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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Aesthetic prompt- song: "in hell i'll be in good company" by the dead south; vibe: steam off a warm drink, heavy rain on windows; color: cool gray, bronze, red :)

Took me long enough! This fic is months in the making, but I am so excited to finally be able to answer this prompt. This is chapter 1 of probably 3!

A Phoenix Razed

Chapter 1- Rebirth

---

3 days since Great Yarmouth

Tim’s hands encircled the paper cup in his lap. The cup was small, he noted; he could clasp his fingers together easily. Or maybe his hands were just big. The tea was dark, way over-steeped, and the herbal scent bloomed out in waves alongside the rising steam. There was no sugar, no milk, none of the usual accoutrement Tim used to take tea. Just harsh, bitter, black.

It’s what you deserve.

Tim rolled his eyes at his internal monologue, drama queen, and sipped the beverage. Agh, still hot? He sucked in air through his teeth, startling Martin, who he’d forgotten was beside him.

“Tim?” He snapped his eyes up from where they had been resting on the book, lips moving to form words Tim hadn’t been listening to. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, burnt my tongue.” Tim’s words sounded like a shrug, slumped and uninterested, now out of his reverie.

Silence stretched between him and Martin. Or, Tim wished it was silence. The only sound was the low static of the EEG, a rainbow of wires between the machine and Jonathan Sims’ scalp, shaved to accommodate the electrodes. What Tim wouldn’t give for any level of sound other than what they experienced right now. Any less, and there would be an answer to the question, “Will Jon ever wake up?”, and more would mean his heart was working, or lungs, or any other number of body parts to which machines were attached, waiting for any sign of response.

It’s your fault he’s like this.

It should have been you.

Tim exhaled and sipped the tea again, more careful this time. It was still hot—he was pretty sure the burn on his tongue made it feel even hotter—but he tempered his expectations and swallowed a sip of the bitter liquid, letting the raw flavor coat his throat.

“-there’s not much point to this, huh?” Martin asked, slipping a tattered bookmark between the pages of the book he had been reading—he was hoping to annoy Jon with poetry into waking up with Tennyson’s Ulysses—and letting it slip from his lap to the bed, green cover stark against the yellowish-white of the thin blanket.

“I don’t know, Marto, doctors said he might be able to hear us. Maybe dear Alfie will bore Jon back to life,” but Tim’s words lacked the bite and humor that was meant to be there.

“Don’t-” Martin warned softly, shaking his head and pushing his reading glasses through his fringe of curls. “He’s not…he’s still alive. He’s just lost.”

“You’re right,” Tim nodded, placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder lightly before pulling it away as he felt the round of Martin’s shoulder twinge under his touch. “You know what I mean.” He rubbed at the bandages that wound around his abdomen, letting himself indulge in the ache of raw skin and muscle and fat, the hiss of pain atonement for his sins.

Martin sighed, a slow, burdensome sound. “Yeah, I do.” At his words, Martin’s phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID before shoving the phone deep in his pocket, ignoring the call as he did so. “Listen, Tim, you know I’d stay longer if I could-”

“No, I get it, Martin.” Tim stood as Martin did, grabbing the IV bag by his chair for support. “Duty calls. I must away, my love.”

Martin scoffed, the pale sound muffled and diminished by the emptiness of the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to go on without me.” His voice dropped the light in it as he placed a hand on Tim’s. His hands were freezing, Jesus. “Seriously, Tim, if you need me…”

“I’ll call.” Tim waggled the phone in the pockets of the linen pants the hospital had provided. “Promise.”

“I hear the Great Grimaldi’s in town.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

He wished the moments after were fuzzy. He wished he could chalk his memories up to delirium or carbon monoxide poisoning. There was the detonator, small and squat in his hands. There was Grimaldi, or Nikola, or whatever that thing was. And there was Jon, kneeling, eyes piercing him in a way he had never experienced before. A moment of true lucidity amongst the madness of the Unknowing.

Tim had pressed the button, resigning this to be his final image, his final memory. The things in the world he hated most, all splayed out in front of him, with the promise of all the things he loved waiting for him. A win-win, really. Go out with a bang, leave a mark on the Stranger, cause some errant destruction, and finally see Danny again. The Stranger would never forget the Stoker brothers, that would have been for sure.

But the combustion and the flames had swept over him like a hot wind. He felt the flames lick the sides of his face, felt smoke choke his lungs, felt impossibly hot ash and air swirl around him in a tango. The building had crumbled around him and Tim had been unable to move, forced to witness every last nanosecond of the chaos he had caused.

And he reveled in it. He had won; he had beaten the Stranger. To know he had avenged the deaths of Danny and Sasha was prize enough.

None of it made any sense. He shouldn’t have survived.

How had he survived?

5 Days After Great Yarmouth

“Tim.”

Basira was in Tim’s room, wheelchair parked in the corner and sitting in a visitor’s chair. Her body was tense and still, reminiscent of a panther in some documentary he had watched with Jon. Ready to strike? Or run?

“Basira.” Tim’s voice was careful. “Martin said you weren’t up for visitors today. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Save it.” Basira’s hands were fisted in her robe, the white and yellow one matching Tim’s, declaring them both as patients under observation. Tim frowned, pulling his IV behind him to sit on his bed, wincing as he bent and adjusted himself. “Daisy’s gone, Jon is…whatever he is. I survived because I was smart.”

Her voice was low and sharp, accusing him of…something. Tim felt blood boiling under his skin, as he waffled somewhere between furious and confused. “Excuse me?” He said pointedly, voice measured, squeezing tight the paper cup of tea in his hand.

“Tim, how are you not dead?” Basira gestured with her hand. “Your burns were all superficial. You broke your arm in the collapse, but you managed to survive the fire.” She shook her head and smoothed the fabric that lay there with her hand. “You and I both know you shouldn’t be alive right now.”

Tim took a steadying breath, though it did little to conceal his frustration. “So what, you think I’m fucking magical or something?” He could feel the heat and pitch rise in his voice. “You think I’m like...like those freaks we read about in the statements? Like-like Jon or Elias or like fucking Nikola?”

Basira opened her mouth to speak but Tim cut her off. “You know why I was there, Basira. For Danny. For Sasha. You bloody well know none of this was supposed to happen.” He gestured in the general direction of where Jon lay, dead to the world. “The audacity to assume I-”

“Tim!” Basira cut in, interrupting his increasingly desperate tone. “Look!” She pointed down. Following her gaze, Tim saw the paper cup he was holding. The cup of tea was steaming. No, it was boiling. He could hear the roil of the water, see the bubbles blossoming on the surface. On instinct, he yelped, tossing the cup of bitter black tea across the room, hitting the sink on the far side of the wall squarely. He winced as the liquid splashed across the mirror, the cup rolling to a stop in the basin.

“What the fuck?” He wiped his hands on his robe. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Did it burn you?” Basira asked, eyes passing over him studiously.

“Ah…” Tim turned his right hand over, checking for any splash marks or blisters on his palm. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Basira asked, raising her eyebrow. At Tim’s irritated roll of his eyes, she folded her fingers together.

“You know that’s not normal, right?” It wasn’t a question.

Tim nodded, voice stolen from him as he processed her words. “Are you trying to say I’m fireproof or something?”

Basira shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds weird enough to be right. I’d say ask Jon about it, but obviously…that’s not happening quite yet.”

“This is so fucked,” Tim mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion. “I hate this job.”

Tim was walking in a black room. Kind of. It wasn’t black, really, nor a room—just the concept of space, devoid of color or light.

Tim was somewhere and it was dark.

He picked a direction and walked. The space he was in was hot, a dry stale heat pressing in on him from all sides. It was like that prickling heat from being too close to a campfire, where the heat should singe your leg hairs. It should have been painful. He should have been sweating. But he felt…good. Great, even. He felt alive and awake and ready.

He walked for what felt like hours in this dreamscape, not knowing where he was going. He had realized he was dreaming around the point where he noticed he was more floating than walking, being guided like a character in a low-res video game. There was something in the back of his mind nudging him forward, coaxing him along some predetermined route.

Suddenly, he stopped. There was something in front of him, maybe four meters away. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it. This spot in space was the source of all the heat in this room, the warmth surrounding him that was more accosting than comforting. The feeling surrounding him was all-consuming and it made him feel…all sorts of things. Righteousness, anger, betrayal, pain. They were all the emotions he had been feeling at Great Yarmouth, built up upon each other, each idolized in their own way. They were the feelings he had chosen to worship when Jon had stopped being his friend and started being his enemy, when Sasha had been discovered to have never been, when he had looked Nikola in its eyeless face and pressed the detonator. It all felt good to feel.

All of a sudden Tim was struck with a sudden knowledge. If he accepted this heat, this painful destruction, he would never need to worry about being hurt again. He could protect himself, the loved ones he had left (if he still had any), and burn the hearts out of anyone who dared hurt him or his ilk. No one would ever leave him again except on his terms. He understood what the Lightless Flame meant, what it promised, what it could give him in return. He would be able to live on the destruction of those he deemed unworthy of the love of the pyre, those who had so much to lose. Like he had had, once. Like Danny had had. Like Sasha. They had had the world before them, and it was stripped away. The Stranger had the potential to take over the world and he had destroyed every last bit of success it had. And it felt good. He could chase that feeling again and again and again with a family that knew what it was like to love and lose and destroy.

All he had to do was take it in.

7 Days After Great Yarmouth

Tim woke up gasping for air. He could feel an icy hand on the back of his neck, colder than anything he knew, dragging him back into reality. He opened his eyes, wincing at the harsh light of his hospital room and yes, he was in his hospital room, not a great expanse of nothing nothing nothing, searching for answers. He reached a hand to the back of his head and felt a frozen rag, dripping icy water down the back of his neck, down his spine.

A nurse was at his bedside, a thin woman with dark blonde hair, checking his vitals with a delicate hand. “Welcome back, Mr. Stoker. You gave us a scare, there.”

“Wha-”

“Your monitor was beeping like mad last night. Said you had a fever of 42, but the machine was probably broken. Thermometer put you more at 40, but still, concerningly high. Gave you some fever reducers and a cool rag, kept an eye on you. Are you feeling any better?”

Tim rolled his neck, hearing his joints crack as he did so. “Uh-” He took stock of his faculties. He felt great, actually. No pain, no stiffness, just a tingling warmth spread throughout his body. Something about that felt...right. But he wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, fine.” He pulled the rag out from under his neck and noticed, for the first time, he was naked.

“Sorry,” she smiled apologetically at the flush that spread across his face and neck. “First rule of fevers: tight clothing comes off. It seemed to have done its job though. You were out for a whole day. According to our thermometers, your temperature’s gone back to normal, but we’d like to keep an eye on you a bit longer, especially with your injuries. They don't seem to be infected, so the fever might have been a latent trauma response to the explosion.” The woman shrugged, her smile light. “Our bodies do crazy things to keep us safe. Even when it hurts.”

“A-apparently so,” Tim nodded softly, squeezing his hands into fists, feeling the nails dig into his palms. At least this wasn’t a dream. He rested his head against the pillows propped behind him and sighed heavily.

The nurse left eventually, when there were no more monitors to check and Tim had promised eight ways to Sunday to press his call button if he needed anything. He settled back into his pillow, listening to the steady beep of his heart amplified on the monitor. The TV droned low in the background, newscasters revisiting today’s tragedies. Had they been on the news when it happened? Tim huffed and shook his head. Not if Elias had a say in it. Probably chalked it up to a gas main.

He grabbed the remote strapped to his bed, and flipped through the channels aimlessly, looking for something interesting…or at least to lull him back to sleep. Kids programming, soap operas, more news, interior design—wait. Tim flipped back to the news channel. Demolition of an old primary school. The reporter spoke to a heated young woman, round cheeks framed by wild curls, who spoke to the camera about the memories and traditions the school represented, how unfair it was to lose such an important monument to the history of her town.

“A shame, isn’t it?”

Tim started at the voice, whipping his head to the door, gripping the remote tight in his hand. The woman standing in the doorway of his room was short and wide, hair cropped close. She wore a grey tank top and black shorts, revealing tattoos of flames licking up the backs and sides of her calves. Something about her face was odd. A little too smooth? The grin on her face seemed wider than normal smiles were meant to be, drooping a little too low.

“Pardon?” Tim managed, grip on the call button tight, even if there was…something keeping him from pressing it.

“About the school.” She pointed to the television as she crossed the threshold, crossing her legs as she sat in the cushy visitor’s chair next to his bed. “So many childhood memories, so many job opportunities, so many opportunities for self-improvement-” She spat the word with malice. “Truly some of my favorite forms of destruction.”

Tim stared at her dumbly. “Do…am I supposed to know who you are?” Her returned chuckle burned him from the inside.

“Oh,” she crooned, more to herself than to Tim. “For keepers of the Eye, you are all so stupid. I am Jude Perry and I serve the Lightless Flame. And, if I’m right, you do too.”

#fanfic to a tea #tim stoker #martin blackwood #desolation tim #lonely martin #jude perry #the desolation #the unknowing #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fic #tma season 3

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hurricanery · 4 years

Text

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 1

Apologies for the long A/N: This is the start of an AU fic inspired by this prompt & this prompt. It follows Amelia & Link, along with many others, in their first year as interns at seattle grace hospital. Thank you for sending character requests about this one! I settled on a few, but other characters are likely to show up later on as residents/attendings. Also, sidenote: this is completely an AU, meaning I just kind of grouped people together based on my interpretation of age (not that age really makes sense in the greys world anyways). This chapter is somewhat boring, basically just a set up for the characters and dynamic of the story. Thank you as always for feedback and prompts <3

In summary, the main interns in focus are: Amelia Shepherd, Atticus Lincoln, Maggie Pierce, Winston Ndugu, Jo Wilson, & Lexie Grey. The ship this focuses on is Amelink <3

_______

That's how it starts

We go back to your house

We check the charts

And start to figure it out

_______

(Hour 1)

“No, no, no,” she mutters impatiently, hastily climbing out of her car, her jacket catching in the door as she slams it shut. “God dammit, son of a-”

She tugs her jacket free and sighs in exasperation as she begins walking at a pace that could quite possibly challenge olympic level speed-walkers.

Amelia Shepherd was a lot of things.

Sharp. Cunning. Confident. Prepared. Most of the time.

But, throughout her lifetime, she’d also been described in less elevating ways. Unpredictable. Impulsive. Irresponsible. She laughs bitterly when her mind settles on the last adjective, as she scurries through the doors of Seattle Grace Hospital.

Because she was a lot of things. And late for the first day of her surgical internship was now getting added to the list.

_______

“Pierce, Lincoln, Wilson, Ndugu, Grey, Shepherd!” Chief Webber’s voice booms through the chaos of the crowded locker room. Interns begin stepping forward as their names are called. “Pierce, Lincoln, Wilson, Ndugu, Grey, and Shepherd,” he beckons again, “Your assigned resident is Dr. Karev.”

Alex scowls intimidatingly as five out of his six interns approach him by the door.

“Let’s move,” he mutters, starting to walk swiftly through the corridor of the hospital while the interns trail behind him.

“I have five rules,” he stops walking suddenly, and the sound of halting sneakers squeaks behind him. “First rule…” He trails off, turning around to look pointedly at each of their faces. “There are five of you here, who’s missing?”

The group looks between each other in confusion, shrugging amongst themselves. Alex peers down at each of their ID badges.

“Where’s Shepherd?”

More shrugs.

“Where’s Shepherd?” He repeats, louder this time.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Amelia’s breathless voice chimes distantly behind the group as she jogs to meet them. She comes to a stop, huffing out a breath as she pushes strands of her long, dark hair out of her face.

Alex glares at her, arms folding across his chest.

“Okay forget the rules, we’re out of time,” He growls. “You five,” He looks between those of his interns that were on time today. “You’ll be joining me in the gallery for a groundbreaking surgery.”

There’s excited murmurs throughout the group.

“I’m serious. The surgery you’re about to witness….you will likely never see anything like it again. You will be silent. You will take notes. And you will not embarrass me.”

The excited murmurs turn to anxious nods.

“Shepherd,” Alex continues, an evil smirk taking over his expression. Amelia gulps. “Your last name is not going to save your ass right now.” He laughs. “I have this dude who’s taking up a bed down in the pit. He won’t stop throwing up. He’s a junkie. You’re gonna go clean him up, give him an IV, and send him home. And then maybe you can come find us.”

Amelia sighs, stepping forward slightly to defend herself. “Are you sure? Don’t you think I should see-”

“I didn’t ask for a response,” he interrupts her. “I asked you to head to the pit.”

Amelia blinks, her hands dropping to her sides in defeat. She watches as the rest of her intern class hurries off to witness a groundbreaking surgery without her.

_______

(Hour 8)

Amelia slowly shuffles through the dimly lit basement of Seattle Grace, following the sounds of her fellow interns’ voices.

“Ugh, Atticus,” Jo laughs loudly. “Call him Link. I have never heard anyone call him Atticus.”

Jo’s laugh echoes through the hallway and Amelia uses it to guide her.

“Sorry,” Lexie giggles in defense. “It’s not like I knew that. Not my fault you all know each other already.”

Amelia finally approaches. And sees everyone sprawled out across the abandoned hospital bed in the hallway. The bed rests against a large window by the vending machines.

“Who all knows each other already?” Amelia huffs as she slides down against the opposite wall, settling herself on the floor and leaning her head back in exhaustion.

“Everyone, apparently,” Lexie responds as she takes a bite of a granola bar. “Maggie and Winston went to Tufts together. Jo and Link did the same undergrad program, and even worked at the same restaurant. I’m the loner here.”

“Well,” Amelia mumbles, eyes closing as her head rests against the wall. “I’m a loner with you, then.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that you’re a Shepherd,” Lexie laughs.

“And you’re a Grey!” Amelia bites back playfully. “We’re in the same boat here.”

“Wait, you’re a Grey?” Maggie gasps, practically choking on the handful of chips she’d just consumed. Winston leans forward, concern crossing his features as he rubs Maggie’s back. She slowly gets a grasp over her coughs. “You’re a Grey, too? Like….Meredith Grey?”

“Yeah….I’m her sister….” Lexie frowns. And Maggie’s eyes go wide. “What’s wrong with being a Grey-”

“Is everyone here somehow related to an attending or resident?” Jo interrupts, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “What in the nepotism….”

Maggie settles back in her seat, her eyes still wide as Winston watches her. Quiet falls between them all and Amelia resumes her previous position, eyes coming to rest as she leans back against the wall. She listens to the voices among the group as the conversation picks back up.

“I heard that every year, they pick the most promising intern on the first day to scrub in on something.” Jo announces. Amelia’s adrenaline kicks in a little bit at this information, but she keeps her eyes shut.

“During our first shift?” Lexie gasps.

“Mhm.”

“No thanks,” Lexie mutters. “I’d definitely screw something up.”

“I might ask Karev about it,” Amelia can hear the smirk in Jo’s voice. “Try and get a leg up on it.”

“Nah,” Link cuts in. “Don’t do that. Whatever happens, happens. You wanna be a shark about it?”

“Okay, Mr. ‘go with the flow.’” Jo laughs. “That kind of attitude is not going to get you anywhere.”

The comfortable silence that fills the hallway again makes sense. It reflects everyone’s current exhaustion.

But then a question gets voiced, and it takes Amelia a moment to realize that the question is directed toward her.

“How’d your patient in the pit go?”

Amelia’s eyes snap open as she searches for the face that voiced the question. Her eyes land on Link’s bright-eyed and sympathetic gaze.

“I….didn’t end up discharging him.” Amelia mutters. And she watches as Link raises his eyebrows at this information.

“Karev is not going to be happy about that.”

“He….uh,” Amelia sits up, bringing her knees to her chest as she explains. “The patient….he’s not a junkie.” She outwardly cringes at the word. “It’s not withdrawal. It’s something else.”

“What makes you think that?” Jo inquires doubtfully.

“His symptoms,” Amelia mumbles, somewhat self-consciously. “They’re not withdrawal symptoms.”

“Maybe Shepherd’s right,” Link offers, a kindness to his voice that surprises Amelia. She expects him to be more arrogant. Or maybe a little full of himself. Just based on his looks. But, everything she’s heard from him so far, has been nothing but positive.

“You going to tell Karev you didn’t discharge the guy?” Jo questions.

“I am,” Amelia responds matter-of-factly. And the hallway grows silent again.

“I could just take a nap right here, right now….” Winston eventually mumbles out.

And there’s a general hum of agreement. Before the quiet moment is interrupted by a chorus of pagers going off.

_______

(Hour 12)

They finally get a lunch break. And by the time it comes around, Amelia isn’t even hungry. After being vomited on in the pit all morning, her appetite is completely diminished.

She walks through the hallway towards the cafeteria and sees Maggie walking a few feet ahead of her.

“Hey!” She catches up to her.

“Hey,” Maggie smiles. “You grabbing lunch?”

Amelia just groans, shaking her head. “Not after the morning I’ve had, no.”

Maggie gives her a sympathetic look before she stops in front of the bulletin board outside of the cafeteria. Amelia watches curiously as Maggie pins a flyer to the board, then she reads the posting.

“You’re looking for roommates?” Amelia inquires, slowly becoming more animated as the idea settles in.

“Yeah, I have three rooms to fill in my apartment. My other roommates moved out but I want to re-sign the lease.”

“Um, wow,” Amelia is stunned by the obviousness of it. “Okay, me? I will be a roommate.”

They continue walking towards the cafeteria and Maggie turns to her, giving her an incredulous stare.

“We’re in the same intern class….” Maggie frowns. “We’re going to be around each other literally 24/7….you wouldn’t actually want to….live together, too?”

“I would,” Amelia persists. “I’m….crashing on my brother’s couch right now,” she mutters, embarrassed by the confession. “I would quite honestly rather live anywhere else.”

“I barely know you.” Maggie exclaims in disbelief.

“So! I’m great. I’m...I’m the best. Best roommate ever. I promise you won’t regret it.” Amelia grins hugely, wiggling her brows, trying to sell herself. And Maggie laughs, shaking her head.

They sit at a table, and Maggie unpacks the lunch she’s brought with her.

“Really,” Amelia tries again. “I’m a clean person. I do the dishes...most of the time. I pay rent on time. Always. And I’m fun, and-”

“Okay!” Maggie laughs. “Okay. You….you’re overselling it now. You can have one of the rooms.”

“Yes!” Amelia loudly squeals, and the outburst makes heads turn throughout the cafeteria. She quickly pipes down. “Sorry….you won’t regret it.”

Maggie just shakes her head, taking a bite of salad.

“So….” Amelia speaks up again after letting Maggie get a few bites in. “What do you have against Meredith Grey?”

And similar to earlier, Maggie almost chokes on her food again. She slowly works on swallowing her bite of salad before she speaks.

“I don’t have anything against Meredith Grey,” she mutters.

“Ha,” Amelia laughs sarcastically. “Your eyes just about burst through your head earlier when you found out Lexie was related to her. What’s up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Hey, we’re roommates now. Spill.” Amelia folds her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat.

Maggie glances around the room before she leans in, beginning to speak softly. So softly Amelia almost doesn’t hear her. “I came here….to Seattle Grace….I applied for this internship because my birth mother worked here. She was kind of….like a legend here.”

“Okay….”

“And I didn’t think I’d actually land the internship….”

“Okay….”

“And then I got the internship and….and I didn’t think I’d actually see her, or be working with her-”

“Who? Your mom?” Amelia interrupts.

“No,” Maggie breathes. “No….Meredith.”

Amelia just frowns, still not understanding how this ties together.

“Ellis Grey is my birth mother.”

And now it’s Amelia’s turn to choke on her food. Except she’s not currently eating anything. So, it’s more like she’s choking on air as she grips the edges of the table in shock.

But before she can voice her surprise, Winston approaches the table, sitting down to join them. And Amelia breathes out a huge breath. Glancing at Maggie and miming the motions as if she’s zipping her mouth shut.

Winston definitely notices the strange energy, and he looks between the two in confusion.

“I’m….” Amelia pipes up. “I’m going to go check on my patient in the pit. You two enjoy lunch.”

Amelia stands up, winking at Maggie mischievously, before heading for the door.

_______

(Hour 16)

16 Hours in and Amelia finally decides it’s time to eat something. She’s been on her feet all day, running labs and doing scut work for Karev. The patient she was supposed to have discharged earlier, is currently waiting on the neuro consult she’d ordered. So it feels like the perfect time to take a small break.

She’s been so busy, she’s barely even thought about food. Her stomach rumbles loudly as she makes her way back through the dimly lit basement, seeking out the vending machines she knows are down here. She could have picked any of the vending machines in the hospital, honestly, but she’s chosen this route because she likes the quiet, and hopes to have a moment to herself to unwind.

She rounds the corner, letting the subtle hum of the vending machines bring her comfort. But the moment doesn’t last.

“Hey, Shepherd!”

Amelia jumps, clutching a hand to her chest as her eyes settle on Link, where he’s once again sitting on the abandoned bed in the hallway.

“Shit, you scared me.” She exhales shakily.

“Sorry,” he smiles, then turns back to the textbook in his lap.

Amelia walks past him, continuing towards the vending machines. She considers the options in front of her, before deciding on a granola bar and an energy drink.

“You kind of stole my idea,” she mumbles as she turns around to face him.

“Hm?” he looks up from his book.

“I was going to come down here, and be all quiet and alone for a minute,” she smirks.

“Well, great minds think alike, I guess?” He laughs. “You can sit.”

Amelia gazes up at him through a pointed stare, biting the inside of her cheek as she weighs her options. She truly had been seeking a peaceful moment to herself before she realized Link was down here.

“And I can be quiet,” he adds, watching her think it through.

But she decides. She gives in and climbs onto the mattress, resting her back against the wall. She yawns hugely as she settles in a comfortable seated position, legs outstretched in front of her, mirroring Link’s current position.

“Those aren’t very good for you, you know,” he smirks, nodding towards the energy drink in her lap.

“What are you, a doctor or something?” she bites back sarcastically.

“Trying to be.”

Amelia smiles, popping open the drink and taking an exaggerated first sip. Link just shakes his head at her, turning back to his book.

Amelia sighs a few seconds later. “Is it just me....or do you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing?”

Link turns his head to the side, lifting his eyes from his book to her tired expression.

“I get that.”

“I mean,” Amelia lets her head roll to the side too, in his direction. “I was top of my class at Harvard. I really thought I’d have an impressive first day.”

“You….were late this morning….” Link stifles a laugh, squinting at her.

Amelia rolls her eyes. “Yeah….not off to a great start. You’re right.”

A moment later Link slams his textbook closed, muttering something about trying to squeeze in a nap while he can. He leans his head back against the wall, letting his eyes shut.

“Oh, come on,” Amelia mutters playfully. “Sleep is for the weak.”

“Sleep is extremely important,” Link responds, eyes still closed. “And I’m not sleeping, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Amelia laughs under her breath. “Sure.”

“Really,” he continues. “Resting your eyes? Feels fantastic. You should give it a try.”

Amelia doesn’t respond to this, instead taking another sip of her drink.

“Afraid you’ll fall asleep?” Link inquires a moment later, opening his eyes to glance sideways at her.

“No. I can rest my eyes without falling asleep.”

“Sure.”

Amelia watches as he resumes his previous position, his eyes slipping closed as he rests against the wall.

“Is this some sort of competition?” She mutters.

“I’m not competitive.”

He’s smug, Amelia thinks, as she stares at his restful expression. She sets her drink on the windowsill behind her, and lets her own eyes come to rest. It feels good to close her eyes. Way too good.

A moment later she hears Link whisper “I told you.” At least she thinks that’s what she hears. Her consciousness is beginning to slip away from her. And it’s hard to pull herself out of it, or to even think about separating exhausted imagination from reality.

When Link’s pager goes off several minutes later, his eyes shoot open. The sound of it doesn’t even cause Amelia to stir. He turns to look at her. Her long hair covers half of her face, but he can tell by the pattern of her breathing that she’s fallen asleep. Link smiles to himself, deciding not to wake her. She had initially come down here seeking a moment to herself, and Link was going to let her have it. His pager beeps again and he stands up, quickly on his feet and moving through the hallway.

_______

When Amelia eventually wakes up, she has no idea how much time has passed. The first thing she notices is that she’s alone now. Link’s abandoned textbook sits open next to her. It’s much darker in the basement now, with less light coming in through the window. She frowns, checking her pager.

And that’s when she notices the red blinking light.

Signifying her pager is dying. Or needs new batteries. Or something. She doesn’t know. It’s her goddamn first day and she has no idea how this works.

She curses to herself, springing up from her seat and practically running towards the stairwell.

_______

By the time she reaches the pit, she’s completely out of breath. Her eyes scan the ER, trying to locate her patient from earlier. The patient she was supposed to have discharged. But instead of following Karev’s orders, she had called a neuro consult, because she knew that the case was something more. And now, as she stands in the ER, she completely regrets her decision to venture off to the basement and wait for a confirmation page from neuro. That decision was currently biting her in the ass.

Because now her eyes settle on the current situation.

She watches as Karev begins transport of her patient. Her mouth drops open, stunned as Karev kicks the hospital bed into movement, beginning to transport her patient to the OR. She grows even more stunned as she watches Link grab the rails on the other side of the bed, moving with Karev towards the elevator.

“Wait,” she steps forward. “Wait! That’s my patient, what-”

“Not anymore,” Alex growls. “It’s a tumor, Shepherd. No longer your case.”

“Right,” Amelia keeps pace with them. “I’m the one that called the neuro consult. I knew it! I knew that-”

“Shepherd-”

“That’s my patient!”

She stumbles backwards a bit as they navigate the bed to enter the elevator. She makes eye contact with Link as she watches them step into the elevator.

“Like I said,” Alex mutters, pressing the elevator button to the OR floor once they’re settled inside. “Not anymore. Maybe answer your page, next time.”

Her shock turns to anger as she holds eye contact with Link, and Karev’s words settle in.

“Beds 1-4 need stitches, can you manage that?”

The elevator doors come to a close and irritation flashes through her hot and fast. Because Atticus Lincoln, mr. ‘I'm not competitive,’ had just stolen her patient. Tricked her into falling asleep and then stolen her surgery.

_______

She tries to suppress her anger as she does scut work for the next few hours. As the time passes, she focuses on her bedside manner, and tries to improve her suture technique. Her anger subsides, and it gets replaced with disappointment. Mostly disappointment in herself. Because this was nobody’s fault but her own.

This was a surgical internship at one of the top hospitals in the country. It was allowed to be competitive. They were allowed to be sharks.

By the time she discharges her last patient in the pit, she’s feeling a lot of things. The feeling that stands out the most though, is the exhaustion.

_______

(Hour 24)

Amelia basically moves on autopilot as she exits the locker room, shrugging her jacket on and moving through the hospital’s corridor.

Her eyes feel heavy and all she can think about is going home and immediately going to sleep.

Her anticipation is interrupted, though, when she sees Link walking a few feet ahead of her. She stares at the back of his head, trying to remember any of the angry words she’d had for him earlier. But she’s just so tired, and she’s drawing a blank.

He comes to a stop in front of her, pausing in front of the bulletin board just outside of the cafeteria. Amelia slows her pace as she watches him read something on the board, and then he’s ripping off part of a flyer.

She catches up with him, not managing to walk slowly enough to avoid him completely. He notices her approach and almost instantly, a remorseful expression takes over his face.

They fall into step with each other. And Amelia clears her throat.

“Will you at least tell me how it went? With the tumor?”

Link nods sheepishly. “He’s in recovery now. The other Dr. Shepherd, who I’m guessing is your brother?” Amelia nods. “He removed it all, no problems.”

“That’s good,” Amelia mutters.

They approach the exit, and Link holds the door open as they make their way into the parking lot.

“I didn’t mean to steal your surgery, you know,” Link speaks up again, his tone apologetic. “I just….answered the page.”

Amelia smirks.

“Don’t feel bad. If you want to be a shark, be a shark.”

Link genuinely looks conscious-stricken at her words.

“I’m kidding,” Amelia adds. “It was pretty much my fault.”

Link looks down, crumpling the paper he’d taken from the bulletin board, and twisting it in his palm.

“What’s that?” Amelia inquires.

“Roommates wanted,” Link exclaims, smoothing out the paper and reading the brief description.

Amelia’s face falls.

“No,” she’s laughing now. “No way.”

“What?”

“You can’t be one of our roommates.”

“Who is ‘our’?” Link frowns.

“That’s Maggie’s ad,” she laughs. “And I already claimed a room, so I get a say here.”

“Well I think I’m going to inquire with Maggie,” Link smirks. “I just so happen to be looking for a new place right now. So, I kind of feel like I was meant to see this,” he holds up the paper.

Amelia sighs.

“I’ll get to her first,” she mumbles, beginning to turn towards her parked car. “And give her my input.”

The sun is starting to come up. 24 hours since the last sunrise. 24 hours since the start of their first shift. Amelia gazes up at the sky, grateful that it’s over. But grateful that it happened. Grateful to have the first day under her belt.

“Shepherd,” Link interrupts her thoughts. “I think I’ll be getting to Maggie first.”

“Huh?” She turns to him, and notices how he’s started walking in the opposite direction.

She catches up to him.

“We’re going to Joe’s,” he states, as Amelia steps into pace with him. “The bar across the street. Apparently it’s open 24 hours….but that’s on the down-low.”

Amelia halts, coming to a standstill.

And Link frowns, slowing to a stop when he notices her hesitation. “Jo, Maggie, Winston, Lexie….everyone, I mean. To celebrate a successful first shift?”

Amelia’s heart sinks. She hates this part. Hates having this conversation with anyone her age.

“I don’t drink,” she admits, clawing her palms with her fingernails as her arms drop to her sides.

“Okay,” Link says simply. “They have food there, right?”

She has to question whether she’s heard him right. Because she was waiting for the ‘why not?’ For the confused stare. Or for the uncomfortable chuckle. Which he offers none of. She was so prepared for the interrogation, that his reaction actually stuns her a little.

“Or music?” Link adds, when he realizes that Amelia is stuck inside her head a little. “Food. Or music. Or games? Shepherd, I know I said I’m not competitive, but that’s a whole different story when it comes to darts-”

“Okay,” she finally breathes, trying to hide her smile.

“Okay, you’ll come?”

Amelia nods, starting to walk again. Link catches up with her and she guides them towards Joe’s. They cross the street just as the sun comes up.

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #greys anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy fic #grey's anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fic #my writing #maggie pierce #winston ndugu #jo wilson #alex karev #lexie grey #amelinkfanfiction #if the sun comes up

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savnofilter · 4 years

Text

FLF Day 3

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨 𝐱 『𝐆𝐍』𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): Trypanophobia/Aicmophobia — Fear of needles. angst.

↬ ᴄʀᴇᴅs: x, x, x.

↬ ᴋᴇʏ: e/c = eye color.

↬ ᴡᴄ: 1.1k words [4 minutes, 30 seconds].

↬ ʀᴍ: february love fest

↬ ᴀ/ɴ: LNAISNSK i miscalculated the days id be gone because i was under the assumption that i had posted day three when i didnt. 😭 here is day three!! part four and five be posted in the afternoon, and maybe some drabbles or fics tonight for tamakis birthday mwuahaha. also ive barely written shinso so apologies if this is ooc. </3

“Heyyoo—wake up sleepyhead,” Shinso called out to you, lightly jostling your shoulder.

Your head hurt. You don’t know what happened but all you knew was that your head was throbbing in pain. You lifted your head and hissed at the sharp feeling that knocked against your skull.

“Ow…?” You sit up and look around. He’s quick to hold his hands out, one hand supporting the back of your head while the other on your back. "What happened…?"

"Damn, you hit your head that hard?" Hitoshi replies as he manages to successfully set you up on the infamory table. He pulls his hand from behind your head to grab the ice pack that waited for you, still cold and ready. "You freaked out again when you saw... it."

Still, you looked a little lost.

He softly huffed as your grogginess was probably slowing you down with the fact you did in fact hit your head when you had clocked out. He carefully lifted his hands away once again to show what he was talking about, not wanting to accidentally push a sensitive nerve within you. It was hard for the blunt male to tiptoe around the actual word, but he was trying his best.

“Y’know… the pointy things.”

Oh. It.

You knew what, it meant. You didn’t have enough brain cells to formulate a proper thought, a sigh only managing to escape your lips. You managed to look around the room to see it was the same as it always was. The same medical pamphlets on the counter, the health posters on the wall, and the sink that sit one corner while the corner closest to you had a trash can.

“Do you still need me to hold you up?” Hitoshi asks.

You gently shook your head no. “Could you get me some water?”

He nods at your request and turns to walk to the small fridge in the corner of the room. He gets the requested item from the cool box, closing the door, and walking back to give you the cooled bottle.

You softly thank him as you take it from. You removed your hand from behind your head to unscrew the cap and take a much-needed sip from it. The room was silent as Shinso was nothing but patient, the only thing bugging him that he couldn’t tell if you were okay or not. He stares at you for a moment before deciding to sit down in the seat next to your bed.

“Did they still give me ‘it’?” You ask. He sits up from your question, shaking his head as he answers.

“I told them to give you some time.”

You sigh in relief at his answer, a small smile coming to your face. “I knew I could count on you.” You joke lightly trying to alleviate the looming tenseness in the room.

“Are you okay, though? Honestly.” The question left you quiet. You weren’t too sure yourself. You had spent some time trying to get better at your fears and today was not the day for it. With the preparations of graduation soon, the busy exams both combat and school work wise combined with the heavy bonus of interning left you no room to personally work on yourself.

Your eyes beaded with hot tears and your nose stung as you tried to keep it in. Your firsts clenched as you tried to keep strong, not looking at him anymore and keeping sight on your lap. Your shoulders started to tremble as you couldn’t hold it in longer, no longer than a second later you could feel his arms wrap around you. You let out a shaky breath as you allowed yourself to lean into his chest, quietly trying to save face from what you could. Had it been the early stages of your relationship Shinso would have awkwardly stayed in his seat and watched you cry. For you, both parties had something to grow on. But now, he was confident enough to show you affection like this.

Shinso pursed his lips as he could do nothing but nuzzle your hair and keep you close. For a few months now, he had been practicing something as well. He made a promise that he would work on his affection skills while he encouraged you to get over your fear and he has some bountiful strides—you as well. His mind searched for ways to say something, not entirely sure what comment could you make.

After letting you cry it out, he pulled away with enough space to wipe the tears from your cheeks, leaning in to give your forehead another kiss. He loved you so much it pained him to see you feel down about something like this. While to other people, this would seem exaggerated but he understood where your disappointment and probably frustration came from. He was the first to smile between you two, his hands moving to cup your cheeks to have you look up at him with your still freshly dampened e/c eyes. This didn’t stop him from trying to lighten the mood.

“C’mon, where’s the badass I know and love?” He gives the middle of your forehead a poke, an unusual ticklish spot for you. The smile you wanted to keep back for the dramatics tugged at your lips anyways, his touch making you tumble out a giggle. You softly nodded trying to collect yourself. You could see the sun was starting to set, the realization that you’d have to get going soon coming to your attention. Shinso reaches over to the nearby counter to get some tissues to get rid of the rest of the tears that stained your cheeks.

“I am okay, thank you, Hitoshi.” You smile at him, crumbling up your tissue to get the paper balled up to throw out. You lift your hand and aim to shoot it into the bin, the piece of paper managing to perfectly land in the garbage bin. “At least I don’t have a concussion.”

“Now that’d be a different story.” He snorts at your cheap joke, separating from you once you’ve calmed down. He stretches, managing to pop a few joints, grunting as he takes a look at his phone. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You mumble carefully hopping down from the table. You check yourself to make sure everything you needed was on you, keeping the icepack on the back of your head. You gestured to him that you were ready, following his lead to leave the room and enter the hallway. Your smile grows more as he holds out his hand for you, tugging you closer to him as you walk together in the big hall.

You two have more maturing to do together, and he's more than willing to have you along the way.

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

You and Me...

Chapter 6

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** VERY BIG TRIGGER WARNING!! This chapter contains descriptions of injuries and heavy implications of Male Rape! Please know I don’t take this sort of thing lightly, and I was gentle as possible in the descriptions and implications as I could be, but still getting the story across as well!! Hints of mental disturbance, language probably, kidnapping, Angst, overall this one is pretty heavy.

Word Count: 2790

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jared x Reader, OFC Justin X Reader, OFC Steve x Reader

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. After this chapter things tend to start to pick up a little.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

It had been three days since Jensen had been to the studio.

Steve had tried calling him but got no answer. Steve was starting to get worried, therefore he was making sure everyone in the office was on edge because that was just Steve.

"Maybe he changed his mind," you mumble, looking through the recordings that had already been done, and checking to make sure all the copyrights for the songs he wanted to do were sent off, and ready just in case he did decide to show back up.

"He can't change his mind! He's under contract to finish this album here in this studio," Steve gritted out, going through Jensen's paperwork looking for another contact to try.

"Damn Steve, you put that shit on lock didn't you?" Justin said, spinning his chair in circles like an overgrown kid, not really concerned as to whether or not Jensen showed back up. He didn’t seem to like Jensen all that much anyway.

Steve turned to give him his best bitchface. "This album could put our studio on the map," he said coldly. “We need this guy to finish this album.”

Then something dawns on you, something you had totally forgotten about. You had Misha's number.

You were going to send him a donation to his charity, and while he was here he gave it to you so that he could text you the address to send the money in to.

"I have Misha's number, try him, maybe he knows a way to contact him," you glancing over your shoulder, and Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you for waiting until now to let that little piece of information out.

Pulling out your phone and text him the phone number, and as soon as his phone buzzed with the number he was calling it, walking into the office, and leaving you and Justin to sit in silence on the other side of the door, listening to see if you could hear something. All the two of you seemed to make out was a muffled conversation that honestly sounded like it was very one-sided, with Misha doing the majority of the talking.

After about 15 minutes Steve walked back into the main recording room pale, and a little nauseated, flopping down in the chair next to you.

"What I'm about to tell you guys doesn't leave this room," Steve said, looking between Justin and yourself. Your heart jumped speed. You didn't like the way he said that.

"Three days ago Jensen was forcibly taken from Jared's bar when he was helping a bartender close up. They just found him today. He's at St. David's South Austin Medical Center," Steve looked down at the ground, and then back up at you two like he was unsure whether or not to tell you both the rest of the story.

"Is he okay?" you asked.

You weren’t exactly sure why your heart fell to your feet. Your hand ideally ran across the hand he touched just a few days ago taking his coffee from you.

"Was it some crazy super fan?" Justin asked, looking at Steve like he was bullshitting the two of you.

Steve turned a little greener.

"No, it wasn't a fan apparently,” Steve took a deep breath in order to settle himself.

“Jensen and Jennifer hooked up a little over a week ago. Apparently, things didn’t go exactly the way she’d hoped, so when she got home she told her brother that Jensen had raped her. He and a few of his buddies took Jensen, and for three days kept him locked in a hotel... Returning the favor," Steve stopped talking, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tight. Taking a deep breath to stave off the urge to throw up, or scream because he felt like doing both.

You fought to keep your breakfast down. The room seemed to be spinning. Your heart broke for him. Why you didn't know. What the hell? Why do you care so much? He was nothing but a complete and total ass to you! He hated you! Still, you couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling deep down inside of you no matter how hard you tried to.

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

Later that night you paced around your apartment with Steve's words ringing in your head. You couldn't imagine what Jensen had gone through over the past three days. It made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it.

Grabbing your purse you decide, probably against your better judgment, to head to the hospital. You had to see him. You didn't understand why, you had to see that he was okay.

So now you found yourself walking through the halls of the hospital looking for a nurse to ask which room they were keeping Jensen in. Holding your studio ID tight in your hand, hoping it was enough for them to let you into his room. This late at night you would think there would be more nurses roaming the halls, but things were still and quiet, not much movement at all.

You were just about to give up. You had just about walked the whole hospital, and no one seemed to know where he was. Making your way back to the second-floor elevators you pressed the button impatiently, wondering if maybe they moved him to a different hospital, or if he just asked people to not come to visit him right now, so they were keeping his location a secret or something.

It was stupid to come here in the first place. Jensen hated your guts. He wouldn't want to see you, so why the hell were you even here? That’s what your brain was screaming at you, and you had just about resided to the fact that it was right, and you were being an idiot by coming here.

Annoyed that the elevator was taking so long to open you were about to turn to take the stairs when you heard the familiar ding of the doors opening. Looking up you come face to... well... mid-chest... with Jared.

"Y/N!" Jared said, wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug. He looked exhausted. The amount of puffiness and redness around his eyes told you he had been crying. "What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see you standing there.

"Misha told us what happened. I came to see Jensen, but I can't find his room. No one seems to know where he is, or at least they don't want to tell me," you tell him, embarrassed that you even came you stared down at your feet.

Jared draped a long arm around your shoulders turning you around and headed toward the end of the hallway with you, stopping in front of room 241 he turned to face you.

"Y/N, I want to tell you what you're going to see in there. It's not pretty."

You took a deep breath. Why the hell were you all in your feels right now?

"What did they do to him, Jared?" you asked, almost afraid of the answer. Jared swallowed hard, looking like he was about to start crying again.

"They jumped him in my bar while he was waiting on the new guy I hired to close up. They tied him up, knocked him out, and dragged him out of the bar. The rest we are guessing. He hasn't said a word since the ambulance driver picked him up on the side of the road where they dumped him when they were done with him. According to the doctors, it looks like he was tied down to something, then was repeatedly violated. That’s all we know, and he’s not telling."

You held the vomit back that threatened in the back of your throat. Both you and Jared shivered involuntarily.

"When I first saw him he was covered in blood, and what looked like vomit. They had to sedate him to clean it all off of him and do the examination. Every time someone touches him he freaks out. They couldn't even get him as clean as they wanted because he was fighting so hard. From what I understand they cut the twist ties off of his wrist in the ambulance. They said he was just dumped completely naked, and still tied. Some dick truck driver saw him, and called the ambulance, but didn’t have the decency to stop and help him. Just kept on driving.”

Jared watched as you tried to compose yourself, the flood of emotions that were hitting you as he told you how he was found was more than you thought it would be for you.

"You sure you wanna go in there?" he asked you when you finally could breathe properly.”I get it if you don’t.”

"Yeah. I need to see him."

Jared never questioned, he just shook his head and opened the door.

At first, you didn't even see him lying in the bed. It just looked like a heap of covers in the middle of the bed. Moving around the bed you finally found the top of his head.

He was laying on his side with his back to the door, the covers pulled all the way up almost over his head.

"Jay... Y/N's here to see you," Jared said, walking around the bed first.

The heap of cover never moved. Jared looked at you apologetically.

You slowly made your way around the bed, afraid of what you were going to see. He looked so fragile lying there in that bed with monitor, wires and different IV's coming out from under the cover. There wasn't a lot of bruise on his face. Especially around his mouth. It was bruised all the way around his lips to almost his left ear. His lips were swollen and cracked. You shuddered at the thought of what might have caused that.

The rest of him was well covered, but for a scratched up hand sticking out from under the cover by his face.

It was his eyes that got to you the most.

He never made eye contact with you or Jared. He just stared at the wall between the two of you blankly. No light there at all. No movement. A very evident “the light's are on, but no one is home” look.

You couldn't stop the cascade tears that were falling down your face. They had broken something deep inside him, and you didn’t have to be a doctor to see it.

"Physically the injuries aren't permanent. It's the mental damage the doctors are worried about," Jared said, sitting on the small sofa next to his friend's bed, watching him closely.

Jensen just continued to look at the wall as if the two of you weren’t even in the room, and no one was talking about him less than three feet away from his bed.

There was a picture of him and his kids by the bed, no doubt brought there by Jared. He was smiling in the photo. He looked so happy. So contradictory to the broken man laying there in front of you. The longer you stood there you felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces.

Everything in you wanted to pick him up and just hold him until he was okay again, even though you knew that him being “okay” again wouldn’t ever be that easy.

"Did he really do what they say he did to Jennifer?" you turned and asked Jared, feeling like you were going to be sick again looking at the dirt and dried blood under his fingernails.

You tried to keep your mind from wondering whether the blood was his, or his attackers. You weren’t very successful.

"I don't know, and I'm not trying to justify anything he may have done, but do you think he would have deserved this? I was there when he asked her to dinner with him. She was definitely more than willing to show up at his house wearing next to nothing."

He was right of course. No one deserved what Jensen had been through.

You sat down in the chair next to his bed. Jensen was still staring at the wall like he didn't even know the two of you were in there. Reflexively you reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him in some way, but he jerked it under the cover before you even got close, never making a sound.

Even though he didn’t make a sound, he slowly looked up at you. Jared moved closer, not sure what he was going to do, but hoping that seeing you would pull him out of whatever mental cage he had enclosed himself in.

He did nothing. He stared at you for maybe a whole minute. A single tear slipping down his face then looked back at the wall. The blank look never once leaving his eyes.

Nurses came in checking the monitors while you and Jared sat next to Jensen talking, trying to avoid the subject of Jensen's injuries in front of him. Neither of you wanted to upset him. Jensen never moved, still just staring at the wall.

Finally, looking up at the clock you saw that it was close to 1 in the morning. Rubbing your face in frustration because even though you knew it was late you didn't want to leave him. He had dozed on and off while the two of you sat there talking, but he seemed to be awake right then. The amount of drugs they were giving him to manage his pain level probably didn't help his current state either. Still, you couldn't imagine the physical pain he was in. You didn't even want to think about what was going on in his head. Still, it was late, and you needed to let Jared get some rest.

"It's getting late, I need to let you rest. I'll come by tomorrow after work if that's okay," you tell Jared, reaching down to grabbing your purse. When you leaned down to grab your purse you had put your hand on the bed to brace yourself. It was something you did without thinking. Just a natural movement.

So lightly you almost didn't notice it you feel a calloused hand lay softly on top of yours. Looking up you see Jensen had reached over and grabbed your hand. Both yourself and Jared held your breath. For the first time, Jensen slowly made full eye contact with you, and not like he was looking through you with the same blank look on his face.

It was eerie and unnatural. Even though he was physically there, and probably knew vaguely where he was, he seemed to mentally be millions of miles away.

You went to take your hand away just to see what he would do, testing the waters kind of. When you did he tightened his grip on your hand, holding it in place.

"Jay," Jared said, trying to get his friend to look at him.

Jensen never spoke, but he did look at him with tears falling from his deep green eyes. It almost looked like he was on the edge of panic, but wasn’t quite mentally there enough to fall over that edge.

"Are you in pain?" Jared asked.

Jensen did nothing.

"Do you not want Y/N to leave?" he asked Jensen again.

Jensen did nothing, just stared back and forth between Jared and yourself.

Closing his eyes he slipped back into his drug-induced sleep with a death grip still on your hand.

For just a moment you considered staying, you did stay for another hour, Jensen never moved again, just slept. Honestly, it's what his body needed. To rest. So you gently slipped your hand out of his, gave Jared a hug, and your number, telling him to call you if he needed anything, and made your way to the door, letting both men get some rest.

When you finally got back to your car you sat there completely broken-hearted for the man lying in that hospital bed.

You hadn't realized it till right now. Seeing him so broken had brought it right in the front of your attention.

You didn't hate him like you thought.

You felt something else entirely.

This changes things.

For you anyway. Jensen had a long road ahead of him. Last you knew he hated you. Starting your car you wiped away the tears that were still falling from your own eyes. Praying to whoever was listening that you didn't get your heartbroken and that he could recover from this.

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the-ss-zemyx · 4 years

Text

PVP(umpkin Spice Lattes)

Zexion and Arpeggio are Discord friends. They chat in private messages, raid in Verum Rex together, and may or may not have feelings for each other.

Ienzo and Demyx are college roommates. They hate each other, for the most part. At least they can both agree on pumpkin spice lattes.

Happy 2nd Zemyx Day of 2020!!

Specifically for today, the S.S. Zemyx Discord Server hosted a collaborative fic-writing event! Over the course of the past five days, four of our writing members teamed up on a Google Doc in one glorious, inspirational, chaotic, frankenstein-esque fic-writing bonanza! That's right, the fic you're about to read is the product of -four- people's efforts! Enjoy!! :D

(A HUGE thanks to my co-writers: Aliceslantern, Ennarcia, and Carbonpixel. This was a hell of a lot of fun to do and I'm immensely proud of us!! - Mod Arxsia)

Also available on AO3!

__________

Demyx hated his roommate. Okay, no, hate was a strong word, and Demyx did his best to be a friendly, outgoing sort of guy, so ‘hate’ was definitely too strong a word. He liked to make friends. Having friends was nice. Having friends was very nice, and so, he tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But his roommate was a different story, and Demyx did not like his roommate very much at all.

At least he was easy on the eyes, because everything else about him got on Demyx’s last nerve. His name was Ienzo, but his name might as well have been "Jerk," with a capital J. When he wasn't hogging the Internet bandwidth doing God-knows-what on a chunky Alienware laptop, he was lecturing Demyx on the virtues of keeping the floor free from dirty clothes and giving empty soda cans a proper burial in the plastic wastebasket by the door. Lame. Also, he was a little condescending. That jerk .

One day, Ienzo burst into their dorm room with the gusto of a hurricane aiming to speak to a manager about a botched coffee order. He swung his laptop bag onto his mattress. It bounced when it landed. "Out," he commanded.

Demyx looked up from his phone. He sat with his legs crossed on his own bed, his Discord app open to a private message thread on his phone. In a few minutes, one of his server friends, a guy with the display name "The Cloaked Schemer" but going by his Discord handle, Zexion#1309, would be starting a voice call with him. It was kind of a big deal--they had been chatting in their shared server for almost a year, and in private messages for almost as long, but they had yet to actually speak to each other. "I'm actually busy," Demyx said.

"I don't care. Out."

It turned into an argument, of course, neither yielding and probably disturbing their neighbors with the yelling. Yep, Demyx didn’t like his roommate one bit.

He ended up in the lounge by the kitchen, utterly fuming, cursing his idea to “go rando” with a roommate all the while. It’s the best way to make friends, Demyx , his mother had told him. What better friend than a roommate?

Very funny.

At least he’d been able to grab his phone. Of course, Zexion was wondering where the hell he was.

The Cloaked Schemer: Do you need to reschedule?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: roommate’s being a dick and kicked me out. Sorry!

The Cloaked Schemer: Ah, I too am having roommate troubles. I can sympathize. I know too well what it’s like when one’s privacy is denied.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: he’s driving me NUTS!

The Cloaked Schemer: Have you tried talking to him about it?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: He didn’t exactly uh seem receptive to talking

The Cloaked Schemer: It’s always a good idea to try for maturity first.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I did! Not my fault the guy wasn’t having it.

Anyway. Id hate to let that guy take up any more time.

Hru?

The Cloaked Schemer: Doing as well as I can, I suppose. I’m enjoying my classes so far. It seems a little easy, but then again, it is only one of the first weeks. Things should pick up more by midterms.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ure too smart zexy. And didnt you skip a grade?

The Cloaked Schemer: A year, yes. I don’t think they call them grades in college.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Considering some of the people ive met, couldve fooled me.

The Cloaked Schemer: If I’m hoping to have a grad degree within five years, I have to fast track it. I’d rather not spend much more time in undergrad than necessary.

Though I am especially resentful that, despite the fact that I am technically a sophomore, I’m considered enough of a freshman to still be required to dorm.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: That blows

But dude, ure here. Might as well try to enjoy the journey, yaknow?

The Cloaked Schemer: Oh, Arpeggio. Your naivete is too obvious sometimes. It’s sweet, I think.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: har har

The Cloaked Schemer: I am disappointed though. I was looking forward to meeting you--in a manner of speaking. You’re probably one of the most sane people from our Verum Rex server.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Issa game, bro. Some of them, idk, take it a little too seriously

The Cloaked Schemer: Well, aspects of it are worth being taken seriously, but I understand what you mean.

Though the ship wars are grating.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ha! Yeah.

The Cloaked Schemer: We’ll have to find some other time, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Mann i was hoping to see if you sound as smart as you type

The Cloaked Schemer: You flatter me.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Do you think if we lived near each other we would hang out?

The Cloaked Schemer: If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to keep my location anonymous.

At least for now.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I know. Just a hypothetical question

The Cloaked Schemer: I’d like to say yes.

But for all I know, you’re actually a forty year old serial killer who lives in his mother’s basement.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: harsh

You listen to 2 many true crime podcasts

Anyway, I g2g. See if the roomie will let me back in. Got homework.

The Cloaked Schemer: Enjoy your night, Arpeggio.

Hopefully one of us has a good one.

Demyx closed the app and repocketed his phone. He flopped back on the lounge couch, eyes squinting at the fluorescent lights above and his limbs ragdolling in uncomfortable directions. A good night, huh? It’d be better if he could spend time in his own room without having to engage in guerilla combat whenever he wanted to exist in his own space. Wishful thinking, he thought.

__________

Ienzo stared at the chatlog open on his computer screen. The circle next to Arpeggio’s icon turned a dull gray, and the remaining bits of Ienzo’s hope for decent conversation dulled with it. He had finally caught up enough with his classwork to have some free time to spend, finally arranged to voice chat with Arpeggio, finally gotten Demyx to leave the god-forsaken room so he could have the one conversation he’d been looking forward to for weeks , and now… nothing. All that planning, gone to waste. Another wave of irritation hit him, and suddenly he was out of bed and grabbing his keys. He needed some tea.

Ienzo didn’t get tea at the coffee shop, despite his plans. The alluring, hipster scent of pumpkin spice hit his nose instead, and he caved before he could stop himself.

The college employed students as baristas in the campus coffee shop, as part of the work-study financial aid, so it wasn’t uncommon to see one’s peers at the shop. “Hey, Ienzo,” Riku said. It was getting late; chairs were already on top of all the tables. They’d met in Ienzo’s anthropology class.

“I’m not too late, am I?”

“I can bend the rules for you.” He went back behind the counter. “What’ll it be? Your usual?”

He blushed guiltily. “Pumpkin spice. Please.” Curse that glorious, wonderful scent.

He smirked. “Coming right up.”

“I know it’s dreadfully popular.”

“Yeah, cause it’s good ,” Riku said. “As long as you’re not one of those “half-caff, no whip, vanilla and almond, five shots” type of people.”

“Why complicate coffee so much?”

Riku handed him the paper cup. “At that point, just drink coffee-flavored syrup.” There was a pleasant lull for a moment. Riku began cleaning the espresso machine. “So why are you out so late? Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?”

Ienzo grimaced. “My roommate and I got into a fight.”

“...Again?”

“We are not well suited for each other.” A sigh. “I went to the Residence Life office to try and apply for another room, but the period for that is over. I was told, and I quote, “unless he’s hurting you, tough it out.””

Riku chuckled.

“He is simply-- obnoxious ,” Ienzo continued, the pressing need to vent taking over. “Slobby, loud, and always around at precisely the most inopportune times. I was supposed to have a call with a good friend of mine, and it took some doing just to get him out.”

“Right, your Discord friend.”

“You have a good memory.” Ienzo swished the coffee around a little; it was slightly too hot to drink.

“The one you have a crush on,” Riku said with a grin.

Ienzo flushed painfully. “I do not have feelings for him,” he said.

“Dunno. You managed to bring that call up in almost every conversation we’ve had. If he was really just your friend, would you be that excited? Enough to hype about it for weeks?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I do not know where he’s from, I don’t know his real name, I don’t even know what he looks like. For all I know, he only uses he/him pronouns online.”

“And?”

“I just… see no reason to desire something I cannot have.”

Riku wiped at the counter. “Oh, don’t be so doom and gloom,” he said. “If the call matters so much, it’s going to happen eventually.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Well, thanks for the tea and sympathy. Er, coffee and sympathy.”

“Any time.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You too. Play nice.”

“Just promise to bail me out if things go awry, will you?”

“Ha, on my salary?” Riku winked.

Ienzo left the coffee shop. He didn’t want to return to the dorms yet, but the fall night was calm and quiet. He checked his phone (maybe Arpeggio was free? Though he did say he had homework…).

As a stroke of luck, he had a message waiting for him.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I have a room again! \o/

the jerk was gone when I got back!

The Cloaked Schemer: How fortunate for you. I assume you’re flying through your homework now?

Mel0d10us N0cturn3: nope! :p

this science paper is kicking my ass!

Im really no good at this sort of thing

The Cloaked Schemer: Do you have any tutors available? Ordinarily I’d love to help but it might be easier and more private to go there instead.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: \o/

We actually do have one of those tutoring centers I think! Thanks for the idea!

Don't want you to waste your special brain-powers on little ol’ me lol

The Cloaked Schemer: I’d hardly call helping you a waste of my “special brain powers.”

It’s not a bad idea to check your local resources though.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: o7

Don’t think I’m gonna make any progress on this paper tonight tho lol

The Cloaked Schemer: Giving up already? I didn’t have you pegged for a quitter.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Awww, come on! Don’t guilt meeee

My poor brain!

It’s mush!

;-; will you not spare some mercy for my poor mushy brain?

The Cloaked Schemer: I suppose just this once, provided you use your resources and go to the tutoring center.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: o7 Yes sir !

First thing in the morning!

My mushy brain thanks you for your mercy and endless kindness!

Ienzo’s cheeks grew warm, but whether it was from the message on the screen or the sip of pumpkin spice coffee currently running down his throat, he neither knew nor was willing to explore.

Despite the late hour, there were plenty of students milling about campus, taking up their little spaces. It had taken him some time to find an empty bench to sit on, but one eventually caught his eye and he claimed it immediately, sitting down with his coffee in one hand and phone in the other.

The sky was inky black, dotted with stars, the sun long gone by now. Nights were starting to grow just a tad chilly, the beginnings of autumn seeping into the atmosphere. It was Ienzo’s favorite season and the aroma of pumpkin spice wafting past his nose was just what he needed to make up for the disappointment of having his voice call with Arpeggio abruptly cancelled.

Well, maybe not entirely. He’d been really looking forward to hearing Arpeggio’s voice for the first time, but this did nicely enough, he supposed. It was better than sitting around stewing in annoyance over his damned roommate anyway.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: so what are you up to right now?

The Cloaked Schemer: It’s a lovely night out. I needed some tea. Got coffee instead.

What is it about pumpkin spice that’s so irresistible?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Never wouldve pictured YOU as a devotee of the PSL.

The Cloaked Schemer: Guilty pleasure.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: theyre so good. I can’t have that many of them cause caffeine makes me SLEEPY

The Cloaked Schemer: Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: whats that supposed to mean?

The Cloaked Schemer: Nothing derogatory, I assure you.

Though the idea of you being hopped up on caffeine amuses me.

You seem like one of those people who has energy all the time.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: i wish

The Cloaked Schemer: I should--begrudgingly--head back to my room.

You should try working on that paper.

I mean it about the tutor.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: yeah, yeah. I hear ya

Hopefully your roommates not being a dick anymore

The Cloaked Schemer: Fat chance. M3l0d10us N0cturn3: enjoy your coffee~~

__________

Demyx sat for a long time looking at that exchange. He could’ve heard Zexion say those words. He was just so painfully smart, but Demyx could listen to him say anything. About anything. For hours.

He showered and got ready for bed, hoping that Ienzo would stay gone. But as it was, he was back. Ienzo scowled in greeting.

“Nice to see you too,” Demyx muttered. He noticed the coffee cup Ienzo had set down. Ienzo seemed to live on caffeine and spite.

“I needed to clear my head, as I do not have the luxury of privacy.”

“Well I gotta sleep somewhere,” Demyx said. He crawled into bed. Ienzo rolled his eyes. Demyx saw him grab his own shower caddy and head out to the communal bathroom. He thought he smelled--he blinked. Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up, crossed over to the cup, and sniffed it.

Of course he likes pumpkin spice lattes, Demyx thought bitterly. Ugh.

He went back to bed and fell asleep listening to music.

__________

The universe thought it was just so funny. Demyx had taken Zexion’s advice and the tutor he’d met with was his jerk of a roommate. At least Ienzo was unhappy too, if the scowl on his insufferably nerdy face was anything to go by.

“What are you doing here?” Demyx blurted before he could stop himself.

“I work here,” his jerk of a roommate answered in response, “as a tutor, for my work study. I take it your procrastinating finally caught up to you and you need some last-minute help?” Did he really have to be so damn condescending though?

Demyx hiked his backpack strap a bit higher on his shoulder and rapped his fingers on the tutoring center's reception desk. Ienzo could glare daggers at him all he wanted from his seat at the computer behind the desk, but the curious eyes of the other tutors and students around meant that he would have to maintain decorum. They both would, lest Ienzo lose his job and Demyx lose his tutoring privileges. He took a deep breath. "I need help with a biology paper."

Ienzo's expression tightened. "Would you like to make an appointment?"

"No? You said it yourself: this is last-minute." Demyx tapped on the desk. "I need to talk to the science tutor on duty, please."

"It seems like we're both out of luck tonight, then," Ienzo replied dryly, absently clicking at something on the computer monitor. "I'm the science tutor on duty at the moment."

"You? Gross."

"I'm not particularly happy about it right now, either."

Demyx considered his options, and cringed at his conclusions. His paper was due in two days, and it was only half-drafted. Without a passing grade on the assignment, he would set himself up to fail the class. Petty squabbles were not worth the hit to his GPA. He sighed. "Well, can you help? I'm kind of desperate, here."

Ienzo returned the sigh. "Fine. Follow me."

Demyx followed Ienzo around the reception desk to a square table in the far corner, a plastic chair on each side. Ienzo alighted onto the seat closest to the wall. "This better not be a waste of time."

Demyx pulled his laptop out of his backpack before sitting down across from Ienzo. "Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent people skills? Because if they did, they lied to you."

Ienzo rolled his eyes. Yep , Demyx thought, amazing people skills. They were off to a great start. Getting through this paper was going to be agony. "I'm paid to tutor, not practice social niceties."

The laptop screen lit up as Demyx swiped one finger over the trackpad. A screenshot from one of his more memorable raids in Verum Rex guarded the rest of his files behind his login password. Demyx typed his password as quickly as he could, shooing the image of his and Zexion's avatars away before Ienzo could ask any unwanted questions. Evidently, he did not type fast enough.

“Verum Rex? You're familiar with it?”

Demyx nearly jumped, shoulders tensing. He knew Ienzo was there; that shouldn’t have startled him as badly as it had.

“Duh? It's only the best MMO on the market right now. Not that you would know, since you're so committed to the whole 'smug asshole' thing,” He snarked on reflex, feeling slightly guilty about it afterwards. Ienzo was being friendly for once, or was at least making something of an attempt at it. Yikes. Demyx wasn't usually one to make low blows like that. He opened the Biology folder on his computer and selected the draft of his paper, making an effort to get along with Ienzo while they were forced to sit together. "Please help me with this? If you would be so kind, please?" Demyx made praying-hands in Ienzo's direction in apology.

Eyebrow rising - was it just one, or both? - Ienzo shot him a look, obviously unamused in the slightest. “If you’re trying to be cute, it’s not going to work.”

Demyx pouted and opened up his biology paper, turning the laptop toward Ienzo. “Fine, fine, just help me?”

Rolling his eyes yet again, Ienzo was just about to lean in to read what Demyx had so far, when the familiar sound of a Discord ping had Demyx scrambling to turn the laptop back toward himself. Shit. He’d forgotten to close his Discord window before showing up at the tutoring center.

While Demyx closed the Discord app, Ienzo watched him carefully, contemplative. “You use Discord?”

Turning the laptop back, Demyx gave him a look, half in disbelief because surely Ienzo was too much of a nerd, but not in the cool way, to know what Discord was, and yet he did. Shit, it would be really awkward to end up in a server together. “Yeah, who doesn’t use Discord these days? I mean, especially if you play games or are into, I dunno, any fan community stuff.”

For a moment, Ienzo said nothing, slowly turning to look at Demyx’s biology paper on the screen. “Alright, let’s see what we have to work with so far, if anything.”

Demyx sighed. Asshole.

__________

Was this some kind of joke? Ienzo was being pranked, wasn’t he? Any moment now Demyx would start laughing about wasting his time and walk out, like the lazy slacker he was. Halfway through, he half collapsed on the table.

“This is impossible,” Demyx whined. “You don’t really understand this stuff, do you? You’ve gotta be lying.”

Ienzo felt his eye twitch. “Not all of us are lazy fools who give up after 15 minutes. Why are you even here?”

“Because my friend said I should, and I trust his advice. He never leads me wrong, so even if I have to spend time with you , I’m gonna do this.”

"Your friend sounds like he has the sense that you very much lack," Ienzo deadpanned, scrolling through Demyx's paper. He took stock of the misformatted section headings, missing in-text citations, and the off-center data table in the middle of the mess. The topic of the paper did not appear in any of Demyx's written work. "Can you tell me what this assignment is supposed to be? I can't tell from what you've given me."

"It's…" Demyx shrank back in his seat. "I don't know what it's supposed to be. My professor gave us all a table of data-results-things and told us to organize and analyze them. I don't know what he wants, exactly."

Ienzo huffed, and almost slammed Demyx's computer closed on the spot. Thankfully, his better faculties kept him from breaking Demyx's laptop. "There's your problem. You can't complete an assignment if you don't know what the assignment is . Email your professor for clarification and request an extension. If you do it early enough, they might grant you leniency."

"Really? That's your advice? Beg my way out of it?"

"Not begging. Requesting. It shows forethought, self-awareness, and emotional maturity, even if you don't actually possess any of those things. The adage of faking proficiency to gain proficiency has some truth to it." Ienzo pushed the laptop over to Demyx. "Is there anything else I can help with?"

Demyx's arms crossed, and his expression took on the quality of a betrayed toddler. "You didn't even help me with what I came in for, asshole."

Ienzo waved away Demyx's indignation with a dismissive hand. "There's only so much I, or any tutor, can do without having a good idea of what your professor expects. Emailing is the best advice I can give right now."

"So if I email my professor, you’ll help me?”

“I give you my word.” A promise made in haste, if only to appease the barest responsibilities of his job. Hopefully Demyx wouldn’t make him live to regret it.

Not long after Demyx was gone, Ienzo checked his Discord app, surreptitiously on his phone behind the reception desk, to find a message from Arpeggio.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Zexy, this worst thing ever just happened!

My roommate is my tutor!

Save meeeeeee

The Cloaked Schemer: That is peculiar. Though colleges are small worlds, so I hear.

What did he have to say re: the paper?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Ugh he couldn’t even help

Because I had licherally no idea what the professor wants

I mean, the dude has an F on ratemyprofessor so

He said to email and beg for clarity and an extension

The Cloaked Schemer: ...That is sound advice, actually.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Youre taking his side???

The Cloaked Schemer: Not exactly.

But in academic situations, it always looks good on you to take the initiative and seek help when you need it.

I guarantee the professor will work with you, and perhaps be able to refine that same assignment in the future.

If he’s worth his salt, he’s seeking to improve himself the way you are.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I GUESS

You wanna do a raid tonite?

The Cloaked Schemer: Alas, I, too, am a college student with coursework.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: RUDE

Ienzo leaned back in his chair in the campus library. How coincidental, he thought. He’d just given Demyx the same advice. Then again, college papers--especially in the sciences--were not always diverse on the gen ed level. He recalled Demyx’s paper; he should’ve asked him to see the email, or post, or handout with the assignment on it. Chances are the moron had merely misunderstood.

Demyx liked Verum Rex. Perhaps they could have this to talk about. Ienzo wondered who he mained. Probably Yozora, he thought with a sneer.

The Cloaked Schemer: Actually, I can do one raid.

ONE. Brief. Raid.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Thats more like it! \o/

One raid turned into two, then Ienzo ended up staying in the library, at the tutoring center, until it closed.

__________

Demyx begrudgingly took Ienzo’s advice. After his marathon raid session with Zexion, he sent a brief email--agonizing over the wording--to his professor, who responded almost instantly with an apology. Several students had already asked him about the assignment, it turned out, so he was going to extend the entire class’s deadline. But if Demyx needed a few days after that, he could have it.

“You were right,” Demyx murmured out loud, as he read the email the next morning.

“Of course I was,” Ienzo said, not looking up from his desk. “See? All it takes is a little maturity.”

The irony. Demyx grimaced. He looked over at him. “So you’ll help me?”

“When--and only when--I am on duty,” he said. “I have a life outside of work, you know.”

Demyx wondered how true that was. Ienzo spent a lot of the time in the room if he were not in class or in the library. Did he have friends? Did he go to societies? He nearly asked. Then he looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in weeks. He had bags under his eyes, and was washed out, books spread in a circle around him. “Outside of studying, too?”

Ienzo opened his mouth, then shut it. “I am not here to socialize. I am here for a degree.”

“But don’t you… have any friends?”

“Of course I do,” Ienzo said, just a little too quickly.

Like he would honestly tell Demyx. “Sure,” he said, shutting his laptop and tucking it into his bag. “Well. I got class. I’ll see you at the center later?”

“Much to my chagrin,” Ienzo responded evenly.

Demyx’s day was ordinary other than that. After the professor clarified what he wanted in class (and, to Demyx’s immense relief, it was much less daunting than what he’d thought), he stopped by the library to check out some books which might point him in a vague direction. Ienzo could tell him if they were any good. He stopped by the coffee shop to grab a croissant and a coffee, and, on impulse, got one for Ienzo as well. The idea of it made him nervous. Maybe I’ll say they made an extra by mistake, he thought. He already knew Ienzo drank them.

There Ienzo was, sitting in the office. “It’s you,” he said in an unreadable tone.

“It’s me.” He cleared his throat. “Um…” He thrust out the coffee without saying anything else.

“Is this for me?”

“Uh, yeah.” He felt his face heat--though why?

Ienzo took it, looking confused, and sniffed the small hole in the lid. “Oh,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked--”

“No. I do. That was kind of you.” He blinked, his expression odd, slackened; Demyx realized it was without malice. “Let’s get to work, shall we? I don’t want this to take any longer than it has to.”

Ienzo helped him structure the paper, and reviewed proper citations with him. It would take a little work, but seeing it outlined, Demyx felt a lot less overwhelmed. Something he thought was a mammoth project would maybe take an hour or two to write.

“Once you have it written, come back and I can help you with grammar and syntax,” Ienzo said.

“Awesome.” He took a deep breath. “I feel… a lot better now.”

“One typically does when one stops procrastinating,” Ienzo said. He leaned back in his seat. For a second--but just one--he sounded like Zexion, all firm and proper, genteel without being rigid.

__________

"You got your grade back already?"

Demyx beamed as he held his laptop screen-out, his browser logged into the university's online grading system. One score was listed under BIO 101, labelled "Paper 1." The percentage displayed next to the assignment name was higher than Ienzo expected from Demyx. "I didn't completely fail!" he practically cheered.

"So you didn't," Ienzo agreed, nodding slightly at the number from his desk. "It's amazing what a bit of work will do."

Demyx dropped himself onto his bed and turned his laptop. He bounced on the mattress a few times while he looked at the number. "This is the best news I've gotten all semester and it's the best feeling. Is this what it's like to be a genius and get good grades all the time?"

Ienzo returned his attention to his own laptop, where a half-drafted essay mocked him with its blinking text cursor and nonsensical thesis statement. He clacked another line of bullshit into the document. It was for English class, he reminded himself. Any answer was correct if it could be argued well. "No, not really. You get used to it."

"I… I should thank you," Demyx said, after a beat of silence. "For your help. I wouldn't have had anything to turn in at all if you hadn't told me to email my professor."

Another line of bullshit trailed across the screen. Ienzo squinted at it, unsure of what he had typed. "Don't mention it. It's my job."

"But still. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Ienzo could hear Demyx shuffling on his bed. "So… you play Verum Rex?"

"Fairly regularly, yes."

"Do you do raids or multiplayer at all?"

Ienzo shot Demyx a warning glance. "I already have a raiding group. I'm not looking for another one."

Across the room, Demyx had tucked himself into bed, his Star Wars sheets pulled all the way up to his chin. He blinked at Ienzo unceremoniously. "Jeez, forget I asked. No need to be snippy about it."

Demyx's head disappeared under the covers, and Ienzo returned his attention to his essay. At least, he tried. The Discord notifications in the corner of his screen kept distracting him.

Eventually, Ienzo admitted defeat and opened Discord. All of the messages were from Arpeggio.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: hey, do we have an opening on our raiding party?

Zexion?

Oh nvm he said no

What are you up to?

I'm taking a victory nap after getting a good grade on that paper I had to

write a while back

My roommate is typing something and he's so loud

What is he writing that makes him so angy

The Cloaked Schemer: I am also typing angrily at something

It is a universal collegiate experience

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: still so angy tho

Are you angy atm?

The Cloaked Schemer: I am… frustrated

I'm meant to be dissecting the themes in a short story but I feel like I'm only spewing garbage on the page

Perhaps if I present the garbage with enough conviction, I will be able to maneuver through this class

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: if youre writing it, it's definitely not garbage :P

you need to have more confidence in yourself, Zexy

The Cloaked Schemer: Ha. I think my roommate would disagree

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: well then he's a bum

Tell him that

Arpeggio says so

Ienzo looked back at Demyx, cocooned in spaceship bed sheets and doing who-knows-what under the cover of bed linens. He thought he saw the flash of a phone screen through the fabric, but the light disappeared as quickly as he caught it.

The Cloaked Schemer: I'll pass. He seems busy.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Busy doing what? Bum things?

The Cloaked Schemer: I certainly hope not. We're in the same room right now.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: oh. Awkward

The Cloaked Schemer: I’ll say.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: so you know ive been thinking

The Cloaked Schemer: Have you? What a concept.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ha ha.

Its been a while since we tried voice chatting

Maybe we could try again?

The Cloaked Schemer: You would want that?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I want to hear your voice. To see if youre actually as smart as you write

Maybe youve got, like, a transatlantic accent, or something. Thatd be cool

Ienzo blinked, staring hard at the screen. His heart beat a little faster. It was so hard to determine tone through text.

The Cloaked Schemer: Maybe I’m not as cool as I seem.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: highly, HIGHLY doubt it

Youve kept me sane

I really appreciate our

Ienzo saw him type “thing” and then frenetically edit to “friendship.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

The Cloaked Schemer: The feeling is mutual.

A long, long pause. Ienzo did not know what else to say. His face was burning.

The Cloaked Schemer: Normally I’d rather be caught dead than admit this.

But it does get somewhat lonely here.

It’s nice to have someone to talk to.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I know what u mean

Sometimes i feel like i dont really know who i am

And like college is supposed to be about finding that

But its hard.

The Cloaked Schemer: You don’t have to tell me twice.

Part of why it’s so easy to exist in online spaces, in games. Appearance doesn’t matter. It’s like being a more concentrated version of oneself.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Do u feel like a more concentrated version of yourself?

The Cloaked Schemer: When I talk to you.

Ienzo’s heart was pounding. He thought he heard Demyx sigh across the room. Was he typing too hard?

Arpeggio started and stopped typing several times, just making Ienzo more nervous. What is he going to say? Did I push it too hard? Was I too forward?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Me too, Zexion

I wish we knew each other. Like, irl

Getting to do raids in person

That would be so fun

And i dunno, maybe do other things

Go out to eat. Go to the movies. Maybe go dancing.

Do u like clubs?

The Cloaked Schemer: I’ve never been.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: it takes some getting used to

But the energy of a crowd is electric

Especially with people you know

Oh god oh god oh god , Ienzo thought. His hands were trembling.

The Cloaked Schemer: Where would we go to eat?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: anywhere you want

Well. on a college students budget anyway

-laughs in poor

The Cloaked Schemer: Ah, so, five star cuisine, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Just dont order the lobster

In all seriousness. We need to vc sometime

The Cloaked Schemer: Yes.

There’s going to be a raid event on Saturday. Perhaps then?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Depends on if i have the room :/

Wanna say yes so bad

The Cloaked Schemer: I know the feeling.

I suppose if I get desperate enough I can rent out a study cubicle in the library.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Awww you’d do that for little ol’ me?

The Cloaked Schemer: Yes, I

His finger slipped, hitting the enter key a moment too soon before he could even finish the thought in his head. His hands felt almost clammy, the inner mechanizations of his mind working on overdrive, as if trying to race against the pitter-patter beat of his heart. Shit. Perhaps… Riku was right after all? Had Ienzo, usually so level-headed, actually developed a crush on Arpeggio? It was utterly nonsensical, and yet he couldn’t deny that he felt a comfort with Arpeggio that he didn’t feel with anyone else he knew, online or offline. Was it possible to fall- ...to develop a smattering of feelings for someone based on typed text alone?

Well, wasn’t that a theme in literature? Two people falling in love over written letters? For all Ienzo knew, there could very well have been instances of it happening in real life, in the days of old, long, long before the age of technology and the internet. A pair of penpals, miles and miles of distance between them, communicating through the written word; it could happen, couldn’t it?

Hold on. When the hell did he turn into a sap ? Frowning, Ienzo ran a hand over his face, feeling like a lovestruck fool.

No. No, this couldn’t be a crush. Just because it was so easy to talk to him, just because they’d been talking for a year or so by now, it didn’t mean-

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Zexy?

You ok?

Shit, how long had he zoned out for?

The Cloaked Schemer: Sorry. Got distracted.

But regardless, I think we should aim for Saturday.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Great!

Hoping we don’t get interrupted by our dick roomies

The Cloaked Schemer: Quite. It’s a date, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Yes :3

Ienzo took a deep breath. Regardless as to whether or not this was practical, it seemed that Arpeggio reciprocated his flirting.

Wait. Ienzo looked at the screen, cheeks heating up as he realized he’d typed the word ‘date,’ and Arpeggio said ‘yes .’ He couldn’t deny the little flutter of his stomach in that moment.

__________

Demyx set his phone aside, his heart beating heavily in his chest, his face bright red. He swallowed. There was no way sleep would come easily now, and it probably wouldn’t be until Saturday.

He thought about the nature of crushes. He’d never seen Zexy’s face, or heard his voice, but he was so adept at weaving words in the way Demyx wanted to be with music. He tried to imagine him, what he might be like.

He rolled onto his back. Ienzo’s frenetic, noisy typing had stopped. Demyx sat up, rubbed his eyes, and pretended he’d been napping the whole time. “You good?”

Ienzo shut his computer quickly, like he’d been doing something questionable. “Yes. Fine.” He was a little out of breath. What the hell had he been writing?

Demyx blinked. “I’m gonna go get a coffee,” he said instead. “Want me to bring you one back?”

“Sure,” Ienzo said, his face flushed.

Demyx shook his head. Well. If Ienzo needed to take care of that he had at least a few minutes now. “Cool.”

The whole time he was at the coffee shop, he kept thinking about Zexion, all their little conversations. It was evolving, and evolving fast. Demyx knew from brief experimentation with dating apps that just because a person sent you some flirty words didn’t mean anything would come of it. For all he knew, Zexion lived in New Zealand, or something.

That didn’t stop him from wanting it.

He drew a deep breath, exhaled. Well. Saturday he would find out.

Demyx wasn’t going to let Ienzo ruin his chances of meeting Zexion. He decided to strike preemptively, pausing at the door of their dorm room and sucking in a breath, steeling himself. He could do this. He could ask his roommate for the room for one night, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Hey, so, I have a thing Saturday,” he said vaguely. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t coming off as strongly as he intended, but he could still try. “Mind if I hang here alone for a few hours?”

Ienzo glanced up. The flush was gone, and he seemed much more composed. “Yes, that’s fine. I was going to go study anyway.”

“Study? Don’t you ever have any fun?”

“Perhaps I find studying fun,” Ienzo said.

“Suit yourself.” As he passed on his way back to the bed, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Ienzo had Discord open.

__________

Friday night, Demyx barely slept. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Crushes didn’t usually… hit him this hard. It’s dumb. It’s so dumb. His loneliness was getting to him. Even Saturday morning, there were some hours until the events started. He looked at his DM history with Zexion. They’d spoken briefly, only to confirm a time and place for their characters to meet and chat. He sat at his desk, his hands trembling, as the game booted up.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: You ready?

The Cloaked Schemer: Of course.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Cool.

My mic isnt like great

But you can still hear me

He was shaking. He was shaking. “Get it together,” he muttered to himself.

The Cloaked Schemer: You’re a broke college student. I’m not expecting a professional setup here.

Though I will say my booth is pleasantly soundproofed.

Let me connect.

And Demyx thought his heart might stop. I’m so gay, he thought. A second later he heard that familiar call connection. He twitched a little, and his mic clattered loudly on the floor. Shit!

“Arpeggio? Are you alright?”

“I just dropped the--”

A long, long pause.

He knew that voice.

“Zexion?” He picked up the mic and set it down.

“Arpeggio?”

“I dropped the mic.” Demyx swallowed.

“You…” Zexion fumbled for words. “Speak a little more, please.”

“Is that really you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re in a library right now.”

“And you had an event… Saturday.”

“Ohh my god,” Demyx mumbled. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, just that he was feeling a lot of it. “Ienzo. You’re Zexion?”

“It’s an anagram,” he said, his tone numb.

“Seriously, this whole time--”

“Evidently.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but at the same time, there was something warm in his chest.

Wait, no. No. This was Ienzo, and they hated each other--

Demyx realized he was panicking. He also, vaguely, in the back of his mind, realized the call had disconnected.

Demyx spent the next few minutes desperately trying to control his breathing, trying to not focus on how Zexion- No, Ienzo- was so disgusted it was him that he’d immediately dropped the call.

Of course. Of fucking course. The universe hated him. The universe had it out for him, surely. Why else would this have happened? He finally meets this sweet, smart, wonderful guy who takes him seriously and actually likes talking to him, on a regular basis , and then… And then… It turns out to be the very same roommate who hates him. That would just be his damned luck, wouldn’t it?

Grabbing his pillow, Demyx face-planted into it, pressing it furiously against his eyes to stop them from burning, to stop the tears that threatened to spill. Of all the people it could’ve been. Why Ienzo ?

Demyx had been nervous enough as it was, afraid the person on the other end would think him annoying - his voice, his tone, the way he just couldn’t fucking shut up sometimes when he got excited about something. Alternatively, the filter between his brain and his mouth was immensely weaker than the filter between his brain and his fingers, and he could’ve said the wrong thing, unable to stop himself in the same way his hand can catch itself on the enter key before hitting it, or quickly delete the message before Zexion could read it.

But this was so much worse, because Ienzo already knew him, already had an impression of him, and that impression was far from good. It’s no wonder he disconnected the call so suddenly. He likely couldn’t stand hearing the truth any longer, stomach churning with disgust, head filled to bursting with regret, and not just regret over the voice call, but everything .

An almost entire year’s worth of conversations, soiled now, because Demyx was, well, Demyx . A slob. A slacker. An idiot. He wasn’t worth Ienzo’s time, and now he knew he wasn’t worth Zexion’s.

A sharp ache spread over his chest, cold and numbing, all of him tense with it. He… liked Zexion. He very genuinely liked him, so excited to get to talk to him, his bristling nerves aside. All week he’d thought about it, daydreaming, wondering what the person on the other end would sound like, if he’d love that voice as much as he loved the text on his Discord screen.

It no longer mattered, not when it was now clear that Zexion - no, Ienzo , was utterly disgusted with him.

It was over. It was all over - their friendship, a year’s worth of personal conversations, these budding feelings he was beginning to have, or that he’s been having for a while now…

On the flipside, was Demyx disappointed that it turned out to be Ienzo? He… didn’t know the answer to that, still reeling in the fact that Zexion, his dear friend and crush, hated him. The pillow was starting to suffocate him and he instinctively pulled it away from his face, eyes still burning. He sucked in some deep breaths and just when he was finally on the cusp of calming down, his door swung open so fast Demyx feared it’d break off the hinges.

Ienzo leveled him with a determined stare. “You.”

__________

Ienzo sat.

And sat.

And stared, and sat some more.

He was dizzy. Slowly, so slowly, all the pieces clicked together. The coffee. The references to Verum Rex. How they were always just missing each other. The whole tutoring scenario. Good god . So this person he’d been harboring feelings for this whole time was--

He pressed a hand to his forehead. And yet, a small part of him… was relieved?

It could be…

No, it couldn’t be anything! They hated each other! They’d complained to each other about each other more times than Ienzo could count. They had--

Ienzo felt the walls of the study booth begin to close in around him, pushing the breathable air out of the room. His ribcage constricted around his lungs, and his heartbeat pounded at his temples. He gathered his laptop and microphone in his arms and burst out of the room, chest heaving.

He braced himself against the outer wall of the study booth and willed himself to breathe normally, his head tilted all the way back to rest on the door. This was real life, and he was fine. He would be fine, anyway, with a bit of finessing. Okay, perhaps a little more than a bit.

Ienzo retrieved his backpack and stowed his equipment inside as he analyzed the situation. Arpeggio and Demyx were the same person. A strange revelation, but not world-ending. He could find another raiding party. He could join another server. There was more than one person with whom to play Verum Rex.

But--

Ienzo caught himself zipping and unzipping the top pocket of his backpack, more forcefully than necessary each time. A new server didn't sound appealing. A new raiding party, even less so. He would have to chat with new people, learn their idiosyncrasies and fighting styles, learn their pseudonyms and remember how they differed from their usernames. It all sounded so… hard, and boring, and unnecessary.

He zipped his backpack closed for the last time and held it at his side by its tiny top handle. Its back straps kicked at his calves as he raced out of the study area, through the main lobby, and into the courtyard. His mind was set. His choice was clear. The only thing to do was follow through.

Ienzo made a beeline back to the room. He found Demyx sitting cross-legged on his own bed, his computer accessorized with a small budget microphone and his face awash with something that looked like guilt. His eyes widened when Ienzo crossed the threshold.

"You." Ienzo's statement rang out like a gong.

Demyx swallowed. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk." Ienzo shut the door behind himself. It slammed closed, though Ienzo had not intended for that.

"...yeah." Demyx turned back to his computer, fiddling at the USB port where his microphone connected to the rest of the machine. "Ienzo, I--"

"Shut up." Ienzo stalked into the room, single-minded. He stopped at the edge of Demyx's bed. "Shut up and listen, for once."

Demyx's shoulders rose to his ears. He stayed quiet.

Ienzo dropped his backpack to the floor. Though his fingers trembled, his resolve held firm. The moment of reckoning was upon him. "Did you know?"

Demyx shook his head.

"Did you want to know?"

He responded in a whisper, pained and hushed. "I wanted to meet Zexion."

Ienzo's hands trembled faster. He balled them into fists to compensate. "And now that you know," he said, "do you regret it? Wanting to know? Learning the truth?"

A tear trailed down Demyx's downcast cheek. "No."

Something deep inside Ienzo wanted to reach out and wipe away the tears that followed, while Demyx's breath caught in gasps over his laptop keyboard. Ienzo steeled himself. "I… don't regret it, either."

"You don't?" Demyx looked up and met Ienzo's gaze with caution. Aside from the red tinge at their edges, his eyes looked almost hopeful.

Ienzo softened, relaxed his fists. "I don't want to find a new server, or a new raiding party."

Sniffling, Demyx nodded. "I don't, either."

"I don't want to stop talking to Arpeggio," Ienzo continued, his heart playing timpanis in his chest. "He is a close friend of mine."

"He's also your lazy roommate." Another tear escaped, this time going down the side of Demyx's nose. Demyx wiped at it with the heel of his hand. "Ienzo, I--"

"We've had differences. We've also had commonalities, albeit in virtual space. There's no reason we cannot bring the two together."

"Ienzo--"

"There's no reason we should be at each other's throats. We--"

"Ienzo!"

He blinked. The drum performance in his chest missed a beat, then started from the top at full speed. "Yes?"

Demyx unplugged the microphone from his computer, sighed, and tossed it to the far edge of his bed. "I don't think that will work."

Ienzo frowned and crossed his arms. He was beginning to remember why he and Demyx didn't get along in meatspace. "Why, pray tell, is that?" he asked.

Demyx swallowed again, more conspicuously than before. "It's just… I…"

Ienzo leaned forward, his head cocked to the side. "You what?"

"I, um, I…"

"Go on. I don't have all night."

Demyx pushed his computer aside and drew his knees into his chest. "I… shit. I had a thing for Zexion." His shoulders hitched with sardonic laughter. "Shit. Fuck. This sucks." He reached behind himself for his pillow and buried his face in it. "This is so embarrassing," he whined, his voice muffled.

Ienzo's budding anger deflated. "You… you did?"

Demyx nodded into his pillow. "Uh-huh. And now you know, too."

Ienzo opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't make the words in his head form coherent phrases. His throat sputtered with half-formed consonants instead. Words. For fuck’s sake, wasn’t he good at words? Why was this suddenly so damn hard?

"This is the worst," Demyx groaned. "Just kill me now. Make it look like an accident. Tell my family I loved them. Don't let my sister take my bedroom at home."

Ienzo's faculties returned in the bumbling, clumsy way that drunkards stumbled home from dank local pubs. "I... don't think that will be necessary," Ienzo managed, through his own confusion.

"No?" Demyx put his pillow back in its place, and faced Ienzo with dried saline clumping in his eyelashes. "What, are you gonna torture me instead? Make me regret being born? Because you're a little late on that front, buddy, I already do."

Ienzo took a deep breath. His crossed arms dropped to his side, then held each other at the elbows. "I may have developed… similar feelings. For Arpeggio." Ienzo's mouth went dry. The drum performance upgraded itself to a full marching band drumline, twenty-five snare drums pounding paradiddles and rolls in synchronized sweeps.

A silence consumed the space between them, interrupted only by Demyx's sniffling and Ienzo's heartbeat. It stretched into the abyss and the stratosphere in equal measure, and stung more acutely than the idea of never speaking to Arpeggio again.

Demyx broke the silence by clearing his throat. "So…"

Ienzo coughed. "So..."

"Are we…" Demyx unfolded his legs and swung them over the side of his bed. His hands grasped at his mattress, and his head hung from his shoulders "Are we, y'know… do we still, like…"

"Do you want to be?" Ienzo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Friends, cohorts, party members, server mutuals? Or…"

"Or what?"

"Or…" Ienzo trailed off. Or what, indeed? Friends with benefits? Significant others? Boyfriends? The mere thought made Ienzo's palms sweat. "Or…"

In the moment between Ienzo's efforts to name his emotions and act on them, Demyx had sprung up from the bed and slipped his hands around the sides of Ienzo's face, his thumbs resting just below the apples of Ienzo's cheeks. His breath tickled at Ienzo's nose and lips. "Or… this?"

Heat seared at every inch of Ienzo's face. If he could feel Demyx's breath, Demyx could feel his as well. "...I suppose, yes."

"In that case," Demyx murmured, somehow purring and wavering at the same time, "tell me no." He rested his forehead on Ienzo's. "Tell me no, and we won't. I promise. Things can go back to normal."

A whimper, wholly undignified and unbidden, escaped from Ienzo's higher register. "I can't," he whispered.

Demyx leaned forward, and Ienzo followed. At some point, they met in the middle, and the world's axis shifted two degrees to the left. It was a tentative press of lips, but Demyx’s hands on his face kept him anchored. It didn’t feel like Ienzo thought it would, and self-consciousness invaded. Suddenly Ienzo felt very young and immature; vulnerable .

But… after a moment or so, not so much. Demyx was so warm against him, and Ienzo realized it was a learning curve, one he was picking up with his usual speed. He was shaking a little in disbelief. It was so-- nice.

Demyx pulled away and brushed his fingers across his cheek. "You're trembling."

"Forgive me. I--" He swallowed.

"No, it's cool." Demyx pulled away and smiled, brighter than Ienzo had ever seen someone smile before. "Do you… want to go again?"

Ienzo did, very much so. "I'm not opposed, per se, but I think we should… explore our relationship a bit. Perhaps starting with our mutual interest in pumpkin spice flavors."

“Sounds like a plan to me, Zexy,” Demyx grinned.

__________

Riku set the pair of pumpkin spice lattes down on the little square table in the back corner of the coffeeshop, glancing at Ienzo, then Demyx, then back at Ienzo, one eyebrow shooting up into his hair. “Is the world ending? Did I miss a memo on the corkboard in the back room?”

Ienzo coughed. He was vaguely aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. Damn it all to hell. Of course Riku was here, why would it have been anyone else? Sighing, he gestured to Demyx, bracing himself for the inevitable bit of humiliation, courtesy of the one friend who knew about his very apparent crush on his Discord friend. “Riku, meet Arpeggio.”

Riku’s other eyebrow shot up into his hair. “You’re shitting me.”

Demyx looked across the table at Zexion, clearly trying to fight the incoming of a shit-eating grin. “You talked about me to people?”

"Only the unimportant ones," Ienzo said, picking up his cup and sipping loudly.

“Psh,” Riku spat with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, and every damn minute of the day. If I had a dollar for every time you made heart eyes at the ceiling while talking about him, I could quit this job and pay off my tuition.”

Ienzo balked at that, nearly choking on his latte. “It was not that often.”

Waving a hand, Riku corrected himself, looking pointedly at Demyx. “Wait, no, he’s right. I’m forgetting that half the time, he’d be complaining about his horrible room-”

“Shouldn’t you be behind the counter?” Ienzo hissed, glaring at Riku. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Demyx’s gaze flicking between him, like he was watching a game of ping-pong. “Or should I text Sora and Kairi about all those little hearts you like to draw around their names on the garbage receipts every time they come in?”

"Go ahead. I'm ninety percent sure they're both into me, anyway."

Ienzo pulled his phone from his pocket and brandished it at Riku. "Are you willing to test that theory?"

"Make sure you write it down," Demyx chirped, blowing into the hole in his drink's lid. "If you write it down, it's science. I learned that in Biology this semester."

"I'll do more than that," Ienzo said, tapping on his phone screen with both hands. After his phone played a short 'whoosh' sound, he placed it face-down on the table. "Images sent. Now we wait for our results."

Riku scoffed, then balked, then turned beet-red. "You're an asshole," he hissed through his teeth.

"Relax. I was just kidding,” Ienzo said with a glint in his eye that Demyx barely caught.

"Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical." Riku scowled for a moment, but eventually softened into a smirk. "Whatever. Enjoy your Discord date, Casanova." He knocked on the table once before returning to the checkout counter.

"Discord date?" Demyx asked, taking a swig of his pumpkin spice latte. "I thought we were hanging out in real life."

"Let's not split hairs. We're about to see a show." Ienzo jutted his chin in the direction of the cafe's front door. As if on cue, Sora and Kairi burst through it like a duo on a mission.

“Oh Riiiiiiiiku!” they chorused in sing-song at the top of their lungs.

"Sometimes," Ienzo said, turning back to Demyx, "I like to watch the world burn."

“Yeah, I know. That’s actually kind of hot,” Demyx admitted, taking another sip of his latte. "Remind me not to piss you off again, though."

#Zemyx #Demyx #Ienzo #Zexion #Kingdom Hearts #fanfiction #Zemyx Day #Zemyx Day 2020

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years

Text

when i said it i thought it was true [1] {Ben Hardy}

Anon asked: could you do an imagine where ben is the reader’s ex and they are somehow working together on the set of bo rhap and they fall in love all over again ☺️ could you make it angst-y and then end with fluff? i love your writing so much!!

Anon asked: could you do an imagine where the reader is in bo rhap, maybe playing as one of roger’s gfs or something and she kind of falls in love with ben while filming the scenes with him as roger 💖 very fluffy pls :D

A/N: 3124 words. Super AU version of BoRhap being filmed in the fic. There’s gonna be another part, that will fill the prompts better. This might end up being a series. I hope you enjoy. Feedback would be nice.

When your manager rings you, telling you that you’d landed a part in the Queen Biopic Bohemian Rhapsody, you were elated. Freddie Mercury was a bit of a personal hero of yours, and to be a part of his story on the big screen, it was sort of a dream come true.

In your first meeting, you sign a nondisclosure agreement, and you’re given the latest draft of the script to start learning, as well as a character brief. The script calls your character ‘Amanda’, the girlfriend of Roger Taylor who he eventually realises he wants to settle down with. You’d seen pictures of young Roger Taylor, you wouldn’t lie, you were excited for the role. Honestly, even today he was still quite a fox.

The point is, you were excited to have a fun time on set with a pretty blonde, make some new connections, and earn some good money. Some really good money.

The other shoe drops when you’re flicking through Instagram, and one of the stan accounts you follow has posted a leaked screenshot of the proposed cast list, and there’s your name, right beside the name of the last person you wanted to pretend to be in love with. Ben Hardy; pretty blonde extraordinaire, and your ex-boyfriend.

The table read is... awkward.

The two of you are sat next to each other, and barely spoke two words to each other. You feel unprofessional the whole time, but you’d rather be anywhere else in the world, and the delivery of some of your lines falls a little flat. The director casts a concerned look between yourself and Ben as you rattle of what’s meant to be banter like you’re reading the news paper.

“They’ve got no damn chemistry; it’s like watching a celebrity divorce hearing.” When the Director vents to one of the producers in the hall outside after the reading, you manage to catch it where you’re just about to come out of the bathroom.

“They’ll be better on set, I promise, it’s just jitters.” She tries to soothe his nerves, and they’re off soon after, and you’re left with a cold, sinking sensation in your stomach.

“You’re Y/N, aren’t you? How are you finding the set?” The guy who greets you on your first day on the Eastenders set smiles with such casual ease it feels like you’ve known him for a while, instead of having just met him.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You agree with a quick nod, rocking back on your heels as you gaze around the space, trying not to look at him for too long. “It’s a bit overwhelming.” Actually, what’s overwhelming is that he’s talking to you. He’s Ben fucking Hardy, pretty-boy on the soap-opera scene, and he’s talking to you on your first day.

“Yeah, you’ll be right though; if you need any help or anything, just give us a yell, yeah?” And you realise he probably doesn’t know who you’re playing, or how you’re involved in that Season’s arc, but you certainly did.

“I didn’t know you could play drums.” You’re trying to be casual when you say it, but you see Ben tense where he’s sitting on a sofa in the rehearsal room, script and pencil in hand.

“I can now, that’s all that really matters.” He’s giving off such strong ‘please leave me alone’ vibes that it almost hurts, and you have to push through the knot in your stomach and sit down next to him.

“Ben, we need to at least be civil.” You say quietly, and he looks at you, expression a little forlorn.

“Y/N, we are civil, and we’ve done this before. Let’s just keep it professional, okay?” His tone leaves little room for argument, and you nod in agreement with a small smile, and pull out your phone, waiting for the rehearsal director.

“Hey there, baby, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here; I know I’d recognise your face.” You purr, running your hand delicately over the collar of Ben’s shirt, as his eyes widened and he spluttered to form a sentence, just as the script had told him to.

Your character was more a plot device than anything, when Ben’s character is at a low point, his main romance is on a break, and he meets you, a temptress in all black. Your job is to give his character a realisation, he starts as your cocaine dealer when his supplier can’t make the drop, and he falls for you. Depending on the audience reaction, you knew the producers were waiting to see if they kill you off or have you recover from your addiction. The point is, your fate’s uncertain at the end of the Season, and Ben’s character realises he has to get out of the drug trade.

“I’ve got something for you, from Oskar. Can we go somewhere more private?” When he speaks, it’s with surprising confidence, and he steps up from the bar stool and into your space, smiling as your face lights up. The director calls cut after a moment, and you step back, smile sliding to something genuine as an assistant comes in and straightens your loose, black silk shirt, and they reset the shot for a new take.

“Ben, could you try less flustered? You’re here to deliver drugs, you’re not a schoolboy.” The director’s voice was kind as she came up to the two of you, and Ben agreed easily before she turned to you. “Great job, Y/N, don’t be afraid to be more even more forward, if you feel it.” As soon as you nod in understanding, she absconds, and you half laugh.

“If I was any more forward I’d be in your lap.” You snickered, voice quiet as you dipped your head to hide how you were faintly flustered. Ben was quiet, just watching you for a moment, but before you noticed, the director called for everyone to standby.

“I’m after Maggie, do you know where I could find her?” Ben starts as soon as the cameras start rolling, brow furrowed as he leans across the bar to speak to the bartender, and that’s your cue to enter the scene.

“Hey there, baby, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here; I know I’d recognise your face.” And when you say it this time, he smirks back at you, a little cocky, and you can feel the way it makes your heart flutter and you know it’s not as fake as it should be.

Before filming even starts, the producers have essentially forced you and Ben into bonding sessions which, if this were several years ago, would have just been dates. Now they’re awkward and tense, and you tend to bring heavily highlighted scripts.

“I saw you in that Wes Anderson movie last year. It was a really good performance, one of your best.” He offers over coffee. The idea that he’d kept up with enough of your work to label one ‘your best’ has you a little shocked, and something in your heart warms as you thank him softly.

It’s gotten easier to hang around with him, and it’s even easier to pretend to be in love with him in rehearsals. It’s like riding a bike, how easy it is to let yourself smile and lean into him, to let the banter flow easily between the two of you, fond jabs that edge on insulting coming as easily as breathing.

Joe mentions that he thought the two of you worked together before, and when you reply that you’d dated for almost a year, he goes very quiet, eyes going wide. After a beat, he admits it explains a lot.

“X-Men did you real dirty.” You’re half paying attention to an interview with Roger Taylor that the two of you had been instructed to watch together. You’re both in his trailer, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa as you watch in almost complete silence.

“What?” He asks, after a beat, your words having taken a moment to process.

“Killing you off like that; they could have gotten so much mileage out of your character.” The way you say it is far too well thought out to be an idle thought. Ben smirked.

“You just liked the leather pants.” He muttered, but you’re silence is answer enough. You know he sees your embarrassed smile, but you can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“Hey, do you wanna grab a drink after and go through notes and blocking and stuff?” You’re shooting your third episode, and you’re far more comfortable on set by now. Agreeing easily, you let Ben drive the two of you to what he claims is the best pub in town, and you sit in one of the more secluded booths to talk.

It turns out he’s just as much a fan of you as you are of him; you’re known more for your bit-parts in long-running series, it seems like the only show you hadn’t been a part of so far had been Eastenders, it was only a matter of time. It’s an innocent night, true to his word, all you do is talk, and discuss the script. There is one part of the upcoming script that has you a bit nervous.

“Listen, honestly just go for it; it’s not meant to be sweet or anything, I’m literally taking coke from you.” You tell him, fidgeting, and he’s hums thoughtfully.

“You sure? We can talk to the director, I’m sure-” He offers, but you laugh to hide your nervousness.

“Nah, let’s knock it out of the park, the script says go for it so just go for it.” You assured him, heart rate already quickening at the mere thought of it.

The next day, before the scene, the director comes over to talk you through it, making sure that if anything becomes uncomfortable, that you can talk to her. Both you and Ben assure her that it’s fine.

“You’re far too cute for this line of work.” You say as you hold a baggie of “cocaine” up to the light, smile playing on your lips.

“Cute? Ouch, you really know how to wound a man, you know.” He says, leaning back against the sofa in the hallway of the grubby hotel your character was staying in. He’s watching you with interest, small smile playing on his lips.

“Cute’s not a bad thing, baby, but you look like you should be making coffees or playing football in the sun, not here, not with me.” And you tap out a little of the powder onto your hand, pretending to snort it before you turn to him, his expression dark and hungry, and he kisses you, aggressive, almost desperate, and you lean into it, almost forget you’re playing a role with his hand on the back of your neck. When he lets go, when he pulls away, your eyes are still closed and you chase his lips for a moment. Eyes flickering open, you see him smirking down at you where he’s standing, and you both know it wasn’t entirely acting.

“You don’t know anything about me.” He growls, and you know you have to smile like you’re into it, like it’s a challenge, but instead, you duck your gaze, giving a small laugh and wiping at the nostril you’d just “snorted cocaine” through, before looking up at him through your eyelashes.

They call cut, and the director announces, almost a little awed, that she’s pretty sure they got the the take, actually says she’s not sure if she could getting a better take if they tried again. Ben seems far too pleased with himself.

“They want us to tell the public we’re together.” You’re resting your head on Ben’s chest laying at the back of the tour-bus set, and his hand is resting on your waist, which is bare for the crop top and booty shorts they’ve put you in.

“Yeah, I heard.” He replies, voice equally quiet. “I think we’ve got a meeting about it tomorrow morning.” Gwil and Rami are actually playing scrabble at the front of the bus, and Joe is talking to Singer, the director.

“It’s a bad idea.” You’re so frank that you feel Ben freeze, and you heave a sigh. “It’s good for the movie, but Ben...” You trail off, and you feel it when he forces himself to relax. “It wouldn’t be real, it would just be weird.”

“Y/N, we’re actors.” He says very pointedly, and when you turn, resting your chin on his chest, he looks tired, a little exasperated. “It’s just a business deal.” He assured, and you let out a low, thoughtful grumble.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.” You allow, and he nods once, shifting to a more comfortable position, and you go back to resting your head on his chest, eyes fluttering closed as Singer called for the shot to be reset and a bunch of people came and straightened your clothes, and touched up your makeup, all without you having to move much.

You agree to the terms set forth in the meeting easily, the story being that your relationship rekindled on set, and that you were now madly in love, mirroring the relationship you were portraying on screen.

“Wait, does that mean-?” Ben leans forward in his chair, with his heart in his throat as he followed their logic, thinking through the plot of the movie. “Like engaged?” He asked.

“Seems a bit fast.” You agreed, voice level enough that someone might mistake you for calm rather than internally freaking out, and your managers shared a look.

“There will be a public proposal during or after the world premiere, that’s up to you both, and after the movie is out on DVD, you can go your separate ways.” They assured, but your mouth fell open.

“You know he left me for X-Men, right?” You splutter, and Ben’s eyes widen as he turns to you with a scoff.

“You’re the one who said the distance was too much for us while I was in Cairo.” He snapped, and you threw your hands in the air.

“I was offering to come and stay with you instead, but you said you were too busy!” That was enough to shut him up, his mouth snapping closed as he turned away sharply, huffing out a resigned sigh.

“We have a few brands and restaurants who are interested in sponsoring, and the producers are willing to increase both your salaries if you go through with it for the full duration.” Your manager informed you both carefully, and you and Ben shared a resigned look.

“Fake intend to marry me for like three months?” He asked, voice low and bitter, and after heaving a long sigh, you look to your managers,

“Fine.”

“I think I love you.” Ben’s character shows up at your character’s door, and you open it in a silk robe.

“Hello to you too.” You laughed, but he’s so serious, so sincere, and when he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t offer anything else, you step up to him, pressing your lips to his, and he wraps his arms around you, hands sliding against the silk over your hips, and you pull back.

“You’re too sweet for me, baby,” voice so low it’s barely a whisper, he’s the one who chases your lips this time, but your catch his chin, and his eyes open.

“You’re high.” He says softly, voice raw and a little desperate.

“And you’re my dealer.” You push him back gently, going to close the door and his expression turns angry.

“That doesn’t mean anything; I love you, Maggie.” His words hang heavily in the air, but before you can respond, they call for cut. You’re told to play it more like it hurts to try and turn him down, and you agree, smiling and nodding all the while. Everyone sets up for another take and you close the door.

When you kiss him this time, his hands are holding your face, and you’ve got your arms around his neck, and it’s like the world falls away from around you. It’s not acting now, hasn’t been for weeks, almost months now, not since he’d asked you out officially. Every time you kiss him you’re desperate to drown in his embrace, and he kisses you like it’s just the two of you, no cameras, no scripts.

“You’re-” and he cuts you off with another quick kiss, which has you laughing a little sadly, “Peter you’re too sweet for me.” He rests his forehead against yours, heaving a sigh.

“I know you’re high.” He says gently, and you don’t push him away this time, just lean back, your finger lifting his chin.

“And you’re my dealer.” You tell him, expression falling.

“That doesn’t mean anything, that doesn’t matter; I love you.” And you know that in that moment, the words mean so much more than the script, than these characters, than the show; he loves you. Ben loves you.

You avoid him, outside of filming, until you actually get a call from your manager telling you you’re contractually obligated to be seen in public together at least once a week. Even while filming you’re short with him, and he’s quick to get away from you the moment he doesn’t need to be around you, which was getting to be pretty bad, seeing as how you had been blocking a sex scene.

After the call, you and Ben get a drink. It’s awkward at first, though that’s unsurprising. After a long sip of his beer, he pats his thighs where he’s sitting in the armchair across from you. You make a face at him, shaking your head.

“It’ll look less suspicious than if we’re shouting at each other across the table.” He hissed, and you groaned, obliging and crossing to sit yourself in his lap. He’s warm and secure, and he wraps his arm around you like it’s second nature. “Let’s not make this weird.” He said gently, and you nod.

“As for tomorrow’s shoot,” you said softly, leaning in to make sure no-one else heard, and he nodded, humming softly, “we’re professionals, and,” after a beat you cleared your throat pointedly, “it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Not in front of a camera crew we haven’t.” Ben says with a smirk, and you snicker in agreement. “It’s gonna go fine; this is all gonna go fine, I promise.” And when you raise your eyebrows at him in surprised question, he just laughs softly, and brings you in for a chaste kiss. “It’s only until the DVD’s released.” He assures you, and you let your expression fall, already weary.

“Ben, that’s over a year away.”

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #queen #queen imagines #eastenders #eastenders imagines #the angry lizard writes

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