#there's a fic called 'the poem ends soft as it began (i loved my friend)'

[a-crawling-chaos]

hey. hey what if john doe and arthur lester.

[orqheuss]

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) PART 1

(Ominis/Sebastian/GN!Reader FLUFF)

Parts: 1 2 3

Summary:

After everything the three of you have been through together, there's only one grand journey left: marriage, and the sweet hereafter that comes with it.

***

The finale of my series "Life is not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis" Can be read as a stand alone fic! Title from the E.E. Cummings poem "i carry your heart with me (i carry it in]"

The scent of sweet maple syrup and savory bacon stirred you from your slumber, bringing a smile to your face as you greeted the new day. You could feel the soft kiss of the morning sun flutter across your closed eyelids, and you stretched your limbs upwards like a flower blooming in spring. Throwing your arms downwards, your palms landing on each side of you with a soft ‘pap,’ you slid along the silk sheets as you searched for one or both of your partners— your Slytherin boys were both absent from the bed. A small, grumpy frown began to tweak at the corners of your mouth until you heard Ominis’ angelic giggles come from downstairs, a mischievous tint to his voice, followed by a boisterous, indignant shout from Sebastian. Even with the size of the house you’d inherited, you could still pinpoint their voices in any crowded room, no matter the volume or the magnitude of the space. You smiled again, your lips turning upwards and warding away any semblance of sadness that briefly crept into your heart as you sighed contently. The band on your left ring finger dazzled in the sunrise, sending tiny rainbows along the creamy yellow walls all around.

Other than having them beside you, arms crossed over your torso and faces pressed into your skin as they groggily entered the world of consciousness, there was no other way that you would want to wake up. They were your world— your little slice of heaven, your Versailles. You would know them in any timeline— in life, in death, in sleep, at the end of the world, and even in the sweet hereafter.

Padding towards the large windowsill in your master bedroom, the glass stretching from floor to ceiling with a grand arch decorating along the top, you stop to run your hands along the fine dress robes hung on the coat rack. Three sets of wedding clothes swayed in the fresh breeze, each regal and beautiful in their own way. What could only be described as pure, childlike giddiness filled your body as you realized what day it was. In just under ten hours, you’d be married to your two loves— your soulmates.

Drawing the shimmering chiffon curtains, you gazed out at the beautiful countryside that stretched through your estate. Fresh dew coated the soft grass, wetting the hooves of the speckled deer that grazed in the field just over the hill, snacking on wild hydrangeas and buttercups, and teaching their newborn fowls how to prance. From the trees came the gentle cry of morning doves, fluffing their feathers as they wake to the sunrise and singing their sweet birdsong for their friends. The sky painted everything a fiery rose, shades of pinks and purples, blues and oranges streaking across the horizon and glowing through the bewitching sanctuary you called home. It was like something directly out of one of the fairytales you had read as a child. Just under the window, their trouser legs rolled up to keep them dry and their messy bedheads cascading over their faces, your closest friends raised the tent you would be using for the ceremony. You couldn’t help but cast your eyes over the beauty before you, both of nature and of a familiar, domestic love— your eyes softening and absolute adoration swirling in your chest.

The house, or mansion really, was left for Ominis when he was of age by his dear aunt Noctua. His wretched family had hidden the details from him for the longest time, stowing it away in their family vault at Gringotts where they thought he would never find it. You remembered the day he left for the wizard bank, keen on clearing out every last knut he was owed before he cut them off forever. You had expected to see at least a few bags of galleons weighing down his hands and pockets as he apparated into your shared living room later that day, but what you didn’t expect was that and a rolled up scroll clenched in his fist, tears streaking down his cheeks as a shaky smile stretched his lips. He took you by the shoulders and dropped the bit of parchment into your waiting hands, letting himself be enveloped by his brunette partner as you read over the words on the page before dissolving into sobs yourself. The three of you had a home, a place outside of the never ending sounds of London, and a place where you all could grow old together in the comfort of each other’s arms. Maybe a few little ones could even be in your future, their tiny legs running up and down the long halls and twirling around in the private ballroom. Dreams flashed behind your eyelids like a moving picture; little boys and girls with ashy blond hair and coffee toned eyes, their curls unruly atop their heads and birthmarks scattered along their skin like tiny constellations. Maybe they’d have your nose, or your temperament, or maybe even your magic— only time would tell. A calming warmth filled your chest, contentedness enveloping your entire body and sending a pleasant hum through your mind, stretching from your ears to the tips of your fingers and singing with magic. Your wistful sigh filled the air around you as you smiled down at your friends again.

Maybe one day— that’s what the three of you decided long ago. One day soon, you hoped, but simply one day was as good as any. You had more than enough love in your heart for a few more souls.

A knock broke you from your thoughts of the future, the smell of breakfast stronger in your nose and the sound of your darling fiance’s whispers filling your ears. You smiled as the door opened, letting your body fall gently against the glass of the bay window as you took in the sight before you. Sebastian poked his head in first, his eyes jumping over to the bed looking for you before his eyebrows tweaked briefly in confusion. He craned his neck slightly, and the most glorious smile broke across his face when he saw you standing there in the morning sun. You looked divine — the orange rays caught your hair just right and made the strands look like pure heavenly fire. A look of what could only be described as instinctual, encompassing love poured into his eyes, and yours glowed in tandem.

The brunette jostled slightly, his face turning into a slight frown of annoyance at the impatience of his second partner.

A huff came from behind him. “Honestly Sebastian, can you move, please? This tray is heavy.” Ominis shouldered his way into the room, lightly shoving his freckled love out of the way as he carried in a small feast of delicious looking food. “I’m sure they look ravishing as always, but good lord, have some decorum.”

The taller boy stumbled into the room, catching himself against the door frame and sending a scathing look at the blond as he crossed the room and placed the meal on the coffee table across from the bed where there was a little seating area. You giggled lightly at their antics, smiling behind the hand covering your mouth. Sebastian turned his gaze back to yours and leveled you with an equally tiffed look, but even still his amber eyes held a softness at the sound of your laugh. Ominis unsheathed his wand from his pocket, quickly scanning the familiar room for your aura. He could feel how happy you truly were through his wand, hear the soft thrum of your heartbeat as you took in the two loves of your life. An equally lovestruck smile graced his face as he felt you by the window, basking in the warmth of a new day and the joy of what was to come in mere hours. He quickly crossed the room, taking you into his arms and twirling you away from the perfect view. More laughter spilled from your smiling lips, filling the room with a rapturous mirth and mingling with the song of his. You briefly caught sight of Sebastian still leaning against the door jam between turns around the room, the softest look you had ever seen from him coloring his features— like you both put the stars in his sky, like you turned his world and kept his heart beating. Your whole soul leaped with happiness.

Ominis pulled you against his chest, the backs of your knees brushing against your unmade marriage bed as he rested his forehead against yours, steadying you from the blinding dizziness that turned your world.

He murmured softly to you, his breath brushing against the apples of your cheeks. “Good morning, little dove.”

You lightly kissed him in return, taking him further into your arms and letting him envelop you in his contentedness. You closed your eyes and drank him in— everything about him called to you like a lighthouse in a torrential storm. He was everything. They both were your everything— your life and your death. They were the moon that ebbed your tides, the sun that warmed your skin, the stars that caught your wishes and dreams, the earth that held you steady and safe. You wouldn’t wish for anyone else to spend your life with.

You could hear Sebastian’s soft steps as he crept closer to the both of you, a smirk dancing at his mouth. “As lovely as this is, I got up very early this morning to cook for the both of you and I would like to go back to sleep.”

He stepped into your space, wrapping his arms around your forms and pressing delicate kisses to the tops of your heads. You moved to leave the tangle of their limbs, eager to eat the hypnotizingly good smelling breakfast that called to you on a primal level, but the brunette seemed to have other plans. He tightened his hug, laughing at your noises of shock as he hoisted you both into the air and unceremoniously dropped you atop the soft bed sheets. He all but shoved his way onto the bed, wiggling around like a worm in the dirt, squeezing you in the middle of him and Ominis and wrapping his arms around your waist like they belonged there.

You giggled against the blond’s shoulder, your breath warming his skin through the fabric of his nightshirt. “Sebastian—”

A hum broke off your train of thought, the brunette hugging you tighter to his chest and shoving his face into the crook of your neck; you could feel his toothy grin against your pulse. “Nope, you both are staying right here with me— no arguing on my wedding day.”

“Our wedding day,” Ominis drawled from your other side, but relenting nonetheless, crossing his arms with Sebastian’s and threading their fingers together on your hip bone. You couldn’t hold back the giggles that spilled from you.

“You both are ridiculous.”

Ominis smiled softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Oh most definitely, but you love us.”

You sighed contently, your heart nearly bursting from your chest with how much you loved them. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

There, tucked in their arms in your king size bed, a sweet birdsong flowing through the window and a cool breeze brushing against your skin, was exactly where you wanted to be for the rest of your life.

This— This was bliss.

Of course, peace could never last long with your friends around. You and your partners were startled from the sweet call of sleep by a loud bang— your bedroom door ostentatiously swung open and smacked against the wall just beyond. Anne Sallow strutted into the room, her eyes covered and a mischievous smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Everybody put your trousers back on, I’m here for the ones that aren't my brother!”

Sebastian groaned into your neck, lamenting on the small iota of tranquility he was able to snag before the hustle and bustle of the day reached him. Ominis did the same into your hair, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer. They both spoke at the same time, an equal amount of whining lacing their tones.

“Bugger off, Anne. I just laid down—”

“I thought you considered me a brother as well? Quite offensive if you ask me—”

The brunette girl rolled her eyes, peeking out through her fingers and taking in the sight before her. Deciding it was safe and everyone was in proper levels of dress, she dropped her hand and leaned heavily against the door frame, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at the three poor souls she called her family wiggle around helplessly on their bed. You could hear the eye roll in her voice.

“Yes, Ominis, you’re my brother too. I’m here to collect those that don’t share a face with me.”

The blond sighed heavily, giving up on his comfort and rolling away from your tangled crossing of arms and legs. Sebastian bemoaned a high pitch whine into the silken sheets when you did the same, letting all of his body weight flop dramatically atop the blankets and pillows.

Ominis embraced the standing Sallow twin, rocking her gently back and forth before placing a soft kiss on her temple. “Now that’s more like it, my dear.”

You greeted Anne similarly, hugging her with all of your strength and laughing lightly as she scolded you for dragging the boys back into bed with you. You shook your head at her, gesturing towards her sulking brother who had decided to sit up finally, a pout stretching the corners of his mouth and his shoulders slumped over his lap.

“Don’t blame me, you’re demon spawn of a brother all but tackled us when he got back to the room.”

Sebastian gawked at you, looking highly offended at your verbiage before turning his face back to the bedspread and muttering to himself. You distinctly caught the tail end of what he was saying, something along the lines of “—didn’t hear you complaining.”

Anne held you at arms length, shaking her head and rolling her eyes again at her stubborn mule of a sibling. She took one of your hands into hers, grabbing Ominis’ with the other and began to pull you out of the room with her, calling over her shoulder at the still very much pouting freckled man.

“I’m taking your spouses with me, Sebastian! Garreth and Imelda will be up momentarily to help you get ready.”

You could hear your future husband's complaints from down the hallway. “Why them!? It’ll be a miracle if my dress robes aren’t covered with assorted potion ingredients or torn to shreds by that feisty devil woman and her ginger puppy.”

You snorted, letting Anne drag you the rest of the way down the grand staircase and into the foyer where the rest of your friends were waiting. The Sallow girl spun Ominis towards the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw of your group, smiling at his laugh when Poppy and Amit caught him before he could fall, before shoving you into Natty’s arms.

She stood before you all, hands on hips and a grin on her face. The girl clapped her hands together resolutely, speaking to her audience like she was delivering a grand speech to the Minister of Magic himself.

“Alright, let's get you both ready to walk down the aisle, shall we?”

And with that, you both were whisked away in different directions and towards your future.

***

like what you read? here's more!

[monaespa]

nct fic recommandations.

I didn’t write any of these! I just thought that it’ll be fun to gather all of the fics that i really liked into one list!

(frequently updated!)

⌀ taeil

not yet :(

⌀ johnny

➥ i’ll send all my loving to you by @sehunniepotwrites

❝When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh– the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate..❞

#holidays!au, college!au, soulmate!au, friends-with-benefits!au,  friends-to-lovers!au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, slow burn

note; pls this was so sad 😩

⌀ taeyong

not yet :(

⌀ yuta 

not yet :(

⌀ kun

not yet :(

⌀ doyoung

not yet :(

⌀ ten

not yet :(

⌀ jaehyun

oneshots

➥ die for you by @ppangjae

❝Jaehyun swore to never fall in love again after five unrequited crushes. But when all of his best friends get married and leave him behind, he might just break his oath. He just hopes that this time around, it’s not another unrequited love because he’s tired of throwing up flower petals.❞

#fluff, angst, friends2lovers au, hanahaki disease. 

➥ luxury by @nctstudio

❝jung jaehyun was granted the luxury of not having to worry whether or not he could afford something. you watched his family slowly grow more and more wealthy over the years as his relationship with you simultaneously began to disappear. jaehyun truly had it all: the looks, the smile, the money. but he never had the luxury of expressing how he feels about you. ❞

#rich kid! jaehyun, childhood friend!y/n.

WARNINGS! cliche plot, make out scene, suggestion, sexual jokes, swearing, brief mentions of dark humour, light use/mentions of drugs, smoking, vaping and underage drinking.

note; this was so good that i had to finish it as soon as i started to read it. 

➥ seven letters by @ppangjae

sequel

❝ On a camping trip, you find a message in a bottle that’s been washed up the shore, only to find out that it’s a message from you in the future. Your message tells you three things:

1. You must make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because,

2. He’s your soulmate and

3. Because of your future self’s mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.❞

#soulmate!au, childhood friends to lovers!au, slight fake dating!au, fluff, angst.

note; put y’all’s seatbelts on cause it’s gon be a rollecoaster 😫

⌀ winwin

not yet :(

⌀ jungwoo

➥ three by @starlightkun

❝ in which you have to teach jungwoo how to be a dad, and get more than you signed up for in return ❞

#ceo jungwoo, single dad jungwoo, nanny reader, enemies to lovers au, fluff.

note; THIS WAS SO CUTE 😫😫

⌀ lucas

not yet :(

⌀ mark

oneshots

➥ how to get the guy by @hannie-dul-set​

❝ why haven’t you kissed me yet? ❞

#college! au, friends to lovers! au, fluff, humor.

➥ superhero by @nctstudio

❝ mark had always promised you that he would be your spiderman whenever you were in trouble as kids. and in fair honesty, he lived up to his promise for quite some time. but as the two of you age and progress further on with life, mark slowly started to become your superhero who mended your heart in times of your heartbreak instead. ❞

#childhood friends to lovers au, fluff.

note; PDHDJJDHD THIS IS SO CUTE

series

➥ in the long run by @hyucksie 

part one, part two. 

❝You and your best friend Mark travel to the future and end up meeting a little boy who calls you “mommy” and “daddy.”.❞

#fluff, angst, time travel! au, best friends to lovers! au

WARNINGS! mentions of parental neglect, swearing. 

note; THIS IS SO GOOD?????? I READ IT LIKE 5 TIMES IN A ROW. 

⌀ xiaojun

not yet :(

⌀ hendery 

not yet :(

⌀ renjun

oneshots

series

social media au

➥ fireflies by @markleebee

❝rich asshole renjun who has a soft spot for cats meets scholarship student yn, who just so happens to work at the local animal shelter or alternatively: renjun's really bad at flirting and thinks that money is the answer to every problem. ❞

#fluff, angst (?), college au, enemies2friends2lovers.

WARNINGS! drinking, cursings, mentions and photos of food, slowburn. 

note; PLS THIS WAS SO FUN TO READ AND THE STORYLINE IS GOOD AF.

⌀ jeno

oneshots

➥ “its for you.” by @hannie-dul-set

❝all it took was the heavy rainfall from the sky to clear up your misunderstandings.❞

#high school au, coffee shop au, sort of e2l, fluff

note; FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

➥ 10 things i know about you by @asthmark

❝there are ten important things you learn about lee jeno during your time in quarantine.❞

#fluff, roommates2lovers, domestic jeno. 

note; CUTE ASF!

➥ il ritratto di prometeo by @nctream 

❝since he was little, Jeno remembers his mother tying him with the cute nickname of Prometeo, or as his father liked to call him: Prometheus. Growing up, Jeno’s mother left him and he started dreading the name. It wasn’t so difficult to understand why Jeno and Prometeo were so similar, while the latter had stolen fire from the gods, Jeno was the fire itself. That very summer, when his father decides to bring Jeno with him in a little town in the northen of Italy, he finally seems to be able to extinguish that very fire that has been chewing his bones, in your waters.❞

#romance, fluff, cmbyn au, angst, mutual-pining.   

note; THIS WAS SO GOOD!!

series

social media au 

➥ til kingdom come by @honeyboyjeno

❝ in which jeno has a long distance girlfriend from canada, but nobody believes him. ❞

#fluff, crack.

note; THE CRACK IN THIS IS JUST 😚🤌🤍. JENO AND Y/N’S RELATIONSHIP IS SO CUTE.

⌀ haechan

oneshots

➥ the bro by @moonttaeil

❝Always drinking beer, he’s one of the most fun frat boys to party with. He is the one to invite people to the frat house parties, be the loudest at football games, and hypes everyone up during a game of beer pong. The thing is, nobody has ever seen him in class. Seriously, is he even a student here? Also, he definitely thinks that any day that ends in a “y” is a perfect day to blackout.❞

#angst, friends2lovers, childhood best friends, fluff, angst

WARNINGS! suggestive, alchohol constumption. 

note; THIS GOT ME SCREAMING?

➥ baby face by @smileysuh

❝You and Haechan have been enemies ever since highschool, when debates between you in class would get heated. Now, you’re in a sorority and he’s in your brother frat, NCT House. Trivia nights are supposed to be fun at the campus bar but you and Haechan always take it personally, and your friends see the the sexual tension, even if you and Haechan don’t. Johnny and Jaehyun concoct plans to force you and Haechan interact, frat boys lie, and even if Haechan gets you on your back, you’re never going to stop calling him the nickname he hates so much: “baby face”. ❞

#frat nct, enemies2lovers, childhood enemies.

WARNINGS! smut (you can skip it), lots of competition, angst.

note; the sexual tension tho😩

➥walk you home by @asthmark

❝ it’s just a suggestion but you could maybe put your lips on mine? ❞

#childhood friends to lovers.

note; BUTTERFLIES

 ⌀ jaemin

oneshots

➥ top of the world by @hannie-dul-set

❝things had always been the same in the world of na jaemin— him sitting on a throne above everyone else. that was the natural order. but the world as jaemin knew it began to shake after a few fated encounters with someone at the bottom of the food chain.❞

#rich kid! jaemin, private school! au, one sided enemies2lovers, fake dating, romance, suggestive themes, power dynamics. 

WARNINGS! bullying, public humiliation, mildly nsfw, borderline smut, implied smut, swearing, jaemin’s an asshole.

note; binge worthy!!

⌀ shotaro

not yet :(

⌀ sungchan

not yet :(

⌀ chenle

not yet :(

⌀ jisung

not yet :(

[jackyjango]

Perfection!

Cherik Week- Day 7: Free

Written for this glorious gifset! :D

I wanted to end this with a happy (and crack) fic, because they deserve to be happy ever after!

---------

If Erik were a poet, he would have written elaborate odes to Charles’ plush arse. Lines and lines of flowing poetry dedicated to the softness of the skin and the firmness of the flesh- the way the tender skin dimples sweetly under Erik’s possessive fingers. If Erik were an artist, he’d fill canvases with the round contours of Charles’ --glorious, might he add-- half globes and his thick, meaty thighs. He’d capture the rosy tint that rises to the skin under the press of Erik’s palm with masterful brush strokes and immortalise the constellation of freckles that dot his skin beautifully. If Erik were so spiritually inclined, he’d build an altar to the sweet flesh, kneel in front of it and apply his tongue to worship. But Erik, fortunately or unfortunately, is none of those things, so all he can do now is simply ogle the marvelous in front of him- Charles’ round ass and thick thighs, and the way it fills his jeans. The fact that it wiggles in the air now and then from where Charles is bent over to search something behind the mantle is only spurring on his endeavour. So he stares some more, mouth agape and throat dry, and marvels to himself, ‘Perfection!’

‘What was that?’ Charles asks, turning sideways towards Erik.

Erik doesn’t find the need or mood to answer that question, so he goes back to ogling his boyfriend’s arse.

Charles turns to him after a minute or two of searching. He’s panting, hair beautifully tousled, cheeks deeply coloured and eyes twinkling bright in the golden candlelight. For a moment Erik’s breath catches. Now, Erik’s not a poet, but if were-

‘I couldn’t find any more candles,’ Charles says, cutting Erik’s musings short. ‘What about the generator, were you able to fix it?’

‘No,’ Erik shrugs. ‘The battery inside the generator has corroded and the plastic coating has melted into the canisters. It’ll take me at least a day to repair it.’

‘Okay.’ Charles drawls, no doubt weighing in their options. ‘How far is the nearest town? Maybe we could get some help.’

Erik had already considered that option. The nearest town is a three-hour trek downhill. A three-hour trek which is a waste of time and energy. Time and energy which can be spent in more… productive endeavours. 

Charles overhears that thought. ‘What are our other options here, Erik?’ He asks, sighing heavily, ‘The wires are out, so is the generator, and we can’t even get help.’ He looks around the small space of the cabin that is lighted in patches by the three candles they were able to unearth earlier. The candles will last them till daybreak at best. ‘Did you have a plan for the evening?’ Charles asks hesitantly.

‘Plan?’

‘Yes,’ Charles says slowly now, his eyes widening with every word. ‘I thought this was meant to be a surprise for me, so I didn’t pry earlier. But I thought you had a plan for the evening.’

Why would Erik have a plan for the evening when the whole point was to have no plans at all? 

The last three weeks had been extremely difficult for all of them, between the mid-terms and the festivities and the birthday celebrations, both of them had been extremely busy-- Charles with teaching and grading, and Erik, well, with… everything else. Erik hadn’t been able to hold a proper conversation with Charles without one of the brats dragging Charles away. Erik hadn’t been able to take a quiet smoke break without one of the younger ones pulling on his trouser legs. It had been tolerable in the beginning, adorable even, but it had begun to lose its charm sometime during the second week. And Erik was sure to go ballistic by the end of the third. All he wanted was to get away for a day or two from the brats, have a quiet night away from the kids and the mayhem of the mansion. He’d all but kissed Raven when she’d mentioned a cabin upstate that could be rented this time of the year. Of course, he’d expected the said cabin to have a working electrical system and dry logs resting in the fireplace, but that isn’t a huge setback as far as Erik is considered. He’s lived worse.

Of course Charles overhears that thought. His jaw drops and his eyes go wide as saucers. ‘You made me trek three hours and brought me here just so you could get away from the kids?’

Erik doesn’t see what’s wrong with that. 

Charles is all but glaring him down now, his sharp, blue eyes throwing daggers at Erik. Erik should be intimidated by the look, but Charles’ overall appearance doesn’t support him all that much. He’s panting lightly with pinked cheeks and hair sticking out in places. If anything, he looks extremely adorable. Now, Erik’s not an artist, but if he were-

‘I thought you brought me here to celebrate our anniversary,’ Charles says finally, glaring intensified.

‘Anniversary?’ Erik asks dumbly. ‘What anniversary?’

Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to ask, because Charles is practically seething now. ‘Our third year anniversary. Since when we began dating.’

‘Oh, has it been three years already?’ Erik asks, and it only serves in adding fuel to the fire. 

In Erik’s defense, though, the period between the time they met, and they settled into a relationship is all very hazy. Erik doesn’t know exactly when he’d been charmed by Charles to call him his friend, he doesn’t know exactly when Charles had wormed his way into Erik’s heart, he doesn’t know exactly when the school they’d started with a few students began to feel like family, and he doesn’t know exactly when he’d begun falling in love with Charles. Though Charles terms them as thus, all those chess matches played every night for months on end and taking private dinners away from the congregation of the students hadn’t felt like ‘dates’ to Erik. Partly because he didn’t know or have experience with dating and partly because he’d had no clue what love felt like before Charles. Besides, he’d no idea whether or how they’d celebrated the first two-year anniversaries.

Of course, Charles overhears his thought, for his anger abates slowly. ‘Oh, what do I do with you, Erik?’ he asks, tone exasperated and fond; like he does when one of his younger students refuses to eat their greens.

‘Marry me.’ Erik shrugs casually. ‘Simple.’

Charles gapes at him like a fish while his mental fingers rummages through Erik’s brain for signs of a joke or a prank. But Erik isn’t joking or pranking. Granted that he was slow to realise that he loved Charles, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d marry anyone else once he did. He’d end up marrying Charles one way or another. So it doesn’t really matter when or how that happens. Does it?

And of course, Charles hears all of it.

‘We don’t even have a ring,’ Charles says at last, a little lost.

No. Erik doesn’t. He could always fashion a ring out of one of the nails holding the wood planks in place, but Erik doesn’t want to make a ring out of rusted and cheap metal. Charles deserves only the best. 

‘No,’ Erik agrees. ‘We don’t. But we do have this.’ He removes the silver chain that permanently resides in the pocket of his trousers and moves towards Charles, cupping the chain and the locket in his palm. Each curve of the locket bears a black and white photo of his father and Mother. Erik falls to one knee in front of Charles and holds out the chain in one hand. If Erik were a poet, he’d write elaborate love poems describing his love and affection for Charles, but he isn’t. So he simply says, ‘I promise to make you tea just the way you like it and give you scalp massages every day for the rest of our lives.’

‘Yes, you idiot. I’ll marry you,’ Charles chokes out and throws himself into Erik’s arms.

Later when they’ve dragged in all the ragged cushions and rugs from all parts of the cabin and made love in a warm nest (and after Erik worships Charles’ and his arse with all the reverence he deserves) surrounded by three grand candles that Erik asks Charles, ‘This is not so bad as anniversaries go, is it?’

‘No, my love’ Charles says, gazing adoringly at the silver locket on his chest and looks up at Erik. ‘It’s perfect!’ he says, kissing Erik sweetly on the lips.

-

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

The special fic I wrote for Cain and Daphne's anniversary! The first scene is how Cain proposed, and the second is an anniversary they had during their wandering years.

I had four other scenes I was going to write, but I figured, well, I don't want to actually write this much, and nobody wants to read that much, so I scrapped the idea. The unfinished scenes may appear separately at later dates, though.

So without further ado, Cain and Daphne's anniversary fic!

The glittering crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale sheen over Daphne's scales. Her melodious voice permeated the night that blanketed the glowing city below her. Unbeknownst to the siren, a man was standing just behind her; hidden from view and listening to her song.

It was a sea shanty, one she had heard the sailor sing many times before when they lived their days on the waves. It had quickly become very special to the two, as it told of a pirate who fell in love with a mermaid. Rather fitting for the pair. When the song was done, Cain revealed himself by his applause.

Daphne turned around and smiled upon recognizing him. She quickly traded her tail for legs and got up from the poolside where she had been sitting. She went to him and started to greet him, but he held up a hand to stop her.

Instead, he handed her a jar with a single coin in it. Daphne took the jar and examined it. The coin was not worth much, perhaps only enough to pay for the jar it sat in.

"Doll, I have no need for your petty change when I live under your roof. Why give me this?"

"You sang our song. I thought it appropriate that my musician be paid," he said, giving her a joking smile.

"Your musician? How dare you?" However, Daphne's tone matched Cain's smile. With this they laughed, took one another's hands, and went to bed.

The next night, Daphne sang in the pool again. It was a quiet spot, high above the rest of the city. Cain had built it special for her, as a way to make her more comfortable in her new home (that, admittedly, was not so new anymore).

This time, however, Cain sat by the pool with her. Eyes closed, he listened to her every note. By the end, he had put the jar down by the pool and was thumbing the coin in his pocket.

"This again, darling? I'm not a petty street performer," Daphne teased him and reached a scaly hand up out of the water to pinch his cheek.

"I simply want to reward your hard work, my dear," Cain calmly stated, as he winked at her.

"Barely what I'd call 'hard,' but very well... and why always the possessive? My dear?" She'd said it as a joke, but there was a hint of true intent behind her eyes.

"Are you not my partner, my best friend, my lover? And am I not all these things to you?" He said it in a tone that could've held any level of seriousness, yet his sincerity was undeniable.

"Well, I suppose you are. And you are mine in as much as I am yours, I trust?" She had pulled herself out of the water to hold him as she spoke. The need in their words and in their touches was becoming more apparent by the moment.

Cain leaned into her as he cradled her face and kissed her lips. When he pulled away again, he breathed in her ear, "I will always be yours."

Daphne gazed at him lovingly for a moment, a look which he returned. However, her eyes took on a mischievous gleam once more, and she made another move. "Why don't you prove it, then?" And before Cain could protest, Daphne pushed him into the pool.

Cain came up spluttering, stuttering, and in Daphne's opinion, looking rather handsome. While indeed being soaked through and through, of course. "Daphne, what on earth? I thought we were having a moment!"

"Oh, we are," Daphne had slid back into the pool and gracefully swum over to the steps leading into it. "I know you heard me just now. Get over here and prove how much you love me, why don't you?" The look in her eyes was unmistakable.

Thankfully, Cain took the hint. A melody of giggling, swearing, and other such sounds could be heard from the roof that night. And by morning, two coins could be seen in the bottom of the jar.

The next night and the night after that, Cain and Daphne continually found themselves on the roof, and each time a coin fell to the bottom of the jar. This pattern continued on for a number of weeks. Daphne would sing her seafarer's sea shanties and love poems by pool waves and starlight. In return, Cain would give her a coin as he called her his own in some ambrosial way.

It was on her way back to the moonlit pool one night that she heard whispers. Maids sighing about a shimmering ring, a student of Cain's murmuring about some epistle of romance that his teacher refused to present. And when she got to the pool itself, there was Cain.

It was just him and the now full moon, holding something behind his back. Daphne quietly strained to see it, but Cain saw through her antics and beckoned her to him.

"Oh, Pet, you should have heard the things they were saying downstairs. All this talk of rings and speeches and- hey, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes of course. Daphne..." Oh, boy. Real names always meant something big. She was almost nervous.

Cain took a deep breath and Daphne wondered if she should say something. However, his face cleared as he began to speak. "Daphne, my lover, my best friend, my partner in all things. I have known you for many years, years that feel both lengthy and rather brief." Daphne was watching Cain closely, mystified as to where this could be going. "I knew you first as an enemy of my family, and yet you saved me, there in that cave."

Daphne interjected. "Honestly, I just thought you were nice to look at. I had no idea who you were. And what's with the speech? Did we do something wrong? You haven't been anathematized, have-"

"Ah, shush, I'm trying to remember everything I wrote down."

Lightbulb moment. "So you did write a speech! Are we in trouble?"

"Well, yes! Er, no. Just, be quiet!"

"That's not an answer!"

"Oh, and now it's gone. Thanks a lot!"

"Yes, thanks for not answering any of my very simple questions!"

"Sweetheart, just-" Cain huffed and Daphne quieted down. She stepped towards him and ran her hands across his face and through his hair. He leaned into her wintry touch and rested his hands on her hips.

"Flower, you know you can tell me anything. But if this is something you can't-"

"No, dear, that isn't it," He took a deep breath and from behind his back, pulled the jar of coins. It was fully filled by now.

"I knew I needed something to motivate me, so I told myself 'when the last coin falls, I must say...' what I'm about to say. Otherwise it never would've happened, I would've just kept thinking about it forever." They both giggled.

"I won't waste your time with sweet nothings and grandeur promises that I could never hope to keep. I did have a speech- which you must've heard about from one of my learners. But it is meticulous and dull where words of the soul are what I really ought to be saying. So..."

Cain sighed and brought a hand to Daphne's cheek. He kissed her softly then drew in a calming breath to continue.

"Daphne, the beautiful love of my life. I wish tonight for the moon to kiss the sun once more so that our love may be written in the cosmos- for all to see- once more."

Images of painted eclipses played across Daphne's mind as her eyes began to well up. She whispered his name, if only to hear the sweet way it sounded.

"I knew you as an enemy, and yet I now find myself hopelessly in love with you. I have confidence you feel the same for me." Daphne nodded, a lovestruck smile decorating her face. "I have spent my days with you- and many of my nights, too- and I realize now that I don't want that to stop. I might not ever want it to stop. In fact..."

Cain unscrewed the lid of the jar, revealing a hand-crafted silver ring, with a turquoise gemstone in the middle.

By now, Daphne knew what was happening, so she finished his thought. "I want to love you forever."

Cain's smile was both joyful and relieved. "Exactly." They held one another's eyes for a moment.

Daphne was the first to speak this time. "I love it when you call me yours. And I want this- I want to be yours forever. I want to follow everywhere you go, see all that you see and hear all that you hear. I want to be your lover, your dearest, your..."

And, just a word, barely a breath, "Wife."

Neither was sure who said it, but its impact was clear.

"And I want nothing more than to be your husband, if you'll have me," Cain's voice was soft and timid.

"No, not nothing more. I want everything with you. Make me yours forever, marry me, so that I'll never have to leave you."

Cain sighed, and Daphne saw a tear streak down his cheek. She realized there were some on hers, too.

"If this is... truly what you want? You know-"

"I know who you are, Cain. I know all that comes with being you, and being with you. I know your past, who you've become, and all you want to do. And I love you. I love you more than all the mountains, seas, sun, moon, and stars."

"And I love you. More than I thought it possible to love anyone. And I'll be yours well beyond the end of time, come what may."

And with that, Daphne could hold back no longer, and she threw her arms around Cain. He held her close, as close as he could, it seemed. She kissed him over and over again, as he did in return. They both giggled and smiled.

"Wait, are we really doing this?" Cain yelped.

"Yes! I get to marry you! You get to marry me, oh my-"

Cain picked her up and spun her around, and kissed her with passion.

"Oh, Daphne, I love you. I love you so much!"

"And I love you, Cain. More than anything, I love you!"

"And because of that-" Cain swept Daphne up into his arms and took her to the stairs leading back into the house. She wiggled and yipped at him the whole way, as he carried her past crowds and servants and into the grand hall.

He set her down and kissed her one last time. He clapped his hands to get the people's attention. "Everyone! I have an announcement..."

~*~

Cain walked through the cave entrance, soaked in the downpouring rain, and set down a bundle of drenched firewood. "It's no good. I can't find anything even nearly dry enough to burn," he said, sitting down beside his shivering wife and wrapping his arms around her.

Daphne sneezed and gave Cain a weary smirk. "Why don't you just light the sparks yourself?"

Cain tensed. "Mouse, you know we can't do that, what if someone sees, and realizes who we are?"

Daphne sniffled a bit before responding. Her sickness persisted as long as the rain stayed, which set Cain worrying. She however, always quelled his concerns with her assurances of her speedy recovery once the rain inevitably stopped.

"Kitten, who would be out here in this storm? It'd only be a small fire, just enough to warm us."

Cain sighed and moved a hand from Daphne to stroke his beard thoughtfully. After a moment of consideration, however, he leaned forward, adjusted the empty firepit, and snapped his bronze fingers. From the snap came flames, that sustained themselves on nothing but magic, while still providing heat and light to the couple.

Cain leaned back, smiled mildly at Daphne, and snuggled her close. She leaned into him, snuck a handkerchief from his pocket, and sneezed again. While she was cleaning herself up, Cain looked to their bedroll and caught a glimpse of his calendar. He studied the circled date for a moment, and, upon realizing that date was the current day's date, suddenly pulled Daphne close to kiss her.

She reached her hands up to hold his cheeks with them, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Daphne turned her head to draw in a breath and spoke. "Oh, Cain, what's gotten into you?" It was a chastise, yes, but she said it while giggling, as Cain did in response.

"Did I tell you what day it is?" Cain was the only one who kept track of the date, but then, he had always been the more scholarly of the two. Daphne kissed him again and shook her head.

He leaned close to her ear as he spoke. "It's our anniversary, sweetheart," he smiled his usual shy smile at her.

Daphne eyed him with suspicion and after a moment of hesitation, spoke with a note of befuddlement. "And even if it were-"

"Which it is."

"Why here? Or do you not realize, honey; we're in a damp, cold cave," she sprightfully snipped at him.

"It's not so cold now that we have the fire," He quipped back.

Cain looked at her as though he were trying to make a point. Daphne tch'ed and turned away from him teasingly. He held her chin with a finger and gently turned her face towards his.

The mood in the cave shifted, from a more playful one to something more tender, more romantic. Flames flickered gracefully in Cain's eyes, just as they had since Daphne had met him. He looked into hers, and saw great ocean waves, waves that moved him ever closer to her. He, accepting the push, leaned in once more to kiss her.

They stayed like this for a time, caught in their own world, floating through time. After a moment, he pulled away, drew in a breath, and spoke. "I trust you know what I was going to say?"

"Enlighten me," Daphne sleepily murmured against his neck as she nestled into his shirt collar and closed her eyes. No doubt the illness was continuing to make her weak.

"You're- oh. Dear, you're not falling sleep, are you?"

Daphne simply turned so that her back was pressed comfortably against his chest and hummed. "I'm still sick, you know. Hand me that hankie?"

Cain gave her the handkerchief, which she had previously, and rather unceremoniously, dropped on the ground. She quickly took it and sneezed once more, and then tossed it in the fire.

Cain looked at her with puzzlement. "What on earth did you do that for?"

"What? It was all snotty and dirty, you didn't expect me to keep it, did you?"

Cain scoffed with lighthearted incredulity. "Princesses. You can be a real diva sometimes, you know that?"

But Daphne was already dozing, cuddling close to her husband and softly singing in her sleep. Cain looked at her with such fondness, and quietly whispered in her ear.

"I was simply going to say that despite everything, you're all I'll ever truly need. Goodnight, my starlight."

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 001

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together. 

A/N: Hey!!! I'm definitely not giving up on LFTM, I've had this story whirling around my brain and it's been pulling at me for a while. Hoping I can slow down, care for myself, and juggle both fics at my own pace. Thank you guys for reading and for being so supportive. I hope everyone who enjoyed WTL also enjoys this fic, it's a totally different direction. I'm excited to share it! I'll tag warning in each chp like I always too. TW: Light bullying, hints at an inappropriate relationship between a teacher/student, and teenage jerks.

Chapter 1: Fast Times

   A blaring bell trilled. Lunch time. So close and yet so far. Scrambling high schoolers like zoo animals clamored into the cafeteria. Knocking shoulders and bouncing around. No one really cared about knowledge today, the last day of school before winter break began. 

   1984. Coming to a close.

   “Evie!” A hand rose to wave. One pink scrunchie around the elegant wrist. Heather Holloway. Cute as a button smiling there. Hands pulled headphones down to acknowledge her. Evangeline Fenny. Best friends since the sandbox and now seniors. “This stupid day is dragging.”

   “It’s killing me.” Evie whined to herself, settling her beat up lunchbox on the table. Red and blue pattern, scribbled all over with song lyrics in black marker. “Mrs. Stockard fell asleep at her desk, I wanted to die.”

   “She snores so loudly.” Heather sparkled when she laughed, sweeping her hair back into a high ponytail with her scrunchie. Evie held a mirror up for her to see out of habit. “Thanks.” It was particularly louder than usual. Teens pregaming the parties to come over the two week vacation.

   “Going skiing with the folks this year?”

   “No, they’re going up to the cabin and I’m staying home after Christmas.” Heather unpacked her lunch, carefully organizing it. Evie pulled a regular PB and J out, amused.

   “Sushi?”

   “My mom’s going through a phase.” Heather poured herself a bit of soy sauce and plucked up chopsticks.

   “Your rich is showing, Heath.” Evie giggled when a foot kicked at her under the table.

   “Trade you a piece for half the pear.”

   “Deal.” They switched. Evie tucked some unruly dark curls aside, sitting back.

   “So...there is a party tonight. Loch Nora. Bunch of schools.”

   “Which ones?” Evie’s brow rose.

   “Ridgemont will probably crash, but who cares. It’s winter break, we’ll go and have some fun then crash at my place. Eat chips, make fun of them, and pass out like we always do.” Heather bounced a little. “C’mon, Evie. I’ll pick you up and we can walk from my house.”

   “I’ll think about it.” That meant yes to Heather. She grinned, reaching across to pat her friend’s arm playfully.

   “It’ll be fun.”

   Evie just whined and crunched on her pear, brows scrunching. Parties weren’t the same since the incident. But, she picked the popular, social butterfly for her closest friend. 

   The two couldn’t have been any more different.

   Heather Holloway. Rich girl from Loch Nora befriending Evangeline Fenny, a Cherry Lane girl, in preschool. They switched beaded hair ties and the rest was history. Bonded over music and fashion. Heather was classically stunning as if she jumped off a magazine. 

   Students used to make snide comments. That Heather kept Evie around because she made her look prettier. Sweet Heather shut that down. Loudly. Whenever the subject came up. Evie Fenny was a bigger girl. Plush. Fat. It wasn’t a dirty word. She was a strange and pretty teen who carried herself too high to be bothered with comments.

   Water off a duck’s back was the saying.

   Used to be she hid herself under big sweaters, tunics, and flared jeans. But, that was before the incident. Afterward, she came to school with a new haircut. Louder makeup. Even louder, fitted clothing. Flaunted the hourglass and caught eyes on her hips swaying. Sat next to Heather at lunch as if nothing had changed. Red glossed lips only smiled and the student body took to her. Those who stayed angry burned alone.

   Thick skin, no pun intended.

   “If that asshole Tannen shows up, I’m dipping.” Evie decided with one breath. 

   “I’d say that I’ll protect you, but you made your point last year.” 

   Ah, the incident.

   “I’m never going to live that down.”

   “It was legendary.” Heather beamed, crushing her fist into her opposite palm. “Bam. Prick went down. My friend is Wonder Woman. Super Bitch.”

   Evie broke to laugh, eyes rolling.

   “Truthfully, I don’t recall it all.”

   That was a lie, she remembered every second of it. Sometimes her knuckles warmed at the thought.

   “I just...didn’t think you had moves like that. Your mom is basically Dolly Parton. You don’t even like violence. You squirm during horror flicks. You love your cat, your guitar, and all plant life...and you beat the hell out of Ridgemont’s golden boy asshole quarterback.”

   It did earn Evie some Hawkins’ fame. Ridgemont was their main rival. The Bulldogs. Football players found a soft spot for the teen.

   “Don’t tell my mom she’s Dolly Parton, that’ll go straight to her head.” Evie joked, popping her water bottle open to drink. Heather’s big eyes lifted behind her.

   A flood of cologne wafted before two fingers tugged a curl. Little harder than they should have. Water choked to spill onto Evie’s chest.

   “Whoops, you got all wet, Fenny.” A tongue clicked. Billy Hargrove slid around the table. All his glory. Heather plucked up a napkin to offer it.

   “Watch it, Hargrove.” She huffed down at herself. The yellow tee tucked into her jeans was soaked through.

   “Girls can’t help it around me, I guess.” He had one hand in his pockets and another cradling his silver lighter. Flicking it open and closed. Eyes narrowed. “Polka dots, huh. I had you figured for florals.”

   “You’re an asshole.” She covered her damp shirt and bra with her striped cardigan. Thick fall colors warmed her skin. Noted the fact that he'd thought about it.

   “Whatever you say, Ivy.” 

   Billy knew her name. They were neighbors. Unfortunately. Right down to sharing the same space between their bedroom windows. She’d had dinner at their house. Susan Hargrove was new and eager to make some friends and Ms. Fenny was eager to be friends with everyone. Perfect match.

   Evie glared up at him. Fucking Adonis.

   “Heather, you going tonight?” He ignored his neighbor and leaned over with one palm on the table, back to Evie as he sat down to flash that darling smile.

   “Maybe.” Heather gestured with her chopsticks.

   “I can work with maybe.” He acted like the girl behind him wasn’t there. Frankly, Evie was used to being invisible. It was better than being bullied. Most days. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

   “Maybe you apologize to my friend and say her name right.” Heather winked at him.

   “Who?” Billy stood and turned, mocked some surprise. “Oh. Evangeline. So quiet, I forgot you, chica.”

   She wasn’t sure if that was a jab at her mixed heritage or him just being a smartass. Billy rolled her name off his tongue like it was a joke. Like it wasn’t a real word. Blue eyes alight at her stony expression. Sly and alert. 

   The California transfer vibrated after leaving the basketball team before the season ended. Word was that he was persuaded to leave after some fight with Steve Harrington. Billy was a strange one too.

   Often, he seemed lax when he was alone like the world didn’t matter. Other days, he was rocking and quick on his feet. Hungry and itching for something. Anything. It was a scary look on such a pretty boy. You could never gauge where his mind was. Where it would go next.

   “Evangeline.” He sounded out again even slower. “Your mom lose a bet?”

   “It’s a poem.” She replied flatly, sitting back to cock her head at him. Billy snapped his fingers to point.

   “Sounds like the name of some chick whose man died in her arms.”

   She huffed at him, leaning in.

   “...That would be what the poem is about.”

   “Fucking depressing.” Billy tapped his chin. “I got it. I’m going to call you, Angel. I won’t forget that.”

   “You are not calling me-”

   “Trying to compromise with you, Fenny. You cast the first stone.” Billy flicked his eyes to Heather. “Bring your friend with you to the party, Heather. Some guys like angel cake.” He winked and slunk off to his band of merry assholes. This school worshiped him. Kissed the ground he walked on since he started in fall.

   “What a fucking slimeball.” Evie grumbled to herself, stuffing trash aside to ball it up. Thought about tossing it at Billy's big head. Heather gave this conflicted look as if to say, but he’s cute, right?

   “Ignore him.”

   “Bad enough his family moved in next to me.” They packed up their lunches. “God, I want a smoke so bad.”

   She didn’t keep the habit up just to save her singing voice. Her mom picked up cigarettes only after the divorce last year. Smoked out her window and hid it, but Evie knew. No judgment there. Better than other habits moms pick up after divorces.

   “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight?” Heather walked out with her after the bell rang.

   “Yeah, I’ll see you in fifth.” Evie turned to go to her locker and stuffed the lunchbox away. Grabbed a book to hurry to class. History. Three more periods left. Students fidgeted around her.

   “Hey, Evie.” Steve Harrington batted his eyes at her. Friendly enough these days after he left the popular cliche and broke up with Nancy Wheeler. Sometimes having your heart stopped on made you nicer. Not always. “You, ah, do the paper?”

   “All six pages.” Evie set it on her desk. “You?”

   “I made an attempt.” It was strange because Steve never gave her the time of day before this year. Maybe the guy was lonely. He tapped his pencil and the chatter quieted when their teacher walked in. Late as always.

   “Class, pass your papers to the front.”

   “Hopefully they don’t come back with red wine stains.” Robin mumbled behind her, one leg crossed up so she could draw on the rubber side of her sneakers. Evie caught a snort, taking the papers to pass them along. “I like the jacket.”

   “Thanks. New haircut?”

   “My own dad didn’t notice.” Robin beamed.

   “Psst, Evie.” A note flicked on her desk. Tammy Thompson. Pretty girl, kind of shy. “To Steve.”

   Evie considered herself a professional middle man for lovesick note passing. Discreetly, she gave it to Steve, head cocking. He furrowed his brow upon seeing it, but wrote back.

   Whatever the reply, it made Tammy’s shoulders fall.

   AP Biology was next. Teacher treated it like his kingdom and didn’t pose much of a challenge because he was disorganized as hell. Evie was relieved to share the class with Heather. 

   Billy, Tommy, and Carol also had it too. Hargrove bitched for a week about how the other science classes had no openings. Strange because he wasn’t an idiot. Still got his work in and maintained a B average. Probably due to his dad. Neil Hargrove seemed like a real hardass. And all of Cherry Lane had heard him and Billy arguing at some point.

   Evie might have also witnessed some more physical spats through the windows.

   She figured it was why Billy hated her. She knew something about him. Something he hid because it made him feel smaller. He caught her eyes once and barked nastily before taking off in his Camaro. A gust of smoke.

   She never brought it up. 

   Dads could be real assholes.

   “Watch the movie. Fill out the worksheet.” Their teacher was as ready for this day to be over as the students were. Lights went down. Yawns followed. Evie propped her elbow up on the high lab table she shared with Heather, doodling new lyrics between answering questions.

   A crumpled paper hit her hair. Stuck into brown curls. Heather turned back to glare at Tommy shrugging with a sleazy grin.

   He was no artist. Evie smoothed it for a wide, big lipped and breasted caricature of herself. She drew on it and scribbled a note back. Smiling sweeter when she flicked it at his chest. Carol and Billy leaned in on either side to see Tommy’s expression sour because Evie gave him nothing.

   “You got my hair all wrong.” She’d written. Fixing it for him.

   Billy snorted and turned back to defacing his textbook.

   “Bitch.” Tommy muttered to himself, tossing it away. Evie finished her sheet, dug for her compact to reapply a lip color. Caught Billy behind her. Intent on whatever vulgar drawing his mind was concocting. Blue eyes flicked like he’d been aware of her this entire time.

   The mirror snapped shut.

** ** **

   Study hall. Last period of the day. Most kids who had it were skipping out early during the hour. Slipping away one by one through the library. Evie was one of those kids. 

   “Leaving so soon, Miss Fenny?” The smooth as silk voice lowered, startled her enough to drop her notebooks and folders. 

   “Fr...Mr. Bowers.” Evie dropped before her English teacher standing so close to her. Second period. Been in Hawkins three years teaching the junior and senior classes. Fredrick Bowers. Dream of a man to all the teen girls. “Sorry.” She bit her bottom lip, eyes lifting to see him and his shadow blocking the light from touching her. 

   “No, I’m sorry, Evie. I figured you’d heard me coming.” Sky blue eyes centered on Evie there before he came to one knee. Helped her gather lose papers strewn about.    

   Mr. Bowers had a name and face all the teen girls drew little hearts around in pink gel pen.

   Evie thought she saw those same cartoon hearts bubbling up behind his back. Popping like gum. Styled toffee blond locks, trimmed mustache, and groomed side burns. A simple patterned shirt tucked into fitted slacks with the sleeves rolled up. Never a tie. Something groovy about him that stuck from the seventies. Mid thirties and hell of a smile.

   Evie tucked hair aside, displayed her blush in full view obscenely when he flashed those sparkly whites at her. Eyes crinkling.

   “I’ll warn you next time.” 

   Her heart plucked like a song when their fingers brushed. Dashing and broad. A Jane Austen character come to life. Enough to make any young girl melt. And how quickly she did.

   “Next time.” Evie gave this scoff. Pulling her notes close as they both came to their feet with hard intent eyes.

   "I wanted to give you something. A book to read over the break." He pulled it from his leather messenger bag and peered around.

   "An assignment?" Evie sparkled at him so he was lighter.

   "No, it's just because I believe you're so clever and mature. I think you'll read it with an open mind and we can talk about it like we talked about all the others. It's complicated material. I, ah, really shouldn't be giving you this book." He offered it. "But, there were quite a few I wasn't allowed to give you. After that chat we had over The Crucible. I'm just so fascinated by what you think."

   "Lolita. I know what happens in this one." Evie peered at the battered title. Rough paper between her fingers, it was clearly an old copy. She peered at his chest instead of his eyes. "We-"

   "Don't you miss talking? You know. Last year. Someone who knows what you're going through. I want all my students to be comfortable around me."

   "I am comfortable, we..." Evie glanced as someone passed far down the hallway.

   Bowers helped her after her dad left. A shoulder. A confidant. A crush that... She felt her heart close in on itself.

   "I thought you said we couldn't anymore."

   "I miss you." He whispered that. Lush and blunt. She barely heard it. Eyes snapped up.

   Someone missed her. Someone wanted to listen. Someone who saw her depth.

   His wife left him before he came to Hawkins. Evie learned a great deal about her too.

   "I won't tell, I never do." She hid it away into her bag, matched his tone. "We can...talk. Not here."

   "Good." He swallowed. "I just think you blossom under guidance and support. I always knew you were one of those girls."

   Evie blushed again. Eyes on her shoes. 

   “I wanted to say I was impressed with your paper as well. As always.” Fredrick gave her arm a pat and left his hand there. Fingers pressed into the knit fabric of her cardigan. His lip twitched. 

   “Good. That’s…I’m glad.” Evie’s eyes flickered over stormy blue ones, swaying. Lashes gave a dreamy bat. “I was thinking, ah, about you when I wrote it.”

   “Really, you should speak up in class more.” Fredrick gave her one subtle squeeze and dropped his hand. “All those funny poems you shared last year.”

   “My songs.” Evie corrected softer and he only smiled to nod.

   “Right.” An idle step backwards before he leaned over her. A great deal taller. The shadow crept over her eyes this time. “You have a Merry Christmas, dear. And speak up again in class, Evie. You know I love to hear from you.”

   A sensation like a fizzling sparkler glowed in her belly. Out her spine. Spread over skin.

   “I know.” She giggled at him, peering around. “Merry Christmas, Mr. B. We'll talk.”

   “Small town, I’m sure I’ll see you out and about.” A wink and he was gliding off. Shoulders back and chest perched high.

   “You might.” Evie swooned against her locker. Watched him go. Gasped a breath into her lungs. Swept all the clouds aside to fill her backpack with work. He made her feel so special, like no one ever could. 

   “Anyone...” She sang to herself, “who knows what love is...” Fingers plucked up a final book. Evie hummed and thought of small cartoon blue birds spinning around her head as she went into the restroom. Washed her hands and lingered to see her reflection.

   Evie was in a strange place. In and out of her skin. Torn between love and hate for her body.

   Usually, it just took a brave face. Her dad always used to tilt her chin and tell her to put on her bravest face before leaving home.

   She hoped the one she chose was convincing. 

   Her mom would always spin her favorite Bible or Dolly Parton quotes. Which helped on occasion even if she wasn’t sure which source the words came from half the time.

   A sigh. This was her flesh. She’d live in it as best she could. Dreamed herself into something better.

   Footsteps hurried down the hallway until the door shoved open. Humming cut.

   “Hargrove!” She gasped, dropping her messenger bag. “Billy, you can’t be in here!”

   “God damn it, Fenny. You again?” Billy skidded to hush her. Pressed them back into the wall. The heat of his body engulfed her frame, standing a good few inches taller. “Do me a fucking solid. Hide this for me.”

   Billy had no sense of boundaries because he was stuffing a baggie into her front jean pocket. 

   “What are you doing?” She seethed at him, smacking his arms off her to put some distance. “Get off me!”

   “Don’t say a word. Got it?” Billy lifted a finger with an intent look. Smelled of leather and his heavy cologne. Hairspray too. It all overshadowed the cigarette scent. He smoothed his tee out and turned to see the door. Scrambling like a spider, Billy jumped up on the toilet, threw his messenger bag outside, and pulled himself up. Wiggled his way out.

   Evie heard a thud and groan.

   “What the fuck?” She whispered, more so to herself as he disappeared. Hands pulled what was clearly concealed weed bundled up several times and bagged from her pocket. “Shit.” More footsteps before the door burst as she shoved it away.

   “You see that Hard-grove kid?” A thick accent asked. Security guy. Useless.

   “Uh!” Evie pulled her bag up. “Who?...This is the ladies room! Can’t a girl have a moment here?” 

   “Sorry!” He cringed away before she jumped into mushy period talk. It always worked. 

   Evie rolled her eyes and marched out to find Billy. Casual as can be, he tossed his bag into the trunk of his car and stilled to light a cigarette. Grumbling, steps hurried up the hill.

   “Asshole!” She tossed the weed at his chest, made him catch it awkwardly and stuff it into the trunk with a hiss.

   “Keep a lid on it, will you?” He slammed it shut. No one was around to see them.

   “Don’t do that shit again.” She pushed into him to go, Billy’s big hand wrapped around her wrist. Tugged her square into his chest. An unkind grin swept.

   “I had you figured, didn’t I? You didn’t say anything.” Billy blew smoke into the air, plucked the cigarette out to flick it with his free hand.

   “Let go.” Evie huffed. “I would have been in deep shit too for that.” She wiggled and pushed at his chest. 

   Billy flicked his bright eyes over hers. So brown they looked black in winter. He never noticed that she had a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks like he did. Pale for a girl with darker features. Indiana falls and winters must have taken the color right out of her. Looked like a lot of the mixed gals he knew back home. 

   Big curls. Soft and curvy. 

   Angry at him over something he did.

   There's no place like home, he figured.

   “You’re so weak.” Billy laughed at her. Took another drag. “They told me you freaked out on a guy last year.”

   “You want to be next?” She twisted away from him and turned. It wasn’t a real threat. He’s seen her tend to plants like they were humans. Feed neighborhood cats and nurse her own. Old black cat with not long left. Little fucker was always creeping him out from her bedroom window. Constantly staring with huge green eyes like it knew something Billy didn’t.

   “Babysit your own weed.”

   “You walking home?” Billy was relentless, voice lifting.

   Evie huffed and turned.

   “What, are you going to say I probably need the exercise? My bike chain broke.”

   “Christ, I was gonna offer a ride. Figured I owed you for saving my damn weed and my break. Not like it's out of the way.” Billy turned to open the passenger door. “Quit being a drag and get in. I don’t bite hard...unless asked.”

   “You’re such a creep.” She eyed him there. Wondered how he stayed warm in a tee, jeans, and leather jacket. “Not waiting for Max?” He gave this annoyed look.

   “She’s going out with her stupid friends, not my problem today.” Billy got in, gesturing. “At least close the door if you’re not coming. I went through the effort to open it for you.”

   “What a gentleman.” Sarcasm.

   Evie came back toward his car and debated it. Smelled like it might rain with the sky turning grey. And she really didn’t want to walk in these shoes. Rationalizing it, she slipped inside and shut the door. Settled her bag in her lap. Even buckled up. Billy revved the engine and skidded to speed out without a second glance.

   “You going to the party with Heather?”

   Evie peered at him watching the road with this hard look on his face. Ghosted a smile. Bingo.

   “You’re being nice to me to get to Heather, huh. You know you’re not the first guy to pull this. Could have just asked me about her.”

   Crystalline eyes flared up at her face.

   “What? Dorky chicks like you turn me on, too.” He replied rougher, not bothering to watch the road.

   “Wow. Spread it on thick, Hargrove.” She turned from him.

   “I always do.” He hit a hard corner. Christ, he drives fast. “I got a shot?”

   “She thinks you’re cute.” Evie shrugged. Far too used to this. Eyes slid to his profile. Wild curls still golden on grey days. The boy glowed. It was absolutely insufferable. Leaves whirled by, brown and dead. A smile crossed her face. “Listen. Since you’re saving me a walk. I’ll help you.”

   “Help me? I don’t need your help, I just wondered if she was gonna show.” He scoffed, turning on Cherry Lane.

   “You want to know what Heather likes. It’ll help you.” She crossed her arms, nearly flying forward when he screeched to a stop in front of his house. Billy shot her a look, filled with pride. “You got a pen and paper, bud?”

   He snatched her bag, tore a page from her notebook and dug into his glove box for a pen.

   Ass. She hugged it back to her chest.

   "Talk."

   “Okay.” A breath. “The thing about Heather is she’s a romantic. Jane Austin girl. Pride and Prejudice. If you can quote that just once like Mr. Darcy, she’s yours... Well? Are you writing?”

   Billy did a double take and huffed, grumbling. He actually marked it down.

   “Mr. Who?”

   “Your life amazes me.” She chuckled. “Darcy.”

   “Got it. Darcy. I’ll ask Susan about that shit, she’s a reader.” He muttered, tongue sweeping out before he scribbled. 

   “And she loves museums. First date ideas. Milkshakes. Cheese fries with jalapenos. Cheeseburger gal. Chinese from that corner joint. Always spicy. Easy picks.”

   “A girl after my own burning heart.” Billy felt her peer at him again. Lips lifting with this expression he couldn’t read. Blinked her big eyes and went on.

   “Definitely loves to snuggle in with something scary even though they freak her out. Must be a curiosity thing.”

   “Any excuse to get close to someone, I like it. This is gold, Angel, go on.”

   “You know, I think that’s all I got for you.” Evie turned to get out, sighing. That was just a little evil. “Billy.”

   “What?” He shut his door and turned from her.

   “Thanks for the ride.” She moved to go toward her house. “Knock ‘em dead.”

   Billy didn’t reply. Just watched her go into her house before he dug for another smoke.

   “Mom?” Evie called. “I’m home.”

   “I’m in my room, sweetheart!”

   Ramona Fenny was a spirited woman, went by Mona to the neighborhood. A girl of the 60s. Built like Dolly Parton with a pumped hairstyle to match in sleek dark brown, almost black. She worshiped the woman. Looked like she could have modeled atop a cake. 

   A church going girl who used prayer to get her through the divorce. Never pushed it on others, not even Evie. Too busy pushing other things. Like the free days she lost having her daughter young. She liked what worked in life and this worked for her. Liked the pretty side to things. 

   Mona was a sunny side up sort of mother.

   Best friends with Claudia Henderson as they both went through divorces which was not in God’s plan. Evie liked Dustin, she babysat him on occasion and he was a good kid. Bullied like her. 

   Mona owned the favored hair salon in town. Worked long hours with a team of women and ran a tight ship. Did hair for all the social elites so she knew everyone and all the hot gossip. And did she love that detail the most. Evie helped out with reception during vacation time. Liked the extra cash.

   “I was going to go to Heather’s later, there’s a party.”

   “Oh, have fun, baby.” She pushed her kid to go out. To live. To be smart. Never asked her to call. Not out of trust for Evie, she couldn’t be bothered. Never imagined her daughter would be up to mischief.

   If only she knew.

   Sometimes, Mona keyed in when it suited her. Understood when Evie’s likes and dislikes changed. When she asked to not go to church anymore because it didn’t help her after her dad walked out. Ramona was understanding as long as you didn’t bring up things like depression and anger. There always had to be a way out. Turn the other cheek.

   Evie knew her mother always thought the best.

   “Great.” Evie crossed to steal the hair brush, helped her mother out with the teasing. Dyed rich and dark locks that used to be a mousy brown. Dark eyes like her daughter. Evie didn’t look like her father with his brighter features. Her lush hair and russet eyes. Thick brows. “You going out? All dressed up...”

   “Just into town, couple of errands.”

   That was something that changed a week after her dad moved out. Mona’s style revamp. She was a woman of the sixties and seventies and that came back full force. Styled and pumped up like she was walking out of a Nancy Sinatra music video. Men around town noticed it and the woman certainly speculated. 

   But, her daughter had a style change too after the incident so it must have run in the family.

   “Better?” Evie eyed the glittery rings sitting in a ceramic dish. They looked like gumballs there.

   “Touch of hairspray and I’ll be right as rain.” Pink manicured nails came up with the can. “Take cover, baby.”

   “Got it.” Evie disappeared in a waft of spray. Stole an ice cube from the freezer to crunch it out of this habit she picked up when dad was gone. Cool and melty between her fingers before she swallowed it down. Felt the bulge tense all down her throat. Another followed. Teeth straining to crack it like glass. The chunks went down a little less smooth as she looked for real food and shut the fridge instead.

   Evie went into the bedroom to see her old cat on the pillow. His head lifted. Skinny and balding. Blind in one eye.

   “How’re we doing, my handsome boy?” Evie dropped her bag and crossed to pet him. Purrs erupted, whiskers twitching. “Bourbon, my darling.”

   A scratch of a meow rasped.

   “Yes, I love you too. I’d kiss you if my lips weren’t done up.” She smacked her lips and stood. “Outfit.” Clothing pushed around. Her room was a small, intimate space. Few pictures and purple curtains. Desks covered in song lyrics, trinkets, and needle felting projects.

   Evie held up garments to the cat, but he was no help. Just purred there like a motor boat. Settled on a black top with some sparkle and a magenta wash denim jacket. Jewelry was a must, she preferred earrings that were huge acrylic hearts. Bourbon had gotten into the window to watch the window across the way. 

   Billy wandering shirtless and damp. Muscles red and bulging like he’d done a quick work out

   “Yeah, not today, my sweet.” Evie plucked the cat from the window and reached to close the blinds. Billy caught her. Winked and licked his lips slower. She made a face at him. Utterly loathing and not impressed at his peacock way of navigation. “Ew." 

   The blinds snapped down, leaving Billy to laugh there. Evie carried her purring cat out, chiding. 

   "Don’t make his head any bigger than it already is.”

~~~~

TAGLIST OPEN! Hope you enjoyed! Thanks!

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 39)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 3091

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JJ knelt beside him too, across from you.

"What happened?" she wondered, no accusation in her voice. 

"I don't know," you admitted. "I was only gone an hour or two. He was perfectly fine when I left." You stared at his body in horror, wondering what went wrong. Wondering if it was your fault. 

Soon, an ambulance, police, and firefighters arrived. 

You rode with Spencer to the hospital and JJ said she'd let the team know and be behind you. You were trying to keep your crying back, but it was hard as the EMTs worked on him. 

Finally, you got to the hospital where Garcia and JJ met you. The doctors asked you questions and you focused long enough to answer them quickly and directly. Then they wheeled him away to the CCU. JJ and Garcia said they were being called in, so you nodded, telling them to go, that the team needed them. 

With trembling hands, you called Diana, Spencer’s mom. In a little under an hour, Diana arrived and Spencer was out of the CCu, but he wasn’t doing much better. The doctor informed you of the options. 

“The conservative approach would be surgery. It may reduce the swelling around his brain faster. There is risk, it could cause seizures and even more bleeding.”

You nodded and asked them to give you a moment. You spoke with Diana and as you were weighing your options, he began to seize again, causing monitors to go off everywhere. You went around the side of the bed and hugged Diana, trying to comfort her and not focus on your own pain. 

Your husband was dying and you had no idea if he even loved you anymore.  

When they finally got him calmed down, and the seizing stopped, someone appeared in the doorway of Spencer’s hospital room. You turned your head, and it was Max. 

A million emotions slammed into you at once, but the main one was confusion. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. Diana turned to see the newcomer. 

“Who’s this?” she asked. 

“A friend of Spencer’s,” you answered absentmindedly. Max looked like a lost puppy. Maybe she didn’t realize you’d be here. “Diana, I’ll be right back.” You stood up and walked towards Maxine. “Do you wanna go grab some coffee?” you offered. You weren’t about to sit in the same room with her as your dying husband. You wanted her far away from him. 

“Sure,” she said, looking a little afraid. 

You two walked to the cafeteria and got coffee, sitting down. 

“So, what are you doing here? Who told you he was here?” 

“JJ.”

“Ah, I should’ve figured that out.” 

“I’m uh, sorry for showing up like this--”

“Why did you show up, knowing now that he’s a married man?” you took a deep breath and remembered what Dexter had taught you. “How do you and JJ know each other?” you figured this would  be a good start to finding out more.

“After the thing with Cat, we talked for a bit. Your team had briefed me about what might have happened and then afterwards, she said she was close to Spencer and gave me her number in case I had any more questions about what had happened. Then, I got the text about him being in the hospital. She said I might want to know.” 

This fueled the fire within you about JJ. she had no reason to tell her about what was going on with your husband. “So….how did you and my husband meet?” This was the most awkward situation you were in and you just wanted this to get over with. “It seems you’ve become the center of his attention and that’s not something I'm okay with.”

She twiddled her fingers, toying with her coffee cup. “Yeah, I’m probably not your favorite person. Um, we met at the park. My nephew was talking to him, then he started to have a panic attack and Spencer came over and did a magic trick to distract him. It really impressed me, that a guy could take time out of his day to make a boy he didn't know happy and feel better.”

“Spencer’s always had a soft spot for kids, he’s a great uncle.” You smiled fondly hearing that he had helped a child in need. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy he was able to help but how does that in turn end up with you and him constantly being together?” You took a sip of your coffee. “Wasn’t there a point where you asked if he was seeing anyone or if he was married?” You couldn’t see how that would never cross a person’s mind

“It did, but we were having such a good time, I didn’t want to think anything was wrong. He never talked about you, and I never thought to bring it up. He seemed so sweet and decent, I didn't think there was any way he could do something like that.” 

“You never thought to ask if he was single or taken?” That sounded incredulous to you. “Did he ever ask you?” At that point you were starting to believe that the man you loved really didn’t love you and this was just a confirmation. “I’m going to be frank with you. He and I are going through a tough situation and JJ was the cause of it and then you showed up and things got worse, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me what exactly it was that you two did so much that he couldn’t bat an eye at me.” You moved your hands under the table to hide their trembling.

She took a breath. “Okay, well, first of all, I didn’t mean to make anything worse. I’ve never intended to cause issues in a marriage. But, all we did was go to lunch, dinner… We went to a few museums and shops. He gave me a couple of things.” 

“Were there ever moments where you two got to be closer than friends?” You massaged one temple trying to think things through like Dex had told you to. “I’m just trying to figure all this out and I’d like to know everything, if you could tell where you guys went and what you did I would really appreciate that.” You were being sincere as much as it pained you, this needed to be done there was so much you were unsure of and Max was the key to knowing the truth. “ Do you have pictures by any chance?”

“I have a few. Yeah.” She pulled her phone out and began to show you pictures. “This was us at the science museum. This was us at the park.” She glanced at you, making a face of worry. “I know this is probably really weird, but as you can see we’re never kissing or holding hands.” She put her phone away, sighing before trying to list everywhere they went. “We talked about books, movies, a little bit about his work, but that was only for a few minutes. He gave me some of his favorite books to read, and showed me a few poems. He told me places I should go visit.”

Hearing all of this was hurting you far worse than you thought it would. He gave her the books that you had given to him, the places they went to were some of the few places that only you and him had ever gone to.the same poems he showed to her were the ones he would recite to you when he felt that they were meant for you. Your shoulders sag and you wanted to hate her but you couldn’t she did know he was married he chose to keep that from her. He chose to keep you hidden from his life to someone else and that, that's what broke your heart.  “Did he ever hint at wanting more than what you two had?” you hoped this would give you the answer to the question that's still gnawing at you.

“Not really, no. He made it clear he liked being around me but…” She bit her lip. “I was falling for him. I was going to tell him I loved him, soon. Probably the next time we met. That was before I found out he was married though. But I still can’t turn off those feelings, that's why I came to the hospital, I think…. Because I love him, and if he died…” 

“If he died what? He died knowing that you fell in love with him?!” you winced hearing your voice rise. “I’m sorry but knowing that he’s married you shouldn’t have even thought of that, it’s bad enough I had to deal with JJ doing the same shit while I was away for work but I don’t need someone else doing that and especially not now when he’s like this.”

“I know. I shouldn’t be here but… I had to be true to myself. I love Spencer, and I wanted to tell him that, but… I won’t get in the way of your marriage. I’d still like to be his friend and I won’t let us go anywhere past that.”

“I don���t really know much about you so it’s hard for me to even trust you’ll keep that promise and that you won't try later on.” you finished your coffee cup “But I do appreciate you telling me everything that’s happened.”

She nodded. “Of course. If I was married, I’d want the same courtesy. Besides, you’re really intimidating.” She nervously laughed. 

“You smiled a little at that. “I don’t do it on purpose, it's just part of the job.”  you make a move to leave. “I should probably get back. I need to check on Spencer.”

“Right, yeah, of course. I’m just gonna go. I’m so sorry to have come, but… now at least you know the truth. I hope whatever damage I caused, you two can fix it.” 

“I’ll let him know you stopped by to say hello, and I hope we can fix this too.” You nod your head and head back to the room. 

You headed back, and Diana had a hold of his hand. A few hours later, he opened his eyes and he was fully awake. After they ran some more tests, they cleared him. His bleeding had stopped and he was going to be okay. Diana said she was tired and she went back to the live-in home, wishing you both a good night. 

Now that Spencer was finally lucid, you were sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. 

“Hey,” you softly said. “I thought I lost you there for a while. I came home from the hotel and found you on the floor. I’ve never been more scared in my life.” 

Spencer smiled at you.

“I wondered if the last thoughts in your head were about Max,” you admitted with a bit of an embarrassed laugh. 

He shook his head. “No. They weren’t about Max. I was thinking about the case. Everett Lynch is still alive.”

“We know, sweetie,” you assured. “The team is tracking him, we’ll find him.” You bit your lip to look down for a second. “Spencer, I talked to Dexter, and actually Max stopped by too.”

“Oh? What did they have to say?”

You noticed he didn’t ask about why Max was here. “I had talked to Dexter and he made me realize that I was overreacting and I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself and try to see your side of this.” You looked away from him, not being able to meet his eyes about Max.

“Well, that’s good. He won’t hurt any more women… Y/N… I’m so sorry that you were put in the position to even think I was thinking of another woman before I collapsed… I never should’ve done that to you. You’re right. I was completely in the wrong for keeping you a secret from each other. I just… It was nice to talk to someone who had nothing to do with work, or Miami, any of it. It was a breath of fresh air. But I made you feel second best, and you’ve never done that to me. Ever… I should’ve paid you the same respect.” 

“Thank you, Spence…” You really didn’t know what to say. Things were happening left and right and you didn’t know what to believe. “I just wish you’d thought of giving me that respect before all of this happened.” You still couldn’t look at him. “We spoke… Maxine and I.”

He made a look of uncertainty and worry. “Really? How did that go? She came by? What did she have to say? Why was she here?”

“She… She came to see you and well we got to talking and she confessed that she’s in love with you and that if you died she wanted to do right to herself and tell you.” you moved yourself away from him a bit. “She told me about everything Spencer. The places you guys went to, the books you gave her” you looked away trying to calm your emotions. “Why Spencer? What happened to those places being just for us, I gave you those books.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing. And everything. I know the case in Miami is done but that doesn’t mean my head or my heart were in the right place. I was in profiler mode the whole time we were down there. Working the case, protecting you. Then we got back here,and reality hit me of everything that had happened. And I just wanted the taste of a normal life for a little bit with someone that wasn’t on the team or even you. It wasn’t a romantic choice. It could’ve been anyone. It just happened to be her. I’m sorry that she told you she loves me… That.. that was never my intention. I just wanted a friend, a close friend, a good friend like you and Dexter. I needed to digest everything that happens, and at the same time, be away from it all with someone who could just be my friend, not a profiler or a killer. But I don't love her… at all. I love you, and only you. It’s always only been you, I swear.” 

“Spence, it's hard for me to believe that, all of the things she told me you did were the exact same thing we did when we first got together, how do you expect me not to feel like i’ve been pushed aside for someone new,” There was no stopping the tears. “Like you said she’s outside of all of this I wouldn’t put it past you to move on from me.”

He reached over, taking your hand and sitting up on his elbow. “The last thing I will ever want or do is move on from you. I didn’t spend the last several months using every waking moment trying to protect you and your freedom because I don’t love you more than anyone in this world. I made a mistake. I distanced myself from you, but to be fair, you did it too.” He held up his hand to stop you from protesting. “I’m not faulting you. I know why you did it. I’m keenly aware as to why you did what you did. But the fact remains that when both of us are afraid of hurting the other person, we distance ourselves. The only problem with that logic is, the distancing ourselves does hurt. I did this all wrong. I know I did. But Max is just a friend. I was caught up with feeling.. No longer bogged down by our work, or the Miami business. For that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel second best. I’m sorry for not making you a priority. I’m sorry for making you feel anything but all the love I have for you. I'm sorry for not handling my emotions better and coming to you when I had a problem. I can’t fix what I did, or correct my mistakes, but I’m here now, telling you that none of it matters to me anymore. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you.” 

“You mean it? You're not just saying this to get me to not overthink? It’s been hell, Spence. Every time I wanted to be with you, it’s like you didn’t think twice to run to meet with Max.” You looked up at him. “I was honestly waiting for you to tell me that you were leaving, that you never wanted to see me again, I wanted to blame you for this but I blame myself because if it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have had to find confidence and search for someone else to find some semblance of normalcy.” You wiped the tears away, not wanting to get too emotional.

He leaned all the way up and put his hand on the side of your face. It was some of the first physical contact you’d had in forever since this whole Maxine thing began. “No,” he cooed. “No, none of this is your fault, don’t even think that. I’m an adult. I should've handled it better. It’s just… well you already know I’m envious of you and Dexter. Between JJ, and Miami, and Dexter, and Maxine and our jobs in general. So much has been so messy with us lately, I didn’t even know how to begin talking to you about it. That’s my fault. Not yours. It’s a reflection of me, not you. I got caught up in distancing myself so far away from work, that I distanced you too, and I never meant to do that. I just… I want us to find our way back to each other. That’s all.” 

“I would really like that too, just please no more lies?” you asked of him as you leaned into his touch realizing you’d been very deprived of his touch. “What do you say when we go back I cook you up some of your favorite foods to make you feel better?” you hoped that this would be a good start to getting back to what you two had before everything went wrong. 

“Yes, please. No more lies. I swear. I’m done with Maxine. It’ll just be about us, from now on.” He promised, leaning forward to kiss you and it felt like you could finally breathe again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

if its no trouble may i request a fic where the reader is a writer and she and jaskier’s relationship is sort of built on a mutual love for poetry? like one quoted a line from some poem when they first met and the other got super excited over it and the rest of it was history?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 536Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: The poem I use in this fic is my all-time favorite. It’s called “You Are Tired” by ee cummings and you can read the rest of it here. This prompt was so fun to write, thank you!

A loud, echoing yawn rent the silence you’d been sitting in and you shot the man a glare. He blinked at you sleepily and the soft, unfocused expression on his beautiful blue eyes eased your irritation a bit.

“How is it going on your end?” he asked, calling over the many seats that spanned between you. You weren’t used to having company at the library. Most people abandoned it in the spring to spend more time outside. Most people, but not you who relied on the library as a place to work on your writing. Then this bard showed up one day, lute in one hand and leather bound notebook in the other, and forced you to share your space. If he were just a touch less handsome you may have actually lodged a complaint when he began strumming for tunes but you just squinted at him peevishly and tried to hide the way your foot tapped along to the song. You’d been surprised that he seemed genuinely focused. He had the discipline of a student, not a wandering performer, and his skill at research suggested time spent in a university. Still, you weren’t looking to make friends. No matter how handsome or charming.

“Just working,” you replied quickly, going back to your parchment.

“Oh same, same,” he said words falling away mid-yawn. You shook your head.

“You are tired, I think,” you said.

“Of the always puzzle of living and doing,” Jaskier said, finishing the line aloud as you said it in your head. You looked up at him in shock.

“And so am I,” you said, testing him. Excitement filled his pale blue eyes and he got up, reciting as he crossed the rows to get to you.

“Come with me, then,” he said, “And we’ll leave it far and far away.”

“Only you and I, understand,” you added breathlessly as he knelt by your chair, enraptured.

“I’ve never met anyone else who knew that poem,” he said.

“You must not spend much time around libraries,” you joked, but you were just as excited as he appeared. You’d loved that poem for ages and it was always overshadowed by the poet’s other works. Something about it struck you, though. Enough that you had read it again and again, memorizing each line until you knew it by heart. To find another whose heart writ the same words was an experience unlike any other.

“I’m Jaskier,” he said, “Jaskier de Lettenhove.”

“I’m Y/N,” you answered, meeting his outstretched hand with your own, “Y/N de Nilfgaard.”

He raised your hand to his lips, eyes never leaving yours as he planted a soft kiss on it.

“I know you’re very busy but do you think you might be willing to humor me with some more conversation about poetry?” he asked.

You’d heard that rogues and bards used all sorts of tools to charm their prey. You’d never realized they may resort to poetry. You never could have guessed how eagerly you’d comply. And neither of you could have known (though for years on Jaskier would insist he’d known from the moment he saw you) how that poem would start a love more beautiful than any saga ever penned.

[until-theend-oftheline]

A Night In

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Sebastian is a big lovestruck, flustered dork. You are pretty much no better so...

Word Count: 2400ish

A/N: It can be read as a stand alone for sure, but it also takes place within my Lifelong Love Letter universe. It’s November 2012 and Seb and Y/N are still just friends. Well for now.

This is for @thinkwritexpress-official My Kind of Love Challenge too. My Prompt was Intimacy.

Betaed by: @blacktithe7 - thank you, darling.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Friday night was movie night. It had been a tradition ever since Sebastian had helped you really move in. When you had first come to New York, you hadn’t unpacked. Not really. You were here for Once and when the show was over, you hadn’t been sure if you wanted to stay or not. You knew you weren’t going back to LA, but you hadn't been sure if New York was your new home either.

When Sebastian had come by one day and seen your messy half-moved-in apartment, he had forced you to unpack. He had told you that you would never know if you could learn to love the city if you never gave her a chance. Yes, he had actually said her.

You weren’t sure if it was his logic or his love for the place shining through, but you decided to humor him. He had helped you unpack, and after that, you had eaten pizza and watched movies on your couch.

He had been right though. Having everything in order instantly made you feel more at home and not just like you were in between places. You started finding favorite spots in the city, which you loved sharing with Sebastian too.

Your friendship was weird, you thought as you jumped onto the train to get to his place. He hadn’t been home in a few weeks since he had been on set in Australia. Usually, you would go out on a Saturday either with Sebastian or some of the other friends you had made working on the musical over the summer, but Sebastian had called you earlier. He sounded tired from the jetlag and traveling, so you had suggested moving movie night this week since he hadn’t been home the past three Fridays anyway.

The truth was you had missed him and just wanted to spend time with you best friend any way you could. Best friend. You repeated the words inside your head. He surely was that, but the feelings you had developed after your one night together, when you had first met almost a year ago, had never subsided. You didn’t want to be that girl, so you never told him. That was the only thing you never told him though.

Sebastian had quickly gotten to be the person you went too with everything. Good news and bad. He was the one you wanted to celebrate with when you were happy and the one you needed to hug you when you were feeling down. The musical had ended a few months ago, and yet, you were still here. You had grown to love New York, but if you were completely honest with yourself, part of the reason you had never even considered moving somewhere else after the show ended was because you didn’t want to leave Sebastian.

You smiled at the thought of seeing him again. Even if he didn’t feel the way you felt about him, he was still important to you. You figured he always would be. You had never met anyone like him before. You had liked him from the first time you met, but getting to know him these past few months had made you see just how special he was.

He was handsome, sweet, soft and protective. You learned all of that the first time you met. Now you also knew him to be restless and energetic. He could never sit still for long, which was adorable and infuriating all at the same time. He was smart as hell too, even if he didn’t flaunt it. Sebastian was pretty quiet, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have opinions and was knowledgeable. He just didn’t feel the need to be the loudest spoken person in the room, which you kinda loved about him as well. He was creative and not just as an actor. He drew and wrote poems and short stories as well. There was a lot to love about Sebastian Stan, and he made it pretty damn impossible for you not to fall head over heels in love with him.  

You practically skipped across the street to get to Sebastian’s building after exiting the subway. You rang the intercom, only to have him answer straight away.

“Come on up, Y/N. It’s open.”

“Gee hello to you too, Seba,” you teased, smiling when he chuckled over the intercom. He sounded tired but happy.

“Get your ass up here, and I’ll tell you hello,” he ordered, making you giggle as you hurried through the door and up the stairs.

Sebastian was standing in the doorway to his apartment as you reached his floor. A huge smile spread across his tired face when he saw you. God, he had missed you. More than he should. More than was appropriate given the fact he had not yet grown the courage to tell you how he felt. The truth was he was scared to lose you and the friendship you had now.

He opened his arms to you, and you ran straight into them, laughing when he lifted you off the floor with one arm and backed you both inside his apartment. You barely noticed the door close behind you as he lowered you down, but neither of you let go of each other. The hug was definitely inappropriately long for two friends. Neither of you cared though. You had missed each other too much, and being in each other’s arms again just felt right.

Sebastian closed his eyes, letting the feeling of home rush through him. He loved traveling, working and seeing the world. New York had always been home to him though, only now that was starting to shift. He still loved coming back to his city, but he didn’t truly feel at home anymore until he had seen you.

You pulled back a little, cupping his face in your hands, making him smile as he looked down into your beautiful eyes. They were sparkling with happiness, making Sebastian’s heart skip a beat.

“You look so tired. Was it a long flight?” you asked, a bit concerned. Maybe you should have let him rest. Movie night could wait.

“Yeah. This lady kept speaking to me. She was complaining about everything for the entire flight. Y/N, 14 hours,” Sebastian whined, making you laugh and tug his hair a little.

“Poor baby,” you teased, taking his hand and dragging him towards the couch.

“Let’s get you horizontal before you fall over,” you teased, squealing when Sebastian dug his fingers into your sides, tickling you in punishment.

Sebastian threw his head back in laughter when you jumped out of his reach, sticking your tongue out at him playfully.

“Pizza is already here,” you marveled, looking at the table filled with a couple of pizza boxes, snacks, and a six-pack of your favorite beer.

“Yeah. I knew that once I sit down I wouldn’t wanna get back up,” Sebastian shrugged, and a wave of bad conscience hit you again. You turned to face him, reaching out to tenderly rub his arm.

“Seba, we don’t have to do this tonight. You should sleep. I can go home and…” you started, but Sebastian interrupted you, pulling you into an unexpected hug. It didn’t take you more than a second to relax into him.

“I just need a quiet night in. It’s just jetlag, Y/N/N. I can’t sleep right now anyway,” Sebastian spoke quietly, and you nodded against his chest. You closed your eyes enjoying the closeness for a few more seconds, before pulling back with a smile.

“I bought a movie,” you grinned, quickly turning around and skipping into the hallway to retreat your purse. Sebastian was sitting in the corner of the couch, opening a couple of beers when you returned. You waved the Sherlock Holmes - Game of Shadows DVD in front of him as you sat down on the couch.

“Oh God,” Sebastian laughed, making you pull a face at him, hitting him with one of the pillows. Your attack only increased his laughter, and you pouted playfully.

“Hey you have been wanting to see it too,” you protested as Sebastian took the movie from you, popping it into the machine.

“Not to fangirl over Downey I don’t,” Sebastian teased, you as you handed him a piece of pizza from the box.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and Sebastian laughed again.

“Why don’t you ask Chris to set up a way for you to meet him?” Sebastian asked, causing your eyes to widen, and you forgot to chew the pizza in your mouth.

“No! And don’t you dare say anything about this to Chris,” you scolded, but Sebastian just grinned, holding up his hands in defense.

“Our little secret. I promise,” Sebastian laughed as you glared at him. He raised his arm, offering for you to cuddle up against him as the movie began, and you instantly took him up on it. You rested your head against his shoulder, curling your legs up under you on the couch and draped your arm over his stomach. Sebastian wrapped his arm around his shoulder, and his free hand drew lazy patterns on your arm as you both watched the screen, laughing and chatting about what happened on the screen.

There had from the moment met been a comfortability between the two of you. Sebastian had always made you feel safe around him, but it was more than that. Hugging and cuddling just felt natural, even with the feelings you harbored for him.

Once the movie ended, you were so comfortable you were getting sleepy. You stayed in his arms, closing your eyes, just resting as the credits rolled. You knew you should probably get up and leave. Sebastian needed sleep, but you weren’t ready to go just yet.

Sebastian smiled softly as he watched you curled up against him. He loved moments like this. Where he got to pretend you were his. He loved the feeling of you in his arms, and he loved how comfortable and at ease you were around him. For a moment, Sebastian let his tired mind wander, imagining a world where he had already told you how he felt. A world where you were his girlfriend and there was no way he was going to ever lose you.

You suddenly looked up at him, and for a minute, Sebastian forgot he had only been daydreaming. There was something in the way you looked at him, so lovingly, that made him forget. You were already so close. It didn’t take much for Sebastian to lean down and softly press his lips against yours.

You froze, completely taken by surprise by his kiss. It didn’t last for longer than a second. Not long enough for you to wrap your head around what had just happened and respond to him. He pulled away with a look of panic in his eyes, sitting up straight and you followed him up.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry, Y/N… I…” Sebastian stammered, running his hands through his hair, not looking at you.

“Seb. Look at me please,” you begged, placing a hand on his arm. You were still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Right now, you were simply reacting to him being distressed. He hadn’t hurt you in the slightest, and you hated seeing him panic like this.

“It’s fine. We’re good,” you assured him, and he finally looked at you like you asked. You smiled softly, taking his hand, giving it a small squeeze.

“Seba. What was that?” you asked as you saw him relax a little, and a small hope sparked inside you. He had kissed you. It was brief, but Sebastian wouldn’t just kiss someone without reason.

“I’m sorry…” Sebastian repeated, but you just shook your head, stopping him as you moved a little closer.

“I’m not mad at you. Just… why?” you pushed, not letting go of his hand.

Sebastian’s stomach was doing flips. He felt as if he was going to throw up. He had messed up. What idiot just kisses someone out of the blue? But here you were. Looking at him with those big beautiful eyes of yours. You weren’t yelling at him or running away from him. You were just sitting right there, holding his hand, and for the first time, Sebastian believed he wasn’t going to lose you. Even if you didn’t feel the same about him, he could still tell you and not lose you. And maybe, just maybe, you did return his affections.

Sebastian took a deep breath, looking straight into your eyes. He knew he had to tell you. You deserved that much, and furthermore, he knew you were too stubborn to let him get off easy now. He smiled a little at the thought, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“I didn’t want to tell you like this, but I have wanted to tell you for a long time,” Sebastian started carefully, not looking away now. He had already messed up, but he wanted to finish this right. He wanted you to hear him. “I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.”

You felt as if your heart stopped beating for a moment, and you just sat there looking at him. You had wanted him to say this. That’s the reason you pushed him, but now that he had, you couldn’t believe it was true. You just sat there, looking at him. Right up until he started begging you to speak.

“Y/N. Say something. Please. Or slap me. Just do something,” Sebastian pleaded with you, clinging to your hand. He was terrified now, scared that you were going to run out of the apartment and never speak to him again. It was stupid. Deep down he knew you wouldn’t do that, but his anxiety didn’t.

“I love you too,” you blurted out, watching Sebastian’s eyes widen.

“What?” The disbelief in his voice made you laugh. It felt like a weight you hadn’t realized you had carried had been lifted off you.

You moved to straddle Sebastian’s lap, and his hands instinctively came to rest on your hips. You cupped his face, looking down on him. You were both smiling now, and you shook your head.

“We’re both really fucking dumb, you know that right?” you laughed, causing Sebastian to laugh with you.

“A perfect match.” Sebastian winked at you, leaning up, but let you close the gap between you this time. The kiss was deep and tender, filled with love and hope for the future.

Please reblog; help me spread my work - Leave a comment. Feedback is fuel

[mirkwoodshewolf]

New Year with the band; Queen x reader

Hello people of Tumblr and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I was hoping to have had this done last night but time got away from me so I finished it this morning and so for my first fic of 2019 I present to you another part of my Rock Angel series. This is a pre-Rock Angel fic right here so this is counted before “Set it all free” when you the reader are still the intern to Miami. And after seeing Bohemian Rhapsody for the 2nd time last night, I just had to do this fic and I may have another chapter up soon, hopefully. Anyways I hope 2019 is a great year for everyone and that everyone stayed safe after last night and are taking care of themselves post-New Year celebration.

Warnings: None except for INSANE FLUFFY FEELS.

Taglist *open*:

@phantom-fangirl-stuff

@onebigfangirlworld

@mr-badguymercury

@labessieisallama

@starswin

@naturalswifty89

@isabella-bby

_____________________________________________________

*December 31st, 1980*

This has been a crazy three months and here I am in Freddie Mercury’s house with a whole bunch of strangers plus the rest of the band and their wives to ring in the New Year.  Of course Adam didn’t want to come even though I tried to convince him to come, but he said that he was just too cool to be around a band like Queen.

It was 15 minutes till midnight and 1981 would soon be here.  I was at the food table trying to get a second plate of brownies and basically fill up on sugar to keep myself awake.  Most of the people were already hammered beyond anything else so I had to walk over some of their unconscious bodies till I finally reached the guys.

“Ahh there’s our best girl!” Freddie praised at he held his glass up almost as if he were giving a toast.

“Oh stop it Fred, I literally just saw you five seconds ago.”

“Five very long seconds.” He whined as I playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Isn’t that your second batch of sweets already?” asked Brian.

“Sugar keeps me up, otherwise I’d be asleep in the corner hours ago after all that I’ve been through this semester.” I said.

“But I thought you loved us? Guess we were nothing but a stress factor to you then huh?” Deacy snapped clearly teasing me as I noticed a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“No, no, no, no don’t you guilt me Deacy! You know I love you guys! This has literally been the best semester I’ve had, I just can’t believe in a couple more months I’ll be done and then I won’t see you guys till your next tour before Miami clears my internship credit.”

“I can’t believe you’ll be leaving us after our tour, I feel like you should stay here with us even after the tours done. I’d miss you too much darling.” Freddie said as he leaned over and hugged me close to him before kissing my cheek.

“In all seriousness love, maybe you should cut back on the sweets, you’ll crash faster if you keep eating sugar, take some of these,” he then handed me a couple of his celery sticks and baby carrots. I looked at him with a ‘seriously’ look as I said.

“Really? Veggies Bri?”

“Less you want cavities for the new year I suggest you eat those. Otherwise I’ll have Dr. Taylor here take a look at your mouth since he studied dentistry.”

“Wait for real?” I asked as I turned around and faced him.

“This whole time we’ve known each other and you never once bothered to listen to what I did in school. Really (y/n) what kind of friend are you?” Roger said in a mocked hurt tone.  I threw my baby carrot at him which made all of us laugh and we continued to chat till the midnight hour drew closer.

Time sure does go by when you’re having fun with friends because now as everyone gathered to watch the ball drop live from New York City. We were just 2 minutes away to ring in the New Year and as everyone began the countdown, the anticipation was growing as it got closer and closer.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” Everyone cried out as horns were blown, confetti was thrown in the air and couples kissed each other to ring in the New Year.  Bri, Rog and Deacy kissed their wives to celebrate the new year, Freddie was off god knows where by now meanwhile I just sat there alone.

I sure wish Adam was here to ring in the New Year.  I mean he used to be romantic at first at the start of our relationship, always buying my flowers and leaving little poems every time he’d leave the flat, but now for some reason he thought the romantic gestures were too corny and lame for him all of a sudden, could threaten the new “Rock” image he’s been trying out.

So I secretly knew even if I did bring him, he wouldn’t go for a New Year’s kiss.  Which sucked because the believer of romance that I am, I always thought sharing a kiss with the person you loved, meant you’d have a full successful relationship in the years to come.

At least that’s what I always saw in my parents every New Years.

I sighed solemnly and decided to stop out of the craziness of the party and just have a moment to myself.  I sat along outside in the garden of Freddie’s house along the bench and just stared up into the sky.

“Happy New year mum and dad. I sure wish you could be here to see it.” I said to myself solemnly.

“Something wrong love?” I heard Deacy’s voice say. I turned around and saw the guys standing behind me all looking at me with concern.

“No, not really. At least anything serious.” I said.

“You sure?” They all came and sat around me. Deacy to my left, Brian to my right, Roger sitting in front of me and Freddie standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders every now and then squeezing them assuringly or massaging them.

“Yes, I promise guys nothing’s wrong just….missing my parents is all.”

“While we can see that’s true, there’s something else going on too. You got a little awkward once people started kissing each other, is this because of Arsehole?” Roger said.  I looked at him and said.

“His name’s Adam Rog,”

“Is there a difference?” he questioned. I scoffed at him shaking my head softly.

“I don’t know guys, I thought that maybe I could for the first time get a New Year’s kiss with the first boy whom I’ve ever allowed into my heart ever since my parents died. Oh if only you guys first knew him you’d know he was romantic like you lot are, but lately he’s just called off anything that could damage his ‘badass hard rock exterior’. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sap.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic. Neither gender should feel shame for being or hoping for a little romantic gesture in their life. Take me for example, the best guitarist of the greatest band. Makes his wife breakfasts in bed even when it’s not Mother’s Day or her birthday. I do it because I love her.” Brian said.

“And me, silent bassist John Deacon. I wrote ‘You’re my best friend’ for Veronica. Because that’s who she is and will always be to me. Not just the love of my life, but also my greatest and most treasured friend.”

“And even though we’ve broken off the engagement, Mary will still always be the love of my life. No matter what, which is why I wrote Love of my life for her, because that is who she is and will always be to me. Even though we’re no longer romantically involved with each other.” Said Freddie.

“And even though I’ve gained the reputation for ‘bad drummer boy of Queen’, for Dominque I’m willing to do anything for her. Whether its treating her to a spa day or even a day off from the kids.”

“And that’s what makes your wives and Mary so lucky to have met guys like you. I….just wish I had that guy now.”

“You will love, one day.” Deacy said as he gently placed his hand on the top of my shoulder and gently stroked it with his thumb.

“Until then you still got us, in fact.” Freddie cupped my face and had me look up at him and he kissed both my cheeks and continued, “Consider that your New Year’s kiss from me to you, darling angel.” I smiled up at him as he released my face from his hands.  I then felt my head turn towards Deacy and he said.

“Happy New Year poppet, here’s my kiss from me to you.” He then kissed my temple before I felt him lean his face against mine giving me an additional butterfly kiss. He backed away as Brian said.

“Don’t forget about me,” I turned towards him and he cupped my face much like Freddie did. He first leaned in and gave me a soft Eskimo kiss as his forehead touched mine which always made me feel safe and loved. He then gingerly kissed the center of my forehead and it was then I turned to Roger.

He grinned up at me and said.

“You know the drill, get into these arms you little imp.” I grinned at him before getting off the bench and hugged Roger. His strong arms wrapped around me instantly giving me a big, warm bear hug as I liked to secretly call them.

I felt him repeatedly kiss the top of my head and felt him rub my back.  But then I felt him starting to poke and lightly pinch around my sides, oh shit not again!

“Rog no!”

“No you’ve ended last year with a frown, when you should’ve been smiling. So that’s my first New Year’s resolution, to get you to smile.” He said with a mischievous grin as he kept tickling me. I squirmed around trying to escape Roger’s grip but it was iron clamped.

“Rog….stohahahp!”

“Nah I don’t think so.” He said as he kept tickling me.

“You know Rog, I think you and I are sharing the exact same resolution.” Deacy say.

“No! Nohohoh Deacy don’t…..NOO!!” Soon I had both Roger and Deacy tickling me.

“For being total opposites, seems they’ve agreed on one thing.” I could hear Brian say.

“Indeed.” Stated Freddie.  

“But who says they get to have all the fun?” suggested Brian.  As I kept trying to escape from both Rog and Deacy, suddenly I felt four more pair of hands start to tickle me.

“Guhahahahys stohahahahhap you’re kihihihihlling me!!!”

“Will you start off the New Year with a smile little angel?” Freddie asked.

“YES!! YEHEHEHESS!! JUST PLEHEHEHEASE STOHAHAHP!!” And with that the tickling ceased.  I panted heavily trying to regain my breathing and I said, “You guys are devils I swear.”

“Well that was rather rude darling.” Freddie said.

“Does that require punishment lads?” Brian asked.

“I say it does.” Stated Roger.

“Agreed.” Said Deacy.  The four of them looked at me ready to start tickling me again when I shouted.

“No! No! No! No! No I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Okay I’m sorry I surrender!” They all smirked at me laughing softly.  I then looked at them and said, “Thanks for cheering me up though guys.”

“No problem love, we’re always here for you when you need us.” Brian said as he gently stroked my hair.

“Happy New Year, my four best boys.”

“Happy New Year, our little rock angel.” Freddie said. I smiled at them and I went up to them and the four of them brought me to the center once more but instead of a tickle attack, it was a Queen group hug.  

1980 was a roller coaster year for me, but the best thing that came out of it was the fact that a girl like me, an ordinary college intern music student got to call the biggest band in all of History, my family.

Hell I can’t even imagine what 1981 was going to bring that could make this year seem just like any ordinary year.

[helplessly-nonstop]

Depression (B. Wyatt series)

Hey, it’s Cassie and I actually have a series for you this time! Description, would you be a doll and tel our lovely readers what they’ve stumbled upon!

Honey Bee, or the reader, is a poem blogger and they meet a depressed Abigail Wyatt. As time passes by, they grow closer. But an abusive relationship separates the two and on Honey Bee’s visit to Florida, they realize that it’s too little too late. It will be a three part series: Depression, Impression, and Succesion. Please enjoy and don’t repost to other sites. Because I will find you and I will end you. Cool? Cool. My beta was my favorite soulmate: @sporadic-fics! (Go read her stuff, I love it all)

WC:2454 (the next two parts will ((more than likely)) be longer)

Warnings: depictions of an abusive relationship, mentions of murder, thoughts of suicide, Klandy Borton is a garbage human, character death, mentions of child abuse, anyway, here we go! (GIF was found on Google)

I was a social butterfly on all counts and one person had confided in me when I had posted a poem about suicide on my blog. Her name was Abigail Wyatt and she admitted that she wasn’t having the best life that she could be living. She and her two brothers lost their parents when they were young and unfortunately was pushed into the foster system.

Years had passed and there was multiple families that neglected and abused them, until finally, the oldest brother turned eighteen and they were taken from foster care under his watch. I took her under my wing, even though we had never met in person, but from there, we traded war stories. I explained where I got my inspiration to write and she told me all about her brothers: Bo and Bray.

Bo was apparently very outgoing and she confided in me that she believed that he was gay, which made me giggle a little. When she asked me why I laughed, I informed her that in sets of three siblings, there’s usually at least one that is a member of the LGBTQ+ community. She laughed with me for a while then continued telling me about her family.

Bray was the quietest of the three, with an aura of danger surrounding him, and she stated that she was often worried about what he might do if he had to protect his siblings from serious harm. I assured her that she should have nothing to worry about, but to be honest, there was no way of being sure.

But things went from good to bad for Abigail after a while. She had met a man by the name of Randy Orton and she told me that she had loved him like she had never loved anyone before.

“Abigail, are you sure that you truly know what kind of person this guy is? I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.” I stated, bumping my apartment door shut with my hip. My hands were full with groceries while my phone was squished between my shoulder and cheek, something that was definitely uncomfortable. When I realized that I didn’t get it closed all the way, I raised my foot and kicked it in to its place.

“Oh, Honey Bee, I couldn’t be more sure! He’s so sweet and considerate, never late to pick me up! He works at the police station here in town!”she informed me, a small, dreamy sigh leaving her throat. I gave a laugh and set my bags on the ground before kicking my shoes off my feet.

“All right, as long as you know you’re safe with him. I’m going to get off of here and make some dinner.Tell Bo that I said hello!”

“Oh don’t lie to me, Honey Bee, you’re going to order in Panda Express for dinner cause you don’t want to cook.”she scolded but her soft giggle assured me that she wasn’t truly shaming me. I gave a grin then ended the call, beginning to put my food away in the sections that it belongs to. I laid on my couch for a few moments and stared at the ceiling before I decided that I was going to succumb to my ridiculous addiction to Chinese takeout.

Forty five minutes passed and finally, my food arrived, allowing me to retreat into my room properly. A small chirp through my phone drew me away from my bingeing of Brooklyn Nine Nine and I rolled away to check who texted me and raised an eyebrow when I realized that it wasn’t just any number: it was Abigail: Leave her alone or I swear to God, you’ll fucking die.

I jerked up out of bed and stared at the screen, unsure of how to react to this message. Apparently Abby hasn’t told her boyfriend that her closest friend just happened to be a person halfway across the country. I paced the length of my room and finally paused, deciding that I would call her in the morning. She was obviously with Randy tonight and I didn’t want to risk her getting hurt because I want to discuss her possibly dangerous boyfriend.

I set my half eaten sweet and sour chicken in the fridge and returned to my bed, staring at my clock, hoping that I could fix whatever Abigail had gotten herself into with this guy before it was too late.

With a quick roll to the right, I hit the floor with a groan, looking through the window to see that it was now daylight and snowing. Fantastic.

I pulled myself back to my feet and checked my phone to see if I had received any new messages that I should’ve been worried about. Luckily, there was just one and it really was from Abby this time. I swiped upwards then pressed in my thumbprint before reading what she sent me,”Hey, sorry about that last text! Randy can get a bit jealous. Don’t worry, tho, explained it all!”

I hesitated on what I should say, my thumbs hovering over the text keys, then I decided that I needed to see her face when I asked her these questions that had been brewing in my head all night. I guess worrying about the possibility that your friend’s boyfriend is a psycho really doesn’t let you sleep at night.

“You home alone?” I sent back in return, hoping that she’d give me the okay to FaceTime her. A few seconds skimmed by then she answered, ”Yeah, Randy left for work early today.”

A small sigh left me, my shoulders dropping in relief, then I pressed the button to go ahead and call. It rang three times and she finally picked up on the fourth one, her face slowly coming into focus. But that’s when I noticed it.

“Oh my God, Abigail, do you have a black eye?!” I demanded, leaning forward for a better look. She brushed a timid hand over her injury and reassured me, ”It’s fine, I hit the door knob cause I slipped. No big deal, I promise.”

“Abigail, I don’t think you really know this guy. I mean, he threatened to kill me and he doesn’t even know me!” Her eyes flashed with uncertainty and I began to say something else when she rushed out,”It’s fine, I fixed it! He’s gonna change, I swear it, Honey Bee! It’s fine, now, please, can we just talk about something else?”

And stupid, idiotic me being me, I allowed her to change the subject. But things didn’t become fine and Randy most certainly didn’t change.

Months passed and I began hearing from my friend less and less frequently, something that was uncommon for her. Eventually, time for my semi annual visit down to Florida had arrived and before I knew it, I was getting settled in my usual little hotel that I stayed in. I decided to FaceTime her to make sure that she was at home, since it was Thursday and she didn’t work today.

Her phone rang four times and for a moment, I thought she was going to let me go to voicemail, when she finally picked up. A gasp escaped me at her appearance and I stared at her with my mouth agape, unsure on what to say.

Her cheek was swollen, her black eye barely concealed, and her bottom lip was busted. But really frightened me was the bruises maring her throat. It was obvious that she was at her house, but there had been drastic changes made.

“Abigail, what happened?” I murmured, pressing my hand to my mouth, as if it could stop the tears brewing in my eyes. She began to give an excuse when someone snatched away the phone, shouting,”Fuck off, it’s none of your fucking business!” And with that, the screen went dark. I stared at my phone for a few moments then finally, I acted on what I knew needed to be done. I called the emergency number for Brooksville, Florida, desperate to send help for my friend.

“Hello, 911, is everything alright?”

“No! No, I think my friend is in danger. I called her and she looks like her boyfriend is beating her! When I asked what happened, he took her phone and smashed it. Please, could you send someone out to check on her?” I rushed out as calmly as I could manage. The man on the other end paused for a quick second and I thought that he might’ve hung up on me then he asked,”Do you know what the address is?”

I began tossing items from my purse then finally dragged my planner out, flipping to all of the addresses I had written down and thankfully, I had Abigail’s. I recited it back to the operator and I could hear him clicking on the keyboard before he answered,”Okay, we are sending in a patrol car now to check on your friend. Do you know what the boyfriend’s name is?”

I began telling him it then paused, remembering one of the few details that Abigail provided me about this dick fuck: he worked at the police department. Cops had a history of hiding domestic abuse cases like this when one of their own was the abuser and I was not about to let Abigail be let down by a corrupt system.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I hope that’s okay.” I apologized, fake sympathy leaking into my voice.

“It’s alright, not a problem. Alright, it sounds like the patrol car is there now. Would you like to stay on the line with me, see if your friend is okay right away?”

“Yes, please, you could.” Silence hit the line and I waited with bated breath to hear what was going on then I heard words that I never wanted to hear.

“Shots fired, shots fired! One officer down, suspect is deceased, victim is critical. We need a bus!” Faint shouting rose through the phone and I ended the call quickly, unsure of what to do. My hands fidgeted, tossing my phone back and forth, then finally, decided to go digging through our past conversations in search of her brother’s number. I knew I should’ve saved it when she first sent it to me.

Two hours passed and I was barely a month through our texts when my phone began ringing with the caller ID as someone from Brooksville, Florida. I quickly picked up then asked,”Hello?”

“Hi, I’m lookin’ for a person by the name of Hunny Bee?”a man questioned, his voice something of a phone sex operator. He had somewhat of an accent and I realized that I knew that drawl. It was Bray, Abigail’s oldest brother. He somehow got my number and was calling me, hopefully with intentions of delivering good news.

“This is them. Is Abigail alright?” I asked, nibbling on my nails. A small sigh escaped his mouth then he stated,”I think you need to meet us down at the hospital, sweetheart.” I paused at his statement then began nodding as I agreed,”Of course, I’ll grab a cab and be there in ten.”

I snatched my bag from the bed and darted out the door, already ending the call with Bray and dialing for an Uber.

I rushed into the hospital and slammed my hands on the desk, rushing out,”I’m looking for Abigail Wyatt.” The man running the desk looked upwards and said with a monotone, ”Can’t if you’re not family.”

“I’m her sister in law and I suggest if you don’t want her brother in your face, you need to fucking tell me what room they’re in.” I snapped, cracking my knuckles. He rolled his eyes and clicked a few tabs on the keyboard before informing me where they were.

I rushed upstairs and began scanning the room numbers for Abigail’s when I heard someone call my name. I turned on my heel and watched as Bo came into view.

“Bo! Have you heard anything yet?” I rushed out after he crushed me into a hug. He pulled away and I watched his face crumble, giving away exactly what fate my dearest friend had met. Another man stepped beside us and I immediately connected who it was: Bray, the oldest of the Wyatt siblings.

“By the time that the police had arrived, it appears that Randall shot her. They warned him to lower his weapon but instead, he fired at the cops who in return, shot him. I’m very sorry, but Abigail has passed.”he informed me and for a second, the briefest of moments, there was silence, then my mind shattered.

“No! She- she can’t be gone, oh my god, how could I let this happen,I should’ve known, I should have pushed her to get help.” I sobbed, my knees buckling from underneath me. Bray caught me by my arms and lowered me to the ground, allowing me to continue my breakdown. He petted my hair and informed me,”Abigail knew the risks. You did everything you could do, it’s not your fault that she didn’t heed the warnings you were giving to her.”

“But-but I could’ve helped her more, could’ve convinced her to break it off with him.”

“Sweetheart, even if she would’ve tried, I imagine that the same result would’ve came along. This will not fall on your delicate shoulders.” Bray assured me, bringing me to my feet. I let out a sniffle and he offered,”Let me take you back to the house, you can rest there. Bo and I have some… arrangements to take care of.” My mind filled in his pause and I gave a stiff nod, muttering,”All my stuff is back at my hotel though.” He rubbed a calloused thumb over my cheek and said,”If you give me your key, I will retrieve your items and bring it back. I don’t think you need to be alone right now.”

“I-I don’t know why I’m not comforting you… you’re the one who lost his sister.” I murmured, lifting my head. He gave a stiff smile and replied,”Indeed I did.. but you gave her life. After she met you, she was like a beacon for us. You blessed her with light when darkness was being to consume her very being. Thank you… for everything that you did for Abigail.” I nodded then he dropped Bo and I at the house to settle in while he went to go get my items from my hotel room. It was going to take a while for me to fully come to terms about what the hell had taken place over the last couple weeks.

[empatheticfoxwritings]

Not in That Way

Pairing: Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski 

Show: South Park 

Summary:

Over the years, Kyle never really changed in terms of personality.

He was always there for Stan when he needed him the most. Always a source of comfort and support. They were super best friends until the end of time. Which is why it's so hard to bear that Kyle will never love Stan back. Because you see, Kyle is straight and with every girl he kisses, Stan gets closer to his breaking point.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Self-hatred, alcohol abuse, suicidal thoughts, implied self-harm, some swearing

A/N: Was a little nervous to post this since I have other fics unrelated to this one I’m working on but I’m quite proud of this one. So, I hope you enjoy!

Over the years, Kyle never really changed in terms of personality.

He was always that reliable, care-too-much kid. Always the one to hold study groups and tutor on the weekends to those who struggled. He was caring, compassionate, and just an overall good person. And yet, despite his kind disposition, he had a temper that could rival anyone. Call him a name and you’d be kissing concrete before you could even blink.

He had always been that way and he still is.

The only thing that really changed about Kyle was his look. His ushanka stayed on him most of the time but he, occasionally, takes it off. The day Kyle Broflovski took his hat off, all eyes were on his tamed curly locks. The Jewfro was long dead and Kyle radiated a new confidence that no one had ever seen. His wardrobe remained the same which consisted of polos, t-shirts, odd colored jeans, and his weird fixation with orange cardigans. Stan never understood it considering orange wasn’t even Kyle’s favorite color. Nevertheless, after Kyle’s “transformation” all the girls flocked to him. Oh, that’s another change.

Kyle was a total ladies man and he enjoyed it.

Kyle had told Stan often that he hated girls and never wanted to kiss them. Sure, that was when they were young but even in freshman and sophomore year of high school, Kyle barely spoke to girls. Never went to dances, never went out on dates, never even kissed a girl. Then he completely changed. Stan caught Kyle and Wendy making out in the men’s bathroom one day during junior year and he had to control the urge to vomit everywhere. Kyle was initially embarrassed but after being caught many many times by Stan, he lost whatever filter he had. Kyle would have girls over when it was just supposed to be bro time and Stan would leave an hour in to escape the nastiness that was straight Kyle. Regular Kyle was sometimes hard to deal with but straight, horny Kyle was a whole other ballgame.

What even brought on this sudden change in his super best friend?

I guess you could say it was a change for a change. Stan had changed too but his felt more soul-crushing. It all started with the depression, the cynicism, and the anxiety. It all came so suddenly and his parent’s inevitable divorce didn’t help. Nothing helped and everything was complete shit. To top it all off, Kyle decided he had enough of Stan’s bullshit. He told him that he couldn’t do this anymore, being around him was too emotionally draining. Then he turned his back on him. So, he did the only thing that made life bearable, he drank.

At the time, Stan was pissed and he still kind of is but, he understood where Kyle was coming from. Stan was being an absolute asshole and Kyle didn’t deserve that shit. After that day, Stan spent most of his nights drowning himself in alcohol. It wasn’t hard considering how Randy bought more beer than groceries most of the time.

All those nights, Stan wondered how everything went wrong. His friends, his family, his whole life was just gone. What was the point of going on when nothing makes you happy anymore? He was a such a fool for even thinking he could make something of himself. Everything he touched fell apart. What was the goddamn point of anything?

His self-deprecating thoughts made him drink more. Everything got hazy those nights. He would wake up with no recollection of what he did the previous night. He used to check his body in the morning for any damage but once he started finding cut marks he stopped. He didn’t want the reality of the situation to sink in. It would just give him another reason to hate himself.

One of the things he did amidst his drunken deeds, apparently, was text people. After a noticeable line was cut in his close friendships, he never hung out with anyone. Kenny would come over once a month for booze and that was all the contact he had. However, out of nowhere, people started approaching him about things he had texted to them. If he had any dignity left, he might have felt embarrassed. He would simply give a monotone apology and move on. This all continued for some time until one night.

One night, he got completely hammered but despite the alcohol, he remembers exactly what happened.

He was nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels and texting what he thought would be his last words. He sent the message and threw his phone across his room. A ringtone came on immediately but he didn’t check it. What was the point? He could barely remember what it said. Something about dying or hating himself probably. He took another long drink of the Jack Daniels. Everything was white noise.

“I could just leave.” He speaks out loud. “Life would move on.”

The spoken words strike him. Hot tears pour down his face as he looks out his window. He rarely cries but tonight the tears come without restraint. Sobs ripped through him as he curled into himself. It felt like the walls were caving in on him. He yanked at his greasy hair and writhed against his sheets. Some part of him hoped that someone would hear his cries. However, after some time, no one came. That fact began to soothe him and his cries turned into whimpers. The silence brought a sense of calm that made him bring the bottle to his lips again.

After every breakdown, Stan was left with the lonely silence he became accustomed to.

The silence was loudly interrupted by a soft knocking at his door. Shit, is mom home? He stayed quiet in hopes that whoever it was would go away, come in, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He hiccuped softly and pressed himself against the corner of the wall.

“Hey,” The voice spoke softly with another knock. “I know you’re in there, Stan.”

He knew that voice. Or did he? “I’m fine, ma.” He slurred.

The door opened and Stan pulled the covers over himself. The voice sighed harshly. After a moment, he felt the bed dip and the covers were yanked off of him.

“Hey,” Stan whined. His face changed when he realized who the person was. “Oh, Kyle.”

“Hey, Stan.” Kyle bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. He wore that face. That face that Kyle reserved just for him. Was it pity or concern? He didn’t give a fuck, he just didn’t want to see it right now.

“Don’t give me that face.” He hiccuped and went to take another drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Kyle placed his hand on the bottle.

“Who cares?” Stan slurred and took another long drink.

He took a second to look at Kyle. He wasn’t wearing his hat which was very un-Kyle. Things were starting to blur but he remembers seeing checkered pants and a grey shirt. Kyle was wearing his pajamas. Why was he even here?

“Why you here?” Stan grunted.

A pause. “You texted me.” Oh.

Stan stared at him for a few moments. “I don’t need a lecture mom!” He shouted and took another drink, as if indignant. He frowned when he realized that the bottle was lighter now.

Kyle sighed again and ran a hand through his curls. “I’m not here to lecture you…. Look, I’ve been really shitty lately. I’ve been...really selfish…I miss you, Stan. I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” Stan spat. “I don’t deserve anything. I’m worthless-”

“No, you’re not!” Kyle’s voice cracked from the sudden volume of his voice. “You’re my best friend, asshole! I love you and I can’t stand to see you do this to yourself. Don’t think I haven’t been keeping an eye on you! I thought if I stepped aside...it would help you. It was dumb, I was dumb.”

Kyle reached forward and snatched the bottle from Stan’s grip. He placed his other hand firmly on Stan’s shoulder. His eyes bore into Stan’s. Stan couldn’t figure out the intense almost conflicted expression the redhead held. He remembers the fire in those green eyes. The softness of that fire made him want to lock himself away and write Emo poems about those emerald eyes. Stan’s stomach flip-flopped at the tight feeling in his chest. Why was Kyle looking at him like that?

“I really care about you, Stanley,” Kyle whispered.

Those words broke him. Stan hiccuped a sob and threw himself into the other’s arms. Everything poured out of him. The way Kyle gripped him back and hushed him made him break down more. Love, comfort, support. That’s all he really needed. Nothing could be fixed overnight but, being in Kyle’s arms was a start. Stan’s sobs faded to whimpers and his body shook from the exhaustion. Kyle helped lower him from his shoulders so that Stan could lay his head in Kyle’s lap.

Stan couldn’t look Kyle in the eyes, the sobbing having sobered him up. Still, Kyle brushed his bangs back in such an intimate way. He took a chance to look at Kyle’s face. Their eyes locked and Kyle smiled softly and Stan felt his cheeks grow warm. He hiccuped again and looked away. He didn’t move yet, he didn’t know what would happen if he broke the silence. Luckily, he didn’t have to because Kyle started to hum.

“Oh, Florida please be still tonight. Don’t disturb this love of mine. Look how she’s so serene. You gotta help me out,” Kyle sang quietly and Stan felt a lump in his throat. “And count the stars to form the lines and find the words we’ll sing in time. I wanna keep her dreaming. It’s my one wish. I won’t forget this.”

Stan looked up at his best friend and whispered the next few lyrics. “I’m outdated, overrated. Morning seems so far away.” Kyle grinned brightly, his nose crinkling. Stan sighed heavily. God, since when was Kyle so goddamn beautiful?

“So I'll sing a melody and hope to God she's listening. Sleeping softly while I sing. And I'll be your memories.” The two sang softly together. “Your lullaby for all the times, hoping that my voice could get it right.”

“Kyle…” Stan’s voice shook. Everything in him was screaming to kiss him. Grab his best friend and kiss him senseless. Surely it was the alcohol? But no, oh god no. Had he always felt this way? Stan gazed at the redhead who was practically beaming like the damn sun at him. What the fuck is wrong with me? Overwhelmed by these feelings, he simply stared back and tried not to puke.

“Stan,” Kyle laughed and shook his head. “I’ll always be here as your friend, okay? Super best friends. I swear this time I mean it.”

“I-I,” Stan whimpered. He took Kyle’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I’m sorry for everything. I’ll always be here too. Super best friends…..I swear this time I mean it.”

Kyle giggled. He giggled and squeezed Stan’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, stupid.”

Kyle helped him into the bathroom and sat him down on the stool. He gently rolled up Stan's sleeves and rubbed the fading marks along his arms. He sighed and grabbed the first aid kit. He cleaned each mark gently despite the fact they were already healing. As Kyle helped him clean his face and brush his teeth, Stan hummed quietly to himself. You could crush me. Please don’t crush me.

The following morning after he and Kyle reconciled was interesting. First of all, he woke up and nearly broke his leg in his haste to vomit in the bathroom. He and Kyle had apparently fallen asleep in the same bed and Stan was stuck between him and the wall. The sudden lurch of his stomach woke him up and he nearly crushed Kyle in his rush to get out of bed. He remembers a loud thunk faintly. Okay, so maybe he knocked Kyle off the bed but it was a matter of life or death.

In hindsight, Jack Daniels was a mistake. The whiskey never settled well in his stomach and it made his throat burn. And he had consumed almost a whole bottle of it which was just great. After all the contents of his stomach were removed, he laid his head against the porcelain with a groan.

“Feel better now?” Stan gave a gurgling moan and Kyle chuckled. “Here, drink some water. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Where ya going?” Stan mumbled. Please, don’t go.

“I’m going to make breakfast, dude. Now drink your water and shut up.” Stan gagged at the idea of food. Kyle laughed. “Hush, It’s a hangover cure and I’m hungry.”

Stan drank the cup of water and leaned his head against the wall. Most hangovers were spent on the floor of the bathroom or in the shower dissociating. It was odd to have someone take care of him instead. Odd but not bad. Also unlike most hangovers, he remembered a majority of the previous night. Kyle’s apology, Kyle’s voice, the way Kyle looked at him as if he was the most important thing in the world. He remembered every detail vividly. Even the white panic he felt when he wanted to kiss him.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

His cheeks heated at the thought. He pulled himself up and began to wash his face. The cold water was welcoming but his thoughts still swarmed. Why did he want to kiss Kyle? Kyle was his best friend and he was convinced he hated him until last night. Why now? Maybe, it was the alcohol. Maybe he just wanted to kiss him. Yeah, that must be it. It was just an urge to kiss him and that’s it. He was starved of affection clearly.

Stan gave a large exhale and frowned at his reflection. He needed to shower right now. He sniffed his clothes and realized that those had to go too. He went to grab some cleaner clothes and took a fast shower. Feeling sufficiently better, he went down to see if Kyle was in the kitchen. Kyle was leaning against the counter scrolling through his phone. He looked up when Stan walked in.

“I made eggs and toast. You should try eating a little at least.”

“Thanks, mom.” Stan sat and grabbed a piece of toast and took a tentative bite. He was pleased to not feel nausea creep up again.

“Shut up.” They ate in silence for a bit. Kyle was the first to break it. “So, do you remember anything about last night?”

“Vaguely.” He lied.

“Hmm,” Kyle chewed on his egg and seemed to choose his next few words carefully. “Do you remember texting me?”

“Oh,” Stan tried to recall, but that was one thing he blocked out. “I really don’t. How stupid was it?”

Kyle was silent for a while so, Stan looked up at him. Kyle was chewing his lip with a concerned look on his face. His arms were crossed almost defensively against his chest. Stan, suddenly, really didn’t want to know what he said.

“It was hard to completely make out but you said you missed me. You said that ever since we fought you haven't forgiven yourself and that life is miserable. You said that you...you had nothing to live for anymore and that if you just...offed yourself everyone would be happy.”

“I-” Stan’s breath hitched. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“Why?”

“W-Why? Why what?”

“Why do you think everyone would be happy if you killed yourself?” Kyle finally made eye contact with him. His eyes burned and Stan wanted to hide but he was frozen in place.

“I-I just...I screw everything up. I drove away everyone who ever cared about me. I’m such a burden. No one wants to be around a mess like me. I’m just worthless-”

“Stop!” Kyle shouted causing Stan to jump. “You are not! Don’t just say that!” Kyle’s face reddened and he took a moment to rub his eyes. Was he crying?

“Kyle?”

“You’re not worthless. You’re my b-best friend, Stan. I-” Kyle sniffed and tried to compose himself again. “I care about you. I would care if you...you know. I would! You know how fucking scary it is to get a text like that in the middle of the night? I know you’ve been struggling, okay? I was watching you at school. I saw the c-cuts on your arms and how exhausted you always looked. I knew and I just...I was too much of a pussy to say anything.”

“I-,” Stan spoke shakily as tears started to slide down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

A loud silence passed between the two of them. They both cried openly now, but both were too scared to move. A string had been stretched taut and one wrong move could cut it indefinitely.

“Left turn,” Stan whispered.

“What?” Kyle questioned exasperatedly.

“When we fought you told me that sometimes you need to make a left turn.”

“Stan, that wasn’t-”

“No, you were right. I don’t...I don’t want to keep doing this. I wanna be happy dammit!” Stan banged his fist on the counter. “I want to be better but I...I can’t do this alone. I hate to be selfish...God, I hate it so much but I need you.”

Stan looked down at his feet and braced for the worst. Opening up was never easy for him. He preferred to look at everything with a sense of apathy. Kyle called it nihilism but really he was just scared. Scared to face the shithole he dug himself into. Sometimes you just need to make a left turn.

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and looked up. Kyle was smiling. That small smile he rarely gave. The one where his head tilted slightly and his eyes squinted just so. He took Stan’s breath away. Even the tear tracks down his cheeks were beautiful. He was close enough for Stan to see the light freckles on his face.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I needed you too? Cause I do.” He pulled Stan into a hug that the other boy welcomed. “We’ll get through this together.”

Stan was slightly taller than Kyle so he pressed his nose into his hair. He held onto him tightly and quietly came to a realization. These feelings he had, it wasn’t just about a kiss. It was more than that. He needed this boy, more than anything else in this world. There he is, the boy I love. There you are, I’ve been looking for you forever.

Ever since that night, their friendship went back to normal. No not normal, it was stronger. Stan slowly weaned off drinking frequently and, despite his many protests, was seeing a therapist. A shift happened in South Park, the dynamic duo was back. The world righted itself and everyone gave a sigh of relief. Everyone, except Stan Marsh. Sure, he had his best friend back and he was in a healthy mind space now but there was a huge problem.

He is absolutely in love with Kyle and he has no idea what to do about it.

Kyle was straight, or at least that’s what he gathered from the boy’s track record of girlfriends. After that night, the two were inseparable but during junior year, Kyle started dating. God, it made Stan feel physically sick to see him with other people. It was worse than seeing Shelly dating. At least with Shelly, he could just ignore her boyfriends and move on. He couldn’t do that with Kyle. Cause each time Kyle had his arm around another girl a part of Stan chipped away.

At first, he tried to ignore this new development in Kyle. So he wanted to date? That’s fine. He even selfishly hoped that Kyle would find that he doesn’t like girls. It was a hopeful dream at best because Kyle never stopped dating. The time he spent hanging with his best friend lessened and Stan’s love for him only grew the longer they were apart.

Yet, as their senior year went by he never complained about this to Kyle. Partly because he was afraid of blowing his cover but also because he didn’t want him to worry. Kyle would drop anything for Stan and while it was another reason to love him, he couldn’t do that to him. The redhead may have been making out with a lot of chicks, but he was also putting everything into his studies. Kyle never said what he wanted to do but he always said that he wanted to do something important. Whether it was teaching, politics, or being a goddamn superhero. It didn’t matter to Stan because he knew that he could do it. If anyone could get out of South Park and make something out of himself it was Kyle. So, as finals approached, Kyle became more tense and angry. Stan knew it was best to stay out of his way. However, if he happened to pay Ike to give Kyle care packages every so often then that was just that.

So, it was a surprise to Stan when on the night before their last day of exams, Kyle asked him to hang out.

“Dude, let’s go sit on the billboard at sunset, like old times.”

“The Tweak Bros one?” Stan smiled. “Let’s do it. You gonna supply the shitty teriyaki?”

“Duh.” Kyle punched his shoulder lightly.

“Broflovski!” Clyde Donovan shouted and smacked Kyle on the back. “Heard you got lucky with Heidi last Friday. You dog!”

“Shut the fuck up Clyde.” Kyle blushed and Stan stiffened. “You don’t know shit.”

“Sure,” Clyde drawled. “The look on your face just proves it. Glad to know you found someone. Now the rest of us stand a chance right, Stanley?”

Stan merely grunted. Sure, Clyde, that’s absolutely what he wanted. Stan knew Kyle had made out with practically every girl. He just wasn’t expecting to hear that he fooled around with some. He tried to not picture it. Kyle kissing someone else. Kyle moaning and having sex with someone else. Kyle loving someone else. It didn’t work.

Bile burned his throat and he had to leave. He slammed his locker shut and walked away without a word. He hears Kyle shout for him but he ignores it. He needed to get away, he needed to go home. He doesn’t remember the drive home in his beat-up Impala. He doesn’t remember throwing up everything in his stomach. He doesn’t remember grabbing the tequila and climbing to the top of the Tweek Bros billboard. The only thing he remembers is the dull ache in his chest.

He takes a sip of the tequila, it burns his throat making him gag. Guess alcohol lost its touch as well. He sets it aside and sighs. He rubs his chest and lets his feet dangle off the edge. He remembers reading about this disease on the internet. What was it, Hanahaki disease? Something like that. A disease of unrequited love. A beautiful, tragic disease. The details escape him but when he compares the color of the sunset to Kyle’s curls he knows that he has it. He rests his arms on the railing in front of him.

Stan has to admit it. He had to say it to someone, anyone. Maybe if he could get the words out he could move on. Kyle and he were best friends and he wanted to keep that above all. Kyle loved him sure, but not in the way he yearned for.

He loves you but, not in that way.

Stan rubs the tears away before they fall. He had to tell him. He hates to admit it and he knows the truth will hurt more than anything else. It’s such a shame too considering Kyle always says “I really care about you”. Loads of people cared about him. He’d been through that with his therapist. His mother, his father, his friends, Kyle. They all did but caring for and loving are different. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.

He had to tell him.

“Hey,” Stan looked down to see the boy that was consuming his thoughts. “Got room up there for two?”

He was wearing his green ushanka. He wore an orange sweater with grey joggers and his beat-up black Converse. In his hand, he held a plastic bag from City Wok. A brown satchel hung off his shoulder and he smiled sheepishly. In the warm glow of the sunset, you could see the freckles dance across his cheeks. Stan never wanted him more.

“Yeah, come on up.”

Kyle managed to climb up the latter and keep his belongings intact. He was always talented in little ways. God, Stan was such a fool for him. He felt like a damn chick in one of those sitcoms. Everything Kyle did was perfect and it made him feel soft inside.

“Here, I got you your usual if you’re hungry.” He handed the styrofoam container over and Stan wished he could kiss him in thanks. He simply took the container with a murmured thanks. “Mind if I put on some music?” Stan shook his head and Kyle pulled out his phone.

Forever The Sickest Kids began to play and Stan relaxed against the billboard. He quietly thanked Kyle for picking one of his own playlists. They were mainly depressing and emo but it was what he needed right now. They ate in silence for some time with the soft music coming from Kyle’s phone.

“You doing okay?” Kyle almost whispered.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“I was worried when you left earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” And he really was. “I just wasn’t feeling well.”

“You wouldn’t answer my texts.” Kyle pressed.

“I-I told you I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

“If you are fine then why is there a bottle of booze up here?”

Well damn, he got him there. “I-I just….I need...I need to tell you something.” Well, it was now or never.

“I love you, Kyle.”

“Wha-” Kyle cocked his head. “I love you too, man. Now, what's wrong?”

“That’s just it Kyle. I’m in love with you. I have been for some time.”

Kyle sucked in a breath and Stan swore he saw his posture stiffen. He wrapped his arms around his frame and Stan felt tears well in his eyes. He had to do damage control fast before he went home and cried to his mom just like in every shitty romcom he’d seen.

“Look I’ve never wanted to tell you this because deep down I know what you’ll say.”

“Stan…”

“You’d say I love you dude but not in that way.” Stan chuckled bitterly. “Yet, here I am. My feelings are out in the open. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I didn’t realize until that night you saved me but….they were there. Always. I want you and I need you, Kyle.”

An uncomfortable silence passed. Stan decided to cut the tension. “I feel like I needed to tell you even if I can’t bare what happens next. I can’t sit by if you decide to move after graduation without telling you how much you mean to me. And I guess that’s why I was so sick to hear that you slept with someone...I guess I had just hoped somehow...that would be me. Stupid, right?” Stan sniffled and rubbed his face again.

“Stan...We...We’ve never been like that.” Kyle’s voice shook.

“Yeah well,” Stan glared at the ground. The sorrow being replaced by sheer bitterness. “I’ve tried to stop it but I can’t...I guess telling you is my way of trying to get over this. I don’t want to lose you.” Stan tried to fight the tears that were already streaming down his face.

The soft sounds of One Day at a Time fill the silence. Kyle, stiff and closed off, and Stan, crying quietly to himself. Stan sighs shakily. The longer he stays, the harder this will be. He just needs to go home, take a shower, and sleep for days.

“Look,” His voice cracks. “I’m just going to go. I can’t make you love me.”

“I-I never said that I didn’t love you.”

“I love you as a friend too.” I can’t bear this.

“Stan!” Kyle grabbed his arm tightly. Stan wobbled and nearly fell off the railing. Kyle pushed him back so he was flush against the billboard. “You always fucking do this! You never let me get a word in because you’re too busy playing the fucking scene out in your head! You don’t know everything!”

Stan stares back in shock. He should have expected Kyle to get angry but he didn’t expect him to say those words. Don’t know everything? What was there to know? Kyle’s body language said enough.

“Kyle,” He practically sobbed. “I can’t do this...Please, just let me go.”

“No! No, you don’t...You don’t get to just say that and...You-”

Kyle placed his hands on Stan’s head and forced them to lock eyes. Stan hitched a breath. Those green eyes stared into his soul. Everything was out in the open for him. Could they go back to the way they were after this? It was never that easy, was it?

Kyle wiped away a few of Stan’s tears. It was so gentle that Stan just cried more. Kyle moved forward hesitantly and placed their foreheads together. Stan leaned into the touch and placed his hands on top of Kyle’s. Stan’s cries became more of sobs and his body shook. Kyle rubbed his thumbs against his cheeks and tried to shush him.

“You never had to be scared,” Kyle whispered, his breath sending a chill down Stan’s spine. “You never had to worry.”

Kyle pressed forward and let their lips brush. Warmth. Everything was warm. It was sun-kissed skin on the first day of summer. Hushed whispers under the soft light of a lamp and relief in the arms of an embrace. It was breathtaking and, yet, a breath of fresh air. Stan wondered how he had lasted so long without his touch.

“I love you, too.”

“I...You do?”

“Yeah...I have for a long time.”

“You have?” Stan let a giggle slip out. And because he could, he leaned in for another kiss.

“Yeah,” Kyle breathed. “I don’t know if you remember but freshmen year I asked you if you were going to the dance. You said yeah and that you had asked Wendy to go. Then...you asked me if I had anyone in mind…”

“You...You said that the person you wanted to ask was already taken.”

“Yeah, well, that was you.” Kyle looked away and blushed. “I knew I liked you since maybe middle school? Or forever, I honestly couldn’t tell you when it started.”

“Oh,” Stan’s face burned. “Then why were you sucking girls faces?” Wow, so blunt, Marsh.

“I guess I was trying to...get over you? Also experimenting to see if I was gay or whatever. Never really helped me get over you clearly.” Kyle rubbed their noses together and Stan giggled again. The love of his life loves him back. How could he not? "I should have told you but...I was terrified of what you would do. I convinced myself that we could never be together. Which, like a lot of things I have done, was really dumb."

“But Clyde said, Heidi-”

“Clyde doesn’t know shit,” Kyle growled. “You want to know what we did? We talked about you. We talked about how I’m madly in love with you and she could see it from ten feet away. She was trying to help me sort out my feelings.”

“Oh,” Wait. “You’re madly in love with me?” Stan grinned impossibly wide.

“I didn’t-” His face turned a dark red to rival his hair color. “Shut the fuck up.”

Stan threw his head back and laughed. Still chuckling, he wrapped his arms around the other boy. He squeezed him tightly and rocked them back in forth a few times. He pressed Kyle to his chest and placed a kiss on the top of his hat.

“What made you know?” Kyle whispered.

“That night when you saved me from myself.” Stan looked up at the stars and thanked each one for the boy in his arms. “God, Kyle, I was so gone that night. You didn’t have to come over after reading my text. You didn’t deserve that. I treated you like shit. I don’t deserve you.”

“Stan, don’t just-”

“No, please let me finish.” He tangled their fingers together. “You came over to see me regardless...And you were so gentle. You fucking sang Mayday Parade and smiled at me. Your smile literally leads me out of the dark of my head, Kyle.”

“Sorry, that was pretty gay.” Stan laughed nervously.

“Hey,” Kyle turned to face him. He was crying again. Stan tried to wipe them away and Kyle chuckled. “Nothing wrong with being gay.”

“Good.” Stan grinned.

“I-I love you so much. I’ll always be here, okay? Now that I have you...I'm never letting you go.”

“Okay...I love you too. So much, you have no idea.”

Kyle blushed and wrapped his arms around Stan’s neck. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Ky?” Stan hummed.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

“If you want a kiss so bad then what’s stopping you? You have a pair of lips too.”

“I want you to kiss me. I forgot what it’s like.”

“I just kissed you not even ten minutes ago?”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty boyfriend if you ask me.” Woah, Marsh, that was fucking bold.

“Boyfriend...Well...I guess I need to make up for it then.” Kyle smiled slowly.

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Despite his words, Stan met Kyle halfway for another kiss. Kyle’s lips were so soft and Stan made a mental note to take better care of his chapped ones. Kyle pulled away after but Stan found himself chasing after him. He placed his hands on the sides of his face and pulled him into a deeper kiss.

Stan had only kissed a few people and he was never confident in his abilities. He often got too enthusiastic which led to him bumping the other girl’s nose or clunking their teeth together. Kissing Kyle, like everything else involving him, was different. He felt confident, he felt good. He brushed his tongue along Kyle’s lips and they both sighed when Kyle let him in.

Stan groaned low in the back of his throat. It was like the two had been starved for so long. It was so much that Stan had to pull away to breath for a second. Kyle began peppering his face with light kisses. Stan sighed contently until Kyle blew a raspberry onto his cheek. Stan shoved him away playfully.

“Dude, gross!” He giggled.

“What? You don’t like that?” Kyle grinned devilishly. He dug his fingers underneath Stan’s arms. “How about this?”

Stan practically screeched. No, his underarms were his kryptonite! He tried to wrestle away but Kyle was no weakling. They used to tussle all the time as kids. The rules were always simple: the first one to die loses. As Stan gasps for air, he thinks that Kyle still goes by those rules.

“Okay!” Stan wheezed. “Uncle! Uncle! I give up.”

“Victory for the Jews!” Kyle chants. His face softens briefly. “Hey, it’s our song.”

Kansas played through the speaker of Kyle’s phone and Stan smiles. Once he catches his breath, the two begin to sing. It turns into screaming as they shout into the open night. They wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders and sway back and forth cackling. And just like that, it was as if nothing had changed.

Kyle was still Kyle and Stan was still Stan. They were super best friends.

They loved each other and nothing could tear them apart.

A/N: Songs Referenced: I swear this time I mean it - Mayday Parade Not in that way - Sam Smith Coffee Break - Forever the Sickest Kids One day at a time - Sam Smith Carry on wayward son - Kansas 

I would just like to say that this fic was heavily inspired by this fanart by @dudemarsh Please check out their work! They are such an amazing artist and that Style comic just killed me.  Anyways, I fell deep into South Park haha. I love Stan and Kyle and had to write about them. Especially, after all the drama they've been through recently ((´д｀)). This was originally supposed to be 100% angst because I started it during a horrible semester. However, my heart couldn't take it so I changed it. This fic and this note are so long, I'm so sorry. Hope you enjoyed! (*^▽^*)

[tenderdnp]

we’re already each other’s, yet you aren’t mine

beta: @star-crossed-phan​

artist: @just-another-phanfic​ + a pt. ii of her art is here!

word count: 26.2k

rating: PG-13; genres are romance, fluff, and angst

warnings: mild language, homophobia (internal and external), mild homophobic slurs, alcohol, hints at sexual intimacy

summary: in a time where tattoos bloom upon the skin out of nowhere - dan is a boy who paints watercolor roses in his backyard and has a single hidden marigold behind his ear, all while phil, who has tattoos of daisies around his ankles + shoulders, writes poetry on the front porch next door. (a high school, art student au)

author’s note: aaaa my first pbb fic!! :’)) thank you so much to kayla for betaing this! you are so sweet, and we talked more than just about editing which was so lovely. bless you for sticking with me even though the word count went from what was supposed to be 5k straight to 25k; you’re a real one! and thank you to kat for being a great pinch hitter artist, your moodboards make my heart go !!!!!

and a p.s. —  this fic was inspired by @demonphannie​’s post and @audaw​’s art. ty for existing

moodboard by @just-another-phanfic

. . .

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing the dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls, the ones that would convey the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, an elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

<<>>

It’s the sound of lips on skin and lips on lips that makes his shoulders tense and his hair stand on end. He can’t ignore them, they’re only three lockers down after all, and his peripheral vision just happens to be especially keen. Dan Howell has the new girl -new as in she had literally transferred into their art school several days ago- pinned against the locker’s cold metal, his lips pressing against hers again and again. It isn't a shock, really. She is likely his latest rendezvous, i.e. the new girl in both the real and alternative sense.

The probable truth of that fact makes his gut twist.

His thoughts are confirmed by gossipers in the hallway, their ringing giggles unintentionally piquing his interest. Their conversation automatically separating from the bustle of bodies and hallway sound, he listens in on their eager chatter.

“Did you hear who it was this time?”

Her friend squeals —was that necessary?— in response. “No I haven't! Who?!”

“It was Erin—”

“Erin? The new girl who came in and started here last week?”

“Yes! Well, she came in a totally different way last night,” he could hear a smirk and a wink in her voice. The if you know what i mean was a little more than heavily implied, making him internally cringe. “Everybody’s saying that they just locked eyes across Chris’ living room and like, totally fell in love. Or lust. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” the friend laughs knowingly, “Not a single girl has ever lasted too long.”

From there, as the conversation topic shifted, his attention followed. Suddenly irritated, he shuts his locker with a slam, not loud enough to gain the passerbys’ attention, but enough to snap Dan and Erin (she has a name now) out of it. By the time he turns around, Erin shoots a mildly peeved glance his way. Familiar words of it's always cloudy except for, when you look into the past, one night… flow from his worn earbuds to hit his eardrums as he makes his way to class, clearing his mind and relaxing his annoyance.

He shakes his head to himself, and puts a little smile on his face. It happens all the time, so he shouldn’t be bothered. Today is gonna be a good day.

He can feel it.

<<>>

As per usual, he is the first one in the classroom. It is a basic english class, because despite being at the art school for written work and thus having several writing and literary classes under his belt, he is still required to take a “basic” class for the english language.

His efforts to convince the principal to change his situation (that other students have voiced to have as well) otherwise was, needless to say, futile.

The class bores him a bit, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. More often than not, he keeps to himself and simply chooses to not actively participate in class. Besides, being one of the teacher’s favorites due to having a particularly advanced grasp of the material is not necessarily the worst thing in the world (plus it gives him time to write rather than pay attention).

Several minutes pass before Dan enters the classroom. As per usual he is the last to enter, with Erin in tow. Her blonde curls are even more all over the place than they usually are and his typically perfectly straightened hair is a little less than perfect; to add even more to that, their clothes are crinkled, leaving little to nothing to the imagination as to what their shenanigans were. The teacher makes no comment but a slight disappointed exhale and a passing gesture of the hand for them to take their seats before he opens up the class for the lesson.

“Now for the past two weeks we have been talking about poetry…” Mr. Lamansi begins, clapping his hands together. “And for today in particular, we will be focusing on Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road.”

The class proceeds by his calling on various students in a random fashion to take turns with reading stanzas, his choice sometimes falling on the ones with their hands raised and other times upon those who were purposefully remaining quiet and avoiding eye contact. Phil allows himself to take advantage of this time to freewrite, allowing his pen and mind to wander.

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives...

“Phil? Could you read these few lines for us?”

At the teacher’s interruption, Phil looks up and nods, proceeding to put down his pen and stand up from his seat as every other student had. His hands hold his textbook as he prepares himself to speak, but the moment he opens his mouth, Mr. Lamansi stops him.

“Actually Phil,” Mr. Lamansi begins, “Can you come up and read in front of the class? This is one of my favorite parts.”

Phil bites his lip. “Y-yeah. That's fine.”

Everyone’s focus is on him as he strides towards where the teacher directed him to go. He’s not a fan of this kind of thing you know, being the center of unwanted attention that is, and each stare only seems to be encouraging the swirls that are slowly appearing on his lower back. Once he reaches his spot in the front, each set of seemingly judgemental eyes causes buttercups to rapidly pop up on a concentrated spot on the inside of his wrists, mapping the places where he feels anxiety and unease.

An awkward cough to clear his throat and break the stillness of the room comes first. Then, he begins.

And it's captivating.

“The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road—the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to me, Do not leave me? Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are lost? Do you say, I am already prepared—I am well-beaten and undenied—adhere to me? O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you—yet I love you; You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more to me than my poem.”

His voice pulls at the heartstrings of everyone watching him, or at the very least, grabs their gaze so that they don't look away. Other students were bored and monotone in vocal delivery, but his take on it is deep and rich. It's lovely, and all the students (okay, except maybe a select few, but you can't win them all) are listening. Breathtaking is definitely the right word to describe it, for the full classroom of rowdy adolescents are nearly completely silent.

Unbeknownst to him, when he's finished, Dan’s lips are parted oh so slightly in a sort of soft awe.

As Phil sits back in his seat, his face burns red, a murmur of applause going through the room. His teacher praises and thanks him, but he pays it no mind. His eyes shift down at his desk as he brainstorms and works on a poem for the rest of the period, until the bell eventually rings.

Now mind you, Philip Lester was usually very observant. His eyes were open, all the time— as a poet he had to take inspiration from every facet of the world around him. However, perhaps if his mind didn't force itself to replay the most anxious of moments, and he wasn't so distracted by his writing, Phil would have caught how peculiar it was for a certain Dan Howell to throw a fleeting gaze at him just before leaving the room.

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age four.

Life was pretty nice when one’s age was still a single digit number.

While his mother was cooking, Phil was sat in the chair at the dining table. Legs swinging in the air because he was far too short to reach the floor, with a face of curiosity he pointed a small finger at what was on her bicep.

“Mum, why does your skin have different colors there?”

She briefly stopped her stirring upon the stove, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion a little before she saw what he was pointing at and laughed in understanding. “This?” she clarified while she smiled, pointing at the tattoo of a concert ticket that lay on her upper arm.

“Yeah!” young Phil exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “And Daddy has one too!”

His mother hummed in agreement and continued to make supper. “Indeed he does,” she laughed, “And that's on purpose you know. The first time I met him was at a concert.” Her voice became wistful as she continued, “I was sold a counterfeit ticket and because of that was absolutely devastated, with tears in my eyes and all, and was on the way to being sent home. On my way out, I had bumped shoulders with your father. We were completely knocked down to the floor! And then…” Her hand stopped once more as her words trailed off.

“And then he noticed my eyes and asked me what's wrong. Once he heard about what had happened, he told me that his friend became sick and that he had a free ticket. Only if I wanted it of course. I accepted it, we ended up having a great time, kept contact, and eventually started dating. I got one half of a concert ticket on my left arm, and your father had a concert ticket on his right.”

“Wow! Now you two are matching, right mum?”

“Yep! They say that nothing’s been proven but if anything,” she turned towards her son and made a pointing gesture to emphasize her words. “This appeared out of love, I’ll tell you that.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Phil’s cheeks beam with a smile. “Love sounds so nice.”

As she sets a bowl of Phil’s favorite soup in front of him, an easy reply comes as a response. “Oh it is, dear. It really is.”

<<>>

“Just milk and a bag of crisps? Again?”

Phil places his tray down with a playful eyeroll. “Peej, you know it's because I’m not hungry.” He sits down next to his best friend, unzipping his backpack to take out his phone and aimlessly scroll while they’re chatting.

With his mouth still full, PJ says pointedly, “Yeah sure.” He swallows his food. “I’m just worried sometimes, you know.”

“I know,” Phil laughs, “And I appreciate it.”

PJ does a cheeky little grin and wave with a jokingly bashful, “Aw you’re making blush and all Philip, but let’s cut the sap.” He takes another bite of his lunch. “So how are you? How’s your day been so far?”

“Ugh,” Phil groans. He stuffs his face with practically six crisps at once, annoyed. He had nearly forgotten about how his day started, and now PJ had reminded him. He chews rapidly before he swallows so that he may continue talking.

“Dan was making out with some girl this morning at the lockers… It was obnoxious. Annoying as hell.”

PJ just smirks. His body leans in closely, accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows and reply in a teasing tone, “Are you sure annoyed is how you’re really feelin’ Philly? No jealousy because of ‘ol pretty boy—”

“How are things going with that film project?” Phil quickly interjects PJ’s sentence with his cheeks suddenly red, making PJ immediately drop both his smirk and the topic. Ooo ouch, how touchy.

“It’s good! It’s going. I hope to actually start the filming part soon.”

Pride for his friend swells in Phil’s chest. “That’s great!”

“Yeah I guess, but I’m stuck with the script. I’m really lacking inspiration,” PJ mutters, his eyes looking back down to his food.

“Oh, I totally get that,” Phil nods with a wave of his hand. “It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

The other laughs, immediately dismissing the comment. “Pff, yeah right! Coming from the guy who never stops writing ever.”

“Peeeej! Trust me, I’m serious! Okay listen—” Phil’s voice softening, almost as if he was revealing a big secret. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Or to look for inspiration in unlikely places. You have to have a muse.”

“Aw Philly, are you saying that you have a muse?” PJ smiles.

Before he can answer, Phil catches a glimpse of Dan walking to join his group of friends, and in doing so, Dan passes by he and PJ’s lunch table. Phil only lets his eyes linger for a moment more before he turns to look back at PJ, and gives him his response, letting out a low hum first. A cheeky hint of something is playing at the edges of his lips.

“I guess you could say that.”

<<>>

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun    when it touches every bit of soil and soul of the earth a sign that even angels admire from afar, a bronzy glow of the ages - p.l.

<<>>

“Now creative writing has a key word: creative. And what does creative mean?” implores freshly graduated teacher Miss Caroline (who, at the beginning of the year, refused to be called Miss Alabang due to it apparently being “too formal”). A resounding lack of feedback comes from the class. Rolling her eyes in response, she shoots them all a you guys are useless look, accompanied by the typical seriously you could do better eyebrow raise.

Not many people are in this particular class, so theoretically, there should be more student engagement. But oh, on the contrary, it was not working out that way.

Throwing her hands up in the air with a passion, she exclaims, “It means to think outside of the box of course! Which is why there will be an interesting new project for the midterm. Never before done, never before seen by this institution.”

She begins to pace around the room, her voice rising and falling in a way that seems to soar over students’ heads and then capture their attention, while her gaze creates eye contact with each and every person to guarantee their engagement. “This project,” she says with a pause for dramatic effect, “will be a collaboration with the art students.”

“Exactly right.”

Art teacher Miss Land enters the scene. Her chin is raised with a sort of delicate poise and her hands are held behind her back, a contrasting yet pleasing juxtaposition that is a great complement to Miss Caroline’s own casual stance and posture. While Miss Caroline has a voice that projects itself as much as her eccentric presence, Miss Land’s is a bit more subdued in the sense that listeners had to concentrate more to hear her.

“The idea is to bridge together visual art and written art…”

“...essentially taking words and bringing them to life.”

“Both pieces must be able to both stand on their own, yet inspire one another. A mix of two mediums that are strong individually, yet when put together, fabricate something that reaches beyond what one could achieve as a solo piece,” Miss Land elaborates.

“Any questions?” asks Miss Caroline. The students helpfully provide her the deafening silence that fills the room in response.

Miss Land nods. “Good. My students, please don’t crowd around the door. Line up against the front, please.” She gestures to the front board, each art student awkwardly shuffling to their own spot, standing expectedly as the creative writing students sat and looked upon them with neutral expressions. Most are calm and collected except for a select few, who shift in their seats at the thought of working with unfamiliar people and a medium they didn't know. Among the art students is new girl Erin who couldn’t care less, and she has a hand on Dan’s arm while she whispers into his ear. He chuckles, and makes playful a face back at her as if saying, “Shh, we’ve got to listen now.”

Miss Land then glances at Miss Caroline, sharing an exchange of the eyes before coming to a silent understanding. From there, Miss Caroline addresses the group as a whole.

“So I’m going to randomly choose a student from my creative writing class, while she,” placing emphasis on the last word and looking pointedly at Miss Land, “will randomly choose an art student of her own. Okay? Sounds good. So first off: Eli Romano.”

“...Louise Pentland,” completes Miss Land.

“Andee Steiner with…”

“Erin Romer.”

“PJ Liguori.”

“Chris Kendall, you’re up.”

“Philip Lester…”

“...Dan Howell.”

As partnerships are created one by one, it is so interesting to see the reactions of each couple (couple used for the lack of a better term here, of course). For example, Eli, Andee, Louise, and many others seemed like the type to not mind whomever they were to be assigned to. Erin on the other hand? No one missed the huff she let out and the scrunch of her nose when she heard that she was not assigned to Dan. Chris Kendall stuck his tongue in his cheek with a smirk then let out a big grin when he sauntered over the PJ’s desk, while PJ himself held a soft smile.

In regards to Phil, he kept it together. If together meant his leg started bouncing at a great speed, that is. As long as no one looked below the desk, no one would notice. His fingers start picking at the ends of his sleeves. Buttercups were starting to appear.

And Dan was just an enigma. Nothing in the eyes, nothing in his stance, only a polite smile.

Once the partner assignments are completed, papers are handed out, and a direction is given for everyone to go with their respective other half of their duo, the art students disperse and fill the empty seats. Immediately, chatter begins to diffuse throughout the previously quiet room.

Squeaks come from the moving of chairs and desks, along with slight oomphs of backpacks being tossed down to the linoleum floor and pushed to the side in order to be out of the way. Phil bites his lip as Dan sits in the desk next to his own, and with every ounce of effort in his body he tries to make sure his voice is steady when he breaks the ice between them.

“So, I guess we have to exchange info right?”

“I guess,” Dan replies simply, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really know, but I guess there’s not really any other option. I mean, what else can we do.”

Not too far from them is PJ, who leans back in his chair and sends a questioning glance over to Phil, who then does a small shrug in reply. Turning back to Dan, he purses his lips a little before continuing. “Okay, so uh, my number is…” Phil lists the memorized numbers with ease, then repeats it once more. “You got that?”

Before Dan can even nod, the bell rings, and out of nowhere Erin grabs Dan’s hand right for the two of them to immediately bolt out the door.

<<>>

Dan is reading over the paper that the art teacher gave them earlier. He wants to start brainstorming, the concept of combining two different art forms seems really interesting… It would probably be best to discuss it with his partner, though.

His partner: Phil Lester. Dan knows him, he lives next door to him so how could he not, and they have gone to school together for a while now. Yet despite having known him all these years, he only knows of him. Dan has never spoken a word to Phil, to his knowledge.

Although he never paid mind to him before, when Phil read Song of the Open Road in his english class today, Dan admits that he was surprised. He never expected something like to come from him.

Dan takes out his cellphone, tapping the screen to reach the number that he put in earlier. Because Erin pulled him out before he could tell Phil his own digits, he is forced to be the one to text first. He types a quick message, and hits send. Better now than later.

from dan, to phil:

hey it’s dan. meeting in the library after school tmrw sound good?

He doesn’t expect a reply, but for some reason it’s like he’s waiting for one. When he thinks about it, Phil seems like someone he would want to get to know better. He seems interesting.

This project may actually be kinda fun.

A reply comes a minute or two later, and it’s like Dan has something caught in his throat when he rushes to see the message.

from phil, to dan:

Okkie dokes! :D

Aw. Dan can’t help but smile to himself. Heh, how cute.

<<>>

Phil ends up arriving first. In his defense, he spends most of the time in the library anyway, and extra time gives him the chance to pick the perfect spot: one with a lot of sunlight, and where not a lot of people are studying. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with wanting for today to go well, right?

Dan arrives about ten minutes following the school’s ending bell, and Phil doesn’t even notice him walking through the door. He’s got his head in his notebook, as usual.

“Bye, see you later,” bids Dan, giving Erin a quick kiss on the cheek. Although he begins to head off, he remains facing her, walking backwards, giving a little farewell salute and a quick wink to match.

Erin calls after him. “Goodbye baby, have fun with the project!” She accompanies it with a chippery wave back, and blows him a kiss right before orients his body forward so that he could see where he is going.

Phil looks up from his work, disturbed by the noise. Dan has spotted him, eyes lighting up in recognition, and he is starting to make his way to the table. When he gets there, it is a moment when first impressions are made.

For Phil, it’s like an up close confirmation of everything he has admired from afar. Everything is so lovely, and the way the sun hits Dan is so nice. His eyes aren’t just brown, they fit every descriptor that Phil has wrote with— caramel, golden, earthy, warm. Choosing this spot was the right choice.

As for Dan, he is taken aback by the scribbles of sentence fragments and various adjectives and lines that cover the pages of Phil’s notebook and Phil’s hands. They’re like stories that others want to read, but won’t understand, because Phil is the only one that can tell them.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he is one of the few willing to listen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Dan grimaces, feeling guilty that he was the second to show despite being the one to set up the meeting in the first place. When he grabs the seat next to Phil to sit down, he misses the edge of the chair and the sound of his bum hitting the hardwood floor echoes through the library, making Phil laugh and Phil’s heart swell.

Embarrassing. Still grinning, Phil holds a hand out, helping him up. Dan lets out a laugh as well, Phil’s attitude spreading to him.

“Don’t worry about it Dan, I was willing to wait for you.”

<<>>

His car purrs as it rolls into the driveway upon his arrival home, having just come from hanging out with friends after school. Dan loves going out with them, but to be frank, it gets exhausting sometimes.

Right now, he kinda wants to take a nap.

A chirp comes from the car as he hits the buttons on his keys to lock up the thing, and the moment he unintentionally shoots a glance at the house next door happens to be the same moment that Phil looks up from his spot on the porch.

Phil looks down at his feet right when their gazes meet, before choosing to raise his head once more and give Dan a little wave. “Hey,” he mouths.

A moment of hesitance, then Dan smiles and takes a step forward. As if it’s an invitation, Dan walks over and sits next to Phil, joining him. The last time they had talked had been over text a day or two ago, and they have only met up once more since their initial meeting at the library. The steps creak a bit at their weight and their legs nearly touch, but not quite.

Slowly but surely, they are warming up to one another.

“So what are you working on? Are you working on our project?” Dan leans a little into Phil’s side to get a better look at Phil’s notebook, while remaining careful as to not be too invasive of his space. A writer’s notebook is like an artist’s sketchbook: a secluded place for the expression of thought. The cover is worn and the pages are messy, Phil’s writing ranging from neat print to rushed scrawls. Anyone could tell that that little notebook was the receiver of a lot of love. Dan’s heart skips a little at that thought; it always makes him happy when a creator is passionate about their own work.

“Yeah actually,” Phil replies, not looking up. He keeps writing as he completes his thought. “Just brainstorming about various ideas.”

“Is it okay if I stay here?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

A few minutes pass of comfortable silence, and Dan even took out his own sketchbook from his backpack. He keeps making a few strokes then erasing, feeling the urge to do something as Phil is sitting beside him seemingly within an endless river of creative flow. He breaks the silence as he wonders in a whisper out loud, “You know, people always see you writing in that thing.” Dan then pauses, attempting to formulate his question before he voices it. “How do you… How do you constantly have something to write about?”

Phil is quiet, thinking before he comes up with a response. “It’s about being honest I think.”

“Honest?”

“Yep, honest.” Phil affirms. His pen stops writing for a second, and he makes a motion towards his body, looking forward rather than directly addressing Dan. “Let whatever is in you tell the story you know? They don’t have to be complete ideas, you just need to let them exist. Like how our tattoos appear on their own, but still tell our story to others, in a way.”

As Phil rambles on, without realising, Dan is sketching Phil’s profile. Glancing up to look at him while he speaks to give an occasional sign that he’s still listening, his wrists make little flicks and strokes across the page, while his hands are especially careful with shading. Dan spends quite a bit of time on Phil’s cheekbones, for he can’t seem to get it right.

He grins softly. Phil seems to be all angles and sharp edges, and it’s kind of enticing.

“...And most of all, with honesty, you know what is real.”

<<>>

“You know Phil, this is a bit clingy.”

“Clingy? May I remind that you were the one calling me at two in the morning for the past week and a half.”

“Pbbbt, but you said you didn’t mind!”

“Yeah, you’re right—”

“Damn straight I am.”

“But anyways, you didn’t call me tonight, and I was still awake, and now here we are.”

“I don’t need your excuses, Lester. So what do you wanna talk about? Because we’ve got all night.”

<<>>

According to Dan, working at a Starbucks coffee shop is ‘too corporate,’ and that is why they are at a local cafe now.

Chris and PJ are here as well. They’re doing a cute little “study group” thing, but instead of studying they are discussing their projects. It’s always good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and brainstorming is better when one is able to hear feedback from other people.

They’re all casually chatting, as friends of friends all together.

What’s strange though, is this: Chris is being particularly touchy towards PJ. It was playful touches at first, to his arms and to his sides, but then all of a sudden he put his arm around PJ’s shoulders. PJ didn’t acknowledge it at all, but the expression on his face was one of someone who was definitely flustered.

Dan raises an eyebrow at Chris upon seeing this, the other only responding with an eyebrow raise back as if in a challenge of, what? Something wrong?

And as for Phil, his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he has a shit-eating grin, simply amused.

It becomes a source of small unacknowledged tension, but no one brings it up and they all continue their relaxed chatter. Each of them grab several pastries and a coffee each, scones and croissants and the like, “brain food” being the excuse for all of the sugar in their purchases. They then head towards a table by one of the cafe’s huge windows that overlook the London street.

PJ speaks up about their projects first. “So, what’s your guys’ idea?”

“We’re going for a kinda… like… nature-y? Is that the right word?” Phil looks at Dan, who just kinda shrugs. “Theme. Something with the forest, or the ocean… We don’t know for sure yet.”

Chris nods, and looks at Dan. “Colors?”

“Earth tones, I would guess,” Dan replies, taking a bite from his scone.

Chris hums in approval. “Some cooler undertones would work nicely with that, I think.”

“How about you guys?” asks Dan.

“Something with a whole lot of bold color. That’s kinda all we got.” PJ shrugs.

“We’re just rolling with it,” Chris barely manages to add, mouth full.

Phil points his question towards PJ. “And how’s the writing?”

“Well I haven't had too much time to really develop it, I've been working on stuff for the poetry slam…” PJ says sheepishly, momentarily preferring to watch himself stir his coffee over looking up.

“Spontaneity is the best kind of creativity!” Chris exclaims defensively, yet mostly excitedly, He lists descriptors as he counts them off on his fingers, voice all sass and eagerness, making everyone laugh. “It's gonna have a lot of color, it's gonna be bright, and it's gonna be cool as heck!”

“Poetry slam?” Dan inquires. “Our school has that, PJ?”

“Yep! It's open to all the students but mostly english students enter, I’ve been bothering Phil to join for ages—” When PJ moves his hand to point at Phil, the porcelain of his coffee mug hits the table and his drink  becomes a brown puddle of a mess out of nowhere. It had narrowly missed his crotch, and thank goodness, not a drop fell upon the notes of his that were scattered on the table in front of him.

Chris’ eyes widen, and he reacts quicker than all of them. “I’ve got this,” he assures PJ, immediately rushing off to grab napkins, but not before leaving PJ with a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine!”

When Chris is out of earshot, Phil immediately gives PJ a look.

PJ’s face only gets redder, and he folds his hands in his lap. “Shut up he didn't mean anything by it…”  

But Phil is relentless, and he’s not buying PJ’s denial at all. He doesn’t stop giving his old friend that look that is all smiles and muffled laughs. Eventually, PJ breaks and bursts out with, “Okay, I admit it, he might’ve maybe asked me out yesterday…!” Phil smirks, and finally lets out the laugh he was holding in. “But to be honest I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

Throughout the past few moments of Phil and PJ’s exchange, Dan had remained silent, gaze bouncing between Phil’s knowing grin and PJ’s not-at-all-subtle blush. It is for that reason that when he makes a comment it catches them both off guard, even though it was more of an observation to himself, if anything. With his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on the table edge, Dan murmurs, “Huh, that's why Chris looks so happy. He's probably the happiest I've ever seen him.”

“Yeah,” says PJ after hesitating a little, addressing Dan’s words. He bites his lip, the corners of his mouth hinting at turning up as he admits the truth. “He makes me really happy too.”

“Happy enough to write about?” asks Phil with a smile, referring to their conversation from way back when. Dan sits, listening still.

PJ doesn’t look at Phil directly, but his hand unconsciously reaches up to his face to briefly touch where Chris has left a quick kiss earlier. If you looked closely, a little tattoo of a planet was beginning to fade into view.

“We’ll see.”

Chris finally returns, a wad of napkins in his grasp. Carefully he begins dabbing at the mess, nudging PJ’s papers aside so that they would be out of the way, all while PJ has a look that is entirely of affection all over him, as Chris pays no mind.

Very casually, PJ throws a question into the air. “So, what time and place?”

Chris crumples up the napkins, the coffee mess finally cleaned up, and heads towards the nearest bin. “For what?” he calls, throwing the trash away.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about our date already.”

Standing in place a couple feet away, Chris is frozen and his jaw goes slack, and PJ can’t help but giggle. Chris is simply beaming now. He rushes to the table to directly talk to Dan and Phil, words rushed and excited. “Sorry to cut it short lads, but we’ve got a date to plan,” Chris says matter-of-factly, adorned with an adorable little salute. After that his hands move to help PJ pack up his things, and in a matter of seconds everything is put away.

When they head towards the cafe door, PJ flashes a sheepish expression to Dan and Phil and mouths a “Sorry about this,” followed by a sincere, “Thank you.” Before they disappear, Chris then grabs PJ’s hand in his— holding it up to his lips to place a quick kiss on the back of PJ’s hand.

Cute.

As for the left-behind-two, an hour and a half more passes before they make any real effort to go. The company is lovely even if they aren’t talking. They are simply working in silence, both lost in their own creative worlds, and it is only when a worker comes up to them and asks if they would like to order anything more (to which they politely declined) do they begin to clean up their space.

“They’re cute together,” says Phil, a comment that breaks the stillness between them.

“Yeah,” Dan replies nonchalantly. He closes his bag after putting away his sketchbook and pencils bag, and slides the strap on his shoulder as they both head towards the door. To no one in particular he adds, “They’re really happy together, aren’t they?”

The edges of words seemed to be tinged with a bit of longing, if you listened hard enough.

When they step out of the cafe, Phil immediately rubs his arms, his breath forming a small cloud with each exhale from the oxygen in his lungs and the brisk air. “Heh, I didn’t expect it to be this cold today…”

Almost hesitantly, Dan places his own jacket upon Phil’s shoulders. The gesture isn’t acknowledged at all, and he just keeps walking, ignoring the fact that the chill was now getting to him. He refrains from rubbing his own arms, and just shoves his hands into his pockets. He only did as any friend would do.

In the meantime, Phil just stands there, not knowing how to react.

Steps ahead now, Dan merely waves his hand before quickly putting it back into the pocket of his jeans, beckoning Phil to walk a little faster.  “C’mon Phil, let’s go home.”

<<>>

phil: <IMG_0981 is attached. View image?> phil: LOOK AT THESE DOGS!!!!! phil: IT’S A DOG WHO HAS A GUIDE DOG

dan: asagAFGAAJHLHFW dan: THAT’S THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER S E E N

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age eleven.

He stood outside, garden hose in hand. His mother had told him to water the plants around the front porch, and that is exactly what he did. Although the job required focus, it did nothing to prevent him from becoming lost in thought.

The age of him and his peers was one where crushes were all too common. Girls were talking about cute boys; boys were talking about cute girls. However, no one really made Phil feel the way that other people claimed they felt— Samantha from maths lent him a pencil once? That was kind of her. But he would only want to become friends with her and nothing more, he was sure.

A yelp of surprise escaped from him when he suddenly realised that the water had begun to pool around his feet amidst his musings, which formed a damp patch of grass that was well on its way to becoming a muddy puddle. Quickly, he ran to the side of the house to turn off the hose, and started to make his way back inside.

Before he crossed his driveway to head towards the small path that led to his front door, out of the corner of his eye he noticed something roll across the road.

  It was a piece of white chalk. The neighbor’s, to be more precise, who appeared to be outside as well. A rare occurrence it was: Phil had only seen them a handful of times before.

Tentatively, he took the chalk piece into his hand. Heading towards who was kneeled in the driveway next to his own, in front of a house with freshly trimmed grass and no garden, but did have a single weeping willow. As his steps drew him closer, more details about his neighbor, a somebody about his age, came into view.

And honestly? Phil couldn't help but be left dumbfounded.

The pretty boy in front of him had equally pretty hands. With those hands of slightly tanned skin he was creating art out of seemingly nowhere; slender fingers fabricated gentle strokes, images of flowers and stars, along with daisies and planets and angels amongst them stole Phil’s breath to allow for only awe to remain.

Phil was almost nervous to disturb him. If he did, it would be like catching a doe in a forest clearing— one moment peaceful, until a slight sound frightens them away. So because of that, he made sure to be careful.

His voice of “Um, this yours?” was a whisper full of gentleness that seemed mindful of the delicate flowers that the boy in front of him seemed to be growing out of the pavement.

Immediately, the boy looked up, revealing brown eyes that perfectly matched his brown curls. “Yes, thank you,” the boy replied quietly, carefully taking the chalk piece from his extended reach. His fingertips lightly grazed against Phil’s, which left Phil’s hands tingling.

In the three days that followed, Phil had fireworks tattooed upon his fingertips (and more often than not, from then on, one could catch him writing poetry on the front porch in an effort to catch a glimpse of the boy again).

<<>>

Dan throws a bag of McDonald’s on the library table, the sound of its impact resounding through the quiet studying of students. And if that’s not enough, he follows up with a loud, “Eat up babes, let's get to work!”

Laughing, Phil does an exaggerated fake gasp. “Dan! Watch your volume!” Reaching over the the table, he grabs the bag off the table, still noticeably hot. When he opens it, a little whiff of steam comes up, caressing his face. “Besides, why'd you buy this anyway?”

Dan shrugs, taking a chicken nugget and shoving it into his mouth. While he’s chewing he responds, “I’ve been noticing that you never have food when we work on school days, and we usually work during lunch. It's always just a drink and like, a bag of chips.”

Phil shrugs back, head tilting as his words trail off. “I just find eating to be a waste of time…”

Dan holds up his hand, cutting his words short as his voice trails off. “Don’t even give me that bullshit Phil, it’s because you’re always writing and you think you have no time for eating, so just eat a little bit or so help me.” He nudges the bag closer to Phil so that it hits Phil’s chest. Dan’s eyes shift to the side a little, and his voice becomes a bit demure. “Just… Take a break from that carpal tunnel catalyst, and dig in, alright?”

Phil opens the bag reluctantly and sighs, taking a bite of a french fry. His lips are pursed into a pout, for what Dan said was pretty much on the nose. He doesn’t mean to avoid eating, honest, it just… happens that way.

He smiles. The fact that Dan noticed and bought him food is such a sweet gesture, and the more Phil chews, the more Dan looks satisfied. Dan claps his hands together right as Phil swallows.

“Cool, now let’s get started.”

Today is final drafts day.

In order to proceed with the final production of their project they have to refine their drafts, and that is what today is dedicated to. For their work to not go to waste, everything has to be absolutely perfect (but to be fair, a poor outcome resulting from the two of them is actually quite doubtful).

“I’ve got these so far,” indicates Phil, pulling out various disheveled papers. They’ve got red ink that make it look like his writing went through a bloodbath, with elegantly chaotic black scrawls to match. He holds them out to Dan and is a bit sheepish about it, kinda embarrassed by how messy it is. “You can look through them right now if you want, but they’re not that great…”

Dan shakes his head, automatically dismissing Phil’s putdown of himself. “I doubt that, Phil. I absolutely doubt that.” He accepts Phil’s writing from Phil’s outstretched hand, and exchanges it with a few ripped out sheets of his own from his sketchbook, graphite smeared and all. “And here’s mine, they’re really sketchy and not as refined as they could be, but you should get the idea.”

When they’re looking over each other’s rough pieces, Phil’s fingers linger over the calculated strokes of Dan’s drawings, all while Dan is floored by Phil’s words.

Dan has never gotten the opportunity to see Phil’s work like this before. He’s taking in everything, soaking every word and descriptor in, and he makes sure he does not miss a single stanza. He never was someone with a way with words, that’s why he stuck with visual arts. But he is thankful that he was given the opportunity to read rawness such as this.

Then suddenly he notices a little something. A little bit that doesn’t seem to quite fit in with the rest catches his eye, a little snippet of a thing that was barely legible and had the last word cut off.

‘n ‘ol brunette has got that teasing grin skipping class and hands that have likely committed sin that ugly little shit messing with my h

When he reads it he snickers, and when he points to it and holds it up to Phil, he can’t keep his laughter in and he justs bursts into a giggling fit. “Aw, Phil,” his tone entirely both sing-songy and teasing, “Guess now I know that you think that I’m an ‘ugly little shit.’” Dan does a little pout. “Do you not think I’m cute?”

“Pfff! Please,” Phil sputters, realising what exactly Dan was pointing to. “Who says that’s about you?”

“I mean we could just address the ‘hands that have likely committed sin’ part…”

At the sound of that, Phil interjects quickly. “Fine, you’re adorable!” Barely processing the thought, Dan thinks, “Pbbt, so are you,” and Phil suddenly puts his index finger in front of Dan’s lips in a shhhing motion.

“What’s going on—”

“No no no, shush!” Phil holds a finger up, as if motioning “Hold on,” and Dan takes the hint and complies. Phil’s eyebrows are scrunched, clearly thinking.

“What?” Dan asks, after a few moments pass.

Phil takes both sets of their work from their respective spots and lays it upon the space in front of them, spread out but distinctly separate. He purses his lip, unsure at first then proceeding to rearranging a few. “Why don’t we… write about...” Phil picks up a sketch from Dan’s side and a page or two from his own. He hands the chosen ones to Dan, who takes it with a raised eyebrow. “This?”

Dan slowly nods, shifting through the papers and ultimately agreeing with the choices. He turns his body, his eyes looking up to meet Phil’s. “So that’s it? That’s our theme?”

Phil answers his question with an affirming hum, and when he starts explaining it just to clarify they find that they were on the same page all along. “It’ll be about humanity in its rawest form—”

“With earthy elements and other aspects of nature—”

“How we all have stories—”

“...and what makes a human human is emotion.”

Phil’s grin reaches from ear to ear. “Perfect.”

“Fuck yeah!” yells Dan, pounding a fist on the table. He holds up his palm for a high five, which Phil happily reciprocates.

When he hears a loud SHHH! come from behind him, Phil’s eyes widen, for it is most likely the librarian telling them to politely shut the hell up. He looks at Dan and silently scolds him, mouthing “Language!” to which Dan merely giggles, his laughs muffled as he tries to keep quiet.

“Fuck you,” Dan mouths back.

Phil rolls his eyes and smirks. His reply comes with a chuckle: “You wish.”

<<>>

Forget about Monopoly being end-all be-all relationship ruiner. With the way the game was currently going, Mario Kart should be the holder of that title.

“EAT MY ASS,” yells Dan. With every turn, he turns as well, because he insists it ‘helps me play better!’. His body rams into Phil’s side as he mimics the motion of the kart on the screen.

A breath leaves Phil’s lungs with an oof as Dan nearly knocks him to the floor. He automatically bursts into a laughing fit, pressing into the buttons of his controller even harder. “NEVER!!”

At this point they’re practically sitting on top of each other, and seem to have ignored the whole concept of sitting on the bed rather than the floor. Legs crossed, his knee touching his knee, the room is filled with giggles and playful banter as they keep jabbing each other in the side as they play.

When one shouts, and the other pouts— the game is officially over.

Dan crosses his arms, and presses his lips into a thin line. He withholds himself from bitterly throwing the control to the ground, but he does cross his arms. “Good game,” he mutters.

Shaking his head, Phil rolls his eyes at Dan’s dramatics. He gives Dan a pitiful pat on the back, and gives his reply all-too-knowingly. “Oh just let it out, we both know you’re a sore loser.”

A sharp inhale through the nose, and a slow exhale through the mouth.

Followed by a swift headbutt by Dan to Phil’s shoulder.

“OW!”

Dan jokingly starts to lightly punch Phil in the back, sides, and shoulders, shouting,  “YOU WERE THE ONE THAT HIT ME WITH A FUCKING SHELL AT THE END I THOUGHT WE WERE PLAYING RELATIVELY NICE!!” He pushes him down, Phil chuckling at Dan’s sad attempt to push him over (noodle arms are not that effective, Dan has learned). “I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

They land on the ground, the punching turning into tickling. Phil rolls around in an effort to avoid Dan’s attacks, but each attempt is futile, and instead his stomach hurts from the laughter and his face aches from the grin on his face that reaches from ear to ear. “See,” Phil laughs in between breaths, “What an incredibly sore loser you are.”

Dan finally sits back up, smug at Phil’s ‘defeat.’ “Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” He holds a hand out to Phil, and they pull each other up so that they are both standing. “I still totally should have won though.”

At a suggestion to take a snack break, the two head downstairs towards Phil’s kitchen. They continue to chat, and as Phil moves towards the pantry, he makes a gesture for Dan to take a seat at the dining table.

When Phil turns around, he not only has various food in his hand, he has a smile on his face. He walks over to the table and sets a plate of cookies in front of Dan, making Dan look up from his phone and eagerly move to grab a cookie of his own.

“You know, where you're sitting right now, is where my mum told me about what tattoos were.”

With a mouth full, Dan manages a, “Really?” Phil nods, and Dan swallows the last bits down his throat. “Was it like, a serious talk?”

Phil is at the counter now, he has decidedly chosen to make hot chocolate for the both of them. He mulls over Dan’s question as he gets the hot chocolate mix out. “Hm, no? Not really. I was like five or something. How about you? When did your parents tell you?”

“Oh, uh…” Dan grimaces, suddenly feeling awkward. “They— they never really told me? I kind of just found out on my own. From classmates, and the internet, and stuff. They never brought it up, and I never really asked…”

“Oh.” For a moment, Phil stops moving. “So they didn’t even tell you where they come from?”

“What do you mean? No one knows where they come from. Isn’t there still no confirmation from scientists about their origins or whatever?”

“Yeah, but my mum told me.”

Phil hesitates a little, the tiniest bit embarrassed.

“She told me they came from love.”

Dan sputters, laughing, nearly choking on his food. Phil doesn’t say a word and continues to prepare the drinks. “No offense Phil,” Dan chuckles. “But really?”

“I know, I know. But at the same time, there’s no harm in believing in things like that, don’t you think?” Phil hands a mug to Dan, who takes it gratefully. They clink their mugs together and drink a bit at the same time. Phil laughs when Dan makes a face at how hot it is, and Dan rapidly starts blowing on the drink to decrease its intense heat.

“Love though? Quite doubtful.”

“Are you not a believer in love? How about you and Erin?” Phil takes another sip from his hot chocolate. When a little residue is left on his upper lip, his tongue easily leaves and licks it away in a moment. “How are you guys doing?”

Dan’s eyes don’t quite meet his, sounding distracted. “Oh we’re great.” When he looks back up at Phil, Phil’s expression is expectant, waiting. Dan quickly rushes to elaborate on his previous sentiment. “She’s lovely, and so sweet!  Every date I’ve been on with her has been amazing. She’s incredible. I like her a lot.”

Phil nods. “I’m glad.”

After that, he says nothing more.

He takes Dan’s now-empty mug from his hand, and washes it after his own. Dan’s eyebrows are scrunched in thought, he’s staring at his phone again, but he’s not really processing what’s on the screen at all.  

Phil finishes up rinsing their cups in the sink, and puts their mugs into the dishwasher. He dries off his hands with a hand towel. Once he’s all done, he asks Dan, “You wanna go back upstairs and keep playing?”

Dan’s phone vibrates.

from erin, to dan:

Hey babe! I’ll be finishing up work soon, you wanna come over?

Rather than unlocking his phone, he reads the message as it is on his lockscreen. He ignores it, and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

Dan smiles up at Phil. “Yeah. Let's go.”

Phil grins back, and as he leads them back to his bedroom, he has his hand on Dan’s back. The atmosphere is nice and easy. Uncomplicated.

He makes a comment about how Dan is ‘totally going down’ again, but to be honest, Dan isn’t really listening.

Later at night, in his own room, Dan takes off his shirt before he goes to bed. He always sleeps shirtless (that is nothing new), but it’s different this time: for if he had looked in the reflection in the mirror behind him, he would have noticed that there were dandelions on his back exactly where Phil had touched before.

By the morning though, they are gone.

<<>>

phil: I remember you saying you had a test today, good luck! phil: The universe may test ya like this but I believe in ya

dan: oh shush go pay attention in class dan: but ty that’s v nice dan: u’re too good for me

<<>>

“Aw, they’re so cute together!”

These are the words that seem to be just about everywhere: in the comment section of various social media, in the giggles of the hallways, in the not-so-subtle gestures and points of the cafeteria crowd. They can't seem to go anywhere without encountering what seems to be a fan club around the two of them.

But don't get him wrong. Because there is nothing wrong in the first place.

Erin is a lovely girl, and they have been together for a while, three weeks almost four weeks now. And that is far longer than any previous girl of Dan’s. With a wild head of curls and an even wilder personality, she is a whole lot of fun, and he loves to admire the beautiful ink upon her arms. She has these beautiful gradients of rising suns around her arms along with clouds that often change in hue.

Each and every time she goes on her tiptoes and she wraps her arms around his neck to place a kiss on his lips, he can’t help but be reminded of the idea of them, both in regards to the tattoos themselves and of him and Erin as a couple. Of all things though, he is reminded of Chris’ party especially.

Additionally, as if that isn’t enough, there are whispers of new ink starting to bud on her hands. Rumors that the new ink matches his own spread like wildflowers, even though so few have seen the hidden marigold to the extent that there are doubts of its existence. The possibility of Erin’s budding flowers being identical to his still makes his own blossom burn at the thought.

Because even though he did say that there was nothing wrong, there is an issue. And that issue is that nothing has happened to his own skin.

Besides the common flare ups of ink that happens to most people including himself, the only thing constant that he has is the single flower on the spot behind his ear, and that has been been on his skin for years.

Maybe he could— No. He couldn’t.

Could he?

It wouldn’t hurt —it couldn’t hurt— if nobody found out.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to fake tattoos for a while, right?

He ignores the prickling of stars appearing on his ribcage, and takes some skin-safe ink to his own arms to mimic what Erin has on her own body. When the prickling starts going around his abdomen and begins to reach his shoulder blades, he still pays no heed to it.

He just continues on.

With each mark and movement of his nimble fingers, his stomach turns once more, even more so as he recalls the words that Phil mentioned before. What he said about honesty, about truth. This thing, what Dan is doing right now, he knows is the exact opposite of that.

He shakes his head in an attempt to shake the words off his mind. Phil has nothing to do with this. Phil has nothing to do with the state of Dan’s feelings for Erin. Why is he thinking of him at a time like this? For that matter, why is Dan doing it in the first place?

To be brief, he does not want to be rude. It’s not like Erin isn’t a nice girl anyway, so it’ll be fine. It will only be for a little while until those typical boy-girl feelings become stronger, because that’s how it works. That’s how it should work. And it will. There’s no reason to not reciprocate what Erin evidently feels for him. Naturally, it will all work out.

Yet if he were to take Phil’s words to heart right now and be honest, in reality, Dan was actually pushing certain feelings away.

Dan touches up the final details of clouds on his forearm, and presses his lips into a straight line, shoving the spiraling feelings that were welling up in his chest far deep into the ground below his feet.

If he were to be honest, he was actually just pushing certain feelings away… And with regards to other things, he was simply burying them further.

And covering them up.

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age thirteen.

“...NOW AS A RESULT THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT IS CURRENTLY HOLDING DISCUSSIONS IN REGARDS TO THE POSSIBLE LEGALIZATION OF HOMOSEXUAL MARRIAGE. THERE IS NO FURTHER INFORMATION AT THE MOMENT, BUT RADICAL ADVOCATES FOR THE LGBT COMMUNITY ARE CURRENTLY LINED UP IN FRONT OF THE GOVERNMENT HALL—”

A harsh, snarky tch came from Dan’s father, his blatant irritation had jarringly interrupted the newscast that came from kitchen radio. In his hands the steak knife threatened to start shaking with his tight grip, his knuckles whitening to nearly match the teeth he was gritting in anger. “Those homosexuals,” he spat, while he slammed the table with his fist at the same time, “Those homosexuals need to get the fuck out of our country, or better yet off our planet, or I will BEAT THEIR ASSES!!”

His mother simply took a napkin to her lips and daintily dabbed at her mouth, taking a breath before she added input of her own. “Now honey, some of them may be nice,” her tone calm and even. With a voice tinged with what seemed like genuine concern she continued, “I just don’t understand, they can’t have children, so why even bother if they can simply choose a lovely lady or a strong man?” She reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s tense fist. “If anything dear, I think it’s just a trend.”

The entire “discussion” only progressed from there, all while Dan remained silent. His shoulders hunched in as if he was going to fall into himself, he ate his food with minimal noise whether it be chewing or cutting into it for a bite, merely taking everything, every comment— “It’ll blow over, for this it just sounds ridiculous”, retort— “Ridiculousness has wrongfully made it’s way to the law of the land!”, and remark— “To put it simply, the gays need to know their place”, in.

Eventually he asked if he could be excused (he was given permission by a grunt of acknowledgement from his father and a nod from his mother).

Dan’s room was his sanctuary. Constantly he would go there for escape, or to remain in solitude with his thoughts, and this was one of those times. From the back of his closet he revealed his unfinished painting, taking it from its resting spot and placing it upon the floor so that he could resume his work. The canvas was one that he left alone but kept coming back to—maybe he would finish it one day. A year or two had passed since his work on it began.

His paints were in his lower bedside drawer, and he took those out as well. Every movement was routine, a relaxing habit, and essentially his mind was a step ahead of his actions. But perhaps the ease of not thinking only gave way for other, bad thoughts to come.

The harsh tongue of his father as he spat out the words “those homosexuals” could not leave his ears and only further buried itself in his mind. The comment made his hair stand on end, even though he didn’t know precisely why. Dan knew that he couldn’t like boys. Liking boys was wrong. Boys like girls, and girls like boys. Nothing else. And why would Dan care about liking boys anyway? Dan liked girls.

why would he care why would he care why would he care—

His chest was heaving. He only snapped out of his train of thought when he realised his breathing had become erratic, his chest heaved and his hands were shaking and his heartbeat was far too rapid for it to be normal. At an attempt to relax he tried to breathe, he inhaled and exhaled in time as he closed his eyes.

Darkness came.

Darkness came, and colors followed. Shades of blue, green, and yellow. His painting was actually composed of only that particular color palette, a set of hues that seemed to be set in not only his subconscious but also within the motions of his brush. They reminded him of someone’s eyes, but no one he knew. They reminded him of the ocean, of waves he wasn’t used to.

They were always comforting. Those colors never failed to ease him.

Through his open window, he heard the neighbors’ garage open, and he opened his eyes. The sounds of their laughs made their way into his room, which made him smile a little. Those laughs eased him too. The family next door must have arrived home.

Within his own house, dinner had presumably ended. He could hear his parents’ footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom door, their bickering anything but quiet. “I don’t want him drawing, I don’t want any of that sissy shit.”

That was his father.

“He is super talented and we should be supporting our son!”

And that was his mother.

He put on headphones to drown out it all, and dipped his brush into his paints. This time, he focused on blue. As his strokes hit the paper, shivers went up his spine as a tattoo of tree branches spread out across his back, and as its roots went down to his hips; the only signs of life that the tree’s branches held was the idea that it used to be budding once.

<<>>

In basic english, the poetry unit is coming to a close. For the past couple of days, the students have been presenting their favorite poetry pieces to the class, an assignment that the teacher thought would be a fit way to wrap up the unit.

“Dan, you’re up,” calls Mr. Lamansi.

Finally, now he can get this done. He is the last student that needs to present.

Although he isn’t nervous, his heart is pounding incessantly in his chest. He definitely has jitters, a finite flow of energy that is coursing through his veins and he can’t seem to calm it down, and everyone can definitely tell. Who couldn’t? His hands are trembling so much.

The amount of anxiousness in his body makes this whole ordeal feel like confessional.

Before he actually starts, he awkwardly coughs to clear his throat. “Um, I picked a part from that poem we read a long time ago? Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road?” Mr. Lamansi then nods and jots the title down, and makes a motion for Dan to begin.

When he makes an attempt at a taking a deep breath, he hears a whisper. Turning his head slightly he sees Erin, who makes a silly face at him, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing a little. Instead, he opts for a simple smile.

And then he (he couldn’t help himself) casts a glance at Phil, who's beaming at him, all warmth and encouragement and support. Dan’s small smile widens just the littlest bit more. What did Dan ever do to deserve a friend like him?

With that, his shoulders relax, and he breathes.

Swallowing his worry, Dan feels ready now.

“I will recruit for myself and you as I go; I will scatter myself among men and women as I go; I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them; Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me; Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me; Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d, it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth.”

When he finishes, he does everything in his power to not completely rush back to his seat. He tries to keep it cool, but he can feel his face burning, and if anyone looked hard enough they could see little leaves and thorns popping up along his collarbone.

A couple seats away, Phil’s heart is swelling. For some reason he feels like this poem has an underlying importance to Dan, and if he were to reread the lines to himself perhaps he would even realise what its significance even was. For now though, that was something that Dan could keep all to himself. Phil is proud of him for standing in front of the whole class like that (Lord knows that Phil’s confidence in his own public speaking is quite mediocre at best).

Small moments like these only fuel Phil’s admiration for this boy, and this time he can't help but feel pride and a sense of wonder all at once.

In Dan’s pocket, Dan’s phone vibrates. Before sliding it out, Dan quickly glances at the teacher to check whether the coast is clear, and upon ensuring so, he reads the notification under his desk.

to dan, from phil:

You did so great!

The small gesture is so sweet, and although it isn't much, it makes Dan undeniably happy. He has this expression of light, a grin reaching from ear to ear. While he can't see it himself, he swears the marigold behind his ear is tingling for the bud of another golden flower.

As they are leaving class, Dan comes up to Phil’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder to catch Phil’s attention before Phil has the chance to head off in the other direction.

“So, see you later?”

Cheeks red, Phil replies shyly, “Yeah, see you.”

<<>>

Soft taps are hitting metal, and Phil knows that Dan doesn’t even need to look to see who it is. He already knows it’s Phil. When Dan shuts his locker and he pokes his head out, saying “Heyy!” with a huge grin and the cutest dimple, Phil can’t help but to match with a smile that’s equally as big.

If someone told Phil that he and Dan would be friends one day, he would doubt them. But right now, he’s chatting with his crush, they’re face to face, laughing and shining with ease and happiness. Phil is on top of the world.

But Dan reaching up to close his locker door placed Dan’s arm at Phil’s eye level, and for a moment, Phil saw Dan’s tattoos up close. When his hand eventually falls back to his side, Phil’s eyes linger over them for a moment more. He has forgotten something important, something more prominent than the dimple in Dan’s soft cheek that Phil adores. The tattoos are a reminder: Dan isn’t his.

The wings on any of the butterflies Phil has in his stomach rapidly frumple, suddenly shy and abashed, and his smile can’t help but falter a little.

<<>>

Even though they don’t have an audience or anything because everyone has already headed to class, when Erin is kissing him, he’s not really kissing back. At all. The hallways are pretty much empty and the only sounds that remain are her lips on him. But even then, he can’t focus on her. If anything he is much more interested in absentmindedly playing with her hair.

Erin pulls away from him, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. She places a kiss on the marigold behind his ear, a tender thing, but to him it just burns. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Dan only brushes the question off, the ringing of the first tardy warning bell easily makes it so he doesn’t have to answer much. “Nothing, I promise.”

The expression in Erin’s face shows that she doesn’t buy it. “Oh Dan,” her voice sympathetic, one hand rubbing the space on his back between his shoulder blades.“Let’s just ditch class and go to my house? I can make you feel better and get you out of this funk.” She ends that last sentence with a wink.

As gently as he can, he pushes Erin off of him, politely giving her a cordial smile. “Uh, maybe next time?” His eyes not-so-subtly look away from her, and he just scratches the back of his neck, with his shoulders hunched stiffly. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but abruptly, the second late bell rings this time. “Let’s just head to class, alright? We’re gonna be late.” From there, he attempts to make his leave.

Erin hastily grabs his arm before he can make it too far. Her grip is firm.

“What has been with you lately?”

Despite sounding tender, she definitely comes off as confrontational. All the little things she has been noticing about him for the past few weeks begins to spill out of her one by one, in the form of pent up evidence supporting a suppressed argument.

“We’ve barely hung out, you rarely approach me first, and don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you hardly ever text me back anymore,” her voice cracks, just the slightest bit, but it is not vulnerability, it is only irritation. When she looks at him, she makes perfect, dead on eye contact, as if daring him to look away.

She starts getting louder. Her face is getting more red and more frustrated, the emotion further emphasised in her tone. “I thought I had it. I really did! I thought I was in one of the most important relationships of my life— here I thought I was different, and that I changed the ‘unattainable Dan Howell’…!” In a flash, it all shifts and she suddenly becomes a bit reserved. A bit meeker, wishful. Regretting and inhibited. Her voice is quieter. “…And that I found a really, really sweet guy.” She smiles the smallest bit, but her eyes are dull.

Her fingers start fiddling with the ends of her hair, and she looks down at her feet. “Instead, you just seem disinterested.”

“Look Erin, it’s not you it’s me—”

At that, her glare rises up once more, red lines suddenly appearing in wings at the ends of her eyes, further emphasizing her vexation. “Stop.” Her index finger threateningly pokes his chest with nearly every word that she says. “Don’t you even dare give me that load of bull. shit. I had to have done something.”

“You didn’t do anything, I promise,” Dan tries to reassure her, but he can tell that in the same way she didn’t believe him when he said was fine earlier, she absolutely does not believe him right now.

“Dan, don’t lie to me,” Erin huffs. She then furrows her eyebrows and kinda tilts her head and frowns, but it’s not directed at him, not really, and Dan knows that it means she’s thinking. When the corners of her mouth turn up a little and she shakes her head and laughs to herself, that is when he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to react. And he certainly does not anticipate the words that would then exit from her lips.

“I bet it’s that boy. It’s that boy, isn’t it?”

Dan bites his lip, his words are caught in his throat, and for some reason he can’t make himself reply.

A moment passes. One that lasts a beat too long for it to be salvaged.

“Oh.” Her voice and face suddenly falls and softens. It’s evident that she did not expect her ‘revelation’ to actually ring true. “Oh, Dan. I’m right aren’t I?”

Dan’s brows raise and his eyes widen, his hands waving frantically in an effort to convince her of the truth. “No!! No no, no way. We’re just friends, plus, I think that you’ve forgotten that I’m straight.”

Erin sighs. “But straight boys don’t look at other boys —well, just a single boy in your case— like you have, Dan. It makes sense now that I think about it, and honestly why didn’t I see it before, and I don’t care about the whole ‘gay thing’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She turns away and opens her locker, packing a few things into her bag, then slides one strap on her shoulder. “Love is love, and who am I to deny that?” Instead of then moving her body to face him, she bites her cheek. Her head tilts to the side a bit as she looks down. “I just hate that I had to find out like this.”

“Erin, I’m telling you!! We’re just friends!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” she waves, brushing him off. She doesn’t move, hand still on the locker door. She only turns her head so that he can look at her when she makes her point. “But baby, it’s obvious. And if you still can’t see it, then maybe you should stop and take a good look at what you’re missing.”

“You’ve got it all wrong—”

“Look…” Erin lets out a low exhale and lets her eyelids fall over her eyes, slamming the locker hard enough to both make the sound echo off the walls of the now empty halls. To her relief, it also  effectively shuts Dan up. She sounds tired. “I’m gonna head home alright? I don’t really feel like being here anymore. You can go back to class.”

After beginning to walk off, she stops after only taking a few steps.

Her back remains as the only thing facing towards him.

“Dan?”

He hesitates before responding. “Yeah?”

Before she speaks, she takes a second to articulate what exactly she wants to say. Even though it’s not a goodbye, it sure as hell feels like one.

It’s like a final admission.

“You… You were a good time. Even if you ignore me after this, since we’ll just be classmates, say hi once in awhile, yeah? And consider who’s important to you. Really, really consider it,” she then angles her body a bit to look over her shoulder, so that their eyes may meet one last time. Her lips tilt upwards a little bit at the corners, but even that is twinged with a hint of sadness. “That Phil boy… He really does make you smile.”

<<>>

They’re walking home, and the warm tones of the sky perfectly complement the warmth of the caramel macchiatos in their hands. Phil had treated them to the delicious drinks once school was over, despite Dan’s protests, and the late afternoon sun showed that they definitely ended up spending a little bit more time at the coffee shop than originally expected.

Oh well. Becoming lost in a sea of conversation of topics they could no longer remember gave them a much needed break from thinking about anything —or anyone— at all.

When they reach Dan’s house, Dan fumbles for the key and unlocks the door. Noticing that is Phil hesitating at the welcome mat still, Dan laughs. “C’mon,” he invites Phil in warmly, as he starts removing his shoes and places it next to the front door after closing it. Dan motions for Phil to do the same. “Let’s get started.”

Tonight is the night they finish their project. With only visuals remaining, and their use of a different type of surface for their piece, they only have the next several hours to complete it.

Dan grabs blankets for them to sit on and he tells Phil where to find the paints they need, and together they make their way towards the backyard. With perfect weather accompanied by a lovely sky, it is no wonder as to why it is their work space of choice this evening.

Outside, the air is quiet. The only noises come from the soft hum of suburbia and the chirping of crickets. “I work here often,” Dan says, his voice casual and not as loud as it normally would be.

Phil nods. “I understand why. It’s peaceful out here.”

They start setting up, picking a clear spot in the grass. Dan tosses the blankets to the ground and they both slide their backpacks off their shoulders, and Dan leans down to take the supplies they need out of his bag. As he is getting situated, Phil asks if he should get ready now. Although Dan just passively gives him a “Yeah, yeah,” he can’t seem to resist looking up when Phil turns around to slip off his shirt.

Phil isn’t the most fit person in the world, but he is certainly a bit toned, and the movement of his shoulder blades and back do something to the heart beating in Dan’s chest. The first thing he notices even before that though, are the daisies that seem to go all across Phil’s shoulders. They are admittedly quite hard to miss. That too, gives Dan this tingling feeling that starts in his chest and spreads through his arms. He can’t put a name to it, but it’s just that the flowers seem so endearing. Because oh, how lovely is that?

When Phil turns and faces Dan again, he catches Dan looking at him. Quickly, Dan looks away, but by then it’s too late, and Phil is standing there flustered, hints of pink coming off like paint splatters and freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly self-conscious, Phil shifts the moment’s attention to something else when he quickly moves to pick up one of the many blankets that Dan brought outside. When he hands one end of the blanket to Dan, Dan takes it with a sheepish smile.

For a split second, their fingers graze each other’s, before parting so that they may set the blanket down upon the grass together. After they put the blanket on the ground, Phil rubs his fingers together. A reaction, he can’t help it: last time there were fireworks, after all.

And even though his hands show no ink this time when he checks, by God does it feel like the moment was electrically charged.

“So, where do you want me?” asks Phil, the question effectively gently breaking the comfortable silence.

Dan laugh cuts through the thick air between them. “Pff, Phil,” He teases, “You know that anywhere is fine as long as we’re together.”

Phil shoves him playfully in response, making Dan grin, and the pink in Phil’s cheeks becomes just the tiniest bit redder. “Oh, shut up!”

“Lie down on your stomach here,” Dan gestures to a certain spot right by Phil’s feet, “Just relax okay?”

Phil follows Dan’s orders, and underneath him, he can feel the rustling of the grass. He rests his head on his arms, closing his eyes, his voice muffled by his mouth being covered. “Don't worry about me. I trust you.”

Dan chuckles. “I would hope so.”

The scenery around them seems unreal. The setting sun’s light gently lays a golden cast upon everything in the backyard, as if graced by Midas’ touch. Flowers and plants of every color grow here: a personal rainbow, a trove of jewels. Even the grass is a true to life representation of ‘the grass is greener on the side,’ for Phil knows that the grass on his side of the fence is wild and unkempt.

The atmosphere of it all is airy and seraphic.

Dan awkwardly squats down while muttering an apology, for in order to begin the actual painting process, he doesn’t really have any other option besides straddling Phil’s back. Of course he could just sit down next to Phil…  But then he would have to work sideways, and that would simply not be optimal.

He shifts in an attempt to make himself as comfortable as he can, and he makes sure that Phil is okay too.

Next to Dan lies the sketches of what he wants to achieve for the piece. Their idea is to demonstrate and illustrate what the definition of humanity, with an emphasis on the relationship between man and earth. The execution of Dan’s vision involves painting upon Phil’s back, sort of as a way to mimic the concept of tattoos and tell the story of man.

It is now time to work.

Underneath him, Phil’s skin is clear, pale, and soft. Like a blank canvas would, it invites him to have his way with it, a call to let his hands take over his mind. When Dan does any kind of art, he doesn’t like thinking at all due to its hinderance on creative flow. He takes a deep inhale, counting the seconds that pass as oxygen comes in, and lets a deep exhale pass his lips.

His fingers lightly trace the flowers upon Phil’s back, taking in the detail of each and every one of them. The intricacy of it all is so pretty, and almost delicate.

Finally, Dan starts.

The coldness of the paint makes Phil shiver.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil laughs awkwardly, “It’s cold, that’s all.”

Dan can’t help but laugh a little too. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’m gonna need a steady surface though so…”

“What should I do?”

“Hmm…” Dan starts, trying to think. He makes a long, broad stroke with his brush. “Maybe you can like, I don’t know. This might sound dumb. But maybe you could recite some poetry to me?” Dan dips his brush into the water, cleaning it off so that he could change colors. “It’ll distract you from the cold. It can be from the project, your own stuff, whatever. Tell me anything on your mind.”

Phil thinks it over, taking about a minute to contemplate over what he wants to share.

While he thinks, the sun finally finishes setting, and the moon eagerly moves to replace it. No longer is the sky burning ablaze with oranges, vermillions, and magentas; instead it’s all dark. Only a star or two glimmers. Everything is void except for the light of the moon that only seems to shine on them two alone.

“Yeah okay,” he agrees. “Alright.”

Another breath. “This is one of mine,” Phil adds.

Then a beginning.

“in a field of forget-me-nots, he’d try to forget them a lot the one who made his heart bloom from freckles that were like seeds, and smiles like sunshowers: pulling handfuls of grass out of the ground beneath him and picking petals of any flower he touched, choruses of ‘like me’ and ‘like me not’ in a golden air

there was something about them, who with hands made soul out of oxygen of every color and texture and medium who made his knees shake and his cheeks redder

Dan’s breath hitches. Phil continues, seemingly not noticing, and Dan shakes his head to shake the ridiculous thoughts out of his mind.

So what if the story seems to tell of a boy in love with an artist? It doesn’t mean anything.

“for although they was a mere windowpane away, their red threads seemed to be nothing more than fishing lines leading them to a separate sea and him to an empty shore

The brush in Dan’s hand has completely stopped moving. His arms have goosebumps, and although he can see that Phil has goosebumps across his skin too, Dan is sure that his own are not from the brisk air.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s reading too much into it. Maybe it’s not even about him.

But is it too strange to say that Dan doesn’t seem to mind at all?

Before, Dan wished that Phil could see what he’s making while he was making it, but he is very thankful that Phil can’t see him right now. His free hand reaches to cup the side of his face, and under his palm he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Although he can’t see it on himself, his suspicions are basically confirmed, and he has a good guess as to what is there.

Because at this moment, only visible by the moonlight, Dan has a fierce blush— a coalescence of roses and carnations on his neck that reach and bloom upon the apples of his cheeks (along with a few freckled stars).

More stars that could be seen in the night sky, to be precise. Side-by-side a whole garden that rivals the one that is blossoming around them.

“so from the coastline, he would admire them —this caramel boy— and he would watch the boy pull in the many fish of the sea as for he, he would merely sit writing words in the stand with a tidal wave heart that consumed him and stole the air from his lungs”

The chill of the night is starting to set in, but he feels like he’s on fire.

<<>>

They finish incredibly late. The idea of time is lost to them, and honestly they can’t tell the difference between the the evening’s final hours and the earliest hours of the next day.

Phil fell asleep towards the end, and Dan finds it endearing. The rise and fall of Phil’s back, along with the faint sounds of his breathing, are the only things keeping Dan company in this standstill of a night.

“Wake up,” Dan murmurs. He nudges Phil gently. “Get up, Phil.”

Begrudgingly, Phil sits up. He yawns and ruffles his hair, and as Dan begins packing up the supplies, Dan makes sure to keep a watchful eye on Phil to make sure that he doesn’t ruin the painting. Ultimately, he tells Phil to sit on his hands to ensure that no excessive movement leads to crackling in the piece.

Once Dan has returned everything inside, he comes back out to see that Phil is still sitting there, and the sight makes Dan chuckle a little. Phil has his eyes closed, clearly he dozed off despite sitting up; how he managed to do it, Dan doesn’t know.

He first lifts up Phil’s right thigh, then Phil’s left, sliding his hands out from under his legs. He keeps his hold on Phil’s palms and pulls Phil up so that he can stand, then picks up the last blanket that is left on the ground so that he can sling it over his shoulder.

With Phil’s hand in his, Dan carefully guides him inside, to a seat right beside a window.

“Dan…” Phil is still incredibly sleepy, his voice groggy. “Dan, what… What are we doing…?”

“It’s okay, I’ll handle it. You’re alright,” He assures him. “I’ve got you.”

Dan proceeds to sit Phil up in a chair. He makes sure to be gentle. Phil’s eyes keep going back and forth between either being open or closed, his eyelids eventually settling for the middle ground of being drowsily half-open; his body is simply too sluggish for him to stay completely awake. He is doing his best, though.

While Dan does have a soft yellow light lit up so that he can properly operate the camera, he had picked this spot next to the window so that the light of the moon could hit the piece just right.

What a good choice that is.

He snaps a couple photos. He takes some shots that are up close, in addition to others that showcase the big picture. The ones that are closer show all the detail; they show every single one of the strokes and the way the colors seamlessly blend into one another. Those are his favorite, for they caught what the eye wouldn’t normally catch.

The paint doesn’t completely hide the imperfections of the skin and Dan loves it. Humans aren’t perfect, and it only further emphasizes their project’s theme, but it also makes the piece uniquely Phil as much as it is uniquely Dan’s.

Click. And that one’s nice too.

This photo frames everything perfectly, it is one of the far-away shots: showing how Dan’s depiction of a skeleton matches exactly where Phil’s own bones would be. Amongst the rungs of Phil’s ribcage, Dan weaved an entire garden of flowers, blossoms come in azure, olive, and honey, and all of the other related shades.

Where the veins would run through, instead of being where the blood would run its course, it is red thread intertwined with vines, and it even leads all the way through Phil’s arms and hands. Where there is empty space, Dan filled it with a mix of daisies and stars, along with the colors of a midnight sky, the sky’s colors are a contrast almost as striking as Phil’s hair to his pale skin.

It isn’t a physical manifestation of the poem Phil recited to him, no. But if Dan said that he didn’t think about doing that, he would be lying. Dan ended up completely disregarding his original drafts and ended up giving into what his hands and mind seemed to want to do, and this was it, a portrayal that was a likeness to the relationship between nature and man, with a subtle hint at man’s idea of a red thread fate (perhaps Phil’s poem had more of an impact than he originally thought). And it turned into something lovely, he thinks. He hopes.

It almost resembles how Phil makes him feel inside.

How Phil seems to make everything bloom in color.

Softly, he taps Phil on the shoulder. “C’mon, wake up, Philly,” Dan whispers. “You did great.”

Phil rubs his eyes. They’re fully open now. “Oh hi Dan…” he replies, “I know I’ve been awake, but I think I can actually think… Coherently now.”

Dan smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” He holds a hand out to Phil, to which Phil accepts, and he pulls Phil up so he can stand. “I handled it. It all turned out fantastically.”

Phil stretches, and yawns. Then his eyes widen, face suddenly full of worry. “Wait, what time is it?? I never told my mom what time we’d finish—”

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Dan suggests. Phil looks at him and tilts his head, thinking it over. “It’s so late anyway, and my parents won’t mind, they’re out on a business trip anyway.”

Phil nods, “Okay. Alright, I’ll just let my mom know.”

Then they go to the bathroom upstairs, and Phil follows. While they are walking, Phil sends a quick message to his mom: I’m still at Dan’s, just right next door. Staying the night. I would’ve told you sooner but I fell asleep. Love you ❤❤

Upon reaching the bathroom, Dan gets a hand towel from the closet, and runs the towel under the sink. Out of nowhere, Phil laughs, and Dan turns to look at him, eyebrow raised, perplexed and wanting an explanation.

When all Phil says is, “Heh, Howell with a towel,” Dan smacks Phil in the shoulder playfully and can’t help but laugh too.

Dan then adds a bit of soap so that it will wash better. Before he starts to clean the painting off, Phil sees the piece in the mirror and loves it. “You’re so talented,” he whispers, and Dan’s ears flush with pink, he’s positively bashful. “It really is a shame that we have to wash it off.”

“Yeah,” is all Dan can reply. “It is.”

He finally starts washing Phil’s back, watching the colors smear together into something incomprehensible. Abruptly, Dan hesitates, really taking in the situation. “This isn’t weird, right?” he asks.

Phil doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you’re just helping me. I wouldn’t be able to do it properly myself.”

Dan can’t seem to argue with that, and so he finishes. When he’s done, he tells Phil to wait a moment. About a minute or two passes by, and Phil is humming to pass the time, and when Dan returns, he tosses Phil the clothes of his that he grabbed. Then he shows Phil how to use the shower.

“So those clothes are just some of mine that you can borrow,” Dan finishes. “My room is just across the hall when you’re done.”

Dan’s hand is on the door handle already when Phil stops him. “Oh wait, hold on! Before you go…” Phil pulls him back to the counter, and takes a new towel from where he saw Dan take one from earlier.

He does just as Dan did, and runs the towelette under water with a bit of soap, and he cups Dan’s cheek with his hand. He dabs at Dan’s cheek gently, cleaning up paint that had somehow made it’s way to Dan’s chin and other miscellaneous parts of his face.

“I didn’t know you had freckles,” Phil whispers, continuing to tenderly clean Dan up. “I love them.”

The comment automatically makes Dan flustered. His cheeks threaten to flare up, as they usually do at words like that, but he wills every atom to his body to refrain from doing so in that moment. He can only hope that it works out like that, though.

He barely manages to utter the two words. “Th-thank you.”

Eventually Phil finishes, and Dan subsequently leaves and retreats to his room. He uploads the photos from the camera to his laptop while he waits for Phil to shower. Once they are uploaded, he is pleased to see that they did indeed turn out as great as he thought. He starts editing, retouching them a bit here and there, just overall playing with the exposure and sharpness of them.

Fifteen minutes go by, and he’s still editing. That’s when Phil comes in, having lightly knocked on the door before entering, with his hair damp and Dan’s t-shirt and pajama pants on. In response to the opening of the door, Dan spins in his chair to watch as Phil comes in.

And there is just something about Phil in Dan’s clothes that makes him look so incredibly cute, that Dan has no other option but to smile.

Phil walks over to look at the photos that Dan has pulled up on his laptop. He asks if he can see the others, and Dan turns back to the screen to watch Phil scroll through the rest of them.

“Oh, Dan…” Stunned by the photographs, Phil is breathless. The lighting is spectacular, and the attention to detail is amazing, and none of it goes unnoticed.  “These are beautiful.”

He says some more things, but to be honest, Dan stopped listening. He’s just looking at Phil instead. That is, until Phil turns his face too.

Their faces are so near.

And their lips are so, so close.

Phil pulls away though, and Dan feels strangely empty. But why does he feel like that? he asks himself. He instantly shakes off the thought, getting up from his seat and heading to the closet to grab some pajamas. “You can just sleep on the bed Phil,” he states simply, “I’ll just take a quick shower.”

In the shower however, the thought of Phil can’t seem to escape him. Yet again, he pushes it away.

Nothing happened, and besides, it’s just Phil, he thinks, but it’s like he’s reassuring himself.

Nothing more.

When Dan is done, he heads back to the room, in far comfier clothes. As he opens the bedroom door, Phil cracks an eye half-open at the sound. Dan walks over to the bed, leaning down so he is looking at Phil at eye level.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil yawns, and pulls the covers up a little. His eyebrows scrunch up, and his eyes squint a little, questioning. “You have curly hair?”

Dan grimaces, a bit embarrassed. “Mmm, yeah. I always straighten it though.”

Phil reaches over, taking a curl in between his two fingers. “It’s like a little pig tail,” he giggles, “Why do you keep getting more and more damn adorable, whenever I learn more about you?”

This time, Dan doesn’t even acknowledge the comment, except for the playful hint of the corners of his lips turning up. He then stands up straight, and heads towards his desk. “I’m gonna edit a little more before I hit the sack. Good night you little shit.”

“Goodnight,” Phil calls.

Dan is editing for another twenty minutes more before he decides that it is time for him to finally sleep. He makes his way over to the bed, and he would lie down, but Phil is in the middle, looking cozily wrapped up in the black-and-white duvet.

Dan smiles softly. As he adjusts the covers so that it covers Phil’s feet, followed by tucking him in a little more, he mutters and laughs under his breath, “And I am the one that looks more and more adorable? Has he even seen himself?”

When he’s all done, he takes one of the extra pillows on the bed and tosses it to the ground. He then goes out and grabs one of the last clean blankets, and tosses that to the ground as well.

He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor tonight.

<<>>

phil: We definitely did great on that project! :D

dan: hECK yeah i hope they grade us soon

phil: alhfdlhls What if I told you that they did already??

dan: W H A T dan: but they usually take ages??

phil: It’s been a couple days materino phil: Plus like, my teacher told me that she graded ours first sooo,, phil: In THEORy it should be up by now! ;P

dan: omgomgomg i just checked and it’s uP

phil: And??

dan: WE GOT AN A

phil: YAY!! All thanks to your amazing art!!

dan: pbbbt your writing is the loveliest thing ever don’t even come for me dan: like shakespeare who?? i don’t know her

phil: Oh shush asdfgjjhg phil: That’s so sweet I hate you

dan: nooooo don’t hate me

phil: Don’t worry Danny boy phil: I don’t think I ever could.

<<>>

The rain outside is dreadfully heavy, and Dan is late. Usually, that wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but he had been doing so well with being on time these past few weeks. Since there is no point to alarms if they don’t even work as they should, alarm clocks are dead to Dan now.

When he runs in, he looks so scattered. Sleeves are three-fourths rolled up, creating a look that lies somewhere between rushed and on purpose, and to add to that his hair is frizzy, he has mismatching socks (well, one is black and the other is dark grey, but still). A white umbrella that has baby pink ribbons all over it completes the whole ensemble.

Honestly? A fashion icon.

Phil sees him on the way to his second period class, and he has to cover his mouth to keep from giggling at the sight of Dan looking completely frazzled from the rain. One little laugh does escape him though, but he can’t help it: what is likely Dan’s little sister’s umbrella makes Dan look cute as heck.

Yet when Phil begins to lightly run towards him to give a quick hi, something doesn’t seem right.

Dan’s tattoos seem… Blurry?

At first glance, the ink seems to be what Phil expects it to be. That being, what Phil knows to be on Erin’s own arms: grey, stormy clouds. Yet at the same time— it seems to have changed?

Phil is just standing in place now, stopped in his tracks, a fair distance away from him still. He isn’t looking up close, the exposed skin on Dan’s forearms show it all. The texture is off and that the colors are melding together in an unnatural way, and overall it is just wrong.

Phil continues to stand by and watch.

Dan rolls up his sleeves more, revealing his whole arm. When he reaches into his locker, he takes out a variety of art supplies, of various mediums and hues and purposes, and begins to mess around a bit with the tattoos. As if he’s touching up.

Why would he need to…? Oh.

They’re fake. The tattoos are fake. And scratch what Phil said earlier— they are not blurry. They are smeared.

Dan finishes his work relatively quickly, and by that time, Phil has already begun heading to class, asking himself whether or not the scene he just watched unfold in front of him was real. Whether the sight of Dan amending the ink on his skin was true, or if it was a sleep-deprived induced dream. Yet no matter what he tells himself, he can’t deny what he saw.

Eventually Dan looks up and sees Phil’s distant figure. When he lets out an, “Oh hey! Phil!”, a moment passes that seems like a reluctance to greet Dan back. But Phil turns around, because that’s the kind of person he is, and he waves. Dan swears that it seems a bit stiff, though.

After that, Phil doesn’t acknowledge anything else.

He simply bites his bottom lip and keeps walking.

<<>>

(2) missed calls from Danny Boy.

<<>>

“Hey Phil! Let’s head to the library for lunch?”

Phil forces a smile. “Maybe another time, Dan? I have to… uh, go to a teacher.”

<<>>

You missed (5) Skype Video Calls from Daniel Howell.

<<>>

dan: hey why rnt you replying to me? dan: phil, did i do something?          ✓ read 9:22 PM

<<>>

Rumors are spreading all across campus. The hallways are littered with whispers and gossip of the school’s proclaimed ‘It Couple,’ and even teachers are chatting about it in the teachers’ lounge. Everyone seems to be aware that Dan and Erin had a falling out, but to be fair, it wasn’t necessarily hard to guess. No one needed to hear it from the source.

It is evident from how they no longer walk together, sit together, or talk to one another. Even more apparent, Erin’s arms no longer displayed the sunrises that everyone believed (she, included) to represent new beginnings and the birth of something new. Instead, it is now rain. It is stormy clouds on a setting horizon, the sunset for the sunrise, to match the end to the beginning.

Even the flowers she had, the precious flowers that convinced even the doubters of her and Dan’s love (if you could call it that), are wilting.

There are claims being made; there are those who are attesting to seeing Dan leave parties early with people on his arm while he has his hand on their waist, as he leads them out the door and to his car. Some said it was Dan whose neck and chest was splattered with purple from what the night had entailed, others said it was his company who adorned the marks. People told of the moans that would come from bathrooms, bedrooms, and even in one instance, a closet, where sounds of ecstasy made passerbys envious and left his partner of the night a pleasured mess.

Amongst all of Dan’s hookups, there is one thing they all have in common: they are all boys.

And that common fact makes Phil’s heart go from skipping a beat at even the mention of Dan’s name to sinking six feet below the floor.

Girls? That he can handle. He can handle it because he is used to it, he has been used to it for years. But Dan being with boys puts Phil on an even playing field— Phil isn't different from any of those boys. He has gone from watching on the sidelines to being an average player on the losing team.

When it comes down to it, these are the truths: he is in love with someone who, until the project, hadn't spared him a glance for years. He is in love with someone who —he was sure of it— had tattoos that were ingenuine and painted on. He is in love with someone who is known for playing the game, for having issues with commitment, for being someone who picked up people then dropped them like flies.

He is in love with someone who lies.

And so now Phil sits on his front porch, writing, restraining himself from going beyond the brink of tears. For someone who treasures honesty, the truth hurts. No matter how much he tries to hold himself back, two or three droplets still manage to escape, smudging some of the words that were written out of a mix of anger, disappointment, and emptiness.

They were words written by a heart who lost the game, a game rigged by a player of the most gut-wrenching emotion.

<<>>

skin of freckled honey and a body of clouds, sweet and soft— in the same way that only thoughts could fabricate the idea of how your lips taste. fabrication does not compare to the reality of it all though and no one ever warned me, for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you - p.l.

<<>>

Everything is white noise. His surroundings are a blur and his head is pulsing intensely from the conglomeration of far too much alcohol and far too loud music. He can barely feel himself existing within his own body. The bustle of people dancing around him, the sounds of the DJ and the people singing and screaming at the top of their lungs, and the scent of sweat and booze: it’s all much more than he wants in that moment.

But to be fair, he does not really know exactly what it is he wants.

Whoever he is kissing is much more into it than he is, for he isn’t into it at all. He’s barely there, just a shell of a kiss upon the person’s lips. A disappointment for anyone sober to be honest.

Yet the other one couldn’t care less.

“S-so do you wanna, like,” the boy, probably two years younger than him, stammers as they separate for a breath, “Take this somewhere else?”

Numbly, Dan nods. No harm in going along with it, right? “Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”

On the drive to Dan’s house, the boy (Justin? Jake? Josh? Oh forget it, just calling him J will be easier) is texting rapidly. The entire drive is silent except for those keyboard clicks and the nervous tapping of J’s foot, and from the light of J’s phone screen, Dan can see that J is sporting a huge grin on his face. Dan doesn’t even have to see the texts to know what they are about.

If he were to guess, it would be J bragging to his friends about how he is getting to sleep with The Great Dan Howell™ and how “OMG HE CAN’T BELIEVE IT.” Or you know, another statement that is equally as dumb.

It makes Dan feel sick.

When they actually arrive, things escalate from Dan leading J into his home with his hand on the small of J’s back, to rapidly making out on the couch. The way J kisses him is incredibly zealous. Dan tries his best to match his passion, but his efforts fall short. It’s just different, for Dan’s kisses are intense in a different manner; his lips press against J’s lips and skin in a way that is almost forceful, as if trying to forget about something.

But regardless of how fervent they both currently are, it all stops the moment the boy reaches to unbutton Dan’s jeans.

Immediately, Dan breaks away.

The boy, Jared, Jace, whatever his name is, looks confused. He leans in in an attempt to just restart where they left off, but Dan only shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says quietly, pushing him off. “I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”

He gets up, and the younger one awkwardly follows, the way the boy carries himself shows that he is definitely disappointed. When they reach the front door, the boy takes a second to send a quick message, letting his friend know that he needs a ride, knowing what Dan will say next.

“Go home,” Dan tells him, his voice gentle as he opens the door. “You’re sweet, but go home. Please.” A nod from the other passes as a silent “Alright then, goodbye,” and Dan knows that he’ll never see the boy again. When Dan shuts the door and locks it, he runs his hand through his fringe, letting out a groan that comes from deep within his chest.

He makes his way upstairs eventually. When he gets there, he sits upon the edge of the foot of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands, pulling at his hair. His knuckles are white when he forms a fist, fiercely punching the bed once. And that’s the point where he just yells.

Dan yells so loud that it genuinely scratches his throat, it is of such volume that it bounces off the walls of the empty house.

Next, he just allows himself to fall onto the bed. His body sprawls out in the center, amongst all of his sheets that should seem familiar, yet somehow don’t smell like home at all. His eyes are squeezed shut. One hand reaches up to rub his one eye, the other arm rests in place and remains outstretched.

After some time, breaking the quiet, a soft gravelly whisper finally leaves his lips. “Dang, she might’ve been right all along…”

<<>>

chris: i heard from pj that u + phil aren’t on the best of terms right now chris: you okay mate?

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age sixteen.

from chris, to dan (and 63 others):

party tonight. my house (u should know the address, lmk if you need it tho) until whenever u wanna leave ! gon be lit be there or be square lads

He only had a little bit of time before Vanessa —well, because she insists he actually calls her Van— arrived. Chris Kendall was having the party of the summer to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of vacation because his parents were out of town, and he and Van agreed that they would go together.

As a casual thing of course, nothing serious.

The party started in about half an hour. Black skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees and a shirt he knew he looked good in was the look of choice for the night. He nearly chose to leave his hair in waves, but after he ran his fingers through his fringe he ultimately decided against it. His hair looked stupid if it was anything but straight.

Right when he was straightening the last curl, the doorbell rang. How perfectly timed, and even their arrival at the party was perfect too: not too early and not too late. As soon as they got there, they were greeted by the mob of people who were bumping along to the music. While they gave quick greetings to their friends, they quickly made their way into the center, amongst all those who were dancing like it was the night of their lives.

Van had her hands on his chest, her moves sensual and easy. She’s dancing with him, and Dan doesn’t hate it, because any onlooker could tell that she was very attractive. She’s pretty, and admittedly they have had fun together before, but Dan had realised for a while that he hadn’t been actively interested in her for quite some time.

But who was he to decline her company when they should be having fun?

“Let’s go grab some drinks,” Van commented, as she took his hand to drag them both out of the cluster of partying bodies. Even before she reached the drinks table, people started to hand her drinks as if they knew exactly what she wanted. She grabbed two, nudged Dan with her elbow, then held out the one cup out to him. “Drink some, Dan!”

Dan made a face, unsure. “I dunno, I don’t usually drink much…”

She gave an ‘ol pbbbt and a playful eyeroll that clearly meant that she didn’t want no for an answer. Van gestured towards the cup in her hand once more, and with her eyebrows raised up at him, she follows up with a plead. “C’mon! Take a fuckin’ sip babe.”

Giving in, he took the drink from her, downing it all in a matter of gulps. Van laughs, and they went right back into partying.

However, whether he realised it or not, one sip had quickly turned into multiple sips. And sips turned into finishing the cup, and one finished cup turned until multiple finished cups, and then he completely lost count. He’s completely, he thought as he hiccuped, he’s completely —as his friends would say— tabled.

If he’s honest, he had no idea how much time had passed. He just knew that he was currently all over the place, dancing one moment, chatting the next, then suddenly beer pong or something after that. When the music got softer, that’s when his drunk high started to diminish too, and that’s when he started to get tired.

He terribly needed a bed.

It was at this time that he started to head towards the stairs (anything after that however, he couldn’t recall for the life of him).

<<>>

Why is Phil doing this?

Dan knows he’s not imagining it. Dan can feel Phil distancing himself away from him more and more with each passing day, and he just wants to know why. It’s not just ignored texts, Phil won’t even glance at him. And that’s what really hurts about it all.

At lunch, he goes to “their” spot in the library, but Phil isn’t there. He brings food and everything, but even if he waits, Phil never shows. As a matter of fact, he isn’t in the library at all. To add more salt to the wound, when Dan goes to the cafeteria to check out the lunch table where PJ, Chris, and Louise sit at, Phil isn’t with them either.

Even when it is time for class, Dan is determined. He shows up first rather than last in an effort to try and sit by him. Dan will get him this time he’s sure, because he knows that Phil likes having time to himself in the beginning of class. Dan knows Phil. Dan is positive that he is right in this notion —there is no way he wouldn’t be— and when Phil walks in through that door, Dan will just talk to him and everything will be normal again.

But as if he’s aware of Dan’s plan, Phil ends up arriving last. Every time.

<<>>

“Please Chris!” his tone is embarrassingly pleading, but Dan doesn’t care. Anyone could be listening in on their conversation as they’re strolling the halls, but Dan doesn’t care about that either, he just grabs Chris’ arm and begins shaking it violently as he keeps begging (these are clearly some great persuasive tactics he’s using, perhaps he should consider becoming a lawyer).

“Pleaaaseee!! Talk to your cute boyfriend for me!”

Chris stops in his tracks, nearly making Dan stumble. He stares at Dan dead in the eyes. “Okay first of all, only I can call him cute, back off. And second,” he says the last parts slowly as he takes a couple tentative steps forward. “I don’t think it would be smart. If anything, you can talk to my cute boyfriend yourself.”

Dan lets go of Chris’ arm, letting out a small reluctant exhale. “Okay. Fine.”

It takes a while. Dan has to wait until the afternoon finally comes to an end in order to talk to PJ, and even then, it takes a good chunk of time to convince him. Dan’s proposition is for PJ to somehow provide Dan with an opportunity to talk to Phil.

At first, PJ declines. Right away.

But then he manages to go from “Oh, I don’t know Dan…” to “Alright, okay,” after a little over an hour of persuading. After Dan explained the circumstances, and with a bit of begging, PJ changed his mind. He makes it clear that he’s not the most supportive of Dan right now due to Phil’s current state, but that he is appreciative of the fact that he did make Phil so happy before.

And above all, there is one thing that PJ can’t deny, and that is that Phil deserves closure. If anything.

PJ looks away from Dan, not able to directly meet his eyes. He scratches the back of his neck, before turning to face him once more, voice firm. “He’ll meet you in room 109, alright? Tomorrow, fifteen minutes after school ends. I’ll tell them there’s a meeting for a club he’s in or something. But if you miss it… That’s on you. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

<<>>

The clock on the classroom wall shows that seven minutes have passed since their supposed meet-up time. Not that he was counting or anything. Understandably, Dan can’t help but to feel on edge, for what if PJ changed his mind?

What if Phil never comes?

Out of nowhere, words start coming from the other side of the door. “Yeah, this is the room. Text me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks for letting me know about this meeting Peej.” That one is Phil. That’s definitely him. “You’re a great friend.”

The door then opens with a flourish. Phil closes it behind him.

Dan coughs, making Phil turn around. He does a small wave and says meekly, “Hey, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes widen and the color drains from his face. “Oh no. Oh no no no…”

“Phil, please listen to me—”

“But I don’t even want to talk to you…” Phil’s firmly points out. He is looking all around the classroom, at every place and every thing except for Dan. Annoyed, he mutters, “I knew that something was up when PJ said there was a meeting for a new writing program. It just seemed sudden, and I never heard anyone talking about it or anything…”

“Phil, please talk to me?”

“And why should I?”

“Please.”

Instead of responding right away, Phil walks over to Dan, and gets all up his face. He nearly spits at him, and to be honest, he kind of wants to. Inked images of flames are flickering from his bottom of his neck, threatening to reach his chin. He entire demeanor is radiating with bitterness. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you take a hint?” He crosses his arms. “You’re with her, and I’m a total idiot, and you can just live your happy lie. Ignorance is bliss, right?”

“What are you even saying, I don’t understand…” Dan’s voice trails off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Brashly, Phil grabs Dan’s arm, hastily rolling up the sleeves. His lips are pressed into a straight line as he takes out his water bottle from in his backpack. Proceeding to pour a bit of water onto Dan’s forearm, he then takes his hand and rubs across Dan’s skin.

The ink smears, as Phil expected.

A sharp intake of breath comes from Dan. His eyes widen, and suddenly it’s like something has lodged itself in his lungs. Frantically, he waves his hands, crying, “Phil, whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t believe it! There’s more to the story, I promise you…” Phil doesn’t respond, he simply twists the bottle cap closed and slips the water bottle back into his bag. “Can we just talk? We need to talk, Phil!”

Phil’s voice is hard and stilted. He doesn’t acknowledge what Dan is saying, not really, but his words speak directly to him. “Dan, if anything, you have to understand this: the project is done, so there is no logical reason for us to talk anymore—”

This is where Dan attempts to shut Phil up. Hurriedly, he had leaned in to close the space between them, with the aim for a chaste kiss on the lips. Just so Phil would stop talking and calm down. That kind of thing works in the movies, right?

But Dan misses.

He misses because Phil turned his face, so that instead of his lips, Dan would hit his cheek instead. A futile attempt overall. When they return to simple eye contact, Phil is anything but pleased. Dan grimaces. He’s worried now.

“Art students,” begins Phil bitterly, “are the worst.” He moves his head so his fringe is out of his face, and all of his focus is on Dan. He shakes his head, a forced chuckle almost escaping his lips.

“Just so you know,” Phil’s eyes are like steel. Unbearing, unyielding, a disclosure with resolve. His words are steady. “I was pretty damn close to falling in love with you.”

Dan’s expression has become a mess of emotion, his voice laced with a desperate want for Phil to stay. Yet Phil is already for the door. “Well I’m pretty damn sure—”

Phil cuts him off one last time, his fingers lingering on the door handle. His face turns so that Dan can see his profile, but can’t see his expression. To be fair, he doesn’t need to, for the impenetrable accusing, disappointed tone of his voice is undeniable.

“Do you tell that to everyone you sleep with?”

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age fifteen.

Apparently this party was supposed to be a big one. More so than usual anyway, and that was why James had forced him to go— and that was why he was here. People seemed to be filling up the house to its brim, and the scent of sweat and alcohol blended into what Phil guessed to be whatever Nirvana imagined teen spirit would smell like. When Phil and James arrived, they were greeted with the same chorus of “heyyy!”s that all the other houseguests probably had to endure.

They had only stepped through the entrance moments ago when James had nudged him in the side with his elbow. “I’m just gonna go and mingle, yeah?”

Phil just passively nodded him off in reply, and turned around to head towards the living room. Before he makes his leave, James patted him on the back with a brief, “‘Kay mate, I’ll be back in a minute.” Phil rolls his eyes, because he highly doubts that. Yeah, yeah. That’s what he said every time.

An hour and a half passed on by. To elaborate, an hour and a half was how long it took for Phil to finally look up from his phone, get up from his spot on the couch, and go to the kitchen for a change of pace, and maybe a drink perhaps. His journey to the kitchen was mildly ruined however, when he realised James had been preoccupied —and was still preoccupied— with making out with someone in the hallway.

Phil simply pursed his lips, blatantly ignored it, and headed towards the drinks. Despite being close, the two were never actually close. As evidenced, that guy was never really a good friend anyway.

Life sucks sometimes, you know? Phil grabbed the nearest drinkable-looking liquid. but before he could pour himself anything, he was stopped. Someone else was offering a red solo cup to him.

“Are you looking for something harsh, or you just want to let loose?” The person says.

“Let loose,” Phil affirmed, with a shrug. “I just want to have less of a crappy time to be honest.”

“Well then here you go mate,” he replied, as he handed him the drink. “I’m PJ by the way.”

The conversation took off from there. Introductions were made, and so were jokes and banter; overall they were having fun getting to know one another. PJ was a film-video major, and was studying directing, writing, and special effects. It turned out that they both attended the nearby arts academy, and that they were in the same lunch period. Numbers were exchanged, and agreements to hang out were arranged.

It seemed like a friendship was to start. One already far better than the one with James.

“It’s been great talking to you Phil,” PJ grinned as the conversation came to a close, patting Phil on the shoulder. “I gotta make my way out though! The party host is a past friend of mine, and I just wanna see if I can give a cheeky hello.” With that, he turned and headed off with a little salute.

“See you!”

And with that, the night went on. The party dwindled down, and as early morning approached, people transitioned from either quietly chatting or leaving, to being completely knocked out or sleeping. The sleeping ones included Phil amongst them, who had succumbed to that heavy-eyed feeling on the stairs. It was one of the only places left that was free: his peers littered the couches, the floors, and the hallways. Along with all of these people, there were cups, half-eaten pizzas, and a whole lot of other trash that were haphazardly left upon every surface and within every possible nook and cranny of the house.

The music that had previously been blasting loud enough to vibrate the whole block had now been turned down to a lower volume, presumably by someone who did so out of the courtesy of others. A simple light pulse could be felt through the floor, and it stood as the only sound left to resonate through the house.

Well, except for the footsteps of one person. A person who, in their completely hammered state, had decided that he wanted to sleep in the comfort of a bed, and was thus attempting to trudge their way to a bedroom. That was before they tripped on Phil.  

Who was on the stairs.

Blocking his way.

Phil’s eyes kinda squinted and fluttered open, eyebrows furrowed as he half-woke up from the sound of whoever fell near him. Once he realised that someone was helplessly lying face down upon the steps, he made the effort to help them up. Even though he himself did stumble a couple of times.

He placed an arm around the person’s shoulder, and the other did the same back at him. In their matching hazy, sleepy states, they made their way to the bedroom together, nearly tripping on more than one occasion as they attempted to hold each other up on the way up the staircase.

A couple fumbles, and they were finally at the top.

“Are we nearly there?” The guy asked, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah,” Phil replied quietly, as he pushed open the first door he came across. “Yeah, nearly.”

When he opened the door, it was easy to tell that it was probably the master bedroom, for it had a bed fit for kings. The duvet looked silky to the touch, and the pillows looked fluffed to homey perfection. It just seemed so, so inviting.

The music from downstairs could still be fairly heard from where they were. The boy Phil was holding onto sorta hummed along and tried to spin them around the room in a dazed dance.

A laughably graceful spin, an uncoordinated dip. “Mmmm, mmm mm mmm…”

It all quickly went downhill though. Expectedly, rather than dancing, they instead clumsily fell onto the bed, the covers being as soft as they looked. Phil giggled as they fell down.

One person on one side, and the other person next to them. They laid down together, back to back, not touching and ready to fall asleep. Phil’s eyes began to close once more. Both of their breathing patterns were becoming slow and even.

Rustling all of a sudden came from the other side of the bed, the shifting of sheets were followed by a genuine, dazed slur of question. The guy spoke at a volume that hardly goes above a hummingbird’s whisper. “Hey, doyouthinkit’sstrangethat… I don’t know. That society is simply made, made up of concepts that are in… inherently real and. And not real?”

Reluctantly, Phil turned on his side to face him so he could reply. He yawned, and shrugged. His voice is gravelly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Some people see marriage as just being a piece of paper.”

The stranger nodded, seemingly accepting his answer. “That’s, that’s true...” He paused for a moment, taking a second to think before he voiced his next thought. “Hmmmm, next question: why are we here?” His voice was more stable now, despite all the alcohol in his system. Probably because he was more awake due to holding a conversation.

“If this is an existential question, that’s too much thinking.” Phil’s face scrunched up as he attempted once more at a better response, but inevitably gave up. A mostly-tired tipsy brain is only capable of so much at two am. “It’s too early for that, mate. Sorry. But if you’re asking for why I’m at this party? Then it’s because,” Phil moved his body so he could be more comfortable, resting his head on his arm. “Well, my friend forced me to come.”

The other one’s body mirrored Phil’s, moving in the bed as he did in order to better situate himself. He replied with a nonchalant shake of his head. “I did mean it as existentia-whatever, but eh, you’re right. Too much thinking. I’m here because of a friend too.”

Somehow, they began to talk about everything. And by everything, it meant just that: worries, fears, existential thoughts, random animal facts. They became so relaxed yet so awake, because if they closed their eyes they would miss these fleeting moments of an almost trance-like unreality. There were no holds barred. Everything left was raw.

After a while, there was a lull. It’s either that or they have fallen into a comfortable silence, Phil truly didn’t know. They were both still lying face to face —but also not really looking at each other— in an absentminded stupor. The stillness was broken when the guy reached over, almost as if he wanted to play with Phil’s hair. He hummed and muttered, “You kinda look like my neighbor, you know?” Phil’s eyebrows only raise slightly in response, like a silent question of “Oh really?”

Dan pursed his lips with an mmhm, decidedly rubbing the black locks in between his fingers and brushing Phil’s fringe out of his face. “You are the prettiest boy I have ever seen, you know...”

After hearing those words, Phil took the other’s hand into his, away from playing with his hair. He brought their hands down to rest in between the both of them, fingers interlocked. Chrysanthemums quickly bloomed on the boy’s face in a blush, which then faded as fast as they appeared. “And that is you, to I,” said Phil.

The boy laughed, the flowers reappeared on his cheeks for several moments fiercer and brighter than before, right before they faded again once more, slowly this time. A soft rosy patch of red on the apples of his cheeks was all that was left behind upon his flushed face. “What are you, a poet?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” Phil smiled.

Whoever made the first move after that moment wasn’t relevant. It was just that at one point they were no longer at an arms’ length away from each other, but yet they somehow had moved closer to one another. Close enough for Phil to see that this pretty boy had the prettiest eyelashes and the softest brunette hair, and for the other to see his three favorite colors within Phil’s eyes. They were simply lying down amongst shared bedsheets face-to-face, alcohol on their breath; two boys with no care in the world.

Phil moved forward just the slightest bit more, letting go of the guy’s hand to move and kiss him behind the ear first, where a tattoo of a marigold immediately began to bloom. Then Phil continued and left soft kisses down the male’s neck.

In response the boy sighed with the quietest ah, nearly moaning from the slightest touch. With the utmost tenderness, he ran his hands across Phil’s shoulders and down Phil’s arms, letting one hand rest on Phil’s waist before he leaned in and gave him a peck of a kiss, making the both of them smile.

“Your touch is so gentle,” Phil says to him. Echoing the other’s words from earlier, Phil continued in a teasing tone, “What are you, an artist?”

The boy only winked, with a hint of a knowing smirk. “Maybe.”

That portion of humanity’s daily twenty-four hours in which the ongoing evening merged with the early day, and when the stars met the morning sunrise, was not only comprised of only the physical world that night, but also of the whispers of yes between strangers and the unspoken confessions between two people who had somehow already met. Perhaps through a past life, or unknowingly, a connection even closer than that.

Because even acquaintances can be something more.

In the morning, it’s skin against skin, amid silken bedsheets and marks from the night before. Their legs were entangled with one another— leaving daisies around Phil’s ankles, while the boy’s arms around him left daisies upon Phil’s shoulders.

When Phil awoke, sunlight had only begun to trickle in. Reluctantly he moved to break away from the guy’s hold, careful to not wake him up, and groggily, Phil grabbed for his phone that was on top of the nightstand.

Four missed calls. Seven texts. His mother must be worried sick.

from mom, to phil:

Where are you Philip???!!!! I’ve called you so many times!! I trust you to be alright, but please contact me to ease your old mother’s heart. Come home as soon as you can, dear. Call me.

Phil sat up on the edge of the bed. Cellphone in hand, he immediately dialed for his mother. As it rang, he began to shuffle around the room to pick up his clothes off of the floor. Pants here, shirt there. Boxers somewhere. The phone rang five times, to which afterwards it then went to voicemail, accompanied by the traditional “Please leave your name after the beep!”. While he struggled to put his jeans on, Phil pinned the phone in the nook between his shoulder and ear.

“Yeah, mom? Sorry I didn’t answer or come home right away, I fell asleep at the party from last night. I’ll be heading there now. Don’t worry, I’ll take a taxi or uber or something.” A quick message and then he hung up, it was just a sign to let her know he was okay. Finally, he slipped his shirt on over his head.

Before he left, he took one last glance at the boy in the bed. It was only at this point does he realise exactly what happened last night. He wasn’t a stranger at all, in fact Phil knew him, he knew him much more than he would like to admit.

The boy was Dan. Dan, the one Phil admired from afar, the one he wrote about in secret.

Phil bit his lip, feeling a twinge of something twist his insides. It’s a mix of guilt and some other emotion. His stomach did not contain butterflies, oh no; right now his ribcage swelled with bumblebees. Stabbing the inside of his chest, filling his lungs so he couldn’t breathe.

But perhaps that was only fitting. Because that couldn’t stop him from confessing the fact that this sight of Dan left Phil a bit breathless.

A state that left Dan looking so vulnerable, while at the same time, looking so damn gorgeous.

Leaning down, Phil’s fingers grazed Dan’s forehead so that he may push those adorable curls aside, and his lips left a light kiss on Dan’s forehead, just above the space between his eyebrows. A farewell that would have to suffice, for after that Phil went back home.

When Dan awoke, he woke up to strewn sheets and duvet, and a slight tingling of where someone had left their mark— literally. There was a small red heart where Phil unknowingly kissed him, along with even smaller ones splattered along his hairline. When he touched them, they gave him a pleasant feeling, but at the same time he was just confused.

On Monday, when he went back for the last day of school, he hid the hearts under his fringe. If anyone were to catch a glance at them, he’d say they were freckles.

The matching redness of his cheeks and his glance towards the floor alluded to otherwise, though. And the way he picked at his shirt collar that hid a hickey or two showed that he was a bit unsure as to where exactly they came from.

<<>>

It has been almost three weeks since he first started avoiding Dan. At first it wasn’t on purpose at all, it was simply a reaction. He felt like he couldn’t help it— he just didn’t want to be around Dan for a while. Being around Dan felt like a confrontation.

But now, Phil is well aware that he has been purposefully distancing himself from him. From ignoring Dan’s texts and calls, taking a different route to classes, and turning the other cheek when Dan attempts to catch his attention. He has been doing it all.

And each and every time he does it, it hurts him. The feeling of contrition makes his insides wrench.

A new tattoo appeared on his thigh a while ago. It’s a clock. Every time he avoids Dan’s persistence, another crack appears on the clockface.

Needless to say, the clock is very close to being completely shattered.

People say that time heals all wounds, and at this point, Phil is praying that the saying rings true. The very idea of disingenuity tears him apart, because if something is built on falsehoods, does it even have any true worth? The answer is no, it doesn’t.

If he were to consider the amount of time he has spent on Dan, Phil has worn his heart on his sleeves for years. Dan was never his, but yet Phil feels like he lost him.

So much of himself, more than he’ll ever want to admit, has gone into this boy. It’s too much. Putting more of himself into someone who does not seem to value him to nearly the same extent is exhausting, and ultimately emotionally draining. Letting it continue on isn’t right.

This is the right choice. Phil is making the right decision, for he is considering every element of the bigger picture. So what if he didn’t hear Dan out back then? That he didn’t listen to what Dan had to say? He’s sure that Dan will just try to cover up his tracks, and move on. He’s sure that Dan’s just that kind of guy, the one who sees everything as temporary, ultimately forgetting about Phil in a matter of months. Dan will just be dishonest because it benefits him somehow. Phil is positive about that.

Because more than anything, Phil doesn’t want to be in love with a liar. And that’s what Dan is.

He needs to put everything behind him.

Phil needs to end it all tonight.

<<>>

pj: Are u sure

phil: I’m sure.

pj: Alright. I let her know. She says you can be the last performer so you should be ready by then

At the last moment, Phil took into consideration what PJ told him about the slam poetry night, and he asked PJ to let the teacher know that he wanted to participate in the school-run event taking place at the local cafe.

Phil decides to do it because such a great number of his poems are about this boy. PJ was right about Dan being his muse; Phil would write stanzas upon stanzas based on him in messy scrawls in the margins of his school notes and frantic jots on his hand.

If he mentioned eyes, the color would always be brown. If he wanted to create a particular atmosphere, it would almost always be one of warmth. And if they were about love…  Phil wrote from experience, because that was an emotion he was all too familiar with.

That is why this performance tonight needs to happen. He needs to get all of this pent up emotion out of his heart and into the world, rather than keeping his feelings restrained to the confines of himself, wishful thinking, and paper.

Phil glances at where the current poet is standing. Whoever is at the microphone right now is doing great, and it is only making him more anxious. The audience is clearly affixed to their words, eating it all up, and clearly enjoying the show.

Remember, tonight is not about the actual performance, Phil whispers to himself.

His palms are laying flat against the table in front of him; an abundance of the poems he has written are scattered all over the surface. There are scribbles in various pen colors and the worn papers are even ripped in some places. Any onlooker could see that these pieces were nothing but the tangible forms of pure amour.

After tonight, the burn he feels in his chest at the thought of him will stop, and the ashes of discarded literature will be its only remains.

Itwillstopitwillstopitwillallstop.

A vibration sends a tremor through the table when his phone screen lights up.

from dan, to phil:

where are you?

Phil picks up his device and shuts it off. Although it could be said that this night was about Dan, it is mostly about Phil, it is about Phil’s feelings, it is about Phil putting it all behind himself. He needs this.

Because it’s justified, right?

Two taps are hitting on his shoulder. It’s PJ, who actually ended up becoming a spur-of-the-moment volunteer to manage the behind-the-scenes for tonight. He leans in to whisper to Phil. “You’re on in a minute or two.” And almost as if he could sense Phil’s worrying, he continues and reassures him with, “You’ve got this, you’ll be great. I believe in you.” PJ clasps his hand on Phil’s shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. At that, he corners of Phil’s lips turn up slightly. He really is grateful for having a friend like him.

“Thank you.”

The supposed minute or two passes by quickly, and soon enough they are introducing Phil’s name. “The final poet of the night,” is what they say. Phil takes a deep breath and goes under the spotlight, the cool metal of the microphone in his hand is doing its best to calm him. He holds onto it tightly. With the spotlight in his eyes, and the cafe lights dimmed, he can’t see the audience at all.

Perhaps that’s for the best. For more reasons than one.

Because right when Phil opens his mouth to begin, someone quietly enters into the cafe. Despite the fact that the slight little twinkling of bells signaled his entrance, no one pays any heed to him.

He chooses to sit in the back.

And Phil notices nothing at all.

“brown is all sorts of golden, in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun…”

After a few poems, some cafe patrons swear that they see a shadow move from the back of the cafe to the front, as if to listen to the poet better.

“...for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns, blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you”

With every line, with every poem, with every eloquent sentence having their origins rooted in enclosed secrets, each word that leaves his lungs also lifts a small weight off of his shoulders and manages to carry it over to listening ears. Everything is on the line tonight. Every emotion is on Phil’s sleeve, not just his heart, and every person in the room is hanging on to each otherworldly wordy confession that falls from his lips. And speaking of confessions, Phil’s biggest one is coming up. He wrote it last night, so it’s fairly new.

His final poem. About everything.

Including the night from two years ago.

“young days are of bubbles and bubble gum little girls are so kind, they are so soft that little boys can’t help but fall for them with their small smiles and neat handwriting from tentative hands for a crush and descend

however, i never took the plunge for i saw a boy who was softer: with a subtle cotton candy blush who grew daisies from concrete and carnations on flushed cheeks

a mirage, admiration from afar became inkstained fingertips and etched scrawls on every surface imaginable

(he had freckles that were far more than just constellations, they were made of stardust)

adolescent times; time stopped for one drunken night when only the moonlight was sober, an evening full of whispers and kisses and care that faded when faced with the sun

artists are known to create somethings out of nothings with elements derived from the earth, they turn strokes into paintings clay into sculptures a-and unspoken promises—”

He coughs, his voice caught up in his throat.

“and unspoken promises into h-hope”

Phil’s voice is wavering. His eyes aren’t on the audience anymore. Instead, he’s staring at the floor.

Hands shaking.

“poets are known to write about tragedies and this is no exception there is red on those hands: is it from the words of my pen, your paint on my skin? or perhaps from the thorns from the flowers that bloomed, with your smile that could make the heart grow fonder

perhaps he truly loved her but his smile could tempt a lover

and my dear, even the lawfully good fall into temptation.”

He’s out of breath now. By the end, he was just rushing to get the last few words out, and he was straining his throat. His eyelashes are wet, he can feel them, and he knows that he’s probably on the brink of crying.

Phil bites the inside of his cheek. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t know what will come next. He stays standing there for a moment more, doing a small nod and awkward bow. Barely registering the trickling of applause, his shoulders curl in and he crosses his arms, one hand reaching to rub the place where the all too familiar daisies bloomed.

Would they still be there?

When Phil steps out of the light, it is an unexpected sight. Dan is there, right in front of him: one of Dan’s hands is all tremors while the other is reaching up to his face, desperately wiping away his salty tears. Dan’s hair, in those beautiful curls Phil loves, are in disarray; Dan’s lip trembles; Dan’s eyes are red and looking up at him through wet eyelashes that match his own. It is a state of vulnerability that only God should see. And seeing that? That is the breaking point.

A truth revealed. Barely louder than a bumblebee’s hum, that Phil almost misses it, but good thing that he happened to be great at reading lips.

“I love you,” Dan whispers.

Now that is true the breaking point. At that moment, Phil breaks into sobs, and they both reach out to one another to each other into a bone-crushing hug. “A conversation between us is long overdue,” one of them mumbles into the other’s neck, and the other one just nods, unable to respond with words.

They’re in tears.

<<>>

“I wrote poems about you, you know. Mostly on my front porch. I would never see you, but I always hoped that I would catch a glimpse of you.”

“I would paint in my backyard, among all the plants. I loved painting roses in watercolor, they were my favorite, but so many paintings of mine were made with three particular hues: blue, green, and yellow. My favorite colors. And they just so happen to be the colors of your eyes.”

<<>>

Out on a sidewalk curb, two boys sit with a cup of local coffee. “It’s good to support local businesses,” one says, “and Starbucks is overrated.”

“Yeah I know, you’ve told me,” the other replies. “I remember everything you tell me.”

He puts his head on the other boy’s shoulder. The other boy lifts his hand to gently wipe away the tear stains on the boy’s cheek with his thumb, while the boy softly places a kiss on the other one’s  neck.

<<>>

You have (1) voice mail from Philly-delphia.

“I’m sorry for distancing myself from you. Call me back? Let’s meetup and talk. Bye bye.”  

<<>>

“I’m sorry for not telling you the whole truth. But please know that I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t even being honest to myself. I don’t think I have been honest to myself for a long time now.”

“Dan, it was immature for me to assume. To be frank? Out of line. It was stupid for me to be upset over what you were doing with your own life. What you do isn’t my choice, and I shouldn’t have been so personally affected by it.”

“We’re our own people, of course. I know you know that. And besides, I get where you were coming from.”

“What do you mea—”

“If I lost you, I probably wouldn’t be thinking rationally either.”

A pause.

“...I shouldn’t have acted like you were mine, when you weren’t mine to own.”

“A fair point. And you’re completely right. But I think you’ve had me since the beginning, Phil Lester. I feel like I’ve finally found something that I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

<<>>

dan: let’s take it slow?

phil: That sounds perfect.

<<>>

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls that conveyed the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, a sort of elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

There are two people though, who have it all figured out. No matter how many times you ask them, they will always give the same answer: if anything, they appear out of love, they’ll tell you that.

They have graduated now. They are at a graduation party right now actually, and their time at their high school art academy has finally come to an end. Blood, sweat, and tears have been spilled all over the canvases and films and publications and music at that institution, and now every student can only rely on hope that their work does not go to waste as they move on to pursue the rest of their future.

But for now, that kind of worrying does not exist.

There are no drinks this time around. Okay, maybe one or two, and perhaps they are a little tipsy as well, but they are definitely not drunk. They are, however, definitely on a bed again.

Dan and Phil are lying together on a bed again.

Phil throws a question into the air between them. “You know, this is how we met?” Although the words come out in a way that sounds like a rhetorical question, Dan nods.

“I wish I remembered more,” admits Dan. Phil squeezes his hand, and this time, it’s Dan’s turn to ask a question. “Do you regret it?”

Phil thinks for a moment. “I regret how it happened. So in that way, I do, a bit. Maybe even a little more than a bit. Even though I remember that night, the details of it all are hazy, and we weren’t really in the best state of mind.” Dan curls into Phil’s chest, looking up at him as he listens to him speak. Phil affectionately looks back at him. “But then again? I don’t regret that it took place. In some ways, I feel like that night was our starting point.”

With Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist, they are only a breath apart from one another. “And now we’re here,” whispers Dan. His lips pepper a few soft kisses upon Phil’s skin.

Phil echoes Dan’s words with a fond smile, placing a kiss on top of Dan’s head. He absentmindedly runs a hand through the brunette’s waves, Dan finally confident enough to adorn the curls after all those years.

“Yeah, and now we’re here.”

When Dan then comments on how far they’ve come and Phil marvels at how much they’ve grown, it is to be noted that their growth is not just a growth of spirit, or of themselves as people. It’s also evidenced, it’s also proven that is, by their skin.

The single marigold behind Dan’s ear is now a small gathering of flowers. Its stem winds down his neck, its petals and leaves falling to meet the leaves of the tree that grows on his back. The tree on his back is grand, absolutely lovely and absolutely bountiful. Its signs of life are held within every branch, and where the roots end on his hips, are a freckling of small hearts. According to Phil, it is because it thrives off love (“that’s so cheesy,” dan always says. laughing, phil always replies, “it’s supposed to be cheesy!”).

In the meantime, Phil has a whole garden on his shoulders, with flowers of every hue and type. If he ever took the time to search up the meanings, they would not only mean love, but forever, and admiration, and warmth, and together. Upon his ankles are the cutest little succulents and cacti, pretty little plants that are hard to kill. They remind him to remain grounded, and who it is that helps him do so, a representation of how hard it would be to forget the one who is such a big part of his life.

They are kissing slowly now, every touch between them is an embodiment of care and devotion that would put the bond between the moon and tides to shame. Nothing else exists around them. The future is unknown, but as said before, worries don’t exist here.

Because if they are being honest, they are ready for anything.

<<>>

“Mon enfant! I give you my hand! I give you my love, more precious than money, I give you myself, before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?” - Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

(and also, those would happen to be the same lines that dan would propose to phil with a couple of years later.)

[theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly]

Escapade- Chapter Two

A/N: Hi, friends, here’s chapter two! You can read the full fic here on my AO3 (this link will take you to the beginning), or you can read Chapter One here on my Tumblr (this link will take you only to Chapter One). Reblogs are deeply appreciated! 

Please let me know through a comment, reblog, or message if you want to be added to the taglist! Chapter Three is scheduled to be posted this Saturday

Tagging people below the cut

After Roman had shut the door to his room, he took a deep breath and shook his head. The ache in his heart had acutely throbbed when he had turned his back on Virgil. Despite the warm rays of sun that filtered down onto his uniform, he felt a distinct chill around the areas Virgil had touched. He licked his lips, tasting a faint trace of cookie, and sighed. Spreading his shoulders back, he strode off into the direction of his stables.

It had been decided unanimously by all the Sides to keep from Thomas the knowledge that Roman had a horse called Maximus. There was, of course, a reference to Tangled in Roman’s choice of name. Roman found it a little difficult to merely sink into the darker corners of his kingdom, a corner of his room that fell into the darker portion of Thomas’s mind. Whether it was because he was harboring a well hidden fear of that corner of his kingdom, or whether he had too poor of a mental map of the area, Roman loved an excuse to ride his horse just like the stereotypical prince he was.

Maximus was a powerful white steed who stood at a solid fifteen hands high. His coat, mane, and tail were snow white. He was, of course, another child of Roman’s mind, so he had some good qualities unusual to other horses. Roman sensed that the horse possessed a certain level of intelligence abnormal to his equine brethren, and that he was empathetic and brave. This notion was often questioned whenever Maximus was frightened by his own shadow, or walked into posts. Despite his clumsiness, Roman knew Maximus was an intelligent creature.

Roman took the time to explain to Maximus their mission as he readied his gear for the long journey through his kingdom. Maximus always watched him with careful eyes whenever he spoke, his ears pointed forward, and he nickered at all of the right places. However, the horse’s eyes usually strayed to the saddle bags full of supplies for the trip; the horse knew that a number of treats lay within those bags.

Within ten minutes, Roman had stepped up into the saddle, and urged Maximus to a gallop as they headed West into the sunset. The cliche was not lost on Roman, but it also could not be denied that it lent him a great thrill.

As the sun began to set and the familiar terrain began to be cloaked in shadow, Roman became lost in thought. It was easy for him to daydream as he rode a horse. He knew he was an expert horseman, and Maximus was an easy horse to handle. The pounding, repetitive rhythm of the horse’s hooves was conducive to deep thought.

He found himself worrying about the Dragon Witch.

Roman had faced many a foe in his day, but none was ever so difficult to face as that vile serpent. He often came back from battles with her battered, bruised, and recovering from her various charms and spells; all she had were mere scratches. However, the most impressive damage Roman had inflicted on her was blinding her in her right eye.

She, in return, had torn a terrible gash along his back. Fortunately, Roman always carried a Dragon Witch first aid kit, in which he was able to stitch himself up and stop himself from bleeding to death. The wound had taken a while to heal, yet none of the other Sides had seemed to notice his stiffness and unwillingness to take off his shirt, as he often did when he slept. Virgil was the only one who knew of its existence, due to his recent upgrade from ‘friend’ to ‘ lover’.

Roman was slightly apprehensive of his imminent encounter with the Dragon Witch, but something in his gut told him that this would be his last time venturing to the Witch’s lair. The wounds he inflicted on the dragon’s body seemingly could not be healed by magic; as the ruler of this world, Roman had his own version of magic, and he had enchanted his sword so that the wounds it inflicted could not heal.

After a long while of galloping, Roman slowed Maximus down to a swift trot. The horse seemed to protest by a sharp flick of his mane and a tug on his reins; he wanted to keep going. But Roman knew his limits, and resolutely kept him at a trot. Roman focused on the terrain around them; the area was scrubby, with low growing shrubs and and knots of of sage. There were occasional groves of ash trees, and a twitch of movement could be attributed to a rabbit frightened by the powerful hooves of Maximus. A chilly breeze swept across the land. Roman shivered slightly, pressing his arms closer to his sides. A slight twinge in his chest reminded him of how warm Virgil’s embrace had felt just hours before.

He already missed him.

Maximus nickered, turning his head slightly to look at him. Roman smiled softly, once again certain that the horse possessed deep emphatic mindsets. He patted the horse on the neck.

“Thanks, pal- Merlin’s beard! ” Roman said, ending his sentence with a swear and a cry as Maximus stumbled down a shallow bank and into a creek. The horse whinnied with fright, and bucked several times, splashing up sprays of chilly water.

Roman, recovering from his shock quickly, leapt off of Maximus, and with a calm voice and soothing gestures, calmed the stallion back down.

“How about we stop for the night, buddy?” Roman suggested, shivering as he stood in the chilly flow of the creek. Moonlight quivered and quaked on the slight trickle of the water.

Maximus blew into his hand, and under Roman’s lead, walked onto the pebbly banks of the small creek. Roman did a quick inspection of the horse to make sure he had not injured himself in the slight tumble. Satisfied that he was fine, Roman unpacked a picket line from Maximus’s saddle bag as the horse gracefully lowered his neck for a drink. Unhitching and caring for Maximus was a simple task for Roman, so he found his thoughts wandering again. As he curried the sweat from Maximus’s sleek coat, he wondered how the others were doing.

Logan was probably in his room, an arch of notebooks, books, and crumpled papers littering his desk, a pen skittering enthusiastically over notebooks, post-it notes, and graph paper. He would rocket back and forth between his vast desk and his whiteboard on his wheeling stool, working on one of the great mysteries of the universe, enjoying every moment in his weird, nerdy way.

Patton was probably just cleaning up from dinner, washing the dishes and not at all feeling bitter that Logan usually disappeared directly after dinner to work on some idea that had been fed to life by the sustenance. Roman occasionally helped with cleaning, but he too often had a rush of ideas after eating. It was sort of a ritual of Virgil and Patton’s to wash up after dinner. Though Virgil would never admit it, it was their bonding time. The two were probably quietly talking about how cute or dorky (depends upon who you asked) it was that Logan always put his whole soul into his work, or that Roman always worked on his ideas from the bottom of his heart. After cleaning, Patton would probably return to his room, tidy up, and settle down to nostalgize or play on his gameboy.

Virgil, after helping Patton clean, would also return to his room. Depending upon his mood, he would either go straight to bed, or stay up to browse the Internet while listening to music. Roman now knew that he also sometimes wrote little stories or poems, but he had been sworn to secrecy. He would stay up late into the night and early into the morning, naturally being a night owl. Roman alway had to fight hard to stay awake with Virgil as they lay together in the living quarters of Roman’s room. That was one fight he was willing to lose.

Roman blinked as Maximus nuzzled his hand softly, his nostalgic train of thought interrupted. He hadn’t noticed that he had stopped currying until Maximus had licked his hand, the other of which was clinging tightly to the horse’s soft mane.

Roman sighed. “I’m sorry, old friend,” he whispered. “I just...miss him, is all.”

Dejected, Roman packed Maximus’s gear away and scrounged around the surrounding area for wood. He could hear the soft breeze whistling over the stones, and the grinding of Maximus’s teeth as the horse picked and chewed the sweet grass.

Within half an hour, Roman was settled against Maximus’s side, the horse having laid down beside the fire, his ears pricked and alert. Roman was snapping twigs and tossing them into the small flame he had going. The sound of summer crickets and katydids chorused quietly in the air.

A chilly breeze blustered from the west. Roman inhaled deeply, closing his eyes; the scent of the darker corner of Thomas’s mind hit his nose. He faintly smelled the characteristic scent of burning and decay. He shuddered, bringing Patton’s care package up to his face; it smelled of cookies and of the moral side’s sweet caramel and vanilla scent. He smiled, feeling slightly closer to home. Roman rooted around in the package, withdrawing a first aid kit filled with excess gauze, sutures, disinfectant, and morphine syringes (Virgil’s gift), a small, handmade pamphlet on navigation (Logan’s contribution), and two treat apples for Maximus (Patton had a special spot in his heart for the horse).

Roman dug around one last time in the satchel, listening to Maximus making delighted horse noises as he nibbled the apples, and pulled out a bag of Patton’s home baked cookies. They were already opened. Roman smirked as he imagined Virgil unable to resist the urge to steal a cookie even as Roman was saying goodbye. The man never could deny a sweet.

As Roman settled down to read the manual on navigation he had read a hundred times already, as this was not the first time the pamphlet had made its way into the Roman’s care packages, he suddenly felt a chill that was unrelated to the eerie breeze to the west. Even though Maximus’s living warmth was keeping his shoulders and back warm, and his feet were warm in the heat of the flames, a distinct chill roamed his midsection.

Roman closed his eyes and listened intently; all of the sides were deeply connected, and they could feel one another’s presence if they listened hard enough. It was a simple heartbeat that they heard. Roman was listening for Virgil’s.

Virgil always had a quick heart rate. This was hardly surprising, as he was the literal embodiment of anxiety. But as Roman focused, he noticed that Virgil’s heart was pounding unnaturally fast, and that it occasionally skipped a beat. Roman knew at once what this meant; Virgil was having an anxiety attack.

Hot guilt and shame washed over the prince as he curled closer to Maximus. He wished he could be there to comfort his boyfriend, but all he could do was listen to his heart. So he did the next best thing; he took deep breaths to steady his own heart, and sent out an aura of reassuring vibes, hoping that the anxious side would listen. If the sides listened hard enough, or if one of them was feeling something particularly strongly, they could feel what the others were feeling.

Soon, Maximus began to grow restless. He whickered quietly, licking Roman’s ear to gain his attention. The prince turned, and saw Maximus nudging the care package.

“No more apples, Max,” Roman said, taking the bag and turning it upside down to demonstrate its emptiness. To his surprise, a small, plump book tumbled out, along with a scroll of hastily torn notebook paper tied with a strip of fabric.

Roman raised an eyebrow at Maximus, who immediately lost interest in everything Roman was doing and contented himself by watching the stream go by, and snatched up the letter before it was lost to the breeze.

It was tied closed with a long strip of fabric. In the dark of night, Roman could not read the note nor see the fabric or the book, so he leaned forward to the light of the flames.

The scroll was tied shut with a thin strand of purple plaid.

Roman tore it open at once. He recognized Virgil’s untidy scrawl: Here’s some better reading material, because Logan has no taste- V.

Roman, grinning like an idiot, picked up the book and saw that it was his favorite; a volume containing the tale of King Arthur and his fellow knights on the search for the Holy Grail. Virgil must have snuck it in when he was stealing a cookie.

Setting the book aside, Roman tenderly tied the strip of purple plaid around his wrist. A lover’s favour to their knight. Suddenly, he felt a distinct warmth spread through his chest. He focused back again on Virgil, sending all of his gratitude and positive vibes. To his relief, he could feel a steady heartbeat and happy yet aching aura from Virgil. Roman sighed, patted Maximus on the nose, and curled back up to read.

The breeze continued to blow as Roman read, and despite the token on his wrist and the steady heartbeat he heard suggesting that Virgil was sleeping, he became achingly more aware that the space beside him was so, so empty.

Taglist:

@celiawhatsherlastname @monikastec @jordandobbertin @greymane902​ @lostgirlggwen @kittenvirgil @iamahumanwaitnothatsalie

[thorne93]

Old Flame, New Problems (Part 13)

Prompt: You’re in a serious relationship with Sebastian Stan, when news from your first love informs you that he’s now single and in need of a friend. Will your old flame burn out or will the flames get fanned and consume you?

Word Count: 3011

Warning: language, angst, fighting (verbal), cheating, drama

Notes: This idea came to me when news hit about Hayden and Rachel splitting. Of course I’m sad that a long time relationship such as theirs is ending, but it also means he’s single sooo…Also, no hate towards Rachel. I don’t know her, don’t know what really happened between them, etc. It’s a fic and in no way reflects what I think of either of them or their precious daughter ^.^

Beta’d by my #1 gal @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr​ @kaeling

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark @crazybutconfidentaf

Old Flame Tag: @blackwidow-romanoff @seargantbcky

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With Thanksgiving looming, you weren’t trying to get into too many projects, seeing as you’d have to step away from them. Instead, you took a break from writing constantly to read some fellow people’s work. Some of it published, some of it was work they’d sent to you for you to look over.

You hadn’t thought of Hayden’s proposal much. Well, actually, it was all you’d thought about. How could you not? You’d waited for Hayden for years...You had never stopped wanting him. But you still loved and wanted Sebastian just as much. Was your desire for Hayden enough to trump the life you’d built with Sebastian? To make you forget all of your feelings for him? How could you? How do you just go to the man you currently love and tell him you’re leaving him for your old love?

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to break Sebastian’s heart. You felt right being with him….but then again you felt right with Hayden too.

The thoughts and conflicting feelings had been swirling within you for a couple of days. After the talk at the hotel, you and Hayden ate food, sat like friends, and watched TV. Before you left, he asked if you would think about it again. You told him you might.

In the days since, it hasn’t ever left your head, but deep down, you knew you’d never leave Sebastian on a whim that maybe you and Hayden might work. Sure, you worked back then, and the spark was still there but you weren’t sure it was enough to make you just throw it all away….Or maybe it was...You’d waited for this for a long time, to wait for him to say he was ready to try again.

Your brain was a giant foggy cloud of confliction and you were trying your best to focus the energy somewhere else. Of course, you didn’t tell Sebastian. There was no point for another fight or another reason for him to wonder if you were leaving him…So you kept the proposal to yourself and until you figured it out, you weren’t going to discuss it with either man.

Sebastian was in your shared office rummaging around, looking for an old script while you lay on the couch in the living room, reading a manuscript your colleague sent. While he was pushing papers all around, he found a stack of handwritten poems and small stories. They didn’t look like anything you’d ever published, so he became curious and began reading them, excited to read some of your work you hadn’t shared with the world yet.

But as his eyes followed the words on the paper, his stomach sank, and his heart felt cold. These were love poems and short love stories...Dated within the past few months...and they weren’t about him. You never mentioned a name, but he didn't need a name. Especially since at one point, you even mentioned golden blonde hair in a passage. He flipped through them. Each one different, but all circulating the same man.

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to scream, to throw the papers, to burn them, to throw them at you. He wanted an explanation. After calming himself, he decided to go get one.

He came out of the room, the stack of papers in his hand, holding them up. He marched over to you on the couch.

“Is this how you feel?” he demanded, his tone soft.

“Sebastian? What?” you asked, sitting up to see what he was talking about. Your eyes landed on the papers and you instantly knew. Your heartbeat quickened. “Seb. No...Wait, those weren’t supposed to see the light of day.”

“Answer me...please,” he begged in a choked voice. “Is this how you feel?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “But I love you. I’m in love with you. I choose you,” you said quickly.

Sebastian bit his lip, his hands on his hips as he tried to keep the tears at bay. He took a deep breath and sat next to you on the couch. He knew what he had to do.

“We should...talk, then,” he offered.

“Sebastian, there is nothing to talk about. They’re old, dormant feelings, that’s it,” you tried, sounding desperate. He held up a hand to silence you.

“Y/N...I’m not mad...I’m hurt...not mad...You and Hayden….You share history. You’re each other’s first love...I get that.” He stopped for a moment, his eyes on the floor, his hands rubbing together in a worried manner. “What I also understand is that there’s no way for you to get over each other when you didn’t have any way to do that. You told me about Hayden when we first started to date, about how you ended things. You never told me that you still felt that way. But I always wondered. I mean, thinking about it for me, if there were someone I just parted ways with not due to compatibility, or cheating, or anything, I think it would be hard to just...sever ties.”

“What are you saying?” you asked, terrified.

“I’m saying...I’d like you to go be with him,” he said, his voice heavy.

“Sebastian, no, that’s crazy. I love you,” you answered, worried he was trying to break up with you.

He turned to face you on the couch. “And I love you. This is why I’m doing this. The night all the roses were here? There was a reason I was so upset. It wasn’t about the effort or anything...I was going to propose that night…”

Your heart stopped.

“You...you…” you stammered, unable to form a sentence, your heartbeat was so loud and thunderous, your palms were sweating. Sebastian was going to propose but now he’s telling you to go be with another man? Had he fallen out of love and was trying to let you down easy? Was he just too tired of the back and forth with Hayden?

He nodded while slowly closing and opening his eyes. “Yeah. I was. And...I still want to share a life with you...But I want to do it, knowing you have no regrets. No lingering questions. No ‘what ifs’. I don’t want you to be with me and think of him as the one that got away.”

“I won’t,” you vowed, scooting closer to him.

“Well, call me insecure, but I’d like to be sure. I’d like you to be sure. Frankly, it isn’t fair of me. I was going to propose, hoping that if you were my fiance, you would forget all about him. Lay off hanging out with him. But I can’t do that to you. If I want to share a life with you, I can’t get engaged and force you to want to be with me. I see the way you look at him, the way you are when you’re around him, when you talk to him. If we're going to do this, if we’re really going to commit our lives to each other, I want the past to be in the past and the future to be ours.”

“I can do that,” you promised.

He smiled at you. “I know you can try, but we both know that until you get a shot with him again, you’ll never know. So I propose an idea,” he said, nodding.

“Okay, I’m willing to do anything.”

“You date him,” he said point blank.

“What?” you gasped as if you didn’t hear him. You did, but you thought you were hallucinating.

“Date him. Look, the only way to put this to rest is to let you explore all of those feelings you have. Think of it as a hall pass. You’ll go up there, pretend we never dated, and you can do whatever you want with him. You can go on dates, kiss him, you can sleep with him, you can watch Dexter all day long if you want and never touch each other. I just want you to be with him, as if you were a real couple.”

Between your heart and your mind you didn’t know which one was going faster. “But...how? Why?”

“Well...if I tell you you can’t have him, you’ll always go through life wondering if you should’ve chosen him. Y/N, if you choose me, then I want to do that knowing I had a fair shot at your heart. So if allowing you to explore those feelings does that, then I’m willing to do it.”

“But...How do I know if I’m done or…? I mean how does this work?”

“I figure you can go up whenever you’re ready. You spend as long as you need, do whatever you need, and then you let me know,” he stated.

His words slowly sank into you. He was giving you permission to be with Hayden….for however long you needed.

“What guarantee do you have that I’ll come back?” you whispered, tears in your eyes.

“I don’t,” he quietly said with a small laugh through his nose as he put a stray hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your neck. “But as someone very wise once said, ‘if you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever. If it doesn’t, then it was never meant to be.’”

“So you’re willing to just...let me go?” you asked. In one sense you felt elated and free. Free of having to pretend you felt nothing for Hayden...in another, your heart was breaking. Was he just trying to get rid of you by saying you could go be with Hayden?

“No, I’m not very willing to let you go. But...in this sense...If you go to him, and do everything imaginable with him. Talk, ask questions, make it nothing but physical, I don’t care. You do whatever you need to do to figure out how you feel about him. But...if you’re with him, and you choose me, then we’ll know once and for all it’s over and you and I can move forward...But,” he continued, his voice dropping a bit, “if you don’t return to me...then we’ll both have our answer. Besides, it’s not just you and me I’m doing this for. Hayden deserves to know too. I know he loves you. As an upstanding gentleman, I’d like him to know I don’t intend on keeping you hostage. I want you to make this decision informed, with no questions, no wonders, no regrets, no what ifs. I want us to once and for all, know who your heart belongs to.”

“Sebastian...I...I don’t even know what to say,” you said. You were stunned beyond belief. Was this real? Was he really sure? “Seb...Are you sure? If I go through with this, if I spend a week or a month up there...and I come back to you, are you sure you’d want me?”

“I’ll always want you,” he promised before leaning in to kiss you. “I swear. It’s a hall pass. And only yours. I’m not on the market while you’re doing this. I will wait, patiently, for you to make your decision. So don’t be afraid to do whatever you need to to figure out your feelings.”

“And you won’t be hurt? Or mad? Or jealous?” you wondered.

“I can’t promise that, because I don’t know what I’ll feel, but I know I’ll accept you with open arms if you choose me, no matter what happens. And if you choose him, I’ll understand, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

Your eyes slowly went down to your lap. You had absolutely no idea what you were feeling.

“Why are you doing this for me?” you asked barely above a whisper.

“Because I love you, and I’m tired of seeing you struggle with this. I’m tired of all of us going through this. I just want your happiness, and if this is the way to do it, well it’s a small price to pay…” His eyes cast down for a moment, as he spoke. “I can pretend all the live long day that you don’t love him, or wished you loved me more, or wish you didn’t need to figure out who to choose. But at the end of the day, I know that it’s possible a person can love two people at once. And I just want to make this easy on all of us.” He reached up, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. “Hey, hey, don’t cry. I still love you. I still want you. I still want to share my life with you. I am not leaving you, okay?” he said, making sure you understood. “Okay?”

You nodded.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked with a small chuckle. “I thought you’d be happy with this compromise?”

“I am,” you said in a thick voice. “But I know someone's going to get hurt…” And then the water works broke through and you broke down, sobbing heavily as Sebastian wrapped you in his arms.

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

After some more crying, you had finally calmed down and talked to Sebastian some more.

“Well, I need to ask Hayden if it’s okay. I mean, I don’t want to go up there, and have him fall in love all over again just for me to possibly break his heart,” you informed.

“That’s fair. I want him to be completely in the loop on this.”

You nodded, called, and invited him over, and told him that it was important.

He arrived, hugged you, and he sat down on the stool at the bar, beside you while Sebastian made him a drink.

“So...what’s up?” he asked, eyeing everyone, feeling the atmosphere in the room.

“We have a proposition,” Sebastian stated.

“Not sure I like this, but okay. Go ahead,” he said.

The two of you explained the proposal and waited for his reaction. He didn’t seem to have question or interrupt the entire time.

“So...what do you think?” you asked, leaning on the bar.

“I think...this could be a disaster,” he said truthfully.

“It’s not...ideal,” you agreed. “But I think we can all agree we aren’t sure where we stand with one another,” you stated. “I’d like to know once and for all if we’re over Hayden or if...maybe we were meant to be. I know Seb wants to know too. If you don’t want to do it...that’s fine, I’d get it.”

He thought for a moment. “Well, when and how would we do this?”

Sebastian answered, “Whenever Y/N is ready, and preferably up at your farm. It’s remote, no press, and it’ll give you two more privacy to figure this out.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Hayden inquired incredulously, eyeing Seb.

“It was my idea.”

“And if she chooses me?”

“Then I hope she’s happy,” he simply said with a small shrug. You loved him so much in that moment. “Come on, man, you can’t tell me you don’t want another shot. Besides, if she chooses you, then we'll finally settle this shit. And if she chooses me, well then you weren’t really losing her anyway, were you?” Seb asked, and it wasn’t an insult or a jab, but a simple reminder that this was simply a test run.

Hayden made an indecipherable face but nodded.

“Okay. Well, let’s do it then,” he said. You saw Seb tense for a fraction of a second before relaxing. “When do you want to go?” he asked.

“Well, I’d like to wait until the first of December. Your shooting is still going on and we have Thanksgiving to think about.”

“What about it?” Hayden questioned, curious.

“Seb is supposed to come down to my house, to see my family. They’re really excited to see him again and I don’t want to lie or explain what’s going on. I think it’d just be easier if we stuck to our plan.”

“That’s fair,” Sebastian stated. “You good with that?” he asked, nodding to Hayden.

“Yeah. S’fine.”

“So when we’re together,” you wondered idly, “do you want me to call you Sebastian or…?’

He shook his head in response. “No, I want you two to pretend I don’t exist. Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t look at the news. Pretend it’s a romantic getaway, unplugged, just you two.”

A sad, half-hearted chuckle came out of you. “I can’t believe my boyfriend is sending me on a romantic getaway with another guy.”

He gave a half smile. “If this is what it takes for your heart to figure out what it wants.”

An awkward moment of silence fell over you all for a while.

“Okay, so until you come up and stay with me, what do we do?’ Hayden asked.

“We go on like normal. I’d appreciate if you two didn’t talk much, giving me and Y/N time to be a couple before she joins you. She and I will be a normal couple, nothing changed between us. But then the moment she leaves this apartment to meet you back at your farm, she’s not mine. She’s off limits for me,” Seb explained to Hayden.

The two of you nodded in response. This idea was crazy, but honestly, it’s what you needed. You wanted Hayden. You had since you saw him while you were still in the taxi on his farm, and whether or not you were hanging out never changed that. You knew you loved Sebastian with all your heart, and knowing that he wanted to marry you, well you wanted to marry him too. A life with Sebastian seemed pretty great. But he was right. You knew you’d go through life wondering if you should’ve just given you and Hayden another shot. Ever since the breakup, that’s all you had wanted. Another shot to prove you and Hayden could make it, that distance, careers, time - none of it mattered.

So this is the way it had to be.

[rbtlvr]

a start to that johavi fic?

taz anon, i am not deserving of your ideas but i hope it’s ok if write about them! here’s a snippet i just wrote up on that johavi prompt that yes did make me tear up a little darn you taz anon. also this is not finished so it ends abruptly and the formatting is really weird sorry:

Time lost meaning when you were dead, it seemed. Coffee with Julia and Magnus every, what, six months? Or was it six days? Johann would always ask Kravitz the time when he passed through, watching the reaper flick through a few watches (each for a different plane) before he got the time, the date.. the decade. Lup sometimes showed up with new battle scars and crazy stories about Taako’s new business gigs, which always seemed to be changing, never stable. And she’d always return to her lich form, never staying too long. So most of Johann’s time was spent understanding these changes, composing pieces based on the world he watched below, through a blurry yet reflective sea of water. He saw Angus growing up, he saw Magnus growing old. He saw Magnus die some years ago, and as much as it hurt.. he was happy now. And Johann had a small house near Magnus and Julia’s place, so that was a plus. But the one change Johann the Bard never prepared himself to face was an 80 year wait. It was a wait so long that the knock and the news shook his pale, thin frame to the ground. The words from Kravitz’s own mouth as he passed through the plane, skeletal and dark, the news that Avi had passed on. That Avi, his Avi, was coming back to him. The past two minutes were a blur of tears, and of quick movement. Befofe the astral pool even opened, Johann was booking it. His violin was tucked under his left arm, and he could feel his heart pounding even in his right wrist. His legs never did move that fast in life, he never felt this alive when he was. But the water began to ripple, and his eyes sprouted new tears just the same. Halted in his tracks, the bard watched the portal start to glow as it once had for him, and for Magnus too. And there.. there he was. How simple it seemed. Avi, no longer old and brittle but as the man he once knew. Tumbling dark curls, thick eyebrows, his dark skin just as soft and freckled and.. he looked just as perfect. Johanns body moved without hesitation or meaning, but he ran forward and grabbed onto Avi for dear life, something so fragile yet beautiful. He cradled himself in the mechanic’s arms, sobbing out his name, and for once not trying to stop the floodgates. He felt those arms grip him back, felt tears that weren’t his own, heard his own name muttered like a prayer in Avi’s quiet voice. The two stood like that for what seemed like hours, no, months, until Johann finally spoke with his low and shaky voice: “Thank the gods you humans have short lives. I just..” He swallowed, wiping his eyes. “I just couldn’t wait any longer to see you again.” “Me either, me either.” Avi leaned down and caressed Johann’s cheek, his soft hand running circles into the bards back. “You’re so beautiful, Johann. God, babe, I.. I love you so much, I missed you so much, I-“ the mechanic began to list just as quickly as his tears fell. Yet he was was cut off by shaky hands and a firm tug, two pale and nimble hands pulling him down into an equally firm kiss. Johann began to run his hands up through Avi’s hair, while a pair of tanned hands found their way to the bard’s slender shoulders. The sound of a rosewood violin clattering to the floor rang barely audible, as they grabbed one another like a life raft, lips and tongues intertwining in some dance that seemed to never end. Each time one stopped to breath, another few words of love would fill in the gap. By the time they seemed done, by the time Avi was rocking with Johann gently in the embrace, another form came running up to them, much taller than both and with two dogs in tow. “Magnus..!” Avi began to cry again, not daring to let go of Johanns tender hand as he hugged his long lost friend. Magnus seemed to be tearing up too.. it always seemed that way at reunions. “Avi, it’s so good to see you again.” Magnus rested his calloused hands on the shorter man’s shoulders, his tired eyes sincere. “I told my wife all about-“ “You have a wife?” “Yeah.” Magnus smiled proudly. “My wife, Julia. I told her about you when I told her everything. And I’m still finding things to tell her. Avi, you made such an impression on everyone who came to the HQ, and- and Johann?” He turned “I’m so happy for you. Avi.. I can say for sure that since I got here, Johann hasn’t stopped loving you for a minute. He wrote songs and, and poems, and hymns.” Burnsides turned to the bard, smiling. “Johann kept your memory clear as day for me.” “That’s.. god, I..” Avi clasped a hand over his mouth, eyes tearing up as Johann nodded and slowly picked up the rosewood violin. His hands naturally formed a chord, he breathed deep. Avi watched his love play a few note tune that seemed familiar, far too familiar, and a wave seemed to crash as he remembered why. This song, this progression of chords had been in Avi’s dreams for decades. Without images, without words, just the singing of a violin that awoke him each time with tears. This song was a message that never left him- that Johann had never left him. As Johann pulled away the bow, he gazed at Magnus and whispered a quiet, shaky ‘thank you’ through a sincere, inspired gaze. Avi repeated those same words, as he sobbed and ran towards Johann. His body wracked with sympathy and empathy and sheer thanks, it felt as though these floodgates were no longer gates, but a door that would never lock again; he was broken but useful. It seemed now, even now, that they were all that way. Magnus turned with a full heart during this exchange and began the quiet walk back to his house. Julia was already gazing out the window, waving a cloth in her right hand and laughing with pure joy. Avi saw this figure in the window, and gazing at the two houses, he spoke quietly: “What’s this?” “Magnus is calling it Refuge II. He.. he built me that smaller house. With his bare hands.” Johann smiled. “He built us a house, and he’s making a room in his own for well.. for Angus, when the time comes. He’s making a place for everyone.” “How is that even allowed? So many different kinds of people in one plane- isn’t there a place we each go?” “Yeah, I thought that too. But the Raven Queen’s in a tough spot here; she’s got three people she knows who saved the world and she owes them a little something.” Johann took Avi’s hand and began the walk back to his humble home, before one word nearly stopped him then and there: “Four.” A voice came from behind, cockney in accent and deep in tone. Kravitz, coming by to close the portal. “What?” “Four. She has four people who saved the world. Lup, Barry, myself, and you, Johann.” Kravitz smiled, his scythe disappearing into thin astral air. “Without your music- no, without you- no one would’ve been able to carry on the fight.” “I guess.” “No, there’s no guessing.” Avi pulled him forward, kissing his cheek. “No guessing at all.” At that point, a voice far too recognizable yelled from the barely opened portal. Taako, of course. Who else would it be, yelling at Kravitz through a planar rift which it was probably dangerous as hell to be near. “I told you they were into each other! You owe me ten bucks, bubeleh! And tell Maggie I say hello!” The voice laughed, before Kravitz groaned and ripped the portal once more, going skeletal as he passed through with wallet in tow.

hey thanks im crying??? this is really fucking good like. holy shit thank u for writing this??? and sending it to me??? holy fuck

also so ppl can see, bc submissions are weird like that, this is by @astronomutual, who... for some reason its not letting me @ but. yeah. go check em out