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stillness-in-green · 4 years

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MLA Week, Day 5: Question

Coming in late because this one was much too short and when I finally figured out what to do with it, it became too long.

A young Re-Destro learns some things about his family. Features my headcanon that “Sanctum” is a title as much as it is a code name, a name that designates a keeper of knowledge and history.

Content Warning: Referenced sibling death, depression, and police raids. Explicit cult dynamics. Rikiya is nine years old and already carrying too much weight, but there’s only more of that to come.

———– ———– ———– ———–

There were certain things that his mother didn’t talk about around Rikiya when he was awake. He had learned that as young as five years old, lying with his head in her lap and listening to her report to the elders on the phone about how she was feeling that day. She often grappled with sadness—turning sadness into power was her quirk, like turning stress into power was his—and it was because he knew of that sadness that he didn’t ask her for answers when she first mentioned missing her brother.

Rikiya, at nine years old, had not grown up knowing he had—or did have—an uncle. His mother had never mentioned a brother before. Rikiya thought about the pictures in the house—the portrait of the great Destro over the door, photographs of Rikiya himself, of him with his mother, of his mother smiling peaceably from the encircling arms of her father, whose brows were always knotted with the anger that had killed him long before Rikiya was born. Pictures taken on holidays, Rikiya’s mother’s graduation photo, her with her companions at some long bygone track and field day. Graceful, lovely watercolor prints and solemn black and white photography—his mother had many pictures.

Rikiya looked through all of them again, in stolen moments over the next few days, in between meals, lessons, training, socializing. He mother had a great many pictures, but none of a strange man who looked like her.

He couldn’t ask his mother, but there was someone his teachers told him he could ask anything—the warrior whose very name meant that she served the Army by knowing its history and keeping its secrets.

And so, the next day, when he’d bade his mother farewell at the door and climbed into the car under Rampart’s watchful eye, he turned to look up at his guardian before buckling the seatbelt.

“Rampart, I’m sorry, but I need to skip school today. I have a question for Sanctum.”

———–

The Meta Liberation Army’s longest serving member lived on the other side of town, in an upscale neighborhood across the street from a large playground. A few people were out already, walking dogs, jogging, playing with children too young for school. He watched their faces, making note of the ones who spotted the car and stopped what they were doing; when Rampart opened the door for him, he met their eyes briefly and mirrored the sign of Liberation back to the ones who gave it before he turned away.

Sanctum answered the door herself, an elderly woman in a gray-green kimono with thin, sharp features on which the softness of age clung like lichen on a cliff face. She still stood as straight as a pine tree, long gray hair swept and pinned up at the back of her head.

“Good morning, Re-Destro.” She greeted him with a salute of her own. “Rampart, I’ll take it from here,” she added, and he nodded respectfully, not even giving Rikiya the usual warning about calling if he had any trouble. Still, his shadow stood vigil against the screen door.

Sanctum ushered him inside, through a Western-style living room and into a very traditional tea room after that. He looked around in interest, taking in the sunken hearth in the center of the floor and a hanging scroll inscribed with a complex kanji he couldn’t read adorning the wall. Most of the warriors of Liberation preferred more modern styles, furnishings that spoke of the future way, but it felt right, even encouraging, that the woman tasked with witnessing for the Army’s past kept a connection to such things.

She already had a tray with tea supplies set out beside the hearth, so he knelt quietly on a cushion across from her, nibbling on a frog-shaped manju and watching her movements as she whisked the thin tea into a fine green froth. She presented it to him with a bow, watching with a half-smile as he took a dutiful sip, biting the inside of his lip to stop himself from swallowing too quickly, though the heat of it burned his tongue.

“It’s delicious as always, Miss Sanctum.”

She nodded acceptance of the compliment, rote though it was, and waited while he carefully set down his tea bowl. His shoulders drooped slightly once the dish was safely down on the tray and out of his hands. Her tools were very old, his mother had told him the first time he’d been brought to visit Sanctum, and handling them was always a balance of showing proper care without getting so self-conscious that he endangered them with his own worry.

“So,” she asked, hands folded in her lap. “What brings you to me today, my young Commander?”

“I had a question,” he responded. He let his eyes drop down to the half-eaten sweet bun, arranging the words in his head as he’d spent the drive over conceiving them. “What can you tell me about my uncle?”

There was a beat of silence. He went on staring at the frog manju and its missing back leg.

“Your honored mother’s brother? I see,” she said when he nodded. She took another moment to gather herself, during which he chanced another nibble at the sweet. “His name was Kyouyuki. He was four years her elder. You know, of course, that all of your lineage are deeply in touch with their driving emotions thanks to your meta-ability. You have your stress, your mother her sorrow, your grandfather his rage, and the great Destro his sense of purpose. Your uncle was the same, but his manifestation lead your grandfather and the First Families to declare him unsuitable as heir to the position of Grand Commander.”

Rikiya swallowed. He scanned his education for an emotion that could not be turned to the cause and came up empty. “What was it?”

“Joy.” She waited, letting him take in the word, before she continued. “A beautiful thing, but there is so only so much joy to be found in this country when meta-humans still live in chains. While he was with us, though, your uncle was much beloved.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Would you like to see a picture of him?”

“Yes, please.” Rikiya perked up, picking up his bowl and taking another quick swallow. Sanctum laughed.

“You can take it slowly; the picture’s not going anywhere.”

“So what happened to him, then?” Rikiya asked, cupping the warm ceramic mindfully in his hands. He looked at her over the bowl’s rim as he raised it up to his mouth again, taking a slower sip.

“He went missing one day in college,” Sanctum answered with a sigh. “It was in December, just a few days before the end of term. He went to some campus party and just—never came out. Not as far as we were ever able to determine, at least.”

Rikiya glanced back down at his lamed frog. “…You looked for him?”

“All of us did, for months. There were people tasked with it for years. There’s a young man working in forensics up in Morioka that still makes it a point to check through unidentified bodies once a year, on the anniversary.”

Rikiya definitely didn’t want to finish the manju now. He took another quiet sip of the tea, finishing it off and letting his eyes rest on the lingering foam.

A cold sensation curved down over his cheek, around the hollow of his eye, and he hurriedly set the bowl down and closed his eyes, focusing on inhaling and exhaling, on the sensation of his hands folding together on his lap.

Still kneeling across from him, Sanctum matched his stillness. Not even a rustle sounded from her long, draping sleeves. Even her breathing fell naturally into pace with his own. Silence blanketed the room, no sound from outside making its way to his ears.

Finally, he released a sigh and opened his eyes. Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers over the side of his face then drew them back down. After particularly bad spells, his fingertips sometimes came back black with residue, as if he’d smudged them over wet ink, but today they came back bare and clean. He sighed again, shorter, more relieved, and looked up into Sanctum’s patient, sympathetic eyes.

“Can we go see his picture now?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “The picture’s in the community center at the playground.”

Rikiya hesitated. The rec center was visible from the house driveway.

“…Can we use your Stride?” he asked.

“Your wish is my command, Re-Destro,” Sanctum chuckled. She stood, bowing as he stood in turn, and ushered him back up to the front.

Outside, Rampart was talking with one of the men who’d been out walking his dog and stopped to salute—which he and Rampart both did again as Rikiya leaned over to offer one hand to the dog, smiling at the wet press of its nose on his palm. He ran his other hand over the thick waves of its fur in long, even strokes, watching its tail sweep excited circles in the air.

“We’re taking a jaunt over to the community center,” Sanctum said above him. “I’d offer to take you, too, but my spine says ‘Only in the case of an emergency, you daft old woman.’ I’m sure you understand.”

The neighbor snorted back a laugh and Rikiya looked back up to find Rampart checking his watch.

“Ten minutes?” he asked.

“Probably less,” Sanctum answered, and leaned down, stretching out her arms.

Rikiya stepped gingerly up to her. He kept his hands to himself rather than get dog on her kimono, but leaned his weight in when she scooped him off the ground and straightened back up. She fixed her gaze on the building at the far end of the playground, narrowed her eyes, and took a single firm step forward.

Deep shadows fell over them both. The air felt suddenly closer, filled with the rubbery smell of sports equipment. His head still spinning pleasantly, Rikiya obediently held still as Sanctum set him down.

“Let your eyes adjust for a few seconds while I find the light switch,” she said and shuffled away into the gloom. Sure enough, a moment later an overhead light flickered to life, illuminating a room that was half office, half supply closet. Next to Rikiya, in one corner, a desk and chair sat tucked beneath a small window, a short filing cabinet standing beside it. Plastic bins were stacked up beyond that, and past them, the door to the room. Metal shelving units lined the opposite wall, holding books at the end near the desk and an assortment of games and sports equipment all along the rest of its length. A hefty toolbox and a first aid kit were displayed prominently across from the door.

Sanctum scanned over a row of books on the shelf, mostly titles like “Activities for Children” and “Complete Rules of Classic Baseball,” but at the far end, simply a row of blue photo albums, spines unmarked save for thin numeric inscriptions. With a satisfied noise, she pulled one down and brought it over to the desk.

“May I sit?” she asked, and when he nodded, swept a hand under her kimono before lowering herself into the chair. He closed the distance between them, standing at the arm of the chair and observing as she flipped through the album.

Pages and pages of old photos passed them by, discoloring at the edges. Rikiya frowned—his teachers told him regularly that he needed to be as familiar as possible with the members of the Army, but in those pictures, the best he could pick out was the odd sign of a particularly distinctive meta-ability—Anchor‘s curving horns here, a boy with Aozono‘s bright green skin, a girl with a lightning stripe mark in her hair just like Toryu.

“Ah. Here we are.” Sanctum spread the album wide and angled toward him. The righthand page was covered in handwritten text, words flowing together under his eyes. Opposite it, a large photo, twice as big as the others, took up the whole left page by itself. A boy and a girl in gym uniforms, arms wrapped each other, looked out from the picture. The girl had to be his mother—because who else could she be?—with her dark hair and soft eyes, the mark of her meta ability a dark little blotch at the base of her throat. She was smiling wider than in any picture at home. The boy…

“You have his hair, you know. The color,” Sanctum said quietly as Rikiya started at the bright-eyed boy in the photo, caught mid-laugh, the reddish-brown of his hair vivid even on the faded paper. The dark shell of Destro’s power covered his hands and upper arms, effortlessly holding Rikiya’s mother off the ground. “They’d just won a brother-sister relay race. It was at a family event in the summer, back when he was still in high school. There were some quick people in his generation, but none faster than him when his spirits were high.”

“I guess—you never found out what happened to him?” It didn’t seem likely, but then, even if the warriors had never found him, that didn’t mean they might not have…

“I’m afraid not,” Sanctum said, dashing his small hopes.

“Do you think it was heroes? Could they have found out about us?”

“No.” Sanctum’s voice grew more serious. “When heroes find us, they carry out raids. They break up our communities. They split up families, take children from their parents, send those parents off to jail for years and years, even for the rest of their lives.” She shook her head. “If heroes had found out about us, we would have known.”

“Were you ever in a raid, Sanctum?” Rikiya asked, resting his hands on the arm of the chair and looking up into the old warrior’s eyes.

“Once, when I was very young—even younger than you.”

“How did you get out?”

“Well, I inherited my father’s quirk, you know.” She closed the album and placed it on the desk, then turned to face him. “He had brought me along to a meeting—there were few enough of us in those days that it was hard to spare anyone for child-sitting. I remember that one moment, everyone was talking in hushed voices, and then the window broke and suddenly, everyone was shouting. There were feet pounding on the stairs, a fist punched straight through the door, and then my father was calling for me.”

She paused, then chuckled ruefully.

“You won’t hear me ask you this often, but did you see that news clip going around last week—the one of the hero from America rescuing all those people from a fire?” When Rikiya shook his head, she placed her elbows on the arms of the chair and knitted her fingers together, resting her chin on them. “That’s how I remember Father looking back then. There were people holding onto his shoulders, being carried in his arms. He had to bend over so I could get my arms around his neck, and I remember being afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stand back up. It must have been so heavy…”

She was quiet for a moment, staring blankly over his shoulder, and Rikiya took a breath.

“He honored Destro and Liberation with his service,” he recited, as level as he could.

Sanctum’s eyes snapped back to the present and she smiled at him brightly, looking, for a moment, as happy as his lost uncle in the picture. She saluted, the movement every bit as graceful and precise as her movements during tea ceremony.

“Thank you, my young Commander. Do you wish to keep the photo?”

He thought about it—thought about being able to look at it whenever he wanted, then thought about all the pictures his mother didn’t have of her brother, and what might happen if she found one.

“I think—I think Mother is sad enough already,” he said. “But I know where to find it now.”

“That’s very wise, and very kind of you.” She stood and placed the album back on the shelf. “Then we should be getting back. The same way we came?”

He chanced a smile. “Yes, please.”

#MLAweek2020 #re-destro #yotsubashi rikiya #meta liberation army #bnha #boku no hero academia #my writing #cw: cults #my hero academia #ficcing

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chubbydino · 4 years

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Hi! I finally gathered the courage to read concatenation (normally I don’t really read fics with unhappy endings) and I LOVED IT. I mean, it tore my heart out, threw it on the ground and stepped on it, but still. It made me feel so much, which is not something that a lot of stories are able to do. Just a question, I remember reading somewhere that you would maybe write a fix-it but I can’t find it anywhere, so was it just an idea or something you plan to do? Thanks!

hello! there was talk about a fix-it for it a few years ago, and i did start one, but i’ve since deleted it after only writing a few paragraphs. i couldn’t write a fix-it that did any justice to the story.

i did write an epilogue, tony’s letter, that you probably already read if you just read the series, just to kind of tie up tony’s thoughts on everything for people who wanted that. it was part of marvel trumps hate for 2016 i believe.

but yeah, no fix-it fi planned or published. i’m so happy you read the series though, and that it was worth it for you to have waited so long to read. :) it always makes me smile when i see someone new has left a comment or kudos or something. <3

i did find a little section of a fic i never published while i was looking for the epilogue i had started, so though it’s not a fix-it, it isn’t angsty (at least, not to me lol)! just some stony pining sass and quips.

below the cut!

Grey streaks of sunlight filtered through the missile-proof glass of the of an empty bedroom in the Avengers compound. Despite being unoccupied, the room was meticulously clean—the most unkempt part about it being the memory foam mattress on the floor, still wrapped in plastic. A low crackle of thunder echoed against the barren, muted-grey walls, and as the winds changed, the patter of rain against the glass could be heard from the doorway as Steve stood there, surveying.

The compound was much smaller than it appeared upon first glance. The living area was one of the biggest rooms, excluding the training facility that wasn’t attached to the compound itself. Steve was starting to see it as home, but it would take time. New faces were appearing faster than he could remember names, and he had a bit of trouble with that. So many of them were just kids. So many of them would be barely functioning human beings without powers, but here? It was impossible to expect them to meld perfectly. But they tried. Tony and Bruce spent hours designing things to be comfortable and accepting.

Steve just never anticipated himself being the one to feel out of place here. It wasn’t like it was that big of a surprise, but he’d just been so comfortable living at the SHIELD compound, then in the Tower. Upstate New York was a big jump from that.

“Captain,” Friday said, her voice coming in crystal clear as though she was standing right beside him. “Mr. Stark is able to see you now. Please make your way to the conference room, Sector Alpha.”

Despite being small on the first two floors, the compound had an extensive underground network that was large enough to warrant its own zip code.

“Thank you,” Steve said, glancing around the empty room once more. It would be filled within the month, he was sure. It was either a new superhuman, or a visiting one. The guest manifest was something of a joke nowadays.

Steve made his way down the hallways, eyes running over the photos hung on the walls. Various teammates with their arms slung around each other, laughing. Triumphant newspaper articles showing zero casualties and major victories. Graduations, awards—all kinds of things that made the compound feel more like a college campus than a house.

But the further along he went from the living quarters, the sleeker and more professional things became. Steve was more comfortable here, surrounded by expansive glass windows and minimalist metalwork. No photos, no art on the walls. Everything became sterile and transparent.

The windows to the conference room had already been tinted, effectively sealing the room from wandering eyes. Not that Steve had seen a soul since arriving, but it was barely five in the morning, so everyone was either asleep or training already.

The doors opened for him as he entered the conference room. An enormous oak table took up most of it, and several windows were actually seamless TV screens to watch something upwards of fifty channels at a time.

Tony sat with his back facing the main screens, sprawled in his chair, turning back and forth, back and forth. He fiddled at a tablet screen, two fingers curled at his mouth. He was working, but it was busywork. Steve knew the difference between a Tony in crisis and a Tony trying to distract himself. Either way, he didn’t acknowledge Steve’s arrival.

Steve took it all in stride, and rounded the table to take a seat beside Tony. He scooted back a bit, putting a healthy amount of space between them.

The sound of the rain didn’t reach them here. Natural light didn’t even reach them here. Everything was artificial and cold. A war room.

Steve leaned back in his chair, propping his head up with one hand. Silence ticked by, broken only by the quiet taps of Tony’s fingers on the glass of his tablet.

“You’re late,” Tony finally muttered, not looking up.

“Yeah,” Steve said, lifting his head from his hand in a casual motion. “I was looking around.”

Tony let out a snort. “I ought to clear out your room and give it to someone else, with how often you show up.”

“I’ve been busy,” Steve said quietly.

“Busy,” Tony repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Busy,” Tony said again.

With a final tap to his tablet, Tony tossed the piece of glass like a discarded magazine. It skittered across the table and settled a few inches from Steve. Steve glanced at it, expecting to see some sort of article or video, but it was blank.

“I wasn’t aware—“

“You can’t just leave me like that,” Tony growled. “In charge. You can’t just do that without warning me first.”

“Remind me to tell the mass murderers of the world to give me a heads up before they start killing people,” Steve replied easily, unfazed.

“That’s bullshit,” Tony shot back. Steve couldn’t see true anger in his eyes yet, though. “You’ve been stateside for three weeks. You can’t possibly think I didn’t know you’ve been stateside for three weeks—did you think I didn’t know?”

Steve blinked once. “I didn’t think you cared.”

Tony scowled at him, leaning forward in his chair. “What were you doing on your little vacation?”

Steve shrugged. “I had to clean my place out in Brooklyn. My lease was up a month ago and they held everything out of courtesy. I had to arrange to get it all shipped here.”

“Your storage unit,” Tony said tartly.

Steve frowned. “It arrived, didn’t it?”

“Of course it arrived. It arrived weeks ago.”

A shrug was all he could really muster in response. “Then I helped with cleanup for that Queens disaster—which I’m sure you saw on the news. After that I visited Bucky in Brooklyn for a few days, saw Sam on his leave weekend and helped out at the VA.”

Tony worked his jaw, and Steve cocked a brow at the flicker of anger he saw in his eyes now.

“You’re a real class act, Rogers,” Tony finally forced out. He stood abruptly, and Steve reflexively stood too.

“Hey, what’s going on? I didn’t warn you, I get it. I’m sorry. But I don’t always get a warning, Tony.”

He didn’t realize he’d reached out until Tony shrugged him off.

“Don’t,” Tony hissed. “Don’t start with that shit.”

Now Steve was genuinely confused. “Okay. Let’s—we can talk about this. Let’s talk about this. That’s what we’re here for, right?”

That response only served to piss Tony off all the more. “Oh please. Enough with that feelings crap, Steve. I’m done with all of that—I’ve been done since you—“

Steve hand came to rest on Tony’s cheek, effectively silencing whatever he’d been about to say. A warm understanding came to Steve’s eyes, and he moved closer, enough to feel Tony’s breath on his collarbone.

“You think I wasn’t thinking about you,” Steve said.

Tony jerked back, but Steve followed him, keeping close.

“Shut up,” Tony cut. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Sure. You’re just here to chastise me about my leadership.”

Tony slapped his hand away. Hard. Hard enough that Steve had to blink a few times to process, and that was enough time for Tony to snatch up his tablet and start toward the door.

“Welcome back, Cap. I’m getting some coffee, then you’re going to meet Vision, Natasha and I to bring you up to speed.”

He stormed toward the closer exit, and Steve thought momentarily to let him leave.

Of course, Steve Rogers never let anyone get the last word.

He jumped forward, cutting Tony off at the door and yanking him into a kiss.

He tasted like bourbon. Just a faint taste, like he’d sipped on some hours ago and hadn’t eaten anything since. Tony certainly hadn’t slept--judging by the bags under his eyes--so Steve knew better than to assume he’d fallen asleep with that taste in his mouth.

“You didn’t say anything,” Tony hissed when they broke apart. He gave Steve a frustrated shove.

“You said no favoritism.”

“Fuck you,” Tony spat. “That doesn’t mean you don’t show me some fucking decency.”

“Let me get coffee with you,” Steve murmured, hands settling at Tony’s waist.

Tony was quick to remove them. “No.”

“Tony,” he began, “Tones. Let me get you coffee.”

Tony just scowled at him. “I don’t know what I expected from you, if I’m being honest. I genuinely don’t. I don’t know what I expected. But I definitely didn’t expect you to treat me like a dick.”

A little flare of anger nibbled at Steve’s gut. “You laid the groundwork very clearly. You specifically told me you wanted no special treatment. You specifically told me you wanted this to be a working relationship. Professional—that was the word you used.”

“Because that’s what I want,” Tony cut. “But that doesn’t mean you ignore me!”

“I didn’t ignore you—“

“You didn’t so much as text me when you came back. I got a mission report five days later after two weeks of nothing.”

“If you were worried about me, you’re allowed to say it. Nobody’s here.”

“Fuck you.”

Tony tried to leave again, but Steve hooked him around the middle with one arm, blocking his path.

“We talk here or we talk over coffee,” Steve said evenly. “Those are the options. I don’t care which.”

“You don’t get to make those decisions. I’m heading the compound right now.” Tony chopped his arm with an elbow, and Steve relented. He slid away, and Tony shot him a glare. “I’ll see you when we meet with Nat and Vision. You know, our teammates? Red guy, weird looking? Girl, red hair? Short? Likes leather and spandex?”

“Tony—“

He didn’t get another word out before the door was closing and Tony was walking briskly toward the in-house coffee shop.

Steve watched him go, unsure of the sudden strain in his chest. What he and Tony did behind closed doors was nobody’s business, but apparently that special treatment he’d been so adamant about not receiving was something he’d actually wanted all along. This was something Bucky would laugh at him for, had Steve dared to break his promise not to tell. But he was pretty sure Bucky already knew anyway. The whole team knew, at least in some fashion.

With a heavy sigh, Steve stepped out and headed in the opposite direction, chewing the last of the bourbon taste from his bottom lip.

************

“There really isn’t much to report,” Natasha said, thumbing through digital pages of activity logs. “A few issues with telepathic powers, but Wanda and Vision handled that area. Combat training schedules are consistent, as is improvement.”

“T’Challa visited for several days and imparted some wisdom in a sort of ‘master class,’ if you will,” Vision added. “We saw a slight spike in improvement with several female students after his visit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but Vision continued, oblivious to his innuendo.

“All in all, very few issues to report that concern you, Captain Rogers. A few technical malfunctions with our security system, an attempted trespass by a belligerent ‘fan’ of ours, and two incidents of misconduct—all of which were handled appropriately.”

Tony was staring at him through a stylish pair of glasses, but Steve ignored him. “Sounds like everything went smoothly.”

Natasha leaned back, only briefly glancing between him and Tony. “So, you’re back to stay with us for a little while?”

“For now, yes,” Steve said with a nod. “I figure I ought to help out since I left so abruptly.”

Tony let out an indignant snort.

“Really, we need to get our advanced hand-to-hand classes back on track,” Natasha said. “I’ve been able to handle it, but I can only teach so many classes before fatigue sets in. If I’m called on mission, I don’t want to be worn down.”

“I don’t need the explanation,” Steve chuckled. “I’ll handle those, and I’ll start back in with the combat strategy too, if that’s okay.”

“You’re the best one for it,” Natasha replied with a shrug. She stood, gently tapping Vision on the shoulder. “Well, we’ll leave the two masterminds to discuss. As far as I’m concerned, this meeting is over.”

“Thank you for the update,” Steve said with a dip of his head. “I appreciate it.”

Natasha grabbed her bag and left, nearly closing the door in Vision’s face, but he passed right through it amyway. There was light music playing in the background, coming from the wet bar over in the far corner. Steve thought to ask if Tony wanted a drink, but he knew better.

“I wanted to apologize,” Steve said after an unsteady silence had lengthened between them.

Tony said nothing. He turned his face away, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I should have contacted you. The reason I didn’t was because I didn’t know where we stood. Last time we talked, you made it very clear that you didn’t want any special treatment—hell, that you didn’t even want me to talk to you outside of ‘business hours.’ So how was I supposed to guess that you wanted me to text you?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, but still wouldn’t look at him.

Steve had to fight every urge to keep pressing, but he held his tongue and leaned back instead, at a loss. Their relationship was complicated at best, and moments like theses made it even worse for them.

“Pick one word and tell me how you would describe what I mean to you,” Tony said, eyes still closed. “I want you to pick one word.”

Steve frowned, but began to rake his brain for the proper word. Surprisingly enough, a blank nothing came to mind. He could think of no word to describe Tony Stark. None that would accurately fit. Friend, confidant, partner. He trusted Tony more than anyone on Earth. More than Bucky at this point. Bucky was still too unpredictable in some instances.

“Everything,” Steve said decidedly.

Tony finally looked up at him, momentarily shocked. It quickly faded to anger, though.

“Well. Some way to show it,” he snorted.

“What do I mean to you?” Steve pressed, unaffected by Tony’s quip.

Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he’d just discovered he’d been tricked

“Well?”

For a moment Steve thought that Tony wouldn’t respond. Instead, Tony let out a sigh. “I think we need to discuss what happens when one of us goes off on mission.”

Steve’s lips pursed, not allowing himself to show the hurt sucking a hole in his chest. That was how it went with Tony Stark. One minute he was snapping about being too public, the next he was chastising Steve for not showing him enough affection.

If he hadn’t been to infuriatingly handsome, Steve might’ve had a chance.

#steve/tony #stony #stony ficlet #tony stark #steve rogers

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onesmallspark · 7 years

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Welcome to my new fic - For You

I still haven't decided if this will be a T’Challa fic or an Erik “Killmonger” Stevens fic, but it is slightly AU. It is my first Marvel Universe fic, so please be gentle. This will get smutty af. Let me know if you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Ava Yates was in over her head. This isn’t at all where she saw an internship taking her and she was without a doubt, 100 percent in over her head.

Ava had spent the past year - and the last year of her graduate assistant internship - working at the newly established Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland. There, she was on staff as a photographer, hired by the Wakandan council to document the progress the outreach center was making in its first year of service to the surrounding community.

Images she captured lined the walls of the three initial buildings, were used in promotional news material and lived on social media sites that were run by other graduate assistants to show what incredible work the Wakandan agency was doing.

In her time, she had taken a particular shining to Shuri, another girl she met during her internship. It was months before Ava realized just how instrumental the young girl was to the entire operation – nevermind the fact that she was a Princess. It was actually one of the things that Shuri loved most about Ava, she treated her just like anyone else.

That, and Shuri had plans for her friend Ava who she had come to love dearly. Big, important plans.

- - -

Parking her little Volkswagen Jetta, Ava slung her camera bag over her shoulder and pulled the sunglasses from her face as she walked toward the entrance to the main campus building of the Wakandan Outreach Center. Looking up, she saw a large group of kids and adults playing basketball on the refurbished court just to the right of the entryway. Shuri was standing off to the side watching, occasionally filming with her kimoyo bead.

“Watch this?” Ava asked, dropping her purse at Shuri’s feet before pulling her camera out and hopping into action. Some of the kids she recognized, they were regulars at the center and came for after school activities and on the weekends. She assumed that they didn’t have much to go home to – if anything at all.

She didn’t, however, recognize any of the adults at first. Risking life and limb, at least in her mind, she posted up under the basket, kneeled on the sidelines and got just close enough to capture some great content

“Can you tell me who everyone is?” She asked, pulling out her phone. Shuri was always a help to identify any visitors to the center for captions. Shuri listed off names, left and right for Ava, watching as she typed them into what she insisted was her primitive iPhone. Ava just loved remembering the day that Shuri had to get an iPhone in order to best communicate with the rest of the staff.

“Erik, E-R-I-K,” Ava looked up to see one of the players standing incredibly close, watching as she typed the names into her phone.

“And last name?” She asked. Erik glanced to his cousin, who harbored a smug smile.

“Stevens… with a ‘v,’” he added.

“Got it, thanks!” She said, picking up her bag at Shuri’s feet, her camera with attached lens still hanging around her neck and hoofing it back to the building. The sooner she could get these uploaded the better – she always liked her photos to be timely and that way, the social media staff could put them up as soon as possible, too.

Uploading and labeling the photos didn’t take long, but she took a moment to edit them for best possible light exposure and shadows.

Growing up, Ava wanted to be a journalist – breaking news and sharing information with the world and doing good. Then, as she got older, and her mother gifted her with her first Polaroid camera, she learned that she could do a lot of good through the medium of photographs. She liked to take pictures of her brother’s baseball games, her father hard at work as an architect, and her mother, who ran a small daycare out of their home. She was a mother to many children in their neighborhood.

She now clung to some of those photos as a lifeline, they were the closest things she had to her family after a car crash on Pacific Coast Highway claimed the lives of the nearly all of the Yates family.

Ava missed the accident, staying at home to sleep off a cold while her family traveled out of town for one of her big brother’s baseball games.

She hoped after undergrad at Berkley to get an internship in a newsroom or with a paper, taking photos. When she delayed joining what her friends teased as the “real world,” by pursuing her master’s degree, she was required to take a practicum and somehow, through a photo essay and presentation, secured her internship at the WKOC.

Ava knew she was lucky – beyond lucky – to end up where she did, but now, after finally finishing the last credits of her Master’s, her internship was coming to an end and she was officially job hunting.

Twenty minutes after sending the photos from today’s pickup game to social, she began archiving, selecting a few that she thought would look good projected on the walls of the center’s indoor gym.

“Are you done yet?” Shuri asked, sitting on the side of Ava’s small desk, nearly knocking a picture frame off of the structure.

“I just got here,” Ava laughed at her young friend. Some days it was easy to forget that Shuri was only seventeen – nearly eighteen. Other days, it was glaringly obvious.

“But I don’t want to work today,” Shuri whined, “I want to go shopping, my Mother is visiting next week and she’s going to kill me if I don’t wear something a little more… well, less this,” she motioned down to her distressed Metallica band t-shirt she had dressed up with some silver jewelry.

“You have more clothes than anyone knows what to do with,” Ava said, not tearing her eyes off her screen. “Plus, I’ve got to run and meet with an advisor to sign up for health insurance at two,” she sighed. “Don’t grow up, it’s a trap.”

“I don’t understand why Americans have to pay for health care,” Shuri sighed, “no one benefits from that,” she pointed out.

“Sure they do, babe, just not us peons,” Ava winked. Shuri rolled her eyes.

“My brothers are going to take us to lunch today,” She said casually. Ava paused her scroll through her inbox.

“I can’t, I’ve got lunch plans,” Ava replied, picking up her phone.

“Yeah, with me,” Shuri insisted.

“I swear, I had something else…” Ava scrolled through her phone.

“I told you to mark off a meeting weeks ago, it’s for me,” Shuri grinned. “And do you think we can do something with this before then?” She asked, fluffing up a bit of Ava’s brunette hair over her shoulder.

“Why would I need to do that?” Ava asked, eyeing up her little companion.

“We have a surprise for you,” Shuri said excitedly.

“Oh no,” Ava frowned. Shuri could be incredibly generous and incredibly giving – to the point of discomfort, but Ava couldn’t dampen her spirit.

“It’s a very good surprise, I promise,” Shuri tugged a little bit on Ava’s hair.

“Okay, let me get some work done and I’ll be ready for lunch,” Ava insisted. Shuri rolled her eyes dramatically, but agreed to it nonetheless.

Ava had never met King T’Challa, and she didn’t know that Shuri even had another brother… but she was never one to meddle in royal business. Except, that is, to stay up late into the night and watch Prince William and Kate’s wedding.

Sure, she had seen photos of King T’Challa, his mother and other members of the Royal Guard from their portraits, but that covered the extent of her exposure. Though the family had made visits to the WKOC, she wasn’t there all the time thanks to the last few classes she had taken this semester. Soon, she wasn’t going to be there at all, which made her heart heavy.

Over the past year, she had come to think of the WKOC as a second home – somewhere she often spent more time than her actual home. To be able to be a part of the organization in it’s first year of operation made her feel like part of something great and wonderful. Walking away next month after graduation was going to be incredibly hard. Well, that and not having a job yet.

The first three hours of the day went by quickly. On Thursdays, Ava got to spend the entire day at the WKOC thanks to most of her classes being Monday through Wednesday and a morning class on Friday.

Thursdays were also a big catch-up day and she often found herself working over the weekend to make it a little less overwhelming. Soon, Shuri was back at her desk, a wide smile on her face as her feet swung over the floor.

“Hello, are you hungry?” Shuri asked.

“Starved,” Ava replied honestly. “Let me run to the bathroom quick and then I’ll be ready to go,” she said, hopping up form her seat.

“I’ll be out front,” Shuri called as Ava stepped toward the restroom. Quickly relieving herself and washing her hands, she grabbed brush out of her purse and ran it through her hair, fixing her side part. Sure, her hair was a little limp, but it had certainly been worse. She grabbed her trusty drugstore lipstick from her purse, touching up the deep red before checking her teeth. She was always finding little lipstick spots on her pearly-whites that drove her nuts.

Glancing over her outfit, she knew she was a hopeless case for lunch with royalty. Skinny blue denim and a white v-neck under a pink button-down wasn’t the worst she’d ever thrown together for work, but it certainly wasn’t the best. At least Shuri wasn’t too dressed up or she’d really feel like a shlub.

“As good as it gets,” She sighed, popping in a breath mint.

With no sign of Shuri at her desk, she turned back toward the entrance, spotting Shuri and two other forms on the other side of the glass doors.

“Here she is,” Shuri smiled. Ava always found Shuri’s smile reassuring.

“I’m here,” Ava grinned.

“Brother, this is Ava, my favorite person in all of Oakland,” Shuri introduced. Ava turned to face King T’Challa.

“It’s very nice to meet you, your Highness,” Ava smiled connecting her hand with hi own.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he greeted, “please, call me T’Challa,” he insisted. “Shuri never stops talking about you,” he added, making Ava laugh.

“Ava, this is my other brother, but you’ve met,” Shuri teased, introducing the man she somewhat met earlier at the basketball court.

“Erik,” the man in question reminded as he noticed her drawing a blank.

“Nice to meet you, Erik,” Ava greeted.

“Okay, okay, let’s go I am going to whither away I am so hungry,” Shuri insisted dramatically. As soon as she finished her statement, a slick black town car rolled to a stop in front of them.

“I’ll meet you there,” Erik called, walking over to a vintage Indian motorcycle parked near the side of the second building.

“Ladies, please,” T’Challa opened the back door for the two women.

Shuri crawled into the car first, leaving the next seat for Ava as T’Challa sat up front.

The ride to Wood Tavern wasn’t long and unbeknownst to Ava, the King in the front seat found his eyes drifting to her in the rearview mirror as she spoke gently with Shuri. It was incredibly obvious to T’Challa that his baby sister thought the world of this woman. He could admit that he, too, was rather curious about her. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but a few of the things Shuri had mentioned had him curious as well. It seemed she had no family, was just finishing school and was living just outside of Oakland near Berkley.

He trusted Shuri more than anything else and knew that he was going to be making the right choice today.

That, and he wondered what those red lips would look like mussed from his kiss.

Arriving at Wood Tavern just behind the town car, they heard the Indian motorcycle come to a stop beside the town car.

“Ah, ah,” Erik said, opening the door to the restaurant, “ladies don’t touch doorknobs,” he winked, pulling it open for Ava. She smiled softly and filed in, the staff immediately taking note of the patrons and ushering them quickly to a private room.

Squared away at a grandiose table already lined with charcuterie and wine glasses, the foursome took their seats.

“I told my brothers this is your favorite restaurant,” Shuri smiled. She had an overeager puppy quality to hear that Ava always found endearing.

“They have the best pork chops,” Ava grinned. They fell into a comfortable conversation, mostly led by Shuri, who seemed at peace between her two brothers. Ava noted the differences between T’Challa and Erik. They could be related, she figured, but they didn’t share many of the same features. T’Challa spoke with a thick, regal accent and Erik sounded like any other guy she’d meet in Oakland. There was certainly a story to the family. She was glad to have a big plate of food set in front of her not too long after placing their orders.

“Ava, my baby sister tells me you’re graduating from Berkley in a month’s time,” T’Challa called to her attention as their meals wound down.

“That’s right, I’ll finish with my Master’s in fine arts with a concentration in photography communication and archival,” she nodded.

“Photography communication,” Erik parroted, taking a drink of his gin and tonic.

“Yes,” Ava nodded, “using photography as a mode for storytelling and the capture of transient information,” she suggested. “I think in the same way that early man painted on walls, we can communicate information from generation to generation through photography,” she explained. “It’s actually a minor part of my thesis,” she offered.

“I’d take a look at that,” Erik said, studying the exact shape of her bowed lips as they pursed around the rim of her water glass.

“And the end of the month signals the end of your time at our outreach center,” T’Challa commanded her attention once again, though, T’Challa’s presence always commanded an awareness.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Ava agreed again. “I’m so sad to finish, I love working here so much,” she said with utmost sincerity, “I feel so lucky to be able to tell the story of the people who benefit from your presence in our country – and more specifically, in Oakland.” Erik eyed her carefully. “Though I was fortunate enough to live in a safe, well-maintained neighborhood as a child, not all of my friends did. I know I was much more fortunate than others, but Oakland is my home,” she continued. “To see the strides that have been made in this community in just one short year have been… refreshing. I know that Oakland is better off now than it was a year ago thanks to Wakanda.” She expressed.

“Shuri has shared with us many of your images,” T’Challa began, “some of which hang in the halls of the Wakandan capitol.” That was news to Ava, and momentarily, took her breath away.

“I-in Wakanda?” She asked, eyes as wide as saucers.

“You know what you’re doing,” Erik complimented.

“Wow, I never… I didn’t realize that my photos would be in – would be there,” she nearly lost her composure entirely.

“As we bring more and more people into our country and become a larger part of the world around us… we need someone to help tell our story – in Wakanda,” T’Challa explained, to which Ava nodded, taking another sip of her water.

“We are hoping that it is an undertaking you are willing to attempt,” he added. Ava nodded again setting her water down. A beat passed as Shuri nudged her friend with her foot under the table. Ava jumped a foot in her seat.

“Wait, I’m so sorry, I just – what?” She gasped, “You want me to stay?” She asked.

“No, Ava!” Shuri laughed.

“We want you in Wakanda,” Erik’s deep voice interjected. “Telling the story of our people,” he explained. She looked over at Erik, who was cool and collected in his seat, leaning back as he examined her. T’Challa was alert, and while still cool and collected, more engaged physically in the conversation.

“You want me to come to Wakanda?” She asked, completely gob smacked.

“Your role would be official staff photographer of the Royal family,” T’Challa explained. Ava was still speechless.

“Move to Wakanda?” She resembled a baby owl, her innocent face and big eyes unblinking.

“Yes!” Shuri exclaimed, “We want you to come to Wakanda and work with us! Are you going to do it or not?” She asked impatiently

“Shuri,” T’Challa scolded.

“I, wow, this is…” She didn’t think she’d completed an entire sentence since they sat down. Even just being here at lunch with the King of Wakanda and his siblings was hard enough to wrap her head around, but now, a job offer. Could she move to Wakanda? She wouldn’t know a soul there… where would she live? Would she be paid a fair wage? How secure was the need for the role? Would she just be looking for a job again in a year?

It was the opportunity of a lifetime… and she’d be crazy to turn it down.

“I’ll do it.”

#black panther #black panther fanfiction #black panther fanfic #erik killmonger #erik stevens #t'challa #t'challa fanfic #erik killmonger fanfic #t'challa imagine #erik killmonger imagine #full length fic #marvel fanfic #t'challa smut #killmonger smut #michael b jordan #chadwick boseman #shuri

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exxar1 · 4 years

Text

Aaron

10/29/2020

This picture was taken at my 9th or 10th birthday party, which would make it summer of ’87 or ’88. Pictured from left to right are Aaron Walker, my brother Jeremy, me, Jeff Reed and Brett Biers. Aaron, Brett, Jeff and I grew up together in Twin Falls, Idaho. I can’t tell you exactly when we all first met, but I don’t remember my grade school years without any of them, and I know there’s a photo album in my parents’ basement with a picture of me and Aaron playing together when we were only a few months old. The four of us were inseparable, and, while there were others in our circle of friends, these three guys are the main cast in my memories from childhood.

Yesterday, as I clocked off for my lunch break at Walmart, my watch signaled a new text notification. I glanced down, and the world around me came to a grinding, silent halt. It was from my dad, notifying me that Aaron had died.

I stared at the message, not quite comprehending what I was seeing. I read the words, but they had no meaning. I just kept reading them over and over, trying to wrap my mind around this terrible news. I finally forced myself to get moving, and I called my dad for more details as I left the store.

Even now, as I write this, it still doesn’t seem real.

I spent all that afternoon in that strange, detached daze that only sudden grief can cause. Memories flooded me in tidal waves that forced me to fight back tears as choked out the words “Good afternoon, welcome to Walmart” to the strangers coming into the store. There was, thankfully, only two hours left in my shift and, as soon as it was over, I wasted no time in clocking out and racing for the solitude of my car.

Here’s a few memories of my old friend:

Aaron, Brett, Jeff and I at our friend Jake’s dairy farm in Jerome, Idaho. There was a massive, deep manure pond that we all loved to chuck giant rocks into and then leap back to avoid the splash effect. (It’s a wonder none of us ever fell in.)

Sitting on the grass outside school during lunch, bartering for each other’s desserts, and then swapping dirty jokes, making sure to speak low enough so the nearby teachers wouldn’t hear. Aaron and Jeff had the best ones, as I recall. Most of them were about Pollocks and Jews, and more than a few were good, old fashioned fart jokes. (There is no one outside the age of grade school boys who can truly appreciate the fine humor of bodily functions.)

Aaron, in particular, always made me laugh. He was the one in class sticking pencils up his nose or using scotch tape to make funny faces. And, if I’m recalling correctly, he could also use scotch tape and notebook paper to make the sharpest Chinese throwing star this side of the Rockies.

Aaron – like his father – had a particular sense of humor. In addition to the aforementioned jokes, he loved nothing more than a good prank. His favorite one was to pick up a deck of cards and ask me if I want to play “Fifty-two card pickup”. I said, “Sure.” He then tossed the entire deck on the floor and said, “There ya go. Now pick ‘em up.” (The sad part is, I fell for that joke more than once.) He also enjoyed reaching across the table at lunch and jamming his finger into the middle of my PB&J while asking, “Is that your sandwich?” That one always pissed me off and I’d retaliate by mashing his sandwich or tossing his chips on the floor. (Something else you should know about grade school boys: we don’t have the best of manners, and we show our friendship in odd ways.)

(And, while we’re on the subject of practical jokes, Brett once gave me what I thought was a chunk of oat bran cereal to snack on. After eating it, he laughed and told me it was dog food.)

I remember fishing trips with the Walkers and me trying to learn the fine art of skipping rocks on the lake water. Aaron and his dad taught me and my brothers how to properly gut a fish. That I still remember clearly, and I could probably do it right now if I had a fresh fish and knife here on my coffee table.

I also remember the four of us hiding from the 6th grade bullies at recess, and there was one time when Aaron had to be rushed to the emergency room because one of the older boys gave him a white piece of candy that was actually a mothball. (These were the same older boys that always teased me for sometimes playing with the girls at recess.)

I remember sleepovers at the Walker house where Aaron and I played Frogger on his Atari. (I believe that Jeff was the first among us to have an original Nintendo system, and it was at one of his birthday parties that I was introduced to Super Mario Bros.) The Walkers were also professional UNO players, and I almost always lost to Aaron, his brothers, or his dad.

There were summer trips to Red Cliff Bible Camp in Pinedale, Wyoming, where we spent a week enjoying all kinds of outdoor recreation as well as nightly church services. If my memory is correct, Aaron and I were the only ones from our circle of friends in grade school who attended Red Cliff once every summer. While I still remember bits and pieces of those summers, there is one clear memory that stands out from the rest. It was one night towards the end of the week, and a bunch of us kids were seated around a large campfire in front of – or near to – the main lodge. It was one of those perfect summer nights – not too cold, just a hint of a breeze, and vast sky full of stars. We were all in the midst of a sing-a-long being led by one of the counselors, and, in the middle of it, Aaron turned to me and put his arm around my shoulders. He smiled at me, and, with tears in his eyes, said, “I love you, man!” “I love you too,” I replied, throwing my arm around him.

For most of high school there was only ten in our class, and we became as close as any group of kids could be at a Christian private school in a town of less than forty-five thousand. There were Friday night ski trips where I remember Aaron on his snowboard, swooshing down the mountain at various speeds and trying not to faceplant. I’m pretty sure it was either him or one of his brothers that ended up crashing into a tree because he went off the trail after dark. (If not Aaron, it was somebody in our class, I know that much for sure.)

In our senior year, during homeroom on Monday morning of each week, our class would select a saying or motto to write in the upper corner of the blackboard that would stay there the whole week. For awhile, Aaron was the one picking the sayings, and they were usually lyrics from current, popular rock songs. It took a few weeks before our teacher, Mrs. Tutty, finally caught on and gave us all a good scolding. In the years since, whenever I hear the song, “The World I Know” by Collective Soul, I always think of Aaron.

Also during our senior year: a winter trip to South Dakota that was just us boys and Brett’s dad. We spent a weekend up in a cabin in the mountains and rented snow mobiles. There’s a lot from that trip that has stayed with me these many years, but the only thing that’s relevant here is that Aaron succeeded in crashing his snow mobile when he tried to cut through a grove of trees. Thankfully, the worst of the damage was a cracked windshield that was easily replaced. The rest of that trip was a lot of guy bonding time that definitely included more dirty jokes and Jeff once again demonstrating his remarkable ability to make fart noises with his armpit.

In the years after high school, as we all set out on our respective paths into the world, we promised we would stay in touch. And we all did . . . for awhile. The path I chose was the Army and it took me to a posting in Germany. But that career didn’t end well, and when I needed a character witness for my courts-martial, I called Aaron. The Army flew him overseas, and were briefly reunited in Hanau, Germany, in fall of ’99. We hadn’t seen each other for a couple years, and we had fun catching up. He told me about a girl he met at college, and I told him all about life in the military. (It wasn’t great.)

In the years that followed, as life took us further and further apart, all of us from the class of ‘97 lost touch, as childhood friends often do. Aaron and I, however, stayed in sporadic contact with one another since we were both back living in Twin Falls by 2001, but we didn’t really hang out on a regular basis. I eventually moved to Boise in the fall of 2003 to attend BSU, and Aaron was busy getting his realtor’s license. He even spent the night at my apartment one time because one of his tests was at a campus in Boise. We ordered pizza, watched a movie, and spent the rest of the evening get caught up on each other’s lives. It was at this time that I decided to tell Aaron that I was gay. I don’t think he quite knew how to react, and, while he tried to be supportive, my confession turned the evening awkward. I changed the subject, and we didn’t speak of it after that.

After I graduated BSU in December of 2005, I moved back to Twin, but Aaron and I didn’t get together anymore. I tried a few times to get in touch with him, but my calls and texts went ignored. I was a little hurt, at first, but I didn’t know what else to do so I just let it go.

A few years ago, after I had relocated to Las Vegas, and when I was back up in Twin for a family visit, I received a text from Aaron. He wanted to take me to dinner. I said yes, and, while I was excited to be reunited, I was also nervous. We hadn’t talked in many years, and it seemed a little strange that he suddenly wanted to hang out with me again after all this time.

One of the things that I’ve always loved about Aaron is that he’s so easy to talk to. Our dinner conversation started where we’d left off several years earlier, as if nothing had changed. I told him I was glad he had reached out to me, and that I was afraid I had alienated him because he wasn’t comfortable with me being gay. Aaron assured me that, no, that wasn’t it, and he had no issue with it. He’d just been going through some things in his own life at that time, and he hadn’t meant to lose touch the way he did. The rest of our conversation was spent like the others before: catching each other up on what we’d been doing for the last few years. He had accomplished way more than me: a beautiful family and a very successful real estate business.

After dinner, we ended up at Elevation 486, where we sat outside on the canyon rim by the fire, and we continued talking. At some point, another guy took one of the empty seats on the other side of the fire, and I don’t remember if it was Aaron that struck up a conversation with him, or if the stranger made a remark about something Aaron had just said to me. Either way, Aaron and this guy started talking, and their conversation lasted for several minutes. I watched, amazed, wondering if Aaron already knew this guy through work or something else. By the end of their talk, as the guy stood up to leave, Aaron gave him a business card and told him to contact him if he ever had any real estate needs. After the guy left, I turned to Aaron. “Was that one of your friends?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Aaron just laughed and shook his head. “No.” I laughed too, utterly amazed and a little envious. I have never been able to be that kind of a people person. I’ve always been too introverted and socially awkward to be able to instantly connect with strangers the way Aaron connected to that guy that night around a fire pit.

That, in a nutshell, was Aaron. He was the friendliest, kindest soul you would ever meet, and he knew no stranger. Even if he and I hadn’t started out in a playpen together, we would have probably met somewhere on the road of life and been instant friends. He, like all of us, had his demons, but he loved God and he loved his family, and he will forever be missed during the rest of our time down here. I look forward to that time when we can be together again on the other side, reunited at the feet of our Heavenly Father.

Goodbye, my old friend.

#life #friendship #aaron #twinfalls #idaho

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hyliancutiepie · 7 years

Text

Day 7 | Stay With Me/AU

“In which Prompto was born a Prince and Noctis grew up as a citizen in Insomnia. No war, just love and fluff and good things. Mostly.“

only kinda 'stay with me' but more towards the end. very very loose, but it still fits so i'll say it counts xD! there is a little non-graphic NSFW stuff about... 2.5k words in. nothing too heavy but it is there, just so you know uwu

this is also the last prompt for promptis week... i'm kinda sad it's over but i'm glad i was able to get my butt into gear so i could participate! it's also been amazing reading and viewing all the content everyone has posted :D i’d also like to thank the admins at @promptisfanweek for organising it! you guys are the best!!!

Also on AO3

“I can’t believe school’s almost finished…” Prompto whined, collapsing on the neat, brick ledge around the perfectly maintained garden. “Just a few more exams and that’s it. We’re done.”

Noctis laughed, settling down beside his best friend. “And here I thought you’d be relieved.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I totally am, but I’m not too, you know?” Prompto explained and then groaned in annoyance, Noctis casting him a clueless expression on purpose. “Asshole.”

A grin formed and Noctis lightly shoved Prompto at the arm. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I get it. It’s scary going out into the world, amiright?”

“So right.” Prompto agreed with a drawn out sigh. “Except… I’m not.”

“Nah Prom, you’ll probably see more of the world than I ever will.” Noctis said with a pat on Prompto’s back. “And you already have, seeing as you’ve actually left Insomnia.”

“It’s not so great out there really.” Prompto offered. “But I should take you to that Chocobo farm I visited once.”

Noctis had begun digging around in his backpack, searching for something. “You keep saying that.” He commented, pulling out two cans of soda, one of which he offered to Prompto as he continued. “But you never follow through.”

“I will. There’s some time between graduation and my birthday so I say we convince Iggy and Gladio to sneak us out of the city.” He suggested, opening the drink at arm’s length. It made a fuss, foam spilling down the side. “How much did you shake these, jeez!”

A sheepish chuckle later and Noctis set his drink aside instead of opening it. “For what it’s worth, if they won’t do it then I will. It’ll be our first real adventure.”

Prompto’s eyes lit up at the offer, smiling encouragingly. “Oh Noct, you have no idea how great that sounds.” And although the words sounded like an invitation, Noctis could hear the tone Prompto always used – the one on his breath whenever Prompto knew there was no way he’d be allowed. “If only it was that easy.”

“You know it can be.” Noctis told him. “They can’t keep you couped up in this city for the rest of your life!”

“Noct, it’s okay.” Prompto said with a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “I’ll get out there eventually. Besides, once I’m King, I don’t think anyone’ll be able to stop me from leaving.”

Noctis knew that was a lie, but knew it was the kind of lie Prompto told himself to reassure himself, so Noctis didn’t point it out. He sighed though and turned his eyes away. “We’ll have the best adventures, you and me. Imagine the photos you’ll be able to take.”

“That’s what I’m looking forward to the most.” Prompto agreed with a firm nod of his head.

Noctis gasped, hand coming to his chest in mock offence. “And here I thought spending time with me would be the most exciting part.”

A tinge of pink brushed over Prompto’s freckled cheeks and he avoided eye contact, smile on his lips small and nervous. “Well yes, that too.”

“You know, Prom.” Noctis began, changing the subject to save Prompto feeling embarrassed. “I get that you’re probably scared of what will come after we finish school, but in the end, we’ll always be best friends. You know that, right?”

Prompto nodded. “For life.” He vowed, then took a long sip of his drink. “To think, we almost weren’t friends at all.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Noctis told him.

“I actually wanted to talk to you sooner...” Prompto admitted, sheepishly smiling as he scratched the back of his neck. “Buuuut... I was scared you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“Are you kidding?” Noctis said, lightly elbowing him. “You’re the Prince!”

Prompto nodded, nervously cracking his knuckles and each finger in succession, unconscious to how the action brought Noctis’s eyes to the soft digits. Noctis smiled a little, knowing the tell-tale sign that had always been there, wanting to lay his own hand over them, hold them tight. “Y-yeah but... I saw in primary school how you avoided people. Like, on purpose. And I figured if I talked to you then the other kids would start harassing you so... I decided not to.” He chuckled at himself, staring up at the sky. “It sounds so stupid saying it now”

“It is pretty stupid.” Noctis agreed, nodding with a grin. “Anyone would be honoured to have the Prince approach them.” He told him. “But hey, your heart was – in its own way – in the right place.” A broad smile formed across Prompto’s freckled face and Noctis turned his gaze away, hoping to hide the flush on his cheeks. “S-so... why did you start talking to me then?”

“Eh, well I figured it was now or never.” Prompto said with a shrug.

“Now or never?” Noctis repeated, frowning at the words.

“Well, when I finish school I have my coronation and then I'll be King. All my studies will be done at the Citadel, rather than on a college campus and... well... I knew I’d never get the chance to see you again.” He explained, tilting his head as he watched Noctis’s face. “I also kinda had a massive crush on you.” He admitted with a flush on his cheeks. “And Iggy told me “if you never do something, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life”. So... I decided that if I never talked to you then I’d always wonder what might have happened.”

“And?” Noctis probed.

Prompto frowned. “And?”

“You talked to me.” Noctis clarified. “So, what happened? Was it everything you wished for?”

Freckled cheeks reddened even further and Prompto averted his gaze. “Well yes and no... You became my first real, friend that’s not related to me by royal duty. But… I also fell in love with you.”

Noctis smiled warmly, his cheeks heating up. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“I’m a Prince, Noct.” Prompto replied, leaning his chin into the palm of one hand. “The last of my line. There’re expectations and responsibilities that I have to fulfil and I have no choice in the matter.” He sighed. “I’m not allowed to fall in love.”

He shifted closer to the prince, sliding his hand and fingers between Prompto’s. At the action, Prompto’s other hand fell from under his chin and he stared at their linked hands with stunned eyes. “Prom…” Sunshine gold hair almost completely obscured bright blue eyes as the Prince turned his gaze to find Noctis’s. He smiled reassuringly, letting his eyes flutter shut, leaning in, tilting his head just so. Prompto’s eyes began to shut too, fingers tightening in their grip on his hand just as their lips touched.

Prompto let out a soft sigh, pressing into the kiss, his body twisting towards Noctis’s, fingers of his free hand tentatively touching under his friend’s jaw.

The kiss parted, but Noctis didn’t let Prompto go much further than a centimetre away, staring at closed eyes, counting blond eyelashes just before they fluttered open. When their eyes met, smiled broke upon their lips and they chuckled together, pressing foreheads, noses touching. “Oh Prom… I feel like I’ve wasted so much time.”

“Why?” Prompto asked, dragging his fingers into Noctis’s hair.

“I’ve loved you for years.” He confessed. “But I never said because… god I was so scared you’d turn me down. And now… school is ending and I won’t see you much anymore.”

Prompto pulled Noctis’s head against his shoulder, fingertips pressing comfortingly against his scalp. “Noct, it’s okay.” He breathed. “I actually… I actually had an idea. I wasn’t gonna mention it to you yet but...” Pulling back, Prompto kept their hands intertwined as he used his other to rummage through his bag. “I’ve been holding onto this for ages.” He commented as he pulled out a form, printed out on a sheet of expensive looking paper.

Scanning the page, Noctis noted the top of the page read “Crownsguard Application Form”. “What is this?” He asked with a frown, not understanding.

“Joining the Crownsguard means that you would live in the Citadel, in the soldiers barracks of course, but if you apply and get accepted before my Coronation, then I’ll be able to choose you as one of my personal guards.” Prompto explained. “And then you’d live in the same wing as me, Ignis and Gladio.”

“Is it really that easy?” Noctis asked, unable to believe it.

“Ignis thinks so. I am allowed to have three close guards in my retinue.” Prompto explained. “Of course… it’ll be really hard work for you. So I understand if you don’t want to – ”

Noctis picked up the form, determination filling his features.

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

The King’s Coronation was the greatest event in the decade. Representatives of all over Eos and further had travelled there, from as far as Tenebrae, the Lady Lunafreya taking front seat. The great hall of the Citadel was filled to the brim with delegates, nobles and literally everyone Noctis could imagine.

And he was nervous as fuck.

He hadn’t seen Prompto all day, their sleeping quarters still so far away from each other, but Ignis had infiltrated his barrack early that morning and brought him up to a room he announced would be his. And then the Prince’s advisor had dressed him in the formal uniform tailored just for him, styled his hair and reminded Noctis how he was to act at the ceremony.

“Remember, do not speak until you’re asked to vow your allegiance to the King. Only say “I do”, understand?” Ignis said firmly.

Noctis had grinned, despite his nerves. “It sounds like marriage vows.”

Ignis had smiled back, a fond expression. Since Noctis had become friends with Prompto, the advisor had grown closer to Noctis, trusted him with Prompto’s safety through their school years and now, they considered each other good friends. “Maybe someday, they will be.” Ignis said to him.

“You must be Noctis.”

Noctis felt his eyes go wide as the soft, beautiful voice spoke to him, and he turned his head to see that Lunafreya, Lady of Tenebrae, had moved down the seats to sit directly beside him. The ceremony wasn’t to start yet and many were talking to one another to pass the time. “Uh.. yeah, yeah I am, my Lady.” He said, bowing his head awkwardly.

Lunafreya offered him a warm smile. “I am pleased to finally meet you.” She greeted. “Prompto has spoken about you often.”

“H-he talks about me?”

“Certainly.” Lunafreya replied, her eyes squinting slightly as her smile broadened. “And he speaks highly of you. I hope we can be good friends as well, Noctis.”

“I – uh – yeah, of course.” Noctis promised.

“Ah, it’s about to start. Please excuse me.”

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

“Uuuuuugh! I’m so glad it’s oveeeeeeeeeer!” Prompto groaned, collapsing onto his bed with an overdramatic ‘oomph’. He rolled over, arms above his head, still dressed in his formal robes.

Noctis had spent a lot of time in the Princ – King’s chambers since he’d entered the Crownsguard. They’d sit on the bed and play video games into the early hours of the morning when Noctis would reluctantly kiss his boyfriend goodnight and return to his barracks to a roar of teasing whispers from the other Crownsguard. They all knew his friendship with the Prince and surprisingly, showed no animosity about the fact. They had supported him, assisted him through the tough days of training, gave him tips.

Now that he wouldn’t be going back there, he already kind of missed them. But there would still be training to do, so he was sure to see them again soon.

“Noct! Get over heeeere! You must be exhausted too!” Prompto called, patting on the bed beside him.

A smile spread across Noctis’s mouth and he slid out of the constricting blazer to drape it over the nearest chair before joining Prompto on the bed, flopping down beside him, the mattress bouncing and bringing a laugh from the new King. “I can’t believe you’re actually King now.” He muttered, reaching for Prompto’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Honestly? Neither can I.” Prompto replied. “But I’m glad you’re with me, Noct. I don’t think I’d function without you here.”

Noctis smiled, leaning in to lightly kiss Prompto’s forehead. “Like I’d ever leave you alone.”

And from that moment on, he rarely did. Sure, Gladio is Prompto’s Shield, is at his side from dawn until dusk, but Prompto also insisted on Noctis being there too, hovering on the King’s other flank. More than once, Ignis had asked Prompto if it’s necessary for Noctis to be there all the time, but it’s Noctis who replied that there’s no where he’d rather be.

Sure they couldn’t express any of their affections whenever anyone is around, but Prompto managed to sneak in lingering touches whenever Noctis hands him an item or makes eye contact whenever he’s in a meeting and Noctis is stationed at the door of his office. It’s the little things. Not to mention that Noctis had barely used the room assigned to him, settling into Prompto’s quarters and against his side every night.

Noctis kinda wished he could take Prompto out on a proper date again. They managed a few before the Coronation, but now, five months in, it’d be impossible.

So that is why he enlisted Ignis’s help.

“I know he has dinner with us every night, but he also eats in front of other servants and maids and he can’t be himself, Ignis. He can’t be with me. I know he’s the King, Ignis, I’m so aware of it and I’m so proud of him but more than just a King, he’s Prompto.” Noctis said, pleading in his voice. “Let him have one night without the servants watching over his shoulder, please.”

It turned out that it didn’t take much convincing for Ignis to agree and not a week later Noctis was leading Prompto to a secluded, no servant’s allowed area of the royal wing where Ignis and Gladio had set up a table for two. Even Noctis stared in awe, captivated by the hundreds – it had to be hundreds, there were so many – that illuminated the area, four large bunches of roses sat at appealing distance around the circular room with a single one in a vase upon the table.

Prompto had gasped at his side when they’d stepped in, his eyes growing wide at the sight. “Oh… em… gee… Noct… did you do this?”

Noctis slid his arm down, Prompto’s hand moving from his elbow and into his own hand. He squeezed it, watching Prompto’s eyes swirling with wonder. “I arranged it. Specs and Gladio helped me out.”

“B-but… why? What’s this for?”

“I wanted to take you out on a date.” Noctis replied simply. “Leaving the Citadel isn’t possible right now, but, there’s no reason why I can’t bring the date to you.” He explained, guiding Prompto into the room. “C’mon, sit down.”

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

Prompto is shy, but eager in bed – or rather, Noctis decided, that he is eager but incredibly shy about showing it. The King had been the one that dragged him away as soon as they had decided the date was coming to an end – they had eaten food brought in by Ignis, held hands over the table as they sipped at the wine, talked about everything and anything, avoiding politics where they could – and shut the door to his chambers with a kind of haste that has Noctis raising eyebrows at him.

“Noct.” Prompto had said, approaching him with careful steps. “I want – ” He’d immediately flushed to the colour of a strawberry and his sentence broke off, as if he realised exactly what he was about to say. “I-I mean… I… uhm…”

Noctis didn’t need any encouragement or explanation and although he was shy too, uncertain about how to do anything like this, he had stepped forward and got the ball rolling with a fierce, stronger and hotter than any kiss they’d had before. It had led to clothing being haphazardly removed and tossed away, garments trailing their movements towards the bed where Noctis lay the naked King down and hoped to the Astrals he didn’t ruin this for Prompto.

For the most part, they had gone with whatever felt good, eased into the motions and both flushed scarlet when Prompto said Ignis had given him some supplies that had been in the bottom drawer of his side table ever since they’d started going out.

Turns out, Ignis knew exactly what he had been supplying and lube warmed up as Prompto moaned and tightened around him, fingers clinging to the silken sheets as he bucked into each thrust. Each breath was a gasp of Noctis’s name and Noctis had to remember to breathe as he was drenched with wave after wave of emotion and pleasure that ended with a gasp and a groan, nose buried into the crook of Prompto’s neck and shoulder.

And then they ended the evening with Noctis’s mouth bobbing down upon the King, testing with experimental swipes of his tongue and presses of his fingers, ultimately granting the King his first orgasm.

“W-well… shit.” Noctis mumbled, still catching his breath as he collapsed beside the recovering King. “That was… ”

“Noct, will you marry me?”

“I – say what?” Noctis exclaimed, snapping from the post-orgasm fog. “What did you ask me?”

Prompto was fidgeting with his fingers, gnawing on his already flushed and abused bottom lip. “I-I just… I asked if you would marry me.”

Oh gods, did he want to give the most enthusiastic reply ever, but he knew exactly what Ignis would say. “Prom – ”

“I know.” Prompto mumbled with a sigh. “It’s stupid.”

Noctis scrambled to prevent Prompto from rolling onto his other side, to stop him from turning away, he took Prompto’s hands into his own, kissing the knuckles, adoring each finger as he felt tears well up in his eyes. “It’s not stupid. You’re never stupid. And wanting that isn’t stupid. Astrals, Prompto, if I thought it would be possible I’d have proposed months ago.”

Prompto saw the tears and Noctis hadn’t even noticed they’d begun to fall until Prompto forces a hand free from his grip to wipe it away. “Noct…”

“I love you so much, Prom. More than anything in the world. I want to spend every moment of my life with you and I… I want to have everything with you.” Noctis babbled, beginning to sob as he presses his face into Prompto’s hands. “I love you but you’re not mine to have.”

It was the first night Noctis spent in his assigned quarters and it was the coldest night of his life.

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

He woke to a weight at his side, Prompto’s form squished beside him onto the much-too-small-for-two bed Noctis was given.

It’s only then Noctis realised that it had been a cold night for the King as well.

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

“I heard Prompto proposed the other night.”

Ignis was never good at the subtle approach, always jumping straight to the chase at any given moment. At least, Noctis thought, he waited a few days before bringing up the topic.

“Yes.” Noctis replied.

“And you turned him down.”

Noctis sighed. “He knows I want to, but he knows it’s not possible just much as I do.”

“Why exactly isn’t it possible?” Ignis asked, frowning at Noctis like he’d just spoken the strangest sentence in the world.

“Oh Specs, you know why. He’s the King of Eos, I’m just a part of his retinue. And a guy.” Noctis pointed out, wondering why it would be so hard to understand, especially for someone like Ignis.

To his surprise, Ignis started to chuckle. “Oh, Noct, there are no laws preventing a King from marrying a man. In fact, Prompto wouldn’t be the first to do so if you took your head out of your ass and accepted his proposal.”

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

Prompto was in his office, Gladio behind him, Noctis by the door as always, when Gladio suddenly announced his departure. Noctis kept his gaze on Prompto as the King watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as Gladio gave Noctis a pat on the shoulder and left, closing the door behind him.

“Noct?” Prompto asked, tentative. While he had forgiven Noctis for his brash and hurtful departure from his chambers only a week previous, there was a part of himself that held a little ache in his chest. “What’s going on?”

Noctis approached his desk, his steps careful, but certain as he rounded the polished wood and came to stand before the King. “Prom, last week… you asked me a question. It was a loaded one, with your heart on the line – ”

Prompto couldn’t help the snort that left his mouth. “Did Ignis give you a script?”

Laughter passed between them and Noctis knelt down, smile beaming. “He did. But it’s all right. I shouldn’t have shut you down so fast. I don’t think I ever actually apologised for it.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Prompto insisted.

“Let me make it up to you.” Noctis said, expertly pulling a small, black, velvet box from his pocket. Prompto had gasped before the rings were even presented to him and Noctis lay a hand on the King’s jittering knee to try and settle him. “Can I accept your proposal? Even though I’m a little late?”

Arms were thrown around his shoulders and Noctis toppled backwards, Prompto landing on top of him, mouths crushed together over and over as eager kisses were planted by a King who had begun openly sobbing above him. “Yes, yes, yes a thousand, million times, yes!”

#promptisfanweek #promptis #my fic #i cant believe i finished it #dang

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ellawritesficssometimes · 7 years

Text

My Save Year (ch. 1)

Summary: Depressed and rejected by his family, Arthur longs for a new beginning during his first year of University. There he meets Alfred, an optimistic bright-eyed oaf with a sunny smile. An unlikely romance develops between them, one that was already doomed from the beginning. (USUK, multichapter)

Loneliness. Bitterness. Confusion. These were all emotions I've learned to ignore. I refused to validate them, for if I did, there would be no saving me from the hatred of others, there would be no grand escape to a better life. I wouldn't get the chance to make something out of myself.

I was done hating who I was as a person. I was done listening to people lie about how much they cared about me. I was done placing my trust in others.

Truth be, as soon as you become a problem, a burden, if you will, people lose interest in you. They leave you in light of their own selfish desires. Being "there" for someone is the grandest lie of all. You people all leave the moment any effort is required. You make promises you can't keep, all for the sake of looking like a good person when you're not.

It's an ugly reality, but I've learned to not to have expectations anymore. Expectations implied disappointment, and I couldn't be disappointed if I didn't have any hope in the first place.

Am I being depressing? Unequivocally. But am I wrong? Not in the slightest.

I gave this life many, many chances, and they've only proved me right by failing me in my time of need.

I grew up knowing I was gay from a very young age. When I came out at fourteen, I was told that I was going through a phase, that I was confused and didn't know what I wanted. I let these ignorant bastards tell me how I felt because I wanted to be accepted. I preferred living in the shadows, but the g-word may as well have been plastered to my forehead ever since.

Mum didn't like that I was gay, but she tried to accept me anyway; emphasis on tried. Dad, however, was the worst of them all. He refused to acknowledge me at home, and made my life a living hell. It was all smiles and perpetual faking until I was out of sight; only then came the profanity. Slurs were heard on a regular basis, and my brothers were no exception to that rule, all save for one.

Alistair, the eldest of my brothers, was the only one who had no problem with me being gay. As far as he was concerned, the only disappointment was him having to protect my innocence from any dodgy, potential suitors. Idiot. He was still 100% convinced that I was a bottom, erm, not that I had any experience in that area…

I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, as you'll soon find. I pushed more people away than I could keep.

Regardless, this year was my get away. It was the year where I escaped from isolation, saved myself from my depression. I would learn to live again, going unhindered by my chronic fear of rejection. But, for that to happen, I needed to move on.

It was clear Mum and Dad wanted me gone, so I respected their wishes and left them for good.

I had worked hard in my last year of high school, earning myself a scholarship at a prestigious University. Hetalia University was part of an international chain of schools all over the globe, branching out across several continents and their respective countries.

The campus I was accepted into just so happened to be located right outside of Sussex, England. It was a specialized writing school, where some of the best-known authors had graduated from. I was determined to make a name for myself, despite all the difficult, back-breaking work these next four years would require from me.

Unfortunately, unlike my tuition, my living expenses weren't paid for. I had managed to find a job at the campus's library, so at least I had that. Any place where there was infrequent interaction with other people was my God save. It was easier to exist in a private silence than one where you were constantly being judged and ogled at as if you were a strange specimen. Better yet, a strange specimen that was the odd one out and couldn't stand on their own two feet, let alone think on their own terms.

I was glad to finally be free from the scrutiny of others. Going to this University was a fresh start, a chance to live under the radar without ever going detected by others.

I didn't come here to make friends. I wanted to improve as a writer, to rid myself of the stress I had internalized by writing about how I truly felt.

I didn't want to open myself up to another person. The less people knew about me, the better. I neither wanted to be liked nor disliked. I just wanted to exist, to breeze by, to be one of those faceless students whose name you couldn't remember. I couldn't be lonely if I didn't attach myself to others… if I didn't long for company – I thought I didn't need it.

But, as the Universe had a knack for making things go the opposite of how I wanted them to, my student life quickly became a whirlwind of unwanted – not to mention unexpected – emotions and attachments.

I never thought I would make a friend here. Two friends actually, if you count my pestiferous amphibian of a roommate.

What I didn't realize at the time was the thing I needed most was in fact a true companion. Writing was a distraction; it would never truly alleviate the weight of your depression, nor would it save you from the bottomless pit of your own thoughts and fears.

All it took was one smile, one bright, stupid, and sunny smile to change a bad day into a good one. That bloody yank came into my life out of nowhere, shining brighter than I could have ever imagined with his sappy optimism. He was my beacon of hope, my best friend, my every-

His friendship meant more than I would ever dare to admit.

I may not have realized this until later, but this year, this year was my save year.

I had been saved from myself by another kind, selfless soul.

It's just unfortunate I wasn't able to reciprocate the favor.

Not until it was too late.

…

Move in day on campus was a lot less hectic than I thought it would be. Then again, there were maybe 1500 students total at the University, as it was a private campus. Those students whom I did pass almost never seemed to be speaking the same language. Funny how even in my own country, I'm still the odd one out.

The campus was a mixture of old and new architectural designs, filled with the dreary, rich aura of history in spite of the paradoxical naïve and bright-minded moods of newcomers like myself.

The newer buildings were constructed around several thousand-year old Anglo-Saxon castles. Some of these older buildings would indeed be used for hosting classes, just as the library, round-tower church and dining hall at the center of the small University town were also vacated for academic and student use.

There was still a week before classes started, so most students were using their free time to lounge about on the lawns, enjoying the sun's rays if it was gracious enough to poke its head out of the clouds. Many of these foreigners would soon learn that rain was a most common occurrence in England. Although, I couldn't complain. Rainy weather tended to bring out the best muses in writers. No one knew why, it just did.

Despite the excitement in the air, a sagging feeling in my stomach made me feel uneasy. This campus was ripe with ghosts. I felt their despair and regrets as if they were my own.

Alistair must have noticed this too. The ability to see ghosts ran deep in the Kirkland family; almost every child had this affinity. "The air is really thick here, isna it?" he asked me, furrowing his thick red brows in unease.

I nodded my head. We had stopped in front of my dorm, which was one of the newer buildings on campus. It wasn't anything special, just an ugly rectangular brick building that reminded me of a factory had there not been several windows on its side.

"The campus is rumoured to be haunted," I answered him, feeling uneasy when Alistair's green eyes raked up and down my figure, concern evident on his face.

"You don't say?" Alistair murmured before awkwardly clearing his throat. I really wish he wouldn't tread so lightly with me. Yes, I was depressed, but that didn't mean I was fragile. I almost missed the times he used to tease and rough me up when we were younger. Almost.

"Well, that's it," Alistair concluded, setting my suitcase on the cobble-stone path beneath our feet. "Only ye would bring two suitcases to last ye a whole year. And one of them is full o' books. Yer sure are an oddball, Artie. Are ye sure ye don't need anything else?"

"No, no, I'll be quite all right. I'm not being odd, but practical. This is all I need," I muttered morosely, looking anywhere but at him. Alistair was much taller than me and had a habit of making me feel like a child. This moment couldn't have gotten anymore awkward.

It was unspoken, but Alistair and I both knew I didn't want to bring anything that reminded me of the home I had left behind.

"Would ye like me to help bring yer things?" Alistair spoke lightly, thankfully changing the subject.

I forced a smirk on my face, my chest heavy. "I know you call me scrawny, but really now Alistair, could you get any more patronizing? I'm sure I'll be able to carry two suitcases on my own," I huffed indignantly.

Alistair looked conflicted. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to hug me. In the end, he settled for ruffling my hair, much to my annoyance. "And here I thought I could sneak some extra teasing in with yer roommate. Oh well, I'll be visiting ye soon enough, and ye can count on me bringing photo albums from when ye were a wee little lad. Ye were so cute, I don't know what happened. It's like I'm looking at a grumpy old man instead of my 'adult' little brother."

"You think you're so hilarious," I scowled, ducking out of his grasp. "Do that and I'll set fire to everything you love. You have no right to act like my parent when you're still a child yourself. Must I remind you that I found you this morning dressed in nothing but a lampshade and a washcloth? It's a miracle you were sober enough to drive me here today."

Alistair laughed, his voice deep and gravelly as always. "Ye better not act so pissy with others like ye do with me. It's like ye want to be alone. And yer welcome, ye ungrateful willy. If I didna care about ye so much, I woulda gotten rid of ye too. But I just can't. There's something strangely endearing about ye. Maybe it's those thick eyebrows of yours."

"I would say thanks, but your cheap insults cancel out any gratitude I feel towards you." I raised a brow at Alistair in challenge. "Did it ever cross your thick skull that I prefer being alone?"

Alistair sighed, his shoulders deflating. This was a well-worn out argument of ours. "Artie, you gotta try, ye hear? I at least want ye to make one friend here. I'll be calling every now an' then to check up on ye, unlike some people," he stated bitterly. "I expect more of ye this time 'round. Enjoy yerself a little."

"Just because I'm not a social butterfly like you, doesn't mean I can't have an enjoyable University experience," I crossly retorted.

Alistair wasn't done speaking about our parents just yet.

"Whatever ye say," Alistair raised his hands in surrender. "I just want the best for ye. Mum and Dad may not look like it, but they still do care about ye. I've been tryin' to talk to them, but ye ken how narrow-minded they are. They'll come around, eventually. Yer their son for Christ sake. For now, just focus on yer studies. With yer work ethic, I know you'll do great, Artie. I'll be rootin' for ye, I hope you know tha'."

"Oh sod off, you old sap," I snapped, albeit not maliciously. I didn't know how to react to Alistair being so kind to me. It was a cheap defensive mechanism of mine to lash out with anger when confronted with something I wasn't familiar with.

"But," I faltered. "I do appreciate everything you've done for me. Thank you, Alistair, truly. It's nice to know that at least one person is here to support me."

"O' course," Alistair smiled, a genuine one that very rarely graced his face. He wasn't a very serious person to begin with. "Yer my little brother. You may be a grumpy bastard, but I still love ye. And, Artie?"

"Yes?"

"You ken my door is always open. I may be livin' inna different country now, but that doesna change anythin' between us. Once you're finished with yer year, yer more than welcome to come stay with me. It's not right for a lad yer age to be livin' on his own. If yer willing to drop that insufferable pride of yours, I'd be more than happy to help ye out."

I felt my face flush a little, unused to such kindness. Alistair would be moving away for work in Scotland, his birth place, in a couple of weeks. Before coming here, I had lived with him in his apartment, him almost being thirty years old and all. This was the one time where he was actually acting like the adult he was.

"I'd greatly appreciate that," I looked Alistair in the eye, blinking harshly. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Alistair waved his hand at me dismissively, contradicting the lump he swallowed down in his throat. "Ah, enough o' this sentimental crap. I'm not sober enough to deal with this. Just have fun, be careful, eat properly, call me every week, and ye'll be fine. Oh, and get a haircut, ye stubborn mutt. I canna even see yer eyes."

I rolled said eyes. "Goodbye, Alistair. I'll skype with you every week, if you like. Although, no promises on the having fun clause or the hair cut. Thanks again, for everything…"

For being a true brother to me…

"Cheeky little bastard," Alistair mumbled to himself.

We said our goodbyes again, which was no less awkward than the first few times.

With that done and said, I turned my back on him, and walked into the dorm, realizing for the first time that I was on my own. It wasn't a good feeling nor was it bad. I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't Arthur Kirkland, I was a nobody who had to start from scratch.

It was invigorating, that's for sure.

I didn't have to worry about what others thought about me, especially if everything went according to plan. No one was to know anything about me. That way, I couldn't be judged.

I found my shared dorm room on the tenth floor, room 1066. It would be an understatement to say I was appalled by the strong waft of roses that entered my nostrils upon entering the room.

The dorm room was small, consisting of a cozy living room with one leather couch, a rather small tele on a rickety wooden nightstand, a rug that looked like it had seen better days, and a small kitchen not meant for much more than heating up leftovers or doing dishes. There was a dining hall for a reason, after all.

I've also been told I wasn't the greatest of cooks; I have yet to figure out why – scones were supposed to be a bit hard to chew, weren't they? It was good for the teeth, or was it bad? I had no bloody idea.

The bedrooms and the one bathroom were located in a skinny hallway to the left of the front entrance of the room. Thankfully, Francis – my roommate - and I had agreed beforehand that I would be getting the room with the largest window. The French international allegedly liked his beauty sleep.

We had only kept in contact through text over the summer, but even then, Francis was still grating on the nerves. From what I could tell, he was arrogant and full of himself.

I couldn't have been anymore right about him as I set my two suitcases down in the front room, spotting Francis lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand, wearing nothing but a blue bath robe. There was soft music playing in the background – something French and definitely not English. The living room window was left open, allowing a breeze to sweep through the room, rustling the residence papers he had lying on the coffee table. Next to the papers, there was a half-full ash-tray, which would explain the lingering scent of smoke in the air – oh did I have something to say about that.

Francis looked exactly the same as he did in the picture the residence coordinator had sent me. Same wavy blond hair, azure eyes, and permanent, obnoxious smug lilt of a smirk. He was tall and thin, his arms draped over the couch as if he owned it and the entire place, like a pompous, domesticated cat who had selfishly claimed their owner's territory as their own.

I stifled my irritation and did my best to give a proper introduction, looking anywhere but Francis's hairy legs, chest, and slipper-covered feet. It was two in the bloody afternoon. Who the hell had the spare time to act so casual? Was I rooming with a Frenchman or a 40-year-old suburban stay-at-home mother? Who knows.

I cleared my throat, standing awkwardly in the front door. "Hello. I'm guessing you must be Francis Bonnefoy?" I asked, reaching into my pocket to pull out the photo I had of him.

Francis gasped, setting down his nearly empty wine glass. He stood up from the couch so abruptly that I almost got whiplash just by looking at him. Before I knew it, the Frenchman was standing before me, unfortunately a few inches taller than I was, pale eyebrows rising in contemplation.

"Oui, I am! Mon dieu!" he exclaimed, his voice fairly accented, but still understandable nonetheless. "Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, oui? Bonjour, bonjour~! And here I thought pictures didn't do a person justice. Tell me, how is it that you grow out your eyebrows that thick? Do you use a cream? Ointment? Coconut oil? You must tell me! I've been growing out my hair for a few months now, and I'm looking for any tips I can get!"

My first impression of Francis was that he was flamboyant, seeing as how he moved his hands a lot when he spoke. My second impression was that he was an annoying git who had no sense of personal space, whatsoever. Both impressions were woefully accurate.

I reluctantly shook hands with Francis, having to wrench away my hand from him after he held it for an uncomfortable amount of time. Bloody pervert. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I don't do anything to my eyebrows. They're naturally thick like this. Although, I'm not sure if you're insulting or complimenting me about them…"

"Oh, that's too bad," Francis simpered.

I wrinkled my nose; Francis was wearing a very strong perfume. It was already giving me a headache. It looked like I had a long, long year ahead of me. Remind me again why our personalities were deemed compatible by the residence coordinators?

"Haven't you heard of personal space?" I grumbled, backing away from the ogling Frenchman, whose face was way too close to mine. "Good God, would it kill you to tone it down on the perfume? I can practically taste it. And what kind of nutjob wears a bathrobe mid-afternoon?"

"What's that?" Francis asked, grinning from ear to ear. "If we are to live together, then we must get used to being in each other's faces, non? And excuse you, I'll have you know that my perfume attracts all ze ladies and men. As for my robe? Casse toi. Anyone who wears a sweater vest has no right to criticize my sense of fashion. I am merely being comfy. I've seen Mormons with a better sense of fashion than you."

I turned around, shutting the front door. I then grabbed my two suitcases, intending to go to my room and unpack, alone. "Right, well, as nice as it is to get to know you by insulting each other's tastes, I really ought to settle in. I need to acquaint myself with where all my classes are."

"Allow me!" Francis purred, grabbing a suitcase from me, despite my protests. "When we're done helping you settle in, I can give you a tour. I've already been here for a week. It was so lonely, mon cher. Hardly anyone came until two days ago. I thought I was going to die from the boredom."

"You talk too much," I sighed, wrenching my suitcase back from him. "And I don't need your help or your company."

"Is that really such a bad thing?" Francis pouted, motioning for me to hand him the suitcase again. The mongrel didn't know when to give up. "Stubbornness is not an attractive trait, you know," he lectured. "All people need the occasional company. It's simply not healthy to be by yourself for long periods of time. Voila! I'm doing you a favour by being your first friend here!"

"I said no!" I snapped. "I don't need your help. And you are most certainly not my friend."

"Not yet, I'm not~"

"Look," I inhaled sharply. "Let me get something straight. I am not here to make friends with anyone, let alone you. I don't play well with others, so it's best if we just stay out of each other's way. I'm sure you're a great person under all that flamboyance and effeminate charm of yours, but I'll repeat myself again, since you seem to be hard of hearing and English is likely not your first language: I am not here to get cozy. I am here for my education, and that's it."

Francis whistled, speechless for once.

Taking advantage of this, I pulled out a folded sheet of paper from my jeans with my free hand. "Here," I scowled, handing him the paper.

"This is a set of rules I've come up with. You're not to go in my room or touch my things. There will be agreed times on when and who gets to use the bathroom. I don't tolerate uncleanliness, so we will also have to come up with a chore schedule. There will be no more smoking in this room; I will report you to residence if you continue to do so, roommates or not, I owe you no loyalty or favors. Drink as much as you want, just don't expect me to bail you out if you do something stupid and get arrested. And absolutely no parties are to be thrown here; I'd rather not be kicked out this early in the year, or at all, in fact. I ask that you please respect my boundaries. Living together entails respect. Respect me, and I'll respect you. If you do all this, then I'm sure we will get along with each other just fine."

The residual smirk on Francis's face wavered. "Arthur, you are one strange man. But, I'm not unkind enough to not respect your wishes. I am a clean person myself, and I will smoke outside from now on, no probleme. I will also fill out these…uh…forms and come up with an appropriate schedule. It's a shame we can't become friends, though. I have a feeling it'll take a while for you to warm up to me, but there's nothing I can do about that, I suppose. I'll leave you to unpack then."

Francis patted my shoulder before turning and heading back into the living room.

I grit my teeth. "We're not becoming friends. I thought I already established that."

Francis looked up at me from the couch, evidently getting used to my anger. He seemed completely unfazed by it now. "We French have a way of getting what we want. Do not underestimate us. You're not misleading me, Mr. Kirkland, far from it. Behind every angry person, there is someone hurting inside. You care more than you let off. I've always liked myself a good mystery, it inspires my creativity as a writer. Somewhere deep inside that hedgehog exterior of yours, there is a nice person. I'll dedicate the rest of my year towards finding it if I have to."

I scoffed. "Wise words coming from a man in a bathrobe."

Bloody Frenchman and his big mouth. His croaking voice reminded me of a frog. Hmmm. Not bad. Not a bad insult at all…

"Non, it is coming from someone with experience."

I had no good retort to that. "Fine, think what you want. Just know you'll regret saying that. I always disappoint…"

Francis gave me a pitiful look.

I left him feeling disappointed with myself, go figure. If only he knew who I truly was as a person; he'd be asking for a new roommate in no time.

That, I was sure of.

…

After my snapping at him, I didn't hear from Francis again. I must have really perturbed him, seeing as how he had slipped the sheet with the bathroom and chore schedule under my bedroom door. Oh well, despite saying otherwise, it appeared that Francis had realized it was better to keep his distance from me. Kudos to him…

My dorm room was nothing special, harbouring a single twin bed, a meagre dresser, a window that overlooked a courtyard, and a foldable desk embedded in the wall. It was small, but cozy; I didn't have a need for that much of a space anyway. I felt in control in this room, nothing about it was overwhelming or all-encompassing.

BANG!

I was busy unpacking my clothes on my bed, when a large bang resonated across the building, sounding as if it were coming from the hallway outside.

"Francis?" I called out hesitantly. Blast. I didn't like the guy, but that didn't mean I hated him.

"Francis are you all right? What was that noise?"

I walked into the living room, finding that Francis wasn't there. He wasn't in his bedroom – the door was open – or the bathroom either – I didn't really want to look too extensively in there, for obvious reasons. He must have gone elsewhere.

BANG!

I jumped when another bang, this one much louder in volume, shook the walls.

Cussing under my breath, I left my dorm, standing in the hallway outside with my mouth held agape.

Two desperate, fearful voices down the hall bickered back and forth.

"Toni, I'm telling you! We need to get the fuck out of here! That's it, I'm calling room service."

"But, Gil! Getting assigned to a new room is going to cost us!" a second voice pouted with a whine. "Other than… 'this'…there's nothing wrong with the flat. They're not going to believe us that it's… it's…"

BANG!

"HAUNTED! Ay, Dios mio!"

I walked across the hallway, knocking on the front door of where the frantic voices were coming from. It had been left wide open, but I still considered myself to have manners.

I cleared my throat. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"

The two other boys in the room – my floormates – latched their fearful gazes on me. One was tanned, lanky, with messy brown hair and light green eyes. The other, was buff, extremely pale, and had the most peculiar red eyes I had ever seen. Both were dressed in beach wear, despite the University's campus being in the middle of nowhere. My guess was that they were taking part in Fresher's week.

BANG!

I looked to my right, spotting a wooden wardrobe at the edge of their small living room. The doors were clasped shut with a red bandanna, but by the way it was shaking, it looked like someone was trying to get out of it from the inside.

The pale one was the first to answer me. "We moved here last week, and every night, the wardrobe opens and shakes on its own. We've heard stories about the ghosts here, so we figured if we could stop the creaking, the spirit would eventually give up and move on. Now it just seems mad, so not awesome," he muttered, his voice thick with a German accent. "And just who are you exactly?"

"Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure," I lied, about the latter part, that is. I hated getting involved in other people's business, but I already knew what was going on here.

I stepped into the room, shaking hands with the pale one.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," the pale one firmly clasped my hand. "And that guy over there is Antonio. Are you Fran's roommate? I think he mentioned something about having an English roommate."

Antonio was preoccupied with kissing the pendant of his cross necklace, murmuring prayers in what sounded to be Spanish.

"That I am," I admitted. "Unfortunately. And what is this nonsense about ghosts? They don't exist."

Gilbert scoffed in disbelief. "Are you not seeing that wardrobe move on its own right now?"

"I'm sure there's another explanation for that. A wild animal? Or perhaps the bolts are becoming loose and it's about to give way?" I proposed.

"Yo, what are you doing?!" Gilbert blurted, pale brows rising when I walked towards the wardrobe. "You're going to get yourself killed by that thing!"

Antonio shook his head back and forth, eyes wide like a small child. "Uh-oh, Franny isn't going to like us killing his roommate. I'll pray for you, amigo." And the Spaniard did just that, mentioning something about how my eyebrows were enough of a punishment to live with, unbeknownst to me.

"Quite the contrary," I smirked, untying the bandanna from the wardrobe. "I'll prove to you that nothing's in there. There's always a rational explanation for things like this."

I opened the wardrobe, glaring unamusedly into the empty space. "See? Nothing."

The bandanna dropped to the ground.

I stepped aside to let Gilbert and Antonio have a look inside. The shaking had stopped entirely.

"Vhat?" Gilbert spluttered in confusion.

"Yay! We're not going to die young now!" Antonio merrily exclaimed. "He must have scared it off!"

I ignored Antonio's latter comment.

"Best bet is to just get rid of the thing. I was right about the bolting, it looks like it'll cave any day now," I told them, dusting off my hands on my pants. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I best be off then. I still have much to unpack. See you around…" I hummed, waving over my shoulder.

Stunned, Gilbert and Antonio muttered their goodbyes.

"…Never," I mumbled to myself, walking back into the hallway outside.

I furrowed my brows angrily, knowing that a certain something was following me. I refused to turn around and face it until I was in my own flat, out of the eavesdropping range of other, potentially nosy floormates.

I closed the door after me. That didn't stop the something from floating right through it as if it were child's play. Quite literally, the ghost was a child.

I spun around, narrowing my eyes at the ghost I had found vacating Gilbert and Antonio's wardrobe. She looked to be about ten years old; scrawny, sharp-elbowed, missing several teeth, and had several scrapes up and down her arms. She had piercing green eyes, almost like mine oddly enough, blonde hair, which was tied in two high pigtails, and was dressed in a long-outdated green sundress. From the looks of it, she looked to be born in either the 1920s or 30s.

"You can see me," the girl accused, her voice shrill and angry. "How come you pretended that you couldn't?! Are you trying to make fun of me? Is that it?"

I sighed, walking over to sit on the couch. I had dealt with enough today, thank you very much. "No love," I murmured softly. "I can't let other people know because then they'd think I'm crazy. What's your name? Or, what do you prefer to go by?"

The girl floated to hover above the coffee table, crossly sticking up her chin at me. "You may call me Alice," she huffed.

"Well, Alice, you can call me Arthur. Pleased to meet you."

"I know that, you dummy! I heard you speaking to those other two twits."

"Come now," I tutted. "Is that the way your mother taught you how to address strangers?"

"N-no! Mummy always told me to be polite. B-But, I d-don't know where Mummy is anymore..." the ghost trailed off, a downcast expression on her face.

"I can help you find your Mummy, but have to promise to be completely honest with me."

The ghost looked up, eyes wide, revealing the vulnerability of a child who had been lost for who knows how many decades. "How do I know I can trust you?" she wavered, flicking in and out of sight.

"I've helped many spirits pass on to the other side. There's something keeping you here on Earth, Alice. Is there something bothering you? Something you never got to do when you were alive?"

"Well…there was one thing…"

"Take your time, love. I know this must be hard for you to recall."

There was something about children that made them invisible to my usual irritation. I had a lot of patience with them. I treated them in a manner in which I had never been treated as a child; I was kind and I listened to what they had to say. At the very least they deserved that.

My patience must have given Alice the confidence she needed to open up to me. She was finally breaking her silence, conversing with someone who could listen and respond to her unfortunate predicament.

"My friend Davie and I were having a picnic. Daddy used to be the Dean here. He didn't like Davie because he was an orphan. But I really liked Davie, so I always snuck food from the dining hall to take to him. We had to meet in secret because Daddy didn't approve of me meeting with him, unchaperoned.

"I never really cared for dresses. But Mummy did. She knew about my friendship with Davie, but she never told anyone. One day, we were having a picnic, and Davie wanted me to swim in the creek with him…he never told me he couldn't swim. The water was too deep for us, and I drowned trying to save him…"

Alice paused. I inhaled sharply, not daring to say a word.

"Mummy died because Daddy hit her too hard. He blamed her for my death. But, I never got to see Mummy when she died. She didn't become a ghost like me…and neither did little Davie. I'm the only one left of them. I'm sorry if I made you mad earlier. I just don't k-know what to do. Scaring people is the only thing that makes me feel…real."

"You don't have to justify yourself, Alice," I said warmly, my throat constricting. "I understand everything now."

The mother and Davie must have passed on, but Alice's spirit was still bound by past regrets.

"I guess I'm just angry about what happened to little Davie," Alice whispered. "He never got a proper funeral, whereas I did. It's not fair."

"Tell you what," I shuddered with a sigh. Dealing with ghosts never got any less emotional after the first few times. Alice's story was a grim reminder of how unfair and tragic life could be sometimes. "I'll throw a proper funeral for Davie for you. Was it James creek that you two…passed in? That's only a five-minute walk from here."

Alice's expression became hopeful again. "Yes. That's the place. Would you really do that for me?"

"Of course. If it gives you peace, I'd be more than happy to. You've been here for long enough, love. It's about time you reunited with your Mummy and Davie again. Wouldn't you like for that to happen?"

"Yes, but how do I do that?" Alice sniffled. "I've tried f-for so long…"

"You just have to trust me, Alice. If you can trust that I'll carry through with your wish to give Davie a proper funeral, then your spirit will be able to move on."

Alice's form began to fade, a good sign indeed. "Promise?"

I lifted a pinkie finger to the air, albeit the gesture only being symbolic. "Promise."

"Thank you, Arthur," Alice's eyes watered. "I'll never forget you. You were so kind to me. I don't know what I did to deserve such kindness. You're everything Mummy wanted me to be."

I chuckled. "I'm not all that I appear to be, but thank you for such a sweet sentiment. Now move along, dear. You can sense your soul being pulled elsewhere, can't you? Don't fight it. And don't worry, I'm sure your Mummy would be proud of you too. It takes someone with a big heart to wait this long for someone else. I admire that, truly."

"Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you again."

"Goodbye, Alice. God speed, and may your soul rest in peace."

I heard the faint murmur of final thank-you's before Alice disappeared for good.

I slumped down in my seat.

It was some time before I removed my hands from my face. Oh bloody, hell, I had been crying, hadn't I? How embarrassing.

Irritated, I grabbed a Kleenex from the coffee table and dabbed at my eyes and cheeks.

Francis leaned against the kitchen table, the creak of which caused me to look up. "Alas, you're not as bitter and mean as I had initially thought, mon petit hedgehog," he mused.

I furiously rubbed at my eyes. "Since when did you get here…wait? What the bollocks?! You can see ghosts too?!"

Francis sadly nodded his head. "Oui, it runs in my family. It must run in yours too, non? My family is very perceptive at picking up on les emotions aussi. Some of us are born matchmakers, like myself. We see the good in people, and match them to fill the void in our own lonely hearts. But, enough about that. Are you all right, Arthur? I only heard about half of that conversation, and that was more than enough to break my heart in two."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I snapped before lowering my voice. "Just. Fine."

"If you say so."

"Stop bloody patronizing me!"

"Fine, fine," Francis raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't get cheeky with me either," I growled to no one in particular, hardly audible.

"Call me crazy," Francis purred, walking to sit on the couch next to me. "as I am one to believe in fate, but we must have been brought together for a reason, non? I believe our similarities call for a truce."

I didn't like the suggestive look on Francis's face. Anything he did inevitably became sexual, the perv. "I know I said this already, but do you ever stop flapping your tongue, frog? There's nothing redemptive about you. Not even that 'glorious' hair of yours can salvage how obnoxious you are."

Francis laughed. "Ohonhonhon, that's a new insult I've never heard before. Arthur Kirkland, you are an absolute menace to be around."

I glared at him through eyes that were not puffy.

"A good menace," Francis corrected himself, not that it really helped with anything. I still couldn't stand him.

"Arthur?"

"Wot?" I growled, my gaze latched on the ground.

"Do you think we could start over? Perhaps become friends? I haven't even known you for that long, and yet, I've never seen someone look so troubled…so lonely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pitying you. It's just…if you ever need someone to talk to or even just to keep you company, I can be there for you. We'll be spending most of our year together, after all."

"One, I'm not lonely or troubled, I'm just naturally bitter like this," I snorted. "But, if you're so intent on getting to know me, I'll say this. I like my privacy. I anger easily, and can be selfish at times. I've made a horrible first impression on you, and I have no idea why you're bothering speaking to me now. But, if you're willing to look past all that, then maybe we can become friends, maybe."

I don't know what I was thinking, saying all of this. Maybe I was still vulnerable emotionally. Or maybe it was because I had found someone similar to me, no matter how grating. Perhaps Alistair was right. One 'friend' couldn't hurt.

I held out my hand for Francis to shake, daring to look him in the eyes again. The genuine affection in them made me blush due to the unfamiliarity of receiving such generous treatment, especially because of how awfully I had spoken to him earlier.

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to make your acquaintance."

That cheeky little bugger.

…

I wasn't having your typical post-secondary Friday afternoon. Unlike most, I was spending it in the comforting silence of the school's grandiose library. It was held in an old castle, smelling of old books, wood and dust; a stale scent that inevitably made you think the place was old. It was five stories tall, harbouring enough books to satisfy hundreds of lifetimes of reading. There were several stainless glass windows, reflecting the light of the meek, cloudy weather outside. The building was dim, just like how I preferred it to be – sunlight wasn't exactly my thing.

Yes, yes, we've already agreed that I'm a miserable, depressing person. Ahem, moving on.

This was my sanctum, a safe place if you will. I could already see myself spending most of my time here, outside of my front desk/ clerk position. As of now, I was being trained for such a position by a polite, young lad from Canada.

What was his name again?

Oh yes, right, Matthew. Matthew. Matthew.

I couldn't forget that.

Matthew was showing me the different parts of the library, rolling around a cart full of books as he did so. Normally, I would protest to using technology in a place of standard print, as there was an iPad embedded in the cart, but with five floors of space to deal with, the gadget did come in handy for locating books and their respective sections. There was also the computer at the front desk, but I was willing to overlook that too. It was more out of necessity than excess to possess it.

Matthew spoke very softly, so I had to crane my neck just to hear him properly. "Not many people come here to borrow books, since most of our archives and subscriptions have already been made available online. I reckon the most work you'll be doing here is reorganizing the sections if the main librarian decides to become spontaneous," he chuckled softly.

"All the more easier of a job for us then," I smirked.

Matthew smiled softly at this, his strange violet eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a few inches taller than me in stature, lanky, and had pale, curly blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Despite wearing a bright red shirt, he seemed to blend in the shadows, nearly invisible to the naked eye. I blame his timid nature for not making him more noticeable.

"Say," I began, surprising myself by opting to start another conversation. Although, Matthew was a pleasant enough fellow to converse with. We were on our way back to the main floor, huddled in a rickety elevator that felt like it would collapse at any given moment.

"You look quite young to be a first year," I remarked. I was nineteen myself, having just finished my junior college studies a year later than planned. Let's just say there were a lot of family disruptions and personal problems that had caused such a setback.

"That's because I am," Matthew replied simply. "I just turned sixteen in July. I'm two years ahead in my studies. In Canada, we go up to grade twelve before being sent off to College or University. Maman, ah, ahem, my Mom and Grandma are alumina at this school. They didn't expect any less from me. I wanted to take a year off, but I'm a horrible pushover and try to please everyone. And, well, here I am now. I used to spend my summers working here anyway when we visited family, so it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the campus. Things could be worse," he shrugged, sighing.

"That's still not fair," I replied. Matthew was just a boy then. I felt a strange, paternal instinct kick around in the pit of my stomach just by looking at him. "You should have a say in how you go about your education. It's your life, Matthew. Are you not scared being the youngest one here, all on your own? I apologize if I'm being blunt, but I know how brutal people can be sometimes."

More like all the time.

"No worries," Matthew placed a hand on my shoulder. Damn him for being so tall. "I appreciate your concern, Arthur. But, I don't think I have to worry about any of that. I don't mind finishing my degree early, and it's not like I'm relevant enough for people to pick on. There's actually a rumour going around campus that there's a violet-eyed ghost haunting the library. Want to know who that ghost is? Yours truly," he mused, looking proud of himself as he pointed a backwards thumb at his chest.

We both chuckled a little at his expense.

The elevator dinged, and I helped Matthew roll the cart onto the main floor. "Although I haven't heard that specific rumour, I have heard that the library is the most haunted part of campus. Is that true?" I asked.

I already knew it was true, as I could feel the ghosts' presence, but I wanted to get more information on the subject.

I stopped the cart before the front desk, while Matthew skirted around to open the gate. After placing the cart in its respective place, Matthew leaned over the front counter, allowing his elbows to support most of his weight. He grimly nodded his head in response to my question.

"Unfortunately, that rumour is true," Matthew said sadly, eyes downcast. "Several students over the years have taken their lives by jumping off the roof," he paused to point up at the fifth and final floor of the library. "We don't have any accurate estimates, but some say it's close to between 15-30 students. And that's not even counting the first two centuries that this school was up and running."

My expression became grim as I continued to listen to him.

"The stress becomes too much for these people. The elite atmosphere here doesn't help either. So many people push themselves until they become mad and can't think properly anymore. They don't see any options of escape. No one wants to feel like they're a failure," Matthew said morosely, perking up slightly as he finished his tangent.

"Luckily, we haven't had any incidents like that for decades. It's a shame, because nothing is done until something horrible happens. At least now, we have programs to help with that. I know this is random and perhaps a bit invasive of me to suggest, but if you ever feel stressed and need to talk about it, there are plenty of resources available here to help with that."

Matthew handed me a red print card with a list of services scrawled on it. The first one that popped out to me was puppy stress therapy, how odd.

I accepted the card from Matthew, smiling faintly in gratitude as I slipped it into my wallet. "Thanks, lad. It sounds like you're speaking from experience?"

Matthew pursed his lips. "Yes, I volunteer in student services. Someone has to start the conversation. The curriculum expects so much of the students here. This issue is also something very important to my family. A distant relative of mine committed suicide, and my Grandma has been adamant on speaking about it ever since. There's just such a heavy stigma surrounding it."

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, realizing I had pried too deep. "I think it's wonderful that you're dedicating your free time to such a noble cause. You're a sweet kid, Matthew. If only everyone else was as selfless as you, the world would be a much better place."

"Thank you," Matthew said earnestly. "Well, I still have some new books to enter into stock. It was nice talking to you, Arthur. I highly recommend walking around and familiarizing yourself with the place again. It took me at least a month not to get lost every five minutes."

"Anytime. Yes, I already planned on doing that. If I don't come down in forty minutes, feel free to send up a search squad for me," I joked lightly, knowing it wouldn't alleviate the heavy mood that had fallen between us.

"Will do," Matthew laughed, winking at me from behind his spectacles. "See you around."

I said my goodbyes, realizing I had just made another friend. Alistair would probably be throwing a party right now if he found out. The people here were just so kind and understanding. It threw me off, but in a good way. Perhaps there was hope for me, after all.

(This school was turning me into a bloody sap, that's what. First the frog, and now Matthew? What's next, befriending a buffoon with a poor sense of grammar?...I'll shut up now.)

After familiarizing myself with the library's floor spaces, I then went back to the fourth floor, where the school's archives were kept. Up until about three decades ago, the campus used to host an orphanage as part of its charity work.

I was flipping through the pages of an old catalogue, finding Davie's name after some time searching. He didn't have a last name. A young boy with slicked back hair and sad eyes looked into the camera, his face dusty and smudged, still visible under the grey monochrome of colours. I only knew it was him because there was an additional photo of him and Alice having a picnic with an adult woman, presumably Alice's mother. At least in the second photo, Davie was smiling. He had died in 1927, at the unfortunate age of seven.

I looked over my shoulder, and once affirming that no one was there to see me do this, I carefully ripped out the latter photo and pocketed it. I would be needing it once I had found the time to give Davie his funeral.

"Easy does it, old chap," I whispered. "Alice never forgot about you."

I was about to head downstairs when for some inexplicable reason, I felt the urge to explore the fifth floor, where the roof was.

I soon found myself standing before the entrance of the roof, dumbly looking at the suicide posters that were plastered against the stone wall. Matthew really hadn't been kidding about the scope of these deaths. Ahem, not that he had any reason to kid about such a dark and unfortunate topic.

My feet moved of their own accord as I opened the steel door, revealing a see-through glass tunnel with various shrubbery growing on the sides. The roof top was grand in space, the air cloudy and misty from the previous rainfall.

I stepped out of the tunnel, breathing in the clean air.

Regardless, something didn't feel right.

I walked towards the edge of the roof, palming the rough stone with both hands and looking below at the students scuttling below, like ants with a sense of purpose. I became nauseous suddenly, feeling my eyes cloud over. The spirits and emotions lurking here were beginning to overwhelm me. The ground appeared closer than what it actually was.

An invisible force was pushing me.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

NO. DON'T DO IT!

I shook my head, closing my eyes. These weren't my thoughts. These were the thoughts of past doubts and regrets.

It took me a while before I finally gained control. The heavy atmosphere of the roof was suffocating, but it was manageable to deal with now that I knew what to expect. There weren't just 15-30 spirits here. There was plenty more, so much so that I was unable to count them all.

Even so, there was something fairly recent about this area that had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. If there was a spirit in need of passing on, then I was determined to find them, no matter how difficult it was to discern them from the rest of the memories residing here. It wasn't right to let them suffer in perpetual confusion; they belonged elsewhere.

I let go of the edge of the roof, turning around, only to jump back like a cat who had been spooked when I spotted a student sitting on one of the metal benches lying about.

"Jesus, Roosevelt Christ!" I swore, clutching at my chest. "Where in the bloody hell did you come from?!"

The other student on the roof appeared to be just as frightened as I was. He was in mid-bite of eating his PB & J sandwich, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. A note pad with several pens on top was resting next to his lap.

For a brief moment, I thought the student was Matthew. An additional two seconds of looking at him, however, changed that opinion. He had wheat-blond hair that was slicked back, save for one stray cowlick sticking up from the rest of his head, blue eyes hidden by wired spectacles, and was much bigger and muscular in build than Matthew was, albeit being just as tall.

Most strange about him was the clothes he wore – an old brown leather bomber jacket, denim jeans that were folded at the bottom and black pointed loafers. He was a hipster if I ever saw one.

I stared at the boy on the bench, waiting for him to answer me. He didn't but rather just stared at me like a deer in the headlights, holding up his sandwich in disbelief and briefly looking over his shoulders to affirm that there was no one behind him.

"Hello?!" I snapped. "Usually people speak when they're spoken to."

The boy coughed out his sandwich, hacking for air as he placed it back into a food container. When he regained his breath, red-faced, he waved his hands back forth in exasperation. There were still several crumbs on his mouth. "Dude! I've been here the whole time! Holy crap, you really know how to scare a guy, don't ya? So not cool, yo!"

A brief moment of silence enveloped between us. The boy couldn't stop staring at me incredulously, testing me, analyzing me. Actually, now that I think of it, he was likely just ogling at my eyebrows, the little twat. Or should I say yank? He had a very strong American accent.

I rolled my eyes. "What in God's name are you doing up here alone?"

The boy crossed his arms, pouting childishly. "I could ask you the same question, dude," he said through puckered lips. "But, if you must know. I use this place for writing inspiration. Usually, no one comes up here, and I go uninterrupted, ahem."

The boy's expression became flat. I could take a hint, but his implied rudeness would have to take a rain check for now. There was still some things I wanted to know.

I furrowed my brows. Did the yank not see the suicide posters lying around? This was perhaps the worst, most depressing place to draw inspiration from. At least I didn't have to be concerned about him, regardless of how strange and poor his grammar was.

"I work at the library," I defended, taking a step closer to him.

The boy abruptly stood up from the bench, scrambling backwards and nearly tripping over his feet as he moronically waved his hands at me to stop. "Woah there, dude!" he shouted, causing my ears to ring from how loud his voice was.

"This is a no-people zone. I can't have you coming close and messing up my mojo, ya hear? Stay back! I'm not kidding! I need to be in the mood to write. I can't have you ruining it! Haven't you ever h-heard of personal space?!"

I held up my hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I won't come any closer, no matter how ridiculous the reason."

There were those pouted lips again. "Hey! You're being rude, dude."

"And another thing," I furrowed my brows in confusion. "What are you wearing?"

"Huh?" the boy spluttered bluntly, following my gaze to look down at his bomber jacket. "Oh this? This was my Pop's and, uh, my Gramps before that."

"Yes, but why are you wearing it?" I asked him patiently.

"Dude, I hardly know you. What's with all the questions? Are you sure you don't secretly work for the CIA? I'm innocent, I s-swear!"

"What? No, I'm just curious. It isn't every day I come across such an odd figure," I mused. It was unbelievable how easy it was to make this boy flustered. I'll admit, I was having some mild fun with this interrogation.

"I'm writing a story about WW2," the boy huffed. "I need to feel the part if I'm to write it. And you're the one to talk. I've seen bathroom rugs more attractive than that sweater vest of yours."

"Oi!" I snapped. "You don't see me making fun of your outfit."

"No, but you did give me a strange look."

"How could I not?! It's not everyday you find someone who takes their writing to this extreme. I'm intrigued, that's all."

"Well, Mr. Intrigued, the name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."

I was beginning to like this boy less and less by the minute.

"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred trudged back to the bench, opening his journal to a page with messily scrawled jot-notes on it. "Great! Now that we're introduced, I'll ask you kindly to stop speaking. I've got a lot of ideas running through my head, dude of Arthur, sir sass-a-lot. I can't let them slip away."

"Honestly, you are such a bizarre person. I don't under-"

"Shhh! Can't you see that a dude's trying to write?"

"Is dude the only word you know?" I spluttered.

"Just trying to keep up with the times, dude. Maybe you should try it," Alfred muttered, not even bothering to look up at me. "Now, scram. Or at least stop talking for like five minutes. No wonder America wanted its independence. You Brits never stop talking with your overcomplicated laws, and fancy 'posh' language."

Alfred said 'posh' in a horrible impression of a British accent. I was not amused.

"Fine," I growled. "I'll leave you be. I was beginning to lose a few brain cells anyway. It boggles my mind how you can call yourself a writer when you speak with such poor grammar. You're a living oxymoron."

Alfred must have been in his so-called mojo, because he didn't look up to usher his retort.

Instead, I busied myself with looking around the rooftop, trying to sense anything that seemed at odds. What a futile task that was. Everything was wrong with this place. There was so much going on that it was hard to pinpoint the one thing that was setting me off.

After looking at the asphalt below, unable to come up with a viable reason for the weird aura of this place, I turned on my heels and left the edge of the roof.

Alfred had his tongue poking out of his mouth as he scribbled away in his notebook. When he saw that I was leaving, he cocked up his head to look at me. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, setting down his notebook on the bench. "You look like something's bothering you."

"I thought we weren't speaking," I responded dryly, snorting.

"Erm, I'm done writing, if it's any consolation," Alfred admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sad about something, Arthur? Worried? If so, I completely understand what you're feeling. I'm starting my first year too, just turned 18. Mom enrolled me a year early in school. Um, ah, sorry, hahaha, I have a bad habit of rambling when I'm nervous. I guess it's just nice to have someone to speak to, now that I think of it. I don't have no friends here."

"And you're assuming I don't either?" I asked him crossly.

"N-no!" Alfred blurted out, causing me to smirk. "It's just, everyone should have a friend. You look like you could use one. That grumpy expression on your face makes you look ten years older than you actually are. I almost mistook you for an accountant. You might want to fix that about yourself, it's real scary."

"Do I seriously look that lonely and miserable?"

Alfred's expression became sheepish again.

"Oh, bollocks," I sighed. "Besides, how can we become 'friends' if I can't even go near you?"

I don't know why, but I felt like I could trust Alfred. There was something that was just so…pure about him. I couldn't describe it. He just seemed relatable. This roof top was his safe space, and he was trusting me with it.

Alfred bowed his head. "Sorry, dude. I like my personal space. But that doesn't mean we can't chat. I'm always open to talk to people, that is when I'm not writing of course."

"Hmmph," I breathed. "Well then, Mr. Jones, let's chat. Why is it do you come up here to write?"

I sat on the bench across from him, respecting his wishes not to get too close. I crossed my legs and turned my torso to face him. He truly did have the most brilliant, cerulean blue eyes I had ever seen. They carried so much light and hope in them, despite how shy and flustered Alfred was acting. I could tell he was uncomfortable with speaking to strangers. Kudos to him for putting himself out there. If he hadn't initiated this second conversation, I would have likely retreated back into the library without another word.

"Um…" Alfred stalled, awkwardly swallowing. "It's nice and quiet up here. It helps me think clearer."

"Fair enough," I nodded my head. "I myself prefer a quiet place too. Although, my first choice most certainly wouldn't be a supposedly haunted library roof top. I'll repeat myself again, Alfred. You're a bizarre character. I don't think I've met anyone like you."

"D-dude," Alfred's face paled. "Don't speak about the spirits so loudly," he whispered, wide-eyed as he gestured around the roof. "They don't like it when you talk about them. It makes them angry. If you leave them be, they won't bother ya."

"You're not scared of ghosts, are you?" I mused.

"N-no!"

Translation: the yank was indeed scared of ghosts.

"Don't be silly, Alfred," I chuckled.

"I'm not! I'm being serious!" Alfred fumed, pouting those childish lips again, cheeks puffing out comically. "Why are you up here anyway?"

"Curiosity, I suppose," I answered him. "I wanted to test the rumours about these alleged spirits." I dropped my voice to a whisper, sarcastically making air-quotes with my fingers. "But thus far, all I've found is a yank with poor grammar, a half-eaten PB & J sandwich that has seen better years, and the stale smell of hamburgers. Seriously, why is that?"

Alfred avoided looking at me. Apparently, the lacquer of his shoes was more interesting. "Who knows," he grumbled, clearly guilty. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You're a funny guy. I think I like you."

"That better not be a crack at my eyebrows," I warned.

"What? No! But oh man, how did I not notice those before?!"

Alfred smiled for the first time, revealing a straight row of perfect white teeth. His entire face changed. It suited him. It was hard not to smile when he looked this happy and sunny, reminding me of a large, clumsy puppy as he slapped a hand against his thigh.

If the joke hadn't been at my expense, I would have likely laughed too. His joy was nearly contagious. So much so, that I felt a weird lump at the back of my throat. Someone actually liked me. Me. Who would have thought?

"God, you're such a child," I scoffed, stubbornly refusing to laugh.

Alfred held up his hands in surrender. "Okay…ahahhaha. I'm done. Pft! I'm done. Really though, they're not that bad. Besides, you have pretty eyes to make up for them."

I felt my face heat. "Bloody bastard. Trying to compliment me as if it'll fix anything."

"No! I mean it, seriously!" Alfred protested. "You're a cool dude. It's funny talking to you, even if you did get in the way of my writing."

"Oh, let it go will you?"

"Why do you always have to be so grumpy?" Alfred whined. "Can't we get along with each other?"

"Easier said than done when you're constantly insulting me," I huffed, standing up from the bench.

"Hey! Where are you going?!"

"I told you I work at the library, didn't I? I'm still familiarizing myself with the place. Not everyone can lounge around all day, doing nothing."

"Writing ain't doing nothing."

"Whatever," I groaned. "I have to go now. It was er, nice 'chatting' with you." I would have held out my hands to shake with Alfred, but he didn't seem to be very keen on the idea. He was even weirder than I was.

"Perhaps, I'll see you in class?" I asked. "I'm a first year too."

"Nah, I'm in a special program with about five other students or so. You're not in it, are ya?"

"No." – I didn't even know the school had a specialized program, seeing as how few the students were in number. I'd have to look into it; the less people to deal with the better.

"In that case, perhaps I'll see you here again?" I raised a brow at Alfred in question. As usual, he was switching from looking me in the eye to not looking at me at all. He was fidgety and shy, but had a lot of energy to blow off. He was just full of contradictions – a complete and utter mess if you ask me.

"Dude, no! I already called dibs on this place! It's where I've been writing, for uh, the past week! You're not going to hog it, are ya?"

"No, but this does seem like a good place to have lunch," I lied, revelling in the disgruntled expression on Alfred's face.

I languidly waved at Alfred over my shoulder. "Bye now."

"Bye," Alfred grumbled through, yes, you guessed it, pouted lips.

Now, back to that previous lie of mine.

There was something wrong going on in this roof top. Whether it was a spirit in trouble, a haunting, or anything of the like, I was determined to find out what exactly was causing me to feel so eerie and dreadfully hopeless.

And no grammarless yank was about to stop me from doing that.

To be continued...

Word Count: 11, 407

19 Pages

#hetalia #aph #USUK #aph USUK #aph America #aph England #aph France #Alfred f jones #Arthur Kirkland #Francis Bonnefoy #fanfiction #romance #angst

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sflisa · 6 years

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Midlife

It’s 11:30 on December 9th, and I wanted so much to write about a decade per day, but I’m going to have to double up - one in the wee hours and one later on the actual day I don’t have a 5 in my age for awhile. Singing got in the way today, so that’s ok.

Trevor got accepted into the Waldorf kindergarten to start the fall of ‘99, and that was good, because Alyssa came a little before on July 14, to share her birthday with Tom, Sibylle, Betsy, and France. She was a tiny one, loved to hold little things, she loved cats and and dogs; she was a bit prone to respiratory and ear infections, and was small for her age for a while. Life started to revolve around the school schedule, and I quickly became involved in volunteering for various things around the school - the parent council was active, and I enjoyed meeting and working with the people who made the school tick. When Alyssa was 2, I was hired part-time to work in the library - Alyssa came with me - in addition to continuing with the Diebenkorn catalog and Gallery Systems. It was busy times, and when the museums needed training, I would hire a nanny in the city where I was going, and pack up Alyssa and take her with me. Trevor would stay at home with Jack or at friend’s houses for a night or two. Mom and Dad came out the Getty once to watch Alyssa; Mom traveled to Boston to look after her for a couple of days while I worked there. I look back on that now with wonder, and maybe a twinge of regret; it put everyone through the ringer a little bit, a big trade-off for a very cool job for a little while.

Summer of 2002 we went to Crested Butte with my family. Bob and Johnna had already had Joe, and Abbey was a little baby. Alyssa was so excited to meet Abbey - she has always loved babies. She was cranky cranky cranky and lethargic, and I thought something was wrong with her. We were swimming a lot, and it was time to move out of diapers; there was so much going on, and I thought maybe she was coming down with a cold or something. We made it back to California, went camping at Pt. Reyes for two nights, and then got on a plane to LA for another Getty stint. We got back just before Trevor started 3rd grade, and as a last nod to summer we took a short road trip up to Fairfield to visit the Jelly Belly factory, of all places. Alyssa slept the whole time, and needed to be carried through the entire tour. That night, she was up several times extremely thirsty; the water went right through her and I just knew that she had diabetes. I got her to the doctor first thing the next morning (in retrospect, I should have taken her in the middle of the night - we were verrrry lucky). I told the doc that was what was wrong. He of course said, oh no, probably just a UTI but he agreed to check glucose in case, and in moments he was back with our instructions to go check into UCSF. I called Jack to meet us there.

It was five days of learning how to manage diabetes. I will never forget how Alyssa’s whole countenance changed after her first dose of insulin. She had been so pale and lethargic; the color came back into her cheeks within about 15 minutes, and she became playful and like her old self again, until her blood sugar went out of whack again. She has had quite a journey so far, technology has kept up with her own growth and development, and now she has amazing tools to help keep her on track.

What was amazing to me was that during this time, people from the school, who I barely knew, called, and visited us while we were in the hospital. It was the first time I experienced the community that is the Waldorf School, and it was incredible. We all felt so supported. It was then that I told Jack that I was going to go into the teacher training so that I could be a functioning person on-campus when Alyssa started kindergarten. Little did I know what that would set me up to be able to do!

I began teaching round-singing in the library to parents after they dropped off their children. I still worked in the library, and had Alyssa with me - she helped organize paper clips on the floor and was a constant companion. I was offered a job as a kindergarten apprentice my second year of the training, which meant I could keep an eye on Alyssa while she was in kindergarten. I didn’t know what I’d do when she went to First Grade, but then the music teacher needed to take the 5th grade, and I guess they liked what I’d been doing with the parents, so they offered me the job of teaching music. It was an overwhelming question - at first I thought I couldn’t possibly take that on, but then after thinking about it for a couple of days, I decided it was the best thing to do. I graduated the teacher training, and got to work learning how to arrange orchestra pieces for my 5 little orchestras. By this time Trevor was in 7th grade, and had to endure his mother becoming his music teacher after the cool jazz guy left. He played piano, and was the spine of his class orchestra, and he definitely showed me how to do my job. He helped by making arrangements, let me know when I had incorrect tempos, and was basically just all over it. He helped his class teacher with recorder and singing as well. It certainly was team Sargent over at that school for awhile - the fountain still works today because of work Jack put into it, and the planter boxes he built which are outside of the kindergarten are full of colorful blossoms any time of year.

(This photo is with Dick’s dog Jasmine when she was a puppy. We spent a lot of time at the Grants. Work on the Diebenkorn catalog had slowed a bit because of my transition to the school. I was still singing with PME through everything, and the friendships I made through being with them were absolutely life-sustaining. They were an incredible group of loving, funny people who loved to sing and eat together. We did a heck of a lot of both, and the kids were accepted and adopted into the crew. I will never forget the day Dick had received a huge box (probably a computer) that was stuffed with styrofoam peanuts and he just put it on the floor in the office and told Trevor to go for it. Peanuts. Everywhere.

We got into a rhythm at the school and the first few years sailed by. In the meantime, there were summers in Colorado - the great train trip from Emeryville to Denver, followed by a road trip to the Tetons. Dad was dealing with having to do dialysis on himself every day, so things started to get complicated. Despite that, Mom and Dad went on several cruises together before he got too sick to be able to go. Trevor went to high school, Alyssa was in 3rd grade, I turned 50, and Dad passed away on December 20th, 2008. Anne and Tom got married, and a little later Katie burst onto the scene. Some other things became clear, and that’s the topic for, well, I was going to say tomorrow, but it’s tomorrow already. More later.

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your-dietician · 3 years

Text

Whitman details disruptive year for NCAA, Illini

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/ncaa-football/whitman-details-disruptive-year-for-ncaa-illini/

Whitman details disruptive year for NCAA, Illini

There’s a lot of news each day. Illini Inquirer will try to make it easier to digest each weekday morning with the Daily Digest. Today, get up to speed on Josh Whitman’s media roundtable, a big visitor for Illinois basketball, the Illini’s athlete of the year nominees and two guard additions to House of ‘Paign.

*****

(Photo: USA TODAY Sports)

Josh Whitman met with the media for more than two hours in person on Wednesday with about 20 maskless media members who had all been vaccinated — a sign that the United States, college athletics and Illinois are coming through the pandemic. But the overarching theme from the media roundtable, which included an informative and very thorough 58-minute opening soliloquy from Whitman, was that Illinois and college athletics could look very different than before the pandemic for several reasons.

The pandemic caused a net financial loss of $12 million to $18 million, Whitman estimated on Wednesday, due to losses of gate, media, licensing and advertising dollars. Whitman said those numbers were lower than he expected when the pandemic began (he estimated upward of $40 million in losses then), partially due to playing football and basketball games that helped raise needed revenue. The university employed many cost-cutting measures, including staff taking salary cuts, reducing staff, buying out employees and leaving vacancies unfilled, and those cuts likely will continue as the athletics department pays back the university on loans that covered the losses.

The Illini’s vaccination rates are higher than the country’s rate. Whitman said 68% of student-athletes are fully vaccinated (75% partially vaccinated) and 90% of staff are vaccinated. Whitman said he is “expecting” student-athletes to get vaccinated but “not requiring” vaccination. Unvaccinated staff and student-athletes must continue to go through rigorous testing as well as masking and social distancing.

The hockey project is more in doubt. Whitman acknowledged that the athletics department just before the pandemic started was preparing to green-light the addition of a men’s hockey program, which would’ve included a very expensive downtown Champaign hockey arena that could host four other varsity sports: volleyball, wrestling, and men’s and women’s gymnastics. But the project now is in more doubt after the athletics department and its local partners, including the city of Champaign and developers, focused on issues related to the pandemic. Whitman said discussions on the project are re-starting and that he feels obligated to look back into the feasibility of the project. But he offered no timeline or guarantee that the project would come to fruition.

The NCAA looks different — potentially very different. The pandemic didn’t cause these changes, but just as the country comes out of the worst of the pandemic, the NCAA model is starting to look very different. The one-time, penalty-free transfer rule is in place. There is no national solution on name, image and likeness, but several states will allow athletes to profit off NIL on July 1, including Illinois. Then the Supreme Court in the coming weeks will rule on NCAA vs. Alston, an antitrust case that could open the door for a pay-to-play system for college athletics. Whitman said this will be the “most consequential year in the modern history of college sports.”

On the Alston case, Whitman said: “I think there’s a lot of focus on other issues. Depending on what the Supreme Court does, that could be the biggest of all of them and probably is the one talked about the least. …Depending on what that outcome is, how broadly or narrowly that opinion is written, it could have far-reaching implications for college athletics. So that’s something we are watching very carefully.”

On name, image and likeness: “Our preference here at the University of Illinois and I think the preference of most of my colleagues, not just in the Big Ten but across most of the country, has been and continues to be what I would term a national solution when it comes to name, image and likeness. …We would certainly like something to be done at the national level that provides the best we can an even playing field across the country. … It’s an entirely new frontier. It’s one of the biggest changes to come to college athletics in modern memory. How we will navigate that will require some time.”

Whitman also addressed the basketball program, Bret Bielema, college football playoff and more. Read our quick hits.

*****

Jayden Epps (Photo: Max Scheide, 247Sports)

Illinois basketball will host an important visitor on Thursday for an unofficial visit: four-star guard Jayden Epps. According to the 247Sports Composite Rankings, Epps is ranked the No. 99 overall prospect in the Class of 2022 — though 247Sports ranks him No. 60 in the class.

A former Providence commit, Epps last week took an official visit to NC State and plans official visits later this month to UConn and Kansas.

Epps told 247Sports’ Eric Bossi: “Chester Frazier was recruiting me at Virginia Tech and then he went to Illinois and started recruiting me there. I built a relationship with him and now I’m starting to build a relationship with (Brad Underwood) and I’m just happy to get on their campus.” Read the full story.

Scouting report: “A physically well built combo guard at 6-2. Has a quick burst with strength giving him explosiveness in tight spaces. A polished three-level scorer with an old school efficient pull up game in the midrange. Long range shot must be respected. Strong driver especially going right. Loves to finish at rim with a one hand scoop lay up. Capable distributer as well. Strong and composed with the basketball. Rebounds his position well. Has quality lateral quickness and the ability to defend the one through the three.” — Jerry Meyer, 247Sports director of basketball scouting

*****

Ayo Dosunmu (Photo: Getty)

Illinois announced its nominees for the 2021 Dike Eddleman Athlete of the Year award, annually given to the top male and female athletes at the University of Illinois.

The male candidates:

Jackson Raper, baseball: Junior-college transfer earned All-Big Ten First Team honors after leading Illinois in home runs (13), RBIs (44), doubles (11), total bases (102), slugging percentage (.634), OPS (1.034), walks (29) and runs scored (39)

Kendrick Green football: All-Big Ten First Team offensive lineman was selected in the third round of the 2021 NFL Draft by the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Aleks Kovacevic, tennis: Super senior advanced to his second consecutive NCAA Singles quarterfinal and helped Illinois win the Big Ten Tournament championship.

Michael Feagles, golf: Super senior finished accomplished career by leading Illinois to sixth straight Big Ten title and an NCAA match play appearance. Individually, he finished fourth at the 2021 NCAA Championships and had the lowest stroke average in program history (70.55).

Jon Davis, cross country: The three-time All-American was a First Team All-Big Ten selection after winning the 1500m conference championship.

Manning Plater, track and field: The Michigan graduate transfer won the Big Ten championship in the weight throw and placed third in the NCAA in the event, earning All-American honors. He was a second-team All-American in the hammer throw, finishing 10th at the NCAA Championships.

Lucas Byrd, wrestling: Redshirt freshman earned All-America honors after placing fifth in the NCAA Championships at 133 pounds.

Ian Skirkey, gymnastics: Junior won the 2021 NCAA pommel horse national championship.

Ayo Dosunmu, men’s basketball: Just the second Illini consensus All-American since 1953, Dosunmu (20.1 points, 6.3 rebounds, 5.3 assists) was a consensus All-Big Ten First Team selection after leading Illinois to a Big Ten-best 16 regular-season wins, a conference tournament championship and a No. 1 seed in the NCAA Tournament.

The female candidates:

Tristyn Nowlyn, golf: Super senior earned All-Big Ten honors for the fifth time in her career, which she ended with an Illinois record 73.40 career scoring average.

Kailee Powell, softball: Junior earned All-Big Ten First Team honors and Big Ten All-Defensive Team honors. She slashed .328/.409/.550 with five home runs and 28 RBI and a .996 fielding percentage.

Rebecca Craddock, cross country: Senior earned Second Team All-Big Ten honors after finishing ninth at the Big Ten Championships.

Abby Cabush, swim & dive: Junior was voted team’s Most Valuable Swimmer after breaking the 200 freestyle record twice.

Kendra Pasquale, soccer: A Third Team All-Big Ten selection, Pasquale lead the Illini in points (12), goals (five) and shot percentage (.238).

Olivia Howell, track & field: The sophomore won the Big Ten indoor championship in the mile. During the outdoor season, Howell won the Big Ten outdoor championship in the 1500m, set the program record in the event at the NCAA Championship prelims and then earned Second Team All-America status after finishing 10th at the NCAA Championships.

Our picks: The men’s field is loaded, and Kovacevic, Feagles and Skirkey (and the unlisted Kofi Cockburn) are all deserving, but Dosunmu’s season was stuff of legend (even without a great finish), so he is the somewhat no-brainer pick. On the women’s side, Howell had the most consistent success and national success, so the underclassman is the clear pick, and she certainly has a bright future.

*****

The Illinois alumni TBT team House of ‘Paign added two guards to its roster for its late summer run in The Basketball Tournament: former Illini guard Jaylon Tate and former Northwestern guard Juice Thompson.

Thompson, who played at Chicago Lincoln Park, is a 5-foot-10 guard who averaged 13.1 points, 4.1 assists and 2.0 rebounds in his four years with the Wildcats before graduating in 2011. This past season, Thompson played for Astana in Kazakhstan, part of the VTB United League, the top league in Russia. He averaged 14.2 points, 6.0 assists and 3.0 rebounds in 21 games while averaging 32.9 minutes.

“Juice has competed in some of the top leagues in the world the last decade,” House of ‘Paign general manager/head coach Mike LaTulip said. “He’s a Chicago guy and checks the boxes in terms of his ability to facilitate, space the floor and be a pest defensively. He has always shot the lights out, including 45% from 3 this year. We’re excited to add his experience and skillset.”

Tate played in 121 games and started in 35 of them during a four-year career at Illinois, where he averaged 2.4 points, 2.5 assists and 1.2 rebounds. More recently, Tate played in 11 games for Swans Gmunden in the Austrian Basketball Bundesliga where he averaged 9.5 points, 5.3 assists and 2.2 rebounds on 30.8 percent shooting and won the league championship.

“Jaylon had a great season in Austria,” LaTulip told Illini Inquirer. “He was a big part of his team’s championship run. He gives us added depth at the guard spot and is someone who excels at getting others involved.”

A tease: House of ‘Paign will make another roster announcement on Thursday morning, and we hear it’s a big one…

*****

Have a happy Thursday! Illinois football is taking us media on a mock recruiting visit this afternoon.

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gyrlversion · 5 years

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20 years after Columbine, former Principal Frank DeAngelis is still learning how to move on

There are letters from President Bill Clinton, another from President Barack Obama and one from Vice President Joe Biden. There’s a photograph of Frank with Clinton, another of him with Hillary Clinton, and one of him beside Celine Dion.

The torch holder he carried for the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City is mounted near a matching newspaper clipping. And there’s an autographed photo of baseball great Derek Jeter, wishing Frank well in the run-up to his retirement in 2014 as the principal of Columbine High School.

“It’s a little bit of history,” Frank said.

At first, he was bound by a promise to stay at the helm until every student who’d been at the school that unimaginable morning had graduated. Then, he expanded that vow, remaining until every local child who’d been in class that day, down to preschoolers, had earned a diploma.

Since stepping away from the principal’s office, he has continued his commitment to collective recovery — and expanded his flock far beyond Columbine High School.

Five years after retiring, the 64-year-old is as busy as ever, traveling the country to shepherd principals and communities that have fallen victim to the scourge of school shootings. It’s the latest iteration of an evolving role, however unwelcome, he has pioneered since April 20, 1999.

“Columbine offers hope,” Frank told CNN. “And that’s what I hope, 20 years later, that we’re doing, that we’re reaching out to other people — the Parklands, the Santa Fes, the Sandy Hooks, the Virginia Techs.”

“I feel I was chosen to do that.”

But he’s also given so much of himself to Columbine, several people close to him said. And with the 20th anniversary of the shooting and the publication of a new memoir, “They Call Me ‘Mr. De,'” Frank’s wife, Diane DeAngelis, hopes he soon considers slowing down.

“It always comes to a head right before the anniversary,” she said. “And I just hope that with the 20th, that maybe this is the last anniversary that is as big as it is and that we can move on a bit.”

A devoted educator faces the unthinkable

When Frank was 13, he got a job in a pizzeria. In high school, he delivered newspapers. Frank’s parents taught hard work and dedication, and when he got sick, he hardly ever missed work.

Diane, who dated Frank in high school, said he was nice but very serious. He didn’t have a sense of humor. The couple spent all their time together, and while still in high school, Frank gave her a promise ring and said he wanted to get married. Diane didn’t want that, she said, so they broke up.

“I had no spontaneity … I was so serious,” Frank admitted. “I was 15 or 16 going on 30, and I had to plan my whole life out.”

Even so, Frank was unsure what he wanted to study in college, his brother said. But they had both played sports growing up, so when Frank told his brother he’d become an educator, Anthony DeAngelis assumed it was for the sake of athletics.

“I thought, ‘He’s probably going to be pretty good at this,'” Anthony said.

As with all things, Frank dove in deep. Early in his career, Frank’s principal once forced him to fork over his keys to the school for a weekend. “He said, ‘I do not want to see you around this school. Frank, you need to get away,'” he remembered.

Frank displayed that same commitment to each of his students and the baseball players he coached, said Tom Tonelli, one of Frank’s former pupils and a Columbine High School graduate who went on to teach at the school.

“It was always: Be a good student, be a good athlete, but above all else, be a good person,” said Tonelli of Frank’s expectations.

Still today, when Frank’s brother hands over his credit card at restaurants, servers often ask if he’s related to Frank, Anthony said. A waitress last year told him Frank had been her principal.

“And she goes, ‘You could talk to any of my friends. What we appreciated was how he treated us,'” Anthony recalled.

That sentiment holds whether before or after the shooting, said Tonelli, who was on staff at Columbine the day gunfire erupted.

“Do I think the shooting transformed him? Absolutely,” the teacher said. “But to say somehow he became a totally different type of person, I don’t think so. The character he exhibited in the wake of the tragedy is just a reflection of who he was before it happened.”

When ‘the world didn’t believe in us,’ he did

Columbine High School serves a middle- and upper-middle-class community in Littleton, Colorado, where the mountains in the west rise into a wide open sky. Before the massacre, it was an “ideal” community, Frank said, with a lot of parental support and where he “could count on my two hands the number of fistfights we had in 20 years.”

After the shooting, Frank “felt this enormous burden to go rebuild that community,” he said. That’s when he made the promise to stay at Columbine until the Class of 2002 had graduated. Other staff members made the same commitment, he said.

But in 2001, Frank felt he hadn’t accomplished what he’d set out to do.

“There were so many people deeply impacted, even the kids in elementary school,” he said. “So, I made a promise that I wanted to be there until that last class graduated, which would be 2012.”

Two years after that, he finally left.

Frank’s promise to stay gave him “so much credibility in the community,” Tonelli said. The faculty and staff, along with the students and the whole community, looked to him as a leader, as someone who was “persevering for a cause greater than himself.”

The perception stuck, even in the face of criticism that the school’s administrators and faculty had fostered a student culture “where something like this could happen,” Tonelli said, referring to the shooting and calling the claim “unjust.”

The notion “that there were certain segments of the population we didn’t care about was so untrue,” the teacher said.

Through it all, Frank’s “leadership meant everything,” he said. “He was the biggest believer in our kids and in their teachers and in our community at a time when we felt like the rest of the world didn’t believe in us anymore.”

A leader battles darkness at home

But as he worked to help Columbine recover, Frank was also an ordinary survivor. At home, his heroic veneer vanished, giving way to the reality of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“I tried to do everything to protect what I call the Columbine family,” Frank recalled. “But when I would come home, I just wanted to be left alone.”

He didn’t want to talk with his first wife and two stepchildren about what happened; they just didn’t understand the aftermath, he said.

“It cost me my marriage,” he said. “My wife was saying, ‘You’re not the same person I married. You’ve changed.’ And I did. I felt so much guilt.”

His trauma manifested in other ways, too. Months after the shooting, Frank and his brother went to a Colorado Rockies game. When fireworks lit up the sky, Anthony said, “My brother nearly took cover.” Later, Frank told Anthony the celebratory display took him right back to the attack.

More shell shock set in when Frank returned to Columbine the summer after the shooting to prepare for the new academic year. Bangs and rumbles echoed as construction crews repaired damage to the building.

“I would have to go back to my office,” he said, “and I would cry.”

Hope thrives in ‘tough love’

Ahead of the massacre’s third anniversary, as he was pushed by divorce proceedings to the edge of emotional and financial “ruin,” Frank began pecking away at the mountain of unopened letters he’d gotten in its wake. Among the first he picked up was from his high school sweetheart, Diane.

They began talking regularly by phone, often late into the night, but agreed not to see each other until Frank’s marriage was dissolved.

“There was still a spark,” Diane said, and she could tell Frank had grown up. “I could see that he had a sense of humor,” she laughed, but also that his core traits hadn’t changed. “Some of the good things that brought us together were there from the beginning.”

But as their relationship developed, Frank continued to wrestle with his trauma. As with many Columbine survivors, it always got harder in the advent of April, a month in which Frank has gotten into six car wrecks and when his attention always jerks back to the terror.

He leaned on counseling and his Catholic faith, but he was living alone in a nearly vacant house, with only a few pictures and a single bed left after most everything else was sold off.

“Twenty years of my life was in shambles,” he said. “I was struggling,” and he eventually started to drink.

Diane, whose father was a recovered alcoholic, quickly caught on. Frank started hanging up the phone around 4 in the afternoon, she said, and telling her they would talk the next day.

“Immediately, I knew,” she said. “I thought, I don’t know if I’m going to have to end this, because I can’t go down that path again.”

Diane’s father died that April; Frank attended the visitation, and they began seeing each other. Soon, Diane caught him drinking. “I can’t do this,” she told him.

“It was justifiable,” Frank said, looking back. “That was what I needed, that tough love … I was so fortunate she came back into my life. And I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. It was a wake-up call.”

Leading the ‘Club Nobody Wanted to Join’

When he talks to others who have lived through school shootings, Frank mentions the risk of using alcohol or drugs to cope, and he emphasizes the importance of finding positive sources of support.

It’s just one of many pieces of advice he gives to members of what he calls in his book, “A Club Nobody Wanted to Join.”

Columbine wasn’t the first school shooting, and it obviously wasn’t the last. But every time another mass murder happens at a school, Frank said, his phone begins to ring with calls from reporters seeking insight from one of the nation’s most seasoned campus attack veterans.

“Not that I’m an expert,” he said, “but I lived through it.”

He was called on as recently as this week to address the news media when a Florida teenager — who authorities said was “infatuated” with the Columbine massacre — traveled to Colorado and bought a shotgun, prompting the shutdown of Denver-area schools, including Columbine.

Frank also reaches out to school leaders thrust into the role he knows so well. Last year, he said he connected after deadly shootings with administrators at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, as well as Santa Fe High School in Texas and Marshall County High School in Kentucky.

Getting that call carries a lot of weight, said Andy Fetchik, the former principal of Chardon High School in Ohio, where three students were killed in a shooting in February 2012.

The first thing Frank said was, “We are now members of the same fraternity that neither one of us pledged,” Fetchik told CNN. “And the second thing he asked me to do was to write down his cell phone number.”

Months later, as Fetchik prepared to start the next school year, he gave Frank a call, he said.

“There was a peace of mind in speaking with someone that went through it,” Fetchik said, noting that Frank validated the steps he’d taken to help his Ohio school community heal.

Several years later, Frank visited Chardon High School to talk with faculty members about the recovery process.

“One of the things I struggled with in the recovery was addressing the needs of staff. We didn’t always know what they needed,” Fetchik said. “Frank was that voice of somebody who’s been there, who said, ‘Where you’re at is OK. Mental health recovery is not something you could control. There’s no calendar.'”

‘Columbine is not going to define me’

Today, Frank and Fetchik are members of the Principal Recovery Network, a new group of 17 current and former school administrators who have lived through school shootings and their aftermath. Unlike activists who have sought to change gun laws following campus attacks, these officials simply aim to offer themselves and their combined experience as a resource.

It falls in line with the work Frank has undertaken since he retired. Last year, he gave about 50 presentations in the United States and Canada about the recovery process. He also serves on the boards of school safety and other organizations, he said, knowing his name and connection to Columbine carry weight.

But he’s tired, Diane said, and she’s made it clear she hopes he slows down after the 20th anniversary of the event that has served as the pivot point for his life’s work.

“He’s doing a lot of good out there, and he has a lot to bring to the table,” she told CNN. “But I worry about his health, because it hasn’t been great. I see it in his face, how exhausted he is.”

For a man who’s been working since he was a kid, “I can’t imagine myself being completely retired,” Frank said. And he knows he’ll always want to help suffering communities. But he admits he needs to lighten his load.

“I’m looking at the 20-year remembrance as, I need to reevaluate,” he said. “I need to be able to give myself permission to relax. I need to give myself permission.”

When he retired, Frank said, Diane told him she worried he would fall into a depression because he would no longer be associated with Columbine. Around that time, he began worrying about his own health and suffered with anxiety. But the doctor told him he was fine.

Then, he visited another expert who pinpointed the problem. “You have been a part of Columbine for 35 years,” Frank��s therapist told him, he recalled. “And you feel that Columbine is Frank DeAngelis.”

That perspective set the stage for a new outlook, Frank said. It’s one he says he wants to embrace, though it may require as much determination as any hurdle he’s conquered yet.

“He made me realize that Columbine is not going to define me. And that helped a lot,” the former principal said. “I’ve just got to get it in my mind that it’s OK.”

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bb-loves-boys · 6 years

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Soon You’ll Come Home Chapter 20

Summary: Blaine and Kurt are married with two kids and at the point of their lives they would never imagine having another child. But then Blaine meets a young girl in the most unlikely way and after he learns about the abuse she suffered he can’t help but want to give her the family that loves and care’s for her like she needs.

Warning: mentioned child abuse, and Bullying, and self harm (nothing graphic), depression

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With Sophie home from school everything feels weirdly normal. She and Blaine go running in the morning, now that she is three hours behind him she gets up at an hour Blaine’s body can handle. Blaine decides to tell her about everything when they take a short break to stretch a little before running back home. He tells her about Oliver, about Riley, about going back to music, about possibly moving. They started to look at houses directly outside of the city, nothing further than a train ride away. It’s a lot and Blaine is not quite sure how she is going to react. She’s quiet and doesn’t say anything.

“I know it’s a lot all at once,” Blaine apologizes.

She nods and lets out a huff. “How does Papa feel about everything? The moving? The music?”

“He’s been supportive and mostly agrees with everything. He’s hesitant about moving, but he likes the idea of being able to decorate,” Blaine answers. “Of, course you would still have a room with us, you will always have a home with us.”

“uh huh,” She says nervously.

Blaine can’t help the curious look that comes across his face.

“I’ve been dating someone for a while now,” She clarifies even though it only confuses Blaine more.

“Okay?” Blaine says slowly.

“It’s getting pretty serious, and he asked me to move in,” Sophie explains.

Blaine’s in shock. The last time she dated was in high school. He was the perfect first boyfriend any parent could wish for. They were together for almost four years and broke up after graduation, deciding that college was a time to move forward in their life and date other people. She took the break up hard, which is why Blaine is shocked she is seeing someone already.

“He’s two years older than me, and we met when my dorm’s fire alarm went off the second week of the first semester,” she explains when Blaine doesn’t say anything. “We went out once as friends, but after that we started dating. We just clicked right away.”

“And you want to move in with him?” Blaine asks, worried about the idea.

“He doesn’t live far off campus, more room to live in and for less. Plus, after I live there for a while I would get in state tuition,” she tries to justify.

“Your scholarships cover most of that anyway,” Blaine says and it comes out a lot harsher than he intends it to be.

“Don’t judge until you meet him, I invited him to visit so he could meet both you and Papa this summer,” She practically begs.

“When were you going to tell us?” Blaine asks, the surprise obvious in his voice.

“After I gave you your gifts I got from when I took a day trip to see the Chinese Theater,” she explains, knowing that distracting Kurt with something historical and related to a celebrity would be the best way to break the news.

“Alright, I won’t say anything until I meet him,” Blaine promises at the look his daughter’s face. Even after all these years he still has trouble saying no to her. “I can’t make promises for your Papa, though.”

“Maybe, we don’t have to tell him,” she jokes.

“You know he’ll find out anyway, I’m not good at keeping secrets” Blaine laughs thinking about all the times he has failed to surprise Kurt.

When they get home, Sophie makes a beeline for the shower afraid Oliver will try to take it from her at the last second like he used to do.

“Kurt, I got you a bagel from the bakery on the way home. They’re still warm and fresh,” Blaine calls out setting the brown bag and opening the fridge and pulling out the cream cheese.

“Kurt?” Blaine calls again when he doesn’t hear anything and decides to go investigate.

He finds Kurt in Riley’s room just staring into the empty space. They left everything how it is, waiting for her to come home.

“Kurt,” Blaine says hesitantly, placing his hand carefully on the small of Kurt’s back.

“Oh,” Kurt blinks like he’s waking up. He sighs and moves to sit down. In his hands are a small pile of clothes. It gives Blaine a sense of dejavu from when they lost their second baby, before they adopted Oliver. Kurt took the entire thing hard, blaming himself since his was his sperm. He locked himself in the nursery for a week after the news, refusing to sleep or eat.

“She’s going to come back to us,” Blaine says surely.

Kurt nods and sniffs his tears away. “I forgot, for a second. I went to wake her up and get her dressed and – “

Blaine quickly moves to sit next to him and shush him, mostly because he isn’t sure if he can take anymore. “She is coming home. We are going to find her.” He says with more certainty.

Kurt nods in agreement.

“Now, how about bagels while I tell you about how Sophie has had a secret boyfriend since she started college,” Blaine distracts, knowing Kurt is always up for some good gossip, especially secret romances.

“Really?” Kurt says, obviously intrigued, following Blaine into the kitchen.

“Apparently, it’s getting serious and she invited him to meet us, she wants to move in with him,” Blaine says in a mock whisper.

“I was kind of hoping Dylan and her would end up together,” Kurt answers disappointed.

“He was the perfect first boyfriend,” Blaine agrees. “But I promised we wouldn’t judge until after we meet him.”

Blaine smiles as Kurt winkles his nose, but nods in agreement.

“I’ll behave myself,” he promises.

It’s only three days later when he shows up to the front door nervously smiling and holding a bottle of wine. Blaine freezes when it’s offered to him because Sophie mentioned he was older, but not old enough to drink and he isn’t sure how he feels about the idea. He’s taller than Blaine imagined, and tan. His hair and eyes are darker, which is the complete opposite of her high school boyfriend. His hair is on the shorter side, just growing out of a close shave to head. Blaine does approve that he at least dresses appropriately, nothing too casual or formal.

“I apologize for the mess,” Kurt says and he leads him into the house, “We’re in the process of moving.”

“Your home is immaculate, Mr. Hummel-Anderson, thank you for having me” Luke politely replies.

“Please, call us Blaine and Kurt,” Blaine says trying to loosen the tightness in his voice.

When they take a seat in the living room, telling Oliver to turn off the television, Luke and Sophie cuddle close on the sofa, making Blaine clear his throat awkwardly. He can tell from the way they are with each other that Sophie is probably already semi-living with this guy.

“So, Luke, Sophie hasn’t told us much about you,” Blaine starts causing her to flush with embarrassment and give him a warning look.

“I wanted to tell you, but she knew how much you were all going through and decided to wait. We were both a little nervous how you would react to the age difference,” Luke says shifting an appropriate distance from her, but being sure to hold her hand.

“And how old are you?” Kurt asks.

“Twenty-four,” Luke answers.

Blaine understands that to Sophie that five years doesn’t seem like that much of a difference, but to him it’s a lot.

“uh I think my dads’ want to know more about you?” Oliver asks when neither Kurt or Blaine say anything else.

“Right, um” Luke starts clearing his throat, more nervous than when he started.

“We’re sorry,” Kurt apologizes. “We just found out about you not that long ago and now to hear you’re older is just a shock. But, please tell us more about yourself.”

“Well, I’m a police officer. I attended two years of community college before joining the academy and I love your daughter. I’m not sure if you believe in love at first sight, but it’s the only way I could describe it. I saw her and just knew I had to know her.” Luke answers with a smile, causing Sophie to blush.

“Kurt believes in love at first sight,” Blaine teases bumping Kurt’s shoulder with his, knowing Kurt is gushing over the romance of the answer.

“Oh, hush, you believe in soulmates,” Kurt retorts with a laugh.

“I never said soulmates. I said I believe in us and I distinctly remember you having a crush on me when we first met,” Blaine says.

“Okay, yes I was hopeless in love with you, but it was you who wouldn’t stop flirting with me,” Kurt points out.

“Don’t let them fool you, I heard them fighting over which towel is the good towel just the other day,” Oliver jokes getting them to stop.

The rest of the conversation is polite, slowly becoming more comfortable. Blaine hates to admit it, but he does like this guy. He is polite and charming and seems to love Sophie. It isn’t until he reaches over to the table and picks up the Christmas photo with Riley that things take a turn.

“Who’s this?” he asks tensely.

“Um, that’s Riley.” Sophie answers carefully, attempting to pull the photo out of his hand.

“No, that’s not the picture you showed me.” Luke says seriously.

“Well, that was before she was healthier.” Sophie says through her teeth, trying to get the conversation to stop.

“Her hair? It’s shorter now?” he asks, looking around the room for another photo.

“Luke, don’t” Sophie says looking at the pained looks on her family’s faces.

“We appreciate your interest, but this is not something we are ready to talk about,” Blaine answers bravely. “We’re still looking for her and waiting for her to come home.”

“You don’t understand, please excuse my behavior.” He apologizes quickly. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but my last shift before I flew in there was a call from some neighbors about a suspicious mother and little boy that fits this description.”

Blaine feels his heart beat quicken with hope of it being her, but Kurt quickly takes his hand brings him back to earth.

“It … it might not be her, Blaine,” He says softly.

“But it could be her,” he says optimistically.

“Luke do you think you could,” Sophie begins to ask hesitantly.

“Yes, of course I will do anything I can to help you bring her home,” Luke answers to the family. “Do you think I could have this photo of her or something similar?”

“We have tons of them, just take what you need,” Blaine says pulling out a scrapbook he made and handing it over.

Normally they would invite a guest like Luke to stay in the guest room with them, but it seemed known to everyone that room was no longer available after becoming Riley’s room. He promised it was no trouble commuting from the hotel and Sophie offered to stay with him, not that it eased their minds.

“So, he seems nice,” Kurt says slowly as he carefully rubs lotion on his arms.

“He’s older,” Blaine responds short not looking up from his sheet music.

“It only seems older because he is drinking age and she is not,” Kurt points out.

Blaine only hums in response.

“He makes her happy,” Kurt says when Blaine doesn’t respond. He puts the bottle on lotion on the nightstand and cuddles close to Blaine giving him a soft kiss to the cheek.

“She didn’t tell us about him, doesn’t that worry you?” Blaine asks putting his sheet music down. “We’re accepting parents I don’t know why she had to hide this from us.”

“She didn’t hide it,” Kurt clarified. “Maybe she just wanted to keep it to herself, or not have us worry about her having sex like we both are now.”

“I should have offered the couch to him, then we could at least keep them apart,” Blaine sighs.

“Yeah because that worked so well for us,” Kurt laughs. “She’s nineteen, our time with her is over. We can’t make decisions for her anymore.”

Blaine doesn’t answer, only cuddles closer to Kurt, thoughtfully.

“Do you think Oliver has?” Blaine asks and Kurt shoots up straight.

“Why? What do you know?” Kurt asks worried.

“Nothing, that’s why I’m asking you.” Blaine answers trying to keep his laughter under control.

“He hasn’t even dated yet,” Kurt says worried. “He’s so much younger.”

“He’s your baby boy I know, but he’s going to grow up too,” Blaine reasons pulling Kurt back in to cuddle.

“We don’t even know if he likes boys or girls,” Kurt thinks aloud.

“Or Both,” Blaine adds.

“Or neither, oh please let it be neither, then he can stay our sweet little baby boy,” Kurt pleads jokingly.

Blaine feels himself drifting to sleep, he knows he needs to put his papers away and take his glasses off and turn out the lights but Kurt’s warmth and breathing is lulling him to sleep.

“She really loves him,” Kurt says softly, still in thought. “And not like the last love she had, this is something different. I can see it in the way she smiles at him.”

“yeah,” Blaine answers nervously.

“At least he isn’t ugly,” Kurt jokes. “I don’t know if I could handle having an ugly grandchild.”

“Kurt, that’s not funny, I’m not ready for grandkids,” Blaine whines.

“I’m serious, he’s like a younger, tanner, version of Cooper,” Kurt teases, “You know with the perfectly angled face and nice muscles.”

“I thought we had a rule of not talking about my brother in bed,” Blaine pouts turning away from Kurt.

“You had that rule and it’s weird,” Kurt responds moving Blaine’s papers to the side and reaching over him to turn out the light.

“Don’t be too jealous, I still have the horrifying sight of Cooper clipping his toenails in the living room burned into my brain,” Kurt pacifies, shuddering at little at the thought.

“That was only a couple weeks, try living with him for years,” Blaine lightly complains before yawning.

He is just starting to fall asleep when Kurt speaks again.

“You know I think you’re the hottest, sexiest, and most talent man on the planet, right?” Kurt asks slowly, eyes wide with worry.

“Kurt, go to sleep,” Blaine says with a smile, moving to cuddle into Kurt’s side.

Blaine is only able to sleep for a couple of hours before his new case of insomnia gets to him. He shifts quietly from the bed doing his best not to disturb Kurt, he’s caught him a few times laying with his eyes shut, pretending or trying to sleep in Riley’s bed so any sleep Kurt actually gets is good.

Blaine shuffles into the kitchen and decides to get to work on the dishes Kurt was going to leave to do in the morning. At the smell of the dish soap his mind drifts back to the days when it was just him and Kurt, Kurt washing the dishes and Blaine drying them. The days before they could even afford a dish washer. He pauses and wipes his hands when he sees his phone light up with a notification. He debates on reading it. Not all the comments are good or supportive, or even relevant, but he has to know. His heart beats faster at a repost of Riley’s photo with the words “Last seen,” in the comment. He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up, it might not be serious, just someone who wants his attention, so he screen shots the picture with the new comment to send to an update to the police.

He knows there is no chance of sleep after this so after he finishes the dishes he works on organizing more of their books for the move. He knows it’s probably pointless, since Kurt will just go back over it and make the final call of what gets pack and what get sold, but it will keep his mind busy and that’s what he needs right now.

next chapter

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