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vennilavee · 5 years

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The Countdown

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: you and bucky have a small fight before a mission during the holidays and you’re both irked at each other.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 2791

A/N: inspired by s1e14 of the oc titled ‘the countdown’. i only watched the first season, but i always thought the new year’s kiss moment was beautiful. i listened to dice by finley quaye a lot while writing this (also found this song on the same episode of the oc)

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“You were supposed to be home for the holidays! And for the new year!” You say, irritation stewing in your belly. You cross your arms and shift your weight to your right side.

“I was home for Christmas! Doesn’t that count for something?” Bucky retorts.

“Neither of us even celebrate Christmas like that…”

“So? I was still here!”

“We were supposed to ring in the new decade together!”

“So what would you have me do? Tell the world to pause just because you want a New Year’s kiss?”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to start the new year and the new decade with my boyfriend! I guess I’m asking for too much from you, huh?”

“I guess you are!”

You roll your eyes so far to the back of your head that you are certain you can see the whites of your skull. You look away from him, so he can’t see the hurt in your chest. Why is he so nonchalant about it? Doesn’t it mean as much to him as it does to you?

Evidently not.

“Whatever. Have fun. Be safe I guess. Don’t get too injured. I won’t help you with anything more than bruised knuckles.”

I love you, you stupid idiot.

Bucky lets out a chuckle despite himself. He’s already dressed in his tactical suit, buckles and velcro done and all. You knew he had to go, but damn, would it kill him to look a little sad about leaving you for over a week and missing New Year's Eve and New Year's Day with you?

You can hear Sam calling for him out in the kitchen of your apartment.

“Well, I guess you’ve gotta go,” You shrug, “Have fun on your trip. You guys are going to Bali, right?”

“Don’t be like that,” Bucky murmurs, a faint cloud forming in his normally clear eyes.

“Enjoy your beers and your Mai-Tais, Samuel,” You call out, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“Leave me outta it, baby girl,” Sam replies.

You hand Bucky his black duffel, trying to thrust it at him and failing because of how heavy it was. He quirks his lips in amusement but falters when you send him a searing glare.

“I’ll see ya when I see ya,” Bucky says. You’re about ready to bite his head off. Why can’t he see it? Why can’t he feel it the way you do?

“Yeah. See ya when I see ya,” You echo, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

***

“‘See ya when I see ya?’ That was the saddest string of words in the English language I’ve ever heard,” Sam says, thumping Bucky on the back of his head.

“Oh really? Thanks for your opinion,” Bucky snarks, “She knew I had to go!”

“So? She’s allowed to not be happy about it.”

Bucky silences him with a glare and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Y’all are both some idiots.”

***

Bucky hadn’t even kissed you goodbye or told you he was going to miss you. The thought that he wouldn’t miss you leaves you motionless and in tears.

Does he still love you? Does he even like you? How could he look at you like that, like you were annoying him? As if he didn’t love you more than life itself, as if he didn’t spend every night falling asleep to your soft, rhythmic breaths? As if his crevices didn’t match yours, as if his stormy blue didn’t seek your brown warmth?

Had he even looked at you like that? As if you were an annoyance to quell?

He hadn’t kissed you. He hadn’t said goodbye to you.

You can’t help but wonder- is he thinking about you?

***

You haven’t sent Bucky a single text, emoji, meme or photo. It’s been four days since Bucky said ‘he’d see ya when he sees ya’, and the words (or lack thereof) rattle in his mind mercilessly.

They could replace Hydra’s trigger words, he thinks darkly.

But you hadn’t even kissed him goodbye or told him you would miss him. He can’t get your sad, brown eyes out of his mind or the way you had folded in on yourself with your arms twisted together like vines after you had handed him your duffle bag.

He’s half expecting you to dump his stuff out in front of your apartment, indicating that you’re through with him and the darkness and the missions and the waiting and just… all of it.

You deserve better, he tells Sam grimly as they are staking out a Hydra base in the middle of Mount Batur in Bali. Bucky can’t help but think that Hydra is incredibly stupid for building a new base in such a heavy tourist location. But maybe they needed a change in scenery.

Sam had sent Bucky a glare, as if to say ‘is this really the best time?’

Bucky sighs, “Why was that so dramatic? ‘I’ll see you when I see you? Seriously? God, I want to electrocute myself every time I remember that I said that.”

“Tell Zemo that. He’ll be more than happy to fulfill that wish of yours,” Sam snorts.

“I miss her,” Bucky whines, “I’m so stupid, Sam.”

“So tell her,” Sam says simply with a small smile, “Including that last part. Multiple times.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t even kiss her or say goodbye. I’m the worst. But I wouldn’t blame her. If she wanted to go, I mean. I feel like I’m too much and not enough at the same time,” Bucky confesses softly, anxiety filling his voice.

“Sounds like you both need to sit down and talk. But before that, just call her-”

Bucky’s already calling you, eyes automatically searching for your name and the star emoji next to it. International fees be damned.

“I didn’t mean right now!”

***

You’re absent-mindedly scrolling on your phone, the blue light from the screen keeping your mind stimulated despite the fatigue behind your eyes. It’s 3:12 AM, you’re sleeping on Bucky’s side of the bed and you miss him. You wonder what he’s doing- is he safe? Is Sam safe? Is he protected? Does he know that you love him?

You can’t believe you let him go without saying goodbye, without a kiss, without telling him you loved him. You just said ‘you’d see him when you see him’. Well, in your defense, he said it first.

Hovering over his name, you contemplate calling him. Nah. He’s probably busy.

But he always told you he’d never be too busy for you. And that was true- you had called him a few times in the middle of anxiety attacks, or during a bout of insomnia- just to name a few instances. Despite the fact that he had been in the crux of a mission, fighting people off, dodging bullets left and right… He had tucked his cell phone in the crook of his neck and ear to calm you down in his low, comforting voice. You had been able to hear the rhythmic beats of his footsteps, with the occasional yell as he told you about his day, told you to follow his breaths, and listed the things he liked and loved about you. His voice was your favorite melody, a melody that fills you up with warmth and familiarity.

You sigh and stare at the ceiling before feeling the buzz of a phone call in the palm of your hand.

Bucky’s name with a yellow heart emoji, along with a photo of both of you pops up on your phone and you accept the call quickly, butterflies strumming in your belly.

“Hi,” You say breathlessly.

“Hi,” Bucky says, sounding equally as breathless. You can hear Sam yelling at him for being distracted, you can hear commotion, glass breaking and doors slamming. But it’s all background noise.

“Are you okay?” You ask, “It’s like… 8 AM over there. Early morning Hydra base break in?”

“Yeah. I haven’t even had a coffee yet, can you believe it?”

“Those Hydra guys won’t know what hit ‘em,” You chuckle.

There’s a beat of silence between both of you.

“Hey… I’m sorry I left things so weird before I left. I’ll see ya when I see ya? Who the fuck says that,” Bucky mutters and smiles when you laugh, “I miss you, I’m sorry I won’t be there to start the new year with you, sweetheart. I’m such an idiot. And I’m sorry I made you feel so small.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye to you,” You whisper, “I miss you, I always do.”

“I know, honey. I always do, too,” Bucky murmurs, closely evading a punch to the stomach and a kick to the shins, “Save a kiss for me, will ya?”

Bucky groans when he gets punched in the nose and you wince at the cracking sound.

“Ouch, that didn’t sound so good,” You remark, “Come back to me in one piece, will ya?”

“I will,” Bucky promises, “I gotta bring you out here someday. You’d love it.”

“I think I would, too. Bali looks beautiful. We’d both get nice and tan on those pretty beaches.”

“You’re already tan,” Bucky snorts, “You’d get that nice, bronzed glow.”

“And don’t you forget it,” You yawn widely.

“Get some rest, honey,” Bucky murmurs. You hear a muffled explosion in the background and somehow you still yawn.

“Be careful out there, sweetheart,” You reply mildly and then after a second, “I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

“Stop making fun of me,” Bucky whines and you laugh.

“Goodnight, honey.”

***

Specks of gold sit on the walls of your friend’s apartment, glittering at every turn of your head. It’s simple, paired with a large balloon of a bottle of Moet champagne, with smaller balloons coming out of the opening of the bottle. Strings of pale yellow fairy lights line the ceilings of the apartment, casting a slight glow on everyone in attendance.

Your friends have outdone themselves this year. They had asked for your recommendations on decorations, which had been your duty. So truly, you had outdone yourself this year. There is a station for champagne bottles chilling in buckets of ice and champagne flutes. And another station of liquor, mixers and solo cups to drink out of, as well as finger foods and snacks. It had been a potluck style party and everyone brought different entrees to have for dinner.

You had objected to the red solo cups- “We can afford to drink out of something nicer than red solo cups!”

And the subsequent retort- “And who’s going to wash all the glasses, huh?”

So the red solo cups stayed and you tried your best to not think about how out of place they looked with all of the gold and glitter. Everyone was wearing a mix of black, silver, gold or burgundy. And you? You were wearing a silk, olive green camisole, black pants and a black blazer with a glittery finish to it. Golden teardrops hang on your earlobes, swishing with every turn of your head and a necklace that Bucky had bought you sits along on the column of your throat. You had left your chunky heels at the door- of course you wanted to show off your New Year’s manicure and pedicure to your friends.

Several rounds of games go by- Cards Against Humanity, What do you Meme, and of course, beer pong and flip cup and then more food and drink. It’s about thirty minutes to midnight and you haven’t heard from Bucky in a few hours. You had sent him photos of yourself getting ready, selfies with your friends and of the decorations. All of the texts say that they’ve been delivered. But maybe he’s busy.

You’re starting to feel the sting a little bit when couples start to get cozy with one another, some cuddling subtly and some cuddling not so subtly. You check your phone once more, wondering where in the world Bucky could be. At least you have the solace that he’s safe- he had told you that everything was okay, they had gotten the information they needed. Him and Sam were safe.

Sticking your phone in the back pocket of your pants and fixing yourself a mixed drink, you rally everyone together for toasts to end the decade off. With Bucky burning brightly in the back of your mind.

***

You call Bucky at 11:56 PM. You’re not sure where he is, if he’ll even have cell reception, but you do it anyway. He doesn’t answer and you go straight to voicemail. It’s 11:58 PM by the time you decide to leave him a voicemail.

“Hi,” You begin, “Um… It’s probably already next year where you are, right? Happy new year, honey. To many more new years, new adventures and new… everything. I’ll text you in the morning, miss you, love you.”

With your heart feeling a little lighter, you join your friends in the living room to watch the countdown live. You don’t notice that one of your friends has disappeared and another one has a sly look on her face when she glances over to you.

***

Bucky is sweating bullets. He’s been running around the city for the last hour, from one edge to another. Sam and Bucky had finished up their mission late on the day before New Year’s Eve and Bucky thought it would be cute to surprise you before midnight on New Year’s day.

But of course, their quinjet had had a few technical difficulties, they had run into some trouble, and it had taken them behind schedule a few hours.

So now, Bucky is currently sprinting to Williamsburg from the subway station because the subway car going to Brooklyn is currently out of service for the next forty-five minutes.

Just his luck. This is the most stressed Bucky has probably ever been.

***

It’s 11:56 PM when Bucky feels his phone vibrating. He quickly checks who it is, silencing it when he sees that it’s you calling. Bucky is currently running up twelve flights of stairs to get to your friend’s apartment building. The elevator was taking far too long, and Bucky was far too impatient to wait.

To the twelfth floor he goes.

Bucky hears his phone buzzing again, but just for a second. It’s a voicemail and he’s certain it’s from you. His heart sputters for a moment at the thought of you missing him. As it always does.

Just two more floors to go. Sam would mock him for how long it’s taking him to get to the twelfth floor.

With wide eyes and his chest heaving, he sprints down the corridor to apartment number 12-303. He has to make it, he has to get to you before…

Ten!

Apartment 12-295 is on his right.

Nine!

Apartment 12-299…

Eight!

Apartment 12-301…

Much to his relief, the door to apartment 12-303 is unlocked. He had texted your friends hours ago, asking them to please leave the door unlocked. At least that had gone according to plan.

Your friends peek over to see him at the doorway and each give him a smug smile. Your back is facing away from him as you’re watching the countdown on the television screen. You turn your head a fraction, looking over your shoulder to call out for everyone to come watch the countdown, and then you see him.

You gasp loudly, hands over your mouth in complete surprise. Your heart is singing for him, begging you to to join him. You’re tethered to him, feet moving of their own accord. Time stops for a moment, the faint sounds of the seconds counting down were nothing but static in your ears. All you can see is Bucky. Bucky who had done who knows what to make this special for you.

Bucky’s right in front of you with a small smile. He pulls you to him, not wasting a second before pressing his lips to yours just as the raucous cheers of happy new year go off around them. It’s just Bucky and you standing there with his hands cupping your cheeks and your hands light on his wrists. Glitter and confetti gently falls on his shoulders and your dark hair, giving you a crown of sparkles. Your soul is aflame, and you’re unable to keep yourself from smiling into the kiss.

He pulls away with bitten lips and rests his forehead against yours. He pulls a speck of confetti from your nose and kisses you once more.

“Happy new year’s, honey,” Bucky murmurs.

“Happy new year’s, baby,” You say, kissing his chin, “Thank you for doin’ this for me.”

“I told ya,” Bucky grins, lopsided and your favorite, “Told ya I’d see ya when I see ya.”

***

tags: @coal000 @hootyhoobuckaroo @buckyforbreakfast @lesqui @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @sergeantbarnescaptainrogers @whothehellisbucky

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fluff

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kalypsichor · 5 years

Text

and they were quARANTINED [a beatles fic] - ch 1

summary: George takes a shit. Ringo braves a trip to the tescos and loses a bit of his soul. John harrasses the general public and Paul’s just trying to get them home before they kill each other. All while a virus tears the world apart.

warnings: CRACK (not cocaine), geo’s bad potty habits, ringo’s copious use of emojis

so, this is different... but i’ve always been a crack fic writer at heart. this is the result of being quarantined myself due to COVID-19. i’ve been seeing so much fear and frustration and hatred that i just wanted to write about it kinda cathartically. enjoy!

Unfortunately, George doesn’t realize that they’re out of toilet paper until after he’s taken a shit.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ringo?”

No answer.

“Ringooooooooo. RINGO!!!”

George’s legs are starting to lose feeling. He bounces them up and down a bit and the motion almost makes him drop his phone in the toilet.

“RICHARD FUCKING STARKEY!”

There’s the sound of footsteps and then a pause before Ringo answers.

“What’s up?”

“What took you so long?”

“Had my headphones in. Sorry I couldn’t be at your beck and call, O Lord of the Loo.”

“SHUT up. Look, do we have any more loo roll?”

A pause. “Why, are we out?”

George rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. “No, I’m askin’ for the banter.”

“I’ll go check. Don’t move!”

George can almost see the shit-eating (heh) grin on his mate’s face as he walks away. With a sigh and some choice curse words that would make Louise cry, George pulls out his phone again. Opens Twitter. Sees yet another tweet from that spraytanned clown across the pond. Closes Twitter and contemplates deleting it. After about three rounds of this, Ringo comes back and knocks on the door.

“We’re all out. Got you some tissues, though.”

Krishna help me. George tips his head back against the wall and thumps it a few times for good measure.

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “Could you- ?”

The door opens just a smidge before he can finish talking there’s a flying blur of Kleenex box, a blinding pain in the side of his head, and a sickening crACK—

***

“I’m really sorry,” Ringo says for the millionth time, hovering over George as he examines the spiderweb of cracks on his phone screen. George huffs. He wants to be mad, he really does, but Ringo’s face is doing that stupid thing where his eyes are very, very blue and droopy and his teeth are worrying his bottom lip and it’s obvious that he’s genuinely remorseful and—fuck, he’s got it bad.

“It’s fine,” George insists, even though he can hear his bank account having a fit. “Piece of shit phone, anyway. And look, it still works!” Very shittily, his brain adds, but that’s what you get with a five year old phone.

The older boy’s eyes still have an unconvinced, sad look about them and George wishes he could kiss it away. No homo, though.

“How can I make it up to you?” George’s brain does a slutdrop into the gutter. “I’ll… I’ll get the groceries! How ‘bout that?”

“NO!” Scrambling off the couch, George just barely misses smacking noses with Ringo. “What about the… the virus?”

“I’ll wear a mask and all. Wash hands for twenty seconds, stay six feet away from people… am I missing anything?”

“Yeah, the quarantine bit.”

Ringo snorts and puts a hand on George’s arm. “Quit your worrying, Geo. I’ll be fine. Haven’t John and Paul been out all day?”

***

John and Paul want to go the fuck home. They’d walked all the way to a new art gallery opening only to find out it was cancelled (“Why didn’t you check Google?” “Why didn’t you?”). And now, both being tired as hell from their long trek, they couldn’t even flag down a single cab to take them home.

“This is the worst thing ever,” John cries, flopping his entire body down on a park bench. Paul rolls his eyes and lifts up John’s stupidly long legs so he can sit down as well.

“People are dying, John.”

“I feel like I’m dying.”

“John.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m being dramatic. But this stupid… thing… is fucking up all our plans!”

“It’s not fucking Voldemort, you can say the name.”

“Alright, fine. Coronavirus. CORONAVIRUS. You happy, Paul?”

A woman hurrying by shoots them a wide-eyed, nervous look and crosses the street, tugging a little boy by the hand.

“... bitch.”

“Jesus, John.” Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’d do that too if some rando was shouting in the streets.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t hafta shoot that nasty look at us… did you see that? Paul?”

“Hold on, hold on.” His phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fumbles to pull it out. “Your stupid legs are in the way.”

John huffs and makes a show of wiggling said legs, almost kicking Paul in the face. Still, he tucks them to his chest (flexible, Paul thinks and then instantly regrets) so that Paul can take out the buzzing rectangle.

bongo: do u or john want anything? 🤔🤔

bongo: like groceries

bongo: going to tescos

Shouldnt you be quarantining?

bongo: ur literally at an art museum 😂

It’s a gallery

And it got cancelled :/

bongo: oop sorry m8 thats tough

bongo: srsly tho whaddaya want

We need more vegetables. Carrots, etc

“Tell him to get cornflakes,” John says, peering over Paul’s shoulder. He’s sat up and practically draped over Paul’s lap. Paul sighs and shoves his legs off, ignoring the indignant squawk the other boy makes when he almost falls off the bench.

Also that cornflake cereal stuff

bongo: k

bongo: tell john i said hi

Heyyyyyy rich wots up

Paulie’s being a bitch he pushed me :((((

Why is his auto caps on lsdnfol

“Give it back!”

“Ow! Ow stop hitting me Jesus fuckin-”

Sorry that was john

bongo: yeah i could tell lmao

bongo: where are u guys??

Stuck at some park. Can’t get any cabs home

bongo: well duh coronavirus 😷😷😷

bongo: bad time to be a cabbie man 😔

Yeah yikes

Pick up some rice for george too

And hand sanitizer

bongo: ill try but twitter says handsan itizer is going fast

bongo: what the fuc why did it space like that

Lol

bongo: oh also

bongo: geos being a mother hen and making me wear a face mask

bongo: u know where they are?

Second drawer down in the bathroom, behind the rubber gloves

bongo: … how did u reply SO fast

Uh i know where things are in our flat? Like a normal person?

bongo: thats sus but ok

bongo: wow theyre actually here

bongo: okay imma head out before it gets dark

What’s after dark? Zombies?

bongo: u never no

bongo: *no

bongo: FUCKING *KNOW

Nice

Okay stay safe ritch

bongo: 😘🙃👍🏼✌🏼✌🏼🌈🌟🥦🥦🥦☮️

***

Ringo has never seen this many people at Tesco in his entire life. Two grown men are having a full on argument in the pastries. A harried-looking dad almost knocks Ringo into a rack of Twinkies, pulling along two screaming kids with one slung on his hip. And… is that person actually wearing a Hazmat suit??

“This is insane,” Ringo mutters to himself, slightly muffled due to the face mask. He just needs to find the loo roll and then he’s going to yeet outta here ASAP.

Okay, hygiene aisle… here we g—what the—

The entire aisle is empty.

It’s like a goddamn Old Western. Just add a cow skull… cue the tumbleweed… and it would be perfect.

Not for the first time that day, Ringo sends a prayer to whoever is listening above. There’s got to be something left. He walks down to the end of the aisle. Walks back. Jumps a couple times to check if there’s anything on the top shelf. Sincerely hopes no one just saw him do that. Finally, shoved at the very back behind a couple of Always boxes, Ringo digs out a dusty as shit six-pack of toilet paper.

Well. It’ll have to do.

As he’s walking to the check out lines, a woman drops her bottle of hand sanitizer. It rolls across the floor in a perfect arc and Ringo scoops it up before it can get too far.

“Oops, you dropped this!” He says cheerily, handing it to her. Well, trying to. The woman makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, physically flinches away from his outstretched hand, and almost drops the rest of her groceries. Before Ringo can react, she’s disappeared behind the produce aisle.

Ringo’s arm falls to his side. He stares at the space where she was just a second ago and holds in a scream.

“More for us, I guess.”

***

By the time Ringo reaches the flat, he’s ready to never see another person again. He trudges right past George in the kitchen, dropping the groceries on the table with a thwack. John hums a greeting to him in the living room and offers him a biscuit.

“No thanks,” Ringo says. He faceplants into the couch.

Something clinks onto the coffee table. Well, coffee table is one way to put it; it’s more of a hunk of stone from back when Paul thought he was going to be the next Michelangelo and get really into classical sculpture. It now sits in the living room and primarily holds George’s textbooks, plus takeout for whenever they don’t feel like cooking (which is all the time), so you can see how that panned out for Paul.

“Tea for you,” George says. He plops onto the floor between the couch and the table and runs a friendly, comforting hand through Ringo’s hair. Ringo practically purrs, leaning into the touch, and George feels his heart melt and trickle through his ribs. “You okay?”

“I’ve lost all faith in humanity,” Ringo mumbles into the cushion. John reaches over and pats him on the back.

“Don’t worry, Ringo. There won’t be any humans to have faith in soon.”

George throws a packet of sugar at John who dodges it, snickering. Ringo groans and tries to sink even deeper into the couch.

And that’s when they hear Paul scream.

#mclennon #starrison #mclennon fanfic #starrison fanfic #john lennon x paul mccartney #george harrison x ringo starr #beatles fanfic #beatles crackfic #kalwrites #idk

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flamehairedwritings · 5 years

Text

Lost In Hawkins

FOR HALLOWE’EN 2019

Characters: Chief Jim Hopper x Female Reader

Words: 9,719, phew

Rating: M, 16+ ONLY

A/N: This story is inspired by the wonderful ITV series ‘Lost In Austen’, an idea I’ve had for a while and my own fantasies, tbh. Crack? AU? Angst? All of them? What is genre?

Tags include: Swearing, lots of it, and mentions of a drink being drugged.

Summary: Your Hallowe’en night takes an unexpected turn.

Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or repost my work; credit does not count.

“Get the fuck away from me, you shitting shit-bag.”

“Jesus, Meg—”

“No, I am not having a heart-attack tonight.”

You purse your lips slightly in an effort to stop a smile as she all but bares her teeth at the poor teenager dressed as a clown, decidedly less scarier than when he’d jumped out at you both with his now stunned expression.

Nearly growling, she pushes through plastic sheets and you follow after her, secretly delighted when she finds the nearest exit and you step out into fresh, open air.

“God, don’t people know what personal space is anymore?”

Manoeuvring past a group of smokers, Meg blows out a long breath as you adjust your corset, stepping towards the only nearest free space on the worn grass.

You hum in agreement as you join her. “I think a space capacity code is being violated here.”

“You can say that again.”

The cool air of the night feels wonderful, the Fun House having been stifling with sweat, paint and something you don’t want to know having filled the air. Pulling the white blouse off your shoulders from where it has ridden up, you turn to her with a nostalgic sigh.

“Remember when we used to just throw sheets on, walk around the block to get free candy and then be in bed by 8?”

“Yeah. Those were the days,” Meg also sighs, folding her arms with a wistful smile. “But, hey, this is what happens when you get peer pressured by colleagues.”

“Well, I was ready and raring for this two hours ago and now I’m just... tired.”

“I think we’re old now, darling.”

“I’m ready to accept it.”

“Me, too.” Huffing out another breath, she casts her gaze around. “I only really wanted to come because Elvira’s here.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That’s not been confirmed.”

“It has.”

“By who?”

“Aaron.”

“Aaron Watkins? He once told me moose aren’t real.”

“He said that when we were sixteen.”

“Far too old an age to be saying things like that.”

“He was joking... I hope.”

“He certainly wasn’t joking.” Clearing your throat, you shiver lightly and rub your arms, the once welcomed cool air now just cold. “Anyway, I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think the week’s caught up with me.”

“All right, how are you gonna get home?”

“Well, I can’t afford a taxi so I’ll get the bus.”

“Do you want to die?” Meg gapes at you incredulously.

“If I die on Hallowe’en, don’t I get to walk the Earth on this day every year? How fun.”

“I’d rather you walked it 365 days a year. I will give you money for a cab.”

“No, Meg, c’mon,” you protest, shaking your head as she reaches for her purse. “It’s going to cost too much, it’s too far. I’ll get the bus, there’ll be other people on it, it’s a busy night, and I’ll text you every five minutes, I promise.”

“Fine. but text me discreetly,” she orders as she pulls you in for a hug. “I don’t want people seeing you with your phone out and then wanting to steal it. And call me when you get off the bus and you’re walking home, I mean it.”

“I will, I will. Love you.” You beam at her as she finally releases you.

“Love you, too. Please don’t die.”

Thankfully, the bus stop was only a little further up the road from the entrance to the carnival grounds. Other people seemed to have had the same idea as you, too, the stop somewhat crowded with families, the kids already asleep, teenagers chattering excitedly about their next destination, and some exceedingly tired people your age, muffling yawns and chewing sweets.

When your bus had arrived it was already half-full but you managed to find a seat on the ground level at the back, sitting beside a teenager who doesn’t look at you, their hood up, headphones on.

Perfect. No possible way of someone initiating a conversation here.

The bus had trundled along slowly, stopping at seemingly every stop known to man, and people had trickled off until now, when it’s just you, an older lady near the front on the ground floor and possibly people on the upper floor.

The bus slows to a halt on a well-lit road, and you know you’re only a few stops away from your own, relief filling you.

I’m going for you, pyjamas.

The older lady shuffles off the bus and you hear someone descending from the top of the stairs, instinctive curiosity making you lift your gaze to see who it is.

It’s Barb from Stranger Things.

Except it’s not because she doesn’t exist, but the teenager looks exactly like her, complete with the perfect hair-style, glasses and outfit. They catch your eye and you smile. They smile back but it seems more out of reflex than genuine want to.

Stop staring, you look like a weirdo.

Once they’re off the bus, the doors close and the bus moves on. As it pulls away from the curb, you just can’t stop yourself from looking at ‘Barb’. They stand on the pavement, facing the road, waiting for the bus to pass, their hands in their pockets.

Just amazing. Absolutely uncanny.

You feel slightly bad that you didn’t compliment the person on their work, they obviously worked hard, but then again, you’re at the back of the bus and they probably wouldn’t have appreciated you yelling out to them, even if it was out of the goodness of your heart. They looked a little... sad, though, so maybe it would have cheered them up.

Facing the front again, you glance down at your phone and press the button to unlock it, wanting to tell Meg.

The screen remains blank.

You frown and press it again.

Nothing.

You definitely know it was at 78% when you last—

The screen lights up, pure white for a moment, then your lock-screen appears, complete with picture, the correct time, and the notifications you’d been ignoring.

Huh. Weird.

You don’t think too much on it, your phone does tend to glitch occasionally.

The light above you flickers, then so do the others, and your gaze darts up to watch them. In a line, one after the other, they go out, then shine brightly once more after a second.

... Right.

The bus slows, the last one before your own and, again, relief washes over you.

Not long now, so close—

“Last stop, lady.”

Your eyes snap to the bus driver, who’s leaning out of his seat to look at you.

“What? No, this isn’t the end of the line.”

There’s an edge to your tone, one you wouldn’t usually have with a public services worker if it wasn’t pitch-black outside and some lights flickering hadn’t just freaked you out a bit more than you’d like to admit.

He shrugs. “Sorry, I’m gonna run out of fuel.”

Ah, so that might explain the lights, then. That’s how it works... maybe.

“Is there another bus coming to finish the route?”

“At this time of night? Hell no.”

Oh my God.

You stare at him. “... What am I supposed to do, then?”

He shrugs again. “It isn’t that far to the end of the line.”

You can hear how desperate you are. “Couldn’t you take me some of the way?”

“Nah, station’s the other direction, I’d break down.”

Right, so this is a me problem.

Huffing and knowing you’re not going to win at all, you grab your bag and march down to the front of the bus, wrestling with your conscience that you can’t yell at him because it’s not his fault and you hate when customers yell at you when something isn’t your fault but also this is kind of his fault maybe in some way but it also isn’t and—

“Fine. Fine,” you mutter as you step off the bus before quickly turning to him. “I’m not the kind of person to do this, but I’m going to send the company a rather shitty email in the morning.”

“All right, miss.” Not one ounce of sympathy or care on his expression.

Clenching your jaw, you step back as the doors close and he pulls away, making you realise you were the only person left on the bus.

Right. No one else to rant with or pair up with and be safe with.

Okay, you know where you are, it’s not that far to home, you have perfume in your bag you can use as a kind of pepper spray, and you can call Meg. Scanning the area and pulling your phone out, you unlock it and type out a message to Meg.

Just my luck, bus running out of gas so had to get off and now walking. *skull emoji*. Isn’t this how horror films start?

Sending it, you glance up again to check for anyone before quickly typing and sending:

Can I call you?

Lifting your head, you’re about to lock your phone when it vibrates. Looking down at the screen, you frown.

‘Message unable to send. Try again.’ it reads next to ‘Can I call you?’

You tap ‘Try again’.

The message reappears a moment later.

‘Message unable to send. Try again.’

What the—

You look at the signal bars and—

No signal.

What the hell?

The first message was able to send and you haven’t even moved so how the hell hasn’t the second? You’ve never not had signal in this area.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, the cold night air helps you decide you can ruminate on it later. Heading down the path next to the woods that leads home, you blow out another, quiet breath and shove your phone into your bag.

Maybe in a few steps it’ll be okay.

You glance to the side, eyeing the woods.

Do not think about ghosts and ghouls, do not freak yourself out, do not be a bitch to yourself.

You quicken your pace, staring ahead.

It’s quiet. Quieter than usual. Usually there’s crickets chirping or an owl hooting or cars passing but... nothing.

The street lights are out, too, and you contemplate using your phone’s torch.

No. Don’t signal your whereabouts to... anyone.

like...

murderers...

... shit ...

... Just like the white winged dove, Sings a song, Sounds like she's singing, Who, who, who

Singing loudly in your head always helped to calm you. Keeping your gaze directly ahead, you continue, reminding yourself you’re only ten minutes from home.

Just like the white winged dove, Sings a song, Sounds like she's singing, Oh baby oh said oh ,

Ten minutes until you’re home. Then you can get out of this costume, have something to eat and go to sleep.

And the days go by Like a strand in the wind In the web that is my own

I begin again

Said to my friend, baby Nothin' else mattered

Maybe you’ll watch a few episodes of something you don’t have to think too hard about.

He was no more than a baby then Well he seemed broken hearted Something within him

Or maybe a bath, ooh, a bath sounds great, why did you wear these shoes, well, you didn’t think you’d be walking ages in them.

But the moment that I first laid Eyes on him—

The sound of a dull, muffled explosion echoes across the forest.

You cry out in fright as you freeze, your head whipping to the side instinctively to find the source.

Oh my God... what the fuck was that...

Your gaze darts about, and a breeze suddenly washes over you, as if pushed in your direction but that’s impossible because there’s been no wind all night and there’s none now, it’s just gone—

An orange light flickers amongst the trees, not too far away.

It’s just a flash light.

It’s just some kids playing around.

You stare at it.

It’s not moving.

It’s just kids playing about.

They’re probably setting off fireworks and one went wrong.

Then how come I can’t hear voices.

Shit, are they hurt?

Concern takes over from fear as you narrow your eyes, trying to look for any signs of movement at all. Nothing.

Check.

Go and look.

People could be hurt.

Reaching your hand into your bag, you pull your phone out and glance down.

One bar.

Fuck, yes.

Dialling the emergency services, you find that one tiny bar has given you confidence, and you stride towards the light.

It’s not until you’re a few feet away that you realise it’s not a flash light.

It’s not until you’re a few feet away that you realise your phone is still dialling and hasn’t connected, a crackling sound taking over.

It’s not until it’s too late that you realise the light is drawing you in and you can’t look away from it, can’t stop walking.

It’s not until it’s too late that you realise you can’t hear or see anything.

It’s not until you’re walking through the light that you realise you’re going to die.

The last thought you have is:

Oh my God, I’m going to fucking die in a shitty pirate costume.

You’re falling.

How is that possible?

Wait, you can’t see anything and your stomach isn’t dropping like it should do when you fall and— Holy fucking shit, yes it is, now it is, holy fuck, you’re going to be sick, what the fuck—

You land face down on something damp with a grunted ‘oof’’. Groaning, your head spinning, your hands move out slowly and you feel you’re on something solid. Squishy, but solid. Pushing yourself up, your arms shake slightly as you lift your head, blinking several times.

Glancing around, you find you’re still in the woods.

What the hell...

I must have tripped.

What the hell did I trip on?

Looking over your shoulder, you just see leaves on the ground.

Was there a rock hidden under all that? Yeah, that’s what it must have been.

Pushing yourself up with a groan, you brush the leaves and twigs from you, tutting at the streaks of mud across your costume.

I hope this bloody comes out or— Hang on a fucking second.

Turning quickly, you freeze.

Where the hell is that light?

You scan the area, still frozen.

... You must have imagined it. Or knocked it over. Or...

Just go home.

Turning, you start striding off.

Am I going in the right direction? I don’t care. Just get away from this area. No, get your phone out and Google Map it to see where—

There’s a road. Just up ahead. The trees thinning out.

Right. We’re back on track, this is where I was before, didn’t realise I was so close but hey, ho...

Striding towards it, you emerge out of the woods and stop abruptly.

Where’s the pavement?

You look one way, then the other.

... Is this a new road? Has it always been here?

It’s been a while since you walked through the woods but surely you’d have noticed if they’d been doing road works to create a new one... Unless...

Oh my God, am I concussed? This is the last thing I need.

You start walking before you realise it. Heading left down the road. You’re near to your neighbourhood. It has to be this way.

Google Maps.

Fumbling with your bag, you open it and pull your phone out, pressing the button to unlock the screen. Nothing.

Oh, not again, please...

You press it again, then again, then again, then again.

Still... nothing.

Right, don’t get upset, you’ll be fine, one way or another you’ll end up in your neighbourhood of the next one over, so at least you’ll know where you are.

You shove your phone back in to your bag and fold your arms tightly. It’s so damn cold. Why didn’t you just stay at home tonight.

You stare down the road. You don’t recognise a thing.

Everything looks different at night. You’ll be okay.

Bright headlights suddenly appear at your feet, growing larger as you hear a vehicle approach.

It slows as it nears.

Right, I’m either going to be murdered or get directions.

Steeling yourself, you also slow as it nears.

Here we go.

Turning, you’re blinded for a moment as the headlights hit your eyes. Squinting and shielding them, the vehicle, a car, pulls to a stop beside you.

Oh. Not just any car. A police car, apparently.

The window rolls down and a man pops his head out.

“You okay there, ma’am?”

“Yep. I’m fine, thank you.”

You’re not, but it’s an automatic response. He seems to know you’re not, casting a glance over you... and as he sizes you up, you size him up.

You recognise him.

You don’t know how, you’ve never had a conversation with a police officer before. Not knowingly, anyway. Maybe he’s a regular customer, or you’ve just seen him around.

“Where are you heading, ma’am?”

“Home.”

Why am I being questioned.

“And where’s home?”

“Hanover Street.”

He stares at you.

“Hanover Street?”

“Yeah.”

He’s still staring.

“Whereabouts is that, ma’am?”

God, you’re a rubbish cop.

“Just around the corner from The Lion and The Unicorn.”

“Right.” He looks you over again, frowning. “Have you been out this evening, ma’am?”

You frown in return, unease starting to creep up. “Yes.”

“Right.” Meeting your gaze, he then opens the car door and steps out, and your stomach drops. “Ma’am, if you’d just like to get in the car...”

Oh my God, this is the last thing I need.

You open your mouth, then close it because you are not about to argue with a police officer right now. Stifling an irritated sigh, you climb into the car as he opens the door behind his.

On the bright side, I might get a ride home.

You do not get a ride home.

The officer is silent as he drives, occasionally glancing in the rear-view mirror to look at you. You pretend not to notice, your own gaze darting down to your concealed phone every now and then. Still no signal.

I can’t wait until I find this hilarious.

The ride only takes a couple of minutes before you realise you’ve reached his destination. The police station.

You don’t recognise it, but then again you’ve never had a reason to go to the station.

You didn’t know the station was so close, though.

Once the officer parks up, he opens the door for you and waits for you to step out before gently instructing you to follow him. You obey.

The station is busy, phones ringing and people walking up and down.

Well, it is Hallowe’en.

Slightly overwhelmed and tired and maybe perhaps a little frightened, you do as you’re told, sitting at a desk the officer points at. You hold your bag on your lap, your shoulders slightly hunched.

You only have to wait a few moments before another officer takes a seat opposite you, not looking at you as he greets you with a weary ‘Good evening’.

Hang on. You recognise this officer, too. Maybe he’s also a customer. Not important right now.

“Right...” he slaps a notepad down in front of him and takes a pen from his shirt pocket before finally looking at you. “... What were you doing walking down a dark road on your own, miss?”

“Uh...” Just tell the truth, you haven’t done anything wrong. “I was walking home.”

“Nobody wanted to give you a ride?”

He’s making notes and you can’t help but stare at his pen moving.

“Uh, no, well, there was no one to give me a ride, I got the bus but then I had to get off ‘cause it was running out of fuel, but it’s not far to my home so it’s not too far a walk.”

“And home is Hanover Street?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

The fact he’s conversed with the other officer makes you nervous.

Please don’t obsess about what they might have said.

“Around the corner from The Lion and The Unicorn?”

“Yeah.”

Too late, you’re obsessing.

“And what is that, miss?”

You can’t stop yourself from frowning.

“It’s the pub, it’s only probably about five minutes away from here.”

“Right.”

The way he says it makes you feel like you’re wrong, but you can’t be, you’ve been to that pub a thousand times before. You might not have recognised the road you were on, but as it was in your woods you know the pub is close by.

“And why were you by the woods, miss? Seems a bit dangerous for this time of night.”

“Oh, well...”

Do you tell the truth? Oh, yes, deflect from whatever it is you seem to have done wrong.

You sit up a little straighter, slightly more confident now because you have vital information. “... I heard an explosion in the woods.”

His pen pauses as his gaze snaps up to you. “An explosion?”

“Yeah. It sounded quite quiet.”

Gazing at you, his eyes then lift to something behind you. “Hey, Flo, we heard anything tonight about an explosion?”

A woman wearing large glasses passes by the desk. “No, honey, just drunks and people calling about the poor boy.”

“All right.” The officer raises his eyebrows slightly, then looks to you. Then he frowns. “Hey, you all right?”

You’re staring at the woman’s back, frozen.

Oh my God. Oh my God... Flo.

“Miss—”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Your tone and suddenly sharp gaze takes him aback slightly, but he recovers swiftly.

“Excuse me?”

You stare at Flo again, then back to him.

“What is going on here?”

“Miss, how much have you had to drink tonight?”

You would have been offended by the question if your mind wasn’t racing. Your racing mind also doesn’t give you a chance to really think about what to say in return.

“Not a lot. Four cocktails.”

“Four?”

“2-4-1, all day, every day.” You’re practically trying to stare him down now, trying to make him crack. “What is going on?”

He changes tact, clasping his hands together on the desk. “You’re being questioned because you were found wandering alone on the side of the road, and you seem somewhat disorientated.”

Yes, I’m fucking disorientated.

You place your finger on the desk. “This is, this is Hawkins Police Station.”

He doesn’t react. “Yes.”

“From Stranger Things.”

Now he reacts, his eyebrows raising a fraction.

“... Miss, have you taken any narcotics this evening?”

“No.” You can’t stop yourself from lowering your voice. “Am I being pranked right now?”

His voice is suddenly gentler. “Do you have someone we could call?”

You just stare at him, trying to find an inkling of something on his features.

The joke should have ended by now, surely.

Your anger starts to turn to agitation. “May I go?”

He’s looking at you sympathetically which isn’t good at all. “Do you have someone we could call to come and pick you up?”

Your eyes dart about the station.

Everything is exactly like it is on the show. There’s no way this is a set up. How could it all have been set up? You fell in the forest and suddenly there was a road that had never been there before, an entire sound-stage and the exact actors?

Nausea washes over you as you swallow hard.

“Can I have some water, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He rises, his gaze lingering on you, before he walks around you.

Exhaling a long breath, you stare down at your bag.

I think I just need to sober up. Probably more drunk than I realised I was. Or I’m concussed.

You close your eyes.

Shit, shit, shit, think. How can I think when I don’t know what the fuck is going on? How is this possible, what the fuck is going on, oh, God, don’t faint, don’t faint—

Your eyes open as you hear him return and a glass of water appears before you. You instantly grab it, taking a long sip. Your hand shakes slightly as you set it back down.

He sits down again, a troubled expression on his features as he watches you. “Sure you’re all right?”

Oh, no.

Don’t do it.

“Uhm...”

Don’t you do it.

“... I think...”

Don’t you dare.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh, shit—”

You make it just in time. Turning your head, your body lurches forward as you bend at the waist and throw up in to the waste bin by his desk. You close your eyes tightly as you vomit again, hearing people around you.

“Oh, Jesus, Flo, can we have some paper towels, please?”

“Someone’s havin’ a rough night, huh?”

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, no, this isn’t possible.

Lifting your head as you inhale a shaking breath, not thinking to wipe your mouth, you look up and meet the gaze of Chief Jim Hopper.

His frown is the last thing you see before you pass out.

Ah, unconsciousness.

Oh, no, not unconsciousness because you’re having a thought. A thought that unconsciousness is nice. Uncomplicated.

There’s a weight on your shoulder, a gentle weight. Slowly opening your eyes, you gaze up at the faces of three people.

Oh, fuck off.

Flo, the officer, Powell, you remember his name now, and... and Hopper.

David Harbour. Hopper.

I hope I pass out again.

You don’t, forcing you to realise you were only unconscious for probably a minute or so as you’re still on the floor.

Oh, God, it’s still happening.

“Hey, you okay?”

You look to David/Hopper.

I hate this.

I’ve masturbated thinking about you.

Oh my God, stop it.

“Yeah... yeah... Can you... Can you back off, please?”

“Uh, yeah.”

All three of them move away and stand as you push yourself up, wincing slightly. Nobody apparently caught you because there’s a dull ache at the back of your head.

Brilliant. Concussion on top of concussion, probably.

You know you won’t be sick again but you feel so overwhelmed, like you can’t breathe.

“I need some air.”

Powell, thankfully, speaks this time. “You wanna take a walk?”

“Yeah, on my own. I’ll be fine.” You’re already walking towards the exit.

Then, David/Hopper is at your side, pushing the door open for you. “Nah, can’t let you do that on you’re own.”

You take extra care to not be one inch closer to him than you need to be as you pass through the door. Stepping out, once again, into the welcome, cold night air, you inhale a deep breath. You can’t look at him.

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, we’re just concerned.”

The parking lot is quiet, half empty, small. You start to pace, still unable to look at him.

“I’m fine.”

“Is there anyone who could come and get you?”

I’d love it if everyone would stop asking me that.

“I—” Just play along, don’t look at him, don’t do it. “No.”

“Where do you live?”

“i, uhm, I don’t live here, I’m just visiting a friend.” Nice cover.

“Do you know the address?”

Oh, shit.

“No.”

“Do—”

“Hop, come on, we gotta go, there’s a fight at McCorley’s.”

You lift your head to see Powell, calling out to Hopper/David, heading for a truck.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing at Hopper.

God.

Season 1 Hopper.

You’ve missed the stubble.

Stop it.

“Shit. Hang on,” Hopper/David answers before turning back to you, a frown returning to his features. “Do you know the neighbourhood where your friend lives?”

“No.”

“Right.” ‘Real helpful’, you can practically hear him thinking. He raises his eyebrows and holds his hand out in a stay put gesture. “Stay here until we get back, all right?”

You nod, still unable to meet his gaze, swinging your arms slightly. “Yep, okay.”

He watches you for a moment, then nods, turning and striding away to his Blazer.

You stand still, watching as he gets in, starts the engine, then reverses and drives away. As soon as he’s out of sight, you’re moving. Where, you have absolutely no idea.

This isn’t real. This cannot be real.

You can feel the ground beneath your feet as you head down the main road and a light breeze on your face but it can’t be real.

Unless...

That was it.

Someone’s drugged my drink. I don’t know when or how, I bought all my own drinks and didn’t put them down once, but someone has, that’s the only explanation. I’m having a very, very, very vivid hallucination and I’m actually walking around my house right now.

You suddenly come to an abrupt halt.

What am I supposed to do, then.

Like anything, you suppose; sleep it off.

But where?

Are you even in your house? You could be in the forest, that’s when you’d seen that damn light and that’s probably when the drugs had hit. Rubbing at your forehead, you blow out a breath and close your eyes. You’re starting to get a headache and you have no idea what’s going on and you just—

Stop it, take a breath.

Inhaling and exhaling three long, slow breaths, you lift your head and open your eyes.

Yep. still here.

But, there, a short walk away, you see the centre of Hawkins, lights shining brightly in the darkness.

Sleep it off.

Motel. There has to be one.

Moving forward, you’re striding now.

Play along with the hallucination, just play it out. This could all just be in your head.

Oh, God, I hope this is all in my head.

What the hell am I doing.

Coming to a halt, you groan as you bend over, your hands on your knees, your eyes closed.

Please don’t be sick again.

Or do, it’ll give me something to do.

“Excuse me, dear?”

Oh, God, what now...

Straightening up, you lift your head and find Flo, the actual Flo, standing a few feet behind you, her hands clasped together. She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh... I was just... going.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.” Why am I crumbling under her gaze.

“Chief let you go did he?”

“Yep.” Oh, God, this is a criminal offence. She definitely knows I’m lying.

“Where are you goin’ to? Remember where your friend lives?”

“Uh, no, I was just... I was going to find a motel.”

“Like hell you are in your state.” She drops her arms and gestures for you to return. “Come on. I got a spare room.”

“Uh...” You stare at her, not really knowing what to do. “... I could be a serial killer, you know.”

She eyes you. “Nah, you ain’t.”

Then, she turns and starts walking back to the station.

... Right.

You follow after her.

Because what the hell else is there to do.

Flo had said if you needed anything, to let her know.

Oh, Flo. Oh, Flo, even you can’t help with this.

Holding the blankets up against your chest, you stare up at the ceiling.

This is mad. This is bizarre. But it’s real.

That much you’ve come to terms with.

You’ve seen enough TV shows and films to have some sort of an inkling of what’s going on.

You’ve gone through some sort of a dimension.

That, or you’re part of a prank show you’ve never heard of.

The former seems more likely than the latter, though. Your friends would never put you up for a prank show because they know you’d hate it. and you’re not aware of having an arch-enemy. So, you’ve passed into another dimension. A dimension that houses the land of your favourite TV show.

Right. So. What’s the plan, then.

Sleep, get up in the morning, rifle through the bags of clothes Flo said you could, find something to wear, then go back to the woods and find the portal back.

A snort escapes you.

I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about portals and dimensions and how to get back to my own world. And now i’m laughing about it. I’m delirious. Maybe I will just wake up and this will all be something other than real. That would be amazing.

Closing your eyes, you pull the blankets up a little higher.

This is the weirdest night of my life. And possibly the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in. Silver linings.

You’d followed after Flo, dutifully, like a good law-abiding citizen, even if you are in a different world, and gotten into her car.

She’d asked you a few basic questions as she drove; your name, if you were hungry, how you were feeling. You answered truthfully, still absolutely baffled by the bizarreness of the situation.

Once at her home, you’d not had much of a chance to look at where the actual Flo lives as she’d led you straight to the guest room, having told her you weren’t hungry but tired.

Add overwhelmed and incredibly confused to that.

That’s where you now find yourself.

Closing your eyes, you want to make a plan but you also don’t want to think too much about what is happening right now because you think your brain might actually explode.

Just sleep.

Just sleep, maybe this is all actually a dream.

That would be amazing.

You’re awoken what feels like only three seconds later by the bedroom door opening and knocking against the chest of drawers beside it.

Your eyes snap open and your head shoots up.

Flo stands in the doorway, already dressed, smiling at you warmly.

“Good morning, sweetie. Up you get, I’ve got breakfast ready.”

Your head drops back down as she, leaving the door open, heads back to the kitchen, your arms covering your eyes.

Oh, God. This is still real.

Rolling out of bed, you shuffle over to the bin bags in the corner, untying and rifling through them for an outfit. A dress and leggings come out in your size so you quickly tug them on, pull your boots back on, and shove your costume and bag into a tote bag you came across.

Breakfast with Flo is... interesting.

She asks essentially what you’d been asked the night before, why you are in town, who you’re staying with, what their number is, if you’d like to call any family or friends.

You manage to deflect each one, saying you’ll be fine, you can’t remember your friend’s number or where they live, your family don’t know your friends number so it wouldn’t help.

Taking your empty plate away once you’re done, Flo places them in the sink and claps her hands together. “Well, come on, then I’ll take you back to the station.”

You nearly choke on your mouthful of water. “What?”

She looks faintly surprised. “Maybe your friend’s come looking for you or made a call. Either way, I think it’s the best place for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry, bit of a restless night,” you answer quickly with a small smile.

She nods sympathetically before grabbing her car keys.

Shit. No, don’t worry. The station is close to where the portal is. Just give them the slip when you get there, run for it, get back home.

Perfect. An excellent plan.

You’re ready.

You’re so ready to do it.

You’ve psyched yourself up throughout the whole journey.

You can do this.

You’ll be home within the hour.

You’re full of hope, you’re stepping out of the car, you’re getting ready to run, you’re—

The Station door slams open.

“Flo, what the hell?”

Oh, no.

You and Flo turn, you swiftly, guiltily, Flo slowly, arching an eyebrow.

Hopper strides out of the Station, stopping only a couple of feet from you both, his hands on his hips.

“You can’t just take a person of interest out of the Station without tellin’ anyone!”

Hang on, ‘person of interest’?

Flo folds her arms. “Well, I wasn’t gonna let her sleep here, where would she? In a cell? She’s not under arrest, Hopper.”

Hopper sighs, rather exasperatedly. “Flo, you’re not responsible for her.”

She bristles at that, her back straightening. “Well, then who the damn hell else is?”

Bizarrely, her protective display warms you but you still keep your eyes on Flo, unable to look at him. She looks at you then, smiling.

“Come on, honey, let’s get some more coffee and see what we can—”

“Actually, Flo, I’d like to talk to her.”

You don’t catch yourself in time. You look at him. His mouth is set in a thin line. He’s so handsome. You hate everything that’s happening right now.

“’Her’? She has a name,” Flo huffs.

I feel like a kid with my divorced parents.

He gives another exasperated sigh. “Well, if I was given the chance to talk to her, then I would know that.”

“Powell already spoke to her, Hop, so—”

“She’s a potential suspect, Flo.”

“Excuse me?”

You both say it together, but Hopper looks at you instead of Flo, perhaps out of sheepishness at speaking about you rather than at you, or because it’s the first time you’ve spoken.

“You’re a potential suspect in a missing persons case, miss.”

Flo inhales sharply. “You can’t mean Will’s case. Hop, look at her, she couldn’t have—”

“Flo.” His voice is quiet but firm.

She presses her lips together, then looks to you.

You’re still staring at Hopper, your heart pounding.

Shit.

Oh my God.

I’m about to talk one-on-one, completely alone, with Chief Jim Hopper.

And I’m a suspect in the Will Byers case.

That can’t be right, though, because from your somewhat extensive knowledge of Stranger Things Will doesn’t go missing until the night of the 6th November...

Don’t ask, you’ll look crazy, just...

Your gaze darts about his desk as he closes the door to his office and you take a seat.

Desk calendar, yes.

It’s November 8th.

You’ve not only come through a portal to another world, you came to it on a completely different day.

The night after Will Byers went missing.

Oh, God, why is this happening?

“So...” He rounds the desk and sits behind it, taking a few pages from the stack beside him and glancing over it. “... I read Powell’s report. You were walkin’ alone by the woods.” He then looks to you. “Why?”

We’re getting straight to it, then.

Thankfully, strangely, your anxiety at the fact you’re being tied to a crime has taken the edge off the fact you’re talking to Jim Hopper.

You lick your lips. “As I said last night, I was walking home.”

“From where?”

A fair would be too risky to say, as you have no idea if there’s one in the area, so... “A friend’s house.”

“You there for a fancy dress party?” He gestures at you. “You were dressed as a pirate if I remember rightly.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. We were celebrating a birthday.”

“Right.” He glances down at the notes before him, then sits back. “Why were you alone, though? Powell wrote you got the bus but then it was running out of gas so you were made to get off and walk.”

As silence continues after a moment, you raise your eyebrows slightly. “Yes, that’s correct.”

His features give nothing away. “There’s no bus that passes through that route at that time of night, though.”

You have to react quickly. “Well, I was on a bus, so.”

He’s silent again, and you’ve seen enough cop shows to guess this is a tactic. You remain silent, too.

Hopper inhales a breath, then folds his arms. “Powell also wrote that you said you had four cocktails last night. Would you consider yourself a ‘light-weight’?”

The question sends a flash of irritation through you. “No. I wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you’re implying. I’d had those cocktails a few hours before I got the bus.”

“You also said you heard an explosion in the woods.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Where?”

“Close to where I was. I was going to investigate it but I was too afraid.” I wish I had been.

Hopper runs his hand down his mouth. “You don’t think it was just a firework?”

You press your lips together, trying to control your irritation. “I know what a firework looks like, nothing lit up the sky and it didn’t sound as loud as one. It just sounded like it was muffled. I did see a light shining in the trees so I thought there were people there, maybe kids playing.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, I didn’t see anything but the light.”

“You didn’t see anyone at all, though? You didn’t pass anyone on the road, there was no one else on the bus?”

That’s when you realise.

Shit. I have no alibi. Just the truth, which will see me locked up for insanity in a different world.

Clearing your throat, you can’t help the edge of resignation that laces your tone. “No, I didn’t see anyone else. Two people got off the stop before where I had to get off at, though.”

Two people who don’t even exist in this world. Fake-Barb and an old lady.

Hopper is silent for a few moments, watching you. Then, he clasps his hands together on the desk. “Look, we don’t have any reports of an explosion, but we do have a missing kid to find so how about you—”

Raised voices break out outside the office.

Both your heads whip to the side out of reflex, but the blinds are down, blocking your view. Hopper stands and you turn in your seat as the voices near the door.

It bursts opens.

Flo is the first person your eyes land on, her eyebrows raised.

“Chief, I’m sorry, I couldn’t—”

“Hop, I think I—”

Joyce Byer’s, her eyes wide, her hands in mid-air, freezes as she stares at you.

“You...”

Oh, no...

You already hate what you don’t know is coming.

She exhales a heavy breath. “... I dreamt about you.”

“Joyce...” Hopper’s voice is so gentle behind you as he moves to her, but you can’t take your eyes off of her.

You’re torn between the fact this is Joyce Byers, and that you want to comfort her because she’s so distressed.

She doesn’t stop looking at you either. “I did, Hop, I did. You. you had a phone in your hand but it was so small, and you, you were—”

Hopper stops only a step or two away from her, his voice still gentle. “Joyce, do you know this woman?”

She shakes her head. “No, no, I’ve never met you, have I?”

The way she says it is so... aware, somehow.

You find your voice after a moment. “Ah, no.”

“Then how did I dream about you.” She says it so quietly, her eyes shining with tears.

You know it’s a show. You know it’s not real. They’re not real.

But now, with Joyce standing before you, heavy, dark circles under her eyes, her hands shaking, tears beginning to fall, it feels so real. You feel your throat closing slightly with emotion.

“I’m, I’m so sorry about your son.”

She just nods faintly, still staring at you.

From the corner of your eye, you see Flo nod in Hopper’s direction, and gently takes Joyce by the arms. “Come on, honey. I need a glass of water. Let’s get one for you, too.”

Joyce allows herself to be led away, finally tearing her gaze from you as her features crumble.

Swallowing hard, you have to prevent your own from doing the same.

As the door closes behind them, you sniff and turn back in your seat to face the desk. Hopper returns to his chair and you feel his eyes on you. You don’t meet his gaze until he’s seated.

Exhaling a long breath, he then looks down at his hands.

“You’re new in town, you were walkin’ alone on a road with no bus route the night after Will Byers goes missing, you don’t come up on any of our systems, you’re convinced you heard an explosion, Joyce Byers believes she saw you in her dreams...” He looks up at you. ”... How about you start tellin’ me somethin’ that makes sense.”

You open your mouth, then close it.

Oh, fuck it.

What is there to lose. Well, you could still make a run for it. You’re not a fast runner but you could give it your damn best.

The door bursts open for the second time, making both of you jump, your head whipping round to find the source.

Officer Callahan, slightly out of breath, points at you both. “Wait, wait, wait, hang on a minute, Chief—”

“Callahan, where the hell have you been?!”

The officer waves his hand slightly, trying to draw breath. “Hang on, Chief, she... she’s tellin’ the truth...”

Both of you stare at him.

What now.

Inhaling a deep breath, Callahan continues. “I was drivin’ by the woods, patrollin’ for any signs of the kid, last night, and I saw this flash of light and this sound like somethin’ blew up, I thought it was some kids dickin’ about so I went to see but it wasn’t, there was this...”

“What, Callahan?” Hopper demands as Callahan pauses to take a breath.

“... it was this...”

You can’t stop yourself, half-hopeful, half-desperate.

“... Portal?” you murmur.

Callahan snaps his fingers and points at you. “Yes, yes, that’s it. A portal. All circular and wavy and weird.”

You realise you’re smiling, relief flooding over you.

I’ve got my fucking alibi.

Of sorts.

We must have just missed each other.

You realise, after a moment, that Hopper hasn’t said anything. Turning in your chair, you look at him. His eyebrows are raised, his mouth is open slightly and his jaw is tight.

“Well,” he suddenly says in a bright tone, as if you’re his two, overzealous children that he has to entertain. ”Let’s go see this portal, shall we?”

You’re surprisingly grateful that Callahan talks for the entirety of the ride.

He switches his gaze from the road to Hopper in the passenger seat, then to you in the rear-view mirror.

“... I ain’t ever seen anything like this in my life, Chief, I thought I was goin’ mad until Powell told me just now about this lady that had come in and she’d heard an explosion and she didn’t seem to be from around here and I knew we’d see the same thing...”

Hopper doesn’t say a word.

Each word Callahan says, though, gives you a new spark of hope.

I’m going to go home.

It’s not long before Callahan pulls up by the side of the road. It has to be the road you walked down, though it looks so different in the daylight. Stepping out of the car, shouldering your tote bag, you gaze across to the woods. It’s less frightening, even inviting—

Behind two trees, partially hidden, shines a light.

You feel the two men pause in the same moment you do.

“What the hell...” Hopper crosses the road first, his hand instinctively going to his gun.

You glance at Callahan who glances at you. You follow behind him.

Your heart is pounding. Well, you don’t think it’s been at its normal rate for 24 hours, but now it accelerates that bit more.

You’re not mad. This is real.

Don’t think about that too much or you might actually go mad.

As you approach, you hear a faint, low humming coming from the... You and Callahan had both settled on calling it a portal but now you actually get a look at it it seems more like a...

Wait, I didn’t actually see it when I came through.

You’d looked around, having thought you’d tripped on something but you’d seen... nothing.

Why the hell didn’t I?

It’s more like a mirror, shimmering and reflecting the forest.

Maybe because it was dark, that’s why I didn’t.

Hopper’s low scoff pulls you from your thoughts. He’s staring at it, his hand still on his gun. He takes a step towards it and—

You all make some sort of a sound as the portal shrinks. Hopper automatically takes a step back, and it widens to its normal size.

The silence between you all stretches on.

You’re about to announce that, well, this was great but you’re heading home, when Hopper turns sharply and locks his eyes on you.

“Tell me the truth, now.”

Slightly taken aback by A) the force of his gaze and B) trying to figure out exactly what to say, your mouth drops open slightly.

“Uhm...”

You glance at Callahan, maybe hoping he’ll just start talking and give you time, but Hopper seems to interpret the look differently.

Looking to his officer, he drops his hand from his gun and starts to stride back towards the road.

“Radio in to Powell to help you get this place cordoned off, don’t talk to anyone else, we don’t need a panic. You,” he directs at you, “Come with me.”

Before either of you can question him, he’s already at the road, crossing it to the car.

Clearing your throat, you give Callahan a light smile before you’re once again following after Hopper.

Callahan lifts his hands, then drops them.

“Right, I’ll just be... here.”

I’ve imagined this a thousand times.

But in definitely sexier circumstances.

You’re at Hopper’s trailer.

Hopper’s trailer.

You’re still hovering by the door so you let your gaze sweep the room. It’s as messy as it had been portrayed on the show. The coffee table is surprisingly clear, though, save for a local newsletter which you have to stop yourself from picking up and reading. A blanket lies draped across one of the couches.

That’s where he sleeps when he’s too drunk to get to bed.

It’s incredibly strange; knowing so much about someone you’re supposed to regard as a stranger. It feels... intrusive.

You’d both been silent for the ride here, but now you have a hundred questions. You decide to settle on the most sensible one, though

“Uh, why are we here and not at the station?”

Not that I’m complaining.

“I thought you maybe didn’t want to say what you’re gonna say in front of Callahan.”

He emerges from behind the refrigerator door, closing it with one hand, his other one holding a beer bottle. He doesn’t offer you one. Uncapping the top, he tosses it into the sink then moves across the room and sits in the nearest armchair. He gestures for you to sit, too.

You do as you’re bade, sitting on the couch next to you, the tote bag at your feet, your hands in your lap.

“Explain,” is all he says.

And, after a pause, you do.

You hardly pause to take a breath, not daring to in case he takes the chance to laugh or call you crazy. To his credit, though, he doesn’t react once throughout.

You start with what year you’re from, how you were out on Hallowe’en night and retell the story of the bus debacle more truthfully. You tell him about your phone losing its signal, how you heard what sounded like an explosion and went to investigate it, then how you felt like you couldn’t turn or look away from it, how it pulled you in. You continue on, recounting truthfully up until the moment you met him.

The only thing you leave out is that, to your world, his isn’t real. For some reason, it doesn’t feel right to tell him.

When you finish, he looks at you, silent. The beer bottle is balanced on his thigh, his hand tight around it, his features expressionless.

You shift slightly, playing with your hands.

“Well, I—”

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

It’s your turn to look at him, your mouth open. He scoffs, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re tellin’ me the truth?”

“Yep, it’s all true.”

For some reason you’re... annoyed.

He scoffs again. “You’re tellin’ me I’m supposed to believe you’ve, what, time-travelled here?”

“Yes, actually.” Your back’s straighter now, your lips pressed together.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?”

“A joke? You saw it with your own damn eyes, Chief.”

If he’s surprised by the bite to your tone he doesn’t show it, and, thankfully, he doesn’t scoff again either.

“How, then? How did this all happen?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a fucking scientist.”

“So, I’m just supposed to believe you, huh?”

“Yes.”

Your sure, rapid response makes his lips twitch slightly, and you can’t believe he might actually want to smile.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe?” you continue, your voice having risen slightly, “You saw it with your own eyes.”

“I don’t know what I saw,” he counters in a way that has you realising he’s wrestling with the facts and the impossibility of them.

Well, then.

If he doesn’t believe this, then how is he going to believe Joyce about anything.

You don’t know where that thought comes from.

"I’ll go back through, I’ll prove it to you,” you announce as you rise to your feet, lifting your bag.

“What?” He’s full-on smiling now in disbelief, staring at you.

“Take me back there, I’ll show you.”

He regards you, your arms folded, your eyebrow arched, your features determined. Sighing heavily, he sets the bottle down on a table beside him and pushes himself up.

“All right, but then afterwards we’re goin’ to the Station and we’re gonna find your friends.”

“... This is a fuckin’ waste of time...” Hopper grumbles behind you as you trudge through the dry, fallen leaves.

I’ll show you.

Callahan leaning against a nearby tree, raises his eyebrows at the sight of you both.

“Gee, that was quick.” He glances from Hopper to you. “He doesn’t believe whatever you told him, does he?”

“Nope.”

You stride past him, heading straight for the portal. Powell stands on the other side of it, finishing tying some tape to a tree to cordon the area off. You wish you had the time to get his opinion on it. You duck under the tape before you and turn to Hopper.

He stays behind the tape, his arms folded. Glancing at the portal then to you, he shakes his head wearily.

“Well, if this miraculously works and you don’t come back, it was nice knowin’ you, sweetheart.”

You hate the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

I’ll show you, you bastard. This isn’t even gonna be the weirdest thing you’ll see this month.

“Yeah, you, too.”

You turn to the portal.

You turn back after a split second to add before you can think, “You’re such a pain the ass, even bigger than I would have thought.”

“What did you just say?”

His words, however, are drowned out by the growing humming of the portal. You’ve turned back and your gaze is locked onto it now and you can feel the familiar pull and tug of it.

You can’t look away.

You can’t stop yourself from moving towards it.

You can’t hear Hopper as he tries to get closer to you, calling to you.

It’s night time.

You’re staring up at the stars in the sky.

There’s so many of them.

There’s something digging into my back.

Pushing yourself up with a groan, your hands pressing into mud and leaves, you get to your feet. Looking down, you find the source of your discomfort is your bag. Lifting it and brushing leaves off of it, you look around.

Trees. Lots and lots of trees, and...

No portal.

You can’t stop a wide smile from spreading across your lips.

There, see, you disbelieving dick, I was right, now I’m...

Home.

You’re home. You’re still grinning, looking beyond the trees. Yes, there’s the road you had walked on before this whole mess, now you can go home and...

Your smile starts to fall.

You’d been in Hawkins.

You’d spoken with Powell, Callahan, Flo, Joyce and... Hopper.

You’d actually been there, in their world.

There were so many missed opportunities. There was so much more you could have done, could have said, could have asked.

You could have...

Stop it, you’re home now, that’s what you wanted. That wasn’t real. That was... That was...

Your phone buzzes in your bag.

Looking down at it, you open it after a moment and pull it out.

You have a message.

From Meg.

UGH nightmare, that’s why I hate public transport. CALL ME!!

You release a sound, half of disbelief, half of relief.

No time has passed at all.

Your thumb moves quickly, and you lift your phone to your ear.

“I cannot believe this has happened, it is such an outrage, I am going to spam the bus company’s Twitter until you get some kind of compensation, how dare they, the absolute fucking bastards...”

As Meg rants on, a smile returns to your lips and you start to walk.

It only takes you five minutes to get home, and Meg talks the whole way, only drawing breath when you close your front door.

“... ugh, anyway, I’ll help you write up an email. Are you all right, anyway?”

You pause, placing your bag on your couch. You think back over the lost 24 hours, everything you hadn’t had time to feel. You can’t stop your eyes from filling.

“Hey, why are you crying?” Meg asks with a great deal of concern as you sniff, wiping at your eyes

“I just...” You exhale a long breath. “... It was a bit scary, that’s all.”

“O, babe, oh please don’t cry. You’re fine now, you’re back home. But the TV on and get into your pyjamas. How about I come over in the morning, we have pancakes and watch whatever’s on?”

You crack a smile even though she can’t see it. “That sounds amazing.”

“Duh, I’m going to be there, of course it will be.”

You laugh, grateful for the release it brings you.

Forget about everything. Write it off as a weird day. Never tell anyone. It wasn’t real.

Shoving everything, everything from your mind, you lose yourself in making plans with Meg, crossing the room and entering your bedroom as you laugh again.

Behind you, unseen, the lamps flicker. Slowly, then rapidly. The TV turns on, the screen flashes white.

Then, they cease.

The lights shine warmly.

All is as it should be.

The End... ?

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anarchetypalarchive · 6 years

Text

a little more spark

aka that christian/eric pool hustling/heist au fic only like three people knew i was writing and very few people are here to read, i am in rarepair hell rated m for allusions to sexual acts i guess content: christian’s a big-time conman and thief, eric hustles pool, deliberately vague details, christian’s grumpy and eric’s insufferable and they both find that endearing about each other on ao3 excerpt:

“I can’t— I hustle pool, I don’t do this, this is way out of my comfort zone—”

Christian slips his hand into Eric’s and pulls him from the main entrance into a side corridor, gets his back against the wall and brackets him in, arms on either side of him. To anyone passing by, hopefully it’ll look more like a tipsy tryst than a pre-job pep talk.

“Look at me.”

“Uh, kind of hard not to,” Eric says, laughing, but his tone is pinched and anxious even still. “Are we about to make out. Like, I’m totally down for that, but give a guy some warning—”

“I know you’re out of your comfort zone,” Christian says, steamrolling over Eric’s babbling before he gets too carried away with himself. “That’s why we’re here. This is low-stakes. A practice run. This can become your comfort zone.”

It’s not the type of bar Christian usually finds himself in.

Well. Correction: It’s not the type of bar Christian usually finds himself dragged to by his more extroverted friends for a job or ‘for fun, Christian, don’t you remember how to have fun?’”

It’s quiet, for one, maybe unsurprisingly since it’s well past midnight on a Tuesday. The music that’s playing is more of a ‘background-noise’ situation than a ‘deafening EDM with a baseline he can feel in his dick’ situation, which he can’t say he’s complaining about. He’s tired, and parking himself on a bar stool and nursing a drink for an hour sounds about his speed.

He had a flight out of the city scheduled to take off a couple hours ago. Because the universe isn’t inclined to make his life easy, he arrived at the airport to find his flight delayed by a good few hours.

There isn’t much to do in a near-empty airport in the middle of the night, he discovers.

The guy working at the service desk mentioned there was a bar about a five-minute walk away, and it beat going through security and finding a chair to park his ass in for the next few hours.

The bartender—a tall woman with a buzzcut who introduces herself as Jazzmyne, tells him cheerfully that he looks like shit, and adds that she’s got a cocktail called Flight Delay for specifically his type of misery—mentions that the bar pretty much only sees out-of-towners: people waiting out layovers and delayed or missed flights.

“We’re the Two-Hour Hookup destination of the state,” she says, grinning. “Guaranteed to get your rocks off before your plane leaves the ground.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I think I’ll just stick with the cocktail.”

When he texts Aria about the delay, he gets back a string of angry-face emojis and little else. They’ve got a low-stakes jewelry heist planned, and Aria tends to be a loosely-contained bundle of nerves even when everything goes off without a hitch.

‘The jewelry’s not going anywhere,’ Christian replies. ‘I’ll be there before we need to leave. Stop panicking.’ He tucks his phone into his pocket before he can see Aria’s inevitable message about how he is not panicking, thank you very much, he is just concerned, about the fact that Christian is not here yet, and there’s nothing wrong with that, and—

Christian likes Aria. He really does. Aria’s one of his best friends. But he always gets a little unbearably cagey in the twenty-four hours before a job.

It’s not a big heist, but Aria says he’s got something bigger planned for next month, and they can use the cash from selling the jewelry on this job to put towards making the next one happen.

Aria’s always got something planned. Christian can’t complain. Makes for an interesting life and a full wallet.

He swivels on the stool to aimlessly people-watch—not that there are many people to look at. A handful of people scattered at different tables, mostly alone, all hunched over nursing drinks in the general fashion of I’d rather be on my flight but since I can’t be on my flight I’m going to drink grumpily.

Maybe that’s why Christian notices him almost right away.

The guy leaning against the pool table off to the side looks relatively unbothered. Cheerful, almost. If he missed a flight or he’s waiting out a layover, he doesn’t seem annoyed about it. Looks content enough to amuse himself with the table playing alone.

He’s...not very good, unless he’s trying to miss half the shots he takes, sends stripes and solids alike bouncing off the felt edges nowhere near the pockets of the table.

He’s not bad to watch, though, and that’s not just because the guy looks good, dressed for a casual night out, his shock of black hair in a disarray that somehow complements his haven’t-shaved-in-a-few-days stubble.

Christian might have a thing for hot messes.

When the guy accidentally pops the cue ball into the air and sends it flying off the table, Christian gives in and laughs. He hops off his stool and stops the ball with his foot before it can roll clear to the other side of the bar.

“Sorry!” The guy’s smiling apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks over. “I was trying to do a trick shot.”

“A trick shot where you cave in someone’s skull with a billiard ball?” Christian asks as he picks the ball up off the floor and hands it over, but he finds himself smiling, too.

The guy scrunches his nose. “No, like— You know, like when you jump the white ball over another ball? I saw it in a movie once.”

“Maybe you should focus on just getting the balls in the pockets before you start getting fancy with it.”

The guy grins. “Oh, okay, and I suppose you’re an expert?”

“I mean, I can keep the balls on the table and get them into the pockets without hurtling them across the bar.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “I should probably just stick to drinking. Not much fun playing alone, anyway.”

“You here on a layover or something?” Christian asks, settling back on his stool. Small talk isn’t his strongest suit, but this beats drinking and sulking by himself for the next few hours.

“Nah, I live on the other side of town. Was supposed to meet a few friends here but they bailed on me.” He shrugs. “Drove all the way out here, though, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to hang for a while. What about you?”

“Flight got delayed.” Technically, Christian lives around here, too, but the only reason he’s at the bar is to stave off the boredom before his plane takes off.

The guy gives him a mildly sympathetic look. “Sucks. You gonna be late for something?”

Christian shakes his head and lies easily: “Just visiting family for the week. Could be worse.”

There’s the dull sound of a full glass against polished wood. “Hey, here’s your drink.”

Christian turns in time to see Jazzmyne sliding a frighteningly green cocktail down the bar towards him. “Jesus Christ.”

“That’ll be ten bucks.”

“Jesus Christ!”

She shrugs. “You’d be paying like fifteen at the airport bar.”

“The airport bar wouldn’t give me something that looks radioactive.”

She laughs. “Just drink it. You’ll like it.”

“You can put it on my tab,” the guy says suddenly.

Christian looks over at him, brow furrowing. “What? No, it’s fine, it’s not like I can’t afford it.”

“C’mon, I insist.” The guy gives him a charming smile and hands him the pool ball. “One drink in exchange for a lesson in how to ‘keep the balls on the table and get them into the pockets without hurtling them across the bar’.”

He can’t help but laugh. It doesn’t take long to make a decision, and to be honest he wouldn’t mind a harmless, better view of the guy bending over the pool table.

It’s late, he’s had a rough night, he wants to look at a cute guy’s ass for an hour. Sue him.

“Fine,” he agrees, sliding off the stool.

The guy picks up the cocktail and takes a sip of it before handing it over to Christian, eyebrows raised almost in challenge, biting down on a smile. “I’m Eric. By the way.”

Christian takes the glass and eyes the print Eric’s lip balm left on the rim. Laughs. “Christian,” he says in reply, and knocks back half the cocktail in a few neat swallows. Jazzmyne’s right—it’s not bad. “Grab a pool cue.”

——

Eric’s not totally hopeless, but it’s a close goddamn thing.

“No, that’s the eight ball, you’re not supposed to—” Christian breaks off with a laughing groan. “Of course you actually managed to sink that one.”

“You said I’m playing solids!” Eric looks affronted.

“Yeah, but not the eight ball, you’re supposed to leave that one for last, that’s the whole point of the— You know what, don’t worry about it. You got it in, congratulations. I’m very proud. I have no idea how you even did that, with the way you’re holding the cue stick.”

Eric furrows his brow. “What’s wrong with the way I’m holding it?”

“Other than the fact that you look like you’re about to use it as a weapon? Nothing.”

Eric laughs and jabs the stick in Christian’s direction with mock forcefulness. “En garde?”

“That’s not the way you’re supposed to hold a fencing foil, either.”

Eric stares at him and laughs again. “Pool expert, fencing master— Is there anything you can’t do?” He bats his eyelashes dramatically.

“Shut up and let me show you how to hold it right, oh my god.”

Eric looks smug, which Christian doesn’t understand until Eric’s somehow managed to idiot himself into forcing Christian to press up against his back and reach around to show Eric exactly how to hold the stupid thing, like this is a Dirty Dancing knockoff and Christian has to fucking hold him tenderly.

“I feel like you could’ve figured this out without me having to dramatically embrace you.”

Christian can feel him laughing.

“This is more fun,” Eric says, and Christian can’t really argue with that. He’s a few drinks in at this point and the closeness isn’t exactly unwanted.

Proper form doesn’t seem to help much, though; Eric’s still missing a sense of aim or care or patience or all three, and he can’t manage to sink a ball more than once in a blue moon.

To be fair, Eric’s had a few drinks, too. Christian discovers he’s an energetic, playful, giggly drunk, and all the laughter isn’t doing much for his aim.

Or his decision-making, as it turns out.

“C’mon, c’mon, I get it now! Watch. Watch me sink that one. The eight ball. Uh, right corner pocket.”

Christian blinks. “You’re pointing to your left.”

“Left corner pocket. Two hundred bucks. Bet you I can make it.”

Laughing, Christian shakes his head. “Bullshit.”

“You don’t think I can do it? Are you doubting your teaching skills?”

“I think my teaching skills are great. But you don’t even know right from left right now.” Christian sets his own pool cue down and checks the time on his phone. “I gotta get back to the airport, anyway.”

Eric clutches at his chest dramatically. “You’re doubting me?”

“Sure am.”

“Christian!” Eric struggles to put on a sulking expression, but he’s laughing. “C’mon, instill some confidence in me. There’s two hundred dollars on the line.”

Christian smiles and rolls his eyes. “I’d feel bad taking money from a drunk man.”

“Confidence, Christian, please.”

Christian throws his hands in the air. “Fine! Fine. Your loss. Go for it.” He leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest, watching, appreciating the way Eric stretches and bends over the table.

And that’s when Eric seems to find his talent.

Meaning he sinks the eight ball into the left corner pocket like it barely takes any effort at all.

“Oh, holy shit! Did you see that?” Eric says, straightening up and turning around, eyes bright with excitement.

Christian’s staring, stunned. “Yeah, I saw that.” He’d be suspicious, but Eric looks genuinely delighted. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“What? No, no, c’mon, you don’t have to do that.”

Christian shrugs. “You said two hundred bucks and I agreed.” They’re starting to get looks from the few people in the bar, anyway, and Christian doesn’t want to look like the jackass who skipped out on a bet just because he lost.

He hands over a bundle of twenties and Eric takes it hesitantly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Glad my teaching skills actually got through to you.”

Eric laughs. “Well, hey, thanks. This was fun. You said you have to get back to the airport, so—as much as I want to, I won’t take any more of your time.”

“Or my money?” Christian puts in, but he’s mildly amused.

Eric grins at him, looks him up and down. “Maybe next time you’re in town.”

Christian doesn’t get the chance to say he only lives about a fifteen minute drive from the bar before Eric’s paying off his tab and ducking out with a cheerful wave.

The second the door swings shut, laughter erupts from behind the bar.

Christian turns, frowning a little, to see Jazzmyne shaking her head, still grinning. “What?”

“Boy,” she says, “you just got played hard.”

“What?”

Jazzmyne leans against the bar, amused. “Eric’s in here every week taking money just like that from guys just like you.”

“Are you serious?” Christian turns towards the door, but. What the hell is he gonna do, chase down the kid and mug him for his own money back?

“Don’t bother,” Jazzmyne says, as if reading his mind. “He always leaves in an uber.”

Christian, embarrassed and frustrated, turns his irritation on her. “You couldn’t have told me?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Alright, one, it’s not my fault your dick clouded your judgement, and two, that’s the most entertaining thing that’s happened here all night, so you can’t blame me for sitting back to watch you trip over yourself.”

Christian blames the heat in his cheeks on the alcohol. “I wasn’t— My dick didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Jazzmyne looks, somehow, even less impressed. “He had you wrapped around his finger.”

He did. Christian’s really annoyed about it.

Jazzmyne can tell, and that only seems to make her more amused. “You’re not the first or the last to empty your wallet to him. No shame in it.” She pauses. “Two hundred bucks is a lot more than he generally tries to get out of people, though. Maybe a little shame in that.”

Christian frowns at her. She laughs. Frustrated, he downs the remainder of his last drink and sets it on the bar. Takes a moment to debate. The money, that’s not a huge deal, but the fact of the matter is this kid hustled a seasoned con artist out of two hundred bucks and got away clean. Christian’s embarrassed, sure, but he can’t say he’s not at least a little curious, too. “You said he’s here every week?”

“Mhm. Usually weekends, but sometimes in the middle of the week.” She looks entertained. “What, are you gonna fly back into town over two hundred dollars?”

“I’m gonna make a fifteen-minute drive over two hundred bucks. I live here in town.”

Jazzmyne sobers slightly. Seems to consider him for a moment. “Yeah, okay, I’m gonna have to get in your business for a second, then. You planning on hurting him?”

“What? Christ, no,” Christian says, taken aback. “I’m gonna talk to him. Why, does he— Has he gotten into shit before?”

“He’s hustling people on a regular basis. Take a wild guess.”

Christian throws up his hands. “Why are you letting him do this? Can’t you kick him out?”

Jazzmyne laughs. “He’d just go to some other bar. Eric’s my friend; at least I can keep an eye on him here.” She leans forward conspiratorially, eyes bright with mischief. “Plus, I get a cut of the profits.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, man, I’ve got rent to pay! Morals don’t pay rent.” She picks up his cocktail glass. “You wanna come talk to him, go ahead, but I’m gonna suggest you don’t put a hand on him.” She says it casually, but her expression makes Christian put his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t want to hurt him. Just wanna talk to him.”

Jazzmyne shrugs. “Be my guest, then.” She pauses. Grins. “Just don’t let your dick think for you again.”

——

The jewelry heist goes off without a hitch.

“There hasn’t even been enough time for anything to show up on the news yet,” Christian says, amused and exasperated.

Aria’s sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward towards the television of their hotel suite with a remote in his hands and flicking through channels. “You never know!”

“At least take the night off to celebrate and, you know, breathe,” Christian says, opening the bottle of champagne they got from room service with a satisfying pop.

Aria laughs, tossing the remote down and walking over to grab one of the champagne flutes Christian fills. “I’m breathing. I’m celebrating. I feel great. I feel so great I wanna talk to you about this next job.”

Christian groans, setting the bottle down, and gives in.

The main issue with the job, he discovers, is that it’s not a two-person thing. Aria says they need at least two more people. He’s bringing in his friend Fernando, but they need someone to come in and be a combination distraction, grifter, and honeypot—someone that can keep people distracted and happy even as they’re getting robbed blind.

Christian snorts. “From what you’ve told me, Fernando’s, like, the ultimate honeypot.”

Aria waggles his eyebrows and grins. “He knows how to catch an eye, yeah. But I need him for something else. Which is why I was wondering if you know anybody who’d fit the bill?”

Christian doesn’t know too many people in this business. Hell, the people he does know, he met through Aria in the first place.

That being said...

“Actually, I may know a guy that could help us out.”

Aria perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Christian laughs a little. “He owes me, anyway.*

“Owes you for what?” Aria asks, looking mildly intrigued.

“For not chasing him down and kicking his ass after he hustled two hundred bucks from me in a stupid bet.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask. Give me like a week and I’ll let you know if he can work with us.”

——

Christian’s back in the bar a few days later. It’s a weekend, so the place is a bit more packed this time, but he spots Eric seconds after walking through the door.

The kid’s mid-hustle and the sucker he targeted doesn’t have any clue, if the scene Christian’s watching is anything to go by.

The guy is almost a stereotypical college jock, hair gelled to shit and in a tank top that shows off gym-earned muscles. He’s drunk, or at least getting there fast, and Christian’s too far away to hear them but it looks like he’s making fun of the way Eric’s holding his pool cue.

Eric laughs along and holds the stick out, and the guy takes it and shows him the proper form. God, Christian hopes he wasn’t that much of an oblivious idiot when Eric was pulling the same thing on him.

He watches them for a few minutes, trying to decide how to best approach Eric—and then Eric does him a favor by handing off the pool cue again and gesturing towards the bathroom with a smile before heading in that direction.

Christian follows.

Eric looks over his shoulder when Christian enters the bathroom, shuts the door, and slides the lock into place with a snap of finality. Christian’s caught him at nearly his most vulnerable, hands on his fly as he’s settling in front of a urinal—his eyes land on Christian’s face and widen in recognition a moment later.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Christian says mildly, leaning against the door and folding his arms over his chest. He doesn’t often like to play the ‘stoic, muscley asshole’ card, but then he’s not often put in a situation like this when he isn’t working.

He’s got to give Eric some credit—the kid doesn’t immediately fold under the first sign of pressure.

“Christian!” he says, smiling widely and turning towards him completely. “Back in town so soon?”

Christian can’t say he’s in the mood for small talk. “Your hustle looks like it’s going well. Dude was staring at you more than the table.”

Eric blanches slightly. “Uh, hustle?” he repeats, smile tightening a little at the edges.

“We can play the ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ game if you want, man, but it’s gonna end with you giving me my two hundred bucks back either way.” He can’t say he’s not curious as to how this’ll play out, but he keeps his expression even regardless.

Eric laughs, a little too high-pitched to be anything but nervous. “C’mon, Christian, I thought we were friends.”

“Oh, we are. Which is why I’m not gonna kick your ass and you’re gonna hand over the money before I have to get mean about it.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay, calm down.” Eric puts his hands up in surrender and takes a couple steps towards him—

Which is ballsy. Christian’s kind of impressed.

“Look, I don’t...exactly have the money, like, on hand.” Eric takes a couple more steps towards him, laughs a little. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. But…” And a couple steps more. Christian could easily reach out and touch him. “I bet we could figure out some kind of...arrangement, don’t you think?”

Oh, the kid is good. Aria’s gonna love him.

Christian takes a moment to give Eric a self-indulgent once-over, then huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we could.”

He catches a brief flicker of smugness on Eric’s face, and that just won’t do. Time to burst his bubble.

He puts a hand on Eric’s chest before he can move any closer. “You don’t have the money? Fine. You’re gonna go out there and make some.”

Eric blinks, thrown off. “I— What?”

“You’re gonna go out there and finish your hustle, and then you’re gonna give me the money you cheat out of him. And if you don’t get enough from him, well. I don’t have anything going on tonight. You can go ahead and move onto the next sucker. And the next. Until I’ve got two hundred bucks in my hands and you’ve learned a lesson about sloppy conning.”

That seems to make Eric pause. He gives Christian a once-over of his own, like he’s really reading Christian for the first time. “Yeah? What do you know about sloppy conning?”

That’s not a conversation Christian’s ready to have yet. “Enough to get you cornered in a dirty bar bathroom.”

It looks like Eric’s holding back a grin. “That’s a nice watch,” he says, gesturing to Christian’s left wrist. “Where’d you get it.”

From a pile of jewelry he and Aria lifted from a mansion in Hollywood four days ago. “I inherited it from my grandfather.”

Eric doesn’t bother to hold back the grin this time, like he doesn’t believe a word of it but is willing to play along. “So you want me to hustle people for you.”

What Christian wants is to see what Eric’s capable of, how he works, if he’ll be a good fit for this job Aria’s planning, but he nods anyway. “You’ve got until the bar closes. Five hours.”

Eric laughs. “I’ll do it in three.”

——-

Jazzmyne wasn’t lying when she said Eric’s gotten into shit before.

The con looks like it’s going to run clean, but either Eric isn’t smooth enough, the guy isn’t drunk enough, or the guy just doesn’t want to swallow his pride and give up his cash.

Christian’s watching from less of a distance now, so he gets there just in time to intercept the guy before he can grab Eric by the collar, grabbing his wrist neatly as his hand stretches out.

“Everything okay over here?” he asks conversationally, even as he squeezes the guy’s wrist tight enough that he winces before turning his pissed off gaze on Christian, who just smiles at him pleasantly. Squeezes a little harder.

Eric is staring at him, wide-eyed in surprise and confusion.

The guy doesn’t seem keen to back down. “This little fucker hustled me.”

“Did he?” Christian raises his eyebrows. “Looks like you agreed to a bet. And he won. I was watching,” he says, and then gestures with his free hand towards the rest of the bar at large. “Plenty of people were watching.”

That seems to get through to him. The guy scowls, but drops his gaze, and stuffs his free hand into his pocket and shoves a fistful of bills in Eric’s direction, drops them at Eric’s feet. “Here,” he spits. “Take it. You’re lucky I’m late for a flight.”

Christian wants to gently insist that the guy pick the money up and hand it over like a fucking gentleman, but Eric’s already kneeling down and gathering it. He still looks a little shaken, more at Christian’s interference than the threat itself.

With a growl, the guy wrenches his wrist from Christian’s grip and storms out of the bar.

“I could’ve handled him,” Eric says quietly, smoothing out the crumpled bills and organizing them into a stack, evidently over his shock.

Christian snorts. “I think you meant, Thank you, Christian, for saving me from getting my ass kicked in public.”

“I could’ve handled it!”

“He had fifty pounds and half a foot on you. He would’ve crushed you like a bug on a car windshield.”

“Whatever,” Eric huffs. Christian’s hesitant to label a grown man as ‘sulking,’ but. Eric’s definitely sulking. He holds out the money to Christian dramatically, hand out flat with the bills laying across his palm.

Taking mildly exasperated pity on him, Christian reaches out and closes Eric’s fingers shut over the money securely. “I don’t want it.”

Eric stares at him. “What do you mean, you don’t want it? What the hell was all that for, then?”

Christian pauses. Considers his options. “Follow me outside.”

“Ohhh, no, I’ve fallen for that before, nuh-uh, I’m staying right here where there are witnesses.”

“I’m not— Eric, for fuck’s sake, I’m not trying to kill you, I’m trying to talk to you, just—” Patience thin, he snags Eric by the collar and drags him through the bar to the door.

He stumbles along, protesting the whole way. “Hey— Hey— Jazzmyne!” he calls out, waving frantically. “Jazz! Help!”

Jazzmyne looks up from where she’s wiping down the bartop. “Yeah, I would, but I’m totally swamped over here,” she says, looking entirely unconcerned—and not swamped in the slightest.

“You are not!”

“So busy, very unfortunate, bye Eric, have fun.”

Grumbling, Eric allows Christian to pull him out the door and around the corner into the alley. “If I die, I’m haunting your ass. You’ll never have a moment’s peace. I’ll—”

“Jesus Christ, Eric, shut up, I’m trying to give you a job offer!”

Eric falls silent and blinks at Christian in surprise. “Wait, what? You are?”

“If you’d shut up for five seconds, yeah.”

“What kind of job offer?”

Christian huffs and rolls back his left sleeve up to his elbow—trying to ignore how Eric stares unabashedly. He lifts his wrist up to Eric’s face, nearly touching his nose. “You pointed out my watch earlier.”

Eric goes a little cross-eyed trying to look at it. “Uh-huh.”

“It probably costs more than your car.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“You don’t have— How broke are you?”

“Plenty of people don’t have cars in this city! That doesn’t make them poor!”

“Then you’re not broke?”

Eric shifts. “Well—”

Christian waves his free hand dismissively. “Never mind. Point is, I didn’t inherit the watch from my grandfather.”

“I mean, that was kind of obvious.”

“I stole it. Along with enough jewelry to buy a jet.”

That seems to get Eric’s attention. He tears his gaze away from the watch and looks at Christian, brow furrowed. “No shit?”

“I pull jobs a lot bigger than that, too. I’ve got something lined up, but we need another guy.”

“And I’m your guy?” Eric looks baffled.

“I’m thinking about it. I want to see you do your thing a few more times—but not here. A place with higher stakes, with people who don’t fall for that kind of shit so easy. I need to know you can handle yourself under pressure and talk your way out of a tight situation.” Christian raises an eyebrow. “And not by offering sexual favors.”

Eric grins at him. “You were thinking about taking the offer, though.”

“Consider this an...extended job interview. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night—since you don’t have a goddamn car—and take you somewhere you can really spread your wings. Show me what you’re capable of.” He backs out of Eric’s personal space and shrugs. “If you’re interested.”

Eric looks a little dazed with all the information, but to his credit seems to take it well enough in stride. That’s good; they need someone who’s quick to react. “Interested? Dude, this is the best offer I’ve gotten in my whole life— I could kiss you.”

“Take it easy.” But Christian’s struggling not to smile. “You have to show me you can handle the kind of work we do. I can’t be there to save your ass. Do a good job tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to the guy planning the heist.”

“The heist,” Eric echoes, voice dramatic. “Is this gonna be some kind of Ocean’s Eleven deal?”

“Ideally, it’ll be even bigger.”

——

“What are you wearing?”

“What are you wearing?” Eric is gaping at him.

Christian looks down at himself. “A suit? I told you to wear something nice.”

“This is nice!”

“Eric, those jeans are so tight they look like somebody painted them on.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“This is a black tie event.”

Eric frowns and looks down at his outfit, twisting this way and that in the doorway. The jeans are a deep, almost black blue, and he’s sporting a leather jacket that looks like it was thrifted from the 1980s over a grey shirt. He doesn’t look bad, is the thing. He looks good. It’s a perfect outfit for an off-the-highway bar or casual club.

But they’re going to a formal event uptown, and he’s going to stick out like a big, flaming hot thumb.

“Change. Right now.”

“Yeah, no, trust me, I don’t have anything like that in my closet.” Eric jabs a finger at Christian’s suit.

“It’s just a suit!”

“No, it’s like. It’s a Suit, capital S.” Eric draws the letter in midair with his finger. “You look like— James Bond’s American cousin or something.”

“...Thank you?”

“Say ‘shaken, not stirred.’”

“Eric.”

“Just once, just humor me—”

“Eric, go change.”

“Fine! Fine. Fun-sucker.” Eric turns and walks back into his apartment, leaving the door open. Christian takes that as an invitation inside, and follows behind him awkwardly. Eric disappears down the hall and Christian waits in the living room on a misshapen but surprisingly comfortable couch.

Ten minutes later, Eric returns, looking frazzled.

“I can’t— This is so stupid, how— I haven’t worn a tie since my bar mitzvah.”

It shows.

“Jesus,” Christian says, getting to his feet and struggling not to laugh. “Okay, stop— Stop, you’re gonna mangle it, just let me do it.”

Eric’s sulking again. He lets his hands drop to his sides as Christian settles in front of him.

“Chin up,” Christian says.

Eric offers him a weak smile.

Christian snorts. “No, I mean— Literally, lift your chin up, look up so I can fix your tie.”

“Oh.” Going faintly pink, Eric tips his head back.

Christian tries to focus less on the bare expanse of his throat and more on making him look presentable. It’s not a bad suit; it’s not high-quality by any means, but Eric’ll blend in, and that’s what matters. There’s a time and place for standing out and tonight isn’t it.

“Okay,” Christian says, sliding his hand down Eric’s chest over the tie to smooth it out. “All set.”

Eric steps back and strikes a pose. “How do I look? On a scale of one to James Bond.”

Christian shakes his head and laughs. “You’ll do in a pinch.”

When they finally get out the door, Eric’s gaping again.

“Is that your car?”

“Are you kidding? It’s a rental. We’re literally going out to commit a crime. You think I’d take my own car?”

“Oh.” Eric deflates a little, but he’s still looking at the car in awe. “If it’s just a rental, can I drive?”

“Nope.”

“I’m a good driver!”

“Not happening.”

“Just around the block?”

“Eric, just get in the car.”

——

Eric starts the drive looking relaxed enough, but by the time Christian’s parked on the street where the party’s happening, he looks more than a little cagey.

“You good?” Christian says quietly, walking shoulder to shoulder with Eric up to the house—not quite a mansion, but probably the nicest house Eric’s ever been in.

Eric nods. It’s not super convincing, but Christian’s not going to press it. Everybody in this business has their own way of dealing with nerves.

He gets a little more concerned when they’re waved into the house and Eric practically suction-cups himself to Christian’s side.

“Christian,” he says lowly.

“Take a deep breath,” Christian says, voice even, smiling at a small group of people they pass by as if it’ll distract them from Eric’s wide-eyed, nervous expression.

“I can’t— I hustle pool, I don’t do this, this is way out of my comfort zone—”

“Look at me.”

“Uh, kind of hard not to,” Eric says, laughing, but his tone is pinched and anxious even still. “Are we about to make out. Like, I’m totally down for that, but give a guy some warning—”

For once, it seems, Eric has nothing to say. He looks at Christian, expression unreadable, for a long moment, then takes a breath.

“Yeah,” he sighs out. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll be watching the whole time,” Christian reassures him—and isn’t that weird, how quickly he’s gone from wanting to hit the kid over two hundred bucks to automatically trying to reassure him.

It seems to help, regardless. Eric takes another breath and seems to mentally shake himself off. He gives Christian a grin. “Then I’ll be sure to give you something worthwhile to look at,” he says, and gives Christian a delicate little push away.

Christian watches him walk back into the main room and shakes his head with a smile before following.

With a confidence boost and some reassurance, Eric does just fine, melding into the crowd and schmoozing like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth just the same as all the people he’s charming. Christian’s feeling increasingly more certain about him.

The goal is for Eric to lift the VIP pass off one of the guys at the party—Jordan Mahoney, a trust fund kid whose last name alone gets him into places like these. It’ll test a small handful of Eric’s skills, and Christian has to admit to being eager to see him perform on a stage that’s really worth his time.

Maybe a little too eager.

Eric approaches him after maybe twenty minutes. At first he thinks something’s wrong, but Eric’s fighting back a smile.

“Christian,” he says, “you’re making it really hard for me to work.”

That’s admittedly not what Christian was expecting to hear. “What? How?”

“Half the people here don’t want to talk to me, let alone Mahoney.”

“How is that my fault?”

“Because you’re standing in the corner staring at me intensely like a spurned, brooding boyfriend.”

“I— What?”

Eric’s outright laughing at him now. “I thought you said you’re a professional.”

Christian can feel his face going hot. “I am a professional, you ass—”

“Then give me some space so people don’t think you’re gonna throw hands if they even look at me.” Eric gives him an annoyingly charming smile and walks off again before Christian can think of a reply.

“I’m not staring at you like a brooding boyfriend,” he mutters to no one in particular.

Even so, he makes a point of wandering to the other side of the room and making agonizingly boring small talk with a group of people he has next to nothing in common with.

He goes through a few glasses of champagne and a few fancy hors d'oeuvres before Eric appears at his side again.

“Guess who has two thumbs and someone else’s special access ID?” Eric says, a little giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Christian resists the urge to cover Eric’s mouth with his hand. “Go ahead and say it a little louder, why don’t you.”

Eric ducks his head apologetically, but he’s laughing, high off the energy of a successful lift. “Sorry, sorry.”

Maybe it’s the champagne, but Christian’s a little giddy, too. He’s proud of Eric, eager to tell Aria about him, excited about what this means for the future.

They leave through the back, walking past a few people sneaking puffs of cigarettes and joints on the porch, and head along the side of the house through tall, wet grass towards the street.

“That was— I mean, that was a rush,” Eric says a little breathlessly. “I haven’t felt like this since I first started hustling people at the bar.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Christian replies—a little too soon.

“Hey!”

Christian spins on his heel, fight-or-flight reflexes kicking in automatically. He hears Eric swear quietly next to him.

Mahoney’s storming through the grass towards them, four other guys following behind like some kind of tipsy, angry parade procession.

“Whoa, hey, what’s the problem?” Christian says, forcing himself to look bewildered and concerned.

Mahoney jabs a finger at Eric, ignoring Christian completely. “You think you’re funny? Think this is some kind of joke? Give me my shit before I kick your goddamn teeth in.”

Eric fumbles for the pass immediately. “Okay, okay, take it easy! It was just— I was just messing around, I was gonna give it back—”

Mahoney steps forward and snatches the card from Eric’s hand the second he gets it from his pocket. Eric stumbles back, and Christian’s holding his breath, praying that’ll be the end of it.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Christian says calmly. He doesn’t like their odds; it’d be five drunk, angry guys against him and Eric, and he’s pretty sure Eric isn’t exactly a brawler. There’s a chance they can get out of this if they stay relaxed and non-confrontational and—

And of course that’s when Mahoney grabs Eric by the lapels of his suit and slams him up against the side of the house.

Christian sighs. “Okay,” he says evenly, and makes damn sure he throws the first punch.

——

“So, uh. That could’ve gone better.”

Christian huffs out a laugh, wiping at a still-bleeding cut on his lip. “Probably, yeah.”

They’re back in the rental car, assessing the worst of the damage from what was, admittedly, not Christian’s best fight. They’re both a little banged up, but luckily most of the guys were too drunk to put too much effort into it, so other than some scrapes and bruises, there’s not much to worry about.

Eric can handle himself in a fight better than Christian anticipated. He’s not big, but he’s scrappy, and gave as good as he got. He’s rubbing at a bruise on his jaw and his suit’s ripped in a couple of places.

“Wasn’t a total loss, though,” he says suddenly.

Christian snorts. “How was that not a total loss.”

“I mean,” Eric says, and Christian looks over to see him pull something leather and bulky from his suit pocket. “He got his pass back, but I grabbed his wallet, so.”

Christian stares at him. “What.”

Eric’s going through the contents of the wallet cheerfully. “There’s like five hundred bucks in here. And a gift card to Lush!” He looks over at Christian and waves the card at him. “You like bath bombs?”

Christian keeps staring, exasperation building alongside begrudging but intense fondness.

Eric furrows his brow. “What?”

“You are,” Christian says, “fucking unbelievable,” and he grabs Eric by the lapels of his torn suit and hauls him in and kisses him breathless.

Eric goes still in shock, then practically climbs over the center console in his eagerness to kiss him back. Which is—entirely unsurprising, really.

Christian has to pull away sooner than he’d like, wincing and touching his tongue to his split lip. “You got the job,” he says, voice a little rough, still catching his breath.

“Huh?” Eric looks dazed and giddy and hungry and it takes a lot of effort not to drag him back in.

“The heist. You’re in.” God, Christian’s hands itch to grab him again. He grabs his phone instead, sends Aria a quick text to let him know they officially have a fourth man for the job.

It takes Eric a moment to catch up. “What, even though I fucked up?”

“Are you kidding? You charmed half the people at that party, blended in perfectly, did a nearly flawless lift, then managed to steal a guy’s wallet while he was beating the shit out of you. That was amazing.”

“Okay, well, that’s a little harsh, I got a few punches in—”

Christian raises an eyebrow at him.

“I did! Sorry if you didn’t see because you were too busy getting hit in the face—”

“Okay, smartass, I took on four guys at once—”

“Go ahead and call me names; you still kissed me, so what’s that say about you?”

“That I have horrible taste.”

“Christian!”

#anarchetypal writes #shipfeed #can't remember if there's an official name for this particular pairing or not oh well #i'd apologize for all the rarepair content but i'm not that sorry #join me in hell #this has seen little to no editing whoops

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girls-scenarios · 7 years

Text

Let it Happen (Sequel)

Idol: Sana (Twice)

Prompt: Can you please do a sequel to Twice Sana's Let It Happen scenario? I really like it, and I wanna see what happens next~ 😆

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: Based on some things that have already happened to me this semester, like a ton of homework and a professor being missing the first day. Again, sorry this took so long, but I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: There are some curse words and one innuendo. I think that’s really all.

Let it Happen

“I cannot believe our first class was cancelled and the professor didn’t even tell us. I could have slept in an extra hour.” Sana stood staring at the sign taped to the door in front of her, eyes narrowed and lips pouting. Behind her, you laughed.

“I can’t say I’m that disappointed, honestly. We can go get the breakfast we didn’t manage to eat before coming here.”

“You just don’t want to do a public speaking class,” Sana said, turning to look at you and crossing her arms. You rolled your eyes and tugged at her arm, pulling her away from the class and towards the door heading out of the building.

“Only communications majors would want to take a public speaking class, Sana. You guys are the weird ones.” She gave in and let you hook your arm through hers as the two of you walked. It was the first day of Fall semester classes and there were people everywhere, with their maps of the campus out and their phones glaring their schedules up at them. Sana effortlessly moved through the clumps of confused freshmen and tired seniors, pulling you along behind her.

“You never know,” she said, speaking over the voices of all the other students. “Maybe taking this public speaking class will end up helping you. Maybe you’ll switch majors.” You scoffed and tightened your hold on her arm so that she didn’t leave you behind, shaking your head vigorously.

“The only reason I passed Interpersonal Communication is because I had you to slowly explain each and every single point to me. I was lucky there weren’t any actual exams, or I probably would have failed.”

“You’re being dramatic.” As the two of you exited the building, you breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of being able to move your shoulders without bumping into another person and steered Sana in the direction of the mess hall. The sun was shining bright outside, beating down onto the campus below, and Sana squinted her eyes against the light, looking up at the clear blue sky above.

“I wonder why he cancelled,” she said as she looked around. “It’s a nice day out here.”

“Maybe he was dreading public speaking too.” Sana turned and playfully punched you in the arm, making you wince and whine dramatically.

“I’ll check the class shell. He probably said why there.” She pulled out her phone as the two of you came up to the mess hall. You opened the door for her and untangled your arms so that you could make sure she didn’t run into the door as she squinted at her phone screen, grumbling under her breath. She’d already forgotten which password she’d chosen to use this semester.

“What do you want to eat for breakfast?” She glanced up when you spoke, giving the food options a once-over.

“Anything that I can get coffee with. I’m going to need caffeine if I’m going to have to deal with you making jabs at my major all day.” You smiled and took her arm again, pulling her along towards the waffles.

“I’m not that bad,” you said, “you’re exaggerating and you know it.” Sana huffed, side eyeing you as the two of you stepped up to the counter to get the coffee.

“I’m getting the largest one here. And you’re buying.” You laughed, and she felt a rush run through her body that had nothing to do with the promise of coffee at her fingertips.

“Fine, two large coffees and two waffles. Would you like anything else, Princess?” She liked that nickname. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she put on her haughtiest look and sashayed away, making you laugh again, loudly. Some of the students in the mess hall looked up from their phones and conversations to give the two of you weird looks. “People are going to think you’re a drama major if you keep this up.” As the two of you walked up to the counter to pay, Sana flipped her hair again.

“Really? You think I’m that good?”

“No. I think you’re just that over the top.” She stuck out her tongue at you.

“Well, since you’re paying, I’m gonna go find a table. Keep being rude and I’ll make you stand while you eat.” As she walked away, you raised your voice so she could hear you over the hum of conversation that filled the room.

“You know you love me.” As she walked away, Sana shook her head and looked down at the ground. That was the problem. She was actually falling in love with you, and she was totally, completely, absolutely screwed.

“I feel like this is deja-vu.” Jihyo sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair to look at Sana with her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m not a communications major, you are. You’re the one that’s good at relationships. I haven’t dated anyone in two years.”

“I could set you up,” Sana said immediately, causing Jihyo to give her an unimpressed look and turn back to look at her laptop.

“I will not hesitate to kick you out of my room.” Whining, Sana flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“I just need advice on what to do. Can I not ask my smart friend for advice?” The fan in the corner of the room began to squeal, filling up the empty air as Jihyo typed something on her laptop instead of replying. Sana started counting the pieces of glitter on the ceiling as she waited for a response.

“You can ask me for advice, sure, but my specialty is in math and science, not relationships. You should ask Jungyeon.” Sana stopped counting (so far there were 153 pieces of glitter) and lifted her head off the bed.

“Jungyeon?” Jihyo placed her chin on her palm and glanced Sana’s way.

“Yeah? She’s dated like, six people. She’s dating Nayeon now, and I’m pretty sure she dated Momo in high school. She has the experience.” Sana let her jaw drop open, quickly sitting up.

“I knew she was dating Nayeon, but wow. I can’t believe I’m friends with a player.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. Also, you didn’t hear any of that information from me, okay? And don’t tell Nayeon.” She squinted her eyes suspiciously at Jihyo, but the older girl just looked back at her laptop, obviously done with the conversation. “Now go bother her, please. My art history teacher already assigned a shit ton of homework and it’s all due tomorrow.”

“Damn. Good luck with that.” Jihyo groaned and leaned forward in her chair, closing her eyes and wincing a bit.

“Thanks. I’m gonna need it.” With one last glance at her friend, Sana jumped up from the bed and headed out the door, pulling out her phone as she closed the door behind her to send a warning to Jungyeon that she was coming over. She’d already walked in on her and Nayeon once, and she really didn’t want to do that again. As she walked through the halls, she noticed that she’d gotten a message from you and opened it.

The professor for public speaking will be back tomorrow :(

She laughed and sent a few emojis back before stopping at the door to Jungyeon’s shared dorm with Nayeon. Her knuckles had barely touched the door in a knock when the door was jerked open.

“Welcome. Make yourself at home. Thanks for the heads up this time.” With a roll of her eyes, Sana slipped past Jungyeon into the room. Nayeon was sitting on her bed eating some kind of chips from a giant bag, and Sana remembered why she never hung out in their dorm room. Clothes and stuffed animals cluttered the already small room, and Jungyeon’s shoe and hat collections had been getting out of control for the last few semesters already.

“Did Jihyo get tired of listening to you whine about (Y/N) and kick you out again?” Sana decided to sit on the desk chair instead of the bed. She didn’t want to know what happened on those sheets.

“She said that she’s not the person to ask for relationship advice. She said you guys would be better.” Jungyeon rolled her eyes and hopped onto the bed beside Nayeon.

“She didn’t happen to mention that she’s been talking to that freshman girl, did she.” Sana huffed and pulled out her phone again, quickly going to Jihyo’s number.

“No, she didn’t! Why am I always the one to be left out of the loop?”

“You were probably too busy fawning over (Y/N) to notice,” Nayeon said, letting Jungyeon take the chips. “Anyway, what do you need to know? It’s obvious you guys are totally all over each other. Just ask them to go on a date with you or something. It’s not that hard.”

“But what if I’m wrong and you’re wrong? What if they just want to be friends and they’re naturally super friendly?”

“Sana, you guys literally hold hands all the time. They always buy you food and make sure you eat and you’re both totally whipped for each other. Plus, you’ll never know if you never try. Wanna know how I asked Nayeon out?”

“No,” Sana said, shaking her head so fast it hurt her neck. “Please spare me the details. You guys are gross.”

“You don’t have any room to talk,” Jungyeon replied, shrugging her shoulders and shoving a handful of chips into her mouth. Nayeon leaned forward.

“Listen. Just take our word for it and ask them out. I promise, you wont regret it.” Sana sighed and looked down at the phone in her hands. You’d replied with a crying emoji, and a skull.

I need comfort food, let’s go get ice cream.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll do my best. Now you guys can get back to doing whatever you were doing before I came in.” Nayeon grinned and wiggled her eyebrows, making Sana fake gag as she stood from the desk chair and headed to the door.

“We believe in you, Sana,” the older girl said, at the same time that Jungyeon yelled “get some” at an embarrassing level. Sana made sure to slam the door as she left, hoping the blush on her face wasn’t too obvious.

Meet at the regular?

Yes please :)

Be there in 10.

The little ice cream parlor near the campus had been Sana’s go-to spot since she’d started as a freshman, and it had been the best decision to share it with you. Jihyo and Mina were always too busy with school to come with her, Momo was always watching her diet unless it came to meat, and Jungyeon and Nayeon were gross to go with anywhere anymore. It was so much better to go with someone, because otherwise she was usually the only single party there.

When she opened the door, she was greeted with the usual sight of a quiet interior, decorated in a retro theme with records lining the walls. The owner waved when she came in.

“The regular for you today?” She nodded, walking up to the counter and watching him scoop it into her favorite waffle cone. Just as he scooped up the last bit, the bell over the door jingled and Sana turned around to see you walking inside, framed by the bright sunlight shining in through the windows. The smile that crossed her features was involuntary, and her heart skipped a beat when you smiled back, walking up to the counter.

“Hey. Miss me?”

“Always,” she replied, bumping her shoulder against your own. The owner cleared his throat, and Sana gave him an apologetic smile, reaching over to grab her cone.

“For you?” He asked you as he rang her up.

“The regular. For the start of the semester.” He chuckled and gave Sana her receipt before grabbing your cone and leaning over to scoop up your favorite flavor.

“I had almost forgot you guys were already starting. I guess this is one way to kick it off.”

“Starting this semester right.” As he handed you your cone and began ringing you out, Sana wandered over to one of the tables and sat down, tasting the ice cream. It was sweet as ever, and she closed her eyes for a second, savoring the taste.

“You really like this ice cream, don’t you?” She opened her eyes, and you pulled out the chair across from her, grinning.

“How could you tell?”

“Call it a hunch.” She giggled and decided not to reply, taking another bite of her ice cream instead. As she ate, she let her eyes wander over you, taking in your relaxed figure and the way your lips closed around the ice cream, leaving remnants behind on your lips for you to lick away. Realizing she was staring, she quickly looked back down at her own ice cream, remembering the advice from her friends. Well, it was now or never.

“Hey, (Y/N).” You looked up, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to speak. She licked her lips, wetting them and steadying her heartbeat. “Do you want to go out with me sometime?”

“Aren’t we out right now?” Sana shook her head.

“Well, kind of. But I don’t mean like this. I mean. Do you want to go to dinner with me? As a date?” Your eyes widened, and there was still some ice cream on your lips, left behind in your shock. Sana wanted to kiss it away.

“Wait. Are you finally asking me out?”

“What do you mean finally?” You chased away the ice cream with your tongue and smiled.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since we met, pretty much.” Sana’s mouth dropped open in shock for what was at least the third time that day.

“Why did I have to be the one to make the first move here?”

“You’re the communications major. I’m way too shy to do anything like that.” She huffed.

“Just because I’m a communications major doesn’t mean I’m automatically good at knowing other people’s feelings.”

“Better than me. I almost failed the relationships class.”

“Interpersonal communication, you mean.” You laughed, and Sana’s heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest and fly away.

“Yeah, that one.”

“I take it back. No dinner for you, because you’re being rude to my major.” You leaned across the table, grabbing her arm.

“Wait no, I want dinner. I’ll stop making jokes about communications, just for you.” Sana tried her best to look disbelieving, but whenever she was around you, she just could stop the smile from spreading over her face.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” You pouted, sticking out your bottom lip, and damn, did she want to kiss you. “Fine, fine. My offer for dinner still stands.”

“Good. For a communications major, you’re really bad at this stuff.”

“You lied to me,” Sana said, narrowing her eyes playfully and leaning forward. “Will you ever stop using my passion to make fun of me?”

“Make me,” you said. The owner had disappeared into the back of the shop, and there was no one else around to care. So Sana leaned across the table and did.

#twice #twice scenarios #twice scenario #sana #twice sana #sana scenarios #sana scenario #twice sana scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario #girl groups #t:collegeau

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