#they slowly realize they work better as friends and with more....options...sometimes you feel less romantically into someone

[buckybarnesdiaries]

; i'm coming home

© gif credits to the author, i found it on google. if you own it, send me a message with your @.

bucky barnes x reader ⎢ masterlist.

bucky and you met six years ago in romania, but he disappeared. now, he's back.

word count: 1.8k.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

requests are open.

Six years had passed since the last time he was with you, before disappearing overnight. He didn't give you any explanation, he didn't even leave a note. He needed to protect you, but he also knew how stubborn you were and that you wouldn't let him take that decision for both. So Bucky simply left, breaking your heart in one thousand pieces. You wanted to understand his reasons, but you couldn't. He promised you eternal love, a life together, moving out of New York —maybe to a remote place where anyone could recognize him and have peaceful days, without having to be worried about someone coming after him. About someone trying to hurt you.

Since the very first moment you met in Romania, Bucky fell in love with you. Sometimes you still remembered how he started talking to you in Romanian, guessing you were from there until you laughed and replied in English. The next few weeks were like a daydream. Walks, romantic dates, nights of stargazing. Then, you came back to New York and kept in touch by letters, as in the forties or fifties. Until one day. Your friends invited you to a museum and what you discovered there was unbelievable. James, your James, was Captain America's best friend. And he was supposed to be dead.

You wrote to him. You told him you knew it. You told him you didn't care, that you could figure out how to escape from that situation. Together. But he never sent you a letter back. You weren't able to forget him after all that time, still sleeping every night with his red shirt, stupidly fantasizing about the idea of Bucky coming back to you. And your hopes increased when you watched him on TV. The Avengers found him and, even if you tried to contact them somehow to defend your James, you never got it. Nobody believed you, not even when you showed them the letters, not the only picture you conservated of both of you in Bucharest. You prayed to God to help him. You begged God to the world seeing him as you did.

But when Bucky was released on parole, he never tried to look for you. He did know you lived in New York and, with his resources, he'd have known in less than five minutes. One year had passed, and you ended up losing the most minimal hope wrapping your heart. All those things he told you once, were just lies. Lies to inventing a parallel life until you left Romania. Only replying to your letters to have something to lean on for his own good. That's what he demonstrated to you.

bucky's pov

Like every night since he earned part of his freedom, Bucky stared at the windows of your apartment, from the opposite sidewalk hidden behind a tree. Like a ghost. Like he was trained to see but not be seeing. Every night, he wanted to cross the road, call to your door, kiss you, hug you, feel your touch and your love —hold you, and never let you go again. But he knew it was risky, he knew he had to wait for the right time. And it came. Tonight it came. His year of therapy had ended and he was free. Bucky was free to come back home.

He had been watching you since it started, making sure you were safe and sound. He also was aware that you never rebuilt your life with another man, that you tried to find him. That you slept every night with his shirt. Bucky was also aware of all the times you cried for him, that you always walked the same way from your job to your apartment expecting to meet him in some street close to it. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

Taking a deep, deep breath, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his coat, the soldier put a step on the road. The first step to happiness. And then, no one could stop him. He continued to the front door of the building, not needing more than a push to open it. Third floor, fifth door at the right of the corridor. Bucky licked his bottom lip nervously, swallowing as he took a master key from one of his pockets and a small metallic stick to force the lock of your house. He needed to be fast and stealthy, ringing the bell wasn't an option for very obvious reasons. Breaking into the apartment, he closed the door quietly behind his back.

The lights were all turned off a couple of hours ago when you went to sleep, after sitting on the window of your living room waiting for someone who wasn't going to show up, as every night for the last six years. The whole place smelled sweet like you used to. Bucky never forgot your scent, using it as the encouragement he needed to continue fighting for his freedom, for a life together. Now, his heart was racing so quickly that the whole city could hear his beats.

Slowly, he toured the entrance, the living room, the hallway straight to your dorm. The door was half-closed. Not a single noise coming from the inside. Bucky walked towards it, pushing it in slow motion, trying to not wake you up. And if he knew before that could be that easy to watch you sleep —for creepy that it sounded— he would have watched you every night since he landed in New York.

Bucky wasn't sure about what to do. If he should wake you up, if he should let you sleep and come the next day after you finished your work. When he wanted to realize, he was running the nail of his index finger on your soft cheek. Your skin was still warm, which meant you fell asleep crying again. And that broke his heart, his soul. Being conscious of all the pain and the suffering he made you being through all that time was killing him from inside. And he wished he could have handled your relationship in another way. But there wasn't another way without you being collateral damage of his past.

Bucky was about to leave when he suddenly felt a hit to his collarbone, stumbling to the bed. He didn't have time to react when your right leg was beneath his cold arm and pinning down his neck, as your left leg was laced around it. Your hand gripping his wrist, immobilizing him, pointing at him with a loaded gun between your free fingers. Your breathing became erratic, your pulse was beating faster than ever, but you were ready to shoot if the occasion required it.

In the middle of the gloom you glimpsed at those deep oceanic blue eyes you had been craving to look at for years. The same eyes on the picture on your nightstand. It has to be another dream. Another nightmare where Bucky came to tell you that everything was going to be okay. But his touch felt so real that it hurt like a million flames burning down your body to ashes. You were paralyzed. Your brain collapsed. In a very slow motion, James —your James— raised his right hand from the mattress to above his chest, bringing it to the gun aimed at his head. You couldn't stop him. You tried with all your strength. But the commands sent by your neurons never reached the finger supported against the trigger.

His flesh digits made their way to your trembling hand, as the tears started to sprout out from your eyes. Bucky took the weapon, not needing to ask you to release it, to put it away from the two of you.

“It's okay, draga mea, it's me…” He whispered with such an angelical and melodic voice, over your dolorous sobs. “May I, uh… get my arm back?”

Bit by bit, you obeyed as if it was some kind of polite order, loosening the grip around his arm and over his neck. Stepping back till your body collided with the headboard, you curled up your knees to your furious chest rising and falling, hiding your face between the gap of both. Your cry became louder, agonic, painful, ripping your throat.

“No— Not again… Not again, please… I c— can't”. You implored sorely.

Bucky didn't need to be a genius to understand you firmly believed it was just part of another of your dreams. Another of your nightmares. He sat upon your bed, coming closer to you and landing his cold metallic hand on the back of your head, urging you to raise it. You did. You did raise your burning face because of the tears falling, running down your cheeks. Your blurry gaze focused on his pale blue eyes, begging you silently to forgive him.

“I'm here… I'm back”. Bucky murmured, gently touring your skin until reaching a side of your neck, caressing your throat by using his thumb. “This is not a dream, draga mea. This is real”.

His intentions weren't to scare you, speaking to you with such a honeyed tone of voice as he shortened the distance between his body and your legs yet curled. You pouted unconsciously, watching him leaning above your legs to press his lips on the bridge of your nose. Slowly, fondly. Wanting to transmit to you that the flame of his love for you never went out. Resting his forehead against yours, your right hand flew straight to the back of his neck. You had never needed more than you needed him at that precise instant, trying to believe that that wasn't a trick of your subconscious.

“'M so, so sorry… I had to protect you… I had to protect you”. Bucky explained while closing his eyes, lacing his free fingers with yours. “But, uh… I know you still drink black coffee with mocha and a stick of cinnamon every Thursday. I know you… rent a book from the library and sit on the stairs in your free evenings… I know you sleep with this same shirt every night”.

Discovering he had been watching you all this time provoked your lips to shiver, as your cry became lower and your breathing was calmer. He guarded your days, in the shadows, till the right moment. And it came. Tonight was the right moment.

“I'm free. I'm not an enemy anymore… I'm not a target”. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle to hold back his own tears. “I'm so sorry”.

“Will you…? Will you stay now? With me?” At first, you doubted asking, being afraid of his response for a second.

“No one will ever set us apart again. No one”. He promised you, his heart speaking, telling the absolute truth. “Everything I told you in Bucharest; everything was true. And I… I want it”.

Bucky leaned forward enough inches to make disappear the less distance between both of you, pressing his lips in yours, tenderly caressing your jawline with his thumb as his tears met yours in the corner of your lips. Neither of you could believe that you were reunited after all these years, after all the pain, the loneliness. And like James, your James, said so: no one would ever set you apart again.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and support writers with a REBLOG!!! 🤍

tag list. @whatrambles @phoenixhalliwell @homesicam @marvel-diaries @amelia-song-pond @heartbeats-wildly @met4no1a @weenersoldierr @petlaufeyson @sillygamingartghost @wildflowergubler @isnt-it-loverly @zealouspursecowboydeputy @rvgrsbrns @artisancowbells @plagooey @tinylumpiaa @hemsbucky @bxmaaa @quxxnxfhxll @capxwinter @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @hateinthemorning @asemistablehundredyearoldman @purpleelfwizard @twinerd14 @nikkixostan @stolenxkissess @wintersfilm @whoreforsamwilson @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm @baconmuffins1216 @28cnn @hxlyhoax @lieswithoutfairytales @angrybirdxx @clownerlyluv @kait-is-always-late @marvel-ousnesss @natashadeservedbetter @ebxny27 @fanofalltheficsx @spider-man-lover @masterlists101 @lewd-alien @warm-sensations @stealapizzamyheart @talk-on-the-street @theresnoplatypus

[anomia-sama]

Akutagawa x Reader | Dark Chocolate

Pairing: Ryuunosuke Akutagawa x Reader

Warnings: Gender neutral reader (they/them), probably uncorrect english, curses, verbal aggression. 

Notes: Nobody asked for it, this Headcanon is just my way to wish you a happy St. Valentine’s Day, full of love, warmth and affection; even if you’re single, you deserve to celebrate love. Love for yourself, love for you significant others, love for your life! I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Small reminder: In Japanese tradition, only women give chocolates to men, but I wanted to write a more inclusive Headcanon, so I used Gender Neutral pronouns. There’s a huge difference between Honmei Choco and Giri Choco. The so-called Honmei choco (known as the "true feeling chocolate") is given by women to men whom they have romantic feelings for, like husbands, boyfriends or desired partners. It is a qualitatively better chocolate, and it’s generally quite expensive, but sometimes it can be home-made. The so-called Giri choco (known as "obligation chocolate") is given by women to male co-workers or friends, as a customary gift. It’s cheaper and less refined, but it’s a very apreciated symbol of respect and friendship.

◈ ━━━━━━━━  Headcanon ━━━━━━━━ ◈

Akutagawa is totally clueless about St. Valentine’s day. Seriously, he knows nothing about it! He has no idea of the cultural meanings of February 14th and he doesn’t know much about traditional gifts linked to this celebration.

First of all, he never had time to devote to such a nonsensical feast. And then, he never cared about useless things like romance and love. They’re like profanities to him. 

So, when he sees you offer him an elegant and refined dark red box full of assorted chocolate, he’s a bit confused. Like…what the hell are you doing, exactly? His deep and grey eyes sharpen in a frown, his cheek muscles unconsciously contract, but even in his confusion he looks so cute and adorable at your eyes.

He quietly stares at the box for almost five minutes, exploring every single detail of it, careful not to touch it. It’s a big and rectangular pack, he notices, closed with a thin ribbon, and he doesn’t imagine what it could contain.

It takes a while before Ryuunosuke finds the courage to look at you in the eyes and ask for clarifications. 

“What is it?”

Poor boy. It’s not his fault, he’s just a bit (a lot, actually) ignorant about certain things. 

He notices your bizarre and inexplicable look, that makes his gaze sharpen more and more by the second. His irises linger on your red cheeks, he can see how desperately you try to avoid eye contact and that makes him a little suspicious. Your entire body is shaking, it’s really a weird behavior…

“It’s a…gift. A Valentine’s gift, actually.” You try to explain, with trembling voice.

“A… what?”

Your heart beats so fast, in this moment. You don’t understand if the young man appreciates it or not, he just stands there, right in front of you, with a stern look and crossed arms. An unconquerable stronghold that turns your heart in dust every single time you’re in the same room. 

You don’t even know when you started being so attracted to him, nor when attraction became love. You really thought offer him Honmei Choco was the most natural way to express your feelings and confess to him. But…

“Chocolate, Akutagawa-san. Just chocolate.” You murmur, now embarrassed and quite in panic. You really don’t understand if he’s rejecting you or not.

Being in love with him is a daily challenge. Akutagawa is unpredictable, fierce, a broken soul… and, well, he totally lacks in social skills. You know it, you always knew it, but that doesn’t cushion the blow when it arrives.

“Are you trying to poison me or what?”

Oh god. Is he allergic or something? Does he hate chocolate? What did you do wrong?

Your eyes widen and you finally meet his gaze. He seems angry.

The truth is Akutagawa is not used to kindness. He doesn’t know what it means to receive a gift and something like pure and selfless love, so he just thinks the worst option is the most credible.

“N-No, Akutagawa-san, I could never…” 

“So is this because you failed your last mission? You really think you could corrupt me?”

His voice raises in a rough expression of anger, he makes you feel so small and defenseless. Ryuunosuke totally misunderstands your intentions, but you know you don’t deserve such a treatment, even if you love him and even if he’s your superior.

You put the box on his desk, firmly (because you’re upset, and you got the right to) but gently not to ruin it.

 “I don’t want to disrespect you, Akutagawa-san, you know, or at least you should know, how much I admire you. Think what you want about this gift, I let it here. Now excuse me, I have work to do.”

You get out of his office with fast pace, your eyes shining with tears you proudly don’t cry. 

At the door, you almost bump into Chuuya; the redhead was right there with a raised fist, ready to knock, but you barely notice him. You have rush to walk away.

“...The fuck happened?” He whsipers, following your silhouette with his eyes before enter Akutagawa’s office.

Obviously, the Port Mafia rabid dog has a terrible pout drawn on his face. He’s even more confused than he was before and now he even feels inexplicably weird. His chest is so heavy he’s not sure he can normally breath, his hands are closed in fists.

“Akutagawa.” Chuuya says. 

 “Chuuya-san.” The ravenette murmurs in response, looking at him and trying to mentally come back to his work. He has no time to think about these strange feelings, okay? He has no time to investigate why the hell he suddenly feels so bad.

“Here is a message from the Boss. He wants you to… wohoh! What do we have here?” The redhaired executive notices the box on Akutagawa’s desk and a sly smirk appears on his lips. He looks like knowing a thing or two.

“A box.” Akutagawa answers laconically. What kind of problem do they all have with boxes, today?!

“This is not just a box, man.” Chuuya seems quite intrigued and he delicately opens the box, peeking inside it. His ocean’s eyes widen a little and the older man whistles in appreciation. “My, my…”

“What?”  

“This is the most fucking expensive chocolate in town. The logo is unmistakable, it comes from a famous and refined bakery.” He explains, grinning while he crosses his arms. “From whom is it? I didn’t know you were such a successful Don Juan. No offense.”

Wait, a successful WHAT?!

Akutagawa’s pale cheeks are suddenly touched by a peach colored shade of pink but there’s something in his eyes that suggests Chuuya he not fully understand the situation. The two of them looks at each other for a while, the one with a perturbed expression, the other trying not to laugh. 

It’s Nakahara that breaks the silence: “Seriously, man. It’s St. Valentine’s Day, if you recieve such an expensive gift today, well... you know what it means, don’t you?” 

But, against Chuuya’s expectation, Ryuunosuke perseveres in his silence. The black-coated man starts feeling uncomfortable, realizing he truly has no idea of what the other executive is talking about and rapidly avoids his inquisitive gaze. Akutagawa is clueless, okay, but he’s not stupid at all. He perfectly understands he’s not perfect (someone in his past never missed a chance to remember it to him) and he can recognize his lacks.

Chuuya, on the other hand, he’s quite more understanding than other Port Mafia members, especially when it comes to emotions and feelings. No, obviously he’s not a softie, he just understands a little more human beings and their emotive nature, so when he sees how confused Akutagawa is he sighs in exasperation.

“Man, if someone gives you expensive chocolate on St. Valentine’s Day, it’s because they have feelings for you. They like you that way. It’s a way to confess and, trust me, this is clearly the chocolate box I would only give to someone I fell fucking hard for.” 

First reaction: shock!* 

To our poor Ryuunosuke it’s like receiving a punch right in the stomach. His cloudy eyes widen in surprise and he’s quite sure his not-so-stoned heart lost a beat or two. So… is this the true meaning of your gift? You were trying to confess to him? You wanted to make him feel your affection? You wanted him to feel…loved?

He hisses a curse and slowly hides his face behind his left hand. Shit. He yelled at you. He accused you, just because he never thought he deserves love and affection. 

“So? Whose heart did you broke?” Chuuya jokes, hearing Ryuunosuke swearing.

"Y/n L/n. I asked them if they were trying to corrupt me or poison me.” He admits with a gloomy and yet shocked tone. 

In his defense, he had no idea you could have feelings for him. Let’s be honest: he never cared about certain things, but he’s not blind nor deaf. You are good looking, understanding, kind, diligent, resourceful, supportive. He is...well, he’s a demon. How could he even imagine someone like you falling in love with someone like him?

Chuuya sighs again. 

“You rejected Y/n. Good fucking job, man, only an idiot like shitty Dazai could do something so stupid, you really are his worthy heir.” He says sarcastically. “They gave me chocolate too. But not such an expensive one, so I can assume their feelings are stronger then we can even imagine. Maybe you’re still in time to fix the situation. If you’re interested, of course. Are you?” 

His final question sounds definetly like an insinuation and a provocation at the same time. Akutagawa narrows his feral gaze in Chuuya’s direction, meeting his allusive smirk. 

He doesn’t say a single word. But he knows the answer. 

Later that night, you come back from your daily mission. A successful mission, you want to specify, just to prove yourself (and someone else) you don’t need to corrupt your superior, because you’re the best in your job. Failure can occur, of course, but it’s a true rarity for you. 

You just endend report to the Boss himself when you see a familiar shape standing in the corridor, next to one of the polychrome windows. 

Your steps hesitate, you’re still upset and embarassed so you’re not in the right mood to face Akutagawa again, but just a second later you see he’s holding your chocolate box. 

You just stop your walk, a couple of meters separate you from the man and despite distance you can see how nervous he is. 

“Dark chocolate.” He suddenly says. “Dark chocolate is my favourite. But I didn’t know it before tasting one of each kind in this box.”

He avoids your gaze and his words kinda hurt you. He never tasted different kind of chocolate before today?

“The box is still full. I...I thought, maybe... sharing such a good chocolate with you would be a good idea.” 

“It would be nice.” You say softly. “Dark chocolate is my favourite too.” 

Your voice is trembling again. You didn’t like at all the way he treated you some hours ago, but you can see in his gesture how hard he’s trying to remediate.

“I have to apologize.” He suddenly says, and your e/c eyes widens with emotion and surprise. You perfectly know how hard is to say sorry, for a man like him, but he did it. He really did it.

“No matter what you say, I have to.” He continues. “I just... had no idea. I’m not used to all of this, and probably I’m not wort-”

“Please, don’t say that.” You firmly interrupt him and he finally looks at you. 

“That’s not true. I made you the gift you deserve. And I...”

Now or never, Y/n. Now or never. 

“ ...If you let me, I will give you the love you deserve, too.” 

Ryuunosuke needs some time to process what you said. He stays there, his eyes in yours, incredulous. Now he feels even more guilty about the way he treated you. 

How is it possible? Even after that, you still have feelings for him? Even if he yelled at you, even if he’s nothing more than a cruel and merciless rabid dog?

The silence between the two of you is dense and heavy, but not as much as your breath. He doesn’t say a word, again, and you have no idea of what to do. You did your best, today, and more. 

But, you know, Akutagawa is not a word man. He doesn’t know well how to verbally express his feelings, he’s instinctive, a man of action.

“Can I kiss you, Y/n?” 

Honestly, he thinks it’s kinda weird to ask something like that. But Chuuya always says consent is important and Ryuunosuke is a quiet learner. He doesn’t want to desrespect you, ever again. 

You are so surprised to hear this question, and yet so happy, your eyes are filled with tears. So...does he accept your feelings? And even return them? 

You slowly nod in affirmation, walking at his direction, and just a second later you wrap your arms around his body in a strong hug he tries to return properly. He’s a bit tense and awkward, but he holds you very tight. 

And then he does it. 

He presses his lips against yours, not gently, not softly, but with the quiet and passionate desperation of someone always yerned for love.

Yes, Akutagawa is totally clueless about love, St. Valentine’s Day, affection, human feelings. Totally clueless.

But he will learn, with you by his side. He will. 

* Sorry, only Italian readers will fully understand this, but I had to.

[moonshine-dan]

what would kissing your close friend, kuroo or bokuto, for the first time be like? i imagined that you've been with him since high school and you only realized your feelings for him in college gahhh please indulge this hopeless romantic >.<

I would love to! This is for all the hopeless romantics out there who love Bokuto.

@janellion ... I hear you like stuff like this?

Downtown

Is it really this fun when you're on my mind? Is it really this cool to be in your life?

Bokuto x Reader, fluff. 2.2 K

Warnings: Nothing major. Suicide mentioned as part of a drink title. A little suggestive at the end.

The automatic doors hiss open as you walk into the humid Osaka night, wincing. The AC inside the 7/11 had made it easy to forget how hot it was. The slurpee you just bought is sweet and takes the edge off, but beyond that, you couldn’t say what the flavor was exactly. You let Bokuto take both of your cups to the machine and make suicides out of every option - “So none of ’em feel left out!” - like you always did. 

He was following you out, eyes gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the signs above you.

"It's good to just hang out like this again. We haven't done this in forever!" He was waving animatedly in your general direction, the drink in his flailing hand getting dangerously close to spilling on your shirt.

"Woah! My bad! Nothing got on you, right?"

You nod. He responds with a thousand watt smile that pushes his eyes closed and makes you want to grab his stupid hair spikes and drag him into a kiss.

You’ve got it so bad for your best friend that it’s almost funny, if it wasn’t also completely pathetic. It's only recently that you realized you liked him as more than a friend- but now that you’re reminiscing with him, the signs were very, very obvious. To you, at least. 

The pair of you are moving from the eye-piercing light of the storefront and over to the far side of the parking lot. The plan? To loiter, just like you did in high school when volleyball practice got out. Usually, you'd have 3 or 4 of his teammates with you, eating garbage snack food and joking around on the curb until the manager would chase you away. 

You can see in your mind how you would gravitate towards Bokuto on those nights, sitting next to him in the parking lot, bumping your foot or your knee into his while you talked. How you laughed at his jokes and would ask for his jacket when it got cold. His presence was magnetic, and you got pulled in deep. It wasn’t until after you both had graduated and started down separate paths that you were able to really see what you had. What you missed so deeply. 

It's just the two of you tonight, Bokuto fresh out of practice and talking excitedly about his teammates' antics, just like he used to. The only things that are different now are the names of the players. He’s telling you a story about his germophobic friend, Sasuke? You think? Bokuto talks so fast sometimes he doesn’t really annunciate well - and you sigh at the familiarity of it all. Maybe this would turn out alright; maybe you had been avoiding meeting up with Bokuto for no reason? 

You had thought that seeing him in person again, not just on a grainy phone screen, would be disastrous. It was hard enough to try and keep your feelings inside over video calls and text messages, but having him in front of you? You knew you’d do something to tip him off on how you felt toward him, and even though you knew he would never stop being your friend, the fear of your love being unrequited held you back. 

He'd been asking for weeks to meet up, and you had been successfully blaming college on your schedules not working - until he offered you to meet him late night on Friday, just like you used to. With no excuse and an irrationally heavy heart, you agreed to meet up.

Perhaps it was just a crush? Maybe you sought him out between classes and waited for hours after school just so see him because you just…. Liked him. And you had halfway convinced yourself that's all it was, until he had smiled at you brightly and reminded you just how dull things were without him in your life. 

He’s sitting now on a parking block with his back against a bollard, slapping the spot next to him invitingly. Bokuto whoops when you drop down next to him, slush flying from his cup as he whips it excitedly. "You gotta see this!"

He scoots closer to you, phone in hand. There's a paused youtube video onscreen: a highlight reel someone had made of his spikes. He hits play as soon as you lean in a little, grinning wildly and giving a play by play commentary as you watch. The outside of his thigh presses into yours warmly.

Here's hoping he can’t somehow feel the heat creeping up your neck.

He beams at you from over the phone, looking at you expectantly as the video ends. “Wasn’t I great?” 

You feel like you’ve run a mile and all he did was press his leg to yours. He’s too great. “Yes, Bokuto, you were amazing.”

He’s really grinning now, eyes crinkling shut. “You’ve gotta come to one of my games and see me in action! I promise, it’s waaaay better in person! You could even,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, “bring one of the guys you’ve been seeing? Watching me win would be an awesome date.”

Oh god, your dates. You had tried going on a few recently, another attempt to distance yourself from your best friend. Nothing serious - just coffee shop conversations, but they easily lost a competition they weren't even aware they were in. None of them could even begin to make you feel the way Bokuto did. And the thought of taking one of them to see your best friend and unrequited crush in his element? There’s no way that wouldn't find a way to blow up in your face.

“That’s a great idea, man,” you lie. “I’m not seeing anyone right now though.” Bokuto’s giving you a spectacular double eyebrow raise above his cup. “Oh ho?”

You flick his arm gently. “Don’t be mean, Bo. I’ll just come to a game and hang out in the stands with your date instead.”

Why did you say that. Why did you say that. Why did you say that. 

The eyebrows come down. He’s smiling, but it’s not quite reaching his eyes, which aren’t meeting your own. “Nah, you can’t do that. We broke up.”

You feel terrible for the little thrill that sends through you.

“Oh, Bokuto, I’m sorry.” You are. He’s your best friend. The cruel joy you feel does not go away. 

His eyes flicker to you momentarily. “Nah, it’s fine. They weren’t the one, you know?”

Who is? You want to ask. What comes out instead is, “How did you know?”

Bokuto hums inquisitively. “Know what?”

“That they weren’t the one. How did you know?”

He’s still not looking at you when he replies, “I just know.”

Silence falls. You use the quiet moment as an excuse to turn away as well. This is really unlike him. Had he changed that much in the time since you last saw him? Nothing else about Bokuto seems different - maybe the issue was just you?

Stop it. Don’t think things like that. 

The silence drags on. You pull the straw of your drink into your mouth and chew, trying to think of something not romance-related to talk about. Nothing is coming to mind - Bokuto has been all you can think about for a solid week, and being next to him is NOT helping. It’s just the two of you, alone together in silence. It’s late enough that there aren’t any pedestrians on walks to distract you, the night quiet and dark outside of the strangely illuminated parking lot. Desperate to think of anything else, you look up at the hazy summer sky.

It’s hard to see stars through the light pollution, but you can make out Vega, you think. Some stars were bright enough to see even in the middle of the city. The straw pops out of your mouth as you point it out loudly, getting Bokuto’s attention.

“Check it out Bo, you can see part of Lyra. That star’s got to be Vega. You remember?”

Bokuto jerks slightly before he turns to face you, looking startled. His gaze follows your finger up, mouth still pursed around the straw in his mouth. His smile returns as he tilts his head to peer up at the sky with you. “You told me about that one once! It’s a summer constellation, right?”

You drop your hand as Bokuto starts pointing out the faint other stars of the summer triangle. It may be hard to see stars in the city, but with Bokuto shining next to you, it’s hard to see anything else at all. The weird fluorescence of the parking lot light should have washed him out, but somehow he was aglow, soft shadows instead of harsh lines shading him lightly. He really was a star, and he burned the brightest out of any that you could see tonight.

You were staring at him again. 

It’s no surprise when he catches you this time, golden eyes meeting yours and matching your gaze. The delight is still present on his face but it’s sobering, turning serious. Your heart is racing as Bokuto continues to stare you down in silence. His eyebrows draw together as he raises his hand slowly, reaching for your face.

A finger grazes your cheek. You might have stopped breathing. He opens his mouth.

“You had some slush on your face.” His finger remains there, rubbing at the stuck on sugar.

...

Okay. Something has to change. There’s only so much your heart can take.

You reach up and cup your hand over his, holding it in place. Bokuto stills at the sudden contact, bewildered. You aren’t sure what you are doing, much less how to say what you want, but you hope that somehow he understands. No sound escapes your mouth as you maintain eye contact and slot your fingers together. Bokuto stares, still uncharacteristically silent - but he’s not just looking anymore. His eyes are searching, gaze sharp and analytical. You couldn’t look away from them if you wanted to.

Bokuto blinks first, eyes flitting over to your joined hands as you press your cheek into the heat of his palm. His thumb drags lightly over to your skin, meeting your bottom lip and tracing along the curve of it. He watches, entranced, as they part slightly from the touch. 

Even if this doesn’t work out. Even then. Just having this moment would be enough. Your eyes close as you huff out the breath you had been holding. The hot coil of anxiety snaking through your stomach makes you hesitant to open them again. When Bokuto’s thumb moves from your mouth to pad at your cheek, you steel yourself and open them again. 

You shouldn't have worried. There’s nothing in his golden eyes but understanding when you finally dare to open them again. Bokuto’s remaining hand is impossibly gentle as he places it on your shoulder, leaning into your space. His shoulders shake minutely with barely contained excitement from the breakthrough he’s just had - you like him, just as much as he likes you. There’s no way he can’t feel the heat in your skin rising now as your pulse skyrockets. 

“Kou…”, you whisper into the shrinking space between you.

Bokuto doesn’t bother with a response. His lips are a little chapped when they capture yours, but they're warm and eager and pressing in with the weight of half a decade of unconfessed feelings.

You know immediately what he meant earlier about knowing ‘the one’. No kiss from any of your dates was ever this electric. None of them made you feel like time was stopping when their lips met yours, or made your heart beat like it was about to fly from your chest. None of them made you feel like you were finally home, held in strong arms and with a familiar hand gently running along your cheek. 

There really was no one like Bokuto, and you were so glad there was no one else for him but you right now. 

You push forward until you chests are touching, desperate for closer contact now that you know you’re allowed to get it. The back of his head is cradled in your free hand, fingers tangling in the short spikes at the nape of his neck. Bokuto hums against your mouth, tongue slipping out to trace where his thumb had been earlier. He starts backward slightly as you meet it with the tip of yours, breaking away with a gasp.

“Woah! Not on the first date!”

“You used tongue first.” Your deadpan expression doesn't faze him. He wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side, laughing. 

Wait a minute.

“Did you say date? Is this a date?”

Bokuto freezes. He glances at you side-eyed and inquires quietly, “Do you... want it to be one?”

It’s much easier to be truthful when you’ve had his tongue in your mouth. “I’d love it to be one.”

Bokuto whoops loudly, the exclamation echoing in the empty lot.

First dates usually sucked. This one, however, was going to stick with you for a long time. You run your tongue over your lips as you bump your head to his shoulder. Who knew slurpees tasted even better on someone else's mouth?

“Y'know, If we don’t leave soon,” you tease, “the manager might chase us away again.”

He hums dismissively and bends to press a kiss to your temple.

“Let’em.”

[myhockeyworld87]

Ruined - Jamie Benn - Part 1

Word Count: 3,332

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, NSFW

Notes: So here we go with this new story that’s been stuck in my head and finally worked it’s way onto here. Please see the Masterlist for the synopsis. The first two parts should really be one, but I broke it into 2 because well sometimes I don’t have time to read long fics and then I lose my place, so I tried to make this a bit easier for anyone else that has this problem. So, Part 2 is coming out tonight as well. As always feedback is greatly appreciated. Happy Reading!

You sat there staring at the piece of paper in your hand, debating back in forth in your mind about what you wanted to do. This was your dream offer, just not in your dream city. In fact, if you were being honest this was the last place you saw yourself moving, but could you or would you turn it down because of him. He’d dictated most of your high school life, and some of college, to give him that kind of power over your career now would be so stupid. Especially, when you literally hadn’t seen him in almost twelve years. He probably wouldn’t even remember you, but there was no way that you could ever forget Jamie Benn.

 It was your freshman year in high school when you’d met him. He was slightly older and had just come to your secondary school to play hockey. Jamie was quiet, which seemed kind of funny for a jock. They were always loud and boisterous, but maybe you were just going by the ones in your family. By default, he was thrown in with all the other hockey players and one so happened to be your older brother, who was also friends with Jamie’s brother Jordie. The three of them ended up being thick as thieves and drove you half insane at times. Well, maybe not Jamie. When he was at your house the two of you always ended up having some random conversation about god only knew what, but it was always entertaining. You easily got a crush on him after about the seventh or eighth time you were around him but kept that to yourself. Oh, it wasn’t like you weren’t pretty or anything. It was the opposite really. Cheerleader, as well as on the track team; you were one of the more popular freshmen in school, but you were also terribly shy and inexperienced when it came to boys. You always felt, well, awkward around them, not knowing if you would say the right thing or do something embarrassing. With Jamie though, it was different. He made you feel so at ease, but then maybe part of that was because he shared the same awkwardness that you did.

 You distinctly remember one night early your sophomore year, when your brother, Justin, and Jordie decided to take both you and Jamie to a party. They practically had the school slut, throwing herself at Jamie, but it was clear the boy had no clue what to do, as his hands awkwardly fumbled her advances. Which was fine with the jealous streak that suddenly went through your entire body. She attempted to kiss him, and with all eyes focused on him, he went to return it, only to completely miss her and end up bonking her on the head. In end, he’d laughed things off saying he was too drunk, but you knew that he’d only had one beer. He somehow slipped out of the cabin you’d been partying at, and back to the woods, after the incident. Of course, you’d followed him. “Hey Jame, you ok?” He simply shrugged as you sat down on the log beside him. “Justin and Jordie can be dickheads sometimes, you know?”

 “Tell me about it.”

 “I’m sure you’re a better kisser.” Oh my god, did those words really leave your mouth? Fuck. “I mean…like…” Jamie just sort of smiled over at you as you stumbled through words that seemed to be regurgitating out of your mouth. 

 “Maybe,” he finally said, staring off into the woods, then very quietly added. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

 You had to strain your ears to catch that last part, but you were definitely sure he said he’d never had a first kiss. “Oh,” you answered softly, with a hint of surprise in your voice, though inside you were giddy. Somehow, you’d just assumed that someone like Jamie, who was athletic and good looking had definitely been kissed before. It was surprising that he admitted it to you, and before you knew what was happening that same word vomit from before was making an appearance. “Me either.”

 “Really?” His question came almost as soon as you spit out the words. Why he found that hard to believe was beyond you.

 “Yes really.”

 “I just thought….well…” This time it was Jamie stumbling through a sentence instead of you. “I know that you and David have been hanging out a lot.” 

 “David?” While it was true, you’d been hanging out with one of the school’s top soccer players, it was for a completely different reason then stolen kisses. “I’m tutoring him in biology. If he fails, he’s off the team.” The words fell from your lips before you had time to fully think them through. “Please don’t say anything. He doesn’t want anyone to know.”

 “I won’t,” Jamie told you and you knew that you could trust him with this or any secret that you had. He turned toward you then, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m glad you’re only tutoring him.”

 “Oh, why? He seems like a nice guy or have you heard different…” you trailed off not quite sure of what or why you were even asking.

 “Oh, he seems nice. I don’t really know him.” Jamie ran his fingers through his hair then. A telltale sign he was searching for the right words. “I mean…I’m glad you’re not dating him, you know…because…well I thought….” He blew out a breath and you held yours. “Maybe you’d want to date me.” Goose pimples rose on your flesh at his words. This was the moment you dreamed about, and now, here it finally was. When you didn’t answer right away Jamie added, “That is…did you want to go on a date?”

 The corners of your lips pulled up into a smile and Jamie’s did as well. “I’d like that.”

 “Me too.” He adjusted himself so that he was sitting closer to you on the log you shared. Now only an inch or two separated the two of you as he hesitantly made a move to hold your hand. It hovered just above yours for a few seconds, both of your eyes shifting down to watch as he finally clasped your hands together, and then you were both shared a stupid grin. “Can I…kiss you?”

 You were speechless at all that had transpired in the last couple of moments, and so you just nodded, both excited and afraid to share your first kiss with Jamie. You moved in closer, while Jamie did the same. Your eyes slowly going shut as your lips drew near. Jamie’s lips ghosted over yours, just barely a brush against your skin as first, but then he added a bit more pressure and it was both awkward and wonderful at the same time. You both stayed that way for several heartbeats neither of you moving, both unsure what the next move was. His free hand, the one that wasn’t tightly laced with yours, came up to caress your cheeks, and then your lips were moving together and it was one kiss simply melting into a million more. Unconsciously, you sighed. Your lips parting open for him and his tongue darted into your mouth. Eyes flying open at the contact, you weren’t sure how to react. Of course, you knew what a French kiss was, had seen it on television a million times, but to experience it was quite different. You realized you could taste the beer he’d drunk earlier and something else, though you couldn’t put your finger on it. Tentatively, you let your tongue mingle with his, letting your eyes flutter shut once again so you could savor the feel of this kiss; your first kiss with Jamie Benn. 

 It was one of many that you shared with Jamie over the next few months. He took you out on several dates, mostly to the movies or to the little pizza shop you both loved, but most nights were either spent on your couch or his, where you’d watch hockey and then makeout until it was time for curfew. Your relationship progressed about as much as any fifteen going on sixteen-year-olds did; there was a lot of holding hands and quiet kisses. On night’s that one of your parents would go out and leave you both alone, it definitely went from first to second base rather quickly, and you learned that Jamie was definitely a boob man. He became an expert at unclasp your bra in record time, of course, there was a learning curve that involved a lot of fumbling around. 

 It was Jamie’s birthday, that you decided to give him a present he’d never forget. For the life of you at the age of fifteen, you couldn’t figure out why it was called a blowjob when you were definitely supposed to suck on his cock. Thankfully, you’d seen enough of your brother’s porn stash to know how to give a proper one and not look completely stupid. Though you didn’t expect to gag when Jamie thrust his hips into your face uncontrollably. At least you recovered quickly and were able to swallow most of his cum when it shot down the back of your throat. It was two weeks later that he finally reciprocated, by going down on you in the backseat of his car. While not the most romantic place in the world, his tongue flicking across your clit made up for the cliché atmosphere. 

 By the end of summer, you’d rounded all the bases but hadn’t hit a home run yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sleep with Jamie; it was the exact opposite. However, there just wasn’t a time or place for the deed to get done. The two of you had discussed and decided that you wanted to make it special and not just make it some little box that you could check off in your relationship. This would be the first time for both of you, so while it was going to be memorable, you also wanted to savor it. As neither of you were eighteen yet, it wasn’t like you could go and get a hotel, for you’d thought about that option, and you’d already ruled at the car. With limited options in Victoria, you had no choice but to travel to your parents' second house on the outskirts of Vancouver. It was rarely used, as your dad only stayed there on business trips which had become less frequent over the last couple of years. Even though the house was rarely occupied, you came up with an elaborate plan for your parents to let you not only stay there overnight but travel there by yourself. Well, technically it wasn’t by yourself as you said you were going with your best friend Emma. Who covered for you, god love her.

 You weren’t sure what excuse Jamie had told his parents, but he picked you up at Emma’s house one Saturday morning and the two of you made the trip in less than three hours. It was a nerve-wracking drive, though Jamie held your hand most of the time. It wasn’t really the thought of having sex with Jamie that made you uneasy. It was the thought of having sex period. You were afraid it was going to hurt, but you kept trying to push past that thought, knowing that you wanted to do this, more so that you wanted to do this with Jamie. 

 It was awkward, just like all your firsts with Jamie were, but eventually, you two were able to move past that, and in the end, it was actually kind of amazing. Though the most wonderful part had to be falling asleep in Jamie’s arms. He’d made you felt so loved and cherished, and you’d known right then and there that you’d made the right decision to give you virginity away to this man. It felt like the two of you would be together forever.

 That was until the following Tuesday at school came around. There were stares and whispers everywhere you looked, or so it seemed. It wasn’t until lunchtime, that you finally found out what was going on, and then it was only from Emma. “Em, what is going on with everyone? I feel like half these guys are staring at me.”

 She closed her eyes as if mustering up the courage to tell you something she didn’t want to. “Jamie told everyone that you two slept together.” You gasped, then quickly covered up both your mouth and the hurt that came along with it. “That’s not the worst of it,” Emma said and it felt like your heart just sank into your stomach. “I also heard that he told people you two have been fucking for months.” There were so many ‘whys’ and ‘how could he’ running around in your head you couldn’t make heads or tails of them. Jamie wouldn’t do this, there had to be some explanation. Your eyes scanned the cafeteria looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. You were just about to get up and look for him when Emma’s hand came down on yours. “There’s more. He said the only reason he was dating you was because you were easy.” Bile rose in the back of your throat and you wanted to just run to the girls' bathroom and cry, but Emma stopped you. “Don’t,” she said simply. “If you go, it will just feed more gossip. Act like nothing is wrong and that nothing happened. Like you don’t care.” Easy for her to say when it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest along with your reputation. “Breathe.” You hadn’t realized you’d stopped until she said the word. 

 The rest of the day was a complete blur. You couldn’t find Jamie anywhere. As soon as you could make it home after practice, you were dialing his number. His mom answered, “I’m sorry (Y/N), Jamie’s not feeling well. I’ll have him call you when he’s feeling better.” The next day passed and still the lingering stares, mostly from the guys, continued. You’d even had a few ask you out, to which you simply rolled your eyes and told them it would only happen in their dreams. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say and just added fuel to the fire, making it seem like everything that Jamie had said true. He avoided you yet another day and you were beginning to wonder if he was going to pretend to be sick the entire school year just so he didn’t have to face you. By the third day that you hadn’t heard from him, you knew it was done. No matter what excuse he could give you, it would never make up for not only what he said but the way he’d treated you afterward. You simply needed to move on. So, when you saw him at school the following day, you completely ignored him. He attempted to talk to you several times, but you weren’t having it. “Come on (Y/N), please just talk to me.”

 “I think you’ve done enough talking for the both of us Jamie. We’re through.” There was hurt in his eyes and you wanted to break down and cry right then and there, but you held your head up high and continued down the hall to your next class. It was two periods later that Emma was handing you a note. You unfolded it, seeing Jamie’s writing on the top.

 (Y/N),

I’m sorry. Please let me explain….

 That’s all you read before tearing the letter up and tossing it in the garbage can in front of Jamie, hoping he would get the point and leave you alone. He didn’t. As soon as you walked in the door of your house, your mom told you he’d called three times already. After explaining that the two of you broke up, and crying on your mom’s shoulder for a half-hour, though not mentioning the details of your breakup; she told Jamie not to call back when the phone rang again. Ever persistent, Jamie came banging on the door after dinner. This time it was your dad that told him he wasn’t wanted in your home, even though Jamie was practically begging him to let you in, while you sobbed in the background. He kept up the same routine over the next week, all with the same result until eventually, he gave up.

 Over the next two weeks, you could hear the whispers as you walked down the hall. Girls muttering that you were slut, while the boys were trying to figure out which one of them would get to sample you next; now that it was clear you were no longer with Jamie. The icing on the cake was when David, the soccer player you’d been tutoring told everyone that you hadn’t been studying at all; that he’d been sleeping with you for the last month. No matter how many times you said it was a lie, no one believed you. Your reputation was simply shredded apart all by a few words Jamie had uttered. So, after a couple months of being talked about, there was only one thing left to do, and that was to become that girl that they whispered about. If they were going to condemn you, you might as well earn it.

 Your junior and senior year, you became the girl that gave the star point guard a blow job behind the bleachers after the game, as well as giving one to the goalie, the wide receiver, and the captain of the debate team, and a few more as well. Jamie seemed to take out his aggression on the ice, dropping the gloves with opponents left and right, but you tried to pay him no mind. Until he finally went to play for the Grizzlies and you didn’t have to see him all the time. By then end of high school, you truly had earned the reputation that he’d given you, but you were sick of it. Tired of being looked at for only sex, you applied to schools in the US. Thankfully, while you’d jumping from penis to penis, you’d still kept up your studies and were accepted at every school you’d applied to. 

 When you received your acceptance letter from Georgetown, along with a scholarship, you jumped at the chance to put yourself all the way across the continent from not only Jamie but what you’d become. At University, you put your head to the books instead of on some unknown guy’s cock, studying constantly which earned you a 4.0 in undergrad, and basically allowed you have your pick at the top medical schools in both Canada and the United States. It was a no brainer when John Hopkins wanted you and during your time there, you were able to work with not only the Baltimore Ravens but the Orioles as well, all within your first year. Which had you taking up orthopedics and sports medicine as your specialty. 

 All of this led you to today and the offer you were currently mulling over. It was literally everything you’d ever wanted and allowed you to work with not only the NFL but the NBA and the NHL as well. It was the last one that had you rethinking it though. The pros well outweighed the only one con that you could think of and that was Jamie Benn. Who’s to say if he’d even remember you though? It wasn’t like you could forget him after what he’d done, but you let him dictate enough of your life; you weren’t about to let him continue. So, you typed up your written acceptance, then called Dr. Ellis to let him know you were taking the job. You’d made a new reputation for yourself this time around and you weren’t about to let Jamie Benn ruin this one. 

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Cross the Ocean

A/N: Requested by @starry--skies​. Sidenote: this may be a good story for a sequel sometime.

Summary: Neal once told you he would cross the ocean to be with you, but when you know he’s in danger, you’ll cross the ocean yourself to save him.

Word Count: 2,955

           How could an apartment feel so cold and empty when the same number of people dwelled in its walls? You supposed it had been long enough that all the signs of him had faded. Spare clothes, returned to June, because there was no one else to return them to; the extra toothbrush trashed because no one was using it, anyway, and why have it take up more space? The linens could only go unwashed for so long, the last flowers he had offered died months ago, and his necklace was sitting in your jewelry box, unseen, because it hurt too much to wear it.

           The same number of people lived in it, true. But Neal hadn’t needed to live there to leave his mark, and now that mark was gone, jumped on a plane without a goodbye, just like him.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           “Don’t go,” you said, unprompted, staring across the room to the dark shadows covering the wall.

           You could feel his movement as Neal picked up his head. “Where would I go?” He asked, confused, sleepiness adorably muddling his voice.

           You shrugged halfheartedly, already regretting having said it out loud. He felt your shoulders under his arm and tightened his warm hold on you, tugging you closer to the heat of his chest.

           “Just don’t go,” you said again, hugging yourself comfortingly.

           The idea that the man beside you could leave – had a history of leaving – without a trace left you feeling cold already. You were a cautious person, but loving someone the way you suspected you were growing to love Neal made you want to let down your guard. It was scary, like taking off the Kevlar vest to assuage someone with a gun; you were reasonably certain that you were safe, but you were also making yourself vulnerable to massive injury.

           Neal moved his hand slowly, probably just so you would know that he hadn’t fallen asleep. He didn’t answer right away. The silence and the stroking of your arm sent mixed messages and you had just about settled on reading it as pity, and almost curled up tighter and moved away. Did he think you were clingy? Did he think it was pitiful that you expected him to stay with you? Maybe you had misread everything.

           His hand stopped moving and he moved again, just enough to press his lips to your forehead. “Y/N,” he said, softly, his voice clearer. Thinking on it had woken him up more. “I don’t plan to go anywhere. Definitely not anywhere you can’t follow.”

           Whew. There was a softness and delicateness to the way he talked to you, but it sure didn’t sound like pity or exasperation. More like… empathy, and maybe apology, for your evident insecurity and any role that his past played in it.

           “I guess I just – I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be an ocean away.” Without me, you wanted to add, but figured it was implied. And unnecessary, probably, since he had done it to Kate before, or close enough. He had likely learned the kind of damage that did to a relationship.

           Neal resumed his gentle stroking of your arm. “Oceans aren’t a big deal. We’ve got cruises and airplanes now,” he reassured with a playful bit of teasing. More seriously, but very simply and matter-of-factly, he continued, “And if someday we wake up an ocean apart, I’d cross the ocean.”

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           It was easy to be bitter and easy to resent. In the beginning, you had been insecure, nervous that he would leave overnight when an opportunity arose. How could you not? Neal tried to leave forever without so much as a goodbye to anyone, only stopped by a bomb and a lost love. It had irked you then, and it scared you when your rapport deepened. He had fake documents ready to go, an agreed-upon rendezvous point with Mozzie planned for any given time. Neal worked hard to assure you he loved you. You weren’t sure he ever managed to convince you there was no chance of his leaving, but you at least had confidence that he would say goodbye, give you a chance to have closure.

           No such luck. Part of you knew it wasn’t out of lack of desire, but rather lack of opportunity. The other part wanted it to shut up. Love him as you did, you knew Neal’s situation was a product of his own choices. He made his bed, and he should have lied in it, but for the family he had found in the city who loved him too much to let him rot in the pocket of a man who’d use him as a tool and throw him back in prison the second he stopped being useful – or, worse, leave him to die when it became too much trouble.

           Whenever you embraced the anger, because the sorrow was too overwhelming, you resented Neal for all his stupid choices. Keeping the painting, pulling those stunts on the aerial tramway, and baiting Kramer for months with constant near-misses that could’ve been avoided if he had just stopped breaking the law. It was such a simple solution. And you were angry. The last six months of your relationship had been rocky, because the anger wasn’t new, it wasn’t just because he had gone away. It was because he kept compromising himself, and his coworkers and friends by extension, and yourself by association.

           Holding onto anger was never your forte when it came to Neal, though. Sooner or later, usually within a couple of days, you would see or hear or do something that would remind you of the man, and you’d be hit with a wall of all the good memories, all the things he did that made you feel pride and adoration and contentment. Then came the longing and loss, and finally, the blame. The blame that you had just failed to pin on Neal himself, so you embraced the bitterness instead.

           Peter had one job and instead, he turned Neal loose. Gave him the green light to run. At least if Neal had gone with Kramer, there was the chance of a happy ending. There was a reasonable chance that, with the WCCD at his back, Kramer wouldn’t be able to keep Neal past the two years left on his original sentence, and when it was over he could have come home. Peter had ruined any chance of that, his silent gesture telling Neal that there was no alternative and that he had the approval of his family here. Most importantly, that nod was a goodbye, and acceptance, and an “I love you, so I’m letting you be free”. You’d never begrudged Neal his close relationship with Peter but you felt cheated that, on top of ruining any slight chance of your partner returning to you, he got to say goodbye while you were left blindsided and heartbroken.

           The first time you resorted to bitterness to cope, it lasted several weeks. You avoided Peter and dodged his team. They were worried, and El reached out, but you politely assured her you were fine and just didn’t want to see any of them. She respected your wishes and must have told her husband because he, Diana, and Clinton all stopped trying to find you. Neal’s friends were like salt in your wounds, even the ones who hadn’t told him to go. It was too deep and too fresh to handle the reminders. Hell, you could still barely handle your own apartment. You really didn’t know how deeply in love you were until Neal was gone.

           It took longer, but the bitterness and betrayal ran its course and became exhausting, as well. Finally, you cycled back into sadness and mourning, which took so much out of you but demanded so little. Roses made you cry because you thought of the roses Neal would give you. So did your favorite dress, which was only your favorite because it was his favorite, too. Tiny things that you could expect to encounter at least once every few days would make you feel hopeless. You were grieving, as if he had died. Knowing he was alive and well didn’t soothe the pain because the permanence of his decision to flee the authorities put him so out of your reach, he might as well have died.

           Every run through the stages hurt a little bit less, wound up a little bit shorter. You were healing, you knew, but the ache in your heart persisted. Learning to function again, learning to be prosperous and content without him, was an option, no matter how impossible it seemed on some days. On those days, you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Neal had earned such a place in your life and in your heart, and even when the things he did made you see red, you still knew in both heart and mind that he loved you and was yours. Some little piece of you wanted to still be his, so that you could keep that connection, that last thing you had of him.

           That little piece was such an asshole.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           A deep delve into your professional life helped keep you occupied so you didn’t think too hard. It wasn’t the healthiest way of processing a breakup, no matter how messy or devastating said breakup was. Still, it was better to be productive and helpful than to let yourself continue spiraling and cycling through destructive emotions and patterns. The summer passed agonizingly slowly but when you looked back, it was like the blink of an eye. Suddenly it had been a whole season since you had last seen Neal. The romantic side of you wanted to say that it hurt just as much as it had before, but… it didn’t.

           You felt awful thinking it, and then awful for feeling awful for having a life after him. Neal was gone. He had no choice about leaving New York, but he did have a choice about how, and he chose the route that left no possibility of a reunion. Why the hell should you wait around for him, wishing you kept hurting for a man who clearly was more interested in his freedom than in recovering what you had together?

           Going home the day you had that thought, you looked at the button for the 21st floor and for the first time in a long time, you actually thought about just poking your head in and seeing how Neal’s other friends were doing, and then you realized the anger was running out. You didn’t have the energy or the will to keep deliberately resenting Neal or Peter.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

           By August, you could look back on everything and understand the decisions that were made. You didn’t agree with them, but you understood the desperation fueling them and the fear that Neal must have felt. The moment Neal’s handler, whoever that was, tied his hands and threw him aside, the man was as good as dead, just in a matter of time. Kramer wasn’t above that. If he were free – even just by flight – Neal could protect himself. You could forgive him for leaving, but you weren’t sure he was forgiven for leaving without even a phone call to you as he booked it to the airport.

           Later that month, though, your personal grievances didn’t seem to matter all that much. A man approached you while you were at work. You thought he was the man you’d asked to come answer some questions, but no – you were the one being questioned. He was cynical, evasive, and exacting, and clearly after information on Neal.

           As soon as he left, you went to the twenty-first floor and beelined for Peter’s office, ignoring the tentative, sympathetic greetings from familiar faces. Peter glanced up when you entered and then did a shocked double-take. It was the first time you had voluntarily approached him in months, after all.

           Peter stood up so quickly his chair legs scraped loudly on the floor. “Y/N,” he said right away, but then obviously had no idea where he was trying to go, unable to figure out what to say. You could see the sympathy and sorrow on his face. Not only did you lose your partner, and Peter had lost his friend, but the other agent had encouraged your partner to leave. He knew from your avoidance that you blamed him, at least partially.

           With a wave of your hand, you dismissed it. Nothing Peter could say would fix the situation. You knew what he had done was in Neal’s best interests, weighing his wellbeing over your feelings. Where Neal wasn’t forgiven, Peter was, finally, and the avoidance that remained was just about trying to distance yourself from reminders of your blue-eyed artist.

           “Someone just came asking questions about Neal,” you said, crossing your arms and peering across the office at Peter. “Agent Collins. He said he’s just tying up loose ends, but he’s not, is he?”

           Peter’s openmouthed surprise turned into a grim purse of his lips. He shook his head, looking frustrated, and gestured for you to close the door. You did, and leaned back against it. “He’s the bureau’s version of a bounty hunter,” the agent confided, putting his fists down on his desk and leaning onto it. “Neal was almost commutated, then slipped out under their noses. It makes them look bad. They want to get him back.”

           You didn’t miss that Peter was using pronouns that excluded himself, but didn’t comment. It was no surprise – he’d made his stance clear when he encouraged Neal to go. “Why now?” You demanded. “It’s been months, surely the trail’s cold.”

           “Best guess?” Peter hazarded, sighing deeply. “They’ve spent this time trying to find him other ways. Now they’re realizing that Neal’s better than they thought and all they want to do is make an example out of him.”

           Oh, hell no. “Like they haven’t already?” You asked snidely. Peter tilted his head aside, not explicitly agreeing but getting his point across all the same.

           The bureau had your trust – for the most part. When it came to their treatment of Neal, your eyes had been opened to how even organizations seeking justice could be completely unjust in their treatment of people who lacked recourse. Neal was frequently put in life-threatening situations with no training and no choice in the matter except to be put back in prison. Enough people knew Neal was working with the FBI for Sing Sing to be a life-threatening situation, in and of itself. Neal was nothing but a tool to them because he lacked the normal resources of walking away or pursuing litigation.

           You looked aside, glowering at the drab office wall. “It gets worse,” Peter wearily told you. “Collins is looking for a win. And at this point, a dead fugitive is just as good of an example as an incarcerated one.”

           “Not happening,” you refused furiously. “What the hell happened to proportionality?” Neal may have pissed some people off, Robin Hood-ing from the one percent, but he was never violent. Sending a bounty hunter after him with permission to kill was wildly inappropriate and inhumane.

           “I’m afraid proportionality isn’t the first thing on the mind,” Peter warned as you stalked further into his office, toward his desk.

           “We have to warn him,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to Peter. Neal was “run at any time” paranoid, not “stay away from windows” paranoid.

           “Yes,” Peter nodded, “But we can’t. We don’t know where he is. There is no way of telling him.” The agent wasn’t giving up or resigning himself to being useless. As much as there was disappointment and worry in his face, there was also stubbornness.

           “So we find him,” you quietly suggested. “No one knows him better than we do.”

           “Y/N.” Peter dropped his voice to match your volume and spoke with a soft, concerned tone. “You have to understand, finding Neal and not turning him in, much less tipping him off about Collins, is outside the law.”

           “The law is apparently saying it’s okay to murder a man who has, at worst, taken money that isn’t his.” You fervently stated. That wasn’t your first concern, Neal was, but you needed Peter to know that you weren’t just in this because you were in love with the man in question. There was a principle at stake, and a moral obligation. “The equivalent of chopping off a pickpocket’s hand, coming from the government that supposedly despises cruelty and injustice. I won’t support that, and I sure as hell won’t stand by and let it be done to someone I love.”

           While you had been talking, Peter had slowly started to smile. It was the smile he used to always give to Neal when he was proud, when your boyfriend would remind him that Neal was a kind person with a good, loving soul. Having it directed at you reminded you far too much of the smile Neal always gave back and your chest tightened – not just at the memory, but at the decision which meant you were bound to see it again.

           “I knew you were going to say that,” Peter admitted with a small, relieved grin, like the shared challenge and conspiracy were washing all the sourness and distance under the bridge. You really thought that maybe it was. His confidence in you and his commitment to your boyfriend reassured you that you weren’t losing your mind and you weren’t alone, no matter how lonely you’d been feeling. “I just need you to understand what you’re putting at stake.”

           “Wherever he is, when we find him, I’m coming. No matter what.”

[ruzek-halstead]

relight that spark ✨

prologue 

pairing: luke patterson x julie molina

a modern day adaptation of the classic ‘cinderella’ tale.

high school au based off ‘a cinderella story’.

series masterlist || masterlist || ao3

warnings: fluffery, swearing

join my taglist here (or leave a comment to be tagged for this story only :)

i want you all to bear with me because this chapter isn't very exciting (with the exception of juke's text messages) but i think it's very necessary for background information. especially if you haven't watched the original movie!!

as you all know, this story is based off the 2004 classic 'a cinderella story' featuring hilary duff and chad michael murray. this is one of my favourite films, so i do urge you all to give it a watch! this fic is obviously not going to be exact to the movie, but it will follow generally the same storyline, but in a more modern sense.

✨

Julie Molina was a simple girl. All she really wanted was to get accepted into the Berklee College of Music, graduate high school and make enough money to move out and afford tuition. It wasn't an easy feat, but it's what she had been working for since her father passed away eight years ago. Her life used to be fantastic. Julie was still young when her mom passed away from cancer, and the memories she did have of her were slightly clouded and slowly fading away. But she remembered that she was one of the most gentle souls ever. She remembered her soft voice when she sang her to sleep every night, but one night, she wasn't there anymore. Julie never heard her mom's voice again. But her dad never let her forget anything. The memory of Rose Molina was alive and well in the Molina household, and at the family diner Ray owned, Mel's. He had inherited it from his father, and every day, he worked tirelessly to turn it into a feel-good family diner where everyone felt welcome and at home. After Rose passed, it was where Julie spent most of her time. Her dad was always busy with work, so she tagged along, but she never minded because the staff was her family. Her Tia Victoria worked there as the boss behind the boss, and she always made time to help Julie with her homework. Julie did everything at the diner. Holidays, birthdays, you name it. It was her home away from home; a place where she felt utterly safe and accepted. Until one day, she didn't. Mel's provided her the warmth and familiarity she lacked in her true home ever since her mom passed away. But the day Karen Fields walked through the door, slipped on a puddle and fell into Ray Molina's arms, that feeling was stripped away and never returned. Her father and Karen dated for a few months, and before Julie knew it, they were booking venues, cake tasting and dress shopping. Her father was getting married. Julie had never gotten the warmest of vibes from Karen, only when her father was around. But she was young, and she didn't know any better, and she couldn't tell her father that this was a terrible decision. She saw him happy, she saw him smiling, and she couldn't take that away from him. So, they got married, and shortly thereafter, Karen and her two twin daughters were moving into their Los Angeles home. Karen's daughters, Jade and Sophia, were not friendly in the slightest. They never went out of their way to include Julie in any activities, and completely ignored her at school, even though they were in the same grade. Julie didn't care much about that. She couldn't be bothered with mean girls like them, and plus, she already had the only friend she'd ever need. Julie met Flynn Anderson on the first day of kindergarten. It was quite hard to not notice the five-year-old yelling at another five-year-old because he had stepped on her brand new white sneakers. Even though her screaming was driving everyone away, Julie thought it was funny, so she went to join her at the sandbox. Ever since that day, the two had been inseparable. It also wasn't the last time Flynn yelled at obnoxious boys who unnerved her. Flynn kept Julie sane throughout the death of her mom, the transition with Karen and her family, and the worst event of all; the unexpected death of her father. She didn't see it coming, none of them did. One night Julie's dad was tucking her in and reading her a bedtime story, but then the ground started shaking and everything fell off the shelves. Her dad pulled her into the corner for safety, but Karen's screaming caught his attention and he had to leave her. She still had nightmares of their last few moments together, when he squeezed her hand before running out of the room. That was the last time she ever saw her father. Her young life only went downhill from there. According to the lawyers, there was no will left behind. This meant everything her father ever owned was left to Karen; that included his house, his money, his diner and Julie. If Julie thought Karen didn't like her before, she knew with one-hundred percent certainty that her presence was more like a burden now. Tia Victoria tried to fight for custody, because she never believed her brother-in-law would leave Julie in the hands of anyone else, but the courts disagreed and there was nothing else she could do about it. Julie was banished to the attic, and all house-duties were dumped on her. She was in charge of dishes, laundry, cleaning the entire house. On top of that, as soon as she was of legal age to work, Karen demanded she work at the diner to cover her expenses. Julie really had no other option, and although she hated it at the beginning, she realized the silver lining. Working at the diner meant she would spend time with her Tia Victoria and the rest of the staff that she loved, and she could also make her own money so she could move out, pay tuition and leave this life behind. That was what her life consisted of for now. She had her mind set on the music school of her dreams and she was working day and night so she could afford it. She went to school throughout the day, worked at the diner after school, and finished household chores after her shift. It didn't leave her much time to focus on her music, which at the end of the day was okay, because she didn't like to work on her music around her step-mother and step-sisters. They didn't understand, and they were cruel, so the less they knew about it, the better. It was also okay because Julie hadn't been able to publicly perform since her father passed away. When her mom passed, she left dozens of songs for Julie so she wouldn't give up music; it was her father that encouraged her to keep going, even at a young age. But with him gone, a piece of her went with him and she couldn't find it in herself to sing in front of others when he wasn't here to watch her. She kept her musical talents on the down low; only her Mel's family and Flynn truly knew what she was capable of with a piano and a microphone. That was until one day she received a text message from an unknown number. It started out innocent, crossed wires based on a flyer she put up three years ago to make some extra money. She didn't think any of those flyers were still around; they were unbelievably basic, with just her phone number and rate for piano lessons. Even though she didn't know this stranger and their first conversation was a tad bit rocky, for some reason, she felt comfortable talking to them. One day they started, and it just didn't stop. 

That was how they met. She was expecting the conversation to end after she told them she wasn’t offering lessons anymore (she can’t even begin to explain how they found one of her flyers in the first place), but whoever they were, they were incredibly persistent. They were slightly charming, and for some reason, Julie found herself opening up and revealing things about herself only a limited number of people knew about her. She couldn’t explain the instant connection. She would honestly sound crazy if she tried. And even after she spilled her guts out, and it was well into the night, she was surprised to see another message the following morning. So, they kept talking; night and day, they talked about anything and everything. Julie never asked who they were; she never asked for their identity because the mystery was intriguing, and she really didn’t want to reveal her own. All she knew is that they were a senior at her high school and identified as male; she knew he was in a band and he played many instruments and sang a bit. Julie only told him the same amount of information; that she was also a senior and identified as female. Throughout their constant virtual interactions, they started revealing more and more about themselves. From their first conversation, Julie told him all about the death of her mom, and how that influenced her music career. She decided not to tell him about her father's death right away, because she did remember he was a total stranger and who knew if she could even trust him? She revealed that something traumatic had happened and her music was temporarily put on hold as she worked on herself. But through time, he opened up to her as well, and eventually, she let him into to all the details. He revealed to her that his parents were dead set on him pursuing other endeavours, including a full scholarship to Stanford University. However, that wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to purse his music and his band, and when he mentioned Berklee College of Music, Julie knew there was no forgetting they had ever met. She was locked in. Their conversations started simple, more like venting sessions. But overtime, they became random, about anything and everything. And to a certain extent, they became a tad flirty. Julie was no expert in the romance department, by any means. With all the tragic events in her life, romantic partners had been the furthest thing from her mind. But sometimes she got a real flirty vibe that she couldn't deny. And even when she wasn't sure, she'd show the messages to Flynn, who, with an eye roll, assured her he was definitely trying to flirt. It made her extremely nervous at first, but then she realized, she had nothing to lose. This was all virtual, they didn't know each other's identities; he couldn't hurt her. But Julie didn't like to refer to him as some random number in her contacts. As much as she didn't necessarily want to put a face to the number, she needed at least a name, or even a pseudonym. When he asked for an example, Julie suggested he refer to her as 'Dahlia' as that was her mother's favourite flower and she had an emotional attachment to it. He had made a lame joke about being able to top that but ultimately he chose 'Charming'. Julie had made the mistake of telling him he was charming once, and he still hadn't let it go. This was the ultimate power move to make sure she never forgot it; but secretly, she loved it. 

And so, that's how it went. Sometimes they talked about serious things, like their future at university, and sometimes it was simpler things. Julie liked to argue because her sassiness would have it no other way; Charming could give it right back to her, ensuring it was never a dull conversation.

When Julie wasn't working, studying, or working on her music, she was talking to Charming. It was enough for her, for now. She was just trying to get through senior year quietly, by doing what was expected of her and making as much money as she could to get the hell out of there. But she should have expected that things wouldn't go that smoothly; they never had for her before. This is the story of Julie Molina and her Prince Charming, and everything in between. 

✨ 

i was super unsure about this chapter because it wasn't that exciting and then i realized i could probably just use it as an prologue or something for some background information, so i hope it was enough.

i'm really excited to get into the nitty gritty of this story, so i really hope you all enjoyed this enough to follow along! i'm not sure how many chapters this will be yet, i'm thinking at least four/five with everything i have planned???

stay safe, thanks for reading!!

tagging:  @grootsgillespie​ || @jayhalsteadcpd​ || @moreflowersthanweeds​ || @well-hes-just-too-cute​ || @echocharm17618​ || @leopard-print-slippers​ || @jandthephantoms​ || @scribblingfangirl​ || @n0wornever​ || @simpformolina​ || @only-trust-fictional-characters​ || @snowmione18​ || @tellurphantoms​ || @knitsessed​ || @carriewilsons​ || @elitharavenclaw​ || @wakeupfantoms​ || @uselessnerdnherblahg​ || @anotheronechicagobog​ || @katie-navarro​

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

Summary: From an abusive father to taunts at Harvard, Rafael Barba had worked hard to stop being emotional. Too often, it gave fodder and power to those around him. That’s why when someone truly loved him, he had to hurt them first. That said, ending a life changes you.

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OC

A/N: Just a little thing based on Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

I did my best. It wasn't much. I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch. I've told the truth. I didn't come to fool you.

“Rafael?” 

“Rebecca,” he breathed, and he shouldn’t have been surprised she didn’t step aside to let him in. It was just before Christmas, and he was finally back in the city after the two years in Iowa. The nearly three years since seeing her. 

“Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you.” 

“You don’t get to come here like this.” Her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was crying now. He hated seeing the way her brow knitted together and her hands fisted the sleeves of her dress. That meant these were hurting tears. There wasn’t any reason for her to be happy to see him though. 

“I love you, Becca. I’m so stupid.”

“You don’t get to say that, Rafael. You left me. This is a mean joke.”

“It’s not a joke, mi corazón. I’m not cruel.”

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way his voice was cracking, thick, and desperate as he stood on her stoop. Ending a life will make you reevaluate a lot, even if you don’t think you did anything wrong. He’d never appreciated the way Rebecca had always described love to him, considering it as sacred as the crucifix above the door or mass they attended on Sundays. After seeing the love baby Drew’s mother had for him and for her husband, even after everything, he thought he could see it more. Religion was difficult for him; he believed, but he wasn’t sure yet that he believed in a benevolent God. Fifty was awfully late to e coming to that decision. Rafael’s relationship with paternal figures probably played into that. Still, he wore a cross against his heart, and he prayed often. But emotions? They made life messy and painful and complicated, and the hurt they caused him sometimes made him believe in the old testament God that was so full of rage and punishment. Still, he went to mass with mami and then Rebecca.

As a child, he’d fought to tamp them down to save himself from his father. The man was made of rage, and when his son expressed anything but gratitude, the older man would beat him down. In school, the other boys had made fun of him the few times the feelings broke through. If it weren’t for Alex and Eddie, he’d have had his ass kicked more times than he could count. For a little while, he’d been able to tell them how he felt. Los tres mosqueteros de Jerome Avenue gave him a defense and a camaraderie he didn’t have at home. He realized his openness about the situation at home and his feeling for people in their lives was given to the wrong person when he found Yelina in bed with Alex. His friend had known how in love Rafael was, how sure he was that upon graduation from Harvard he’d give Yelina abuelita’s ring. That’s when Rafael realized he couldn’t have feelings around anyone from home but mami and abuelita.

Then there was Harvard. He’d thought that once he left the Bronx, earned the scholarship he’d fought so hard for, he’d get the friendships other people seemed to have. Instead of acting as though the years seeing his father abuse himself and his mother, the torment from other boys, and betrayal from his friend didn’t bother him, there would be other people who fought as hard as he did to get there who he could forge emotional connections with. After Yelina, he found it hard to trust a romantic partner, but he also quickly had his illusions shattered as he realized no one at Harvard felt he belonged. He worked hard to temper the accent he didn’t know he had when a hushed whisper asked if he was even legal because he sounded too Cuban. A couple of times, he expressed his insecurities about his social status and background, but each time it became fodder for whatever the next competition was, so he replaced his jeans and sweatshirts with polo shirts and chinos and was careful to keep his accent as neutral as possible until he returned to the city. 

When he did, he found that he’d hidden down the emotional side of him sufficiently, only the smart mouth and snark that masked insecurity left. Rafael was conscious of his decision to ignore the trappings of love. In his experience, only two of the many people he’d loved, whether romantic or platonic, had not hurt him, and both were women related by blood. By the time he reached forty-five and met Rebecca, he’d replaced the love he’d always been desperate for with work and casual encounters with the men and women he met when working from bars.

Not since Yelina had he been so willing to follow someone to the ends of the Earth. He’d always craved love from his father, the friends he tried to make throughout school, and Yelina, the one person he was romantically interested in he ever let himself feel exposed around. Maybe it was because Rebecca was so raw, so unafraid of the way love could hurt. Where he’d carefully constructed a wall, unwilling to show his inner machinations to anyone, she cried openly and freely when they’d watched a documentary on Fred Rogers because she didn’t understand why people thought it was so hard to be kind. She was free like he couldn’t be, loving each stranger she met, even the ones most people found unlovable. It was probably what made her such a great teacher. He’d worked so hard to open himself up, to give her the same vulnerability, but he didn’t know how. 

Well, maybe there's a God above, but all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.

He knew how he could be, and Rafael Barba should have known better that to act off of his first instinct given his history. Outside of the perceived safety of his friendship with Alex and Eddie, he’d only told Yelina about his father and the way rejection from his peers had hurt him. They’d been together that first year at Harvard, with Yelina promising to wait for him. She even knew how he cried when his father left, the realization washing over him he’d never have a happy ending with the man. Yelina had been supportive, but also reminded him he needed to move on and become a successful attorney. Within months, he walked in on her with Alex.  When he told Rebecca the same things after a year, she’d held him close and dried the tears he eventually let fall as she peppered kisses to his hair. She thanked him for trusting her, told him how strong he was for talking about how he felt and called Yelina callous for not appreciating he could be so kind. 

Feelings don’t make you weak, Rafael. They make you strong.

Rafael was lucky she was as patient as she was. She’d told him with confidence that she loved him three months in. He couldn’t bring himself to say it back to her, a knot weighing his belly down as he explained to her he’d only said it once, and he didn’t want to again until he felt secure she’d stay. It made him feel as stunted as he was; years after Yelina and he’d never met anyone else he loved? Maybe if he’d given someone more than the one night. Then again, if he had he wouldn’t have Rebecca. Once he opened up to her, he slowly mentioned things to the Manhattan SVU squad and forged a friendship with Olivia. Things were going well until Rebecca started talking about Al, another teacher. They were going to lunch together. They were going to chaperone the field trip together. She just adored Al. 

The only thing Rafael Barba knew was that the last time he trusted someone, let them know all the scary parts and given them the power to hurt him, they had. It all came to a head in January of 2018. If he’d known how badly he’d need her soon, maybe he’d have been able to temper the fury and hurt that radiated off of him in waves. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t lash out physically or even raise his voice. Instead, as she got excited to tell him about the plans she’d made with Al to prep for the semester, he’d snapped, latent insecurity finally bubbling to the surface. His voice, to his credit, was calm, though his words aimed to hurt her before she inevitably found someone better and hurt him. Someone who wasn’t emotionally stunted and would cry at movies with her and didn’t take a year to say I love you. 

Just get a fuckin’ room already.

Raf, he’s my coworker. We’re friends.

You know exactly what he wants from you, and you want it too. 

What are you saying? I’m a slut or something? You know you’re it for me.

A spade’s a spade. 

The impact her hand made with his cheek stung, but the look on her face made him feel like the villain, which he supposed he was. He had to be for sweet, loving Rebecca to slap him. Her wide hazel eyes always sparkled, but they were suddenly dull and overflowed with tears. He’d never seen her hurt before, and he wanted to crawl into the sewers or walk off the tallest building in the city. Without a word, she’d taken her purse, dropped the glass she’d been holding, and marched out. From his window, he could see her cry as she talked on the phone. Probably Al. He left voicemail after voicemail, and wasn’t surprised when he found a three page letter underneath his door. Instead of a scathing rebuke, as he��d prayed for to make the loss hurt less, it was full of kindness. Promises that she loved him and wasn’t angry, but that she couldn’t do this. Apologies for slapping him because she knew that probably brought up traumatic memories. That if he’d get help learning to handle the swarm of feelings she’d come back to him, if that was an option. Al was just a friend. Hell, Al didn’t like women, but she understood how hard it must have been after Yelina. She knew it probably felt like the same thing was happening. Even after what he’d said, she loved him and knew he’d find happiness when he took care of himself. He couldn’t love anyone else until he loved himself enough to do that.

You say I took the name in vain. I don't even know the name, but if I did, well really, what's it to you?

Rafael Barba had spent so much of his time fighting his feelings, but he’d come to realize that love was sacred. It was the one thing that had the power to hurt and heal him, whether it was said with all the reverence he’d whispered it into Yelina’s hair, the adoration he’d said it to Rebecca, or the brokenness with which he’d  just said it as he stood in the snow on her stoop. He didn’t know that before, had bastardized something Rebecca viewed as so holy. She’d always made it apparent that while she thought all of her feelings were blessings, even when they gave someone the power to hurt her, she thought love was what could bring you the closest to God. It was, according to the verses from 1 Corinthians that he’d noticed were exceptionally dogeared in the bible she kept at the desk, patient and kind. It believes, hopes, and endures all things. He hoped she still believed the latter. When he thought back over his life, he realized the love he felt was easily angered and certainly did envy. It kept account of wrongs. All these things were so directly expressed as what love was not. 

But ending a life changed you.

Rafael had spent the years he’d been gone working on himself, as her letter had begged him to. Therapy helped, but so did his ruminations on the verse he knew she loved so much. He’d bastardized love, letting his jealousy and hurt tangle with it and pull it further from the holy feeling Rebecca always described and therefore further from the love God felt for his flock. Maybe God was good after all if love could make him feel that way one day, if it wasn’t too late. She felt jealousy, he knew. She wanted to keep scores and would start to want the things others had in their love, but she could step back. She’d write it out or talk it out and go back to being so implicitly loving. In his time rereading the lines he knew she loved, he found another that resonated for him:

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 1 Corinthians 13:11

When he was young, he thought repressing his feelings made him a man. He now realized that repression was the childish act. He hadn’t been a man yet, wasn’t ready for a healthy love like the one she offered. Mami had heard him ramble on about it during one of the late night phone calls when he’d had too much whiskey too early in the evening. His therapist had made him acknowledge that he’d lashed out at her. The therapist had also made him remember she wasn’t perfect. Rebecca had her own shortcomings, but he found them beautiful because they were the extreme of what he craved. She cried so easily, and sometimes he was jealous of that. The inability to build any kind of defense, however, meant she was always at the brink of a come apart. Quick to feel the martyr, though he supposed she was. Maybe he could be a man now, put the jealousy away and be there for her, patient and kind.

“It’s been years, Rafael. I tried to call you when I learned what happened. You didn’t answer me.”

“The press and people who consider me a murderer got my number. I had to change it.”

“Still. You had mine. Just because you weren’t well doesn’t mean the responsibility is all mine for us to reunite.”

“I’m on your stoop my first time back in the city, aren’t I?”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why am I supposed to believe you?”

“You aren’t, I guess.”

[tobesobri]

ℐ would definitely say this chapter is a turning point in the story and you learn a bit more about both Harry (and especially) Y/N! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts, I am always open to discussing this story with yall :)

WARNING: mention of past sexual assault (in the first half of the chapter)

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER FIVE: DENY THE WAY THAT YOU FEEL (4.3K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

There was no light seeping in under her door when she woke up, no sounds coming from the kitchen, and hardly any oxygen getting to her lungs.

The second her eyes shot open, she was pushing herself out of Harry’s grasp, forcing him awake too as she tried desperately to get away from him. It wasn’t until he placed his hands on her shoulders that she realized where she was and what was going on. And then her nightmare came flooding back into view.

“Y/N, hey,” his voice was groggy but calm, even though he was more freaked out than she was, “you’re okay, what’s going on?”

He knew it was early. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, which is what he expected to wake him up, not Y/N jolting awake from a nightmare and ready to punch him in the face.

She stared into his eyes as she caught her breath, finding some kind of solace in them even if his green irises were barely visible. It just reminded her that this was real and whatever had been going on before was not. After blinking a few times, she mumbled an apology. 

“You had a nightmare?” He asked.

She hesitated before nodding. There was no way she could get away with lying to him. He’d seen it with his own eyes, and no one reacts like that when waking up unless they had a bad dream. 

“You want to talk about it?”

Quickly, she shook her head no. He didn’t really expect any less, but he wanted to give her the option anyways. Instead, she buried her face back into his chest and let him hold onto her again. Neither of them were hesitant this time about touching the other. It happened naturally as he brought one hand to the top of her head, petting her hair down all the way to the base of her neck while the other one planted itself in the center of her back to keep her close. 

He knew she had nightmares, that’d been the first thing they really ever discussed at the beginning of all this, even though she was being funny about it at the time. He knew it was something more than monsters or walking into work naked on Monday morning. Just from the way she couldn’t breathe and the way she’d looked at him told him all he needed to know. 

As the next full week passed, things continued to get easier. It became a routine where she came to his place straight after work. The man at the front gates to his neighborhood learned her name and no longer asked for any identification at all. He was already opening the gates for her the second he saw her car pull up. Her things found a semi-permanent spot on his bathroom counter and she brought a few more things with her to get ready at his house instead. She took her showering needs with her and her makeup and hair tools. By the end of the week, it looked almost as if she’d practically moved in. And he didn’t give one single fuck about it. He’d let his entire bathroom be filled with her. 

By Wednesday, he’d even found some of her clothes mixed in with his own when he did the laundry. A shirt he remembered her wearing to bed on Monday and her usual pajama bottoms that had some of their own self-inflicted holes in them. He’d made sure to take way better care of her things than his own, neatly folding the spare pieces into an empty drawer in his closet that would slowly become exclusively hers.

And by Thursday, they’d gotten it down to a tee. Sometimes they stayed up later, but she really didn’t make it too long before falling asleep against him. Even if he was up longer, staring out at his view of the city or up at the ceiling until he felt tired enough to join her. But either way, they didn’t get into bed and worry anymore. Not when he was well aware of how often she wiggled around through the night if he wasn’t holding her down, and not when she realized how much he snored if he wasn’t comfortable. 

So by Friday when they laid opposite ways on the bed, with Y/N’s head on his pillows and Harry’s next to her feet at the end of the bed, it felt like two best friends who’d known each other their entire lives hanging out at a sleepover more than it did anything else. 

It was still too early for either of them, even after a dinner full of Chick-fil-A. So, instead, they laid like that, staring up at the ceiling as they talked about anything that came to mind. From what their favorite albums were--both having agreeable opinions on The Fame Monster--to asking each other questions about the other’s family. 

She’d learned a lot about his sister and how much he clearly loved her and about the loss he was still dealing with. However, he’d learned not to ask her too much about her family, but, she did seem to respond well when he had asked her about where she wanted to travel to someday. He’d made a mental note to find a way to take her to all the places he loved in Europe as she listed off numerous countries he’d already been to; Paris, Florence, and Amsterdam. 

And then finally, somehow, they landed on the current topic.

“I find it really hard to believe you’ve never been in a relationship before.” It wasn’t all that hard for him to believe, given the twenty foot walls she had built up around herself and how she felt about the way she looked. But it still surprised him just a little bit to learn the truth.

“It’s true whether you believe it or not.”

At some point in the night, he’d started giving her an impromptu foot massage over her socks and it felt too good on her sore feet for her to object to it. So, when he paused his motions to ask what was naturally coming next, she grew terrified.

“So does that mean you’ve never…”

He listened as she sighed and then as the silence took over the space immediately above them. Maybe it was a question he wasn’t supposed to ask. One that was way too far out of her comfort zone.

“What about you? I find it hard to believe you haven’t just found another girlfriend yet.”

It broke his heart a little listening to her dodge his question. It was mostly because she didn’t sound like she was trying to hide the fact that she might’ve never had sex before. It sounded more complicated than that. There was a lot more involved than just a black or white answer and it made his heart heavy. 

“You seem to have forgotten how shit my last girlfriend was. If it was easy trusting someone again, I would’ve done it already.”

He felt her hand on his ankle again, where she rested it from time to time while they’d been talking. This time, she picked at the soft fabric of his joggers, tearing off the pilling as she got lost in her own thoughts. She couldn’t get how he talked about trust off her mind. He had to trust her to some degree, right? Or he would have never let her anywhere near him to begin with. And what was the difference between trusting her and trusting someone in an actual romantic relationship? Her lines were so incredibly blurred.

“There was this guy when I was a junior in high school…” she started; testing it out to begin with to see his reactions and gauge whether or not she trusted him enough to lay everything out there like she was about to do. She wanted to know for sure that she wouldn’t regret it in the morning. That she wouldn’t wish she’d kept all her secrets to herself. And, for whatever reason, maybe just because he was Harry, she felt like she wouldn’t. Like no matter what she told him, he wouldn’t ever make her feel like that.

He had already froze up, however. He knew she had a hard time being touched and he knew she didn’t trust easily like him, he just never knew why. So just the mention of a guy she knew in high school and the tone of her voice gave it all away. It wasn’t going to be a story he would enjoy hearing.

“He, um… took advantage of me.” She paused to let the words linger in the space around them, because they were words she’d never said aloud before, on purpose anyways. She had no idea what they’d sound like in her voice but she’d always imagined it turning out horribly. When it didn’t feel that way, when she instead felt a bit of… relief, she went on. “I was young and really stupid. He just wanted to tell his friends he slept with me even if it meant forcing me to do so.”

It seemed like more words he’d heard out of her all at once than ever before. And every single word hurt him more and more until he found himself balling his hands into fists and practically burning holes into his ceiling with the way he glared at it. 

She continued when he remained quiet. “So, um, I get it when you talk about not being able to trust anyone. I never let anyone else get close… and nobody ever really tried to either.” Besides you, she wanted to add on, but thought better of it. He already knew that part of her story. He was already piecing it together. That he may have been the only person to lay his hands on her without evil intentions. Without trying to hurt her or force her to do something she didn’t want to. Was he the only person she trusted enough to tell that story to and to try and be more open with? He thought back to a week ago, when she’d had that nightmare. When she forced herself to be physically closer to him than she ever had. He wondered if it was something she’d thought about doing beforehand. And he wondered again what that dream had been about. 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” He was genuine and she knew it. He didn’t know what else to say when he was gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw so hard just to keep in his anger, but she really didn’t want him to say anything else anyways.

She didn’t want him to tell her that not every guy was like that. Or that if she just let them in she’d find people who weren’t going to hurt her. And none of those were even thoughts that were crossing his mind anyways. The only thing on his mind was red, fuming anger. 

He’d had enough of hearing from his female friends what the men in their life had done to them. He’d had enough of hearing about the harassment and mistreatment. And hearing it from Y/N now, it frankly made his fucking blood boil. He wanted to somehow go back in time and protect her from that ever happening. 

But right now, all he could do was show her that he was someone she could trust. 

“I’m sorry someone felt they could hurt you like that.” He added.

She was quiet for a moment. Only one other person in the world knew what happened to her, and if it had been up to her, they wouldn’t know about it at all. But voluntarily telling someone about what happened to her? She never thought that day would come.

“I could say the same to you.” She said bluntly. Although the psychological damage done to them varied drastically, someone still felt the need to hurt Harry too in ways he never deserved.

“S’not the same, Y/N.”

“No but you didn’t deserve to get hurt either.”

He’d never really thought of it that way. The blame was always placed on himself, that if he didn’t trust so easily, people wouldn’t do what they did to him. In his mind, it was always his fault for not being a little more observant or a little more aware of people’s intentions. He never really saw it the other way around. That people took his kindness and used it against him. He never considered that he didn’t deserve what he got until he heard it coming out of her mouth. He knew for a fact she didn’t deserve one bit of what happened to her so he’d be a hypocrite to say he deserved his own misfortunes. 

It was a comfortable quiet between them again until Harry’s mind cleared.

“Is that the real reason you don’t let people in?”

“It’s one of the reasons,” she sighed, almost in relief. He knew them all now. He knew her insecurities. He knew why she had her trust issues. He knew why she was alone.

“You never even tried a relationship at all since then?” He hoped he didn’t sound insensitive or like he was prying into her past, he was just genuinely curious. 

“I don’t really think I want to be in a relationship.”

He scrunched his face up at that one and he wasn’t quite sure why he took it to be personally offensive. Maybe it was because he did want that and he was under the impression they were more alike than not, so finding out something about her that didn’t quite add up felt weird to him. “But we started doing all this because we’re both alone and you’ve never even tried to change that?”

“No. It’s not easy for me to open up to people, Harry, and that’s all you do in a relationship.”

“You opened up to me.”

His words caught her off guard. He was right and he actually had the balls to say it. “That’s different.”

He felt defeated, like she really only saw what they were doing as straightforward as possible. All the nights he’d spent wondering how they might end up one day felt stupid to him now. She didn’t want that. She just wanted someone to make her feel less alone, someone to be with at the end of the day. And he had no issues with that at all, that’s all he had wanted to begin with too. But now, he just wished she wanted the same things he did. 

He couldn’t blame her though. What he’d been through that made him the way he was paled in comparison to what she’d been through that made her the way she was. And he’d pushed everyone away for over a year because of it. 

Maybe it was how fast they’d gone straight to being so physically close that had his mind confused about his feelings for her. They’d gone from friends of friends to her practically living at his house within the same month. Maybe it could have been anyone in her shoes and he would have still fallen way too easily. All because she held onto him just right and listened like no one ever really had. Maybe it was just her giving him the intimacy he’d been craving.

So to make it hurt a little less, he blamed whatever he was feeling for her on that. 

He didn’t want to, but he thought about her in the shower the next morning. He tried thinking about his usual existential stuff, like the purpose of life or when it might end. Neither topic stuck like she did. He scrubbed shampoo through his hair roughly just to get her out of his head, to stop thinking about how she was still in his bed just on the other side of the wall, and to stop thinking about everything they shared last night. 

He thought about every little word she said and how he ended up in a pit of emotions by the time they fell asleep. But this morning, all his mind kept wrapping around was the fact that she’d been the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her and he wasn’t being completely honest himself. 

Sighing, he rinsed his hair under the warm water, closed his eyes and pushed everything off to the side for later. He let himself hum while he covered his body in soap, getting back into his normal routine by the time he was singing with a lot less weight on his shoulders.

He sang softly, still far too aware of her presence in his room, but sometimes he got a little carried away. Even if she did hear him trying to master the chorus melody of Linger over and over again, so be it. It was the first song to come to his head and get stuck there just like she had, and he couldn’t help but romanticize how things used to be before he knew she’d never like him the way he wanted her to. Back when he thought he had a chance.

The problem with that was that he was even more of a fool for her last night when she handed over her secrets in a glass case and trusted him enough not to break it. He wouldn’t go back to being his ignorant lovesick self before last night even if his life depended on it. There was a whole new level of connection between them, that just the thought of her name made him want to give her everything he had to offer.

If he hadn’t gotten lost in his daydreams, he definitely would not have walked out into his bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his lower half. He was far too used to walking around his house in not enough clothes. But, for some reason, he assumed she was still asleep, which was most definitely not the case when he invaded her area with his dripping wet abs and general nakedness.

He immediately froze and so did she as she stared blankly at him from the middle of his bed. She was sitting up on his pillows, her phone in her hands having been abandoned for the unexpected sight in front of her. 

“Oh,” he blinked, “I didn’t think you were awake.” His attempts at covering his body by wrapping his arms around his chest didn’t really help too much. 

She forced herself to look away and pretend like all the blood wasn’t rushing to the surface of her skin, “It’s okay.”

He couldn’t help the stupid smirk on his face when he felt her staring at him again as he walked across the room to his closet. Even more so when he turned to shut the door behind him and caught the shortest little glimpse of her eyes flickering away.

Once he was fully dressed, he joined her on the bed again, forcing her to scoot back to her side as he got back under the blanket. He clicked a button on his remote to open the curtains and let the view in while she put her phone away. 

He glanced up at her as she became almost instantly memorized by the overcast hovering above the city. How the tallest buildings disappeared into fog and how the sun fought to be seen through it all.

“Can I tell you something?” Harry asked quietly after letting her exist peacefully beside him by herself for a little while.

She just nodded, glancing down at him with slight concern about what he could possibly need to say.

“I wasn’t completely honest when I told you why I’m alone.” He began, watching her while she watched the city, almost obsessing over the profile of her face long enough to forget what he was trying to say. 

“Think I’m more scared of hurting people than I am of letting them in.”

“What do you mean?” She gave him her full attention now even though he’d flipped to staring out the windows.

“Letting people into my life like that, knowing they’ll be torn apart in the media and be made a joke on Instagram because they’re with me… I don’t want that to happen ever again.” His voice cracked and when she looked down at his eyes, they sparkled. His shift in emotion became clearer when he sniffled and went on, “So I’m alone to protect people from having to be with me.”

She carefully calculated how to respond. While she still didn’t fully understand his life, having known Harry for him and not his fame, she didn’t want to say something insensitive like she had before. She knew better now. He had it all, but at the end of the day, he still felt empty.

“And uh…” he wavered, “No one deserves to go through that. I’ve tried being more private, but eventually something gets out and it happens all over again. So it’s easier not having anyone than to watch as they slowly deteriorate because of me.”

When he finally glanced at her, not even sure she’d still been listening to him, the look on her face made up for her initial lack of response. She was genuine, like she felt every one of his emotions for herself. It made him feel safe, like he’d finally given his secrets to the right person.

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” She didn’t really know what to say besides that, but it didn’t matter. He trusted her like she’d trusted him. She could say nothing and it would be enough.

She was more sorry than she could even express. Sorry she’d ever made her judgements about him. Sorry that she thought he could have anyone he wanted without any problems. Sorry that she thought he could never feel the same things she did when she’d never even attempted to walk in his shoes. 

It was just that… she didn’t really know how to. It scared her being as open as they were, as he was. It scared her how she’d agreed to their arrangement so thoughtlessly, how he managed to pull things out of her she’d buried long ago. All because he was Harry and he didn’t mind calling on a whim or carelessly singing in the shower.

 And it scared her to think Harry was anywhere near as broken as her.

“What happened to the song we were working on last week?” Will asked, resting his face in his palms. He glared across the table at Harry upon hearing the news that the singer had decided to scratch all the progress they had made, especially since they were currently wasting precious studio time. 

“I don’t like it anymore.”

“Why not?”

Harry sighed, flipping through his journal with his hand dug into the tangles of his hair. He wanted to say that the song was about Y/N and that so much had changed in the last week. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling the way he did about her, but he couldn’t finish a song when he no longer connected with it. He was no longer blindly falling for her. He had her secrets in his pockets and his were safely in hers. He was head first, eyes wide open, falling.

“Please don’t tell me I’m wasting another afternoon on you trying to figure your shit out.” Will complained, rightfully.

Harry huffed and kept his eyes on the pages before him instead of Will, not sure how what he was about to say would come out if he had to look at his best friend and stretch the truth a little. “There’s this… girl. Things changed and… I don’t think she’ll ever like me the way I like her.”

“You wrote that song about her, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” Harry admitted begrudgingly.

“Who fucking cares, H?” Will reasoned and Harry looked up at him with nothing but confusion on his scrunched face. “Who cares if she doesn’t like you? Write all the songs you want about her if you have to. Just fucking… write something.”

Harry blinked a couple times once the initial shock of Will’s outburst wore off. Then he was flipping through the pages of his journal again, “Well… I wrote something else too…” Carefully, Harry flipped his book around and pushed it across the table towards Will.

Watching Harry carefully, it took him a moment before he read the scribbled words across two full pages. And realization struck once he’d gotten about halfway through Harry’s jumbled mess of potential lyrics.

“How did you go from some weird shit about coconuts to… this?”

Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes glued to the journal pages.

“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone let alone in love with them.”

Harry scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, “I’m not in love, Will, stop being fucking dramatic.”

“I get so lost inside your eyes?” Will read off a lyric and then Harry watched as he scanned the page for another one, “I’d walk through fire for you?”

Harry just sat there as if holding his ground. Will didn’t know the whole situation. He didn’t even know the half of it.

“Deny it all you want, but you’re in love.” Will slid the book back across the table.

Harry slouched forward reading over his words again before mumbling out, softly, a confession he wished wasn’t true, “She doesn’t love me back.”

“Who is she, anyways?”

That was one question Harry wouldn’t answer in a million years. He couldn’t even fathom a believable answer in his head about who she was. She’s your roommate, the one that barely talks to me but we’ve been secret cuddle buddies the past month. That was just… not an explanation he ever saw happening. 

“No one…” Harry fell back against his chair, defeated, “it’s complicated.”

“Hopefully it’s complicated enough to finish this album.”

Taglist: @afterstylesmadeit  @and-im-not-okay-with-it  @whydontharry​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas​ @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird​ @shawnsblue​ @thurhomish​ @theasstour​ @hufflepuff-always-and-forever​ @staceystoleyourheart​ @granolagrannie​ @defineharry​ @iambabyharry​ @1142590m​ @ashtondene​ @smokeinherperfume​ @cherryyharryy​ @mellamolayla​ @chrryblsms @cassiopeiaskies​ @sunflowerjens​ @detroitkiwis​ @brwnskin-bunnyteeth​ @cock-a-doodely-doo @strawberrycaramelmocha @meetmeinfleetwood​ @harriesgolden​ @rachkon​ @caritocp​ @sspidermanss​ if you’d like to be added, go here :)

[averykedavra]

Too Far Gone

(Hey y’all! I’m back with some Logan angst, because that’s all I’m capable of writing. You can find this story on Ao3 here!)

Summary: Logan Mackenzie doesn't quite understand feelings, but he does care about his friends. That's why he ended up playing matchmaker for his three oblivious best friends.

Getting Roman and Virgil together is hard. Getting Patton to admit his feelings is harder. The hardest part, however, is when he realizes he care a little more than a friend would.

But they're happy together. Roman-Virgil-Patton. 1+1+1=Relationship.

What Logan wants isn't part of the equation.

Ships: eventual romantic LAMP

Warnings: self-deprecation, self-confidence issues, self-isolation, sacrificing happiness for the sake of others, a TON of pining you guys, some denial to spice it up, deceit is only mentioned, self-hatred issues, yeah Logan has some feelings, swearing, insecurity about being polyamorous but it’s very brief, crying, arguing, lots of crying. (that makes it sound really angsty but there’s a ton of fluff too I swear)

Word count: 16,845 (it’s still a oneshot if I post it all at once, shut up)

Logan Mackenzie knew a lot of things. He knew the name of every Agatha Christie novel in alphabetical order. He knew the capitol of every country and a few that weren’t countries anymore. He knew how to calculate the sine of an angle, identify the signs of dehydration, and communicate—albeit rather haltingly—in American Sign Language. He’d maintained good grades through high school, college, and now, graduate school. He wanted to be an astronomy teacher one day, but if that didn’t pan out, a doctor, researcher, or physicist were not out of the question.

As Virgil once put it, the size of Logan’s area of expertise was only eclipsed by the size of Roman’s ego. This led to Roman attacking Virgil with a spatula and declaring that their friendship was over, Virgil was a coward and a fool, and he could not reasonably stand for this heresy. Patton suggested that if Roman couldn’t stand for it, he should just sit down. And that pretty much summed up Logan’s three best friends.

But despite Logan’s knowledge of all things philosophical, scientific, linguistic, and everything in between, he did have one rather large Achilles heel.

He did not understand emotions.

He had them, of course. He could hardly avoid them, being a homo sapiens of ordinary mental health with supremely emotional beings as his friends. Roman was always bursting with drama, exuberance, and Disney songs. Patton was sunshine incarnate with a perpetual smile and endless dad jokes. Virgil was more laid-back and sarcastic, but his issues with anxiety and his not-so-secret softer side still placed him firmly in the Has Feelings category.

Logan had feelings too. Joy when opening a fresh jar of jam, pride after receiving a good grade, frustration when Roman said something particularly dense. He just didn’t seem to…comprehend them as the others did. He often didn’t even realize what he was feeling, only noting the physical symptoms of the emotion.

For a while, he’d asked Patton what he was feeling and Patton had done his best to deduce the answer from the symptoms provided. That was a figurative hit-or-miss endeavor, however, and Logan found his stomach clenching at the sympathetic look on Patton’s face. He knew Patton meant well, but the experience of being pitied—was he being pitied, or was that a cognitive distortion, like the ones he always talked Virgil out of—the experience of feeling pitied was an unpleasant one. These days, he usually researched the symptoms on his own. It was even less accurate, but avoided the cloying feeling of vulnerability.

Logan tried not to be bitter about the situation. He understood so many things, it only made sense for life to give him a figurative handicap. And emotions were hardly the most important thing to understand anyway. He’d much rather know CPR than whether he was angry or merely annoyed. Those sorts of subtleties could be handled by his friends.

They didn’t seem to mind Logan’s…inexperience. They liked him just fine. More than ‘fine,’ in fact. Virgil and him had been friends since high school, back when Logan was even more unmanageable and walled-off. And Patton and Roman both helped him through the stress of college without judgment. The four of them worked, illogical as it was. Their different personalities didn’t clash, they just complemented each other like different shades to a painting. Logan couldn’t imagine having another friend group, and he didn’t want to imagine the circumstances in which he would be forced to find one.

For now, things were all right. Patton cheered them up, Roman pushed them forward, Virgil kept them safe, and Logan educated them. When Patton was sad or Roman was insecure or Virgil was panicking, they’d watch movies or practice breathing or simply talk until the problem was solved. Logan could handle the rational, intellectual part of the issue and Patton or Roman would cover the emotional side of things. Even Virgil, cynical as he was, had a sense for understanding insecurity and fear. Their system worked. If a problem was too emotional for Logan to handle, he could always call Patton or Roman or Virgil. It was simple.

Then came a problem he couldn’t get backup for.

Virgil had a crush.

No, that understated the issue. A simple crush would have been bearable. Virgil had a deep, desperate, all-consuming crush on Roman. It was the sort of crush that made him blush when they were in the same room. The sort of crush that sent him into hyperventilation when Roman said hello. The sort of crush that made him rant endlessly about Roman’s “stupid perfect face and stupid beautiful voice and stupid nice lovely wonderful smile—” until he resorted to simply screaming obscenities into his pillow.

And who did he rant to? None other than Logan Mackenzie, the singular most unqualified person in perhaps the entire Milky Way.

Logan understood Virgil’s predicament. He couldn’t talk about it to the object of his affections, of course. Patton was also out of the picture—him and Roman were thick as figurative thieves, and Patton would never keep a secret from anyone. He’d try, maybe, but he was a terrible liar and Roman would surely catch on.

Logan was the only possible option. They were roommates, they were friends, and Logan could keep a secret. And Logan, good friend as he was, did want to support Virgil through this emotional time.

However, he couldn’t say it didn’t get…tedious.

Especially as the crush showed no signs of fading, and Virgil still refused to tell Roman about it.

“Virgil,” Logan said, poking at the mop of purple hair he knew possessed his best friend. Virgil merely mumbled something that sounded like “stupid wonderful personality” and ignored him.

“Virgil,” Logan repeated, louder. “I’d like you to explain—"

“Why I don’t tell him. I know.” Virgil batted Logan’s hand away, poking his face above the covers. A residual blush still lingered on his face. “You’ve said that a million times.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed tautly. “Because it is the only possible conclusion to this fiasco and I don’t see why you can’t just get it over with.”

“Not the only possible conclusion,” Virgil grumbled. “It’ll probably go away soon.”

“Virgil, remind me how long you have had this crush?”

Virgil glared at him and didn’t respond.

“Fine, I’ll tell you the answer myself.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Eighty-three days and five hours.”

“You remember that?”

“Hard to forget,” Logan snapped, “when you have spent the majority of those eighty-three days complaining about Roman’s perfect eyebrows.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “But…have you seen his eyebrows, L?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. Because I see him every day, Virgil. He is my best friend.”

“Then you should appreciate my struggle.” Virgil rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. “I’m completely doomed.”

“Just tell him!” Logan burst out. “This crush will not end of its own accord. You need to confess your feelings, if only to lay your mind at rest. Roman is not currently in a relationship with anyone. He is pansexual and panromantic and could very easily reciprocate your feelings. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t just tell him how you feel.”

Virgil groaned. “Is ‘everything’ a reason?”

“No.”

“Is ‘I just can’t’ a reason?”

“Also no.”

“Is ‘I’d rather die’ a reason?”

Logan raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Sometimes I don’t comprehend humanity.”

“Look, L, I…” Virgil struggled out from under his covers, pulling at a sleeve and avoiding his gaze. “What if he doesn’t like me? That way?”

“Then you will at least have some clarification instead of being stuck in a figurative limbo state.”

“What if it ruins our friendship? What if he thinks I’m weird or creepy or—”

“Virgil.” Logan carefully placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Roman is a good friend who values you deeply. I sincerely doubt this would ruin your friendship. Things may be different for a time, but you will not lose him over this. I promise.”

Virgil looked a little consoled. Still, he squeezed the blanket with both hands. “What if—what if he—”

Virgil fell silent. Logan tilted his head. “Yes?”

“Never mind, it’s…it’s stupid.”

“If it is bothering you, it’s not stupid.”

Virgil seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a second. Finally, he burst out: “What if he feels forced?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Logan said. “Could you elaborate?”

“What if he feels like…just ‘cause I like him…he needs to…” Virgil pulled at his sleeve, biting his lip. “I dunno…pretend? Date me to be nice? Out of pity? I don’t want…I don’t want him to feel…like he has to sacrifice his happiness so I can feel better.”

Something ached in Logan’s chest. It was a hard, sharp ache, with heat but no anger. Compassion, that’s what it was. Platonic love for his insecure, anxious, wonderful best friend.

“Virgil, look at me,” Logan instructed. Virgil slowly looked up, his brown eyes dark with worry. Logan reached out and brushed his purple bangs out of his eyes.

“Roman is not a cruel person.” Logan kept his voice soft, comforting. “He cares deeply about you, as I have said before. He would not string you on a figurative wild goose chase no matter his feelings for you. He is not a liar and he would not do such a thing out of pity for you. Roman does not, and never will, pity you.” Logan laughed quietly. “And sacrificing his own happiness for others sounds more like something you would do, Virgil.”

Virgil huffed with irritation. But his prickly expression soon faded. “Thanks, L.”

“It is my pleasure.”

Virgil nodded to himself. Then his face lit up, but just as soon as the excitement crossed his features, it flickered away again.

“What is it?” Logan asked, leaning forward on his chair.

Virgil bit his lip again. “Well…um, I had an idea…but it’s probably stupid and you don’t have to—um. Well. Maybe you could…see if Roman likes me? Ask him?”

Logan blinked. “Are you asking me to…clandestinely investigate whether Roman has romantic feelings for you as if we were back in high school?”

Virgil shrugged sheepishly. “…Maybe?”

“Unbelievable.” Logan sat back and crossed his arms. “Virgil, I would do many things for you. But I am not going to play matchmaker.”

“C’mon,” Virgil said. “I’ll let you have first pick at movie night and do your share of the dishes for a week and give you back your Alice in Wonderland puzzle book.”

“Tempting,” Logan admitted. “And if I do such a…juvenile venture, and find out that Roman holds romantic feelings for you, will you tell Roman of your crush?”

Virgil rubbed his face. “Do I have to?”

Logan gave him a level stare.

“Fine!” Virgil threw his hands in the air. “Fine. You win. If Roman likes me…maybe I’ll tell him. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Logan echoed.

“It’s the best you’re getting, Pocket Protector.” Virgil grinned. “Take it or leave it.”

Logan mulled over the question, but truly, it wasn’t much of a debate. He wanted Virgil to step up and take action. He wanted the pair of them to get together, if only to end Virgil’s ceaseless complaining. And…truly, he was a little curious who Roman did like. He often proclaimed that he wanted to sweep someone off their feet or slay a dragon for them or simply be in a romance, but Logan never heard a specific name attached to those fantasies. In fact, he couldn’t remember Roman ever talking about his crushes—strange indeed, when Logan had always thought of him as a romantic.

“Deal,” Logan said.

“Thanks, L. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I don’t think your life would be in jeopardy, unless you can die from pining—”

Virgil chucked a pillow at Logan’s head. “Shut up and get matchmaking, Cupid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Virgil grinned like a cat who’d eaten a canary. And Logan wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.

                                                                                                                                It took a little work to find time with Roman alone. Patton stuck to him like a barnacle—they were roommates and both were extremely clingy. In fact, they often acted like they were dating, but Logan supposed they were just very touchy friends.

Perhaps they were dating in secret. Or Logan just didn’t know about it because they’d chosen not to tell him because he didn’t understand relationships and—okay, he was starting to sound like Virgil. They were not secretly dating. Patton couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, and neither of them had any motivation to hide such a thing from Logan or Virgil. Roman was single and therefore, could possibly like Virgil back.

Logan just wanted Virgil happy and not pining sadly in his bedroom. Was that too much to ask for?

Finally, he managed to get Roman alone. It was during their traditional movie night, between Mulan and Pocahontas. Patton had realized they were out of popcorn and Logan convince Virgil to go with him to get some more. Virgil gave Logan a suspicious look, but after Logan motioned to Roman and quickly signed ‘I’ll ask him,’ Virgil let himself be dragged to the store with Patton. He didn’t seem entirely upset with the situation—though Virgil would deny it, he loved Patton. Though Patton never denied it, he loved Virgil back.

“Well, it’s just you and me, Specs.” Roman ducked behind the counter and came up with two mugs. He handed Logan the one that said ‘Best Mother Ever’ and kept the ‘I Drink Coffee to Hide the Pain’ mug for himself. Rooting around in the cupboard, Roman pulled out some hot chocolate mix.

“I’m not the best with this stuff—Patton’s a miracle worker, I swear—but I think it’ll do.”

“Hot chocolate in March?” Logan asked. “It’s fifty degrees outside.”

“Silence,” Roman ordered. “I’m bored and I wanna have sweet stuff. Don’t rain on my parade.”

Logan smiled as Roman began to make them the hot chocolate. Soon they both had a steaming mug of sweet melted chocolate. Logan stirred his and watched the steam curl in the air. Roman watched him out of the corner of his eye, a tentative smile on his face.

“What?” Logan asked.

Roman shrugged. “…Are you gonna drink it?”

Logan blew on the cup and took a sip. The sweetness warmed his throat, and he could feel it traveling to his stomach, making every extremity of his body warmer. Roman had stuck a sprig of peppermint

“It is…satisfactory,” Logan said, taking another sip.

Roman grinned. “Glad you approve, Microsoft Nerd.”

Logan sighed. “Why must you always insult me?”

“Hey, this is how I show my love!”

Jumping on this auspicious phrasing, Logan decided to put his plan into motion. Carefully maintaining his nonchalant tone, he said, “Is it now.”

“Yes!” Roman put his hands on his hips. “You may be insufferable and annoying and completely idiotic sometimes, but I care about you!”

A smile played around Logan’s lips. “Is that how you treat your princes and princesses? Insult them as you rescue them from the tower? I can’t imagine they’d like that very much.”

“Rude.” Roman shoved Logan, almost knocking over his ‘Best Mother Ever’ mug—why did they even have that mug? None of them were female—and giving him a roguish grin. “My romantic endeavors go just fine, thank you.”

“Oh really?” Logan tried to bridge the line between teasing banter and honest curiosity. Come on too strong, and Roman could get suspicious. “I wouldn’t know, you never talk about them.”

Roman shrugged. “I have to have some secrets, don’t I?”

Logan snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re dating someone in secret? A Romeo and Juliet situation, perhaps? I’m sorry to say that Patton might be a bit upset if you were banished for manslaughter.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Roman said, laughing. Quietly, he added, “Not for lack of trying.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. Roman fidgeted uncomfortably before taking a large sip of hot chocolate and avoiding Logan’s gaze. Unfortunately, that hot chocolate seemed to be too hot. Roman swore, jumping back and batting at his tongue. Logan poured him some water, which he downed. Roman soon recovered enough to begin moaning about his injury and threatening to “get my revenge on this accursed cocoa by any means necessary.” Before Roman could bring out his sword and challenge the mug to an Agni Kai, Logan decided to ask his big question.

“…Roman, do you…I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…”

Curses, why was this so hard? Roman’s face wrinkled in confusion and concern, eyebrows high.

“…Do you have feelings for anyone?”

Roman laughed lightly. “I have a lot of feelings, Specs. Be more specific.”

“Do you have…romantic feelings?” Logan clutched his cup. “I’m curious. You never speak about relationships in the specific…and you mention trying to date someone. It’s okay if you don’t want to disclose this information, but I would like to understand better.”

Roman sighed, staring into his cocoa. “It’s complicated, Specs.”

“Try me.”

“I…” Roman rubbed his hand across his eyes. “I don’t know. Yes, probably? There’s…someone I have in mind…but…oh, I don’t know. Why do things have to be so confusing? Where’s the line between they’re-just-a-friend and I-may-wanna-date-them? In stories it’s always so clear-cut, and they always fall for just—I mean, it’s always obvious that they like someone. It’s…it’s never been that way for me.”

Logan watched Roman with sympathy. “I can understand that. The line between platonic and romantic attraction is often blurry.”

“I know.” Roman was hunched over, tracing circles on the rim of his mug. “And I sincerely doubt anyone thinks of me that way, so it’s a moo point.”

“…a moot point.”

“That’s what I said.”

Logan chose not to comment. Instead, he said simply, “That’s not true.”

Roman’s head jerked up. “What?”

“That’s not true,” Logan repeated. Maybe he was breaking Virgil’s trust, just a little bit, but he could be vague. And how was he supposed to find out if Roman liked Virgil without bringing Virgil up?

“You mean…someone likes me?” Roman looked disbelieving, far too disbelieving, and Logan reminded himself to have another talk with Patton about Roman’s self-esteem.

Logan nodded. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say,” Logan said, raising his mug. “They wouldn’t want me to tell their secret.”

“That’s fair,” Roman said.

Logan took a sip of hot chocolate.

“…it isn’t you, is it?”

And Logan almost spit out said sip of chocolate.

Roman thought—wait, he thought—

This was not good.

Instead of being rational, instead of thinking this through, Logan’s heartbeat skyrocketed and he panicked.

“What?” Logan yelped. “No! No, no, hell no. I would never want to date you.”

Roman looked like he’d been slapped. Hurt blossomed over his face. “Wow, thanks,” he said, the sarcasm sharp with wounded pride. “Glad you think so much of me.”

“No!” Logan set down his coffee and ran his hands through his hair. “That…didn’t…I didn’t mean it like that. I have nothing against you. You’re just…” Excuse, excuse, something, something! “…not my type?”

“Not your type?” Roman looked slightly mollified, and, oh no, now he was smiling in that teasing way of his. “What is your type, then?”

Logan sipped his cocoa and tried to maintain a figurative straight face. “Someone who doesn’t light their hand sanitizer on fire by accident.”

Offended noises followed that statement. “That was one time!” Roman protested. “And it was Remus’ fault!”

“Of course it was.” Logan rolled his eyes. “You two are natural disasters and threats to the peace of this nation.”

“Thank you!”

Logan sighed into his hot chocolate. Silence fell, slightly uncomfortable but not grating.

Finally, Roman asked, “Who is it?”

“I told you,” Logan said, finishing his cocoa and setting down the mug. “I can’t say.”

Roman pouted. “Meanie.”

“You were the one who said it was fair!”

“Well, now I’m curious!” Roman complained. “Can’t you give me a hint?”

Logan looked into Roman’s eyes. “Who do you want it to be?”

A blush rose to Roman’s cheeks. He hurriedly looked away. “I dunno…I mean…”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Logan walked over to the sink and began washing out his mug. “And I do not judge.”

Roman sighed dramatically behind him. “Must you force me into this confession, oh heartless one?”

“I’m not forcing you into anything.”

Another dramatic sigh. “Fine. I—I like—”

And then there was an indistinguishable mumble. Logan turned off the water and looked behind him. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I like Patton,” Roman whispered.

Oh.

“…and Virgil.”

Oh.

Logan tried not to let his excitement show. “I…didn’t realize you were polyamorous.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Roman shrugged. His voice was strangely brittle. “Until…now, I guess.”

“Well.” Logan walked over and leaned on the counter next to Roman. “…Thank you. For telling me.”

Roman gave a small, insincere smile that quickly vanished. “You don’t think it’s…weird?”

“Of course not.” Logan channeled all his certainty into his words. “Many people are polyamorous. It’s not ‘weird’ any more than it is ‘weird’ for some people to be bisexual, or aromantic, or demisexual. It’s a way of experiencing sexual or romantic attraction that is no less valid than any other.”

“Huh.” That small smile returned, more sincere this time. “Thanks, Specs.”

“It’s no issue.”

“Thanks.” Roman fidgeted slightly. “It’s not fun, you know.”

“What isn’t?” Logan asked.

“I dunno.” Roman waved a hand in his usual flamboyant gesturing, but something about it was ragged. “Liking two people gives double the heartbreak. I’d settle for one of them—I’d love to be with one of them, but it’ll never happen.” Recovering himself, he pressed a hand to his forehead and wilted. “Woe is me, I shall never be loved by my loves.”

Logan chuckled. “How do you know?”

“Well, I did,” Roman clarified. “Now you’ve cruelly given me hope.”

“Cruel indeed.” Logan traced his fingers over the counter. “Imagine, one of the two people you’re closest to might have romantic feelings for you as well. How improbable. It’s not like platonic relationships often lead to romantic ones.”

Roman laughed. “I think you’ve been hanging out with Dee too much.”

“Roman,” Logan said. “It is not out of the picture for at least one of your objects of affection to reciprocate your feelings.” He avoided Roman’s eyes. “I, for one, think you are…a good person. Kind, smart, funny…I can see how someone might fall for you.”

Okay, this was getting into territory he didn’t like. Time to backtrack. “In fact, as you and I know, someone does hold those feelings for you.”

“Is it…one of them?” Roman asked. The hesitant hope in his face was almost heartbreaking.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Logan said. “Even if it was one of them, I wouldn’t know the feelings of the other.”

“Hmm.” Roman furrowed his brow. Then his face lit up. “Hey, Professor Plum?”

“Don’t call me that, the character in the movie Clue is a scoundrel and a disgrace to academia—”

“Miss White,” Roman corrected.

“Hardly better.”

“Wadsworth,” Roman settled on. “Could you—since you know about this—could you find out if either of them—”

Foreboding filled Logan. “Please don’t say you want me to—”

“—play Matchmaker?” Roman smiled sheepishly. “Maybe?”

“Oh, Newton.” Logan rubbed his eyes. “Roman, please say you’re joking.”

“I’m not!” Roman seemed pleased with the idea, the exact opposite of Logan’s feelings on the matter. “You could just ask Virgil and Patton if they like anyone, and see if either of them like me.”

“Roman.” Logan sighed loudly. “There are several fallacies with this plan. For one, I may already have information on them. For another, I would be betraying their trust by telling you. You could not gain any information from this venture and I am not going to be complicit in it—”

“…Please?” Roman asked. “You can just find out if they like anyone else, and then you can tell me if they don’t, if I have a shot, and—”

Something fiery and hot was growing in Logan’s chest. Annoyance or anger? Probably the former, since Roman didn’t mean to do this. Still...it burned.

“—and most likely I won’t, but there are two chances, right? And—”

“Roman.”

“��I’m just really curious now, I’m tired of pining—”

“Roman!”

“—this is turning into a romantic comedy, it’s painful—”

“Roman, Virgil likes you!”

Roman immediately froze. His eyes widened, then widened even further, until there seemed to be more whites than irises.

Something heavy and cloying twisted in Logan’s stomach. Shame? Guilt? Fear? Something, definitely. He’d betrayed Virgil’s trust.

But on the surface was still annoyance, and Logan let it out.

“He sent me to find out your crush and get me to play Matchmaker! Now you’re asking me to do the same thing, and I am most certainly not creeping behind both of your backs and being a double agent for your silly romantic antics! Please just communicate with each other like adults before I go insane!”

Roman’s mouth was hanging open. He closed it, swallowed, and opened it again.

“…Wait,” Roman said. “…Virgil likes me?”

“Yes.” Logan felt his anger fade.

“…Are you sure?”

“He’s been ranting about your beautiful eyelashes for months, so I’d say I’m pretty sure.”

Roman looked like Logan had smacked him in the face, let loose a flash grenade between his eyes, and began singing All Star in an Elvis costume. “Really?”

Logan wanted to chuck Roman at the wall. “Yes, really. I do not propagate falsehoods, Roman.”

“Wow.” Roman still appeared shell-shocked. “I didn’t expect…I mean…wow.”

“Wow indeed,” Logan said, pushing himself off the counter and heading to the couch. “Do what you will with this information, Roman. My part here is done.”

“Logan…” Roman followed, tossing himself on the couch and grabbing a blanket. “Thanks.”

“It was no problem. In fact, it was my pleasure.” Logan placed himself on the other side of the couch, reaching for the bowl of chips. “I am glad this ordeal is over with.”

“Well, it isn’t yet, Teach.” Roman smiled. “I still need to ask him out. I’m thinking the first day of spring, a garden—”

“Do it now.”

“What?”

“Do it now,” Logan said. “As soon as Virgil comes back. Before you can A) talk yourself out of it or B) design some ridiculously complicated endeavor that would most likely leave Virgil overwhelmed.”

Roman scoffed. “When have I ever done something like that?”

Logan pointedly glared at him.

Roman sunk into the couch cushions, crossing his arms petulantly. “Fine.”

“Good.”

Roman grabbed the TV remote and turned the TV back on. The loading screen for Pocahontas showed. He pressed play.

“They’ll miss it,” Logan complained.

“We’ll start it over.” Roman’s face was determined in the light of the screen, which accentuated the flop of his brown hair and the firm jaw that swept under his crooked smile. Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to see whether Roman’s eyebrows were anything special. They appeared normal, brown and defined, but maybe from another angle—

“What are you doing?” Roman asked, turning and meeting Logan’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Logan said. “Let’s watch.”

They made it fifteen minutes into the movie before Patton and Virgil returned. Patton had gotten sidetracked with petting a cute dog and the store had a long line. Virgil dumped the popcorn in a bowl and Patton gave Logan and Roman hugs despite seeing them only half an hour before.

“You started already?” Virgil complained.

“Rest easy, Maleficent. We’ll start over.” Roman’s face darkened with a slight blush. “But um…actually…could we talk for a sec? Alone?”

Panic flitted over Virgil’s face. He glanced at Logan, who gave him an encouraging smile.

“O-okay,” Virgil agreed, fidgeting with his hoodie. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Roman led Virgil down the hallway to Patton’s bedroom. “Pat, is it okay if we go in here? My room’s a mess.”

“Sure thing, kiddo!” Patton called. Roman smiled and they walked through the doorway, Roman shutting the door behind them.

“What’re they up to?” Patton asked, settling on the couch next to Logan.

“Can’t tell you that,” Logan said. “I’ve spilled enough secrets today.”

Patton looked at him curiously but apparently decided not to comment.

And they sat in silence, Patton munching on the popcorn, Logan watching the clock and praying whatever was going on, it was good.

After five minutes, Virgil and Roman emerged. Roman was beaming, and Virgil had a small, shy smile on his face. Logan noticed their hands were brushing each other—not intertwined, not yet, but comfortably side-by-side.

Virgil sat next to Logan and Roman sat next to Patton. Patton’s questions about their conversation were brushed off, and Patton soon conceded the issue and turned on the movie again. As Pocahontas sang, Virgil leaned over to Logan and punched him in the arm. Logan hissed in pain. “What was that for?” he whispered.

“Telling him.” Virgil was smirking, however, and Logan knew he was forgiven.

“It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Virgil looked over at Roman, whose smile still hadn’t faded. Roman saw Virgil and smiled even wider, getting a smile in return.

“Yeah, I think it did.”

                                                                                                                               Something was wrong with Patton.

It was about three months since Roman and Virgil had begun officially dating. The amount of pining-based rants had sharply dipped. Unfortunately, they were replaced by what-do-I-wear-to-a-coffee-date rants and holy-shit-we-kissed-Logan-we-kissed-help rants and what-if-he-secretly-hates-me-should-I-break-up-with-him-before-he-does rants. What’s more, he also began receiving more calls and texts from Roman along the lines of “What’s Virgil’s favorite food” and “Does he like park dates” and “He hasn’t texted me back yet does he hate me is he going to break up with me,” so Logan resigned himself to his fate. Dating they might be, adorable and sweet and supportive they might be, but Logan would still have to deal with their gay panic.

However, his somewhat inept support of them had apparently deemed him “Emotionally Competent.” It was a false label and a new label, replacing his old one of “We Ask Him About Stars, Not Feelings.” Logan didn’t feel he deserved this new designation, but like it or not, he was now someone who could Help With Feelings.

That’s why he was the one talking to Patton.

Well, that wasn’t the whole story. It was also because Patton’s strange behavior was mostly limited to Roman and Virgil. He was kind and sweet and cheerful, but his smile always seemed strained when in their company. More often than not, he excused himself from group activities early, only talked to Logan, or even—according to a concerned Virgil—being strangely distant one-on-one. Sometimes Logan spotted Patton staring at Roman and Virgil, an inexplicably sad look on his face, but when confronted he immediately smiled and said it was nothing. Roman and Virgil, worried they had done something wrong, enlisted Logan to discover the source of the problem.

And the newly Emotionally Competent Logan couldn’t say no.

It was Patton, after all. Sweet, lovely, amazing Patton. If something was truly wrong, he would not hesitate to attempt assistance. He cared deeply for Patton. And although his recent behavior didn’t extend to Logan—in fact, by process of elimination, Logan actually ended up being with Patton more than on average—he still wanted the old Patton back.

So, after an afternoon in Patton and Roman’s apartment that consisted of a violently competitive game of Monopoly—Roman tried to place a hotel on a railroad, Patton traded properties with everyone to help them win, and after Logan collected the Free Parking money totaling 564 dollars, Virgil chucked a shoe at his head—Logan decided to stay behind, help Patton clean up the mess, and ask him a few questions.

Patton seemed to be his normal self. He gladly assisted Logan with the cleanup, cracking jokes and telling the story of a very nice cat he’d met at the animal shelter he volunteered for.

“You’re allergic to cats,” Logan pointed out for the twenty-seventh time.

“I know,” Patton said with a pout. “But she was so cute! And her little fluffy ears…she was purr-fect!”

“I do hope you took your medicine.”

“Of course I did, kiddo!”

Logan smiled. “Roman reminded you, didn’t he?”

Patton giggled and booped Logan’s nose. Had they been with company, Logan wouldn’t have allowed such a thing. But Patton was exhilarating, energetic, so full of life, so contagious—and no one could see anyway. He didn’t mind. In fact, he leaned forward and booped Patton back. Patton’s delighted squeal was worth it.

Tossing a few more pieces into the box, Logan debated how he would tackle the issue. He didn’t want to alarm or upset Patton, or force him to tell anything he didn’t want to. What’s more, Patton would probably deny the problem like he often did, pretending everything was fine. Getting around Patton’s emotional wall would be a challenge.

It was a good thing Logan liked challenges.

But he’d been silent for too long. Patton’s face furrowed in a frown, and he leaned forward, tapping Logan on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Logan said.

“You just…kinda spaced out there for a sec.” Patton tilted his head. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

Logan closed the box. “Yes. I think so.”

“Well, then.” Patton sat on the carpet and patted the spot next to him. “I’m all ears!”

Logan hesitantly sat next to Patton. “You’re not all ears, you consist of many different organs—”

Patton giggled. “So I ‘ear.”

“Alright then.” Logan decided to let the pun slide. “Patton…I…”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Patton’s voice was soft. “You can talk to me.”

Then Logan realized. He couldn’t think of this like a puzzle or a mystery like with Roman. Patton responded to emotion. If he wanted results, he needed to have an honest, emotional conversation.

Shit.

Well, here went nothing.

“Patton, I’m worried about you.”

Patton blinked. A startled laugh escaped his mouth. “Wha—me?”

“Yes.” Logan maintained eye contact—Patton’s eyes were blue, contrasting with his curly blond hair. They reminded Logan of freshwater pools, teeming with life, or the shade of the Earth when seen from space. “You’ve been behaving strangely, and I’m worried. Is everything alright?”

“Well, shucks!” Patton smiled. “I appreciate the concern, kiddo, but I’m doing fine-and-dandy over here. Why are you worried?”

“Because you’ve been distant.” Logan’s eyes were beginning to sting from the prolonged eye contact, but he kept looking at Patton. “You’re avoiding Roman and Virgil. You’re talking to me instead of them. They’ve noticed too, and they’re worried they did something to hurt you. Something that made you…wary. Closed-off.”

Patton’s smile faded for a second. “Ro and Virge? They think I…I’m mad at them?”

“They want to make sure you’re okay.” Logan finally dropped his gaze. “So do I.”

Patton made a little sad noise in his throat. “I…I’m not mad at them! I never meant them to think—they didn’t do anything! They’re wonderful!”

“I’m glad, and I suspected that,” Logan said. “So could you tell me, if they haven’t done anything…why are you avoiding them?”

Patton pressed his lips together. His smile was completely gone now.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” Logan said. Carefully, he reached out and touched Patton’s arm. “But I care about you. We care about you. If something is hurting or inhibiting you…we want to help.”

Patton gave a short, shaky nod. “I—”

“Take your time.”

“I—” Patton’s face crumpled. “I’m being stupid.”

“I hardly think so,” Logan said. “If it is distressing you, it is not stupid.”

“Right.” Patton gave a watery smile. “You know, Logan, I never told you how much I like that tie of yours! It adds a lot to your a-tie-re, you should knot think of giving it up en-tie-rly!”

Logan ran his hand down his blue tie. “Thank you, Patton.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo!”

“…but you’re deflecting,” he added softly. Carefully, letting Patton stop him if he wanted to, Logan placed his arm around Patton’s shoulders. “I’m not asking you about my tie. I’m asking about you, Patton.”

Patton’s shoulders began to shake under Logan’s arm, and before he knew it, his best friend was crying into his shirt.

Logan didn’t interrupt. He stroked Patton’s back gently, letting Patton release his tears. After a few minutes of sobbing, Patton hiccupped twice and began to apologize.

“Stop,” Logan murmured. “It’s not your fault. You needed to get that out.”

“I—” Patton began to cry again. “I’m being so selfish—they’re so nice, and wonderful, and they care about each other, they love each other, and I want them to be happy—they’re happy!—so why am I—why do I feel—"

“Breathe, Patton.” Logan lay a hand on Patton’s head and began stroking his hair. Patton clutched Logan’s polo shirt tighter, almost hugging him as he cried. At this point Patton was almost in Logan’s lap, curled into his chest, pressed against Logan��s heart.

“It’s okay,” Logan said, letting Patton’s curls cascade around his hand. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m going to ruin it for them—”

“You love them.” Logan kept his voice quiet, giving Patton a chance to back out. “Yes?”

Slowly, Patton nodded.

“Then that is not your fault,” Logan assured him. “You cannot control your feelings any more than…any more than one can stop a river from flowing. Yes, you can dam up the river, but eventually it will break through and cause more damage. The only way to deal with the problem is to go with the flow.” Logan tenderly brushed a few locks of hair from Patton’s head. “You need to ride with the current, Patton. Ignoring the problem and pushing away people you love in the process…that’s repression, and just like with the dam, it will only make things worse when emotions do break through.”

Patton gave a watery giggle. “You’re so smart, Lolo.”

Logan felt something twitch at the nickname—annoyance, probably. Annoyance that made his face burn red. But now was not the time.

“…I have to tell them, don’t I?” Patton asked quietly.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Gently, Logan took Patton’s hands and pulled them from his shirt, folding their fingers together and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Patton’s hands. “But I would recommend it.”

Patton’s lip wobbled. “What if they hate me? Or they think I’m weird, or—”

Despite himself, Logan smiled. “Any excuse you give me, believe me. I’ve heard it before. When Virgil and Roman didn’t want to confess their feelings. I think we both know how that turned out.”

He got a small, hesitant smile in return. A smile that could outshine the sun.

“They’re so wonderful…” Patton sighed wistfully, staring into nothing. “Virgil…Roman…they just—everything they do, they’re so strong, they—you know how wonderful they are, right, Lo?”

Logan thought of Virgil’s snappy retorts, Roman’s overblown theatrics, and how they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces. Night and day, moon and sun, yin and yang, opposites that complemented each other and helped each other grow. Virgil, with his wry smile and astute observations and sewing skills. Roman, with the theater he loved so much and the friends he loved even more, always ready to seize the day and create something new. They couldn’t see the worth within themselves, the light that shone in their eyes, but they could see each other’s. And Logan could see theirs.

“Yes, I know.” Logan smiled into Patton’s hair. “At least, I’m starting to.”

                                                                                                                               Despite Patton’s worries, the conversation went well. Roman, of course, was thrilled—he’d loved Patton for months. Virgil, although he admitted he had never thought of Patton that way, was still open to the idea. And after a few months, it was clear he was falling head-over-heels.

It was the three of them now. Virgil-Roman-Patton. Virgil and Roman’s snappy banter and nervous kisses were now complemented by Patton’s boundless compassion and propensity for snuggling. It was not uncommon for Virgil to spend the night at Roman and Patton’s apartment, the three piled on the couch amidst various blankets and pillows, The Emperor’s New Groove playing as they fell asleep.

Of course, despite Logan’s new status as the figurative Fourth Wheel—a misleading term, because four-wheeled mechanisms of transportation were far more common than three-wheeled ones—they still made sure Logan felt included. They still had movie nights, one-on-one conversations, friendly walks to the park or to the store. Logan didn’t begrudge their new need for only-the-three-of-them days. It made sense—they were dating. They wanted time on their own. And it made something in his chest loosen with warmth when he saw them together, smiling and laughing, fitting together like pieces in a puzzle. They were his friends, and he was happy they were happy. Even if ridiculous levels of PDA did make his chest sting a bit.

The day things changed wasn’t a day at all. It was a night, and it was a night in the city, and it was the night Logan realized something very important.

The problem was, it would have been a great night if he hadn’t.

It was fall. The air was nippy and chilled, leaves beginning to lose their chlorophyll and reveal the fiery shades underneath. Virgil was already counting down the days until Halloween—Logan came home from school one day to see him draping spiderwebs across every available surface, bopping along to This is Halloween.

Roman had just landed a part in a local production of Into the Woods—Prince Charming. Virgil jumped on the opportunity for a nickname and soon Prince Charming, or Princey for short, was his pet name for Roman. Roman acted offended, but it was a term of endearment and a reminder of his success as an actor, so Logan guessed he didn’t really mind.

To celebrate, Patton decided they should all go out for dinner together. He recommended a Mexican place downtown, and Virgil and Roman were thrilled. Logan, assuming it was going to be a date, didn’t respond to the invite. That got him yelled at.

Princey: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T INVITED

Princey: WE MADE THESE PLANS IN THE GROUP CHAT

Princey: THE GROUP CHAT THAT YOU ARE IN

Princey: IF WE DIDN’T WANT U, WOULD WE HAVE TOLD U WHEN/WHERE/WHY IT WAS HAPPENING?

Pattoncake: Calm down Ro!!

Pattoncake: it was just a misunderstanding

Pattoncake: but you’re coming right Lolo?

Princey: You’d better

Princey: This is a night to celebrate MY AMAZINGNESS and ALL my favorite people must be there

Emo Nightmare: if u don’t come i’ll probly end up murdering princey for singing agony too much

Princey: IT IS A GREAT SONG AND I WILL FIGHT YOU WITH MY BEAUTIFULLY MANICURED SWORD

Pattoncake: okay let’s calm down, no murder on Roro’s big night!

Emo Nightmare: ok I wont kill princey

Emo Nightmare: but ill kill L if he doesn’t show up

Pattoncake: That’s not really better.

Princey: I stand with you Virgil! The nerd shall come or be PUNISHED BY DEATH!

Emo Nightmare: yep

Pattoncake: No!!!!

Pattoncake: if he doesn’t come, that’s okay

Pattoncake: I’ll just eat all his crofters! I’m sure he won’t mind!

Emo Nightmare: holy shit patton’s bringing out the big guns

Lo-bot: Fine. I will come. Please do not threaten me or my jam.

Princey: Wait that worked?

Pattoncake: I know Lolo well!! ;)

Emo Nightmare: okay that was actually kind of terrifying

Lo-bot: Also, please stop calling me LoLo.

Emo Nightmare: quiet lolo

Princey: LMAO already changed your name

Lolo: …Pardon me while I scream.

So Logan went to the date—the not-a-date-anymore, the date-except-Logan-is-here. He met up with Patton and Roman and Virgil, the brisk autumn wind making his cheeks red, wearing a woolen greatcoat and grey checkered scarf. Virgil said he was overdressed for the temperature. Patton said he looked like Sherlock. Roman said that the eighteen-hundreds called and they wanted their nerd back.

Patton was wearing a pale blue shirt and a cardigan with soft jeans. Little cat patterns were sewed on his knees. Virgil had his usual black-and-purple hoodie, and Roman had a red-and-gold jacket over a plain white shirt. They made quite the team, walking down to the restaurant, Roman waving at everyone and Patton running up to pet every dog in the vicinity.

The restaurant’s food was delicious. They got several plates of food and shared them—a pile of roasted chicken, a bean soup, a salad, a bowl of yucca fries, and other wraps and dishes. Roman only sang Agony once, and he kept his volume low.

“What else?” Patton asked as they stretched, bellies full, and made their way to the door. “It’s dark but it’s still early.”

They decided to walk around the city for a while. The lights were on, windows glowing in the dark. Streetlights illuminated their skins, creating halos of light around Patton’s curly hair and Virgil’s smug smile and Roman’s breathless grin. The sidewalk was busy, the roads even busier, but they still had stretches to themselves. It was a wild night, the sort of night that seemed separate from any day before or after it, crisp and clear and alive.

Laughing and talking, the four walked down a few blocks. They had no destination in mind, but there was something to see around every corner. Even though Logan knew this city like the back of his hand, everything looked different in the dark.

“This is wonderful,” Patton breathed. His hand was intertwined with Virgil’s, and he was leaning slightly on Roman’s shoulder. “Thank you guys.”

“No problem, Pop Star,” Virgil muttered fondly.

“Thank you!” Roman exclaimed. “It was your idea, after all.”

Logan opened his mouth to add something, but instead, he stayed silent. He had noticed, all of a sudden, that he was slightly apart and slightly behind the three of them. They walked like a single organism, intertwined and in-step. Logan was tacked on at the end, out of sync.

Not a fourth wheel, but a fourth point on a triangle. A fourth leg on a tripod. A fourth Musketeer. There was a fourth Musketeer, he vaguely remembered from English class, but he wasn’t important. He certainly wasn’t memorable.

The Rule of Three. Everything came in threes—heaven earth underworld, comedy tragedy history, reduce reuse recycle. Virgil-Roman-Patton.

So what if he was the fourth wheel? They wanted him here. They asked him to come. They were still his best friends.

Logan shook off the thoughts and walked faster, joining up with the others again. Conversation had moved on without him, and he struggled to get a sense of the discussion.

“Anywhere we want to go?” Roman was asking.

“I need more ramen,” Virgil said.

“We’re not going grocery shopping on a date—on Roman’s day,” Patton quickly amended. Logan ignored the stab he felt at those words. “And I can just cook some real noodles for you! You need to eat healthier food anyways.”

“Ramen is healthy,” Virgil grumbled.

Logan looked around and saw a bookstore nearby. It was one of his favorites, actually, and the lights were still on. They’d been there before, the four of them looking for birthday presents for each other, hiding books behind themselves and trying to clandestinely pay for them, finding strange books and funny books and books for kids and simply having fun. Patton squealing as Roman picked him up and deposited him on a beanbag, Virgil doing a dramatic reading of Fifty Shades of Grey, Logan purchasing a Ravenclaw robe and refusing to take it off. It was one of Logan’s favorite memories, and afterwards, he’d returned to the bookstore because when he closed his eyes, he could hear their laughter and watch Patton blush and Virgil smirk and Roman gasp and all of them together.

Logan opened his mouth to suggest they go to the bookstore, but Patton had already suggested something else, and Roman was pressing a kiss to Patton’s head and leading them on, and something was twisting in Logan’s throat. Something ugly, choking, white-hot. He remained silent.

Slowly, he drifted away.

Finally he was almost six feet behind them, watching them glow in the street lights, snatches of conversation and laughter drifting back to him. He watched Virgil shove Roman and Roman shove Virgil back, Patton inserting himself between the pair and chiding them.

Logan felt…he felt like something was clawing at his insides. He felt like his breath was labored, something jammed in his throat. He felt a terrible fire kindling in his stomach, and another burning sensation around his eyes. His mouth was dry and his hands were clenched so his knuckles showed white caps of bone.

This wasn’t feeling left-out. This wasn’t just feeling like a fourth wheel. It was something more.

Carefully, Logan peeled back the anger—was it anger? Just pain? Sadness? Fear? He didn’t know, he couldn’t tell, but something was definitely hurting, shattered and broken and piercing his veins.

It was want, crawling through him.

Of course. He wanted things to be normal, he wanted them to be friends without crashing a date every time he came with. He wanted time with them, he wanted—he wanted—

He wanted to be there, under the streetlights, as Patton shivered and Roman pulled his jacket off. Soon Patton was wearing it over the cardigan, a ridiculous combination that he managed to pull off. He wanted to be with them, not six feet behind, getting no glances or acknowledgments. He wanted to slot between them like a piece to their puzzle, feel Roman’s arm as it wrapped around Patton and Virgil, link hands with Patton like Virgil did with Roman, let Patton give a kiss to his cheek like—

Oh.

Oh.

Logan stopped dead on the sidewalk.

Oh, shit.

Frantically, he tried to think of another explanation for his feelings. But now that he’d admitted even a sliver of it to himself, a figurative dam broke in his mind. Hundreds of glances, touches, flutterings in the chest, suddenly made sense. Patton, Roman, Virgil, his best friends, who he’d spent years with. Patton’s smile, Virgil’s laugh, Roman’s voice—they were as much a part of Logan as his DNA.

He loved them. He always had.

But…he didn’t just love them as friends, did he?

Friends didn’t want to hold hands with other friends. Friends didn’t want to kiss other friends. Friends didn’t want to walk down a gleaming sidewalk at night, shoulders bumping together, steps all in sync.

Logan was still motionless. Lights glowed around him, but the world seemed blurry and off-kilter. He couldn’t feel the cold on his cheeks or the warmth of his scarf. He closed his eyes and opened them. The world was still disorientating, swimming around him, lights dancing like fish in the ocean.

Up ahead, Roman-Virgil-Patton had stopped at a crosswalk. After a few seconds, Virgil looked back, probably assuming Logan was a few steps behind them. Alarm crossed his face when he realized Logan was still standing in the center of the sidewalk.

Logan tried to shake some sense into himself as Virgil approached. He couldn’t just stand there! They’d get concerned! He took a wobbly step forward, then another. His feet seemed disconnected from his ankles.

“Lo?” Virgil asked. Roman and Patton were behind him, identical expressions of worry on their faces. “Everything okay?”

Logan opened his mouth to say he was fine, they should just continue. But did he want to keep walking with them? Did he want to keep crashing their night, keep staring at what he couldn’t have? They didn’t need him here, that much was obvious. He should just make it easy on them and leave of his own accord.

“I am adequate,” Logan said. “However, I have just realized it is later than I expected. Due to my classes tomorrow that necessitate an early rise, I must ask for permission to conclude this venture.”

Here he went with the overly complex words. Although Logan had a naturally sesquipedalian nature, he noticed a marked increase in long sentences when he was nervous. Hopefully the others would dismiss the verbal tic as ‘Logan being Logan.’

Patton checked his watch and gasped. “Oh my goodness, it is late! Almost ten o’clock already! I’m so sorry, Lolo!”

“It is no trouble,” Logan assured him. “It is only natural that you lost track of time.”

Virgil shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then? We can head back.”

“Aw, come on.” Roman pouted. It looked far less cute when he did it than Patton. “Can’t Specs miss one class for me? The night’s just getting started. Who cares about proper education when you could be with us?”

“My teachers,” Logan pointed out. “And myself.”

“Boo.”

“Now, now, Roman!” Patton waggled a gloved finger at his boyfriend. “You gotta respect Lolo’s decision. He’s his own person. And he was very kind to take the evening off to support you.”

“Ugh, fine.” Roman sighed. “Let’s go back.”

Logan frowned. Something tugged at his stomach when he thought about them ending their adventure early on his account. “You can continue on without me. I do not mind.”

“No, it’s okay!” Patton smiled. “It’s about time to turn in!”

“I insist,” Logan said. “I do not want your evening to conclude preemptively due to my own scheduling.”

“It won’t be the same without you,” Roman complained.

Logan couldn’t resist snapping back. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Virgil and Patton glanced at each other. Fortunately, they decided not to comment. Virgil only said “Be careful walking home on your own. Text me when you get back.”

“I will. Thank you for your concern.” Logan stuffed his fingers in his pockets and turned away. “I hope you have a wonderful night.”

“Bye!” Patton called, waving frantically.

“Farewell!” Roman proclaimed.

Virgil gave his customary two-fingered salute.

Logan simply raised a hand in return, turning the corner and walking out of sight.

And the universe granted him a small boon—it began to rain, softly and gently on the concrete. Soon Logan was dripping wet, droplets sliding down his face.

When he began to cry, he knew no one could tell. His tears were hidden by the rain.

So Logan Mackenzie let himself cry.

                                                                                                                                Logan could not avoid the others. He lived with Virgil, after all, and Roman and Patton both loved attention and were intuitive enough to pinpoint when something was wrong. So Logan knew it was fruitless to try and push them away. They would only get suspicious, concerned, and hurt.

Still, illogical as he knew it was, he tried.

For three days he didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t speak with Roman or Patton. When Virgil knocked on his door or asked him questions, he fielded them with monosyllabic replies and assertions of “Everything is fine, I am just caught up with studying.” Virgil didn’t buy it—of course, of course he didn’t buy it, he was so smart and perceptive and that was one of the millions of reasons Logan loved him, and here he went down that rabbit hole again.

It was like realizing his feelings had opened a figurative floodgate. Roman, Patton, and Virgil were on his mind all the time. He drank coffee and was reminded of Roman’s cocoa. He wrestled with math equations and remembered tutoring Virgil in high school. He closed his eyes at night and thought of Patton, curled up by his side.

Logan couldn’t take it.

Once in a while he checked his phone. The long lines of worried texts from Patton and Roman made something squeeze in his chest. He waited for them to inevitably peter out and stop. They didn’t.

They probably thought he was sick or dying or something. Hadn’t Virgil told them he was perfectly fine? Sure, they may have assumed he was suffering from some sort of emotional problem, but did that really deserve all this concern?

Finally, after a particularly desperate bout of texting around midnight, Logan wrote back. He kept it short and simple.

Lolo: In response to your queries, I am doing well. Please cease your attempts to contact me. Thank you.

Logan honestly didn’t expect them to write back. He’d given them an easy out from the situation. They no longer had to feel guilty about him and could go about their lives.

But—

Princey: WHAT

Pattoncake: Kiddo are u okay?

Princey: LOGAN WE’RE NOT GONNA STOP WHAT

Pattoncake: u know we love u, right?

Emo Nightmare: call me

Pattoncake: you’re our friend

Princey: YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT

Emo Nightmare: logan please call me

Emo Nightmare: now

Logan swallowed. Slowly, he dialed Virgil’s number.

Virgil picked up on the first ring. “Dude, what the hell?”

“I—”

“No. Shut up. I’m going to keep talking.” Virgil paused and sighed. “L…we’re really worried about you.”

“Where are you?” Logan asked.

“Ro and Pat’s.”

Logan bit his lip. “Of course.”

“I can come home.” A loud rustling sounded from Virgil’s end. “I’m putting on my jacket, I can be there in ten—”

“Not necessary, Virgil.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. He’d prefer it if he didn’t have to see Virgil’s face at all, with the soft purple bangs hanging over his dark eyes and the light freckles he pretended he didn’t have and—

Off topic.

“I just…” Virgil’s voice was soft and concerned, and Logan cursed himself for making that worry appear. “This is so sudden, L. Did we do something? Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad!” Logan hastily said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what?” Virgil asked. “I…look, L, if we made you feel—uncomfortable, or anything, I’m sorry…”

“Uncomfortable?”

“You seemed pretty out-of-it when we celebrated with Roman, I guess I just assumed.” Virgil paused. “You’re my friend too, and I care about you. No matter if I’m dating you or not.”

“Right.” Logan swallowed. “What about Patton and Roman?”

“What about them?” Virgil asked incredulously. “They’ve been texting you frantically for the past three days, Patton’s stressbaked enough food to end world hunger twice over, and Roman’s temper is on a hair trigger. You really think they don’t feel the same way I do?”

Logan ran his thumb across his phone case. “No, I—”

“You what, L?” Virgil’s voice dropped. “Please. I’m worried about you. Just…talk to me.”

What could Logan say? That he suddenly realized he had been harboring crushes on his three best friends for perhaps a year and a half? That he didn’t want to see them again because it would only deepen the infatuation and he was bound to give himself away or look like a fool? That he didn’t want to make his friends uncomfortable, because it would be nothing but awkward if the truth did come to light?

“It’s complicated.” Logan sighed. “I…I have a few things I need to figure out, Virgil. Just…can you give me some more time? A week?” That wouldn’t be enough time to suffocate his affections entirely, but it could allow him to think of a better game plan. “Stay at Patton and Roman’s apartment for a while. I know you do that often anyway. I just…I need some time alone.”

Virgil was silent for a few seconds. “Can you promise Patton’s three rules? You’re not hurting anyone, no one’s hurting you, you’re not hurting yourself?”

Logan channeled all his certainty into his voice. “No one is being harmed. This is not a matter of such grave importance. It is just an—identity issue.”

“Well, alright. If you say you need it.” Virgil didn’t sound fully convinced. “You can always call me or Pat, okay? There’s extra food in the freezer, make sure you have your full meals and go to bed at a reasonable time, okay?”

“Virgil, it is currently one in the morning.”

Virgil paused. “Huh. So it is.”

Logan clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Whatever. My point still stands. Go to bed.” Logan could almost hear Virgil’s smirk. “Always keeping me on my toes, aren’t you, L?”

“You don’t need any help with that,” Logan said.

“True, I’ve got the anxiety.” Virgil clicked his tongue. “So…well…I guess that’s that, then? Call me anytime, eat your veggies, brush your teeth, listen to your parents?”

Logan huffed. “I should be telling you that instead.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said. “You’ll be okay?”

“I…” Logan hesitated. “I hope so.”

“Me too,” Virgil muttered. “Because I love Patton’s baking, I promise, but I’ve eaten more cookies than should be humanly possible. I don’t think my hoodie will fit anymore.”

Logan laughed again. “I will take that into account.”

“All right.” Virgil’s voice dipped. “Love you, L.”

It was a simple phrase. They said it all the time, platonically. It was a way of expressing affection, and although Logan had trouble verbalizing feelings and Virgil had trouble showing emotional vulnerability, they had both gotten better at the phrase over the years. It slipped out easily now, with barely a second thought. Of course he loved Virgil. And Patton and Roman.

But in light of recent revelations, even such a simple phrase made Logan’s heart simultaneously speed up and stop altogether. These cardiopulmonary abnormalities were highly irritating.

“I…” Logan’s mouth was dry. “Thank you, Virgil.”

Before Virgil could respond, he tapped the End Call button and tossed his phone on the desk, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand down his nose. That was a disastrous phone call if he’d ever participated in one.

At least he got a week to figure things out. Perhaps he could find a way to hide his feelings or better yet, get rid of them altogether. Perhaps he could land a job in Tokyo and move across the world and never have to face them again.

Perhaps he was being a tad dramatic.

A week without the others. This would be good for him, he told himself. He would enjoy it. It didn’t matter that he found himself dreading a week without Virgil’s dry sarcasm and tendency to sit everywhere except on chairs, Roman’s incessant singing of Disney songs and inability to remember history if it wasn’t events in Hamilton or Les Miserables, or Patton’s favorite cat hoodie and his weekly “experiment” meals where he added lots of cumin or onion to a dish and the others had to taste the aftermath. It didn’t matter that he would eat alone, do his homework alone, watch movies alone. That was exactly what he wanted.

Suddenly, the apartment felt very empty.

Logan turned off his lights, changed into his pajamas, and tucked himself into bed. It was a long time before he slept.

He did not spend a week alone.

He spent the first four days of the week alone, burying himself in his studies and rereading Murder on the Orient Express whenever he got too bored. Despite his promise to Virgil, he stayed up later and later and mostly ate energy bars, leftover ramen, and a few strawberries from a jumbo pack of strawberries Patton had bought. Virgil did not call or text him. Roman called him once, leaving a voicemail that said “Is the Mona Lisa only famous because it was stolen? Virgil and I disagree on the matter.” Logan did not call him back.

Patton kept texting him, however. Perhaps Virgil hadn’t explained that Logan wanted to be left alone, or perhaps Patton had simply disregarded the instructions entirely. Whatever the case, Patton continued to send him Patton Texts™ at random times. A Patton Text™ was a text sent with the express purpose of cheering someone up, usually consisting of a cute animal picture, a clean meme, a fun news story, a dad joke, or, occasionally, a dirty meme. Patton Texts™ didn’t require a response, a purpose, or any sort of context. They just existed. It was, Logan had to admit, rather sweet.

On the fourth day, Logan woke up to a photo of a kitten with its head stuck inside a box, a horrible pun (What do you call a country where everyone drives a pink automobile? A pink carnation!) and a reminder that he needed to ‘TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF OR I WILL PHYSICALLY FIGHT U.’ Throughout the day, Patton sent him several cute cat videos. Despite himself, Logan always paused and watched them.

One part of him whispered that Patton only watched cat videos when he was sad. Logan tried his best to ignore that part.

It was late that evening when he got a text. Assuming it was another Patton Text™, Logan paused the documentary he was watching and pulled out his phone. However, it wasn’t Patton. It was a direct text from Virgil.

Virgil Conroy: L call me

Logan frowned. Why was Virgil contacting him? He had promised to respect his wishes. He wouldn’t text him unless—

Unless something was seriously wrong.

Quickly dialing Virgil’s number, Logan sprung up from the couch and tugged on his shoes.

It took five rings for Virgil to respond. When Logan said “Hello?” he got no answer.

“Virgil?” Logan asked. Listening closely, he could hear Virgil’s breathing. It was far too fast and frantic. In the distance, there was a loud thud, then another. Virgil began to breathe even faster.

“Virgil, can I assume you are suffering from an anxiety attack?”

There was no response.

“Virgil.” Logan grabbed his keys and dashed out the door, practically flying down the steps. “Tap the phone once for no and twice for yes.”

A pause, then a hesitant tap. Then another.

“Okay.” Logan walked down the sidewalk, weaving around people and taking the crosswalks at a run. “Can you breathe for me? In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8?”

A shuddering, deep breath. Logan started counting, still going as fast as he could. He barely needed to focus on the route—he knew the way to Patton’s apartment as well as the way to his own.

“You’re doing so great,” Logan said, rounding a corner. “You’re doing wonderfully, Virgil. Can you tell me five things you can see?”

“Um—” Virgil’s voice was shaky. “Uh, floor. Bed. My…my Nightmare Before Christmas posters. Window. Door.”

“Good. Four things you can feel?”

“Hoodie.” Virgil swallowed. “Floor. H-hair. Um…tears?”

“Okay.” Logan watched the traffic lights and bolted for the other side as soon as the walk signal glowed white. “Three things you can hear.”

“Traffic outside. B-birds.” Virgil sniffed. “Roman throwing stuff in the bedroom.”

That wasn’t good. Logan kept his voice level. “Two things you can smell?”

“Popcorn and burnt cookies?”

“And one thing you can taste.”

Virgil sighed. “Popcorn.”

“Great.” Logan slowed down as a mass of people crowded past him. “How do you feel?”

“N-not great, L. Obviously.” Virgil chuckled. “Um. Sorry for texting you, it was on instinct, I know you didn’t want to be bothered—”

“It is no trouble,” Logan insisted. “Your wellbeing is extremely important to me and I am glad I could assist.”

“Huh.”

“Virgil?” Logan asked.

“Yeah?”

“You do not have to, but…could you tell me what happened?”

Logan heard Virgil shift. “Argument,” he finally said. “Bad one.”

“Oh.”

“Ro and Pat were yelling a lot. I think Pat started crying. He’s in the bathroom now, I wanted to help him but all the yelling set me off, and—”

“Take a deep breath,” Logan said. “You did everything you could. Taking care of yourself is important, and you were very brave in reaching out. I’m—I’m proud of you.”

A siren wailed next to Logan as he jogged down the sidewalk. He was only a minute from Virgil’s apartment now.

“What was that?” Virgil asked.

“Siren.”

“Wh—” Virgil paused. “L, where are you?”

“I—” Logan looked around. “Oak Street?”

“Why on earth are you—”

“Give me a second, all right?” Logan pulled the phone from his ear. “I’ll talk in a second.”

Then he ran, leaping over cracks in the sidewalk and hurtling past trees, ignoring the confused looks of bystanders. The streetlights flashed above him, the sidewalk sparkling in the neon glow. Cars raced past him, careening through the night, headlights illuminating the haze. The windows and doors of the city rowhomes blurred together.

Finally, Logan skidded to a stop and climbed up the stairs to a brownstone at the end of the road. Slipping his hand under the small dog statue, he grabbed the key and turned it in the lock. The hallway was empty as he crept past the downstairs apartments, taking the stairs two at a time.

Patton’s apartment was unlocked. Logan didn’t bother knocking. The living room was empty, the TV still playing a paused scene from Lilo & Stitch, an abandoned popcorn bowl and pile of blankets on the couch. The kitchen lights were on, a few cookies left on the stove. The bathroom and bedroom doors were closed. A loud thump came from the bedroom on the far side. It sounded like someone punching a pillow, and indeed, that was probably the cause.

Logan pulled out his phone again. Talking quietly so as not to disturb anyone, he asked Virgil, “You’re in the bedroom?”

“Yeah—”

Logan walked forward and knocked on the bedroom door.

There was shuffling behind it, Virgil muttered “Just a sec,” and the door was opened. Virgil stood there, hoodie half-fallen from his shoulders, eyes red and hair mussed. He looked Logan up and down, mouth falling open.

“Did you—run here?”

Logan shrugged. Now that he was standing still, he realized how out-of-breath he was. “Yes.”

“I…” Virgil stared at him. “Wow.”

“You…” Logan reached out. “May I touch you?”

“Yeah.”

Logan placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “How do you feel now?”

“Better.” Virgil fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie, but Logan noticed he leaned into the touch. “Definitely calmer. I—hearing your voice helped.”

“I’m glad I could assist.” Logan pressed a thumb gently into Virgil’s back. “Can I get you some tea? You can sit on the couch while I make it, maybe listen to some music?”

Virgil paused and nodded.

“Good.” Logan led Virgil to the couch and gave him a few of the blankets and pillows. Virgil rolled his eyes but dutifully cozied up in the corner. Logan spared a moment to appreciate the adorableness of Virgil curled up like a burrito, pulling on his headphones, before he was off to the kitchen and brewing some tea. Chamomile, he decided, would be just the thing. As the water boiled, he pulled out his phone again and texted Patton.

Lolo <3: Patton, could you come out of the bathroom? I am making Virgil some tea and I assume you could benefit from it as well.

After a minute, his phone vibrated with a response.

Patton O’Rourke: ur here????

Patton O’Rourke: I thought u were havin alone time

Lolo <3: Circumstances change. Please emerge whenever you are comfortable.

Logan returned to the tea, finding four mugs and setting them out. Behind him, he heard a door creak open. Without turning around, he said, “Hello, Patton.”

“H-hey, Lolo.” Patton shuffled forward. “I can help with the tea.”

“That is fine,” Logan said, shooting Patton a reassuring smile. “Thank you for the offer, but I would rather you just sit with Virgil. I’m sure he’d love the company.”

Patton looked apprehensively at Virgil, as if afraid he would deny it. Virgil gave Patton a small wave and scooted over on the couch. Patton delicately sat on the other end, clutching his hoodie.

Soon the teapot whistled and Logan poured the tea into the four mugs. Bringing three of them to the couch, he handed one to Virgil and one to Patton. The third he placed on the coffee table.

“Is that for you?” Patton asked.

“Roman.”

Virgil gave Logan a disbelieving look. “He’s been throwing shit around for the past half an hour. You’re not getting him out for tea, dude.”

“Not immediately, no.” Logan sat on the floor across from them. “Drink. It’ll help.”

Virgil sipped at his tea. Patton stared into the mug and didn’t move.

“Patton?” Logan reached forward and placed a hand on his leg. “Would you like to talk?”

“I—” Patton clenched his teeth. “No, I—I’m fine—”

“Patton.” Logan stood up again and sat next to Patton on the couch. “You just went through an upsetting situation and many harsh words may have been exchanged. It is perfectly reasonable—in fact, it is encouraged—to react and experience emotions about this event.”

Patton shivered. “I—”

“Would you like me to hug you?”

Patton paused and nodded.

Logan carefully placed an arm around Patton’s shoulders, taking the mug of chamomile tea from his hand. Virgil politely avoided staring as Patton fell into Logan’s side, burying his face in Logan’s shirt. His shoulders began to shake, and Logan heard him start to cry.

Tilting himself carefully, Logan pulled Patton into his lap and placed a hand behind his head. One traitorous part of himself noticed how close they were, but Logan successfully shunned it. Patton seemed very small in his arms.

“Thank you, Patton,” Logan murmured.

Patton hiccupped. “F-for what?”

“For crying. It sounds like you need this, and I’m proud of your ability to release your emotions.”

“Sure.” Patton laughed bitterly into Logan’s chest. “You’re proud of the fact I can cry. That says a lot about me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but that is not necessarily a negative thing.” Logan reached over and began stroking Patton’s hair. “You have struggled with this in the past, and for you, this is an achievement. That doesn’t mean you’re lesser than anyone else. Your problems are your problems. Everyone has issues with some things.” Logan smiled. “Look at me, for instance.”

“If you—” Patton sniffled. “Talk bad…I will fight…”

“I know.” On instinct, Logan leaned forward and placed a kiss on Patton’s forehead. “Why don’t we leave that for later, okay? For now, do you think you could give Virgil a turn? Though I love cuddling with you, I need to check on Roman.”

Patton didn’t move. “Virgil…don’t wanna…wanna bother…”

“He’s right here, Patton.” Logan glanced at Virgil, who was still pointedly giving them space. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“He…” Patton hiccupped again. “Is he mad?”

“What?” Virgil gave up on pretending to ignore them. “Pat, no!”

“I know we…we were really loud…” Patton began to cry again. “And you got upset, and I couldn’t check on you…and I w-would understand if you h-hated me, we w-were s-stupid…I-I…”

Virgil looked shocked. “God, Pat, are you kidding? I couldn’t hate you!”

Patton simply cried louder.

“Can I…?” Virgil motioned to Patton, and Logan carefully uncurled Patton’s arms from his torso and shifted him down the couch to Virgil. Virgil reached out and Patton immediately collapsed into him, tucking his head into Virgil’s shoulder.

“Oh, Pat.” Virgil rubbed Patton’s back. “You made a mistake, but that’s okay. I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you, you’re the best fucking boyfriend ever. Don’t tell Roman.”

Patton looked up and gave a watery chuckle. “L-language, kiddo.”

“There he is. There’s my favorite Pat.” Virgil smiled softly and wiped a tear from Patton’s face. “I love you, okay?”

Patton smiled back and snuggled into Virgil’s hoodie. “Love you too.”

Logan quickly looked away, ignoring the rush of emotions in his stomach. Getting to his feet, he took the final mug from the coffee table and headed to the bedroom. The door was locked and he could hear nothing behind it.

Logan knocked on the door. “Roman?”

No response.

“Roman, could you please open the door?”

After a pause, someone mumbled “Go ‘way, Virgil.”

“This is not Virgil,” Logan said. “This is Logan.”

He jumped out of the way as the door flew open. Roman stood there, pajamas rumpled and eyes red, looking at Logan like he was the reincarnation of Nikola Tesla.

“Where—” Roman closed his eyes and opened them again. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. Virgil texted me.” Logan held out the mug. “Would you like some tea?”

Roman squinted suspiciously at the tea. “What kind?”

“Chamomile. I thought it would help calm everyone down.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite—” Abruptly, Roman shook his head. “No! I’m mad at you!”

“You are?” Logan kept his voice level.

“Yeah!”

“I was unaware.” Logan glanced towards Patton and Virgil, but they didn’t seem disturbed by the yelling. Virgil had slipped his headphones over Patton’s ears and was watching him fondly. “Why are you angry with me?”

Roman folded his arms and his face flushed. “’Cause you’re a fucking asshole!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Why do you think of me this way?”

“Don’t give me that sarcastic shit.”

“I was not intending to be sarcastic.” Logan waved a hand at himself. “You know I am not the best with sarcasm.”

“Shut up!”

Logan mimed zipping his lips and tossing the figurative key.

Roman rubbed his eyes. “You just waltz in here after like eternity days and knock on my door like ‘Hey what’s up remember me I exist.’ Like, what the fuck, Specs?”

“Unless I was mistaken, you agreed to the temporary separation,” Logan said. “Could you explain why it upset you?”

“I’m not upset!” Roman snapped. “I’m pissed! Can’t you tell?”

Logan looked at the tear tracks running down Roman’s face and his angry red snarl. “The two things are not mutually exclusive.”

“Get out of here with your science talk!” Roman growled. “Actually, hey, good idea! Get the fuck out in general. Leave.”

“Patton and Virgil wish me to be here,” Logan said, taking a deep breath and retaining his calm tone. Getting exercised would do no one any good. “Unless you have a solid reason for my departure, I shall remain.”

Roman frowned and violently scrubbed at his eyes. “I don’t want you here.”

“I’ve gathered.” Logan clasped the mug of tea in both hands, steam warming his fingers. “I understand your feelings about the situation. But I would like to understand the cause better. Why did my abstaining from social contact upset you?”

“’Cause you can’t just do that!” Roman burst out. “You can’t just up and walk out of the friend group! It’s not a normal thing to do!”

“Were you worried about me?” Logan asked. “Were you worried about my emotional or physical wellbeing? You should know that if something was seriously wrong, I would always tell you and the others.”

“I know, I—” Roman sighed. “I just—it came out of nowhere.” His voice tightened. “And what am I supposed to think? That you suddenly decided you wanted to be a hermit?” Roman’s hands balled into a fist. “I just don’t get it! If I did something wrong, have the fucking decency to admit it to my face!”

The last sentence was almost a shout. Virgil looked over at Logan, concern in his eyes. Logan gave him a reassuring nod before turning back to Roman, who looked about to throw something.

“Is that the problem?” Logan asked. “Do you think it was your actions that led to the situation?”

Roman glared at him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Roman.” Logan took a step forward, and Roman’s hands dug into the doorframe. “It was a personal issue of mine and I should have conveyed that better.”

Roman’s glare deepened.

“Is that what led to the argument?” Logan murmured. “Because you don’t need to stake your personal worth on my actions. I currently, and have always, considered you an amiable companion and a wonderful friend.”

Something in Roman’s expression broke.

Logan carefully set the mug down on the carpet. “Roman, would you like a hug?”

Roman eyed him warily. Logan opened his arms.

Roman rocketed into his grasp, grabbing at his shirt and burying his face in Logan’s shoulder.

“Alright. Alright.” Taking a page out of Virgil’s book, Logan rubbed circles on Roman’s back. “I have you, okay? I’ve got you.”

“I—” Roman’s voice choked up, and now he was crying. He cried differently than Patton, loudly and almost dramatically. “I—I th-thought you decided you d-didn’t like us anymore—I thought I—d-did something—you f-finally got t-tired of me—”

“I could never get tired of you,” Logan said. “Who else can debate about iambic pentameter with me? Patton still thinks it’s a weird flavor of ice cream.”

Roman gave a choked laugh that soon dissolved into more sobs.

“I love you,” Logan said, ignoring the flip in his stomach. “I love you, Roman. I love all of you.” His heart ached to leave it there, but his traitorous mouth added “You are my best friends.”

Roman’s hands squeezed tighter around Logan’s waist. Logan slipped one of his hands under Roman’s and grasped it lightly.

“Do you want to go to the couch now?” Logan asked. “You are rather heavy and I feel we could best continue this hug sitting down and perhaps with your boyfriends.”

Roman froze. “I don’t wanna.”

“Are you worried they’ll be mad at you?”

The way Roman pressed his face into Logan’s shoulder was answer enough.

“Virgil! Patton!” Logan called. Virgil looked over and Patton took off his headphones. “Roman has something he would like to say to you.”

“I d-do?”

“Yes.” Logan pulled his chin up. “You will apologize, and they will forgive you. Then you can cuddle together.”

“I—” Roman glanced at the others. “I—Pat? Virge?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I—” His face crumpled. “I’m so sorry, I—I got insecure and I was mean to you and I love you, I love you so much, I’m so sorry—”

Patton smiled. “I love you too, Ro. I forgive you—if you’ll forgive me?”

Roman wiped his eyes. “Of course.”

Virgil gave him a half smile. “It’s alright, Princey. I’m an idiot sometimes too.”

“C’mon over!” Patton added. “There’s more than enough room.”

Logan nodded, picking the mug back up and placing it in Roman’s hand. “Go ahead.”

With a grateful glance, Roman shuffled over to the couch. Patton held out an arm and Roman fell next to him, cuddling into his side. Virgil smiled and took Roman’s hand.

Logan spared a moment to watch them curl closer—they were so sweet—then walked over to the TV.

“You’ll probably be tired,” he said, grabbing the remote and closing Lilo & Stitch. “So we should put on something relaxing so you can fall asleep. Do you want to try a nature documentary? I find them quite calming in times of distress, as long as we choose to avoid the parts about global warming. Here’s an episode about lemurs. Would you like to watch that?”

Patton nodded, already dozing off in Virgil’s arms. Roman gave Logan a thumbs up.

Logan started the player. “Okay. Since you’ll be falling asleep here, we should minimize the uncomfortable nature of the couch.” He walked down the hallway and opened the linen closet, bringing back some extra blankets, comforters, and pillows. “Feel free to use these. If Virgil wishes, I can bring him anything he needs from our apartment. I’m aware you already have your headphones, but do you want your weighted blanket?”

Virgil paused and shook his head.

“Alright, thank you for clarifying.” Logan turned down the brightness of the TV. “That won’t hurt your eyes as much—Patton, take off your glasses, there you go—and I can turn off the lights throughout the apartment and lock the door on the way out. Is there anything else you need?”

Roman took a sip of tea, pulling a blanket over his legs. “Um, I think we’re good, Specs.”

“Lolo?” Patton shifted, hair covering his face. “Can I—um, I’d like—”

Logan smiled. “Let me guess. Your panda pillow?”

Patton smiled back.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Logan walked into Patton’s bedroom and took the soft panda pillow from the bed. Patton immediately brightened when he saw it and tucked it under his head, nestling into place with a soft sigh. The three of them were entangled now, legs intertwined. Patton rested on Virgil’s shoulder, Roman curled into Patton’s side, and Virgil’s arm stretched across the back of the sofa so he could hold hands with Roman.

“Is everyone all set to go?”

Roman sleepily nodded. The TV showed lemurs hopping back and forth. Virgil’s headphones were on again, his eyes trained on the screen.

“Good.” Logan turned off the kitchen lights and closed the open doors. “Then I will be going. I hope you have a pleasant rest and you can call me if you need me.”

Patton shifted, frowning. “You’re…leaving?”

“Well, yes.” Logan pressed his lips together. “The problem is concluded to the best of my ability, so I assumed I would take my leave.”

Virgil met his eyes. “Stay? Please?”

Heat seared across Logan’s face as Patton reached out and made little grabby hands.

Sighing—he couldn’t tell them no, he knew that, it was a physically impossible concept when they were so sleepy and soft and adorable and Newton was he hopeless—Logan moved back over and carefully placed his glasses on the coffee table. Patton tugged him into the pile of blankets, and after a few moments of maneuvering, Logan was secured firmly in the middle of the couch. On his left, Patton cuddled up to him, pressing into his shoulder and humming with contentment. Roman wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Virgil gave Logan’s hair a ruffle. On the screen, the narrator talked about the eating habits of lemurs. Everything was a blur without his glasses. The blankets and pillows were soft and warm and heavy. Patton was breathing slowly, his hair rustling with each exhale. Roman was watching the lemurs, a small smile on his face. Virgil closed his eyes and bobbed his head to his music.

Logan hadn’t realized how tired he was. It was probably the lack of sleep and his ruined circadian rhythms. Definitely not the comforting weight of others near him, reminding him that he was safe, not alone, loved.

Closing his eyes, Logan succumbed to sleep.

                                                                                                                               Logan wasn’t really awake.

He wasn’t asleep either, because he could hear Virgil shift and the strains of the credit sequence for the TV show—it wasn’t the same show he’d left on, he noticed, so time must have passed. But he was tired, and warm, and happy, and he didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted to sink back into sleep. The blankets were heavy around him, something soft was under his head, a comforting weight in his hair and oh, it was moving, someone was scratching his head, why hadn’t he tried this before it felt absolutely heavenly—

The fingers pressed into his scalp and Logan whined, leaning into the touch. When was the last time he let someone near him? He’d started refusing hugs a while ago after the three of them started dating. He didn’t realize he missed it so much.

Someone chuckled above him. “You’re so adorable when you’re sleeping.”

“Who’s adorable?” said another sleepy voice.

“Look at Logan.”

A muffled squeal came from his left. “Aww, he’s all curled up!”

“Watch this,” Roman said—that was Roman, right? Oh no, was he cuddling with Roman? He needed to wake up, he needed to stop being in this compromising position—

Roman was scratching his head again, and all coherent and rational thought flew out the figurative window.

Logan whined again. He couldn’t help himself. Patton squealed even louder. “He’s so adorable!”

“I know, right?” Roman’s voice was softer than Logan had ever heard, except maybe when addressing Virgil or Patton. “He’s the cutest.”

“And so helpful,” Patton added. “We need to thank him later, guys. Like, serious surprise party thank-you cookies and fun-times thank you.”

“He fixed everything, didn’t he? He knew exactly how to help.” Roman shifted, and before Logan knew it, he’d gotten a small kiss on the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for everything, you amazing little nerd.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. Right—Virgil. Virgil was there. His voice was hoarse with sleep. “I don’t know what we’d do without him—”

Virgil paused.

“Kiddo?” Patton asked. “You alright?”

“Shit.”

“What?” Roman asked, jostling Logan. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Virgil hesitated. “I think I figured something out.”

“What is it?” Patton asked.

And Logan tried to prick his ears for the answer, but sleep overcame him again, and he fell into darkness with Roman holding him upright.

                                                                                                                               Logan needed coffee.

Extricating himself from the blankets, he saw that Virgil, Patton, and Roman had already left the couch and were discussing something in one corner of the kitchen. Blearily, he wiped his eyes and placed his glasses on his face. The sharper focus revealed a pensive look on Virgil’s face, an excited look on Patton’s, and a nervous look on Roman’s.

Logan stumbled to his feet and headed for the coffee maker. Their conversation was none of his business. He also had a vague memory of cuddling up to Roman, which made his face flush every time he recalled it, so he would rather avoid talking to them until the embarrassment wore off.

The conversation abruptly stopped when Logan approached. That was odd, but Logan was too sleepy to remark on it. Wow, was it nine o’clock already? Good thing he had no classes until three.

Filling a mug with coffee, he downed a few mouthfuls and felt the caffeine buzz through him. Feeling more awake, he turned to the others, only to find they were staring at him.

“What?” he asked self-consciously. He touched his hair to see if it was mussed. It was. He combed it roughly with his fingers, but a few locks still stuck up in the air.

“Um—” Roman squeaked. “Nothing!”

“Do I have something on my face?” Logan looked between Patton, who had a sheepish grin, Roman, who was blushing furiously, and Virgil, who stared at the ground. “What is happening?”

“Just tell him how you feel,” Virgil muttered to himself, clenching his fists. “There’s no good reason not to.”

“What?” Logan placed his coffee on the counter. “Is everything alright? Is there a problem?”

“L?” Virgil glanced at the others, who gave him encouraging glances. “I—we. We need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“Well.” Virgil fiddled with his jacket. “I guess I’ll just spit it out then? I…we…why did you make me do this, guys? I’m terrible at it!”

Roman snorted. “Well, I’m certainly not doing it!”

“You can do this, kiddo.” Patton smiled at Virgil. “We’ve got your back.”

“Take your time, Virgil.” Logan looked at him with concern. “There’s no pressure.”

“I just—” Virgil screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t want this to ruin anything.”

“I doubt it would ruin anything,” Logan said. “Unless you’ve committed a serious felony or have secretly been a flat-earther this entire time, I think our relationship will survive.”

Roman snickered.

“Right. Okay.” Virgil bit his lip. “Well. On the subject of—relationships…”

Logan nodded and ignored the jolt that passed through his subjects.

“It’s like a Band-Aid, you’ve just got to rip it off.” Virgil clenched his fists. “Weallfiguredoutwekindasortalikeyoumorethanafriend!”

Logan blinked. “What?”

“We like you,” Patton clarified. “Romantically.”

“Oh, there you are,” Virgil mumbled, eyes still closed. “You couldn’t have stepped in earlier?”

Logan’s brain seemed to have short-circuited. Logan.exe had crashed. “What?”

“I don’t know how we could make it clearer, Specs.” Roman was smiling, but his tone betrayed a hint of nervousness. “You’re cute and we wanna date you.”

“Only if you want to!” Patton added hastily. “We don’t want to pressure you into anything and I know you probably don’t think of us that way, or at least not all of us, but we thought we should clear the air and admit it.”

Logan opened his mouth and closed it.

“So…” Virgil shifted. “Yeah, L. What they said.”

Finally, Logan found his voice. “How long?”

“What?” Patton asked.

“How long have you…felt this way?”

Roman laughed. “About two years? I fell for you when I fell for the others. It was all three of you at once—a triple-whammy crush cavalcade, if you will. It was a nightmare.”

“Two years?” Logan repeated. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“I felt awkward about it.” Roman shrugged, looking away. “And you made it very clear you didn’t like me back.”

Hell no. I would never want to date you. You’re just not my type.

Shit.

“I started more recently, I think?” Patton tapped his chin. “Soon after Roman and Virgil and I started dating. It was lovely, but I always felt like something—someone—was missing.” He shot Logan a soft smile. “Turns out it was you, Lolo.”

“I…er, I only figured it out last night.” Virgil shrugged sheepishly. “But yeah. For a while, probably. Maybe even before Roman. You’ve just—you’ve always been there, constant, and…I guess I never knew how much I relied on that. I—yeah. You’re—yeah.” He rubbed his blushing face. “Sorry, I’m—I’m bad with words.”

Logan tried to wrangle his thoughts into a coherent sentence, but his cheeks were burning, his chest was flaming, and his eyes were stinging.

“So that’s that, I guess?” Roman rubbed at his arm. “You don’t—you don’t have to like us back, dude. We just wanted to get that out in the open. Like you advised, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed with a smile. “Can you imagine if we just bottled up our feelings and avoided the situation altogether? You’d be very disappointed in us, Lolo.”

Logan stared at him. Laughter bubbled up in his throat, and before he could stop himself, he began to chuckle.

“What is it?” Roman asked.

Logan shook his head, laughing harder. He grabbed onto the counter for support as he cracked up. His eyes were leaking fluid now as he doubled over.

“What happened?” Virgil asked. “L, you good?”

“I—give me a sec—” Logan tried to pull himself together, but soon he lost it again. “I—the irony, I can’t believe this—”

“Um…” Roman frowned. “Much as I hate to interrupt a laugh session, especially because this is undeniably endearing, could you enlighten us on the cause of this ruckus? Or have you just gone full Joker?”

“I-I’m fine—” Logan kept laughing, rubbing at his eyes.

“Uh, you sure, kiddo?” Patton said, his voice far too concerned for the situation. “’Cause, um, you’re—"

A tear slipped down his face, and oh. He wasn’t laughing anymore. He was crying.

“L?” Virgil asked.

Logan was crying openly now. He covered his face with his sleeve and tried to wipe away the tears, but whenever one dried, another fell. His face felt hot and sick and disgusting. He wanted to stop crying, to stop looking so foolish in front of them, but his breath refused to be caught and his crying refused to cease.

He didn’t even know why he was crying. This was good news! There was nothing to be sad about!

“Lo?” Patton stepped forward, arms open. “Do you need a hug? It looks like you need a hug.”

Logan couldn’t speak, but he managed a nod.

And Patton was hugging him, cradling him against his chest and the contact just made Logan cry harder because this is what he could have had, this is what he was missing—

“I’m an idiot,” Logan choked out. “I am a complete, foolish idiot.”

“What?” Roman asked. “How dare you slander yourself like this! I don’t quite know why you’re saying that, or why you started crying, but I can assure you that you are a very smart human!”

“You don’t get it.” Logan wiped his eyes. For some reason, he was still smiling. Was he happy? Were these happy tears? He felt terrible, but there was a glow in his chest and he couldn’t stop smiling.

“What don’t we get?” Patton asked, squeezing his shoulders.

“I—” Logan looked around at them all, concerned and compassionate and beautiful. “I’ve been in love with the three of you for more than a year.”

Roman made a noise like a squeaky toy being stepped on.

“What?” Virgil stared him down. “You’re kidding.”

Weakly, Logan shook his head.

“But…” Patton frowned. “Lolo, you got us all together!”

“Y-yes.” Logan scrubbed his face. “You seemed happy with each other, I was glad to play the figurative matchmaker if it was what you wanted.”

Patton pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes wide.

“Shit, L.” Virgil shook his head. “Shit.”

“What did we do to deserve you?” Roman mumbled.

“In fairness,” Logan said, “I only figured it out last week.”

“A-at Roman’s evening?” Patton looked about to cry as well. “I—I thought you were acting off, I didn’t realize—”

“That’s why you avoided us, wasn’t it?” Roman seemed to search Logan’s face for denial. When he found none, his face crumpled. “You avoided us because you liked us?”

“I—I did not want things to become awkward between us. I wanted time to sort things out and see if those feelings would—” Logan waved a hand. “Dissipate of their own accord. But I was too far gone, and I—then you called me, and I couldn’t leave you alone, I couldn’t—”

“Shit,” Virgil said again.

“You know,” Patton said with a soft smile, “if you’d have just taken your own smart advice, we could have started dating weeks ago. Maybe even months.”

“Doubtful,” Logan admitted. “Feelings are not my strong suit. I would not have figured it out any earlier than I did.”

“And that’s okay.” Virgil reached forward and took Logan’s hand. “You’re doing alright, L. Better than alright.”

“You got us together, after all!” Roman agreed. “Even if that was unnecessarily self-sacrificing on your part. And you helped us last night, too. I suppose only one question remains…”

“Will you,” Patton finished, “consider being our boyfriend?”

“You don’t have to,” Virgil immediately added. “If you don’t feel ready, or you want to try dating one of us at a time, that’s completely fine—”

Logan began to smile. “I—I think I can give it a shot. All of you. I want to engage in romantic relations with you. If—if that’s alright.”

Patton squealed, and Roman’s smile was wider than Logan had ever seen it. Virgil just squeezed Logan’s hand, and Logan squeezed back.

“Group hug time!” Patton proclaimed.

“Don’t we have to eat breakfast?” Logan asked.

“Oh!” Patton giggled. “Right! I’ll make us some pancakes. Then we can have some cuddles!”

“Perfect!” Roman proclaimed. “Maybe watch a Disney movie? We’ve got a lot of missed movie-nights to make up for!”

Virgil smiled slightly. “Only if we can watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. And only if Pat lets me supervise the pancakes.”

Patton frowned. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” Virgil said, “but Princey here would totally add like five containers of sugar or set the entire thing on fire when your back is turned.”

Roman gasped. “Rude! I’ll have you know that was one time, and the firefighters were very nice about it!”

“We can all help with the pancakes,” Patton compromised. “Lolo can read the instructions, ‘cause he’s good with books and Virge can help me mix ingredients.”

“What about me?” Roman asked.

Virgil smirked. “You can play your Disney songs and sneak bits of batter while pretending you’re helping.”

Roman opened his mouth, shrugged, and smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

“Great!” Patton grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him over to the kitchen. “Let’s go!”

And Logan spent half the morning making pancakes, getting flour in his hair, Roman placing batter on his nose so Patton would kiss it off, Virgil sitting on the counter and refusing to get off. The pancakes turned out delicious, and after eating a very late breakfast—it’s brunch, Specs, how do you fail so hard at being gay—they curled up on the couch once more and started on their Disney marathons. It turned out that Roman and Virgil shared Logan’s proclivity for discussing the movie while watching it, but Roman geared more towards insults and Virgil just threw popcorn at all the sappy scenes. Patton remained quiet, toying with Logan’s hair and snuggled into Roman’s side, smiling at them like they were his favorite things in the world.

Logan Mackenzie didn’t understand his feelings, not completely. But he did know that he loved them. He knew that they loved him back. He knew that he had never felt happier than now, sitting on the couch with his boyfriends—boyfriends! They were his boyfriends! The novelty still hadn’t worn off.

He loved them, and he could figure the rest out another day, with a little help.

Logan loved them. For now, and forever, that was enough.

[honey-hippie-harper]

through the bleeding shell (Re-upload)

This was @obsidianfr3sk ‘s Feel Better gift asfghadsfghadfsghja. It turned out to be pretty depressing in the end bc idk how to write happy stuff but my good intentions were there, ok?

This is a Humon/Renegays fic :’). Which, basically, is about how the Renegays didn’t kiss during the trilogy...sort of. I can’t think of an specific reason why they didn’t besides bad writing and queerbaiting, but I’ve always seen Hugh as this...detached entity. Idk x’d. He shows a pretty dense attitude. And so, I thought that it was partly the reason why they’re not that affective during the trilogy. Not that they aren’t on a daily basis. I just think their relationship was in a bad place when the events happened, because, among other things, Hugh wasn’t grieving Georgia in a healthy way (I headcanon them as best friends </3) and wouldn’t allow Simon to help him. 

idk why I felt the need to talk about that.

tag list (tell me if you want to be in or out): @healing-winston-pratt @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @alecjamesartino @everyone-has-a-nightmare @razzmooncake

through the bleeding shell

Being around someone for so long…

It allowed you to know things. Some of them important.

Others, not so much.

Simon had married a person he had been around his entire life; he had slept next to him almost every single day since he was very young. And his name was Hugh Everhart.

Simon knew every spot on Hugh’s body; he knew every mole, every random sun freckle here and there; how his body mass seemed to be well-distributed at plain sight but, in reality, his chest was naturally wider than the rest of his body, as if he had been born with the figure of a baseball player; how he scratched his nose because wrinkling it so much while laughing made it itchy; he knew the way his knuckles turned yellow when he turned them into a fist; he knew there was one single scar below his rib cage area…

He knew everything he had to know about Hugh Everhart, his husband, whom he loved so much that sometimes it hurt.

Yet, Simon was yet to know how and why, lately, he was so cold, despite still being a human furnace who was sometimes annoyed by the blanket on winter nights.

Kasumi frowned, and Simon wished she were misunderstanding, but whatever thing she was thinking, she was probably right.

Cold was a pretty wide term, which could basically mean anything. Being brutally honest, not even he knew what he was trying to convey by using that word, so he supposed he was referring to anything it could express, as a whole.

Thinking about it… yeah.

That option sounded about right.

Another thing that sounded about right, was the idea of Kasumi judging him because of it, which was something Simon knew wasn’t true and, instead, it was just his anxiety trying to ruin his day even more. But sometimes things were like that. He tried to avoid it, but never managed to do such thing. Ever.

“Not to be rude or anything.” She started, but before proceeding she seemed to realize that, maybe, that hadn’t sounded as intended, and her cheeks became extremely flushed, until Kasumi looked like she had ran under the burning sun while wearing a wool sweater for hours. “Really, Si. I don’t mean to be rude. As in...I’m...telling you this...so you think…”

She clicked her tongue, and then both Tamaya, who was also in the room, and him, stared at her as she talked to herself under her breath, making a couple of hand movements, as if she were writing her sentence in the air so she could phrase it correctly.

Sometimes, when Kasumi was nervous, she tended to struggle at putting her ideas together in a gentle, polite manner.

“...I was telling you that, so you don’t think I’m trying to offend you or minimize your pain.” She corrected herself. “Yeah?”

“...Yeah.” Simon nodded.

“Well…” Kasumi rubbed her hands together, more as a distraction than as an actual mannerism. “You know I’ve...never understood. Back at home...when we all lived together and...ugh. You know? Just...don’t mind me. Tam, you tell him.”

“No, no. What you’re saying is important too.”

“I want to listen to you, Zoomie.”

Upon the two pairs of eyes in the room being fixated on her, Kasumi kept fidgeting with the paper cone she now had between her hands, absently.

“Fine.” She whispered in a breathy voice, and then she stared at Simon, who stared back, not because he wanted to be polite or something like that, but because he genuinely wanted to listen to her.

Kasumi wasn’t a talker. That wasn’t an exaggeration or an act of fake modesty. It was just that Kasumi didn’t enjoy a lot of things, and one of them was speaking, to the point where sometimes she didn’t consider it necessary. There were days when she just...didn’t feel like speaking. And she didn’t. Because she didn’t want to. Because she didn’t need to. Because people could understand her anyway.

Still, everyone was willing to listen when she felt there was something she had to explain in a way that was verbal.

“I love my husband very much.” She said, placing a lock of hair behind her ear. “But, still, sex it’s not...a huge part of our relationship because I’ve never understood. When you joked about it back at home, I would just assume you were just doing that. Joking. I...literally didn’t expect you were serious when you talked about experiencing that type of attraction. Because I didn’t. And it’s not that I think it’s repulsive or anything like that. I just don’t get what the fuss is about. When I’m with him...it’s...usually not my first option. To think about that, I mean. And he understands and respects that, which I appreciate a lot.”

The more she spoke, the more confident her tone became. It meant she was growing more comfortable with the conversation, and that her train of thought was getting itself together, nice and slowly.

As for Simon...he was strangely comfortable, too, because this felt like a mature, adult conversation to him. Like a safe space.

After all, he was serious when he told them he needed to talk (now that Evander wasn’t here, because Evander was...not very sensitive). Hence, he was very glad they were being serious about it too.

“I understand that Hugh’s not in the spectrum.” Kasumi cleared her throat. “But...sexuality is fluid. Maybe, if you were talking about only that, it could be a good idea to talk it over. Only if he wants to, of course, because you never know; again, we can’t just assume, because one cannot do that. It’s rude. But what I mean...it’s that, whatever that’s going on in his head, maybe he’s trying to figure it out by himself. It might have nothing to do with his sexuality at all, actually, because, after all, that was just a comment...but it all comes back to the same point. Maybe he just...needs time.”

“Hugh’s pretty dense, Simon.” Simon saw the steamy cup in front of him, but he didn’t realize what it was until the smell of black coffee reached his nostrils. He hadn’t even noticed Tamaya was making coffee.

“Thank you.” He whispered anyway, as Tamaya leaned against the table, putting her weight on her elbows.

For all he knew, and all he cared about, it was pretty easy for people to judge Tamaya and label her as a bad person; she was quiet, although not in the way Kasumi was. On the contrary, she was rather serious, and her resting face was more intimidating than it was warm or welcoming. She was also really bad at controlling her temper, which didn’t help at all, but she wasn’t as bad as people wanted to portray her, or as bad as the recruits talked about her in the halls. Because, when it came to the recruits, Tamaya was strict, yes.

But somebody had to be, because being a Renegade was not a game, and the great majority of the advice she gave was extremely useful and clever.

Tamaya was caring.

Deep, very deep down. But she was.

“He’s pretty dense, but…” She sighed. “Most of the time, that’s not his fault. It’s not a good thing either. It’s not healthy for him and we shouldn’t condone it...but yeah. He can be pretty dense sometimes. He’s like that, most of the time it’s not his fault but...I don’t think you should feel like it’s yours either.”

Simon couldn’t help but flinch a little.

The thing was...he knew that.

It might’ve sounded crazy coming from him, but he knew it wasn’t his fault, even if his anxiety was determined to convince him otherwise.

Also, he was one to know that one couldn’t just fix a person. That’s not how mental health worked; of course, a romantic relationship or a relationship of any kind was a huge source of support and stability, but he knew it wasn’t enough to “heal” a person.

He knew about that, just like he knew that Hugh loved him and he loved Hugh, but that didn’t mean they could fix each other. They could make it a little better, yes; hold each other when things were rough; let the other know they weren’t alone.

But…”fixing” the other.

Not really.

They were humans.

They were people.

And the only thing people could fix, were objects, not other people.

“Like Kasumi said, sexuality is fluid, but it might as well not have to do anything with that.” Tamaya continued. Her voice sounded...soothing, strangely motherly. And she was calm.

Very calm.

It reminded Simon of someone.

They both reminded him of someone.

“Hubby and I, we both experience sexual attraction. It’s an important part of our relationship, and we enjoy it, but sometimes it’s just not the right time. He’s a doctor, I’m a Renegade Council member, and we have three wonderful boys together. Sometimes we don’t have time, so we just sit by the balcony to stargaze, holding hands, or we go out on dates like high school sweethearts, and I stand by the doorframe waiting for him to tell me I look pretty.”

Simon laughed a little.

It was evident she was trying to play it off as something dumb, but he found it absolutely adorable.

“And sometimes I’m too tired or he’s too tired, and that’s normal. It’s not our fault, and it doesn’t mean that we love each other less because…”

“Having sex doesn’t define love.” Kasumi said, and Tamaya nodded.

“Exactly.”

But again.

Again.

Simon knew that.

He really knew.

Hugh and him had busy schedules too. They both were Renegade Council members, and Hugh had it worse because not only was he a member, but also the leader of the Council. He had to be everywhere, at the same time, and people tended to think that just because he was invincible, it meant he didn’t have the right to feel emotionally drained, or at least tired.

Of course he was going to be tired.

He wasn’t a robot.

Hence, Simon understood what they were trying to say, and he agreed with Kasumi and Tamaya.

But the problem was…

He wasn’t referring just to that.

It was...part of the problem, yes.

But now that he knew their opinion about it, he had come to the realization that he still felt...empty and lost. And just...frustrated.

“We’re not only talking about sex, are we?” Tamaya asked carefully, and Simon refused to stare back at her, as he took a sip from his coffee, before answering:

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well...If you’re telling us this, it’s because you do want to talk about it, right?”

“I do. Yes.”

“Well. We’re listening.”

At the same time Tamaya spoke, a cold, little hand, laced between Simon’s.

A hand that felt like the sea and, even if he hadn’t known she was the only person in the room besides Tamaya and him, he would’ve recognized it as Kasumi’s.

So Simon squeezed her hand back.

“We’re listening, Si.” She confirmed. “We’re here for you.”

He knew that, and it was something he was extremely grateful about.

Now he just had to figure out how to put into words what he was feeling, because at this point it felt impossible for him to know.

There were just...so many things, but at the same time such a limited number of details he could recall.

It just felt...unreal.

And weird.

Very weird.

But Simon didn’t feel numb, unlike anyone would’ve expected from him.

In fact, he felt so sad he couldn’t even cry.

And it was the worst feeling ever.

“I don’t know.” He said, in a hoarse voice. “I just...don’t know anymore. It’s just...I…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” He clarified. “...But maybe that’s why I don’t know what it is.”

For the shortest second, Simon came to the realization he was talking to himself instead of talking to them, or perhaps it was something that, deep down, was giving him the answer to why this whole situation was making him so uneasy and upset. Like, of course it was making him this upset. It was his husband they were talking about. Hugh was his fight. Hugh was…

Simon didn’t know.

But what he did know was that, maybe, it had nothing to do with himself, and that’s why he just couldn’t…

He just couldn’t understand.

Why couldn’t he understand?

Why did it have to be like this?

“I want to know what it is.” Simon took a deep breath, trying to make himself understood; trying to make them understand what he couldn’t. “...So I can...make it better...So I can...help him. So we can...look for help together.”

Simon scratched his brow with his free hand.

“But he’s just… so cold. He doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t...do anything. We don’t do anything. And I can’t help but feel like...he’s not here, even though he’s…” Simon scoffed, painfully. “...He’s right there, in front of my face.”

His eyes became fixated on a blank point, as if he were staring at an invisible Hugh, who wasn’t staring back at him.

“And I want him to...tell me. Because if he doesn’t tell me, then I have no way to know what’s wrong. And if I don’t know what’s wrong...then I don’t know for how long I can take it, you know? It’s just...I can’t bear to stand there as he pushes me away.”

Kasumi started running her thumb through his knuckles, and Simon felt Tamaya’s hands on his shoulders, massaging them, gently.

“I’m just scared...that when he finally wants me to come closer again, it might be too late...and maybe I won’t want to come closer again.”

Tamaya’s hands stopped moving for a moment, and Simon could almost feel her and Kasumi’s shock. He hadn’t even planned to say that. It just slipped.

And when Simon noticed it had slipped, it was far too late for him to hold it back.

“Maybe you should talk to him, after all.” Kasumi said, slowly, and Simon stared into her eyes.

He didn’t realize that was the thing he didn’t want to hear until he felt nothing but hopelessness.

Emptiness.

Fear.

A type of fear that became more intense in the moment they heard the door opening, and that’s when Simon saw him.

Hugh was standing right there, staring, and when his eyes laid on Simon, he arched an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused and worried.

“What’s happening here?” He asked. “...Si? Are you okay?”

Are you?

Simon didn’t want to answer. He really didn’t.

He didn’t want this to be about him.

He didn’t want Hugh asking him what was wrong if, harsh as it sounded, everything that was making him uncomfortable or upset had to do with him, not because Simon was blaming him, but because he was genuinely worried.

Let me help, Hugh.

“I’m...fine.”

Let me in.

“...Yeah. I’m...fine.”

Please, love.

Let me in.

Simon could see him hurting, but where he saw hurt, Hugh saw some type of burden that was meant to be concealed, committing treason against his own advice; dodging the sound of the voice of a younger Hugh, who guided a younger Simon through the dark, telling him it was alright.

That pain was alright.

And that pain didn’t make him less human.

Hugh’s pain, in particular, was a grey, bleeding shell that was so thick Simon couldn’t find a way to get in, and Hugh couldn’t find a way to get out.

So they just pressed their palms together through the bleeding shell, staring at each other's eyes through a polarized surface, that stopped their skin from touching, and stopped their lips from finding the other.

And the worst thing...was that Simon was craving that. He craved Hugh’s lips. He craved everything physical about him, just like he craved everything that wasn’t physical too. And he craved him so much he felt like dying every time he was close. He craved him so much it made him feel like a teenager again.

Which, in his case, wasn’t a good thing.

He wished it was.

But...teenage years weren’t fun if you had to spend them trapped in a closet. Things were never good when lived from inside a closet.

He didn’t want his life outside that closet to be like that too.

“Did you have an attack? ...Si, did you take your pills? … You did, right?”

“Hugh.” Simon heard Tamaya’s voice. “Is there...something that you needed?”

Hugh blinked, knowing that, maybe, he had interrupted something.

Mostly because it wasn’t like Tamaya was trying to hide it either.

“...Yeah.” He said, resting his arms on the nearest chair.

Tamaya pulled away from Simon, and Kasumi let go of his hand. They didn’t become fully focused, nor did they put on their “I’m working” mode either, but they did manage to...pretend. Even Simon managed to do so.

“Uh...I…” Hugh snapped his fingers in front of his own face, trying to remember what was it that he had to say.

“....Yeah.” He concluded. “Yeah. Uh… Tam. I need you to head downtown because they want you to supervise some of the floats for the parade. From...up, I mean. So you can check some of the details. I already checked from the ground and everything’s looking good, but now they want you to give them the green light.”

“Right now?”

“Preferably.” Hugh scratched his nose. “Were you...in the middle of something?”

Tamaya filled her cheeks with air, and then let it out, making a little trumpet with her lips.

“No.” She lied. “It’s fine. I’ll go. Just let me put some stuff in my locker, alright?”

“Be careful when you fly, okay? It’s kinda hot outside. If you get dizzy...”

“If I get dizzy, I’ll land. I know. I’m the one who’s flying.”  

Given that she was already heading by the door, Tamaya patted his shoulder, and they said goodbye with a very polite kiss on the cheek, before Tamaya left the room completely, and Hugh drew his attention towards Kasumi.

“Margaret White is acting out.”

Kasumi frowned. Deeply.

“Margaret...what?”

“Uh. White? You know? The Renegades’ ward? The kid?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know who Maggie is.” Kasumi waved her hands in front of her own face. “...Who named her that?”

“Who named her what?”

“White. Who on Earth…?” Kasumi clicked her tongue. “Nevermind, okay? Just...what did she do?”

“Zoomie, I had already told you.” Hugh laughed, confused.

“I thought you were being rude, Hugh.”

Margaret White was the Renegades’ protégé. Her powers consisted of detecting and attracting metals which, evidently, was not something that was out of this world. In fact, she had been recruited at such a young age not because she had extraordinary abilities, but because she was problematic as heck.

She was Max’s age, more or less but, unlike Max, Margaret had no chill.

Her life was ruined from the moment somebody saw her and decided that White was a suitable last name for her, Tamaya used to say.

Margaret’s skin was tan, and she had slanted eyes. Naming her “White” almost seemed like a tasteless joke.

Simon himself thought Hugh was just being disrespectful the first time he told him her name, and he had to hear it a couple of times before he just...accepted he was serious (and that Hugh himself didn’t seem to like the idea of her being named like that very much).

Maggie was really problematic. For real. She had been kicked out of a couple of orphanages already, and maybe she would have been kicked out of this one too, if it hadn’t been a prodigy orphanage, which happened to be under Kasumi’s management, meaning it was directly related to the Council. And they were supposed to make sure nobody got kicked out of there.

Simon liked Maggie, because he knew that there was a chance that everything she ever did had reason behind it. An emotional reason. Perhaps she wanted love. Perhaps she wanted attention.

Perhaps she just…

Wanted someone who didn’t give up on her at the minimum inconvenience.

So he just...tried not to.

Hard as it was, because Maggie tended to make it hard; Kasumi had tried to canalize her to a psychologist many times, but her response always was that “she wasn’t crazy” (perhaps because kids her age were mean and “crazy” was one of their favorite words to use as an insult) and...well...part of the process in children, was understanding when it was the right time and when it wasn’t.

Sometimes forcing kids into treatment made it worse, and Maggie was pretty mature for her age, while painfully childish at the same time. Respecting her space and giving her time was their only option, if they didn’t want to turn her into a ticking bomb.

“Are you for real? I’ve been addressing her like that for like…”

“Just tell me what the little bundle of joy did now.”

“Pff.” Hugh scoffed. “Bundle of joy.”

Then, he cleared his throat the moment Kasumi fixed a glare at him.

“Well...the usual. She stole something from one of the nannies, Carrietta Ferland saw her and she locked her in a cellar so she wouldn’t say anything.”

“She locked Carrietta Ferland in a cellar.” Kasumi rubbed her forehead, and before she left the meeting room, she squeezed Simon’s wrist.

She didn’t say goodbye to Hugh.

Simon didn’t, either, when he excused himself under the sort of cheap white lie he needed to wash his face.

-.-

But one could only wash their face so much, before their partner suspected.

When Simon didn’t come back, Hugh didn’t go after him. He never did at first.

As in…

Hugh always went after him, just not at first; over time, Simon had grown to accept it wasn’t a pride thing.

When Hugh left, he never wanted anyone to go after him, and he was the type to believe that just because he didn’t want something, it meant nobody wanted it; Simon had gotten used to it, because Hugh was his husband, and they accepted each other just like they were.

What Simon refused to accept, was the bleeding shell Hugh was inside of.

He hated it.

He despised it, especially at night. It would grow around Hugh in slow motion, and then he would bleed through, and the whole room would turn red, overflowing it with unspoken, suffocated anger and pain.

Hugh turned his back at Simon that night, so Simon turned his back at him too, not because he was mad, but because he didn’t feel like staring at Hugh’s back today.

Their room became as cold as an industrial fridge, as they both fell deep into the notion the other was not asleep, and that they both were listening to the sound of a room that was currently filled with deathly silence.

Deathly as the bone-chilling cold penetrating their limbs, their organs, and their everything.

Deathly as…

Deathly as feelings.

All the stored feelings, and the way Simon craved something he knew was right there.

Hugh was right there. Right next to him. And his body, which he knew so well, was laying next to him, turning his back at him, with every mole, every sun freckle, a chest wider than the rest of his body…

And one single scar below his rib cage.

The same rib cage that protected his heart.

Say something, Simon.

The same heart Simon had felt beating so many times.

Say something.

Anything.

Maybe…

Maybe this had a reason too.

An emotional reason.

Perhaps love. Or attention.

Say something. Anything.

Because you do go after people from the very first moment.

Slowly, as if he had never moved before in his life, Simon rolled to the other side, and as his trembling hand rested on Hugh’s arm, he became alert, awake as they both were, and he looked over his shoulder.

“Hugh?” Simon asked, the name leaving a familiar firm in his mouth that tasted like home.

He didn’t answer, because that was his name. Hence, he knew he was trying to talk to him.

“Come here, Hugh.”

And Hugh came over, hesitantly, rolling to his side too, as they faced each other, and Simon ran his finger through his face, just...exploring every spot he already knew, as if he were visiting his comfort place, of his favorite bench in the park.

His blue eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, and Simon felt he could’ve gotten lost in them and never come back.

But he didn’t get lost.

Because he had to find the love of his life first.

“I’m never giving up on you.” He whispered. “...you know that, right?”

Perhaps he didn’t.

But, on the other hand, perhaps he did. And Simon was left with nothing but the mere hope it had meant something.

“I’m never giving up on you either, Si.”

But Simon did know that.

Boy.

Did he know.

-.-

What he didn’t know, however, was the answer to the what.

He wondered what that had felt like.

He wondered what Nightmare had felt when, the morning after, she tried to shoot Hugh in the eye from a roof.

Not because he were mad at her.

No. Not really.

She was young after all.

He just wondered what she had felt.

[mariecuttlefish]

Stay Warm/Stay Here [3k words, OCxOC fluff]

A recently-finished writing commission for @kibbulation​! Vague spoilers for their series, Mint Condition [AO3 link], as this takes place around a decade after Piperidine and Lone Pair.

External links: [Google Docs], [AO3]

Warnings: None. Appropriate for all ages.

Description: After the house's heating breaks during a cold winter day, Hatchet is struggling to stay warm. Pascal is more than happy to help solve the problem.

—–

Tick.

Tack.

Tick.

Tack.

Hatchet stared up at the ceiling. The book she had just put down laid flat on her chest, nestled into the folds of the blanket pile she'd buried herself in. It was a good read, and she still had a bit to go before it was done, but after dedicating the past few hours to it her eyes had started to strain. Now she was back to being just as bored as hours prior, struggling to think of and not terribly interested in doing anything better than laying there and trying to stay warm. With a grumble, she pulled the heaviest blanket further over her and nuzzled into the pillow propped against the arm of the couch.

The house's heating had given out early that morning. It was an outage that wouldn't be fixed until tomorrow, no doubt due to the number of other homes facing the same problem in the dead of a bitter winter, and as such the building had been unbearably cold since just before breakfast. Nattie, thankfully, wasn't present to suffer through the freeze - she'd been at a friend's house for a sleepover and had gotten permission to stay there an extra day - but while Hatchet was better equipped to handle the chill than a teenager, that didn't make it any less miserable to endure. Most of her afternoon had been spent there on the couch, trying to pass the time as well as she could while keeping movement to a minimum. Having by now grown tired of both random novels and rerun episodes of her favorite detective series, she found her options to be quickly depleting.

Tick.

Tack.

Tick.

Pascal sat at a small table across the room, tinkering away with an old clock they had been asked to repair. Normally all their mechanic work was kept to its own space in the house's spare room, but some time ago Hatchet had helped them clear a corner of the living room as a place for smaller jobs so that they could spend their time around others instead of being holed up all day. The space had seen regular use ever since, and the quiet shuffles and clicks of them fiddling with whatever device landed in their hands on a given day was something familiar to Hatchet by now. It was a comfort of sorts, even if she hesitated to admit it; Pascal worked quietly enough to be unobtrusive, and the noise provided a consistent reminder of comfort, that one of the people Hatchet cared most about was right by her side and happily so.

Hatchet turned her head to look over at Pascal, watching their back as they worked with silent dedication. She wondered how it was possible for them to stay so focused with only a light sweater and shawl to keep them warm. After only a brief venture into the cold to check the mail and put out garbage it had been a relief for Hatchet to come back inside and gather up every blanket she could possibly stand to lay under, but Pascal could withstand the cold that made her shiver any time she was forced to reach out of her cloth cocoon to grab something. Maybe, Hatchet thought, that was just an inherent benefit of being as tall and bulky as they were.

She wanted to enjoy some of that natural warmth too.

Tack.

Tick.

Tack.

"Pascal," Hatchet said, trying not to sound grumpy despite her temperature-fueled frustration. Pascal looked up from their table and turned to face her, remembering to stretch now that they were pulled away from their work.

What's up? they signed. Do you need me to get anything for you? 

Normally Hatchet tried to sign back to them when they were the only two in a conversation, or at least to sign along with her speech - it helped to keep her knowledge of the language from slipping - but it took minimal thinking to know that pulling her arms out from under the covers was not worth the effort it would take. "These blankets still aren't keeping me warm enough," she said plainly. "You look warmer than me. Come over here."

A tiny part of her brain kicked itself for being so blunt about it. Even after something like a decade of living together and months of being "a couple", whatever that meant to her, Hatchet still had difficulty when it came to outwardly expressing affection. Pascal, to their credit, seemed to understand the invitation perfectly well despite this; their expression lit up as soon as the words were out of Hatchet's mouth and, without hesitation, they set their repair tools down and stood to come join her on the couch.

The two danced the brief and awkward dance of trying to let Pascal get comfortable without completely sacrificing the coziness Hatchet had already attained. It took a few moments of shuffling about and settling in before they managed to find a satisfying arrangement, Hatchet curled up in Pascal's lap with the blankets wrapped around both of them while Pascal rested their head on the couch's back. Just as expected, the extra body heat was infinitely more pleasant than the lukewarm couch cushions. Hatchet couldn't help but try to get closer, wrapping her arms around Pascal as though she was worried about being pulled away.

Pascal was, unsurprisingly, delighted by this; glancing up, Hatchet saw a broad smile draw across their face as they draped their arms around her. For the most part Hatchet's friends had always been much better with physical affection than she was, but Pascal above all had always loved any opportunity to be cuddly with her - even long before the two of them started dating, which had made it that much more difficult for her to tell how her roommate felt about her. Looking back, she couldn't help but wonder how much of the closeness Pascal had displayed over the time since their first meeting was just in their nature and how much of it was spurred by that crush they had apparently been harboring for years. Whatever the answer, it did mean Hatchet could simply say the word and be near-instantly surrounded by warmth and affection, so she wasn't exactly going to complain about it.

She did sometimes wish, though, that she could be better at reciprocating that affection. Silly as it was to think that there was a way to be better at something like cuddling when all it involved was laying still with another person, Hatchet was still new to the idea of being in a romantic relationship and couldn't help but worry about whether she was doing things the right way. Pascal never seemed put off by the difficulty she had with initiating things and always respected when she wasn't quite in the mood for closeness, but would that be fine forever? Would things start to sour if the "honeymoon phase" ended and they realized she was still returning the love they gave more than she was offering her own?

No, she thought, all it took was one look at the way Pascal smiled every time she looked at them to know that they would never hold that against her. Despite how different her personality seemed from nearly everyone around her, there was no denying the patient, understanding love in her partner's eyes every time their gazes met. She shifted a bit in their arms to get more comfortable and they gently rubbed her shoulder in turn, instantly erasing the fears they likely had no clue she was even thinking of.

Laying still with another person, just enjoying their closeness... maybe that was exactly it. If Pascal's favorite way to show their fondness was through giving physical affection, maybe Hatchet's was simply allowing herself to receive it. After all, a decade ago the mere thought of being this close to someone would have repelled her, would have made her bristle and growl at them to back off, and even after years of being surrounded by good friends and plenty of therapy to overcome her social aversion it still wasn't like she would let just anyone into her personal space, even among friends. Maybe the language her love spoke didn't have to look like everyone else's to still hold meaning and intimacy. Maybe Pascal already understood it innately, the same way they seemed to understand everything else about her so much more easily than any other could.

"...Hey," Hatchet said quietly, not so much breaking the comfortable silence between them as adding sound to it. There wasn't much Pascal could do to reply with both of their hands preoccupied holding her, but they turned their eyes down to meet hers, the comfort and love clear in the softness of their expression. Hatchet couldn't help but give a lopsided smile at the sight; there was something she wanted to say, but for a moment all she could focus on was how clearly in love Pascal was and how overwhelming it was to know that all of that feeling was directed at her. "I, uh--"

The quiet chime of their house's doorbell interjected before the words could finish stumbling out of Hatchet's mouth. She and Pascal looked to the clock on the wall in sync, both wordlessly remembering the takeout they had ordered for dinner some forty minutes ago. The voice at the back of Hatchet's mind quietly whined. But I don't want them to get up, this is cozy...

Despite her internal protest Hatchet sat up, keeping the covers close around her as Pascal rose. She was feeling hungry, after all, and with how cold the inside of the house was she definitely didn't want to be the jerk who made the delivery driver stand outside and freeze on the front porch. Pascal picked up their notebook and pencil as well as the money that had been set aside as a tip, then disappeared around the corner to the front door. Hatchet, meanwhile, slowly moved to sit on one side of the couch, making room for Pascal to sit beside her and trying to position the blankets so that they wouldn't fall off of her as soon as she moved her arms.

Not long after she heard the front door click shut and Pascal returned, the alluring smell of fresh food following them into the living room. In one hand they gripped a large takeout bag, and in the other their notebook; as they walked in they tucked the latter under their arm to offer a polite wave, a gesture a younger Hatchet likely would have deemed sappy given they had only been out of the room for a few minutes. Now, however, the first word to her mind was a bemused cute.

The meal was short and pleasant - two omelets and a shared paella dish from a local restaurant that their place was just inside the delivery range for, all mercifully kept warm enough by the takeout containers that Hatchet actually had to wait a moment to let it cool down before eating. The pair huddled up on the couch together as they dined, Hatchet leaning into Pascal's side to stay anchored to whatever warmth she could get. The internal warmth brought by the fresh food was a welcome relief, but still didn't negate the chill all around her - a fact that Pascal evidently noticed, as they casually scooted closer on the couch when a sudden draft caused her to shiver.

By the time Hatchet finished her meal (as well as a small portion Pascal offered from their omelet, which Hatchet stubbornly insisted was not too spicy for her to handle (it was)), the cold was once again becoming unbearable. The sun was beginning to set, which she knew all too well meant that the temperature was about to become even more unpleasant. "Think I might just get into bed and try to sleep before it gets even colder," she said, rising from the couch with a slow stretch to discard the empty takeout trays. She didn't feel tired so much as she just felt bored, but at least being in bed would mean not having to move when it was time to sleep.

Pascal signed a quick good-night to her as she returned to the living room to gather her blanket hoard. The sudden look of disappointment on their face was plain to see, and Hatchet didn't need to guess at what was wrong. She hesitated for just a moment before gently nudging their shoulder. "Do you... wanna come up and cuddle some more?"

Pascal nodded enthusiastically at the offer. Hatchet breathed out a half-chuckle; even though she had made it clear by now that she didn't mind affection from them, Pascal still tried not to impose on her personal space without being sure it was okay with her first. It was sweet in a way that made  her smile as she bundled up her blankets and set them in their lap. "Alright, then hold onto these."

They tilted their head. Do you want me to carry them up for you? they signed.

Yeah, Hatchet returned, both of my arms are going to be occupied. Pascal started into a curious reply but was interrupted by Hatchet leaning down to slip her arms under their knees and shoulders and scooping them off of the couch. A bright blush tinged their face as they realized her intent to carry them up to the bedroom. "Let's go, then," Hatchet said, and she couldn't help but smirk at her partner's reaction.

* * * * * * *

A short moment later Hatchet stepped into her bedroom, nudging the door shut behind her with her foot. Through the window near the bed she could see out into the street below, where a thin layer of snow had gathered with more steadily drifting down from above. Just the sight of it made her feel even colder still.

"Let's hope it doesn't snow us in overnight," she muttered, only halfway joking. She set Pascal down in the bed gently and wasted no time in joining them, curling up by their side as Pascal fumbled through laying the blankets over the both of them again. They wrapped an arm around her to keep her close, their other hand coming up to idly brush through her tentacles. Hatchet fidgeted for a moment in an effort to get comfortable, only finally settling in once the lingering cold began to give way to relaxing heat once more.

Hatchet smiled and scooted in closer until she lay halfway on top of her partner, one arm lazily draped over their torso. This was perfect: the way her head fit just so into the crook of their neck; the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of their chest accompanied by the quiet sound of their breathing; the bracing comfort of the hand on her back and the fingers slowly stroking the back of her neck... 

She sighed contentedly, nuzzling in to try and be even closer to them. Pascal smiled at this, and almost on cue the hand that was resting on the back of Hatchet's neck moved to sit just behind her ear. Of course, she thought: ever since Pascal had discovered that sensitive spot it had become their favorite weak point to target... not that she had much of a problem with that. Slowly and gently Pascal rubbed the back of her ear and Hatchet felt a low purr rumble up from the back of her throat, both her ears drooping as her entire body relaxed.

"Comfy..." she mumbled, her voice muffled by Pascal's shoulder. Pascal's only response was to keep going, happy to let Hatchet be as cozy and serene as possible.

The words Hatchet had wanted to say earlier - what she had been trying to get across before dinner's arrival had interrupted her - suddenly sprung back to mind. Pascal hadn't commented on it or asked her to continue afterward as they usually would. Had it slipped their mind? Or had they simply gathered that she was hesitant and opted not to push her?

Whatever the reason, she didn't want to let those words go unsaid. Even if it was an effort for her to make the words come out, she knew without a doubt that she meant them. No amount of uncertainty or difficulty with expressing her emotions would convince her otherwise.

"Pascal..." Hatchet slowly lifted her head from where her face was buried against the skin of their neck, realizing as she met their gaze that her eyelids were already starting to droop as well. Pascal looked at her as though they were greeting someone who had just woken up, their soft, tender smile the only thing she wanted to look at in the moment.

She tried to fight back the tingle of embarrassment she felt in her cheeks as she pushed herself to speak. "I..." Another moment of hesitation, but Pascal didn't try to urge her on. They simply continued as they had been doing, rubbing and patting her back as if to say It's okay, take your time.

Hatchet breathed in and closed her eyes for a second, shaking off the nerves that seemed to build up with every second she let pass. Squeezing Pascal in a gentle but firm hug, she finally pressed onward: "I wanted to tell you that... I love you." 

Whatever Pascal might have expected her to say, those words had a clear impact. Their blush returned, lighter but fuller this time, and the corners of their eyes welled with tiny tears. They withdrew their hand from behind her ear to give their response, short and simple: I love you too. Hatchet didn't doubt that they would be saying much more if one of their arms wasn't trapped under her at the moment, and the smile that gradually drew across her lips reflected all the things she imagined they would be saying if they could.

As significant as the interaction felt, it was over almost in an instant. Just speaking the words shouldn't have been so hard, Hatchet thought, but then, it was the sort of feeling she hadn't ever had much reason to convey before. The words meant vastly different things depending on the context; the regular "I love you"s she exchanged with Nattie were unique from the once or twice she had actually managed to say it to her friends, and this was a world apart from either. From the way Pascal responded she was sure they understood that, but neither felt the need to commemorate it with any grand show of affection or any special ceremony. That was something she liked about the phrase - it could carry some of her deepest, most difficult emotions in just a few words without any need to make a big deal out of it or spend too long explaining herself.

With no further words needed, the two returned to their comfort, Hatchet once again burying her face against Pascal and closing her eyes. Despite the cold still nipping at the back of her head, she was quickly getting comfortable to the point of drowsiness. All she could hear beyond the dampened noise of wind outside was the sound of Pascal quietly sniffling; she gave them another light squeeze to help steady their emotions, and they returned the gesture by placing their hand in hers, loosely lacing their fingers together.

"You big sap," Hatchet murmured sleepily. The gentle rumble of Pascal's chest shaking in silent laughter was the last thing to register before Hatchet drifted to sleep, warm and secure and wrapped in gentle love.

[natsubeatsrock]

Lower Your Expectations for Nalu

I'm going to start this post off more generously than I normally would. I don't have any real reason to. I just kind of want to reach some of the Nalu fans with this section. (Nalu fans probably shouldn’t want to read the rest.)

Generally speaking, it's better to lower your expectations for a ship becoming canon. That way, you are pleasantly surprised to see how it will happen. Sometimes a relationship should have more subtle canonization than a bombastic showing. If Mashima plans to make Nalu canon, we should be patient to see how it happens. It’s not impossible for Nalu to have some impressive showy way it becomes canon. However, it’s worth letting Mashima do his thing and let the chips fall as they may.

Alright, the kids are gone. Let's do this for real.

I've been running this blog for just over six years. You'd think that, at this point, it would be hard for me to be surprised by this fandom. I've seen all kinds of things happen, and that should be the case. I joined during a rather tenuous time where fandoms were more willing to go at it.

As it stands, the Nalu fandom is the gift that keeps on giving. Whenever I feel as though I can't think of anything else to say about this ship, something happens, and I'm brought back to writing about it. You'd think it would be me talking about how the ship functions in canon. However, fans seem willing to bend over backward to sing Nalu's praises.

I'd respect it if it weren't Nalu we're talking about. This might be one of the most overrated ships in anime. I'll never understand how most people who watch this series even passively wanted these two to become a couple. All the couples Mashima's written over the years, and this is the one he'll be judged for? (Also, maybe Gruvia, but we talked about that already.)

Still, I do have to give this some fandom credit. Mashima has taken nearly every possible opportunity to feasibly advance this ship since the Grand Magic Games ended (arguably even before that) and passed on doing much with it. On some occasions, it feels as though Mashima is directly mocking the idea that Nalu could possibly become canon. And yet, fans believe that Nalu will become canon at any moment because he draws a Twitter pic of them once every three months or so. (Yes, I did edit this sentence since Nalu Day. What of it?) 

Recently, I got an ask comparing the Nalu fandom to the MAGA crowd. I'm not personally vindictive enough against Trump or his supporters to affirm that comparison. Though, I can't act as if I haven't been thinking of an analogy to describe Nalu fans. I think a better comparison might be fans of the Dallas Cowboys. 

Cowboys fans seem to believe that their team can win the Super Bowl any season. That's not an inherently problematic perspective to take. You should hope that your team will do well. However, this often manifests itself in confidence that ignores the faults within individual Cowboys teams and the strength of their opponents. Not to mention, this ignores the objective fact that the Cowboys haven't done well in the playoffs for 25 years.

I don't think it's wrong for fans to believe that their ship will become canon. I don't know too many fans who wish their ship doesn't become canon. However, I always worry about the fans who believe their ship happening is an inevitability. Especially when things seem to be pointing away from the possibility of it happening. This is usually a recipe for toxic fandoms.

But, let me humor the idea for a moment.

What if Mashima really plans to make Nalu happen in the end?

As I'm writing this post,  we're currently in the middle of the fight between the third Dragon God. We're getting close to the real conclusion of that battle. But after that, there are two big arcs until the series truly ends. Three if they decide to have one last battle against the quest-giving dragon.

If Mashima's going to make Nalu canon, how would that work now?

There's the "realization" route. This is the one I probably see the most. Natsu and Lucy could come to the clear realization that they have come to love each other throughout the series. Of course, you'd have to imagine that whatever would bring this on is more powerful than thinking the other has died. 

Twice, throughout the series. 

Each.

On top of several other crazy things to happen to them over 600 chapters of material spanning a decade and a half. Yet, I'm supposed to believe that some random new moment will change the tide for Nalu.

The other way to do it is to have a confession. Either Natsu or Lucy decides to share with the other the fact that they are in love. Their feelings are reciprocated, and you can figure out the rest.

Depending on who you ask, we've almost gotten this a few times. Lucy's had a few opportunities to talk about her relationship with Natsu and has been fairly nice about it. A few times it's hinted that there might be more to their friendship but nothing concrete. I've even seen it hinted that Natsu was going to confess in chapter 545.

But, that's just it. We've only gotten hints at the possibility that there's more. If Natsu and Lucy actually like each other romantically, why not make it clearer earlier?

"It's because he's being subtle about their shared romantic feelings."

Yeah, I have reason to doubt that.

Jellal and Erza have feelings for each other implied throughout Fairy Tail. Sure there's explicit stuff like their meeting before the Grand Magic Games started. But there's been plenty of subtle stuff surrounding their relationship. People make hints at their potential romantic relationship all the time in canon, even as recent as the last arc.

I feel like I say this a lot when talking about Jerza. But really think about the arcs they're together in. There's Tower of Heaven, Nirvana, the Grand Magic Games, Tartarus, Alvarez Empire, and Aldoron. Their relationship is brought up or hinted at in Fantasia, Tenrou Island, Avatar, and Mercuphobia. While that looks like a large amount of material, Jerza doesn't take up much space in any of these arcs. Outside of the Grand Magic Games, Nirvana, and Alvarez, these are small moments between the two of them at best. Sometimes it's even less than that. And yet, the ship makes sense to the vast majority of the fandom.

But that might be an unfair comparison. Jellal and Erza have a history dating before the series started. 

Let's use a ship that involves characters that met after Natsu and Lucy. Gray and Juvia. (Wait, these guys again?)

The big thing with this ship has been how Gray feels about Juvia. We've known how Juvia feels about Gray literally since they met. However, we've seen Gray slowly change his views on Juvia. We didn't just jump from enemies to lovers. There was a subtle shift as the series went on.

Do you really think that Mashima couldn't do better with Natsu and Lucy? His main duo? The series is only possible because the two meet each other. But I'm supposed to believe that Mashima didn't want to make a Nalu romance seem more explicit?

If you were to ask me, the most likely route for Nalu now is a much less sexy option. If Nalu were to happen, it won't happen in a grand showing of affection. It will just... happen. We'll likely skip to some random point in time after they beat all the dragons and see them as a couple. Maybe we'll se an Earthland Nasha.

This isn't something anime/manga fans aren't used to. I know everyone likely thinks of a different series that has done this over the years. People will rag on series like Naruto and Bleach for doing this. For what it's worth, I do like both of those series and their endgame ships. 

That said, I have two problems with this option. 

First, Nalu doesn't have the kind of setup that those other ships have. You're not getting characters openly confessing before a fight. You're not getting two characters flustered over the prospect of feelings suggested to each other. Heck, you're not getting a "Silver Ray" situation.

"What about those times when Lucy was asked if she likes Natsu?"

Again, Lucy's not openly agonizing over that as part of their relationship. If this was something we were supposed to seriously consider as an option for her, we'd know.

Even then, this would only show that it's one-sided. Natsu hasn't had any similar moments where he considers liking Lucy. Anyone bringing up the waterfall scene is speculating at best. Do you really expect me to believe that Mashima will change that this far into the series?

But this doesn't even get into the second problem. Is this how you'd want Nalu to become canon? 

I've said this before, but Nalu has been expected to become canon for close to a decade. That almost feels like an exaggeration. But one of the big chapters I usually point to for Mashima potentially making Nalu more overt is Lucy Fire. That chapter turned ten years old this past March.

Nalu fans have been inventing all kinds of scenarios and situations about how Mashima will make their favorite ship happen. Wouldn't it be disappointing for fans to see that this ship would happen without any of the pomp and circumstance you'd expect a ship like this to get?

I know plenty of people who were disappointed when their favorite ship just became canon without a lot of lead-up. I didn't love getting to the end of Bleach without knowing more about how Ichigo and Orihime got together. Yes, I know the novels exist, but I (literally) paid to read the manga. I'd like to have seen it happen in the manga. (This could be about Naruto, but I only own The Last.)

This is why I believe Nalu fans should lower their expectations. Do you know the fantasy fans have for Nalu happening? Natsu and Lucy finally being hit with the overwhelming realization they love each other? A tearful confession of their feelings for each other capped with a kiss? All of their friends cheering them on, knowing they should have been a couple a long time ago? Maybe even a glimpse at their wedding and their future kid?

Congratulations, that was Rave Master's main couple. Don't expect the same thing for Nalu. If Nalu will happen, it will look much more disappointing than what fans believe it will look like.

At this point, I'm even not sure that Nalu will happen. Mashima has made every version of Nalu look more romantic except the original. I can't apologize for my skepticism on its prospects. Even actual Nalu fans are worried about if it will happen. I will enjoy seeing more of this salt in the future.

Now, there's one question you might be asking of me. How will I react to Nalu happening?

I don't have some back-pocket post prepared in case Nalu does happen. Heck, I thought of making one but ended up writing this post instead. 

However, I have been wrong about future events of Fairy Tail in the past. If I'm wrong and Mashima does make Nalu canon, then I'll talk about it. I highly doubt it will make me like the series less. It certainly won't affect anything I'm doing with the rewrite, given my rules for changes. Consider that I've been able to talk about Gruvia negatively at this point in the series. I'll absolutely continue to talk smack about Nalu if it ends up canon. 

That said, I have reason to believe that I'm right about the direction Nalu will take. And if I'm right, don't expect my tone on Nalu to stay the same. At the very least, I can promise a third Nalu edition of "My Incredibly Unpopular Thoughts" if Nalu doesn’t happen. I haven't done one in years and I can't think of a better way to celebrate the ship dying once and for all.

[birlcholtz]

78 for the prompt list? Whatever you're feeling for the ship

78. “You always find a way to surprise me.” from this prompt list!

here is nurseydex with a side of them managing their conflict way back in their frog year instead of having it explode in their junior year with dex constructing a studio apartment in the haus basement oops, this one managed to crack 3k words because once i wrote the first scene i had to keep going, so enjoy!! ao3

.

“You always find a way to surprise me,” Dex snaps. “What is this, pretend to sympathize with the gay kid and then make it all about you?”

Which is a dumb ass conclusion to get from Nursey trying to share feelings and empathize and shit. I told Dex I’m bi for this? “Chill, what the fuck? I was not making it about myself, I was trying to make it clear that I fucking understand how you feel.” And Nursey hates that his voice is starting to get a little louder, a little pitchier, but this is so like Dex, to take the first thing he thinks and run with it, and it’s kind of fucking upsetting because Nursey had just been letting himself think that maybe Dex and his fiery hair and his freckles and his smart mouth and his energy didn’t just fall into Nursey’s orbit in vain, that maybe this stupid crush he had on Dex (and the fiery hair and the freckles and the smart mouth and the energy) could go somewhere, and now, well, Dex has taken that bit of hope and stomped on it.

It’s something he’s very good at. Stomping on hope, that is. Nursey has watched Dex dismantle forwards’ goal-scoring ambitions like it’s as easy as breathing. He’s helped Dex do that, and Dex has helped him in return.

“That you understand how I feel? You have two moms, Nurse. You—” And then Dex blows all the air out of his lungs in one breath and half-turns away, enough that he’s not looking at Nursey, enough that Nursey can barely see his face. “It didn’t really help,” he adds, and Nursey is about to say ‘duh, thanks, Captain Obvious’ when Dex adds, slowly, “Um. But. You made an effort. Thank you? Sorry.”

“Uh?” Nursey manages. Both because of the quick 180 and because he’s never heard Dex sound so tentative in his life. He half-wonders if the Haus is going to fall down around them, because the Haus, like Dex’s general conviction in him being right, is an institution of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team. If one can fall, so can the other. “You’re welcome?” And it comes out just as tentative from him as it did from Dex. “Sorry it wasn’t helpful. I thought it would be.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty clear,” Dex says, but without bite. “I appreciate you wanting to help, though.”

Okay, this is just too weird. “Sorry, did you wake up today and decide to just be a different person? I mean, I feel like this is an improvement, but if you’re actually just possessed by some sort of weird demon I might have to put a stop to things.”

Dex scrunches his nose up like he can’t decide whether to be angry or amused and says, “Uh, no. Well, kind of. My mom told me to try taking out my anger on the other team, not my own defense partner. Ironic, right?”

Considering that Dex’s mom’s blissfully ignorant questions about girlfriends had sparked Dex’s whole frustration-driven coming out to Nursey that morning, yes. Nursey nods. “But I’m glad you, like, felt like you could come out to me. Even though we fight all the time and shit.”

“Not on the ice, anymore,” Dex points out. Which is true. The first time they’d really clicked on the ice was during a game, with Samwell two points behind and Chowder, in the net, only just having recovered from a minor freak-out after the second period. The other team hadn’t scored at all, Wicks had gotten one goal, Bitty had gotten one, and Jack had gotten two, and Nursey had felt incredibly awkward afterwards as he realized how well he and Dex worked together if they actually, you know, worked together. 

Dex had probably realized that at the same time, because they’d managed to keep fighting during practice to a minimum.

Maybe it was only a matter of time until one of them figured out the same thing applied even when they didn’t have their skates on.

“Not on the ice,” Nursey agrees. “If we both try and fight the other team instead of each other, we probably stand a chance at not fighting at all.”

.

Three months later, Nursey discovers that was bullshit.

Sure, they’re doing better. They’re actually doing so much better that Coach Hall called them into his office to tell them he was proud of their progress, and once Nursey gave Dex a fist bump and pretended not to see Ransom and Holster silently losing their minds over it.

But they still fight. That’s just how things work with Nursey and Dex.

(He’s even getting used to hearing their names said together, as a pair, like RansomandHolster or OllieandWicks. Even if his and Dex’s friendship is much less… well, solid.)

“I can’t believe you actually like the top bunk,” Dex says, taking a bite out of his apple with more force than the situation calls for. “We’re the same height, how do you not hit your head every time you sit up?”

“I’m careful?” Nursey notices he’s not sure exactly when Chowder left the Haus kitchen. He definitely did, though, because all three of them came in together, but whatever, Chowder’s an adult, and Nursey has a debate to win. “Besides, if I have the bottom bunk I always wind up sitting in my bed doing homework and stuff—”

“Which is nice.”

“But then my brain associates being in bed with doing homework and not with sleeping and when I try to sleep I can’t because my brain is like oh, it’s time for… fucking Ovid or some shit.”

“And then you fall asleep because you skated suicides for half an hour and did planks on your breaks and had an entire hockey practice and then went to class for the whole day,” Dex says.

“No, then you stay awake for at least an hour because your brain is rehashing your entire seminar on Roman historians and then for good measure it goes through your entire life and shows you a greatest hits reel of your embarrassing moments, and then you can’t fall asleep because the people across the hall are having a party.” Nursey pauses. “I think I had a point in there somewhere but I got distracted talking about why falling asleep is hard.”

“Bunk beds,” Dex supplies.

“Right. So top bunks are ideal because then I can maintain the separation between work and sleep.”

“Like the separation of church and state.”

“Yes. Also no because that’s completely different.”

“But they are separations. You cannot deny that.”

Which is true. “I cannot.”

And Dex smiles a little at that and takes another bite out of his apple, and Nursey finds himself a little too absorbed in watching as Dex sticks the apple in his mouth and bites down to keep it there, then pulls out his laptop from his backpack and sets it on the kitchen table.

The apple looks dangerously close to falling out of Dex’s mouth, and Nursey stops himself from reaching out to take it before it lands on the floor.

It doesn’t, anyway. Dex gets his laptop open and then keeps eating his apple one-handed as he types something.

Becoming friends with Dex erased Nursey’s distant, unfortunate, aesthetic-driven crush on him, but it was quickly followed by something worse: a real crush. Because underneath the prickly exterior, when Dex is actually making an effort to get to know someone, he’s just… nice to be around. He worries about what other people think of him as much as Nursey does, even if he hides it in a different way. He cheerfully disagrees with Nursey on inane topics, and they get each other into long arguments with the same fervor— passion, Nursey’s brain supplies unsolicited— as the great Attic vs. Roaches debate, if not the same scale. Because it’s just Nursey and Dex, not the whole team. 

He kind of likes it that way.

.

Coming back to campus for pre-season means a couple of things. It means Nursey has to get back on a regular schedule, after doing pretty much nothing besides sleeping, working out, and relaxing. It means he gets on campus before most people, so he can move in in relative peace. And it means he sees his friends. He sees Dex.

It’s been a long summer. Nursey isn’t really sure how he’ll feel when he gets back to campus. At this point, he’s not even really sure what he’s hoping for— the idea of feeling secure in a platonic friendship with Dex and not having to worry about any crush-related feelings is tempting, sure, but Nursey feels like if he gets back to campus and Dex is just another friend, he will have lost something.

Or maybe that’s just the romantic in him talking. Either way, whatever happens happens and Nursey is just going to have to deal.

That mindset lasts all the way until he’s walking to the Haus after unpacking in his dorm room and hears someone yell “Nursey!” from behind him.

He turns around, and there’s Dex, barreling towards him with a lot more freckles and sun-kissed red hair and a t-shirt that is a little more snug than is probably decent and a huge smile, and Nursey has barely registered all of this before Dex catches up and hugs him.

Excuse me?

Even after Dex had come out— and Nursey doesn’t even know how many people on the team he’s out to, it doesn’t seem like many— he still hasn’t been a touchy person. Especially not to Nursey, barring fingers pointed in faces and things like that. And funnily enough, they’d touched each other even less once they stopped fighting all the time. But now…

Now, here they are, and Nursey would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to be here.

So he hugs back, and tries to keep his voice calm as he says, “Dex! Hey, man, how are you?” and hopes Dex can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest like if it beats fast enough it’ll convince Dex’s heart to match.

Fuck.

.

The night before Ransom, Holster, and Lardo’s graduation finds Nursey and Dex sitting in the Reading Room and talking options.

They’ve never shared a room before. They’ve shared spaces, and sometimes they both crash in Chowder’s room at the Haus after a kegster, and once Nursey brought Dex leftover pie while he was cramming for a midterm and wound up hanging out in his room for a while. That’s about it.

“If we do a bunk bed, we’ll have a lot more floor space,” Dex says. “And then you can have the top bunk you’ve always dreamed of. Although I’m still not sure I believe you about not falling out.”

“Aw, William, you remembered? I’m touched.” And Nursey tries his best to make sure that comes out sounding funny and not sad or wistful or anything like that.

This is something he’s considered, and then immediately decided to ignore. It will be harder to hide his crush on Dex if they live together. It’s already hard now, after a full year of spending more and more time together. Nursey has never appreciated plaid flannel shirts the way he does now, after mentally cataloguing Dex’s entire collection (he has eight, but don’t let that fool you, he wears the same three over and over and breaks out the other ones for special occasions). Every day he gets a little more worried that Dex will catch him staring and Nursey won’t think of a witty remark in time.

And it’s not just Dex he’s worried about, because Holster has definitely started to give Nursey Looks when he catches Nursey staring at Dex. Someone has clearly caught on to what’s going on, and the only good thing about it is that Holster hasn’t tried to say anything about it to him.

Well. Holster’s graduating, and next year Nursey will have a whole new crop of teammates who will be blissfully in the dark. And isn’t that a terrifying thought.

“I don���t want them to leave,” he says, but he doesn’t explain why.

Thankfully, Dex doesn’t ask. “I was just thinking that. But we’ll cope.” He says it so plainly, like it’s already a foregone conclusion. “Even if Bitty makes us get up at four AM for… what did he call them?”

“Soviet calisthenics.”

“Right. How could I forget?” And he smiles, and even though Nursey is pretending to look vaguely across the street in the direction of the LAX house, he sees it and he immediately wants to smile back.

So he does. What’s the harm?

“But anyway,” Dex says. “The room. I don’t think we can compete with Ollie and Wicks for interior design, Wicks showed me his Pinterest board and I’m pretty sure it was just to intimidate me? But it fucking worked, so. Let’s at least make our room a place we can both live in.”

“What was on the Pinterest board?” What aspects of interior design intimidate Dex, is what Nursey really wants to know, because he always wants to know everything there is to know about Dex. But he’ll settle for this clue instead.

“A chandelier and hand-knitted throw blankets. Also, shiplap.“ 

“I… only have a vague idea of what that is.”

“That’s okay, all you need to know is that it’s very popular on HGTV home makeovers.” Dex scoffs. “Waste of time and money if you ask me.”

And that’s so like Dex that Nursey can’t help but laugh and say, “I can’t believe I didn’t like you our first semester.” When Dex raises his eyebrows, he says, “Like, our opinions clashed and all of that, but you’re just so…” Passionate. There’s that fucking word again. Big nope. “Sure of yourself.” It had pissed Nursey off at the beginning, before he’d realized that most of Dex’s strongly held opinions were either correct or just… totally irrelevant to them being able to get along. Like the fucking bottom bunk thing. Dex is clearly wrong, he just hasn’t accepted it. 

Dex’s voice sounds a little odd when he says, “That doesn’t sound like a ‘but’, that sounds like another reason you didn’t like me.”

“More like… fuck. No, that’s not the right word to use, sorry.” Nursey’s going to have to fucking say ‘passionate’, isn’t he. The universe is against him right now, but he doesn’t know what that weird tone is in Dex’s voice and he doesn’t want to turn and look at him to find out. “Not sure of yourself. You’re just… when you care about something, you really care about it, you know? I admire that. Being… passionate.” Fuck, he said it. Fuck fuck fuck.

Dex’s voice still sounds strange when he says, “I admire you too, you know.”

And that makes Nursey whip around faster than he has ever turned in his life.

Dex is sitting cross legged, wearing his preferred red flannel, looking right at Nursey, and his face is flushing a little but he repeats, “I admire you too. Because you’re really dedicated to, like, growing as a person and shit. You want to be your best self. It makes me want to do that too.”

“…Thanks.”

With that, Nursey resigns himself to the conversation being over, but he hasn’t turned back to stare vaguely in the LAX house’s general direction before Dex says, fingers twisting in the hem of his flannel, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Nursey says, and hopes he won’t regret it.

“Is something wrong?”

“Huh?”

Dex stops twisting up the hem of his flannel and laces his fingers together like he’s trying to keep them still. Which he is, Nursey realizes, because fiddling with clothing is one of Dex’s nervous tics. (He has several.) “You haven’t wanted to hang out as much lately. And you seem stressed about something but I don’t know what it would be since our finals are done and our season’s done and everything. You don’t have to tell me the details, but… is there something I can do?”

Well. Nursey regrets this already. But… no better time to say things you might regret than in the middle of the night before leaving for an entire summer, right? Worst case scenario, all he has to do is get through the graduation ceremony, then he’ll be back in New York and he can text Dex sometime in July and say he’s over him. Even if it’s not true.

“Uh, there’s nothing wrong, really, but…” If he’s going to do it, he needs to be all-in. “Sorry about avoiding you, I don’t think I even consciously realized I was doing it? But I just… I’ve been really stressed about getting through next year. Because I’ve had a huge crush on you for like a year and I don’t know what’s going to happen next year if we’re living together and don’t look at me like that, I’ve been coping fine, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just… Well, you asked,” Nursey finishes lamely, because he doesn’t know what to say to get that look of shock off Dex’s face. “Sorry.”

He waits for a moment before actually looking at Dex becomes too much, and he gets up to go inside. Coping with commencement and texting Dex he’s over him in July it is.

“Wait,” Dex says, urgency coloring his voice, and Nursey stops almost before he’s got the syllable out of his mouth.

And he turns around, and Dex is standing too, and he says, “There is something I can do.” And before Nursey can ask what, Dex continues, “I’ve been telling myself for months to just let it go away, but… I have had a crush on you for so long—” and then he stops abruptly, and Nursey doesn’t know what to think for a second, and then Dex says, “Sorry, I was going to call you Nursey but then I wasn’t sure if that was the right choice given the context so I just kind of froze?”

“Oh my god,” Nursey says, and that’s as far as he gets before he starts to laugh and also maybe tear up a little because he has been stressing about this ever since that dib flip. “We’re so dumb.”

“Complete idiots,” Dex agrees, and his voice sounds a little shaky, which just makes it match Nursey’s own. “Oh, God, I think I’m going to sit down.” And he sits back down, and Nursey joins him, only a lot closer than the careful two feet he had left between them earlier. “I am so glad I asked.”

“Speaking of asking things, what do we do now?”

“You mean about the room next year, or just in general?”

“Both, I guess.”

Dex contemplates it for a second. “I’m pretty sure we can handle sharing a room. Like, all we have to do is communicate with each other, right?”

“It’s been working pretty well everywhere else in our lives,” Nursey agrees.

“So that’s that for the room. And in general… I guess that just depends on what we want.”

Nursey considers that. “Well, what I want right now is to ask if I can kiss you, and I think the rest can wait until tomorrow.”

“That works for me,” Dex says, and he smiles when he pulls Nursey in for a kiss that feels like it validates every minute Nursey spent pining. He’d do it all again for another chance to throw his arms over Dex’s shoulders and pull him closer, and closer, and closer, until there’s no space between their bodies at all.

Nursey is pretty sure junior year is going to be great.

[monstaxperiments]

Monsta X reaction to you being angry with them over something stupid/insensitive they said..~

Minhyuk:

..~ Immediately covers his mouth but it was too late. While looking for a new rug to go in your shared apartment, you two walk through the animal furs and print section. Walking past a tan and brown rug, Minhyuk chuckles “I think they got this fur from Cuddles”. Cuddles being your dog of 4 years that past away just last week. You look at him wide eyed not believing he just said that. He sees your reaction and regrets ever being born. You storm off and he follows after you apologizing profusely about how stupid that was to say.  He’d spend the next week apologizing and buying you flowers and candy until you’ve had enough and finally forgave him.

Hyungwon: 

..~ You’ve been moaning in bed for 30 minutes now and Hyungwon has had enough of it. You’re on your period and the cramps are increasingly becoming more unbearable as time goes on for the painkillers to kick in. He’s already given you 3 cups of tea and a heating pad but you still won’t shut up. He can hear you from the living room even when he turns up the volume on the TV. Another loud moan comes from the bedroom sending him over the edge. He gets up and heads towards your room super irritated “HEY! Can you please shut up! The neighbors are going to come knocking on our door any minute because of the loud ass noises you’re making. Suck it up!” he slams the door behind him and returns to the couch. Some times passes by and doesn’t hear a sound coming from the bedroom. He hesitantly gets up and enters the room “feeling better?” Silence. You’re laying in bed watching TV. “The pills kicked in?” Silence. You turn up the volume. Hyungwon sighs and sits on the bed “baby I’m sorry for shouting at you, I should’ve been more sensitive, I’m just a little stressed at work is all.” Silence. He sighs again and heads back into the living room. You’d give him the silent treatment for the rest of the day. He’d still try to talk to you normally and occasionally apologizes but he’d eventually get annoyed and give up. But when it was time for bed he’d cuddle up behind you and mutters “I love you” and you’d mutter “I love you too”

Kihyun:

..~ You hummed your favorite song as you excitedly prepare dinner for you and Kihyun. You haven’t seen each other in a couple weeks and you offered to make dinner for your little reunion. He knows you’re not a very good cook but he doesn’t care he just wants to make you happy and if he has to eat less than average quality food he’d gladly take the L. He’s eaten your cooking before and is still alive so he figured eating your cooking today wouldn’t be too bad. He was wrong he thinks as he takes the first spoonful of the stew you cooked. Not showing much emotion he slowly chews and swallows the food with his head down. He looks up at you and sees you staring back at him smiling with anticipation. “Well?” you say excitedly. Oh my God why does she have to be so cute I can’t let her know how bad this is it would crush her “its great babe” he says with two thumbs up. He claps your hands with glee so happy that he likes it. He excuses himself to the bathroom smiling at how happy you are. Once in the bathroom he pulls out his phone and calls his best friend “Bro I just wanted to call and tell you I’m about to die soon and I love you man.” His friend asks what is he talking about. “Y/N cooked for me and its damn near diabolical. I can feel my insides deteriorating just from one bite” Kihyun continues to insult your cooking skills and questions your intelligence because you can’t make a simple stew, not knowing that the apartment walls were super thin and that you heard every word. He comes out of the bathroom to you sitting at the table crying. You tell him that you heard everything and what he said was really mean. He pulls up a chair next to you and apologizes profusely, saying that he was over exaggerating and that your stew wasn’t that bad. He starts to joke and make points about your cooking skills to help you see that your cooking needs improving, which make you laugh and realize that yeah you’re cooking sucks but he’s there to help you. You forgive him and kiss him on the cheek and he helps redo the stew. 

Wonho:

..~ Wonho would be in the living room watching a movie, while you’re in the kitchen making some ramen. A very beautiful woman appears on the screen and Wonho mumbles, “damn she’s hot” not knowing that you were right behind him “excuse me” you say startling him. He jumps up “but of course not as hot as you babe” he says with a hopeful smile but you’re not going for it. You take the bowls of ramen in your hands and head towards the bedroom “more ramen for me”. Wonho hurries after you “babe no please don’t take my ramen” You close and lock the door behind you, so he couldn’t get in. He’s softly call your name and knock on the door “babe please let me in, I’m sorry for what I said, It doesn’t mean anything.” You loudly start to slurp and eat the ramen so he could hear. He starts to get louder “HEY! Open the door you better not be eating mine!” Some times passes and he gives up returning to his movie. He hears the bedroom door open and he turns around. You hand him his bowl of ramen, he smiles as he takes it but his smile quickly goes away “it’s not hot anymore....” he says like a sad child. “of course not as hot as me right babe” you say with a smirk and heads to the kitchen to place your empty bowl in the sink. 

Jooheon:

..~ Jooheon is over your apartment helping you pack for your trip together. You lay your outfits on the bed for his opinion and he gives you two thumbs up and a dimplely smile. He let out a sigh of relief because you spent a lot of time planning your outfits for this trip. You and Jooheon barely see each other and it was rare that your days off would align with each other and taking full advantage you plan a romantic getaway. You head into the kitchen to get you both a drink. Jooheon’s smile immediately drops from his face as soon as you leave the room. He looks over your outfits again and shakes his head. “my girlfriend has horrible style” he mumbles to himself “WHAT?” He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice behind him. He apologizes over and over as you angrily rearrange your outfits on the bed, switch things out from your closet, rummage though drawers, etc. “babe your style isn’t horrible, it’s just.... different” “it’s ok to have a unique style” “no wait that outfit was fine” “these two pieces would go together better” His apologizing would slowly turn into him giving you fashion tips. Satisfied with your outfits he’d smile at you but you’d have a sad look on your face. He’d embrace you and tell you that he loves everything about you even your “interesting” style. You’d eventually forgive him on the drive to your destination because you couldn’t stay mad at him for too long.

I.M:

..~ “These doesn’t fit either!” You’d shout to I.M from the fitting room. You two were out shopping and you wanted to get a new pair of jeans but your normal size didn’t fit. Nor did the next size up. “Wow really?” I.M responded in a concerned tone. You slip your sweatpants back on and exit the fitting room. I.M chuckles to himself “I guess sweatpants are all that fits you right now” he says referring to the movie Mean Girls “Maybe we should try Sears?”. You stare at him with an unamused look on your face. He looks at you apologetically “too harsh?” You didn’t respond you just cross your arms and walk in the opposite direction. He follows you silently at first, then tries to ease his way to your good side by complimenting you and telling jokes but you wouldn’t budge. On your way home you’d stop at your favorite ice cream shop and he’d buy you the biggest size that they offered to make you feel better and forgive him, which you do. “Hmmm maybe ice cream wasn’t the best option because of your jeans problem...” he says thoughtfully. You scoff and roll your eyes and head toward the exit. Oh shit.... I did it again he thinks as he hurries after you.

Shownu:

..~ You and Shownu were watching a drama at your apartment. The main character is a college student that tends to slack off and do poorly in school. The main character gets his test grade back and sees that he’s failed. Shownu chuckles to himself “I guess you can relate huh? Except you actually studied and still failed” Shownu laughs at his joke but notices he’s the only one laughing. He looks over at you and sees tears forming in your eyes. This semester you’re taking an advance chemistry class and you’ve been struggling since day one. You’ve been studying for a whole two weeks for the upcoming test which was a couple days ago and was extremely sad and disappointed to know that you failed. Shownu immediately shows remorse and realizes that that comment was completely out of line. He wraps his arms tightly around you and apologizes. You continue to cry about how dumb that class makes you feel. He then tells about all your other classes that you’ve excelled in and tells you not to give up and that everyone struggles with something. He continues to comfort you and apologize over sometime until you feel better and accept his apology. 

[eeveevie]

15. Catching the other before they fall for Bryn and Fiona, please?

falling

Fiona literally cannot with her feelings. Brynjolf’s grand romantic gesture only further complicates matters. Falling in love is inevitable, it seems.

:D play on words! :D 

Brynjolf x f!Dragonborn (Fiona)

2524 words (under a cut) | Ao3

“Never thought I’d ever see you without ol’ Bryn attached to your hip!”

Fiona’s ears perked at Vex’s teasing voice, watching as the Breton slid into the vacant seat next to her at the Flaggon bar. There was something else in her tone—a little more taunting than playful, but Fiona chose to ignore it, knowing better than to take the bait Vex was trying to lay. Instead, she motioned for Vekel to serve them another round and smiled at her Guildmate.

“And where’s your shadow? Did Devlin decide to leave you alone for once while you bathed tonight?”

Vex breathed a laugh, taking a short swig of her ale. “Only because I threatened to depart him from his most valuable jewels if he followed me to the river,” she explained, gesturing to the dagger on her belt. “Delvin is different. I don’t want his attention. You and Brynjolf on the other hand…”

“We’ve been though this before,” Fiona grumbled as she took a long sip of her drink.

“You two sure have an interesting relationship,” she grinned, obviously noting Fiona’s discomfort with the word. “We all get a kick out of watching the two of you dance around each other, flirting.”

“And?” Fiona probed, wondering where Vex was leading this conversation.

“I’m curious to know if you had any intention of…taking it seriously with him or not,” she replied.

Fiona raised a brow, lowering her tankard slightly to peer at the other blonde with skepticism. “Is this some sort of pep-talk? ‘Break-Brynjolf’s heart and I’ll kill you?’” she asked. “Or…are you jealous?”

Vex huffed in offense, rolling her eyes. “No. Most definitely not either of those things,” she began again. “I’m asking so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“We both know Bryn’s reputation, how many women he’s—”

“Yes, we’ve been thought this before, as well!” Fiona repeated, voice curt, teeth clenched.

She liked Vex, respected the shit out of her. Hell, even called the woman a friend. But Divines—she was a stubborn bitch sometimes. Yes, Fiona was perfectly aware of Brynjolf’s repute of a ladies’ man, but she was in no position to judge, or to be jealous. He was a handsome man, with an excellent physique—whatever he wanted to do with said body was his choice. Fiona had her fair share of fun and while that had slowed since her arrival in Riften, that didn’t mean everybody she knew had to stop having sex.

“Why are you bringing this up again?” she questioned.

“Look, I’m only saying this because I like you and I want you to stick around and not be scared off by his stupidity,” Vex sighed, eyeing the contents of her tankard. “Did you ever think that maybe Brynjolf really is after one thing with you?”

“Yes,” Fiona answered, surprising Vex. “I’m not daft.”

Before she could continue to explain that it wasn’t what she truly thought, at least not recently, Vekel came by with a refill for Vex. He was shaking his head, lips poised in a pensive frown.

“Have you given any thought that perhaps ol’ Bryn has changed?” he asked.

“Pfft,” Vex waved him off as she practically inhaled her second ale.

Vekel peered at Fiona with a softer expression. “I’ve known Bryn a long time and Vex is right about one thing—we enjoy watching the two of you,” he smiled warmly and something about it that made her cheeks flush. “But because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bryn act so…carefree. Around anyone, let alone a woman.”

“Ugh,” Vex groaned, clearly unhappy with Vekel’s sappy comments. She continued to drink.

“I also see and hear everything that happens in these Guildmember’s lives, regardless if they like it,” he made a lingering glare at Vex as she silently mocked him. “And I haven’t seen Bryn sneaking off to be with anybody since you’ve arrived. No rumors or gossip from the Bee and Barb or the bunkhouse either. Taking in the time before, that’s a considerable dry spell for him! Must account for something.”

“Sure, air out all of Bryn’s sex issues,” Vex mumbled.

“He’s not getting any younger,” Vekel continued, ignoring the other woman. “Not one’s first reason for wanting to slow down and rethink how to go about love and romance, but perhaps he’s outgrown the wild days of his youth.”

“That’s a load of horseshit and you know it,” Vex argued, face scrunched up.

Fiona meanwhile felt her gut clench at Vekel’s use of the word love. He probably didn’t even realize he had used it, but it had resonated so deep within her that the rest of their conversation fell away. All she felt was an overwhelming sense of dread. Sure, she liked Brynjolf—really liked him. She liked having his attention, his flirtations, his company, and everything in-between. But the thought of anything more, was terrifying. The thought of anything less—being reduced to just another roll in the hay? That was somehow entirely worse. What was so wrong about keeping their dynamic the way it was?  

Without another word she stood up, the sharp squeak of her barstool causing the two to stop whatever they were saying to stare at her in confusion. Fiona shook her head—she wanted to say something to fill the quiet, to offer some excuse, but her mind was so muffled that all she could do was sigh and walk away, defeated. She hoped the two wouldn’t read into her silence as she departed through to the Cistern.

It was out of habit that Fiona tried to find Brynjolf as she crossed through the walkway, her eyes darting across the waterways to spot the familiar auburn of his hair. Vex and Vekel’s words would continue to cause her turmoil until she could see him, speak to him about all of this. Either directly, or by some other means. Maybe it would put her mind at ease. Or ruin everything. The contingency plan Fiona always thought of when her anxiety flared flashed through her mind—run—but she pushed away the idea. She was past running away from her problems. Well…sort of.

Instead, all she found were the usual Guild members and Delvin, who was perched up on the counter next to the alchemy lab. He was flicking through a small notebook, lips twisting up into a smirk as he noticed Fiona approaching.

“Ah, there’s my favorite girl,” he greeted.

Fiona chuckled, shaking her head. “Your favorite? What, this week?”

Calling his bluff, Delvin copied her laugh and shut his book to give her his full attention. “Hmm, but I can tell I’m not the man you’re looking for,” he said pointedly. “Bryn isn’t around, unfortunately. Left this mornin’ on a job for Mercer.”

While Fiona tried not to react to this information, she must’ve frowned enough for Delvin to notice, his eyebrows perking up curiously. “Why? Upset he didn’t take you along? Mercer didn’t really give him the option—”

“Nothing like that,” Fiona interrupted. She understood that there were some jobs that Brynjolf had to take on his own, being the Second for the Guild. As she was still working her way through the ranks and proving her worth to the Guildmaster, she couldn’t expect to always be by his side on every job.

Delvin leaned forward, still interested. “Then what is it?”

Fiona reluctantly divulged the basics of the situation to Delvin, carefully observing his features for even the slightest hint of humor or mockery. She trusted Delvin—maybe more than anyone else in the Guild besides Brynjolf—and valued his opinion, even if he was the most lecherous of them. In the months that she had known him, he had always offered the soundest advice in a straight-forward and blunt way—something she appreciated. Hopefully now he could do the same when it came to affairs that were a little more delicate.

“Well, well,” he sighed with a grin, reaching up to scratch at his jawline. “I must say my little Vex is being quite the sweetheart looking out for you, even if she’s completely baseless.”

Fiona widened her eyes, slightly shocked. “What?”

“There’s some truth to what Vekel says,” he started. “Bryn’s been acting…I wouldn’t say strangely, just differently. A good different.” Delvin’s smile grew as he thought of his friend fondly. “I’ve known that bastard longer than anyone here. If this new side of Brynjolf is here to stay, then good.”

“Even if it makes him a big ol’ romantic softy,” Delvin continued.

That alarmed Fiona. “Delvin, do you know something?”

“Hmm?” he shrugged. “He’s been going on about doin’ something nice for you, after all the good luck you’ve given us—grain of salt dear, we were about six drinks in when this topic came up.”

Regardless, this information didn’t settle right with her. If anything, it only made her feel more anxious than before. Of all the times for Brynjolf to not be in the Cistern or Riften. But he had only just left and maybe she could track him through the forest paths—she’d always been good at that. Delvin only flashed a knowing smile as she slinked away, headed for the graveyard exit.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Fiona paused, an unpleasant shiver crawling up her spine as Mercer slowly stepped to prevent her leaving. She faced him with a neutral expression, holding back the urge to shove him out of the way. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with the Guildmaster, but she knew that Mercer was not a man to be trusted. Her instincts hadn’t failed her yet when traveling Skyrim, but she had to be careful now that she was seeking refuge in Riften.

“I have a job from Delvin,” she lied, knowing he must’ve seen her speaking with the Breton. “Falkreath. Should be back—”

“It will have to wait,” Mercer interrupted. “I have some work for you here in the city, so you won’t be leaving.”

Fiona didn’t appreciate his tone. If only he knew that she could tear his body to shreds with one simple shout from her lips. It would be so satisfying, but ultimately her undoing. Instead, she breathed out and nodded, taking the missive from his hand.

“We’ll be watching you.”

A threat that only had Fiona feeling more conflicted than ever. She exited the Ratways into the misty evening of the Riften courtyard, eventually finding her way to the Bee and Barb. She ordered a hot meal and mulled over her limited options as she read over the list of menial tasks Mercer wanted done. By the time she was finished, she decided to spend the evening in one of the available tavern rooms. She was aggravated with Mercer, but there was that lingering feeling that while Brynjolf was away, the Cistern was not the safest place for her to be. Dragonborn or not.

It was the middle of the night when Fiona awoke, suddenly sensing that something wasn’t right. She could hear the quiet sounds of the tavern downstairs—nothing sounded amiss—no brawls, no panic, yet her heart was hammering in her chest. The room was practically pitch black, save for the sliver of light coming in through the bottom of door. Fiona squinted, noticing the light was obstructed. Something—someone was outside her door.

She exhaled and slowly began to move. Feet on the ground,she first reached for her dagger on the nightstand before silently creeping towards the door. An assassin? Would Mercer really stoop so low to remove her from the Guild? Worse thoughts wormed their way through her mind. Had destiny finally caught up to her by sending the Greybeards to fetch her away? There was a special irony in finding them more frightening than assassins.

Fiona carefully removed the chair she had wedged under the doorknob (she never trusted tavern locks) and then quietly unlocked the door. She jerked the door wide open but before she could drop back into a defensive stance a body came tumbling through the doorframe back-first with a loud yelp—a familiar body. She scrambled to catch Brynjolf, dropping her dagger, but the combined weight of his body and the sheer shock of his appearance had them toppling to the ground.

Fiona leaned herself up and looked down at him—flat on his back, wide eyed but smiling that ever-ridiculous smile. Her eyes flicked to where his hands were clutching a bunch of parchment wrapped flowers. Her chest tightened and she gulped. Her heart was racing again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“Brynjolf?”

“Help an old man up, will you lass?”

She forced a smile and pushed herself off the floor, reaching down to tug on his free hand to pull him to his feet. Simultaneously she moved to light the oil lamp on her nightstand while he closed the door. Finally, she snatched up her night-coat from the storage-chest tugging it across her shoulders much to Brynjolf’s disappointment as she covered up the exposed skin her nightgown showed. His eyes still flickered as he looked over her form, silently drinking her in.

They met halfway, standing near the foot of the bed. Fiona didn’t feel uncomfortable, per-say, just nervous. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. Her gaze danced across his arms where the bundle of flowers was, and he softly laughed. “I brought you these, I hope they are to your liking.”

She gasped when he handed them over, their color visible now in the light. Yellow-mountain flowers. Incredibly rare and her absolute favorite. Fiona racked her mind trying to recall when she had ever told Brynjolf about them when she was hit with a sudden wave of collected memories. Falkreath—months ago now, when they barely knew each other, and were making an effort to learn more. But they had been drinking, and she didn’t think that he was paying attention, let alone that he would remember.

“Brynjolf, I—” she breathed, overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say.” When she looked at him again he was smiling, a mix of self-satisfaction and wonderment as he watched her reaction. She found it incredibly difficult to focus on the shine of his eyes. “This seems like quite the grand gesture, even for you, Bryn. Where did you even find them?”

“It’s a secret,” he teased. “I’ll take you there one day.”

All of Fiona’s earlier emotions came crashing down, causing an incredible ache to her chest. She blinked hard to prevent the sting of tears that threatened to develop, not wanting to cry in front of him. Not over something like this.

“What are you doing, Bryn?” she asked, bluntly. She decided direct honesty would be best this time. “Whatever it is, I like what we have now. I don’t want that to change.”

Brynjolf’s demeanor didn’t change, as if he hadn’t just been rejected—to some degree. He shifted closer, hands covering hers. She didn’t pull away.

“I think it’s a little late for that, lass.”

The worst part was that he was right.  

[redhoodssweetheart]

I Choose...

Pairing: Buck x Reader & Carol x Reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Little bit of fluff and angst.

Requested:  Can you do a Carol x Reader x Bucky? Carol and Bucky are fighting for who take the reader on a date first You choose who wins the readers heart Tag me if you write this ❤️ ~ @lern-jergui-babygirl

Description:  Both Bucky and Carol have a crush on you that only seems to grow as they get to know you.  Stark is hosting a charity event and when they both ask you, you’re not sure who to choose.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this one out!  I was having trouble deciding what I should do with the ending, but I got it figured out.  So I couldn’t choose on which one the reader ended up with so this story has three possible endings lol.  You, the reader, get to decide if you want to be with Carol, Bucky, or neither one of them.  Enjoy!

Carol and Bucky both wished they had seen you first, but unfortunately for them, they had met you at the same time.  Tony had brought you into the compound with Steve the three of you were talking, your smile was a bit shy as Tony and Steve steered you into the dining room where the others were sharing dinner with one another.

“Guys, I want you to meet Y/N Y/L/N,” Tony said with enthusiasm.  “Y/N will be helping watch our backs and digging up any intel for us.”

You waved a bit awkwardly, “Hi everyone, it’s really nice meeting you all.”

Slowly one by one the team got up to tell you hello and welcomed you to the team.  Carol and Bucky were both eager to meet you, finding you incredibly attractive.  Steve and Tony both noticed how the two of them were acting.  Tony leaned over and whispered, “I sense a competition coming on.”

Steve sighed, “Maybe, but let’s try to keep it from coming down to that, yeah?  I’d rather not see a divided team again and I don’t think Y/N would be comfortable if she were the cause of the riff.”

“You’re right, but let’s just see how this plays out,” he patted Steve on the arm.

The two of them joined the group as you told the others a little more about yourself.  You were Enhanced, your abilities allowed you to move objects with a single thought and you could transport yourself anywhere you wanted with just a single thought.  “Comes in handy when you’re running late for work,” you joked causing the team to laugh.

As the days passed you got to know the others a little better and learned that they were all down to earth… well maybe all but Tony, but he had a right to be full of himself.  He was one of the greatest inventors on the planet.

As your fifth day the day at the compound came to a close you excused yourself to go to bed.  You told the others goodnight and then vanished right before their eyes.  “I’m never gonna get used to that,” Sam quipped as he stood to go to bed himself.

Carol and Bucky both wandered off too, their thoughts still trained on you and how they were gonna ask you out.

The next morning when you were awoken by your alarm you dragged yourself out of bed and slipped on your workout clothes.  It was still early so you doubted anyone was up yet as you made your way down the halls toward the kitchen.  

When you pushed the door open you were surprised to see Carol there making breakfast for herself.  She instantly perked up when she saw that it was you, “Good morning Y/N!  I didn’t know you were an early riser.”

You shrugged, “Some days I am, other times not so much.”  You walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water and then grabbed a protein bar.  “I was actually gonna go for a run.  Maybe after I get back and eat breakfast you and I could train for a bit?  I bet you have moves that none of these guys have seen before.”  You hadn’t had a chance to train with her yet and you were dying to see what she could teach you.

Carol nodded her head enthusiastically, “I’d love that!”

You gave her a bright smile, relieved that she had agreed, “Great!  I’ll come find you later then.”

She told you goodbye before you were out the door going for a quick run.  You were racing around the track when someone joined you.  You looked up to see Bucky keeping pace with you.  “I see I may have a running partner in the future,” he smiled.

You chuckled and shook your head, “Don’t get used to this, this is a very rare occasion.”

“Maybe I can change your mind about it.  I could always use a partner, it gets kind of lonely out here running all by myself,” he told you.

You were surprised to hear that, “I would have figured Steve or Sam would have joined you at least.”

“Sometimes, but Steve likes taking a scenic run.”  He pointed toward an opening in the wooded area around the compound, “He takes that path there and runs that way with Sam.  Sometimes I join them, but to be honest I like it here much better.”

“Afraid a bear might get you?”  You teased.

He snorted, “Cute, but no.  If I got running through the woods I’ll get distracted, out here there’s nothing to distract me.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Aren’t I distracting you from your early morning run?”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’.  “Like I said I could use a partner when I go running.”

You merely shrugged your shoulders, “As long as you're okay with it I may join you more.”

“I’d like that,” he responded before the two of you continued running in companionable silence.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you fell into a routine of sorts.  You would join Bucky in the morning and run with him and then in the afternoons you and Carol would train together.  Carol liked your powers and how challenging it made sparring, and Bucky liked having someone to talk to in the morning as he ran.  Both of them were a little less lonely with you around.  You enjoyed spending time with them, everyone could see that the three of you were getting closer, they just hoped that it didn’t end in disaster.

Carol and Bucky both started noticing that the other was trying to woo you in their own way and confronted one another about it.

“Do you like Y/N?”  Bucky asked Carol as he approached her in the gym.  She was waiting for you to join her for your training sessions that day.  

She turned to look at Bucky a slight frown on her face, “Yes, and I know you like her too.”

You had slipped into the room, about to greet Carol when you heard what she said.  Keeping quiet you continued to listen to what they were both were saying.  “I was gonna ask Y/N out tonight,” Bucky told Carol.  “Stark has that charity thing coming up and I was hoping that Y/N would go with me.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Carol responded.  “So what do we do?”

“I think we both should ask her and whoever she chooses is who she likes,” Bucky responded.  “It’s only fair that Y/N gets to choose.”

Carol nodded, “I don’t want to fight over Y/N either, if Y/n picks you then I’ll back down, and I would hope the same would go for you.”

“It would,” Bucky responded.  “And Y/N if chooses neither of us then we’ll just be friends.”

You slipped out of the room feeling conflicted.  You had no idea that the two of them liked you as more than a friend.  How could you not see it before?  It made sense in the grand scheme of things.  The lingering looks, the offers to train, wanting to sit by you at dinners and movie nights.  

You bumped into Steve, “Hey Y/N, is something wrong?”

You met his blue eyes and shook your head, “Can we talk somewhere private?”

He grew concerned, “Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks,” you replied feeling relieved that you had run into him.  “Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you inform Carol that I’ll be missing our training session today?  Just tell her that Steve needed to see me.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

You and Steve made your way to his office and once you were safely inside Steve asked you what was on your mind.  You told him about how you had just overheard Carol and Bucky’s conversation and how you didn’t know what you should do.  “I like both of them, but I just… I don’t know what to do!”  You cried in frustration.  “I don’t want to hurt either one of them.”

Steve reached across the desk and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.  “I wish I knew a way to make this better, but I don’t know what to tell you.  The only thing that I can think of is to listen to your heart.  When they ask you to the charity event, go with what your heart is telling you.”

You nodded your head, “I just hate the thought of hurting either of them.”

“I know, but sometimes life is unfair like this.  They’re both adults and they know that this is a possibility.  I’m sure they’ll get over it in time,” he told you.

You thanked him and left his office, still feeling conflicted and unsure of what to do.

Later that evening Carol and Bucky both approached you and you knew it was about to happen.  Your stomach began to churn and you found yourself holding your breath.  “Y/N, can we talk?”  Carol asked.  You merely nodded your head and waited for them to continue.  “Bucky and I have both come to the realization that we both have feelings for you.”

“Feelings that run deeper than friendship,” he continued.  “We were both gonna ask you to the charity thing that Stark is throwing and we decided that we would come to you and let you decide who you wanted to go with.”

“We want you to know that whoever you choose won’t hurt the others feelings.  So if you choose me it won’t change things between you and Bucky and vice versa.  We’ll still be friends no matter what.”

“So the only thing left is to know who you want to go with,” Bucky said.  “Do you want to go with me?”

“Or with me?”

You stood there feeling like that world had shifted beneath your feet.  You thought back to Steve’s advice and began to listen to what your heart was trying to tell you, “I choose—”

ENDING OPTION ONE: CAROL

“I choose Carol,” you said with a small smile. You liked spending time with her and you found yourself drawn to her in a more romantic way. You turned to Bucky, “I’m sorry Buck, but… well, I just see you as a friend.”

He shrugged a half-hearted smile on his face, “S’okay, I want you to do what feels right for you.”

You walked over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before leaving the room with Carol.

Two weeks later you and Carol walked hand in hand together at the gala. The team was excited to see the two of you together and happy with one another.  Carol asked you to dance and when you agreed she swept you into her arms and spun you around the dance floor.

Towards the end of the night, you walked over to Bucky and asked him to dance with you. As he held you in his arms he asked, “Are you happy?”

You looked over at Carol who was smiling at you, you smiled back before looking at Bucky, “Yeah, I am.”  You knew you had made the right choice when you had chosen Carol.

She stepped in and danced with you one last time before the two of you headed home.

ENDING OPTION TWO: BUCKY

“I choose Bucky,”  you said with a small smile. You liked spending time with him and you found yourself drawn to him in a more romantic way. You turned to Carol, “I’m sorry Carol, but… well, I just see you as a friend.”

She shrugged, a little hurt, but she couldn’t help that you had fallen for Bucky, “It’s all good. I just want you to be happy, and if he makes you happy then go for it.”

You hugged her, “I still expect us to spar together.”

She pulled away with a laugh and said, “As if you could stop me.”  She made her excuses and left the two of you alone to talk.

You and Bucky walked into the charity event two weeks later together. You were happy with him and could wait to lead him out onto the dance floor.

“Come on, Sarge, show me how you and Steve used to dance back in the day.”

He gladly swept you into his arms and twirled you around the dance floor. Carol cut in towards the end of the evening. “You look happy,” she commented.

“I am,” you told her. You glanced at Bucky who gave you a smile before turning back to Steve.  “Bucky’s a great guy.”

When the song was over you walked over to Bucky and asked if he was ready to go home to which he agreed. Yes, you knew choosing Bucky had been the right choice.

ENDING OPTION THREE: NEITHER ONE

“I choose neither of you,” you told them. Both of them looked at one another with wide eyes. “I can’t choose. I love you both, but just as friends.”

Both of them looked defeated. “We understand,” Carol told you.

“We can go together as friends though,” you said with a hopeful smile. “There’s no reason that all three of us can’t have fun together. Are you… are you okay with that?”

The two of them smiled. “We’d like that,” Bucky answered.

Two weeks later the three of you walked into the charity event together. Throughout the night the three of you laughed, danced, ate, and drank together.

As you headed home you said, “I had so much fun tonight you guys.”

“So did I,” Carol agreed.

“Most fun I’ve had in a long while,” Bucky said as he looked at you.

The three of you continued to have a good time all the way back home. You were glad you had made the choice to spend the evening with both of them.  You had had more fun than you ever expected and you were glad your friendship with both of them was still intact.