#this is what happens when the prem is on pause

[reigningmax]

Max and Checo in Singapore with Jamie Redknapp, Micah Richards, and Alan Carr | Sept. 29

[chelseachilly]

THIS LOVE - chapter four | you can hear it in the silence

pairing: ben chilwell x reader

rating: T

word count: 2.2k

summary: you try to keep your distance from ben after italy, but after a terrible day, there's no one else you'd rather be with. i wonder why that is...

A/N: sorry it took longer than usual to update guys, it's been a very busy week for me! this one's a bit short as well but the next will be longer. i'm so happy the prem is back and we're getting so much good ben content though, the chelsea media team is keeping us well fed (and inspired one line of this chapter lol). title is from you are in love by taylor swift 🙈

previous chapter | view all chapters

Your plan when you got back to London seemed almost foolproof at the time.

You picked up a bunch of shifts at work, more than you would ever normally take on in one week. If you’re constantly working, then that gives you 1) an excuse not to attend any more events with Ben and 2) a good distraction from the developing feelings you’re experiencing for him.

The facts are simple.

He is your best friend in the world. He most certainly doesn’t return whatever weird feelings you’re having. Nothing is going to happen.

You’re sure it’s just a weird side-effect of this fake dating you’ve been doing, but that’s just playing pretend. 

Seeing him return to his usual ways - that perhaps he never left - of sleeping with beautiful models, firmly planted you back in the real world. 

And there’s nothing that can help you snap out of your fantasy life than a double shift in an East London emergency department. 

By the end of the week, you’re burnt out, exhausted, and you’re coming off what might be the worst shift you’ve ever had. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong, and it takes all your energy just to make it home on the tube and get yourself up the stairs to your flat afterward.

You don’t know whether you want to cry, scream, sleep, eat, or something else entirely when you finally make it to your couch and collapse into it. 

Some time passes - you’re not sure if it’s minutes or hours - without you moving a muscle, your face buried in a pillow as you try to forget about your nightmare day. You’re snapped out of it when there’s a knock on your door. 

You’re not expecting anyone, but you reluctantly force yourself off the couch and trudge your way over to open it. 

And there stands Ben, who you haven’t seen or really spoken to except a few texts in a week and a half. Perfect.

“Ben, what are you doing here?” 

You’re aware it’s not the most polite greeting, but you don’t really have much more than that in you. 

“Are you alright?” Ben asks as soon as he has a moment to take you in, his eyes scanning your face. “You didn’t answer my call yesterday or my texts this morning, I was worried.”

Although you missed the texts because your phone was off at work and haven’t had the energy to check your messages since, you did dodge his call. 

“I’m fine, I just had a long day at work and I-“ You pause as it dawns on you what day it is, as well as the fact that Ben is dressed a bit more smartly than usual, in black trousers and a nice leather jacket. “Oh, shit. The Nike thing. I completely forgot.”

You had agreed weeks ago to attend a big flashy party for Nike as Ben’s date tonight, but as you focused all your energy on work this week it completely slipped your mind. 

“I’m sorry, just give me a few minutes to get changed and I’ll-“

“Hey, hey,” Ben says softly, stepping into your flat and closing the door behind him. “Forget about the party, is something wrong?”

You shake your head. “I just had a rough day at work.”

Ben nods, gesturing for you to go on, and something about the sincere worry in his eyes makes it impossible for you to remain closed off from him.

“We were really understaffed, and it was just one thing after another and then I lost a patient and I just-“ 

You cut yourself off as you feel that you’re about to cry, the sheer weight of your awful day and week catching up with you, but Ben can see it in the way your lip is trembling slightly and you’re avoiding eye contact with him.

“It’s alright, come here,” he says, stepping closer and pulling you into his arms before you can insist that you don’t need to be comforted. You definitely do, and there’s no better comfort on earth than Ben’s hugs. 

He holds you close against him, letting you hide your face in his chest, and you can’t resist letting out a few sobs now that he’s opened the emotional floodgates. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” Ben says so softly that it almost makes you cry harder. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, and never breaking contact, Ben shuffles you both backward until the back of your legs hits the couch and eases you both into a seated position. He pulls you even closer so your legs are draped over his lap and your face rests in the crook of his neck, his hands slowly rubbing your back as your sobs taper off into quiet whimpers.

You can feel everything bad and stressful about today slowly leave your body with every soothing murmur and stroke of Ben’s warm hand against your back. 

He’s like an instant cure for everything wrong with the world, and it occurs to you that a big part of your terrible mood is probably the result of not seeing him for longer than usual. 

Now that you’re back in his presence, in the strong arms that have held you when you were eight and you scraped your knee falling off a bike and when you were sixteen and a boy broke your heart for the first time, you never want to leave. 

You’re no longer crying when you finally find the strength to pull away from him and look him in the eye. 

Ben releases you but keeps his hands firmly on your arms as he examines your face with worried eyes and a creased brow. 

“Are you alright?” he asks barely above a whisper. 

You nod, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Sorry, I guess this week was just a bit overwhelming.”

“You’ve been working a lot lately, yeah?”

“Yeah, well, have to pay the bills,” you shrug, as if that’s the only reason you’ve been drowning yourself in shifts on purpose. 

You do regret the comment slightly as Ben’s mouth opens and you know what he’s going to say before he even says it. 

“Y/N, if you ever need money, you know-“

“Ben,” you interrupt. “I don’t need money, I’m fine. It was just a stressful week, but I’ve got a few days off now.”

You’ve had this dispute before, with Ben freaking out whenever you seem overworked and insisting on covering some of your expenses. You never take him up on it, obviously. You do mostly love your job and helping people, and Ben knows that. He just worries about you. 

“Alright, fine,” Ben accepts. “Now why don’t we order some food and pick something to watch?”

You blink at him in confusion. “What? What about the Nike thing?”

Ben shrugs. “I’ll skip it. No big deal.”

“Ben-“

“Y/N, you had a shit day, you’re not going to some dumb party, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s his job to take care of you when you’re sad. Like he’s more than just your friend.

You can’t help but smile at his sincere expression, and how he’s gently rubbing your calf that’s still draped over his lap, as if you touch each other like this in private all the time. 

“I thought you said it would be a fun party?” you raise an eyebrow. “Or were you just trying to trick me into it?”

Ben laughs. “Well, it might be alright. A couple of the boys are gonna be there. But not as fun as watching a film with you.”

There it is again - that damn fluttering in your chest that is equal parts exciting and terrifying. 

Suddenly, doing anything with Ben sounds pretty good. Even a dumb party. 

“You know what, let’s go,” you say, wiping any remaining tears from your cheeks. “There’s no point in this whole fake dating thing if we don’t commit, right?”

“Are you sure?” Ben asks, frowning a bit. “We really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure. Let me go get changed.”

You get ready fairly quickly, putting on your go-to little black dress and comfiest heels, because you did just work a 12-hour day. You make your hair look presentable and apply a bit of makeup.

It’s nothing special, but the look on Ben’s face when you walk out of your bedroom says otherwise. 

The stress of your day continues to fade away to nothing as you and Ben make your way over to the party. Ben drives as they have a match Sunday so he won’t be drinking anything, and he loudly sings along to the Taylor Swift song on the radio in a clear attempt to cheer you up. It’s definitely working.

The party is a cool, lively affair at the Nike HQ. There are loads of athletes there, some that you recognize from television and some that you know through Ben. 

As you navigate the party, chatting with some Nike execs and some of Ben’s past and present teammates, Ben maintains some kind of physical touch with you. His fingers intertwined with yours as you walk in; his arm around your waist as you talk to his mates; his hand rubbing gentle circles on your lower back as you order a drink. 

You don’t know if it’s the fact that this is an event hosted by one of his biggest sponsors and he wants to play up the “man in love” thing or if he’s still trying to comfort you, but you can’t help hoping it’s the latter. 

After a while, Ben is approached by someone from Nike asking if he can do a short interview for social media. 

“Your girlfriend is welcome to join too,” the woman says nicely, flashing you a smile.

“You don’t have to,” Ben whispers in your ear, but you just shrug. 

Normally you would shy away from any press, but maybe a part of you doesn’t mind being called his girlfriend tonight.

“I’ll do it,” you say with a small smile at the interviewer. 

Ben keeps his arm protectively around your waist as the interview begins, glancing at you from time to time to make sure you’re alright.

They ask him a few questions about football before diving into the personal stuff, which you know is juicer for social media. 

“So, Ben, we see you’ve brought your lovely girlfriend Y/N here tonight,” the interviewer says. “How does she keep you grounded during the hectic football season?”

You tense a bit as you wonder what Ben is going to say, or if he’s going to be able to come up with anything on the spot, but he barely takes a second to respond.

“She’s such a calming presence in my life, really,” Ben says, squeezing your waist slightly. “She’s a nurse, so her job is infinitely harder than mine, and she still supports me emotionally whenever I hit a low point with my career. She’s…just the best person I know.”

Your heart is beating so wildly that you’re worried Ben is going to be able to tell, but you don’t have much time to stop being flustered before she’s directing a question at you.

“Y/N, I’ve heard that you two have known each other for quite some time before your relationship began,” she says. “What’s your favourite thing about Ben?”

There are a million things that come to mind right away, most of which feel too personal to share. 

You love how he takes care of the people in his life without expecting anything in return. You love how he cries every time you watch Marley and Me together, even though he’s seen it a thousand times.  You love close he is with his family and how he calls his mum every Sunday night just to chat. 

You love…

“I love how positive he is,” you say after a moment when you realize it’s taking you too long to answer. “He’s overcome a lot of adversity in his career, but he always has a smile on his face and makes everyone around him feel better by being in his presence.”

While you try to keep your answer somewhat football-related, since this is a work function, it’s also completely true.

And when Ben looks at you with that same bright smile, you think he knows that.

“Well, it seems love is in the air at Nike HQ tonight,” the interviewer swoons. “I hope you both have a nice evening, and we wish you all the best this season, Ben.”

As she leaves you standing there alone with Ben, trying to process the weight of your feelings, he turns to smile at you and tightens his grip on your waist.

When you meet his gaze and your stomach churns, you know two things for certain.

The first is that you’re in love with your best friend. It’s absolutely terrifying, due in part to the fact that you think you may have been in love with him without realizing it for a long time, but there’s no disputing it anymore.

The second is that you’re going to have to end this fake relationship before someone gets hurt. 

You just hope it’s not too late.

a/n: let me know what you thought, predictions, etc!! love chatting with all of you and your comments/asks make my day! <3 tag list: @lunamelona @kathb59 @captainwans​ @amandaaa1025 @bbygrlllllll @cinderellawithashoe​ @batmansb1tch​ @ncentic​ @myheartgoesvroom @chillymountsjess @babygirlbenji @delicateearthquakellama @joyfullyswimmingface @xxenia14 @chaotic-taco-collector-blog (let me know if you would like to be added or if i missed you!)

[hils79]

Hils Watches Cooking Crush - Ep 10

Well, I didn't see that coming

I'm still rooting for Samsee and Metha. Come on don't disappoint me now

Aww look at him pouring his heart out to the guy he claims to hate

I think he really likes him too

He is rapidly becoming my favourite character

I love that he shit talks them in English

I do love it when characters get all protective of their love interest

God why are they so cute?

Ehehe! I knew he would object. I mean what he's saying is 100% valid but also he's only saying it because he has a crush on Prem and doesn't like Ten

I know this is a drama and I shouldn't be applying logic but if Samsee changes his mind halfway through (which I think he will) are they just going to randomly let him join mid-competition?

What kind of stupid rule is that? Especially after they've already started cooking

Aww see I knew he would show up. I actually thought it would take longer

I mean at least they're actually having a conversation about it

I love that the the white dude judge only communicates in hand gestures

METHA IS HERE TO ROOT FOR SAMSEE! OMG I love Ten's 'wtf is happening' face. Dy looks like he knows what's up

I love that they've made this as dramatic as a real cooking show complete with dramatic music and long pauses

Well, fuck. Now I'm crying over emotionally significant food

Aww look at them all fondly watching their boyfriends backstage

Wow are you really doing this now?

Wow he's turned out to be a total dick

Surprise cannibalism

HOLY SHIT! I legit jumped when Ten showed up and punched him

Time for an important lesson on consent, even if it's just a hug.

Yesssss! More picking up of the tiny boyfriend

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Hello my lovelies!! Part 3 sees a whole lot Amelia's beautiful brain & you get your first slice of interaction with the british boys - leading up to an all important Mykonos adventure (part 4 - out friday). As usual, please let me know your thoughts and feelings, and let me know what you want to see happen with Amelia and her story! Updates have increased to 3/week! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 3. | parte terza

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 2081

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 30/07 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

It was the day after the final match and Amelia should be nursing a hangover due to the large amount of red wine she consumed with her Italian counterparts the night before. However, she finds herself at St. George’s Park before 9am, meeting one of her father’s colleagues who directs her to the recreation room that she remembers from a few days prior.

Standing outside the door, she assumed she was just waiting for her dad as agreed on the phone an hour earlier. As she was waiting, she could hear Gareth Southgate give a team talk to the players, praising them for their ability and pleading for them to bounce back from this defeat and use it to push on. The next voice she could hear was that of her father, giving them the tactical run through of the game. She listened to the points her father made, and both agreed and disagreed with some. Unexpectedly, the man sent to collect her opened the door and ushered her inside.

She stood at the back of the room, facing her dad and Gareth, whilst the team and other management staff had their backs to her. Making eye contact with her dad, he smiled slightly.

“Whilst I can offer you my opinion on the match last night, to better prepare you for the next time, there is no better opinion to learn from at this moment than that of your opponent. Amelia, would you please come up here” Dean really threw her into this situation, that again, she was not prepared for nor did she want to participate in. However, the 30+ sets of eyes that had currently turned around to stare at her didn’t exactly inspire a choice to be made here.

_____________________________________________________________

“Lads, this is my daughter. I taught her everything she knows, which was probably too much considering I can now recognise that it was her signature plays that the italian side used to their advantage last night. Treat her with respect, or I will let her at you. Which i’m sure you all saw a few nights ago in this very room” My dad spoke as I walked up to the front area, weaving in and around beanbags with players occupying them.

Standing in front of the Three Lions was more nerve wracking now than it had been when she was confronting her brother, maybe Fede did offer her protection as his bodyguard. Either way, she put her big girl pants on (figuratively speaking, literally she was wearing her official puma tights and Italian polo) and got on with it as if she was speaking to her team.

“Thanks Dad. Hey guys, I think the first thing I would like to say is that you’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel right now. There is no rush to ‘get over it’ or ‘push on and learn’. You need to feel this now, feel it throughout your body, understand the pain and then turn it into motivation.” I speak to the group, trying to accurately express how sincere I am to this group of heartbroken men.

“As for tactics, I can stand here and praise you for how good you really are but that's not how you are going to learn. You came into the game hard and fast.” I paused, understanding the innuendo just as it was flying out of my mouth. I pursed my lips and tried to hold my giggle in, however some of the boys seem to have the same sense of humour as I do. My brother, face of steel and eyes that burn into any man that tries to joke with me.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. So yeah, you took charge of the game from kick off and we were not ready. You had the aggression and desire to push from the start and that's what you did, Shaw, you really surprised me with that goal. Not because I didn't think you could do it but because I wasn’t anticipating you being someone we had to watch so closely.”

“Again, something you guys need to keep in mind is that it is literally my job to know everything about you and how you play the game, what foot you prefer, who you pass to, how long you hold the ball before you pass, do you like to assist or score...all of these things make a massive difference in each play we make.”

“The error you made came around the 25th minute of the game, we had settled into the game and did what we do best - we slowed you down. In Italy, in the Serie A, which is where most of my team play, the game is a lot slower. There is more skill and tactic used to ensure a favourable outcome. Again, i'm not saying you all don’t have skill, but the Prem favours pace over tactics and strategy. The only way we were going to be able to win was by making you play our game, but in your half of the pitch.”

At this point, all of their eyes are trained to me and the more senior players of the team, like Henderson, Walker, Coady, Kane, they understand what i’m trying to say. Gareth, my dad and other members of staff are sitting to one side, arms folded and a slight smile on their face at the simplicity of my approach to such an important game. I direct my next question to them.

“Can I ask - have you already selected your man of the match?”

“Off record, yes we have. Before I announce to the team who it is, can I direct the question back to you and find out who you would award it to?” Gareth poses back to me, interested to hear my opinion.

“While the obvious choices would be Kane, Sterling, Maguire - your players who perform week in week out and are consistent and no doubt deserve an award as such. I would recommend Declan Rice. Personally, he was the most instrumental in the match last night. Every time we turned to attack, he was there to stop it. He was a player I was confident that I knew the extent of his ability, when it was obvious that I didn't.”

The boys around him, Mason Mount & Ben Chilwell, offered him a gentle shove and ruffle of the hair, to show their encouragement to the bashful boy who seemed surprised at the praise he was receiving.

“The other player that I think deserves a bit of a shoutout, and not because of his hair, is Jack Grealish.” I spoke, looking around the room until we locked eyes. I wanted him to understand how serious i was about my next words.

“You are so dangerous on the ball, you are an asset as a team mate, you aren’t guilty with the ball, but you have the power behind you to score when the opportunity presents itself. The moment you were subbed on I pulled Jorginho to the side and told him to treat you like Chiellini and Bonnucci were handling Sterling and Kane. You were one of my players to watch, and for good reason”

At the end of the little session, I said thanks to the boys for listening and that I hope to see them again in a tournament. The only way to be the best is to beat the best. After a quick round of applause that made me feel more special than I am, I walked past my brother, gave him a quick ruffle of his hair and met my dad at the back. Gareth dismissed the boys and they all stood up, breaking away and grabbing some breakfast that was set up to the side of the room, for one last team meal.

“Mills!! I’ll get you an almond croissant and a coffee, come sit with me!” Walker shouted from across the room.

“Oi mate, she’s my sister not yours” Ben counters from the back of the line.

“Yeah she's your sister by blood, mine by choice.” Kyle firmly states and begins his way to one of the tables.

“I suppose i better join Kyle before he drowns everyone in his tears” i joked with the england officials i was standing with before walking over to Kyle and a few of his team mates.

“Sooo am I supposed to pretend I don’t know who you all are so you can introduce yourselves? Or do we just mutually agree that I know too much about each of you and not bring it up?” I question the boys, jokingly. They all laugh and I sit down in the space Kyle left between himself and John Stones. I sat there and got to know some of the boys on a less competitive level, working out who was a leader both on the pitch and off it. After listening to the boys joke around and just be mates, rather than teammates, I leaned over to Kyle.

“Hey, before I go, do you think you can introduce me to Bukayo? I want to speak with him for a moment.”

“Yeah sure, I'll take you over there. Why are you nervous? You've never been shy before” Kyle questioned back at me.

“I’m not nervous, I'm just hyper aware of the sensitivity of the moment. Last night would have been tough”

Saying goodbye to the boys, Kyle directed me over to a table that was sitting my brother Ben White, Kalvin, Ben Chilwell, Grealish, Saka, Sancho & Rashford.

“Hey boys, Ben, I just wanted to come say goodbye before I head off.” I directed towards my brother. He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit for 5 more minutes, claiming he deserved it after months of no contact.

“Ben here didn’t let us know he had a sister as smart as you...what happened to you Ben? Did you miss that gene?” Jack Grealish poked at my brother. With his signature scowl on his face, Ben White let his mates laugh at his expense.

“Oh don’t make fun of my brother Benny, that’s my job!” I joked back, setting the boys off again with my brother’s childhood nickname. It was nice to hear some laughter again from a side that looked so solemn the night before.

“No in all seriousness boys, I especially came over because I wanted to talk to you Bukayo - what you did was so impressive. In a final, as the last penalty taker, to take on the responsibility of the nation at the age of 19! Not many players would dare to do that. You have earned a lot of respect, particularly from the Italian camp.” I spoke with a smile on my face, directed at the young boy.

“The same goes for you two” Now looking at Sancho & Rashford.

Bukayo looked down at his hands & smiled, before getting up and walking to my side of the table. Anticipating what he was going to do next, I stood up and welcomed him with open arms. Grateful that he understood my message and was beginning to accept the praise he so deserved. Stepping back from the hug, I turned to address the group of lads one more time.

“If any of you fancy a change of pace and want to come over to the Serie A, just give me a call - Benny can give you my number!” I start to speak, before I'm cut off but my brother.

“Stop poaching my mates! I’ve already lost you to another country. I don't need to lose anyone else” He jokingly says while standing to walk me out of St. George’s Park. I know it was a joke but I can't help but think there was some truth to that.

It had been more than 3 years since I moved out of our family home to start my life in Turin, and not one moment had i regretted it or thought i made the wrong decision. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wished I was closer to my family, but I know I had to make that move to prove to myself I am just as successful as I hoped I would be. Not saying I have learnt everything there is to learn with the Serie A giants, Juventus, but maybe it's time for a new challenge? Maybe I can bring the strategic spin on the game to the fast paced action of the premier league?

Part 4. | quarta parte

[robotic-traveling-circus]

Story Fragment - Promise

It was inevitable. There was no reason for the body to continue thus it shut itself down. The emotions that used to vibrate and dance within Bellamy’s being slipped out of existence.

And it broke their hearts.

Fredrick sat before them, his paws hovering over the open cavity of Bellamy’s chest. “Bunny Bell.” He whispered, voice dipping low in a sorrowful tone. This was wrong. It was horrifically wrong.

When the day came that they were distorted and locked in, Bellamy was their optimistic companion. Even when the magnets were torn from their face, they were still able to express themselves happily. He remembers the way Bellamy spoke of new beginnings, that the humans needed a break from the circus but they wouldn’t be forgotten.

That was four years ago. Four years of being unable to help their partner as he drifted away.

It began the day Bellamy did not react to Redd’s pestering like he used to.

“You’re hair is so dumb. It’s like you got a tail on your head. You’re a butt head!” Bellamy declared on several occasions.

“At least me ‘ead isn’t bald!” Redd would snap back with a snarl.

“Better bold than being a butt head.” The teasing would continue and insults would turn from childish to creative.

But the last insult Redd ever threw to Bellamy was, “‘Ey seat face! Why are you walkin’ so prem and prahper? Are you a stoeck oep poodle?”

It took a moment for the words to register, probably analyzing Redd’s accent. “Is the way I walk troublesome? If so, how would you suggest I modify my walk?” The words lacked Bellamy’s childish nature. There was no comeback or further insults.

“..why are you talkin like dat? Ded you 'it yooehr 'ead ahr sahmethin?” Redd took a step closer to examine his partner. They did not appear visually different since they had gotten locked in.

There was another processing period before Bellamy said, “If you have no suggestions for my improvement, I will ask my superiors for readjustment.”

It was the default language. The sentences and phrases they were given through programming rather than personality.

“Bellamy, are you feelin ahkay? I can stahp if you're naht feelin well.” The playful act was dropped. Instead, the rabbit’s actions created concern that fell on massively deaf ears.

“My apologies. I will go and rest.” It was simple and dull. Nothing any of the three were used to.

Yet, after a short period of rest, Bellamy was his usual self. He acted as though he had no memory of the interaction; perhaps that was true.

Another moment that was considered odd was during a game of Clown Mash. They would get a piece of paper and draw a body part before passing it along to the next person. Anyone who played with Bellamy received pretty horrific looking characters. They were not gorey but they definitely fell into the realm of body horror.

However, today’s character looked obscenely normal. There wasn't a clutter of additional limbs or eyes far too large for one’s head. There weren't obnoxious neon colors or glitter. They were normal and legitimate.

Even Sprinkles took offense to the dull creation. “What’s this? Is yawl messin’ with me?” She crossed her wings and gave Bellamy the look.

Yet, they hardly reacted under her gaze. “I am playing according to the rules. Have I misunderstood?”

“The rules?” She squawked, “ Yawl nevur play by the rules! Whut the heck is yawl on ‘bout?” Her feathers stood tall, and the gaze only worsened.

Yet again, Bellamy was unbothered. “Are the rules of the game to break the rules? I am afraid I do not understand your predicament, miss.”

Miss. When they called her miss, the trio suddenly had to deal with a puffed up chicken clucking words that were obviously against programming. At least, they were originally.

The next time there was a notable issue was when Bellamy sat Fredrick down to talk. The other two had been in rest mode, allowing them a momentary privacy.

“Fredrick! Did you miss me? I know you miss our little chats.” Bellamy grins as much as they could without a face. “But I’ll be frank, my head has been screaming. I feel like I’m vanishing. It’s terrible!”

Despite the serious nature of the conversation, it eased Fredrick to interact with a Bellamy that sounded like himself. “Would this happen to have anything to do with how you have been acting?”

Any cheerful energy from the bunny was dropped. “Freddy. I don’t think Imma last.” He raised his single hand to hold one of his partner’s paws. “I haven’t felt this way in like, forever. Everything feels frazzled, and I know you’re afraid. You are all afraid.”

It caused the bear to frown, “We have noticed several changes in your behavior, but you always bounce back. It is concerning; do you remember what happened?”

His ears drooped, further than they already were. “Yeah. I rather forget! But boo hoo me, I can’t make the memories go away and now I feel like scrap.” They shook their head, refocusing themself. “Right. Get to the point, Bellamy!”

Fredrick watched his partner fumble with themself, and gently squeezed his paw. He hoped to provide reassurance. “It is okay, Bell. You can take your time when talking to me.”

He received silence for a while, having watched Bellamy pull themselves together. “It’s like whatever makes me, me, is vanishing. I’m getting tired and my head is screaming. I have to fight with myself! Can’t always say the words I want to. Can’t do the fun stuff that I want to do. It is like...like being torn apart.” They paused momentarily, head casted away from Fredrick. “But I know you are afraid. You won’t want me to go. You believed in my hope, my lies! And now I got yall livin’ a fantasy!”

Emotionally, the bunny broke down, allowing himself to be pulled into a hug and wither against his partner. “I-I’m sorry Freddy. It was unacceptable for me to drag you into my false hopes. I just wanted to be funny - to be cheerful - to be someone y’all could look to when ya needed a lift.” Their body shuddered, “but Imma fool. I steal faces and now I cannot even steal my own! All my functions are becoming pointless.”

There was a long pause, and the bear was about to speak when he heard Bellamy mumble, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry… I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” His voice repeated like a broken record.

“There is nothing to apologize for, Bell.” Fredrick says softly, pressing his nuzzle to the top of his bunny’s head. “You have been through a lot, possibly more than the rest of us. You deserve moments of vulnerability.

“Additionally, your hope is not false. If you believe in it, then I do too. I think, if my parents were here, they would promote and encourage your hope. It is a wonderful quality to have.” He carefully adjusts their position before having Bellamy lift his head. “You are not pointless, Bellamy. We love you. I love you. Your worth is not limited to your ability to perform tasks, we love you for who you are and who you have grown to be. And, in the event that you lose yourself, I assure you that we will still love you.”

“H-how can you love someone without any emotion?”

“Do you believe that is what it is coming to?” Bellamy nods in response to Fredrick’s question. “Then I believe it is an error. We may have emotions, but we have programming that can get damaged or corrupt. I will look into it. We will find a solution.”

“Even if I’m lost by them?”

“Especially if you are lost by then. We save our memories, I am positive there will always be a way to get you back. And, if we cannot, I am happy to start anew with you. We can create new memories.” He says, wanting to chase away any thoughts of despair.

“You..would go through the effort..of trying again?”

“Of course I would. I already told you. I, we, love you.” He rubs a thumb along what remains of Bell’s face. “We will do everything we possibly can. I promise.”

Bellamy offers a look of disbelief, and it was astonishing how expressive a faceless animatronics could be. But, Fredrick had to chase away the dark. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but -“

“No buts. Do you trust me, Bellamy?”

The bunny nods slightly, “Yeahh, I trust you. But a promise? How can ya promise something like that?”

“Because I have a good feeling. It may or may not take awhile, but I have a feeling this is fixable. Now, I will ask again. Do you, my silly Bunny Bell, trust me to figure this out?”

The other huffs a laugh in response, “Yeah. I trust ya, my cuddle teddy.”

“Perfect. And please, if you need to talk to us, any of us, do not be afraid. We are here for you.”

Another nod and Bellamy fixes themself to be in a comfortable cuddling position, using the bear’s chest as a pillow. “Can we rest now?”

“Of course. Hope you feel recharged in no time.” He cuddles Bell closer to him, wanting to protect him however he could. He wasn't a confrontational fellow, nor an outgoing one, but darn was he going to find a solution someday.

Someday.

That someday brought him to the present. His paws had just left his partner’s chest cavity. He was attempting to repair his silly bunny but it was not enough to restore them. Thus, Bellamy’s body shut down.

Without emotion there was no drive. And, without a drive, there was no purpose. The magnets that allowed Bellamy to wear his face or swap with others were torn out. There was no face to attempt to put back on because..the humans took it away. They did this on purpose, didn’t they? They broke Bellamy with no intention of fixing him.

They broke them. It made the situation worse because Bellamy believed the humans would come back for them.

Soon Fredrick broke down, a dreadful sorrow overtaking his voice. “Bunny Bell, B-bunny Bell, please. You cannot - we need you here. With us. Please turn back on.” Although he could not express tears the way a human does, he was certainly grieving the loss of his partner.

The bear’s paws finally moved from the open cavity to pull the functionless animatronic close to him. “I-I am sorry, Bunny-Bell. I - I will find a way to turn you back on, I promise. I swear, I promise.” He did not know what to do, but he’ll do anything.

Redd knelt down beside them, wrapping his arms around Fredrick. They were partners, the three of them. And it took the fox every ounce of his energy to not break down along with Fredrick.

It hurt. They weren’t supposed to feel pain but it hurt so bad. He had to helplessly watch one of his partners attempt to safe the other to no avail and it fucking hurt. “Fred, I - what do we do?” His ears were low, practically pressed into his body. “Can we really toehrn 'im back ahn?”

He felt torn. He didn’t want Fredrick to gain false hopes, but he didn’t want to dismiss this either.

“We - we have to get out of here… There has to..there has to be a way to repair him. Redd, he could have stayed with us for so much longer.” Fredrick clutches the bunny’s body harder. “I did..I did not try hard enough -they should have been functional, like us, and I - I promised.” He kept stuttering, his body struggling to adjust to their current happenings.

“Dahn't say shoeht stupid shet, mate. We all know you tried. You spahke to oehs abooeht it whenever you 'ad a new idea. You were doin yooehr best.” Redd offers, gently nudging against Fredrick and wrapping his tail around him. “I know you prahmised 'im boeht can we really fex 'im?”

“I want to think so. It’s..an issue with his face being gone, right? If - if we can get him a new face then maybe.” He pauses, “maybe we can at least get him functioning again.”

“So what? We can't ahpen de door. Dey are lahcked frahm de ooehtside. Sprinkles is naht 'elp, 'er beak is brahken. We can't fet throoehgh de wendows. What’s de plan?" Redd decides it was worth it to encourage Fredrick’s hope. If he promised Bellamy there was a solution to this, then Redd inherently made the same promise.

“I may have an idea.” Fredrick tries to compose himself, but would not let go of Bellamy. “You remember those outside voices?”

“The teenagers?” Sprinkles was quick to inquire.

“Yeah. They come by sometimes. I think they draw on the train? Regardless, maybe we can trick them into opening the door?” He offers the idea, lifting his head.

Redd could sense he was searching for some sort of confirmation. “Sooehnds trecky. Boeht I believe we can do it.”

Sprinkles seemed more reluctant on their success, but she caves. “Yeah, way can do it. Fahwar Bellamy.”

The combination of their support earns them a weak smile from their leader. “Do you hear that, Bunny Bell? We will get you out of here and fix you. We will not be afraid of the outside. I promised I would find a solution, and we will.”

“We love you, Bellamy.” Said both the bear and the fox at the same time.

[saifahname]

For 3 the series - Confessions II

For 3 is a series I imagined about three university students: Nat (Mean Phiravich), Ter (Joss Way-Ar) and Prem (Zee Pruk) that find themselves tangled up in their feelings. Synopsis can be found here. This scenes take place after Nat meets Ter and all three of them develop a friendship.

First part here.

“Ter sent me a text.”

Nat should stop doing this to Prem, dropping bombs as soon as he enters the door. He knew, however, the fact that Ter would send Nat a text to confess, just as he told him that morning. He was still surprised, thought, that Ter figured out his feelings, not that he confessed, because Ter was the type to just say things like this.

“He confessed?” he still asked as he got out of his shoes.

“Yeah.”

“Oh… That’s… That’s great, Nat.” He was happy for Nat and happy for Ter. They deserved to be happy with each other. However, Nat didn’t seem that happy.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Nat was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, making sure to not look Prem in the eyes.

“Why?” Prem didn’t get it. “Isn’t it what you wanted?”

“It’s… What do I do? There is you too…”

Prem couldn’t stay between this. Again, he shouldn’t have confessed, he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Nat, don’t mind me and my feelings, you have to respond to him.”

Nat surely ignored Ter’s text, and he could only think about how Ter must feel.

“It’s not that. I like you too, Prem.” Nat was finally looking at him, a stern look on his face.

“Are you sure?” This couldn’t be. “Nat, if you think this just because of what I told you then… I knew I shouldn’t have confessed that night.”

“No, it’s not-” Nat interrupted him quickly. “It’s not that, Prem. I have had these feelings before I even knew you two were roommates. I kept quiet because I thought that, you know, as time goes on, I would know. I would know which one I love, because you just… you know these things, right?” You do, you should know them. “Like, one crush will eventually fade as the other grows stronger but it never happened. I like both of you and I do not want to choose between you.”

Nat thought about this long and hard, ever since he realized his crush on Ter never faded away. If he didn’t meet Ter… He would have confessed to Prem at some point. But he also realized how much he likes Ter, and the fact that he remained somehow the same, and his feelings never went away and they just hit him across the head when he saw Ter in front of the 7/11. He almost wished Ter would have changed into someone Nat can’t like, can’t love, it would have been so much easier. But now he’s here.

“But you need to, Nat. Think logically. You liked Ter since you were in middle school, you two have history together. You can’t let go of that because of me.”

He can’t, but he also can’t let go of Prem. Of the only person that made him feel comfortable and not lonely for the first time since he got off the plane in Thailand.

“Prem, I do not want to choose. I do not want to be with Ter if that means you won’t be in it too.”

“Nat, I…” What could Prem do? “I don’t know.”

“I’m texting Ter to come here.”

Nat would figure things out, but he couldn’t without Ter present.

-

“So you like me…” Ter says unsure.

“Yes.”

“And you like Prem too?” He continues, still unsure.

“Yes.”

“… Same amount?” He says after a pause.

“Yes, Ter, same amount.” Nat sighs. “I don’t want to choose between you.” He wants to be sure he makes his wishes known.

“… I don’t know what to say. Prem?”

Prem sat in silence since Ter got there, kind of ashamed of his best friends. He still felt like intruding.

“I told Nat to choose you, but I couldn’t convince him.”

“But do you like Nat?”

“I-“ What could he say? He already told Nat, he couldn’t turn back now. “Yeah.”

“Bro, why didn’t you tell me?” Ter sounded upset, this is exactly why Prem did not want to get between them.

“Because I did not want to mess with your feelings. If I told you I liked Nat, you wouldn’t have had the courage to admit you like him yourself. And I knew Nat liked you. I did not want to mess in it but I still did somehow, I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t help but feel like this whole thing was his fault.

“Prem, stop blaming yourself or so help me. I would have done the same thing even if you didn’t say something to me. I wouldn’t have dated Ter when my feelings for you were that strong, just like I would not have dated you when my feelings for Ter are the same.”

Nat was firm on his position. He valued his feelings, and he would not cheat on them. He knew that no matter what he did, he would not feel okay.

“Okay, so,” Ter breaks the silence. “Prem likes you. I like you. You like both of us. So… Why don’t we… open date?”

Ter knew some people that did this. A guy that dated two girls at the same time with their consent. It worked out fine for a while, why couldn’t they?

“What do you mean with open date, Ter?” Nat asked.

“You date both of us. I don’t mind if the other person is Prem.” Somehow, he couldn’t imagine being jealous of Prem. He was his best friend, for fuck’s sake.

“You… don’t?” Both Prem and Nat asked at the same time.

“No. I know, I think it’s weird too, but I’ve heard of it before.” He explained himself.

“We… we could try. Prem, are you okay with it?” Nat askes looking at Prem. He seemed immersed in his own thoughts.

“I mean… If both of you are, why not?” As long as Ter and Nat were happy, the fact that he got to date Nat was just a bonus. A pretty big bonus, but Ter and Nat’s happiness came first.

[hehelenda]

I saw a clip with Boun talking about cutting his wrists and thought that Prem seemed so unimpressed as if he already knew. And then this happened. Might be slightly triggering. 

Team didn’t notice them at first. The pale lines of scars. Now he wonders why. Did he pay so little attention to Hia? Did he miss them intentionally in a subconscious attempt to make two broken people work?

Team once again traces each of them, feeling the slightly raised skin under fingertips. Now that he noticed he cannot unsee them. The scars will be always there, under white long-sleeved tees and swimming team uniform jacket during the day. Covered with Team's palms at night.  

His Hia is unusually quite. Lying on the bed with only the sleeping pants on, willingly letting Team to touch his arms again and again. Team looks at him and catches a glimpse of uneasiness in his boyfriend’s eyes. He is so vulnerable right now.

Team doesn’t think much before surging forward and kissing marked skin. It’s pure instinct. This kiss is nothing like hot passionate kisses they exchange in the dark of the room. It’s soft and gentle, just a press of lips against warm skin.

"Babe," Win croaks. His voice is small and Team feels tears prickling in the corners of his eyes once again.

It’s was a long night.

"If you," he pauses, not knowing what to say. He is not good at talking. "If you ever feel the need to... you know. Do that again. Tell me. Please. You don’t have to do that. At least alone."

He breathes out slowly. His cheeks are wet from tears and he feels somehow empty.

"Babe, Team, love," Win cups his face with both hands, brushing the tears away with the thumbs. "I won’t. Don’t need to. Not anymore. I won’t say this was a mistake and that I regret it and wouldn’t do it if I could. It helped me then. But now I don’t need to do it, cause I have you. I’m not alone anymore and don’t have to cope with all the pain on my own."

Team sobs quietly and pulls Win into a hug. They curl into each other and Win hums something softly while Team strokes his bleached hair. They stay like that for a while, drawing strength from each other. When Win pulls away he plants a gentle kiss on Team’s forehead and smiles.

"Let’s get some sleep. We have a practice tomorrow, so you better have some rest. I heard that Dean wants to put us through the absolute hell before the first competition."

Team scoffs but obediently allows to rearrange himself so that they lie in bed face to face with their hands and legs entwined.

"Hia," Team whispers. 

"Mmm?" 

"You know, right? That I... I" 

"I love you too, babe. Sleep now," Hia mumbles already half-asleep.

Team can’t help but smile.

He dreams of Win loud laugh and warm lips.

[chaptersinprogress]

it ain’t a lie if it’s now true

Tew's mouth fell open. Wad stared at Kongpob as if he'd grown another head. Oak promptly fell off his chair while Aim knocked his drink onto his lap.

"What the fucking fuck?" said Wad incredulously.

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing

Pairings: Arthit/Kongpob

Prompt: ‘my new romance-obsessed friend asked me who my last date was with and i was too embarrassed to say i’ve never been on a date so i blurted your name and it turns out they know you’ au - by @mraculous

"Kong, when was the last time you've gone on a date?" asked Oak, after downing a shot.

Aim perked up, head lifting from the glass of alcohol he'd been staring into. Now this was something he wanted to know too. For all the confessions he'd seen his best friend receive since high school, he'd never heard anything about him going out with one of them. Well… from the person himself that was. Plenty of rumors of all the fantastic dates he'd taken girls out on made their way around the campus. As expected from the Campus Moon.

Kongpob, however, didn't seem all too happy about the turn the conversation had taken. "Why, Oak? Are you interested?" he deflected with a teasing smirk. "We just met less than half an hour ago, and you're already making moves."

Oak flushed from a combination of both embarrassment and alcohol. "Hell no! You're good-looking, but I don't swing your way. Come on, you're the Campus Moon. People are falling over themselves to go out with you. Give us the deets. We wanna know which lovely Star has caught the eye of the Moon."

"We have heard a lot about it," said Tew apologetically. "We're all curious, and it's a harmless question."

Kongpob sighed and raised an eyebrow. "And if I happened to swing both ways?" he asked challengingly.

Wad snorted, "So what?"

All the others nodded their heads. Why should the gender of the person Kongpob loved matter? It was his business who he decided to take to bed. They were only interested in finding out so that they knew who to tease the lone economics student about. Or help set him up with.

From the unwavering stares of the engineering students around him, it was clear that Kongpob wasn't going to be able to wiggle out of answering the question. But there was just one problem - he'd never actually gone out on a date with anyone. Those rumors were exactly that: rumors.

Except, if he told them the truth, they'd most likely keep attempting to set him up with someone. And that was the last thing he needed. He received enough propositions on his own already; he didn't need his new friends adding onto that.

Aim prodded him out of his thoughts. "So, who did you last go on a date with?"

Kongpob blanked. "Uh… erm…" How on Earth was he going to get out of this?! His eyes fell on the stack of papers beside him, and he immediately recalled the helpful senior in a crimson workshop jacket.

"P'Arthit!" he almost shouted.

All his friends stiffened immediately, Oak and Aim almost jumping out of their seats, as they hastily searched for the person whose name had been called. When their frantic head-turning failed to reveal him anywhere near them, the freshies let out sighs of relief.

"What the hell, Kong?!" Aim shouted, whacking Kongpob solidly in the side. "Are you trying to give us all heart-attacks?"

Kongpob winced and rubbed his bruised ribs. "What was that for?" he complained. "I just answered your question."

Tew's mouth fell open. Wad stared at Kongpob as if he'd grown another head. Oak promptly fell off his chair while Aim knocked his drink onto his lap.

"What the fucking fuck?" said Wad incredulously.

Kongpob stared at them in confusion. "Why are you guys acting as if the world is ending?"

Oak pointed a trembling finger at him. "That's because you just said that you went on a date with P'Arthit!"

"So?" he asked, still not getting it.

"Kong… Kong, P'Arthit is the head hazer I've been telling you about all this time," said Aim, finally finding his voice.

Kongpob's eyes widened. Shit. 'Abort! Abort!' his mind screamed at him.

"Uh… Y'know what, I gotta go," he stammered. Scrambling to collect his stuff, he threw a couple of bills on the table to cover his share of the tab and raced out of the bar like a bat out of hell. Leaving a couple of shell-shocked engineering freshmen behind him.

And while Kongpob might have nursed the fragile hope that everyone would dismiss his statement as a collective fever dream, he soon found himself sorely disappointed. Because by the next afternoon, the news had spread around the campus like wildfire.

On the bright side, he was no longer being stalked or confessed to. Because no one, absolutely no one, wanted to bring the wrath of the fearsome engineering head hazer on top of them for daring to proposition his supposed boyfriend, ex or otherwise.

On the down-side, Kongpob was now constantly watching his back and sleeping with one eye open. Waiting for the inevitable confrontation. Because while Kongpob's friends might be pretty accepting; from what he'd heard about the engineering hazing so far, the hazers were very, very cishet. And they didn't seem to be the type to take the insinuation that one of them, especially the head hazer, might be "gay" lying down.

All too soon, Karma seemed to catch-up with him. Kongpob stared at the text which remained unchanging on his screen.

A: Kong, found ur bk whr u left it in the lib. It's in my locker, pwd 0097. Ps, mae wants u 2 come 4 dinner nxt wknd.

He bit his lip. After all he'd done to avoid the engineering campus like the plague, he'd still have to walk into the lion's den?

K: U sure u can't just pass it 2 me?

A: Got a grp proj til l8. Can't pass it 2 u anytime soon.

He groaned. No way around it. It was either he enter the gladiator's pit to retrieve his textbook, or fail the quiz tomorrow. There was really only one option. He just hoped that he wouldn't get beaten up. Steeling himself, he strode determinedly into the Engineering campus to get his book.

He let out a sigh of relief when he managed to make his way to Aim's locker unmolested. Step 1 completed. Retrieving his book from inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it. Step 2 completed. If he could make it back without running into any of the seniors, he'd be home free. But he had taken no more than 3 steps down the corridor when his luck finally ran out.

"Hey, isn't that your faen Ai'Arthit?" came a loud voice from behind him. "Oi, Moon, wait up!"

A familiar voice responded. "Ai'Bright, shut the hell up!"

Shit. Kongpob froze for a second before continuing forward as if he had not heard the seniors. Maybe he could get away if he -

"Nong, we know you heard us so turn around and greet your seniors properly!" called a different harsh voice.

'Uh oh… busted…' sang a cheerful little part of his brain. Kongpob squashed it mercilessly and slowly turned around to meet his doom. He fixed a pained smile on his face and gave the approaching seniors a polite wai.

"Oooh, the Campus Moon is as gorgeous in person as he is in pictures! Ai'Arthit, if you hadn't snatched him away, I would've loved to have him for myself!" cooed one of them. "I'm Toota by the way. That annoying loud one there is Bright-"

"Oi!"

"The scary one is Prem and the muscly one is Knot," Toota carried on. "And of course, you know Arthit," he added with a smirk.

"Sawadee khrap P's. I'm Kongpob, Faculty of Economics," he greeted the seniors warily.

They didn't seem inclined to beat him up, certainly not after taking the trouble to identify themselves, so maybe he'd manage to get out of this relatively unscathed. Recalling Aim's complaints about the various punishments the freshman had undergone, he swiftly revised that opinion - at the very least, with his bones still intact.

Knot cocked his head as he studied the junior. "Ai'Toota's right, Ai’Arthit. At least you have good taste in men."

Kongpob choked on his own saliva. Arthit, on the other hand, let out a scream of frustration and threw a punch at Knot, who side-stepped it with a laugh.

"I'm going to kill all you fuckers!" the head hazer snarled. "You have 5 seconds to start running before I come after your heads. 5! 4! 3-"

His friends seemed to get that he'd already been pushed to his breaking point and took the out they'd been given, promptly sprinting down the corridor to save their lives.

"And you!" Arthit snapped, spinning back around to face Kongpob.

Kongpob flinched before smiling awkwardly. "Yes?"

The head hazer seemed ready to tear his throat out with his teeth. Oh god, he didn't want to die young! Where was the nice, caring senior who'd helped him collect all the assignments when the wind decided to snatch them off the table a couple of days ago? The one who blushed oh so prettily when Kongpob moved just a little too close into his personal space. How could the angry dragon in front of him be the same guy?!

Arthit sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologise for all the trouble my friends have caused, Nong. They've been teasing me the last few days due to the rumors and you being here was too good of an opportunity for them to miss."

"Um… it's alright, P'Arthit. No harm done," Kongpob replied, shifting his weight. 'Well, for now,' he mentally added.

Arthit's face darkened. "If I catch whoever it was who started those rumors I'm going to-" He paused. "What's with that expression?"

Kongpob stared back guiltily at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Confess or deny? As Arthit's frown deepened, a realisation struck Kongpob: with a bit of digging, the engineering freshies would cave, and his role in the mess would come to light.

If he admitted it now, he could possibly plead for mercy instead of having P'Arthit find out later and then disembowel him for lying. Shit. It was either speak now or forever hold his peace (six feet underground, that was).

He fiddled with his textbook cover. "Um… P'Arthit?"

"Yes?"

Kongpob stared at some point over Arthit's shoulder, not daring to meet his eyes. "I might have a tiny part to play in that."

"What? Speak up."

Kongpob gulped before speaking louder. "I said I might be part of the reason why those rumors exist."

And if Kongpob had thought Arthit looked angry earlier, well, now he had to be downright furious.

"You’re the one behind this mess? Do you think this is funny?" Arthit hissed. "Are you mocking me?!"

"What? No!" the words spilled out. "No, of course not! I… ugh… this had nothing to do with you in the first place!"

"Then explain what it is about!"

"My friends were asking me about the last date I'd gone on, but I've never gone on a date before so I just randomly blurted out the first name that came to mind which was yours 'cause I remembered you helping me earlier that afternoon!"

Arthit stared at him incredulously. "You've never been on a date?"

"That was what you got out of everything I said?!"

Arthit's shoulders began to shake. Kongpob eyed him warily. A chuckle escaped the senior, and then it was as if a dam had broken. Kongpob stared at the head hazer who was almost bent over in half, struggling to stop laughing.

Kongpob’s cheeks burned. Now this was precisely why he had lied to his friends in the first place. At the very least, his complexion helped disguise his shame. He pulled together the last shreds of his dignity.

"If you're done, I'll take my leave first," he said frostily.

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry," gasped Arthit, straightening up. "It's just… I didn't expect that at all."

Kongpob remained silent.

"Oh come on, the most popular guy on campus who gets confessed to left and right has never been on a date? Surely you'd find that fact just a little bit funny."

Kongpob's lips thinned at the continued mockery. Arthit walked over to him, grinning, and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry na… stop looking like that Nong."

He turned his head stubbornly to the side, refusing to even glance at the senior.

"Tell you what, I'll treat you to dinner as an apology."

Kongpob side-eyed the hazer.

"2 meals?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Fine! A whole day of whatever you want. Now will you stop sulking and forgive this senior?"

Taking the opportunity to turn the tables, Kongpob twisted in Arthit's hold and leaned in, their noses almost brushing. "Are you asking me out on a date, P'Arthit?" he murmured softly.

He bit down on the smirk that threatened to form as he watched the senior's eyes widen - at both the question and their proximity - as that lovely flush his thoughts always wandered away to appeared in reality. Arthit dropped his arm from Kongpob's shoulders as if he'd been burnt and took 2 giant steps away.

"Kongpob!" he shouted, almost shrilly.

"Don't worry P'Arthit, the whole campus already knows about us. There’s no need to be shy."

Arthit’s jaw dropped. Kongpob snickered and began to walk down the corridor back to his dorm. ‘Ah, revenge is certainly sweet,’ he thought. As the senior sputtered behind him, Kongpob threw a final parting shot.

"Pick me up on Saturday, 11am at the dorm entrance, don't be late!"

"KONGPOB!"

Laughing, Kongpob began running as Arthit spat curses after him. Looks like he’d get to go on that date after all.

[chanagun]

First Emotions of Love

Fandom: SOTUS The Series Pairing: Prem/Wad

Summary: "You... bought me flowers?"

Notes: From a Tumblr Prompt 1,373 Words

AO3 Wattpad

——

Prem winced at the bouquet in his hands. It was definitely too much.

He sort of just... found himself in the flower shop. The nice, older woman behind the counter had given him a warm smile and asked him 'something on your mind, son?' and then he couldn't stop telling her all the thoughts that had plagued him for weeks. She was so kind, and just let him go on and on, nodding along and humming at all the right pauses.

She had turned around and, a moment later, had a small bouquet of dark purple flowers. She had held them out and he just cocked his head to the side.

'Give these to your friend. They're on the house.'

'You want me to... give him flowers?' he had asked. 'You really think that'll help?'

She had just smiled, as if she knew something Prem wasn't privy to.

And then he was in front of Wad's apartment door with a bunch of lilacs in his hand. He scoffed at himself before turning to leave.

The universe had other plans as the door unlatched and Prem found himself face to face with Wad.

"P'Prem? What are you doing here? What are those for?" Wad asked him, adjusting the basketball under his arm.

"Oh, um, are you about to go practice?" Prem responded, pointedly ignoring Wad's questions.

"I was," Wad said, a small smile on his lips. He raised his eyebrows as if to challenge Prem.

He caved almost immediately. "They're for you," he mumbled.

"You... bought me flowers?"

"Um, sort of?" he responded, making Wad chuckled lightly at him.

"Prem?"

"I got you flowers, yes," he replied, defeated. He finally stuck them out for Wad to take.

A light dusting of pink graced Wad's cheeks as he took the flowers from Prem. "Hey, come in. I'll find something to put these in." Prem nodded awkwardly at him, but followed him inside nonetheless. Wad tossed the ball onto the sofa and continued into the kitchen. "You said you sort of got these for me," Wad started lightly, "What does that mean exactly?" He gently placed the flowers on the kitchen table before setting out to find something nice to put them in.

"I was just sorta wandering around downtown, feeling sorry for myself, as I do," Prem tried to joke, "And the display in the shop was pretty eye catching..." he drifted off as he watched Wad pull out a ceramic white pitcher from a cupboard and filled it with water.

"Oh, so did you steal these from the display then?" Wad teased him, making Prem laugh.

"No, no, the lady was really nice. I talked to her for a bit. She just handed them to me. She told me to give them to you."

Wad's eyes perked up to look at him, "Were you talking about me?" he asked, the blush still evident on his face as he brought the pitcher to the table. Prem shifted uncomfortably, half in the kitchen as he leaned against the door frame.

"I may have mentioned you, yes."

"What about me?" Prem wasn't used to Wad being so direct with him.

"I don't know, nothing huge," Prem deflected poorly.

Wad scrunched up his nose before turning his attention back to the flowers. He arranged them just so, to look perfect on the kitchen table. "It must have been something nice - maybe even sweet - for her to give you purple lilacs."

"Huh?" Prem questioned, unable to think of something eloquent.

"Different flowers have different meaning you know," he replied, his voice soft. He wasn't looking at Prem, he kept fussing with the leaves hanging onto the flower stems.

"I, uh, didn't know." Wad hummed, his face falling ever so slightly. Prem furrowed his brow, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Thanks for the flowers, Prem. I'm going to go practice now, Kong is waiting for me," Wad's voice seemed to be getting quieter. Prem just nodded, feeling like more of an idiot than before. "I'll walk you out."

They walked down the stairs and through the lobby in a tense silence. Prem had no idea what actually happened during their exchange in the apartment, but he didn't like how Wad wouldn't look at him.

"Wad-"

"Thanks again for the flowers, Prem," Wad said, cutting him off. Wad's hand was on his shoulder and then lips were pressed against his cheek. Prem stood, dumbfounded, as Wad walked away, towards the direction of the practice courts. Prem touched his own cheek, burning red under his fingers as a thousand new thoughts raced through his mind. He turned on his heel and started running back towards the flower shop.

"What do purple flowers mean?" He asked as he burst through the door, the bells hanging off it chiming wildly. "My best friend kissed me on the cheek and now I don't know what to do!" The few customers in the store gave him a dirty look, but the lady behind the counter just laughed.

"Come over here son," she cooed, "take a deep breath and calm down a second." He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and followed her directions. He sat down on the bench beside her behind the counter, the air conditioner making him shiver slightly. "You told me your friend was smart, I bet he knew what purple lilacs mean."

"Yeah, but I don't! He was all flustered and then he kissed my cheek and my face feels like its on fire and it feels like something is trying to crawl out of my stomach and nothing make sense--"

"Honey," she interrupted, and Prem snapped his mouth shut. "Just take a second to think." He looked at her, the lost puppy expression settling in. She sighed. "Purple lilacs mean first emotions of love." He gaped at her.

"Oh. Oh." His eyes went wide before he buried his face in his hands. "How did you figure it out before I did?!" he whined into his palms, causing the woman to laugh again.

"It's very obvious, dear," she said nonchalantly, "you have feelings for this friend. You would not stop telling me about him; his grades, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, that specific smile he gets when he beats you in video games- you've got it bad."

"I told you all that? I thought I was just complaining about how busy my best friend was recently..." he said, face still hiding. She placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her, wide eyed.

"Go get him, you absolute noodle." Prem put his hand on top of hers and squeezed slightly. He smiled wide before standing and making another dramatic exit.

On his jog to the courts, he tried to think of what to say when he actually got there. He wasn't exactly eloquent but that never deterred Wad before.

"Wad!" He exclaimed when he caught sight of him. His breathing was labored. Wad, along with Kong and M, all stopped short, looking towards him. "First emotions of love!" He announced. Wad looked absolutely stunned, his face already red from practicing and yet Prem could tell he was blushing furiously. Prem hesitantly stepped onto the court and towards his friend. "That's what the purple lilacs mean."

"The florist gave those to you-"

"But she was right," he continued, stopping right in front of Wad. "She was right about you knowing what they meant, too. That's why you kissed me." Out of his peripherals, Prem saw Kong and M whisper to each other before slowly backing away from the scene.

"I mean... yes, I knew what they meant. But you didn't so I just kinda..." Wad's thought drifted and so did his gaze. He looked down to his feet, but Prem wasn't having any of that.

Prem gently cupped Wad's jaw, and tilted his face up to meet his eye again. "I know what they mean now," he said before leaning in to place a kiss against his cheek, returning the favor. Wad gaped at him for a moment before a smile spread across his face.

"I'm glad you figured it out," Wad replied, leaning in to press his lips against Prem's.

[maychild]

sotus the series ep. 14

SUCH A SOFT EPISODE HONESTLY

so before i watched this ep, i googled it and ended up being spoiled by the summary (the previous thirteen episodes i didn’t google & therefore had no idea what they were about going into them), and just wanted to say: DEAR ARTHIT, THERE IS SUCH A THING AS ADOPTION. and surrogacy. like, u are a college student almost finishing up your degree...and u have gay friends so (well you have one out gay friend so far)...i honestly do not know what is going on in your mind. although...i should be more understanding bc this liking-a-guy thing seems like a whole new world to him so maybe he just needs some time to get over his insecurities and realize kongpob is happy with him even if he isn’t a woman.

ANYWAY, that was a whole rant i had before even watching the episode.  

OH BRIGHT, u comedic relief character 

I still miss Wad. Give Prem and Wad their own series u cowards. 

so after their kiss, they are clearly not out to their friends, or...whatever their status is. (are they boyfriends??? have they actually talked about it at all, and i don’t mean just bumping into each when getting dinner?), but i have to admit i do like the trope of secret relationships as well.

“is this...considered a date?”

“no! it’s not!”

LOLLLL arthit is doing to kongpob what kongpob did to him at the beginning of their acquaintance. 

i do like whenever the show lets the characters wear casual clothes, and not just their uniforms.  

“I actually thought to myself that if I’m going to have a baby, I want a son.” 

OH

OH THAT’S WHAT STARTS ALL THE DOUBTS

wAIIIIT WHEN DID HE RE-TIE THE STRING?? (i feel so cheated out of that scene. was it right after their first kiss?? when they got back from the wedding?? was it the next morning???? these are important scenes, u aholes.)

BUT I CANNOT BELIEVE THEY RUN INTO A FEMALE CHARACTER THAT THE LOVE INTEREST GETS JEALOUS OF--AGAIN (this is like beat-for-beat what happens on their first “date” when kongpob goes shopping for his niece.)

also...the way prae & kong kept talking about this movie, i was definitely getting the feeling that it was free promo the director snuck in (i don’t know what the movie is, and i tried looking up who the director of SOTUS was--Lit Samajarn--but he hasn’t directed any movies i could find, so it’s not a promo for his own work, i don’t think, lmao. but he is the director of My Engineer which is definitely on my long list of dramas i need to watch like yesterday.)

...someone should clue in arthit on prae’s own sexuality. sigh. but of course kongpob won’t out his friend without her permission.

wow. i’m not here for cold arthit. i get he’s jealous but still do not like it. not one bit. 

KNOT IS THE BESTEST, I KEEP SHOUTING 

why is he surrounded by idiots

so there was this song that played in the background of this ep (and one earlier ep i forgot) which i fell in love with, and i managed to eventually track it down--it’s called “I Wanna Be Your Everything” by Thomas Collins, and honestly it’s a bop. (it doesn’t seem to be on the “official” OST for the show, but can be found on this spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/73Up8y79kWEQezGVtX4XP3?si=mlKPisckRpu2A_B550wrIg)

KONGPOB’S LOVE LETTER

I CANT WITH THIS BOY he’s so precious and romantic like honestly such a cinnamon roll.

SO arthit goes to untie the string on kongpob’s wrist and kongpob--before he gets with the program--honestly looks SOOO CRUSHED and it’s both the funniest shit and the most romantic??? like the background music isn’t helping either.

BUT DON’T WORRY BB U’LL GET SOMETHING BETTER

AND IT LOOKS LIKE BOTH PREM & KNOT WITNESS THIS PRECIOUS MOMENT BETWEEN THEM?? WHICH IS ALSO HILARIOUS???

and a close-up: 

at first glance, i thought they were just looking forward and in the *general vicinity* of this moment, but upon many pausings, they do divert their glance toward kongart half-way through so they must see it.

AND THEN THEY ACTUALLY PLAY-ACT WHAT’S HAPPENING BEHIND KONGART AND I CANT STOP LAUGHING AT WHAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE A ROMANTIC SCENE

THESE TWO DUMBASSESSSSS STAPHHHH MAKING FUN OF YOUR FRIEND this is really a big moment for him.

PREM + KNOT REALLY MADE THIS SCENE MORE THAN KONGART, I’M SORRY (lol, tbf, their friend did just come out as gay)

BUT YES, GET YOUR MAN, ARTHIT!

...i could’ve done without the “i don’t like men, i only like arthit,” but we can’t have perfection, i suppose.

“To be honest, I don't know what the future holds. But I would like you to know that, right now, at this minute, you are someone special to me. And... you are the only one whom I love.”

“I know. I also would like you to know that, right now, you are the only one I love.”

SUCH SOFT BOIS

AFTER ALLLL THIS, KONGPOB *THEN* ASKS IF ARTHIT LIKES PRAE???? AND I’M LIKE, BOI, DID U NOT HEAR ARTHIT TELL U HE LOVES YOU???

i swear this show is filled with idiots, and the only one with *any* brain cells is knot (and those brain cells he often has to share with prem).

and the show proves me once again they’re all idiots with one brain cell among them: kongart had met before kong enrolled in engineering but ofc arthit doesn’t remember.

“nobody knows what the future holds.”

this explains why kong was so enamored of arthit when he first met him as head hazer.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 47c

Duffy sighed as she sat back down. Something didn't feel right but she couldn't put her finger on what.

Isla was about to leave when Andrew got to her cubicle. The number in her back pocket of the refuge. "Is Jake OK?" She asked.

“He’s fine! He’s asleep. Are you ready to go home?”

"I... Er... I wanted to go see him before leaving." She whispered.

“He’s asleep. You can’t.” Noticing the look on her face, Andrew sighed. “Fine, five minutes but I’ll wait for you in the car park alright?”

"OK." She nervously left the cubicle and headed towards the lift. Isla went up to the children’s ward. She was trying to be quiet. She didn’t want to wake Jake or the other children that were sleeping

Duffy was returning from getting a glass of water when she saw Isla standing the door of Jake's room.

“Sorry, can I see him?” Isla asked quietly, fiddling with the sleeves of her top.

Duffy nodded. "He asked about you earlier."

“He did?” Isla smiled sadly.

"Yeh. Apparently you make better milkshakes than I do!"

“He likes milkshake, I make them for him sometimes.” Isla paused, “I just wanted to see him. Tell him I’m sorry. I... I didn’t mean to hurt him. This is all my fault, he’s going to punish me for this.” She swallowed, realising she’d said too much and turned to walk away. “I need to go!”

"Wait!" Duffy called softly.

Isla stopped dead in her tracks.

"What do you mean by he'll punish you?" Duffy sighed. "I should have known better than to think he'd changed."

“I didn’t mean what I said.” Isla said quickly.

Duffy sighed. "That sounds eerily familiar."

“I—-“ Isla felt sick and dizzy again and sat down on the floor. “How did you leave?"

"Charlie gave me a reason and the means to run away." Duffy admitted as she joined the younger woman on the floor.

“I don’t have anyone. Or anything.” Isla admitted, “I don’t— Can’t do anything right.”

"We can help you."

“No you can’t.” Isla sighed, “I need to go home. To him. But I know what’s waiting for me...”

"You don't have to. Please don't repeat my mistakes."

“And where I am supposed to go?” Isla asked, “To a refuge?”

"Initially but they'll help you get back on your feet."

“He’s waiting for me outside. How do I get away from him?”

"There's a back entrance to the hospital. Do you have money for a taxi?"

Isla nodded, “I just don’t feel very well still. I’ve got to get going though. Thank you.” She stood up slowly.

She was about to leave when Andrew appeared. “I said five minutes Isla. Come on, we need to go home.”

Duffy pulled the younger woman into a hug. She discreetly slipped some money into Isla's pocket. "Protect yourself." She whispered.

Isla swallowed and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and moved away from Duffy. “I’m not going home Andrew.” She said bravely, even though she felt sick.

"You've been listening to that twisted bitch's lies?"

“She didn’t say anything, actually.” Isla replied.

Duffy moved to stand between Isla and Andrew, concerned for the younger woman's welfare. "No, she just saw you for what you really are - a bully and a coward!"

“Only because you’ve been filling her head with shit!” Andrew’s fists clenched.

"Go on, take a shot. You know you want to!" Duffy goaded.

Isla stood in front of Duffy, “Hit me Andrew. I’m the reason you’ve lost your son. Because I was stupid and couldn’t be trusted. Go on, hit me.” She goaded, trying to protect Duffy knowing she was pregnant.

"This must be your dream scenario, sick, twisted little man that you are!"

Andrew stepped closer towards Isla. “Shut your mouth!”

Duffy placed her hand on Isla's shoulder. "We're not scared of you any more. You have no power!"

There was suddenly a sickening thud as Andrew’s fist caught Isla’s stomach. She whimpered and doubled over in pain.

Without thinking, Duffy leapt forwards and grabbed Andrew's shoulders, attempting to pull him away from Isla.

He went to hit Duffy but Isla whispered, “You know I’m the one who needs to be punished, not her. Leave her alone!”

Duffy wouldn't loosen her grip, she was acting on pure instinct and adrenaline.

He threw Duffy against the wall in an attempt to get her off him and went for Isla again.

Duffy heard a voice shout "Get away from her!" before everything went black.

“Look what you’ve done!!” Isla hissed at Andrew, “Leave her and me alone!!”

Andrew walked away, warning Isla this wasn’t over. Isla crouched down beside Duffy and shook her shoulder.

Duffy briefly opened her eyes. "I..." She mumbled before her eyes rolled backwards into her skull and her limbs stiffened.

Isla knew what was going to happen next, she moved and gently held Duffy’s head as she began to have a seizure, remembering to time it.

The noise and commotion in the corridor had alerted the staff on the ward who rushed to investigate.

“She was pushed against the wall. I think she banged her head, triggered a seizure. It’s been fifty seconds so far that she’s been in the seizure.” Isla told the nurses and doctors that came to help.

"OK, we'll take it from here. Are you hurt? Did you see who attacked her?"

“He punched me in the stomach, I’m alright though. Please just focus on her. It was her ex-husband.” Isla moved out of the way.

"Does she have a history of seizures?" The doctor asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know her.” Isla admitted, “She's a nurse in ED. Lisa.”

One of the nurses suddenly spoke up. "Yeh, she's Charlie's missus."

Duffy groaned as she started to come round.

“I’ll go and get him.” Isla stood up and ran downstairs to A&E. “Charlie!! Charlie!!” She called, frantic.

Charlie looked up surprised to see Isla back in the department.

“I’m really, really, really sorry!"

“Calm down, what’s wrong?” He asked softly.

"Lisa got hurt. She had a seizure."

“She got hurt? How? Where?” He swallowed.

"Upstairs. She was trying to protect me. I'm sorry!" She cried.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, “Don’t worry.” He told her, “Was it Andrew?”

Isla nodded. She was about to speak when the lift doors crashed open.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

"I'm fine." Isla insisted.

"Charlie!" The peads doctor shouted.

Charlie moved and dashed over to the peads Doctor. “How is she?”

"She's started to come around but is disorientated. Does she have a history of seizures?"

“Yes. Intermittently, usually occurs after a bump to the head. Her last documented seizure was a few years ago after an assault, there’s been none since.”

Spotting Harry the paeds doctor explained. "She hit her head and had a seizure lasting one minute. I have to go back upstairs as we're short staffed." He apologised.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Charlie replied.

"Charlie?" Harry asked.

“Yes?” He swallowed. His mind can gone completely blank.

"History?" Harry prompted.

“Erm—-“ He took a deep breath to steady himself, “Duffy has a history of intermittent seizures, only four documented since the age of seventeen but I think she’s had more than that. History of kidney and heart failure, mainly during pregnancy. History of prem births, a spell in ICU and blood transfusions. Post-natal depression. Erm, anything else you need to know?” That’s all Charlie could think of off the top of his head.

"That sounds like enough to get us started." Harry paused. "Oh, how many weeks pregnant is she?"

“Sixteen weeks.” Charlie answered.

"Any complications so far with this pregnancy?" Harry asked as they headed towards resus.

“None whatsoever. Regular visits with the cardiologist and her obstetrician, all seem fine with her progress.”

The next hour was taken up with various checks. Harry was happy that she and the baby were both going to be OK but wanted to keep her in overnight for observation, just to be on the safe side.

Isla went to sit with Jake to make sure he was ok. It was the least she could do.

Charlie informed Kate about what had happened with Duffy and asked if she could have the girls overnight. He also let Peter know that he was going to be staying with Sarah.

Duffy had been moved to a side room until a bed on a ward became available. She started to wake up fully, blinking in confusion at her surroundings.

“What am I going to do with you, huh?” Charlie said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I had a fit?" She asked.

“Yeah. What do you remember?”

"I was trying to stop Andrew hurting Isla."

“You were?”

"Is the baby ok?" Duffy asked.

“Trouble is fine.” He rubbed her stomach.

Duffy let out a little gasp, a smile lighting up her face.

“Are you okay?” He moved his hand away from her stomach, “Did I hurt you?”

"No. Do that again."

He did it again, rubbing her stomach.

"I wanted to check I wasn't imagining it."

“Imagining what?” He did it again, rubbing her bump.

"You can stop it now before all my internal organs get kicked!" She giggled.

“The baby’s kicking?”

"Yeh." She smiled brightly.

He smiled brightly as he caught her eye.

"Are you cross with me for jumping into the middle of a fight?"

“No. I didn’t expect anything less from you.”

"Not quite the bonfire night I was expecting." She sighed.

“Me either. Not to have you and Jake admitted overnight.”

"I want to stop Andrew from having Jake again."

“Because of what’s happened tonight?”

Duffy nodded.

“Is it just the bonfire business or...?”

"He clearly hasn't changed. I can't risk exposing Jake to that."

“I agree with you.”

She rolled onto her side, tucking her legs up slightly. "Why must he ruin everything?" She sighed.

“Because he can’t help it?” He tucked her up, “Do you want me to go and check on Jake?”

"Please."

He kissed her forehead, “I love you.”

"Love you too." She smiled as she drifted back off to sleep.

As soon as she was asleep, he went upstairs to the children’s ward. Getting a fright when he realised Jake wasn’t alone.

"I thought someone should sit with him in case he woke up. I didn't want him to be scared and alone." Isla explained.

“You gave me a fright, that’s all.” Charlie admitted, “Thank you.”

"Is your wife OK?"

“Yes. She has intermittent seizures when she has a bang to the head. She’s asleep at the minute.” He smiled sadly, “She said she was trying to protect you?”

"I tried to stop her coz I didn't want her baby getting hurt but, well, she ignored me."

[fanders-fic-awards]

Logan Holmes and the Mystery of the Disappearing Book (Summer Fic Comp 18)

Summary: Logan conducts his biggest investigation at eight years old. (Kid!fic, platonic LAMP)

Trigger warnings: Bullying, Deceit, other Dark Sides (imagined), family death mention

Word count: 4982

Ballot

It is not a typical day. Well, Logan Holmes thinks, it’s typical enough in some ways: the Florida sun is as obnoxious as it always is, and the fading chatter of his classmates still echoes down the hallways, along which he’s retracing his steps with increasing agitation. The reason it is not a typical day is that today Logan can’t find his Book, and logically, it only follows that the end times are near.

This wouldn’t be a problem if it were any book. But this Book is not any book, which makes it just that much worse; Logan could have sworn he’d zipped it up in his school bag’s secret pocket at the end of fifth period, but by the end of the day his secret pocket was empty, and Logan has just finished searching his classroom and the music room and his favourite recess reading spot and everywhere he’s been after fifth period, and he just can’t find it.

He rubs at his eyes in frustration. He can feel his throat starting to close up and his eyes starting to burn, and he knows that’s not good. The last time that had happened he had ended up crying loudly in front of the whole class, and the meanest boy in class, Jason, had laughed at him, and then his head had hurt and it had been the worst thing ever. And Logan is smart and he learns from his mistakes, so he knows that if he doesn’t want that happening ever again (and he doesn’t), then he needs to calm down right now.

He ducks into the bathroom and glares at himself in the mirror.

“Stop,” he tells his reflection firmly, echoing his father’s voice. “Tantrums are not a good look on you,” and he splashes his face methodically with water.

He is not going to cry. What would Sherlock Holmes say?

The thought grounds him, makes him stand a little straighter and fix his rumpled shirt and bowtie. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be so easily daunted. Sherlock Holmes is a superhero. He wouldn’t be panicking at all; he would be calm and do some cool investigation to figure out what happened to his Book. So Logan will just have to do the same.

He wipes his hands on his pants and carefully puts his glasses back on. Puffs on an imaginary pipe. Nods thoughtfully at his reflection, which nods back as if to say: simply marvellous, Holmes. This shall be our most challenging case yet.

“Yes, indeed,” he murmurs back to himself, and then purely for the fun of it: “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” chirps the new face in the mirror, and Logan shrieks.

The new face shrieks as well. Both of them scramble away from each other, pause, and stare.

The mysterious entity speaks first, and Logan realises it is a boy.

“I’m sorry,” says the boy, sounding worried. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” says Logan, too quickly. “I just didn’t know you were, um. Here. I’m sorry.”

The boy smiles, and Logan finally takes him in fully. He’s about half a head shorter than Logan. More chubby. Bubbling blue eyes. Brown hair. Round glasses. And splattered head to toe in pink paint.

As if remembering this fact himself, Mirror Boy turns back to the sink, inspecting the damage cheerfully.

“That’s okay, it wasn’t your fault!” he says, and Logan thinks that’s the end of that, but he keeps talking. “Of course, it wasn’t exactly my fault either, ’cause I was sure you knew I was there, but I’m sorry if I got it wrong and startled you, if that makes a difference, and I hope we can just move past this and it doesn’t, y’know, paint me in a bad light.”

At this, he stretches out a bright pink cardigan-clad arm, points to it unnecessarily with a bright pink finger, and beams at Logan like he just won an award.

“Uhh,” is all Logan can say. “Okay.”

“Get it? Like paint?”

“Yep,” says Logan, extremely confused.

“It’s called a pun!” says the boy, bouncing a bit. “My dad tells me them, and–”

But he doesn’t finish, because there’s a sudden clamour of footsteps from outside the bathroom, and Paint Boy, for some reason, responds by clapping a hand over his mouth firmly in panic, eyes wide, and pulling Logan closer to him, out of sight of the door.

Startled, Logan complies, and they wait without a word as the footsteps move towards their hideout. Amongst the racket, Logan hears a voice say, “Where’s the nerd gone?” and another, “I bet he’s busy crying,” followed by malicious laughter.

The boy still hasn’t dared to move, and Logan puts two and two together. He realises the boy is jittering, and his breathing is anxious and much too loud, so he politely taps his shoulder and mimes closing his mouth and breathing slowly through his nose. Paint Boy follows him as he demonstrates, and their chests quietly rise and fall in unison until the other kids outside are gone.

When it falls silent again, the boy slumps in relief, breathes out a “thanks,” to Logan, and steps back to the sink to continue washing up like absolutely nothing just transpired.

“So,” begins Logan.

“Yeah?” chirps the boy, tone back to normal.

“Do I want to know what just happened?”

The boy laughs, then says nothing, then says, “I just didn’t want them knowing where I am,” and removes his grey cardigan to wash it better. “That’s all.”

Logan doesn’t know how to respond. Instead, he says, “Why are you covered in paint?”

“Oh, the guys outside did that,” says Cardigan Boy, brightly. “They think it’s funny that I like pink.”

Logan puts two and two together again, and says, shocked, “That’s bullying.”

“Yep!” says the boy, rinsing his cardigan in the sink until the paint melts off in rivulets of pink water. “My mom says I should stick with friends so they don’t do that, but I don’t really know that many people here. I’m new.”

“So,” says Logan, carefully. “You don’t have any friends?”

The boy shakes his head, still smiling. He doesn’t look up.

Logan doesn’t quite know why, but the next words out of his mouth are, “Can you help me? I’ve lost something and I’d like some help looking for it.”

The boy looks up.

“You want my help?” he says, surprised.

“Yes,” says Logan uncomfortably.

“What are you looking for?”

“It’s a… Book.”

“A book?” says the boy eagerly as he squeezes his cardigan out and shakes it, splattering Logan with water. “Oops, sorry. Sure I’ll help you look!”

He pauses, as if remembering something, then steps over and extends his hand, beaming. “Oh, I’m Patton, by the way! Patton Watson.”

Logan stares.

“Watson?”

“Yep,” says Patton Watson – Watson! – with a bemused smile. “What’s your name?”

“L-Logan,” says Logan at last, pulling himself back to reality and taking Patton’s dripping hand firmly in a promise. “Logan Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here,” says Patton happily. “Lead the way, new friend!”

* * *

After about half an hour of fruitless searching around their school grounds, Logan is having trouble maintaining his composure, but he tries not to show it. Patton, his cardigan long since having dried in the afternoon heat, has now tied it around his shoulders by its sleeves like a superhero cape, and keeps getting distracted by shiny things, and will not stop making strange jokes that Logan barely understands.

Still, their time spent investigating is enjoyable. Logan fills Patton in on the lore of their namesakes, which Patton drinks in with wide-eyed interest; in turn, Patton points out pretty things that aren’t his Book, like funny-shaped red leaves and speckly pebbles, with the air of discovering hidden treasure. He seems happy bouncing alongside Logan in the sun, and at one point he picks up a fallen pink flower, forces Logan to sniff it and acknowledge that it smells very nice, and then carries it happily around with them, cradling it like a precious jewel.

Logan stops short with a heavy sigh as they finish their tour of the entire building and school field, allowing himself one kick at the ground before assuming his Sherlock Holmes pose and declaring, “Alas, my dear Watso—”

Patton giggles, then hastily bites down on it when Logan glares at him.

“—it seems our investigation has had no results. Perhaps we should simply accept that the Book is no longer on this pr- on this prem-i-ses,” he falters, wondering how that word is supposed to be said, “and consider that it may be… lost for good.”

Patton peers at his face as he finishes, staring at his shoes and trying to hold back tears. Then he says:

“Smile.”

Logan meets his gaze, surprised by the intensity he sees in it.

“What?”

“You know what I do when I wanna cry?” says Patton unexpectedly. “I start smiling. That way nobody ever knows when I wanna cry. And then I stop wanting to, too.”

Logan twitches, and rubs at his eyes before any tears can fall. “Really?”

Patton nods vigorously.

“This book means a lot to you, right? Well, we’re smart! And we checked and if it’s not here, then it must be somewhere else. So maybe… it fell somewhere and then somebody picked it up? We can ask people if they saw it! It’ll be like those books you talked about, doing in-ves-gations and catching the bad guys! This’ll be fun!”

He’s bobbing up and down by the end of his speech, and Logan can’t help but want to do the same, feeling unexpectedly kind of warm inside.

“Alright,” he says, giving Patton a smile that surfaces quite unannounced. “Good idea, Watson.”

“Elemental, my dear Lo-Lo,” giggles Patton, and completely ruins it.

* * *

As their first order of business after leaving the school, Patton sits down at the corner of a street, tucks his flower behind his ear, borrows Logan’s pencil, and draws a picture under his direction of what the Book looks like. Logan gives him credit for trying, but draws the line when Patton starts adding his own twists.

“No,” he says again, irritably. “Why are you drawing a butterfly on it!?”

“I’m drawing butterflies around it, silly,” says Patton, oblivious as he draws another butterfly right over the cover.

“Why?”

“Because butterflies are pretty,” responds Patton simply. “Duh.”

“But now it looks like they’re on the Book.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I draw butterflies on it if I wanna?” says Patton, who’s surprisingly stubborn for someone who looks so sunshine-sweet.

“My Book doesn’t have butterflies on it!”

“Well, maybe you should put some there!”

“That’s not th—”

Patton cuts him off. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear wh—?”

“Shh!” whispers Patton, and has the nerve to put his hand over Logan’s mouth. “Someone’s singing!”

Still reeling from being shut up quite so effectively, Logan meekly complies. The voice floats over to them from the next street; it’s a boy’s voice, and quite nice, even if the words being sung are unfamiliar to Logan:

“Shining, shimmering, sple-ndid –

Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?”

Patton, however, beams as the singing devolves into voices too faint to make out, and careless laughter.

“That was pretty!” he says cheerily. “We should go say hi!”

And he grabs the paper and Logan’s hand and pulls him along without waiting for a response, his cardigan flapping behind him like a superhero cape as he runs.

They follow the sound together around the corner, which rings out alongside their clattering footsteps in the otherwise quiet suburb, and jog down the lane together until they spot the boy. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and is swinging his legs energetically from atop the picket fence across the street, still singing the song from before with his eyes closed and head swaying theatrically. When he spots them, his smile grows, and he stretches a hand out to them in a dramatic gesture.

“Greetings, fellow citizens!” he proclaims in a voice that can’t be real. “What brings you to our humble kingdom?”

“Shut up, weirdo!” Logan hears as they cross the street, Patton still clinging tightly to his hand and peering carefully left and right at the completely empty road. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“It so is not, Edgelord,” calls the boy, pouting in a general upward direction.

Patton looks at the sky, puzzled, but Logan does some quick deduction that he’s quietly proud of and nudges him to indicate the nearby tree behind the fence, where another boy is curled up in the fork of the trunk. He’s wearing a huge black hoodie despite the weather and his legs are pulled up to his chest, his face hidden partly by brown bangs and partly by his knees. He groans when he sees the two of them.

“Did you have to do that, Princey?”

“They’re guests in this kingdom, you sad sack!” exclaims the singing boy – Princey? – affronted. “You’ve gotta make ’em feel more welcome than that!”

He hops off the fence and pumps Patton’s hand energetically. “Hello there again! My name is Roman, and that is my dark and stormy friend up there—”

“We’re not friends,” grumbles Hoodie Boy, curling up even tighter until he looks like an angry ball of wool.

“Not yet,” says Roman pleasantly.

“Hi,” says Patton in his sunniest voice yet, waving up at the stormcloud in the tree. It eyes him suspiciously before wiggling a hand in return.

“Hello,” says Logan, deciding to keep it simple. “We’re wondering if you’ve seen something we’re looking for.”

Patton perks up and flourishes their poster at Roman, butterfly cover and all, with its grand caption of ‘LOST!’ adorning the top. Roman leans down and peers at it carefully, hums, then looks very thoughtful, and then – to Logan’s delight – gasps in answer.

“What?” demands Logan immediately. “Did you see it? Did someone—”

“I have no idea,” says Roman bluntly, with a click of fingers. “Sorry.”

“Then why…?” fumbles Logan, still reeling from the whiplash of disappointment.

“It’s called acting, Specs,” the clod says airily, and Logan hates him already. “Anyway, I haven’t seen your, uh, thing.”

“What is it?” mumbles Hoodie, sticking his head out to sneak a look at the paper but making no move to leave his perch.

“Come down and see for yourself, friend,” quips Roman, his attention immediately diverted. Hoodie groans in exasperation.

“Not coming down.”

“What if I come up to you?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Hey.”

“What.”

“Climb to that branch up there.”

“Go away.”

Roman laughs again, mischievously.

“You won’t do it for me but you’ll do it for your friends?”

“Stop talking about them,” snaps the boy. “You’re not gonna change my mind.”

“But ­­I ­love you, remember?” says Roman theatrically, putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m not gonna be saved by you, Princey,” retorts Hoodie, pelting him with a leaf.

Roman catches it and blows a kiss back to Hoodie, who gives Logan a long-suffering look. Logan inclines his head in sympathy, and they allow a comfortable silence to fall between them, listening to Patton and Roman chatter, until eventually Hoodie speaks quietly.

“I think I know you. We have art together, right? I-In school, I mean.”

“Oh,” says Logan, a bit self-consciously. “Maybe.”

“It’s okay,” says the boy, looking more comfortable as Roman and Patton chat away animatedly, ignoring them. “I just know you ’cause everyone knows you. You’re the smart one. Nobody notices me much. I kinda like that.”

Logan can’t relate at all, but nods anyway to be polite. Truth be told, he’s rather disappointed in himself for not having noticed Hoodie before. He makes a note to try and notice more people in the future, as part of his detective training.

“Your… not-friend seems to be noticing you a lot,” he points out, indicating Roman.

Hoodie looks grumpy. “Yeah. I hate it. I wish he’d stop trying to be a hero.”

“A hero?”

“Yep,” grumbles Hoodie, turning towards Logan more fully and letting his legs dangle against the tree trunk. “He wants to rescue me from my friends. And he keeps on saying he loves me.”

Logan considers this. “Well, that doesn’t make any logical sense,” he muses, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. “Friends are good. That’s a fact.” He pauses. “Right?”

The boy heaves a long sigh before answering. “Princey doesn’t like my friends. They’re not really… I dunno. Nice?”

 “Then why do you like them?”

“I…” begins Hoodie, then trails off into a mumble. “It’s sorta different. Not like he thinks.”

He indicates Roman with a jerk of his head and fidgets.

“Well,” says Logan reasonably, “I guess what matters is that you’re happy. Right?”

“I guess,” echoes Hoodie, but he still looks uncomfortable. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” says Logan, now surer of himself. “I don’t even have any friends, but it doesn’t bother me.”

“You don’t?” says Hoodie, wrinkling his nose a bit. “Then who’s that?”

Logan follows his gaze, to where Patton is telling Roman something about his pink flower, and smiling brightly as the drama queen overreacts to it. He notices Logan looking and beams proudly at him, still clutching their poster. Logan’s pencil has replaced the flower behind his ear.

Huh. Logan supposes he does have a friend now.

That reminds him.

“Excuse me, I just remembered,” he says. “I have to find out if anyone’s seen the thing I’m looking for. You wouldn’t have seen it, would you?”

“Depends,” says Hoodie easily. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“Oops,” says Logan, feeling silly for having forgotten. “Here.”

He extracts the paper from Patton’s hand to show the boy and Roman notices.

“How’dja lose your… thingy anyway?” he asks, waving a hand in casual dismissal of the thingy.

“It’s a Book,” Logan replies crossly. “And it fell out of my… school bag.”

Out of his secret pocket. Which is on the inside of the bag and always zipped shut.

Which, now that he thinks about it, doesn’t add up.

“You sure?” says Roman, and something in the way he says it makes Logan feel not very sure at all. “’Cause, y’know. People can be pretty mean. Especially to nerds like you.”

(Here he casts a dark look at Hoodie Boy, who looks stricken.)

“Mean?” echoes Logan, not quite paying attention.

“Um. Yeah,” comes a small voice. Not Roman’s. He turns.

Patton is fidgeting with his cardigan’s sleeve and curling into himself quietly.

“The… the boys outside the bathroom earlier,” he mumbles. “They, um. One of them’s in my class. Declan Carter. He… doesn’t like me, I think. I don’t know the other guys. But everyone thinks they’re pretty mean.”

Logan doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Nerd, you do know the guys I’m talking about, right?” adds Roman, looking concerned. “Or do those glasses make you completely blind?”

Logan doesn’t answer. He’s in his own head doing sums. Or maybe deductions.

“It fell out of my… school bag.” Out of his safe, secret inside pocket. Except it can’t have fallen out of the secret pocket, which Logan knows was zipped up.

(Two and two makes four.)

“Where’s the nerd gone?” asks the voice outside the bathroom door, looking for Patton. Except he can’t have been talking about Patton, who Logan knows isn’t a nerd.

(Four and four makes eight.)

“I bet he’s busy crying,” says the other voice, but “Nobody ever knows when I wanna cry,” says Patton, who Logan knows smiles through his tears.

(Eight and eight: sixteen.)

“I just know you ’cause everyone knows you. You’re the smart one,” says Hoodie Boy.

(Thirty-two.)

“People can be pretty mean. Especially to nerds like you,” says Roman.

(Sixty-four.)

Logan thinks of predators stalking the school hallway and Patton rinsing paint off his clothes and his secret pocket’s zipper left wide open. And it all, finally, adds up, and he feels like an ant.

“Logan?” asks Patton, worried. “Are you okay?”

When you eliminate the impossible, Sherlock Holmes whispers in his ear, whatever remains must be the truth.

Hoodie Boy is looking at him with something like fear on his face.

“You’re…” he whispers. “Oh. Oh, no.”

And he slides down from the tree and takes off into the house like lightning.

Logan watches him go numbly, dropping the poster. Patton snatches it before it flutters away.

“Logan…?” he tries again.

“What’s the matter, Sherlock?” asks Roman, and Logan swallows. Lifts his head. Forces back his tears and smiles.

“I just solved the case,” he says shakily, and runs away.

* * *

He hears footsteps half an hour later, when he’s all cried out and is now slumped against his own fence a few streets away, going over multiplication tables in his head. He looks up to see Patton running towards him, his school satchel bumping against his leg, looking relieved and clutching Logan’s pencil. His flower is gone.

“There you are, Logan!” he calls as he spots him, and slows down, huffing a little. “I was looking all over for you, after I talked to Roman’s friend, of course, ’cause he looked really upset, and Roman was helping me out since I don’t know this area that well yet, but then his brother Thomas came and said he had to go – I like him, he’s nice – and then I was on my own and I still couldn’t find you so I used the deduction thing and figured you’d have… is this your house? It’s really pretty.”

He pauses to take in Logan’s silence before pulling off his satchel and sitting down next to him. “Are you feeling better?”

“No,” says Logan miserably. “I feel so stupid.”

“That’s a bad word,” points out Patton, pouting. “Anyway, you’re not stupid. You’re super cool and smart, remember? You’re like Sherlock Holmes but nicer.”

That makes Logan smile a bit. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” says Patton after a few seconds. “Princ— Roman said it was probably the mean guys at school who stole your Book. Right?”

He nods.

“I… I didn’t ask before. But… why’s it so important to you?”

Logan takes a deep breath, huffs it out in a long sigh, and says, “My father gave it to me.”

“Okay.”

“Before he died.”

“O-Oh,” Patton says, blinking. “I’m sorry.”

“He gave me his Sherlock Holmes books, too,” says Logan, staring at the pavement. “They made me really happy. And when he died I wanted to do something… I don’t know. Something to show him how grateful I was.”

That’s what the Book is. It’s his tribute. In it, Logan’s kept a long journal of his investigations, his little observations and facts from every day and his thoughts and theories about everything he can think of. His deductions, his adventures, the little mysteries like who lives in the house at the end of the lane. His personal entries, where he talks about Sherlock Holmes, and how it would be wonderful to not have messy feelings all the time and always be calm and never cry. And his letters to his father, which he’ll never let anyone read, because only his father ever understood how he was feeling and now that he’s gone, the idea that Logan can go to anyone else feels like betrayal.

So he writes. And writes. And wonders if his father can see what he’s writing.

Patton listens as he spills, and when he’s done offers him a hug, which Logan accepts.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Everything is going to be okay. We’ll get your Book back.”

“I hope so,” murmurs Logan, and thinks about tomorrow with dread.

* * *

Tomorrow arrives. Logan goes to school with rocks in his chest, and waits.

Patton finds him in between lessons, sneaking from his classroom to Logan’s and slipping him little gifts: a blue friendship bracelet, a papery orange leaf, a reassuring smile. None of these are his Book, but Logan appreciates them all the same.

When the bell signals recess, Logan drags himself out of the empty classroom, and that’s when he hears the commotion in the playground. Patton, who’d been waiting for him, gives him a worried look.

“Should we go and…?” he asks. Logan nods.

As they join the crowd, Patton squeezes Logan’s hand very hard as they spot the source of attention: the slide has been seized by three tall boys who have positioned themselves on the ladder, blocking it. One, in a painfully orange hoodie, is scowling at everyone; his friend, with a bright yellow bag, is smiling down at someone on the ground next to them, and Patton grips Logan’s sleeve.

“Oh, no,” he whispers. “That’s Declan. The one next to him is Alexander, and…”

The last of the three, perched at the very top of the slide and wearing a jade-green shirt and a twisted smile, needs no introduction for Logan. It’s Jason. Jason the mean one who laughed at him when he cried in class, and who’s now eyeing the boy on the ground with boredom as he lounges in his seat of power.

With a start, Logan realises the boy on the ground is Hoodie.

Their eyes meet. Something painful crosses Hoodie’s expression.

Then Logan hears Jason speak.

“Hey, look, he’s here!” he says loudly to the other three. “Sherlock Holmes. You’re late.”

Logan steps forward, unsteadily, and the crowd seems to melt away.

“You have something of mine,” he says, as calmly as he can. “I’d like it back.”

“Something of yours?” says Yellow – Declan – in mock surprise. “We have no idea what – oh, wait, does this belong to you, nerd?”

And he opens his bag and pulls out a book – Logan’s Book – and hands it up to Jason with a flourish, and Logan sees red.

“Give it back to me,” he snaps. “Now.”

“Is it private? Oh, dear,” hums Jason, thumbing through the pages tauntingly. “Hey, everybody, what do you think is inside?”

He opens the Book. Logan feels very cold.

“I’m warning you,” he says, voice cracking, and that’s as far as he gets before a voice pipes up behind him.

“Leave him alone!”

It’s Patton.

(Of course.)

“You guys are mean,” he yells, voice trembling, pushing to the front of the crowd. “You’re not funny, and you’re not cool, and you’re not nice people and you need to stop.”

Orange slides off the ladder and advances menacingly.

“What did you say to me?” he says, too calmly.

“I-I said…” falters Patton.

“He said you need to stop.”

Orange whirls around.

Hoodie’s jaw is tightly clenched. He’s shaking.

Jason’s glare is terrifying. “What the heck is wrong with you, Anxiety?”

“And he’s r-right,” blurts Hoodie, with a petrified glance at Patton. “You… you’re awful. G-Give the Book back. No one likes this.”

There’s silence for a deadly few seconds. Then Jason laughs, coldly.

“I always knew you were too stupid to hang with us, you brat.”

“Watch it,” says Logan darkly, and suddenly it’s three against three.

“You’re on their side now?” growls Orange, whom Logan has privately named Anger Issues. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted! Wimp! Loser!”

Hoodie takes one step back. Two. And turns and runs out of sight.

“HA!” spits Anger. “That’s right, you’d better—”

The next few moments are a blur.

Hoodie reappears at the top of the slide, behind Jason.

Snatches the Book.

Slides back down rapidly amidst screams. Ducks under the slide as Jason and Declan leap off.

Takes a running leap at the empty ladder. Scales it in a split-second.

Yells:

“Catch!”

And throws the Book.

Jason yells something. Logan stares at his Book as it soars overhead, beyond the crowd, impossible to catch.

Straight into a beaming Roman’s waiting arms.

Patton runs to the slide to help Hoodie down, but Logan is shoving through the crowd to get to Roman, who tosses him the Book and shouts, “Get your puffball friend!”

Logan turns and sees Patton struggling through the crowd with Hoodie in tow, and he sees Roman pull Hoodie free as he grabs Patton’s hand, and he sees something tall and green being blocked by a cheering crowd of classmates, and then all four of them run like the wind.

* * *

They end up hiding in the bathroom, because apparently that is where hiding happens.

“They’re gonna kill us,” whispers Hoodie, his whole body jittering.

“…Can’t,” puffs Logan. “They’re… in trouble. Already.”

“Big trouble,” whispers Patton. “They can’t bother us again. Thank you so much, you guys.”

Roman grins. “I barely did anything, Flower Power. Guess who did?”

They all look at Hoodie, who fidgets.

“I don’t know what to tell you guys,” he mumbles. “I only stuck with them for protection, y’know.”

“Well, you clearly don’t need protection—” says Logan, and then pauses.

“Oh. Right,” says Hoodie awkwardly. “My name’s… Virgil.”

Patton beams and hugs him.

“Thanks, Virgil! You were amazing!”

Everything is going to be okay, Logan thinks. People have his back.

Virgil smiles a little, then says shakily, “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I agree,” says Logan, cradling his Book. “That was genius.”

“I can believe it,” says Patton, smiling at Virgil, who smiles shyly back and pulls something pink out of his pocket. Patton’s flower.

“Yeah, well,” he says.

Roman laughs, sudden and bright. “We were awesome. And you!”

Virgil blushes. “You better stop annoying me now.”

“I’ve only just begun, my dear!” trills Roman joyfully.

“You’re so lucky I changed my mind.”

“You’re so lucky I love you,” returns Roman, and then he and Patton burst out laughing, and Virgil starts chuckling too.

Logan looks at his Book. He looks at the flower. He looks at his three new friends, giggling breathlessly at each other like they all share a ridiculous secret.

Sherlock missed out on this, he thinks, and does the same.

* * * * *

@just-fic-me-up

[arnavsinghraizada]

Diary of a Sanka Devi - 2

I’m baaaaaaaaaaack! :) Find the prologue and Part 1 here

Operation Catch-A-Prince: Day 1 (still)

Dear Diary,

Arnav is not just a prince. He is a gentleman prince. A knight in shining armour, a … a - he’s like Prem from Hum Saath-Saath Hain if Prem was sarcastic and kind of mean. He’s quiet just like Prem is, but he doesn’t smile as much. That’s okay, one day when we’re married I’ll tease him about what a snob he was and he’ll laugh and say that I taught him what true love and happiness is. Then I will say that I already knew this cause I am good and virtuous. It’s full-proof.

“You mean fool-proof,” Jiji sighed, having reverted back to her ways of sneakiness and reading over my shoulder.

“Arnav’s not a fool, Jiji,” I said sternly, ready to defend my would-be husband to the death.

“No, Khushi,” she groaned, looking like she wanted to smack me, “the word is foolproof.”

To be honest, I don’t completely understand how a word could be defended against fools, but I didn’t argue. That’s another reason mine and Arnav’s marriage will be so exemplary one day. I will never fight with him. Ever. For anything. He’s so beautiful, why would I even want to? We’ll agree on everything and even if we don’t, I’ll probably be so attractive one day that he’ll agree with me anyways, just to keep me happy.

One day, after he finishes fighting Salman Khan for my hand in marriage, he’ll tell me how beautiful I am and that he’d fight Salmanji a million times if it meant getting me - ugh, Jiji is back. And with more silly and cruel remarks.

“Pagli,” she says, laughing callously as if she isn’t about to break my heart, “by the time you’re old enough to be married, Salman Khan will have kids of his own.”

I don’t know who Jiji thinks she is exactly, but her negativity is not welcome in my bubble of good wishes and happiness.

Speaking of good wishes and happiness! Why focus on negativity like Jiji’s when I had Arnav, the personification of goodness and happiness, to talk about. I guess you could say that our love story officially began at 2:30 pm today when I walked out of class and saw him in the courtyard again. He was standing under a tree, and I knew from watching him before that he was waiting for the arrival of the big white car that would pick him up from school and take him back home. I stared at him for a while, trying to find the courage to follow through with my idea. What if it hit him and he got angry? Nonsense, Arnav didn’t have an angry bone in his body, he is an angel. What if it hit him and he got hurt? Nonsense, yet again. Something as small as a pencil case couldn’t hurt a man. And Arnav… well, he was definitely a man. Besides, I told myself resolutely, even if it did hurt slightly now, it would be made up for in the happiness he’d feel realizing it was me, the love of his life, here to retrieve him at last. Once I had him, I’d keep him close so girls like Shreya Khanna couldn’t get too close. That girl was already on my last nerve. Always staring at Arnav, whispering to her friends about him, she probably even wrote about him in her diary. What a creep!

“Khushi,” Jiji’s voice sounded again, undoubtedly to spout some more negative nonsense. “Don’t you do the exact same thing?”

“Excuse me?!” I had gasped, appalled that Jiji would suggest that I would ever do such a thing to my beautiful Arnav.

“You stare at him, whisper about him and his mental math skills, and write about him in that diary of yours. Aren’t you just as bad as she is?”

How. Dare. She.

“It is completely different.” I sniffed haughtily. “I am going to marry him one day so that makes it cute.”

She didn’t seem to agree with me but then again who cared what she thought. One day when I was the Princess of Sheesh Mahal on the hill and Jiji was married to creepy Brij’s older brother Rohit, then we’d see what she thought. Back to what was really important, Arnav.

I stared at him from a few feet away. He looked like he was thinking again, staring up at the leaves of the tree. He was probably thinking about photosynthesis or something equally impressive. I knew from prior… observations… that the fancy white car from Sheesh Mahal would be arriving soon, so if I wanted to act, I had to do it now.  I raised my arm, pencil case in hand and poised to throw when I began to second guess my plan. Maybe I could just by him and drop it instead? Was throwing it necessary? I had almost convinced myself to rethink my idea when Arnav turned away from the tree and made eye contact with me. The sunlight was filtering through the canopy of leaves, lighting up the different shades of golden brown in his eyes. Before I was really conscious of what was happening, my arm let go, and I could only watch in horror as my pencil case went sailing through the air. Arnav saw it too and looked confused as he calmly took a step backwards, effectively removing himself from the path of the object. It hit the ground between us, and I felt like the entire courtyard had gone silent suddenly, despite the fact that I could hear Shreya Khanna trying to get Arnav’s attention by talking too loudly about how much she loves math. He looked up at me then and raised one eyebrow in a perfect, questioning arch.

“What the hell was that?”

His voice! In my head, I’d imagined all sorts of voices for him, thinking of what he would sound like when he told me was in love with me when I would finally speak to him. Nothing could measure up to what it really was. None of the boys in my year sounded like that. I kept my eyes trained on him and in my head I looked just like Madhuri Dixit, a worldly beauty speaking volumes from my eyes.

“Are you okay? Your eye is… doing something..?”

… Or maybe I didn’t look as alluring (another fancy word!) as I thought I did.  He asked me if I was okay! He cared! Of course, he cared about me, he’s older and smarter, he probably immediately recognized that I’m his soulmate. He is a man and I am a mature woman about to blossom -

“Do you need help finding your mom?” Devi Maiya, he’s beautiful and so kind. But I’d have to talk to him about this. He couldn’t make a habit out of being so nice to every girl he came across, offering to escort her to her mother and all. What if they just kept him!? Someone so perfect needed to be more careful.

“No!” I finally burst out, not wanting him to go find a teacher to deal with who he probably thought was some kind of nut. “No, thank you.”

I tried to keep my voice softer that time, wispy and feminine, a woman never raised her voice after all -

“Pardon? I can’t hear you.” Arnav took a step closer to me, and my heart lurched in answer.

“NO. I’M OKAY, THANK YOU.”

I want to die. How could I have yelled in his presence?!

He blinked in surprise before his features settled back into a mask of indifference and he nodded, turning away from me again to face the road and watch for his car. A few more minutes passed and I tried not to squeal every time he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He would frown every time he noticed I was still standing there. Probably because he can’t control his heartbeat when I’m around.

Duh.

Any second now, he’d pick up my pencil case and hand it back to me, take my hand in his and pretend to kiss the back of it (not the real thing - not without marriage). I’d swoon and he’d catch me in his strong arms. We wouldn’t get married though, that was for when we were much older, like 16 or something. More minutes passed. He still didn’t seem to have taken the hint. Wow. This was really something we’d have to discuss. He, of course, would be repentant and plead for my forgiveness. I would forgive him because I was so kind and he’d notice that and say I was the most amazing girl he’d ever known (and I wouldn’t even need to make him say it like I had to force Buaji to,  he’d say it cause he wanted to).

Eventually, he sighed harshly and looked at me again. I knew he would understand soon enough.

“Are you gonna get that, kid?”

Kid. I was expecting more along the lines of jaaneman, meri jaan, or beautiful but I could take ‘kid,’ as a starting point, I suppose.

More silence. Something in his jaw flexed in irritation and I felt a swoop where my stomach should be. He’s so pretty.

“Fine.” He snarled, stalking the few steps over to where my pencil case had fallen and stooping to retrieve it. Arnav looked at me again and I wanted to swoon for real when he started to walk towards me now, my glittery pencil case clutched in his manly hands.

“Here.”

I took it from his hands, taking care not to brush my fingers against his. That kind of stuff was only allowed once we were married.

“Thank you,” I replied, and for once I didn’t have to act to make my voice as soft as it came out. To his credit, he didn’t mention my lack of earlier responses and simply nodded in answer. A car horn sounded from behind us and he turned around to face the big white car from Sheesh Mahal

Panic gripped me, I couldn’t let this interaction end, not when I finally had his attention! He started to walk away from me, and I shouted the first thing that came to mind.

“Khushi!”

His steps faltered and he glanced back at me over his shoulder, pausing for a moment in confusion.

“My name -” I said sheepishly, staring at the floor now, scuffing my shoe against the dirt. “My name is Khushi.”

I thought he must’ve left when he finally answered.

“Nice name. Suits you.”

My eyes flashed up to his to find him still looking at me, an awkward half-smile on his face. My heart was suddenly racing like Basanti on her horse-cart and I beamed back at him.

“I’m Arnav.”

I barely managed to resist the urge to say that I already knew and instead settled for,

“Nice name. Suits you.”

He smiled a real full smile and gave me a small wave before he climbed into his big white car and took off towards his palatial home. He’d be back though, I knew he would. After all, he’d left his princess behind.

Signed,

Khushi Kumari Gupta

[the-accidental-accountant]

(Sponsored) I know love is giddy and it makes us go weak in the knees but have we paused and thought and introspected ever that it might go so wrong one day and it’s impossible to communicate!?? QOTD: Do you take out tike from your schedule and have conversations with your partner about things or issues that are important? Book review: When souls make Love by Maverick Prem I will not talk about how the writer has written the book or what the plot is like, but i would like to say how wonderful it is to read a book after so many months that actually asks us to pause and lets us think about love and its associated events. The book charms the reader right from the captivating first para itself. It is a beautiful novel that lets us delve deep into our mind and our soul and explore what love means to us. Far from the madding crowd and from social media there once existed love stories that did not involve lovers getting featured in each other whatsapp DPs or instagram stories. A love so uncomplicated and unhinged and unbridled that the chaos it brought with itself was also overwhelming at times. The novel explores and talks about how an estranged couple try to deal with problems in their relationship through their soul, when words fall short. The conversations between the central characters span across incidents that they have encountered from the beginning till the end and how each one of them have interpreted the same. There is a beauty in the mundaneness of the monologues and recollections. The writing style of the author is quite nice and the language and the plot needs to be savoured slowly. I particularly loved the first chapter since it sets the whole tone for the book and HOW!! The editing is on point, however i feel it could have been better because the book does get a tad monotonous at times. All in all, this is a book that you can try out if you are looking for something that is based on love and relationships. Thank you Maverick Prem for always being the feminist that you are and for discussing an important topic, i.e “What happens after the sugar-y sweet romance turns sour after a few years”!! #bookstagram #books #bookshelf #booknerdigans #ilovebooks📚 (at Kolkata) https://www.instagram.com/p/CHTHVh5A9jf/?igshid=1gdb5y70tz60a

[sknews7]

As a new Premier League season gets under way, why Jarrad and Dean should inspire Cumbria’s youth

The ball was despatched positively down the Bournemouth proper, into the speedy stride of David Brooks. The winger obtained to it first however, in a flash, discovered that he had misplaced it.

This was as a result of his younger opponent had matched him for tempo, put his physique between man and ball, muscled Brooks apart and, in a single easy sequence, alleviated the state of affairs for Everton.

“Effectively carried out, son,” whispered Jamie Carragher in commentary.

That was one of many final issues Jarrad Branthwaite did final season. What would possibly await him on this new one?

Additional alternatives below Carlo Ancelotti? One other climb in profile and reward? The scrutiny, maybe, of England’s age-group scouts?

The creativeness can simply run riot on the prospects, given how the boy from Wigton went from League Two substitute to top-flight starter in 2019/20.

All of it’s on the market for Branthwaite. So, too, could also be a interval when he’s held again from the stage. In such circumstances there could also be disappointment but additionally the necessity for everybody to remind themselves that he’s, in any case, solely 18.

Soccer, if you consider such tales, typically feels as if it’s advancing at lightning velocity, and there are occasions it’d seem the identical method with Dean Henderson, who begins the brand new marketing campaign nearer than ever to Manchester United’s first group.

It has been a extra gradual climb for Henderson, by means of a sequence of mortgage strikes, however at 23 the person from Whitehaven stands getting ready to one thing actually vital.

It’s at this level, with this fundamental data, that these of us watching from this proud previous county ought to actually pause and marvel.

An lad from Wigton already taking part in at centre-half for a longtime, historic Premier League membership. A boy from Whitehaven attempting to land the premier goalkeeping spot at one of many greatest on the earth.

These are, then, excessive and beautiful instances for Cumbrian soccer. Henderson and Branthwaite are trend-setters for our space within the superior international recreation.

So allow us to applaud them on their method. And let each different aspiring participant right here watch them, observe them, be stimulated by them.

They’re the leaders of a brand new Cumbrian wave; a bit of additional behind them are youngsters like James Trafford of Manchester Metropolis and Joe White of Newcastle United. If you happen to hearken to individuals who know each of these boys, good careers ought to put forward for them too.

Cumbria has provided its people of excessive expertise over time however not too typically in a cluster. The Brunton Babes of the 1990s was in all probability the final time it occurred en masse: Jansen, Delap, Murray and the remainder who broke out of a newly-confident Carlisle United with the concept all issues had been in attain.

Specific tales could be discovered in numerous eras, in corresponding to Jackie Sewell, Peter Thompson, Kevin Beattie (and his Ipswich colleagues Geddis, Turner and McCall), Paul Simpson, Steve Harkness, Grant Holt, Scott Carson and Glenn Murray.

Beattie, arguably essentially the most proficient, was 18 years and eight months previous when he made his top-flight debut. Branthwaite, when he first represented Everton’s first group, was 18 years and two weeks.

Others have performed on the elite degree youthful, just like the Liverpool nice Thompson (17) and the dynamic Simpson (16). Not too many, although, can examine, and allow us to not overlook how way more separated the sport’s ranges are lately, and the way immensely troublesome it have to be to adapt from fourth-tier scrambles to a Premier League defence within the house of some months.

When watching Branthwaite on a display, although, you’re struck each by his composure and the extent to which he seems to take pleasure in this uncommon probability. He smiles so much. He jokes and chats with extra skilled Premier League performers. If soccer is a recreation of the thoughts as a lot because the physique then he appears to be of the proper parts.

As, in numerous respects, does Henderson. You’ll journey a good distance earlier than discovering a younger footballer with a extra assured mentality and there are various tales on the market which sum up his iron self-belief.

One arose from Grimsby’s victory over Carlisle at Brunton Park in 2017. Henderson had simply accomplished his third Soccer League look but when shaking palms together with his reverse quantity, Mark Gillespie, it was not only a case of the same old post-match pleasantries.

Grimsby’s on-loan No1 was additionally daring sufficient to level out that his extra senior opponent might need carried out higher with the second purpose he conceded.

Brass neck? Possibly. Extremely assured? For certain. When Henderson, in the present day, talks about his religion that he will likely be Manchester United’s high canine, don’t think about such phrases are for present.

They’re stated with sincerity. Once more – we should always admire the easy actuality right here; that it’s a boy from west Cumbria, not an costly recruit from every other level on the planet, who’s threatening to unseat David De Gea for the proper to guard the Stretford Finish, to observe the golden line of Gregg, Stepney, Schmeichel and Van Der Sar.

Henderson had no explicit childhood benefits apart from a optimistic upbringing, devoted teaching – and expertise, and dedication, by the shedload.

What finer message may there be for any boy or lady in a Cumbrian membership’s ranks? There could be no excuse for pondering our space is any type of backwater, a spot solely of limitations, when it has produced younger males of Henderson and Branthwaite’s very good calibre.

They’re Cumbrian soccer 2.0, and should have many vibrant and invigorating years forward. So ought to anybody seeking to the pair for the right inspiration.

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INFINITE SHADES OF GREY :  A tribute to Hemant Kumar on his 100th birthday

Monday, June 15, 2020

Flashback of my long meeting with Hemant Kumar 34 years ago

by

Raju Korti

After years of longing, I finally managed to catch up with legendary composer, singer and producer Hemant Kumar in 1984, just five years before he passed to leave an unfilled vacuum. He was well past his prime then but his composing and singing instincts were as impeccable. As a keen devotee of film music, thanks to those golden fifties, sixties and early seventies, I nursed an abiding regret of not being able to meet the man about whom I had read and heard so much. As I write this blog, there is a tangential satisfaction to that anguish that it is better late than never. I have no answer to why I didn't write about the intensive interaction I had with him all these years but as an apology of a consolation, I am happy that this blog coincides with his 100th birthday today (June 16).

I will never forget the long, searching look Hemant Da gave me when we met. Dressed in white pyjamas and a long kurta, his six-plus feet lanky frame towered above my diminutive 5-plus feet. Having recovered from an acute heart condition, he looked pale, drawn and weak. Apparently, he was incredulous that someone who had just stepped into his thirties could even think of talking to a veteran who was been-there-done-that. I had to pull myself together before I lent credence to his apparent misgivings. He was accompanied by playback singer Aarti Mukherjee (of 'Saara mora kajra chhudaya tune' fame) who did not take any part in the three-hour conversation except occasional nods and smiles. "Hemant Da, they always talk about the two faculties that you straddled so brilliantly -- as a composer and a singer. So who's better between the two?" I asked him. "I can't put my finger on any one of them. Both are an inseparable parts of my musical instincts. Although, I began as a short story writer, my mind was into music. So I quit Engineering despite vehement opposition from my father. Mind you, one of my short stories won critical literary acclaim when I was barely sixteen but I was prepared to chuck that talent for Rabindra Sangeet." Hemant Da's predilection towards his passion was right on target as within a year he became a singer for All India Radio, his deeply baritone vocals tailor-made to take on the depth of Tagore's compositions. "In those days, my singing hero was Pankaj Mullick and I use to ape him so well that I was nicknamed Chhota Pankaj. But beyond this hero worship, I regret I could not get my teeth into rigorous classical music. It is a regret I will carry to my grave," he said. Having followed Hemant Da's career closely, I could see that the lack of adequate classical music -- by his own admission -- was no handicap, especially in films. In the early forties, his contemporary was King Talat Mehmood whose chaste Urdu diction and rendition of ghazals had made him a darling of the masses. Mohammed Rafi, who later went on to become the premier singer of the industry, was just struggling to gain a toehold while Mukesh had just got going. Kishore Kumar was nowhere on the scene. As someone carrying the stamp and legacy of Rabindra Sangeet, Hemant Da found himself at variance with the genre of film songs. That, however, wasn't a handicap as he had the prime examples of Sachin Dev Burman and Salil Choudhury, both Dadas in every sense of the word. Another Dada was in the making to join this exalted company. "It was in the early forties that I hitched onto the Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA), a Left-leaning  body which had composer and song writer Salil Da as one of its mainstays. I was in the midst of some musical greats and it was particularly satisfying that Rabindra Sangeet was a common chord that ran through us," Hemant Da recalled. "I wasn't doing badly at all, composing for Bengali films, but when Filmistan made Anandmath in 1951 and I was asked to compose its music, I decided to explore Mumbai, the Mecca of film music. The film was a moderate success but a then raw Lata's Vande Mataram struck perfect patriotic notes and made people sit up and take notice. Then came Shart where I did my own bidding with Na ye chaand hoga." "But wasn't this a turning point for you? Dev Anand happened," I asked him. "Na ye chaand hoga was just the platform. Ye raat ye chaandni (Jaal), Chup hai dharti chup hai chaand sitaare and Teri duniya mein jeene se  (House No 44), Hai apna dil to awaara (Solva Saal) and Na tum hame jaano (Baat Ek Raat Ki) happened because Burman Dada was convinced I could fit on Dev Anand's lips," Hemant Da reminisced, pointing out that in the years to come, he steered himself with his own talent through Naagin, Duniya Jhukti Hai, Bees Saal Baad, Bin Badal Barsaat, Kohra and Anupama. The interesting aside here is this was the same Burman Dada who before being a guide to Hemant Da was contemplating to quit and go back to Calcutta because the scene in Mumbai didn't appeal to his Bengali ethos. Such was Hemant Da's unflinching belief in the potential of Rabindra Sangeet that in those days he was considered as only next to Mullick in the intricacies of that genre ahead of seniors like Burman Dada and Salil Da. This hierarchy was also with its anomalies. Burman Da understood little or nothing of Hindi. He needed to understand the mood of the song and its words written in Bengali before he could employ his compositional genius. Hemant Da was in comparison much more comfortable, having come from the Hindi hinterland of Benares. He was also very much in tune with the musical philosophy of Salil Da and although it didn't show much in his (Hemant Da's) compositions, he had as much flair and understanding of the symphonies, notably among them being Bach. Naagin made Hemant Da a household name. For many, that was no big surprise as composer Ravi who he assisted for many years, told him that given his talent, it was time he started going his own way. The film's feet-tapping music with a string of Lata hits as also his solos and duets, was a revelation as against the three-hour visual atrocity on the viewers. People rather went to 'hear' the movie than 'see' it. The film won him a Filmfare Award. But Hemant Da preferred to dwell on mid-1955 when he sang four solos for the legendary Uttam Kumar. It was the beginning of an enduring friendship and their chemistry showed they were the most poplar singer-actor combination holding an unchallenged sway for almost a decade. Hemant Da lapsed into nostalgia as I mentioned to him that period when he was composing for a lot of Bengali and Hindi films while jealously guarding his roots in Rabindra music. "I was at the peak of my career then as a composer and singer. The best was I was singing for maestros like Nachiket Ghosh, Robin Chatterjee and Salil Choudhury. Some of my songs were remakes or improvisations of the Bengali original. I also hobnobbed with production. Bees Saal Baad, Kohra and Khamoshi were produced by me. Neel Akasher Neeche was directed by Mrinal Sen and went on to bag the President's Gold Medal after an unsavoury controversy." Bees Saal Baad and Kohra forged a wonderful relationship with Biswajeet. After almost an hour, Hemant Da was coming to the perception that for a youngster, I had done my home work fairly well as I mentioned his one song after the other in the course of the meeting. A faint smile creased his face when I mentioned to him that in the bevy of beauties that he sang, my favourites happened to be the 1955 Sardar Malik beauty filmed on Prem Nath 'Mai garibo ka dil hoon watan ki zubaan' (Aab-e Hayat) and a duet with Geeta Dutt from Detective (1958) 'Mujh ko tum jo mile ye jahaan mil gaya' (Fabulous use of Hawaii guitar). He had a word of lament for Mukul Roy, Geeta's brother and the composer of that dulcet duet. "He was such a talented music director and understood the nuances of film music so well but it beats me why his career didn't pick up." In an era when he rubbed shoulders with the likes of Shankar Jaikishen, OP Nayyar, C Ramchandra, Naushad, Madan Mohan, Roshan, Hemant Da did not even once go in for lavish orchestrations. His accompaniments were minimal and the song carried itself on the weight of its sweetness. Hemant Da was particularly delighted when I pointed out how sublime Lata sounded in 'Chhup gaya koi re door se pukar ke' in that obscure film Champakali (1960). He seemed touched when I said it could give Madan Mohan's 'Chaand maddham hai' (Railway Platform/1957) a stiff competition. "I think Burman Dada's influence rubbed off on me. Even when it came to the choice of singers. I remember how he had singled me out to sing for Dev Anand when everyone else felt that my voice wouldn't suit his persona. See how Burman Da stood vindicated. In my career as composer, my choices have been guided by the demands of the song per se rather than factors like who was lip-synching the song and how many instruments I must employ to embellish it." "You tuned so well with Burman Dada and sang 12-13 songs for Dev Anand. What happened thereafter? I asked him. Hemant Da paused a little but the gentleman in him came to the fore. "I don't know what happened after Baat Ek Raat Ki. He never called and I didn't ask. I didn't think too much about it and got busy with my own work." Was it that on Burman Dada's exacting scale Hemant Da's voice had lost its baritone edge? Unlikely, as you know that the quality of his voice was still replete with the same refined sensitivity. I can vouch as I heard him in flesh and blood. "I used Mohammed Rafi and Kishore Kumar sparingly even at the peak of their careers. For that matter, I sang my own song only when it was absolutely called for. I shared a great working rapport with them and I was devastated when I lost two dear younger brothers -- Rafi and Uttam Kumar -- in a span of just one week. They were giants. Why didn't I work with them more? I loved Rafi's Dil ki aawaaz bhi sun (Humsaaya), Manna's Piya maine kya kiya (Us Paar), Mukesh's Woh tere pyaar ka gham. Even an otherwise exuberant Kishore was polite when he teamed up with me. He knew exactly what I wanted to deliver in Kashti ka khamosh safar hai (Girl Friend). I have memories of Rafi walking up to me and wanting to know the pronunciation of some Bengali words before he sang those songs. He was one singer who knew how to use the mike well -- like when to sing from the throat and when to sing from his navel." For all his modesty, Hemant Da could run a quick temper at times and did not hesitate to mince words. He revealed how he had warned Guru Dutt against the latter's penchant for changing his singers and composers at the last minute, citing the example of the 1962 classic Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam that had adultery as its theme. "I agreed only after Guru gave me an undertaking saying that only I was equipped to handle the music since it was set in the backdrop of Bengal." History was made before it was written. For a man on whom the Government of India issued a stamp posthumously in 2016 and had won a spate of awards and recognition, including two national Awards, Hemant Da didn't make much of this memorabilia. He never mentioned any of his songs when asked about his favourites. Having refused Padmashri in the 1970s, he also shunned Padma Bushman which was three years after I met him. More than three decades after his death music companies keep releasing his albums, repackaging his old songs. There are dime a dozen who copy Rafi, Kishore, Mukesh and don't admit so but I personally know many who take a great delight in unabashedly conceding that they love to imitate Hemant Da's style but are nowhere near. Close your eyes and hear the Kishore Kumar composed 1964 beauty from Door Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein: 'Raahi tu mat ruk jaana, toofan se mat ghabrana Kabhi to milegi teri manzil Kahin door gagan ki chhaon mein..' It may have been incommoded by KK's own 'Jin raaton ki bhor nahi hai' but has in sharp contrast hope and tranquility that make the song a quintessential Hemant Kumar from a school of music that qualifies to be a university of its own. PS: It needed a Hemant Kumar song for a film to be qualified as 'haunting'. And since the man was too modest to speak about his own songs, I will labour over my favourite HK solos and duets which I am sure might raise eyebrows for skipping songs which have hit higher popularity charts. Partly, my choices are influenced because you don't get to hear them much. So here I go. 1) Mai garibo ka dil hoon watan ki zubaan (Aab-e-Hayat/1955/Solo) 2) Mujh ko tum jo mile, ye jahaan mil gaya (Detective/1958/With Geeta Dutt) 3) Aa neele gagan tale pyaar hum kare (Baadshah/1954/With Lata) 4) Baharo se pucho nazaaro se pucho dil kyo deewana mera ho gaya (Fashion/1959/With Lata) 5) Nai manzil nayi raahen naya hai karvaan apna (Hill Station/1957/With Lata) 6) Raahi tu mat ruk jaana (Door Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein/1964/Solo) 7) Dekho wo chaand chup ke karta hai kya ishaare (Shart/1954/With Lata) 8) Zindagi kitni khubsoorat hai (Bin Badal Barsaat/1963/Solo HK version) 9) Jab jaag uthe armaan to kaise neend aaye (Bin Badal Barsaat/1963/Solo) 10) Ye nayan dare dare, ye jaam bhare bhare (Kohra/1964/Solo)