#stupid little kernel of hope stuck in my teeth

[vagueiish]

can someone just please tell me i suck at this so i can finally put myself out of my misery and pull this desire and need to create and have fun and shit out at the roots before it grows again?

[welllpthisishappening]

Three Strikes [you're out]

It was his fault, really.

Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.

And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.

———

Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

———

The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual. 

Conjured up all sorts of possibilities. 

Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May. 

He needed a haircut, she thought. 

The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her. 

On a Thursday in May. 

Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.

She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly. 

Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree. 

Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally. 

The muscle shifted. 

Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient. 

And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook. 

Not a piece of paper.

Not a printout. 

Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs. 

An actual scorebook. 

That he brought with him to Citi Field. 

She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird. 

The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison. 

Nina bit her lip. 

Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

Nina’s lips tilted up. 

Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed. 

Some of which might have mystical and potentially. 

Goddamn, Ben Stiller. 

“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle. 

“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”

Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body. 

Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—

Him. 

The muscle. 

She heard his pencil drop, she swore. 

Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically. 

Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first. 

No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.

“Not going to make it.”

Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—

Looked. Right at her. And her tongue. 

Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous. 

No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field. 

One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up. 

“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”

Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise. 

And sat back down. 

To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible. 

The amazing, even. 

It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint. 

Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist. 

Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually. 

To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache. 

To accept being the butt of jokes across decades. 

Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began. 

Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation. 

To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams. 

To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey. 

“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm. 

He was still keeping score. 

How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page. 

If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry. 

It would be embarrassing. 

Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now. 

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way. 

“Do games normally last this long?”

Nina shook her head. 

Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance. 

As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars. 

It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time. 

Once she got the popcorn off her feet. 

A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward. 

With his own brand of emotion. 

No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling. 

“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming. 

Undeniably so. 

As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her. 

He didn’t make the throw. 

Not in time, at least. 

Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night. 

Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook. 

“What the hell, man?”

He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier. 

“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad. 

Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter. 

“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should. 

Jesper was going to crack a rib. 

“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—

Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed. 

Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly. 

It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved. 

She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face. 

“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”

His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed. 

Ah, damn. 

Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss. 

The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil. 

On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite. 

Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her. 

Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap. 

He’d folded the piece of paper. 

The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him. 

The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth. 

He watched. 

Documented. 

Kept track. 

“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again. 

“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. 

To hand to her. 

“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”

“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though. 

“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest. 

Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet. 

With provided pen.

“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders. 

“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”

“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.

“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.

“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.

Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were. 

“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever. 

Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil. 

“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far. 

Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did. 

“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move. 

On her part, specifically. 

“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even. 

She grinned. 

Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall. 

He didn’t look away. 

She’d think that was important, later. 

“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower. 

“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”

Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her. 

It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling. 

“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”

“That mean you're going to sit?”

She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded. 

And climbed over the seat. 

So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain. 

“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”

He didn’t. 

At least not at first. 

It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—

His hand moved to his shoulder. 

The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself. 

They’d get there. 

They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway. 

A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra. 

Sugar on top, if you will. 

They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines. 

Nina figured that’s what it was, at least. 

He smiled. 

That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too. 

“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic. 

“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her. 

Huh. 

Huh. 

“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”

One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”

Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70. 

She had sensitive skin. 

“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth. 

“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed. 

“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance. 

He didn’t push her hand off his. 

The coffee was going to go cold. 

“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”

“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.  

“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing. 

“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen. 

So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile. 

“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission. 

“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his. 

“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened. 

“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.

“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued. 

“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket. 

They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page. 

Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was. 

Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them. 

She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors. 

Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that. 

Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form. 

Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act. 

Once an inning, then. 

Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back. 

“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things. 

They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles. 

He called them jimmies. 

She made fun of him. 

And then—

It was over. 

No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze. 

Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue. 

Only—

One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck. 

“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them. 

That was nice. 

He was nice. 

She was—

A mess, at best. 

Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”

She did not see him tomorrow. 

When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room. 

Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument. 

There was champagne, so. That helped. 

Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches. 

Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered. 

“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number. 

Neither could she, quite frankly. 

“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”

Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her. 

From running into the section. 

Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set. 

Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason. 

The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out. 

Matthias hadn’t been at the game. 

To be a Mets fan, was to wait. 

For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it. 

Nina wasn’t very good at waiting. 

Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey. 

Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently. 

Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks. 

And that was that, for Kaz. As they say. 

Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe. 

It smelled like salt when she did. 

“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him. 

“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status. 

Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer. 

“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably. 

Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand. 

“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added. 

Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured. 

Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died. 

It was very dramatic. 

Sweeping, even. 

Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club. 

Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle. 

If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness. 

He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like. 

She wasn’t entirely opposed. 

Their shoes nearly brushed. 

“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely. 

She licked her lips. 

He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”

Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance. 

Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined. 

Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together. 

Nina closed her eyes. 

Better to remember, that way. 

To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice. 

He was still there. 

“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time. 

“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—

Sparkled, maybe. 

She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that. 

“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first. 

She kissed the bottom of his chin. 

It was all she could reach. 

“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”

“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic. 

“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him. 

Either or, really. 

They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend. 

Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be. 

Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone. 

[midnightseonghwa]

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔 | 𝐩.𝐬𝐡

✕ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Seonghwa x Clingy!Reader 

✕ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Fluff 

✕ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.4k+

✕ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of horror movies (not sure if it’s a warning but...) and the reader (you) is a big scaredy cat and is very clingy 

✕ 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Undedited 

✕ 𝐀/𝐍: This was requested by anon! Hi, I am so sorry I am late but better late than never, I guess...I hope you like this becasue I do...just a smidge but I really do like it so I hope you do as well! Intially, my small brain had said why not do Seonghwa and Yeosang both but gosh it was hard to come up with a plot because I have never watched any kind of horror movie (unless you count frankenweenie, dark shadows and edward scissorhands) so I just went with Seonghwa instead. I’m sorry for posting this late again! Do let me know what you think! 

✕ 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜:  here

Seonghwa closed the door as he waved off the kids and set the almost empty bowl of candy aside. The only ones left were the caramel ones that always stuck to your teeth but you were sure that the trick or treaters had retired for the night.

"Please tell me we avoided getting our house covered with toilet paper," you smiled as Seonghwa sighed and leaned against his back against the door, dramatically exhaling and wiping fake sweat off his forehead. 

"Yes ma'am. Safe to say that all the devils have been satisfied," he said and made his way to your shared room, emerging a few minutes later with his black and white skeleton print sweater exchanged for a hoodie instead.

"How are we going to satisfy the devils tonight?" You asked, a curious glint in your eyes but Seonghwa just smiled and turned the television on, scrolling through Netflix instead. 

"You tell me..." he trailed off and leaned back into the sofa with his arms spread over the back.

"IT or The Conjuring?" 

You coughed a little at his suggestions and gave him a glare. He knew very well how much you hated horror movies but he just had to pick one to watch on Halloween night. 

"Frankenweenie, Coraline or The Corpse Bride. Final options," you stated and stared at your boyfriend with narrowed eyes. 

"Aw, flower, you're no fun," he said and clicked on IT, waiting for it to load. 

"Stay here, I'll get some popcorn," he kissed your lips briefly before rushing to the kitchen. 

You looked at the paused screen, a small fire of fear already crackling inside your weak, easily scared heart. 

"Hwa..." you called out and quickly pushed yourself off the sofa, "Let's watch the popcorn in the microwave together."

Walking into the kitchen, you made your way into your boyfriend's idle arms. The plush material of his hoodie felt warm against your skin as your draped his arms over your shoulders and leaned into his body. 

"Do we have to watch that stupid movie?" You asked and played with the sleeves of his clothing, trying your best to put on a pout to sway him. 

"Come on, flower. It's Halloween! And besides, I'll be there to protect you okay?"

 Nodding unsurely, you watched the paper bag with the unpopped kernels turn in circles in the microwave, the occasional pop sound reaching your ears as you leaned further into your boyfriend. 

After collecting all the snacks you and Seonghwa needed, you curled up into his side, one blanket over your top while the other draped over his shoulders. 

The opening scene displayed itself on the screen as the director's name, production house and other such things flitted across the screen. You held edges of your blanket tightly, fingers bunching up the fluffy material between them. 

'Calm down (Y/n), it's just a movie', you reassured yourself as you gave Seonghwa a smile who returned it and then averted his gaze towards the screen. You hated disappointing and seeming weak in front of your magnificent boyfriend but emotions always got the better of you when it came to horror movies. 

It was possibly half an hour into the movie and you were already at your wit's end. That clown was going to haunt you for the rest of your life, you were sure of it. You had started to feel slightly hot due to your pyjamas and your blanket but there was absolutely no way you were going to give up your protection. To hell with Seonghwa's protection. Reaching for your cup, you pressed it your lips to take a sip only to find it empty. An involuntary groan left your lips as you tipped the cup back trying to drink even the smallest of drops. You did not want to leave your little safe space and venture into the dark kitchen. What if the clown grabbed you from under the kitchen sink? 

The fear was very real. 

The movie progressed and you found your fear slowly consuming every part of you bit by bit. Inching closer and closer into your boyfriend, by the time it was halfway, you were draped completely over the male, face pushed into his neck and blanket still clutched tightly. 

Seonghwa paused the movie and looked down at you, a soft smile making its way onto his face. He almost cooed at your form pressing tightly into his and draped the blanket that was over his shoulder over your body so that it formed a cocoon for the both of you. 

"Is my flower scared?" He whispered and caressed your sides under the blanket lovingly. You whimpered slightly and shook your head, trying to look brave but there was only so much you could do when you were already pressed into your boyfriend out of fear. 

"You know I hate horror movies," you stated and pouted, mustering up the best puppy eyes you could and you saw Seonghwa's resolve absolutely crumble. 

He sighed and stroked the outsides of your thigh that were on either side of his waist. 

"I know, flower and I'm sorry for forcing you into this. I didn't know you were that scared of it. Can I apologise with cuddles?"

Your face instantly lit up but you tried your best to control your emotions and shook your head. 

"No. No cuddles for you Mr I want to torture (Y/n)," you mocked and got off his lap, standing up in front of him. 

"I'm going to bed," you said and looked towards the dark corridor leading to your room, only to look back at Seonghwa who had started the movie again. 

"Okay, goodnight," he said and averted his eyes from your form, eyeing the television instead. 

"Seonghwaaaa," you whined and he looked at you with an amused look. 

"Yes?" He asked and cocked his eyebrow. 

"You're supposed to come with me," you said and tugged at his hand, kicking at his feet lightly. 

"Am I? I thought you said we weren't going to cuddle today?" He said and pressed his lips into a thin line to control his laughter. 

"Ugh, that's not what I- Seonghwaaa," you whined out again and your boyfriend laughed, switching the television off. 

"Wait, let me just the close the lights," he said and you walked towards the switch, you trailing behind him, blanket dragging around the floor. The minute his finger made contact with the switch, you grabbed his hand and sprinted towards your room as fast as you could, tripping over your blanket as you did. 

"What was that for?" Seonghwa asked, panting a little from the speed you dragged him at. 

You laughed and folded the blanket over the bed.

"So that the clown can't chase us," you said and got into bed before getting right out. 

"What happen now?" He asked, standing next to his side of the bed. 

"I need to use the bathroom," you asserted and stared at your boyfriend. 

"Yeah so? Go," Seonghwa said and you shook your head. 

"No, no. You need to come with me. Just stand outside the door?" You said and Seonghwa sighed but a ghost of a smile on his face revealed his true thoughts. 

"You're so annoying sometimes," he said and led you to the bathroom, leaning against the wall outside while you did your business. 

A minute or so later, you emerged from the bathroom ready to make a run for your bedroom again before Seonghwa stopped you. 

"Did you wash your hands?" You looked at Seonghwa sheepishly before shaking your head. 

"Listen, I have every reason not to. What if the clown grabs me from under the sink?" 

"(Y/n)," Seonghwa smiled and turned you back to the bathroom. 

"Go wash your hands, I'm standing right here."

You nodded and went back into the bathroom to wash your hands.

Once done, you balanced one hand on the light switch inside and one hand clutching Seonghwa's arm as you prepared for the dash to safety again. 

"Okay, Seonghwa. The minute I flick this light switch off, we're going to run okay?" 

Seonghwa nodded determinedly and you started your mini countdown. 

"One, two, three! Seonghwa run!" 

And with that, you flicked the light switch off, Seonghwa and you running through the corridor back to the safety of your bedroom, falling asleep in each other's arms. Seonghwa's wrapped tightly around you to prevent any sort of clown from grabbing you from under the bed. As long as he was with you, no clown would ever be able to get you. 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid 192

192

    Holding Keith’s hand in public felt nice. Walking from the hotel to the restaurant, Lance found himself watching families of all types as they walked. He couldn’t help it. A smile coming to his lips as he watched kids nag their parents, or listened to them as they played. His hand sitting on his stomach while his mind substituted the kids for their twins, and the parents as Keith. Keith would be such a good dad. He absolutely knew that for certain. He’d worried when Keith had spent most of the night sleepless, the walk seeming to invigorate him as it wore away Keith’s energy. Keith needed his coffee pronto, lest a server cop his boyfriend’s uncaffeinated anger loaf rage.

  Leading Keith into the restaurant, it had a kind of rustic charm. Heavy oak logs made the walls, with all kinds of memorabilia stuck to the walls, including a giant stuffed fish with a plaque that red “Billy Bass”. It appealed to his tacky side in all the right ways. Sending Keith to find a seat, his boyfriend slouched off to throw himself into the only available booth. Lance giving a shake of his head affectionately. He really loved that cranky werewolf. Waddling over to the counter, he forced himself to remember to look and act like a girl. Keith didn’t know he was terrified of the same kind of comments made at the petting zoo being repeated. This trip had to go as well and as smoothly as it could. Picking up the menu, he knew instantly he wanted more than pancakes. Everything smelt vaguely appealing, and Keith would eat like there was no tomorrow.

  “What can I do you for, darling?”

Jumping at being unexpectedly talked to, the woman behind the counter cackled at him

“Sorry, love! I didn’t think you’d be lost in thought over a menu”

Lance flashed a smile, careful of his teeth. He kind of wished he’d worn a set of glasses. The more he stood in the restaurant, the more he heard and the bigger the world suddenly seemed to be

“Sorry, everything sounds so good I’m not sure where to begin”

The woman chuckled

“I remember those feelings. How many you got in there?”

“Two. I guess I do look pretty big”

“And carrying low, you’ll be in labour no time, love. Now. What do think?”

No. Nope. No labour for him. Not unless he was comfortably set up at VOLTRON... he’d hold his legs together for as long as possible if their twins dared to think of coming this soon

“I think I’m famished. Can I please order two sets of pancakes and two sets of the bacon breakfasts? Ooooh, and I’ll grab a fruit salad, two of the largest coffees you have, aaaand... I think I’ll have a green tea latte... and a fruit salad. Yeah, that’s all, thank you... oh! Do you guys have soy milk? I don’t want to gas my boyfriend”

  The woman behind the counter ogled him fo a moment, shaking her head and laughing again

“I don’t know where you’re going to fit all that... We have soy, almond, and regular. None of that skin stuff”

Lance blushed. He couldn’t help that he didn’t exactly know what he felt like, but food seemed like an amazing idea

“It’s for me and my partner. Soy will be fine, thanks”

The woman slapped his arm gently with the back of her hand

“I know that, love. Just an old woman teasing”

“You don’t look that old”

She looked about the age he should look... her name tag reading “Dae”, the white tag almost lost in the red of her bright red shirt

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. Now, darling, cash or card?”

“Card please”

  The woman rang up there largish breakfast bill. Lance paying as he was trapped into small talk

“So, love. Are you here for our Easter markets? Or you one of those passing through?”

“Oh, my boyfriend and I are spending a few days here. We’re meeting up with some friends”

The woman printed him a receipt without him asking

“I’m sure you’ll find this quite boring compared with the cities around here, but we have own charm. Now, can I get a name for this order?”

He’d been prepared for that. He’d made kind of a mental story for himself. He and his photographer boyfriend were driving up, stopping in small towns as Keith built up a portfolio in the hopes of turning to selling prints online

“Lancella... my, uh, parents were hoping for a boy”

“I’m sure they love you at any rate. We can’t help our names. You go take a load off and I’ll bring your coffee over. Take my advice, love, take a look at the markets while you’re here. They really are something else”

“Awesome. We might just take your advice. Thank you”

    Siding, barely, into the booth opposite Keith, Keith was glaring at the menu in his hands. Tugging it free, his boyfriend huffed as Lance set the menu back into its holder

“Your coffee’s coming”

“Good”

Keith should have perked up at the thought of coffee. The scent was strong enough that Lance’s stomach was threatening to turn traitor right there at the booth

“Babe?”

“It’s nothing. You looked like you were having a good conversation, Lancella”

Lance rolled his eyes at the name

“I’m a simple man. The best lies have a kernel of truth in them”

“It pisses me off that you have to lie. You’re you. If people don’t like that, they can go play in traffic”

  There was his grumpy little anger loaf. He’d also realised something that was likely to make Keith grumpier

“You can’t just put them in traffic. You know, we’re going to be in trouble”

Keith sighed deeply

“What for now?”

“I’m starving... and all that food has to come back up. Plus, apparently I’m going to pop soon”

Scowling at him, Keith sat back and crossed his arms. His voice firm and joke free

“There’s no way you’re allowed to even think about giving birth in this crappy town. Don’t even think about going into labour”

Sometimes it was scary how in tune they were. He didn’t want to give birth here, yet he couldn’t hate this town

“I don’t know. This town isn’t that crappy. This is the town you were born in and you’re not crappy. Maybe crabby... but not crappy”

“You’re fucking hilarious”

Lance shot his boyfriend double finger guns

“I try. But seriously, I’m starving...”

  He’d also forgotten to do his shots before leaving the hotel room. Keith coming out with the bath mat around his waist had driven away the thought. His boyfriend hadn’t questioned why he’d packed heavier than usual. There was a whole suitcase of towels and bedding, waiting to be unpacked. His new plan was that after breakfast they’d unpack a little more, and he’d look up the directions to the cemetery where Keith’s dad was buried. The vampire knew his own pain from having now lost both his parents, yet that was nothing compared to Keith losing his dad at such a young age. Making the comparison seemed really shitty and like it lorded the fact Lance had had his parents for so long, that’s why he’d never say it out loud.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the coffee and the latte. Keith sliding both mugs towards him as Lance thanked “Dae”. Wrapping his hands around his cold drink, there was kind of a happy peacefulness as Keith took his first sip of coffee. This was nice. Them having no real schedule. Not rushing around. Kind of on a date, but not at the same time...

“Stop staring”

Chuckling, Lance moved his hand up to take the straw between his fingers, stirring his latte as continued to stare

“What are you going to do if I don’t?”

Kicking him under the table, that was Keith’s great comeback

“Really, babe?”

“Fuck you. Fight me”

  It’d be soon long since he’d heard that one. The second they found out he was carrying, he had to behave himself and training went out the window

“I could beat you, but we both know you’d liked it”

Delivering the words slowly and purposely, Lance succeeded in making Keith choke on his coffee. Placing the mug down, his boyfriend coughed into his hand

“Fuuuuck...”

“Still want to fight me?”

“Keep this up and I’ll beat your arse so hard you won’t be able to walk for a month”

“Do you promise?”

On the back of choking on his coffee, Keith choked on air. His hand fanning his face as he shook his head

“You deserve to be punched in the dick for that”

“Nah. You love me too much for that”

“God. I fucked that one up”

  Lance knew Keith was teasing, yet he felt himself automatically tear up. Apparently he could dish it, but his ego was too much of a diva to take it. Dropping his gaze to his drink, he felt awful for how he’d reacted

“Babe?”

“It’s nothing”

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I guess my hormones are being silly. It’s ridiculous”

Keith wisely decided not to agree with him, changing the topic

“What did you order?”

Raising his head again, Lance shot him that fake smile that hadn’t come out in so long that he wasn’t sure he was doing it right

“Pancakes. Eggs, tomatoes, bacon, sausages, and fried onion. Coffee for you. Tea for me, and fruit salad”

“You think that’s enough?”

Now he was feeling self conscious over how much he wanted to scarf down his food

“I figured you’d eat what I didn’t...”

Keith playfully kicked him under the table again

“Great. Now I’m the garbage disposal unit”

  Shit. Why had his mood plummeted so much? Now it had, his ego was getting riled up. He was starting to feel vulnerable over being pregnant and into a strange place, where people he didn’t know could easily target him, or Keith. He couldn’t scent anyone like them in the place, yet he’d been so care free when they’d come in, he hadn’t thought to. The sudden shift to extreme vulnerability by his ego threw him off. They were a goddamn vampire. Had he been so inclined, he could easily take every single human on in the restaurant... Why was he suddenly so spineless? And why was his ego not propping his mood up with its usual douche attitude.

  “Babe, you’ve gone pale. And you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

He was shaking? He hadn’t noticed...

“Sorry. My ego... just went funny...”

Keith stared at him in confusion

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know...”

He didn’t know. Was it not sure keith could protect them? No. Keith could and would go beyond them. Then why did it want him to run? All he wanted was a nice breakfast with Keith, so Keith wouldn’t be so stressed about what was to come...

  Leaning across the table, Keith’s confusion grew. Cocking his head, he drew back slowly

“You feel like... you’re pushing everything away. If there’s something wrong...”

“I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m sorry”

Trying to let his ego flare a little, the instinct to run grew with it. Lance quick to force it back down. Maybe he’d been too focused on being home of late? No one had made any kind of threat towards him

“If you’re not feeling well, we can go back to the room”

“That’s not it. All of a sudden I got a spike of fear and I’m not sure why”

  Keith pursed his lips, shook his head, then suddenly decided to move to sit next to Lance, a little too fast for Lance’s liking. Taking his hand in his, his boyfriend squeezed softly

“You don’t need to be scared”

Having Keith close should have calmed him, yet the spike of fear had spiked his anxiety over not knowing why he was kind of internally freaking out  

“I know. All I wanted was a nice breakfast”

“We can still have a nice breakfast...”

“I’m so sorry. I know you’re stressing badly. This has to be so much all at once”

The restaurant was loud, despite it being breakfast time. Too many people seemed way too awake

“The glasses help. Do you want them?”

  Yes. And ear plugs. Someone dropped something in the kitchen, Lance flinching at the sound as he shook his head

“No. No... it’s okay. I’ve been doing this longer than you have”

“Are you sure?”

“Babe, I’ll be okay. It’s just weird... I don’t smell anything... bad. Maybe I’ve spent too much time hermitting”

“Or maybe people just suck?”

“Careful, babe. Your grump’s showing”

Keith huffed with a pout

“I’m not being grumpy”

“Fine, your lack of people love is showing. I hope breakfast doesn’t take too long”

“You need to eat more. You’re all skin and bones”

Lance’s ego chose to take the wrong way. He ate. Keith knew he ate. He couldn’t bring Keith’s mood down any further

“I’m going to. Your babies are demanding it”

  Bring their hands to Lance’s stomach, Keith rested them there

“Already causing so much trouble. You two better give your dad a break”

“That’d be nice. I think the first thing they’re getting when they’re old enough is a trampoline”

“Why do I feel like you’re the one who’s going to be spending more time on it than them?”

“Because it’s nice to lay out under the stars?”

They hadn’t done that in so long... Maybe they’d get a chance while they were here?

“I wonder what sex would be like?”

And there Keith went stating the real reason he supported getting their kids a trampoline

“I’m not conceiving any future siblings on a trampoline”

Keith bumped his shoulder lightly

“There goes that idea...”

“I’m going to put you in a time out if you don’t get your mind out of the gutter”

“But without the gutter, my mind would be homeless”

  Without missing a beat, the werewolf had him groaning

“Who taught you that one? They need to be shot”

Keith grinned, Lance kind of envious that no matter how upset Keith was internally, he was keeping his ego well under control. He should be proud. No. He was proud. He just wished his would perk back up

“Pretty sure I learned that from you”

Great. He couldn’t exactly shoot himself... though he’d definitely shot himself in the foot in the metaphoric sense

“You don’t want to listen to me. I’m going crazy in my old age”

“You’re not even that old”

“Older than you”

  Keith put on that bad southern drawl that never failed to work on him

“And twice as pretty. A pretty little thing like you should be careful. A big bad wolf might just gobble you up”

“Nah, my boyfriend takes care of all the scary things out there”

“I could take him. They don’t call me the Mullet for nothin’”

Oh lord. That was terrible. That was terrible and Keith knew it was terrible

“Is it because you’re kinda fishy? A bit limp all dead eyed?”

“Why, miss. I’ve been told I’ve got the perdiest eyes around”

Lance let out a long groan of defeat. He didn’t feel safe, and as much as he didn’t want to feel amused, Keith’s stupidity was kind of turning his frown upside down

“Alright. No more. I get it”

“Do you feel any better?”

No...

“Yeah. I’m still staving, though”

“It won’t be too much longer... hopefully”

   *

Keith kept a careful eye on Lance once their breakfast finally arrived. Lance noticing, and responding by eating despite the lack of interest in the pancakes he’d wanted. It was hard to pretend to be happy. Everything felt too much for him, and having it all feel too much for Lance threw him.

  Holding it together, the walk back to the hotel was brisk. Lance tried to shake him off to go to the bathroom alone, but Keith wasn’t having it. As Lance “threw” himself down to vomit, he slipped behind him, tugging off the annoying wig so he could rest his chin on Lance’s shoulder. His boyfriend was shaking, his skin felt a little colder than its above barely warm natural state. Having played breakfast over in his mind, he still didn’t know why Lance had spooked, or why his ego had drawn in. The only thing he could think of was that that woman’s words brought up Lance’s fear of giving birth soon. No one had said anything to his precious mate. No one had barely looked their way. No. Everyone else was too busy fucking chewing like a herd of cows. The noise infuriating now he’d noticed.

  Staying with Lance until his stomach settled, his boyfriend wobbled on his feet as he stood. Keith had spent the time giving Lance belly rubs and trying smother him in his scent to calm him down. His own ego was rattled by their mates strange actions, making it almost mad at a situation where no one was to blame. Rinsing his mouth out, Lance stared at him in the mirror. He looked exhausted

“I’m sorry”

No. Lance had nothing to be sorry for

“Babe. Hey, it happens”

“I’m supposed to be the one in control here... and I freaked out for no real reason”

“It’s okay”

  Lance didn’t know he was semi echoing Keith’s earlier movement as he kicked the basin cabinet lightly

“No. No it’s not. You’re stressed. You’re in a new environment. You’re being forced to go out with me when I look like this. And I couldn’t even keep my shit together long enough to enjoy being out to breakfast with you. It’s fucking pathetic. I should be past all this shit”

“You’re overthinking things again”

Sighing deeply, Lance went to grab his toothbrush out the toilet bag, only to knock the contents out. Sensing the impending tears, he turned his boyfriend towards him, gathering him against him

“Babe. Hey. It’s okay. I’m not mad and you haven’t done anything wrong”

Lance shook his head again

“I’m sorry... God. I feel so fucking incompetent”

  Lance wasn’t incompetent. Keith ego saddened to hear their mate talk about himself like that. He wanted to make Lance smile again

“You’re not. Didn’t Dae say something about a fair?”

Again, Lance shook his head

“Sorry... I think I want to lay down for a bit... and I really need to pee. Can... can you get the blankets out the suitcase? They’re in the black one”

“And you’ll be okay?”

“I’m going to pee, then I’ll be out”

Kissing Lance’s hair, Keith found himself more anxious over Lance than the thought of seeing his father’s grave. Maybe Lance was more tired from the day before than he was letting on

“Alright. I’ll be waiting”

   When Lance came shuffling out the bathroom, he made straight for Keith. Keith having covered the top of the hotel bed with their three blankets, the bottom one acting as the sheet between them and the crappy bedding below. Lifting the corner back, his boyfriend climbed in beside him. Shoes and all. Lance had to be dead tired to not fight him over his shoes, which had kind of become part of Keith’s daily job. Laying himself against him, Lance rested his head on Keith’s chest, arm snaking around him. Somehow the feeling that came to mind was akin to missing that bottom step and terror flooring you for a moment as your stomach dropped. When Lance started crying, Keith could only let him cry it out. He’d gotten used to Lance having more emotions than he thought possible for a vampire. Lance’s motto seemed to be “sometimes you just need to cry it out”. Still. It sucked. They were so far from their friends. So far from home... and the hard bit was yet to come.

    *

Falling asleep Keith, Lance carefully pried himself off his boyfriend. He felt safer for being in the hotel room, and disoriented from how hard he’d seemed to nap. Creeping to the bathroom, then back into their room, Lance mentally sighed to himself over his emotions. He was being so dumb. Keith needed him... None of this... he couldn’t break down now. Taking his phone off the bedside table, the vampire crept back into the bathroom. He’d already talked to Keith, explaining that he didn’t get what was going on at all... Yet he wasn’t sure that Keith believed him. His people hating boyfriend had offered to take him to the markets on for Easter. That wasn’t Keith’s thing. That was Keith grasping at straws and trying to find a way to make him happy again.

  The call took a long time to answer, Krolia’s voice happy as Lance wondered if he was annoying her

“Hey, Lance! How are you?! Did you and Keith arrive safely, I swear that boy never thinks to let me know he’s okay”

They’d sent a message to group chat, and that was about it. With some small unpacking, they’d both been too tired for phone calls and any form of in-depth conversation

“Sorry, Krolia. Yeah, we got here okay. If this is a bad time, I can call back”

“No. Not at all. Is everything okay? I mean, I’m thrilled you called, but I’m confused as to why”

  That stung a little. He hadn’t spoken to Krolia all that much since Keith turned...

“I won’t keep you long. I have a question, and I think you’re about the only one who understands what it’s like to be pregnant”

He would have turned straight to Mami if she’d been alive. He felt like he really needed that maternal support right now. Hearing her voice would have driven home she was safe and she would have teased him for being hopeless

“Shoot away! Are my two grandbabies giving you grief already? I can have a stern talking to them, if they are”

   He wanted to reach through the phone and hug Krolia. Keith was absolutely amazing with him, yet he couldn’t fall pregnant. A small snort escaped without him meaning for it to

“They’re fine. Using my bladder as a trampoline and wriggling around in there. I... uh... I was wondering if when you were pregnant with Keith, if you ever felt... scared for no reason”

There was a pause. Lance grateful Krolia was taking the time to think about it

“Sometimes, yes. Especially in the line of work I do... Did something happen?”

So Krolia has only experienced fear when thinking of vampires and werewolves...

“We we’re having breakfast and all of a sudden I got scared. There was nothing there to be scared of. No one else who wasn’t human... but... I feel like I was too care free lately. I didn’t guard my scent. I didn’t think about what would happen had someone caught it. I didn’t think about bringing Keith here and what if there was someone like us here... I didn’t think about it... and I feel... like me not thinking about it is the same as me thinking Keith... is... something less than he was”

  Starting to cry, he felt really very stupid for his tears. He treasured Keith. But he’d been running around trailing his scent after him without a thought of the impact. All he’d wanted was to get things done and settle his ego

“Lance, you love that idiot son of mine. I’m sure at the first hint of danger you would have reacted. Is Keith there with you?”

“He’s asleep... I’m sorry for calling... I would have turned to Mami, but...”

“No. No. I’m glad you called. I want to be there for the both of you. Yes, I was scared. But nothing like Keith’s father. The slightest thing and he wanted to rush me off to the emergency department. You’re under a lot of stress. Have you been...?”

Lance shook his head, then remember Krolia couldn’t see him shaking his head

“Not yet. I freaked out and Keith had to take care of me...”

“You’re nearing the end of the pregnancy. Fears happen. I know that all too well. Especially how the insomnia can play on your mind. You’ve both been through so much, and I heard from Curtis that you were looking forward to some alone time with Keith. My opinion is that you let Keith take care of you. He’s strong”

“He’s not that strong when it comes to his dad”

“No, but keeping it in will only make him worry more. He loves you. If anything were to happen to you... well, I feel sorry for whoever crosses you. I believe both of you would sense actual danger”

“How am I supposed to know the difference?!”

“You’ll know. Take these feeling of fear and ignore them. Push them aside. They’re useless. Focus on you and my grand babies. You should be safe there. Coran didn’t mention anything about anyone living there that you should be wary about”

Lance sniffled. Krolia hadn’t given him much of anything useful and it sucked... but she tried in her own way

“Thanks, Krolia. I’m going to go back to Keith now”

“No worries. Let me know how everything goes. You can call me. Anything you two need...”

“Yeah. I will. I... thanks for talking to me...”

“Anytime. I’m your mother too. You can come to me”

  Coming out the bathroom, Keith was awake, meaning he’d heard some, if not all, Lance’s side of the phone call. Stopping a few steps into the room, he expected Keith to be angry at him for admitting he hadn’t thought of his precious boyfriend’s safety. He hadn’t thought of anything much when it came to the more important things he should have been almost paranoid about

“Babe... come here”

Holding his arm out, Lance caved instantly as he moved to climb into bed with Keith, his emotions getting the better of him as he started crying again. Krolia wasn’t Mami. She didn’t give advice like Mami did. The vampire craving that maternal touch, that Krolia had only taken the point off of

“That’s it. I’m here... I’m here, let it all out”

“I’m sorry”

Keith gentle ran his fingers through Lance’s hair, hushing him softly

“Shhhh... I’ve got you. I’m okay and you’re okay. It’s okay”

“I miss Mami”

“I know you do, babe. I know. Let it out... let it all out”

  He was such a selfish boyfriend, yet Keith loved him anyway. He didn’t deserve the love he felt from Keith, but he did notice that together like this, the fear had mostly gone away. There really was no substitute for cuddles with Keith.

[wlw-in-space]

Little! Luthor Reader

Prompt: Hey! I was wondering if you could do another Luthor one shot where Little!Luthor gets into a fight at school and gets beat up pretty bad and doesn’t tell Lena, but Kara notices some bruises on LL’s arm during a game night and asks Lena about it, to which Lena freaks out and asks about it. At first, Little!Luthor doesn’t want to come clean about the fight, but eventually admits the other kids started it because they were talking about how Lena is no better than Lex and Little!Luthor just wanted to protect Lena by not telling her about the teasing because of what a sensitive subject Lex can be

requested by @qualitytrashtho

warnings: mentions of violence and bullying

You smiled as you walked through the door of Kara’s apartment after Alex let you in.

You shared a hug with her and winced when she wrapped a tight arm around your waist.

“You okay?” Alex let go and sported the infamous Danvers Crinkle.

“All good, just a little sore from working out,” You faked a chuckle and lied through your teeth, feeling bad but not caring as much as you should’ve.

“You’ve got such great metabolism, kid, you’re like 14.”

“15, Alex,” You laughed. “And I’m trying to get muscle.”

You were wearing a shortsleeved white t-shirt underneath the baggy blue hoodie you had on and you were careful not to let your sleeves bunch up, fearing that one of you and your big sister’s shared friends would see your bruised arms.

You held your breath while greeting Lena, worried that she would know something was wrong. She gave a weird look but pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head regardless.

“I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, (y/n/n),” Lena smiled softly. “You’re a little late, where were you?”

“Just finishing up some homework,” You shrugged.

“Did Isa drop you off here?” Lena asked, mentioning your best friend.

You nodded, “Yep.” And that was that. No more questions for the meantime.

After a few minutes of everyone talking and laughing, you all sat down collectively in a circle, you sitting in between Lena and Alex as you usually did.

(not that the seating really matters for everyone who was at game night, but if you’re curious, the circle went: J’onn, James, Brainy, Nia, Winn, Maggie, Alex, you, Lena, and Kara.)

Kara whipped out a deck of Uno cards and shuffled them out to everyone and just like that, the game began.

It was a long one too, and Lena was dubbed as “impossible to beat”, but tonight she was the bested by you, Alex, and Brainy.

You and Alex high fived joyfully as you’d both managed to beat her and Lena shook her head laughing as she looked down at her cards, trying to figure out the next one she was going to play.

Kara was watching you and Alex, laughing, but a frown grew on her face when she noticed the bruises littered on your arm after one of the sleeves of your hoodie fall down your arm as you high five Alex.

You noticed it fall but covered it up and moved your sleeve back, hoping no one had noticed.

Kara leaned over to Lena and started to whisper in her ear, “Why does (Y/n) have bruises all over her arm?”

Lena looks up from her cards to face Kara and raises a brow, “What are you talking about?”

“She has bruises on her arm,” Kara thought about taking off her glasses for a second to scan the rest of your body out of concern, but decided against it, not wanting to invade your privacy. “Maybe in other places, I don’t want to check, but you should ask her about them.”

“Yeah - uno!” Lena grinned placing down her last card and turning back to Kara, “I’m going to talk to her about it right now. Do you mind if we use your room?”

“No, not at all, make sure she’s okay,” Kara offered a small smile and rubbed Lena’s shoulder gently before your sister scooted closer to you so she could whisper in your ear.

“Can I talk to you for a second, please?”

You nodded softly and got up, excusing yourself and following Lena into Kara’s bedroom before sitting at the edge of Kara’s bed, “Is everything okay, Lee?”

“Why do you have bruises on your arm?” Lena bit her lip and leaned against the wall. She wasn’t angry, you could tell that, she just always seemed slightly hurt when you kept things from her.

“Sorry?” You raised a brow, internally cursing at yourself for not hiding your arm better.

“Kara saw your arm, (y/n),” Lena sighed.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not even that big of a deal, I just have a few bruises here and there.”

“They’re not just on your arm?” Lena’s eyes widened.

“No, they’re not, but I’m fine, okay?” You were starting to get defensive, you really didn’t want to talk about this.

“What happened?” Lena looked so worried about you. Your heart clenched at the sight of her concerned expression and you sighed.

“I promise I’m fine, Lena,” You shook your head. She didn’t need to know.

“I’m being serious, (Y/n) (y/m/n) Luthor. If not for you then, then do it for me. Who hurt you?”

“Fine, this girl has been saying shit about you when I’m around her to get me annoyed and I got sick and tired of it, so I told her to shut the fuck up and that someone should get her a mute button, and she got really pissed off at me. We got in a fight and she kicked my ass because she had two of her stupid friends with her,” you sighed.

“What could she have possibly said that was worth getting hurt over?” Lena was shocked, honestly. She knew you had the balls to put people in their place but you were always so polite, even when people were being rude.

“It started out with her just saying that you were an idiot, which is honestly stupid for her to say in the first place when she has a brain the size of a popcorn kernel, so she shouldn’t have been talking,” You began, not wanting to tell Lena, but you knew you were going to have to tell her anyways, so there was no point in arguing with her. “Then after that time when James got in front of you and took that bullet for you she said that he shouldn’t have because maybe it would teach you not to be such a monster. God, I hate this, okay,” You interrupted yourself to sniffle softly and wipe your eyes. You couldn’t imagine losing your big sister and the fact that someone wished for her to get hurt made you so upset. “And then, today, she said that you were no better than Lex and I - I just couldn’t take it anymore, Lee,” You shook your head and let out a quiet sob after bringing your hands up to cover your face.

Lena came over and pulled you into a warm embrace, wrapping protective arms around your waist, “I’m so sorry you have to deal with people like that, honey.”

You shook your head against Lena’s neck, “Don’t - don’t apologize. You have it worse than I do.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for people to talk to you like that,” Lena pulled away gently so she could see your face and brushed your tears away with her thumbs.

You sniffled again and looked up at Lena, whose eyes were a bit watery, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I just. I dunno, I know Lex is a sore topic for you.”

“Next time tell me, okay?” Lena raised a concerned brow.

“I will, I promise,” You nodded and held out your pinkie, waiting for Lena to link hers with yours before both of you stuck out and kissed your own thumbs, a tradition you guys had started when you were much younger.

“Thank you, (y/n/n),” Lena smiled softly and brushed your hair back, kissing your forehead gently.

“Now let me see these bruises of yours,” Lena sighed softly and waited as you shifted a bit, taking off your hoodie and revealing your bruised arms before lifting up the bottom of your shirt to show the large bruises you had on your rib cage.

“That’s all,” You shrugged.

Lena shook her head at how unphased you were, reaching down to gently touch one of the bruises that seemed to be worse than all the others.

When you winced at the soft touch, Lena withdrew her hand quickly.

“No, I’m fine. Just hurts a little,” You said before she could apologize and smiled softly. “Can I put my hoodie back on, please?”

“Sure, but when we get home I’m taking care of those bruises and we’re going to have to do something about those girls,” Lena nodded as you put your hoodie back on.

You chuckled at Lena and got up, heading towards the door and holding your hand out.

Lena took it and you squeezed gently before walking back to your spots on the ground next to each other in time to be shuffled in for the next round.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Pieces of People - Part 5

Summary: Vampire y/n returns to Mystic Falls after finding out her friend Stefan Salvatore has gone off the rails with blood, what she doesn’t expect to happen is find out her deep rooted connections with the Mikaelson family, in particular – Elijah.

Word Count: 3250

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Warnings: Sum swearing

A/N: Badassery

MASTERLIST FOR THIS STORY, 

MASTERLIST

It was safe to say that y/n had barely got an hour of sleep that night. Partially because of her issue with the entire Mikaelson family, partially because in the room next to hers she could hear Damon’s entire evening with one of them, Rebekah.

It was such a bad night that when the light first began to hum through the edges of her curtain, y/n was already dressed and sitting at her desk. She had a pen flicking back and forth across her fingers, she had described everything that had happened the night before into her journal and had even drawn out some of the images that had come into her mind.

Soon, she couldn’t bear the four walls of her room anymore and walked down into the living room to find Stephan with his nose in a book.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Y/n asked already pouring herself a drink, well that didn’t take long.

“Hmm,” Stefan said not looking up from his book, “I actually slept quite well. After so many years living with Damon, you learn to just block it out.” He turned the page.

“I wasn’t so lucky. I think I’ll pick up some ear muffs today,” Y/n took a sip, “I still can’t believe he brought home Rebekah.”

“Wait,” Stefan’s book snapped shut, “The girl in his room is Rebekah?” Y/n grinned and nodded, “God,” Stefan muttered under his breath.

“It’s just his self-destructive tendencies,” Y/n sighed collapsing onto the couch next to Stefan, leaning her head against his shoulder as she drank.

“How many times can we use that as an excuse?” Stefan opened his book back up, “Did I tell you he tried to go after Kol last night.”

“Kol?”

“The Mikaelson’s little brother,”

“Ugh,” Y/n squeezed her eyes tight, she had just forgotten about that family.

“What’s your plan?” Stefan asked, his eyes still scanning the words on the paper in front of him.

“I have no idea,” Y/n sighed after a moment, “But, I do know that I’m not backing out. I mean it all makes sense. First, I hear their names and they feel so familiar, then I meet them last night and…I just would be stupid to ignore how I felt then and I was thinking, they’re originals…they could compel me to forget,” Stefan’s eyes drifted from his book to the fire.

“That’s…true,” Stefan pondered. Silence settled between the two of them for a couple of minutes before, “But what could have happened that was so bad that you had to have your memories taken away?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n sighed, “But whatever it is. I deserve to know, I have the right to know.” It was at this moment that two figures floated gracefully down the stairs, even if their appearances were not.

“Let’s not make a big deal of this,” Rebekah’s relaxed hum echoed into the room, both Stefan and y/n’s heads shifted over to the door where they were headed, Damon wearing nothing but a sheet around his waist.

“My thoughts exactly,” Damon smiled at her before spotting y/n and Stefan on the couch, “You two look cosy.” These words caused Rebekah to spin around, clearly ready to defend herself to whoever was sitting there, but one of the people who were, caused her to freeze.

“Y/n?” Rebekah’s voice sounded slightly strangled, a sudden anger swelled thick and fast within y/n. She was simply so sick of there being so much God damn evidence that the Mikaelson family knew her and yet she still had no idea how she knew them or any of her memories back.

“Do I know you?” Y/n basically growled through gritted teeth, surprising herself.

“I um…” Rebekah shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, “I’m leaving.” She said after a moment and Damon simply nodded behind her, opening the door to a ready to knock Elena.

“I think we should leave,” Stefan whispered quickly into y/n’s ear.

“Aww, and miss all the drama,” Stefan simply gave a y/n a look before standing quickly and heading upstairs. Ugh, sometimes that boy is too moral. Y/n clearly became a fly in the water as Damon and Elena began to argue, Elena, talking about how Rebekah tried to kill her less than 48 hours ago and Damon telling her that last night had nothing to do with her. Y/n was just nearly getting bored when Elena said something that had everything y/n was interested in.

“You should know…that I basically just signed all of their death sentences – Including Elijah!”

“Why do you care about Elijah?” Damon snappily responded.

“What’s this about Elijah?” Y/n emerged from the shadows of the couch giving Elena a small fright.

“Oh God, y/n, you’re here,” Elena sighed, one hand over her heart.

“Yeah I…kind of live here now.” Y/n glanced between the two of her friends quickly before continuing, “What’s this about Elijah.”

“Well,” Elena looked at Damon, “Last night, Esther Mikaelson used my blood to link all five of the original children as one. The reason for that being, she wants to kill all of them.”

“But…”

“Well, if something happens to one of them, it happens to all. So, if one of them dies…”

“They all die.” Damon finished off.

“Oh,” Y/n sighed heavily, this was the last thing she needed right now, “So what are we going to do to stop that?”

“Do?” Damon’s brows jumped up his face, “We are not going to do anything. All of them dying is a good thing, remember?”

“Damon, I still don’t know about my relationship with them.” Y/n moved closer to him, “Look, I’m not asking for you to help keep all of them alive forever I could never ask that of you. I’m just asking for one of them, either Elijah or Klaus.”

“I vote Elijah,” Elena said from behind.

“Y/n,” Damon’s voice was like shattered glass, “You’re not going to be able to care about your past if you’re dead. Having all the originals wiped out is a blessing and I refuse to stop such a mighty act of karma. Besides, your past is not my problem, but killing the originals, is.”

Silence sat thick and heavy in the room, and after a few minutes Elena turned around to leave, y/n quickly following.

“Hey, where are you two going?” Damon called after them.

“We’re going to go do a good thing,” Elena’s voice rang out. Y/n stopped briefly at the door and looked over her shoulder.

“But don’t worry,” Y/n said, “It’s not your problem.”

“Like Damon was proud of himself for sleeping with her,” Elena sighed at the end of her bed, “Is it working?” She glanced down at where Bonnie was focusing on a pot of sage.

“Nope,” Caroline came in, her blonde hair bouncing as she moved, “Look, I don’t think you should worry as much as you do about Damon, he’s clearly not worth it.”

“Caroline’s right,” Y/n popped up from Elena’s desk where she was flicking through a teen magazine, “Damon sleeping with Rebekah is just him acting out as he always does. It’s his self-destructive tendencies. He’s had it ever since Katherine, probably giving her – or himself – a reason why his love was not enough.”

“How do you know so much about Damon?” Caroline’s brows furrowed.

“Like I said,” Y/n smiled at her, “I was his best friend for a while, I helped him through his shit and Lexi helped Stefan through his. Lexi and I were kind of like a weird vampire version of Fairly Odd Parents.”

“You knew Lexi?” Elena asked, perching on the end of the bed.

“Yeah,” Y/n smiled sadly, “She’s amazing, isn’t she? When I heard she died and…how I nearly came to Mystic Falls and beat up Damon myself.”

“Why didn’t you?” Caroline asked, amused.

“I was busy in northern England,”

“Doing what?” Y/n glanced up.

“It’s a really…long story.” The three girls glanced between themselves.

“We’ve got time.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Caroline spoke through a mouth full of popcorn, “So if last night, Klaus felt like a lover to you does that mean that you two have had sex?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n grimaced, sucking on a salty uncooked kernel, “But God I hope not, not after all the shit he’s done.”

“Understandable,” Bonnie nodded. There was a pause, and Bonnie shifted awkwardly on the bed, glancing between her friends.

“Look you guys should know,” Bonnie began, “Esther came to see me and Abby this morning,”

“What?” Elena exclaimed.

“Yeah…the rituals happening tonight.”

“What?” Elena exclaimed again, “But Elijah…”

“I know,” Bonnie said, clearly not that bothered about him.

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy,” Elena said looking between her friends, “But I can’t let him die…it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I know,” Caroline sighed, “But if it means we can kill Klaus…”

No one responded. Y/n knew at that moment that the majority of people in this town would think that killing Elijah was a small price to pay if it also meant that Klaus was dead. If only she could get her memories back before their bodies turned.

Y/n was laying on her bed, a playlist of songs she didn’t recognise echoing through her room. The images and ideas and questions that were whirring around her head had given her a headache a few hours ago that somehow was still pounding.

“Y/n, darling!” Damon’s voice drifted up the stairs calling her back to reality. Furrowing her brows slightly at Damon calling her ‘darling’ y/n rolled off her bed, brushing down her clothes before heading downstairs.

“What do you need now-” Y/n began asking as she moved down the steps, but when she reached the bottom she found a sight that she definitely didn’t expect. Damon and Stefan looked as though they were having some sort of standoff with none other than Elijah Mikaelson. Y/n opened her mouth to say something but found that there was something stuck in her throat.

“Y/n why don’t you put on that short, little red dress I like so much?” Damon’s eyes were fully fixed on Elijah watching for his reaction. Elijah kept his eyes on y/n and y/n was looking at Damon, like some kind of triangle of intense staring.

“And…why Damon, would I do that?” Y/n found her voice and proceeded to watch carefully as Damon smirked at Elijah before turning to her, giving her a knowing look.

“Because…I’m going to need a distraction.”

It was less than 10 minutes later and y/n had pulled on the red dress, a long dark coat and her favourite classic pair of Louis Vuitton heels.

“So, what’s the plan again?” Y/n asked as she headed for the door.

“Look, all you need to know is that Klaus and Kol have been spotted by Rick at the Mystic Grill, and what I need you and Caroline to go do is distract them.”

“Okay,” Y/n flicked her hair out from her coat, “Just keep me updated on anything you need me to do okay? I want to help.”

“Yeah, I know, I know…just go distract for now.” Damon smiled, practically pushing her out the door.

“Oh, don’t worry, I plan to do a lot more than that.”

“Y/n!” Caroline’s sweet voice called out over the mild chatter from inside the Mystic Grill.

“Caroline,” Y/n smiled broadly, running up to the girl and giving her a quick hug, “Damn girl,” Y/n grinned looking Caroline up and down, “Klaus is going to lose his shit.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Caroline smiled as her breath made a small cloud in the cold night’s air, curling her arm around y/n’s elbow, “Come on, let’s go and be distracting.”

Walking into the bar the first person y/n noticed was Rick who was currently talking on the phone, and by the sound of it, he was talking to Damon. The plan was, Caroline would distract Klaus and take him outside whilst y/n remained inside and finally got to have a little chat with Kol Mikaelson.

“Is that the girl from last night?” She heard what must be Kol saying from across the room, “On the arm of…wait…no,”

“Oh yeah,” Klaus murmured, “She’s back in town.”

“Does Elijah know?” The two were talking so quietly it was almost impossible to hear, but the name ‘Elijah’ recently stuck out like a sore thumb in any and all conversations. Taking off her jacket, y/n chucked it onto the coat rack before following Caroline up the stairs towards the bar.

“Caroline!” Klaus called out excitedly, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Hmm, I’d rather die of thirst,” She responded lightning quick before turning on her heels and striding confidently out of the bar. Klaus glanced at his brother before standing and quickly chasing after the beautiful blonde but not before pausing in front of y/n. He looked as though he was going to say something, but the thought passed and soon he was on his way.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Kol said after a moment, a boyish grin stretched across his cheeks.

“I think she can just about handle herself, don’t you?” Y/n smiled softly at the man, it was strange, he didn’t scream any immediate memories. Leaning over the bar y/n ordered a drink, tonight, she would start investigating. 

“Oh, come on!” Kol laughed.

“No!” Y/n grinned back.

“Let me buy you one drink, that’s all I ask.”

“I’ll let you buy me one drink if you can remember my friend’s name, the blonde one who walked in with me.” Y/n smiled mischievously, she’d hate to admit but she was actually having a really nice time.

“Oh, come on,” Kol groaned, but he was still smiling.

“Hey, I’ve mentioned her at least 5 times. It’s not my fault you don’t listen.”

“I listen!” Kol exclaimed before ordering himself a drink.

“Prove it,” Y/n took a sip of her bourbon.

“I know your name is y/n l/n that you were born in y/h/t and you used to be a flower girl, you have a brother named Alex and you were born in 1111.” Y/n felt her muscles tighten, her glass resting on her lip. Alex’s brows furrowed as he watched y/n’s stiff actions, “Did I overstep my boundaries?”

“No, it’s um,” Y/n felt like smiling but she pulled herself together, “Well you see Kol Mikaelson, I never told you when I was born, yes I told you I am a vampire but not when I was born. Also, I never knew that I was a flower girl…or that I even had a brother.” She watched as Kol’s face turned from playful to emotionless, it was like watching a coin flip, “Now, tell me, how could you know that? Unless you…knew me, 900 years ago?”

“Hmm,” Kol chuckled under his breath, pulling his coat back on, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In a flash, y/n had pinned his hand onto the bar, sure he was stronger, but she had his attention.

“Look, I know you know me, in fact, I know your whole family knows me. So why don’t we just cut the crap and stop playing this game where you all think I’m a complete idiot.” Kol looked down at her hand before looking straight into her eyes, all the playfulness gone.

“I’m not the one you should be having this conversation with y/n.”

“Oh, really?” Y/n cocked her head to the side, “And why’s that.”

“Because y/n,” He smiled softly, “It wasn’t me who you fell in love with.”

Something about that sentence just tugged on y/n’s final straw. Quickly, and whilst no one was looking, y/n grabbed a fistful of Kol’s hair at the back of his head and smashed his head straight through the bar, bringing the top half of his body down where y/n’s other hand had a certain dagger dipped in ash of the white oak tree was waiting to put him to rest. She pushed it through his heart and watched as the skin at the back of his neck turned grey and veiny.

Sighing heavily, she brought the ‘dead’ body up and leant it over the bar twisting around to check that no one noticed, thankfully everyone nearby probably thought that the smash had come from somewhere behind the counter. She quickly gave Rick and his date the thumbs up before turning back around. Glancing over she noticed Kol’s fresh drink left untouched.

“Um, bartender?” She smiled broadly at the cute man behind the bar, he immediately smiled back and leant in a little closer to her. That’s the thing about vampires, they have a small but powerful attraction to their prey, kind of like a magnetic booby trap. “Is this drink pre-paid?” She said sweetly.

“Um, yeah,” It seems as though the bar-tender just noticed Kol, slumped over and motionless.

“Nothing to worry about here,” She quickly said into his eyes and immediately his smile grew, and he moved away.

“Well…Kol.” She reached over and picked up the drink and took a sip, “Looks like you’ll be buying me a drink after all.”

It was a few minutes later and y/n and Rick were dragging the body of Kol Mikaelson into the back alley with Rick’s new girlfriend and Damon looking on.

“Thanks, y/n, nice work,” Damon swiftly gave y/n a high five after she dropped the body.

“Ahh, I think it’s you who I should be thanking,” Y/n bent down and looked right at the lifeless eyes of the boy she had been laughing with literally 5 minutes ago, “For walking right into my trap.”

Damon was just going to respond when something flashed by, swiftly pulling the dagger out of Kol’s chest and taking out both Rick and his girlfriend. When it came to a standstill it was obviously Klaus, an angry Klaus.

“I should have killed you months ago,” Klaus glowered at Damon before turning to y/n, “And as for you…”

“Oh, come on Klaus, you wouldn’t hurt an old friend, would you?” Klaus just squinted his eyes and cocked his head.

“You don’t remember.” He said knowingly, a glowering smile pulling at his lips.

“Remember?” Y/n felt a smile slowly creep on her face, “Who said anything about forgetting? But thanks...for confirming my suspicions, and trust me, after the enlightening chat I just had with your brother, you’ll be hearing from me soon.”

Shortly after that, Klaus disappeared with Kol and then, Damon disappeared. Y/n was aware that she wasn’t fully in on whatever plan Damon and Stefan had, and she didn’t expect to be. She still had some way to go to be back in the position of trust she was in with them so many years ago. So, she made sure that Rick and his girlfriend got home safely before she herself went back to the Salvatore mansion.

Still in her dress and heels, she rapidly wrote down everything she figured out that night, words flowing from her pen like blood from a wound.

But soon she found herself stuck thinking of the way that Elijah had looked at her tonight, his face trademark emotionless but his eyes, his eyes bled grief and pain and punishment. Following the thought of Elijah, she heard what Kol had said before ringing in her ears ‘it wasn’t me who you loved’.

So she had loved him. Or maybe she had loved Klaus. Or maybe she was a lot more like her old friend Katherine than she had ever thought. 

next part

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