#somewhat low effort because I thought of this like an hour ago and it slightly strayed from my original idea

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

See the joke here is that I actually think he’s pretty good at cooking

Shut up it’s still technically the first over here

[honmyoseagull]

(My shoulder is still killing me when I type, so, late and probably only offer for the Monthly Minekura Christmas challenge. Too bad, Seemed like such a nice challenge @monthlyminekura was offering. I loved when it crossed my dash.)

Obviously late for Day 1: Bells

Fanfic - Saiyuki Gaiden.

Jingle in Paradise

Sekai, down below, is a messy place, a chaotic place. This is why dreams exist, some divinities surmise, to allow the pathetic creatures living there to try and make sense of their absurd world and meaningless lives in their sleep…

Whereas Tenkai? Beautiful. Quiet. Orderly and perfect. Souls are blessed and untroubled, there.

Therefore, kamis don’t dream.

(Usually.)

For a while, Kenren-taishou hadn’t even had the words for this fake reality invading his sleep and leaving behind a strange taste to his waking hours…

Always the same images.

The overpowering sound of the falling rain, its cold hitting his bare shoulders as he walks. Darkness, the road, the man on the ground. Lying there, face down. Bleeding. He knows who it is. At once. Kenren just… knows. And when the wounded man reveals his face, and smiles… It’s even worse to be proven right.

Waking up, heart pounding, breathing hard. Reaching for the pack of cigarettes to chase the smell of wet earth and metallic blood still very present in his nostrils… It’s his morning routine, now…

Yume. He’s found the word in one of Tenpou’s beloved books. Dream.

But having a name to put on the phenomena doesn’t really help. So he distracts himself some other ways, accepts to run ridiculous errands for Tenpou on Earth below to fill his days between military missions and duties. So he forgets to sleep. (After all, kamis don’t really need to.)

That day, when he comes back home, with a small stock of Tenpou’s favourite cigarette’s brand, he’s in a reasonably high mood. Doesn’t even knock before making his way into Tenpou’s library. Still stops dead, though.

Obviously a tree standing in Tenpou’s office is not the weirdest thing Kenren-taishou has seen in his superior officer’s place. Plus he’s the one who got ropped into dragging it in here a few days ago, so, there’s that. (Yes, Tenpou had tried to explain. No, Kenren is still not sure he gets this Sekai “Chrissmass” thing and the point of it. Though he kinda liked the way the word had curled the marshal’s lips, so unfamiliar on his tongue, and the twinkle of delight it created in the man’s green eyes.) What’s more incongruous is the treatment Goku is inflicting on it. He must have zoned out when Tenpou explained, because he can’t fathom why the gaki is basically dressing the poor piece of vegetation in tinsel and adorning it with shiny stuff…

While the kid, back to him and still unaware of his presence, chatters his heart out to his Ten-chaaaaan!, asking of him his thoughts on his efforts, Tenpou stands right there, a faint contented smile floating on his lips and curling around an unlit cigarette.

Kenren sighs indulgently (he sometimes suspects Tenpou would forget his head weren’t it attached to his body), drops his package on a low table and draws closer to his superior officer in order to offer him his lighter.

Tenpou, after bending his neck a little to meet the flame, smiles his thanks, expression for once uncomplicated and somewhat almost blinding for it.

Kenren reflexively smiles back.

“Tadaima,” the general says, a tad too soft.

“Okaeri,” Tenpou replies, oddly solemn, and oh-so warm…

And sometimes, they just don’t need more words. Both lapse into silence, watching Goku have his fun.

There’s a soft sound, then, that comes from a corner of the room. The one of a page turned.

Oh, the blond grouch his there, too.

Curled on Tenpou’s office chair, his long legs tucked under him in a slightly bizarre way, at Tenpou’s desk, nose deep in one of Tenpou’s books. Kenren can’t help but think he’s out of place here. But where would Konzen-douji be if not far from his little charge, right?

Must have felt the weight of the general’s gaze, too, because the blond sourpuss raises his eyes after a few seconds.

His nose does this frowning thing, and Konzen glares a bit, too, as if he objected to the just lit cigarettes: he has a vague gesture of the hand as if to chase the delicate smoke that hasn’t even reached him yet, Kenren is sure.

Heaven forbid Konzen would look like he was enjoying himself being here, right, once he’d noticed he was watched…

But Kenren had seen.

For once there’d been this inabitual bubble of calm around Kanzeon-bosatsu’s nephew, very unlike this ever present buzz of irritation surrounding the man at any given time that often gets under Kenren’s skin.

The general could go at it, needle the man a bit. Changes his mind, though, and turns his attention back to Tenpou.

“Hey,” he simply calls, reaching for something tiny in his leather coat’s pocket and throwing it in the marshal’s direction.

He brings back little odd things from down below Tenpou hasn’t asked for, sometimes. Can’t help it, the marshal is so easily delighted…

The marshal snatches it from mid-air without much effort, in spite of his sloppy appearance. People forget, sometimes, that Tenpou is a soldier, a very good fighter at that, with the good reflexes it entails.

In his palm, a little sphere, something golden and delicately inlaid, with only a tiny slit on the metal and a tiny little ring to hang it, probably. Tenpou grabs it with two fingers to raise it closer to his eyes.

And they have drawn the kid’s attention too, now :

“A new christmas ornament? How did you know!” Goku exclaims, already reaching for the little thing.

But Kenren grabs him by the scruff of his scrawny neck. He loves the kid. To pieces. Still… and it feels ridiculous to say it out loud, but :

“It was for you,” he tells the marshal who was about to let the itan child have the gift. “It sings,” he awkwardly adds, then.

With his chibi saru-free hand, the general sends a finger nudge the thing in Tenpou’s grasp, and as he knew it would, the little ball hidden inside the golden shell moves, eliciting a delicate little sound.

“Yes, it would be wasted, just hanging still on a branch,” the marshal eventually acquiesces, brows already furrowed in reflexion, eyes invisible behind the harsh reflexion off his glasses. And without warning, he’s a flurry of activity. In three strides, he’s near a startled Konzen, reaching over him for a drawer, fishing into it, of all things, for a little ball of thin but solid wire and a little pincer.

It takes him hardly three seconds to figure out a way to fasten the sphere on the wire and create a little hook at the other end. Then, the marshal’s hands fly to the side of his head.

Not even a hint of hesitation, and he’s piercing skin and flesh pushing the metal through the little round part, till the gold orb hangs at his ear.

Kenren stays stunned for a full second. He hadn’t seen this one coming. But in the little things like the big, Tenpou is sometimes reckless to a point that could scare a lesser man than the general. (Who he is he kidding? Totally and indubitably scares him when he ventures to think about it.)

“What do you think? You said it was for me, right?” Tenpou says, smiling a bit like a proud loon around this cigarette he has managed to keep between his lips all along. He turns his head a little on his slender neck to show off, and a little ringing sound comes out the little sphere as if to gently underline the gesture.

It allows for Kenren’s hand to find the side of this face, on the pretence of angling it for a better sight.

A pearl of redness gathers at the puncture wound and collapses on itself, truly miniscule rivulet down the abused lobe.

It’s  nothing, but it’s like a jolt to Kenren…

And the familiar images come, unbidden, while he’s still wide awake this time.

The overpowering sound of the falling rain, its cold hitting his bare shoulders—

Gravity makes its office, and the scarlet drop hits the shoulder of Tenpou’s labcoat. (Shocking) little flower.

“Chi.” Goku says, his little face raised to them. Tone odd.

There’s something in the way the kid’s nostril flare. Something flinty, for a second, obscures his golden gaze, suddenly metallic instead of warm. He’s like a different being for a second, one who could could inspire terror.

But the flash on the gaki’s features is so brief it feels like Kenren has just imagined this, that he can blame his already frayed nerves…

And the general doesn’t know what takes over him. He gathers the marshal to him by way of grabbing his labcoat, and leans in, on an impulse, towards the man. Till his lips are on Tenpou’s earlobe. The iron-y salt of blood and the tiniest hint of a real metal’s taste mingle on his tongue. He feels his officer still. And tense. Tenpou’s hand is suddenly on his arm, its message unclear. Stop. Or… Don’t you dare stop. Kenren wouldn’t know. Maybe Tenpou doesn’t either.

Goku, oblivious anew, saves them from public awkwardness, dragging his Ten-chan back to their tree… Since they are not conversing anymore, it must be alright for him to get back his friend to keep him to himself.

Kenren decides not to acknowledge how suddenly bereft he feels.

Also, now it’s on his tongue that the taste of blood lingers.

The overpowering sound of the falling rain, its cold hitting his bare shoulders, the darkness the road and the dying man, bleeding and smi—

Stop, the general tells himself, feeling uneasy. Now the dark thoughts hunt him even awake… What the hell is happening to him?

He feels a gaze on him and, whip-sharp, his head turns on his neck, catching Konzen’s eyes.

It’s a frown subtly different from the usual scowl, on the blond’s face. More considering. Almost… worried. And directed at him.

How odd, Kenren thinks.

But already the divine bureaucrat is averting his eyes. He has surprised Konzen’s eyes on him, and the blond god is probably as embarrassed at having been caught looking as Kenren himself is by his own lapse of attention, by how he has let his own discomfort show…

But he’s a soldier. He knows tactics. He knows… diversion.

He pastes his patented shit-eating grin on his face, and with a jerk of his chin, indicates Tenpou.

“Ever told you how I met him, Goldie?” And Konzen frowns a little, not entirely duped but curious nonetheless. “Came into his office and found him buried under piles of his own books.”

The great Konzen-douji can’t help a particularly unelegant snort.

“That would have been such a stupid way to lose him,” Konzen manages to offer. His book is definitively forgotten on his crossed legs.

“Heh. There an intelligent way?” Kenren needles.

It’s a just glance, that’s thrown his way. A flash of violet. But with a might and a steel you wouldn’t be used to, thinking of the spoiled nephew of the great Kanzeon-bosatsu. Surpringly, it cows Kenren the tiniest little bit.

“Yeah, no way we’re losing Tenpou,” the general weakly agrees, hardly above a whisper. Because the alternative is unthinkable. “Not that this itan kid of yours is better anyway at staying out of trouble,” he still feels the need to retaliate.

Over there near the tree, the marshal is giving a boost to the heretic child in question so he can reach the higher branches. Tenpou’s move makes the little sphere at his ear tinkle again.

It derails them both a little:

“Like a bell on a cat,” Konzen unexpectedly comments, and there’s something speculative in his gaze as it then flies to his charge, like it gives him an idea, and in a way, Kenren gets why. How tempting it would be to be able to always know where the kid is, be sure to be able not to lose him.

Kenren has spoken about this with Tenpou more than once. They’re just like Konzen. The three of them feel it, that unclear menace gathering around this kid. Even in this perfect place Heaven is supposed to be.

When has Paradise stopped being Paradise?

But then Goku says something that unexpectedly wrenches a surprised laugh out of Tenpou, and as the marshal’s body shakes in delighted mirth and he throws his head back, the little bell once again jingles.

And for a second, Kenren is able to forget the disturbing thoughts. He just drinks the sight.

Tenkai is paradise once again. A place where souls are supposed to be blessed and untroubled.

The End

[heliads]

Hostage Situation

When Y/N L/N is kidnapped by Peter Pan to serve as a hostage and coerce her kingdom into leaving Neverland alone, she can only laugh. The mutual hatred between her and Pan, however, may lose its fire after a while.

masterlist

Your feet tread methodically around the grounds. You loop around the castle, walking past scraggly bushes and dying trees, eyes occasionally flickering to the large mountains in the distance. Your mother and father keep an impressive castle, but their focus rarely extends to the upkeep of the grounds themselves. Kings and Queens don’t exactly bother themselves with gardening- that will fall to the servants or, when you’ve managed to bore yourself enough, you.

Technically, you should be back in the castle. You are a princess, after all, and princesses rarely roam about the grounds in dirty, faded boots that have walked more miles than the most experienced of messengers. This being said, you’re not sure anyone will spare you enough thought to care. You may be a princess, but only in blood and title. Anything else must be fought for, and you’ve given up such pastimes long ago.

You suppose you’re still musing over this, which is why you don’t see the shadow swooping down over you until it’s too late. By the time you feel the uncanny stillness, or notice that an unusual darkness has swarmed around you, the shadow’s eerily human arms have wrapped around you, and your feet are already lifting from the ground. You struggle, but it is in vain, and soon you’re watching trees and rivers pass miles below you. You lock eyes with the shadow being, but its glowing white gaze betrays nothing but an emotionless urge to complete orders. Wherever you’re going, someone is waiting for you, someone who is controlling this shadow.

This realization troubles you more than you like. You don’t much like the idea of being taken somewhere, and you’re not about to just sit around and let it happen. You wait until the shadow swoops low over a rolling set of hills, and begin to fight back with renewed vigor. Although your blows tend to sink through the only somewhat corporeal shadow, you manage to stun it enough that it drops you. You fall through the air, catching yourself in the boughs of trees and scrambling down. 

Your feet pound on the dirt as you sprint away from the shadow, but even this effort is useless. It appears out of nowhere in front of you, and as you skid to a stop it raises its hands and a wave of shadow rushes from it. The darkness pools around you like ink, rising to swallow you whole. You can only see one last thing before the darkness engulfs you completely: the white beacons of light that are the shadow’s eyes. Then there is nothing to see at all, and you can feel yourself falling to the ground.

When you wake up again, you find yourself lying down. You’ve been propped up against a tree, and when you open your eyes, you realize you’re in the middle of a forest. It’s a different forest than the one you were just in, and at a different time of day. The shadow must have continued the journey while you were still unconscious. You shiver slightly at the thought- wherever you are, it won’t be good. You move to sit up, but a wave of dizziness yawns open in your stomach and you lean back once more. You go to steady yourself, but your hands don’t move- they’ve been tied together with rough rope.

You had done your best to stay silent, but it’s not like you’re alone. Across the clearing, about a dozen or more boys dressed in robes of faded brown dance around a campfire. An almost maniacal glee spreads across each of their faces as they whirl and jump around, dancing to the haunting sound of a flute. The music stops after a second, but the boys continue dancing. You shiver slightly, then straighten up as a new boy approaches you. This one is dressed not in the russet tones of the others, but instead a dark, forest green. He must be their leader.

He crouches down in front of you, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Welcome, princess.” You raise an eyebrow at his tone. “An interesting welcome, sure. Nothing says fun like ropes and a kidnapping.” The boy just chuckles. “It wasn’t like you made it easy for us.” You shrug, eyes wandering away from the boy to skim the trees surrounding you. An idea is starting to click into place in your head. There’s a story you heard once, from a traveling merchant. There was an island deep in the ocean, full of boys who never seemed to grow old. They were led by one in particular, one boy who could make grown men shiver in their boots.

Your attention snaps back to the boy. Now you really look at him, at his knife-sharp grin and the cool confidence he wears like a glove. His smirk widens as if he can read your mind. “Do you know where you are, love?” You sigh, leaning your head back against the tree in exasperation. “Let me guess, I’m on Neverland.” The boy spread his hands as if in pride, and you resist the urge to groan.

If this is Neverland, then the boy in front of you must be Peter Pan. And you have heard enough about Peter Pan to know that any hour spent with this devil of a boy will be absolute hell.

Pan notices the realization sink into the girl’s eyes. She must have heard of him, he assumes, or she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. However, unlike the other visitors, there isn’t a shred of fear in her gaze. No, she just looks like she’s been dealt an unfortunate round of cards, rather annoyed instead of outright afraid. Pan’s not sure how he feels about that.

Y/N considers the rope tying her wrists. “Well, Peter, are you going to untie me or just let me stew here for a while?” Pan frowns. “It’s Pan. And no, you may be a princess but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to bow to you whenever you ask. There’s only one monarch in Neverland, and I’m afraid that title belongs to me. You’ll have to sit tight until they find out you’re missing.” Y/N scoffs, and then her eyes grow alight with suppressed laughter. “Wait- I think I know why I’m here. You’re trying to use me as a hostage.”

Y/N laughs even harder now, and Pan frowns. “I’m not sure why that’s funny. Your kingdom has been infringing upon my waters for a long time now. I intend to stop them.” Y/N shakes her head, doing her best to bite back a grin. “No, I get it. Great motive, but I’m afraid you chose the wrong hostage.” She fixes him with a cool look, finally keeping her laughter in check. “I’ve been kidnapped a couple of times before. Trust me, they won’t come for me. Not the guards, not my parents. I’m not useful to them.”

Pan frowns, curious despite himself. “What do you mean, you’re not useful to them?” Y/N shrugs. “The reason my parents became the King and Queen is because they were able to channel the power of my ancestors. Every monarch in my kingdom uses some magical artifact to gain increased strength, life, wisdom, you name it. The only problem is that it doesn’t work with me, so I’ve ceased to be a worry to them. I can’t use magic at all- not for them, not for you. You can hold me on this island for as long as you want, but it won’t work. They’re not coming after me.”

The words are light, spoken with the last traces of a laugh, but Pan still feels his stomach clench with some unnameable emotion. Maybe Y/N is meant to be a Lost Girl, maybe she’s more lost than any of them. This though alone fills him with loathing. If she’s a Lost Girl, then she’s supposed to stay on the island, even beyond her sentence as a hostage. Pan, however, is fairly sure that he doesn’t want to see this girl longer than a second. She had better be wrong about her parents, because Pan is certain that he’s going to end up killing her before the guards arrive on the shores of Neverland to rescue her.

You wake early, just before dawn begins to stain the tops of the trees with the light of morning. You stand up, stretching, and glance around the clearing. The Lost Boys appear to have gone to sleep, Pan included. They’ve left you alone for now, but you have no doubt that they’re still watching. Besides, it’s not like it would matter anyway- there’s nowhere for you to go. You’re on an island, after all, and there’s no way you could swim far enough to reach another nation’s shores.

Careful not to make a sound, you meander over to the campfire. Your hopes are proven correct when you spy a knife lying abandoned in the dirt. You pick it up, beginning to saw away at your ropes as you walk out of the clearing. You toss the cut ropes behind you, tucking the knife into your boot just in case. On an island like this, you never know when you might need a weapon.

You end up walking for about ten minutes before you get the feeling that you’re being watched. You roll your eyes. “I know you’re there, you can come out now.” One second you’re alone, and the next you’re being shoved up against a tree, an arm against your throat to stop you from moving. “You know, I’m fairly sure escaping prisoners aren’t supposed to call out to their jailers.” You scoff, pushing Pan’s arm away from you. “I appreciate the concern, Peter, but I’m not trying to escape. I’m just having a good time exploring the forest.”

You can see Pan’s eyes darken when you use his first name, but he ignores the jibe. “Who said I care about your wellbeing? I’m just making sure that you aren’t getting any ideas about an escape.” You give him a look, continuing on along the trails of the forest. “Anyone stuck on an island with you would think about escape.” He just chuckles, walking alongside you. “Tell that to my Lost Boys. They’ve chosen to leave the world behind to live on Neverland.” You smirk at him. “And what a sorry, sorry choice they’ve made.” He glares at you, but you just grin.

If you’re going to have to stay on this accursed island, you at least intend to enjoy yourself. 

Y/N wakes up every morning to walk the island. Pan’s not sure why she bothers- there’s nowhere for her to go. Yet every dawn she wakes like clockwork, opening her eyes and beginning her wanderings. Pan has wondered if she’s awoken by nightmares, and that’s why she gets up so early, but if she’s plagued by night terrors Y/N is very good at hiding it. She doesn’t seem concerned at all, just keen to see the forest. Pan’s long since given up on the binding ropes- she just finds some way to remove them. 

Pan’s watching his Lost Boys practice fighting when he senses another pair of eyes watching the sparring boys. He glances up to see Y/N, half hidden among the trees. Her gaze is glued to the boys, and he can almost picture her dissecting every move. There was an opening, when John stumbled, there was an opportunity, when Devin swung too low. Pan’s never heard of a princess that could fight, but if there ever was one, he’s sure that it would be her. Y/N lacks many of the key characteristics of a princess- charm being one of them. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hold her own in a fight.

After the match ends with a triumphant Devin raising his fists to the sky, Pan steps forward. Instantly, the eyes of the Lost Boys all flash to him, including Y/N’s. He doesn’t speak that often, usually allowing Felix to lead classes. When he does have something to say, the Lost Boys tend to listen. Pan gestures for Y/N to step out of the grove of trees. “Well, princess, care to join the ring? Or are you all talk as we thought?”

She laughs, but Pan can see the glint of a challenge rising in her eyes. Y/N steps forward, and Pan points out a Lost Boy to act as her opponent. “Nick, I’d usually tell you to not rough her up too bad, but to be honest, I think we all want to see her get punched.” Y/N smirks. “If that’s true, why don’t you come down here and fight me yourself?” It’s a challenge, certainly, but Pan speaks before it can gain traction with the Lost Boys. “I’d never dirty my hands fighting someone like you.” Y/N, wisely, says no more, and shifts into a fighting stance opposite Nick.

To be honest, Pan does have to feel bad for the guy. No matter what he tries, Y/N throws him away like he’s nothing. She blocks his attacks, she punches and kicks and basically tears the guy to shreds. It would be humiliating were it not for the fact that Y/N is so obviously better than anyone on this island except for Pan and maybe Felix. Y/N flashes Pan a grin, extending a hand lightly coated in blood that does not belong to her. “Want to send another Lost Boy into the ring, or have you accepted the fact that I’m not going down easily?” Pan returns her smile. “I think I’m good.” And maybe, he just might be okay with all of this.

You’re relaxing by the campfire in the morning when you first hear the sounds of running footsteps. After that fight with Nick (although fight isn’t exactly the right word for it, maybe instead you could call it a bloodbath), the other Lost Boys accepted you immediately. Even Peter seems to approve of you now, and you catch him smiling softly at you across a clearing when he thinks you can’t see. You’re not sure why you notice, or why you keep thinking about it, but you’re fairly sure he shouldn’t linger behind your eyes as long as he does.

You look up at the swiftly approaching pair of Lost Boys, expecting to see them collapse in laughter, but the boys instead look worried, faces drawn with anxiety. You stand up, suddenly tense. What could make these boys look so nervous? They run over to Peter, practically tripping over themselves in an attempt to make it to their leader. Even from here, you can hear their words. “Guards- a ship full- the king and queen- they’re attacking us.”

You can see Peter’s face freeze. He speaks to them quickly. “They were flying the flags of Y/N’s kingdom? You’re sure of it?” They nod. “They’re pouring down the beaches now. They’ll be here any second.” Peter curses under his breath, calling to the rest of the boys to grab weapons and defend the camp. You race over to him. “I can fight. Give me a weapon.” Peter stares at you. “You’d fight against your parents?” You nod. “They’re not here for me, they’re here for the magic on the island. Trust me, they wouldn’t come all this way if they didn’t think they could get something out of it.”

Peter’s brow furrows as he realizes what you’re saying. “You think that’s why they’re here?” You nod. “There’s no other reason. I’ve been kidnapped before, they never came. They’re not here for me.” You repeat, and Peter’s jaw clenches. “Get a sword, you can fight with the others.” He starts to move away, then steps back to you. “And Y/N? Stay safe.” You nod, returning the assurance of safety. Then the two of you run your separate ways, each desperate to save the island that’s somehow become your home in a matter of weeks.

You pull on a hooded cloak so the guards can’t recognize you. You can’t take the chance that they’d try to bring you back to the ship, not when you’re supposed to be fighting for Neverland. Your sword moves in a never-stopping arc, cutting through armor and slicing the soldiers like the warriors of old. At last, you pause for a second, noting that the situation on the beach has cleared. Yet you don’t see your parents, even though the Lost Boys said they were here. A chill rises in your throat as you realize what must be happening, and you turn and race back to the camp. Back to Peter.

Sure enough, your parents have found him. They’re using all of their magic against him, doing their best to take him down. Peter is strong, far stronger than either of them. Yet the two of them and additional guards against one Lost Boy isn’t a fair fight, even if it’s against Peter. Your heart is pounding in your throat. You’re going to have to make a decision, one you promised yourself you’d never have to make. 

You fling your arms up, and a wall of magic slams into your parents. They crumple to the ground along with the guards and lie there, unmoving. You can tell that they’re still breathing, albeit slowly. Peter’s gaze flashes from the suddenly unconscious guards to you, who stands there still, breathing heavily. Your arms are still raised from the burst of magic, and you lower them slowly. His gaze seems to burn right through you, and you begin to speak quickly, desperate to say something, anything, to stop the cutting look in his eyes.

“They never saw me, their backs were turned. We can get them onto the ships and away. They’ll think it was you, that you were too powerful for them. They won’t return. They won’t know about me.” Peter steps forward, but your feet feel leaden in your boots. You’re not sure you could move if you tried. His voice is quiet. “You do have magic.” You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t want them to know. I knew if they found out they would use me as a weapon, and I didn’t want to live as their blade.”

Understanding begins to dawn in Peter’s eyes. “You didn’t need the artifacts because you already had power of your own. You were smart to hide it from them.” His brow furrows again, confusion sweeping over him. “Why would you show me? Why would you trust me?” You look away. “You let me into your island, into the Lost Boys, without knowing about my powers for a second. I served no use to you, not even as a hostage. You didn’t want me here because of how I could help you, you wanted me here because of who I was. That’s why.”

Peter’s quiet for a second, and you begin to think that you’ve said too much. “They’ll probably find out after a while. I can board another ship, make my way back to the Enchanted Forest. They won’t bother you if I leave.” Peter says nothing, and you almost fear that he won’t say anything at all. That he’ll let you leave without another word, too wounded over this lie. Then his hand is on your cheek, guiding your eyes back to him, and he kisses you.

He kisses you for a second, then breaks away. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot on your cheeks. “I’m not letting them take you. Not now, not ever. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N. You’ve been a Lost Girl since the day you arrived and I can’t let you go because you want to protect us.” A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips. “What happened to there only being one monarch on the island?” Peter laughs quietly. “I’ll make an exception for you.”

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

New York High Rise {3}

Series summary; What does Steve think of what just happened? Well, not only will his next client get to know but also a dear friend of the mob boss.

Pairing: mob!Steve x mob!reader  

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 3/5

Word; 6.2k

Warnings; canon type violence, death, anything you could expect from a mafia!au

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: I just want to warn anyone, this chapter revolve around Steve and contains graphic scenes so if anyone feel like they may get triggered, I have now warned you. If you choose to read anyways it is YOUR choice.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Steve was fuming. He could practically feel the steam rising from the top of his head. This time, compared to earlier, it wasn't because of the feverish warmth inside the club. Nor the sunny season's air outside. It was because of the folder resting on the table.

The Canine boss could still hear the echoing slap the orderly stacked papers had done when landing on the table. Even your words reverberated in his head like an annoying tune he couldn't help but mutely sing in his mind.

This was not how he'd thought this meeting would go.

Steve had planned to get his will through, to expand his empire from Brooklyn to the most successful part of New York, Manhattan, your territory. But no. You'd decided to be as stubborn as a mule and as stuck up as the bureaucrats that he needed to handle in exclusive deals.

Now he understood why so many said your empire wasn't the usual kind, rather something new. You'd built your syndicate from the best, or worst in regard of how the Canine for the moment saw you, of two worlds.

"Bitch", you were long gone, so the growled curse aimed at you went unheard. However, the walls around Steve caught the profanity he uttered whilst snagging the folder from the table and pursued to head out of the room.

Only the guards stationed outside the corridor leading to the conference room was still in the club. Yet, the Canine boss paid them no mind as he stalked out of the private area, making them scramble to follow him. The rest of his party, even those previously undercover, must have either retreated for the night or waited outside. Concerning how Steve himself hadn't left yet, he suspected at least his most trusted team was waiting by the car.

Passing through the lobby, the mob boss frightened some of the staff lingering about. Not only thanks to the authority he always carried himself with but also his visible darkened features. However, Steve's attention didn't stray to the people following him with wary eyes. Instead, he looked straight forward, focusing on his guards where they lounged around the black Chrysler he'd arrived with a few hours earlier.

Seemingly, they had enough of an engaging conversation that they shared some laughs. But that changed the moment Steve stepped through the door a bouncer held open for him.

Usually, the Canine boss' hard exterior dissolved somewhat among his men, seeing how they'd become good comrades. Although now, when the dark-blonde man came out of the club looking like he could kill someone, their easy smiles and carefree stance immediately smartened up. Backs straightened and jaws clenched upon seeing the fury Steve not only emitted with a scowl but his whole body.

"How did it go?" One of the guards questioned, more out of courtesy than curiosity, concerning it was clear how it went. As suspected, he got nothing more than a glare from Steve, seeing how his anger hadn't flickered out the slightest, only heightened when feeling how his fingers clutched the folder in his hand even tighter. Your folder with your contract.

"Where's Barnes?" Some flinched by his bark of a question.

"He's still inside...", the rest of the answer fell on deaf ears as the blonde rounded the car, not caring too much where his head bodyguard was for the moment, only that he would hurry up to finish whatever he dealt with.

"As soon as he's back, we go", the driver, who had noticed the Canine boss and stepped out of the vehicle to hold open the door for him, didn't even get the chance to do what he intended. Steve all but tore open the backseat door and climbed into the car. Leaving the chauffeur to stand there and look at his boss in perplexity, as the Canine didn't more than touch the black leather seat before he slammed the door shut again.

That Steven had a temper everyone in his vicinity knew. But how he now acted reached not only a new level but contrasted heavily to how you'd appeared.

You'd left about ten minutes ago, looking indifferent to how everyone in Steven's patrol had seen you when first entering the designated conference room. That guard of yours had led you to the car parked mere ten feet from their own boss'. There, your chauffeur had greeted you with a smile and a few quiet words none besides you were meant to hear. Neither was your response, that likewise was accompanied with a smile, able to be distinguished.

As you stepped into your transport, none of the men trying to read your expressions noted anything more than a similar politeness Steve could show them once in their company. However, when comparing it to the state of their own boss once he exited, it was clear that the meeting didn't favour the Canine boss, but rather the Feline. And though none who had accompanied Steven knew what the two of you'd discussed concerning the meeting had been a closed-door discussion, they knew their boss hadn't brought anything with him earlier. So when spotting the portfolio that the mob boss had held in his hand, it only sealed the deal further.

That was why none of the guards nor the chauffeur intruded on the solitude Steve had sought inside the car, merely waiting for the right-hand man of the Canine boss to return so they could head to their next stop.

And it was good none did either, seeing how Steve mulled over everything that had happened with curses leaving him every five seconds. Additionally, anyone who would've opened the opposite backseat door would have got your folder smack in the forehead, seeing how the blonde man had thrown it as harshly and as far away from himself that he could, once in his own confinement.

He didn't need to hold the damned contract you'd offered him, even less open and study it, to know he would read it in your annoying voice. And that aggravated Steve even more.

It annoyed him that your voice echoed as a constant reminder in his mind. It annoyed him that you'd prepared a contract, which so obviously cried you hadn't even come here to listen to him in the first place. It annoyed him to such a fucking degree that you'd played him by a mere act of forced courtesy rather than a gentlemen move, to use your own words, that it felt like he could just tear the contract to shreds.

Still, he didn't.

The blonde man seethed, turning his head to look at the folder. 'If you don't sign it and have it delivered to me, I know you've declined my offer and this war will be ended in another way.' He knew you were serious about that, so perhaps that was why he hadn't left it behind in the conference room. Nonetheless, it had taken a great effort for Steve to push away every ounce of pride in his body to grab ahold of it. And when he finally held the stiff cartoon folder, it had almost felt like it burned him like some crucifix. No, it burned like a sign of defeat.

Joseph Rogers would never have done it, never admitted when he was defeated.

At the thought of his father, Steve's hand fisted where it rested on the armrest dividing the two seats in the back of the car. What would he say? He probably wouldn't have said anything, just walked out as you had done to him. A vibration deep in his chest made a low sound leave him at the realisation you actually played the game his father always had and Steve himself only thought he had.

Fittingly, or unfittingly in his own mind, the door connected to the other seat opened with a click to interrupt the abusive thoughts of his father.

Although pulled out of his mind, Steve didn't glance to see whoever plucked the folder occupying the seat beside him before they climbed in themselves. There was only one person that first and foremost would dare to be in his presence right now. On top of that, also knew he was the only one who didn't need to repeatedly ask for permission to join him.

Not even when he saw the person shift in his peripheral, from simply holding the folder to actually waving it slightly to catch his attention, clearly wanting to ask him a question, did Steve look towards them. Although, he did speak up.

"Not a word, Barnes", the Canine boss raised his fist, so it was levelled with his cheek as he said this. By now, his nails had dug into his palm and there was no question small crescent moons would be dented in his skin.

"Maybe I should've stayed, after all", the sentence was followed by a chuckle, the sound making Steve snap to watch the man sitting beside him.

"Didn't I say you should keep your mouth shut?" The blonde stared at the brunette. Who, unlike earlier, now had pulled his hair into a low bun in the nape of his neck. However, no matter the fury the Canine's cold blue eyes conveyed, Bucky Barnes saw no real threat.

"You often do, but you have so far not put a bullet in me", Bucky shrugged with an easy smile.

The mob boss remained silent as his head bodyguard leaned forwards far enough to knock on the wall beside the still open windshield that could separate the driver from those in the back seat.

"Close it up", Steve honestly thought the brunette would've given the chauffeur, who now had taken his place behind the wheel, directions of where to go. Gauging by his act, he must have done it before getting into the car. Hence, the driver did nothing but nod to signify he heard what the guard said before closing the visor, leaving whatever Steve knew Bucky wanted to talk to him about for only him to hear.

He felt the car rock to a gentle start, the road underneath the vehicle sending small vibrations throughout Steve. Tilting his head, he saw the scenery blur as he didn't concentrate on anything specific they drow by.

Despite the initial silence of the car ride, the blonde saw how the man beside him shifted, angling his body just slightly more his way. The minimal change of where Bucky attention laid told the mob boss he would initiate a conversation. And as on a cue, Bucky spoke. "So what happened? 'Cause clearly you scared half of your squad enough for them to want to take a week off".

He didn't redirect his gaze, fearing that his now fisted hand would connect with his friend's jaw if he didn't control himself. What happened? The question taunted in his mind, enough so that Steve clenched his jaw. Everything that shouldn't have happened.

"You have the folder", he gritted out, continuing to aimlessly stare out of the window, now concentrating on how the scenery changed from the narrow streets the nightclub had been located in to instead manifest the glittering sunset reflecting off the water in East River.

Beside him, he felt how Bucky shifted and shortly afterwards came the sounds of papers starting to be turned over. The head guard sat silent as he read the contract that not even the Canine had looked through.

The lack of verbal confirmation of Steve's evident loss in this meeting spurred the blonde, whether he wanted or not, to glance at the brunette.

Bucky's brows were furrowed. Consequently causing the grooves on his forehead, which always appeared when he pondered something, to become extremely visible. His features remained this way as his eyes scanned over the rows stitching together the contract. Then, for some reason, they changed.

From an expression showing the brunette tried to fathom the situation that had made Steve considerably harsher to anyone in his close vicinity, his face now fell and a smirk began to toy with his lips. On top of this, he let out a low whistle turning to the next page.

The smouldering anger in Steve's chest flared up to the same intensity it had burned with earlier. Back when he had sat in silence and glared at the folder inside the club. He ground his teeth together, feeling how they caught in each other's pointy edges.

"What?" He demanded to know what the man all of a sudden found so entertaining. Yet, the answer didn't come immediately. Instead, Bucky sat there with the same expression pinning his face while finishing the document in his grip.

Not until the brunette had closed the binder and waved it similarly to how he'd done when entering the car did his gaze meet Steve's. His eyes, also blue but slightly greyer in colour, was crinkled in the corners. The amusement, or whatever caused the mob boss nostrils to flare in agitation, was only further displayed by the shake of his head.

"She's good".

"What?" Bucky almost hadn't finished his nearly wordless reply before Steve barked his requirement of an explanation.

"Whether you want to admit it aloud or not, I know you think about it in that analysing brain of yours", the brunette begun, pushing the folder underneath the mob boss' arm on the armrest. Steve, who followed the act with disdain, shuffled in his seat directly afterwards so he wouldn't be touching the contract which you formerly had been carrying around.

Watching the blonde's action, Bucky only continued, now even less worried his words might be wrong and evoke further anger from the Canine. Of course, he might still get mad, though Bucky knew he at least was right. "She is good, Steve. If not shown by this contract, which I suggest you read, then at least how she's gotten to you".

The blonde man elected to ignore the last part of his bodyguard's sentence. Hence, only questioning the first part. "Why should I read it?"

Arrogance was a trait many shared once someone stepped on their pride, but never had Bucky witnessed such amounts of it exhibited by the Canine boss. His nose twitched in the corner as if the mere thought of opening the papers offended him. The mistrust in his voice showed he didn't believe what just was advised to him, nor that the words of you being competent could be true. All signs of denial, a damaged pride.

"Sometimes I wondered how you even could've come this far to rebuild your father's empire when you're so stubborn to see the truth at times", the comment made Steve cock his head.

"Is that a threat or a call for resignation, I hear?" Bucky simply rolled his eyes and turned to fully face the man, now giving him his undivided attention.

"I may have been here from the day you called me and asked me to join your plans, but believe me, working outside this world for some time, especially in the field I was in, you learn to see who is good at their job and not".

Although Bucky had known Steve ever since they were kids, essentially because their fathers had been partners when the Canine empire was worth more than its own power in gold, the two had fallen out of the regular touch they'd kept after Joseph had passed. Steve had remained close to his mother. While Bucky returned to have both his feet in the ordinary world.

His name had never been brought into the discussion of conviction or any kind of youth crimes, essentially thanks to his father never being proven guilty of the few charges raised against him. Another favour his old man thanked the former Canine boss for. For Bucky, it made things easy to find live his life as if he didn't know what went on underneath the city he walked in.

He went to school, took a degree in law. Which his father before passing as well, considered humorous. Though, Bucky didn't start working directly even if offered jobs. He'd been young and not really knowing which direction he would go. He had no mothers footsteps to follow, seeing how she'd passed before he even had a memory of her. His father shoes still felt too big to fill, so he decided to follow a path he felt natural.

Bucky joined the army. Not more than a few years and two trips. Nevertheless, it was easy pocket change concerning two factors. His father had urged him to take the same martial art classes as Steve's father had done to him. He'd also lived with one foot in the syndicate and the other outside during his whole childhood. The concept of order, planning and warfare wasn't anything alarmingly new to him.

Then he'd begun to explore more, starting to step into the low tier position as an intern at different firms. It was easy to get in, concerning his degree and quickly, he gained enough working experience to get a promotion. His former boss at the advocate company may have thought Bucky was a natural talent or a genius from school. But, it was all thanks to his upbringing he possed the requirements a higher position demanded.

It's mainly thanks to his years working within the judiciary before reconnecting with Steve and began working as his head guard Bucky knows you fall into the group of people who are good at what you do.

The blonde had sat silent this whole time, never breaking away from Bucky's stare. It made the brunette believe that his friend would settle whatever resent he had towards you personally and at least read through the arrangement you assembled for the greater of his empire. Apparently, he was wrong.

"But now you're not working with that anymore", Bucky actually let out a low scoff of annoyance.

"I'm working as a head personal guard for someone I'm swaying on keeping alive at the moment, I know. And I do this because we both know I'm better at the combat part than you, ever since we were kids", despite the jab, it was the mention of how the man, despite being roughly the same size as Steve, always had been slightly better at fighting then himself that made the blonde bite his inner cheek. "I also know that I'm still damn good at what used to be my former profession. Which, you actually also should know concerning you never shoo me out of the room when discussing with your official advisors of the plans to come", when he finally ended the point he wanted to prove, he cocked a brow at Steve, who now had furrowed his brows.

Bucky saw the ire still lingering in the blondes' eyes, making them go cold rather than warm. Nevertheless, he said nothing. The Canine boss simply gave the folder, which hadn't moved from its settlement no matter how much the two men gently had rocked with the turns of the car, one last glare before he altogether turned away as much as his seat let him.

The head bodyguard was close to letting the comment of how similar the mob boss, who'd made a name for himself lately of being indifferent to everything standing in his way, was to a rebellious child. Yet, in the end, he didn't, knowing the car ride would become even more atrocious than it already was set to be.

As suspected, the whole drive from the club to the luxurious hotel, where the Canine boss' next stop was, went by in complete silence. And, when they finally pulled up outside the building, the car had almost not stopped before Steve opened the door without a word. The brunette couldn't but let out a huff and follow the man out of the vehicle.

As Bucky tracked a few steps behind the blonde mob boss, he nodded to a few of the other bodyguards to follow as well. Whatever he might have remarked about considering to keep Steve alive was very much said as a dig at the moment to remind the man he might be written as his subordinate, but he was true to nature working side by side with him. After all, Steven was his friend and Bucky didn't desire to get his blood on his hands.

When the little party of Canines neared the entrance, both men stationed on each side of the doors opened them without further ado. Either they thought Steve looked like someone fitting to live here, or they could've been paid to do so. The brunette figured it was the latter concerning the overall safety measures, not only this hotel but the district in general upheld. Although, he didn't question it way too much as he now concentrated on the slightly denser crowd of people in the lobby.

Not only did they blend in quite well, concerning the people living at this hotel was flanked by at least two bodyguards each. Bucky also noticed how some of the former rigidity in Steve's shoulder lessened as he weaved through the lobby.

Though anyone else may find it excellent that the physical aspect of the blondes former irritation trickled off, it unsettled Bucky even further. Thus, having grown up with Steve, he knew that the silent seething anger was worse than the outgoing one. This, in other words, didn't bode particularly well.

However, even though the brunette had a raising suspicion, along with fear, that this visit the mob boss had decided to do after his meeting with you wouldn't have a good outcome, he had no chance to voice his worry. Essentially because the elevator they'd taken to reach the floor they were heading to now stopped.

Bucky was first to exit the elevator. Checking that the coast was clear before looking back to the Canine boss. He tried making the blonde meet his gaze, now seriously doubting if Steve was fit to meet the partner he'd had an escalating problem with the past weeks. Yet, the blue-eyed man kept his attention straight forward and didn't even spare his childhood friend a glance.

A thousand things were running through Steve's mind as he headed down the corridor, spotting the door his business partner was on the other side of.

He knew Bucky tried gaining his attention with the repetitive looks he threw his way. His most entrusted bodyguard and friend could read him like an open book. Thus knowing the silent facade that he'd put up was just that, a facade. Still, he continued to ignore him as he'd done ever since their conversation was over half an hour ago.

As the party stopped before the door, Steve decided to give the inclining nod to one of his other guards to step forwards and knock on the door.

Following three rapid knocks, a call of 'no cleaning' followed by a similar set of knockings later, footsteps could be heard near the door from the other side. A few seconds after, the door swung open, revealing a man currently trying to fasten his cufflinks.

"I said I didn't...". Even though the brunette's eyes had been cast down as he'd began to speak, the second they flickered up to watch, what the man must have assumed would be a hotel maid but rather was the Canine mob boss, he trailed off in his sentence.

"Good day Mr Jefferson", if the man's body hadn't already gone rigid, his shoulders bounced up even closer to his ears after Steve's greeting.

In a hurried attempt to smarten up, he completed his attempt of fastening the jewellery pin.

"Mr Rogers", he breathed out almost shakily while pulling a hand through his hair, some of the strands sticking to his scalp while others simply fell forwards once more. "Why do I owe the pleasure?"

Without answering, Steve stepped forwards, forcing the man to open the door wider.

As he walked into the pad, the blonde gazed around it uninterestingly. It was lavish. Probably like most rooms were in the hotel.

"I'm here to talk with you". Steve answered his associates question the second he heard the door closed. Taking the liberty, he sat down in the couch group occupying a vaster portion of the entry room's space. "Sit", with a wave of his hand, the Canine motioned to the sitting place at the other side of the dark oak table.

Jefferson, who glanced warily at the guards that had stationed themselves around the room -one by the window, another two directly behind Steve and the last lingering by the door out to the corridor- had no other choice than to follow the mob boss' directions.

Sitting down at the edge of the seat, he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"How's business going?" The mob boss asked as he leaned against the couches backrest. One arm was slung over the ridge, fingers tapping against the material, while his other hand rested on his thigh.

"Bussines is going well".

"Good, always nice to hear companies you invest in are going strong", Steve hummed, noticing the minimal shift Jefferson did as he said this. "How's my money going?"

"Ah... t-that question is a little more complicated...".

Even though the brunette continued to ramble about all the different reasons his payments were late, or not even that, non-existing, the Canine boss didn't listen. He knew he was being screwed over by the man opposite him. He'd gotten the information weeks ago that the CEO of the company he's worked with since the beginning of the year wanted to change sides.

At first, it had been more of a rumour and he hadn't been able to dig up where Jefferson's company was heading. Then it became clear they would switch partners to one of the other godfather's around New York. However, even if Steve thought he didn't like how they tried doing so in the shadows while still upholding their deal, the worst thing was when he got to know who they shifted their alliance to. You.

Seeing how much unfavourable publicity you'd given his empire in the last few months was aggravating. However, listening to the man talking his ear off as if Steve hadn't already figured why exactly fifteen percentages of the profit capital was rolling into your account instead of his was the last drop.

Without even noticing it himself, Steve's hand that had rested upon his thigh raised and were tucked into his suit.

The metal handle he gripped wasn't cold anymore, not after having rested so close to his heart for over an hour. Nor did it get cooled down as he hastily pulled it out of its holster and aimed it at the man opposite him.

"I don't like rats, Landon", the use of the man's first name rather than surname would've made him quiet if the gun aimed his way already hadn't silenced him. "Pray you don't get reborn as one in your next life as well".

On the firearm, a silencer was mounted. So the characteristic bang sounded much more like a pop. Therefore, the noise of the gun was even less intimidating than the ricochet. However, neither of the telltale signs of a shot made Steve flinch, not even as he watched the bullet penetrate the space in-between his former associate's eyes, did he react.

As the mob boss stood, Jefferson's upper body slumped forward, hitting the table with a heavy thud and ugly clap as his head was the first thing that connected with it. No tears were trickling down his cheeks. Only a red streak that steadily created a near-invisible puddle on the mahogany table.

"Steve!" The silence and peace Steve found in watching the body was cut short by Bucky's voice.

The Canine glanced to his side, regarding how his head bodyguard rounded the couch and stood before him with one single step.

"What the fuck was that?" The brunette exclaimed, hand motioning to the dead body.

If any other person than Bucky would've done the same thing in this instance, they either would've ended up joining peaceful Mr Jefferson, or they wouldn't work within the Canine empire anymore. However, concerning that it now was his childhood friend staring at him in disbelief, Steve made sure none of the options was carried through.

"Problem-solving", Steve answered, about to take a step forwards but were stopped with a hand planting itself on his chest. He looked down before looking up with a cocked eyebrow.

"That ain't how we solve shit!"

"Not we, but I", Steve said, gripping Bucky's wrist, ripping it away from him. "You see, now both our problems are solved. He doesn't need to fear his cover being blown and I don't need to lose more money". That was all Steve said before taking a step around the brunette, whose eyes had narrowed considerably.

As most of his colleagues trailed after their boss, Bucky stayed back just a second longer, looking at the lifeless body giving a new sheen to the table whilst staining the carpet underneath. He'd known Steve had taken your conference badly and he also knew it hadn't been a good idea to have this appointment so shortly afterwards, especially when it was connected to you, but in such a different way. Still, he hadn't believed it would take this much of a turn.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Damn that fucking thing!" Steve roared, not thinking when he swept his hands over his desk. Everything from pencils, an empty coffee cup and other things crashed to the floor. However, it wasn’t solely that which now was littering the ground. The papers of your contract had flown out of the folder as well.

Staring down at the mess of shattered glass and paper from his standing position. The Canine boss felt a sneer enter his features. Ever since returning home late last night, he'd been locked inside his study. Primary because it was the place no one dared to disturb him in, but also because he didn't feel like arguing with Bucky.

He knew that after the stunt, as he knew his friend and bodyguard would label his approach to the Jefferson problem, the brunette wanted to speak with him. Yet, with the residue anger of not only a restless night, one Steve had powered through thanks to copious amounts of coffee. But also the subject now taunting him on the floor, a conversation with his right-hand man would lead nowhere.

He and Bucky didn't often get into fights, but Steve was convinced this was one of the matters that could force such a confrontation. He'd still not gathered his bearings enough to admit that he needed to yield. Because that was what he would need to do.

The mob boss switched from watching the scattered pieces of the contract to instead stare straight into the oaken surface of his desk as he now leant on it, knuckles turning white from how strongly he held the countertop. By now, he'd read through the four-page agreement. Something that was a step in the right, or in Steve's regard wrong, direction.

He didn't want to admit it. But as Bucky had mentioned yesterday, it was a top-certified contract. He couldn't find any loopholes. No grey-zones. No area that he could play you on.

Steve knew that you would be hard to crack, but he hadn't anticipated this.

Despite knowing that you and the Felina empire had overtaken his father's grip on New York, he had underestimated you. A woman running the empire you did was so uncommon he thought you would have some weak spot regarding how you had no one else to look up to. Nor did you have any previous family connections to the underworld. Which honestly made your success even more astonishing. 

Almost so much it was questionable if you had done it yourself.

Steve had assumed you hadn't. Someone else must be the brain behind the operation, simply using you as a puppet. However, it seemed he'd made a tremendous mistake by assuming just that. It wasn't anyone else running your empire. You were involved in every little part of the well-oiled machine.

Once more, the canine boss let out an irritated noise, sounding more like a growl than a harsh sigh in his own ears.

He pushed off from the countertop and, in one motion, had side-stepped his chair. Now, with the room behind him, Steve stared out of the windows lining the wall furthest from the entrance. His arms had crossed over his chest and remained there as he stared out at the bay not far away.

Ferries and other boats travelled the waters. Breaking the tension and creating small waves. If it wasn't for this, it almost would've looked like they travelled through the city. Regarding how not only New York's but also Brooklyn's dusk lightning reflected in the water.

When the Canine boss finally felt the sight before him lessened the tension in his shoulders, a knock came from the door.

If his features ever had lightened, the sound immediately beckoned a furrow to take its place. Even more so when the door opened without him having given the person on the other side permission.

He knew who it was, Bucky.

"What do you want?" Steve's voice was cold, harsh. 

"I want to speak with you", instantly, the mob boss noticed how his friend's voice didn't carry that joyous tone when he spoke to him as just that, friends. Bur rather the more levelled one, the professional one.

"I won't speak about Jefferson".

"Neither is that why I'm here", glancing over his shoulder upon hearing the rustle of paper, the Canine boss saw his guard pick up the pieces of the contract from the floor. He arranged them before putting them back into the folder. Contrary to how Steve would've caused the map to give away a whack when flinging it onto his desk. Bucky's hand followed through the whole movement. His fingers even resting upon the grey folder as it laid placid on the middle of the counter.

"I'm here to talk about the real problem", Steve turned to face the brunette. He didn't say anything. Still, Bucky knew that having gotten this much attention was a sign he either was about to be shot or given a limited amount to talk.

"I know this is hard for you, Steve... actually scratch that, it is hard for everyone who's supported you. But I'll be damned if you let everything we've worked for go to waste because you don't have it in you to lose a battle in favour of winning a later war"

All of a sudden, Bucky's face twisted as an unexpected crash echoed. His fist had smashed onto the table. Enough for the countertop to rattle.

“I love to give you the most personal advice I've ever had”, he started, not even holding back his pent up frustration. “Sign that fucking contract, pal". The canine boss' blue eyes narrowed as he met the stormy grey ones of the man before him.

"Get out", Bucky clenched his jaw and straightened himself.

"I'll be waiting for the call to come and pick it up", was the last thing the brunette said before swiftly turning on his heel and heading to the door.

Steve followed his oldest friend with his eyes until the door echoes shut behind him. Even after Bucky's footsteps were long gone, did the Canine boss stare forward. He did it simply because he didn't want to let his eyes flicker down to the contract, now turned to the last page where the paper waited for his signature.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A day later, Steve still stared at the folder resting un-signed on his desk. It was out of pure spite he hadn't signed it. To keep your victory at bay.

Two days later and he felt how the clock on his wall ticked louder than before. How the voices in his head escalated from whispering to shouting at him. 'Sign that fucking contract, pal.'

Three days later and Steve felt how time was running out.

Even if he didn't want to admit it aloud. To not sign would be foolish. Sure, he had the resources to continue this war. Hence, the short extra time the meeting and his delay in signing the contract had abled him to recoup. But still, his empire was lacking a significant piece his father's syndicate had, time. He needed more time to grow but wasn't given that. So yes, he could continue this battle, but he could not win it.

Therefore the mob boss gripped the pen and pressed the ink dipped tip to the dotted line.

His signature was darker than usual. More colour bleeding onto the paper. The curves of the letters were not as smooth as regular either. Instead, straighter, pointier. Forced.

Steve didn't look at his name shining back at him once he raised the pen and put it back in its stand. Instead, Steve stood and dialled a number on his phone. One tone was all it took before the person on the other end picked up.

"Get it out of my sight, Barnes", was all he said before instantly hanging up. The call had lasted four seconds. Even so, Steve deleted it from the history of his 'latest' list.

Shoving the phone into his pockets, the blonde man stood from his chair and headed to the office doors. He didn't look back once at the folder left behind on his desk. Not even when he closed the doors behind him.

Series taglist: @njrronaldo7​ @fanfic-love-show​ @gabycamargo22​ @fckdeusername​

[missinghan]

to my youth ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : summer au; high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 11,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language, slow burn

❖ summary : it is official that life hates you because not only was your first few days of summer ruined by a stupid field trip, but things also got somewhat freaky… whatever kind of ‘freaky’ you’re thinking about.

❖ note : i know i said i’m ‘experimenting’ with new stuff but guess who’s back with another mediocre, not-that-well-written mess of a domestic au; please (kindly) yell at me to dabble into a new genre after bearing through this fic- happy reading!

one.

The echoes of your summer days remain as flowers immune to the winter chill, they say.

You’re not entirely sure who even fathomed their time and effort to come up with that statement but from your point of view, those flowers would most likely have either died out from the summer heat or withered horrendously because of the arbitrary showers of rain. Or you’re the only one who doesn’t have the luxury to see life through a rose-colored lens.

Because the first thing that comes to mind for you is the bucket of ice-cream and a YouTube OG that you’ve ceased to finish since finals started two weeks ago. The bell rings, pens down, everyone pours out of the classroom after handing in their exam papers. No one really bothers to check up on each other’s answers anymore; the last subject for today was AP Psych and you don’t know about them but you honestly can’t care any less thereafter cramming the entirety of five chapters. 

Sprinting down the staircase, you easily spot Felix amongst the midst of drowsy high school students for the bright color of his hair. He truly believes that if he slaps enough hair essence and coconut oil on his head four times a week, his hair won’t feel like straws when he changes it every other three weeks. But it’s only a matter of time before balding catches up to him, he’ll learn eventually.

“Please don’t tell me that you left your keys in class,” you sigh upon the sight of him fumbling with his folders and textbooks while trying to open his locker in vain. Just thinking about walking all the way back to the third floor makes you want to use your backpack as a pillow and take a nice nap in the middle of the hallway.

“Gee, Y/N,” Felix makes a face to not show the sense of relief washing over him when he locks eyes with you. “Who do you take me as? A clumsy person?”

“No, just a dumbass.” You coldly snatch a slipping book from his arms before turning to twist the disc in the combination of your birthday until the lock clicks, shaking the shackle off to swing his locker open. It’s a silent tradition that you both set each other’s birthday as your locker’s combination since elementary school; it started out as a stupid joke at first but neither of you really bothered to change it. 

“Why the hell would you put your keys in the locker?” you widen your eyes in disbelief as he grabs the bright yellow Spongebob plushie to collect his keys with a shit-eating grin

“My alarm didn’t go off today, so I was running a little late,” he defends himself while dumping everything out of his backpack, hugging an empty water bottle to his side. 

You throw a wave at a very tired Hyunjin walking side by side with Seungmin on his right and Jisung skipping happily towards your direction. Seungmin looks exceptionally moody today, you pray he didn’t mess up an easy question to take it out on all of you later in the car. “Bet you were staying up late to play Overwatch with Chan.” 

Felix manages to grin stiffly at your comment, turning on his heels and trudges onto the school’s parking lot. “Fine, walk home.” 

“Hey, you forgot to lock this!” you pull his steps into a halt by making a grab for his hand, utterly oblivious at how his cheeks flare up with a bright shade of red at your touch. Or out of embarrassment. Whatever, same thing. 

Felix might be a better driver than you, but he’d be fired ten seconds into the job of a babysitter.

With that being said, when Jeongin decides it’s a good idea to cheer a passive-aggressive, post-exams Seungmin up with a carton of strawberry milk and then proceeds to get lost in his own school, the very same school he’s been attending for who knows how long, you’re the one who manually pulls his ass back into Mrs. Lee’s Jeep within ten minutes. 

And Seungmin has already fallen asleep by the time Jeongin’s back, so now he’s the passive-aggressive one while sipping on the milk bitterly. Either way, this is why you headcount although there are only six of you after Changbin starts getting busy with his college applications. 

“What took you so long?” Jisung looks up from his phone the moment you climb into the passenger’s seat, clicking in your seatbelt (drive safe, kids). 

You immediately feel the need to snap a photo of Jeongin accidentally breaking the cafeteria’s door with the staff running towards him in a panic. They’re more scared for his life than the door itself and that’s… sweet to say the least but with the way that the embarrassed boy is glaring at you through the rear-view mirror, you decide to keep your lips sealed. 

“It’s getting dark so all hallways start to look the same, you genius.”

Jisung momentarily sticks his tongue out at you. “God, you’re so rude to me. You’d never talk to Felix like that.”

“Because,” you drawl. “Lix is a pure-hearted angel descended from the realms of Heaven. Whereas, even Lucifer would see you as an eyesore in hell.”

“See! You’re doing it again!” Jisung points a finger at you in accusation, jumping up and down in his seat but no one really cares. It’s not like you’re speaking any false facts. “Stop bullying me!”

Seungmin shifts his body a little, nose scrunched up at the noises that wake him right up. “Jisung,” he warns his friend without opening his eyes. “Sit the fuck down, you have five seconds.”

Felix smirks when Jisung immediately cowers, slumping and leaning himself against Hyunjin in utter defeat. He learned not to mess with Seungmin after throwing a wallet at him on impulse. “Jealous much, Han?” 

“Nah, she’s all yours bro,” Jisung waves it off tiredly; bickering and making fun of Felix’s gigantic crush on you is too much for his brain to process today. He can really use a long, solid twelve-hour summer hibernation after getting home. 

The statement prompts Felix to look over at you when there’s a red light—the same exact moment as you stop staring at the bakery from across the road to lock eyes with him. There’s a little spark igniting at the pit of his stomach, stirring up butterflies inside his rib cage. But he snaps out of it after seeing you raise a brow at him, implying a silent ‘what?’ before turning away again. Felix has always been the type to stare so you don’t bother to think about it too much. 

The problem is: he only stares at you that way. 

A shade of coral creeps its way up to his cheeks, his gaze averting back on the roads when the light turns green. As Felix tries to calm the erratic tempo of his heartbeat, he also thinks about how much time he’d have left to confess before high school is over and everyone takes their own different paths. Then again, the future is far too blurry for him to make out anything and the thought of changes petrifies him a bit too much. 

Felix wishes to hold your hand until the very end but he’s a little scared...because what if you never wanted to be with him in the first place?

two.

Your brother has one talent, and that’s his ability to irritate the living daylight out of you even when he’s practically on the other side of the planet.

Minho (un)fortunately finished his finals with flying colors, and inevitably, you’re the first victim to receive a series of texts that consisted of nothing but self-indulgent, excessive bragging. Basically, he’s allowed to do whatever slash go wherever for a good three weeks before his summer internship begins, dragging his dumb ass back to hell—where he rightfully belongs. 

He’s probably chomping on a terribly unhealthy amount of pizza, pretzels, and any type of New York street food that you can name from the top of your head. It’s not like he’s paying for them anyway since Chan doesn’t allow people to touch their wallets if they happen to eat out with him. 

Your phone vibrates obnoxiously on your desk, the judder slightly muffled because it’s lying on top of your wide-open psych textbook. You haven’t bothered with cleaning up yet; finals only ended yesterday and you decide that you won’t touch anything until the disarray starts to scrape against your nerves. 

Side note: you’ve specifically told everyone not to call you three consecutive days after finals because yes, you’re that much of a loner, and yes, your stamina level for tolerating human interaction is awfully low. 

Second side note: no one ever listens. 

“Good morning, this is Lee Minho’s personal bullshit pail,” you mumble after your thumb swipes against the screen to pick up, your limbs curled up on the floor. “How can I possibly help you today?” Your morning voice isn’t necessarily threatening but rather scary; according to what Minho claimed, it sounds identical to that creepy girl from The Grudge so he groans aloud, his voice suddenly going out of focus on the other line from pulling his phone away.

“Jesus Christ are you still in your hermit phase after finals?” he questions callously, sounding not at all pleased with the way you greeted him. “Where’s mom and dad? Usually, they would have slammed your ass by now for staying inside like a vampire.”

“Don’t be insufferable, it’s only like…” you trail off while bending forward to take a good look at the little Sumiko Gurashi alarm on your bookshelf that Felix gave you during middle school. “Nine thirty-something and they’re at the park to exercise, duh- why do you care?”

Your brother almost sings on the phone, “Because you’re my little baby sister-” And this prompts you to pull the device away for the sake of your poor ear. It doesn’t help when you’re already surrounded by a group full of obnoxiously loud individuals on a daily basis. Not trying to call anyone out but Han Jisung is at the top of the list, his name in bold, capital letters being circled and underlined multiple times with a red marker.

“Who do I gotta kill to sleep in on a dreadful Sunday morning as any normal, cranky, antisocial high school student would?” you deadpan and rub the bridge of your nose dreadfully. 

“I don’t know, go murder Jisung or something.” Honestly, that’s tempting… but no.

You can physically see the smug smile on his face right now, simpering in delight at your imminent misery. He knows goddamn well about your relationship with sleeping schedules and that’s the perfect excuse for him to ruin those little specks of time when your brain cells are getting an actual break. 

These are also the times when you wish phones don’t fucking exist. 

“By the way, are you gonna go on the field trip tomorrow?” 

This question wakes you up almost completely because your eyes are now wide as a fish’s out of water, your hand automatically putting him on speaker before digging through the folders inside your backpack. What field trip? No one said anything about a field trip. And who thought it’s a good idea to force some worn-out, post-exams, sleep-deprived students into a field trip right after finals?

Minho hums coyly when the only response he’s getting is the rustling sound from your backpack, “Hmm, see what I meant there, little sis? Oh, the downside of living under a rock at its finest.” He doesn’t have to be here for you to fully picture the way that his lips curl up, dark brows wiggling whenever he’s right about something. Your brother wins most of the time against other people but overtaking you is an entirely different story.

“Oh screw off and go buy yourself a sense of humor.”

“Don’t be so mopey, isn’t Felix gonna be there?”

“What does Felix have to do with this?” you grit after managing to pull out a piece of paper from the very back, buried under countless of your essays. And it reads ‘field trip’ in caps at the top with tomorrow’s date right beneath. The trip lasts for three days, you’re going camping with the grizzly bears for three days—a total nightmare, basically. 

“Pfft, you’re actually dense for someone with a sparkly report card,” he sneers. “That kid has been crushing on you since elementary school. Are the signals that fucked up?”

“You mean when I accidentally spilled orange juice over his head? Sure, bet that’s why he’s so head over heels for me,” you snicker, unfazed by these kinds of statements. Minho only knows Felix because he was the president of your school's dance club and you fully believe that your brother is simply trying to mess with your malfunctioning, cranky mindset. 

“I fucking beg to differ, he always stares at you like you’re the love of his life, even when you stupidly poked yourself with a needle,” Minho announces as if he’s a love expert, tsk, amateur. “He might just confess during the trip, who knows? Campfire flickering. Sharing the same s’mores. Surrounded by nature. That sounds romantically ideal to me for a confession.”

He’s visioning everything like a terrible cliché film where two high schoolers stubbornly deny their feelings for each other until they start noticing how cute the other person is while magically being forced to be alone together. The worst kind of high school movie—which is also almost every high school movie. And you best believe that you’d a hundred percent kick your brother’s ass off that director’s chair because people live and breathe for this kind of overused entertainment. Tragic. 

“Alright, fuck this, I’m out-“

“Wait!” Minho exclaims out of nowhere, almost blowing up your eardrums. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

You swear you’re rolling your eyes so hard, they’re about to fall out of their respective sockets. “Well, obviously,” you put the piece of paper down with a sigh, contemplating ways to minimize the amount of socializing in the upcoming three days. “Haven’t you bothered me enough? No?”

“You can’t leave me like this,” he whines in an annoyingly high-pitched voice that sends chills down your spine. 

“You need me, we’re connected.” 

He sounds like a whack version of Minnie Mouse for a second there, the kind of plushie that looks cute but with disturbingly creepy voice audio; no parents would let their children go near that aisle. 

You yawn as if there’s no tomorrow, stretching your limbs tiredly. “What I need is for you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone so I can go on my merry way to pick up snacks for this stupid field trip,” you utter lifelessly. 

“You hurt my feelings,” Minho pretends to clutch onto his chest and lets out a dramatic gasp, his voice doused in pure sarcasm. “What a heartbreaker, Y/N.” Said the one who always keeps his apathetic front up like a fortress’ wall and tosses every single love letter on Valentine’s Day into the recycling bin, handing the chocolate out to his classmates like he’s giving leftover vegetables to his least favorite relatives.

“Oh, I can tell,” you reply with fake enthusiasm and mock empathy. “You know how I can tell?”

“Do not finish th-”

“Cause we’re connected.” With that you hang up, slamming your phone harshly onto the surface of your textbook. 

three. 

You might love your room a little too much, it’s getting somewhat unhealthy.

It was furnished with a rather meager budget after your family moved out of your hometown when you stepped into elementary school. Things stay the same, well, most of it as time passes by you unknowingly. Your sad bookcase used to exist for one sole purpose—carrying countless books and plushies has now been upgraded with too many polaroids of your dumb group of friends, a neatly framed photo of Class of 2020 and two trophies that don’t even belong to you since Minho ran out of space as he kept participating in random dance competitions. 

The morning beams find their way through your white curtains and stain your walls with patches of yellow, eventually bugging your vision until you successfully convince yourself to either 1) wake up and get ready for school or 2) lazily stride across your room to shut the blinds completely so you can head back to bed. It’s summer… so option one is temporarily non-existent for a solid three months. 

Hey, you’re just simply making up for those all-nighters with a new cup of coffee every two hours.

Speaking of your bed, it’s soft but takes up so much space to the point that Hyunjin keeps complaining about not having enough room for his legs when he’s sprawled across the floor with Jisung, vigorously focusing on a presentation’s outline. Seungmin calls you lame for not throwing away your childhood plushies and letting them hog at least one-third of your bed, but Felix doesn’t mind since he always needs something to hug. All the more reasons why you can only trust Felix.

You might miss having those idiots being loud and invading your personal space...maybe.

Your phone rings for the second time that morning when you’re walking downstairs, shoving your keys into your pocket and grabbing a protein bar on the counter. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Minho,” you bark into the device, chewing on your breakfast aggressively, not bothering to look at the caller’s ID.

The closest convenience store is only twenty minutes away from your house but there’s a sticky note on the fridge from your mom, reminding you that she needs eggs to bake cupcakes for her company’s twentieth anniversary while your dad is running low on his Red Bulls. Basically, you’re in distress. It’s not like your dad should be inhaling those sugary drinks on a daily basis and your mom can just buy premade goods from the bakery. But there are more options for snacks at the supermarket…

“Y/N, the fuck?” The response of a voice as deep as the Pacific ocean almost makes you choke on air. “Did I wake you up or something?” Felix sounds flabbergasted on the other line, slightly taken aback. You almost feel bad because he’s the only sweetheart in your chaotic squad (besides Chan, obvi) except when he stays up late gaming with Hyunjin, pleading for your notes the next morning with puppy eyes.

“No, Minho did,” you grumble before tossing the wrapping into a bin.

“You don’t say,” Felix replies flatly, but his voice soon grows merry again after pushing the topic of your brother aside. “Oh, and I’m coming over to return your earphones, wanna grab breakfast?”

He practically lives ten minutes away from you, sees you almost every day even if it’s the weekend since he can’t stay in the same house with his sisters for too long and puts you on FaceTime every night to prevent himself from slacking off on assignments. The only time he didn’t get to see you for a week straight was when he visited Australia and accidentally dropped his phone into the ocean. It was a rough week without you nagging him for doing something stupid. Fundamentally, he’s merely making up more excuses to spend time with you after finals.

Chuckling, “Only if you’re treating me, I’m about to go broke from buying snacks for our field trip tomorrow.” you say breezily. 

And you’re only telling him that because he might just pay for your snacks as well since Felix Lee eats freshly grilled steak and mashed potato for breakfast. Baffling, absolutely. Plus, he works at a boba shop every summer either way and he would never hesitate to spend the entirety of his paycheck on any of his close friends. Irrelevant but the point is: you kinda don’t wanna go out alone today.

Or you’re just in the mood to go with Felix. That’s a useless statement since you both see each other at least ten out of twenty-four hours per day. 

“By the way, you know what I just realized?” Felix smacks his palm on his forehead. “This is our last field trip, like ever.”

Walking over to the rack of shoes down the hallway, you let out a large exhale. “That’s unfortunate on your behalf. I, on the other hand, don’t have a problem with that,” you tell him with zero consideration, your brain cells too busy picking out a pair of shoes to process the five basic steps to empathize with another human being. 

“No,” he emphasizes helplessly. “I meant, it’s like our last high school field trip. We’re graduating next year, no time to sleep with the grizzly bears again.”

You can only manage to utter, “Oh.” Shit, college is right around the corners. 

“Jesus fucking Christ what the hell am I supposed to do after high school? Stay here? Go abroad? Wait, aren’t applications for going abroad supposed to be turned in a year beforehand? Why are you only telling me this now!?” 

Felix laughs wholeheartedly through the phone, amused at your sudden outburst. “Y/N, calm down. You’re going to college, not prison,” he brushes it off casually but in a way, college is technically prison. Slaving over a degree while working part-time jobs, chasing time relentlessly like you’re driving in the middle of a foggy night with one headlight out. And you’re forced to open up with more strangers. It’s terrifying, actually terrifying. And you’re not the type to be easily terrified. 

Now come to think about it, you don’t get why you were so pressed about it five seconds ago. It’s a good opportunity not to leech off your parents as much, like dabbling, taking one baby step at a time into adulthood. After that, you’ll graduate again, probably settle somewhere with an adequate job and find someone, starting to think about having ki-

Hold up, you’re going too far. You’re barely a senior. 

“I guess we’ll just have to make the most out of this summer,” Felix’s voice snaps you back to the surface of Earth faster than a tick of a clock. “We’re outside, by the way. Open up.”

That fast? Furrowing your brows, you hang up to slip into a pair of sneakers before sprinting to the front door. Wait, your hand freezes as it grazes the doorknob. We?

Not again. 

“Why the fuck..” you cracks a lifelessly crooked smile after pushing the door wide open. “..are you here?” It’s only ten in the morning, and you don’t think you should be screaming at the top of your lungs to be jumped on by the whole neighborhood.

Felix takes a step back, a little scared for his life. “Uhh, to return your earphones?”

“No, no,” you run a hand through your hair tiredly. Just when you thought this day was gonna be peaceful. “I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about them. Since when was this an agreement? How dare-“

“Why yes, I missed you too!” Jisung exclaims like the little shit he is, throwing an arm over your neck to ruffle your hair. No one ruffles your hair without getting their ass slammed- except for Minho. “Why the long face? Let me guess, until this exact second, you thought there’s a fucking squirrel, a lama, a dog, and a kitten standing at your front porch? No, it’s us, your Forever BFFs.” He’s one of the reasons why you refuse to understand the humans’ language sometimes.

With a harsh shove from you, Jisung staggers backward only for Hyunjin to prevent him from rolling like a ball in the middle of your neighborhood. “One more word and I’m telling the whole class who your crush is,” you threaten, earning an involuntary snort from Seungmin. 

“I hate to admit this, but she might actually say yes if he makes the first move.”

Hyunjin supplies unconstructively, “That’s why he didn’t ask.”

“You know what, Hwang,” Felix says with a smirk tugging at his lips, bumping his fist against Hyunjin’s without turning his head. 

“Oh screw all of you.” Jisung’s getting all the attention he wanted this early in the morning yet he still feels like a loser. Perhaps he should try shutting up once in a while. 

four.

“Thanks for giving me a ride, uncle, you really didn’t have to,” Felix says generously from your dad’s back seats, scratching the nape of his neck as though this is the first time he’s ever shared a ride with you. 

He’s too humble sometimes you just want to smack him across the face with a pillow to stop being so formal with your dad. Heck, Felix downright called him ‘dad’ by accident once during a Christmas dinner back in middle school and your dad even encouraged him to keep addressing him like that. 

Not to mention, Felix is chomping on a turkey sandwich that your mom made this morning specifically for him after finding out that his parents are currently out of town and there's nothing but ramen in the cabinet. God forbids her to starve the same kid who helped your dad fix his bumper. So really, he should be expecting these things by now. 

“Oh it’s not a big deal, you’re too nice,” your dad laughs as he pulls over to your school’s front gate, careful not to run into that one really tall, ugly tree. You’re lowkey paranoid that people might die if it collapses during a storm or something. “Perhaps you can return the favor by getting a drink with me sometimes.”

Felix blinks numerous times, slightly gobsmacked. “...but I’m not old enough to drink yet.”

“Correct answer.” And you snicker when your dad turns around to toss a wink at your friend’s direction. “Doesn’t mean that I’m forbidding you kids have fun,” he clarifies upon the baffled expression on Felix’s face. “But not too much fun, got it?”

“Okay, okay dad, I’ll see you in three days,” you shake your head before climbing out of the car. “Don’t starve the cats while I’m gone. Oh! And Soonie still needs his lactobacillus-“

Your dad brushes it off with a sheepish smile, “I’ll leave it to your mom, muffin, I can’t even remember which dry food is for which cat. I also don’t think they’ll be starving anytime soon, those little demons are getting quite fat actually since your brother spoils them all the time.” You can only give him a mere eye-roll because as much as he claims to hate having pets, there have been countless times when you caught your dad red-handed trying to tuck the cats into bed in the middle of the night. 

Felix soon catches up with your steps after bidding him farewell, crumpling the sandwich wrapper in his palm. “Wait up, muffin,” he says breathlessly with a few skips, starting to think about not skipping dance practice again this summer before his body gets out of shape. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, followed by a harsh elbow jabbed into his side. Felix grunts in pain, slowing down a little but still tries to walk side by side with you nonetheless. “You don’t deserve that complimentary breakfast, I’m telling mom to cut your portion off next time.” 

“Ah! Come on, muffin! You’re being mean.”

Your biggest fear has inevitably come true—after all those years of erratic mood swings and other weird things puberty puts you through, Felix still makes fun of you for the nickname that your parents came up with on your first day of school. It doesn’t help with the fact that he meets them quite often too. Like four out of seven days a week since your parents love coming over to each other’s house for dinner. 

“Flip that scowl upside down now, will you?” Felix cups your cheeks and squishes them together, attempting to make your smile by tugging at the corners of your lips. “Aren’t you excited about the trip?”

You scoff at him, “Are you even hearing yourself? My entire existence reeks off ‘excitement’ 24/7.” 

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not responsible for whatever happens next to your face.”

But when you reach up to peel his hands away, you’re bound to make a grave mistake by looking straight into his eyes. The morning light hits his face at the right angle and it makes him look like a puppy—which you wouldn't mind starting at all day. Although it’s not like you haven’t got a good look at him before, something’s different today. From the way his irises twinkle gently like thousands of celestial bodies to how his freckles scattered across his cheekbones like the remaining bits from a supernova, his full lips with a prominent Cupid’s bow and his cute crooked teeth. 

You know all of these things; perhaps you’ve never put too much thought into them before. Not when you’re constantly facepalming at him for doing stupid TikTok dances and trying to eat a banana with its peel on. But now when you actually acknowledge them, your heart momentarily skips a beat. Or two. 

Doesn’t matter, you hate this feeling either way. 

“Get a room, this is disgusting to watch.” 

Seungmin steps in between you two with his backpack slung over his shoulders, hands resting on his hip like he’s babysitting you and your biological parents don’t pay him enough for this tedious job. But Felix is too busy making sure that his eyes aren’t malfunctioning when he sees a pink tint on your cheeks to focus on whatever nonsense Seungmin is spewing at him. 

“Get on the bus, losers! Y’all are embarrassing me!” Hyunjin yells as he plants a foot onto the bus, trying his best not to be subtle about the fact that all of your classmates have already been seated. 

You can practically see Jisung making weird faces from the window and next to him is a very cranky-looking Jeongin with his earbuds plugged in, deciding not to tolerate any chit-chatting this morning. It’s a shame how the school’s always on a low budget when it comes to transportation; consequently, some random freshmen got squeezed in with your class. 

So you elect to ignore your friend’s questionable behaviors (sometimes you wonder what he’s on to be this zealous at six in the morning) and grabs Felix's hand to climb onto the vehicle before coach Kim kicks your ass for slowing the schedule down. 

As you shuffle down the narrow aisle, you quickly realize there are only two seats left at the very back—basically, you feel a little guilty for not getting a good spot for Felix but he doesn’t seem to mind because he taps you on the shoulder lightly, signaling for you to move.

“Ugh, I wanna go home,” you sigh, slumping into your seat after tucking your backpack neatly on the small compartment above. 

“You’re boring,” Felix comments flatly but he’s partially glad that he got to sit with you instead of some blabberer. “Need this?” Fishing his earphones out of his backpack, he wiggles the banana milk case in front of your face. 

You only nod lazily at the offer, causing him to huff in disbelief before slipping in a side of his AirPods into your ear. You both have pretty similar taste in music so you don’t mind when he puts one of his playlists on random and Fly Me to the Moon bleeds into your eardrums. The soft melody makes you yawn a little, eyelids getting droopy. 

“Tired.” Is the only warning Felix gets before you decide to drop your head onto his shoulders, slipping your arm around his torso comfortably like it’s a pillow. You personally don’t do cuddles but since he’s into those things and smells nice—very fruity, somewhat musky too, you might as well take advantage of that with the hope of sleeping throughout the entire ride. 

“What is wrong with you today?” he asks with glowing cheeks. 

“Shh shh, I’m recharging my battery.”

Felix is a little flustered, to say the least. But instead of complaining about your sudden clinginess, he rests his head on top of yours like second nature, allowing his childhood song to drown out some of the background chatters. 

You should really be clingy more often… though he’s not gonna risk his pearly white teeth by telling you that. 

five. 

Your school actually knows how to manage money in a smart way. Shocker, you know. 

You are thrown off upon hearing that no one needs to worry about the grizzly bears, or wolves (hey, one can never be too careful) because everyone gets to share a log cabin with a maximum of three other people. 

In fact, the camp counselors have confirmed that even though they’re throwing a bunch of inexperienced, dumb high schoolers smacked in the middle of the wilderness, there’s really nothing to do other than boring team-building exercises...and fishing. In other words, the only creature that can somewhat do harm to you is mosquitoes. 

It’s been pouring nonstop when your classmates tried to set up the campfire with coach Kim screaming into their eardrums last night, no wonder those little shit are thriving to make your life more miserable—they’re in their element, reproducing at a terrifying pace. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” 

Hyunjin clutches a hand to his chest in both relief and terror after realizing the curled up figure sitting by the window is just you. He steps inside the cabin completely and flings his wet bangs away from his face, shoving the umbrella in his hand into a stand by the shoe rack. “You look like shit, are you okay?” he furrows his brows, slightly concerned about your eyebags and the way your lips crack from dehydration.

A soulless smile finds its way to your face. “I’m pretty sure ‘shit’ and ‘okay’ aren’t supposed to be in the same sentence but thank you for asking, I appreciate it.”

Here’s another downside to being a homebody: you can’t fucking sleep on any other beds that aren’t yours. And surprisingly that two-hour nap on the bus wasn’t enough to fuel you for the rest of the trip. But lucky you, it’s most likely going to keep raining cats and dogs and trash pandas for the rest of the day. Outdoor activities are no longer mandatory and you can almost hear your non-existent muscles crying in sheer joy. 

“Drink,” Hyunjin sighs at your pathetic state and decides to toss a water bottle in your direction. 

However, all you do is retrieve your limbs deeper into Felix’s fluffy blanket since he refused to use the grey one that’s draped over every bed beforehand. You’re far beyond grateful for that because those fading, questionable-looking stains just scare the crap out of you. And also because the fluffy blanket smells like him; you rest your case.

“You were knocked out for the entire bus ride, so why the hell can’t you fall asleep on a decent bed?” Shaking his head, Hyunjin plops himself onto Jisung’s bed like a potato, accidentally knocking over the neatly folded pile of clothes. He really doesn’t give two flying fucks about the fact that his friend spent an excessive ten minutes to organize his stuff so coach Kim won’t be barging into their cabin with a megaphone at five in the morning again. 

“She can only fall asleep on Felix, that’s why.” You roll your eyes in the bitchiest way possible, not bothering to chuck the abandoned water bottle at the unwanted guest of this terrific conversation. 

Hyunjin almost lets out a shriek when Seungmin jolts up from his bed, hair messy, a leg sticking out from his comforter. “You know, until this exact moment, I thought that you were dead or something.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Seungmin elaborates as he bends over to reach for his glasses with squinted eyes. “There’s a 99,9% that Felix will make the first move but at the same time, it doesn’t mean the other 0,01% won’t happen so you,” he jabs his index finger towards you. “Better be doing something other than walking around camp like a zombie.”

Hyunjin tilts his head in confusion. “Since when was this even a thing?” You’re this close to have a permanent hand imprint on your forehead for facepalming every two seconds with your idiotic friends around. 

“Uhh, since forever?” Seungmin feels the need to voice out. “Listen, since the day Y/N spilled orange juice on Felix’s favorite shirt, the amount of times they’re forced to be together has risen tremendously. And when their parents found out their families live like ten minutes away from each other, they practically see each other every single day. Even outside of school. They tolerate each other, meaning the dynamic is long-lasting. Their bonding encouraged friendship.” 

“But we’re her friends too?”

A deep breath. “No, their friendship was incited to grow into something bigger, more profound because Felix has a special ‘click’ with Y/N that he doesn’t with us. God, Hyunjin, it’s been what, almost a decade! How could you not see it?” Seungmin says with expressive hands, almost yanking every strand of hair off of his head. It’s too early for this, his brain is about to implode. Hwang Hyunjin being dense just feels like a metaphoric chokehold to him. 

“Y/N,” Hyunjin simply ignores his frustrated friend to look over at you slipping into your sneakers. “You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

“That’s because she’s about to either shut the door in my face then find Felix or kick my ass and then find Felix,” Seungmin informs with a yawn, and this prompts you to muster a fake smile. 

Oh, I’m fucking livid. 

“You know me too well.”

He questions with heavy irony, “I’m sorry did you just agree with me?”

“Oh no, no, I take that back,” you brush him off. “Is Felix still outside fishing?”

“I think so?” Hyunjin replies while running a hand through his hair in mere distress; Felix’s competitiveness goes a little mayhem sometimes when it comes to Jisung being better than him at something since they’re so close. That’s one of the sole reasons why Felix always manages to maintain his flying GPA because Han Jisung procrastinates like no other but still tops his class every single semester. 

“I didn’t find him at the lake, though, wonder where he went.”

You widen your eyes, somewhat alarmed since it’s almost lunchtime, and Felix Lee never, and you mean never, ever let himself skip a meal. He always gets a nice nap after stuffing his face with enough good food too, so that’s a bonus. But that’s not the point, the point is: you’re starting to get a little worried because he’s been fishing all morning, wandering alone in the wilderness without a camp counselor. 

You’d better not find him sleeping with the fishes. 

six.

Maybe you were right, maybe Felix is a dumbass.

Because listening to his ego and coming back to the lake after breakfast was a horrendous idea. 

It’s such a pity how those weird-looking vehicles have stopped driving around camp the moment it started pouring outside. Heck, he didn’t even bring an umbrella after asking the coach to check today's forecast. 

So tragically, he’s now stuck underneath the canopy of a cafe ensuing coursing his way through the water blizzard and seeking refuge but can’t walk back to his cabin where his cabin-mates are probably having the time of their life drinking hot chocolate and nibbling on hand-picked fruits.

Felix exhales in torment while gazing outside, everything’s completely white-out thanks to droplets of raining streaking the horizon. Perhaps dashing back might be his one solitary option, but shivers soon run up his spine again, reminding him that he’s probably looking like a wet rat—his black Converse sodden, water seeping through the thin fabric of his uniform, numbing his skin. 

Ruffling his wet fringe, Felix’s hand fishes inside his pocket to look for his phone only to realize that it’s not there. “Shit...great..just great, today is my lucky day.” Even if the camp counselors didn’t confiscate all the electronic devices, there wouldn’t be any service in the middle of the woods either. Splendid. 

“Ugh, Y/N,” he groans under his breath. “Why did you let me do this?”

“Shit.”

 “AHH!”

Felix shrieks upon the tiny voice squeaking out from behind him. And he sighs in pure relief to see a little girl standing mere inches away, looking no more than a seven-year-old dressed in a yellow raincoat. “Hey kid,” he chuckles and crouches down to her eye level. “Where are your parents? You’re not supposed to be out here alone when it’s pouring like crazy.” 

And to his dismay, “Shit,” the little girl giggles, finding a new profound interest in the curse word that he accidentally spewed out seconds ago. 

“Shh shh,” Felix frantically places an index finger on his lips while darting his eyes around in terror—he might be sued if her parents found out how their daughter picked up a bad word from some random high schooler. Suddenly he feels bad for his future kids. “No, no, we can’t say that. It’s forbidden. What’s your name?”

“Mina,” she answers cutely and fiddles with the ends of her braids. “Who’s Y/N? Is she your girlfriend?”

Felix chokes on his own saliva. “...no, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, my dad always calls my mom’s name when he messes things up.”

“What does that have to do with- oh, shit,” he facepalms himself. This kid is going to give him a cardiac arrest any second now. “It doesn’t matter if she’s my girlfriend or not, what matters is I need to get you back to your parents. Do you know where they are right now?”

Mina simply shakes her head with a pout. “Okay, let’s go find them then,” he can’t help but cracks a smile, ruffling her hair endearingly. Most kids would be bawling their eyes out by now knowing that they’ve strayed from their parents; she’s a tough one. 

Felix gently grabs Mina’s hand, biting down on his lower lip as he prays that a cold doesn’t catch up to him tomorrow and ready to dash out of the canopy that’s been keeping him dry for the last hour or two. But then a figure comes into view from afar, holding an umbrella while squinting their eyes through the thick streaks of rain. 

“Y/N..?” he mutters to himself in disbelief when you quickly skip underneath the canopy, collapsing the red umbrella in your hands. Felix recognizes that umbrella anywhere—isn’t that Hyunjin’s? Have you been looking for him? And for how long too?

“Didn’t even think about bringing an umbrella, smartass,” you say with a raised eyebrow. “Oh dear, who do we have here?” Before Felix can defend himself in vain with lame excuses, you’ve already taken your attention off him to stare at the unfamiliar presence. Your intense gaze scares Mina a little, causing the little girl to squeeze Felix’s hand, hiding behind his leg. 

Your friend laughs, patting her little head in reassurance. “Mina, this is Y/N, my classmate. Don’t let her intimidate you.”

“Are you really going to bother with this little one?” you scrunch your nose a bit. “We’re having pork rib soup, by the way, better hurry if you don’t want Han to hog your portion all to himself.”

Felix rolls his eyes at how utterly apathetic you are towards children. If you can get a perfect A in calc then why is it so hard to simply comprehend that every twelve-year-old needs to be returned to their hypothetical parents safely? “What part of ‘a common sense of morality’ can’t you understand?” 

“I don’t want to, actually, sounds like a lot of work,” you hum sarcastically. 

“Your girlfriend is scary,” Mina ensconces herself further behind your friend, officially detecting you as a threat rather than someone who will potentially bring her back to the cabin where her parents are probably flipping the whole place upside down in a panic—which is exactly what you’re planning to do. 

In your defense, you don’t detest kids in general. Only the bratty ones. And Mina is borderline bratty. 

“You know, I can spare her some time, Lost and Found is like..ten minutes away from here.”

“Y/N-” Felix wants to scream at you, rubbing the side of his temple in distress. Imagining you babysitting your neighbor’s newborn last summer with nine bucks per hour, ten hours per day, and five out of seven days per week is one of the few things that constantly keeps him from having a good night's sleep. It baffles him how you haven’t accidentally drowned the infant while giving her a bath. 

Mina gives the side of his jeans a tug, round eyes staring up at him expectantly. “Or we can get juice pops!” she exclaims happily and looks over to you, mustering her best puppy eyes. “Please? I don’t want to be alone..” 

“Twenty seconds ago, you called me scary and now you’re guilt-tripping me?” you crouch down to get a good look at the kid. Bright, innocent brown eyes, cute button nose, and a chipped front tooth—perhaps she’s a little too cute to not get her juice pops. 

Then, “And juice pops too? You evil mad mind genius,” you say after standing up to unfold Hyunjin’s umbrella, swinging it over the top of your head. “That’s extortion, kid, you’re too young for that.”

Felix breaks into a fit of giggles upon seeing you failing at trying to keep a straight face and steps in beside you under the umbrella. His next problem just pops up right then and there—Mina can’t squeeze in considering the umbrella that Hyunjin gave you is solely used for one person. 

“Mina, hop on here,” he decides to get on his knees, permitting the little girl to clumsily climb on his back and eventually plopping herself onto his shoulders. 

“Oh, oh, oh, can you two hold hands?” Mina suggests with a shit-eating grin on her face. This causes Felix’s cheeks to burn with a bright shade of red while you’re too busy throwing daggers at her with your eyes to notice. “My family does this all the time, my dad would carry me on his shoulders and my mom would hold his hand as we walk home after going to the park.”

You and Felix yell simultaneously, “We’re not your parents!!” But that doesn’t seem to scare the little girl. You’re both just encouraging her. 

“Yip yip, horsey, don’t be disobedient now,” she giggles to herself and pulls at a solid patch of Felix’s hair, making you cringe because his hair and scalp have already had enough from his questionable obsession with bright hair colors. 

“Ow! Mina! Stop it! Ow!”

“Okay quit torturing my friend,” you tell her and decide to slip your hand in with Felix’s, intertwining your fingers to secure the grip before showing it to Mina so that she’ll stop before any blood is drawn. “There, we’re holding hands just like your mommy and daddy, you happy?” 

Felix doesn’t say anything even when Mina nods happily, releasing her monstrous grip off his poor scalp. He only lets you tug him away from the canopy of the cafe as he gazes downward, eyes glued to how your hand fits into his perfectly. The sound of rain tapping against the umbrella suddenly bugs him, suffocating him in a way. In other words, it’s really unnatural to think this way about his best friend but he doesn't want you to let go at all. 

Everything seems to move faster when you’re holding onto his hand so certainly. Felix thinks you’re fully aware but try to fight off the voices that are taunting you to just drop it. And truth is, you can care less because your head is now far too fuzzy to focus on anything but the road ahead. 

You pray he doesn’t feel the pounding rhythm from your veins. If your red ears haven’t given it away already. 

seven.

Jisung has weird friends, that’s a fact. And no, you’re not talking about the gang that saved his ass every time he got into trouble aka you plus JeongMinLixJin. You’re talking about those kids from Class 2C that are mutual friends with Changbin.

Because the moment Jisung barges into the cabin and starts babbling nonsense that you can’t comprehend (not that you can comprehend any of his shit on the daily), you know that he just came back from a get together with those sketchy dudes who managed to sneak some booze inside a shampoo bottle.

“Uhm okay, who gave Felix alcohol?” he squints his eyes hard. 

You are more than aware that Jisung is mildly smashed by the way that his cheeks are tinted with a light shade of coral, hiccupping every ten seconds and slightly more clumsy with his feet. He almost tripped over the rug at the front door if it weren’t for Hyunjin who caught him in time so that he wouldn’t break one of his precious teeth. Those painful years of constantly slurping on watery porridge after every dentist appointment to tighten his braces shouldn’t be going down the drain. 

Speaking of bland rice water, that’s all Felix has been fed with after returning to camp because he has no choice. The sickness finally caught up to him as a result of staying outside for too long while still dressed in his rain-soaked uniform. Even under the cotton comforter, he’s radiating heat on the outside but stoically shivering on the inside, his energy level is as diminished as his appetite. 

The nurse said there’s really nothing that can be done but give him some pills and let him ride it out so now Felix’s all curled up in a corner of his bed, cheeks burning flush of fever, coughing and sneezing occasionally. He refuses to be moved to a completely separate cabin because sleeping alone in a confined place knowing that the grizzly bears might be roaming outside your door is quite frightening for a junior in high school. 

“God, what makes you think I’m the batshit drunk one here?” Felix croaks, his voice more hoarse and gruff than usual because every word pains him, his vocal cords pulse in agony at each syllable. And that sentence was probably the longest thing you’ve heard from him since dinner. 

Jisung lets Hyunjin toss him onto his bed, face down, and props himself up on his forearms. “Uhh, have you checked yourself the mirror?” he hiccups, words a bit slurred, palms outstretched in a grabby motion. “Seungmin, water- ow! What the fuck was that!?” 

He rubs the side of his head while babbling incoherently like a fucking five-year-old because Seungmin decided to chuck a water bottle at him. Those years of playing baseball during retreats indeed paid off. 

“I went for the head,” Seungmin looks up from his book calmly, acting innocent. 

Jisung whines and turns to his side, watching as the water bottle rolls back towards him after coming in contact with the wall. “God, I miss Minho. You guys suck,” he takes it before sitting right up but flops himself back down when a pang of pain claws at his temple. Who even allowed him to drink?

“Didn’t he make your high school experience miserable?” Hyunjin laughs, sitting down on the corner of his bed, legs curled into his chest. 

“Hello? That was me,” Seungmin clarifies, he sounds a little offended. “He called me a nerd for studying late at the library for our finals! Our fucking finals! Do you know how insecure my freshman self was? I was so hurt!” 

You cross your arms and mumble, “He’s the same guy who treated you ice-cream after finding out you got a B in physics.”

Hyunjin hums, butting into the topic, “And he made me do fifty push-ups because I unintentionally skipped a day at practice. Our Dance Club really didn’t need a president who effortlessly snatches the Asshole of the Year Award like he’s stealing candies from a kid.”

“Please, you’re practically buddies now,” you scoff. “You always play Mario Kart and rewatch the Avatar series with him, even during midterms!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Jisung suddenly gets on his feet, jumping up and down like a maniac. You’re highly concerned for the bed by the creaking sound that it’s making—sounds just like something straight out of a horror film. “He almost threw a knife at me!”

You’re running out of excuses to defend your stupid brother at this rate. What’s the point in trying anyway? “Han, it was a plastic knife, chill.”

Jisung crawls off his bed to approach you, pinching his thumb and index finger together before shoving them to your face. “I was this close to dying! You try having someone threaten to throw a knife at you during lunch break,” he complains like it’s the end of the world. Truth is, you’ve seen (and experienced) worse things. 

“Minho’s still my brother.”

Staring at you, Jisung looks unimpressed. “He wanted to kill me because I commented on his puffy cheeks that day.”

“He’s adopted.”

The conversation is pulled to a halt right there when Felix does a full-body groan, his head spinning and sweats starting to collect at his hairline. With his mind buzzed like he’s floating, the bickering only adds to the pressure that’s squeezing each of his functioning brain cells. In other words, it feels as though Han Jisung is a fucking hamster going on a marathon across his body, nibbling on his limbs and ears as he’s going through a hangover, his immune system going on a rampage. 

Felix doesn’t even drink. 

“That’s my call for a bedtime story.” You glare at Jisung when he clears his throat while you’re attempting to tuck Felix into bed, pressing your palm against his forehead to check his temperature. It’s not climbing anymore, he should be okay after sweating everything out. 

Hyunjin pulls his friend back onto his bed, locking his limbs in tight before he waddles around and potentially breaks one of those decorative pieces on the bookshelf. “Not to burst your ego, but I don’t think you’re sober enough to give us a good story,” he says unapologetically. 

“Puh-lease,” Jisung lets out the weirdest chuckle at that, wagging his forearm like those Japanese ceramic cat figures that are supposed to bring people good fortune; and Han Jisung is notorious for bringing people anything but good fortune. “They didn’t even have vodka, only Strongbow. That shit is too weak for me.”

You snort involuntarily, “Actually, I think you meant you’re too weak for those bottles of cider.”

“Wow, Y/N, what a snake.”

eight.

The bonfire crackles, flaring up to life when coach Kim tosses a lit matchstick into the pyramid pile of branches and woods. The flame projects long shadows of the trees all round along, swirling and curling in obscure shapes with the high schoolers that each hugs their own cup of hot cocoa, chomping on their marshmallows of choice. 

Glowing embers beneath are colored by the inferno that seems to be moving with the rhythm and melody of the song that they’re all singing along, drumming their feet and bobbing their heads simultaneously. 

“Are you guys sure you don’t want to join them?” Felix says apologetically after sneezing into a piece of tissue, his nose all red and swollen. “I can just… I don’t know, read a book or something.”

When he refers to those oddly colorful and rather bulky-looking books on the shelves, Seungmin immediately stops putting a cookie inside his mouth midway. “Those are called ‘aesthetically useless interior decoration’, Lix. Good luck trying to open those plastic blocks,” he expresses with his hands after stuffing the cookie into his mouth, chewing rather aggressively. 

Felix feels quite bad because, for all he knows, Hyunjin and Seungmin have been planning on going kayaking today and trying out volleyball tomorrow. You’re all going home in two days yet they’ve done nothing but pigging out in pure distress. “Still, it’s a summer camp, you all should be out there having fun, not stuck inside to look after me while tolerating...that,” he quietly looks over at Jisung who just exited the bathroom after splashing his face with some water. 

At least he doesn’t look crazy and homeless now. 

“How are they doing that again?” you join Hyunjin as he rests his head lazily on his forearms, staring outside from the cabin’s window like Rapunzel in an alternative universe where Flynn Rider managed to escape the tower with the crown, leaving her behind longing for civil human interactions in vain. 

“They sing..” he drawls. “And turn their heads to look at each other in the eye.”

You wave it off absentmindedly, falling on your back so now your head is hung upside down from the bed, your arms dangling midair. “Well, that sounds exhausting,” you mumble, ignoring the way that Seungmin is internally judging you. 

Hyunjin sighs, “Never one for sentiment, are you?”

“Easier to let it burn,” you answer flatly, sitting upright when blood starts rushing to your head. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Seungmin immediately forces a smile at Felix. “We’re not really into sitting with a bunch of idiots just to enjoy a mildly decent hot cocoa either way.”

Suddenly the lights go out, and Felix immediately curls himself further into the blanket, a little thrown off. Jisung’s face comes into view out of nowhere when he makes a grab for the oil lamp that no one seems to take notice of, lighting it up with a single match. “C’mon, kids, no bonfire is complete without a good ghost story,” he crosses his legs on the floor happily, still somewhat tipsy so his body is bouncing in excitement with occasional hiccups. 

Hyunjin and Seungmin exchange questionable looks before scrambling to the floor, settling themselves a few solid inches in front of the oil lamp with a sigh while you only shrug at Felix, propping your head onto your hands. Laziness is starting to hold you hostage on Hyunjin’s bed at this rate. 

Seungmin spares Jisung a slight glare, “Better not bullshit us with the same one that you heard at school-”

“No,” Jisung’s lips morph into something similar to a smirk, he looks concerningly confident for someone who’s utterly terrified after watching IT. And now he’s attempting to give his bros who are equally jumpy about everything and anything, you’re excited to see how this goes. “I heard this one from a camp counselor, true story.” You definitely don’t like the sound of that.

At first, the ghost was no more than a chill in the air, a shimmer of mist to the common eyes. Through the heavy rain and fog that seeps through people’s skin, chilling the core of their bones, it slowly came into focus. It wasn’t until the camper found refuge under a canopy of an abandoned café that it congealed into a form—a small child with brilliant round eyes, dressed in white clothing. 

For a moment, all was silent and still. It was as though the camper got hypnotized, feet planted to the ground. Then, he could hear a small lullaby in a cheerful voice. 

“Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St.Clements…” They know how that one ended. 

Suddenly someone blows out the candle, but Jisung’s voice still rings in your eardrums. “When the camper took a step back, the ghost spoke again, this time with the voice almost of a smoker and grin…” You can feel Hyunjin hop back to bed with you in a tick of a clock, holding onto you for dear life with the infrequent whimpers of fear. 

Jisung proceeds to continue, “The grin soon became a snarl, baring teeth like a wolf when it finished the lullaby…”

A muffled silence descends. And, “Have you come to play…?”

“AHHH!!” Felix lets out a petrified shriek, but what confuses you is the sound of Jisung grunting rather in pain. Seungmin sighs in disapproval, flickering the lights on while leaning back against the wall. 

And now before your eyes is a slightly traumatized, feverish Felix with clattering teeth, quivering inside his blanket. Whereas, Jisung is sprawled across the floor, hugging his poor stomach, hacking up lungs. Deserve.

“This is why you don’t give people who can high-kick jump scares, dumbass,” Seungmin comments and crouches down in front of Jisung like his knight in shiny armors, letting a bottle of ointment dangle between his fingers. “Put this on, bet it’s already bruising.”

Hyunjin releases his arms around you and walks towards the freckled boy who looks like he’s about to slip into a coma. “Lix, are you okay?” he knits his brows together, starting to feel somewhat concerned. 

Felix only waves it off with a raspy laugh, standing on wobbly legs with his blanket still wrapped around his figure. “I’m fine, I’ll just go wash my face.” Truth is, he’s anything but fine. And it doesn’t help when he accidentally has a glance of his own reflection in the body-length mirror from across the cabin—his hair is sticking to his forehead, his face is slightly more puffy than usual, and his eyebags look like he hasn’t slept in decades—he looks worse than a trash can, basically. 

“Hyunjin,” you raise a brow at your friend’s current state.

“What?”

“Catch him.”

“Huh-” Hyunjin snaps his head back when a loud thud is heard, eyes growing twice as big in sheer panic upon the sight of Felix laying on his stomach, mere inches away from his feet. “Felix!!” Your friends rush to his side while you’re too busy checking the thermometer by his nightstand. The temperature doesn’t seem to be too alarming, he should be fine after sleeping and sweating it out. But really, Felix looks more like he’s having the nap of a lifetime rather than passing out from the worst fever of the century. That doesn’t stop everyone from freaking out, unfortunately. 

Also, everyone can agree that this is the first and last storytime to ever happen.

nine.

Felix sits on the beach, eyes moving from sand to stone, from rock pools to breaking waves. He lets out a sigh, an exhale of relief when a breeze passes by him, tousling his hair as he buries his feet deeper into the primrose-colored grains. The briny aroma that exists in every fiber of air makes him feel at ease, as though unknotting all his angsty-teenager worries with grace. He feels a bit better, partially because his fever has already gone down when he shook you out of your half-asleep state at four in the morning. 

“Why?” you ask without turning your head after sensing his tense posture.

Felix looks confused, a little startled when you break the silence. “Why what?”

“Why the long face?” you unknowingly exhale too, stubbornly gazing forward. “Thinking about something?” For some reason, you’re too...scared to even spare him a small glance. This isn’t you, did his fever rub off on you or something?

To your dismay, his sudden inquiry catches you off guard. “High school is going to be over in a year, have you thought about what to do?” 

You open your mouth to protest with something along the line of he’s overthinking again and there’s still an entire year ahead to make new memories but when you’re about to utter the first word, your mouth automatically snaps itself close. It’s like you have an entire masterpiece planned out in your mind but when someone tosses you a blank canvas, you’re standing there in defeat like the biggest idiot. Felix is serious this time, you know it’s not because he’s lightheaded after riding out the fever. 

“Honestly?” you breathe out. “No, I haven’t. God, I don’t even want to think about it, the future scares me a little.”

Upon the mossed rock and vibrant horizon, comes the sun rays that are promised by the starlit sky. It makes you both a little breathless, not exchanging a single word nor moving a muscle for a while. 

Until, “Fine, it scares me a whole lot,” you confess, gaze cast downward as you hug your legs closer to your chest. “It sucks because everyone seems to have their lives together, Jisung is finally taking his interest in music seriously, Hyunjin is planning on being an actual theater kid, and Seungmin is...I don’t know, but he’s definitely onto something. Point is, everyone is already one too many steps ahead of me, I’m just..here, stuck. And I don’t feel like I have-”

“A lot of time left.” Felix finishes your sentence, prompting you to look at him this time. His delicate features shine under the cracking lights of dawn, starry eyes twinkling and lips outstretched into the smile that you absolutely adore. He has such a contagious type of smile that it makes you feel a little less dead inside whenever you see it. But your heartbeat also grows a little more ecstatic. 

A hearty chuckle. “You’re not alone, you know,” he says while not breaking away from the eye contact, this makes your throat grow dry. “I still have so much to do, so much to...say yet too little time. So yeah, don’t think about it too much, I’m never gonna leave you behind no matter what.”

You have to hold back a playful scoff at that; and to think he was the one who brought up this sappy topic. “If anything, you’re the overthinker in this relationship,” you tell him with a nudge on his rib. “But if you’ve already had my back, then you should know that I’ll always have yours too.”

Because what would you do without an overthinker like Felix? Drowning your sorrow by stress-eating in the middle of the night? Bottoming out on questionable drinks to end up like Han Jisung? Winging every single important choice that can potentially flip your life upside down in either a good or bad way? Not in a million years. He knows that you need him as much as he needs you, harsh truth but you still hate it either way.

You both don’t look forward to the future, like at all. 

You’re too apathetic and overall just a big ‘meh’ about it. You’re the type of person that goes with the flow, letting life toss you around like a ragdoll until you finally snap at some point to fight back because you know where the line between giving up and knowing that you’ve had enough is. Meanwhile, Felix is rather anxious about things. If a piece of paper with a pencil can draw out the map of his entire destiny ahead then he’ll have it finished in one night. But he’s grown out of his middle school self to know that things don’t always go as planned.

Guess if things turn out to be shit, you’ll still have him.

“Does that mean if we’re still single in our thirties, you’ll marry me like how our parents always joke about?” Felix cracks a shit-eating grin this time, one that makes your heart swell but for the most part, you wanna whack him unconscious with a pillow. 

You sneer in return, “Sure, but you’ll have to fall for me first.”

There’s a pang in Felix’s chest, it’s so loud and evident that he’s afraid you might hear it. You really didn’t have to slap him in the face with that seemingly harmless statement. “Hmm, who would even fall for a stubborn hermit crab like you?” he jokes to hide the nervousness that’s crawling upon his spine. His ears are probably bright red right now. “Although...that wouldn’t be a problem with me.” Because he’s already fallen for you, a little too hard actually.

“What does that even mean?” you only hum after questioning his statement, nothing makes sense right now since you’re getting a little sleepy because a certain someone wanted to watch the sunrise which simply lasted for about two minutes after two(ish) hours of waiting.

“I don’t know,” Felix laughs before standing up, dusting the sand off of his jeans. “You go figure it out, smartass.” With that, he runs off with his Converses dangling between his fingers, leaving you dumbfounded in the middle of the beach like a total dimwit. Slowly, within those five seconds of making eye contact with your best friend again, his words zero in on you like a wakeup call. 

Urgently grabbing your sneakers, you chase after him. “Hey- wait! GET BACK HERE!” By looks of it, you’ve probably figured it out now. It’s not like he’s trying to be subtle either.

Felix feels like he just gained strength from spewing out that indirect confession, and it gives him a tiny ray of hope that he still has his entire youth before his eyes to tell you how he really feels. Or his whole life if you don’t start resenting him for crossing the line that no one dares talk about when they have a thing for their best friend. 

Either way, as long as Felix sees your presence side by side with him at every ups and downs, he’s home. 

[writingsbychlo]

rapp-ed around your heart (02)

word count; 15,038

summary; moving on towards California, mitch is forced to face the truth, and some of his feelings, but maybe he’s not all that cut up about it.

notes; please remember, I am british and have never once been to america so if I got something wrong, please kindly comment and don’t leave messages like ‘um, that is not how we do it’, because I wouldn't know.

warnings; mentions of anger, mentions of injury, mentions of death.

The South West

It was gone two in the morning when you finally arrived in Houston, a truck stop not far outside of the main city as you prepared to settle down and sleep. Despite all the coffee you’d had, and the snacks you’d eaten on the way up, you were desperate to get in bed, ready to sleep off a long day.

It had been a long but fun drive, the two of you endeavouring to stay awake and keep one another company, not wanting each other to have to spend hours at a time alone with their thoughts, and you were begrudging to do so, not when you were making such good progress on learning more about the man you were with, finally unlocking some of the personality he kept locked away so tightly. You swapped over continually, ensuring that nobody was ever driving for too long, not once the late hours moved in, the night bringing a sweet haze that made your eyelids feel heavy and made your mind spin with the thought of drifting off into dreams.

The lights overhead shone brightly, but you’d found the darkest corner you could, nestling the car between two larger vehicles that would stop the shining of the neon signs and the streetlights, the occasional hum of other cars being somewhat soothing, your time on the road turning the low rumbling of an engine into something more familiar than silence was, and you found yourself comfortable with the noise, whether it was from your car or not.

Hopping out of the car, you were eager to stretch your arms up and over your head, letting out a happy sigh when your muscles all loosened up from the positions they’d been stuck in during the long journey, your joints all feeling stiff and locked up, and you shook yourself down, pins and needles in your legs receding a little bit as you bounced on the tips of your toes.

There was a faint smell of petrol and fast food in the parking lot, you stomach twisting in discounted at the thought of eating food this late at night, your face screwing up a little to suppress a yawn, and Mitch rounded the vehicle to look at you, raising his brows with a chuckle, and you shrugged a little, clasping your hands before your body and taking a few steps towards to back of the car where he stood.

“You want to go get washed up first, and then me?”

You nodded, tiredness sweeping over you once again, and you didn’t trust your voice, watching instead as he unlatched the box atop the car, pulling out your sleep bag and handing it over to you, his own following a second later, and you passed away across the carpark to find some bathrooms to change and brush your teeth in. You barely even registered yourself pulling on your pyjamas, working on autopilot as you washed your face and cleaned your skin while making your best effort to touch as little of the grumpy washroom as you possibly could.

Making your way back over to him, he was sitting on the edge of the car, waving your hairbrush sat you, the same item you’d been looking for when you couldn't find it only moments ago, and you accepted it gratefully as he held it out to you. He took his turn, dashing away from you as he crossed the parking lot, and you pulled the scrunchie from your hair to release the tangles, running your fingers through it a little to flatten it down, before you were brushing it carefully, dropping the free strands away to the carpark cement floor, and tucking your bag back away up top, sure to tuck the brush back where it belonged, before sitting o the edge of the car. Pulling off your shoes, you dropped them over into the passenger seat footwell, and crawled up over the mattress so settle comfortably beneath the covers.

You were only alone for a minute, the cool night breeze washing away the stale and stifling warm air that hair but up over the drive, and giving you a more refreshing atmosphere in which to fall asleep. The car shifted a little as Mitch came back, slamming the box shut, and sealing it up, before he was lingering in the open space of the trunk, hand on the open door ready to close it up for you.

“Are you really going to sleep in the front seat again? You’re going to mess up your back.” He shrugged a little, and you bit the inside of your cheek to hold in your laugh as his eyes swept over the pile of cushions, pillows and blankets that you had set up across the majority of the car. You brushed your hand over the space beside you, shuffling a little closer to one of the sides, and patting at the spare pillow. “You can sleep back here, y’know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Totally.” You grinned, and he seemed to deliberate over the decision for a moment longer, before he took a seat, dropping the shoes over into the front seat just like your own, and you leaned across to pull down the edge of the trunk, locking the car from the inside. When you turned back, he was laying down himself, holding up the edge of the blanket for you and letting you settle back down into your warmed spot, your cheek pressing into your pillow.

He was stuff, his body bent in a little bit of an unusual position as he laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling pointedly, and you reached a hand out in his direction, turning his face towards yours, his lips pursing as he raised his eyebrows. “Get comfy, Mitch, or else you’re going to be unhappy. I’m not going to freak out if your leg brushes mine in the night, you won’t have a shoot out with Uncle Stan at dawn.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes at the image you had painted for him, before he was letting out a slow breath, and rolling onto his side a little to face you. His legs pulled up, one hand tucking under his pillow as the other sat in the space between you both, and you nodded to yourself, positioning your own body in much the same way.

“Better?”

“Much, actually.” He mumbled, his eyes closing as he pulled the blanket further up his neck until it was brushing his cheek, and you hummed happily as it shifted up your own body in response. The cool air quickly became warm, your bodies almost pressed together as you settled down under the cover, and he shifted once again, his hand coming up to sit on your forearm where your hand was tucked under your head, breath brushing over your face. “Goodnight.”

You didn’t even open your eyes, a small smile taking place on your lips as his thumb smoothed over your skin absentmindedly. “Night, Mitch.”

It was warmer than you were used to when you awoke, the stifling heat under the covers somewhere between a cosy warmth and an overwhelming heat. You weren’t used to sharing the bed with someone else, being able to smell leftover cologne on the pillow beside you or the feel of another person so close, but you rolled over anyway, humming a little to yourself as you did, and finding Mitch a lot closer to you than you’d anticipated. 

At this distance you could feel the soft puffs of air that he was letting out with each breath, you could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest each time he breathed, and you could see the very minute details of his face up close. Small wrinkles and worry lines, as well as tiny scars that you wouldn't notice from a distance, but closer in you could pick them up, puffy pink patches of skin mixed in with the sweet brown moles that covered his face, mostly buried and hidden by the continual scruffy patch of beard that he sported at all times. 

“It’s from shrapnel.”

You jumped a little at his voice, twitching in shock, and the edges of his lips quirked up in a cock smile at startling you. His eyes finally fluttered open, long lashes no longer resting against his cheeks as he blinked into the morning light, before sweeping his eyes over your own face in return. 

“When things go to shit and we end up near an explosion, there’s a lot of tiny pieces of flying glass and grit, and sometimes I have to pick them out with tweezers in the mirror when we get back, they leave tiny scars that you hardly notice.” You hummed under your breath, reaching up to scrape your nail over one lightly, and the muscles underneath twitched a little at the feather-light touch. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t, I’ve been awake for a little while.” He muttered, his eyes closing again, and you processed the statement, cheeks flaring up slightly. You figured that if he’d woken up laying this close to you that he would have been up and about immediately, on his phone waiting for you to surface, or simply waking you himself, but he'd let you sleep in, staying where he was as not to disturb you so that you could snooze for as long as possible, and your heart warmed a little at the thought. “What’s on for the plan today, then?”

“I was kinda thinking we could check out the zoo?” You moved a little pushing down the blanket so that you could lift out your arm to sit atop the blanket instead of underneath, and he matched you, his fingers brushing your own as he opened his eyes to look at you once again. 

“It’s supposed to be warm today, like really warm, I checked the weather forecast before bed last night. The zoo is a good call, we probably don’t want to drive before the evening, because we’ll roast alive in here.” You grinned at his words, shaking your head at his odd humour, and moving to reach for your phone at where it was plugged into the charger, before bringing it back down between the two of you. 

“I’ll book us in online.”

“You want to get breakfast here, or on the road?” He finally pulled away from you, propping himself up to sit against the back of the car until his head almost brushed the roof of the car, but he could extend his arms and legs out in front of himself in a satisfying stretch. 

“We got any of those pastries left?”

“A few.” He replied, digging around until he found the bag, and presenting them to you with a flourish that made you grin. The next item he reached for was his shoes, holding them in his hand as he tugged them on and left the laces undone, hanging open around the ground. “I’ll go grab us some coffee to go with them, okay? You get directions to the zoo downloaded.” 

You gave him a mock salute as he made his way to crawl out of the car, even offering an ‘aye, aye, captain’ under your breath, the door opening and slamming shut as he disappeared across the parking lot and into the building, disappearing from your view as you focused on your phone. 

It was a good ten minutes or so before he returned, fully dressed this time and smelling much fresher, the scent of mint lingering around him from where he’d cleaned his teeth, and he had his bag slung over his shoulder and two large to-go cups of coffee in his hand, a paper bag between his teeth. You took it from him once he’d knocked on the window, placing it beside you before taking the coffees from his hands too, letting him tuck his bag away and follow back into the car, sitting back where he had been and stretching his legs back out.

“I got some sugars and some creamers and just a fuck-ton of those wooden stirring things because they’re useful for, like, everything, so..” He peeled the plastic top back off of his coffee, opening up two sugar packets and a creamer and tipping them both in, before snatching up one of the aforementioned sticks and mixing it all together. You were more preoccupied with the bag of leftover treats from your time in New Orleans, and you held one out to him in offering as he sorted his drink. 

Opening his mouth, you pushed it between his lips, his mouth closing around it, a garbled and muffled ‘thank you; sounding out as he held it in place with his teeth, crumbs fluttering down around him, before he was finally satisfied, putting the lid back on a freeing up a hand to hold his food with.

The two of you ate in relative peacefulness, sometimes pausing between your bites of food to discuss the day, and other times, you’d simply be sitting in quiet. You had turned the music on partway through, starting the car up rough to be able to roll down the window and air it out before it got too hot, and once you were done, it was your turn to change. 

You shook out the covers of crumbs and remade the bed together, before you’d disappeared for long enough to change into a pair of shots and an old band shirt, one that made Mitch’s eyes roll as he shook his head. He had proceeded to comment on how he recognised it from some of the songs you were playing, and asking you if a piece of merchandise that old was a hand-me-down from Uncle Stan, bursting out laughing when you’d looked at him in shock at his guess. 

The drive hadn't taken long, and it seemed to take you an equal length of time - if not longer - just to find somewhere to park, and to queue up and grab your tickets, and as you watched dhow slowly the walk-in line was moving, you were glad you’d had the initiative, even if it had only been a couple of hours ago that you’d thought to do so. 

The first animals you had seen on your journey had been the meerkats, your body pressed in as close to the fence as you could get, reading the plaque outside of their cage, and pointing out all the different ones, watching as their heads popped up, and the scurried around, soaking up some of the sun while rolling around in their dusty and sandy enclosure. 

“Do you knew meerkats have, like, super pointy teeth?”

“They do not!” You scoffed, turning to look at Mitch over your shoulder, the brim of the floppy sun hat he’d bought you brushing his cheek as he looked down at you, and he glared at the item indignantly for a second, before bringing his attention back to you and letting his anger melt away. “They have like, cute little teeth, or something. Look at them, they’re adorable!”

“Nope, they have really savage pointy teeth.”

You shook your head, pulling out your phone, and he stepped in a little closer as not to block the path, placing a hand over your screen to shield it front the sun so that you could both see it, as you typed the question into the search bar and waiting for the results. “What the fuck is this? I hate it.”

He pressed his nose into the top of your head as he laughed at your reaction, watching as you flicked through different pictures, his hand slipping to your waist as you turned to look at him in mild shock and abject horror. “What did you expect? They’re omnivores, they eat meat, like lizards ad birds and things!”

“They have fangs, Mitch! Where are they even keeping those? Huh? Look at their tiny little snouts!” You were thoroughly displeased by it, and he was guiding you way from the enclosure before you’d even released, your body pressed into his side as the two of you walked toward the sea lions. 

They were beautiful, diving in and out of the water, preening themselves up on the rocks, and showing themselves off as they sunbathed. The birds had been even more majestic, the flamingos a bright decoration across the landscape that you had adored takin pictures of, letting Mitch photograph you in front of the cages, the bright flashes of pink feathers and blue water, making it a perfect picture setting, and you could already tell that the photos you took today would come to be some of you favourites of the trip. The tropical birdhouse had been filled with all the flying creatures you’d seen on TV and never thought you’d get to see in real life; toucans, parrots, kookaburras, kingfishers, it was breathtaking watching them swoop and soar, squawking and singing tunes you’d never understand but would always appreciate. 

Seeing the alligators had been exhilarating, as had the red pandas been, taking a thumbs-up photo in front of the cages holding the large reptilians, a cheesy one to send to your uncle, and a series of pictures you hadn't even realised Mitch has been taking of you until you’d turned around, ones of you pointing into the cage with an awed look on your face as you watched the furry little animals scamper around, thrilled simply to be alive and healthy, uncaring of all the visitors passing them by. 

You couldn't deny that the attraction you were most excited for, however, was the bigs cats. You wanted to see them all; cheetahs and tigers and lions, read every bit of information on them and get as many snaps as you could, watching he predators prowl around and flaunt their power to everyone who stopped to see them. 

Stopping outside of the first one you came across, it was the cougars, proud and bold animals, your heart exploding in your chest once you saw the group of smaller ones all rolling in the dirt, play fighting and practising their skills as they jumped and leapt from one another, while the mother's did protective laps around the walls of the cages. Next had been the tigers, and you were sure to drop plenty of change into the donation box outside of it, your heart aching as you read about their endangerment. They were beautiful, and elegant, their stripes setting them apart and distinguishing them from all the others, and you’d never understand why anyone would want to hunt them. 

A loud roaring had called you onwards onto the lion cage, and you’d been in time to watch a feeding, your eyes wide as you gripped onto Mitch’s arm excitedly. There was a tour guide explaining loudly with a microphone what was going to happen, the animals already beginning to crowd around what was clearly a feeding box as they waited for another member of staff to bring a bucket of chopped meat pieces over, and somehow, Mitch had managed to shoulder his way through the crowds, pulling you along behind him until you were standing in the front. 

Your heart was in your chest as the man explained how they were fed, and what their diet consisted of, and how they looked after their animals, the roaring and growling of the creatures behind increasing as they smelled their meal, only seconds later the helping staff member arriving with a bucket of raw meat slabs, and placing it down beside his feet. He was asking for volunteers, anyone brave enough to actually step forwards and feed one of the beasts, and then his eyes were on you as he put down the microphone. 

Turning your head a little, you found a finger pointing down at you from above, before his other hand was pushing you forward, and you were stumbling over your own feet as you stepped up to the bucket, shaking a little with nerves as you shot him a look, but then everyone was staring at you in quiet fascination. 

“Okay, what you’re gonna’ do, is take a chunk of meat out of the box, bit heavy and slippery so make sure you’ve got a good grip, and bring it over. I’ll unlock this box and pull the lid back, and when you look in, there’s going to be teeth and claws at the bottom waiting. You’re totally safe, they can’t bend through there, and they can’t get in.” You nodded as he spoke, gagging a little at the meat in the bucket before surprising it, excitement and adrenaline taking over, and you reached into the box, selecting your offering and picking it up. Turning to Mitch, he had his phone camera raised, shooting you a thumbs up at he looked at the phone, and you figured he was recording the event.

As he said, the staff member unlocked the box, leaning over it to check it was sorted, and when you looked in, there were claws scratching at the metal, and teeth snapping hungrily. 

“Alright, love, hold the meat from the top and lower it in about halfway. Wait until you feel the pull from underneath, that means one of them has a hold of it, and they’re going to want to tug it from your hands and run before one of the others gets it.” You nodded in your understanding, taking a deep breath and lowering it in carefully. Just as he’d said, the tug came almost instantly as it was within reach, large and vicious claws curling into the bottom of it and ripping it from your hands, before it was pulled out and caught within a proud lion’s jaw in seconds as it took off in a run while other’s pulled away to snatch the treat, before returning to where they knew more was to come from.

When it was snatched, you jumped back with a loud squeal, scared for only a second, before an overwhelming sense of pride too over, and you let out a cheer to yourself, your hand smacking against the gloved one of the worker when he offered you a high-five, and clapping took up around you as others began to volunteer, having seen in be done. Making your way back over to Mitch, you were partially skipping as he beamed at you, and you looked between hi and the cage as you watched the other lions be fed. 

“Holy shit, I just fed a lion!”

“I saw!” He returned your happiness just as enthusiastically, and you felt like your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. “Let’s go get you washed up, okay?” You looked down at your hands as he held your wrists, before realising your fingers and palms were stained with a little blood from the raw meat, and you accepted the antibacterial wipes being held out to you, but still wanted to find a washroom to clean up in. 

After stopping off to see the cheetahs, the zebras and the giraffes, you had stopped for lunch, getting quick and easy sandwiches from one of the vendors, and taking ice-creams with you as you walked the rest of your way around the zoo, taking photos of every animal you came across. It had been an incredible day, the ‘African Forest’ exhibit that the man accompanying you had been so excited for was breathtaking, all kinds of animals roaming around, and it had been the perfect day for it. Not too hot, not too cold, and no rain, you didn’t miss a single creature, all of them out to enjoy their day and show off to you, and you couldn't have been happier. 

The two of you had spent an unbelievable amount of time in the gift shop, going through everything there before settling on simply getting one thing each, you getting an ‘I fed a lion and survived’ shirt after seeing the staff member who’d helped you, and he’d prompted you to get it after printing you off a cheesy certificate, and Mitch ad purchased a paperweight, and beautiful glass dome that was clear, save for the rainbow-coloured feather sitting inside that had fallen from a parrot, and apparently it had been made from the feathers of the animals here when they fell loose. 

You stored them both carefully in the car when you got back out, wrapping his glass item within your shirt for protection and storing it in a box, the carpark being much clearer than when you arrived as it moved towards the evening, having spent everything from the late morning on the zoo grounds, and it was finally cool enough for you to get a little more of your journey in, the longest drive on the whole trip being ahead of you for tomorrow. 

“I’m in the mood for Chinese food. What are you thinking?”

He spoke the words right as your stomach rumbled, the two of you hopping up into the car as you decided to get a chunk of the drive done tonight, at least getting just to the other side of San Antonio before you stopped for the night, shaving a good few hours off of your long-haul drive up to Arizona tomorrow, and you turned to him as he started up the car, nodding your head. “I think that’s an awesome idea.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. I‘ve been craving dumplings for ages, now.”

You pulled out your phone, beginning to search up the best place to go near you as he began to drive, sending the directions to the car’s satnav before turning on the music, quiet enough that you’d still be able to hear the directions over the top of it when needs be. 

Ordering food was a real problem for the two of you, trying to narrow down all the options that you wanted to simply enough that the two of you could carry, and you ended up getting more than enough food despite those efforts, carrying it all out to the car. Sitting in the back seat, you were left in charge of unwrapping and balancing it all, having gathered food that would be easy enough for you to handle in the vehicle, which meant leaving out the noodles and chow-mein, despite how good they had sounded and smelled in the restaurant. 

Opening up the cardboard container, steam curled out into the air and filled the car with the delicious scent of the dumplings you had purchased two boxers of, and you used the chopsticks to dig one out, Mitch letting out a loud groan as he caught a whiff. Taking a bite from it, you humming happily at the hot mouthful, panting a little and sounding like a dragon as you tried to cool it down, before popping the rest into your mouth. 

“Good?”

“So good.” You could barely tell what your own words said when he spoke them, but he seemed to pick it up, twisting his head a little to face you for only a moment as he grinned, before focusing on the road ahead of him. Grabbing another one, you lifted it up to his mouth, pushing it against his lips gently, and he opened his mouth to take it, before the car was jolting as he dipped down into pothole, and the soft pocket fell from the sticks you held it with, rolling down his front and he grabbed it before it hit the seat. “Oh, fuck!”

“Shit, it’s hot!” He cursed, lifting it to his mouth and shaking his hand as it burned a little form the impact, and you burst out in a fit of giggles as he panted at the heat, and his own laughs were quietened around the food in his mouth. “It’s good, though.”

You fed yourself another one, nodding in agreement, and lifting another one up in offering. “More?”

“Yes, but try not to drop this one on me.” His words were mockingly teasing, and you gasped at him, his mouth opening to take it before you snatched it away and ate it yourself, and he growled out in response. 

“That was your fault, watch where you’re driving!”

“Yeah, yeah, just feed me, sweetheart.” He scoffed, muttering under his breath, and you held out another one for him, this one going much better for you both as you succeeded into getting it into his mouth without dropping it, even managing to hold it for him as he blew on it to cool it down first. 

The rest of the meal went much like that, the two of you sharing out the food, laughing together and simply chatting as you went, the hours ticking by with every mile you travelled, time slipping away from you as you twisted or face him in the chair, pulling your legs up to your chest as he told you a story, talking more all at once than you ever had heard him talk before. 

He was recounting the story of the first time he’d met your uncle, the first weeks when he’d been in training, and the contact times he’d been covered head to toe in bruises as he was thrown onto the ground every ten minutes, and tossed up against what felt like every tree on the acres of land that he owned. You knew the moves, and everything he spoke of, being able to execute and perform all of them in the same way that he did, because you’d been practising them all since you knew how to walk, catching Mitch off-guard when you’d revealed to him that you were just as deadly as he was, if not a little more. You were a born and raised assassin, you just happened to like to collect shitty zoo merchandise and go on road trips instead of making use of your skills.

By the time you came to a stop, you’d passed by San Antonio, the two of you growing tired, and deciding to call it a day on your driving, offering up the entirety of tomorrow towards driving to Arizona, and opting for an earlier night instead. You found a trash can, throwing away all of the rubbish, and changing into your pyjamas and settling yourself into bed, waiting for Mitch to come back.

“Can I sleep in the back with you again?”

You smiled at him as he sat down on the edge, a sweet pink bush barely visible from beneath his beard in the low light, and you nodded, lifting the edge of covers for him, and he was quick to take up a place beside you after sealing and locking the car. “You don’t have to ask, it’s okay.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s your bed, and your road trip, I’m just crashing your fun.”

“I’m having loads of fun with you, if not more than I would have had alone.” You paused and waited as he got himself comfortable, reading out gently to place a hand on your waist over the cover, and you tucked your arm over the top of it to assure him that it was okay, the two of you facing one another closely. “I never would have fed a lion without you, and it’s nice having company, I like having you here.”

He grinned, nodding his head and simply looking at you for a while, before his eyes were closing, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your waist in aimless patterns as you closed your own eyes, settling your breathing in tandem with his as the two of you slipped away into quiet, and you shuffled in a little closer to him, his hand slipping from your waist to your lower back, fingers flexing out over your skin. 

It was quiet for a long while, long enough that you were almost asleep, feeling the quiet take over as your subconscious began to step forward and take over, before a quiet voice broke the silence, raspy and low as he whispered it out, like a secret confession;

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” You mumbled, nudging your face up toward him a little, but not opening your eyes, and you felt him sigh lowly, shuffling a little in his place, seemingly nervous about what he was going to say. 

“I feel guilty.” He finally spoke, his hand pressing a little firmer on your back as his fingers dug into your skin, and you reached a hand up, squeezing at his forearm reassuringly. “I feel guilty, because I don’t think about her as much anymore. I thought I’d miss Katrina every day for as long as I lived, I thought she’d be my dying thought, in all my dreams, everything my life centred around, and it’s all changed. I feel better, and feeling better makes me feel worse.”

Your eyes snapped open at that, and you looked up to him, finding his sad eyes already on you, and your hand slipped up a little high, resting on his shoulder as you tried to work out what to say. “It’s okay, Mitch. It’s okay to move on.”

“Is it?”

“Of course, it is.” When your words didn’t seem to convince him, you tried again, sorting your thoughts to be a little clearer. “She’s always going to hold a place in your heart, and that’s okay, she was someone you loved enough to spend the rest of your life with, but life had other plans.”

“You can say that again.”

The edges of your lips flicked up a little at his words, but he was staring at you like he was waiting for you to go on. “It’s a good thing, it means you’re healing, and I know she’d want that for you, she’d want that to be happy, and I know if it was the other way around, you wouldn't want her to spend her whole life mourning for you, would you?”

“No.”

You placed your hand over his heart, and his own came up to cover yours, weaving your fingers together as you felt the steady thud of the muscle underneath your hand. “She’s always going to be in your heart, Mitch.”

“Is she, though? Because sometimes over a week goes by before I think about her, I don’t see her in my dreams anymore, and it doesn’t make me want to rip my own heart out when I hear her name.” He mumbled, and you felt your heart clench and crack a little at the broken sound of his voice.

“You’re always going to love her, Mitch, but are you still in love with her?”

He thought about it for a long while, pulling your hand away from his chest but keeping them intertwined and connected beneath the covers, and you thought that for a while that he may not even reply. Your eyes had fluttered shut when he actually replied, his brows furrowed when you looked up at him, simply hearing his intake of breath, and while his face portrayed confusion, the look in his eyes portrayed revelation. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“That’s a good thing, Mitch.” He raised his brows in silent question, the frown on his lips softening a little. “You’ll never forget her, she will always be important to you, but you’re allowed to move on and be happy again Mitch. You’re allowed to have fun without feeling guilty, you’re allowed to have new people in your life, and you’re allowed to find a new version of yourself. You are a new version of yourself, you became this for her, but you can have a life again, you can be whatever you want.”

“You truly believe there’s hope for me?”

“I believe you’re a good guy, Mitch. Despite who you think you are, I know you’re not this cold, hard shell you put on. You’re the guy who comes to the beach just to make sure I’m safe, and is such a fan of TV show’s he wants to check out the sets, and you like sugared pastries. That’s not someone who’s robotic and unfeeling, that’s someone who deserves great things in life, and that’s you.”

He watched you for a long movement, before letting out a shaky laugh, his eyes closing as he shook his head gently. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Mitch.” He shuffled in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before backing away just enough to be able to breathe, your bodies still close together and placed a hand on his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone as your eyes closed again, offering him a smile. “You are a good person, Mitch, I truly believe it.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend.”

“You’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me now.” You teased, and he huffed out a laugh as his own tiredness took over. 

“I don’t know if I’ll want to.”

“Oh, my God. I have never been happier to see a shitty diner in the middle of nowhere in my entire life.” You threw your hands up above your head victoriously, cheering as you stared out at it, taking a deep breath of the air, uncaring of the lingering smell of petrol fumes and tobacco smoke, that was lingering around you. “That was the worst drive ever.”

“It would have been worse if I hadn't come with you, sweetheart, you’d have to do the full fifteen hours.” 

You gagged falsely, shaking your head. “No. I would have just curled up somewhere on the edge of the road, maybe found myself a new home in Texas or New Mexico.” Your eyes closed as you dropped your head back, humming happily to yourself and shaking your body down of tension as you stared up at the building before you. “Let’s go, I need to pee and have some coffee, and get some food in me, in that order.”

“Well, who am I to stop you?”

You were already marching ahead when a body fell into step beside you, and he was quick to hold the door open for you to enter alongside him from the second you’d reached the door, the bell overhead jingling a little tune as you did, and the few other patrons all looked up at you for only a second, a quiet moment with only the music to be heard before conversation picked back up again, and you’d become old news. 

The smell of slightly burned pancakes reached your nose, along with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and your stomach rumbled happily. “I’ll order for you, what are you having?”

“What are you having?”

He hummed over it for a second, looking up at the menus overhead, rubbing a hand over his jaw and scratching at the lengthening beard that certainly needed some attention if it got much longer. “Steak and fries.”

“Then I want a cheeseburger. And a milkshake, surprise me with the flavour, just not banana.” Your face screwed up a little at the thought, before you were spinning on your heel and making your way toward the restrooms at the back. You hovered as you peed, and took a minute to check yourself over, pouting into the mirror as your hair showed a little grease beginning to build up, despite the dry shampoo you’d put in, but you didn’t have much left. You were certain that you’d spotted a little convenience store on your way in, but you hadn't exactly been paying that much attention to your surroundings when you’d dashed with thrill into the establishment you currently found yourself in. 

Shaking off the water on your hands and drying them on a paper towel, you stepped back out into the main room, scanning around for a familiar head of messy brown hair, and finding him sitting in a booth, eyes focused down on his phone as he scrolled through the whatever it was he was doing a deep scowl set on his face, and you spied the little shop you thought you remembered just across the road as you made your way over, making a note of it.

“Can we swing by the little store across the road before we get on with the rest of the journey? I need to pick some things up, and maybe we can grab some food for tonight, since we have to stay at a little campsite?” You waited for his reply, hearing him hum as he glared down at his phone, brows furrowed deeply as he gave you an agreement, but you weren’t even sure he’d really heard the words you said, never mind processing them. “Mitch?”

“Yeah, yeah. Store, cool. Get things, campsite.” He mumbled, continuing to swipe through his phone, and you noticed the white knuckles grip he held on the device, before you reached out to him gently, running you fingers over the back of his other hand, and his head snapped up to look at you upon sensing the contact. 

“What’s up?”

“I’m running out of storage to keep our photos and videos on my phone.” He turned it around to face you, tapping at the edge of the screen where it was showing how little storage he had, and you let out a soft laugh. “That’s okay, we can just keep them on my phone, or you could download that google photos thing, or buy more data, o-”

“I need to delete some photos.”

“Uh, yeah, that works too. Do you have a lot of photos?” He nodded solemnly, and you rounded the booth to sit beside him, sensing that there was more to the story as he struggled with it all, your leg pressing up to his as you ducked your head down a little to catch his gaze. “Do you have a lot of photos that you can’t get rid of?”

“Not exactly.” He squirmed in his seat a little uncomfortably, the breathy sigh he let out brushing over your hairline as he sat up. “I have a lot of photos of Katrina, and they’re all just random shots, some of them stupid and blurry, and most of them mean nothing. There’s, like, over six thousand of them, and I’ve been meaning to delete them for a while, but I don’t.. it just doesn’t feel..”

“Like you’re ready.”

“No, the opposite, actually. I feel like I am ready, and like they’re holding me back, but I shouldn’t feel like that, right? I should want to keep them?”

You shrugged a little under his intense stare, not sure quite how to answer him as he waited for your words, and the waitress gave you both an unusual look as she placed down your drinks and your meal, to which you quickly thanked her for, letting her go without anything else to request. “Everyone moves on at different times, and if you’re ready to move on, then you should do so. If the pictures are weighing you down, delete them, but if you want to keep them then you should. I’ll never judge you for what you want.”

“Unless it’s a banana milkshake, right?”

“Yeah, unless it’s that. Bananas freak me out, they defy the logic of fruits and vegetables and I just don't get it.” He grinned, letting out a deep sigh and pulling up the photo album in his phone labelled ‘Kat’, with a series of sweet emojis next to it, including the ring, and you felt something within you pull and ache for him as you looked at it, eyes widening as he simply clicked to edit and delete it, confirming his choice, before the two of you were left staring at the empty space. “Shit! That was just so, clean and tidy! You didn’t even look at them!”

“Should I have? Then I would’ve wanted to keep some, and then I would have kept all of them, and then I’d be right back to feeling weighed down.” You gaped at him for a second, before shaking your head fondly, and reaching out to grab at the milkshake he’d purchased, and snorting at the cream colour and simple but sweet flavour that filled your mouth as you took a sip. 

“Vanilla?”

“It was a safe bet!” He huffed grabbing for his soda and catching the straw between his teeth to take a sip, and reaching for his plate with the other. You made to shuffle out of his side of the booth, before a discontented grunt made you halt, his face stoic as he chewed on a mouthful of greasy fries, but his eyes were fixed on you, wide and longing, asking the question without actually having to say the words. 

You didn’t bother to voice anything verbally either, settling back into his side and picking up your plate to bring it across to you. Your lunch consisted of sharing food, and teasing one another, and talking about the rest of you journey as the conversations once again slipped away, and it seemed that late-night talks and hidden diner-booths were the keys to unlocking the heavily fortified sanctum that was the true personality of Mitch Rapp. 

You had also wandered the aisles of the convenience store as you gathered the things you needed while letting your food settle; dry shampoo, toothpaste mouthwash, fabric spray, a new car air freshener, an obscure list of things that ranged from quick snacks to long term products, and you expected more unusual looks as you reached the register. Instead, you got nothing but an empty and bored glance, before everything was rung up and bagged for you, and Mitch was sitting out in the driver’s seat of the car by the time you’d finished up, fingers tapping at the wheel as the window was rolled down, waiting for you. 

On the road up here, you’d been driving, seven hours behind the wheel having almost killed you off, and you were excited to get into the passenger seat and be able to sing and relax, the mid-afternoon hours meaning that if you finished your final seven hours without any hitches or delays, you would reach the campsite by the late evening, ready to set up for your night. 

“Guess what I got!” 

You were all but thrown into your seat from the second you had sat down, not even fastened up before he was pulling out onto the road, smirking at the undignified sound that you let out as you slapped yourself in, slapping lightly at his arm as he switched gears, rolling his window up and flicking on the A/C to cool the metal box down. “What’d you get?”

“I got the stuff to make smores, later! I was thinking maybe we could make a little campfire, could be fun?”

“I got whiskey.” He nodded his head towards the back, a bag sprawled out across the pillows with the logo of the liquor store you hadn't even seen him go into printed onto the paper, and you cheered loudly, whooping at the sight. 

“Smores and whiskey, it’s going to be an epic night.”

“I build a good bonfire.” He promised, and you grinned, picking up your phone as the SatNav began to direct you to the campsite, still hundreds of miles out, but you could play your songs and rock out as much as you wanted now that you weren’t the one driving, and so you were far more excited about the second half of the journey. 

When you finally passed the sign on the road welcoming you into Arizona, you felt like you might actually cry a little, the longest journey of your trip being almost completed, and you could feel the draw it was having on Mitch too. He had started out simply watching you sing to the songs and talking to you between excited bursts of the choruses, which had changed into him humming along with you. There had even been that one glorious moment during your fourth hour on the road that he had sung along with you to, and you had been completely shocked and entertained for almost a full half an hour of unending laughs when he’d surprised you by rapping the ending of ‘Payphone’ perfectly, before flashing you a cheeky grin, and refusing to confess how he knew it so well.

After that, it had admittedly ended up going downhill, the tiredness seeping into you both as the car fatigue became all too much, both of you just wanting out of the vehicle and into the fresh air, exhausted, despite having done nothing but sit all day. You wanted out of the chair, out of the car, out of these clothes and into something comfortable, and, so the mood had quickly deteriorated. You were overly grateful for the comfortable silence, though, unsure that you would have been able to handle such a long trip with the man you now called friend, had the two of you been in the same place together that you had been almost three weeks ago.

The second the car came to a stop when you picked out the perfect parking space, up on top of a little hill near a pre-made fire pit, and a car park with some bathrooms only a short walk away. You were left in charge of gathering some sticks in the dying light, the two of you tearing up the parcel paper you hadn't used in your delivering of your memorabilia to your uncle at home, and changing into your sleepwear, cleaning up and getting ready for your evening. 

Mitch had found a log from somewhere, dragging it over for the two of you to sit on with the flickering of the slightly burning paper giving you hope, soon to become a roaring fire. He’d already taken the bag of snacks and supplies from the back of the car, his face lit up in the darkness by the orange glow of the flames, and you tugged the blanket out from within the car, wrapping it around your shoulders as you trekked across the small patch of grass toward him. 

Taking a seat on the wood beside him, he twisted his head to face you, smiling a little and leaning over or brushing his cheek across the top of your head when you leaned onto his shoulder, and his hand reached out to tug at the blanket that you had sealed around yourself. 

“Share this with me.”

You unwrapped half off it from your body, shivering at the cold that swept in for only a second, before his arm was slipping around your body and pulling you in closer as you tucked the blanket over his shoulder, and the two of you huddled together before the growing fire. He reached down beside his feet, presenting the alcohol to you, and you giggled as his eyes glowed the same colour as the liquid within the bottle, opening it up and brandishing it to you before taking a sniff of the spiced mix within. Raising it to your lips, you took a small sip, testing the mix, before taking a larger one and wincing at the burn that washed down your throat, but letting out a happy noise afterwards. 

“I picked the good stuff.”

“You sure fuckin’ did.” Your voice was a little hoarse, and he grinned as he took it from you, chugging at the bottle a little as you cheered quietly, egging him on like he was still in college, and he almost choked on the bottle when you shouted ‘keg stand champion’ into the cold night air. Smoke was beginning to come up from the twigs, wood snapping and crackling as it grew bigger, and Mitch handed you back the bottle before leaning away a little. He picked up one of the larger chunks of wood that he’d found, letting the flames begin to claim it slowly. 

“When it gets hotter, we’ll make your smores, okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” You giggled, taking another generous drink from the bottle, and wiping at the edge of his mouth as he grinned at you, and shook his head. “Did you do boy scouts as a kid?”

“No.” He scoffed but if you weren’t mistaken, you caught a slightly bashful look on his face, pinching his cheek in a teasing manner as he scowled at you heatlessly, pulling his face away to take a drink as the two of you shared the bottle between you. “Were you?”

“A boy scout?” He shot you a pointed glare, a deadpan expression on his face, and you muffled your life by burying your face in his shoulder as you faced him a little more. “Who needs girl scouts and cookie sales when you can learn how to assemble and disassemble a rifle in the dark in under sixty seconds by age five, huh?”

He pulled the bottle down from his lips, staring at you for a second as he twisted himself to look at you fully. “Are you serious?” You simply nodded brows furrowing a little as you looked at him, and he moved, pulling you in a little closer to you. “That’s intense.”

“I grew up training for Orion, I’d have you flat on your ass in ten seconds, Rapp.” He smirked a little at the empty threat, and you moved again to tuck your head back under his chin and onto his shoulder, an action that he easily welcomed as the two of you snuggled up together. “It’s cool, but it still sucks, I didn’t get to go to prom, or go away to college. Uncle Stan scared away every single guy I might have dated, and that one time he caught me smoking pot, I thought he was going to shoot me in the foot.”

You welcomed the laughs that he gave you, before quieting down a little. Lifting out the other belongings in the bag, he handed you over a stick, the two of you cracking open the bag and pushing some of the fluffy treats onto the ends, dipping them into the fire as you chewed on the others from the bag. “You might have even more trauma than me.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re all a little bit broken, but it’s how we choose to rebuild ourselves that matters, right?” You turned the stick in your hands, watching as the marshmallow began to turn brown and crisp up a little as it went. “He was looking out for me, doing everything to take care of me, and so I don’t hold that against him.”

“Yeah, but prom is like a rite of passage! You slow dance and take stupid pictures and steal alcohol from your parents afterwards and get more drunk than you can handle. That’s the way it should be!”

“Yeah, I stole alcohol from Stan and got drunk, and I’ve taken stupid pictures. All Stan’s lessons in the aggressive arts never once included ballroom dance, though.” Pulling it back, you blew out a small flame that had started on it, before holding Mitch’s when he handed it to you, taking the crackers and chocolate out of the bag and setting them up for you both. “Wow, you’re no good at that, are you?”

“I’m amazing at this, what do you mean?”

He spoke the words through a frown as he struggled to get his chocolate to stop melting long enough to squeeze the marshmallows on top and close another cracker across the top, the two of you giggling in a drunken stupor as you watched the mess take place. He handed the messy bundle over to you, presenting it with a flourish, graham crackers covered in sticky fingerprints as the layers between tastes became mussed up. “You’re so bad at making smores, it’s great.”

“Oh, hush.” He muttered, shoving a hand into your face, before gasping and snapping his head up as he realised his fingers were coated in melted chocolate and sticky marshmallow residue, smiles on both of your faces as he stared at you in shock, before grinning wickedly. “That’s what you fucking get.” 

“I was just stating the truth!”

“You were being me- oh, fuck!” The two of you stared at the dirty grass by your feet, where his smore now sat on the floor, a gutted expression on his face as he stared at it longingly. “You gotta’ share yours now.”

“You dropped it!” You shouted, bringing it up to take a large bite from it as he stared at you needily, and he growled lowly. “You shouldn’t have wiped chocolate on my face, now I’m going to have to go all the way to the bathrooms and clean up again.” Your words were muffled between bites of your food, and he watched it diminish in your hands. 

He sucked each of his fingertips clean, before placing a hand over your unblemished cheek and holding you tightly, before he was leaning in. Dragging his tongue over your skin he drew a squeal from you, and he suckled lightly at your skin, teeth dragging over cheek as he lapped at your flesh until one side of your jaw was slick with spit but clean of his earlier assault. “There. All clean, now share.”

“You’re so gross!” You laughed, wiping your face on his shirt aggressively, but allowing him to take the other half from your hand, chewing on his happily, and you rubbed at your face until it was dry and red with irritation, and he grinned at you cheesily, chocolate in his teeth as you scowled. “Can I have another bite, though?”

He nodded holding it out and pressing it to your lips as you bit off half of what was left, sharing it with him before it was gone, and you were both left clicking your fingers clean. “Okay, maybe I suck at making smores a little bit.”

“A lottle bit.”

“That’s not a fucking word.” He mumbled, before shaking the bag of marshmallows in your face. “How about we just eat the rest of it without trying to combine it all?”

“Works for me.” You sighed, tossing one up into the air and catching it in your mouth. You munched through the rest of the bag, and the chocolate and most of the crackers, until you were thirsty, in which you’d both polished off a little more of the alcohol you possessed, leaving you well-past the giggly phase of being drunk and deep into the heartfelt and sombre stage, the two of you staring wistfully into the flames as you huddled deeper under the blanket for warmth. It was cold, but you didn’t want to be going to the car just yet, enjoying spending a few hours out in the fresh air after spending the entire day cooped up. 

“Have you really never danced?”

His fingers were brushing along the skin underneath your jumper where his hand lay, lazy and unorganised patterns, sometimes stilling for minutes at a time before taking up in motions spontaneously once again. “I’ve danced, I just haven’t done that whole slow-dance to a cheesy song under a disco ball in a ballgown kind of dancing. Slow dancing isn’t much of a thing I’ve done.”

He nodded his head, shaking the bottle that was half empty once again, and seeming to consider drinking some more, as though the two of you hadn't already had ten shots worth of whiskey, at least. “I can’t promise a disco ball or a gown, but I’d dance to a cheesy song with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead as you leaned into him, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly the dying embers of the fire beginning to leave the cold to creep in. “Do you want to go to bed now?”

The idea made you yawn, and nodding into him as he hummed, before he was standing up carefully and pulling you up to your feet, pressing the rubbish bags into your arms and securing the blanket around you. 

“You walk back up, and I’ll put out this fire, and I’ll come meet you.” You grinned, brushing the tip of your nose along the underside of his jaw, swaying a little before taking wobbling steps away from him and back up to the car. You stopped by to dispose of the rubbish, stuffing it all into the bin and making sure none escaped, before lifting up the back door of the car and exposing the comfy looking bed to yourself, smiling at the sight of it. 

You seemingly had just enough about yourself to be able to find one of your makeup wipes, cleaning off your hands and your face, anywhere that had been licked or might have leftover food smeared on your skin, freshening yourself up before kicking off your shoes. They were on the edge of the mattress, and you were too tired to even get under the covers, simply pressing your head into the pillow and bringing the blanket you had right up to your chin. 

“We should have turned the heating on before leaving, so it would be nice and toasty when we came back.” You tried to reply, your words coming out in a jumbled mess as sleep tried to claim you. Picking up your shoes and taking his own, he threw them vaguely at the front of the car, following you into the bed and closing up the car, flicking the lock and rubbing his hands together. You couldn't express in the moment how thankful you were for your own forward-thinking, already in your pyjamas and prepared for bed before you’d settled down for the night.

The blankets underneath you were ruffled, thick covers being pulled back, and you were momentarily rolled to the side as you groaned, the sheets pulled out from underneath you, but you were caught cleanly before you slammed into the edge of the car from the motion. “C’mon, sweetheart, rollover towards me and get under the covers.”

You did as told, moving your body towards him, slamming into a firm chest before he was wrapping an arm around you and holding you close as he sorted the blankets around you, and turning off the light. Once the darkness encased you, you knew that you were truly a goner, and you pressed closer into the warmth he provided. He simply squeezed you in tighter in return, his body curling around yours as you turned to face the window, legs tangled as he held you from behind, his forehead pressed to the back of your head, allowing the two of you to drift off.

When you stirred again, it was with a warm body pressed up to your own, and you startled for only a second, before remembering where you were, the arm around you tightening, and you heard a chuckle come from behind you.

“Relax, it’s just me.” 

It was with a breathy sigh that the words were exhaled, followed by a deep and sharp inhale that was indicative of a yawn, before the arm was loosening a little around you, allowing you to roll over to face the man. He stretched out an arm underneath your head, letting you cushion your cheek on his bicep as he reached over your head and fished around for the map, shaking it out with one hand as he blinked his eyes into being used to the morning light.

You reached up your other hand, taking the map in it and helping to stretch out the paper, and you turned to look up at it like he was, as the two of you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. 

“Next stop, Vegas!” You pointed out at the starred spot on the map with your other hand, before turning to face him, and finding the man nibbling on his lower lip, your smile falling away a little. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just not sure I’ll be the best company in Vegas.” You resisted the urge to make a joke, shuffling your body a little closer to him until you side was pressed to his, an informal hug without ever actually needing to wrap your arms around him to reassure your support to him. “I don’t do great with crowds, I still get a little bit anxious, and nervous.”

“We don’t have to go, we can just skip it, or go somewhere else, re-”

“No! No, I want to go, I’m just warning you.” He turned to face you, lips finding his own smile as his eyes met yours. “I get overwhelmed, don’t hold it against me if I have to come back to the car and take a break.”

“I would never hold that against you.”

Pulling the map down from before you both, you worked in tandem between laughs and confused shouts as you tried to fold it up, finally getting it back into the crisply pressed rectangle, and tucking it back into the pocket to keep it safe. Following that, you rolled yourself onto your side, throwing an arm over his waist as you let your eyes drift back shut, on the edge of snoozing once again. 

“We can go somewhere else if you want, or do something else.”

“This is your road trip, I’m not going to let my anxiety ruin it.” He mumbled, seemingly verging on falling back asleep himself, and he ran his fingers over your arm a little, tracing patterns into your skin that he probably didn’t even realise he was making. “Besides, I’m excited for it, I’ve never been to Vegas.”

“If you’re sure.” You turned over some more, more on your stomach than on your side now, groaning a little as sleep haze still covered your mind, but you couldn’t get comfortable again as your body decided it was rise and go time, before your brain was ready to follow. “We can just do whatever makes you happy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You cracked an eye open to look at him, propping yourself up to poke him in the cheek, forcing him to look back at you as he slapped your face away, face screwing up a little at the feeling. “It’s our road trip now, it can be whatever we want it to be.”

He stared at you for a long minute, with a look that you couldn't decipher, before he was leaning up and into you, dragging the tip of his nose with yours, before his lips were pressing to the same spot, a sweet peck placed to the end of your nose as you giggled softly at the ticklish feeling and intimate gesture.

“What was that for?”

“For being the irritatingly adorable ray of sunshine you always are, that has done more for me in two weeks that three years worth of therapy ever has.” You dropped your own face down, returning the sweet affection by pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he tensed up a little underneath you, looking a little shocked by the return of it, before he offered you a vulnerable but delicate smile. “I want to go to Vegas, I mean it.”

“Cool, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He nodded, sitting the two of you up a little more as he ran his hands through his hair to flatten it down and detangle it. “If it’s our road trip now, then I think I’ve earned the right to add to your playlist.”

You held your hand over your heart, gasping in horror. “What’s wrong with my playlist?”

“Nothing, I just want to put some of my songs on there too.” You eyed him for a moment, before giving in, upon realising he wasn’t insulting your music taste, and instead was simply trying to leave his mark on the trip. “Okay, fine, but nothing that will throw off the vibe.”

“I promise.”

Following that, he moved away from you, pulling the edge of his t-shirt up to his nose to sniff it and check it’s cleanliness, the sweats and tee on his body being suitable for wherever you were going for breakfast, and he pulled on his shoes, holding his hands out for the keys.

“Now, hurry up! I want breakfast.” 

You rolled your eyes, the car starting up underneath you, and you struggled or clamber up into the front seat after doing the best to make the bed underneath yourself, cursing every time you messed it up from where you were kneeling, but you eventually were satisfied, and came up to sit beside him. “I want bacon.”

“Me too.”

It wasn’t long before you found somewhere to stop, to change and get yourself ready for the day. You got your bacon, and some sausages and toast too, a change of clothes and a quick wash up, leaving you rejuvenated and ready for the final few hours drive up to Vegas. 

It was mid-afternoon by the time you arrived at Vegas, and so you were left with what was practically an extra day to explore, the driving having gone differently to what you'd expected when you had thought you’d been doing it all alone, sped up and giving you a good few hours before you had to crash back into bed.

“We’re actually staying at a hotel in Vegas? I thought you said we were sleeping in the back for most of it?” Mitch teased, and you rolled your eyes at him with a grin.

“Yeah, well, I figured one night in a hotel wouldn’t kill us. We’re in Vegas, thought it would be nice.”

“So, what’s the plan?” You chanced a glance, before fixing your eyes back on the road, and shrugged.

“We’re ahead on driving because I wasn’t doing all the driving, so we didn’t have to stop as much. I wasn’t expecting to arrive for another few hours, so there’s no plan until dinner, really.” He seemed to light up at the idea, pulling his phone from his pocket to immediately begin to research things that the two of you could do. 

“How about we see the Avenger’s station thing? You like MARVEL movies, right?”

“Yes! I love MARVEL movies, are you serious?”

“Deadly.” He seemed to find amusement in his response, smirking a little to himself before turning to, reprogramming the GPS device with the location of the exhibit, before he began to tap away at the phone again. “There, we’re all booked in.”

“Oh, my God! This is so exciting!” You were all but bouncing in your seat as the thrill of it took over, before settling yourself down comfortably. “This is amazing. Just think of all the pictures we can take!”

“You know you’re cute when you’re all excited like this.”

“I’m cute anyway.” You mumbled, and he laughed at your response, but poked a little at your heated cheeks despite the reflective comment, and your burning embarrassment at the comment only furthered. 

“Cute.” You scowled, leaning anyway from him and only making him laugh more, before he took pity on you and changed the subject. “Hotel first? Get our bags sorted out and wash out this car smell before we go?”

“Maybe we should get the actual car cleaned, y’know? Put it through one of those hotel services while we have dinner, later.” You took a turn as you were instructed to, slowing down as the roads began to narrow and crowd the closer you moved to the inner city. He merely hummed his agreement, leaning forward to peer out of the front window and up at the hotel you were arriving at, his face blank as you searched him for his opinion, feeling a little anxious as he stared up at the high-reaching building. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I just haven’t been to a big grand hotel since before the CIA is all.”

“Well, this one will be awesome, I promise.” He pointed out a parking spot for you, before hopping out eagerly when the car had stopped, and you followed him out into the fresh air. The second you were out of the door, the background noise of the busy city took over, and he was already lifting down your bags from the storage box on the top of the car, slinging both over his shoulder as you locked the vehicle. 

As you reached his side, you were lifting his arm up to wrap yourself underneath, his hand sitting on your shoulder and he easily allowed you to press yourself up to him, but dropped his arm down to sit around your waist instead of over your shoulders. “So, do you want to get the car checked in for a clean, then? It’s over there?”

You glanced over at it, shaking your head a little. “Nah, we can sort that later. Right now, I want to take a quick shower and get ready, because I am very excited to get to the Avengers Station.” 

He squeezed at your waist for a second, and you tilted your head a little over onto his shoulder, as the two of you made your way to the help desk. The booking of your room was easy, and finding your room was too, the key card swiping in the door and the beds being revealed to you soon after, the bathroom only a doorway away, and within twenty minutes of leaving the car, you were tying your hair up and soaking yourself under the warm water. Mitch was left in charge of booking the car for a thorough clean inside and out, and for the bedding to be washed and placed back inside once it was clean. 

Once you were dressed and ready, you were walking across the hotel grounds, directions on your phone guiding you to the attraction that was only a short walk away, and with every step you took closer, your excitement only grew, a squeal leaving you when the large overhead signs came into play, announcing your arrival to you, the doors propped open for you to enter. 

“Iron Man suits first, right?”

“It's scary how well you know me after only a few weeks.” He simply grinned at you wickedly, your arms looping together as you sped towards your first attraction. 

You took so many pictures that you thought you camera roll may actually explode and overflow, overflowing with the shots you'd taken. There were props from every movie, and most of them you were able to touch and take your picture with, posing in front of items like the Captain America shield, and Thor’s first armour. There were interactive sections too, like a holographic section of ants on the floor of one of the corridors, that cleared where you stepped, and computer systems were you could go through different aspects of the movies in small quizzes and games, the two of you competing at every game on there, until you lost track of the winner.

One of your favourite pictures had to be the one you’d both taken with the Hulk hand, laid flat for comparative size. You’d had fun pretending to the Black Widow for a second, the two of you trying to remember what was said in ‘the lullaby’ from the tops of your heads, before you’d eventually googled it. He took a video of you exciting it once you had it, your words practically drowned out by your laughs and his, before taking the photo you loved so much. His hand was flat on the Hulk hand, small in comparison to it, with yours on top looking even smaller. It was a sweet photo, one that you loved, and you saved it to your ‘favourites’ album, your best pics of the fic, a folder that was rapidly growing. 

The two of you spent almost as much time in the gift shop as you did in the exhibit, debating over what you wanted to buy, and trying to narrow down one another’s baskets until it was a reasonable amount, debating and negotiating purchases, and only giving in and leaving with bag-laden arms when the rumbling of your stomachs and the need for food became all too much. The car was still in the process of being cleaned and washed when you passed it, and so you took the bags of souvenirs all the way up to your room, dumping them for wrapping and labelling to send home for a later challenge, more the desperate to get a table in one of the hotel restaurants before your appetite grew any larger. 

After taking a while to deliberate over the restaurant you wanted to choose, you had settled on the place with a BBQ theme, the two of you settling in for a slightly messier and hands-on dinner. It had a southern theme, reminding you of cowboys and the wild west, and you adored all of it. Springs chicken wings, seasoned fries and ribs and what felt like a trial of everything on the menu. You never even bothered with a knife and fork, digging right in once you’d been given scented wipes to clean your hands off afterwards, and the two of you shared each dish out, trailing and tasting everything, more food than you’d possibly needed having been ordered and somehow you'd managed to eat it all. 

There was no room for dessert, but you purchased two pieces of cake, taking them upstairs with you to eat later, boxed up and saved, and you felt stuffed to the point of bursting, one of the best meals you’d had so far on the trip filling you up. You ordered drinks up to the room, the two of you too lazy to go to the bar, wishing instead to get in your pyjamas, and sharing a bottle of wine as you tried to wrap up all the things you had, labelling them in large packages for your uncle.

“Do you think when we get home, we’re even going to have space for all the stuff we buy?”

He paused from where he was sealing one pack up with tape, looking up at you for a second with furrowed brows. “I absolutely do not, I’m going to have to build a whole new display case. Road trip memoirs.”

You giggled at his words, shaking you head as the slight buzz in your system prompted the sounds, but you added to the growing pile of sealed packages, feeling as though you were wrapping presents and building a mound to pile up under a decorated tree, Christmas still months away, but you shield to yourself at the idea that you may actually have someone else to spend it with this year, someone else to buy for. 

“What’s with that look?”

“I was thinking about how nice this trip is, and how nice it is to have new friends.” He looked up at you upon finishing the box in his hands, getting rid of the final one before placing a hand on your ankle, rubbing his thumb over your skin lightly. His lips were pulled up in a delicate smile, but his gaze was fixed a little off from you, staring out of the windows behind you, and he seemed like he was drowning in his thoughts, mentally being a million miles away from where you were, even if physically he was here with you. You could see the moment that he snapped back, shaking his head clear and turning to look at you, expression changing entirely and yet minutely. “What’s with that look?”

“Nothing, just thinking.” You wanted to pry further, but resisted the urge, having learned with Mitch that prompting only made him shut you out, and that when and if he wanted to talk, it would be in his own time. “Pretty awesome view of the Vegas Strip behind you, you’re missing it.”

Turning in your place, you stood up, hand pressed to the glass as you looked out into the darkness, breath taken away by the beautiful sights. Everything as lit up, cars lining the roads and neon signs shining up into a black sky with an array of colours, some flashing and twinkling as others held steady and strong, all lighting up all the way to the horizon, and giving every piece of land that you could see a kind of ethereal glow. 

“Nice, right?”

You hummed, only turning when you heard the snapping of his phone camera, smiling cheesily as you glanced back at him, holding out a hand and prompting him to put the device away and join you. He did just that, tossing it away behind himself to step forwards, letting you lean back against his chest when his hands were placed up on your shoulders. The rest of your evening was spent pointing out every building and sign you could recognise, and you’d eventually crashed on your beds, watching a movie and spending more time talking than paying attention to the plot, before your need for sleep had taken over.

The following day had included a lie-in, sleeping in until the late morning, before going to see the sights at the neon museum. It had been the suggestion of the lady behind the reception desk, changing you plan to instead take a walk down memory lane, but you’d ended up loving it even more than your original plan. 

You had paused, however, to sort the car out. A pile of laundry and sheets sitting on top of a stripped mattress, the car sparkling clean inside and out sprayed with something that smelt like summer berries as the metal sparkled and gleamed more than it had before the two of you had even left, tires checked and pumped back up. Upon setting your bags in the storage unit, and sorting yourselves out, you’d delivered a bundle of more parcels, and grabbed some quick food for the day, hot drinks in hand as you sorted the directions to the Neon Museum.

It was incredible, getting to see every single beautiful sign there was, and compare them to the ones that were up now, the two of you pulling out your phones and holding them up in comparison, taking several photos to keep, as well as sending an update to you uncle.

As soon as you’d left the exhibit, your uncle had tried to FaceTime you, and you’d forced Mitch to cram in onto the screen next to you as you sat on the bench, plugging in your headphones and sharing them between you both, one in each of your ears. It consisted of mostly you talking, each of the men watching one another carefully, unsure how to have a conversation that didn’t involve them screaming and shouting orders and insults. 

You chose instead to update the older man on everything that had happened, everywhere you had been so far, and the fact that you had parcels to ship home to him. He confirmed that he’d been gathering up everything you’d sent, dropping them off at your place each time they came back, and promising that the succulents and houseplants you’d left him in charge of were still alive. 

He listened to your stories, as you excitedly told him all about the TV show tours, and the lion feeding, and the bar inside the cave, stopping only when you paused for breath, or allowed Mitch to add his two cents. You could tell he’d been a little anxious, talking to his boss setting him a little on edge even though he knew there was no assignment to come out of it, and so you’d neglected to ignore it when his arm had lay out along the back of the bench, acting as though he was simply stretching, but you could feel the tug of your hair when the fingertips playing with the strands sometimes got a little tangled, and the brush of his fingers on your arm seemingly going unnoticed as he simply hunter for a little touch to ground himself.

When your phone was running out of battery, you called it enough on the chat, feeling Mitch let out a deep sigh beside you once it was over, seeming to relax a little beside you. It was beginning to look like twilight, the day having flown by, and while you weren’t in any rush for the drive ahead, it certainly wasn’t the longest one to come, and so you were more than happy to spend a little more of your time here, watching as the first lights began to light up along the strip. 

It was getting busier as the night rolled in, the two of you walking along towards the Bellagio fountains ahead of you. Where the streets had once been clear enough for you to walk side by side comfortably and undisturbed, they were now crowded enough that others still brushed up against you when you were pressed shoulder to shoulder as you walked, your linked arms folded tightly between your bodies as you weaved through busier crowds. 

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

You pulled him to the side a little, the two of you coming to a stop, and he was looking around at everyone intrusively, scanning over the crowds and trying to commit faces to memory. With a hand on his cheek, you pulled his gaze back to your own, snapping him out of his ‘mission mode’ as you reminded him that he wasn’t in battle, and that it was okay to relax. “Are you getting overwhelmed? We can head back to the car if you want.”

He shook his head, taking your hand from his face, dropping it down between you both as his fingers were still loosely wrapped with your own, swinging between you with his twitchy movements. “I’m okay, for now. Let’s see the fountains.”

You glanced down when you felt him shift his hand, weaving his fingers with yours and holding onto you tightly, tension slipping from his body when you squeezed back, the calloused palm of his hand wrapped with your own, and you fell into step at a comfortable pace as the two of you finished your journey to watch the beautiful display. Jets, cascading into the air, bright lights and music to accompany the waterworks as it created a show, and you video the entire thing, before snapping a picture of yourself in front of some of the final shots. 

“Do you want me to take a picture for you?”

You twisted to the voice, an elderly lady smiling at you as she motioned to your phone, and you handed it over to her. She held it up, waiting for a second, and you weren’t sure what she was waiting on, but then she was staring pointedly at Mitch, and freeing up a hand to motion him over. With stumbled steps and red cheeks, he made his way to your side, a little stiff before you rolled your eyes, leaning into him and waiting for him to relax. 

Only moments later, he loosened up enough to wrap his arm around your waist letting you curl into his side as the two of you smiled at the camera, taking the shot, and he pressed a kiss to your head before letting you go to retrieve your phone. The shots were incredible, bright lights and flashes of water illuminated behind the two of you, and as you swiped through the different ones she’d taken you noticed she’d caught on just before the man had given you that small token of self-soothing affection, his eyes closed and face tilted down towards you as you each held the other tightly, you staring straight ahead, unknowing of his actions with a large smile. 

“We are making such awesome memories.” You sighed, the two of you trailing back towards the car.

“Together.” He squeezed at your hand, and you returned the gesture, leaning into him. 

“Yeah, together.” When you finally reached the car, you were more than happy to see it, wanting to get some more sleep, despite not having had all that long of a day, but enjoying the chance to gather as much rest as you could while you were on a holiday. “Do you want to do the drive tonight or tomorrow?”

“You’re tired.”

“Little bit.” You pinched your fingers together, showing the small motion to him, and leaning against the car. Instead, he opened the car door, and you took that to be the answer that you were going to do the journey tonight, and so you rounded the car and hopped up into the passenger side as he started up the vehicle. 

It wasn’t until he’d pulled out onto the road and set off that he spoke to you again, turning his head to speak to you. “You can sleep, if you want, I’ll do the drive. It’ll give me time to think, and clear my head, I’ll join you in the back when I find somewhere to pull over.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?���

He gave you a little grin, before shaking his head no, and you unclipped your seat belt, crawling between the seats and into the back. Fishing around for any kind of comfortable clothes, you found one of your pyjamas and a pair of leggings that had been put into the laundry pile, changing into them beneath the covers and discarding the day's clothes in a lazy pile of folded garments onto the front seat. 

Before settling down entirely, though, you leaned back over the front of the seat, Mitch fiddling with the music volume to turn it down low, so he could just about still hear it, but also so that it wouldn't bother you. With a hand on either side of the seat from behind, you leaned in, pressing a kiss or his cheek, and catching sight of his shocked face in the mirror when you pulled back, mumbling your goodnight. 

He gave you a quiet reply, before turning off the lights and slowing the car down so that the rumble of the engine wasn’t as loud, driving quietly toward LA as you slept the journey away.

[soukokuwu]

ADA!DAZAI OSAMU

𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

》 slight angst to fluff (dazai x reader)

》 word count: 2k

》 for @qtheronie who requested this: i tried very hard with the fluff i hope you’ll like it~

》 tried to get this in time for Dazai’s birthday— for the other requests i’m still doing them gimme a while okay guys, i’ll do my best (人･∀･)

“if given a choice”

It was different this time, Dazai could tell. Your eyes— those beautiful, radiant eyes of yours, was now tainted full of despair. Your usually positive demeanour was replaced with a somewhat desolate sadness. That smile you donned on just moments ago had vanished, now replaced with a slight frown, expressing obvious discontent.

What was this foreign feeling? Dazai was stunted. As he looked at you, with that uncharacteristic stoic look, he thought back to what had happened earlier.

No, you couldn’t be.

Would you be upset about that? It was something you always claimed to be fine with, were you now going back on your word?

As Dazai removed his coat and threw it on the sofa, he carefully eyed your movements. Those very minuscule movements of yours. You were standing at the doorway of the apartment, rooted to the spot but your right fingers were slightly twitching and your eyes couldn’t find one exact spot on the wooden floor to fixate on.

“What’s wrong?” Dazai asked, slowly moving towards you, stopping only when he realised you took a step back, indicating you didn’t want him to come any closer.

“How do you think I felt earlier, huh?”

Dazai blinked, an understanding slowly coming into mind. So you were upset about that. It was an innocent observation from Atsushi, and a passing remark by Ranpo, meant nothing more than to add to idle chatter. But now he understood that you took it to heart.

As you thought back on how Ranpo and Atsushi commented that no one could truly understand Dazai and know much of his past, you could feel your heart sink. They were right. You barely knew a thing about the man you were dating. You only knew who he was around you, around his friends, but you never knew his train of thought, and how he became the way he is now. You were always aware of this.

Usually you wouldn’t think much of it because you’ve come to terms with the fact that it would take a lot of work to even come close to a fraction of Dazai’s inner workings. But the moment your lover mentioned ‘no one can understand me, and no one ever will’, you felt a rage bubbling inside you.

Not ever? He wouldn’t let you in ever? Then what was all this for? All this effort you were putting in— is it all supposed to be in vain? You didn’t expect to fully get to comprehend the complexity that is Dazai and his life, but you wanted to know there was at least a slim possibility that you two could at least take steps forward to that in the future.

The future. Something Dazai probably would never think of either.

“You... You never had a problem with it before,” was Dazai’s meek reply.

From his tone alone you could tell he was mildly surprised. Why wouldn’t he be? You were usually passive; tame. You didn’t usually get mad, much less actually show it to him. You’d usually keep your cool, handle the problem alone. But this wasn’t something you could take lying down.

“How long will this continue for?”

Dazai knew exactly what this was all about now. He could hear the defeat in your voice. You were trying your best not to cry but he could already see the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He wanted so desperately to give you an answer, to tell you something that would satisfy you. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know when he could let you in, if he ever could.

“You know I have feelings for you,” was all he could manage to say.

That did nothing but made you scoff in disbelief. Did he think that just because you hated conflict he’d be able to get away with this, especially with such a vague reply? No, you knew what you deserved. You put up with everything insensitive he’s ever done— but this was crossing the line. How could you stay in something that had no future?

It was then that you finally felt like you should’ve given up long ago. Words wouldn’t change him. Nothing you said would make him falter. It could only come from within him, and it looked like he didn’t plan on changing anytime soon, or maybe even at all. So all you could do was just smile at him in utter defeat, turn around, and leave him to his own devices.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It had been a couple of hours already. You still weren’t back and Dazai had exhausted himself trying to go around and find you. He was now back in the apartment, on the sofa, clutching your purse. He was worried sick. You had no phone, no wallet, no anything on yourself. What if something happened to you?

He couldn’t find you at your usual spots. Where could you have gone? Nobody else had seen you.

The frustration was eating up at him. All he could think about was what he could have said to make you feel better. But he also didn’t want to lie to you.

What could he do to convince you to stay?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A few more hours into the night.

You turned on the living room light, shocked at what you were hearing.

Dazai sat up on the sofa, removing the pillow covering his face. You squinted a little to get a clearer view of your boyfriend. He looked an absolute mess. His eyes were all red and puffy, his hair disheveled, his heavy breathing the only thing you could hear in the room.

The moment he saw you, Dazai came running over, thrusting both his arms around you, sobbing even more uncontrollably. His shoulders were shaking from his crying and now your shoulder was wet from his tears.

You were stunned, to say the least. Out of all the scenarios you imagined would happen, Dazai having a panic attack was not one of them. His body was shaking from all the crying.

“You’re back,” he cried out between sobs. He kept repeating the words as he fell to the floor, arms hooked around your knees. Dazai was relieved, frustrated and exhausted all at the same time.

Slowly, you sank down next to him, cupping his face with your hands, wiping his tears away with your thumbs. Everything you had planned to say, each single word you devised for a breakup— all of them were thrown out the window. Right now, in this moment, you didn’t want to leave him. You knew he must’ve thought hard about what happened. It was the only reason he would be in such a sorry state.

“I’m here,” you assured him, giving him the best smile you could manage.

“Please stay for me,” Dazai croaked, his head still hung low, tears staining the floor.

“Dazai—”

“No, please hear me out,” Dazai interjected, now looking up to face you. His brown eyes were now more determined than lost. He thought it would be one of the more difficult things he had to do in a relationship, but now, in the face of losing you? Dazai realised how simple it was to be honest.

It took him a while to regain his composure and to speak properly, but you waited anyway. You wanted to hear what he had to say. You wanted to hear something that would make you stay. You still loved him after all.

“I love your smile,” Dazai continued, giving you a soft smile of his own. You subconsciously gave one back, and Dazai moved his hand up to caress your cheek. “I love it when you laugh. I love how you’re always so eager to help others, even if it’s an inconvenience to you.”

You didn’t exactly know where your boyfriend was going with all of this, but you stayed quiet and let him go on, admiring the resolve you saw on his face.

“You infuriate me sometimes when you don’t know you worth. But your humility is also something I admire about you. Thing is, I could list everything I love and hate about you, and I still wouldn’t be able to understand how you’ve got me hooked on you.”

It was then that you realised Dazai was in front of you, trying to let you in. He was trying to let you into his head space, to let you understand his feelings. It would take a lot of work to understand someone as complex as him, but he was willing to put in effort all the same. And at that moment, you were able to feel just how much he didn’t want to lose you.

“Stay for me? I swear I’ll do things different this time, I—”

But before Dazai could finish, his lips were locked in yours, and he fell backwards to the floor as you lunged yourself forward to embrace him. His lips were salty from all his tears but you didn’t mind it. It may have taken a serious fight for him to realise it but for Dazai, this was more than just a huge step forward. And you understood that. You appreciated it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That night was the night that set a completely different tone for your relationship. Dazai hadn’t felt this comfortable with opening up at all, but for some reason when he told you about his past, about why he attempted, he felt safe. This was a kind of trust he didn’t imagine he could place in anyone, but you were the sole exception.

After the whole ordeal, you and Dazai had taken a bath together, and you kissed his scars, assuring him that it wouldn’t scare you away. It was the first you’ve seen him without any bandages at all, and after seeing your reaction, Dazai didn’t regret letting you be the first to see him this way. Your fingers lightly delved across each scar, as though memorising where each of them were on his body. He nuzzled back against your chest, face buried in your neck, enjoying the moment.

It was slightly after 2am when the two of you had finally gotten out of the bath, and Dazai had asked you to stay the night there, to which you happily complied. You also offered to cook him some pancakes, to which Dazai had showered your face with kisses to show his appreciation.

He hugged you from behind as you washed the dishes, cheekily spraying some water at your face while you did so. You resisted and tried to get back at him only for him to pull you into a dance. You couldn’t contain your laughter at how cheesy he was being.

“Dancing in the kitchen at 3am with no music— really?” you asked him skeptically.

“For someone who seems like she’s complaining you sure know how to move your feet,” he snapped back, smirking down at you.

Before you could make a comeback, he pulled you in for a deep kiss, tongue swirling across your mouth as he savoured the taste of you.

“I don’t want to forget this moment,” he whispered as he pulled away from the kiss, your foreheads touching and eyes closed. The only sound in the room was the sound of you two breathing, both blown away by the kiss.

“Neither do I, Osamu.”

“How about we make a deal?”

“What deal?”

“Stay with me forever, and I will show you every part of me, every single thing you want to see,” Dazai opened his eyes slowly, kissing your eyelids, stunning you into opening them. He continued, looking lovingly into your eyes, “I will bare my all, to you and only you.”

“I was always yours to begin with, and I always will be.”

Dazai didn’t think he could possibly get any happier after hearing those words. Then, before he pulled you into a night of intense passion, he gave you the most genuine smile he ever had as he said, “Don’t you ever forget that, my belladonna. I love you.”

“i will always choose you”

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

EARLY BIRD

Angel Reyes x Reader

Anon asked: could you write an imagine with angel Reyes in which you think he’s gonna break up with you because he’s been distant with you.

Word Count: 1.9k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @starrynite7114 ​ ✨

Author comments: I'm sorry it took me so long! I just needed some time away from my phone, 'cause I was feeling somewhat sick, but I'm back! I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Another morning, waking up in an empty bed and the next side to yours totally cold. You snort turning your body above it, pulling your hair away from your forehead with a hand. There's any noise outside of the bedroom, the one you were supposed to share with Angel because, probably, he left the house stealthily some hours ago. You don't know what's going on. You don't know what's happening between you. And at any time you have tried to talk with him about it, he only says that everything is okay and you're just a little paranoid. You want to believe him. You really try with all your efforts, but there's a bunch of insecurities getting stuck inside your chest oppressing it, that doesn't let air through.

✉: “hey, early bird”

You haven't thought about it, grabbing your phone to know if he is still alive, leaving it on the pillow where your head is resting. Some minutes laters, when you're almost falling asleep again, the advice dings turning on the screen.

✉: “eh”

That's all. And he keeps saying that nothing has changed. For sure.

✉: “you free 2nig?”

✉: “i think so”

      “y?”

✉: “we could have a night in”

     “dinner and movie”

     “hang out for beers”

✉: “am into first”

✉: “k! 7? 8?”

✉: “8 good”

✉: “k! ily”.

✉: “back”

You know he's not going to come, but at least you try it.

When the night is about to fall down plunging Santo Padre into the darkness of the desert, you begin to set up ready in case a miracle happens. Putting the steaks you bought at pops, in the pan with some oil and salt over low heat, you leave the kitchen to change your clothes. Wearing nothing but his favorite shirt, you spread on your neck and collarbone that fruity and fresh perfume he loves the most. And picking up your hair in a ponytail, you walk barefoot back to the kitchen. It's flooded by the delicious smell of the meat cooking slowly, turning them to the other side when it's getting golden. Leaving the food in the background, you go next to the freezer checking that the cold beers are ready to be drinked. You have popcorn, candies and chocolate for later. Everything is on point, even if you don't have much faith that he's going to come.

You weren't wrong.

At half past nine you're sitting on the couch, eating the cold steak you cooked and drinking the third beer. Angel didn't answer any of your messages, nor your calls. So, after trying to contact him for almost one hour, you decided to have dinner alone.

Another night.

The desire to cry floods you with leaps and bounds, grabbing the last piece from the fork in a bad mood before leaving the dish on the table and drinking your beer till it's empty. You fall asleep on the sofa some minutes after with your eyes filled with tears.

Although the door closes silently, you open your eyes getting up, stretching once you sit up. Angel looks like shit, tired and upset with his hair made a mess. Noticing sideways that the sun is almost shining, you don't say anything when he's about to apologize. Leaving him alone with the word in his mouth. You don't even pick up dinner stuff, going back to bed and throwing away the shirt you're on to wear yours. Covering your head with the blankets, you can hear Angel's heavy steps following to the bathroom to get locked in. The water running down the shower.

A fist hitting the marble.

And finally, a weary snort when the mattress sinks a little next to you.

“I was arrested.”

No words from you. He knows you're awake. Once your eyes are opened, it's impossible for you to fall asleep again.

“I really wanted to spend last night with you, mi amor.”

Nothing.

You don't even move.

“I'm so sorry.”

You try to get up, pulling away the blankets tired of hearing bullshit. Not understanding why he just doesn't tell you it's all over, assuming he doesn't because he hates loneliness and no matter how much he despises you, that you're going to come back once and again like a beaten dog faithful to its master. He never was like that, he just changed from nothing. From being the loveliest man to a ghost in your life. Angel grabs your wrist, stopping you from leaving him alone, but you can't look at his face.

You can't fall again.

“Stay, please.”

“I needed you to stay a lot of times, and you weren't even here.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, you already said that.”

With a heavy snort being spitted by your lips, you sit on the edge of the bed rubbing your face with both hands. Getting up and holding your phone in a hand, you guide your feet to the door looking for some coffee in the kitchen, to serve it inside a big mug.

“Emily is back and I am just trying to save EZ's ass. I didn't see I was abandoning you.”

Sounds like an explanation, but you don't really care. This hole between you two isn't going to get closed with some apologies and some kisses. He's going to have to make it up to you.

Hard.

“And when I’m saying I’m sorry, it's because I'm really sorry (Y/N).” He takes three steps closer towards you, with his hands keeping down inside the pockets of his short sweatpants. “I fucking love you. Nothing and nobody could change that. I swear on my mom.”

You have a sip of your coffee, closing your eyes when he names his mother for the first time in that way.

“Listen, I got to be back at the scrapyard in four hours. But this afternoon we're gonna go to a place.”

“Which place?”

“You'll see. And I know you're gonna like it.”

“But?”

There's always a ‘but’.

“But first I have to pick up a buddy, I promise him that he could stay with us”.

“What the fuck, Angel?!”

You're drowning in coughs, leaving the cup to hit your chest with a palm.

“(Y/N), trust me, okay? You will love him.”

“You're a fucking jerk.”

“Mi amor, listen.” He grabs your forearm, stopping you. “Trust me”.

“I can't fucking trust you. Not today. Not after telling me you were fucking arrested, and now telling me you're gonna bring a ‘buddy’ to our fucking house without asking me.”

“You're gonna regret those words this afternoon.”

“Yeah, but for that, you have to be here and you're not gonna come.”

Letting go yourself, you walk away from him. You can't believe this is truly happening, getting worse as the minutes go by.

Driving through the desert, you don't know where the hell you're going, hoping he's not bringing you to Vicki's place because one of the girls needs to hide. Even if he talked to you about a guy. Angel is giving you the directions you have to take, making your blood boil whenever you ask him about it and he just smirks at you with that kind of smile you would like to punch out.

And yes, it's a surprise when you reach Grace's kennel. Frowning at him as you stop your car, you try to keep calm.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Am I a fucking joke to you, Angel?”

“What?”

“I'm not gonna fucking bring a junkie to my house!”

“We're n— We're not he—”. He can't even talk, breaking into laughs stirring on his seat. “Step out of the car, mi amor.”

“No! You know what? We're fucking done! I can't! I can't handle it!”

You're getting so nervous you don't know what you are saying. Collapsing. Exploding. But seems like the oldest Reyes doesn't give a fuck if you are on the verge of an anxiety attack, when he takes off your seat belt before grabbing the keys of your car. Angel doesn't say anything, getting out of it and walking to your side. After opening your door, he holds your hand pushing you into him. And you just let him do what he wants with you.

“You ok?” Grace asks you somewhat confused and worried, looking at your pale face. Pursing your lips, you shrug your shoulders.

Seems like you're in shock, not understanding anything that is going on around you while your boyfriend guides your steps to the backyard of the kennel. You find a big black dog lying on the ground with a plastic cone covering his head from his neck and some bandages on his paws and his tail. Tail that he begins to move full of happiness walking with some difficulties close to Angel.

“See, buddy?! I told ya I was coming back for ya'!” Your boyfriend squats towards the dog to hug him, whilst the animal is crying a little, stirring and trying to lick his face.

“What? What's that?” You point at the dog with a finger.

“I was driving on my way back home, and I saw a fuckig shithead dragging him by the paws with a bike. I was arrested because he ended up unconscious”.

Pursing your lips, you can't help but cry slightly bending over the floor and stretching a hand on air, just wanting that he can smell you to see you don't want to hurt him. The dog brings his snout closer, sniffing your fingers for some seconds taking two steps next to you. His tail starts to move again, imagine that he's also smelling Angel's scent on your clothes.

“Hey, buddy. Nice to meet you”. Using a soft and low tone, the dog shortens the distance licking your face without expecting. That makes you laugh loudly.

“I know you feel alone when I’m riding and he doesn't have a home.” Angel says, waiting for you to finish spinning the matter by yourself. “See? I knew you were gonna regret your words.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You growl, drawing a smile to your new friend with his head rested on your chest, as you caress one of his sides.

“Is he okay?” Your boyfriend asks Grace, getting up as he does, being followed by the dog.

The women nods.

“He's strong. But I'll give you some pills for pain, in case he complains. And you should change the bandages every day. Bring him back next week and I'll check him.”

“Done. How much do I own you, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. Just take him to his new home.”

“Thank you, Grace.” You say before hugging her tightly.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” She said then, nodding at her.

“So, what's his name?” You ask Angel, walking back to the car with the dog practically glued to your legs.

“Caco”. He answers holding your hand, leaving a kiss on the back of it.

“So, I'm assuming the place where we’re going next is a pet shop, to buy him a lot of things.”

“Shit, mi amor, I got fucking horny every time you show me how smart you are.”

[misedejem]

Date Nights

Series: Persona 4 Ship: Kannao (Kanji Tatsumi/Naoto Shirogane) Word count: 9196

If ever Naoto was feeling low, Kanji would try harder than ever to show her how much he cared. Little gestures of good will and love that would go towards easing the pain. It had been that way from when they first met, and was still the case after over fifteen years.

So when Naoto found herself with Kanji in a slump and a few hours to spare, she took it upon herself to do the same.

(Basically lots of domestic future headcanon shenaningans~ As a note, Naoto is genderfluid in my fics, and this one uses she/her. AO3 link in the notes)

It had been an awfully long time since the Shiroganes had been working away from home at the same time.

Kanji had become unemployed almost two years ago and had been pooling his resources into his online store since then. And Naoto had been on leave a full year now, because of Chihiro, and then the upheaval and transfer of half the Shirogane agency from Tokyo to Yasoinaba. Save the odd local case, she’d effectively been forced to hang up the detective cap until life calmed down enough for her to return.

It was… a much-needed break. They could mutually agree on that.

Then, less than a month between moving into a house and the agency reopening, Yu Narukami had appeared on their doorstep one evening with ‘encouragement bentos’ and a request. The middle school he worked in as guidance counsellor had suddenly lost a teacher temporarily due to illness. The art teacher. She’d probably need at least six months to recover, but the new semester started in September and it was far too tight a deadline for the board to submit a request for a replacement.

“I mentioned you used to work as an art teacher in Tokyo, Kanji, and they said to ask you as soon as possible.”

Neither of them could have foreseen such a thing… But in a week, their situation had changed from both of them being at home, to both of them returning to work just a day apart from one another.

One day.

What a rare commodity that was.

As much as she adored it, Naoto’s career had always been taxing, keeping her late at night and seldom offering her a chance to catch her breath. After all, the Shirogane agency was lauded all across the country. Grampa had made such a name for it before he had died, and the attention she had gained from the media as the ‘first Detective Prince’ had only served to bolster the Shirogane name’s shining reputation once she’d taken over. That, and the fact that it was the only remaining detective agency in the country that specialised in Shadow-related incidents. They’d become ever more prevalent since the mental shutdowns and the Phantom Thieves incidents a decade ago had made knowledge of them more widespread in the seedier depths of society, and the Shadow Operatives had ensured to keep her busy when the cases grew too complex for them to handle.

That’s why they’d come back to Inaba of all places. With the TV World still very much active, it was the most potent place for illicit Shadow activities to occur in all Japan. And with the murmurings of new information cropping up, the higher ups had figured it may be a good idea to have a team of investigators to hand.

The detective had a lot of work waiting for her when her leave expired.

So, for her to be the one left with the house instead of Kanji for a full day… Well, she couldn’t exactly waste such an occasion.

“Momo, no -!  Don’t… climb in there…” Naoto sighed, watching as her orange tabby clambered her way into one of the cardboard boxes at the far end of the room. She knew it was a fruitless effort to try and stop her. Their other cat didn’t house much love for boxes, but Mochi had been found in one as a kitten and clearly had developed a natural affinity towards them as a result. Half their move had been spent trying to keep her out of them long enough to fill them.

“If you wish to help, the very least you could do would be to climb into the ones I haven’t yet searched,” she told her, crossing over to the box and hoisting Mochi out. “That way, I won’t be wasting any time by delving into boxes twice when I retrieve you.”

Unfortunately, Naoto’s request was not met with much approval. The cat just mewled indignantly, clearly unimpressed and unwilling to cooperate, and scampered behind the large pile in the centre of the garage, leaving the detective to continue her investigation on her own.

It was frankly impressive that all the miscellany crammed into these boxes had fit into their Tokyo apartment; big though it was, it had been severely lacking in storage. Half their belongings – all the stuff they didn’t desperately need - were all packed up in this room, waiting for a spare moment to be put in their rightful place. They’d had five weeks to unpack, and perhaps if they’d still been living as just the two of them, they’d have made more of a dent in it. That would certainly have made Naoto’s current task a considerable deal easier. But all the free time they had now was devoted to Chihiro. She was only just coming up on her first birthday, and she was still very much dependant on her parents every moment that she was awake. Even now, Naoto was only able to search the room because the infant was taking her midmorning nap.

She was looking for a binder Kanji had put together, containing a collection of their favourite recipes that he’d found online or written down over the years. Somehow, it had gotten separated from the recipe books when they had packed away their kitchen, and it had not yet resurfaced. This was a major blockade in her plan for the day. She needed that binder. Desperately.

Kanji had seemed rather perturbed as he’d prepared for work that morning. In fact, he’d seemed uneasy about it from the moment Yu had asked him to take it. It was… unlike him. He’d worked as an art teacher in a middle school back in the city for four years, and he’d loved every minute of it.

“Hmm? Course I want the job,” he’d told her when she’d questioned him about it over breakfast. “I miss this kinda shit, you know that.”

He had a smile on his face as he tried spooning a blob of mushed fruits into Chihiro’s mouth, but it was a strained smile if nothing else.

“You just seem tense, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well… So do you. Goin’ back to work after havin’ a kid is s’posed to be kinda rough.” He shrugged.

“I can’t deny that…” Naoto sighed. “Even knowing that your mother will be there for her, and that you’re only doing part time hours, the idea of leaving her alone at all is more taxing on me than I could ever have expected… That’s all it is though?”

Naoto could think of several other reasons Kanji might have to be nervous about this particular job. But on the off chance that they hadn’t crossed his mind yet, she refrained from bringing them up. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel worse.

There was a pause, filled only by Chihiro’s babbles and the sound of the cats zooming about the living room after one another in a burst of energy. As he scraped the last of the baby food from the pot and offered it to their daughter, Kanji’s face began to fall ever so slightly, and before long he was sighing.

“I really gotta… stop overlookin’ that I’m married to a detective.  I am scared shitless of leavin’ Chihiro for the first time. If anythin’s wrong, it’s that most of all. But uh… Otherwise I’m just a little weirded out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Middle school – this middle school – is kinda… where I started to get a bad rep… What… I dunno, what if they take one look at me and realise who I am and kick me out? Like, they don’t realise ‘Shirogane Kanji’ is actually ‘Tatsumi Kanji’ an’ once they do they won’t want me anymore? They don’t know why I resigned from my last job either, what if they think I did something bad an’–”

As his voice grew louder and more sporadic, his panic becoming so apparent that it was palpable, Naoto scooted her way over to him and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head gently on his chest.

“You left on your own terms because you disliked the way the school was being run. You don’t have to disclose why. And Kan-chan… you don’t mean to tell me that I’ve kept you from your hometown for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like? Inaba isn’t overly massive – rumours spread fast. I daresay there isn’t a person here who doesn’t know that the Tatsumi boy married that Detective Shirogane person. Especially not with how much your mother talks about us.”

She held him close for a while, rubbing her hand across his back even after his heart stopped pounding so hard, and his muscles began to relax.

“Yeah… I know… I know it’s a stupid thing to worry about, an’ that there ain’t no point in getting’ worked up about it…”

“Well, it’s not… stupid. I’d say it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be concerned about, given the impact it had on you in the past. But I can assure you of this: they wouldn’t have hired you if they thought you were unfit for the position.”

He nodded, and a smile appeared on his face again – a genuine one, this time. For the rest of the morning, his dour disposition had dissipated somewhat, and his spirits certainly seemed higher when he had left the house.

But even if she had managed to cheer him up, Naoto knew the day would be a challenge for him no matter how many positive sentiments she sent his way. Returning to a place you had been mistreated, even after nearly twenty years had passed, was difficult enough as it was, without the thought of leaving your baby for the first time nagging at you as well.

That’s why she needed that binder. It contained the recipe for one of Kanji’s all-time favourite curries, one she believed even she could produce, and she figured he might need something like that when he returned home.

He often did little ‘date nights’ from home for them, for birthdays or anniversaries, or even just when Naoto was struggling with a tough case and needed a distraction or treat. They would put on whatever was comfortable, sit down with a meal and a drink, and more often than not, end up in a snuggled-up heap on the couch with a movie flickering on in the background. She hosted her fair share of them as well, but admittedly hers often involved an expensive night out at a restaurant. Kanji was the better cook, and he considered it a hobby more than simply something one needed to do to survive, but Naoto lacked the skill or drive to make a hand-crafted date night even without her long hours.

But this night would be an exception. She suddenly found herself with eight hours at home without him, and she would be a fool not to use that time to surprise him in the same way he always would with her. She’d throw him a date night so damn enjoyable that he’d forget all about his anxieties, no matter the cost.

That was… if she could find the damned recipe she needed to carry out her plan.

And so, she perused box after box in her investigation, leaving not even one overlooked. Old case files she’d had sent over from the Shirogane estate that had once belonged to her grandfather. An assortment of holiday decorations that really needed separating by date. Kanji’s miscellaneous box of scrap material. A box marked for charity of Naoto’s old clothes that had stopped fitting since she’d had Chihiro. Plushies. More plushies. Even the container of extra crockery, things that had come from the kitchen itself, bore no sign of the item she sought. An hour passed as though it were seconds, yielding nothing of value.

Had Kanji already moved it? It wasn’t as though she could ask him… Had they forgotten it? No, that apartment was spotless when they’d moved out. She’d triple checked it herself.

She foresaw herself spending all day searching at this rate… but she didn’t have all day. He’d be staying late for a debriefing, but even so, Kanji would still probably be home for five o’clock, and she still had to go to Junes to fetch the ingredients she was going to need.

Perhaps she could look it up online again? That was where Kanji had found it originally…

She sat herself, cross legged, on an old rug and pulled out her phone, plugging in the name of the recipe into a search engine, lifting her arm so that Mochi – tired of hiding – could come and curl up in her lap. And then, running the fingers of her free hand through Mochi’s fur, she began to scroll and click every site she could find.

But she recalled vividly the constitution of the page she was searching for, and none of these were it. She’d never read the words herself – having never made the recipe – and Kanji had decided to crop the name of the site it was from to maintain the ‘aesthetic’ of the folder, but she knew what it looked like. The colours, the typeface, the accompanying picture.

Nothing.

It was entirely possible the site had been redesigned or deleted. In which case she was out of luck online… It wouldn’t work for her to try a different recipe, it had to be that one. If it wasn’t that one, it wouldn’t taste the same, and then it wouldn’t be his favourite. Irritation began to swell within her as her endeavour began to look more fruitless, and she had to take a few moments to breathe and calm a little before moving onto her last resort: checking with Mrs. Tatsumi, with Yakushiji, and the Investigation Team on the off chance that maybe Kanji had lent them the recipe at some point.

Nos all around.

The irritation grew stronger.

And then, as though a timer had gone off signifying the end of her allotted time, the baby monitor sprung to life.

***

“Are… You even listening?”

Naoto huffed and folded her arms, wearing her most devastating expression of disappointment as she shook her head. She’d been talking for a good ten minutes, and she was beginning to wonder if any of it had been heard at all.

“’Course we are. You want to do something cute and romantic for the big guy, because you’re secretly a massive softie, but your first idea went bust.”

Yosuke offered her a cheeky wink and raised his soda cup in a mock toast, before turning back to fawn over Chihiro in Chie’s arms.

“But I dunno how you expect us to concentrate on anything else when you’ve brought this adorable little muffin along,” Chie added, putting on a baby voice and ‘booping’ said muffin on the nose. Chihiro giggled, her tiny face absolutely beaming with delight.

“Oh, I expect you to manage perfectly. If I can – if Kanji can – despite seeing every cute thing she ever does, then it should be no problem for somebody only exposed to it for a short while.”

A couple of hours had passed since Naoto had given up her search for the original recipe and had elected to change tactic. She would simply have to find… a different meal entirely. One that would still mean as much to Kanji. But a quick scour of the recipe books they had on hand in the kitchen yielded nothing.  And so, once Chihiro was fed and dressed appropriately for the late summer warmth, she walked her over to Junes to grab some supplies, hoping that by some pure miracle, looking at the ingredients on offer would spark some form of inspiration within her. Only, out of sheer coincidence, she had managed to time her visit perfectly with the end of Yosuke’s shift, and Chie’s day off.

The two of them could often be found talking in the food court on their off-hours. It had been that way since high school, through all the changes and remodels they’d made to the layout of the store over the years and would likely continue to be that way as long as Junes stood and they remained in Inaba. It was the secret headquarters of the Investigation Team, after all. It wasn’t a place you could so easily give up.

So, guided by tradition, they all sat together, sharing a Takoyaki selection in the summer breeze – a welcome change from the mustiness of the Shirogane residence garage – Yosuke and Chie completely spellbound by the baby while Naoto explained her predicament. She had hoped they’d be a little more attentive, and frankly more helpful, but… she supposed she couldn’t fault them. Chihiro was effectively their niece, and she’d been in Tokyo for the past year.

But at least they were making her happy. Seeing her so ecstatic, despite Kanji being gone for so long, certainly helped ease some of the anxieties she had been feeling about leaving her. Getting her acquainted properly with the people who would likely be babysitting her until well into her teens was certainly not a bad thing… although… Naoto was on a tight schedule.

“Aaanyway.” She rapped the table lightly with the tips of her fingers. “Regretfully my first idea – the one that was ah… ‘bust’, as you said – was also my only idea. I’m currently running at a loss on where to proceed from here…”

At the very least they were nodding along now, and looking at her as she spoke.

“…Chie-chan, do you have date nights? What do you usually do?”

“Hmm? Yeah, of course we do! But, uh… Yukiko and I always go out for ‘em. You know, because the inn keeps her so busy and I –”

“Can’t cook anything without it coming out tasting of cardboard?” Yosuke supplied, grinning. Chie shot him a mean look, but nodded nonetheless.

“Pretty much…”

“In most instances, that would be my go-to as well,” Naoto said, holding back a grin at Yosuke’s comment. “Hand-crafted anything is Kanji’s forte, not mine, but… we both agree the ones at home are more enjoyable, no matter how good the food may be in a restaurant.”

“You’re like… the most private people I’ve ever known, so that isn’t surprising.”

She gave an affirming nod. Lovely as it was to go all out sometimes at an expensive eatery, there were always… stares. No matter where they were, people would see them and notice. Sometimes they’d simply recognise the Detective Prince, and that was all they’d see. But other times their eyes would linger longer. They’d take note of Kanji’s piercings and spikes combined with the cute animals and soft colours, analyse Naoto’s dedication to old English fashion and deliberate lack of conformity to any gender, and then keep their gazes trained on the two of them as they attempted to pick apart every contrasting aspect. The way they looked and dressed alone, the way they looked and dressed together… it made going out in public difficult for two people who both struggled to some degree with social anxieties and a history of being scrutinised for the way they were.

Kanji had left the house worrying he was going to be judged. She didn’t want to put him through that twice in one day.

“Well, is there anything else you’ve made before that you know he likes?” Yosuke asked, helping himself to the Takoyaki  

Naoto frowned. “Well, yes, but all of it is rather… typical? I have a small repertoire, you see.”

“So you want something different? Hmm… Why don’t you just go ham?” Chie suggested with a genuine smile. “Grab stuff you think’ll go together and make a totally new curry. Heck, doesn’t even gotta be curry.”

“That’s how you end up with Mystery Food X: Redux,” Yosuke warned, and Chie’s smile instantly vanished. “Though actually, Naoto… In your sensible hands you’d probably be okay. You actually know how to cook.”

“If I wasn’t holding a baby right now, I would kick you.”

“Without a recipe at all…?” For a moment, the detective was left perplexed. But before long, a thought came across her mind, and that irritation from earlier came grumbling back into her periphery. “Yosuke-kun. Please. I simply don’t have the time to spare for your… japes and mockery. I need you to be serious.”

She expected him to laugh, as he often would when she caught him out while he was joking. She didn’t do so very often, loathe as she was to admit it, and it had become something of a game to Yosuke to see how long he could keep pushing her buttons.

But this time he threw up his hands instead, with… was that his face now contorted in confusion as well?

“H-hey, I am being serious. Promise. If you genuinely have no other ideas, then I begrudgingly accept that Chie might be onto something.”

“And I’m supposed to do that without instructions?” She asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Was she being foolish and naïve? Or was Yosuke the one reeking of inexperience? “You act as though you believe I have time to memorise every food combination, and how to make them work. I am a detective, not a chef, Yosuke-kun. Recipes exist so that I don’t have to preoccupy my brain with trivialities such as cooking from memory.”

“Hey, it was Chie’s idea, not mine!”

“You should know better.”

The raised voices and snipes were a staple of any conversation involving Yosuke and Chie, and at this point Naoto had come to learn that it was largely performative. They ‘fought’ with warm regards. She’d even reached a point where she was able to go along with it without utterly deflating the mood. But to Chihiro, with no grasp of the concept of banter, it was all just loud, frightening noises coming from people she didn’t know all too well. The conversation very quickly had to switch courses when a crying spell threatened to rear its head.

“You know… you never asked me what I do for date nights,” Yosuke pointed out once the baby had been settled. She now lay propped up on Naoto’s lap, nodding off with her little head resting on her chest. Naoto constantly considered herself fortunate that Chihiro wasn’t especially fussy. Sometimes on a good day all she needed to calm right down was a cuddle.

“Hmm?” she looked up. If Yosuke had said anything before that, she had been too preoccupied with gently coaxing her daughter to nap to hear it. “Oh, no, I suppose I didn’t…”

Chie, who had moved into the more comfortable position of resting her chin on her hand now her arms were free, scoffed slightly.

“Dude. Maybe because you don’t have anybody to date?”

“Well… No, but I’ve been on dates. More than one with the same person. I have experience, I’m just… not experiencing it right now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, casting his gaze off to the side. “Dinner dates aren’t really my thing though…”

“So, why’d you even bring it up?”

“Hey! I’ve been on… like, one dinner date. I’m just not the guru of them!” He shrugged. “It’s an interesting story actually… I got set up a few years ago by my bandmates, and it turns out the guy isn’t my type at all. But I didn’t want to say no without at least giving him a chance, so… Y’know. He wants to go out to this fancy French place, but we get there and they’re closing early because of… Uh, I think the kitchen flooded or something like that? So, he takes me back to his place and leaves me there, runs off to go shopping, and comes back and cooks a three-course French meal himself.”

“And you didn’t marry him on the spot?”

“Nah. We did a couple more dates but it didn’t really work out. We weren’t super compatible...”

“Is this why you get Rise to vet anybody you’re gonna date now?”

“Pretty much. You guys know me best, so…”

The two of them continued to talk, but from Naoto’s perspective, their voices had been drowned by her thoughts into a dull and distant murmur. From the moment Yosuke had finished his story, the gears in her brain had whirred into motion, working their way into fabricating a plan formed from his words.

It had hit her at last. A wave of inspiration and relief, tantamount to the feeling she would have when she’d finally cracked the secret to a particularly arduous case.

A plan. Followed by a conjured image of how Kanji’s face might look when he saw it.

“Yosuke-kun…” she began, standing slowly so that she did not wake the baby and gently lowering her into the buggy she had parked next to her seat. “Would you be able to look something up for me? While my hands are full.”

***

January 19th, 2025. Little over a year and a half ago. London, England. They’d been abroad for a few weeks at that point, Naoto on a case for the Shadow Operatives, and Kanji taking advantage of her hotel room to table at an artist’s alley in a convention.

It was something of a special occasion. Kanji’s 29th birthday had been the original cause for celebration, but to him at least that was very much an aside. It was, what, only three hours prior to reaching the restaurant that they’d found out Naoto was pregnant.

There had been several sources for the reasoning behind Naoto’s choice in establishment, and unlike most of her destination picks while they’d been in London, none of them had a single thing to do with Sherlock Holmes. The ones that stood out the most: a churning in her stomach – simultaneously a mental and a physical reaction to her current condition – and a particularly mournful image of her mother-in-law from a few months prior.

“There was this little place my late husband and I would always take Kanji when he was young, if we had to travel to Okina. Italian, it was, family run. I just heard from a customer that it was recently shut down because the owner passed. It has me a little down to think of, that’s all Naoto dear.”

A precious memory from Kanji’s childhood was no small matter, harrowing as such a thing was to think. And Italian… parsing through her options in her mind as she browsed the local restaurants on one of those food apps, Naoto took note of how the one being advertised made her insides turn the least at the thoughts of it. It was one of those smaller, more community-based places, while the others were either going to be full of too-rich smells for her poor stomach to handle, or full of classy, antiquated rules and stares that she didn’t feel up to taking that day.

She didn’t want to make her husband eat hotel food on his birthday… And nor did she want to worry him all evening by being exceptionally edgy. So it didn’t take very long at all for her to have dialled the number for the family-run Italian place, and had booked them a table for two that evening.

The food had been… good. Standard fare for that kind of place. But Naoto was a harsh critic – even without feeling deeply unwell, she had been to Italy. And yet, in all the fifteen years she had known Kanji, she could not recall a single meal out where he seemed to have enjoyed himself quite as much as that. The rush of euphoria from learning he was going to be a father had apparently been enough to turn any experience he may have had that night into the best date night of his life. And Naoto knew the kind of man he was. Sentimental, perceptive, prone to dwelling on the little things. He’d remember, starkly, what he had eaten then.

It was just a pasta meal. She recalled it being made with chicken and a creamy, pesto-based sauce, and Yosuke’s internet search had quickly pulled up a recipe for something along those lines. It wouldn’t be the same – these places kept their recipes close to the heart – but that didn’t matter. Her plan had now become a case of finding something symbolic, over finding something that tasted good.

“I think he’s really starting to rub off on you,” Yosuke had noted as Naoto had prepared to rush off to grab the ingredients from the recipe he had found. “Kanji, I mean. In a good way.”

She’d queried him on that. Her own sharpness didn’t exactly extend to analysing herself.

“I just meant that five years ago, I don’t think you’d ever have thought to do something like this. I always took you for the… less cliché of the two of you. Didn’t you propose to him spontaneously in a cat café? If you don’t mind me asking… why is this the first thing you thought to do for him?”

A pause for Naoto to collect her thoughts. One that, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t last nearly as long as it might have.

“It’s… because this is logical to me. A dinner date – it’s the simplest, most common activity in the books. It’s a cliché because its effective. Because food is one of those love languages that transcends barriers, and to somebody who struggles in most social situations, like Kanji, like me, you must understand that something like this is a life saver. It’s a change to our routine that really doesn’t change all that much.” She smiled to herself. “Kanji does this to make me feel happy. So many people do, for the person they love. It only makes sense to me that I follow their lead.”

It was that way for most matters of the heart, she thought to herself as she balanced a packet of chicken on the hood of the buggy. She had never known how to act in these situations, how to express the feelings she had. And while she’d devised some unique little ways that she had managed to convey to Kanji, oftentimes the most effective means of telling him that she loved him was to simply use another person’s idea as a foundation. She had her own experiences as proof that it worked. After all, Kanji was a person who had been so starved for and scared of affection as a child that now, almost anything that said ‘I care about you’ was enough to draw him to tears. And Naoto was no different. He was more physical than her, and really that was the only major way in which their feelings towards romance diverged. The things that made one of them happy was sure to leave the other in the same state.

***

Naoto loved Kanji more than she hated cooking. That was really the defining fact that made this entire plan of hers possible at all.

Because she really hated cooking.

“I’ll prolly be home in like… forty minutes,” Kanji had told her over the phone when she’d given him a tentative call at just gone four to gauge how long she had. Pasta wasn’t exactly something she could make well in advance – just the thought of reheating it or overcooking it made her skin crawl. It was one of those things she needed to be perfect. Kanji, thankfully, didn’t have a preference.

So, she’d had to leave making the actual meal until as close to Kanji’s arrival as she could predict. But it wasn’t as though she had time to spare… She had to make the table, feed the cats, feed the baby, put the baby down for a nap…  

Then she had to cook the chicken and the pasta… that was fine, it just… radiated a lot of heat for a day that was already rather warm. Inaba’s houses were old, and they didn’t yet have much ventilation or air conditioning.

Then was the sauce, and she had to do some vegetables, but she had to keep stirring the sauce so it didn’t ruin the consistency, and she had to keep turning the meat and the veggies so they wouldn’t burn, and oh, the pasta might stick or become overdone if she wasn’t careful. Then it would just become stressful. Every meal, every time. No matter how methodical she tried to be, it would always devolve into this.

It was a focus thing, she was sure. When she homed in on a task or a detail, it became quite difficult to switch gears on the fly. A useful skill for analysing a murder case. Not so much for cooking.

It was why, when they were both at home, she and Kanji would often just cook dinner together.

But occasionally, and for the sake of somebody she cared about, it was worth it.

She was just at the stage where she was plating up the food, trying to get it to look as it did in the picture on the website, when the familiar sight of an old, dusty car that had at one point been purple staggered its way up their driveway, starkly contrasted with the shiny motorcycle it had pulled up next to. As Kanji climbed from the car, Naoto carefully studied his face, trying to glean from his expression how exactly he was feeling in that moment. But Kanji had a naturally angry look to him, so such a task was often difficult to undertake.

“You makin’ garlic bread, Nao?” he called from the porch almost as soon as the door had slid shut.

“You’ll see,” was all she said in response. With Kanji just moments away from seeing what she had done, she found herself buzzing with anticipation.

“Wuzzat s’posed to mean?” he asked, sticking his head around the door into the kitchen.

For a moment, his forehead crinkled as he took everything in, his eyes lingering on the table made up as closely to that of a restaurant as Naoto could manage, with cloth, candles, and an arrangement of Kanji’s favourite red roses (albeit that was rather haphazardly done).

And in that moment Naoto felt as though her heart had somehow managed to stall.

But the tension was brief, quickly dissipated by the biggest, goofiest grin taking up a huge portion of Kanji’s face.

He strode into the room and pulled his partner into a powerful hug all in a motion that was so fluid, you wouldn’t think it was Kanji performing it.

“I can see you’re ready to reopen the agency, huh?”

Naoto smiled and shook her head, before snuggling her cheek into Kanji’s chest. “Don’t mistake this for a fit of boredom – I’ve been anything but. Welcome to our first date night back in Inaba.”

“Huh? W-wait, hold up… Date night? You did this… fer me?”

His eyes threatened to grow wider than his smile had those few moments earlier, as the realisation of the circumstances slowly began to dawn on him.

Then, as was customary for Kanji whenever Naoto would do anything for him ever, his face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, and he began stammering unintelligible gibberish.

“Quickly now, before it cools down!”

“Y…Yuh…”

This was… odd. Kanji seemed unequivocally, unprecedentedly broken. His movements as he crossed to the counter and grabbed his plate, were mechanical, shaken, even. They weren’t unheard of for him, but it was as though they had suddenly been transported fifteen years into the past once more. Before they had fallen in love, before they’d even been close friends, when Kanji was so overcome with embarrassment whenever they spoke that he would be unable to function.

Now they were married, it wasn’t exactly commonplace.

Had something happened to him at work which had left him overwhelmed?

“Kanji?” Naoto called out tentatively as they took their seats.

“…huh?”

“You seem… Rather out of it.”

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. “Right. Yeah… Sorry…”

He cleared his throat and repeated the process of shaking his head.

“It’s just, uh… ‘M kinda at a loss for words. This is… Wow.”

A tension she hadn’t recognised until it was gone suddenly flooded from her body with a sigh of relief.

“For a moment there I was concerned that something was wrong, so –”

“More like… everythin’ is right. I never pegged you fer someone who’d do date nights Tatsumi style.”

“…Tatsumi style? So this…” she waved an arm across the table. “This is something you observed… what, from your parents?”

He nodded. Naoto didn’t realise it was possible for him to turn redder until just then.

“Ain’t really a lotta options for fancy restaurants like what you do out here. Ma and my old man always improvised at home. I know cookin’ yer partner a meal ain’t somethin’ my folks made up, they just ended up callin’ it that… Nickname kinda stuck.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, I suppose I have rather adopted a Tatsumi way of behaving today. Our roles have been utterly reversed. Why, I daresay after dinner, I shall take up a crochet project, and you’ll lull our Chihiro to sleep by reading her more of ‘A Study in Scarlet’.”

“I love you, Naoto.”

“Eh?”

But instead of elaborating, Kanji simply left his partner to turn an equally furious shade of red while he took a bite of the food. Naoto found herself so flustered that she didn’t even have time to be nervous about him trying the dish.

But, she supposed, she didn’t really have anything to worry about. This was Kanji.

“…I better never hear the words ‘I’m not very good at cooking’ comin’ from yer mouth again.”

“Well… Regardless of the quality of the food –” she began, about to launch into a spiel about how the mess she made, and how stressful it was for her, suggested that she technically wasn’t exactly on the level of a master. But all it took from Kanji was a single glare, and she stopped herself.

This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. And he did hate when she was self-deprecating in any capacity.

“I’m glad you like it Kan-chan.” She smiled, taking her own first bite. Hmm. Not bad. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to taste – she’d been feeling far too unwell that night in London to eat much at all, so she’d ordered a lighter dish – but how it did taste was pleasant.

“Better than it was on my birthday that one time. Dunno if you remember, but at that one Italian place when we were in England –”

“Where do you suppose I gained the inspiration to make this particular meal?”

“Huh? Well shit, haha. Last time I ever doubt yer memory.”

“Hm, well… I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting that day…”

Kanji slid his free hand across the table and placed it atop hers, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. Strange, she noted, that the nail was still painted black; she was sure the school would make him take the colour off alongside his piercings.

A nagging feeling in her chest, her stomach, her mind was begging her to ask him how it had gone. But it was not the only train of thought on the feeling that she had. What if Kanji didn’t want to talk about it yet? What if it was best to simply… enjoy the meal in ignorant bliss? Was he waiting for the right time, or for her to say something?

He looked as though he were about to speak now, was that the subject he was going to bring up?

“How has Chihiro been today?”

No. Of course not. The subject of work would have to wait.

As with… most of their conversations over the past year, the rest of the meal was largely dominated with Chihiro. Naoto describing, in detail, exactly what she had done, and Kanji’s expression growing fonder and fonder with every word. By the time they were done eating, he looked as though he were going to cry.

“Kinda sad that this is our lives goin’ forwards…”

“Hm?”

“Nothin’… just been missin’ her at work is all.”

The nagging feeling was very quickly becoming anxiety. The first mention of his day all evening, and it was something negative.

“Kanji, was everything –”

A sound suddenly stole her words before she had the chance to finish. A baby crying, as audible through the walls as it was the baby monitor on the counter.

“Prolly needs changing, huh?” Kanji smiled, rising to his feet. “Mind if I take this?”

“Please… She probably misses you too.”

In the time that Kanji was attending to the baby, Naoto managed to load everything that needed cleaning into the dishwasher, and found her way to the living room, and then to the couch. But her mind wasn’t exactly responsive as she did so.

Kanji… was worse than she had anticipated… More than just a simple meal could possibly hope to fix. Why on earth… What delusion had she been under to think, with how he’d been these past few days, that a little romantic gesture would be all he needed to feel better.

Amidst the haze that was buzzing in her mind, she vaguely registered her hands clenching into fists.

At some point, goodness knew when, Kanji had reappeared in the room and had sat down next to her, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She’s back down. Heh… Wanted to play as soon as she saw me, the little tyke, but could barely keep her eyes open long enough to do it.”

“She’s had… a busy day.”

“Ain’t we all?” he said with an air of exhaustion about him, placing his glasses gently on the kotatsu in front of them and then sinking back into the couch. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“I’ve been ready for weeks. Waiting on other people…” Naoto mumbled in response. Her gaze had fallen as she’d spoken to her socks, and she could not bring herself to remove it until Kanji nudged her with his arm.

“Hey. You good, Nao?”

“…Are you?”

That brought the conversation to a standstill.

“Would ya believe me if I told ya I was jus’ tired?”

“Only… partially.”

He gave her a half smile and repositioned himself so that his head lay on her shoulder.

“It was… a pretty exhaustin’ day… Lotta new stuff. Lotta old stuff too… that school ain’t changed in twenty years. Amazing it’s managed so long.”

Naoto just made an affirming noise and let her hand come to rest on his shoulder, pressing her cheek onto the top of his head. Best just to let him speak, she thought.

“Ain’t none of the people I knew still there but… they knew who I was. Course they did… didn’t expect any different. An’ you know what?”

“Hm?”

“Most of ‘em just complimented me on the plushies. They knew me ‘cause of the shop, not… ‘cause of the delinquent shit.”

“Well, that’s… good, is it not? That’s what we hoped would happen.”

She felt him shift his head as though he were trying to nod. His arm had worked its way around her waist, and she felt him bunching up the fabric of her dress shirt in his fingers as he spoke. It was an unconscious habit of his. Most notable when he was nervous.

“Yeah… Never said it weren’t good. Jus’ that I was tired. And that I missed my kid. And you.”

Naoto drew a deep breath. “It seemed like something was wrong, that’s all. I’ve been worried about you. All day. All week.”

“…That why you’re not okay?”

“Yes! Effectively!”

Another brief standstill.

“Sorry ‘bout that… Really… Last thing I wanted was for my bullshit worrying over nothing to affect you too.”

Naoto squeezed his shoulder slightly.

“You should know by now that such a thing is impossible. The same can be said of you, to me. We’ve been in this partnership since we were in high-school, Kan-chan, we can’t simply… hide our true feelings any longer. We know each other too well to be caught out.”

“Yeah… s’pose you’re right… I did appreciate it though. Back before I went in today and realised my worries were a load ‘a crap. I… I dunno, I guess comin’ back to Inaba after so long had me thinkin’ that everythin’ was gonna go back to the way it was.”

“Kanji… You weren’t… Please don’t tell me you’ve been thinking that way since we first planned to come.”

Silence. Naoto’s heart dropped. Obviously, that meant she was right on the mark.

Good lord, she had still been expecting when they’d first discussed moving back! Their daughter was one in a week!

“’s in the past now though. All of it,” he said eventually. “Physically this place ain’t no different, but I guess the vibe has changed since we were kids. Maybe… Enough time has passed now that I ain’t gotta worry about… the guy I was.”

“Kanji… I rescind what I said earlier. About how it’s impossible to hide our feelings from each other. Please… when it’s something serious like this, I implore you to tell me.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. If she did, he’d try to make this about her, and dammit, she was tired of it being about her. The entire point of everything she had done that day was to make it about Kanji for once in his life.

“…’M sorry, Nao…”

After that, for a long while neither of them spoke. They simply adjusted themselves into a position where they could more easily cuddle and sat there, snuggled into each other as the dwindling oranges and purples of the twilight sky gave way to darkness.

Kanji was the one to break the silence, his voice so slick with sleepiness that it was demure in a way which was much unlike him.

“Hey Nao… Yer still awake, right?”

“Mmhmm…” she responded. It was… mostly true.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’. I got a new goal now we’re back here… I wanna be able to look that bastard in the eye and tell him he ain’t me. Not because I’m denyin’ anythin’, but because he ain’t.”

“Him? Your Shadow?”

“Yeah. Like you can, y’know? If your Shadow popped their head back up and started sayin’ the same shit as before, you could just tell ‘em: ‘you’re wrong.’ ‘Cause they would be.”

“But they wouldn’t say something like that. My age and gender no longer cause me grief to the level they had in my youth, so my Shadow wouldn’t bring them up.”

Of course, they wouldn’t. Naoto thought that was obvious. She was thirty-one, very much an adult, and any doubt she had about whether she was a man or a woman were significantly eased when she had learned that she could be both and neither. She had no lack of confidence in those aspects of herself, regardless now of what other people thought, so there was no way the Shadow could use them as ammunition if they were to reappear.

But based on Kanji’s next statement, suddenly full of more vigour than his words prior, she wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood where he was coming from.

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m saying! The stuff your Shadow said back then… It ain’t even crossin’ your mind anymore. I wanna be the same… I mean… It’s not that I ain’t happy with who I am. I like cute shit, and sewing, and all the stuff like that. Shit, I’m bi as hell. I can say that stuff proudly. It’s…” he huffed. “For some reason, it’s like I can be confident in myself all I want, but in my head it don’t mean shit unless everyone else feels the same way. An' as long as I got a history as 'the guy who beats up bikers', it's like that day ain't gonna come... I’m… still scared shitless of bein’ rejected after all these years... It’s like… every time I meet a new group of people, I just end up wonderin’ how long its gonna be before they brand me a thug and cut me and everyone I care about off. Think that’s kinda the reason it’s been weighin’ on me again so much more recently. I start comin’ up with scenarios in my head where it gets outta hand and Chihiro gets hurt ‘cause of it.”

As he spoke, his hug became tighter.

“Kan-chan…”

“So, my goal is to get to a place where I don’t constantly worry about that stuff. Where if that bastard showed up again and said that kinda shit, I could deny him with my whole heart and know for certain that I’m right an’ he’s wrong. An’ before you say shit, I know that ain’t how Shadows work. That’s jus’ the image I use in my head to try an’ visualise what I’m itchin’ to do.”

He added that last part with a hint of a laugh to his tone.

So that was why he took a job he was so caught up about? As some concrete way of proving to himself that he would be okay if he did?

A self-destructive means of gathering evidence for a hypothesis… hm… perhaps Naoto’s inheritance of Kanji’s traits over the years had gone the other way as well.

“I didn’t realise it was possible to be so unbelievably proud of somebody, while simultaneously thinking them a fool…” Naoto ensured to keep her own tone bright, so that he would know she spoke in endearing terms. “You know I would have supported you through this if only you had told me –”

“Hah. Yer actin’ like you take me for the kinda guy who thinks this shit through… this ain’t exactly something I’ve been plannin’ or nothin’, it just sorta… came to me now.”

Oh, so it was a subconscious instinct?

Then perhaps he would be safe from her bad influence for just a little while longer…

“Well… regardless of how much preparation has gone into it… it is a good goal to have in mind, so long as you’re comfortable with the pain it may bring in the process.”

“Yeah. No problem. Anyway…” he sat up and looked her in the eyes. “What was that you were implyin’ with the whole ‘you know I would have supported you’ bull you just said?”

Naoto frowned. “It’s the truth –”

“Yeah, I know it’s the truth. Because you have been supportin’ me, dumbass. You ain’t ever stopped.” He thrust his arm in the vague, general direction of the kitchen, a wild delight dancing in his eyes. “You spent the last day of yer maternity leave makin’ sure I’d have a good evenin’ because you thought I needed cheerin’ up.”

Naoto felt her cheeks heat up. “I… I only did what you would do for me…”

“Yeah, but it ain’t like I made you do it. You still made the decision. It’s amazin’, an yer incredible, and adorable, an’ you make a freakin’ awesome pasta, an’ I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

She knew she was blushing harder and harder with every word, to the point where all she could think to do was bury her face into his shoulder.

“Feel kinda bad that we kinda got side-tracked from the ‘date night’ though… Sorry if you had anything else planned.”

“No, no, don’t feel bad. I did this because I thought you needed it, Kanji. And I don’t suppose I’m wrong in suggesting that you very much needed this talk as well?”

“…You ain’t wrong… Not at all.”

“And do you feel any better for having it?”

“Mmhmm.”

Naoto lifted her head and gave him her warmest smile. “Then I can safely declare this date night a resounding success.”

“Damn right, you can! But uh… I don’t wanna take away from anythin’ else you mighta wanted to do, so –”

The heat in her cheeks returned as quickly as it had vanished, and she sheepishly averted his gaze. Right. Date night was usually more than a meal.

“Uhm... About that. Kanji, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, I… I was so caught up in trying to find a recipe for dinner that it never even occurred to me to look for a movie or something to do afterwards.”

She offered him an apologetic look, but his immediate response was only to laugh and hold her closer.

“Don’t think I coulda made it through a movie anyway… I’m beat…”

“As am I. I think I may drift off here…”

It quickly became apparent that each of their ideal end to the evening would be to turn in early and hope to gain a restful night – something that was near impossible with a small child. Whether such a thing was an indication of how eventful their day had been, or whether it was simply a sign of them getting older, neither really cared to consider. Instead, they just ensured the house was secure, called the cats to follow them, and moved upstairs as quietly as they could so that their footsteps wouldn’t cause Chihiro to stir.

It wasn’t until Naoto had switched her outfit for one of Kanji’s old shirts and was brushing her teeth in the upstairs bathroom that it dawned on her: there was still one aspect of her day that had yet to be cleared up.

And now that it had come to mind, she feared she may be unable to sleep until she had an answer.

“Kan-chan?”

“Hm?”

“You know the binder you keep with recipe print-outs…? Do you have any idea what box it’s in?”

His face was mostly buried by the bedsheets by now, but she could tell from the part she could see that he was thinking hard.

“Uh… Oh! My car.”

“…Your car?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want the other kitchen stuff to squash it, so I put it separate. I see it every time I go in there an’ I keep saying I’ll bring it in and never do. How come…?”

Naoto heaved a great sigh and flopped on the bed besides him. It wasn’t until her face hit the pillow that she realised exactly how exhausting her day had been. “So you had it all along… I never would have found it.”

“You were lookin’ for it?”

“I was. I wanted to make you that curry instead, the one you called your favourite.”

“Ohhhh. I getcha now." He laughed. "That woulda been a good choice. But y’know anythin’ would have been fine. I got a real soft-spot for Italian food, hehe.”

“I like that curry myself though,” she added, as she shuffled under the covers. “It’s rare to find something spicy that you can handle as much as I…”

“You do, huh? I see.”

There was silence for a while. And then…

“Hey, Naoto…?”

“Mmm?”

“When’s your next day off?”

“My next day off…? That would be Sunday… Why?”

But Kanji didn’t answer. Instead, he just leaned over to kiss her goodnight, and then, with a sleepy smile, he rolled over and went to sleep.

[fairyoftbz]

[13:27]

🎄Day 1 of the Christmas project🎄

Last day of November. It felt like the entire world was hit by a tidal wave of cold, freezing everyone on its way. Wrapped in your coat, you were taking hurried baby steps on the slippery pavement, the only thing that you wanted was to go home and stay under a hot shower for the following hour. You were legitimately freezing, fingers almost going numb despite your thick gloves. It felt like the low temperature got more and more aggressive throughout the past years, despite your choice of warm clothes.

But, as you paced down towards the exit of the university perimeter to go to the nearest Starbucks to buy a coffee, you felt something hit you on the shoulder. It was swift, round, and cold.

A snowball, the puffiness of your winter jacket fortunately toning the impact down, because it landed on your shoulder with quite some strength.

Turning around, you see a bunch of students fooling around in the snow, two of them staring at you from afar. You relaxed a bit when you noticed their childish behaviour, shrugging it off as you continued on your way, knowing that it wasn't probably aimed at you. One was trying to hide behind his friend, probably the culprit. Thinking that he wasn't going to say anything, you just kept on walking, ready to accomplish your mission of getting a warm beverage before going home. However, the student took the responsibility upon himself and jogged towards you, a hand gently landing on your upper arm to stop you from walking away.

"Hey, um, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to aim at you. Did I hurt you?" You looked up and noticed a good-looking man in front of you, somewhat out of breath, the tip of his nose bright red because of the cold.  "It's fine, don't worry about it," you shrugged it off with a smile as the man in front of you worryingly looked at you because, well, he had some strength and threw a snowball at full speed directly towards you.

It was meant for his friend - Sunwoo - but the latter managed to dodge at last minute, avoiding the projectile which hit you. You were sure that you would have a small bruise from the shock tomorrow morning, but it didn't matter, it wasn't like you were clutching your shoulder, gasping for air.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" he asked again as he gently wiped the remaining snow off your coat, a smile appearing on his face when he looked at you. His gesture felt comforting and reassuring. He was kind of cute, you weren't going to lie. He was pleasant to look at. "I'm just glad I had my coat on," you giggled at your words but immediately stopped as you saw that he was still being serious, "no but don't worry, I'm just more startled than hurt, you don't have to worry too much about it," you reassured him with a smile.  "Jae! Stop flirting and come back, we're leaving!" you heard a male voice coming from behind, followed by a few snickers from his other friends.  "I guess your friends are calling you," you vaguely gestured towards the other young men behind him. You were about to bid farewell to him when he gently grabbed your forearm, again. 

"They can wait. I don't mean to come off as a creep but... Do you think... I could get your number? I wanna apologise by offering you a cup of coffee some time." Now, his nose wasn't the only red thing, his cheeks were practically glowing like a red light. You were surprised that a man ever approached you like this, it was the first time, and you didn't know what to say or do. "O-Only if you want it, of course," He immediately added as he took your silence for a form of doubt and you blinked a few times as you tried to think of a negative point about giving him your number. What could go wrong?  "No, no, it's f-fine," you were stumbling on your words, something that Hyunjae found quite endearing, as well as your reddening cheeks.

He took his phone out of his coat pocket and handed it for you to enter your number. You took the device with shaky hands, not sure if it was due to the cold or the man in front of you. Maybe both. 

Probably both. 

As you handed him his phone back, your fingers accidentally brushed, sending electricity down your spine. This situation seemed so unreal, so scripted that you started to think that you were the main character in a cliché Christmas movie. The young, handsome man randomly meeting you, the tender looks, the flirting. Oh god, stop Y/N, you're starting to blush!

"Thanks... Y/N," he said as he read what you've just entered on his phone, your name rolled off his tongue very naturally. "I guess I'll see you around. And again, I'm very sorry for hurting you," you gave him a soft smile as you reassured him one last time before parting ways, your mind still clouded that a gorgeous person like him just bluntly asked for your number and flirted with you.

The following day after the incident, you found the time to have lunch together as a first date, to which you were quite nervous, and a bit taken off guard. Hyunjae seemed genuinely a sweet man when you texted him, his words considerate and attentive, making you laugh and blush at the same time. This motherfucker was good at flirting, damn.

You arrived at the coffee shop you had both agreed on going a few minutes before the hour given, and Hyunjae was already there. Hiding for a few seconds near the entrance, you made sure that your hair and your makeup still looked good as when you had gotten ready in the morning.  Greeting the barista with a smile, you immediately paced to Hyunjae's table, where he was waiting for you while checking his phone. 

"Hi!" you sweetly said, and he looked up, his face lighting up when your eyes met. He looked like a model with his black turtleneck and navy-blue darted trousers, you were relieved to see that you had both made an effort to dress appropriately for your first-time meeting.  "Hi, Y/N," he stood up and gave you a light hug before drawing out the chair for you. Your cheeks immediately went up in flames, not anticipating this act of chivalry from him.  "Thank you," you said as you comfortably sat in the chair, the waiter coming to take your order.  "I'll have the English brunch with a cappuccino please," you said, and Hyunjae placed his order as well.

The date went well, you couldn't be happier. He was the same as in his messages, sweet, gentle, and caring, that's all you needed to feel comfortable with a man. While you were waiting for your food, he had his arms crossed on the table, and his upper body slightly shifted forward, you knew that his attention was on you and only you.

"I-I think your phone is buzzing," you said as you stopped explaining something to him, your forefinger pointing at the vibrating device next to him.  "Doesn't matter, it can wait," he stated as he lowered the button of the side of the phone, making it immediately go silent.

Much to your relief, he wasn't the type that only talked about himself, he was also very attentive and didn't hesitate to ask about your centres of interests or the subjects of your major. He was a marketing student, and you were studying political sciences, so you still had some things to talk about even if it wasn't related to you or your private life. When you were both done eating, you had tried to pay the bill, but he just wouldn't let you. And since you didn't want to throw a tantrum in the middle of the coffee shop, you politely thanked him.

"You'll pay next time," he replied, shooting you a wink with a smile as he handed the waiter his credit card.  "N-next time ?!" your reaction wasn't long in coming, making your date chuckle as he got his card back, as well as a receipt.   "All right, let's go," he said, ignoring your widened eyes while you absentmindedly put on your coat, still dazed by the words that came out of his mouth a few seconds ago.

When you got out of the building, the cold was there to attack again, biting at any showing skin unprotected by an item of clothing. As you nested your nose in the side of your coat, you couldn't help but let your mind wander as you imagined how it would feel to be in his arms right now. Not knowing how or why he looked hella comfortable and warm to you. Your brain couldn't look at him without saying: a source of warmth. Must hug. Maybe it was his big, puffed coat and woollen scarf, you didn't know, but your body was ready to throw itself into his arms at any point. However, you had another idea, cuddling has to wait a bit.

What about payback? Mh?

You seized the opportunity that Hyunjae was distracted looking at the buildings around you to gather some snow in your bare hands, the contact of your skin with the white powder sending chills up your arms. Shaping the snow with your hands, you quickly managed to create a snowball, slightly hiding it as Hyunjae was sometimes looking at you with a smile. When he made the mistake to have his back turned to you while looking at the front of a shop, you aimed and threw the snowball at him.

The projectile surprised him as it landed in the middle of his back, making him turn around. His face showed nothing but surprise before turning into mischief as he glanced at you with a smirk.

"You think you can get away with this, uh?" he mumbled, loudly enough for you to hear as you started trotting away while giggling, gathering some snow on the way to make another ball, ready to defend yourself. "Come back here, little madam," your laughter increased in embarrassment at the pet name, feeling your cheeks lightly blush as you didn't think he'd ever say something like that.

You started having a snowball fight in the middle of the park, some adults looking at you either adoringly or weirdly, but you both didn't care. You were in your game, your bubble. For once, you couldn't care less about what the other people around you thought of you. Currently, having fun with your date was more important to you than anything else.

A few minutes later you stopped a bit out of breath, shivering as you chased each other for a while.

"Come on," he said while extending his hand towards you, "you look cold, let's get going."

He was right, your hands were turning red and numb since you didn't have any gloves on. You grabbed his hand, and he plunged them in his coat pocket, keeping you close to him. While you rode the bus on the way to your apartment, you sat next to each other and carried on with speaking, as if you were still on your date at the café.  You were hopeful that Hyunjae was feeling the same as you did, and the light he had in his eyes as he looked at you, as well as his actions completely erased your doubts. Your hands were trapped between his two gloved ones, sometimes blowing hot air on them, or vigorously rubbing them together to create some warmth. This kind of gesture had your heart racing, scared that he would hear it from your proximity.

When you both stepped out of the elevator to arrive at your door, you fumbled with your keys with your frozen fingers and unlocked your front door, not knowing how to part ways.

"D-do... you want a cup of coffee or s-something else?" you offered, but he shook his head with a smile.  "It's very sweet from you Y/N, but I have to attend a lecture in a few minutes," he said as he got closer to you, his warm hands cupping your cold face.  "Good luck, and thank you for this date," you hesitantly mumbled, and he smiled, kissing your forehead before taking a step back.

You almost collapsed at the display of affection and smiled as he walked back to the elevators, shooting you a wink before pressing the button to call it.

"I'll give you a call when I get back to my apartment," he said, and you nodded, waving at him as he stepped into the machine, "oh, and make sure to warm up your hands by drinking tea, it's important to keep yourself warm!" "I will. See you soon!" you said before locking your door, heart filled with feelings for the charming uni student that threw a snowball at you a few days ago.

[birdsaesthetic]

He wasn’t perfect, but he was so damn close

Note: This's a filler for what happens after the last scene in First impression, after that one crazy night Jeller had. I completed this fic a long time ago, true, but I loved it and I got some comments say that I should update, so I decided to dig deeper into the story by filing it with more scenes that still don't change how the ending went. And guys there’s fluff at the end I can’t wait for you t read. On Fanfiction

___

The morning after that crazy night, and for the next number of days, Kurt tried in every breath and every way to tell his wife that he was sorry, that it would never happen again; Jane, on the other hand, did all the things she'd always done on daily basis, except that she didn't look at him, and whenever he caught her eye, she intentionally looked away, as if his gaze were venom to be avoided.

Jane didn't bother to ask him what he did when he'd gotten off from work on that Thursday, or where he'd been. Though if it'd occurred to her that she wanted to do so and get the truth out of him, she could've done it. Easily so. But then again, she didn't bother, because the truth was there, blatant: he'd left her, and Peter, when they needed him the most…

She still asked him how his days were and made appropriate responses when he told her. Other than that, though, she always pretended to be busy with Peter so she wouldn't have to spend time with him.

He, during these dull days, watched her in earnest, in a desperate, longing way, while she was simply searching for something in their living room; or starching her neck in the morning; or peeling an apple with her knuckle guiding the blade; or massaging the small of Peter's back with her feather-like touches; or making their bed in her underwear to let the cream she'd rubbed all over her legs and arms soak in before dressing. He couldn't help the feeling of sudden panic hitting him at the chest that he'd almost not met her and married her and started a family with her if she, all these years ago, hadn't plotted her way into his life but had chosen someone else's life. He loved her way more than a human heart could, and loved the little one they'd created the same way. But did he deserve to be loved the same way? That was a doubt within himself these days…

If she would come over and yell at him about it, he'd be ashamed of himself—so damn ashamed—but he'd tell the her truth, that he what did on that day was really nothing, that he was basically just sitting alone at a quiet place, away from others, having a few drinks, because he was tired out, consumed to the fullest, and his entire being couldn't endure anything anymore, by all means.

You think that I'm not tired of it, too? she would cut through whatever he would've been saying afterward, yelling, though her voice would crack at the last few words, and here he'd look down and say nothing no more. He wouldn't know what to say then, and wouldn't know what do, either. He'd go silent, feeling the blood in his body boil, until his silence stretched so long that when he'd finally look up, to start begging her with his eyes to see how sorry be was—because that was all he was: sorry—he'd find her long gone from his surrounding.

____

"What can I do, Jane?" Kurt asked her the next Saturday morning, in the kitchen, grabbing her wrist to stop her from going over to Peter as he just started fussing. Instantly, her eyes flew to his, and if his grab hadn't indeed stopped her from moving, the plea she saw in his eyes would've done it.

"What do you want me to do, huh?"

She stared at him for a long minute, and he stared right back. He could see her thinking now. Behind those green eyes and pursed lips, he could see her thinking. But, by then, little Peter, alone in his room, was crying his heart out, and the sound got louder and louder by every passing second they wasted staring at one another.

"You know how much I hate such questions, Kurt," she told him, over the sound of Peter's screams, then yanked her wrist away and went straight to Peter. What her husband just asked her lacked profundity in it, she thought. He was basically asking her what he should do so she'd tell him to do this and that and he'd, of course, do this and that immediately. And then what? Then she was supposed to let whatever happened slide? That was way too easy on his side, and way too difficult on her side.

He sighed, as he watched her go before his eye. He was tired physically and emotionally. He'd been relying on two to three hours of sleep daily—and Jane's sleep was more or less like his, too. But aside from being unable to sleep at nights because of their baby's colic, she'd been consuming his thoughts, eating his brain, keeping him up at nights even when she didn't know it. Why did that have to happen to them? He could count the days when she'd slept angry at him—or the opposite—using his own fingers. The number was one digit. It was small, manageable. But now… Now they were only a few days apart from this number to become two digits.

On Saturday mornings they used to go on walks with Peter, but this Saturday Kurt sat alone in the kitchen, listening to Peter cry, and Jane shushing him. It was cloudy and dark outside today, and apparently the sadness of the day from outside snuck inside their place.

He sat, and thought.

He tried to think of the beginning of their marriage, their first year in the apartment in Colorado. The memories seemed almost too sweet to be real. Did they have arguments? They must've had, of course, but he couldn't recall any. They must have been short-lived. Silly, even. About food, most likely.

"Do you want Italian or Chinese for dinner?" Jane once asked him.

"I want what you want." Kurt shrugged lazily.

"Just tell me what it is that you want."

"I'm happy doing whatever."

"Now, this is so frustrating!"

"How is this frustrating? What's going on?"

"I'm asking something, but you're not putting the slightest effort into helping me!"

"How did you just make me not helping you here, Jane? Ugh, let's just get sushi. Is that okay?"

And that was that.

He wondered if they had fights back then, and smiled when he almost immediately could recall some of their fights and how ridiculous they were in comparison to now: It's-your-turn-to-turn-out-the-light fight—this had been a classic fight of theirs. There had been rare nights when the light switch flicked off without a fight. After all, who, of them, was sane enough to get out of bed while the other was lying naked in it? Kurt would refuse, always, and Jane would curse him aloud in another language, or maybe throw a punch or two at him. They would fight for a while, raise their voices during the late hour. But then, and in a heartbeat, they'd just make up for all of that and kiss and make love and completely forget about it the next morning.

It had been rather fun, having such arguments and fights back then, Kurt thought to himself. It wasn't about winning; it certainly wasn't about who was right and who was wrong. In fact, it was during those heated moments when they truly got to learn who the other person was, deeply, which ultimately made them stronger as a couple.

On this Saturday afternoon, however, they were trapped inside. They couldn't depart from their apartment due to the weather, nor could they have any fun inside. But they did spend a typical day at home anyway; they showered and cooked and cleaned and rushed around to go cuddle Peter when his stomach pain hit him. Though they did all these things from within glass walls, so when Kurt exchanged pleasantries with Jane, at dinner, he felt as if he were pushing his words through a chink in the glass.

On the following days, things between them become easier, somewhat—only because there was an effort, being made by the two of them to make things better. In the morning, she found him sharing a warm bath with Peter, because it was good for Peter; it made the pain in his belly easy off, if only slightly. And when he asked her to join them in the bath, she shook her head and said, "No. I'll let you guys have some quiet time together. Father and son. And I'll go have 'me' time. But before I go, do you need towels?"

At the end of the day, when she sat on the couch and tried to find something good on television, he came over and sat next to her and she allowed it, didn't mumble 'good night' and withdraw and call it a day like before. The first thing he did after getting off from work was come straight home, drop his things by the door and go have Peter for the remaining of the day—it was such a break for Jane, and it was so sweet to see father and son staring at each other over the bottle while he drank his milk.

She began looking at him again, sometimes just long enough to let him know that she knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't perfect, but he was so damn close.

____

In the dead of the night, while they were asleep, Peter started his usual crying. Kurt put a hand on Jane's hip and told her to keep sleeping, and then he picked up Peter and rocked him and offered a bottle and a song hummed low. It wasn't his fault that Peter didn't seem to settle until Jane came over and had him in her arms. Afterward, Kurt, standing there listless, made a joke at his lame situation, implying that, if he could get a wig resembling Jane's hair and have his entire body tattooed just like hers on the slim chance that perhaps Peter would mistake him for his mother and quiet down, he seriously would. Jane laughed. She laughed aloud at the joke he made, effortlessly so, even though it was dark, Peter was still wailing, and she was so tired.

After she laughed and he drank up the sound of her laughter to the last drop, he then added, "But… I know it's more than just our looks. I don't believe that Peter recognizes us by our looks at this early age. At least not mainly. But perhaps through our smells, body temperature and texture. Our voices."

She looked up at him, and offered the smallest of smiles. "You're right."

They went back to bed, after having made sure Peter was comfortable and asleep again. But half an hour passed by and they were yet to fall back asleep. They kept rolling from one side to another and sighing through the silence of their bedroom. For ten minutes straight he was staring at the dark mess of her hair from the back, then, for the next ten minutes or so, when he flipped to his side and she flipped to his side, too, she was staring at the bare of his upper back. Both wanted to reach out for the other and say something, but the thought of disturbing each other's sleep for the second time tonight was out of the question.

It wasn't until at one point they happened to face each other that Kurt placed a light hand on Jane's cheek and brushed his thumb there. Her eyes had been slightly open then, but now she had to close them and relish the moment at the soft of his touch.

"Jane, are we okay?" he asked, keeping his voice to whispers. "You and me?"

She opened her eyes again, and saw him looking so worried. She saw his own eyes and saw tears shimmering there. Crawling toward him, she placed a hand over his own, light yet somehow firm. "Yes, we're okay. Of course," she reassured him, and the worried look he'd been wearing just seconds ago, disappeared completely. He only needed to know this, only needed to hear this from her.

He brought her closer to him, kissed her forehead, nose, lips, cheekbones, and everywhere he could reach. When he drew back, he saw her grinning, her white teeth gleaming in the dark. "Do that all over again, please?" she whispered, her hand on his hair, and he did it all over again, though this time he seemed more confident, his kisses were relatively harder, his hands on her placed themselves in decent places: her neck, her back.

It felt so damn good to be kissed by him again, and it felt just as good to kiss him back. She hadn't been looking at him some days ago, let alone tolerate his touch. But now, she thought that she could spend a lifetime like this, letting him kiss her senselessly, and she'd be perfectly and entirely happy.

"Hey, Kurt," she called softly, framing his face with both hands. "It's a great idea actually! You get be me this next Halloween! And I can help you with that."

Kurt chuckled in disbelief, but she continued, "What? It's Peter's first Halloween ever. We have to make it fun for him."

He stole a kiss from her parted lips. "Sure, we have to make it fun for him. But we don't want to scare him! It's enough what he's going through."

"Of course we don't want to scare him! He's barely four months old by now. It's all gonna be light and fun and we'll get to snap so many photos of him while in a costume! I can't wait for it!"

"Think I'm not gonna look scary as hell while in your costume, fully-tattooed and a messy, dark wig over my head? I'm gonna look scary for certain, Jane. Just begin to imagine it."

"Did you just you mean that I look scary all the tim—"

"No, no, no. No. No. That's not what I meant here." He sniggered, burying his face deep in her neck. Then, shortly, he surfaced. "It's me who's gonna look scary in the tattoos and a wig! You've never ever looked scary in the tattoos."

"You won't look scary!"

"Yes, I will," he said, seeming certain and somehow sad. "And Peter is never gonna stop crying at the sight of me."

"I think you're gonna look sexy, honestly." She smirked, and he sighed as she continued, "And I think Peter's gonna like you, since he already likes me more than you now and I'm gonna make you look just like me!"

"Who are you gonna dress up as for Halloween, then?" he asked, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as his fingers began sneaking down to inappropriate places in her body, though he was totally entitled to do so.

"I'm not sure yet. But…" She couldn't continue until she stole a few kisses from him, randomly, everywhere she could reach. "But I'll be thinking about it. And I'll be thinking about Peter's costume, too, till then."

He was tearing off her t-shirt and got a little giddy at the sight of her nakedness when she concluded, "At least…now… Now, you're done. You should feel lucky that you're done, and not complain or worry anymore about your costume."

Feeling, indeed, so lucky, he was again atop of her now, and between his skin and hers, there was the smallest of spaces, barely enough for air, for the slick of sweat soon would be chilling. "I know, I won't complain nor worry. And, yes, I feel so, so damn lucky. Umm, you really think I'm gonna look sexy in your tattoos?"

"Shirtless? Yes, I really do," she whispered, then there was a hum slipping from her lips as he kissed her neck in a way that time seemed to stop.

They knew that they should be sleeping instead of talking about ridiculous Halloween costumes, and knew that sleep was probably better for them now than laughing and making noises and rocking the whole place. But then again, they didn't care. This was the most they'd talked in weeks, and this was the only sex they'd had in months.

"How are you gonna do it? The tattoos on me?" he asked her, some minutes after they calmed down and came back to earth. She slowly ran a hand over his chest as if examining it—already could visualize the fake  tattoos on him—before she replied, "Basically, I'm gonna draw them all over your body, with my magic marker!"

"Would that magic marker of yours wash off afterward?"

Giving him a mischievous look, she whispered, "let's hope so."

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - A Belle Tune

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

Chapter 1 - A Belle Tune | Chap 2 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - stalking, mild injury, angsty vibes

Author’s note: Here we go dear readers, a whole new series!! As I was setting out the plotline I kept saying to myself; “Let’s make this 3-5 chapters, a short series, okay, Wolfie?” ...Welp... Apparently I have many talents, but writing short series is not one of them. I’ve tried again and again to reshape the plot into a shorter, snappier version, but I just couldn’t. So, here goes; 12 chapters of broody vampire Henry and sweet Belle. I hope you are ready ❤️

Word count: 1.991

Reading music: Agnes Obel - Tokka 

(Link to my Masterlist)

-

It was the first day of Autumn, summer finally past, as a tale of old was sung anew.

The land was cracked open dry and dusty after months without rain, the crops starting to fail just before harvest season. It made the tensions run high amongst the town folk, their worried eyes aiming upwards. The air had been thick for days now, the clouds drifting heavy and grey on dreary skies, foreboding a long awaited storm that just wouldn’t break.

And yet, not all were worried. At this moment the morning air felt slightly cheery too, as a soft tune wove through the ancient pine tree forest that lay like a prickly blanket over the rolling hills. 

It was a familiar tune, sung by a familiar woman’s voice, her pale skin and dark braided hair a sight he saw often in these parts of the land. Before her, two mutts sniffled happily, their wet noses pushing through the fallen leaves and shrubs that covered the dry forest floor. 

From the shadows of that same thicket, he was watching her, watching her rosy lips curl up in that dreamy smile, her feet kicking her blue skirts with confident strides.

Belle, he knew her name by now, was one of the few who dared to wander so close to his grounds, his domain, her skirts rustling as she conjured a book from the depths of her pockets. Always reading. 

At first he had been somewhat surprised to see a woman of her position even owning a book, a proper book. Her father was but a poor horse handler and her family long deceased. 

But, indeed, she could read. 

With an elegant hand she brushed down her skirts before sitting down on that same fallen down tree that she used everyday; her hide-out whenever the weather allowed. Clicking her tongue she instructed her dogs to lay down, her hand flicking through the book, returning to the page where she had left off a day ago.

Away from the snarky remarks and jealous whispers of the town folk, here she could read as dawn cracked over the horizon, her presence welcomed by the listening embrace of the forest and its inhabitants. The birds quieted their song and the mice and squirrels halted their squabbling, just long enough to look and listen, bewitched beady eyes watching the pretty woman as she started to read aloud.

It was an old and leather bound rendering of Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche, an ancient fairy tale, the book nearly falling apart as she brushed her fingertips over the yellowed, vulnerable pages. She had read it a dozen times now, and yet the monster couldn’t help but listen, his lips moving in a silent joined recital. He knew the words by heart at this point.

What exactly she did by the day time he couldn’t tell, his disposition making it impossible for him to visit town when the sun was out. And thus he would just imagine it. Perhaps she worked as one of the chambermaids for the Les Comtes. Perhaps she helped her father in the stables - he had seen the old man during the nights many a time, his rough hands being ever so gentle with the handsome beasts that belonged to the Les Comtes. In fact all was owned by the Les Comtes, the family so rich that almost all villagers worked for their estate and businesses.  

Far too soon Belle’s voice would silence again, her finger tracing the page she had ended on, memorising it before gently closing the book, her eyes looking up through the thicket of the tree branches, watching those looming clouds up above. He knew what she thought; it was going to rain and she probably couldn’t return to this spot for a long time.

After the rain would come hail, winds, winter. And as it goes with reading outside, her natural reading nook was simply not able to hide her from the elements, and, with her reading hobby sneered at by the town’s folk, this might very well be her last reading session for this year.

With a sigh she got up, calling for her dogs and making her way back to the village, long skirts kicking, her book hidden back in the depths of her pockets. Oh, how he was going to miss her. Even if it was just for a day. Here in the forest he was awaited by an eternal nothingness. No job, no destination, only empty days that wove into a long string of months, years, centuries.

Returning to the crumbling ruins of his castle, the grande structure long past its glory days, he wandered endlessly through its halls, dust collecting on items that shouldn’t ever run into such disuse. Plates, cups, the fireplace, the beds. For centuries now he could not feel the pleasure of the simplicity of life. The food ashen on his tongue. His eyes, though closed, never truly resting. His skin no longer feeling the comfort of a warm hearth. His still beating heart but a mousy whisper of its once roaring strength.

Watching those heavy clouds above the treetops, he knew that it would be long before he would get to hear her voice again. A storm was looming, the long dry spell finally coming to an end and taking with it the long awaited rains. He knew it was a necessity, the listening critters around him feeling desperate for food now winter was soon to arrive, but he couldn’t help but feel a deep disappointment all the same. Because with the dreary days would come even more dark hours for him, the last sparkle of joy ripped from his life until spring would probably come again.  

—

‘Another one dead.’ The hunter growled, heaving the dead dog’s body from his cart, the boneless heap of bled out sinew and fur unceremoniously dropping to the dusty ground. With the ongoing drought, food has become more and more scarce. Crops were failing, wild animals were roaming nearer to the village and despite their best efforts, the hunters had great difficulty to actually catch anything. Something strange was afoot in the forest and rumour was about; it was the beast!

‘So no luck then.’ Arthur said in a hushed tone, his old knees cracking as he squatted down to inspect the remains of the hound. And indeed. Neck cracked, jugular torn, the required strength for such an act belonging to no less than a bear..or beast..of sorts.

‘Twas a mad dog anyways. But still..’ The hunter squinted, looking out over the yellow grassed meadows, to the edge of the forest where that monstrous beast hid away. ‘..we must see to it. The darn thing must be done with once and ..for..’ He blinked, then looked at Arthur with mild confusion. ‘Is that Belle?’ He pointed at a figure that appeared from the tree-line, two dogs at either side of her light blue skirts.

Arthur pushed himself up with a groan and also squinted his eyes, his sight no longer what it had been. ‘If it’s a pretty thing with two mutts, a dress of blue and a smile for days, it must be Belle.’ He said, his vision too blurry to discern anything that resembled his daughter. The hunter gruntled his disapproval, though not denying that it was indeed Belle, his strong, broad shouldered frame turning back to his cart to bring out what few rabbits and pheasants he had managed to catch in his traps. ‘You ought to bring some sense in that girl, Arthur..’ He warned, bushy eyebrows frowning as he looked back at the girl, her skirts twirling as she threw a stick for the dogs to fetch.

‘She is just so very much like her mother.’ Arthur sighed, not fully agreeing with the hunter’s sentiments as his lips curled in an amused smile.

‘Tcould be the death of her, old man. The beast is out there, I know that much. In fact. There’s a meeting in the town hall by sundown, in case you wish to join.’

‘Good..good...’ Arthur nodded, only half-listening now, his eyes finally managing to focus on Belle as she kicked her legs over the wood log fence near the stables he worked, her face all smiles and skirts a muddy mess.

Oh..Belle!

--

The shutters of the barn-like town hall shuddered, the wind outside picking up and the torch flames dancing wildly in the draft. It was a busy night, the floorboards creaking as the town’s men got up from their benches to express their bewilderment and frustrations, loud “Aye’s” and “Nays” echoing in the air as the discussions roared.

Now the food reserves of the town were running low and people had to ration, the tension was near tangible. Winter was coming and the people felt as restless as the storm that was picking up outside. The pigs needed to be fed, the elderly were struggling, sickness was spreading and all fingers pointed angrily at the direction of that wicked forest. The Beast’s forest.

‘Dear people! My people!’ Old Master Le Comte stood up from the throne-like seat that was situated right at the head of the hall, his fatty fingers balancing a shiny cup of wine. He raised his hand to calm the uproar, old furrowy brows raising up to show two grey, beady eyes. ‘Say AYE and agree, that we must see to the end of this beast for once and for all. He threatens our livestock, steals our hunted bounty and his cursed evil talons bring us only disease and misfortune. This drought? I would not be surprised if it were by HIS design!’ He exclaimed.

The town roared up with enthusiasm, fists raised in the air as a loud ‘AYE’ resounded front to back. In fact only the old man Arthur sat quiet, far in the corner, thinking fingers pulling at his moustache. He had discussed the matter with Belle and all she had to say was; “It is indeed quite practical to make a simple minded animal responsible for all your sorrows. But is it right to kill it because you conjured an image of beastly proportion, fed by your own fears? From what I heard he only has killed those who came too close..far too close.” 

‘HELP HELP!! The church! A FIRE!’ The large doors of the hall swung open as a young man burst through, arms waving in despair, the discussions regarding the monster quickly forgotten as everyone made haste to stop the flames as they quickly swept around them, the simple wooden structures of the inner town feeding themselves like perfectly dried logs to the hellish bonfire.  

Arthur looked up from his daze and slowly followed the hastened crowd outside, his feet no longer so fast as he felt a sudden, surprising coolness in his neck. A wet coolness. With a question in his eyes he looked up at the darkened sky, feeling another drop on his wrinkly skin. Rain? Did the gods bless them just in time? Would all be well?

A conclusion made prematurely, as a new alarm was struck from the village’s heart.

‘THE BEAST! TIS THE BEAST!’ The loud screams came from the village square, Arthur’s attention immediately drawn back to the people that sped past him. Oh no..oh no...BELLE! She was alone, she was..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud Arthur smacked to the ground, his eyes blinking in shock as he saw the person who had bumped into him rush passed, the silhouette of the person already fading from his vision as all he could do was claw into the dusty road, eyes seeing all black.

Oh no...he thought, his body now fading out of consciousness. Belle! She must be warned! She was all alone! The beast..Oh Belle..the beast..and...Belle...

With heavy blinking eyes he scratched and cried, trying to gain the attention of people rushing by, but failing. None could hear or see him as the storm drowned out his wails and the night hid him in unblinking dark, leaving him with little else but hope, hope that Belle’s joyful tunes would indeed not be ended at the slashing of beastly claws, like the hunter had warned him for this morning.

Oh Belle, dear Belle..

--

Chap 2 >

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[aadmelioraa]

Spark (Hild x Iseult, 1.9k)

It had been an extremely long day at the end of an extremely long week—a long term, and a long year, even—and all Hild wanted to do when she got home was finish submitting her final evaluations and then go directly to bed.

But the instant she unlocked her door she knew she was in for an unpleasant evening.

The temperature inside was nearly as cold as the snowy December weather outside. Frost had even begun to form in the corners of the kitchen windows—old windows that the landlord had promised would be replaced months ago.

Hild sighed deeply, her breath creating a faint cloud as she exhaled. The same thing had happened last year right before Christmas. She should have expected it to happen again. It was going to be far too cold for her to concentrate on her work tonight. She really needed to find a new flat before her lease expired.

The radiator in her bedroom was cold to the touch as she turned the dial back and forth to no avail. She sighed again, and in her irritation gave it a solid kick. It didn’t improve the functionality, but it did make her feel slightly better.

Her fingers trembled with cold as she pulled her cellphone out of her coat pocket to call her landlord. They didn’t pick up, of course, so she left a somewhat curt message and made a mental note to phone again in an hour.

Accepting her fate, Hild slipped out of her coat and put on a pullover and cardigan over her turtleneck, then her coziest scarf. She was just struggling to pull her house shoes on over the bulk of two extra pairs of socks when she heard a knock at the door.

Read the rest below or on ao3

Perhaps it was a repairman? Unlikely, but she wasn't expecting anyone else.

She shuffled to the door and opened it to find Iseult, her downstairs neighbor. The neighbor she’d wanted to speak to a dozen times or more, but had not yet got up the courage. The neighbor she’d found herself wondering about on a lonely night more often than she cared to admit.

“I thought I’d find you home,” Iseult said. Fortunately, she did not appear to be clairvoyant.

Hild’s face must have registered some surprise because Iseult smiled slightly as she added, “I may have heard you kick the radiator.”

“Oh—sorry if I disturbed you,” Hild said, flushing a bit at how she’d let her temper get the better of her. Noting that her neighbor was also wrapped in several layers of knitwear she added, “I take it your heat is out as well.”

“It’s the whole building, I think.” Iseult’s voice sounded as irritated as Hild felt.

“Would you like to come in?” Hild offered, and then immediately wondered if that was a stupid question. She had nothing much to offer, particularly without working radiators.

Iseult smiled again, a bit softer this time, but her eyes brightened. “Thank you.”

“We may as well stick it out together, I suppose,” Hild said, knowing that she would not have the evening she had planned no matter what.

She led the way into the kitchen and gestured to the electric kettle on her countertop. “Cocoa? At least we don’t have to rely on the gas for that.”

“Sounds lovely.” Iseult took a seat at the kitchen table, chafing her upper arms for warmth.

“You haven’t lived in this building long, have you?” Hild asked as she set two mugs on the counter and turned the kettle on.

“Only a few months. The start of your school year, I think.”

Hild glanced toward her guest, her mouth twitching into a smile despite her best efforts. She was surprised but pleased to find that she was apparently a person of interest. “Well, clearly you know I’m a teacher. What about yourself?”

“I’m a jewelry maker.” Iseult gestured to the earrings and necklace she was wearing. “I also do tarot readings out of my flat.”

“Ah.” Hild dropped her eyes to her hands and bit her lower lip.

“You do not approve, I know,” Iseult said in a carefree, almost musical tone.

Hild turned back, eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

Iseult huffed a gentle laugh. “It’s not an insult, Hild. I know that you are religious.”

Hild was about to ask how when her gaze fell on the wooden cross hanging above the sink. She turned back to see Iseult’s eyes alight with laughter.

“You’re at church every Sunday, too. I hear you get up earlier that day, and sometimes I see you return in your formal clothing.”

Hild would not have characterized a mid-length wool skirt and a pair of oxfords as formal, but looking at Iseult in her worn, wide-legged corduroy pants and scuffed clogs perhaps they had different standards of formal wear.

“So you’ve been spying on me,” she said, attempting to lighten her tone as she tore the cocoa packets.

Iseult chuckled and pulled her sleeves down around her palms.

“There is only so much to do during the day between appointments. I like to read by the window, so I happen to see everyone coming and going.”

Hild added hot water to the mugs, stirred, and added a bit more. The spoon clinking against the ceramic was the only noise in the room for a moment.

“Thank you.” Iseult’s fingers brushed against hers as she accepted the mug of cocoa. Hild nodded, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest, and took a seat across from her.

“The heat’s not likely to be fixed today,” Hild informed her in a somewhat apologetic tone, as if it was her fault. “Last winter the same thing happened, and it took an entire weekend to resolve.”

Iseult’s eyes widened and she shivered reflexively. “Goodness, what did you do?” Hild remembered how Uhtred, who had been staying with Sihtric at the time, had come over and not left for…about seventy-two hours, by her calculations. That solution would not do this time around, and it wasn't just because he had a girlfriend.

She cleared her throat. “Just…coped.”

“Well, do you have any tips for coping?” Iseult asked innocently.

Hild took a sip of cocoa, hiding behind her mug temporarily. “Lots of blankets, I suppose.”

“I have a hot water bottle, but I imagine you might have one too.”

Hild shrugged. “Yes. It helps, but…”

“Well, we may as well camp out together, in the meantime. That is…if I’m not overstepping.”

Hild gazed across the table into Iseult’s warm brown eyes and wondered if there was any world in which she would deny her.

“You’re not over stepping at all. But I confess, I may not be very good company tonight. I’m feeling rather crabby, to be perfectly honest.”

Iseult’s smile wrinkled her nose. “Crabby is fine by me.”

Hild’s smile in return felt a bit too broad, but she couldn’t help it. Iseult was charming in every sense of the word. She regretted it had taken her this long, and a minor catastrophe, to spend any time with her.

“It’s warmer in the next room,” Hild offered, rising to her feet. “Better windows in there.”

They made their way to the couch, and Hild gathered every blanket she could find. She even brought her down comforter from the bedroom and offered half to Iseult, who graciously accepted. They were bundled up nicely now, though Hild found herself quite irritated when yet again their landlord ignored her call. Her irritation was tempered by her enjoyment of Iseult’s companionship and the low current of accompanying nervousness.

She flicked on the television, not wanting to leave the burden of conversation entirely on her guest.

Iseult laid her head against the back of the couch, curling slightly on her side so her body faced Hild.

Hild adjusted her posture, and her knee bumped up against Iseult’s leg. She nearly pulled back, but Iseult didn’t move away, so she didn’t either.

Iseult leaned a bit closer after a time, eyes still fixed on the television, but Hild was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything other than the woman beside her.

“Is your school term finished?” Iseult’s eyes opened and closed slowly. She seemed to be trying to keep herself awake.

“Yes, I won’t quite know what to do with myself for the next two weeks,” Hild replied.

“What do you normally do between terms?”

“Well, they always need help at the church this time of year. That, and try to rest if I can.”

Iseult cocked her head slightly. “Rest is good.”

“I’m not very good at it, I'm afraid,” Hild felt compelled to admit.

“Like everything, it requires a commitment to practice,” Iseult said softly.

She was sincere, but there was a kind of levity behind her demeanor. Something that made Hild feel a bit more seen than she typically did. Normally that would make her uncomfortable, but with Iseult, it didn’t. It was as if she was standing behind a sheer curtain, waiting to pull it aside and step forward, but in her own timing.

“How would you advise I commit to practicing?” she asked, staring at the television but not watching.

Iseult chuckled and pulled the comforter up around her neck. “This is a good start, here.”

Hild shivered and instinctively moved a bit closer. “I suppose this is God’s way of telling me to take the night off.”

“Does your god speak to you often through the incompetence of your landlord?” Iseult asked.

“Not exclusively, no.”

Iseult’s nose wrinkled in amusement and she leaned a bit closer still.

When she took Hild’s hand under the coverlet, Hild was certain her heart had stopped beating.

Iseult’s eyes were clear and bright as she asked, “Does your god have rules about this?”

“Some men claim he does,” Hild murmured, “but I’m not in the habit of listening to men.”

Iseult’s smile widened as she leaned forward to brush a kiss to Hild’s lips. Hild’s breath caught. She froze, then cupped Iseult’s face gently as she kissed her back.

It was a good kiss—perhaps a little awkward, somewhat tentative at first, but building in feeling almost immediately. A spark had ignited between them—cold flint and steel striking against each other and creating something beautiful that had not existed there before.

Hild’s face grew warm—she was sure she was blushing quite deeply—and the heat spread throughout her body from her core. Her fingers, twined in Iseult’s, were still cold, but that’s not why they were trembling.

“You don’t need much practice at that,” Iseult said coyly, leaning her forehead against Hild’s.

Hild felt a laugh tumble forth, and clasped Iseult’s hands between her own to warm them.

Iseult laughed too, and tucked into her side. Hild wrapped an arm around her and pulled the coverlet tighter.

Half an hour later, they were both asleep. They’d wake in the morning light, still wrapped up in each other, to a missed call from their landlord. The heat would be fixed in time, but they would devote themselves to other pastimes while they waited.

[l0lsat-wod]

~Random Domestic Head Canon Series~

On the topic of fear...

Hawks x fem OC

Warning! Slightly steamy toward the end - read at your own discretion!

Misaki had never been a fan of horror movies. Particularly the ones that were designed to terrify people about perfectly normal occurrences—like the power going out during a typhoon. The tropical storm had hit land earlier that afternoon, prompting the government to issue a discretionary advisory to remain indoors until the worst of it had passed. And so, Misaki was contently snuggled into her bed with one of her favorite books, a pair of earbuds nestled into her ears and playing a soft symphony of orchestral music in an effort to drown out the sounds of the storm raging outside her apartment.

Under normal circumstances, she would not have thought twice about the lights flickering for a moment before snapping off. Being the overly prepared person that she was, there were several, strategically placed flashlights and candles all over her apartment; at least two weeks’ worth of emergency provisions were also stashed away in her pantry in the event that she became unable to leave. The building she lived in had fortified storm glass on all of the doors and windows that was certified to withstand winds up to 190 km/h. She had absolutely no reason to be worried about being alone in her home during a typhoon.

Under normal circumstances.

Goosebumps skittered over the skin of her arms and neck as she was suddenly awashed in pitch black. The sun had already gone down outside her window almost an hour ago, granting an ominous feel to the torrential rain that poured from the angry clouds overhead. She could hear it over the music playing in her ears, beating against her windows with a driving force that threatened to overcome the reinforced glass. Taking a deep, calming breath, she carefully set her book aside and removed her earbuds, placing them on the nightstand before reaching into the drawer to pull out the flashlight inside. She clicked the button on the barrel of the device to turn it on, sighing softly in relief as the bulb flickered to life and cast a beam of bright light across the floor of her bedroom. Her relief was abruptly replaced with a flash of panic as the light suddenly cut off and she was once again bathed in darkness.

Misaki had never been afraid of the dark. She didn’t believe in ghosts or any of the multitude of creatures that were made up to keep little children from venturing out of their beds in the middle of the night. It had always been a philosophy of hers to face things that seemed intimidating with a rational mindset. Prepare. Remain calm. Don’t overreact. As was her mantra in fearful situations.

Under normal circumstances.

But Misaki’s circumstances were somewhat abnormal at the moment. She had engaged in an activity recently which she’d never allowed herself to experience before—mostly because she found the practice of subjecting oneself to something that was made to induce irrational fear utterly ridiculous. However, she had grudgingly let Hawks talk her into watching what he called a “cult classic” horror film during their regular date night last week. The black and white zombie flick had been more campy than frightening, but Hawks had insisted that they watch it in the dark in order to set the proper mood. She hadn’t thought the experience had affected her much, until this moment.

A soft rattling sound from the main room made her jump. Her eyes, which still weren’t quite adjusted to the dark, shot over toward her bedroom door. A sudden wave of fear sent shivers racing up from the base of her spine to the roots of her hair. Reaching out for her phone on the nightstand, Misaki kept her eyes trained firmly in the direction of the living room. Visions of zombies clamoring at her front door filled her mind, feeding her irrational paranoia about the skittering, scraping sound that was probably just a piece of debris washed up onto her balcony by the storm. She felt her hand brush the edge of her phone on top of the nightstand and a new wave of horror assailed her when she heard it clatter onto the floor a moment later. The light from the screen flashed for a second before going dark.

Her heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach. Not only had she apparently forgotten to check the batteries in her stash of flashlights, but her ridiculous fearfulness had sent her only other source of light into the oblivion of darkness beneath her. She slid her eyes closed and took a moment to calm her nerves, determinedly beating back the thoughts of zombies and any other nonsensical fears her subconscious mind had seen fit to drum up to suit her current situation. Swallowing down her anxieties, she carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed and settled her feet onto the floor, sighing dejectedly when she didn’t feel them brush against her phone. Making her way across the room by memory alone, Misaki slowly and carefully headed for the bedroom door.

Almost apprehensively, she stepped out into the living room of her apartment, scanning her cherry blossom colored eyes across the open space for any signs of abnormality. She still couldn’t make out much more than vague shapes in the darkness, but her eyes finally appeared to be adjusting. Her bare feet softly padded across the cool hardwood, carrying her over to the side table next to the couch where she had another flashlight stored—hopefully with a set of fully charged batteries inside. She sighed in relief, shoulders visibly slumping, when she clicked the button and soft light lit up the space—and remained lit.

Again, the scraping sound drew Misaki’s attention, but it wasn’t coming from the balcony—it was coming from the front door.

Panic gripped her. Who in the world would be trying to access her apartment during a typhoon? She hadn’t ordered anything to be delivered, and maintenance would have announced themselves before attempting to enter her home. Her subconscious brain took the opportunity while her conscious mind was spinning through all of the possible rational explanations to remind her of the zombies, and she immediately shook her head against the thought. The most likely scenario, she decided, was that someone was attempting to break in and rob her. Now that she could handle.

She kept her footsteps light as she tiptoed across the room to the front door, picking up the softball bat that she kept in the umbrella carousel next to the entryway closet as she moved. She lifted it up over her head in preparation, clicking off the flashlight as quietly as she could as the lock on her door clicked open and the handle began to turn. As soon as the door crept inward, she swung her bat down, aiming at the top of her intruders head. The trespasser swiftly sidestepped the swing, gripping her wrist and sweeping her back up against the wall behind her. The glow from the emergency floodlights in the hallway outside her apartment just barely illuminated the side of her intruder’s face, and she sucked in a sharp gasp of surprise.

“Keigo?”

He glanced up at the weapon she’d used to attack him with and asked in an incredulous tone of voice, “Is that a steel bat?”

“It’s composite,” Misaki grumbled.

Hawks sighed as he released her and stepped back. “Steel would be better if you’re planning to use it for self-defense, you know?”

She dropped the bat back down into the umbrella carousel and shrugged. “The steel ones were too heavy.” Turning toward him, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and shot him an incredulous glare. “Mind telling me what you’re doing coming in through the front door unannounced?”

His hand rose to rub the back of his head in a sheepish gesture. “Sorry about that. I kinda dropped my key on the balcony and it got washed away by the rain… I tried calling once I got inside but I couldn’t get through.”

Misaki widened her eyes and blanched, suddenly remembering the scraping at the balcony door earlier, and her fallen smartphone laying on the floor of her bedroom. “So that was you…”

“Who did you think it was?” Hawks curiously asked, cocking his head to the side with an expression of concerned interest etched across his handsome face.

There was no way in hell she was telling him that she’d considered there might be zombies trying to break into her apartment.

Crossing her arms, she turned her head to the side and scoffed, glancing back at him mischievously from the corner of her eye. “Just some vagabond looking to escape the rain and raid my food stash.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “On the twentieth floor?”

“Was I wrong?” She playfully shot back.

Hawks let out an uncomfortable chuckle while nervously scratching his cheek with his gloved finger.

The lights in her apartment abruptly flashed on, drowning out the shadows and illuminating the two of them—one clad in an oversized light gray sweater and sleep shorts, and the other in a sopping wet beige hero costume. Blinking at the sudden brightness that seared through her retinas, Misaki quickly noticed the growing puddle that Hawks was making on the hardwood floor of her rented entryway and gasped. She flung the front door closed and reached behind him for one of her fluffy scarves hanging from the coat rack on the wall, tossing it at his feet before pushing him into the open doorway leading into the kitchen to his right. The floor in there was tile at least.

“Hey—!” He protested at her forceful actions.

Her eyes flashed up at him in warning as her dangerously low toned voice growled, “If you ruin these floors, you’re paying to have them replaced.”

“Geh—!” Hawks flinched away from the death glare currently aimed his way before shrugging out of his coat and gloves and carefully laying them in the kitchen sink. His boots and pants were next until he was standing there in his damp, but no longer dripping undergarments. Holding up his hands in a peacemaking gesture, he cracked a nervous grin and asked, “Better?”

Raking her eyes down his scantly clad form, she took a long moment to enjoy the view before she heard him nervously clear his throat. She finished sopping up the puddle he’d made and stood, stepping toward him and tossing the wet scarf into the sink with his clothes. He held his ground, gazing down at her with heated interest as she invaded his personal space. She held his stare as she slowly and deliberately trailed her index finger down the middle of his pecs and between the chiseled line of his abdomen to curl into the waistband of his boxer shorts.

The telltale bobbing of his adam’s apple drew her gaze just before his lowered voice murmured, “Misa-chan?”

Sliding her gaze up to his, she smirked at the heady look in his golden stare and the faint flush coloring his cheeks. She could almost hear the thrumming of his heart in his chest, beating at a cadence to match her own as she felt her arousal spike in response. She was suddenly transported back in her memory to the night that they’d watched that ridiculous horror film, could feel the rush of adrenaline that had sent her pulse racing—and the excitement that had lead to a very passionate lovemaking session right there on the living room couch as the credits rolled.

Her smirk widened into a wicked grin; perhaps horror movies weren’t so nonsensical after all…

~

Part of a planned series of short, domestic drabbles featuring Misaki and Hawks. They will be based on how both of them react to certain emotions (mostly). This one is Misaki's fear drabble. Planning to write Hawks next - wish me luck! 😬

Might add some tags later... might not... who knows! 🤷

[ashketchup119]

Musicality

Ok I LOVE this story!! I made a whole story based off a lil convo @jemtoka and I had, and I made oc’s based off each of us and went to town. It was very fun to write, and I got to combine my music knowledge with my writing skills.

Enjoy!

When Benji had first set out to find the ghost of Beethoven, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to do it. His brother had once called him “all bite and no bark”, a reference to the fact that out of the four brothers, Benji had been the only one to not outgrow his infant habit of biting things- or people- when stressed. But in this situation, he definitely felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

He absentmindedly chewed on his chewing necklace as he drafted a grant proposal with his friend, Mujika. Muji was drawing in a notebook, something for his art classes, though he looked up when prompted to review the words that had appeared on Benji’s screen. Muji had done his fair share of research, and though he did want to help with the writing of the research paper, it had been agreed that Benji was the more… academic writer. The two of them had met through social media a couple of years ago, and once they’d started direct messaging, had become close friends quickly through a mesh of shared interests, similar humor, and a half-baked scheme to take over the world.

Which led them here, to a table in the back of a 24-hour McDonalds, Benji chewing the head off a stiff chewable bat pendant and Muji using his nocturnal tendencies to do things like “make sure his friend drank water and didn’t forget that he was a person.”

“Fo you fink ish bit avou duh Immoruhl Bewuved ith done? Ish kinda duh hoh vashis of arr puhposal so…” Benji trailed off, jaw absentmindedly moving over the poor bat, whose head was holding on by sheer force of will to the rest of its body.

“What?” Muji asked. He did not speak bat-in-mouth.

Benji pulled the pendant out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Y’think this bit about the Immortal Beloved is finished? It’s like, the whole basis of our proposal n shit.”

He turned the laptop towards Muji, who closed his notebook, set it to the side, and pulled the laptop in front of him. He read it quietly, and Benji began to tap out the beat to the song playing on low volume in his earbuds. He began to hum, too, murmuring lyrics under his breath as he stared off into the distance.

“I think it looks good.” Muji finally replied, turning the laptop back toward Benji and grabbing his notebook again. “I can’t think of anything else we could add to that section.”

Benji gave a little half shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of them once again worked in solitude, only broken by Benji ordering fries at about 1 AM. At 3, they decided to call it quits, though Benji seemed more wired than ever and voiced some apprehension about “going to sleep when there’s so much work to be done, Muji!” Muji chastised him slightly and promised that they could come back the next day- or rather, later that day- to finish up. There were only slight revisions to be done, then it could be sent off to the Music Master Scholars, an organization dedicated to the care and keeping of the ghosts widely considered Music Masters, which included household names like Mozart and Beethoven, but also lesser-known composers like Joseph Bologne and Francesca Caccini.

Ghosts were, of course, a commonplace occurrence, though one could theoretically live their life without interacting with one. That was rare, though; ghosts had a tendency to wander, though they could only appear in places that held significance to them in life and graveyards, but even living in a house increased the average person’s chances of encountering a ghost exponentially.

But these ghosts were special, because of the knowledge they possessed and the lives they’d lead. The Music Master Scholars were the only people in the world who both knew and had access to the location of every ghost, and to join their ranks, one had to find the location of one of the ‘hidden’ Music Masters- of which Beethoven was the most hidden. Their non-administrative members were unknown, but said to be most, if not all, of the foremost music scholars in the world. How could they not be, with the Masters themselves guiding their research?

Benji and Muji really, really wanted to be Music Master Scholars.

When he was 10, Benji had been given some sort of “young musician” scholarship to visit Europe for a month. He was a double bassist, a dying breed in the modern age, and the fact that he had progressed from monotonic exercises to Baroque sinfonias in the span of four months had impressed his teachers.

His parents had gone along, too, mostly because they knew their child, and Benji did have a propensity to get into trouble. Devil’s luck, his mother had tsked, and that had been that.

He’d managed to escape the group in the middle of a museum, though he didn’t wander far. He just wanted to look at everything without feeling like people were constantly breathing down his neck.

Well. HE didn’t consider “the park near the museum” to be far. His parents did, though, he found out later.

At the park, he found a man. Well, not a man. A ghost. The ghost was staring wistfully at the museum in the distance, and started when he noticed a small child staring at him.

“Hi! Who are you?” Benji asked, clutching the stuffed animal his parents had gotten him at another museum the day before.

The ghost cleared his throat. “I’m uh…” He started in a raspy voice before pausing and clearing his throat again. “I’m,” He sighed. “I’m Johannes Brahms.”

“Yo-hahn Brahmzzzz.” Benji repeated, drawing out the last “s” sound. “Oh! You did music, right?”

Brahms smiled slightly, and nodded.

The two of them talked for a while before Benji’s parents arrived, harried and frustrated. They apologized profusely to the ghost, who insisted it hadn’t been a problem.

The whole experience left Benji starry-eyed, and with the help of a friend he’d made in Germany, he would call and converse with Brahms for hours, asking about counterpoint and meaning and technique and just in general picking his mind. The composer took this with grace, and seemed more than happy to answer the young musician’s questions. When he’d told Benji about the Scholars, Benji had immediately decided that he was going to be a Music Master Scholar.

Muji had played violin until he’d dropped out of high school to take care of his mom, and hadn’t resumed it until after him and Benji had been talking for a while. He didn’t know much about composition, but he loved music history, and after getting his GED and enrolling in college, had even majored in it. Plus, he just kinda just thought the whole thing was cool.

They’d been researching for a year and a half, with pointers from Brahms, and tips from a professor Benji’d had two years ago, a Classical scholar named Dr. Chang. Benji had once emailed her and asked, point-blank, if she was a Music Master Scholar, but she’d only sent back a cryptic winky face emoji in response.

The next day, after three more hours of sitting in McDonalds, revising the proposal (most of which was Muji saying “Benji it looks fine!” and Benji responding with “No, no, this comma in paragraph seven just makes it sound better! Ties it all together, don’t you think?”), it was sent off in an email, and Benji resolved not to think about it while Muji resolved to mention it at the most inopportune moments, just to mess with his friend a little.

They were approved a month later, and three months after that day at McDonalds, they were sitting on a plane heading to Austria, Benji mouthing practice phrases in German as Muji slept. They had about a month to traipse all over Europe in search of a ghost very few people had been able to find, and they were excited to start.

The first week was spent in Austria, visiting Beethoven’s own grave (a nonstarter; the ghosts there hadn’t seen Beethoven since he was buried, and none knew where he’d gone), his childhood home and the area surrounding.

Nothing.

The second week was spent in Vienna. There, they visited the ghost of Mozart, who was a fidgety, flighty sort. He was known for being somewhat immaterial, and often took to jumping on top of objects in a manner that caused the people around them to panic for a few seconds before realizing he was too immaterial to do anything more than whisper vaguely about his childhood. He’d tried to pet Muji’s hair and got annoyed when nothing happened, so it wasn’t a particularly long visit.

They tried to visit Haydn, but while the location of Haydn’s ghost was well-known, only Music Master Scholars were allowed to see him, as he claimed the crowds exhausted him, and he wanted to be able to give his full attention to those visiting him. It made sense, since ghosts used massive amounts of energy to communicate and interact with the world around them, and the more energy they expended, the less time they were able to spend on earth. Despite this, the two  of them did make an effort, but were summarily barred from entering.

“Next time!” Benji declared confidently as they walked to their next potential Beethoven hot spot.

They visited Brahms, who had resolved to meet them in Vienna upon learning they were coming, and spent a whole day with him, visiting locations which had been important to him and letting his impromptu history lessons wash over them with a look of awed reverence.

Beethoven wasn’t in Vienna, and by the third week the two friends were feeling the threat of rejection hot on their heels. They began keeping odd hours, trying their hardest to figure out their next move.

“Maybe we should reread our proposal? Clearly the Scholars saw something in it, right?” Muji theorized from the bed he’d claimed as his their first night in the hotel.

“Mmmm.” Benji responded from his position on the floor at the foot of his bed, still feeling the after-effects of a well-deserved mental breakdown.

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried to motivate him. “We can do it! You’re a super cool music spy, remember?”

Benji huffed at the reminder of an old, inane conversation between the two. “I don’t know, Muji. I think it’s kinda pointless.”

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried again. “This is like, your dream! It’s now or never! Put our mutual brain cell to use so we can find Beethoven!”

Benji sighed and got up. “Fine, fine.” He murmured as he got off the floor, grabbed his copy of the proposal from his bag, laid down on the bed, and stuffed another chewable pendant into his mouth. “Wet’s fee.”

Silence reigned for a few, brief seconds, before Muji suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved, right?”

Benji sat up straight on his bed and spit out the pendant. “Holy shit, we never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved.”

After a quick Google search, two train tickets, a couple of sandwiches, and a dash through the rain, they arrived at the Frankfurt Main Cemetery. There, they asked after the name they’d listed in their proposal as the possible Immortal Beloved, and the ghosts pointed them towards the back of the cemetery.

In a ghost grotto, they found a woman, calmly humming the tune from one of the Diabelli variations, though in their excitement neither Benji nor Muji could name the tune.

“Are you-“ Benji paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you the Immortal Beloved?

The woman stopped humming and smiled at them.

“Ah, that is a moniker I have not heard in some time.” She arose and walked away from them, lifting her skirts elegantly in a manner which conveyed a sense of class. “Come; I think you are the ones I’ve been expecting.”

The two followed after her eagerly and looked confused when they stopped at a mail office in town. There, she reached into a P.O. box, pulled out a silver envelope, and gave it to Benji.

“This is yours.” She murmured. “Please do come to visit; it’s rare that I receive visitors.”

With this, she disappeared.

The two stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds before Benji eagerly opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope in half. He then read it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s it say?” Asked Muji, eagerly, from over his shoulder.

“It says… it’s just numbers? I don’t get it.” Benji gave him the paper, trying to puzzle out what it meant.

Muji frowned, then plugged the numbers into Google.

“It’s a location!” He burst out, excitedly shoving the phone in Benji’s face.

The two of them hurriedly called a taxi, listing the location Muji’s phone had given them. They were dropped off in front of the building, and saw someone standing at the entrance. They showed the person (a Scholar!) their letter, and with a large smile, they were taken inside, their guide walking confidently as Benji and Muji trailed behind them. The interior of the building was long and winding, which left the two feeling as though they’d been deceived by the outward appearance of the building. The building had looked small and unassuming, and this place was built like a maze. They were sure they’d be lost if they tried to head back without a guide.

Near the end of the path they heard the sound of a piano playing, and warm light spilled into the hallway. They eagerly rushed ahead, much to the amusement of the Scholar.

There, facing the wall, conducting half a beat behind the sound coming from the recorder behind him, stood Beethoven.

Benji gasped, and clutched Muji’s shoulder. He pointed ecstatically at the figure in the room. “It’s Beethoven!!!” He stage-whispered.

Muji smiled widely as he nodded back. “Yeah!!”

The two of them turned around when a voice behind them cleared. The Scholar gave them each a thick letter with the recognized seal of the Music Master Scholars on the back, and the two of them stared at it, unsure of what to do.

“Well?” The Scholar prompted, rocking back and forth on their heels. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Benji ripped into his envelope first, completely abandoning the flap as he tore the side off. His hands shook as he pulled out a letter on creamy white stationary. He skimmed the words and began crying, clutching the letter and envelope to his chest.

Muji was slightly more careful, removing the letter from the envelope via the flap and pulling out the other contents of the envelope. A laminated membership card, a list of locations of other ghosts, and an alphabetized list of other Scholars with contact info and a small bio were also in the envelope. He pulled out each one, looked at it, and put it back in the envelope. He then stopped and held the envelope in his hands, staring at it.

After about ten minutes, the guide worriedly asked Muji, “Is Benji alright? He’s been crying for a while.”

Muji nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, he cried for like two hours after I finished streaming Crisis Core for him.” At the guide’s look of confusion, he added, “Video game.”

The guide made a small noise of understanding and nodded.

When Benji’s sobs finally faded into sniffles, the three of them began the trek out of the building.

“Sorry this route is so long.” The Scholar apologized. “Oh! Also! I forgot to introduce myself.” They paused and turned, offering their hand. “I’m Soraya Cham! I was the last person to find Beethoven’s ghost. When I heard about you guys, I got excited, really. I was rooting for you!”

The two of them shook her hand and nodded, unsure what else to say.

Soraya continued, then hailed a taxi when they reached the road. They waved goodbye to Benji and Muji as the two of them got in the backseat.

“We did it!” Benji shouted once they were back at their hotel.

[slashhinginghasher]

Closet Space - Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Self-indulgent college AU? Self-indulgent college AU.

College senior Jesse Cromeans makes out with a hot international student at a frat party.

-

Jesse Cromeans and Caitlin Spann didn’t often go to frat parties anymore. The connections they’d gathered over the course of four years of business internships were enough to gain them access to real parties, not the desperate orgies of cheap sex and cheaper beer their peers engaged in. The Incident in their junior year also left Jesse reluctant to show his newly scarred face more than absolutely necessary. (Watching CEOs do lines of coke off of strippers’ tits in the hopes of getting a few business cards by the end of the night was necessary. Beer pong was not.) He’d made lots of excuses in that regard, and Spann was good enough not to call him out on it. But winter term was over, they’d both received their early acceptances from the Stanford School of Business, and tonight they felt like celebrating on somebody else��s dime.

They still made sure to choose one of the more monied fraternities. They did have standards, after all.

Old money or not, the inside of the frat house was still chaos. There was a massive, professionally decorated Christmas tree in the living room, which would be largely stripped of its ornaments and tinsel by drunk college kids come morning. Many of the girls had their tits out despite the winter chill, lots of skimpy, crushed velvet dresses and coquettish faux fur trim. Jesse was bombarded with greetings as soon as they walked through the door, and he fielded them with quickly waning patience as Spann drifted off to go do Spann things. He’d achieved a somewhat legendary status on campus after turning a first year stock market exercise into millions of real dollars. Spann had been his partner on that project, but she was perfectly content to take her cut of the money and leave the credit to him. She preferred to work in the background, claiming she got more done when she didn’t have to deal with the interpersonal bullshit politics that Jesse navigated so well.

He eventually wound up in the kitchen, where a steady stream of party-goers helped themselves to overpriced snacks (who put out charcuterie boards at a frat party, honestly?) and mixed half-assed cocktails that were 10% mixer at best. A couple groped at each other next to the pantry, and a short girl with dark, wild hair and an intense expression surveyed the stream of human traffic over the rim of a red solo cup. Jesse poured himself another whiskey and leaned against the island next to her.

PLANNING A MURDER?

The girl jumped slightly at the sound of his phone’s electronic voice, then glanced at him with startlingly blue eyes. She scoffed and took a swig of what looked like water or straight vodka.

“Just contemplating, not planning.” Her voice was lower than Jesse expected from someone her size, with a thick Eastern European accent. His lips twitched with a smile. He did always like them sharp, and a good chase was just what he needed tonight.

YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE ENJOYING YOURSELF.

“I’m not.”

THEN WHY COME?

“I’m fucking poor, and there’s free food.” As if to make a point, she turned around and started rummaging through the fridge like she owned the place. Jesse found himself at a loss for words, a laugh stuck halfway between his chest and his throat.

IF YOU’RE THAT POOR HOW DO YOU AFFORD THIS PLACE?

Jesse and Spann would graduate debt-free thanks to their stock market exploits, but the tuition at their university was… hefty, to say the least. He imagined it would be even worse for an international student.

“They gave me a lot of money because I am very sad orphan girl. And I am also devastatingly sexy,” she said, emerging from the fridge and shoving half a slice of pizza into her mouth in one bite. She flashed him a peace sign that somehow managed to be blisteringly sarcastic and sauntered away with her prize.

She was wearing a heavy plaid skirt that hit mid-calf, her black top looked like it had been run through a woodchipper and reassembled with safety pins, and she was eating stolen pizza straight out of the box.

Jesse wholly agreed with her self-assessment. The sexy part, at least.

***

He was still thinking about her an hour later when Spann sidled up on her platform stilettos, her balance impeccable despite her obvious intoxication.

“There’s a group of loudmouths gathering ‘round the pool table in the basement,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. “You in a betting mood?”

“A hunting mood,” he signed.

“Ooooh.” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically. “Got your sights set on anyone?”

“I might.”

Most people thought Spann and Jesse were an item just because they lived together and spent almost every public moment attached at the hip. Which were pretty good reasons, when one thought about it. But Spann was largely a commitment girl, and Jesse was decidedly not. Spann didn’t want to be a metaphorical notch on a bedpost; Jesse didn’t want to be tied down. They’d made out once as an experiment at the end of their freshman year, then hashed out the boundaries of their relationship in a five-minute conversation that they’d followed ever since.

Jesse had no idea why other people had to make relationships so damn complicated.

Before Spann could convince Jesse to come watch her annihilate some frat boys at pool, the fraternity president approached them. He was a douchebag of the highest order - the type of guy who insisted on being addressed by his last name because his first name was Edwin or Briggsley or some other rich prick idiocy - and Jesse and Spann both hated him, but his obscenely wealthy father would be a useful business contact in the future, so they forced themselves to be cordial.

“Some of the girls are organizing a game of Truth or Dare in the den. You feeling bold, Caitlin?” he asked with a cocky grin. He was also the sort of douchebag who addressed all women by their first name, including his professors and women like Spann who could break his spine over their knee.

“No, thank you,” Spann said, cold and sweet as ice cream. “I finished high school years ago.” He laughed, the insult and the rejection rolling harmlessly off his shiny money veneer, and turned to Jesse.

“How about you, Cromeans?” Jesse was on the verge of saying no when he saw a mane of black hair being led, somewhat reluctantly, towards the small crowd gathering in the den. He shrugged with practiced nonchalance and held up his phone.

SURE, WHY THE FUCK NOT?

“Atta boy!” President Edwin Briggsley Douchebag III clapped him on the shoulder, and Jesse had to force himself not to break the twat’s hand. The other boy left to continue his rounds, recruiting anything with a pair of tits for his little game. Spann - god damn her fucking eagle eyes - had tracked Jesse’s gaze and was now grinning deviously.

“I heard she has sessions with Malloy every other week,” she whispered in his ear, referring to one of the lead staff at the university’s mental health clinic. “Condition of her enrollment.”

Now that was interesting.

“Happy hunting,” she cackled, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. “I’m off to make some rich boys cry.”

***

People were so dreadfully predictable, Jesse thought. Nearly ten people in and not a hint of creativity to be found. People who chose Truth were asked to recount their sexual history or most embarrassing moments; those who picked Dare were promptly relieved of articles of clothing. The object of his momentary obsession appeared to be having similar thoughts as she watched the proceedings with heavy-lidded boredom. The crowd booed as one of the boys dared a girl to kiss him and she threw herself at him with great enthusiasm.

“That’s not a real dare, you’re her fucking boyfriend!” someone protested. The girl stuck her tongue out at them, then shoved it back in her boyfriend’s mouth. There were more jeers and whistles and a few calls for them to get a room. One of the boys tried to get back everyone’s attention.

“Alright, alright, whatever, next victim!” He pointed at Jesse’s girl and trailed off, apparently realizing he didn’t know her name.

“Mareeeennnnaaaaa!” cooed the girl who’d roped her in to the game, dragging the vowels out in a drunken sing-song.

“Marena!” the boy announced. Marena quirked a brow, apparently unimpressed with his pronunciation. “Truth or dare!”

“Dare,” she said with zero hesitation. The boy honest to god rubbed his hands together and grinned like he was about to say something genius.

“Twenty minutes in heaven.” Not that genius, then. He grabbed the closest empty beer bottle and held it up with two fingers. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on gets locked in a closet with you for twenty minutes.”

Like hell was Jesse going to let one of these dumb fucks get her alone for even one minute.

“I thought it was normally seven minutes.”

“Are you backing out?” Marena flipped him off as an answer and snatched the bottle from him, sending it spinning with an elegant flick of her fingers.

She had a few whitish scars on her hand and wrist, barely visible in the low light.

Jesse tensed as the bottle slowed, frantically thinking up reasons to start a fight with whoever it landed on. But his efforts were unnecessary, because the universe and physics were on his side that night. The crowd erupted into a clamor of hoots and hollers like someone had just won the lottery. None of them had really expected Jesse to participate; he had connections and status and thus was too cool to be anything more than a silent watcher. President Douchebag ushered the pair to the nearest closet - a walk-in (fortunately for Jesse’s long limbs) that had been converted to a coat room for the night - leering at Jesse like they were good buddies who’d discuss the relative merits of European pussy over drinks later. Jesse ignored him and, ever the gentleman, gestured Marena in before him with a little half bow. Her head barely reached his chest as she passed him wordlessly; she was only a little taller than Spann and she was wearing flats. The door was shut and they were plunged into darkness, the sounds of the party muffled by the thick wood.

A few seconds of quiet stillness passed before Marena turned on her phone (which was at least three models out of date), using the light from the (cracked) screen as a flashlight. She looked ghostly in the faint, bluish light, the shadows deepened in the hollows of her eye sockets. Jesse leaned back against the door and folded his arms as she started a slow circuit of the tiny room, observing the winter jackets twisted haphazardly on every available hanger and piled in the corners on the floor. He would have loved to immediately start making use of his twenty minutes, but there was something animal and twitchy about the way she moved that made him think that any sudden moves would be met with teeth. She did not look at him, or at the way his posture and shirt emphasized the size of his biceps, which he didn’t like, and he really didn’t like the tension creeping into her slender shoulders. When he touched her arm to get her attention, she jolted as though shot.

YOU GOOD?

The amount of time she spent mulling over the question was a clear enough “no”, but she still answered anyway.

“The last time I was locked in a closet was… unpleasant.”

UNPLEASANT IN WHAT WAY?

Thoughts of high school boys with beer breath and over-insistent hands were filling him with a slow rage.

“In a ‘listening to someone be violently murdered outside the door’ way.”

Well, damn. Okay.

WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Marena snapped.

I CAN DISTRACT YOU ANOTHER WAY IF YOU LIKE.

She resumed her pacing, chewing her lip, but she looked more contemplative than tense. Jesse was acutely aware of the ticking clock.

“When did you lose your voice?”

I NEVER HAD ONE.

“What happened to your face?”

NOW WHO’S ASKING TOO MANY QUESTIONS?

“Answer it and you can distract me however you want.”

He didn’t need a business degree to know that he was being offered a fantastic fucking deal.

I PICKED A FIGHT WITH THE WRONG PERSON.

Jesse barely waited for the electronic voice to finish the last syllable before tossing his phone to the floor and charging her. He burrowed both hands into that black mass of hair and crushed his lips to hers like a starving man. Her skin was cool, but he felt her hands like brands through his shirt when she placed them against his chest for balance. He tightened his grip on her hair, hard enough to pull slightly on her scalp, and let one hand wander lower, fingertips catching on safety pins and ripped fabric as he made his way down to the modest curve of her ass. In turn, her touch moved upwards, exploring the muscles of his chest and shoulders, sliding up his neck until her thumbs rested firmly over his jugular. It was a bold move, dominant, and he wanted - needed - to get closer to her, to press her body against his in a way their height difference would not currently allow.

Marena wrapped her legs around him with no coaxing when he picked her up by the waist, walking forwards until her back pressed flat against the door. She was so light, like a little hollow-boned bird, and if he’d had a little more blood in his brain he’d be worried about crushing her. As it was, his blood was rapidly migrating south and the only thing he was concerned about was the taste of her as he nibbled on her full lower lip. He nipped at her, hard enough to sting, then soothed the hurt with his tongue, and was surprised when her tongue darted forward to meet his. He rolled his hips into hers, slow and deep, as he explored her mouth, wishing there was less clothing in the way. His cock was pressed painfully against his zipper, but he made no move to free it; he was not going to fuck her for the first time under a time constraint.

Finally, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both panted for air. Jesse shoved a hand up Marena’s shirt, closing over her small breast and rubbing his thumb against the hardening nub of her nipple through her bra. Her head rolled back against the door with a soft thunk, granting him access to the soft skin of her throat. He latched onto her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and Marena purred. The sound shot straight to his groin, and he had a sudden, intense desire to bite down until the salty warmth of her blood filled his mouth and dripped down his chin.

He wrenched back. Jesse was no stranger to violent impulses - had even followed through on quite a few of them - but he didn’t want to ruin the evening by murdering this girl in a closet. Undeterred, Marena grabbed his head with both hands and attacked his mouth with hers. She kissed him ferociously, voraciously, a clash of teeth and tongue, and when she bit his lip hard enough to make him bleed, he almost came on the spot. His hands were all over her, needing to feel every inch of her body but barely registering the ridges of scar tissue they encountered. She slid her hands into his back pockets and pulled him in until his pelvis was flush against hers. He leaned in with his full weight, and the only thing in the world that existed was the heavy grind of his hips against hers and the hot, wet dance of their mouths.

He was so close to saying fuck it, ripping her clothes off and going to town right there on the closet floor, when someone pounded on the door.

“Knock knock, Cromeans! Put your dick away!” Jesse snarled, already planning a way to slaughter the little asshole who’d interrupted the best not-fuck of his life. The sensation of Marena’s body sliding against his as she settled on her feet sent another lightning bolt of pleasure down his spine. There was a shuffle of fabric as Marena picked up her phone and tried to put herself back in order. Jesse didn’t bother; he knew they both looked a damn mess and he didn’t give a single fuck. In fact, the only thing he cared about at the moment was getting her into his bed so he could finish what he’d started.

“Thanks for the distraction,” Marena murmured, opening the door to a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles. She rolled her eyes and started shouldering her way through the crowd. She didn’t look back, which stung a little, and Jesse gave a sarcastic little salute to the crowd to avoid looking like a lovelorn asshole before retreating to the basement.

***

He didn’t realize until much later in the evening that she’d stolen his fucking wallet.