remember doing?"

You bit your lip, should you answer him truthfully? How would you even explain something so illogical.

"I-I remember. I fell asleep on the couch watching tv." In a different reality.

"Do you think it's possible you rolled off of the couch in your sleep?"

You frowned to yourself.

"It's possible."

It's never happened before, but you suppose it would explain things. This was definitely a hallucination. Maybe it was one of those Spencer-centric dreams.

"Spence, I think you should take Y/N to the hospital. I'll cover for you with Hotch." JJ suggested.

Spencer nodded in agreement while Morgan looked worriedly at you. JJ got up from the desk to seek out Hotch in his office.

"Do you have your keys?" Spencer asked, still looking you over.

"Um-" you checked your pockets and sure enough found a ring of keys in your pants pocket. You dropped them into Spencer's outstretched hand.

"Can you walk?" Spencer's voice went softer.

You shivered as you did whenever you heard that tone on the show. He could make a living doing ASMR with that voice.

You stood with Spencer's unneeded, but much appreciated, help. He seemed to have no problem holding your hands to help you, something you considered to be out of character for the germaphobic Dr. Reid. Then again, the show did not go this long without it's occasional inconsistencies. Was your subconscious hallucination really thinking these things out?

You followed him to the elevator with ease, taking in your surroundings as you went. As the elevator doors closed, Spencer frowned at you once again.

"Your pupils have been dilated since you woke up." He spoke.

Yeah probably because the attractive genius I've been dreaming of for years is vividly realistic and talking to me.

"Is that a sign of head trauma?"

"Actually yes, you could be experiencing a sensitivity to light as a result of your head trauma. If that's the case, then you're in luck because it's been raining all day."

You followed Spencer out to your car, or at least you thought it was your car. You didn't exactly own one before dropping into this hallucination world. You were saving up for one, but didn't really need it as you lived close to your job and took public transit when you needed to go further distances. This car was nice, you supposed the dream BAU job payed well.

Spencer drove you to the hospital and waited in the waiting room as you received a full check up and MRI. You hoped he wasn't too bored waiting. As the doctor returned with your results you asked if Spencer could come in to hear the diagnosis. The doctor asked if he was family and you lied saying he was your fiancé. The doctor really didn't seem to care and Spencer was allowed in. He looked confident, prepared to discuss anything scientific that you may not understand yourself.

"Well Y/N, after reviewing your MRI scans and testing results, I can confidently assure you that you are perfectly healthy. We can order some blood tests for you if you wish, but from the concussion symptoms you thought you had, and from the results I have in front of me, I don't believe they are necessary." The doctor said with a smile, probably just happy to be delivering some good news.

"That can't be right." You shook your head and frowned.

"Y/N was clearly exhibiting fatigue, light sensitivity, memory loss, and confusion at work. If she's not concussed, what is wrong with her?" Spencer asked.

"I'd say your fiancé is simply experiencing the effects of exhaustion and a lack of sleep. My advice? Take her home and let her rest."

Spencer firmly shut his mouth as the doctor said "fiancé."

The doctor turned to you. "If you'd like, I can perscribe you a sleeping sedative."

You shook your head "no." You couldn't believe it; you'd slept at a reasonable hour, and you didn't feel fatigued.

Everything was starting to feel so real. The warmth of Spencer sitting so close to you felt real. The rain that fell on your skin felt real. The medicinal scent of the hospital made your feel sick. You could only think of one final way to try to wake up.

"Spencer can you stop somewhere for me?" You asked as he drove you home.

"Sure."

"Is there a lake near by?"

"Yeah...you don't remember? You've jogged on the trails near it with JJ and Morgan."

"Can you take me there? There's something I need to do."

You were beginning to grow used to the worried look on his face. The way his eyes softened reminded you of a puppy.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to you. If this was a dream concocted by your brain, wouldn't Spencer be a bit more romantic? In your dreams he could range from a hardcore, post-prison, genius, bad boy to a nerdy romantic, but he was always, obviously, interested in you right away. This Spencer seemed to be your friend, just your friend. By now he would've usually confessed his undying love and maybe taken you in the back seat of your car. Yeah, you weren't the most creative person. What kind of dream was this?

You felt a blush coming on as Spencer side-eyed you. Your brain would never torture you with a long-con, would it?

Spencer took you to the lake, walking beside you without a word, most likely thinking you were going crazy and in need of sleep. You walked to the edge of the trail and looked down at the lake. It was a ways down, the point you were standing was more like a cliff. You determined that the water must have been about a 6 second drop down for someone your size

"Y/N, why did you want me to take you out here?" Spencer asked as he eyed the waters below.

You stayed silent as you took a few steps back. You took a deep breath, and before you could second-guess yourself, you ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped.

"Y/N!" Was the last, panicked thing you heard before the body of water came rushing towards you.

Your body submerged in the icy cold water and sunk deep down from the speed at which you fell. All you could hear was the echoing pressure of the water against your eardrums. This was your last resort. You knew if anything could wake you up, it would be this, your biggest fear.

Your father had drowned, he worked on a fisherman's boat and a storm had overturned the ship far out in the ocean. All that had been recovered was assorted pieces of the ship's wreckage. You'd never even had the chance to learn how to swim as the fear had already settled in before your step-mother could arrange lessons.

If you could drown in this confusing dream-world, maybe you would wake up in time for your Criminal Minds audition.

Your lungs protested as you let yourself sink. You closed your eyes and let your muscles relax. Your head screamed at you, telling you that you absolutely should not be doing this. Fear prickled at your skin. Why did this feel like you were actually dying?

A heartbeat later, you heard the water's surface explode above you, but you didn't have the strength to look up. Your brain processed something wrapping around you and tugging you up, but you could not open your eyes to see what it was. You held on to your last bit of consciousness as you breeched the surface of the water and felt the chilly air assault your skin.

Arms pulled you somewhere. Your body was dragged up something solid, the backs of your legs scraped against rocks. It must have been land. Hands applied pressure, pushing like a heartbeat against your center, you could hardly feel it. A hand held your mouth open while another pinched your nose closed. Lips pushed, rushed, against your own as air was forced back into you. The hand left your mouth and returned to pumping.

"Come on. Come back to me Y/N. Please." Pleading followed by more air.

The strange entity repeated the process once more before you felt everything come up, forcing you back to reality.

You coughed and choked up water and bile; the rain washed it all away. Your lungs were aching and your skin was ice cold. The only warmth was what lingered from the person's lips. A hand pat and rubbed your back, helping you cough up everything. When it was all over your whole body was shivering. Your muscles gave out and a pair of arms wrapped around you, holding you up.

"Y/N."

You weakly turned your head.

Spencer. He's still here. He's really here.

He was soaked, hair ringlets stuck to his face, and his eyes were rimmed red. He looked like an angel, hand carved by Michelangelo himself.

Your brain was trying to catch up with his words.

"Y/N, I need to get you back to the car before we both go into hypothermia. Can you walk?" He asked through chattering teeth.

Your throat was killing you, so you opted for just shaking your head "no" in response.

"I'll have to carry you then, okay?"

You nodded, doubtful he could, especially in his weakened state.

He stood, grabbing his bearings before scooping you up. You weakly held his neck and lay your head on his shoulder. Your pain was numbed, you knew, from the biting cold.

Spencer managed to carry you all the way back to the car, placing you gently in the backseat and turning the heat all the way up. He climbed in the backseat with you and began to remove his jacket and tie.

"We have to remove our clothes, they're soaking wet and we have to warm up. Do you need me to help you undress?" There was no hint of teasing or slyness in Spencer's voice. He was completely serious and you knew he was right.

"I-I can't. Everything is numb." You managed to croak out, wincing at the pain it brought your throat.

"Alright, um- I'll only remove your shirt and pants."

You nodded, weakly.

Spencer removed his own shirt before carefully lifting yours over your head. He made sure to keep his eyes on your face as much as possible and not linger his gaze anywhere else. Next he removed your shoes, socks, and peeled your pants down your legs. You managed to arch your back slightly to help him. Lastly, he removed his own pants and threw all the clothes in a pile on the floor of you car.

"I'm going to hold you now, if that's alright. We need each other's body heat." Spencer looked less confident now. You managed to nod a "yes."

If you weren't so close to death, you knew your brain would be shorting out at the thought of being held by a half-naked, and very real, Spencer Reid.

He helped you lay down across the seats and settled in next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and rubbed his hands along your shoulders and back in an effort to warm you and massage your tensed muscles.

A few minutes of this went by before you could finally move. You wrapped your arms around Spencer, holding him close as his body warmed your own, and you cried against his chest.

One thought repeated over and over again in your head.

This is real.

You worked for the BAU and Spencer Reid had just saved your life.

Next Chapter

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #fanfiction #drama #romance #cm

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damienthepious · 4 years ago

Text

time 2 be emotionally fraught baybeeeeee happy LKT!

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 10)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: Damien tests his theory.

Chapter Notes: inconsistent chapter length be damned!!! i do what i want! [kicks desk] anyway happy LKT, i love youu

They make poor progress with their research, that morning. Arum is-

He is clearly acting grumpier than he feels, a defensive layer of prickliness that Rilla really isn't surprised by, but she suspects that the lizard slept far less than he implied, too. He looks shadowed and tense in a way that reminds her distinctly and unpleasantly of how he looked the first time she stayed here in the Keep, and she doesn't think that's just because that's basically the mindset that he's in. She knows how his tail coils when he's far too tired, by now.

A lot of the problem with their research is that monsters seem to keep their methods of creating curses pretty damn close to the chest, and Arum himself isn't really in the business. His creations have always been a lot more physical. "Practical," in his words, though Rilla quietly disagrees that a decent chunk of his nonsense projects are practical.

Arum knows a few ways to get rid of hexes and jinxes- ritual words, ceremonies of cleansing, magic potions, the sorts of things that usually frustrate Rilla out of her mind with their inconsistency. Rilla's frustration doesn't much matter, though, because Arum is convinced that none of the above would be effective against a curse like this anyway. A magical-herb-infused bath might knock out some minor blight, but this? It's too deep.

... They do test a few smaller ideas anyway, if only to see if they might weaken whatever it is that's locking Arum's memories away (none of them say, out loud, the possibility that the memories are gone, not just inaccessible), but after each minor test Arum only sags further and shakes his head.

By midday they're all... disheartened, to use a Damien word. Arum more than her and Damien, if Rilla's read is correct. Again- it really doesn't help that he's so obviously exhausted. Damien meets Rilla's eyes over the small lunch the Keep brings for them (it's been picking out meals that it knows are each of their favorites, Rilla is sure that it's deliberate- she thinks she oughta take an aside with the Keep later today, thank it a bit more directly, check in to make sure it's doing alright, considering-), and Rilla knows he's thinking of their conversation this morning. Rilla still isn't enthusiastic about the idea, it seems dangerous, for a number of reasons, but-

Arum pulled Damien back to them with a duel, didn't he?

And, frankly, it's not like Rilla has any better ideas. None that don't involve a near-impossible infiltration and- well. Murder, theoretically.

She catches Damien's eye again as they clean up their bowls, and she gives him a nod, and as much of a smile as she can manage.

Damien nods in return, his expression nervous but steady, and then he takes a deep breath.

"I may have an idea," Damien says, and Rilla's heart thuds at the way Arum's face flashes with hope before he buries it in a frown. "Would you mind," he continues, "if we were to retreat to the greenhouse, to discuss it?"

Arum's frown deepens, clearly unhappy not to just out with it right now, but he turns and gestures with a hand for the Keep to open the way.

"A duel," Arum drawls, and the little knight does a poor job of hiding the way Arum's tone makes him wince. Or, perhaps he did not intend to hide it at all. "So you wish to do precisely what the Senate wanted us to, then?"

"By no means," the knight says, jerking his head sharply. "It may be a foolish idea-"

"The reasoning is sound," Amaryllis interrupts, firm, and the knight glances towards her with a grateful smile.

"Well- I hope so. I thought, perhaps- we duel often, you see, to keep our skills sharp, to settle inconsequential matters, to-" he cuts himself off, his cheeks darkening, and then he shakes his head. "So- so I thought, perhaps, that if we cannot strike upon a magical means of weakening this affliction, then maybe there could be a more physical method. If your body remembers- remembers warmth enough to trouble your sleep when you are lacking, then... perhaps your body may remember the strain of our physical activities together as well."

Arum frowns, both grateful and furious with the poet for avoiding the mention of what precise heat his body remembers. It is embarrassing in the extreme, of course, but it is almost more embarrassing that Damien seems to know to avoid specificity in the matter. "So you believe that we may... knock some sense into me, as it were."

Amaryllis chokes a laugh, which is oddly gratifying. Damien, for his part, looks mournful again, wide-eyed and worried.

"I have no desire to hurt you," he insists.

"And yet you wish to fight."

"To duel," Damien says. "To spar, if that phrasing is more... acceptable."

"We do this often?" Arum says, doing nothing to hide his skepticism, and then he eyes Damien, unarmed as he is. Arum, on the other hand, is armed. Excepting his time in their room the night before, his knives have been carefully strapped to his person since the Keep allowed Damien to leave, the first morning they woke together. He... believes that they are earnest, now, yes, but he is not so foolish as to leave himself without defense.

"Like, kind of annoyingly often," Amaryllis says, leaning against a thick tree trunk and crossing her arms over her chest, and the poet's lips press together in something of a pout. "I don't really get it, but yeah."

"It-" Damien furrows his brow, and then he sighs. "If you think the idea ridiculous, or if- if you do not trust that I will not hurt you- if you do not agree, Arum, then obviously we will not try it. We can find another thread to pull, for the afternoon. I only thought-"

"I am unconcerned that you will harm me, little poet," Arum says, halfway to a snarl, and Damien stills, his lips pressing together in an expression that Arum cannot quite read. "And I do think the idea is ridiculous. However..." he growls, looking away for a moment. However. The story they and the Keep have told him piecemeal over the last day-and-half still spins uncertainly in Arum's mind, the idea that he and this slight, soft-eyed little human have clashed steel before and matched evenly-

Arum still cannot quite accept it. He believes them, trusts the pain in their eyes if nothing else, but the idea that he would have lost to so gentle a creature- it simply does not make sense. A duel, a contest of skill, now- Arum cannot say if he is at all convinced it may do anything to loosen the grip of this curse, but nevertheless Arum is tempted. If only, he thinks, for the chance to prove himself.

"However?" Sir Damien echoes, softly, and Arum snaps back to himself.

"If the both of you think it may have a chance..." he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "It is worth exploring, I suppose."

"Again," Amaryllis says, lifting a pointed hand, "it makes sense, but I don't think we should-"

"Get our hopes up," Arum finishes. "Obviously."

Amaryllis' lip curls up, not quite a smile, and then she shoots a look towards Damien. "Be careful, remember," she says sternly, and the poet presses a hand over his heart.

"I swear," he says. "Always."

The look on Amaryllis' face at that leads Arum to suspect that the poet is not, in fact, always careful. Arum frowns.

"How shall we begin, then? I imagine you suggested that we come to the greenhouse because it will give us ample space, correct?"

"Yes." Damien gives a small sort of smile. "The game is to try to pin each other. Despite Rilla's- frequent suggestions, we have... not yet transitioned to sparring with practice weaponry. Bladed combat is your preferred, and I am rather flexible, so typically we duel with knives." He pauses. "Yours, if you would be willing to allow me the use of one. Otherwise- well, I could ask the Keep to allow me to step into Rilla's hut for a moment to retrieve-"

"We may as well do this properly," Arum says, shrugging, and then he draws one of his knives and, on a strange sort of whim, whips it out to sink into the bark of the tree beside Damien's head. The knight does not flinch, surprisingly, though he does blink as the Keep warbles a chastising note. "Oh be quiet," Arum mutters. "The bark is thick, it will be fine."

Damien turns, carefully pulling the blade back out, his fingers curling around the hilt with a reverent sort of delicacy.

Arum unstraps one set of hilts, hanging them from another tree nearby, then draws his remaining blade, holding it unthreateningly at his side as he spares a look towards Amaryllis.

"Your priorities fascinate me, just so you are aware," he mutters. "Though you did not deign to ask, I will assure you as well that I will exercise caution. I will not cause the poet any undue harm."

Amaryllis presses her lips together, nearly smiling. "Appreciate that," she says after a moment, her tone very strange, and then she shoots Damien a look.

The poet shakes his head. "Keep, if you would?"

Arum blinks, but the Keep sings a note of acknowledgment and shutters the skylights slightly, dimming the greenhouse to a more muted palette.

"So no one may claim that the sun were in his eyes," Damien explains with a wry smile, and Arum wonders briefly which of them that particular amendment were made in deference to. "Is there anything else you need? A moment to collect yourself, or-"

"I am fully prepared to best you," Arum snaps, unsettled by the gentle concern in the poet's voice. "Are you ready?"

The poet inhales very slowly, exhales tranquility, my Saint in a breath, and then his lips tilt into a crooked smile.

"I am," he says.

"You are remarkably amenable to the situation," Arum says slowly, stalking closer, "considering that I did, in fact, nearly kill you yesterday morning. I feel I should give you another guarantee, for the sake of your comfort. I will not hurt you beyond what is necessary to beat you. You need not fear for your life."

"You sound so utterly certain," Damien says, a grin flashing across his face despite the pain in his eyes. "So confident that you will be the one of us who needs show mercy."

"I've never lost, little poet," Arum growls, stiff, and Damien glances for half a moment towards Rilla, and then he laughs.

"Ah, I am terribly sorry to disabuse you of that notion," he says, and Arum's scales prickle at the indulgent tone in his voice, "but that is no longer quite true, I should say."

Arum pauses, stewing in that assertion for a moment before he retorts. "He may have," he rumbles, attempting to smooth over his discomfort with cool, patient anger. "I have not."

"Hm," Damien says. "Yes, not to your memory, I suppose. I am sorry as well that we shall be so unevenly matched in this endeavor, friend monster."

"I will not tie two hands behind my back if you think that will make us more even, littl-"

"Oh," Damien laughs, "no, rather the opposite, in fact. It might be rather more fair if we gave you all the rest of your knives to match my one, I think, but I imagine that may injure your pride rather more than you would allow."

Arum pulls his head back, his lip curling over his teeth in a shocked sort of fury. "What?"

"I've a rather distinct advantage, I'm afraid."

Arum's eyes scrape down Damien's body, his lithe frame, his loose, unprepared stance, the knife held so casually in one delicate hand, and then raise up again to his smug smile. Arrogant thing, he thinks, hissing disdainfully. In need of a lesson. Arum should end this foolish little duel before it begins.

Arum darts forward, faster than a human should be able to see, but-

But Damien moves, a breath before Arum does, backstepping around Arum's lunge without even raising his knife.

"Ah," he says calmly as Arum exhales in shock. "So, we have begun, then? Very well, Lord Arum."

In the heartbeat it takes for Arum to regain his senses, the knight shifts his stance and raises his arm, scraping the length of his blade along Arum's own in a fluid motion, and as Arum flinches back Damien takes a calmer step away and assumes a stance-

A stance that tickles familiar in the back of Arum's mind.

A distraction, whether intentional or not, and Arum raises his blade again just in time to block Damien's first quick, testing strike. Arum growls instinctively, and the knight's mouth curves into a small, strange smile as he swings his knife again, an elegant practiced arc, and Arum blocks, catching the blades together.

"I've had quite a bit of practice," Damien says evenly, over the light scraping of metal on metal, "dueling with you, friend lizard." He angles his body, moving his wrist in such a way that he uses their clashing blades to draw Arum's face closer to his own, a molten heat in his eyes that Arum cannot seem to look away from. "Perhaps I should go easy on you, let you warm up a little."

Damien disengages, spinning as he steps away again, his footwork light as the wind, and it is not until he is no longer so close, until he is no longer invading Arum's space with his heat and his musical voice, it is not until he is out of reach that Arum realizes what the poet actually said. He snarls, sputtering as he brandishes his knife between them.

"Go easy on me? Arrogant- absurd, I do not need such practice to simply skewer such a foolish creature-"

"Go on and prove it, then," Damien says, his voice warm and unbothered.

Arum snarls again, crouching lower and watching the human step carefully, edging in an arc around Arum, and then Arum spins, whipping with his tail-

Sir Damien jumps over the tail with ample time, and he does not pause in the descent, swinging his arm down, the blade flashing, and Arum barely deflects the blow, and he needs to roll away to avoid Damien's next two quick strikes.

"Ah, yes," Damien grins wide as he continues to flash his wrist out, relentless as Arum blocks and parries and skips back, trying to get out of range. "It took some time to learn to anticipate that one, I will admit. You've certainly put me on my back more than once with that trick- though you've since needed to find means a bit more clever-"

"Must you-" Arum hisses, ducking, spinning, this little knight is quick, not as fast as Arum in technicality but with each movement Arum makes, Damien aims a blow towards whatever new opening Arum makes. "Must you chatter so, even-" another gasp, and then Arum leaps aside, putting enough space between Sir Damien and himself that he can catch his breath, can manage a sneer. "Not even in this do you cease prattling?"

"If I have breath enough to speak," Damien says, twirling Arum's knife absently between his fingers, "why should I not? I'm quite enjoying my time."

The knight's cheeks are flushed, just barely dark, but his aforementioned breath is even and easy and Arum hisses to hide his own gasping. "Are you?" Arum growls, and something in his stomach twists at Damien's warm smile.

"I always do," he says with a shrug, and then he darts forward, his next set of strikes less swift, but more forceful, more precise. "The exhilaration, the adrenaline of combat, but with the assurance of safety, the knowledge that it will end in laughter, rather than blood- oh, yes, I always take a rather great deal of pleasure in our time together, Lord Arum."

Arum tries to focus on his movements, on holding his ground enough that Damien cannot begin to crowd him backwards again. His words are- distracting, however.

"Is this- your tactic, then? Chattering away, sapping focus-"

"If you cannot focus on your blade and my words at the same time, Lord Arum-"

Arum swings his knife out viciously at that, and Damien grins hard as he spins out of the way. "Ah, there you are-"

His words are distracting- Arum steps back, steps back again, knows that he is losing ground. Damien lashes out, a strike Arum realizes he will not be able to counter, and the lizard throws himself backwards instead, unaware enough of his surroundings that he does not notice the tree behind him until his shoulder collides with it painfully.

"Ah-"

"Oh," Damien pauses, his eyes widening in concern, "oh- are you alright? I didn't mean-"

"Don't patronize me," Arum snaps, ignoring the bruising sting and darting forward. He swings his arm, their blades ringing against each other once, twice, and then on the third blow Damien pushes back enough that they are pressed close, their metal meeting between them with the edges of their blades scraping in a discordant song.

Damien twists his blade oddly against Arum's own, catching the hilts together and wrenching Arum's wrist at an odd enough angle that the lizard needs to lean his body forward to avoid dropping the hilt in pain.

Damien is too close, suddenly, pressing forward at the same time that Arum does, and then he maneuvers his leg just as Arum tries to step away, hooking his ankle behind Arum's and simply allowing Arum's own attempted movement to unsteady him, making his tail swing in a wild arc as he raises his arms to attempt to rebalance, but then-

Damien places his free hand, palm open, directly over Arum's heart, and pushes.

Arum's back hits the dirt before he fully knows what happened, breath escaping in a rush and his knife flying aside with a dull bouncing thud against the ground, and then Damien drops over him, knees on either side of his waist, pinning his lower arms against him as the knight presses his free arm over Arum's sternum like the trunk of a tree, holding him down.

Arum can hardly breathe, not from the pressure but from the surprise, from the rush, from the heat of Sir Damien crowding so exquisitely close, and the knight's eyes are bright and focused and intense. Then, Sir Damien raises his other hand.

The one with which he holds Lord Arum's knife.

Damien swings the blade down, and Arum remembers with self-loathing viciousness the burnt letter from the Senate, remembers the hateful whispery certainty of the hand which wrote the human infection will destroy you-

Arum closes his eyes.

He feels the rush of air on the scales of his face, hears a dull thunk, but-

No pain. No bloom of heat, no pulse of awareness of the blade plunging into his shoulder, his chest, his neck, and his eyes flutter back open in confusion to see how in the name of the Universe the human managed to miss-

The knife is planted in the dirt beside Arum's head; he can see the reflection of his own wide eye in the sheen of the blade. Damien is much closer now- necessary, of course, considering his grip on the hilt, but- but Arum can feel the way his chest moves with his panting breaths, can taste the adrenaline and sweat on the air, can hear Damien's heart, pounding steady, a sturdier beat than the frantic race of his own. The poet stares down at him, his eyes hot and hypnotic, and whatever biting comment Arum intended to make about Damien's aim dies on his tongue before he manages to open his mouth.

"Well, well," the poet says, and his voice is a low, sonorous, strange drawl as he leans heavy over Arum, one hand planted palm-flat to the dirt next to his face, the other (the hand that planted the knife on the other side) trailing up his shoulder, towards his neck. "It looks like the smallest trap is the one you finally fell for."

"I-" Arum blinks. "What?"

"And now," Damien continues, his sharp eyes flicking between Arum's own, "here you are, pinned beneath my claws..."

Damien's hand trails up his neck, his expression far more focused, now, than it had been during the fight, and then he grips Arum's throat, firm and possessive but not hard, not impeding his breath, and Arum- Arum's heart rushes prey-quick even as he understands what Damien is doing.

The words- the nonsense words, not nonsense at all- they must be what Arum himself had said, during one of their duels. Coming from this fierce, surprisingly skillful little creature, they make Arum feel flushed with heat that seems to pulse out from every single inch of his body where Damien touches him.

"A-ah," Arum manages, but not much besides. He cannot even convince himself to struggle against Damien's weight, Damien's hands.

Damien's expression shifts when he realizes that Arum has caught on. He leans closer, his grip on Arum's throat pressing gently to tilt his head to the side, letting him lean closer to murmur in Arum's ear.

"I love to make you panic," he breathes, and Arum flexes all his claws at once. "The sound of your pounding heart makes my stomach growl."

Arum-

Laughs. He cannot quite help himself, despite the fact that his heart is, in fact, pounding, and Damien blinks in surprise.

"Did I- did I really- I said that to you?" he manages, still feeling too hot, too crowded. Sir Damien is... very close.

The poet manages something like a smile, then, though he does not look happy. Arum imagines that he had been hoping... well, hoping that his words would trigger what the physicality of their duel did not. "You did," he says quietly, and his grip on Arum's neck softens, his thumb brushing along Arum's jaw in a way that makes his scales tingle with electricity. "Before you decided not to kill me."

Arum... is not quite certain, about that. Arum knows himself- likes to think he knows himself, at the very least, knows the layers of his lies, and if Damien's words are truly an echo of Arum's in the past, then Arum does not think he could have more obviously begged the knight to acknowledge him, to banter back, if he had outright said so. Could not have said that he preferred Damien alive more blatantly if he had presented his own neck for the blade instead. Perhaps he had not admitted it even to himself, yet, but-

"Ridiculous," he mutters, low and less biting than he would prefer.

Damien leans back, just slightly, his tawny eyes flicking between Arum's own, and his expression softens from his strained smile, going earnest and mournful and strange. He hesitates, biting his lip, and then he lifts his hand from Arum's jaw, drifting his fingers up the scales of Arum's cheek. His touch still feels- hot, sparking, as if the contact were prompting a small fissure of magic at the point they meet, and Arum holds his breath so that he does not gasp, instead.

Damien swallows, his heart beating a little faster, and then his lips part.

"Do you want... to try this?" Damien murmurs, his voice thick with sorrow and desire. "To try... us?"

Arum's breath catches in his throat, and he cannot seem to tear his eyes from Damien's-

He realizes, after a heartbeat, that he does not want to.

"I..." Arum swallows, tries to feel anything besides desperate and wanting. He tries, but- but their eyes, their voices and their tears and their hands- the sound of their hearts- the way the keep reaching for him- "I- I do. I do, Damien, I-"

Arum leans up. He feels- cracked through, his defenses tattered beyond salvage, if they want him- if they truly want him- Arum wants to try, to see if he is capable of earning the loyalty and affection these creatures continue to offer, again and again despite how viciously Arum pushes their hands aside. He wants to. He leans up, because he wants Damien to lean down.

Damien's eyes widen, his breath hitching, his muscles tensing, and Arum realizes with a sensation akin to his stomach falling through the floor that Damien's words were not the true question he assumed they were, not now, not in this moment, they were only-

Another echo. Another attempt to trigger a memory that Arum simply does not have. He was not asking- he does not want-

He does not want me, Arum thinks. He wants back only what he once had.

Arum drops his head, his horns pressing indents into the dirt beneath him, and he closes his eyes. Foolishness- foolishness he cannot even deny, now, and for what? For Damien to flinch away from him, to furrow his brow and pull back-

"Off," Arum manages through his teeth. "You've won."

"Arum, I'm-"

"Get off," he snarls, and when he feels Damien flinch above him he adds, quietly, "please."

The knight pulls away. Arum feels cold, and he hears Damien's feet scuffing in the dirt as he moves to stand again, and Arum forces himself to open his eyes again. He curls up, rolling to sit so he can rub at his shoulder for a moment, pretending to test the bruise to give himself a moment to breathe. His eyes flick up despite himself, just as Amaryllis reaches to grip Damien's wrist, squeezing with her lip twitching in a small, comforting smile, and some of the churning despair on Damien's face eases, and then they both look towards him, and Arum drops his eyes back to the dirt with his insides burning, and he hates-

He wants-

He digs his claws into the dirt and then shoves himself to stand. He brushes off his cape, and reaches down to retrieve his blades to slip back into their sheaths.

"Well," Arum says. "I suppose we should be grateful that none of us got our hopes up."

[End Notes: I really don't know very much about How Fighting Works, forgive me <3 ]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #going through changes ripping out pages #aaaaaAAAaaaAAAA DUEL TIME

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jolgan · 4 years ago

Text

Something Wicked Comes to Stay

Intro/Summary

Prologue

Chapter 1

Rating: T

Warnings: teenagers making out, demons, knives, identity crises (plural), existentialism, strong language at times, violence (teenagers attacking each other in a controlled environment, mentions of gang violence, oh yeah, demons), Teen Angst and other dumb teenage bs

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter: 3/?

A/N: I’m still experimenting with narration so if there’s inconsistencies or things seem awkward that’s why and I’m sorry. Also character descriptions... Sorry about those too.

Chapter 2

Waves lapped at CeCe’s ankles, feet sinking further into the sand as she stared across the water. She could tell it was the ocean because of the salty brine in the air, even though the passage of water itself was narrow. On the opposite beach, a dark figure stared back at her from across the waves. She couldn’t tell anything about them, other than they were looking at her. This may have made her uncomfortable if it wasn’t something she’d seen before. Instead, it just left her frustrated.

A high-pitched beeping snapped CeCe from the beach. She opened her eyes and sighed. After a moment or two of staring at the ceiling she rolled over to turn off her alarm. She groaned, wishing she could go back to sleep, but it was the first day of school and she needed to get ready. She glanced toward the window as she got out of bed. It was pitch black out, not even four a.m. yet. CeCe yawned as she headed for the bathroom, thinking back to her dream.

She had been dreaming of the same beach since she was little. Before that, actually. Her mother dreamed of it when she was pregnant with her. The dreams started out as just the ocean, CeCe standing in the sand looking out across the vast expanse of the sea. Progressively, the ocean got smaller and another beach appeared. A while after that, the figure became visible, standing across from her. Although she had the same dream for her entire existence, she had no idea what it meant. No one else had any explanation for her either, other than it was probably linked with her powers. But she could have worse dreams she supposed. Some people might have even found them soothing, but they left her slightly unsettled at the lack of answers and made her feel like she kind of had to pee.

After getting ready for school, CeCe went downstairs to find something quick for breakfast. She was surprised to find both her parents in the kitchen waiting for her, but it made her smile that even though she was seventeen now, and perfectly capable of getting herself out the door, they still wanted to see her off on the first day of the new year. Wyatt sat at the table, scrolling through his news app and sipping coffee. Her mother, Melanie, poured her own cup and walked to the table to sit across from her husband.

“You didn’t have to get up this early,” CeCe told them as she entered the kitchen, but they both ignored her statement.

“Good morning sweetie. Did you have good dreams?” Her mother asked

“Wet ones,” CeCe answered. She closed her eyes, immediately regretting what she just said. Luckily her parents ignored the double entendre. She was glad she didn’t say that in front of Chloe.

“The ocean again?” Wyatt asked. CeCe nodded in response. “Any new developments?”

CeCe shook her head this time. “No, it’s still just a dark figure standing across from me.”

“You’ll figure out what it all means soon,” Melanie assured her with an eerie tone in her voice. She always responded that way when it came to subjects like this one. It must come from experience; they did have the same power after all.

CeCe pondered what her mother meant as she put a pop tart in the toaster.

“It’s just frustrating. I’ve been having these dreams for as long as I can remember, but I still know nothing about them. It doesn’t make any sense. I wish I had more control.” She complained as she joined her parents at the table. She took a bite of her breakfast while Melanie spoke.

“I know, honey. Someday you’ll be in full control of your powers and it will be easier. But even then, you’ll only know what you’re supposed to in the moment.”

CeCe knew her mother was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. She echoed this thought in her words, “I know, Mom. But it would still be nice to have all the answers.”

Melanie chuckled and reached for CeCe’s hand. She squeezed it as she said, “But then there would be no adventure in life.”

CeCe finished her breakfast, hugged both her parents, and exchanged “I love you’s.”

“Be safe,” Wyatt called as CeCe was surrounded by white light and disappeared from the kitchen.

Magic School was on its own plane of existence. The specifics of this plane were unknown to most people, but it didn’t really matter. Everyone who needed to know how to get there did, and only those with pure intentions were allowed through the barrier. At least that’s how the Elder’s explained it. The school itself existed for thousands of years at this point and not much about it changed in all that time. Aesthetically, at least. The sun was shining when CeCe passed through the barrier. She landed on the cobblestone path and looked up fondly at the timeless school. The architecture was both ancient and modern and it was huge, no one alive today knew exactly how big it was. CeCe was grateful she got to go to school in such a beautiful place. She smiled to herself as she walked along the path to the tree that she and her friends had made their designated meeting place.

The three boys were already there when she arrived. Adam was sitting on the grass with a portable game console in his hands, fluffy, bleach blonde waves obscured his forehead and much of his eyes. Leaning against his back, was another bleach blonde boy, but his hair was straight and had longer, darker roots than Adam, giving it more of a two-toned look. The two boys had a similar build, both of about average height, or maybe even considered on the shorter side, and more wiry than anything else. The second boy was staring intently at the console he held in his hands. Laying in the grass front of them, was a smaller boy with wild red hair.

CeCe yawned a good morning and sat down next to the red head. “Why does school have to start so early? It’s not even five a.m. my time,” she said to no one in particular.

“How do you think Shoyo feels?” Adam questioned, barely looking up from his game. “It’s nine p.m. his time.”

CeCe looked at the red head next to her. “Are you gonna be okay today, Sho?” she asked.

The smaller boy, Shoyo, opened his eyes and squinted against the light. He stifled a yawn and smiled. “I’ll be okay. I started switching my sleep schedule around last week.”

CeCe smiled back and turned her head to address the other blonde boy. “What about you, Kenma? Ready for a new year?” she teased.

“I guess,” he answered, still fully invested in whatever game he and Adam were playing.

CeCe met Kenma Kozume four years ago when they were in the same class and got paired together for a project. Kenma is quiet and reserved and CeCe enjoyed being around him. His presence introduced a much calmer energy to the chaotic atmosphere that surrounded her and her cousins at the time. It was a classic mischievous, extrovert adopts unassuming, introvert situation. They got along well despite the differences in their personalities and eventually became very close. When CeCe introduced Kenma to her cousins, unsurprisingly, he and Adam hit it off rather quickly. They had a few commonalities and bonded over them. One of them being their interest in video games, another being that Adam was perceived as the least erratic of the Halliwell trio. Chloe, however, was a different story. They got along well enough, but their personalities clashed at times. Although Kenma was much quieter than the Halliwells, and based on the reputation that surrounded them, it didn’t seem to outsiders like he’d fit in, but he did. And much to his own chagrin, he enjoyed their energy.

Shoyo Hinata, however, visibly fit right in with the group. He was friendly and energetic. Shoyo was the newest addition and the youngest. He had only been a student at Magic School for two years, but when they met, Kenma and Shoyo took to each other right away. Soon after, Kenma introduced him to the cousins. They all loved his happy-go-lucky personality and welcomed him with open arms.

“Why aren’t you playing, Shoyo?” CeCe asked, gesturing to the console in Kenma’s hands.

“My mom won’t let me have one. She says they rot your brain,” he answered earnestly.

“How old fashioned,” Adam commented before swearing. “Damn it, Kenma! Again?”

Kenma shrugged. “No need to get sweaty about it, Adam. It’s just a game.”

“This is the fourth one I’ve lost this morning!” Adam complained.

“Guess I’m just built different,” Kenma deadpanned.

CeCe leaned closer to Shoyo. “I see what she means,” she said in a mock whisper. Her comment caused the younger boy to erupt into a fit of giggles and her cousin to whip his head around and glare at her with icy blue eyes. She smirked and cleared her throat. “Anyone seen Chloe yet?” she asked the group.

“She and Celine got here a little while before you did. They went inside already.” Adam told her, still glaring slightly.

“They seemed tense,” Kenma commented.

“They never argue verbally,” CeCe explained, knowing exactly what he sensed.

“I can understand where Celine is coming from. Chloe is a bit overprotective of her,” Adam empathized for his younger cousin.

Celine was Chloe’s younger sister and it was her first day back at Magic School since integration. Understandably, Chloe was worried for Celine’s safety and wellbeing and she let everyone know.

“Wait, how do they argue if it’s not out loud?” Shoyo wondered.

“They’re both empaths,” Kenma answered.

“No need for words when you know exactly what the other is feeling,” CeCe added.

Shoyo looked intrigued and then shuddered slightly, like he came to a realization.

The bell rang, cutting off any further discussion. The group collected their belongings and headed toward the entrance of the school. CeCe’s mind wandered as they walked, passing other groups of students. In the two years that passed since demons started coming to Magic School, tensions had settled. The transition was understandably rocky in the beginning, both sides butting heads frequently, but eventually they adjusted, and settled into their new reality. Some students had even made friends with their new classmates. Every now and then there was still a scuffle, but disciplinary actions were taken, and things were seemingly resolved.

At the front entrance of the school, glimmering marble steps lead up to a pair of giant wooden doors that were visibly ancient. Other students rushed around them, trying to make it to class on time. Once inside the school, the group of friends said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Adam and Kenma joined hands and orbed to their first period class which they had together. “See you in fourth period?” CeCe asked Shoyo. He nodded with a grin and they too headed to first period.

The first half of the day flew by. CeCe had magical literature, potions, and lunch by herself, which she was used to. The administration learned early on in their education to not put any of the Halliwells in the same classes. This was a bit irritating now that they were maturing beyond their mischievous childhoods, but they understood that they created a reputation for themselves, and now they had to live with that.

Fourth period finally came along. CeCe was currently sitting in “Theory of Practical Healing” a class for half-whitelighters who haven’t awakened their healing abilities yet. She listened to the teacher drone on about how “You need to have enough compassion in your heart to be able to heal others.” CeCe rolled her eyes internally. She knew what it took to gain the ability to heal, if you were going to anyway. She shook the thought away and looked over her shoulder at Shoyo, who to her surprise, was listening intently and taking notes on what the teacher had to say. The more she thought about it, it made sense that this class would be able to hold his attention better than another subject. Shoyo was a born-whitelighter. This meant that one of his parents, in this case his father, was a whitelighter who fell in love with a mortal and had a child. There were a couple of them around, but it was a rare thing. Most of the other students in the class were half-whitelighter (or quarter in CeCe’s case), half-witch. After sitting for what seemed like way longer than an hour and twenty minutes, the class ended.

“Do you have a free period now, Sho?” she asked the red head as they packed up their materials. Before he could answer, they were interrupted by another student that was still in the classroom.

“Hey Hey, Hinata!” a big guy, both tall and muscular, with spiky gray hair exclaimed as he bounded up behind Shoyo and threw an arm over his shoulder. “Halliwell,” he added with a smile and nod in her direction. CeCe smiled back.

“Hey, Bokuto,” Shoyo greeted.

“Did you guys have a good summer?” Bokuto asked. Both CeCe and Shoyo told him they did. “That’s great to hear! Let me know if you need anything! I gotta go meet up with Akaashi,” he said, unwinding himself from the much smaller boy.

“How are you guys doing?” CeCe asked before he left.

With a dreamy look in his eyes, a dopey smile slowly spread across his face. “We’re great, thanks for asking,” he said before sobering up. “Alright, I’ll catch you guys later,” he said as he orbed off to find his boyfriend.

“They’re so cute,” CeCe commented, mostly to herself. “Anyway, you wanna come to the library with me?” she asked Shoyo.

The library was close enough to the classroom they were in, so they decided to walk and chat. CeCe asked Shoyo what he did over vacation since she hadn’t seen him since his birthday at the end of June. He explained that the school year was a bit different in Japan, and summer break was a lot shorter than what they had at Magic School, so he was pretty much home alone during the day for the first part of their summer. He told her about how he took care of his little sister, Natsu and kept her entertained while their mother was at work. He also told her all about his friend Kageyama and how they practiced volleyball together for the rest of the break. Curiosity struck CeCe about how Shoyo managed to keep friends outside of Magic School and magic in general.

“Where does your friend think you go to school?” she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Oh, uh, he thinks I go to an international school that my dad managed to get me into,” he told her. “It’s not exactly a lie, but it still sucks that I can’t tell him the real truth,” he said, sadly.

CeCe looked down, nodding sympathetically. She didn’t realize her question would make him sad and she kind of wished she kept her mouth shut.

“But hey!” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think Kageyama would believe me even if I could tell him. And honestly, I don’t think he thinks I’m smart or creative enough to come up with any of this on my own. He’d probably think I just got it from a movie or something,” he chuckled awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, Shoyo,” she said sincerely.

He brushed off her apology with a wave. “It’s not a big deal, really,” he smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual.

They walked silently for a while. CeCe thought about how Shoyo didn’t find out he was magical until he was thirteen and how he used to lead a completely different life. Since she was raised magical, she couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have her life totally uprooted like that. From stories that Grams would tell, she knew that it was really difficult to maintain relationships with people who didn’t and couldn’t know about magic. She felt terrible that Shoyo had to keep so much of himself hidden from his friend, especially when they seemed like they were pretty close. Under the sympathy she felt for her friend, she was also a bit irritated with him. If she had known that he was alone for most of the summer, she would have asked him to hang out more. It’s not like she couldn’t orb to Japan and be back in time for dinner. But she felt like she had already done enough damage, so she kept that irritation to herself. A few more moments of silence passed between the two before Shoyo broke it, saying he was going to use the rest room and he’d meet up with her at the library.

CeCe continued down the hall, hoping that she didn’t upset Shoyo as badly as she was afraid she had. She pulled out her phone to distract herself. She had a text from her dad. “Hey, sweetheart,” It read, “We’re going to be having family dinner tonight at the house. Your Aunt Melinda is back in town.” As her eyes scanned over Melinda’s name, she felt her body being pulled forward. She blinked and when she opened her eyes again, instead of being in the hallway at school, she was standing in her attic in front of the Book of Shadows. It was open to a page with “Akuma” written across the top with Chinese characters underneath it, but she couldn’t see any other details on the page.

“I don’t know, kid. I’d ask Grams about that. She would know better than me,” Melinda told her.

CeCe felt herself walk into something large and hard. The “object” grunted. The noise dragged her back to the present. “I am so sorry,” she apologized, “I-,” she was going to explain, but the words died on her lips as she looked up and was met with a cold, hard glare. It was a demon boy. He was at least a foot taller than her. Based on how it felt when she walked into him, she inferred that he was in excellent shape. He had wavy, black hair and cold, black eyes. The rest of his features were hidden beneath a cloth mask, except for two moles stacked on top of each other over his right eyebrow. Under other circumstances, she might find them unique and maybe even attractive. But right now, she was intimidated. She felt herself shrink under his gaze.

“Watch it, witch” a masculine voice said from her right. She didn’t look to see who it had come from.

Neither CeCe, nor the boy she walked into said anything. He continued to glare at her and she stared back, not wanting to let her guard down, but she also felt frozen, like she couldn’t look away.

“Come on, Omi,” a feminine voice whined. She tugged on the demon’s right hand. He pulled it from her grasp, his glare shifting from CeCe to the other girl. Finally, he stepped around CeCe and continued down the hall with his group.

“Witches, man,” The other boy said.

The dark-haired demon ignored him though and chose to address the other girl instead.

“I have repeatedly asked you not to touch me,” he told her, bitterly.

CeCe remained in the spot he left her. Her mind swam as she tried to process everything that happened in the last two minutes. On top of the confusion she felt about the premonition, she was mortified. She felt betrayed by her powers and body. How could she keep moving if she wasn’t mentally present?

“Are you okay, CeCe?” Shoyo asked as he jogged up behind her. His voice helped shake her out of her internal struggle.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responded. “Demons are rude as hell.” Shoyo snorts at her joke, that being enough to convince him she was alright. She offered a small smile and they continued to the library.

Kenma and Chloe were already there by the time they arrived. They sat together at a round table in the far corner of the room. Chloe seemed anxious, nerves rolling off her in waves CeCe could feel from across the room, even without being an empath herself. Kenma did his best to ignore her, opting to focus on a game instead.

“Have you had any premonitions today?” Chloe asked CeCe before she could even sit down and say hello.

CeCe was taken aback by her cousin’s question. How’d she know? she thought to herself.

“Uh… about what?” she asked out loud. She felt Kenma’s gaze shift to her curiously.

“Celine!” Chloe shouted impatiently, the outburst earning her dirty looks from students at surrounding tables. She lowered her voice when she continued, “It’s her first day and I’m so worried about her. I haven’t had any either.”

“Well, if you haven’t had a premonition about her I’m sure that means she’s fine right?” CeCe reasoned.

“No, that doesn’t mean she’s fine at all!” Chloe raised her voice again.

The boys stayed quiet and let CeCe try to calm her cousin.

“Chloe,” CeCe said in her most soothing tone. “I’m sure Celine is fine. It’s not like she’s never been here before and she knows how to get to us if she needs help.”

Her words were not enough to douse Chloe’s anxieties.

“She’s never been here with demons before! I’m gonna go find her,” Chloe vanished in pinkish-red light, not even bothering to get up before beaming to find her sister.

With that discussion over, Kenma piped up.

“So, what was it about?” he asked CeCe nonchalantly.

“What was what about?” she asked, confused about what he meant.

“Your premonition. You only asked, ‘about what.’ You never said you didn’t have one.”

In their four years of friendship, CeCe still couldn’t get over how perceptive Kenma was. It was kind of unnerving at times, how he knew so much more than other people did just by paying more attention to small details.

She sighed. “Uh, I was in the attic at home, talking to my aunt. Nothing special,” she shrugged.

Kenma seemed satisfied with that answer until Shoyo asked, “Is that why you walked into that guy, CeCe?”

She groaned. She hadn’t realized Shoyo saw that much of the unfortunate interaction.

Kenma snorted “You walked into someone? Who?” he asked.

Shoyo answered for her, “Those really tall Japanese guys. The demonic ones. I was afraid they were gonna kill her.”

“Oh yeah, those guys are jerks,” Kenma agreed. “You okay?” he asked CeCe.

“Just a bit humiliated,” she huffed. She was jealous of Chloe’s premonitions. They were more like flashes of the future instead of actually going there. Chloe also had way more control of them than CeCe did. She didn’t walk into people in the middle of them, for instance. CeCe searched for a way to change the subject and remembered the text from her dad. “Do you want to come to family dinner tonight?” she asked both boys.

“No thanks, I can only take so much of your family,” Kenma declined.

“That’s fair. What about you, Sho?”

“Oh, I would, but I have plans with Kageyama later,” the red head answered. “Thank you, though,” he said with a smile.

“Sure,” she smiled back.

The three students settled into a comfortable silence, only breaking it to ask each other a question about assignments they were working on. CeCe tried desperately to not think about the debacle in the hallway. She couldn’t help but think about her premonition though. How random was that? CeCe hated the visions that gave her no context. She wondered if it would have been longer if she hadn’t walked into that guy.

Shoyo’s voice interrupted her thoughts when he asked Kenma what a certain kanji meant. Cece knew the book would be written in perfect English when she looked at it, but she glanced at the page anyway. That was another cool thing about Magic School, and what made it so easy for them to educate magical students from all over the world. Students heard and read their native language no matter where they were within the plane. Sometimes it tripped CeCe out to think that when she spoke to Kenma, for example, he heard Japanese even though she was speaking English and vice versa.

A nagging feeling ate at CeCe as she thought about her premonition and the characters on the page in the Book of Shadows. “Hey Kenma? Do you know anything about who or what Akuma is?” she asked when he was done answering Shoyo’s question.

Kenma’s face fell slightly and he was quiet for a moment. He cleared his throat before he answered, “Uh yeah, he’s a demon, based in Japan. He mostly works above ground now. He seems to be heavily involved with organized crime these days.”

Cece felt like there was something he was leaving out, but she didn’t pry. She knew he would tell her when he was comfortable enough, he always did. “That was part of my vision,” she explained. “I was looking at his page in the book.”

Kenma nodded his understanding and the group fell back into silence, working on their various assignments. Around ten minutes before the end of the period, Chloe returned. She walked back to their table and sat down. She looked both flustered and slightly more relaxed.

“I embarrassed her.” She said sheepishly.

“What did you do?” CeCe asked accusingly.

“I may or may not have beamed directly into her classroom.” Chloe admitted after a moment of hesitation. “I got chewed out for interrupting her professor’s lecture on exposure. Then he used me as an example.”

“Is Celine okay?” CeCe asked, more for Chloe’s sake than Celine’s.

“Oh yeah, she’s fine. She probably just won’t talk to me for the rest of the day,” Chloe told her. “What classes do you guys have next?”

Shoyo answered first and told her he had Wiccan History. Chloe smiled brightly.

“So does Celine!” Of course she memorized her sister’s schedule as well as her own. “Would you keep an eye on her for me?” she asked him very seriously as she ran a hand through her thick, dark hair, her smile turning saccharine.

Shoyo cleared his throat and agreed, a hint of pink tinged his cheeks.

“You are the best, Shoyo,” Chloe praised, while she made direct eye contact with the younger boy. Her soft, brown eyes bored into his. Shoyo’s blush deepened and he looked like his brain might short circuit.

“Chloe,” CeCe said her name like a warning.

Chloe tore her eyes from the bright red, red head and turned her focus back to CeCe and Kenma.

“What about you guys?” she asked, tone shifting slightly. Kenma rolled his eyes at her.

“Kenma and I have something called “Tactical Magic,”’ CeCe said. “Whatever that is.”

Chloe scrunched up her face. “What the hell? Are they gonna use you guys to raise an army or something?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” CeCe shrugged.

Kenma and CeCe walked to class together silently. He always found it easier to keep his mouth shut around Chloe, only speaking to her when she asked him something directly, but this seemed different. CeCe wondered if there was some lingering tension from the Akuma conversation.

They walked into a large, airy classroom. It was located in one of the towers, so the far wall of the room was curved, making it a semi-circle. All the desks were pushed to either side of the room leaving a large open space in the middle. They were instructed to remain standing as they entered. Murmurs from other students filled the room. They mostly asked each other if anyone knew what this class was about.

The bell rang and two men came to stand in front of the class. CeCe recognized one as Takeda, a whitelighter and the school’s counselor of sorts. He had curly, black hair and brown eyes. He wore thick framed glasses and a soft, approachable expression. The other man was almost the total opposite of Takeda. He was taller and broader than the counselor and had blonde hair that was held out of his face by a headband. He had multiple piercings in his ears. Overall, he looked like someone you might cross the street to avoid. This guy was clearly a demon.

The demon spoke first. “Hello, welcome to Tactical Magic. My name is Ukai and I’m going to be your instructor for this class.” Takeda cleared his throat from beside his counterpart. Ukai rolled his eyes and added, “Takeda is here in case you wanna drop the class or if you end up with emotional trauma, I guess.”

“I’m here to make students more comfortable,” Takeda corrected.

“Right,” Ukai snorted. He inhaled to continue speaking but acknowledged a student who had their hand raised instead. “Yes?”

“What is this class about?” the student asked.

“I was getting to that before I was interrupted,” Ukai told the student. “This course is to evaluate and develop how you fight against the opposite side.”

A beat of silence filled the classroom before a wave of voices crashed over them, all varying degrees of confusion and outrage in their tone.

“So, you’re teaching them to kill us?” a voice asked from behind CeCe. She couldn’t tell whether its owner was a witch or a demon. It didn’t matter at this point.

CeCe looked at Kenma, his amber eyes slightly wider than usual. She took his hand and squeezed gently. He looked at her, his features relaxing slightly.

“What do the Elders have to say about this?” another student asked.

Concerned chatter from other students continued to fill the room until Takeda finally regained control.

“Alright, enough,” he said sternly, surprising some students with his tone. “The Elders developed this course to provide a controlled environment to teach you all to defend yourselves outside of this plane. This is meant to keep you safe. All of you,” he said pointedly.

The students processed the whitelighter’s words and the meaning behind them. They eventually settled down and silence fell over the room. Ukai glanced gratefully at Takeda before he spoke once again.

“Today we are going to do an exercise to get a feel for your individual strengths and weaknesses,” he said, getting right into it. “I’ve already paired you off, one demon or warlock, one witch. You’ll have two minutes to do your best to subdue your partner. Powers and hand to hand combat are both allowed, but no weapons.” Then his tone changed, “It really is a shame they don’t allow them anymore. They used to have a bitchin’ selection.”

Takeda shot him a weird look.

Ukai cleared his throat and called the first pair of names. The two students walked to the center of the room and faced each other from opposite ends of the open space. The instructor set a timer for two minutes and told them to begin. When their two minutes were up, the round ended with the demonic student as the winner. The next two names were called. This went on for a couple of rounds, sometimes the witch won, sometimes the demon. As CeCe watched the other students spar, she tried to come up with a plan of her own. She decided that simply freezing her opponent and anything they threw at her would be sufficient. Another pair of names were called. When their round began, CeCe looked over at Kenma again. He seemed like he had relaxed, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching the other students spar. Kenma shouldn’t have any trouble with this exercise. He may have seemed unassuming, but he was one of the most powerful students at Magic School. He had the power of thought projection, meaning he could create images and show whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted. It made him formidable, but also put him in danger.

“Kozume, Kuro, you’re up,” Ukai called.

Kenma walked to the center of the room with his hands still in his pockets. His opponent, Kuro looked familiar to CeCe. She had seen him around a lot in the last year, hanging out with Bokuto. She was pretty sure he was a warlock. He was tall and had jet black hair that he wore in an interesting style. He looked like one of those “scene” kids Aunt Melinda used to talk about.

“Begin,” Ukai told them as he started their timer.

“Let’s see what you can do,” Kuro said in a rather cocky tone.

Before he could take even a half a step forward, or blink, Kuro’s eyes glazed over. He was already trapped in Kenma’s illusion. Kenma stood the same way he had been before the match started, hands in his pockets, looking at Kuro. Neither of the boys moved for the full two minutes. Kuro couldn’t have fought his way out of the projection if he wanted to. Finally, the timer went off and Kenma let Kuro free.

“Uh, okay… Kozume, good job I guess,” Ukai said, not really sure about what just happened.

Kenma walked back to CeCe and reclaimed his place beside her. Kuro stared after him with glassy eyes for a moment before he too walked back to where he had been standing in the group.

Cece leaned closer to Kenma. “What did you show him?” she whispered.

“The meadow,” he answered simply.

Ah, the meadow. She thought back to the first time Kenma had shown her the meadow when they were fourteen. It was gorgeous. Bright sunshine and pretty wildflowers surrounded her. There was a crystal-clear brook that babbled in the distance. The main attraction, however, was the guy that joined her. It was that one guy from that one band. The cute one with the swoopy hair. She smiled to herself as she thought about it now. That was the point of the meadow, to show you your greatest love or biggest crush and distract you with them. Kenma couldn’t see who they were though. To him it was just a white figure.

CeCe was jolted out of her happy memory by Ukai’s voice calling her name.

“Halliwell, Sakusa, your turn.”

A nervous pit that wasn’t there before settled in CeCe’s stomach. She walked to the center of the room and saw her opponent. Dread washed over her as she looked into the same cold stare from earlier. It was the boy from the hallway. The one she walked into. Well, this should be interesting, she thought to herself.

“Halliwell, huh? This should be interesting,” his deep voice rumbled through her, mirroring her sentiments.

#Charmed 1998 #haikyuu!!#fanfiction #charmed hq crossover #future magic school AU #SWCtS #all photos from google dot com

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exhaustedfander · 5 years ago

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First Comes Love: Chapter Ten

Word Count: 3,262

a03 link

Link to previous story in the series: When is Enough Enough?

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / ?

Remus was sure an elaborate plan was going to come upon him anytime now. He’d been counting on it, praying for it, honestly. He’d been so confident of the party idea, but surely, he’d be able to conjure up something even better.

Except, maybe not.

The idea of asking Logan for his hand, while something he wished he’d already done, filled him with more anxiety than he’d been subject to in years. Proposing in a public setting was a no-go after last time; there was no way he’d get through it in one piece. Something small and intimate seemed nice. Proposing over candlelit dinner was always a trope he’d rather enjoyed, or on a moonlit walk through the park. He needed something cliché, something romantic, something that’d make Logan swoon.

But every time he so much as thought about getting down on one-knee, Remus felt like he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t make sense; he wanted this more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life! He was determined to make Logan his for the rest of their lives, it was all that’d been on his mind for a month. So, why did this have to be so fucking hard?

At first, he’d told himself that it’d be wrong to do it right after his and Roman’s visit with Patton, considering the emotional intensity of the situation. But now it’d been two weeks since then, Patton was on the road to healing with Janus and the rest of his friends by his side as always, and he still hadn’t done it!

Remus knew their friends were waiting with baited breaths for the joyous news, and yet it hadn’t come. Beforehand, Remus had been positive he could do this. But now? The imperfections of fractions of plans seemed glaringly obvious. Nothing was good enough for Logan, nothing could possibly be worthy.

For the most part, Remus had been convinced the tensions between them had lifted to a degree. Remus was still wound up as tight as ever, of course, contemplating a proposal in nearly every waking moment, filled with an unheard-of amount of self-doubt. Logan had his moments of strain too, when he seemed a little more on edge than usual, a little tighter in embraces, a tad more distant. But Remus chalked it up to his own insecurities washing over everything else in his life, including his partner.

Remus had come so close that night, yet it was out of his reach in an instance. He was sure Logan was picking up on his tensity; he’d have to be an idiot not to, and Logan was no idiot. Still, he’d chosen not to say anything about it.

Remus found himself losing sleep over everything, tossing and turning, desperate to get those four little words out. He found little solace in slumber, dreaming extensively of his and Logan’s wedding, honeymoon, and montages of their life as a married couple. He was fairly sure there had been a dog involved in one of the dreams and that just made his heart ache.

He knew he was torturing himself more with each passing day, continuing to drive the nail further in, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Not when everything felt so jumbled, so inconsistent and imperfect.

Remus was no stranger to insecurity, but this was a beast he’d never gone up against until now. He’d never doubted every idea that came to mind, never beaten down every idea, believing it to be nothing more than unforgivably unacceptable. He’d gone into the idea of marrying Logan so headstrong but now everything was twisted and wrong, like a nightmare that wouldn’t let up no matter how many times he tried to wake up.

“Remus?”

Remus was startled from his now-constant stream of anxiety by Logan’s soft voice. He glanced around the darkened living room, vaguely aware that they’d been watching a movie together, though he was having a hard time remembering which one. Looking at the characters on the screen offered him little help, further expressing just how out of it he was.

“What’s up?” He asked, hoping he sounded something close to not entirely spaced out.

“What’s up?” Logan parroted, though he sounded far more concerned than annoyed, “Remus, you’re eyes have been glazed over the entire time, leading me to believe you aren’t paying any attention to the film,” – well, he was certainly right about that –, “You’ve been incredibly rigid and you have responded to very few of the comments I’ve made. Something’s obviously the matter.” Remus averted his eyes, despite how much more incriminating that might’ve seemed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a sigh, Logan paused the movie and rose from the couch to turn the lights off, no longer allowing darkness to shroud Remus’s insecurities. He sat back down, eyeing Remus carefully, who shuffled under his gaze.

“Love, I don’t know what you’re playing at. You and I both know you’re not one to lie.” Remus bit his lip.

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“You’re not telling me the truth, either,” Logan said, pinching his temple, “I’m not trying to antagonize you, Remus, I’m merely… concerned.” “Concerned” didn’t even begin to cover it.

While Logan had been going through his own panic and self-doubt for the last several weeks, which was to say an incredible amount of panic, he’d also picked up on Remus’s odd behavior that was getting more perplexing by the day. Usually, Remus was such a carefree, do now think later kind of a person. He was impulsive and wild, and free. Except… he hadn’t been acting that way at all, not lately.

He seemed to want to shrink down, rather than take up as much space as possible. Logan had heard that wonderous, bold, and crackling laugh less and less, something that he considered near criminal. Even in an embrace, Remus was too stiff, too solid. Logan had been too distracted with his own failings and self-pitying to pick up the initial signs of something being amiss, but now it was so obtrusive, so in Logan’s face that he had no choice but to challenge it.

“What’s there to be concerned about?” Remus had never been all that good at playing dumb, and this was no exception. Logan exhaled sharply.

“You’ve been acting different lately. Ever since the party and I…, I want to understand what’s going on. I can’t see what’s happening in your head, and I’m not always the best at picking up cues. So, please,” Logan said in a voice that was edging on desperation, taking Remus hand and finally meeting his eyes fully, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You’ve been acting weird too, y’ know,” Remus said, perhaps in an attempt to derail the conversation, he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was this was heading in a bad direction fast and he needed to stop it. The comment floored Logan, who for a moment, went quiet though his hand didn’t release its grip.

“I have?” Remus scoffed.

“Now who’s lying? C’mon, you know you’ve been being weird lately. Since… well, since the party, I guess? I dunno, you were being weird before that, too.” Logan shook his head, feeling his pulse jump.

“We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you.” “Well, why can’t we talk about you?”

“Remus –.” “Seriously. You’ve been all awkward and stiff and I didn’t know what to say so I guess I just fucking didn’t but –.”

“Remus,” Logan interrupted, his tone thick with exhaustion. Remus promptly shut his mouth and Logan took a steadying breath. “Clearly, this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Remus grumbled irritably. Logan took a steadying breath, doing his best to remain patient.

“I… I’m sorry. If I’ve come off as upset with you. I’m not. I just don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t like it when things don’t make sense. Things have felt strange ever since… well, ever since you started to deliver that speech.” Remus’s heart clenched in his chest.

“What speech?” He couldn’t stop the gears from turning in Logan’s head if he tried, and damnit was trying.

“Just before Patton got the phone call,” Logan said, sounding surer of himself with each word, “You let go of my hand, and you told me there was something you needed to say. The look in your eye, it was so serious. As if… as if you had something incredibly important to say to me. I can’t believe I didn’t ask you about it when we got home, it was just such an exhausting night, and the timing didn’t feel right but –.”

“Whoa, hey, I’d hardly call that a speech,” Remus interrupted quickly, his voice wavering, “I barely got a few words out. I-it could’ve been anything, who the hell knows what I was going to say!”

“But you do know, don’t you?” Logan asked, seeing the panic flickering in his boyfriend’s eyes, “You know exactly what you were going to say. You remember.”

“I… maybe?” The look Logan gave him could’ve split him in two. “Okay, fine, yeah! I know.” Terrible silence settled over the couple for a moment, tension weighing them down to a point where both were afraid to disrupt the fragile quiet. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Logan spoke.

“Won’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice sounding so reserved, so small. Remus bit his lip, seeing the desperation written all over Logan’s face, the deep need to understand what in the world was going on between them. Remus’s mind was teeming with every bit of insecurity that had been building up for the last few weeks, thinking of every possible way that things could go wrong, every way that this wasn’t at all what he’d envisioned for this moment. Except… amongst the chaos his mind had produced, there was Logan. Beautiful, wonderful Logan who just wanted things to be okay. And how could Remus blame him for a thing like that?

“Do you really want to know?” He found himself asking, despite the hesitations that tried everything to convince himself to dig his heels into the dirt and keep wallowing, keep pitying himself for not just fucking doing it. In the end, though, Logan’s vehement nod is all it took to convince Remus he didn't have any other choice.

“Okay. Shit – okay, alright,” he said, only somewhat frantically as he stood up from the couch. Logan tilted his head in confusion, and Remus might’ve compared the motion to that of a puppy if he wasn’t being pumped with so much anxiety, he was beginning to feel quite a bit like Virgil. “Wait right here for just a second. I’ll – I’ll be right back.”

Remus all but scurried into their bedroom, leaving an already disquieted Logan to stew in his worry for a little bit longer. Remus felt himself tremble as he knelt on his hands and knees and reached under the nightstand, pulling the ring box from its hiding place.

As he stood back up and shoved the object in his pocket, Remus allowed himself one, terrible, sobering moment of complete and utter panic. This wasn’t how he wanted to go about things, not at all. He wanted this to be perfect for Logan, he wanted to give him everything and anything that his heart desired. But even so, this was how things had played out and there was little that could be done to stop it. Additionally, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to torture himself, and this was certainly a way to cease that.

So, he took a deep breath, and then a few more before he walked back into the living room, praying for something close to confidence.

“What were you doing in the bedroom?” Logan asked, looking uneasy, “Remus, what’s going on?”

Remus walked back to the sofa and stood beside his boyfriend. For the briefest instance, he took in the world that Logan’s eyes contained. All of the fear, all of the confusion and uncertainty, all of the love. He was sure he could look into those eyes for every minute of the rest of his life and still keep finding new things to love about them. A cosmos all his own, glittering with all the treasures of the night sky, constellations he knew he would always get to see, no matter the time of day.

“You’re right,” Remus began, not daring to tear his gaze from Logan’s eyes and knowing that despite his nerves, despite the panic and lack of a concrete plan that this was exactly what he was meant to do, “I know exactly what I wanted to say that night. And… well, I hadn’t planned on saying it now, but what am I if not impulsive, right?” Remus tacked on a chuckle, hoping it did something to mask the fear that dwelled within him.

“I –,” Logan hesitated, having been thrust into a moment of intimacy he mustn’t have been expecting. “Alright. Go ahead, love. I’m listening,” he said after a pause, looking more than a little panicked himself. That panic escalated tenfold when Remus got down on one knee. “R-Remus?”

“Logan, Dragonfly… I love you more than I thought I’d ever be able to love somebody,” Remus professed, feeling the tears beginning to well behind his eyes and thinking, briefly, of a time when he hadn’t been so ruled by his emotions, and what a dreadful time that had been, “You’re the smartest, hottest, most amazing, best man I’ve ever known. You’ve made my life better the moment you were in it and – and I don’t ever want to let go of that if I don’t have to. You – you make me better, and fuck, I hope you think I make you better, too.

“Before you, I didn’t know what it felt like to be truly, genuinely happy, but you’ve given me that. you’ve given me anything and everything I could ever dream of having, just by being you.”

Logan clamped a hand over his mouth, watching as Remus bared his heart and soul.

“I know a year really isn’t that long,” Remus continued with a watery laugh, “And I know this might seem fucking insane. But... I’ve never been so sure of anything in my goddamn life. I love you, Dragonfly, with the entirety of the heart I didn’t know I had. And I want to promise you anything you want. I’d give you the moon, I’d give you all the stars in the sky if I could.

“I can’t give you those things, no matter how much I want to,” he said, tears near their tipping point as he took a shuddery breath as he took the box from his pocket and popped it open, revealing a silver band set with a Safire,

“But I can promise to be yours. I can promise you a f-future, and I promise I’ll keep loving you with every bit of my wrenched soul. You’re the love of my life, Logan Sanders, and I want to give you forever, i-if you want it too,” he said, eyes burning with sincerity, “So, will you do me the utmost pleasure of allowing me to keep bothering you every day for the rest of our lives?"

For a moment, Logan was quiet, tears slipping underneath his glasses as he shivered, watching his boyfriend on one-knee in their living room before a single word made its way through the cacophony of his mind: “No.”

Logan was near-certain he saw Remus’s heart shatter into a million pieces. The hopeful, buoyant expression he’d been wearing just seconds ago is replaced with sullen, bitter heartbreak. He shut the ring box, getting up off the carpet.

“R-right – yeah. Okay, yeah, it’s too soon. I-I get that,” and the chuckle that bellows from him is positively grief-stricken, “I’m probably a fucking idiot for asking so soon.” The tears are slipping down Remus’s face and it’s so clear he was excepting an exuberant “Yes!” Was praying for it, at the very least. And then, finally, Logan snapped out of it.

“N-no!” Logan repeated, standing up from the couch and scrubbing at his face, his eyes darting around the room, “I mean – not no.” Despite everything, Remus dared to look hopeful again, if only for a moment.

“Not… not no?”

“No. I – I mean – wait right there!” Logan said before running into their bedroom. The door slammed against the wall as he bustled to the closet, quickly grabbing what he’s looking for before swiftly making his way back into the living room and showing Remus the box. For a moment Remus couldn’t believe what he was seeing, confusing it with some fantastical dream but it was real. Logan was really here, with a ring of his own, crying just the same.

“Oh,” Remus said, eyes going from Logan to the ring box in his hand, to Logan again, “Oh you’ve – you’ve gotta be shitting me. There’s – there’s no fucking way that we-we that we both –.” But there is a way, because here they were, standing staring at each other like they’re all they’d ever needed.

“I love you,” Logan said, opening the box and revealing the gold ring with emerald stone, Remus’s favorite color, “I wanted – that is to say, I’d been planning on a more romantic way of professing this –.”

“Me too,” Remus interrupted with a laugh, light and airy, “Me too, Dragonfly. I was going to –.”

“At the party?” Logan cut in, and Remus nodded with another laugh. Logan couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Me as well. That night, I – I was going to –.”

“Did you torture yourself after that, too?” Remus asked, and Logan nodded once more. “God, we’re such a fucking mess, huh? Our friends must hate us – they’ve all got to know.”

“I – I asked Virgil to host the party, so I could propose that night,” Logan admitted, earning a cackle from Remus.

“And I asked Roman to host a party that night so I could propose to you!”

“We’re significantly stupid,” Logan said, before realizing they’d been inching closer and closer to one another as well as the lovesickness in Remus’s eyes.

“So… I’m gonna go off on a limb and assume that’s a yes?” Remus asked, gesturing to the ring. Logan nodded quickly, tears plastered to his face as he collapsed into Remus’s arms and pulled him into a bruising kiss. The embrace was broken only in desperation for air.

“That’s a yes,” Logan whispered against his lips, biting down just slightly, earning a quiet moan in response. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Logan punctuated each statement with a kiss, each lingering more than the last. The pair stumbled to slide the rings on each other’s fingers, laughing at the absurdity of it all the while before Remus found himself pinned to the couch, his arms pinned behind his back, and Logan kissing him senseless.

Sometime later, he’d search for his senses. Later, the reality that they were really engaged, and that they’d both proposed, would dawn. Later, he’d fully realize how stupid they’d both been acting for weeks, dancing around each other, when everything they’d feared was fiction and everything they’d hoped for was right in front of them.

But for now, Remus savored. For now, Remus prayed to be devoured, to be poured over with love, and passion, and praise. For now, Remus would love the man he’d chosen to marry every way he knew how.

=+=

Ho Boy we finally got to the proposals! I hope you enjoyed it because I certainly enjoyed writing it! But the story's not quite over yet *cough cough* I've just set us up for a bit of smut in the next chapter *cough cough* and there'll, of course, be a wedding and probably an epilog, if I'm honest. I already know I'm going to have a hard time saying goodbye to this story; I've been having so much fun with it. Have an absolutely wonderful day/night, I'll see you in the next chapter!

#intrulogical #romantic intrulogical #sanders sides #Thomas sanders #human au #Logan Sanders #Remus Sanders #Remus the duke Sanders #fluff #angst #angst/fluff #A hell of a lot of fluff #These two share one brain cell and that braincell goes 90% to their love for one another #They are dumb and gay because I say so #exhaustedfander #exahustededfander writes

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moononmyfloor · 6 years ago

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Review: The Tyrant's Tomb by Rick Riordan

Thoughts on The Cover

Well, if you've seen my previous posts by now you'd know that I'm not a big fan of loud and action-packed covers. I prefer classy, if not always subtle. But you might like it! See, Reyna is owning the bigger portion of it, which is a nice change. :-)

Ok to Low Points

Halfway through the book, I was STILL unable to "get" into the story

Literally, not much was going on for 2/3 of the whole book, which is very surprising considering:

The time between the release dates of The Tyrant's Tomb and The Burning Maze is the longest as of yet. Whereas other books within a series have come out within twelve months of each other, these two books will be released within eighteen months of each other.

.....and that even the most boring books by Uncle Rick had some silver linings here and there to keep you engaged. Even The Dark Prophecy had the gang arrive and settle in Indianapolis, visit the zoo and free Griffins and REVISIT the emperor. Here? Apollo and Co. escorted Jason's hearse into Camp Jupiter in a frankly insulting manner(more about that later), Apollo got sick, we see that the noble prophecies are being tattooed on Tyson's back, Apollo and Co. went on a lil' trial quest and returned, Apollo got more sick.🤷‍♀️ I was so confused I opened the previous books to see how far those stories had progressed by midpoint.

It got slightly better later on, but it doesn't change the fact throughout the 1st half of the book I just kept on turning pages SIMPLY because I wanted it to get it on with and finish the story. Sad.

2. The so-called Tyrant

I didn't see much tyranny, like...only 3 pages were spent in the Tyrant's Tomb and his company, bad old Commodus and Caligula had more appearances than Tarquin who re-appeared in the very last chapters only to get immediately vanquished courtesy of Diana.....yeah. That's that.

3. How Jason's final voyage was depicted

Uncle Rick doesn't write emotional crying scenes well.

People talk about peeing and pop chewing gum bubbles while delivering the hearses of valued, honored characters.

And I seriously wonder in what position and condition poor Jason's body was after all the drama his coffin underwent.

And based on the spoilery lines(which sadly turned out to be not spoilers at all) we saw in the Magnus Chase series I thought we'd at least get a Percy-Annabeth cameo in this, that Jason will have more of his closest comrades mourning and sending him off. Nah. Nada. Not even a mention of Annabeth. Then why did Uncle Rick mention things like Annabeth and Percy being at California and even Magnus joining them at their time of crisis? Utter puzzlement. And we were also robbed of Nico's reaction to Jason's demise, considering how much Nico valued Jason as a brother-in-arms and a friend. Let's not even talk about Thalia. Why, Uncle Rick? :-(

Which brings us to...

4. Plot Inconsistencies

Why do I have to talk about this in each and every book? :-( Seriously, why would you write about Percy and Annabeth going to New Rome to attend college and being broken hearted over Jason DURING the period of Demigod communication malfunction, only to have us know they have YET to travel across the country and when we meet them again it would still be at New York? And now the communication is working, proving that Uncle Rick conveniently forgot about the clues he conveniently dropped.

AT LEAST I'm glad one thing is consistent in the Trials of Apollo series, that when Zeus decided they'll stop meddling too much in demigod affairs at the end of Heroes of Olympus, he meant it and now it's super duper hard to seek a god even for dire needs, no matter how wonderfully (ill)timed that decision was, costing lives of valued heroes.

5. The Haiku-titles weren't amusing at all this time.

I found one fun haiku .

O, blood moon rising

Take a rain check on doomsday

I’m stuck in traffic

6. The whole Apollo-Reyna debacle.

I would say Uncle Rick pulled a clever twist by turning fan theories on their heads here, but it too way more plot space than needed and when he got to the "Gotcha!" part, I was not feeling it. For YEARS now, we heard abut this no-mortal-no-demigod thing over and over, and fans predicted it might mean Apollo's the one for Reyna. And when it initially seemed like it was the route that Uncle Rick was indeed taking, the only thought that circulated inside my head was; "Reyna doesn't need this completely random and unwanted baggage! Give the girl a dam break!!" But then he was like; "Lol nooo. You kids are wrong", but STILL I was not happy...well, for obvious reasons.

What's the point of this whole plotline? So unnecessary. I mean, the fans always wondered WHY exactly would Reyna think she needs a partner in her life, but now I see Reyna might not have had time to contemplate her personal life logically like WE had what's with her dramatic life. Of course the shallow gods would think her heart was something to be "cured" and Reyna never stopped to think that it's quite the opposite till Apollo provided her with a breather and reason. And to answer why din't she choose to join Amazons instead of Hunters is probably that she wanted to be her own person and not be under her sis the Queen once again. She'd indeed have the freedom, calm and few friends so she wouldn't feel lonely and bored with the Hunt. She might even choose to leave Hunters after she found herself in her own time. I get it. But the way it was dragged and executed was meh.

If Uncle Rick intended this plotline of Reyna to be empowering for female readers, in my opinion it was not. Yes, even a badass girl could have weaknesses, not enough self-confidence and wobbly life choices, but Reyna took too much time with her "Eureka!" moment.

It was funny while it lasted, at least.

“Lester.” Reyna sighed. “What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“That maybe I’m the answer,” I blurted. “To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah.”

HAHAHAHA. That Totally came from the left field Lester, even for you.

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

I mean, if THIS is not the ultimate deal breaker then what is? Apollo might have changed for better by now, but it doesn't mean we can overlook what he did. I for one certainly don't need a loveline for him in this series. I'm glad Uncle Rick drew(or at least seemed to have) a clear line here.

High Points

It took half the page count even for Uncle Rick's special brand of snark to return. Nonetheless I managed to find some good ones. Which is what matters, right?

“So,” I said, making a second attempt at nonchalance, “are you and Thalia, er…?”

Reyna raised an eyebrow. “Involved romantically?”

“Well, I just…I mean…Um…”

Oh, very smooth, Apollo. Have I mentioned I was once the god of poetry?

Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question…Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy…Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?"

Preach, sister. But then again I would have to ask did YOU have to swear to celibacy to prove your independence....which is sort of the point🙄..

Even when I was a god and could speak any language I wanted, I’d never sung well in Italian. I kept mixing it up with Latin, so I came off sounding like Julius Caesar with a head cold.

LOL

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends!

Which you're most of the time...the latter sentence I mean.

4. Don't we all relate? 😂

“O protector of Rome!” I read aloud. “O insert name here!”

5. And one more.

I bet Gregorix was wishing he’d pursued that business degree his mom always wanted him to get. Being a barbarian bodyguard was mentally exhausting.

Heartrending quotes.

This was the source of all our communications troubles—one sad, angry, forgotten little god.

2. This was the wisest quote I saw in the book. The simple indescribable deepness of letting go.

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I were the one being erased.

3. I was saddened to learn about Julia's untimely loss, but I'm sure everybody had a meltdown moment at the following scene.

The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!”

“Or this statue!” said Julia.

4. Honestly? I too forgot until Apollo pointed it out and then I had *shivers*! They're one immediate family, grieving over one loss that affects all of them in various ways, and having mixed reactions about each others the members who survived!

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Overall Conclusion

This is the most bored-outta-my-mind I felt after reading a PJO universe book. Am I finally growing out of the Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus fandom? Oh dear, I hope not. I can't imagine living without it and I'm SO not happy with this new development. Just as I feared, Uncle Rick couldn't keep it up after the excellent Burning Maze and now.....please, for your fans' sake who had been loyal for years, I hope at least the final book delivers. Just so we could at least part ways/go dormant with pleasant sentiments and a content heart.🙆‍♀️

#rick riordan #trials of apollo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #the tyrants tomb #book reviews.#reviews #pjo

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phanlight · 7 years ago

Text

The Boy on the Blue Moon Dreams of Sun

prompt: dan is a theatre kid who hasn't had his first kiss but has to kiss someone for a show. he doesn't want his first kiss to be wasted so he tries to get it done properly beforehand & he meets phil and w/e you can take it from there!!!

““Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what we’ve spent the past ten minutes doing?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

GUESS WHICH BITCH IS BACK AND WRITING AGAIN (spoiler: IT ME)

I thought it was about time I branched out a bit and tried my hand at a theatre au. This was so much fun to write (albeit kinda hard as despite being a literature student my Romeo and Juliet knowledge is a little subpar lmao lets hope I at least sort of did it justice tho) and deffo has more than ur daily dosage of angsty teenage actor!dan so look forward to that. thank u to the lovely anon who prompted me with this! (also yes i’m still relying on ptv lyrics for my song titles after 3 years sh)

Also I’m sorry if the writing in this is a lil inconsistent. I started this fic literally over a year ago and abandoned it for ages before finding and continuing it again. The first half was written in literally like mid 2016 (from which point my writing has obv improved a lot) and since then I’ve been working on it sporadically so if it feels like halfway through my writing style suddenly changes then that’s why OOPS soz

This was not supposed to be this long im so sorry wtf 13k ??? fuks sake

It’s the first time Dan’s ever been pissed off with being cast a lead role in a play.

He usually loves it – he loves the attention, loves having a ripped up script full of highlighted lines and more soliloquies to memorise than he can even keep count of. He shines under the warmth of the spotlight, lapping up the attention like a hungry cat, and when the applause ripples throughout the audience at the end, he can’t get enough of the sound.

It’s just- well, there’s one problem with his part.

It’s nothing he has against Romeo, not necessarily, and the piece itself is okay – Dan’s copy of the popular play in question is already crumpled with annotations; small post-it notes spilling fluorescent colours out of every crease (studying English literature alongside Drama always comes in handy as far as Shakespeare is concerned) and Romeo has a decent amount to say.

The problem is, he’s going to have to kiss someone.

Dan Howell, the one who snaps up almost every single role he auditions for, the one with a clay personality that can be moulded perfectly into whatever role he’s going for next, the one who lives the stage and breathes the lights, who was once described as ‘the heart and soul’ of the local theatre, is going to have to kiss someone.

And believe it or not, Dan Howell, the same seventeen-year-old who breezes through auditions leaving a flutter of girls at his feet, the same guy who was once rumoured to have made out with three people at the Les Miserables afterparty and the same guy who once had to reject two people in one night, has never actually kissed anyone before. Not properly, anyway.

Granted, he’s been extremely close to it a fair few times – having been in and out of auditions and callbacks since the age of about five, he’s come into contact with a considerable number of roles that involve love interests; only last month was his character Eddie supposed to kiss the love of his life, Alexandra, in the back of a car at a drive-in cinema. It was a play that one of the drama students had written; set in the fifties, all red-and-white ice cream parlours and hand jives and high school dances and Marilyn Monroe posters. Dan had enjoyed playing his part, and not just because it was the only opportunity he’d get to sport a black leather jacket (though he did decide leather looked really quite hot on him after that play. It’s almost a shame he’s vegetarian), but because the minor obstacle could, like every single other time, be solved with a stage kiss. Just a few seconds of his back to the audience, being agonisingly close to someone else’s lips, before pulling away and raking though his mind to try and remember the next line. It’s always worked for him, every time.

Except for this. Because the director, a Lucy Howcroft with a loud voice and a bossy personality, has only gone and booked them the Round at the Old Vic theatre. Which would be fine, of course it would; it’s one of the most popular theatres in the city and the theatre group is going to get a huge reputation for this afterwards, but it’s not so handy as far as stage-kissing is concerned. When you’re being stared at from every angle three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around, there’s no way you can get away with only partially leaning in to kiss.

“Are you sure there’s no way around this?” Dan had insisted when he’d stolen a moment after rehearsal to talk to Lucy. She’d been clearing her desk – a papery mountain range, and had looked a bit too busy to talk, but Dan would rather discuss this with her one-on-one instead of having to voice his feelings with twenty other pairs of eyes staring at him.

“For someone who just bagged yet another lead role, I would’ve thought you’d be a little more gracious than this,” Lucy had muttered, snapping a file shut. “I didn’t have to cast you, y’know.”

“It’s not- I am grateful, you know I am, it’s just-“

“Is there a problem with the casting of Juliet?” she’d offered, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Dan had insisted. “She’s fine.”

“The costume, then?” she’d tried. “I’m not a bloody mind reader, Dan. Help me out a bit here.”

Dan had shut his eyes and taken a deep breath, trying to comb the tangle of words in his head into some kind of coherent sentence.

“I mean- I just- the venue,” he gulped. “It’s- there’s a bit of a problem.”

“What about it?” Lucy sighed, irritation tracing the edges of her tone. “I fail to see what’s so problematic about getting a slot at the Old Vic of all places, but if you have any objections, then do enlighten me.”

“It’s not that, it’s just-“ Dan gulped, not really too sure how far he’s going to get with this. The bitterness already in her tone didn’t sound at all promising. “I don’t know. Do we have to perform in the round?”

“Christ, is performing in one of the most popular theatres in London that much of a chore?”

“No, no, I just-“ he gulped, trying to work out how the hell he’d word this without sounding like a twat. “I’ve never really… you know. Performed in an environment like that before.”

“You’ve been acting for twelve years,” she said bluntly. “I’m sure you have enough experience to be able to deal with a round stage instead of a rectangular one.”

“But- like, isn’t the round meant for- like… you know, Greek plays and shit?”

“It used to be,” she’d said, taking care to apply extra emphasis on the past tense. “Since when were you so hung up on the traditions of theatre, anyway?” she’d added after a pause. “Only last week were you totally in favour of the idea of having a rap battle in the middle of Othello.”

Dan had frowned, because that wasn’t really fair – sure, a rap battle isn’t exactly a common feature of Shakespeare’s plays, but no one could deny that Louis, playing Iago, was pretty good at freestyling whenever a mic was thrown in his direction. Despite not adhering to the conventions of traditional English theatre, it certainly made the play more entertaining.

“It’s just gonna be- you know. It’s gonna take some getting used to,” he’d mumbled instead.

“You have three months to get used to it,” she’d pointed out. “I’m sure you and the rest of the cast will have familiarised yourself with it by the time the production comes around.”

“But- the round is traditionally meant for-“

“Look, if you’re going to get so archaic about it, I can always build a time machine, book the open-air Globe for, like, sometime four-hundred years ago, and you can spend the next three days picking rotten tomatoes out of your hair,” she said. “Does that sound better?”

“They only did that to bad actors,” Dan had pointed out. Lucy rolled her eyes.

“And you know what makes a good actor, Dan?” she retorted. “Flexibility. The willingness to branch out of your comfort zone.”

Dan had sighed. He’s not going to get anywhere with this, is he?

“You know what?” he’d finally shaken his head, defeated. “Forget it.”

She watched him turn on his heel with a raised eyebrow. “See you Tuesday, then? First read-through of the script is at eleven in the morning.”

“See you then,” Dan muttered, not even bothering to turn around.

He let the door slam behind him.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t want to kiss anyone – (quite the contrary, really. He loves the idea of it, loves the thought of someone’s lips pressed up against his, the world slowing down around them and his heart feeling like fire. He’s always tried to incorporate that feeling into his acting, letting his passion leak into every character he’s cast, but when the stage lights are off and the curtain is down, his attraction to his colleagues ends there) – it’s just- well, he doesn’t really think he’s found the right person to share the real experience with, yet. His fellow actors and actresses aren’t unattractive by any means, but he doesn’t look at any of them and find himself struck by the desire to taste their lips and whisper incoherence into their ears like Eddie was supposed to do in the back of that car.

Seventeen, and still hasn’t had his first kiss. Still doesn’t want to waste it, at that.

Pathetic.

Technicians don’t get paid enough, Phil thinks.

He’s spent the day holed up in the trap room, devouring what was left in the back of the fridge (including a half-opened pack of Doritos that tasted like they expired about five years ago) and puzzling over this fucking broken light board that everyone had very kindly left him to take care of. It had already taken him over half an hour to get one of the chunky old Mac laptops up and running again (seriously, who in this day and age is still using an iBook?) and even then it only really half-functions – a handful of keys are missing, the trackpad only ever seems to work when it feels like it, and there’s a huge hairline crack right across the screen. Phil’s spent so long cursing through gritted teeth and smacking the table in frustration every time the damn thing freezes that it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he ended up contributing to those cracks by the end of the day. Maybe that’s how they ended up there in the first place.

“You alright?” the door suddenly opens and a voice – Nick, Phil presumes, breaks the aching silence that the room has been blanketed in for the past four hours. Finally, Phil sighs, feeling a pinch of anger melt away. Human company.

“Been better,” Phil mumbles, popping a couple of grapes into his mouth. Been better, he scoffs to himself. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been worse.

“Chuck me a coke, will you?” he pulls up a chair and puts his feet on it, perching on the edge of the table. Phil heaves out a sigh – that involves getting up – but musters up enough energy to lean over and yank the fridge open. He tosses him a can, and Nick catches it expertly.

“Nice of you to show up,” Phil rolls his eyes. “Only four hours late this time. That’s an hour and a half off your personal best.”

“They said they didn’t need me here ‘till three,” he protests, popping the can open and taking a few gulps. “They said you had it all under control.”

His sentence is punctuated by a burp. Phil grimaces.

“Under control,” Phil snorts. That’ll be the fucking day.

“What did they leave you here to do?” he frowns.

“Only fix this entire fucking thing,” Phil nods over to the stupid light board. God, he’s sick of the sight of it. “Beats me what’s wrong with it. I’ve only just managed to get this dinosaur up and running,” he gestures to the corpse of a laptop in front of him, “let alone look at that.”

“Fuck me, man,” Nick sighs out a heavy breath. “If I knew, I could have come in earlier to help you out a bit. You should have texted me.”

“It’s fine,” Phil sighs even though- well, it’s not, really. There’s only so many hours of broken technology and out-of-date food one can take. “It’s not your fault,” he adds truthfully.

“They’re twats sometimes, aren’t they?” Nick lowers his voice, despite the fact they’re literally underground here, beneath the earshot of everyone.

“I’ll say,” Phil widens his eyes, trying to click something and- nope, it’s fucking frozen again. “For fuck’s sake. They’re all bloody loaded, too. You would have thought with the money they have, they could fork out a little for equipment that at least half-functions, right?”

“Yup,” Nick sighs. “Guess bookings for overpriced fancy-ass theatres are higher up on their agenda, though.”

Phil can’t argue with that. Apparently they’re going to have to wire up something in the Old Vic, of all places, next week. Phil dreads to think how much hiring that place out for even a few hours is going to cost, let alone booking it for three nights.

Probably more than enough to buy a better fucking laptop.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but-“

“No- no,” Lucy holds up her hand. “Come on, Dan. More emotion than that. You’re telling the love of your life that even the moon is envious of her beauty. At least pretend to put some passion into it.”

Dan rolls his eyes – only the fourth time he’s had to repeat this fucking soliloquy in the past fifteen minutes. He’s pretty sure he’s only one “no, no, it’s too (insert adjective here)” away from giving up with this whole thing altogether. He’d rather have played Benvolio anyway.

“Come on,” Lucy continues. “We’ll take it from Be not her maid…”

Dan shuts his eyes, scrapes up the remaining traces of his sanity, and takes another breath.

“Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!

It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.

Oh, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—

I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they retur-“

“No, no-“ she interrupts him again and for fuck’s sake, at this rate, Dan won’t even need to spend any time in his bedroom going over his lines. He’s pretty sure he’s memorised half of the monologues already just from recapping in rehearsals alone.

“Come on, really feel it,” she pleads. “You can’t say something as romantic as that with a face like yours – you’re literally saying that two stars in the sky have gone away and they’re asking Juliet’s eyes to shine in their place until they return.”

Dan balls his fists, ready to snap back that yes, he’s fully fucking aware of what’s going on in the play thank you very much, in case she hadn’t forgotten he did actually study it for three separate exams and subsequent exposure to the text in question has made him rather familiar with the occurrences currently taking place, but they’re all interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Lucy huffs, mildly irritated.

The door knob jitters, then twists.

“Hiya,” a black-haired boy nods tiredly, pushing through the crack in the door. Dan immediately recognises him – one of the tech guys, he thinks, but he isn’t entirely certain. He’s never really spoken to any of the crew before; they tend to keep well out of the limelight (they’d rather control it instead).

“Everything okay?” Lucy asks, before turning to Dan and Alexandra (his Juliet). “You two, take five. Be ready to take it from the top.”

They both relax and take a seat on one of the upturned wooden boxes. It isn’t until Dan takes the weight off of his legs he realises how much they’ve been aching – fuck, he really needs to get back to that gym.

“Any luck?” she says to Mr. Black-Hair. He’s holding a laptop that looks as if it’s seen better years, never mind days, and a long cord of wire that snakes around his fist.

“Nothing at all,” he sighs, flicking a strand of his fringe out of his eyes. His hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a hairbrush for days, but there’s something about the way it sits shaggily on his head that kind-of suits him (Dan wishes he could pull off messy hair – he only attempted ditching the straighteners once and spent the rest of the day wondering if any birds had mistaken his head for a nest).

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until he catches the tail end of Alexandra’s sentence and realises he hasn’t actually been listening for the past minute or so.

“What was that, sorry?”

“I asked you how you were finding Romeo so far,” she repeats.

“Hm? Oh yeah, yeah- he’s fine,” Dan says, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Black-Hair. He’s lost the thread of their conversation (he’s no lip reader) but by the looks of it, it seems as if there’s a problem with one of the laptops.

“Are you sure?” Alexandra frowns. Dan looks at her, but his glance is soon pulled back to the technician.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugs. “You don’t really- I don’t know, you just don’t seem to be… you know. That into it, y’know?”

“Wait-“ Dan shakes his head, trying to focus on their conversation instead of the one a few metres away from. “Hang on- what? What makes you say that?”

She raises her eyebrows, as if to say ‘really?’. Dan’s expression remains carefully blank.

“Come on, Dan. We wouldn’t have had to repeat this stupid scene like, five times if you were actually into it. I’ve seen you do way better than this.”

“Oh, not you as well,” Dan groans, deflating. He’s pretty sure that exact sentence had fallen from Lucy’s lips not so long ago. He’s sick of hearing it, sick of having to sit and listen to people tell him that he ‘can do way better’ and ask ‘is everything all right, Dan? Nothing bothering you, is there?’ because he’s just ‘not himself’ at the moment.

That’s the most ridiculous one, he thinks, because for Christ’s sake, he’s an actor. He’s never himself.

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Alexandra says, backtracking. “You know I don’t. I just- I think I overheard Lucy say you had a problem with something or other last week?”

“Did you,” Dan mumbles, unable to keep the bitter sarcasm out of his town. Alexandra remains unfazed.

“What was that about, though?” she remains unfazed. “Nothing to do with the casting, is it?”

“You really think it’s to do with the casting?” Dan stares at her in disbelief, before scoffing. “Yeah, like, I’m gutted to have bagged the lead role alongside you at one of the best theatres in the country. How am I going to cope?”

Not entirely truthful, but not a complete lie either.

“Just making sure,” a grin tugs at her lips, and she flicks a curl of red hair behind her shoulders. “I don’t have much of a problem with it myself, to be honest.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dan smirks sarcastically, but his tone is fairly benign. There’s certainly no denying she’s fucking gorgeous and it’s really no wonder she’s Juliet – she has hair the colour of a sunset falling down her back in ruby curls, emerald eyes framed by a curl of long eyelashes and cherry red lips that stretch into a wide smile whenever Dan cracks a joke, giving way to a small dimple on the side of her cheek. Her skin is pale, the colour of moonlight, almost, and he idly thinks, just for a fleeting second, that the moon probably would be jealous of her. She’s beautiful.

“Certainly don’t have a problem with getting to snog you in front of a thousand people, I must be honest,” she adds, and Dan’s stomach drops and his grin vanishes. Shit.

He wrings out a laugh, internally wincing at how false it sounds. “Yeah, I- um-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone mutters a few footsteps away from them. He snaps his head up, and Lucy plus Mr. Black-Hair are hunched over the desk, clearly getting nowhere with the absolute disaster they call an iBook.

“Wait- what’s the problem?” Dan suddenly gets up. He feels a little bad for leaving Alexandra so abruptly so he throws her a little apologetic ‘be right back’ glance, but he can’t help it – he might actually be able to help, here.

He shoves down the other voice in the back of his mind, the ‘or rather you’re just grabbing at any opportunity to avoid any potential conversation about the kiss you fucking wimp’

“It’s okay, Dan, sit back down. I’ll be with you both in a second,” Lucy calls over her shoulder.

“No, really,” Dan insists. “I know a thing or two about Macs. I have one myself, and-“ he catches Lucy drawing in a breath, ready to protest, and he regrets the spill of words almost as soon as they come out – fuck, why can’t he just keep his mouth shut? – but Mr. Black-Hair turns around, an eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Really?” his stare is the colour of ice, the sky on a December morning, but it’s weirdly warm at the same time.

“I- uh, yeah,” Dan stutters when he remembers how to talk again. “I’ve always had Macs. They’re great when they decide to work, but they can be a bitch when they begin to act up, and-“ he cuts himself off with an awkward shrug, “yeah.”

“Tell me about it,” the technician smirks. “This bastard-” he nods to the chunky white rectangle in his arms, “took me like, half an hour to boot up alone. And now it’s been frozen for like- twice as long as that. I’ve only had chance to type in my password so far.”

Lucy’s still standing in the middle of them and it’s getting a bit difficult to ignore the stony glare burning into Dan’s peripheral vision right now and even harder to avoid eye contact with her, but it doesn’t stop him from offering some help, albeit rather inappropriately timed.

“I- um, have my MacBook with me if that helps?” Dan offers, trying not to feel the heat of his blush when Mr. Black-Hair looks straight at him. “I mean- if you don’t need it that’s fine, but like- it’ll function a bit better than that thing,” he shrugs. “I dunno. It would probably save you a lot of time.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “Like, with you right now?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I mean – I haven’t got my charger on me, but it’s on, like, eighty percent. Should be fine.”

“I mean-“ he throws a permission-seeking glance, towards Lucy, who Dan is pretty sure would be having steam coming out of her ears would it be humanly possible. She fixes Dan with a hard stare, a real ‘go on; be my guest’ look that’s always comes across as more of a dare than permission, a challenge for his conscience, but he can’t help an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s cool with you, right?” his lips say before his mind catches up.

Lucy rolls her eyes in defeat. “If you absolutely must. But only- only because I could do with the extra time to independently go over one of Alexandra’s soliloquy.”

His face breaks out into a grin, and he’s not that sure why. “Thanks, Luce. I owe you one.”

“Don’t you make a habit of this, though. Remember; this is your own rehearsal time you’re sacrificing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan calls over his shoulder, trailing off. Mr. Black-Hair holds the door open behind him, and suddenly they’re out of the rehearsal studio and walking in a weird mutual silence sitting in a strange middle ground between comfortable and uncomfortable, across the car park and over to the actual theatre.

“Are you alright to do this, yeah?” Mr. Black-Hair (Dan seriously needs to come up with more imaginative mental nicknames for people) breaks the silence on their walk down to the trap room.

“It’s no problem at all,” he smirks as another wooden step groans under his foot. “Anything to get out of rehearsal.”

Dan’s never really been here before, never touched the underground territory where the technicians lurked, but there’s something about the atmosphere of this place that grips him.

Half an hour passes, and Dan couldn’t really tell you why he’s still sitting down here, still sitting on a revolving chair with a rip in the upholstery, under half-broken beams, tables that look like they’re seconds away from collapsing, and a lot of weird technology that he’d never even attempt to get his head around (seriously – do they even need this many buttons?). He’d given his laptop to Black Hair to receive a very emphatic ‘thank you, like seriously you’re a fucking lifesaver if I spent a second longer with that piece of shit I really don’t know what I would have done’ and the job had been done in seconds. Since then, a casual conversation had been struck up and Dan finds he doesn’t actually want to go back upstairs just yet.

“You two sounded really good in there,” Black Hair comments. They’d been talking about the play. “From what I heard, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Dan says, trying to ignore the quiet blush that warms his cheeks. There’s nothing quite like someone complimenting his acting. “Clearly not good enough for Lucy, though.”

“Few things are, Dan,” he sighs, and Dan only finds it half-weird that this guy knows his name, but Dan doesn’t actually know his. It’s unnerving, sure, but nothing he’s a stranger to. “She’s been on at you all morning.”

“Yeah,” Dan pauses, before adding an apologetic “sorry, I- um, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“It’s fine. I’m Phil,” he grins, and Dan thanks his lucky stars there’s finally a name to put to the face.

Dan studies him briefly, and frowns. “You do look familiar, actually.”

“Yeah – I do all the donkey work downstairs,” he grins. “You may have seen me emerge from the cave every now and then.”

Dan chuckles, deciding there and then that he likes Phil.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” Dan asks, studying the square lights looming above them, one of which he notices is stuttering slightly, flickering on and off every now and then.

Phil shrugs, not taking his eyes off of the screen. “Kinda. But I mean – I have my little crew down here, y’know? There’s five of us. We just like- keep each other company. Help each other whenever we need to,” he glances at Dan. “Oh, and sneak up to the theatre and watch you guys every now and then.”

Dan giggles. “Brilliant. Must be a nice little community, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” Phil hesitates. “Or perhaps ‘support group’ might be a more appropriate term. For the poor sods who have to put up with shitty laptops and gross food.”

Dan laughs, and helps himself to another Dorito.

“Okay, right- Dan, sorry if this sounds a bit weird because- like, we’ve pretty much only just met, but like- um- I was wondering if you wanted to-“

“Phil,” Dan cuts him off. As an actor, there’s something about hearing people stutter and ramble without really saying anything that tends to grate on him. “I’d love to.”

“Really? Well, I-“ Phil stops and frowns. “Hang on a second. How did you know I was gonna ask you to hang out?”

Dan shrugs like he hasn’t spent the last thirteen years mastering the sciences of body language and speech and how they can be applied to the acting world. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Phil smiles. “I mean- would you? Like, really?”

“Of course,” Dan says.

“Well yeah, like- I don’t have to be home for a while yet, and I have a car so we could just like- drive around for a bit? Go to town if you want?”

Dan smiles, and repeats what he said before he even knew what Phil was going to say.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

It’s a bit of a weird result to come out of lending his laptop to a stranger for a while, but it’s how Dan finds himself spending the evening sat in the passenger seat on the top of a car park roof, blasting some weird indie song from the depth of Phil’s Spotify and watching the sun sink further behind the buildings, painting the sky warmer with every slow minute that passes on the dashboard clock.

They’d had a drive around the city together, sometimes talking, sometimes letting lulls in the conversation give way to thoughtful silences, both of them tapping away to Phil’s music taste, but Dan thinks it’s been about fifteen minutes since either of them last said anything.

“So,” Phil is the first to break the silence. He flicks the last of his cigarette out of the window (Dan had insisted on rolling down the windows before he did that – there’s no way he’s going home stinking of an ashtray). “Tell me about yourself.”

Dan looks up from his phone at that, his heart thudding.

“You what?”

“You know,” Phil’s gaze doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the view in front of the windscreen. They’d picked a spot at the very top of a multi-storey car park overlooking everything, leaving the city a pool of lights and colours and life far beneath them. “I don’t really know you. So tell me about yourself.”

“I- um-“ Dan gulps. This wasn’t really a question he came prepared for. He shrugs. “I don’t really know what there is to tell, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, now come on,” Phil presses. “Just- anything. Your hobbies. Your life. Your dreams. What you want to be when you’re older.”

“I feel like I’m in a bloody job interview,” Dan chuckles. Phil’s lips quirk upwards in response.

“You are. I’m interviewing you to see if you’re fit for the job of being mates with me.”

“The ‘job’?” Dan frowns. “Like it’s a chore?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Phil grins. “Now, come on. I wanna hear about you.”

Dan gulps, silence falling for the first time in a while.

“I- um, well I think my hobby is probably pretty obvious, for a start,” Dan begins. Phil rolls his eyes. “And what I wanna be when I’m older, too. I’m gonna do a degree in Drama, I reckon.”

“What else are you into, then?”

Dan stops for a second. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Phil presses, flicking his lighter and sparking up another cigarette. “You must have other interests besides acting. You got a girlfriend?”

Dan clams up. “Um- no.”

“Oh. Boyfriend, then?” he quirks his eyebrows, and Dan shakes his head miserably.

“Afraid not.”

“Glad we established that,” Phil smirks, but Dan doesn’t really smile back.

He chews on the inside of his lip, having a staring contest with a pair of headlights sliding across one of the roads beneath them.

“What music are you into, then?”

Dan swallows, trying to think. It’s like someone’s scraped over his mind with an eraser, rubbing out his interests and his life and his personality, all pencilled in with weak lines.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs. “This and that. I like whatever this is,” he nods to the Spotify track on Phil’s phone. “Bit of Indie, it’s good. Oh, and I love- what are they called? Pink Floyd?”

“Floyd’s good,” Phil agrees. “And Nirvana.”

“Yeah,” Dan gulps, feeling another silence probe the conversation.

“You into the Smashing Pumpkins?”

Dan shakes his head.

“Oh, okay. Slaves?”

Dan shakes his head again.

“Genesis?”

“Never even heard of them.”

“Cobalt Night?”

Dan shakes his head again

Phil cackles. “Oh Christ. You do realise I made that last band up?”

“Oh god,” Dan can feel his cheeks burn peony. “I’m not doing myself any favours here, am I?”

“Don’t worry, I’m only messing with you,” Phil says. “I think it would be more embarrassing if you said yes, to be honest.”

“True,” Dan shrugs, feeling Phil’s stare burn into his side profile. He sits back further in his seat, keeping his stare.

“You’re not really into much, are you?

Dan shrugs.

“I’m more into Musical Theatre, really. Ever since we did a production of Hamilton I haven’t really been able to get that rap out of my head,” he chuckles.

“Right,” Phil sits up a little bit and clears his throat. “Well we’ve established your music taste and your hobby. Who are your favourite actors, then?”

It’s like someone’s flicked a switch inside Dan. His eyes light up.

“-and Leonardo DiCaprio, oh my God, don’t even get me started on him. I mean- who wouldn’t fuck young Leo? Have you even seen him in Titanic? And Romeo and Juliet too, Jesus Christ he’s gorgeous. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I’m not gonna do Romeo’s role any justice when he’s my competition, am I?”

Phil just nods and says the odd ‘hm’, listening to Dan’s stream of consciousness.

“-and Helena Bonham-Carter, what a fucking legend, man. She’s just- her character is just so versatile, you know? I mean- there’s a good reason she’s in literally everything, and that’s because she’s fucking amazing- have you seen Fight Club? You must have seen it, it’s incredible. She’s incredible. It’s a bit of a mind fuck if I’m honest, what with the split personality thing and everything, but- oh God, Brad Pitt is so good in it too. And he’s pretty hot, I’m not gonna lie. Well, until he grew out his hair and looked a bit like a farmer. But- where was I? Oh yeah, Helena Bonham Carter-”

“She was good in Sweeney Todd, too,” Phil comments, and he’s off again.

“-like, that was the first time I ever saw Johnny Depp act, and by Christ that film creeped me out. I mean- I was only like, seven when I watched it so of course it was gross, like, what seven year old watches people do- you know, that, to paying customers? I feel sorry for the poor sods who just went in there wanting to give their beards a trim. But- yeah, they were both really good in Sweeney Todd. I had a bit of a crush on Helena- and Johnny too, for that matter, I mean come on, who didn’t? But then I found out Johnny Depp is a bit of a dick in real life so I went off him after that. But Helena’s still cool, obviously.”

“She’s good, yeah,” Phil nibbles at a protruding hangnail on his thumb.

“And- oh god, who’s another good actor? Oh, don’t even get me started on Morgan Freeman. Absolute fucking legend. Like, oh my god. Him and that other one- god, what’s his name? The guy from Donnie Darko?”

Dan’s brain is moving far too quickly for Phil to keep up and he has no idea what the correlation between Morgan Freeman and Donnie Darko is, but he gives it a shot anyway.

“Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“Yes. Yes, oh my god, that’s the one,” Dan’s face breaks out into a grin. “Fuck, Donnie Darko. What a film, man. My friend has a tattoo of it, and-“

It continues like this, Dan chatting nineteen-to-the-dozen and Phil counting the glitters of passion in his eyes, before they’re both interrupted by a buzzing on Dan’s lap.

“Oh shit,” he grabs his phone. “It’s my mum.”

Phil doesn’t know what she’s saying on the other end of the line, but judging by Dan’s apologies it sounds like he’s stayed out here for a little too long.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, tugging on his seatbelt. “Lost track of time a bit, there.”

“Clearly,” Phil grins.

“This was good, though,” Dan says. “Like, really good. Thanks for, you know. Suggesting this.”

“Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again soon, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what I’ve spent the past like- hour doing?” he glances at the clock and shit, has it really been that long? It’s pitch black outside, the only light coming from the glitter of the city beneath them (shit, it really is beautiful from up here) and he was supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Phil says, starting up the engine. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

The next few days pass in a blur of line-learning, enduring Lucy’s lectures about how he just ‘isn’t putting enough ‘oomph’ into it, come on now, we’ll take it from the top one more time’ and Dan has to act like he actually gives more of a shit about what Romeo’s saying right now than what Phil had said in that car a few days ago. He has to act like it isn’t what he’d been reciting over and over in his mind, the words digging grooves into the back of his mind and making themselves at home.

He has to act like there’s more to his fucking life than acting.

The next time Dan sees Phil, they’re both cooped up in a control room eating lunch in a companionable silence; Dan going over his lines and Phil puzzling over these two wires that are, according to him, sly bastards that won’t fucking go in these holes Jesus Christ, to which Dan had shut his eyes and prayed to god no-one outside the room had caught that out of context. There’s a huge control panel, rows and rows of buttons and sound mixers and, as Dan had very accurately christened them, “slidey-things” in front of them. He has no idea what any of this stuff is, no idea what a “cross-fader” is or what the hell a “submaster” is supposed to do, but every now and then Phil will casually lean over and flick a switch or press a button and a stage light beneath them will change.

“What’s up?”

Dan looks up from his script. He’s been poring over his lines for so long he’s pretty sure stripes of yellow highlighter are now permanently inked into the back of his mind, now.

“What? Nothing.”

Phil swings his legs off of the bar they’d been resting against. They’re halfway through sharing a KitKat (Dan had taken a trip down to the Co-op at the beginning of the lunch break and returned with a bag so heavy with food it had left a dent in his hand, insisting Phil can’t be living on stale crisps his entire life) and watching a rehearsal, one Dan doesn’t have to be in for once, through a pane of glass.

“You’re going to have to do better if you want to convince me, Mr. Theatre Kid,” Phil reaches over to the bowl in front of them and plucks a grape from the stem. “I thought you were good at acting.”

“What do you want me to do; leap up and perform a jig?” Dan turns a page, the paper rustling a bit too loudly. “I’m fine, Phil. Stop reading into things too much.”

Phil stares at him. “You’re sat there with a face as long as my leg, and I’m reading into things?” he quirks an eyebrow. “Be careful. If you stare at that page any longer it’ll probably burst into flames.”

“Shut up,” Dan mutters, the edge in his voice a little too sharp for it to slip by as a joke.

Phil does.

Dan sighs. “Sorry, I just-“

“Rehearsals getting to you?” he suggests softly. Dan doesn’t plan on letting the real problem slip; Christ, he can only imagine the havoc that would ensue if it got around that as well as obsessing over acting he’s also never actually kissed anyone, so he quickly takes Phil up on that.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I mean- Romeo’s a good character to play, I guess, but he does have an awful lot to say.”

“You’ll be okay,” Phil reassures him. “You still have months of time left to memorise your lines. When’s the play?”

“Seventh of February,” Dan says. Two months from now.

“There we go,” Phil says. “You have plenty of time yet.”

“I guess so,” Dan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve done this millions of times before,” Phil says. “You’ll be fine; I know you will. You’re a natural.”

Dan wishes he knew the half, he really does, but there’s just something about Phil’s smile that makes him almost want to believe him.

Dan manages to tell Phil a little bit more about himself next time they’re on the roof together, and in return, he learns a bit about Phil too.

“Well, when I was acti-“

“Nuh-uh,” Phil interrupts him. “No acting talk, remember?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s relevant to what I was gonna say. It’s an important part of the story.”

“Wherever the hell you can fit acting into a story about you and your friends getting drunk and stealing a supermarket trolley because you couldn’t afford a taxi, I’d be very impressed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dan grins, and that was the only time acting came into conversation that night.

Dan learns Phil is eighteen, that he’d failed his driving test three times before passing because he was driving on the wrong side of the dual carriageway, and swears he’s going to give up smoking next year, he promises. He learns that his favourite colour is blue because he likes the way the colour skates across the ocean water in the summer, and that he used to be scared of dogs before his parents got him a puppy for Christmas, a bouncy Labrador called Daisy with a love for the sun and walks down to the beach.

“I fucking love dogs,” Dan beams.

“So do I, now. Took me long enough,” Phil agrees, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Daisy’s so cute, oh my god. You will love her.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, but there’s something about the definite use of ‘you will’ that he likes.

He, in turn, finds that he does have some thoughts and feelings and dreams hidden away in there, beneath the façade of scripts and stage lights and acting. He finds he does have stuff to say, stuff that isn’t always attached to a web stringing back to the theatre. He tells Phil all about his cat, Ozzy (a little shit who takes great pleasure in knocking all his belongings off of his desk and sleeping on his laptop, but he loves him anyway) his annoying next-door neighbours who don’t seem to see any problem with blasting ABBA at three in the morning, and they manage to find common bands they both like. Oasis is playing when the sun sinks, the sky darkens, and the city lights up beneath them.

“God, I love this one,” Phil mumbles, his speech obscured by the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Don’t Look Back In Anger. It’s one of their best.”

“Oh god, yeah,” Dan agrees, tapping along to the chorus. “That and Stand By Me. Oh god, and Champagne Supernova, too.”

Phil grins at that, and leans forward, picking his phone up from the dashboard. Before Dan has a chance to question him, the chorus stops dead in its tracks, and an acoustic softness follows the sudden silence, a series of guitar chords that are just that bit too familiar. He grins.

“I always think the intro sounds a bit like Wonderwall,” Phil comments, putting his phone down and leaning back in the seat.

“Yeah,” Dan sighs, leaning back in his own seat and turning his gaze to the city beneath them, staring at lights and roads and buildings until they pool into a hazy amber blur in his vision.

How many special people change,

How many lives are living strange,

Where were you while we were getting high?

Slowly walking down the hall,

Faster than a cannonball

Where were you while we were getting high?

Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova in the sky.

Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova;

A champagne supernova in the sky.

They don’t say anything, instead letting Liam Gallagher do the talking, but sly glances are exchanged from under brown fringes and black eyelashes.

“Nice up here, isn’t it?”

It’s only until Phil breaks the silence they’ve lapsed into that Dan realises the song has drawn to a close. He slides his gaze from the city and over to Phil, over to his thoughtful stare skating along the skyline, the ruffled sweep of black hair coating his fringe, and the orange glow of a cigarette tip poking out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes flicker over to Dan’s.

Dan looks back over to the city.

“Yeah.”

“I always come up here.”

“I can see why.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes a little look over the city is just what you need to clear your head. It just puts everything in perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dan swallows. “It really does.”

There’s a litter of thoughts and worries in his mind, buried deep and multiplying with every day that drags past, every day that pulls him closer and closer to the production, to the hundreds of burning stares in the audience seats, to his colleague’s lips. He’s been longing for a break from it. Just a few hours of silence, a few quiet moments that don’t have to be spent combing over every single thought in his head, thinking and thinking until it inflates into anxiety, spilling into the pit of his stomach and clawing at the edges as it goes.

And the more he counts the city lights, the more he feels the cold night air stroke his cheeks and the engines reverberating around the car park levels beneath them, the more he reckons a more few nights up here. It’s the remedy he needs; just him, Phil and the lights.

Their eyes meet seconds after, and Dan can feel the question he’s vowed to ask Phil before the end of the night already beginning to rest on his lips, on the cusp of speech.

“When can we do this again?”

The late nights begin to pass more frequently in a spinning blur of city nights, passenger seats and conversations, all whispers and cold air and stolen glances. Dan can feel himself unravelling like a threadbare blanket, his carefully constructed personas and characters fraying at the edges with every hour spent up on the top of the city with a boy whose lips spill truths like water, and it isn’t long until Dan finds cracks in his paper personalities and begins to feel more and more honesty begin to seep through. He finds that no, he doesn’t have to spin false anecdotes like cotton and lie about his interests and find a way of linking everything back to acting, hooking every little quirk and element to his personality back to the stage. He doesn’t have to impress Phil with his knowledge of Hollywood throughout the years and he doesn’t have to act like he loves things he’s never actually heard of and he doesn’t have to lock his feelings away and throw away the key.

He doesn’t have to pretend.

It’s all okay until they fall onto the topic of previous relationships.

It’s been a good night. They’d visited the car park again, but this time without the car (it was warm enough to leave it in the driveway and make their own way up the concrete staircases, glass bottles in plastic bags clinking around their legs). They’d situated themselves in the very same parking space, the one second to the right and next to a beacon, but they’d traded car seats for a picnic blanket, headlights for phone torches and gear sticks for bottle openers.

“Yeah, like- fuck, she wasn’t a good kisser at all, was Mary. I mean- we were in year nine and she tried, bless her, and God knows so did I. But you know, with that as my first impression of kissing, when it was over I was like ‘what the fuck is all the fuss about?’” Phil chuckles, and Dan pretends to grin.

“Yeah, I mean-“ he shrugs, staring down at his lap. “I’ve had my fair share of bad kisses in my time.”

The ease with which the lie rolls off of his tongue almost takes him by surprise. It’s been a while since he’s lied about himself to Phil, and it feels strange.

“I can imagine,” Phil says, before frowning. “But you’re an actor. So you must be an excellent kisser, right? What with all the practice you guys have.”

Dan frowns, looking up from his bottle. “You what?”

“Oh come on. I saw what went on in the back of that car last term. Eddie and Alexandra. That play involved more lip-on-lip action than the fucking Notebook.”

Dan smiles at that, remembering the play adaptation they actually did of that when he was in year ten. He doesn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry over the sheer amount of starring roles he’s had that are heavily eloped in some kind of romantic storyline.

“Us actors have our techniques,” he says carefully.

Phil’s eyes widen at that. “You do? Like what?”

Dan shrugs, taking another sip of beer. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Phil shuffles closer, a flicker of eagerness in his cerulean stare and shit, Dan’s beginning to regret opening his mouth now. “Come on. What techniques do you have? I could use a few tips myself.”

Dan raises an eyebrow, his eyes firmly locked onto the spread of amber lights in front of them.

“I doubt you’d ever want to use these kinds of techniques on anyone,” he says, a hint of humour drying his speech. “I imagine stage-kissing on a real date would be quite a deal-breaker.”

“Stage kissing, huh?” Phil widens his eyes. “How does that differentiate from a real kiss, then?”

“Well,” Dan takes another sip of his drink, his vision beginning to slow down. “First of all, it’s not really a kiss at all.”

“Huh?” Phil frowns.

“I mean- not usually. There are different kinds of stage-kisses, but most of them don’t involve, you know,” he smirks, reusing Phil’s rather vulgar term of “lip-on-lip action”.

“So you guys don’t actually kiss?” Phil asks.

Dan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But-… how does that work?”

Alcoholic courage swims through Dan’s veins at that. He glances at Phil.

The words are a whisper, a dare almost, and it isn’t until Phil nods that Dan realises he’s actually said it out loud.

“Want me to show you?”

“Yeah, go on,” Phil’s tone is casual, soft almost, but his eyes are glittering.

“Okay, well- come over here,” he beckons.

Phil does as he’s told, shuffling up on his knees until he’s facing Dan.

“One of the actors needs to have their back to the audience,” Dan says. “So, let’s say the wall over there is the audience,” he nods over Phil’s shoulder to the stretch of concrete watching them.

“Alright. The wall’s the audience. Now what?”

“Now,” Dan gulps, feeling his heart begin to pick up the pace because shit, this is really happening now. “So, what you do is, like, just lean in normally for a kiss, but stop just as your lips are about to touch.”

Phil scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Look, do you want me to show you or not?”

“Nah, nah, I’m kidding,” Phil says. “C’mon, then. Show me how it’s done in Hollywood.”

“You dick,” Dan mumbles, but he’s leaning in.

Phil gets closer, his face begins to crawl up to Dan’s until their noses are brushing and his fringe is a tickle on Dan’s cheek and his breath mixes with Dan’s own, warm and languid through parted lips and fuck, Dan’s heart is really thudding now. His legs feel like jelly and his lungs feel like fire and there’s something warm and fiery swirling in the pit of his stomach, something alien, something that he’s certainly never felt before with any other colleague he’s come this agonisingly close to kissing.

They stay there for what feels like minutes, lips hovering, warmth tingling and the city still thundering beneath them, and it’s Phil who pulls away first.

“Impressive,” he smiles, eyes glittering with nonchalance. “Frustrating, but impressive. Is that your go-to one, then?”

It takes three swigs of beer to calm Dan down before he can speak again.

“I mean- um, yeah. Though sometimes if you’re, like, sitting really far over to the side in the audience you might be able to tell that they’re not actually kissing, so,” he shrugs. “It just depends on the stage, I guess.”

“Right,” Phil nods, swigging from his own bottle. “You, er- you mentioned a few other types, right?”

The thought of coming that close to Phil’s lips again sends the strange flame of warmth flooding back into Dan’s stomach. He all but chokes on his mouthful of drink.

“Er- yeah,” he stutters. “There are a few others,” he gulps again and shit, what’s up with him?

Dan doesn’t really know what’s happening, doesn’t know why being within a metre radius of this guy is already making him feel far more than he’d ever felt with any colleague, kissing or not, but it doesn’t stop him from beckoning the older boy over and showing him kiss number two, their lips locked together with nothing except Dan’s thumb in between them. He can feel the warmth of Phil’s mouth against his skin, the hot movement of Phil’s breath through his nose and the tickle of his hair against his cheek again. When he parts his mouth, Dan feels the tiniest touch of lip against his. It’s only the very corner and can’t have lasted for longer than a millisecond, but the feeling comes back like a spark to a flame and he’s beginning to find it difficult to balance and oh, shit.

They break apart, eyes searching each other’s, and it’s the first time Dan’s feeling like this post-‘kiss’ without having to throw on a character like an old shirt. He doesn’t have to follow anything up with someone else’s speech, with a fake accent and a stupid costume and a mannerism that doesn’t quite fit.

For once, he doesn’t feel like he has to act.

Phil narrows his eyes after a few silent seconds, fighting back a smirk.

Dan frowns, the post-stage kiss high beginning to melt away.

“What?”

“Is that seriously it?” Phil says.

“Yeah,” Dan moves away, trying to ignore the surge of electricity he had felt upon edging within a few millimetres of the other boy’s lips, the city a roar beneath them.

“I don’t know why I feel so disappointed,” Phil smirks. “From where I sit, looking at you lot doing all your stuff down on the stage, it looks a whole sight more realistic than that.”

Dan looks back out to the city.

“Yeah, well,” he says, feeling his heart slow down. “Acting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So. You and Alexandra, eh?”

Dan glares at him. Dawn is beginning to throw pastel colours into the blackness of the sky. It’s still dark enough to see the stars, fainter twinkles against the sweep of indigo above them, but it’s light enough for them to see each other, to make out feint outlines of faces in the low pre-sunrise light, eyes half-lidded and shadowed from the sleepless hours. It must be pushing four in the morning, and they’ve been here since eleven o’clock, leaving their parents with promises that they’re spending the night round each other’s houses to make a few preparations for the play.

(If reciting Romeo’s Balcony Scene soliloquy through giggles and slightly drunken slurs counts as preparation, then at least half of that promise is true).

“We’re not an item,” Dan mumbles, taking a drag from his cigarette. It tastes strange, kind-of like dirt and ash and tar and he’s not a smoker and probably never will be, but Phil had offered him one and- well, fuck it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But you guys are performing in the round, aren’t you?” Phil narrows his eyes, and Dan swears he leans an inch or two closer before whispering, “your stage kisses won’t work from that angle, I’m telling you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dan shuts his eyes. So far he’d been doing quite a grand job of pushing that worry to the back of his mind, burying it deep into his consciousness. The whole reason he’s up here altogether is to escape it.

Phil hesitates.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t you want to kiss Alexandra?”

Dan gulps, the taste of alcohol souring on his tongue a little.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I mean- a kiss is a kiss, right? It’s all part of the job, and-“

“But you don’t fancy her,” Phil says.

Dan frowns. “Well- no, of course not. She’s a colleague.”

“I know,” Phil says. “It makes a difference though, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“Kissing someone you don’t fancy. It’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan mumbles. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain this lie. “I- er, yeah. I usually stick to stage-kissing on the job, to be honest,” he shrugs. “It’s just easier than kissing someone you don’t really have feelings for.”

“Have you never, you know, properly kissed anyone before, then?”

Dan takes a deep breath. Lies can flow like water when he wants them to; he’s a master at concealing the truth behind a blanket of fabrication and deception, but there’s something about talking to Phil that makes falsehood sour on his tongue.

He lets it out in a deep sigh, feeling his chest deflate and his heart thud. Fuck it.

“You know what?,” he begins. “No. I haven’t. I don’t know if you can tell, but- yeah. I dunno, I guess that’s why I’m so stressed about this shit with Alexandra. And like- I know that probably makes me a fucking loser for never having kissed anyone at the age I am now, and probably even more of a loser that I want my first one to be with someone special, but- fuck, I don’t know,” he swallows, feeling the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen a little. “No. I haven’t. Okay?”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip and averts his eyes down to the neck of his bottle. He fiddles with the loose cap, letting it fall through the spaces between his fingers with a sharp clink.

Dan doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the silence. The knot returns.

“What?”

“I- er- that wasn’t really what I meant,” Phil finally says.

The knot tightens.

“What do you mean it’s not what you meant?”

“I meant have you properly kissed anyone on stage before,” Phil glances up. “Not in general.”

Dan’s stomach drops. Oh fuck.

He open his mouth, but no speech follows. No amount of words can haul himself out of his hole now. Shit.

“I mean-“ he finally speaks again after a silence, and there’s a tremor in his voice that he desperately tries to smooth over. “Oh, shit,” he deflates, feeling the pit of his stomach begin to churn due to the abundance of the night’s alcohol. There’s no point trying to clamber out of the hole he’s just dug himself. He’ll only deepen it.

“Have you really never kissed anyone?” Phil asks in a quieter voice, but he doesn’t sound surprised. Or humoured. Or any other emotion Dan had feared. Just… curious. “Like, at all?”

Dan gulps, the beer a sour swirl in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the sixth bottle was a mistake.

“Well there’s no point denying it now, is there?” Dan finally mumbles, his eyes fixed on a dent in the concrete not far from where they’re sitting. “No. I haven’t.”

The gentle thrum of city engines fills the silence between them, and the three seconds Phil doesn’t say anything for might as well have been days.

“Yep,” Dan breaks the quietness once it borders on unbearable. “There you go. You think I’m a fucking weirdo now, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” Phil replies, and his voice is unusually calm. Dan looks up, his eyes meeting a soft expression, and for some reason he really didn’t expect Phil to react like this.

“So-“ Dan shakes his head. “What? You’re not gonna take the piss? Laugh at me? Say I’m a fucking weirdo that only lied to you to try and look cool?”

The truth scratches his heart, but it needs to be said.

“Why the fuck would I laugh at you?” Phil frowns, and there’s something about the sincerity in his voice that, beneath the turmoil, Dan finds weirdly comforting.

“I mean,” Phil begins. “I’m surprised, don’t get me wrong. Only because you’re an actor and- well, let’s face it, you’re fucking gorgeous too, but-“ he shakes his head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m the first to say I’d much rather make sure my first kiss means something. If anything, I agree with you on that.”

“You’re not pissed off that I lied to you?” Dan gulps down another mouthful of lukewarm alcohol.

“Of course not, you twat,” Phil says. “I mean, I get why you did, but there was no need to. Really.”

“I know,” Dan sighs, picking at the label on his glass bottle until the paper frays at the edges.

“Wanna know something?” Phil says, his eyes not moving from the soft sweep of stars above them, dimmed by the early morning light.

Dan takes his eyes away from the sky. “What?”

“If you’re a liar, then so am I,” Phil tells the stars.

Dan frowns. “You what?”

Phil’s eyes flick back down to earth, meeting Dan’s gaze. “I lied too.”

Dan gulps, his heart thudding. “About what?”

Phil forces a chuckle, but it’s drained of humour. “Do I have to spell it out to you? I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

The words ring in Dan’s ears moments after, Phil’s voice an echo above the roar of the city below.

“Wait-…” is the only word that passes Dan’s lips in the next passing minute or so. “But-…”

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs. “Turns out you’re not the only one, are you?”

“But-…” Dan shakes his head. “Why did you lie about it too?”

Phil just shrugs and says, “same reasons you did.”

Dan tries, he really tries, to comb through the tangle of confusion in his mind right now, but the best response he can come up with after a moment or two of silence isn’t the most articulate.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, and they descend into quietness again.

“Shame, isn’t it?” Phil is the first to break the silence. “That we feel the need to lie about that.”

“It’s society’s fault for making us feel as if being over the age of about fifteen without having shoved a tongue down anyone’s throat is a failure.”

Phil grimaces. “I’ve never understood the attraction of that, you know. Like, I get making out and stuff, but why would you want to literally devour the person next to you? When I saw kissing scenes as a kid I thought they were actually trying to eat each other.”

“I know,” Dan takes a sip of beer, the alcohol slipping down with a little more ease now. “It sounds grim. I don’t know how people do it. At least with acting on stage you don’t have that problem.”

“True,” Phil mirrors his actions, pulling his drink away from his lips and tracing the rim of the bottle with the tip of his thumb, staring down the tube-shaped glass into the remains of the flat beer, swimming lukewarm and flat at the bottom of the bottle. Only when he glances up a few seconds later does Dan realise he’s been staring.

Dan smirks.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Just-…” he shakes his head and shit, he’s definitely had enough to drink tonight. He can feel the alcohol-induced honesty begin leaking through his parted lips and he knows he’ll probably end up saying something he’ll regret tomorrow morning but- oh, fuck it. “The thought of you having never kissed anyone. It just- doesn’t make sense to me like- look at you. How?”

He’s not really sure where the line between a compliment and a very sorry attempt at flirting is drawn but he’s pretty sure he’s fallen somewhere in the middle.

Phil’s gaze lingers a few seconds too long. “I could ask you the same thing. I mean- come on, look at you. A guy like you must have been drowned in opportunities.”

They’re both a bit too drunk, a bit too cold and there’s something about the atmosphere of an empty car park at fuck-knows-o’clock that warps reality just a little. Dan blinks and the city lights don’t unblur and he feels a bit like he’s in a dream.

“Yeah, I-…” he shrugs. “I’ve had my fair share of offers, I won’t lie.”

“I’ll bet,” Phil interjects, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t either,” Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “I just-… yeah, I dunno. I didn’t really wanna waste it, but I never really found someone I liked enough.”

“That’s nice, that is,” Phil says, and though Dan scours his tone of voice for a trace of sarcasm or mockery, but Phil’s eyes glitter earnestly. “No, like, really. Most teenagers just, you know, dive straight into it. Slam their face against anything with a pulse that crosses their path. But the fact you care enough to wait,” he glances up, eyeing the boy beside him carefully. “That’s rare. Kinda admirable in a way.”

“Were you the same, then?”

Phil nods without any hesitation. “A hundred percent.”

Dan nods understandingly, taking another sip of beer, and the two of them watch the town sleep for a quiet moment before Phil speaks up again.

“Oh, come here,” he stretches out his arms. “You look like you’re seconds away from hypothermia, for Christ’s sake.”

Dan leans into his chest, closing his eyes and snuggling into the Topman denim of Phil’s jacket. “I don’t really think a car park roof is the most suitable drinking spot,” he mumbles, his speech slightly obscured by his rattling jaw.

“Not at five a.m. in December at least,” Phil says. “It’s a lot nicer in summer, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dan says, and the indirect promise that they’ll come out here and do this again makes Phil smile.

It’s quiet, serene and blue, and Dan loses count of the minutes that drip by until he hears Phil’s voice again, shattering his trance dancing on the fragile edge of drunken consciousness.

“Dan?” it’s only a half-whisper, but it still makes him jump.

The younger boy turns his head, his brown hair tousling against Phil’s denim chest until they’re eye-to-eye.

Phil lowers his gaze, but this time his eyes don’t flicker back up to Dan’s. Dan parts his mouth in response, but before he can say anything, there’s a surge forward and a soft pair of lips on his.

A jolt of adrenaline, shock, and a general ‘holy-fucking-shit-this-can’t-be-happening’ feeling shimmers through his body as he kisses back, and despite his embarrassing inexperience when it comes to anything remotely romantic, his lips move perfectly in time with Phil’s, their mouths melting together in flawless harmony.

Phil’s the one to break away, and Dan misses his lips the second the cold morning air touches his mouth. He frowns, studying Phil’s expression half-hidden by his mop of black hair, but the older boy refuses eye contact.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came ov-“

“Don’t apologise,” Dan cuts him off immediately, his hand hovering over Phil’s arm in quiet protest. “Just-…” he gulps. “Do it again,”

Phil’s head snaps up, his eyes boring into the brown stare in mild confusion.

“Please,” Dan mouths, and Phil doesn’t need to be told twice.

They kiss for longer, deeper, slightly parted lips and slow breathing and the teal glow of 5am light and shit, this was certainly worth a seventeen year wait. Phil’s lips feel like warmth and taste like tobacco and he feels a gentle comb of shy fingertips through his hair and yep, he can definitely see what all the fuss is about now.

When they break apart for the second time, all blushes and broken breaths, they’re both grinning. Phil drops his gaze with a bashful chuckle.

“Well,” Dan breathes. He’s still sitting close, their upper arms touching but neither of them really wanting to move away.

“Well,” Phil says, almost in agreement. They’re bathed in silence once again, but this time it’s comfortable.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Dan begins, looking out over the city. “That was definitely worth the wait.”

Phil tilts his head down, their noses almost touching. “Yeah?”

“For sure,” Dan cranes his neck up a little and pecks Phil’s lips again. The other boy grins, pulling his jacket further over Dan’s shoulders.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime then, won’t we?” Phil’s eyes glitter.

Dan grins, glancing at the view spread in front of them. The sun is beginning to awaken and there are fewer streetlights illuminating the land below and it’s cold and wow, they should really think about heading home soon. Dan hasn’t checked his phone in hours and he’s sure it can’t be running on anything much more than a measly four percent.

“Definitely,” he says, then hesitates. “Although, well.”

“Well what?”

Dan flicks his eyes up at the boy above him, tired brown against weary blue.

“Perhaps next time we should choose somewhere a little warmer than a car park,” he says in a soft voice, before adding, “I can barely feel my arse right now.”

Phil bursts out laughing, and then a pair of lips are on his for the third time.

The next couple of weeks rush by in a flurry of rehearsals, meetings, crumpled scripts and weird costumes that itch around the collar. Dan and Phil spend most of their time three storeys apart, meaning secret rendezvous up in the control room or down in the trap room are often necessary. The closer the big day creeps, the hotter the atmosphere becomes with stress, so it’s nice to leave the tension with the stage and the equally tense co-workers and escape for a bit.

“For fear of that, I still will stay with thee, and never from this palace of dim night depart aga- oh for fuck’s sake, you’re not even listening.”

Phil looks up from his phone, a giggling smirk still lingering on his face. “Huh?”

“Come on, Phil. You said you’d go through this with me and you’re sat there playing around with bloody Snapchat filters.”

“Sorry, sorry – I am listening, it’s just-“ his eyes flicker back down to the screen in front of him. “That’s hideous. Who even makes these filters? I look like a toe.”

“Can unflattering photos of you not wait five minutes until I’ve finished this? We’re literally nearly done anyway. We only have, like, one more paragraph to g-” Phil interrupts him by flipping the phone around to face the other boy. A bald, rather unsightly version of Phil with weird eyes stares back. Dan’s eyes widen in horror. “Fuck, that really is hideous.”

“I know,” Phil shudders. “I didn’t even know my face could do that,” he glances back at the screen and pulls a couple of experimental faces. “Would you still be with me if I looked like that?”

“Nope,” Dan replies semi-seriously, rolling his eyes when Phil pouts.

“What about if I looked like this?” Phil turns the phone around. He looks a lot better this time, but a little bit too much like an animal. Dan’s never really understood the national attraction towards ‘dog filters’.

“Probably. The ears might get in the way a bit, though,” he chuckles, before urging, “now come on. We haven’t got long left now.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly. He swings his legs off the table, grabs Dan’s battered highlighted mess of a script sitting in front of him and they pick up from where they left off, something about ‘worms that are thy chamber maids’, ‘everlasting rest’ and ‘inauspicious stars’ (whatever the fuck that adjective means). They last a grand total of fifteen seconds before Dan’s voice is interrupted by a shriek of laughter.

“Oh, fucking hell that’s bad!” Phil cackles. Dan groans, wondering for a fleeting second where the best place to launch Phil’s phone might be.

“That’s it,” he loses it, suddenly leaping across the table and swiping the irritating rectangle of interest straight from Phil’s hand. His smile vanishes in seconds.

“Aw, what?!”

“You have five seconds to put this stupid fucking thing away, or else it’s going out there,” he points to the window behind them. Phil follows his gaze, his eyes widening. They can see the majority of the town from up here. That’s a long drop.

He turns his head back around. They’re nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye.

“Fine,” Phil smiles, the tips of their noses brushing together. “But just so you know, seeing you angry just makes me want to kiss you more.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his smirk. “Are you still gonna want to kiss me when your phone ends up on the ground?”

“What do you mean ‘when’? I’ve put it away now,” he points to the bulge in his back pocket.

Dan fixes him with a glare.

“Come on,” Phil leans forward as Dan leans back. “Just one?” he pleads, his eyes big and blue.

He shakes his head and pulls away, a grin curling at his lips. His eyes flicker back to Phil, a brown gaze that lingers too long.

“Afterwards,” he says in a voice like velvet.

Phil rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the chair. “Fine. Bloody hell, it’s like being back at school.”

Dan pretends not to hear that last comment. “Come on, we’ll take it from “world-wearied flesh…”

Phil’s phone doesn’t move once from his pocket after that. The promise of Dan’s lips after rehearsal is more tempting than any filter some dumb app has to offer.

“How do I look?”

Phil eyes him up and down, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hot.”

The comment receives a soft punch to his upper arm.

“Behave,” Dan turns back to the mirror, twining a lock of perfectly sprayed hair that he was specifically instructed not to touch around his fingers. “Are you sure? I feel like I look like a-“

He’s interrupted by a pair of soft lips for a few seconds.

“That’s really not helping the nerves,” Dan breathes once they break away.

Phil grins. “You look fine. You know you do. Now quit playing with your hair before Alexa sees.”

Dan doesn’t think Alexa, the make-up artist, is capable of seeing anything that isn’t within a thirty-centimetre radius of her own face right now. She’s been hurrying around backstage all evening; powdering this, curling that, flitting from actor-to-actor so quickly it makes Dan out of breath to even watch her. She certainly hasn’t done a bad job though, he thinks, as he inspects his reflection. A slightly dishevelled, 15th-century version of himself stares back, all weird leather and burgundy velvet and wow, perhaps he should sport an Elizabethan tunic more often.

“Suits you,” Phil smiles as if he’d read his mind. Dan adjusts the collar accordingly.

“D’you reckon?”

“Yeah,” Phil eyes him up and down again. “Most people here kinda look like twats in their costume, but you really actually pull that off.”

“Um- thanks? I think?” Dan smirks, frowning at his reflection. He doesn’t mention it has anything to do with his long-standing ability to morph into literally anyone he likes (he’d often been described by many make-up artists as having a “chameleon face” which he hopes is a reference to his adaptability to blend into multiple characters as opposed to resembling a lizard), and instead accepts the ever-so-slightly backhanded compliment.

“What are you doing down here?” someone with an updo the size of Jupiter asks Phil, sauntering past in something that really rather resembles a cupcake. Phil was right, Dan thinks. They do look a bit ridiculous. “They need you upstairs in five minutes.”

“Oh shit,” Phil glances at his watch. “Okay. Gotta go before Nick kills me.”

“Alright,” Dan smiles, pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Good luck,” he whispers into his shoulder. “You’ll fucking kill it.”

Dan tightens his grip around his arms. “Thank you.”

The word has multiple other meanings, and judging by the glitter in Phil’s eye when he pulls away, he thinks he understands every single one.

That night, Dan lavishes in warm spotlights and painted wooden sets resembling palaces and balconies, and he feels alive.

That night, the finest Elizabethan literature spills from his lips, flowing as easily as water, his voice shaping every monologue, soliloquy and duologue perfectly.

That night, there are another pair of lips on his; only this time painted red and totally professional. It feels strange, alien, and not a single trace of the spark in his heart that Phil’s lips ignite can be found, but it’s work. It’s courage.

And that night, someone up in the control booth watches through the pane of glass over all the light boards and buttons and wires, and smiles.

As if it’s been almost a year since my last oneshot??? Wtf this must CHANGE I’m getting back into writing (properly this time I swear) so there’s a lot more where this came from. Feedback is always appreciated whether it be good or bad so pls let me know how you found this! Feels so good to be doing this again u have nooo idea holy shit <3

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phan au #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #dan and phil #i really hope this is ok i'm so nervous about posting lol #pls pls pls let me know what you think #it's been a while since i've written fic properly i rllly wanna get back into it

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