#under me & another coworker fixed the coffee machine (meaning she was very much in the way and i basically couldn’t use either machine)

[fingertipsmp3]

Looking at the rota app thinking well. Tomorrow is going to be fascinating

[shini--chan]

I have an idea! What would Allies do after finding out that their s/o have (another) stalker? It can be another yandere, a creep, ex, jealous coworker with bad intentions or even a serial killer.

And a good idea it is, my dear anon.

Yandere Allies – Feindling America

You were already fast asleep, snoozing away under the covers in your shared bedroom. He, on the other hand, was still wide awake and had decided to settle down in the living room to do some light reading. His insomnia was due to the usual reasons – too much caffeine, too much stress, too much curiosity to just let the day finish.

And because he was worried, intently, about you. There was somebody else trying to stick their grubby fingers in your shared life, and pry you apart. That was something he was absolutely sure off. After living so long, and becoming paranoid due to his position on the global stage, he knew very well when he was being watched.

There was something after you in particular, he didn’t like it.

Out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of somebody moving in the bushes. A spike of adrenaline shot through his body, and for a moment he was tempted to storm about side and give that creep a hook. Yet a better idea came to mind – first to fire a warning shot.

He net his book aside and sauntered to one of the glass door to the balcony and gave the pane a few sharp knocks. It was enough to catch their attention. It was almost comical how the figure froze, and the hood swivelled in his direction. Alfred couldn’t identify them in any capacity – they wore non-script jeans and a grey hoodie along with a pair of gloves. But this was about digging up the war axe.

Grinning, he flipped the bird at them, and then proceeded to draw a thin line across his throat in an unmistakable message.

Alfred would see this as a chance to play hero. He would finally be able to prove to you how capable he is at protecting you, how attentive he would be when it would water down to your safety. Of course, he would make sure there would be a lot he wouldn’t catch wind off – it would be the instances where he would come off as an evil master mind or as a control freak that he would skilfully hide from you.

He might or might not elect to torture the fool that would be stalking you. For him, waterboarding that creep would be a method of stress relief. It would also drive home the point that nobody should dare try to get between him and his sweetie.

Canada

Besides you, your phone beeped for what must have been the twelfth time in the span of one minute. You sobbed harder and buried your face in his chest. Matthew calmly stroked your back, making quiet soothing noises as he held you close.

“(Ex) will have to leave you be someday. This can’t go on forever. One day that jerk will have to accept that you’re gone for good”, he told quietly, while cautiously shifting his position to a more comfortable one.

You were both on the backseat of his car, having sought sanctuary there after you started panicking upon seeing the messages. All the memories had started to overwhelm you, and you had gripped his arm as if it was the only thing that was preventing you from drowning.

“No, that won’t be the case. Before I met you, I tried to leave so often only to be lured back into it. It was only because I met you that I haven’t gone back”, you cried, gazing up at him with a tear-stricken face.

“Shh, I will think of something. There shall be hell to pay.”

Matthew would be concerned about your wellbeing first and foremost. He would cater to you, cuddle with you, sooth you. But don’t think that would mean he would go easy on you should you step out of line and try to flee from him. When he would say he would never let your ex take you back, he would be indirectly saying he would never allow you to leave him.

Naturally, he would be careful and avoid any explicit rhetoric stating that your place in the world is at his side, but the message would be there, hidden between the lines.

With the legal sway he would hold, he would easily have your ex punished in some capacity. This could range from a fine to a restrain order to spending some time in jail.

China

A scream pierced the silence of the night, followed by a yell as the attacker was swept off his feet. Yao didn’t hesitate to continue beating the culprit up, even though he was on the ground.

After all, this was a man that had just been a few milliseconds away from dragging you away and murdering you, after doing unspeakable things to you, things that couldn’t be lightly talked about in any context.

“So, you’re the vermin that has been butchering people left and right for the past four months. You’re just as disgusting as I expected”, Yao commented as he brought his foot down on his back in a harsh stamp.

You had taken seat on a tree stump that was standing by. The near death experience and the fight going on in front of you had utterly rattled you. You were numbly staring at the scene playing out, heads in your hands, whole body trembling and eyes wide blown.

He kicked the killer in the side and was rewarded was a grunt and a hiss: “And I’ll fucking kill you too.”

“Sure you will”, Yao drawled sarcastically and pressed the criminals head into the dirt. “Get used to the taste of it.”

Contrary to expectations, Yao would approach the situation of serial killer being after you calmy. Not because he wouldn’t care about you, but rather because he would be far to old to be surprised by such a – in his eyes – trivial thing. And because he would know that letting himself drown in anger or panic would just result in him making grave mistakes – ie. losing you.

Nevertheless, he would never be far off, lurking behind corners, just out of sight of you and the murderer. He would also scoure your online activity, searching for any suspicious doings from other users. Furthermore he would use the opportunity to learn more about you and your strengths and weaknesses.

England

“Ah, ah, ah. Keep your dirty paws off that”, Arthur chided Jane and firmly grabbed Jane by the ear, harshly tugging there. It wasn’t the most humane treatment of a mortal, that England knew very well. However, he was in a sour mood, your infuriating co-worker being one of the contributing factors to it. Besides, he hadn’t made it one of his life maximas to be nice.

“You dare”, she hissed. When he gave another sharp tug, she yelped and dropped your phone, showing one of your social media profiles. Jane Smithers was persistent, he would have to give her that. Yet that would just be her downfall because she had decided to use that trait to try to ruin your life.

“Oh yes I dare. I dare to not tolerate your disgusting behaviour. Between you and me, we’re going to have a very long talk about your morals.”

She snorted and grabbed his hand.

“I could sue you for sexual harassment. We’ll see if you’ll still be laughing then.”

Oh, he had expected such a threat to come from such a vile person as her. He chuckled lowly – did she really think she could best him when it came to anything.

“And then spend some time in the nick for lying to judge and jury. Don’t think you’d be able to weasel your way out of this. I’m the one here that can have your framed and believe me, I could get you a bloody life sentence.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending, before realisation dawned and she let out a harsh laugh.

“So that is how (l/n) did it. Slept the way to the top.”

“No. (Y/n) has talent, impeccable talent. So unlike you, my dearest never had to resort to the methods you were so kind to mentioned.”

Arthur would see it as his duty to protect you – your physical & mental wellbeing as well as your reputation. So of course he would go after any jealous co-worker that would try to ruin you to any extent. And as mentioned in the snippet above, he wouldn’t be exactly nice about it. Any means would do for him, as long as the risk of his machinations backfiring on him and you would be relatively low.

During the whole process, he would letting you know about everything. It would be his point of proving that the world is a horrible place and that you can only find solace in his company and attention.

France

Francis was in the kitchen when you came stumbling in, frazzled and panting as If you had just run a marathon. By the way your extremities were trembling and sweat dotted your forehead, he wouldn’t be surprised. The only question was why.

Aside from that, fear danced in your eyes, and that was the only further information he needed to know that something was wrong. Rushing forward, he scooped you in his arms, ignoring the coffee that he had been preparing, and asked you:

“What happened, ma cherie?”

Instead of answering, you leaned your head against his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his torso, taking heavy, laboured breaths, as if you were crying. That was when he realised that you were. It worried him.

Was this something that he had done? What had caused you to become so distressed? Was it something he could fix.

“You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to”, he offered shakily, unsure about what he should do to cheer you up. How could he, when he didn’t know why you were in such a state?

Thankfully, you supplied him with an explanation, one that caused his concern to freeze to ice cold anger: “There is some creep following me. He grabbed my butt when I got off the bus.”

Whoever that devil was, he was going to have hell to pay,

Francis would be enraged that somebody would be so disrespectful of your boundaries and of the fact that you’re already taken. In the brief moments of his more intense bouts of fury, he might do something as rash as to track the creep down and bludgeon him with something, probably a newspaper.

However, his preferred method would be character assassination (this would work especially well if the culprit in question would have a high social status) and verbal abuse. In this case, his revenge could be long-winded and very elaborate.

Russia

The temperature of the corridor had dropped since the last time he had visited – a testimony to the bad insulation and the approaching winter. Ivan thought it did her justice. After all, she did deserve this after nearly kidnapping you.

Speaking of her, she was sitting near the bars when he approached and when she glimpsed him, she quickly scooted away. Clever; she had learned from what had occurred the last time.

“Come to taunt me again?”, she seethed, curling into a tight, haggard ball of fury. Understandable in her case, however he wouldn’t shed any tears or have any sleepless nights.

“As is customary. I have to elevate your boredom somehow”, he confirmed, grabbing a chair and seating himself opposite her.

She stared at the door at the end of the passage, hungerly tracing it and searching the shadows for any sign of you. Ivan derived pleasure from mocking her: “How foolish are to think I would have brought my lover with me? I didn’t the last few times so why should it any different now?”

“You’re so very attached to (y/n), so I had my hopes.”

“Then I’ll have to forever dash them. That I owe you.”

She snarled at this; face twisted to a nasty frown.

“You know, you and I aren’t so different. So it is even more hypocritical of you to claim the moral high ground. Does (y/n) know even half of the things you’ve done in the name of your love?”

“I detest the comparison. I walk free while you rot in solitude, unloved and unwanted. While you have done everything wrong, I have done what was right where it counted most. You go very far by suggesting anything else.”

Russia would be the one to act the most intense of all the allies. He would have had people that were dear to him ripped away from him in the past, so he invest a lot of energy in insuring that wouldn’t happen to you and him.

That would mean he would go up to 11 in this case. As in, he would either kill this person and dissolve their body in acid or feed it to the pigs. Or he would leave this other yandere to rot somewhere after having dragged them before court for a very showy trail to break their spirit.

[escapewithbts]

“Do you know BTS?” - Yoongi

——————————————————

“I have an iced cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso and 2 Splenda!” You called out, placing the drink on the counter.

It was a busy morning at the local coffee shop you worked at downtown, all the business men and women looking to get their usual morning caffeine fix. You were short staffed, of course, so you were doing way more than you were supposed to; making drinks, taking orders, bringing food to the people who sat at the tables. You were running around frantically trying to keep up, and apparently not succeeding.

“Umm excuse me?” An annoyed looking woman in a black pantsuit approached the pick up counter, drumming her long manicured nails on it’s marble surface, “this was supposed to be a hot cappuccino, NOT iced.”

You furrowed your brows and looked at the label stuck to the cup which clearly read “iced”. In fact, you were the one who took her order, and specifically remember the word iced coming out of her mouth.

But you knew better than to argue, so instead you grabbed the cup and said,

“I’m sorry, m’am, let me remake it hot for you.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“How long will it take?? I really don’t have time to wait around again.”

You shook your head and tried your best to smile, not very well succeeding.

“Just a couple minutes, I’m making it now.”

She let out a loud sigh and crossed her arms. You could feel her staring daggers into your back as you started the espresso machine.

“Hey, (y/n),” your coworker came up behind you with a tray of iced coffees in her hand, “these are for table 4, they’ve been waiting for a while, do you think you could run them over? I have got to get this man’s quiche in the oven.”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off the drink you were remaking in front of you.

“Yeah, sure, but can you please finish this woman’s cap first? She’ll probably prefer you making it over me anyway.”

She nodded as she handed you the tray of drinks and took over your spot at the coffee machines. Then you walked out from behind the counter and onto the floor, navigating through the people waiting to order and the people waiting for their drinks.

Suddenly, without warning, someone bumped into you from behind. Hard. You let out a yelp and stumbled forward, the coffees slipping off the tray and splashing all over a man who had been standing in front of you. He jumped a little, startled from the sudden wet and cold sensation on his back. His black t shirt was soaked, clinging to the skin underneath. His arms raised from his sides as he turned around slowly. A few people were staring, but most were too preoccupied with themselves to notice what happened.

Upon the man turning around, you noticed he had wireless headphones in, a black baseball cap on his head, and a face mask over his nose and mouth. You could barely see his eyes as he raised his head up to look at you and removed one of the earbuds from his ear.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry sir let me-“ you started.

“What the fuck?” He interrupted, glaring at you from under the rim of his cap, “Are you serious?”

He fiddled with his shirt, pulling it around forward to see the damage behind and muttered something to himself in what sounded like another language. Korean maybe?

Your face turned beet red and you frantically tried to figure out what to do.

“I-I’m so sorry, can I get you some napkins, um or-or a cloth, um maybe a towel I-“

“No. Just stop.” He interrupted again.

You shut your mouth, feeling horrible at your inability to rectifying the situation.

“Fuck. You should look where you’re going,” he snapped, his voice thick with a foreign accent.

He didn’t have to be so rude.

“I said I was sorry, okay?? It was an accident.”

The man rolled his dark brown eyes and mumbled a quick “whatever” before turning and storming out of the shop.

You sighed and bent down to pick up the now empty glasses off the floor before retreating to the back to get towels to wipe up the mess.

This was so not your day.

Finally, after 10 more long hours, 6pm came. Thank god it was closing time. You were exhausted and couldn’t wait to close up shop and go home. You didn’t mind volunteering to work a double shift as you appreciated the pay, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t take a lot out of you.

The setting sun shone through the large glass windows at the front of the shop creating a beautiful orange glow. You loved this time of day. You had to finish closing alone but you really didn’t mind. It felt calming and quiet and warm, making the cleaning process almost therapeutic.

As you were setting the chairs up on top of the tables to start sweeping, you heard the bell on the front door jingle, signaling it had been opened. You had turned the chalkboard sign outside to read ‘CLOSED’ right at 6, so you were confused as to who it could be.

“Sorry, we are actually closed now,” you said, looking up.

Right away you recognized the same guy you had spilled the iced coffees on earlier during rush hour. He wore the same black hat, same pants and shoes, but this time he bore no face mask and had changed into a white t shirt. Your cheeks immediately turned warm. What did he want? You mentally cursed yourself for not locking the door.

“I know,” he said quietly, walking towards you, “I wanted to be back earlier...”

You swallowed as he got closer, your heart pounding in your ears.

You tried to sound confident but was only able to squeak out,

“What do you want?”

He stopped a few feet from you and removed his hat to reveal soft looking jet black hair, his bangs falling over his forehead and almost covering his eyes. He ran a hand through it and you couldn’t help but notice his soft facial features and pale white skin. Silver hoop earrings hung from both his ears, a collection of thin bracelets wrapped around his thin wrists. He bit his lip hesitantly and looked at the ground before speaking.

“I came back... here to say I am sorry.” He spoke slowly, like he didn’t know English very well. Or rather he did, but was not confident in his abilities.

You let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh.”

He scratched the back of his head.

“I, um, was not nice. I am a little stressed this morning, but I should not have been rude to you,” he still didn’t look at you, his shyness evident, “I know it was accident, so I am sorry for how angry I was.”

He took a deep breath, almost like he was relieved to get that off his chest.

“It’s okay,” you responded with a small smile, beginning to take notice of how handsome he was, especially in this light, but also how adorable his apology was, “I, too, was having a stressful morning. I shouldn’t have snapped back at you.”

He nodded, gazing off to the side.

“No, it is okay. It was all me.”

He smiled slightly and finally looked at you. You felt butterflies in your stomach at the eye contact. You were suddenly flustered.

“Do you, um, want something now maybe? Since you didn’t get anything this morning? It’s on me.”

You walked back behind the counter, tying your apron in the process.

“Oh no, no you don’t have to do that,” he protested, “I am fine.”

“Please,” you insisted, “it’s the least I can do. What do you like?”

He thought for a moment.

“Umm, can you make a iced americano?”

You nodded confidently.

“Of course. One iced americano coming right up.”

You felt him watching you as you mixed the espresso shots with cold water before pouring in ice to fill the cup to the brim. You set it on the counter in front of him.

“Here you go.”

He nodded and took the drink in his hand.

“Thank you,” he paused, “Um, also... My name is Yoongi.”

You smiled.

“I’m (y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“You too.”

He took a small sip of the coffee and his eyes got wide.

“Wow. This is the best iced americano I have had ever. Number one iced americano.”

You blushed and looked down.

“Well thank you... but shouldn’t I be the one complimenting you? After all, I’m the one who spilled coffee all over you this morning.”

He let out a chuckle, his mouth wider this time revealing perfect teeth and a gummy smile. He really was adorable.

“Maybe.”

There was a pause as you two just stood there awkwardly.

“Do you...” Yoongi finally spoke, fiddling with the straw in his drink, “Do you know BTS?”

You cocked your head and thought for a moment, wondering why the sudden random question.

“Yes, I think I have heard of them. They are a K-pop boyband, right?”

He nodded gently.

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I don’t know much about them, and I haven’t heard any of their music, but I know so many people adore them. Why do you ask?”

He hesitated, shuffling a little and rubbing the back of his head with his free hand.

“That’s me,” he stated, “I am BTS. My group name is Suga.”

Your eyes got wide. Whoa. A famous artist had come to your coffee shop! You suddenly wished you knew more about them.

“Oh wow! That’s really cool! I’m sorry I don’t know you or your music... But, um, congratulations on all your successes here in the US and around the world. I know you guys are quite well known for breaking that barrier.”

Yoongi chuckled and looked down timidly. Now aware of how well-known and successful he was, his obvious bashfulness really surprised you.

“Thank you. It is an honor, really.”

You smiled at him admiring his humbleness.

“I am here in New York for two more weeks,” he continued, “Ummm maybe... I could come back here and we could drink coffee together?”

He looked up at you again, a rosy colored blush forming across his cheeks.

Your heart sped up. Was he asking you on a date? You suddenly felt giddy and flustered.

“Oh, um, yes. Sure, yes. I would really like that.”

“But maybe next time,” he said with a grin, “I drink the coffee, not wear it. Okay?”

Your face turned red of embarrassment again and you covered it with your hand.

“Well I can’t make any promises,” you laughed, “but I will try my best.”

*

Masterlist

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

17. Glass

At first, Susie assumes Norman is just some weird creep. At first, Norman assumes Susie isn’t anything as special as the others hype her up to be. But when he finds out that her discolored eye isn’t just some sort of medical condition of hers, and as the two talk, they realize that they have a little bit more in common than they thought they did. (Set during Susie’s first few days on the job.)

Susie was both excited to the point where she felt like she was walking on air and nervous to the point of nausea.

It was her first week in the big apple, and she already landed a job interview at the promising, brand new animation studio simply titled ‘Joey Drew Studios’. It helped that she had a very impressive vocal range, a lot of pep, and eagerness to work with new people.

And when she presented her resume to the Music director and he in turn offered the role of Alice Angel, she was completely over the moon! While naturally, female characters tended to be underwritten in personality compared to their male counterparts, the personality the Angel did have reminded her so much of herself! She was a friendly gal who loved to sing her heart out and dance, and according to Sammy, would be fleshed out more during the show’s run.

“While they might be reluctant to her at first, she’s really something special, maybe could even be more popular than Bendy someday.”

But as great as the job itself was, the people she worked with were pretty hit and miss, with the acceptation of the music director who was both at the same time.

Luckily, there were more hits than misses, but the misses really... well, missed. Like that projectionist that was often skulking in the shadows and pulling mean pranks on people. Admittedly, she was still upset by their first encounter where he spooked her into dropping hot coffee on her favorite skirt. How on earth could somebody that tall be that quiet?!

But aside from his... odd quirks, the projectionist seemed harmless enough and as long as she did her job and he did his and they didn’t bug each other, then they’d be fine.

-----

Due to Norman’s hobbies, he got good at judging reading people over the years and his new coworkers and bosses were no exceptions. Some were easier to read than others, but he got the gist of most of them down;

Joey? Friendly on the outside, but was hollow on the inside, perhaps soulless even. And not in a way where the man was drained of stuff inside him. He seemed that he was just always like that.

Sammy? Aggressive and weird on the outside, is less aggressive on the inside but only gets weirder the deeper you dig. Norman wasn’t saying that the man was an escaped loony bin patient... but he wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to be one.

Jack? A genuine and friendly fellow, seemed to go with the flow and had a high tolerance and or fascination for crazy. No wonder he seemed to be so close with Sammy.

Susie? A chipper, seemingly headstrong, and naive young woman from the south if he was hearing her accent correctly. She was a sweet singer and good at voices, he’d give her that, but she seemed to be over hyped if anyone was asking him. He wasn’t annoyed by her himself, he was just annoyed with how most of the musicians acted around her, they weren’t inappropriate, but they weren’t hiding their feelings either.

He tried to keep his distance from her most of the time, partly because he sensed he was still mad about the prank going wrong as he didn’t know she was carrying coffee, and partly because he didn’t want to get too close to her only to see the big bad city chew her up and spit her out once it was done fawning over her.

Watching that happen wasn’t as bad as watching what happened to people at his old job, but it would still tug his heartstrings the same way, even if it wasn’t as hard.

-----

It was by chance they met up late at night, Norman was fixing a stubborn projector and Susie was looking for a script that the Janitor accidentally threw out. At first, the former didn’t notice the latter, she came up on his blind spot and he was too busy listening to the projector’s weird sounds to notice the click clack of her high heels.

The machine he was handling was being unreasonable lately, and he was cursing under his breath because of it. He eventually figured out that the machine had a problem with itself AND it’s plug. If he left, he left his booth at risk of catching on fire again, if he didn’t then he’d be leaving the band room at risk of getting caught on fire.

“Too bad I’ve only got the one eye ta keep on yous, I could use another...”

“Oh! I can help with that!”

The man wasn’t sure what he was more caught off guard by: Susie’s presence or the fact that she had just popped her discolored eye right out of her head and set it gingerly on top of the projector. All this time he assumed that it was just infected or something, not made out of glass.

Norman doubled over in hysteric laughter and composed himself a few moments later.

“Well, I do appreciate a good eye for jokes, but I hope you’re bein’ serious about this here projector, I was startin’ ta worry which would catch on fire first...”

Susie gave a thumbs up as she put her eye back into her head. “No problem! I just always wanted to do that joke ever since I got my glass eye, but I don’t mind watching it for a bit for you.”

The projector between them sparked up a bit, making both of them back away.

“...I was starting to worry about that thing myself, actually...”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head no more, now that I know what the problem is, it’s good as done.”

As Norman handled the situation, he returned back to the booth to give her the all clear.

“Situation’s handled, hopefully it won’t make a fuss again for a while.”

“That’s good!” She chipped back, and her eye went to his name tag. “Wait a minute, your last name is ‘Polk’?”

“Yes? At least, last time I checked it, it was...” He looked over her own name tag and something clicked. “...And yours is Campbell?”

“Yes! You were the local undertaker back in Pineville, Louisiana, right?”

“Yeah, but as ya can see I retired from that a while ago.”

“You won’t believe this, but I think I used to live across the street from you!”

“Definitely knew some Campbells in my neighborhood.” He nodded. “All of them were read heads like yourself, so I wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I think I met your brother a handful of times... ”

“Yep! He told me a lot about you! Who’d think we’d end up meeting up at the studio of all places?”

“Yeah, sure is a small world alright.”

“Well, enjoy your night Norman.”

“You too, see ya tomorrow.”

[morceid]

Snowy Sniffles

💡SPENCER REID X DEREK MORGAN💡

read on ao3

Summary: Derek gets the flu when he and Spencer are snowed in on a case in Colorado.

Word Count:  2k

Category: fluff, slight angst

Content Warnings: swearing, sickness, case details

A/N: enjoy my otp being cute and cuddly for my first day of 12 days of moreid :)

The snowy mountains of Colorado. A serial killer as cold as the air was out there, and It was the job of the BAU to catch him.

The team boarded their plane like normal, occasionally Derek coughed and cleared his throat. Not enough to realize what was happening, but enough to get a “You okay?” from JJ.

There weren’t many hiccups with local police, except for them withholding information about the victims. Derek and Spencer were sent to profile the dump site, JJ and Emily to interview victims' families, while Rossi and Hotch set up at the station.

The dump site was in a clearing next to a mountain frequently used for sledding. A visiting family from Texas was recommended the mountain by a friend and since they weren’t familiar with the area, the mom got lost and they came across the body. Thankfully the kids weren’t there to see it.

Spencer and Derek walked out of the black SUV and ducked under the police tape in their fleece jackets and large boots. 

“The victim was Hannah Gentry. She was a fourteen year old girl who ran away from her abusive father. No sign of sexual assault, but there were signs of restrains on her thighs and around her stomach.” Spencer walked around the area the body had previously been found, searching for anything left behind by the unsub.

“Maybe he thought he was saving these girls. How old were each of the victims?” Derek said, pulling tissues from jacket pocket.

“Ages ranged from 13 to 19. All had someone abusive close to them. You sure you’re okay?”

Before Derek could reply he was coughing and gagging into the torn kleenex in his hand.

“I’ll be fine,” The stuffiness in his nose was apparent in his voice now. “Let’s go back to the station. I’m sure Rossi and Hotch are at the M.E. now.”

The two walked back to the car and headed towards the police station. On the way it started snowing and Spencer said something about growing up in Vegas without snow, and how in Virginia they never really saw the snow fall, they just woke up to it on the ground and in the streets.

Between the snowfall rapidly increasing, the windshield wipers not doing anything to help, and Derek driving in an unfamiliar area, he began having a coughing fit and swerved off the road.

They didn’t get hurt in the accident, just a large rush of adrenaline, but the car wasn’t in the best shape. The engine made a sound that contorted Spencer’s face.

“We should probably check that.”

Derek tried to push his door open but he had driven into a ditch and snow was piled up tp his window. He rolled it down and shoveled some of the snow with his gloved hands. He got the door all the way open with a little wrestling of the handle. The boot of the car was opened and steam was rising from it. Spencer had crawled across the center console and got out from Derek’s side.

“Do you think we could get an officer to pick us up?” Derek sniffled.

“I think the snow is coming down too hard now.” Spencer’s black coat was powdered with snow that he didn’t bother to shake off, knowing it would be back there in an instant.

“I’ll call Hotch.” Derek fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You fell in a ditch? Morgan, this is a very time sensitive case. This guy kills every three days and it’s been the second day since the last body was found. We need you guys here.” Spencer overheard Hotch’s near yells over the phone.

“Okay, dad, calm down there. I’ll call up Garcia to find us the closest hotel and we’ll crash there. Reid says snowing too much for an officer to come pick us up.” It was around 7:30 and the sun was starting to set.

“Alright, we can send someone to get you tomorrow.” Hotch hung up and Derek called Penelope.

“Hey-llo my chocolate thunder! Anything I could do for you?”

Derek coughed a couple of times.

“You okay, Derek?”

“Yeah, uh, me and Reid got stuck in the snow and we can’t get back to the hotel. Are there any near us that we can crash at?”

“You’re in luck, Derek Morgan, There is a motel only a seven minute walk away from you. Anything else?”

“Not right now, baby girl, take care of yourself.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Spencer had begun chewing on his fingernails and pacing in a circle around the car.

“Kid,” Derek took Spencer’s cold hands into his warm, gloved ones. “Stop your worrying. I can see all of those gears in your head going a million miles an hour. Garcia found a motel near us and we can walk there and stay the night until someone can pick us up. We’ll be okay.”

“I know I’m gonna be okay, it’s you I’m worried about, Morgan.” Spencer took his hands out of Derek’s and leaned into the car to grab his bag.

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” As if on cue, Derek started having a coughing fit.

“I’m talking about that, Derek. You’re showing signs of getting the flu. Your heart rate has sped up by 39% in the last couple of days. You constantly have a running nose and you won’t stop coughing. I am not getting sick, I cannot afford to get sick, especially on a case, so I hope this motel has two beds.” Spencer pushed away from Derek and began walking.

“Wait!” Derek ran to catch up. “Pretty boy, you’ve already been with me for almost 24 hours. I think you are already infected. Besides, you, my friend, are shivering. Now let me give you one of my coats.”

Spencer slowed his walking and let Derek drape his second jacket over his thin, purple one. Having a crush on your coworker was the worst.

When the pair reached the motel the sun had fully set and they had snow covering their shoulders and resting on their heads. They brushed it off before entering, where they were bombarded with the overwhelming scent of perfume as what could only be presumed as the owner tugged them in with both of her arms. She was short and wore a sparkly pink dress not unlike one Penelope would wear.

“What can I do for you kind fellows today? Did ya crash on the side of the road? Lots of people did tonight. Can I get you a room? Was it your engine? Faulty car?” The woman rambled.

“Um, we fell in a ditch a little bit back. We just need two rooms for the night,” Spencer looked down at her nametag, “Sasha. Thank you.”

“Well, boys, I am sorry to disappoint but we only have one more room for the night. You’re just gonna have to share.”

“Are there at least two beds?” Spencer whined.

“Sorry,” Sasha took Derek’s credit card and punched in the numbers on a computer that looked almost a decade old. “You good there? You look like you could throw up any second?”

“I’m fine, ma’am. Just give us the room key please.” Derek cleared his throat.

“Alrighty, there you go FBI guys.” Sasha handed them the room key labed 7B.

Given the overwhelming personality that brought them in, neither had a chance to look around and profile the front office. When they got to the room they realized just how miserable the stay would be.

The heater seemed to be turned off resulting in the room being colder than the outside. Complementary water bottles on the nightstand had frozen, expanded, and exploded. The pipes in the walls creaked and whined. Derek moved towards the bed, which when he pulled up the sheets, they were stiff and barely moved at his touch. Spencer moved past the bed and to the kitchen, where he found a coffee machine and cups in the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” Derek coughed.

“Making coffee. It’s something to keep me warm.” Spencer still had Derek’s jacket across his shoulders.

“Alright well, you might be right. I think I’m starting to get a fever. I’m gonna hop in the shower. Hopefully it’s just the reverse air conditioning that’s broken.”

Derek’s observations were proven correct as he unexpectedly walked into the spray of a nearly boiling shower. His muscles relaxed as he began thinking about the events of the day. His nose ran more than it had in the cold weather and it reminded him of a moment in the office that happened some while ago, back when Spencer first joined the BAU.

It was a slow day in the bullpen. With Spencer being nearly fresh from college, Derek wasn’t expecting him to take the best care of himself, no one was. Derek looked up, ready to throw Spencer a rolled up note about how bored he was. Instead he was greeted with an empty desk. After asking Hotch where the boy genius was and getting a surprised ‘I don’t know’ in response, he went in search of him. Spencer was found laying on the couch in an empty office. HIs skin was red and burning to the touch. Derek gave him a couple of shakes and he woke up, groaning. Spencer had gotten the flu and didn’t know how to deal with it at work. Not wanting to disappoint Hotch by skipping a day for something so insignificant as a virus, he settled in an office he correctly assumed was vacant. He insisted that he was okay but Derek refused to believe him. He dropped Spencer off at his apartment and immediately knew. He was in love with Spencer Reid. And he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

When Derek was in the shower for at least 15 minutes Spencer presumed that the shower was warm, so he called Sasha at the front desk from the phone in the room. She wouldn’t be able to get someone to come fix it for another day. He sat on the bed, spreading his arms and legs out in an attempt to warm the sheets. Letting his mind wander, he started asking himself questions. Why did he like Derek? He was just his coworker. Just someone in his life. An attractive person in his life, but just like anyone else in his life. Did Derek know how much he meant to him? Would he ever know? Would he be given the chance to let Derek know that he loved him and wanted to spend his life with the other knowing?

He was taken out of his day dream when Derek came out of the bathroom. Derek was shaking. He wore thick, flannel sweatpants and a grey hoodie, along with his socks, not wanting to leave a single part of his body too exposed.

“Uh, I know you’re super germaphobic and probably want nothing to do with my running nose and sore throat right now, but kid, all of my muscles are aching. Do you mind if I-”

“Not at all.” Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek’s middle as he sank onto the bed.

Derek let out a sigh of relief and settled in Spencer’s arms. It wasn’t long until his breathing evened out and he fell asleep in the lanky man’s arms.

“I think I love you, Derek Morgan.” Spencer whispered.

The next day Hotch called Derek to let him know that they caught the unsub. He was an amateur child groomer who left a hair in his latest victims mouth. An officer picked up the pair from the motel and they boarded the jet. Derek’s flu passed as soon as it came and he was better in the morning. A little cuddling with Spencer was just what the doctor ordered.

“Hey, Spencer.” Derek sat across from him after everyone on the jet had fallen asleep.

“Yes, Derek?” Spencer noted the use of his first name in his head.

“We need to talk about last night.”

“What about it?”

“I heard you, Spencer.”

“Wh-what are you talking about? Heard me say what?”

“Spencer,” Derek put his hand on the other’s knee, “I love you too.”

In a panic, Spencer leaned forward and pecked Derek on the lips.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered.

“It’s okay. We can do that if you want.” Derek leaned back in for a real kiss from Spencer. He still tasted like the cheap hotel coffee.

“We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

TAGLIST: @greenaway-lewis @pretty-b0yy @w0rmpi3 @sunflowrly @fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728 @the-sassy-one @endetit @adhd-lesbian @nobody121113​ @stalinthestripper​

[callboxkat]

Second Chances Part 7: The Phone Call

Author’s note:  As you guys will see, this installment has a lot of Spanish in it. I've tried to include enough context clues for anyone who doesn't speak the language, but if you still want any translations or clarification, just let me know!

Summary:  The time has come for Roman to call his parents for the first time since he disappeared five years ago. But do they even want to hear from him?

Warnings: talk of homelessness, fear of rejection, lying, arguing, food mention, death mention

Word Count: 6812

Second Chances Masterpost!

Ao3 Link

...

Patton rolled over in the bed yet again, trying to get comfortable. It was very late, and he should have been asleep hours ago, but his brain just wouldn’t turn off. Given all that had been revealed that day, all that there was to do, he wasn’t exactly surprised. But he wished that he could be able to forget about that, at least for a while, at least until he’d gotten some sleep. That didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon, given how wide-awake he still felt. He didn’t know exactly what time it was; but if he were to look at the clock on the bedside table, he would probably wince.

A sleepy grumble sounded next to him. “Patton?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lo,” Patton whispered, his heart sinking. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’ve—” Logan yawned, shifting in the bed and pulling himself closer to his boyfriend. “You’ve been tossing and turning all night. What’s wrong?” He blinked tired eyes at Patton in the dimly lit room.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Roman said,” Patton admitted, still whispering. “I just… His parents have no idea what happened. They haven’t seen him in five years! He just went off to school, and disappeared, and you know they tried to find him—they had to—and, oh, Logan, how do you think they felt when they found out he never even made it to school? They probably think he hated them, or—or maybe even that he’s dead.”

“Shhh,” Logan soothed, clearly more awake now because of the stress in Patton’s voice. “I know,” he murmured. “I know. It is a difficult situation. I assure you, though, we will do what we can to find them.”

“I just want to find that boyfriend of his, and—and fight him.”

“Even if you could do that without facing legal ramifications, it wouldn’t do any good.”

“But he deserves it.” Patton sounded unusually angry.

“Maybe,” Logan admitted, tracing a geometric pattern on Patton’s arm through his pajama sleeve in an attempt to soothe him.

“I can’t sleep, Lo,” Patton said sadly. “I should be doing something. Trying to find his parents, so they know he’s okay.”

“Even if we did find them now, I doubt they would appreciate a phone call at—” he sat up slightly to see the clock— “four in the morning.”

Patton sighed. Logan was right, of course, that it was too late to do anything now; but he didn’t have to like it.

“Come here,” Logan invited, lifting up one arm. “The only thing you should be doing right now is sleeping. You don’t have school tomorrow. You can try to find them then.”

“You had him write down their names, right?” Patton mumbled, nestling himself into Logan’s arms. Roman would be leaving early in the morning, so they wouldn’t have the chance to ask him then.

“Correct. As well as their last known address.”

“Good.”

Logan adjusted how the blankets draped over them both, and Patton closed his eyes. It was a while longer before he managed to drift off to sleep, still buzzing with a frenzied energy even as he lay curled in his boyfriend’s embrace; but finally, he did.

…

Roman couldn’t help but worry that he’d made a mistake. Maybe he should have kept quiet about what had happened and why he was homeless. He hadn’t shared any specific details of what exactly his ex-boyfriend had said about him, but that didn’t mean that Logan and Patton wouldn’t believe that he’d been lying. What if they decided Roman really was an irredeemable person, like everyone else had? What if they decided to throw him out again now that they knew just how much at fault he was for his own situation? What if they couldn’t find his parents, and he never got the chance to apologize?

What if they did manage to contact his parents, and they rejected him?

Suffice to say, Roman was very distracted the day after he shared his story, which was not a good state of mind to have at only his second day on the job at the Sanders Café. Barely an hour into his shift, he ended up dropping a container of coffee grounds, its contents spilling across the floor. It had only been half-full, but this latest mistake only made Roman feel like more of a screw up. He stared down at the mess, his mouth falling open as he was jerked out of his fog.

His fellow barista—Alex, today, apparently—groaned and turned away, hands thrown up in the air. “Seriously, Princey?”

Roman stammered something about getting a broom, very aware of the snickers and annoyed mutterings of a few customers waiting in line, only to run right into Thomas, their manager, who had clearly seen the whole thing. Of course, he had. The area behind the counter wasn’t exactly huge.

Thomas took a step back, eyebrows furrowed as he steadied the flustered barista. “Hey, Roman?” he said, “why don’t you go take a ten minute break in the back? I’ll clean this up.”

Roman immediately jerked upright, eyes widening. “Thomas, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I swear it was an accident—”

“Woah, Roman,” Thomas said, his voice a little higher than usual. “You’re not in trouble, I promise. It’s only your second day. Just go take a break. Sit down for a bit. Reset. I’ll clean up and man the register.”

Roman nodded and sheepishly walked off, glancing back in time to see the other barista take the broom from Thomas and shoo him towards the register.

He sat down in the office in the back, putting his head in his hand. He glanced at the time on his watch, a cheap but nice-looking piece with a red band that Logan and Patton had bought for him, and sighed through his nose. He’d already messed up so bad that he’d been put in time out, and he had several hours left in his shift. Plenty of time to get himself fired, at the rate he was messing things up.

He had to focus if he wanted to do well and actually keep this job; but all he could think about was the night before and the daunting prospect of what was to come.

Not for the first time, Roman wished he still had a phone. Maybe if he could message Patton and Logan, he could put his mind at ease. They’d reacted sympathetically the night before, but he couldn’t help but think that they very well could have changed their minds. And he suspected that they were going to tell Val a condensed version of the tale, if they hadn’t already. They hadn’t really talked about that, but they should have. Roman would have asked them to hold off. Yet another worry of his was that she would hear about how this was all his fault and decide to kick him out again.

There’s nothing you can do about it right now, he told himself, shaking his head harshly. He sat up suddenly straight. He shouldn’t be worrying about all of this now; he was at work. He had a job. People were counting on him, even if it was only to help give people their caffeine and pastry fix. Thomas and ‘Alex’ shouldn’t have to do the job all by themselves.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, his posture erect. It was no different to a performance, he told himself. He just needed to put everything else aside and get into the right mindset.

Eventually, the ten minutes passed, and Roman made his way back to the front. He straightened his company shirt and apron, squared his shoulders, and stepped out. Thomas was seated on a stool behind the register, while ‘Alex’ was busy making some kind of chocolate syrup, sprinkle, and whipped cream-covered drink. It looked like a pile of sugar in a cup, and it looked absolutely delicious. The mess of coffee grounds was gone.

“Grab me a lid,” ‘Alex’ said, not looking up as he approached.

Roman did, picking one up off the stack and handing it over. He was probably more pleased with himself that he grabbed the correct kind than the moment warranted; but to be fair, the bar for success was currently set at not dropping everything on the floor.

The barista grunted as if to substitute a “thank you,” then handed over the drink to a college-aged girl with enough colorful barrettes in her hair to create a double rainbow.

“Thanks,” she drawled, dropping a quarter in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” Thomas said with a smile as she swaggered off.

“Do you want me to take over?” Roman asked, coming up next to Thomas.

Thomas hummed. “Well, you can if you’d like, but I’d appreciate if you helped make drinks. That okay with you?”

Roman nodded, biting his lip. He still didn’t know how to actually work the machines, but he wasn’t going to refuse. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Thomas.”

It turned out that he needn’t have worried about not knowing how to operate the machines. As he probably should have expected given the coffee grounds incident, his coworker was rather reluctant to let him put together the drinks. ‘Alex’ mostly had him fetch things, like the caramel or chocolate syrup, whipped cream bottles, lids, and firmly closed containers of coffee or milk.

Because nothing was perfect, while Roman was definitely more on his game than before, he did still make a few mistakes. One time, Roman handed over the almond milk instead of soy milk, and the other barista groaned like Roman had just made the screw-up of the century.

“Princey. This is almond milk. I asked for soy milk. They are not the same thing. What if the customer was allergic to almonds? You could have just put someone in the hospital!”

Roman opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally, he just huffed, took the almond milk back, and switched it out for the correct one.

“Thank you,” the barista said in an exaggerated tone, adding the milk to the drink.

Thomas glanced over. “Storm Cloud,” he said, making ‘Alex’s’ face redden under its pale foundation, “it was an honest mistake. We all have off days.”

Roman felt a rush of gratefulness for Thomas.

“Right, right,” the other barista grumbled. “It just happens that some of us have more of them than others.”

Roman felt his face turn pink. He wanted to argue that it was only his second day, that the other barista was judging him before even getting to know him, that he could do much better than this. But he also really wanted to keep this job. And besides—with how Roman’s life had turned out so far, who was he to say that he could do anything right?

So, instead, he just irritably got back to being ‘Alex’s’ errand boy, fetching lids and straws and ingredients, until finally the end of their shift arrived, and Roman could go home. Or at least, back to what he hoped he could still consider his home. At least he didn’t mess anything else up that day.

“Good job today, Roman,” Thomas said as he took off his apron. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, can’t wait for him to mess up more stuff,” ‘Alex’ muttered, too quietly for Thomas to hear, and just barely loud enough for Roman to make out. “Just wait until he actually tries to pour a cup of coffee.”

Roman shot a glance at the other barista, then flashed a strained smile at Thomas. “See you tomorrow.”

…

Roman walked back home—or at least, to Logan’s house—slowly. He would have been scuffing his feet along the sidewalk if he weren’t so reluctant to damage the shoes that Logan and Patton had bought for him. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the others, knowing they’d probably want to talk about the night before.

He arrived and let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn’t see anyone right away, so he just plodded up to the guest room—“his” room, for however much longer that would last—and threw himself down on the bed.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his face pressed into the comforter, before he heard a quiet knock at his door.

“Roman?”

Roman sighed in resignation, pushed himself up off of the bed, and went to answer the door. He pulled it open, and there was Patton, standing with a few pieces of paper in his arms and a simultaneously concerned and hopeful look on his face.

“Sorry, kiddo, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No—no, you didn’t,” Roman assured him, shifting on his feet. He offered a dazzling smile. “Um, what brings you here?”

Patton smiled, perking up instantly. “I think I found them,” he said, starting to rock back and forth where he stood. “Can I show you? I wanted to make sure, before we tried to contact them or anything. But I think I did it!”

Roman’s gaze drifted to the papers in Patton’s arms. The cold feeling of dread settled in his chest. He had found them? In one day? Roman supposed that made sense, since they probably weren’t exactly hiding; but that still felt like far too fast. He knew he ought to be excited, but the feeling wouldn’t come.

Patton hesitated, searching Roman’s face. His rocking slowed to a stop. “Maybe this could wait?” he suggested hesitantly.

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but could only nod.

“Have you had lunch?”

Roman shook his head.

“Okay!” Patton said. “After lunch it is.”

“You didn’t eat yet?” Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, looking up from the papers in Patton’s hands. It had to be nearly 3 PM by now, right? Roman had gotten off work at 2.

“Nope! I wanted to wait for you. It’s just the two of us today; that okay?”

“Yeah, Pat, of course,” Roman had expected to be eating alone, after all. “I don’t mind.”

“So, how was work?” Patton asked as they made their way downstairs.

“Oh, uh… it was alright.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Roman smiled for good measure.

“Well, I’m glad. Maybe you can tell me about it while we eat.”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell. Just making coffee, thanking people for 25 cent tips.”

“But you like it there?”

Roman shrugged. “Might be too soon to tell, but it’s alright.” Thomas was nice, at least. As for Alex, or Enrique, or Terrence, or whatever… Roman couldn’t say. He hoped they’d get along eventually.

…

Roman stared down at the phone in his hand, borrowed from Patton. His mamá’s name was displayed on the screen. All he had to do was press a button, and he could talk to her. Assuming she answered.

“Do you want to be alone, maybe?” Patton asked gently. “Logan and I can go.” He and his boyfriend were seated on either side of Roman, for moral support.

“No—no, that’s okay,” Roman said. His mouth was dry. He took a shaky breath, hesitated, and took another. He pressed the button.

The phone rang. Once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” a lightly accented voice asked. “Who—?”

Roman’s thumb smacked the end call button.

Logan looked confused. “Was that not her?”

Patton shushed him, murmuring quietly, before turning back to Roman. “Roman, there’s no rush. If you’re not ready, we can wait.”

“No… I’m sorry, I don’t… I panicked a little there.” He laughed nervously. “That was… that was her.”

“Should we try again?”

Roman nodded, staring at the phone. He proceeded to sit there, staring at it, for several minutes in silence. Patton put a hand between his shoulder blades and rested it there.

Roman hit the call button.

The phone rang. Only once this time.

“Hello, who is this?”  

Roman inhaled shakily.

“Hola, Mamá,” he said, fleetingly proud of the fact that his voice hardly wobbled.

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. Roman’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“¿Mijo, por qué me llamas?”

Roman swallowed, his heart sinking even further at her tone. She didn’t want to hear from him; of course she didn’t want to hear from him; why would she? He should have just stayed away. What had he thought would happen? Of course she hated him. He would have ended the call right then, but he felt too devastated to move.

“¿Ya estás en problemas de nuevo? Re—”

Roman gasped loudly, realization hitting him; and his mamá broke off in surprise. She thought he was his brother. Of course, he should have realized sooner.

“No, no, Mamá,” he said desperately. “Soy yo. Soy Roman.”

There was a pause. Roman could feel himself sweating. His heart pattered discordantly, like a stone falling down a staircase. A tiny flame of hope flared within him, one he didn’t dare allow to grow. He beat it down in silence, waiting. It felt like decades before his mamá responded.

“¿Es un chiste? ¿Te estás burlando de mí?”

She thought it was a joke, that he—or rather, Roman’s twin brother—was making fun of her. “No, Mamá, te prometo. Soy Roman.” His voice broke, shaking as he fought to get the words out. That must have been what convinced her.

“¿…Roman?” she repeated, breathy, shocked.

Patton’s hand rubbed his back in slow circles. Logan was silent, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to help; but he hadn’t left, which Roman appreciated.

“Sí,” Roman confirmed once more. “Sí, soy yo.” He took a breath. “Mamá, lo siento, lo siento muchísimo—”

Roman’s mamá found her voice at the same time. “Roman, mijito, ¿dónde estás? ¿Qué te pasó? Cariño, cariño—”  She was crying, talking so fast Roman could barely keep up, asking what had happened, where he had been all this time, if he was okay, why he had disappeared.

All Roman could seem to do was to keep repeating that he was okay and that he was sorry. Patton kept rubbing between his shoulder blades. Logan was studying the floor.

…

Patton was slowly rubbing Roman’s back, trying to offer his silent support as his friend called his mom for the first time since he’d disappeared five years before. He could only properly hear half the conversation, although he could hear Roman’s mamá muffled voice through the speaker—she must have been practically shouting, and Patton couldn’t exactly blame her. He didn’t speak Spanish, but he caught a few words here and there. Names, phrases like “soy yo” and “lo siento” that were repeated over and over again. At one point, he heard Roman’s mamá shout, very clearly, something that Patton was pretty sure meant “We thought you were dead!”

Slowly, as time went on, the exchange began to calm down, becoming more of a proper conversation. Patton couldn’t have told you what exactly they said; but he didn’t mind not being able to listen in, or that Roman had probably chosen to speak in Spanish for this exact reason. This way, he could be supportive without any guilt about eavesdropping.

He just kept rubbing a hand between Roman’s shoulder blades, waiting.

After a while, Roman moved the phone away from his lips, glancing furtively at Patton. “She, um… she wants me to come see her.”

Patton smiled at him. “That’s good, isn’t it? I’m sure she’s missed you.”

Roman nodded, looking worried.

“If you are concerned about potentially missing work,” Logan offered, “you can call and ask for the time off. You could also utilize a weekend, and minimize any potential missed time.”

Roman still looked unsure.

Patton opened his mouth, to ask what he was thinking, but Roman was already returning to the call.

…

“Está Dad en casa?” Roman asked, avoiding answering his mamá’s question about a visit for the moment.

His mamá hesitated, then responded, “Lo siento, Roman, no está. Trabaja hoy. Lo siento. Sé que quieres hablar con él también.”

Roman’s eyes flicked downwards. He felt a conflicting mixture of relieved and disappointed that his dad wasn’t there to answer the call. “No, no, no te preocupes. Puedo llamar otra vez.” There would be plenty of time to talk to him later, surely?

“Lo siento. ¿Y, Roman? Por favor, dime. ¿Estás seguro? ¿No estás en peligro?”

“Estoy seguro,” he reassured her. He was safe now, anyway. “Estoy con… con unos amigos, en una ciudad al suroeste de Saint Gabriel. Les llaman Logan, Patton y Val. Me están ayudando. Te llamo en el celular de Patton, de hecho.”

“Me alegro de que estés seguro, y con amigos. Pero, mijo, todavía no me has respondido. ¿Dónde estabas por tanto tiempo? ¿Dónde estás ahora? ¿Qué te pasó?”

Roman swallowed. “Pues…”

The conversation was a bit of a blur after that. His mamá was very upset, of course, as Roman had known she would be. She wanted answers, and Roman knew he owed them to her. Still, there was only so much he could say without breaking down completely.

He told her the basics. That he had been rejected from Saint Gabriel, that he had been embarrassed to tell his parents, and that he had ended up homeless until very recently. He told her that he had a job now, and that he was staying with some friends. There were certain things that he left out, a lot of things; but regardless, Roman’s mamá sounded absolutely heartbroken.

At one point while he spoke, Logan had left and come back with a few glasses of water. Roman took a sip from his, casting a brief, grateful glance in Logan’s direction.

Finally, they agreed that they would talk about everything in person as soon as possible, and that Roman would call her every night until then—this, of course, he okayed with Patton, first.

“¿Cuándo puedo llamar a Dad?” Roman asked. He would like to talk with his dad as soon as possible. Now that he’d ripped off the band-aid, contacting his parents at all, putting it off would only draw out his stress.

“Hmm… debo hablar con él primero.”

“¿No puedo llamarlo esta noche?” Roman frowned. He supposed he understood his mamá wanting to talk to his dad before he did, so that he wasn’t as taken off guard as she was; but she was talking like Roman might not be able to call him that night at all.

She hesitated. “Roman, hay algo que necesitas saber…”

…

Logan stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him. He sighed and padded down the hall and down the staircase. His boyfriend looked up as he entered the living room.

“Any news?”

“No, he simply asked to be left alone. He claims to want to get some extra rest for his shift tomorrow.”

“It’s only seven,” Patton said, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Clearly, something was said on the call that upset him,” Logan said, sitting beside Patton, who leaned over and rested his head on his shoulder. “He will speak to us when he is ready.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed him into this,” Patton mumbled. “This is my fault.”

“No, love,” Logan said. “Whatever happened, it is not your fault. You only desired to help him, and you did help. He needed to contact his parents, whatever the outcome. They deserve to know that he is well, and he deserves to have a relationship with them if he desires it. Even if something went wrong, this was only the first contact he has had with either of them in years. His mother requested that he call every night, did she not?”

“Yes…”

“So it follows that there will be plenty of time to work out any issues. I’d imagine that Roman’s parents are upset at his disappearance, and at the situation he found himself in.”

“What if it’s more than that?”

“Well, even if there is something more going on, something that cannot be fixed with patience and communication, we are here.”

Patton nodded, his head still resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Logan leaned over and kissed his forehead.

…

“Knock, knock,” Patton called, knocking on the closed door. He waited a second, but received no answer. He bit his lip. “Can I come in, kiddo?”

Still no response.

“I’m opening the door, okay?”

He turned the knob and nudged the door open. The bedroom within was dark. Patton could see Roman lying facedown on the bed, his arms wrapped around the pillow.

“Ro?” Patton asked, softening his voice.

“I’m asleep,” Roman said into the pillow, very clearly not asleep.

“Dinner’s ready,” Patton tempted. “Val made quesadillas. And there’s a couple of sides, if you’re not feeling like those.”

“Hmph.”

Patton stepped closer. “Kiddo, what happened? Can you talk to me?”

Roman’s response was too muffled to make out. Patton wasn’t sure it was even real words.

“Do you want me to go? I can just bring you a plate, and let you rest.”

Roman didn’t say anything to that, so Patton walked up to the bed and sat down at Roman’s side.

“Roman, I want to help, but I don’t know how. Can you tell me?”

Roman didn’t answer for a while. They sat there in near silence, Val and Logan’s conversation just audible from the dining room below. Finally, Roman turned his head so that his face was no longer smushed into the pillow. “It’s my dad,” he mumbled.

“Your dad?”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

“You can’t know that. You haven’t even talked to him. Did your mom say that?”

“She didn’t have to. He thinks I’m like him. That I’m just….” Roman let out a heavy sigh. “That I’m no good.”

Patton decided not to ask who “him” was. “Why would he think that?”

Roman snorted. His tone was bitter as he responded, “You’ve already forgotten what I told you?”

“You mean the plagiarism? Roman, as soon as you explain, they’ll know that wasn’t your fault. Just tell them what you told me and Logan. They’ll understand. It’s obvious they love you. I don’t speak Spanish, sure, but I heard it in your mom’s voice.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because—why would they believe me? And even if they did, I still lied, and I ghosted them. That was all me.”

“You were scared. Kids do stupid stuff when they’re scared.”

“I wasn’t a kid.”

“Okay, so you were eighteen. I’m twenty-one and I still do stupid stuff.”

“Not that stupid.”

Patton shrugged. “You’re trying to fix it now, right?”

Roman was silent.

“That’s all we can do, Roman. We mess up, and we try to do better. You’re trying to do better, here. Your dad will see that. And even if he doesn’t, well, I do. Logan does. Val does, too.”

And, hey, if Val could warm up to Roman, a homeless man she didn’t even know, and Logan could befriend his former “nemesis,” then surely Roman’s own dad would come around, too.

“I know you’re worried about what he’s going to say. But you haven’t even talked to him yet. I think we just have to be careful not to get ahead of ourselves.”

Roman shifted. “Maybe,” he admitted.

Patton figured that that was the best he was going to get, at least until Roman had spoken with his dad. “Do you want to come down for dinner? Or I could bring you something.”

“No… I think I’m just going to stay here. Long day. Work tomorrow. You know.”

“That’s fine. Just make sure you eat some breakfast tomorrow, okay? Can’t have you going to work hungry.”

“Yeah, Pat, I will.” He yawned. Whether it was for show or not, Patton couldn’t say.

“I could stay here a bit, if you want?”

“I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” He buried his face back in the pillow, as if to end the conversation.

Patton nodded to himself, then got to his feet. He went back out into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him. He hoped things went well for Roman. He deserved that.

…

“Roman. Roman, wake up.”

“Mph?” Roman shifted, his mind still murky, and lifted his head from where his face had been smushed into the pillow beneath it. He looked to the side, and saw a large, dark figure leaning over him. “Ahh!!”

It drew back sharply, and the light fell across its face.

It was Logan, wearing pajamas and with a towel around his shoulders. He looked startled.

“Apologies, Roman, but you need to wake up,” he said. “You overslept.”

“What?!”

“I was getting ready, and I saw your door was still shut. You must have forgotten to set your alarm, or fallen back asleep by mistake.”

Roman shot upright. “What time is it?!”

“Almost seven—”

“I’m an hour late? Oh my god, I’m going to get fired!” Roman fisted his hands in the blankets, looking up at Logan in horror.

“There’s no need to panic, I’m sure they’ll forgive one mistake. Get dressed, I’ll drive you to work.”

“Okay, okay, okay…” Roman leapt out of bed and ushered Logan out. He got dressed as fast as possible and ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time and nearly sending himself sprawling at the bottom.

Logan was by the front door, holding his car keys. He was still in pajama pants, his hair damp, but wearing shoes instead of slippers now.

“Won’t you be late if you drive me?” Roman asked, thinking out loud.

“Don’t worry about me,” Logan assured. “This is for the best, anyhow. It’s raining outside this morning.” He held out an umbrella. “It’s Patton’s. In case it’s still raining this afternoon. We can pick one up for you later.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, taking the umbrella. He would have protested, but they were short on time, and he knew that Patton didn’t plan to go anywhere that day.

They walked out to the car and drove to the café. Logan passed over a couple of breakfast bars for Roman to eat along the way, which he hardly tasted. When they finally arrived, Roman barely paused to thank Logan for the ride before he hopped out and all but ran inside.

His fellow barista was alone behind the counter, today wearing a name tag labelled ‘Ángel’ on his Sanders Café shirt.

“Have a great day,” he was saying as he approached, a customer-service smile in place. Then he turned to Roman with a thunderous expression. “About time you showed up!” he whisper-yelled, glaring. The difference between his former tone and the biting one he snapped at Roman with was jarring.

“I am so, so sorry,” Roman said, speed-walking towards him. “Where’s Thomas? Is he here?”

“I had the great fortune of both of you being late today,” he answered, moving to grab a coffee cup. “Now get on the register, you have no idea how much of a pain it is to do two jobs at once.”

Roman left his jacket and Patton’s umbrella in the back and grabbed his apron. He came back out, still tying it behind his back. “So it was just you here?” he checked, guilt churning in his stomach.

“Obviously! Now get, like, cashier-ing!”

On the bright side, that meant that Thomas didn’t know he’d been late; but Roman highly doubted that ‘Ángel’ would neglect to tell him about Roman’s tardiness. He didn’t owe Roman anything, and he certainly didn’t seem in a forgiving mood.

Maybe Thomas would go easy on him, since he was late, too? Or had Roman used up his leniency the day before with his clumsiness?

He got through the next few orders; and when the line was gone for the moment, Roman turned back to ‘Ángel’.

“I am so sorry,” he said again. “I overslept. It was stupid, but it was a one-time thing, I promise.”

“Oh, you overslept?” he said dryly. “Boo-freaking-hoo. My neighbor’s stupid polka music kept me up until two in the freaking morning, and I still managed to show up on time.”

Roman looked at him in dismay, but he could tell he was getting nowhere with this, so he just sighed and turned back to the register.

…

Ten minutes later, Thomas arrived. He pulled up in one of the spaces closest to the building, turned off the car, and stepped out. As Roman had noticed the day before, he again paused to casually lean on the side of his car for a moment. He’d pegged it on Thomas enjoying some sunshine before being stuck inside for the next eight hours; but it was raining this morning. He would be soaked if he stayed out there much longer.

‘Ángel’ sighed and looked at Roman. “I’ll be right back. Try not to break anything.” Then he grabbed a drink carrier, put it over his head like an improvised umbrella, and went outside. Roman watched, confused, as he spoke to Thomas for a couple of seconds, then took his arm and walked them both back inside.

“Is everything okay?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, just move your butt.”

“Everything’s fine, Roman,” Thomas said, smiling, sitting down on the stool that Roman vacated. He looked a little breathless, shrugging off his rain jacket. The other barista took it from him and walked to the back, glaring at Roman once more as if this was somehow his fault. He came back with an apron instead of the jacket, which he handed to Thomas along with a few paper towels. “Thanks, V.”

V? Roman glanced at the other barista as Thomas rubbed at his face with the towels, slotting away that information for later.

“Now,” Thomas glanced around the coffee shop as he put on his apron. “There seems to be a bit of a lull, so why don’t you show Roman how to use some of the machines? I don’t think we’ve gotten the chance to train him yet.”

“Maybe I could have earlier, if he’d shown up on time,” V muttered.

Roman’s heart sank.

“He was late?” Thomas turned to Roman.

“A little…” Roman admitted, mortified.

“He showed up just before you did.”

Thomas paused. “Well, it is the first time, isn’t it? And I think I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I was mad at him for being late today, of all days.”

“That’s different,” V claimed.

“How?”

“Well—well, you’re the manager, for one. Aren’t your hours flexible anyway?”

“Yes, but I did promise to be here early today. Sorry about that, by the way. I got held up.”

V looked away and made an annoyed sound in his throat. It sounded almost like a hiss.

Thomas studied his face. “You feeling alright, Storm Cloud?”

“I’m great. Fantastic. Never been better.”

Thomas squinted disbelievingly. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Fine.”

“Big polka music fan?” Roman dared to ask in a low voice.

Thomas glanced at Roman, a look of understanding growing on his face. This must not have been the first time V was kept up by his neighbor’s musical taste. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “You’re going to show Roman how to work everything, and then you’re going to go lie down in the back. I can give Roman a hand if he needs it, and if we really need you, I’ll come get you.”

V grumbled again; but he just jerked a hand, beckoning Roman over to the machines.

…

The machines turned out to not be as complicated as Roman had feared, once he actually knew what he was doing. V was a reluctant teacher, making everything sound like it should have been obvious, but it could have been much worse. He clearly wanted to be done with it as soon as possible, but he did make sure Roman understood everything before he pronounced his training complete.

Now, he was alone, making drinks and doling out pastries while Thomas sat at the register, taking the orders. V was in the back, taking a nap.

Roman couldn’t believe that. Thomas had actually told V to take a nap on company time. And he hadn’t been angry with Roman for being late for his third day on the job. Thomas was just too nice.

Out of gratefulness for his manager’s kindness, and the still-present fear that he was messing up too much to hope to keep this job, Roman took great care to make his drinks as perfectly and timely as possible. And by some miracle, he managed not to mess anything up. The biggest mistake he made was spilling a couple of drops of milk on the counter, something easily wiped away and not even noticed by anyone else.

V returned after a couple of hours, whispered something to Thomas, and joined Roman in making drinks. He seemed relieved when he saw how Roman was doing, and he didn’t snap at him for the rest of the shift. Perhaps he had just been tired earlier, and stressed from having to do the first hour of their shift alone. Roman couldn’t fault him for that.

So, the rest of the shift went without incident. It wasn’t even until it was over that Roman remembered that he was supposed to call his parents again that afternoon.

…

“Here you go, kiddo,” Patton said, handing over his cell phone.

“Thanks,” Roman said, looking down at it.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Roman shook his head. Patton didn’t need to hear his dad’s anger. “Thanks, though.”

Patton nodded, smiled at him, and went out into the hall.

Roman pulled his legs up on the bed and crossed them, still looking down at the phone. When he decided he was about as ready as he was going to get, he selected his mamá’s contact and hit the call button.

She picked up almost immediately. “¿Roman? ¿Estás tú?”

Roman smiled weakly, rubbing his jeans with one hand. “Hola, Mamá.”

“¿Cómo estás?”

“Bien… ¿y tú?”

“Estoy bien, mijo, muy bien. Me hace muy feliz oír tu voz.”

Roman looked down, a little embarrassed. “I missed you, too.”

“I have your dad here, si quieres hablarle.”

Roman hesitated. Was he ready to talk to his dad?

“…Um. Sí. Yes.”

There was a brief pause, and then a different voice came on the phone.

“Hi, Roman. Is that really you?”

“Hi, Dad… yeah, it’s me. I promise.”

“And you’re okay?”

Roman swallows. “Yes. I am.”

“Good.” There was a heavy pause. “Roman, if you were in trouble, why didn’t you just come to us for help? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Dad—”

“You lied to us, for how long? And then you just disappeared, no warning, nothing, for five years? Roman, why on Earth would you do something like that? Don’t you know how worried we were? We thought you were dead! We thought you were dead; and the police wouldn’t even help us because you were already eighteen; and then when we finally got Saint Gabriel to talk to us, they said you were never even a student there. Do you know what you put your mamá through?”

Tears welled up in Roman’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Dad, I’m sorry. Please… I made a mistake. A stupid mistake.”

Roman could hear his mamá’s muffled voice on the other end of the line, talking to his dad.

His dad let out a long sigh. “I know,” he said. “I know you’re sorry. And you have no idea how glad I am to hear from you, to know that you’re okay. “

There was a lump in Roman’s throat.

“But I hope you know we have a lot to talk about. You can’t just disappear for five years and not have us ask any questions.”

“I know.” Roman paused to rub the tears away from his eyes.

“Your mamá says you’re coming to visit. Do you know when that’ll be?”

“Um. Soon. I still have to figure that out. I have work and stuff.”

“Yes, your mamá mentioned that. You’re at a café, you said?”

“Yeah. I’m a—I’m a barista.”

“Not Starbucks, I hope.”

Roman huffed out a laugh. His dad hated Starbucks, for reasons Roman never understood. “No, it’s not Starbucks.”

“And they’ll give you the time off?”

“I hope so. I haven’t been there very long, but my manager’s pretty understanding.” Very understanding, honestly, with the sub-par—to put it lightly—performance Roman had been giving.

“That’s good. So, your mamá says you’re staying with friends. What are they like?”

“They’re nice, Dad, really nice. They’ve been helping me out. I owe them a lot.”

He and his dad spoke for a while longer. Things gradually grew less tense, more comfortable. Most of the more awkward topics were avoided, but they could talk about that later. They would be able to piece things back together, Roman hoped. This was just the start.

...

(If you would like to read Roman’s conversations with his mamá in English, you can find them here)

[londonfog-chan]

Passione x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

This was too fucking good to let it rot in AO3 so now you all have to be subjected to my JoJo thirst. All characters aged up (otherwise how the fuck would they have this job??)

...

“So you’re not working my shift???”

“No... you’re actually my relief.”

Your best friend is clocking out just as you’re going to clock in. She looks dolefully up at you, nearly in tears from how the day has treated her. It’s her last shift for the week at the Passione Street location for Sudoh Buck, but you’re not sure why it was she had such a horrible time.

“He’s so mean!” She whispers as you lean down next to her.

“Who?!”

“The one on drive thru. He kept kicking me off bar because I made too many mistakes. I don’t know what I’m going to do for a whole three weeks with these people. I miss our store.”

The system is unavailable for you to punch in on the computer, so you’ll have to hunt down the punch communication log and you’re not exactly enthralled to be asking the dudes at the front. One of the guys, silver haired giant with neon lipstick, fucking glared you down when you went to the back. Had it not been for your coworker from the old store (Kimmy) walking out to say goodbye you’re sure he would have pummeled you.

“Yeah?” You ask, slightly bristling as your friend continues to look sad. “Well fuck me I guess. I’ll have to find out where that damn book is and go talk to one of them, and then you’ll be out and I’ll have to deal with this shit all by myself. At least you had the luxury of working with our crew...”

You can’t help the bitterness in your voice even though you know your friend is hurt. It’s been one fucking thing after another. You kept asking everyone where to go, and after being ignored and given a gang face, you’re not altogether sure you like Passione location after all... it’s in a location where you used to live as a child, not too far a commute from your current house where you live with your mother, and it’s the newest location established. But the newness is a fucking facade. You already have a bad impression by how they treated your friend, you can’t imagine they’re taking too kindly to being invaded by a new store. A friend working the S. Platinum location told you the other day he heard some blonde bastard of a shift complaining that the Ogre Street crew was stealing all the tips from the regular crew.

From a customer’s perspective, this is a coffee drinker’s paradise. Everything looks bright and new, when you walk into the cafe area, the front where they have the registers and the pastry case is on one big countertop that’s shared with the espresso bar and cold bar. In back of the bar is the drive thru window, and at the end of the espresso bar there’s some seating arrangements where customers can watch their drinks being made. It’s a typical Sudoh Buck color scheme. Lots of greys and white, the customers flock to it looking to get their fix, but under the facade there’s apparently a bastard crew working it. On top of that, the remodel for your location is going to take longer than anticipated. What else can you do but just rough it out with strangers you don’t even know?

“Well... I guess I’ll go home now.” Your friend murmurs sadly.

“Yeah. Bye.”

Your friend gets up and gathers her things, looking at you wistfully before mouthing “good luck”. In a few seconds she’s gone, and you’re standing there in an unfamiliar back office, apron in hand, wondering how on earth you’re going to survive the first day without anyone from your old store to help you.

“Oh hi there!”

An unusually cheerful voice jolts you out of your stupor as you come face to face with an unfamiliar associate. He looks fairly young, black messy hair held back with a bandana, and he looks you up and down with a sly look in his violet eyes.

“You’re one of the baristas from Ogre Street Mall yeah? Are you looking for the book?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he ties up the strings of his apron. His black metal name tag has green chalk marker on it too small to make out, so you can’t tell his name right away.

“Yeah, I started a few months ago at that location. And yes, that would be helpful.” You tell him your name, and you can’t help the jump in your pulse when you hear him roll it off his tongue.

“That’s a pretty cute name.” He flirts, coming up on you with his fist up. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Narancia.”

You have to smile as you fist bump him (hey, it’s impolite to leave a homeboy hanging). Immediately you feel the strongest connection to him; Narancia is the first helpful and friendly face you’ve met so far in this location. And if he’s this cute and working a shift with you, you fully intend to stick by him wherever he goes.

“That’s not a bad name either my guy.” You smile. “Now about that book...”

“Come with me to front, we keep the book by the register in case anyone can’t get into the system.” He casually drapes an arm around your shoulder and you instinctually lean into him.

Hey, no one’s ever flirted with you before at work, and there’s no harm in it if you’re single. You know he’s probably smiling wider than fuck, but you could really care less at this point. Embarrassment ended when work jaded you. When you’re working 36 hours a week for minimum wage you tend to lose things like dignity.

“Here, make sure you check off this part with ‘New Store Labor’. Want me to get the ASM so he can tell you where to go?”

“That’d be great.” You insist. “I really appreciate you.”

“Stay right there!”

He runs off to the same isolated corner where you can hear the guys running drive thru taking orders. Before you write your name in the book, you notice that Narancia doesn’t clock in on the computer. The entire week is him filling out his punches in the book, one of many indicators that he was a barista who hated the new update for the punch log on the iPads. This indicates he’s the best kind of barista: the lazy fuck who can shortcut anything and come out on top. A few others prefer the book too, and you can’t help but admire the immaculate handwriting of this “Leone Abbacchio”, and you wonder if they’re as nice as their handwriting.

While you write in your punch, some dude with a funny looking orange beanie looks at you from his spot by the convection ovens, and you notice he’s muttering to himself on what looks like a gaming headset. When you make eye contact with him, he looks away as though he’s been caught committing a crime, saved by the loud beeping of the oven. He takes the tongs he’s holding and takes out some croissants, bagging them and putting stickers on the front before running them past you.

Narancia seems to be taking his sweet ass time with the assistant store manager. There’s another young looking guy, a blonde, at the point of sales system, the cafe is dead but bar is bumping, you can see other baristas pumping out drinks like their lives depend on it. Occasionally one will hand a drink off to a counter out of sight (probably to neon lipstick asshole who gang faced you earlier). The blonde leans against the counter, looking at you up and down the same way Narancia did. Vaguely you wonder: why did your friend say these guys were assholes? The blond and Narancia, along with the warming guy, seem perfectly content to check you out, and frankly you’re enjoying the attention. Fuck a duck, the guys here are hot!

“You’re the barista from Ogre Street?”

The question comes from the blonde at the POS system. You nod.

“Yessir. Just coming on board until the remodel happens.” You reply. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Fugo. You?”

He smiles when you tell him your name, but evidently you’re going to have to wait your turn to talk to him. That’s the beauty of working a coffee shop, customers just crawl out of the woodwork and line up at the POS system, and you smile when you hear Fugo’s very lovely “Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what may I get started for you today?”. It’s pretty awkward just chilling out by the pastry case. Typically you just jump into the first unmanned task when you walk into your store, but this is entirely new territory. Even the espresso machines are different here, you heard talk that soon all the new Sudoh Buck locations are getting what’s called Mastrena 4’s, whatever the shit that means. All you know is it’s supposed to make things a hell of a lot easier, and that you have to have it mastered before the remodel is completed.

“Sorry we kept you waiting for so long, you must be so confused.”

You’re pulled out of your stupor and suddenly face to face with the most gorgeous assistant store manager you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got what your coworkers would call a “Karen” haircut, but he wears it well, and apparently he doesn’t mind it all too much that you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He’s tall, all legs and arms with broad shoulders in a black turtleneck sweater. Narancia is almost overshadowed by the ASM’s beauty (he returns wearing the same headset as the guy on oven duty), but you sneak a glance at him too just for a minute.

“Y-yea... I mean, no it’s cool. I just, it’s like was anyone going to tell me what to do? Or was I supposed to have a sense of purpose myself?”

... Jesus Christ on a crutch... you note that the ASM must really appreciate your blunt humor, because his blue eyes are even smiling as he laughs. Narancia can’t help but laugh too, and with both men looking like snacks whenever they smile you’re about to drop from being so weak in the knees.

“I think you’ll be a great fit here.” The ASM smiles, “My name is Bruno Buccellati. You are...”

Your name rolling off his tongue makes you weak again. Oh lort... how does any barista get work done around here with all this man candy???

“Before we start, what position are you most comfortable with?” Bruno asks.

You’re about ten seconds from blurting out something nasty: spit roast sounds nice, Narancia and oven guy can watch.

“Ok...” you steel yourself, fully prepared with a speech you’d rehearsed in the car only an hour before. “I’m gonna keep it real with you chief, I don’t know how to do anything in a drive thru, and I don’t know how to run the new Mastrenas. If someone can show me I can do bar, otherwise I’m down to help on cold.”

Bruno seems to take this into consideration, looking over at the line that’s forming on front. Narancia looks too, immediately hopping onto bar where he starts steaming milk and pulling espresso shots from the machine without anyone having to ask him. His quick response triggers that look in Bruno’s eyes, and he nods you over towards the bar.

“I think I’ll have you with Narancia on cold bar for now. He’s going to be cafe and drive thru bar, so whatever he needs help with, just pull the stickers and he can show you where everything is. We’ll kill this line, and then I can give you a more permanent assignment. How’s that sound?”

“Gotcha!”

You instantly spring into action, much more confident now that you have direction. Narancia is pulling stickers out of a square machine and pasting them to cups, handing the plastic ones to you where you spring into action. Getting into a sequence, you start a drink, begin another one, work on the first, then start a third, going on like this until you’ve got a rhythm. Pumping out teas, fraps, refreshers, anything iced at all. Your hands fly over your work, and you almost don’t hear the praises that are being showered on you.

“Damn look at her go!” Whistles Narancia, “Hey Mista! Check out bar star over here!”

The guy from warming is over your shoulder as you hand out a drink, calling out Tom’s 20 ounce passion hibiscus tea. He smiles at you for a split second, too dazzling for words, then runs back to the oven when his headset lights up.

Vaguely you wonder how the hell your friend had such a rough time here at this location when there’s so much nice man candy to look at.

[phantasticworks]

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter Eight

Hi everyone!! Thank you so much for all the love and support on these last few chapters, it means the world! I hope you all are staying safe and I hope this story gives you just a little bit of entertainment during these scary times!

read on ao3

Words: 10k

Summary: Dan and Phil begin to encounter some unforeseen issues with their foster situation.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, some angst

Something Dan hadn’t originally anticipated about fostering children during the summer months was the fact that he’d be responsible for them for every hour of every day. Without school to keep them occupied for at least a few hours of the day, Dan was left to be on standby. It wasn’t like he minded or anything; this is what he’d wanted, after all. Some days were just rough, is all, especially considering he still had to work a few days every week.

Working in education did have its perks, and in some ways summer break was a perfect example of one of those perks. However, he didn’t get the full break off like students. He, and the rest of the staff, still had to come in and work through logistical things and tidy up the school and prepare for the upcoming school year. Dan had prepared pretty well for the most part and had managed to get the majority of the work for the upcoming school year out of the way before the twins even moved in. Still, he did have to pop in a few days a week and help Louise with some things, and that’s where a few of the issues came up.

Dan really didn’t mind taking the kids with him on the days he went to work, and they assured him they didn’t mind playing quietly in his office or sometimes going into the teacher’s lounge with Louise’s daughter Darcy and playing games. But, some days he did wish that Phil had a more flexible schedule so that he wasn’t left with the kids on his own for such long lengths of time.

And eventually, when summer melted into autumn and he found himself spending more days at the school, he realized he was feeling like he was running on empty. Every day just bled into the other, and it felt like an endless routine of wake up, get the kids ready, take the kids to work, entertain the kids while working, and then take the kids home for their evening routine. As much as he was loving the decision he made, he felt a little like he might explode with all the stress of being their sole guardian most of the time.

His issue with this reached its breaking point on a Thursday.

He had gotten up early and trudged through making a quick breakfast for himself and the twins before going to wake them up, making sure they were quiet enough not to wake Phil, who didn’t have to be up for work for another two hours. Dan, wonderful housemate he figured he was, left Phil a coffee cup out with the kettle still on. In his flurry to get the kids ready and make sure that everything was set out for Phil, however, Dan completely forgot to make himself any coffee, a fact which he didn’t even realize until he’d already gotten to the school with the twins. They were trying their best to be quiet and play in the corner, but he caught himself asking them to be quiet more than once, more annoyed with himself every time for how horrible he acted without caffeine this early in the day.

Not only that, but the school WiFi glitched at some point, erasing all the progress Dan had made on the file he’d been working on. He’d come ridiculously close to swearing very loudly, and only just caught himself when he noticed the twins watching. Rather than risk them seeing his slight meltdown, he gave them some money and sent them to the teacher’s lounge to fetch some snacks.

As soon as they were out of his office, he reached for his phone and dialed the only number he even considered as someone who he could shamelessly rant to.

“Hey, love,” Phil says when he answers the phone. Dan can hear muted voices in the background, and he can tell that Phil is likely in a room with his coworkers.

“I’m about to fucking die,” Dan announces in lieu of a hello. He lays his head down on his desk, balancing his phone on his ear that way.

There’s only a brief pause before Phil responds, his voice a little hesitant. “What’s happened? Are the kids okay?”

Bless him for thinking of the children first. It makes Dan’s heart do a weird flippy thing, but then he’s back to being annoyed about his shit day. “They’re fine. Bored out of their goddamn minds, I’m sure, but they’re okay. My day is just sucking.”

“Are they in there with you? You need to watch your language around them, Dan.” The reprimand isn’t harsh or said with any anger, but immediately, Dan feels a prickle of annoyance under his skin.

“No, they’re not in here with me right now. And I do watch my fucking language around them, thank you very much,” he snaps, sitting up and glaring down at his desk as if it’s personally offended him.

After a brief flash of silence, Phil sighs deeply. “You’re being really rude to me right now,” he informs Dan, trying to keep his voice level.

Dan is a little surprised that he’s so bluntly addressed it, but some sick part of him is thrilled that he’s being given a legitimate reason to be mad now. Arguing with Phil is definitely an excuse to be mad. “I’m not ‘being rude’,” at this point, Dan puts Phil on speaker just so that he can make air quotes at him, “I’m just having a bad day, and I thought I could call and talk to you about it, considering you’re not the one parenting right now.” His words are scathing, but he doesn’t even stop to consider that Phil will likely take them to heart.

Phil’s quiet for a moment, and Dan can just imagine him sitting there, closing his eyes and trying his hardest not to get visibly upset since his coworkers are around. Even in his fit of annoyance, the image almost makes Dan smile. “Seriously?” His voice sounds full of disbelief.

“Yes seriously. I’ve been basically full-time parenting and you’re only ever around in the evenings.” He knows he should keep his mouth shut. He knows Phil is at work and so is he. But he still says it because he also knows that that’s exactly what’s on his mind and he feels like he needs to say it at some point.

Phil makes a huffing sound before speaking. “Look, I’m not arguing with you right now. We’re both at work. If you want to rant about your bad day you can but I’m not going to fight with you. We can have that conversation at home, Dan.”

Dan wants to push him just because he’s feeling contrary, but he knows that Phil is right and they need to postpone it until later. He’s just not ready to verbally admit it, and his hands are shaking for some reason, behaving strangely, and then they- hang up the phone. Of their own accord. Shit.

Dan hadn’t even realized that the door was open, the twins standing there staring at him curiously. He swallows hard, trying to swallow the anxiety crawling up his throat and making it hard for him to breathe. They never- seriously, never- ended their calls so abrupt. And he knew he was at fault, and the guilt was settling heavy in his chest, his fingers twitching with the need to call him back, fix this. Instead, he forces himself to smile at the kids, asking them what they’d gotten from the vending machines.

They’re sitting on the chairs in front of him, munching their crisps as Dan tries to work on retrieving the file, and the silence only gives Dan more time to think about how rude he’d been to Phil. He really was feeling the part of a housewife raising the kids on his own, but he really hadn’t meant to unload his anger about it right there on the phone. He knew he’d likely regret doing it later, and his stomach twists anxiously as he thinks about how hurt Phil probably was.

He’s tapping his fingers anxiously against the wood of his desk when he hears Amelia ask him a question. “Sorry?” He says, cringing at how his voice cracks. He clears his throat and raises his eyebrows at her questioningly.

Amelia points to his phone. “Was that Phil?” She asks curiously.

Dan nods, brushing his fingers over his screen. “Yeah.”

“Were you guys fighting?” She asks, all the innocence of a six-year-old wrapped up in such a loaded question.

“Not exactly,” Dan says with a shrug. “We had a… Disagreement, I guess. And I think I hurt his feelings.” He stares at his screen, wishing it would light up with a text from Phil, saying that everything was okay and just erasing all of this.

“Oh,” Amelia says, glancing up at him from her bag of crisps. “So, are you going to tell him you’re sorry?”

“What?” Dan asks, as if he hadn’t already thought of that.

Amelia shrugs, but before she can speak, Jaiden beats her to it. “We always have to apologize to each other when we hurt each other. Don’t adults have to do that too? Or are there different rules?” He asks, tilting his head curiously.

Dan swallows hard. So, this was apparently now a teaching moment, as well as an actual serious issue in his personal life. Great. “No, the rules are the same. Adults should say they’re sorry when they know they’re… not right.”

“When they’re wrong,” Amelia supplies helpfully.

Dan’s lips quirk up into a smirk. “Yes, when they’re wrong.”

“When you’re wrong,” She specifies pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Okay, okay, I get it, I’m going,” Dan grumbles, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. He honestly can’t believe he’s just been told off by a six-year-old but it honestly wasn’t that much of a surprise.

Waiting for Phil to pick up is honestly a little nerve wracking, but when the ringing stops, Dan almost wishes it hadn’t. “Philip Lester,” the voice answers formally.

Dan pauses. Phil never answered his personal calls like that, and Dan was pretty sure he had more than enough time to check the caller ID. “Hey, um… I wanted to tell you…” He trails off, unsure of how to say it. He catches Amelia’s gaze on him and his face flushes with embarrassment. He unsubtly spins his chair around to the side, dropping his voice to a whisper so the twins can’t hear him. “I’m sorry, for being an ass.”

“Oh, Miss Gellar, that’s really generous of you to call us personally, but trust me, no apology is necessary.” Phil’s voice is still professional, and Dan wonders if he’s on another call at the same time or something.

“Erm- Phil?”

“Yes?”

“Just- this is Dan. Not Sarah Michelle Gellar.” He’s still whispering, but he shoots a confused look over to the twins, who are trying and failing not to look like they’ve been caught eavesdropping. He lowers his voice even more and sinks further into his chair.

“Right. My apologies about the confusion,” Phil says, his voice deeper than it usually is when he talks to Dan.

Dan still thinks this is a little odd, and Phil’s response definitely didn’t make any sense, but he decides to just try and say what he needed to say. “Oh, uh, okay. Well, I just wanted to say I’m, um, sorry. I shouldn’t have been rude to you.”

“Well, Miss Gellar, like I said, no apology is necessary. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you- as a producer at the BBC you know, since that’s my responsibility. To, you know. Make sure that you and your- your team are taken care of.”

“Um…” Dan suddenly realizes Phil is not alone, and even though he is the producer, his coworkers are probably not thrilled at their boss getting two personal calls on the job in one day. Dan nearly laughs at the idea that Phil’s pretending to have a phone call with the Buffy actress he fancies so much, but he manages to hold it in. “Right, well… I guess we need to just talk about this at home?”

“Yes, we can discuss this at a later date, of course. And if you’d prefer, we could continue this conversation via text- I mean email, if that would be easier for you?”

Dan nearly snorts. Subtly wasn’t Phil’s strong suit. “Sure, I’ll… I can text you.”

“Great! It’s always a pleasure to speak with you, b- Miss Gellar. Drive home safe, er- I mean, if you’re driving. Just, you know, be careful. As a general rule.”

There’s a small grin on Dan’s face as he plucks at the string unravelling on the arm of his chair. “I will. I’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Right. I love you- your work. I love your work. I’ll speak with you soon!” Dan is trying his hardest not to laugh: if he laughs, Phil will laugh and that would ruin this whole thing. He just hopes his coworkers don’t give him too much shit about this call.

“Bye, Phil,” Dan says softly as he hangs up the call.

~~~

By the time they actually leave the school, Dan is more than ready to just curl up in bed and go to sleep. But he knew that Phil likely wouldn’t be home yet, so he resigned himself to making dinner and watching the kids on his own for a couple more hours, at least until Phil gets home. It’s not like he hasn’t already done it a few times, because he definitely has been, all summer, but after their brief argument earlier he still feels a little more bitter about it than usual.

“A little more bitter” doesn’t even cover his anger when he walks into the flat and hears the tv playing upstairs in the lounge, however. Dan is grinding his teeth as he sends the twins off to play and goes to drop his things off in the kitchen. The very idea that Phil was home and hadn’t bothered to let Dan know that he’d be home early absolutely pisses him off, and his blood is boiling as he makes his way upstairs to confront him about it.

Phil is sat on the sofa when Dan stomps up the stairs, his eyes trained on his laptop instead of the tv, which is playing Buffy in the background. He’s wearing his glasses for once, and Dan notes that he’s still wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which is likely what he wore to work. He doesn’t seem to notice Dan at first, but when he does, he sends him a small smile, seemingly not realizing the anger that’s bubbling up in him. “Hey,” he says quietly, shifting to fully face Dan.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Dan seethes, crossing his arms. He doesn’t step any closer to the couch, instead choosing to keep his distance.

Phil frowns, moving his laptop to the coffee table. “What?” He asks, dumbly.

Dan rolls his eyes. He has the worst feeling, like he wants to just hit Phil for being so stupid and making him feel so angry over something that really isn’t even that big of a deal. “Nice for you to call and let me know you’d be home,” he says bitingly.

The only way he can really describe Phil’s expression is completely confused. “Well, I live here, so.” He shrugs, stupidly. “I didn’t think I needed to call and tell you my every move.” His tone is joking but Dan doesn’t feel like laughing right now.

Instead, he apparently feels like fighting. “How long have you even been home?”

“I don’t know, like, an hour or so? What does it matter, Dan?” Phil moves to stand then, and that just fuels Dan’s desire to fight.

Dan laughs without humor. “Nice,” he mutters. Shaking his head, he turns to head back downstairs.

“Okay, what’s going on? What did I do?” Phil asks, following him downstairs.

Of course he doesn’t know. Dan’s subconscious reminds him. And sure, he probably has next to no idea what exactly has set Dan off this time, but surely, he remembers enough of their earlier conversation to have some idea as to what it is.

“Do you seriously see nothing wrong with this?” Dan snaps as he makes his way to the kitchen. “With me working and taking the kids with me, and basically being the full-time parent?”

Phil stumbles into the kitchen after him, looking more surprised than he has any right to. “Wait, are you, like, serious about that? That wasn’t just something you were annoyed about because you were having a bad day earlier?”

Dan scoffs at this. “Yes, I was serious about it.” He walks to the cupboard and pulls out a box of rice, setting it down on the counter a little too harshly.

“Okay,” Phil says slowly, watching Dan move around the kitchen with a cautious look on his face. “Well what we aren’t going to do is throw a fit and stomp around the kitchen like a five-year-old, Daniel.”

Hearing his full name sends a flood of heat to his cheeks, fueled by the annoyance he feels at Phil for acting like the perfect adult in the situation. “I’m not acting like a five-year-old,” he snaps, shooting a glare at his best friend.

Phil crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, his eyes following Dan as he sets a pot out on the stove after pouring the water in. “Do you want to talk about it? Or would you like for me to give you some more time to pout about it first?” There’s a smile tugging at his lips, and Dan loathes it.

“I’d rather you not just blatantly make fun of me right now.” He pretends not to notice when Phil steps closer to him, instead waiting impatiently for the water to simmer. He feels like it should already be boiling, based on how hot his eyes feel looking at it.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says quietly. “I didn’t mean to be unkind.” Dan feels him bring his hands up to his back, and he tries very hard not to sigh when Phil begins pressing his fingers in, lightly massaging. “Talk to me, Dan. I can’t read your mind, you know.”

Stirring the water gives him something to do that isn’t thinking about Phil’s hands on his back, so he stares down at the ripples of water instead of answering straight away. Phil’s persistent, though, and doesn’t just drop his hands when Dan doesn’t answer immediately. “I watch the kids more than you do,” he eventually says, his voice quiet.

Phil pauses his movements, but hums and resumes them, bringing his hands up higher and closer to Dan’s shoulder blades. “You do,” he agrees. “But Dan… This was your idea, you know. I’m not saying it’s fair that you watch them more, but you can’t… you shouldn’t just get pissed at me. I can take them to work with me if you want? Like we can swap days on who takes them to work or something?”

Although his offer is genuine, and honestly a pretty good idea, something about Phil’s words make Dan’s skin prickle with annoyance. Maybe it’s something akin to guilt over the reminder that this whole fostering thing was his idea, maybe it’s something else. Either way, he finds himself leaning away from Phil’s hands, although the older man doesn’t seem to take the hint, his hands just trailing down to press against the small of Dan’s back.

Dan twists away, trying his hardest to get his point across. “Can you-“

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Phil’s hands fall away, and he sounds embarrassed.

“Don’t apologize,” Dan snaps, reaching for the rice and pouring it into the pot of boiling water.

They’re both silent for several minutes, and Dan’s starting to think that Phil is probably just going to leave him to his thoughts when he finally speaks again. “Do you want me to take them to work with me? At least on the days that you’re working?” He asks, moving to lean against the counter beside Dan.

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but the sarcastic huff falls from his lips before he gets the chance to stop it. “Could you even handle that? Watching two kids on your own?”

He regrets it immediately, but Phil quips back, just as fast, “I reckon I could. It’s not like you’re an expert in the area yourself, Dan.”

Dan almost feels hurt by that, but he knows that’s completely unfair, considering what he’d just said. He shrugs, not meeting Phil’s eyes. He’s already started, might as well just keep throwing himself into this black hole of regret. “I may not be, but so far I’ve had a hell of a lot more practice than you. You’re barely ever even around them.”

“Huh,” Phil clicks his tongue thoughtfully, but Dan knows he’s only humoring him. He’s mad now, Dan can tell. He braces himself for whatever argument is likely to come. “Thanks a lot. It’s great to feel so appreciated, Dan. Thought you couldn’t do this without me?” Dan’s head snaps up at the choked sound of Phil’s voice, guilt immediately flooding him when he sees Phil staring determinedly at the wall on the other side of the kitchen, his jaw set differently than it had been five minutes before.

“Phil-“

Phil doesn’t let him finish. “It’s whatever.” He pushes away from the counter and makes his way to the office.

“I didn’t-“ Dan stops himself with a sigh. They needed time to cool off, and Dan knew that he couldn’t help things right now, especially since he knew he wasn’t feeling any less annoyed. He watches Phil leave the room, cringing when he closes the sliding door to the office slightly harder than was necessary.

With a groan, Dan slumps against the counter, forgetting the rice for now to just take a minute to feel like complete shit for his behavior. It was completely unnecessary, and he knew it. Maybe he should check in with his therapist soon. It had been a few months since he’d seen her, with everything that was going on, so maybe it was time for a visit to sort out all the nonsense in his head.

He’s mid-crisis when he hears the twins’ voices as they walk into the kitchen. He has just enough time to sit up and plaster a fake smile on his face before they step in, engaged in a conversation. Mia looks a little perplexed as she walks over to the table, glancing around as if she’s looking for something.

“Where’s Phil?” She asks innocently.

Dan cringes at the question. He didn’t want to be that parent that made the kids think that their parents were fighting, especially since he wasn’t even sure he could define their spat as that. Even though he and Phil weren’t their biological parents, it still hurt him to think that the kids were likely going to assume the worst from them if they weren’t on good terms, and that’s not the kind of impression he wanted them to have.

“He’s in the office,” he answers her question with a nonchalant shrug.

“Oh. Why?” She asks, curious as only kids are. He glances over at her, rolling his eyes when he sees that she’s pulled her feet up on the chair underneath her. He considers chastising her, but figures there’s no real point since they’re not even eating dinner yet.

“He’s got some work to do, I guess.”

“Oh.” Mia shifts around in her seat for several moments before she eventually seems to get settled. Dan braces himself for whatever question she’s about to ask next, already assuming the worst. “What’s for dinner?”

Dan can’t help but laugh at this, turning around to show her the pot of rice. “We’re having rice tonight.”

The twins seem content with this and sit at the table chattering aimlessly as Dan moves around the kitchen preparing their dinner. He wants to go talk to Phil and resolve the issue they were having, but ultimately, he decides it was best to just finish preparing dinner and maybe go talk to him then. So, he listens to the twins chat at the table as he cooks, occasionally chiming in with a comment or two. Eventually he’s done cooking and prepares the kids a plate each and fetches them each a drink.

“I’m going to go see if Phil’s joining us for dinner, but you guys go ahead and eat. I’ll be right back.” The twins barely pay him any attention, still chattering as they begin eating their dinner. He smiles at them before turning to go check on Phil, his stomach fluttering with nerves. He usually hated conflict and if that’s what was waiting for him on the other side of that door, he didn’t want it.

But, he has to own up to his actions and the consequences they had, so he knocks on the door lightly before sliding it open. “Hey,” he calls softly, leaning against the door frame, a little uncertain about whether he should enter or not.

Phil glances up at him from the computer, his lips held in a thin line. “Hi.”

His eyes seem to be avoiding Phil’s completely of their own accord. If shame was a laser, he would be shooting two holes in the wall above Phil’s left ear.

Dan gestures to the red chair they kept in the office at the end of the desk, silently asking if he can come in. Phil’s jaw shifts noticeably but he nods anyway. Closing the door quietly behind him, Dan takes a seat on the edge of the chair, staring down at his hands and fiddling with the engagement band nervously. “I’m sorry. For what I said earlier.” Dan takes a deep breath before shifting to look straight at Phil. “I was tired and upset, but I shouldn’t have said that to you. And I’m sorry I did.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Phil just studies Dan, looking on the verge of anger. Without even hearing a response, Dan can already feel his eyes aching with hurt. He blinks quickly, shifting his gaze away to try and cover up his emotion. But of course, Phil notices. He always notices.

“I’m not mad anymore,” he says quietly. “It was a dick move and you shouldn’t have said it, but I understand why you did. And you were right, so...” Phil trails off then, and Dan can only stare at him in surprise. Of course, he still thought he was right and the whole thing had been unfair up until that point, but he didn’t expect Phil to actually agree with him.

Something about this tips Dan over the edge and he drops his head to his hands when he feels the tears falling from his eyes. He felt completely ridiculous to cry about it, but since when was it a surprise that he couldn’t keep a handle on his emotions? His arm swipes at the wetness under his eyes as a watery Phil stands up in his hazy peripheral vision.

Phil takes a seat on the edge of the desk and before Dan even has a chance to apologize for crying, Phil’s wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into his chest. Dan releases a shaky breath as Phil’s hand comes up to card through his hair. “I’m sorry. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, but I don’t want to fight with you,” he whispers, bringing his own arms up around Phil’s waist.

There’s a low rumble in Phil’s chest as if he’s laughing. Dan can’t say he finds the situation funny, but he was going to give Phil the benefit of the doubt here, considering Phil’s not the one who’s currently having a breakdown. “I know. I don’t want to fight with you either.” He’s speaking directly into Dan’s hair, but the words are just barely muffled.

Dan shifts so that he can press his eyes into the sleeve of his own shirt, rather than ruin Phil’s with his crying. “I’m sorry I’m kind of a mess,” he says softly.

Phil laughs out loud at this, pushing Dan’s curls off his forehead and pushing his head back to gain eye contact at the same time. His eyes are bright, and Dan feels that the worst of their arguing is likely over. “Kind of?” He teases.

Rolling his eyes and disentangling his limbs from Phil, Dan sits back, smiling a little. “Kind of. Maybe a lot.”

A soft smile is etched on Phil’s lips, and he shifts a bit closer to Dan. “We still need to talk about this, don’t we?” He asks, sounding resigned to it.

“I think so, yeah. We should probably have dinner first, because I don’t think I have the energy to fight anymore without food.” He says it as a joke, but Phil’s mouth twists into a frown.

“Are we going to fight more?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Dan sighs and runs a hand down Phil’s thigh to squeeze his knee gently. “I don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean we won’t.”

Phil glances down at Dan’s hand on his knee and lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a huff. “I’m done fighting with you, if I’m being honest. We need to figure some things out with the parenting thing, but I won’t fight with you about it.” His fingers come up to trace along the band on Dan’s left hand, his eyes following the movement.

He feels a smile tugging at his lips and he splays his fingers out across Phil’s knee so the older man can lace his fingers through his. “Okay. So, no more fighting. We’ll talk about it like adults.”

“Like proper adults,” Phil agrees, biting his tongue in a small smile.

“But first, food.” Dan shoves at him gently to get off the chair and out of his way, and Phil rolls his eyes playfully at this.

“Since we’re not fighting anymore, remind me to show you a meme later,” Phil comments as Dan pulls the door to the office shut behind him.

Dan huffs out a quiet laugh at this, shaking his head fondly when Phil quirks an eyebrow in question. “Okay. You can show me your memes after dinner.” He rolls his eyes dramatically before handing Phil a bowl from the cupboard.

“Don’t mock me,” Phil pouts, moving to fill it up with rice. “I don’t actually have to share my memes with you, you know. I can keep them to myself.”

With a shrug, Dan steps around Phil to grab two spoons, dropping one into Phil’s bowl before he moves to sit at the table where he’d left his own bowl earlier. “Suit yourself,” he says, glancing at the twins, who are both almost done with their food at this point.

“Do you guys want to see my memes? I found some good animal ones,” Phil asks the kids, and both of them nod enthusiastically.

Phil reaches for his phone, but Dan clears his throat, stopping his movement. “Not at the table, please?” He asks rather than demands, imploring Phil to put the phone away with a quirk of his eyebrow.

An apologetic smile is on Phil’s lips, but he nods and tucks his phone away. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He turns to the twins then. “We don’t eat with our phones out, but I forgot,” he says with a shrug before launching into questions about how their day was.

Something warm flutters inside him at the fact that Phil respected the phone thing without argument or even really a conversation at all. He’d have to thank him for it later. But for now, he joins in the conversation, trying to keep the panicked thoughts of the conversation they’d be having later out of his mind.

The kids talk about their day and the snacks they had gotten from the vending machines at the school, and Phil listens raptly, conversing with them easily. It makes the guilt in Dan’s gut rear its ugly head; clearly Phil did know what he was doing, and it wasn’t fair to say that he didn’t just because Dan had taken the task of watching the kids for the full day upon himself. It wasn’t like they’d discussed it beforehand, but he’d just assumed he’d be the one to take them to work with him and Phil hadn’t argued. Now Dan is starting to understand how important that communication would have been for them if they’d just thought to actually talk about everything in the first place.

He doesn’t have long to stress over it, though, as everyone finishes their dinner and it’s time to send the kids off to take their baths and get to bed. Dan allows Phil to take over the process of making sure the kids have brushed their teeth after they’ve each taken a bath, which Phil seems more than happy to do. Taking advantage of the time he has alone, Dan cleans up the kitchen and makes sure the door to the patio is locked before heading to his bedroom. He’d go tell the kids goodnight whenever Phil came back. Which definitely wasn’t another way to avoid him and put off the conversation they needed to have. Of course it wasn’t.

“Kids are tucked in and waiting for you to tell them goodnight,” Phil says when he walks into their room a bit later. Dan is laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling contemplatively.

“Okay,” he mumbles before shoving his way off the bed. Phil settles himself on his own side, watching Dan as he leaves the room.

One good thing about the fact that the twins were now sharing a room was the fact that Dan only had to make one trip to say goodnight to them. When he walks in, they’re whispering across the room to each other, giggles piercing the silence. Dan just takes a moment to pause at the door, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning at the kids. “What’s so funny in here?” His voice is full of poorly-concealed laughter, but the twins both jump in surprise at the sound of his voice.

“Dan!” Amelia yells.

It’s almost 9pm. The neighbors might think he’s killing his children if they scream at this hour of the night.

It’s almost strange how quickly they’ve come to feel like “his children”. Or it would be, if it didn’t feel so objectively right to be with them day in day out. Everything with Phil aside, he can’t seem to remember what his life was like before.

He presses a finger to his lips. “You could deafen a fish right now, never mind our neighbors. Remember what we said about quiet time?”

“Sorry,” she says hastily, not looking particularly chastised. Then, innocently, “Did you come to tell us a story?”

Dan laughs softly, but shrugs, trying his best to brush off the moment they just had. “Sure, if you guys want one.” They didn’t always, but over the few weeks they’d been there, Dan had taken to offering a story every night when he tucked them in, usually after Phil had already gone to bed.

Jaiden sits up in his bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Can you tell us one about pirates?” He asks excitedly.

“Sure, bub.” Dan smiles as he moves over to sit on the edge of Jaiden’s bed. “Wanna come over here, Mia?”

The girl nods, scrambling out of her bed and over to Dan’s lap enthusiastically. Dan’s heart swells when she flops herself across his legs, waiting patiently for the story to begin. He hides his glee as he clears his throat, starting to spin a tale of pirates and magic and mermaids and horrible mocking parrots. The kids hang onto his every word, and Dan is almost as invested in the story as they are by the time he finishes it up.

“And that’s how Captain Susan saved the entire crew and all of the mermaids in the sea.”

Amelia yawns into his chest. “Good story,” she mumbles. Moments slide languidly past, and Dan feels as her breathing shifts from drifting to dreaming. He smiles down at her before he glances over at Jaiden, whose eyes are just barely open.

“You still awake, bub?” Dan whispers.

Jaiden tries to nod, but it’s clearly forced. “Mhm. ‘Nother story?”

Dan laughs quietly before shaking his head and moving to stand carefully, cradling Amelia’s tiny body to his chest as he carries her over to her bed. He tucks her in neatly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he moves back over to Jaiden. “I think it’s time for sleep, actually. I can tell you another story tomorrow, okay?”

“M’kay,” Jaiden mumbles, his eyes drifting shut. “Night.”

“Love you.” He looked asleep, but Dan could swear that he sees Jaiden’s lips twitch into a small smile.

After tucking the blanket up to cover his tiny arms, Dan leans down and presses a kiss to the child’s forehead. He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut against the feeling of tears that are currently welling up, and he curses himself for being so sensitive and emotional.

He’s just stood up when he hears a voice from the door. “That was sweet. You’re sweet with them.”

Dan spins around, his heart beating rapidly until he realizes it’s just Phil. “Jesus, you scared me,” he mutters as he steps towards the door, to where Phil is stood casually leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. Dan slips past him, gently pulling the door closed behind him after checking that the nightlight is shining.

Phil levels him with a soft look. “Sorry,” he murmurs. His eyes take on a different shade of blue in the shadows, and something about the color just seems to make him more approachable, warmer than Dan’s seen him in so long.

“I’m sorry,” Dan blurts out, unable to stop himself.

Phil spares a glance to the door to the twins’ bedroom, looking a little nervous that they might hear. “C’mon, we should go to bed,” he speaks quietly, gripping Dan’s elbow gently as he begins guiding him down the hall to their room.

Dan gently tugs his arm out of his grip. “No, I’d like to talk about what happened earlier.”

“We can, Dan, but we can do it in our room, yeah? C’mon.”

With a sheepish smile, Dan nods slowly before allowing Phil to guide him back into their room, his hand slipping from Dan’s wrist, only to fall to the small of his back. They’re silent as they enter the bedroom and crawl under the covers. Phil pauses before he lays down, tugging the band off his left hand and placing it onto his nightstand, along with his glasses. Dan flushes when he catches Phil’s gaze dropping to his own ring, quickly tugging it off and sliding it onto the tabletop beside him.

“So,” Phil sighs out, leaning back against the headboard rather than laying down. “Where should we start?”

Dan chews on his lip as he copies Phil’s position, pulling his knees close to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I almost wish we didn’t have to start anywhere,” he mutters bitterly, staring at the duvet cover with disdain.

Phil shrugs. “There’s a problem here, and we need to do something about that. So.” He leaves the word hanging in the air, clearly waiting for Dan to make some sort of decision.

With a sigh, Dan begins speaking quietly and quickly, trying to rush all his thoughts out at once. “I’m sorry I was an asshole. I don’t know why the hell I thought that would help, or why I thought it was okay. You’re doing your best, and I get that. I just…” he trails off, feeling at a loss for words.

They sit in tense silence for a moment, but then Dan feels a pressure on his leg. He glances down, seeing Phil’s hand gently stroking along his calf in a comforting motion. A few months ago, he might’ve been embarrassed at the affectionate gesture, or even just laughed it off, but tonight he’s not laughing. Tonight, he wishes there were more touches to lean into.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling unless you try to describe it to me, Dan. And I… I want to understand what you’re feeling, and why you say and do the things you do. But, I can’t read your mind, Bear.” Phil speaks so softly, with such understanding and patience, that Dan feels a bit sick, dizzy and nauseous with guilt for ever accusing Phil of not being a good parental figure.

Without any thought to the consequence for the action, Dan twists to the side, pressing himself to Phil. He scoots down so that he can wrap his arms around Phil’s torso, burying his face in his chest. He needed the comfort of his best friend, and he needed to feel like he hadn’t completely fucked everything up already. “I’m sorry,” he breathes shakily, his head spinning.

“Shh, Dan. Dan, listen to me. It’s okay. Yeah? We’re fine, we just need to figure out what to do to make this easier for us. I’m not angry.” As Phil speaks, he pets Dan’s hair gently, the motion just as soothing as his words, if not more so.

Dan tries for a laugh, to assert that he’s being silly, overreacting, and is abjectly horrified when all that comes out are a few traitorous tears and half a sob. “Sorry, sorry,” he flounders, still trying to shrug it off. “I don’t know why- “

Phil regards him fondly. “Stop apologizing for everything.” Dan’s not sure when Phil’s hands came to cradle his head, but he falls into the steady, warm touch, trying to refocus. The only thing he seems to be able to refocus on, however, is Phil’s mouth.

‘Stop that,’ He chides himself sternly. ‘Now’s really not the moment. Tell him the important stuff, please.’

“So-“ Dan pauses himself when Phil sends him a look. With a sheepish shrug, Dan turns his eyes to look down at Phil’s shirt, which, upon inspection, Dan realizes is his own space cat t-shirt. He can’t help a tiny smile at the fact that Phil has, once again, stolen his clothes, so he just rolls his eyes. “I felt like a single parent,” Dan mutters finally, after several moments of silence have passed.

“Sorry?” Phil responds, as if he hadn’t heard.

Dan clears his throat. “The past few weeks. I um… I’ve gotten used to sort of being on my own with the twins, and I… It sort of feels like I’m doing it alone.” The admission burns his throat, and he can tell it takes Phil by surprise.

“Oh,” the older man says eloquently. “So, like… You were well serious about most of what you said, then, huh?” He sounds offended.

“No, no, not most of it. Just… That, really. I said things I didn’t mean, but it was because I was stressed about that in particular.” Dan shifts so that he’s no longer resting his head against Phil’s chest, instead looking up at him. “I didn’t mean any of the other stuff I said to you,” he says firmly, holding Phil’s gaze as he says it, “And I’m really, really sorry.”

Phil hums at this, seeming to consider it. “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way,” he says, crushing Dan with sincerity. “I didn’t realize that was what it was like for you, to be the one here with them full time.”

Dan shrugs. “It’s not like I said anything about it sooner.”

“You should have.” Phil’s voice has a bit of an edge to it now, and suddenly Dan isn’t so sure that he’s as calm as he’d seemed.

“I’m sorry,” Dan says again, so softly. “But in my head, I just thought it was easier on both of us if I just kept doing it. I thought…” He inhales sharply as it really hits him why he’d been so reluctant to tell Phil. “I wanted to be able to say that I could do it without you. If, you know, you do change your mind or whatever… I wanna be able to say that I didn’t just completely fail, you know?”

Phil leans away from him then, a hurt expression on his face. “Do you want to do this on your own? Is that… Please tell me that’s not what you’re saying, Dan.” His voice wavers, and Dan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“No! God, no. Fuck, no. Okay, no, I completely didn’t say that right. No, Phil. I don’t want to do this alone. I-“ his voice cracks, embarrassingly, and he quickly ducks his head down, pressing his face against Phil’s chest. He feels Phil stiffen underneath him, and it occurs to him that Phil probably would appreciate an explanation rather than cuddles right now. With a deep breath, Dan sits up, putting space between them.

“Care to elaborate, then?” Phil deadpans, looking confused, and a little annoyed.

Dan nods quickly. “I don’t want you to change your mind. I’d… I don’t know what I’d do if you did, but I’d really rather that you didn’t, okay? I just want to be prepared if you do, and I guess I felt like taking the majority of the responsibilities with the kids would just give me more practice. But, I don’t know, I guess since it’s been a couple months since they came to live with us, I’ve just realized that maybe… Maybe you’re not going to change your mind,” he breathes, struggling not to sound too hopeful.

He knows he’s failed just by the shift in Phil’s expression, emotion flooding over his face. “Come here, idiot,” he mumbles affectionately. Dan complies easily, scooting closer and allowing Phil to wrap his arms around his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. So, you can loosen the reigns a little, and give me some credit. I may not be around them as much as you are, but,” Phil shrugs then, as if he isn’t sure he wants to elaborate. “I’m good at things too, you know. Not always the same things you’re good at, especially with the kids, but I’m not entirely useless.”

“I know-“ Dan begins to protest, but Phil just shakes his head.

“I wasn’t finished,” he reprimands gently. Dan immediately shuts his mouth. They’d been seriously lacking communication recently, he’d let Phil talk as much as he damn well pleased now. “I know I can’t take over everything that you do, but I can do things to help out, you know. Like, there are things I can do to make the load a little more even between us. We just need to figure out how to even it out. Together.”

Dan nods slowly, his cheeks heating up at the phrasing. Unfortunately, this circumstance was not anything like the dreams he’d once had about he and Phil’s future, so that little part of Dan needed to take a seat.

“I have a suggestion, as a starting point,” Dan whispers into Phil’s shirt a few moments later, when the silence has become too much for him to bear.

“Yeah?” Phil asks, petting Dan’s curls.

Dan chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tilting his head to the side to do so, allowing his cheek to press to Phil’s chest instead. Before he speaks, he feels a swipe of a finger against his lips. He glances up at Phil with wide eyes, having parted his lips at the feeling.

Phil’s face is closer than he’d realized, and his gaze is trained on Dan’s lips, a frown stretching across Phil’s own. “Quit chewing on your lips, you’re ruining them,” he chastises.

His face burning with embarrassment, Dan mutters something about it not mattering since he wasn’t using them for anything anyway. Phil dutifully ignores this. “My suggestion,” Dan diverts the conversation back to that, causing Phil to raise his eyebrows patiently. “I’d like it if you got up with us in the mornings. So, you know… We can have like breakfast together and stuff. You know. All of us.” He didn’t want to come right out and say it, but ever since he’d found out they’d be fostering two children right at the start, he’d imagined lots of family meals, and his heart just thrummed every time he thought about it.

“Sure,” Phil agrees easily, his hand coming up to brush Dan’s hair up off his forehead. Phil had a certain penchant for touching Dan’s hair, and tonight it seemed especially prominent. “I’m usually awake anyway, so that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Then, Dan’s definitely confused, because he knows that Phil is never up before he is. “No, you aren’t. You’re always still in bed when I leave with the kids.” Dan wouldn’t push the issue, but he’s almost certain he’s right about this. And if he’s not, Phil is certainly getting better at acting like he’s asleep.

“Well, I mean maybe not every morning,” Phil concedes. Dan smiles triumphantly, but his victory is short-lived. “But typically, most mornings, I’m awake after you start getting ready. I can hear you singing in the shower almost every morning, so I usually stay awake until you’re out of our room entirely, then I sleep until my alarm goes off,” Phil admits sheepishly, looking a little embarrassed to admit it.

Dan’s surprised, and also a little mortified that Phil hears his horrible attempts at singing in the mornings. Rather than apologize or try to joke about it, Dan immediately denies it. “I don’t… I do not sing in the shower!”

Phil grins at him. “Yes, you do,” he says gleefully. “You were singing Celine Dion this morning. It was actually kind of lovely, you’re getting much better.”

Now Dan’s positive his face is flaming. Huffing, he rolls over, turning away from Phil. “Shut up!” He whines, inexplicably embarrassed. Phil had heard him sing a thousand times, but something about the fact that he’d just admitted to actively listening made Dan’s stomach churn nervously.

Without warning, Dan feels a warm body pressed against his back. He squeaks, but that doesn’t stop Phil from tossing his arm over Dan’s waist. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Bear. I won’t say anything else about your concerts anymore.”

Dan groans, hearing the smile in Phil’s voice. “Actually shut up, unless you want to sleep on the couch.”

Phil’s arms wind tighter around Dan, his breath coming out as a laugh against the back of Dan’s neck. “No!” He protests through his giggles. “I wanna sleep in here with you. I’ll behave, I promise.”

Dan ignores how coupley this feels in favor for elbowing Phil. “You’re crushing- my lungs,” he gasps, exaggerating his plight.

Another soft laugh, but Phil eventually gets settled so that they’re both comfortable in their cuddling position. It’d been occurring more often lately, this intertwined sleeping thing, but they typically weren’t so obvious about how they ended up in that position. Tonight, Phil didn’t seem to care to show affection, or to show that he wanted it, either.

Not that Dan minded, of course. He was perfectly fine with this. Cool as a cucumber.

“So, wake me up in the morning, yeah? If I don’t wake up on my own. I’ll make breakfast if you want, or help the kids get ready, or whatever you want me to do.” Phil promises from behind him, his voice low in their close proximity.

Dan tries to nod but stops himself in fear of smacking Phil in the face with his head. “Alright,” he says instead. “That’d be lovely, thank you.” He’s already slightly drifting off, but he’s almost positive he feels a pair of lips press to the base of his neck.

“Okay. We’ll sort out the rest tomorrow. Night, Bear.” Phil sounds just on the verge of sleep himself, unsurprisingly. They’d had quite a busy day, after all.

“Night,” Dan echoes before falling into a dreamless sleep.

~~~

School starts back mid-September, and by then, Dan and Phil had gotten into a routine with the kids. Dan still took them to work with him on the days that he worked, which increased the closer they got to the beginning of the academic year, but Phil had been consistently waking up to be with them in the mornings. Sometimes, he’d even silence Dan’s alarm and allow him to sleep in some while he got up and made breakfast and started getting the kids ready for the day. Dan especially enjoyed those days.

But now the beginning of school was on the horizon, and the house was a flurry of buying school supplies and sorting out schedules. With the kids in school, it would be much easier to take care of them, as they’d only have to watch them before and after school, as opposed to watching them while trying to work. He was beyond relieved for this, but also a little nervous, on the twins’ behalf. Starting at a new school was always scary, no matter how old you were, so he was more than a little worried about how they might adjust.

So, in an effort to minimize the grievances they might have about starting at a new school, Dan had spoiled them a bit when it came to buying their school supplies. Phil had been a little less than amused.

“Daniel,” Phil had called from the kitchen, sounding confused but also annoyed.

Cringing, Dan stood and opened the door to the office, leaning out the door and looking across their lounge to where Phil stood, staring at the array of shopping bags in bewilderment. “Oh, hi. Welcome home, babe.” The pet name slipped out without his conscious permission, but Phil didn’t seem phased by that.

No, his focus was still on the shopping bags. “What are these?” He asked, gesturing at them with a quirked eyebrow.

Dan pursed his lips, staring at the bags contemplatively. “They look like shopping bags,” he said, shrugging innocently.

Phil settled him with a deadpan look. “Clearly. But what do they contain? You went school shopping, yeah?”

Dan pretended to be surprised. “Oh, yeah! Yes, we did. That’s school supplies.” He nodded, as if that answers Phil’s question completely.

As he starts to pull the office door closed, Phil protested. “Dan! What-“ he rifled through the bag nearest to him, pulling out a pencil box with a look of confusion on his face. “What is this?”

Biting his lip, Dan shrugged. “A dinosaur pencil case?” he offered.

Phil stared at him. “A dinosaur pencil case,” he repeated. Dan nodded, and Phil returned to rifling through the bags. He huffed and pulled out several different things. “Crayons, colored pencils, and markers? What the hell do they need all three for?” He demanded.

“For art class! They need different mediums to choose from to cultivate their artistic side!” Dan had explained hurriedly. He just hoped Phil stopped looking or else he’d find- oh no.

Out of one of the smallest bags on the table, Phil had pulled out Dan’s proudest purchase from the day’s shopping. He had known that it was a little silly, and that Phil would likely be a little annoyed, but he couldn’t help himself. They were just so cute!

Evidently, Phil doesn’t share this sentiment. He had stared at the boxes closely, his eyes not leaving them as he spoke. “Dan,” he’d said carefully. “What the hell are these?”

Dan chewed on his lip, contemplating not answering at all. “Mini first aid kits?” He finally responded when Phil’s gaze met his.

Phil let out a deep sigh through his nose. “And why the hell,” he paused. “Would our six-year-olds,” another pause. “Need them?”

After a brief pause, Dan answered. “They might, um… need a plaster?”

Sighing, Phil had put them back on the table and turned to face Dan with an unamused stare, crossing his arms. Dan couldn’t help but walk over to him, holding up the first aid kit so he could look at the back.

“Look, Phil,” he’d said in a sweet voice. “They have Trolls plasters. Trolls. I couldn’t just not get them.”

Phil had stared at him, his lips in a straight line. “You could have bought them a single pack of Trolls plasters,” he deadpanned.

Dan had shaken his head, holding them closer. “But not these Trolls plasters.”

After a brief stare-off, Phil had rolled his eyes and raised his hands in defeat. “Whatever, I don’t care. I said I’d let you do the school shopping. You did the school shopping.” He shrugged, tugging the box out of Dan’s hand and tossing it to the table before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around his waist. Dan had been a little surprised, but he’d hugged him back, resting his chin against Phil’s shoulder. Phil sighed, squeezing gently before pulling away a bit. “Wait, I gave you my card to go shopping.”

Panicked, Dan tugged himself closer to Phil, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah, you know, it’s fine, they have everything they need for school now, so-“

Phil twisted around to look at the bags on the table. “How much did you spend, Dan?”

“Let’s not- what do you want to do for dinner?”

~~~

A few days later, Phil had a day off work, and it just so happened that it was on a day that Dan really needed to go into work and help Louise with some administrative things. Despite the fact that they’d been sharing the load a whole lot more lately, Dan hadn’t left the twins alone with Phil for more than an hour or two. He was looking at probably a span of six hours that he’d be at work, leaving Phil to keep the children alive all by himself. To say that he was nervous was an understatement.

“And they have their snacks and everything downstairs, but make sure you don’t let them have too many before dinner. The first aid kit should be in the bathroom, under the sink. Oh, and make sure you-” Dan’s instructions are interrupted by a heavy sigh from beside him.

He glares at Phil, who’s giving him a bored look from where he’s sat on the sofa. “Dan, honestly, you need to just relax. Everything is fine, I promise. I’ve got this.” He smiles then, clearly trying to be reassuring.

Dan wrings his hands anxiously. “Are you sure? I can- I can take them with me if you’re not sure. I don’t mind, and actually yeah, let’s-”

“Daniel, if you finish that sentence with anything other than a cheerful goodbye, I might have to smother you with a bath towel.”

A little startled, Dan glances at Phil, chewing his lip contemplatively. “Goodbye?” He says, although it comes out as a question.

Phil rolls his eyes before standing up, moving over to gently push Dan in the direction of the stairs. “Yes, goodbye, see you later. Be safe driving, I promise you we’ll be perfectly fine here. I’ll text you every hour and let you know how things are going, but if you don’t leave now, Louise might actually murder you when you get there.”

Dan allows himself to be guided to the stairs, sighing deeply in defeat. “Every half hour?” He suggests hopefully.

Phil settles him with a clearly unamused look. “Every hour,” he reiterates.

“Fine,” Dan huffs. “But you better not kill my kids,” he says playfully, stopping and turning just enough to grin at Phil.

The older man rolls his eyes. “Our kids,” he shoots back before leaning in and pecking Dan’s cheek. “Go, goodbye, you’ve got things to do, I have children to spoil.”

“Do not fill them with sugar, Philip Lester.”

Phil sticks his tongue out at him as Dan starts down the stairs. “You’re not the boss of me, Howell. You’re just a co-manager.”

“I’ll co-manage your mum,” Dan calls, grinning when he can hear Phil sputter, clearly offended. “Bye, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t give me very many options, Dan!”

“Shut up!”

[starstruck-thirst]

She Wants Revenge

Part 4

Pariston Hill: True Romance

Series title is after the band of the same name. The chapter is named after this song by the band She Wants Revenge.

Part 1 of series is here.

Warnings: PTSD flashbacks, attempt rape of reader character, date rape drug description of reader character, non consensual sexual touching of reader character, NSFW, mental manipulation

______________________

Phones, keyboards, clicking pens, the smell of coffee and whatever crazy dish a gourmet hunter had brought to work that day. It was all so familiar, but in the way of a distant memory. The feeling was akin to that sensation one got when a specific cinnamon, peppermint, and paper smell-cocktail hit their nose and suddenly they find themselves transported back to when they were five on a holiday morning that had almost been completely forgotten until that moment. Something so close to you and yet no longer apart of who you are now.

The association office was exactly like that.

Normally the office was kept at a temperature that most people could tolerate including you, but for your first week back you had to bring a light sweater with you every day to hide the goosebumps that were almost a permanent installment on your flesh. Your nerves were on high alert, screaming in the back of your mind that this area was DANGER. But no matter how loudly your body rebelled, you pushed past it and hit the copy button on the machine again and again.

Somehow you had been assigned as an office assistant upon applying. They hadn’t even interviewed you, merely emailed the offer. And somehow you were placed on the floor Pariston frequented. Not the floor his office was on, but the floor below where he had to make constant visits to oversee many different projects. It was this very floor where you had met him for the first time.

As you picked up the papers from the out tray the hairs on the back of your neck raised noticeably and the realization about how in the presence of the literal Phantom Troupe you hadn’t been as on edge as you were in a fucking office almost made you laugh.

But you knew why. All too well you knew why.

Pariston hadn’t made his presence known to you yet.

You had been here an entire week and never even spotted so much as a cufflink of the vice-chairman. It was unnatural.

The signs of his presence were around. You came back from getting yourself coffee and someone asked you to make copies of a form that Pariston had just signed and dropped off. Another time you could still smell his cologne in the conference room you had to set up for the next meeting. His chuckle flowed down the hallway to your ears, but by the time you arrived he was gone.

He was doing this all on purpose. Playing with you indirectly and keeping you on your toes. You hated that it was working, hated more that you had to let it be a little visible. The appearance of being both ‘healthy’ and ‘slightly broken’ at the same time was exhausting. The light sweater was a dead giveaway to the man that you were uncomfortable. And the second week you left it at home, telling coworkers that you had adjusted to the climate-controlled environment again.

To make matters worse, there was no one readily around to play with. Chrollo had left shortly after the deal was stuck and Hisoka left a day later, leaving behind half teasing promises of more playtime in the future. You weren’t stupid- anymore- and you were fully aware that you might never seen Hisoka again. But, you had been surprised before.

Sadly, this meant that when you got home, life returning to you and the lust that had built throughout the day at the hints of Pariston finally blooming into a full need, you didn’t have a way to fix it. Playing with anyone that didn’t have a guarantee of silence meant that it could get back to Pariston. And there was no way in hell you were going to jeopardize your revenge just to get off.

But you thought about it.

Sitting at a bar not far from your apartment, you thought about it. A hunter you recognized sat at a table nearby laughing loudly with two associates. He was tall and broad, unlike your recent conquests in almost every way. Perhaps that was part of the appeal. The thought of turning this loud, cocksure, strong man onto his back and making him beg you made you a little excited immediately. And even though you reminded yourself it would be a bad idea the little fantasy grew on its own as you watched him move, and soon you were so enamored that you had forgotten you were looking at him until he noticed you and winked.

You turned back to face your drink on the bar, taking in a fresh swallow of the cold liquid to calm the heat inside of you. Shifting on the stool you could feel that familiar sensation of need between your legs. A tingling, tight feeling. It was uncomfortable.

A strong arm slithered over your shoulder with careful precision. Fingertips brushing softly as the palm dug in hard enough to force the weight of a promise into your muscles. After a week and a half in the association office, this sleazy move didn't make even one bump rise on your skin. "Hey, sexy. I saw you eyeing me across the room. What are you drinking?"

You tried to lean away, but his arm over your shoulder held you still. A nice upper cut into his nose would have freed you, he didn't seem to consider you a threat so it'd be easy to do. But remembering your situation you held off. Maybe it would get back to the vice-president. And you still needed as much illusion of a soft spoken female hunter as you could get.

But it was unbearably difficult in this moment.

Visibly you swallowed and looked up at the man through your lashes. "I didn't mean to. I just… zoned out. It was a long day."

He smiled and leaned his hip into your side. Truly your lust was the cause of this punishment. "Now, now. None of that. It’s Thirsty Thursday after all!" He lifted two fingers at the bartender and pointed to the two of you. The bartender nodded and got to work on your next drink. You kept an eye on the drink in progress- unsure of this bartender’s alignment in this silent struggle- until the man leaned onto the bar and obscured your view.

Fuck.

"Haven't I seen you around before?" He asked.

"Maybe… I mean I work in the city," you muttered before drinking your original drink to completion.

"Oh really? Where?" 

Leave it to a beef headed hunter to not recognize another hunter. Or he was playing stupid for some reason. “Well… where do you work?”

He laughed, “I work everywhere! I’m a hunter.” He said in that voice tone that suggested you should be impressed. Which only confirmed that he had no idea that you too were a hunter. With a practiced movement he took out his hunter ID and flashed it in front of your face, literally. He sure was a rude man. He hadn’t even noticed you dodging his question since it gave him an opportunity to show off. “See? Not everyone can get one of these,” he boasted. You memorized his ID number to look up later and see if he just got lucky that year.

All kinds passed the exam though, you supposed.

You did.

“Impressive,” you said pushing your glass away and trying to stand, “I should go. I have work tomorrow.”

“What? But your drink is here,” he pointed out as the fresh glass as it was placed on the bar, the old whisked away in a flash.

The condensation on the glass gathered in large droplets that collected onto the bar top, pooling to create an inviting highlight of water around the base. You didn’t trust this glass. While you were shopping at the same grocery store and getting coffee at the same cafe, this was a new bar. The security blanket of knowing a bartender wasn’t something you had just yet. “Really… I shouldn’t. So no thank you,” you muttered, dodging out from under his arm successfully.

But he had been prepared for this maneuver and with two quick steps he was in front of you with his glass in one hand and the one intended for you in the other. “Come on. The night is still young!” His determination was evident, and no matter how you tried to dodge him it was obvious he was going to follow you like a sick puppy. “I’m just being nice!”

Those words made you silently rage as other people in the bar looked at the two of you. He was intentionally making it seem as if you were the rude one for ignoring him. It was causing a scene, which was exactly what you hadn’t wanted.

Maybe just a sip wouldn’t hurt, depending on what was in it. Maybe you could power through it.

These of course are foolish thoughts. But as you took the drink in hand he cheered to you, and you brought the glass to his automatically. His grin seemed too wide, unnaturally so, as you brought the glass to your lips. The bright whites of his teeth made you pause as he drank and suddenly you felt like gravity had shifted. No longer was it pulling you down, as was normal, but it felt as if you were being pulled sideways.

The drink hadn’t even made it to your lips yet. What had he done? Had he spiked your first one while you were paying attention to the bartender? You had taken this muscle-head too lightly.

But even as these thoughts flashed in a blurry haze across your mind you realized more liquid was pouring into your mouth. As if on an autopilot your arm had moved and now you were drinking what could quite possibly be a second spiked drink.

Everything happened so fast, but also slowly. The man asked you something, and you felt like you understood it because you nodded and he laughed. Though your glass wasn’t empty yet he took it from you and placed it upon the bar with more care than you felt like you could have acted with in this moment.

A blink and his arm was around you, helping you to dance to the song that was too quiet to hear from the bar speakers. Hadn’t it been loud enough to mask the conversations that were only ten feet from you before? 

Heavily you leaned into his chest, feet moving now that gravity had somewhat righted itself again. Everything about this felt so wrong, but you couldn’t dredge up the motivation to do anything about it.

A hand gripped the sides of your head and your gaze was lifted up and his mouth smashed against yours. The kiss was sloppy and not at all enjoyable, but your limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to you as they rested on his shoulders completely useless. Groggily you remembered the feeling of Hisoka’s hungry lips against yours and you sighed in want, which the man took as a sign of your enjoyment and kissed you again.

A blink and the sounds of the city surrounded you. The wind was moving just enough that you could feel its touch on your face as you looked around, trying to recognize where you were. But it was impossible. The lights were a blurry mess, a painting in the museum where you had seen Pariston.

Pariston.

Fingers dug into your side as you started to lift to one side and you only then realized the man was walking next to you, arm wrapped around your waist to support you and keep you moving. His face shifted to the smiling Pariston and adrenaline pounded through you. “No,” you said firmly, although a bit mushy, pushing against his side to free yourself. Unlike the bar you were using your strength now. Focusing your nen into your hands as you shoved.

For just a moment you were free and stumbled into a nearby mailbox, gripping both sides of the object for stability as you shook your head. You tried to imagine sand on a beach, running hands over it to clear away the writing and make a clean slate, but nothing changed. Your head still felt swimming and the colors of the city both too bright and too dim at the same time. It was as if you were surrounded by suns of every color, but their brilliance couldn’t penetrate the encroaching darkness. Nothing came into focus no matter how hard you tried.

A blink as your ass slid over a stone wall, exposed thighs scraping painfully against the amalgamation of minerals. The man’s nails bit into your legs as he pressed himself against you. “static you’re so static just listen static Don’t worry. I’ll treat you right. static” Listening to him talk was like trying to tune into a radio station you were too far away from. But the meaning of the words was clear. Behave, or I’ll hurt you.

“No!” you screamed it this time, the word was clear and rang in the air as you pushed with all of your strength.

A blink and your head fell backwards, gravity reversing again. You were falling backwards in darkness, the smell of city streets blurring into the smell of water.

The deep black reminded you of Chrollo’s eyes as they watched you. Unreadable and full of secrets that you wanted to push your fingers into and dig around for treasure.

You had felt so powerful as those eyes watched your every move, waiting.

It felt like you fell for several minutes, and when you stopped a soft bed cupped you gently.

At last you were beginning to feel more grounded. The world didn’t seem to be changing as fast as it had been. The feeling in your head was more akin to being drunk now. Everything was somewhat blurry, but understandable, and you felt cold. Were your clothes sticking to you with dampness?

An unconscious groan rumbled out of your chest. With harsh persistence your clit was being worked causing little waves of pleasure to wash over you as your head rolled on the pillow underneath it. Things still didn’t make sense you realized. Things were still wrong.

With effort you managed to lift your head to look down the length of your body. Your clothes were a mess, ripped open with a crazed haste, and the man was between your legs. A scream was working up your throat as you watched him stroke himself as he also worked you, trying to get you wet enough.

A guttural scream of rage ripped through the room causing the man to jump. Finally able to move with more direct grace you sat up and brought your fist against his face.

You felt the flesh against your knuckles, a sense of success flashed through your mind, but in the next moment you were on your back again. Each breath was labored, and it took time to settle in that his hand was around your throat. You tried to focus but couldn’t. His face. Pariston’s face. His face. Pariston’s face.

A tear fell down your cheek, letting itself be known to your brain only because of the feeling of warmth that was quickly followed by cold that was so telling of tears. “Paris-ton,” you muttered, like a prayer in a dying man’s throat.

You squeezed your eyes closed.

“Pariston,” you said again. Feeling the revenge you were working so hard for slipping from your fingers. You could almost see it. Gold strands of hope sliding over your palm and into the darkness once more.

“I have you,” a warm, strong voice said in the dark.

The smell of lilac and musk. So familiar. A scent that made you feel at ease, even as part of your mind screamed. But you were too tired to hear it scream. Too tired to listen to that voice. You just wanted to be comforted and live in that bright feeling the smell brought. Silken sheets, eggshell walls, and white marble showers. So warm and inviting.

Your eyes opened.

The room was familiar and yet completely new. The walls were not eggshell, but basic rental creme, and the smell of lilac and musk was faint and quickly fading.

It was your apartment. You were home.

As realization hit you like a literal brick, your hands scrambled over your body. Did you still have your phone? Were you tied up or shackled to the bed? Where you wearing clothes? 

No, no, and somewhat. While your outfit from the previous night was gone, you were wearing underwear. Slipping a hand into them you felt yourself, unsure what exactly would tell you what you feared to know. But there was no normal soreness that happened after sex. You sighed, relaxing your shoulders into your bed for a moment while you took in a slow breath.

The front door clicked closed in the next room and you jumped from the bed, ready to fight someone off if you had to. And unlike in the bar, you were fully prepared to use all of your powers. No fucking around this time.

But, no other noises came from the small apartment other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Dead air hung with a physical weight while you patiently waited for something to happen. Unwilling to wait for danger to find you first, slowly and quietly you made way to the door to look into the half kitchen half living room beyond the frame and saw no movement. There was no one by the front door either. Your heart wasn’t convinced though, it was working so hard in your chest it physically hurt.

You pushed your hand into your hair, trying to steady your mind with a physical touch as you looked around the room for any sign of what had happened. After a second glance you saw it.

Sitting on the kitchen island was a note.

It didn’t have any nen radiating from it but still you approached with caution until the neat writing was completely readable.

“I suggest you be more careful from here on out. I won’t always be able to save you.

-Pariston”

He had been here. In your home. He knew where you lived.

You expected he would know where you lived, but having it disclosed to you in this manner made your blood turn to ice in your veins and you snatched the note from the cold countertop. It took everything inside of you not to rip it to shreds, burn it in the kitchen sink, flush the ash down the toilet. But you wanted control. Control over your reactions, especially now.

The corner rumpled in your harsh grip as your hand shook with rage and fear. Why? Why had you let this happen? You could have used your nen on that man. At least enough to save you. Enough so that Pariston wouldn’t have had the chance to save you.

But wait. How? How could Pariston have ‘saved’ you? It was all a blur and becoming even more so as the seconds ticked by, but you vividly remembered another bedroom. The very real moment of that man stroking you and preparing to take you.

How would Pariston have known… unless he had organized it?

In disgust you dropped the note, cupping your face in your hands. He had made a move. You knew he would. You had been sloppy. So confident that you had already rigged the chess board for the game to start, that you didn’t notice him move a pawn into place.

Feeling nauseous you turned back to find the note, deciding to rip it up after all, but stopped seeing another message on the back.

“Keep my gift”

The memory of your shredded clothes around you as you lay upon the strangers bed flashed in your head as you rushed to the full length mirror you kept in your bedroom.

The silver surface in sight you rushed to it, putting hands against the wall on either side as your chest heaved. Through the mess of hair that had flown into your face you could clearly see the white undergarment set. White straps hugging your hips and crossing at the sides in a delicate pattern. A matching bra with a ribbon connecting each strap to form a choker at the throat. It was wrapped so gently around your neck you hadn’t even noticed it at first, but now staring at yourself you felt oddly… collared.

It was very Pariston.

It was very much a statement.

~*~*~

If waking up to Pariston's gift wasn't enough, you also had to work that same day, luckily it was Friday. How did you used to have an office job five- sometimes six- days a week? Even when there was hunter work to be done, it was boring and exhausting.

Only two weeks had passed and you still had two more before Chrollo said he'd be available to assist with your plan. Now was the time to keep moving pawns while your big pieces were in standby, but some part of you had lost motivation. Pariston's bold statement was a hard to swallow pill that you kept choking on.

Somewhat literally.

Even though it was maddening in several ways, you wore the lingerie set to work. It required you to wear a light weight turtle neck top, without sleeves as you had ditched the sweater, to hide the soft choker ribbon. When you stood the ribbon pulled against the back of your neck. In your head it felt heavier than you knew it was since the standard bra straps took most of the weight of your breasts.

But you knew. 

You knew Pariston's ego would be in need of a nice stroking today. After all, he had saved you. He'd want gratitude.

Throughout the entire day you waited, uncertain when but your faith in the perceived event never wavering.

And finally around 3 in the afternoon it happened.

As was fifty percent or more of your job, you were at the copy machine. While you had been on alert all day this was naturally the one time it slipped a little and the slight jump and tensing of your shoulders when you sensed Pariston behind you was genuine.

"I'm glad you made it to work," he said in a low, pleased tone. It didn't go over your head that he was alluding to your previous "sickness" as well as what had happened last night, but you knew it best not to bring that up.

Not yet.

You shuffled your feet, pushing the copy button as you stared intently at the digital screen. "I don't know what you mean," you said it plainly, but the air of embarrassment in your voice was painfully evident.

The door to the copy room closed with a soft snap and you concentrated on every muscle to keep from shaking. Against your will you could feel yourself getting wet already. Even after a year you couldn’t stop a deep part of you from reacting to him, even though you were trying so damn hard.

Carefully you looked over one shoulder to see Pariston at last. For the first time in his territory.

His hair was still brushing his shoulders in a golden shine, today's suit was white with silver pinstripes, undershirt a light blue to make the silver pop, and his tie was a complimentary creme. An outfit that on any other person would be gaudy, or somewhat tasteless, but as always it looked completely natural on him.

He looked… perfect.

He smiled, seeing your eyes peeking back at him.

You could feel your heart clench in your chest and you couldn't breathe.

"How are you feeling?"

"Just fine," you lied, thinking to yourself that you'd never tell him otherwise. With a purposeful snap of attention you looked back to the copy machine and lifted the lid to take the original out and replace it with the next page. "Thank you."

There was a pause. Pariston had expected something else. Maybe for you to wobble and fall to your knees and praise him like a worshiper that wanted just a single drop of holy water to keep death at bay for one more day. And whatever Gods did exist knew, that thought had crossed your mind for a solid second. Or maybe he had been looking for more hesitation, signs of the struggle that existed inside of you even as you imagined punching him in the gut.

But you hadn't given him that. You had offered… nothing.

Pariston wasn't one to quit. One long step brought him to your back and his presence was inescapable. You tried to ignore it as you pushed the button for the millionth time, but his hands cupping your shoulders and rubbing them made you gasp.

Other intimate touches you had been ready for, but not something so tame. His long fingers worked into your muscles and slowly your shoulders sank. Without meaning to your eyes had closed, a small groan escaped.

Fuck.

He snickered. "Seems I still know you."

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. There were too many meanings in that simple sentence. But only one of the possibilities bothered you: did he know of your plan?

Pariston's left hand held your shoulder as his right moved from the other side to your neck and you froze in place. The tips of his fingers ran over your throat before dipping down into soft fabric of your blouse. A throaty, dark chuckle came from behind you as his fingers found the "collar" to the bra he had gifted you. "I know you," he reaffirmed.

Your own fingers dug into the sides of the copy machine as you half prayed for strength. 'Adraste, please don't let me crumble here!'

"I knew you'd wear my gift. Do you like it?” As if petting a well behaving cat, he ran his fingers around the collar.

The action made you shiver and that horrible feeling of being unbearably turned on was only growing. But you tried to keep it in check. You cycled through the memories of pain to ground you. Thinking about crying in the shower, the feelings of being used, how you had collapsed at the gallery. “I admit, it is a nice piece,” you said with a level tone of confidence laced with a sexual energy. Your left hand met his at your neck. “You’ll have to tell me what you think if you ever get to see me in it.” With the touch you gave him a taste of your desires, the ones you wanted to crush into dust but served a purpose for the moment. ‘Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Need me,’ you told him with that touch and his fingers tensed around your throat the slightest amount.

For a second time Pariston was caught off guard. You were rarely this forward before, and when you had managed it there had still been a noticeable thread of nervousness. There wasn’t a sign of it now, and he didn’t seem to know how to react to that.

“Thank you for the gift,” you continued since he had chosen silence. With the words you moved your hips just enough to brush against him as the machine stopped and you gathered your copies, his hand falling from your neck.

Purposefully, you didn’t look at him while you did this, but after you had gathered all your items you looked at him with a pleasant smile for just the briefest of moments as you made to leave. He looked almost angry. Almost, because he was still hiding it under a mask. A mask constructed of ego and poise. He smiled and suddenly you felt sick. “You’re welcome,” he said with restrained heat.

He stepped back graciously, opening up your path out of the copy room. You didn’t look directly at him again, but from the corner of your eye you could see him keep up the smile as you walked by. Unfortunately, you had no idea what kind of face he made once you left him behind in the room to stew. You would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking. To know if he was seething with rage.

But you couldn’t know yet.

~*~*~

When you started at the association, you were still fresh from the exam. The job was yours already, but they wanted every person that worked in the building to have at least attempted to gain a hunter’s license. “If you are going to work here, you have to know what kind of people you are working for.” That was the reasoning you had been given. Passing had been hell. The kind of hell you were hoping to leave behind by having a nice office job.

The easiest way to advance- even in the office side of things- was to be a hunter. You hadn’t expected to pass though, and now a world of opportunity was open before you. If you trained up no job could be out of your reach.

Or so you thought until Pariston Hill had targeted you.

You were merely running an errand to the upper floor, but that single small task on a long to-do list put you on a crash course that would completely devour your life.

“Fresh from the hunter exam huh?” He had known you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself yet. “Welcome to the office. You’re a rare gem, you know that? Most people that work on your floor didn’t pass the test.” The knowledge that you could learn nen and be manipulated into using it for him and his dealings if you were groomed correctly was his strongest weapon. “I’m Pariston Hill, the vice president. I look forward to working with you.”

In a week you were moved to the floor below his office.

His smile, the warmth of his hand, the buzz of the new office.

It all meshed into a strange child’s version of a collage. Pieces of what perceived life would be like as an adult pasted onto poster board with too much glue. The pictures bubbling in places even as they moved at different speeds.

A picture of Pariston giving you the water test. Seeing the leaf spin in circles had excited you so much that in the moment Pariston’s calculating face as he watched your joy hadn’t even registered.

A picture of working incredibly late.

Another picture of drinking with office friends. So many picture memories crammed into one space it was hard to make sense of it all.

However, one picture seemed brighter than the others.

Towards the center left was a slow moving picture of Pariston kissing you for the first time. It was the magazine picture of first kisses. A dark park, the city lights blinking through the trees as they rustled in a slight breeze while he cupped your face and leaned in. Your heart beat so heavily in your chest that it made you feel sick. For the first time you had understood the phrase of ‘butterflies in your stomach’.

A chime rang in the distance and some latent part of you realized it wasn’t how that night had gone. There had been no noise like that on the slightly chilly night of your date.

Your eyes opened and blinked several times, the strange dream of memories falling back into your subconscious as the wheels in your mind slowly turned to comprehend reality again.

Why were dreams always so damn weird?

Your phone blinked a blue light next to you letting you know that the chime that had interrupted your dreams was a new message. Luckily the device had made it home with you from your horrible night out, probably thanks to Pariston somehow.

A tiny flame of hope sparked inside of you at the idea it could be Hisoka or -to a less realistic possibility- Chrollo. With a half awake haste you snatched the phone and fumbled a few times before successfully unlocking it to reveal the message:

[I request that you join me for dinner. Around 7:30pm?]

The number wasn’t programmed into your phone. But it stank of Pariston’s way of speaking. It had to be him.

[I accept. Where should I meet you?] Typing out the reply had taken nearly ten minutes of backspacing and groaning, but it was acceptable you determined.

[No need to worry about that. I’ll pick you up. I look forward to seeing you tonight.]

You left it on read for several minutes before replying: [As do I.]

[Oh and

Please do remember my gift.]

~*~*~

A little under a year ago you stood in front of your hallway mirror, touching up your lipstick as you waited for Pariston to take you on your first date. It was the same image you had seen the first night with Hisoka. And now, history repeated itself as you turned your head in several directions to view your lips, being sure that not a smudge of the carefully applied color was out of line.

You weren’t stupid. The knowledge of the mirroring events burned in your heart, eating away any other emotion you could possibly be feeling in the moment as you corrected a collection of hairs back into place behind your ear. “This is part of the plan,” you said in a sigh. It was, and wasn’t. Both a lie, and the truth.

Pariston’s attention was required, but even with your careful planning and observations you couldn’t predict everything he would do. But some things…

Somethings you could.

The strap around your neck rubbed noticeably as you straightened your posture. ‘I know you’ he had said. But you knew him too.

Your phone buzzed in your clutch and you knew without looking it would be Pariston. With a glance back over your shoulder you took the small collection of hairs back out from where you had tucked it, creating the appearance of having missed it.

It would drive him insane.

Pariston stood outside of the slick black car, holding the door open for you while sporting his iconic warm, broad smile. If you hadn’t been staring directly into his eyes as you approached, a painfully pleased smile plastered onto your own face, you would have missed the fraction of a second that the corner of his lip fell. He had no doubt noticed the stray hairs.

“Thank you,” you said, brushing the hand holding the door open as you slid in with a grace you previously had only dreamed of maintaining naturally. When the car door shut a little sliver of pride was blooming inside of you as the realization of how you had finally, finally managed to be elegant in Pariston’s presence.

The bloom made you smile so sincerely that when Pariston got into the car he took notice, a chuckle of question as the car took off which made you look at him. Immediately his hand brushed the stray hairs behind your ear, taking extra care to caress the sensitive outer ear with his thumb as he did so. “You seem to be having a good night,” he pointed out with great pleasure.

“I guess it just feels so… normal,” you said looking away as the slightest blush crossed your cheeks.

A long ‘hm’ came from Pariston as he moved a few inches closer to you on the seat. “It does, doesn’t it? Even your demur blushes are the same.”

The blush deepened and his pleasure only grew. “Look at me.” It was an order, but the kind he had started the relationship with. It was warm, inviting, maybe a little playful. But now you knew the dark center that honey hid, and your breath caught as you slid your gaze to his. “You look beautiful,” he complimented before kissing you.

It was chaste, but you started to melt immediately. Naturally you leaned into the kiss, feeling the layer of gunk that still remained from Thursday night start to dissipate at the familiar contact. Delicately you touched the side of his face, the movement a trained reaction to simple kisses.

Without meaning to, you took in his desire. A warm, deep red vine wrapped up your wrist, and it felt tangible- which it had never been before. Even Hisoka, the pleasure demon, hadn’t had such a strong desire like this. It burned your skin as it grew around and around your arm to your neck and you let out a long breath as your body filled with complicated feelings.

But one stood out as you felt your body cry for air once more. The indisputable desire for ownership.

He called your name, snapping you out of the illusion of being strangled to death by the red, thorny ivy of Pariston’s desire. “There you are,” he said seeing your eyes focus on him again as you blinked and tried to inaudibly resume breathing. “Where did you go?”

“I guess I got lost in the moment,” you said with a small, awkward laugh. Trying to resume your cool you sat back into your seat and ran a hand through the hair next to your ear, appearing to accidentally free the strand he had just fixed. “I apologize I didn’t even ask where we were going. I hope I dressed appropriately.”

He frowned, if it was due to the hair or your pulling away it wasn’t clear. But you could feel his disappointment in the air as you crossed your hands over your lap and tried to clear your head. It was unbelievably hard. Is this what addicts felt like? That just being near the vice that almost destroyed them still could call to every part of their being like a need? The drubbing in their heads of ‘just one more time’ as their nervous system shook with such immense power that you couldn’t recall a time when you didn’t feel this way. A time when you were calm, and your head was clear.

Was it like that for them?

Because it was like that for you.

A warm hand covered both of yours in your lap as you were staring at your ghostly reflection in the window, attempting to focus on some visible reminder of who you were and what you were doing. As he took your hand closest to him into his and pulled it to the seat between you he spoke softly, “Your attire is perfect, as far as I can see.”

Without thought you swallowed, picking up the hidden meaning in his words. He wanted to know if you were wearing his gift or not. “Good. I think it is a bit late to turn around and change,” you attempted to joke, still looking at the window and hoping he couldn’t see your pulse pounding.

‘You can do this. Don’t forget what you’re doing here. This is just to make him keep his guard down. If you avoided him he’d be too defensive. Remember what you’ve done to get here,’ you thought to yourself, forcing thoughts of Haven’s Arena. The blood you had poured onto the floor- some of it yours, some of it not- and the harsh lessons of combat you had to relearn in the forms of bruises and points.

Just as you were forcefully summoning the image of Chrollo laying on your living room floor, remembering that you had straddled the leader of The Phantom Troupe and controlled him for those brief moments, Pariston squeezed your hand hard enough that you looked at him out of reflex. It hurt, he had meant for it to. An unspoken warning of not giving him what he felt he deserved of your attention. “No need to change again.”

Everything he said had double meanings, or they did to you. Had he always spoken in this way?

Before you could think more on it, he pulled you into him and kissed you with force. If anyone had been watching it would have appeared passionate, a kiss full of lust and love in equal measure.

But next to him on the seat you knew it was teeming of possession.

And you fell into it.

His mouth moved against yours. Biting down on your lower lip just as you took in a breath made your lungs completely freeze. The world was hazy again, but not like when you had been drugged. Not the feeling of an oil painting that had been blurred expertly to create a starry sky. It was watercolor out of focus. The colors bled uncontrolled, red running over the corners of the page in a mess. It was impossible to see where one color began and another ended.

“We’re here,” he mumbled against your lips, keeping your face steady with a firm hand as you started for another kiss.

In the haze you had ended up on his lap, straddling him in the somewhat cramped back seat of the car. Some part of you was mortified. Completely aghast at how fast you had fallen onto his lap and drank up his kisses. But something inside of you was too strong now and you smiled at Pariston from your place above him.

‘Soon, you will look up at me just like you are now and in your eyes I’ll see the moment you realize you lost.’

“You’ve become quite brazen haven’t you?” he asked, sliding a hand up your thigh. The tips of his fingers reached out to touch your underwear and you grabbed the hand with a smile.

“No cheating now,” you told him as you shifted from his lap to the seat once more. He returned the smile, but it was forced. “Good things come to those who wait.”

The door opened next to you before Pariston could reply and you exited with the last word for the second time.

But the feeling of triumph wasn’t to last. As your feet hit the concrete, a part of your mind kept you from standing up. Instinct had again kicked in but as was par for the course when it came to Pariston, even your instinct was a bit too late to help you now.

Pariston’s upscale apartment building loomed before you, casting a shadow that was so cold you felt frost forming in your chest. 

That son of a bitch had really upped the game quickly. The chess board was a mess.

“Madam?” he asked with an offered hand to you. The look on his face devoid of outward smile, but you could feel the aura of superiority radiating off of him. You took it, not hiding the look of complex emotion on your face as he helped you to stand. Somehow with the world under your feet, you didn’t feel better. “What’s wrong?”

“I just thought we were going out,” you replied, still holding his hand.

“My initial plan was to do that but, well,” he drifted off and you looked at him as he feigned innocence, going as far as to rub his neck as if discomforted. “I thought something more intimate would be appropriate.”

“Appropriate?”

He chuckled at your uplifted eyebrow, taking your other hand into his. “Just a little apology dinner.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Or speak.

“An attempt to fix things up between us,” he continued since you hadn’t replied. “Come on,” he said kissing the back of your hands, “I’m cooking tonight.”

~*~*~

How did you allow this to happen? How had you ended up in the place you visited in your nightmares until only a few months ago?

You had been confident that anything Pariston threw at you wouldn’t be enough to shake you more than he himself did. But he had known that, hadn’t he?

Alone in the dining room of the high end apartment, you checked your cell phone over and over again for a text from Chrollo or Hisoka. When absolutely positive Pariston wasn’t coming in soon to check on you, you even braved a peak at the text conversations you had saved from Hisoka.

You had meant to delete them. Keep the trail as thin as possible. But you looked at them as confidence boosters when you felt yourself slipping back into your old ways. And nothing made you feel like you were backsliding more than sitting in Pariston’s apartment, preparing to eat a dinner he made you, knowing he would expect payment for his hospitality and thoughtfulness.

[Yes, ma'am~♡]

You read it again and again, remembering the feeling of Hisoka’s desires filling you that first time. It had happened so fast and you had felt full to the point of bursting. Confident, reckless, unafraid.

Footsteps approaching alerted you to Pariston’s imminent arrival, and you locked your phone before dropping it into your purse in a flash.

“I hope you are hungry,” his voice greeted as he entered into the dining room.

Even the callused part of you had to admit he looked extra attractive. He was without his suit jacket, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves unbuttoned, and rolled up. Seeing him outside of his normal presentation was special, a treat that you had come to appreciate during your time together. You dug your fingernails into your palm to help you focus as he laid down two covered trays, one in front of you, and one in front of his own place directly across from you.

The smell of warm protein over wrote your paranoia somewhat and your stomach pained. “It smells wonderful,” you said truthfully. “What did you make?”

Pariston snatched the lids off of the trays with a flourish, that was indeed impressive, revealing a warm plate of food. “Pomegranate duck with Greek salad and a side of gravy-stuffed duchess potatoes.”

The plate was colorful from the brown of the roasted duck to the bright red tomatoes in the salad. The potatoes were beautifully yellow and when you put your fork into the artfully raised mash gravy seeped out. “Pariston… this is impressive,” you complimented sincerely as you tasted the duck. It had a slight sweet taste due to the pomegranate juice.

He laughed as he took his seat. “Don’t forget your napkin,” he reminded you.

Automatically you placed your napkin into your lap and Pariston seemed pleased that you listened so readily.

The food was delicious, and at no point did you feel anything like when you had been drugged at the bar. Maybe he hadn’t arranged that entire mess. Perhaps you had just been too paranoid.

Pariston provided amicable conversation and somehow you both started talking about art. His recent dive into becoming an art patron provided a lot to talk about, and when he mentioned seeing you at the gallery your throat didn’t close up around the potato you had just swallowed. Everything was comfortable. You sipped some of the white wine, washing down the duck with a with something that was probably worth more than your rent.

As his hand reached out and covered yours he said your name in a quiet tone which made you hesitate before looking up at him. “Do you hate me?” he asked, looking so deeply into your eyes that you could practically feel him trying to pick your brain from across the table. 

You had become so swept up in the evening- the food, the wine, how sweet he was being, good conversation- that you didn’t even hesitate when you whispered, “No. Of course not.”

The grip on your hand increased and you winced as Pariston stood. He moved around the table and pulled you out of your seat by the hand, with very little thought to if it would hurt your arm to do so. Like a practiced dance he turned on you, making you back up into the dining room wall like a retreating animal. “Par-”

“Look me in the eyes,” he commanded as his free hand grabbed your shoulder, thumb pushing into the soft muscle under the clavicle, “tell me if you hate me.” His voice had a softness to it, even as he pinned your right hand to the wall next to your head. The tone made your breath catch as his deep brown eyes stared you down, not looking away from your face for even a second. Spite the position something about it was comforting in its familiarity and a familiar feeling of sinking into a prickly warmth swam through your mind.

It took a conscious effort to raise your left hand to his exposed forearm, gripping it with the right amount of force that he wouldn’t think it was a challenge. You had to steady your mind, focus. Things were escalating too quickly to use your power with the care you would have liked, so you drew from him his desire in a rush. 

Red, thorny vines covered you from head to toe. His desire entangling you literally. Each wrist was wrapped tightly, as were your ankles and throat. Though they weren’t physical they felt it on every level as Pariston’s strongest desire burned into your skin: destroy.

The rush of it was a hard slap in the face. You had started to slip back into your old pattern with him, letting him lead you through the familiar motions and succumbing to him so easily. He was determining the pace of the evening, the conversation flow, even this physical altercation you had just allowed to happen. You even had started feeling something for this monster again. Undeniably, you felt like an idiot standing there realizing that over dinner he had so easily lured you back into him. Even this more aggressive movement would have been exciting to you once upon a time. A sign of Pariston having strong enough feelings in some way that he was acting out from his norm.

And if it hadn’t been for your power, even now you might have been stuck in that cycle. Thinking this drastic move was just an act of his passion for you. That somewhere in that evil heart he loved you.

But his desires told the truth. He wanted you to break into pieces and hate him. What he wanted the most in the world was for you to be consumed with hate, because then he’d truly own you. Once you allowed yourself to truly hate him, he’d own part of you more permanently than love ever could.

People fall out of love all the time. But true hate?

True hate resisted everything. Hate would be buried with you.

You smiled, like the love sick puppy you once were. “Of course I don’t hate you, Pariston.” What made it all the sweeter was, it was true. That part of yourself you had been fighting for a year, and more intensely tonight than ever before, loved this monster.

With your hand still on his arm you drove your desire in Pariston with a push, sure that in the heat of this moment he wouldn’t notice any influence on his own desires as you told him to kiss you. Take you into his arms and make you his again.

And he did.

Just that easily Pariston kissed you and commanded you to undress right there in the dining room, dinner growing cold on the table behind him. And happily you complied. Though you had gotten accustomed to telling other people what to do, the facade of the person he had groomed easily slid out as he unzipped the back of the dress and you pulled it off to reveal the white bra and panty set he had gifted you. Now you had practice in heels, so as he rubbed your pussy through the white underwear you didn’t even wobble as you gasped his name.

Even as you let your outward self revert back to the toy he had once broken, some part of the new you was a pillar inside. It kept you steady against his movements mentally and physically. And even as you whispered his name, it was nothing like how your tiny voice pled before. It had a strength and substance to it. He watched you moan and move against the dining room wall and he noticed this change- as he noticed all things with utmost scrutiny. “You’ve become quite the dirty slut haven’t you?” he asked, fingers moving the fabric to the side so that he could touch your wet skin.

“Yes. Will you punish me for being a dirty slut, Pariston?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, wanting him to kiss you again.

“You’ve gotten too bold, perhaps,” his voice was low, guttural and deep. Some of the softness slipping off as his excitement grew.

“Forgive me.”

“Earn it,” he responded before kissing you and releasing your face to grab a fist full of your hair.

In a fluid movement Pariston stood back, whipped you toward the table, and pushed you face down with a loud thud onto the table clothed surface. Fortunately he had a large table so your face didn’t go into the pomegranate duck, but a slight stabbing on your stomach said perhaps a fork still found its way under you.

His hand left your head, but you didn’t try to sit up as the sound of Pariston’s belt being undone behind you sent shivers through your body. “Did you think that I wouldn’t notice you coming back to the city exactly a year since you left?”

“No. I didn’t think you’d pay any attention to me,” you replied and received a punishing whip of the belt across the back of your thighs. It stung, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as you knew he was capable of making it. He was still holding back. Still playing the early game again to lure you into his grasp. The darkest part of him waiting for you to slip up and completely trust him just like last time.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Pariston asked, voice stern and somewhat distant. Just a taste of how it sounded when he was planning on being particularly cruel.

‘I hope so,’ you thought. “No,” you said.

He whipped you again and you clenched the table cloth into your hands. You had pumped enough desire into him that you knew he wouldn’t be able to torture you too long before the need to take you took over him. “What did you say you wanted from me?” he rubbed a hand down your exposed back to your ass.

“Forgive me.”

A slap with his hand this time on to your ass, but it was just as hard as the belt somehow. “For?”

You swallowed, doing your best to keep your legs from shaking, your control over the muscles was being pushed to its limit by this point. “Forgive me for being a dirty slut.”

“You’re already wet. What else can you expect from a slut?”

You knew this wasn’t a question to be answered, but he gave your ass another slap anyway. He leaned over you, crushing you into the table as he did just so he could put his mouth close to your ear. “You may have gotten bolder, but you’re still the same in one way.” You looked at him out the corner of your eye, his wide lipped smile the only thing you could see. “You still get wet for me the same as you did back then. You’re still mine.”

He sat up and there was a pause before he shoved himself into you as hard as he could. Your hips slammed into the side of the table and a year long itch that had been frozen inside of you thawed all at once and diffused into you. It was like warm massage oil dripping into every crevice of every muscle. It felt better than a hot shower. And even as Pariston moved against you with a force so strong it caused pain with each push- there was no way you wouldn’t be bruised tomorrow- it was still exactly what you wanted. Even the fork podding your side just added to the feeling of bliss.

The heels didn’t offer much traction, but you kept your feet steady through the slight conscious will you had managed to retain even as Pariston gripped your shoulder to help bring you back into his hips over and over again.

There was no way to know how long this went on, every nerve that he had groomed was on fire. Pariston was either lost in chasing the instilled need or feeling kind because you orgasmed as he roughly moved against you, giving you a high to ride out as he continued to use you for his own pleasure until he came inside of you.

When he pulled out, you felt the warmth of the last of his cum slide down your inner thigh and you sighed in contentment.

You hated to admit it, even though it was just to yourself, but you felt as if something inside of you had been deeply satisfied. The heavy pain that you had carried from who you were before was at long last dissipating while simultaneously the person you had been building up for an entire year was more fired up than ever before. Because now you knew something you hadn’t previously.

The thing you thought was your greatest weakness against Pariston, that feeling of love, was your greatest strength against him. As long as you still held that horrible feeling inside of you, he couldn’t truly claim victory.

Pariston probably felt like he had already won the chess game, but you knew that now your queen was moving into place for checkmate. It was only a few more moves away.

[uas-fics]

Title: Thanks For The Tea

Summary: Kenny goes to cheer with this cute goth boy brooding in the corner of City Wok.

Rating: G

Ships: Stenny

Content Warnings: N/A

Others: Read on Ao3

~~~~

The boy had sat in the corner booth of the restaurant for about an hour. In all that time, he had gotten up only once to grab some crab rangoon from the buffet. When he sulked by Kenny, he heard him mutter about how he couldn't believe City Wok didn't serve coffee past noon.

Kenny rested against his mop, trying not to stare at the other boy. He knew him from school, but for the life of him couldn't remember his name. Something with an S, or maybe an M. He had a short name, too. Sam or Mark or Steven, maybe.

The mystery boy pulled apart the fried dough wrapping of his crab rangoon. He tentatively stabbed at the cream cheese, the white a stark contrast to his black nails. Now that Kenny thought about it, everything about him seemed out of place to be at a cheap Chinese restaurant.

Black eyeliner, black lipstick, black shirt, even a black stocking cap. Everything but his skin looked like it had been dumped into a pot of ink. He looked like someone who should be sipping coffee at the Denny's outside of town, not forcing down crab rangoon at City Wok.

He's a goth, Kenny remembered abruptly. That explained all the black and the sulking, at least, but Kenny couldn't help but wonder why he was here by himself. As much as the goths like to preach about not being ‘a puppet to the clique machine of society,’ they tended to stick around each other. Seeing one of them alone without an obvious reason was a rarity. Usually, when a goth got dragged into City Wok, they were with their families.

"What some tea?" A voice took him from his thoughts. Kenny turned to see one of his coworkers standing beside him, a tray in her hands.

"What?" Kenny blinked, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring.

"Tea." She repeated, holding the tray closer. "Table four didn't know hot green tea costs extra and sent it back." A small, metal teapot and two white mugs sat on the tray. Steam wafted up from the spout.

Kenny wrinkled his nose up at the offer. He'd tasted that tea before. It was bitter, and he could only stomach it after five sugar packs had been dumped in the cup. His coworker shrugged at his reaction, about to take the tea to the back, when an idea hit Kenny. He grabbed the tray from her hands.

"Actually, I changed my mind." He told her, carefully kicking his mop bucket behind a fake plant. "Tell Mr. Kim I'm taking my last break." Before she could reply, Kenny walked off.

He took a breath as he neared the goth boy's table. The goth looked up at him, and Kenny stiffen, feeling a blush start to creep up his cheeks. Everything about the goth monochrome black and white, except for his sapphire blue eyes.

Those eyes bore into Kenny before he snapped in that distinct goth drawl, "Can I help you?"

Kenny swallowed his embarrassment before setting the tray down. "I, uh, I heard you, earlier, say you wish we served coffee. It's not coffee, but it's like it. Bitter, hot water, but green not brown..."

He wanted to kick himself. He sounded like a total doofus. 'But green, not brown'? What was he even trying to say?

The goth eyed him critically before reaching for the handle of the teapot. He touched it then froze.

"Am I going to be charged for this?"

"Oh, no, no, no! It's on the house, from--it's on the house." He caught himself. The last thing he wanted was this, admittedly cute, goth boy thinking Kenny was trying to flirt with him or anything. He wasn't going to make any advances until he was sure he was available.

The goth nodded and poured the green tea into the coffee mug. Mr. Kim claimed he did have more traditional cups for the hot tea at one point, but over time they had all been lost or broken, and he didn’t bother to replace them.

The goth took a drink before his face twisted in disgust. "Wow. Bitter, hot water, like you said."

"Sorry, I can get you some extra sugar if you want." Kenny offered, trying not to glance at the sugar packets already on the table next to the soy sauce. He couldn't afford to look like any more of a dingus.

"No." The goth took another drink. "It's like my soul, only not as dark and tormented."

Kenny laughed, but quickly covered it with a cough when the goth fixed him with a puzzled look. He rested his hand on the table.

"So, I think we're in the same grade. I know I've seen you before. What's your name? I'm Kenny." He smiled with as much friendliness as he could put into it.

The goth sipped before replying, "Raven."

'Raven.' So Kenny had been way off in his name guesses.

"That's a cool name, dude." Kenny complimented. Raven didn't reply, instead he shrugged.

They lapsed into silence after a few heartbeats. As they did, Kenny couldn't help but admire him. Normally, he avoided the dark and broody types for more upbeat people, but something about Raven made him put his predisposition aside. Raven was cute, had a strong jaw, a nice face. Now that he was close enough, Kenny could tell Raven's skin wasn't natural that pale. Instead he wore a very light foundation. Accented with the dark eyeliner and lipstick, he looked almost ghostly.

"--here?"

"What?" Kenny blinked.

"I said, how long are you going to stand here?" Raven asked irritably. "Don't you have orders to take or something?"

"Naaaah," Kenny chuckled. "No waiting for me. I'm on my break for the next couple of minutes." Raven opened his mouth, but Kenny quickly went on before he could shoo him away. "What are you doing here by yourself? Where are your friends?"

Raven scowled into his tea. "I don't have friends. I walk this mortal coil as alone as when I was born."

A flirt about taking some of that loneliness away pressed against Kenny's teeth, and it took everything he had not to let it slip out.

"Oh, that sucks." Kenny said instead. "I hate being alone. I used to keep all sorts of strays as pets when I was little, so I'd always have someone around. It was all going great, until Mom found the baby raccoons I kept in my closet."

Some of the irritation in Raven's face lefts, and he perked up with something almost like a smile on his lips.

"I have a dog." He admitted, some of the goth drawl slipping from his voice.

"A dog? I love dogs! How old is he? What breed?" Kenny asked, though he didn't care much about the information. Mostly, he just wanted to see if he could get Raven to actually smile. Oh, his smile must be cute. Kenny found himself willing to say anything to see it.

"He'll be seven this year. The person we got him from said he's part doberman and part rottweiler." A grin spread across Raven's face as he spoke. As Kenny had predicted, it was super cute. "Sparky's a big slobbery mutt. If he knows you'll feed him under the table, he'll set his head in your lap while you eat and--" Raven froze, cutting himself off. His smile slipped from his face.

He continued, his goth drawl back in full force, "I mean, he's a great dog, as far as companions to march towards the black void of de--" He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I can't do this."

"Dude?" Kenny asked with a frown. "Are you ok?"

"I can't do this." Raven repeated. He peeked up at Kenny with those sapphire eyes. A shudder ran down his back. With a sigh, he asked, "What do you do, if you're not who you want to be?"

Before Kenny could answer, Mr. Kim called him from the front. There was a spill near the bathrooms. He swore he had longer before his break was over. Or maybe he didn't. It was easy to lose track of time while admiring someone. He knew that from experience.

"I gotta go." He told Raven. "If you want to keep talking, I get off in another hour and a half. Um, meet me outside."

Raven's face remained emotionless. He didn't respond, instead turning his attention back down to his tea. Kenny sighed inwardly, heading back to where he hid his mop bucket. When he wheeled it from behind the plant, he looked over his shoulder towards Raven's booth.

It was empty.

Kenny spent the next hour and a half in a disappointed daze. This was probably the only opportunity he would ever have to talk to Raven without the rest of the goths throwing judging looks his way. Kenny didn't need anymore judging looks than he already got normally for his ratty appearance.

He hung his apron up on the nail in the back before reaching for his backpack. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from the front pocket as he stepped out the back door of the restaurant. Flipping open the pack, Kenny was greeted with even more disappointment. His pack was empty. Empty just like the back booth.

With a swear, he crumbled it up and tossed it into the dumpster. In all likelihood, his brother had probably stolen the last few from him. Not that Kenny could complain and demand them back since Kevin had been the one to buy the pack for him in the first place.

Great, this day couldn't get any worse. He couldn't wait to sulk home. Maybe he'd drop by Kyley-B's house on the way home, instead, see if he could use his puppy-dog eyes to garner sympathy, and maybe some free food, from Mrs. Broflovski.

"Hey, um, Kenny, right?"

Kenny jumped, spinning around. From beside the fence dividing City Wok from the sushi house next to it, Raven pushed himself up.

"Oh, yeah! Raven, you're..." Kenny trailed off, trying to keep himself from becoming tongue-tied. He took a breath before continuing, "you still want to talk?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure, whatever. Not like I have anything better to do." Raven's shoulders slumped forward. The action sent some of his hair into his face. It didn't look like that unnatural black that some of the other goths had. Kenny didn't think it was dyed.

"Awesome." Kenny flashed a crooked grin.

"Alright," Raven nodded. "Follow me. I don't want to talk here. The smell is giving me a headache."

As they started to leave the alley, Raven took a turn to the left and went down the road towards Skeeter's Bar. Kenny raised an eyebrow and followed behind him. As they passed the bar, he glanced through the front window.

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn't see his dad inside. More times than he cared to admit, he had to drag his dad off the bar stool on his mom's orders. Once he started working at City Wok, the orders to do so only increased. Leading his belligerent dad through the streets sure didn’t help with the judging looks, either.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he jogged back up towards Raven.

"The woods?" Kenny asked as they stepped over a large fallen tree branch in the path. "You're not an axe murderer, are you? I mean, just in case I need to pretend to be a virgin or something." For the briefest second, Raven smiled at Kenny's joke.

"No. It's private here." He paused at the crossroads up to the old Mephesto Labs before jumped up to sit on the wooden fence. Kenny leaned against the map signpost, putting his hands in his pockets.

He pursed his lips a moment, going over his thoughts. Once he collected himself, he said, "Back at City Wok, what did you mean when you asked if I knew what to do when you don't like who you are."

Raven glanced to the side. He opened his mouth once, shut it, opened it again, before shaking his head. "No, you know what? This is stupid. Never mind. Forget you even saw me."

"Wait! No, dude!" Kenny put a hand reflexively on his arm. "It's fine. I've got nowhere to be, and if you're worried about me judging you, I won't. Promise." Their eyes met and Kenny prayed his sincerity shone through.

Raven pursed his lips then sighed. He slipped completely off the fence but didn't walk away, instead leaning against it.

"'What do you do, if you aren't who you want to be,' is what I asked." Raven shut his eyes. "What am I to you? You don't know me, but what do you see me as?"

"Cute?" Kenny blurted out. He blushed and took a step back, suddenly remembering his hand was still on Raven's arm. "I mean, shit, goth! Goth! I see you as a goth."

The wry smile that appeared when Kenny called him 'cute' faded when he answered 'goth'.

He looked down at his hands. "I became a goth in third grade. Before that, I was just another conformist running the rat race, trying to stay popular and well liked." He laughed, but it was cold. "I was on the football team. Star quarterback, actually. Or as 'star' as an eight-year-old can be."

"Really?" Kenny questioned, astonished that a goth would ever be on a sports team, let alone an MVP.

Raven nodded. "Yeah, but once I became a goth, I dropped the team. It made my uncle and dad cry. I couldn't be the preppy, happy-ass jock they wanted me to be." He spat the word 'jock' like it was a swear.

Kenny hummed. "I sit with one of the basketball players at lunch. Kyley-B? The kid from New Jersey? And he isn't what I would call 'preppy'."

Kyley-B was pretty far from a traditional 'preppy, happy-ass jock' as Kenny could fathom. He was loud, easy to anger, used odd combinations of words that Kenny was ninety percent sure were insults. If not for his athletic skill, he probably would have been kicked from the team years ago.

Raven's face scrunched up. "I know not all jocks are preps. I'm not stupid." He shook his head, slumping farther down until he sat on the cold earth. "What I'm saying is this. I gave up being what my family thought I should be, to be what I thought I should be. Now, though, I'm not sure if this is what I really want."

Kenny frowned, crouching down next to him. "What? You don't want to be a goth anymore?"

A half shrug. "I dunno. Yes? No? I just...don't know. I like my friends. Henrietta, Michael, Pete, Frickle, and I go way back. They've been there for me. I can't just leave them," He rolled his head back, "but I don't want this anymore. I want to wear colors again, not just black. I want to play sports for fun, not just for a passing PE grade. I know it sounds hypocritically coming from  me, but I want to be a conformist again."

Kenny pursed his lips in thought. After a moment, he said, "Will that make you happy?"

"What?" Raven asked, brows furrowed.

"Will that make you happy? Will branching out and trying to be something else make you happy?" Kenny tilted his head. "You know it's not a bad thing to go through phases. Everyone does. I went through a superhero phase that lasted for two years. Looking back it was pretty embarrassing that I ran around with underwear outside my pants, but, I got it out of my system.  Maybe being goth was your phase. Maybe being a 'conformist' will be a phase. Either way, you gotta do what makes you happy, so I say branch out. Find yourself. Be who you want to be."

He smiled brightly, trying to cover the fact that among his corny advice he had actually mentioned his Mysterion phase. Only he and Butters ever talked about those times, and that was almost always to laugh at themselves.

Raven fixed him with a stare for a long moment. It felt like burning on Kenny's skin, but he couldn't really say he completely disliked the feeling. Raven's gaze wasn't judging, not completely and not in a cruel way like when other people judged him, anyway. It was like Raven was trying to figure Kenny out.

Finally, Raven looked away.

"I always figured you were just another conformist poser, saving face and shit," Raven said, "but, you're actually not terrible."

"I'm not too terrible at a lot of things." Kenny winked, unable to hold back the flirts he'd been fighting off since setting eyes on Raven's cute face. He winced internally, hoping beyond hope Raven would take his comment as a joke.

A blush flared up on Raven's cheeks as he scrambled to stand. "I need to go home. I have a lot to think about." He let out a breath through his nose then turned, holding his hand out. "Thank you. You have...a comforting aura. I'm glad I talked to you. Please, don't tell anyone about this--not that I care what anyone thinks or anything. I just don't want any of this getting to the other goths before I've made my choice."

Kenny let Raven haul him to his feet. "You're welcome, thank you, and you have my word. I won't tell a soul."

Raven seemed to believe that. He bobbed his head before turning and heading off down the path deeper into the forest. Kenny watched him disappear among the dense pine trees before looking down at his hand, the one Raven had held.

He touched his palm with his fingertips. Even if they never spoke again, he hoped Raven would do what made him happy and he was glad if he could help with that.

~~~~

"And then I says, I says to him 'are you talking bad about my brother? No one talks bad about my brother but me!'" Kyley-B slapped his fist against the table, causing the lunch trays to shudder. Butters scooted down the bench to avoid being hit by Kyley-B's waving arms. Kenny unconsciously leaned back, though, from his seat across the table, he was out of slapping range.

Kyley-B made a punching motion in front of him. "So I knock the air out of the bastard, and I show him you don't mess with someone from Je--"

"Um, excuse me?"

The three at the table looked up, Butters peaking around Kyley-B to be able to see.

The boy wore a brown jacket and blue hat, both accented with bright red. Unstyled, black hair stuck out from under the knit hat. For a moment, Kenny didn't recognize him, until he met the boy's sapphire colored eyes. He blinked once.

"Raven?" He asked.

"It's, um, it's Stan, actually. Stan Marsh." He corrected.

Realization washed over Kenny. That's right. He remembered now. Stan had insisted everyone call him 'Raven' starting back in third grade, even had his name changed on the class lists. Once middle school came around and everyone went to different classes, Kenny didn't see much of Stan and his memory of him faded.

"Oh, hey! Hey, dude! What's up? How are things?" Kenny grinned. It was manic, but he didn't care at that point.

Stan didn't wear the same monochromatic makeup as before. The makeup he had on now didn't quite match his natural skin tone perfectly, but it made his face look much warmer than before. He looked even cuter than before.

Stan bit his lip a moment before taking a calming breath. "Kenny, I wanted to talk to you, in the hall." He glanced at Kyley-B and Butters. "If you're not busy."

"Nope!" Kenny jumped out of his seat. Kyley-B gave Kenny a knowing look before rolling his eyes. He spun in his seat so he was directly facing Butters and continued on with his story.

Stan nodded nervously to Kenny, before walking out of the cafeteria. He lead them to the library but stopped before heading inside. Instead, he turned and stepped into the small alcove in the wall, pressing himself between the water fountain and the corner.

Kenny rocked on his heels a moment before asking, "Is everything alright? I see you've got some color going on."

Stan shrugged. "Yeah, thanks, I mean--no, yeah that's what I mean. Thanks, thank you." He took his hat off to run his hand through his hair. "Thank you, our talk really helped."

"Did it? I'm glad!" Kenny said. "I guess that means you decided to rejoin the rat race?"

Stan chuckled. "Yeah, for now, at least. I talked to my friends on Sunday, and, honestly, they all knew it was coming."

"Seriously?" Kenny wasn't sure if he should laugh or not, so he cracked a somewhat sympathetic, half-smile instead.

"Michael said he was surprised I didn't 'go back to being an 'acceptance-hungry poser' years ago. None of them thought I would keep being Goth up for as long as I did." Stan's smile wavered. He said, "They said I can still hang out with them if I want, but that feels, I don't know, othering, I guess, if I'm not a goth anymore."

Kenny cocked his head to the side. "Do you want to hang with me and my friends for a while? Butters is a sweetheart and super friendly, and I swear Kyley-B isn't nearly as bad as he seems."

Stan looked taken back for a moment. He opened his mouth to reply when his hip pressed against the side of the water fountain, causing it to turn on. He jumped back, face red.

Kenny gently put a hand on his arm. "We're playing basketball after school. You can join us if you want."

"I, uh, really? Would that be ok?"

"Sure!" Kenny squeezed his arm. "It's always just Butters and me against Kyley-B. Maybe with three of us, we might actually win a game."

Apprehension clouded Stan's features for a moment before he smiled, that same genuine smile like when he was talking about his dog, and Kenny felt his heart do a backflip.

"That would be cool. Thanks."

"Uh, yeah, t-t-totally, anytime!" Kenny stammered. He coughed into his hand and stepped back. "Actually, um, can I ask you a question? Why did you want to talk to me--not now, but before at City Wok."

Stan fixed him with a similar as when he tried to puzzle Kenny out, then shrugged. "I told you, you have a comforting aura."

"'Aura'?"

"Yeah, Henrietta says everyone has an aura, and some people's auras are just better at inviting others in. Yours is like," He pursed his lips a moment, "and don't take offense to this, I mean it in a good way, a dog. It's just friendly like you can talk to you about whatever, ya know?"

Kenny didn't know, but he nodded anyway. Before he could reply, Stan kept talking. "Can I ask you a question now?"

"Sure, shoot."

The tops of Stan's ears turned red as he asked, "Do you really think I'm cute?"

Kenny swore internally as he fumbled for what to do. He could play it off as a joke, but then if he ever did want to ask Stan out, he would have to own up to his lie. He could admit to it and risk Stan being uncomfortable around him. He could--

"Because I think you're kind of cute, too."

Kenny blinked, dumbfounded. "What? Are you--are you asking me on a date or something?"

"Not yet. I think I'd like to be your friend first." Stan replied. He was trying to play it cool, but the blush and his stiff pose gave him away as just as nervous as Kenny.

The bell on the wall rang then, making both of them jump.

As Stan shot a glare at the bell, Kenny swallowed the lump of nerves in his throat. "Shit, dude, yeah that sounds great."  He patted down his pockets before pulling out a crumbled City Wok receipt and a pen. He scribbled down his number before awkwardly handing it to Stan.

"Here, text me or something and I'll tell you when and where we meet up to shoot hoops."

Stan looked at the number before carefully folding it and put it in his jacket pocket. "I will," He stepped forward, out of the alcove and past Kenny. The crowd of people leaving the cafeteria could be heard down the hall.

"My locker is on the other end of the school." Kenny jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "I need to get going so I'm not late for class."

"Yeah, mine's just up the hall." Stan nodded in the direction of his locker. The crowd of students was upon them then, and Kenny had to duck and dive around students to get into the flow of traffic going his way.

He looked back towards Stan, but he was already swallowed by the crowd.

~~~~

As Kenny sat idly in chemistry class, waiting for the destruction that came with being partnered with both Kyley-B and Eric Cartman, he felt his phone buzzed twice in his pocket.

Ignoring the arguing over which chemical should go into the beaker first, Kenny slipped it out. They were texts from a number he'd never seen before.

"Hey, it's Stan," the first text said. "In all my thanking earlier, I forgot to thank you for something. I think I should do that before I forget."

Kenny felt his whole body warm in delight as he read the next text.

"Thanks for the tea. <3"

~~~~

AN: This has sat in my drafts for a few months now >>, but now I can say I finally did something with Goth!Stan and City Wok!Kenny.

[omnical]

I Sing the Body Electric... (2/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler knows a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor, supernatural elements.

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Lucio, Mei

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore. 

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart --  cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens -- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela.

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

I am so sorry.

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

...

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask.

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” --   stop talking about the weather, Angela -- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” Words, Angela. “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they are natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.”

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- maybe I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” Lunch? Dinner? A movie?

An early morning jog around the park?

Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it.

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

Live a little.

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

Notes: This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus to expand this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational!

Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best :D

Thank you very much for reading! Have a nice day, everyone~

Edited (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late and caught a few minor errors I overlooked :)

[beapositiveimpact]

Lights And Shadows (pt 3)

In a small dark apartment just down the peninsula from the city, a woman is rolling over onto her side under her pale blue blanket. She silently looks toward the foot of the bed where there is an older man, in his 60s, getting dressed. After he puts his shoes on, he reaches into his pocket and pulls a wad of twenty dollar bills out and puts them on the dresser. "As usual, that was real nice, Shauna. Don't sleep the day away. I don't know if I can see you next week as my wife's nosey mother will be visiting with us for a few days. But I'll get ahold of you before the holidays start up." And he walks out the door, back to his boring suburban life, leaving Shauna to her very different life, full of self discovery and frustrating johns. Shauna sits up and looks towards the door for a moment and then at the cash for services rendered. She wraps the blanket around her and gets up to make a fresh pot of coffee on the electric burner that substitutes for a stove. "Not if I get money for airfare to get out of this town first." She counts the cash to herself, "Damn, barely enough for rent for this little cave and a lunch special at the burger joint." She let's out a low sigh while glancing out the window, "Looks like more rain." She wipes a tear, trades the blanket for her pink terry cloth robe then pours herself a cup of strong black coffee and starts her day. Another day, another dollar or less. It's a good thing that Jimmy is a natural at sales, his commissions more than make up for lack of hours on the sales floor. It doesn't hurt that even on his worse days, he can put aside the pain in his personal life and turn on the charm. When he was in school, his aspirations were to be a famous jazz musician. His room was always cluttered with keyboards, guitars, percussion instruments, whatever he could get his hands on that made music. During his senior year in college, money was really tight and he had to slowly sell each instrument and a month before graduation he was offered a sales position in a higher end shoe department at a clothing store near Union Square. It was only a matter of time before he was talked into working at Macy's on Union Square. He always enjoyed talking about fashion to women. Most of his friends growing up have been the girls of the neighborhood. Plus, he was tired of living on macaroni and cheese and tuna. Since then, he's become one of the top sellers in the department. The floor of the store is mostly designer and trendy women's clothing and his department is on the opposite end of purses so he can easily watch the women who come in from their tourist busses or over from downtown, or Pacific Heights, to shop for a specific outfit or two. Well, a girl has to have the right shoes for the occasion and Jimmy is just the one to sell the ideal pair and then point them in the direction of the perfect accessories. This encourages his coworkers in nearby departments to send him customers just as often. One of the salesmen in an adjoining department, selling the higher end trendy, is Blake. Jimmy and Blake never talk much. They're cordial and often send a customer to the other to get something that matches perfectly. Blake is maybe a year or two younger than Jimmy. He has wavy hair like Jimmy's but lighter, a dirty blonde, and cut very short on the sides. The single big wave he keeps long in front swoops down to almost touch his round tortoise shell glasses. They frame pale greenish-gray eyes that are complimented by his round boyish cheeks and big, bright smile that always has a hint of mischief. As Jimmy is bagging up some of the more expensive pairs of pumps, in three colors, for a stylish woman in her 50s, Blake quietly walks into Jimmy's department. She's dressed in a navy pinstriped blazer and skirt with an ivory colored silk dress shirt and a modest length pearl necklace with a tear-shaped opal hanging from it. Her shoulder length hair that has just a hint of gray is styled reminiscent of Mary Tyler Moore. The woman is clearly an executive from the financial district. Blake overhears the conversation between Jimmy and his appreciative customer. "Thanks for visiting us again and I know you're going to love those. The heel might look a little high but the shoe is so well made you won't feel any bit uneasy. And if you need any stretching to soften the leather on the red pair before your event don't hesitate to bring them by." "Oh Jimmy, you're such a dear. What would us old socialites do without you? Are you sure you can't meet my niece when she's in town in December? I just know the two of you would get along fine. Maybe you can take her to one of those AIDS dance-athons that you've told me about in the past. You do still go to those?" "Well, it's been a while since I've been to one. I've been taking a little break from things lately. Besides Mrs. Masden, you know I can't date a customer. Macy's wouldn't approve. But thank you so much." " I understand how we have to all dance to the tune of our employees. Mine definitely do. Even when it's a silly policy. And as for taking a break from things, don't take too long. The world needs your kind heart and big smile. Anyways, thank you again and I'll let you know how the burgundy ones work for the reception next week. I'm sure I'll be in at least one more time before the holiday madness starts. Till next we meet darling boy." "Yes, let me know, thank you. And don't behave yourself." As Blake comes up from behind, "Oh, Blake, you're off already? It's only 9." "I won a bet with a coworker so he's covering my last hour. I was watching you work that last one. Boy, am I glad you like it in shoes." "That's Mrs. Masden. She's a regular. By day, she runs a job agency downtown. By night, she's a busy Pacific Heights socialite. I think she holds two dinner parties a week, and always for some big cause or another." "What was that about her niece?" "Apparently, her niece, who is studying to be a doctor in the east coast, is coming to visit and Mrs. Masden is trying to fix us up." "For what? I mean, you're not nearly as nelly as most of the queens around here but she can tell you're queer, right?" "No idea. And thanks for reaffirming my masculinity." "Sure, anytime Mister. So, what are you doing tonight after your shift? I was going to Tower Records for the new Cocteau Twins compilation. Maybe you can join me at Cafe Flor for some wine and check it out together." "Umm..." "Come on, how long have we been working practically right next to each other and never hung out?" "I appreciate the offer, I do. But times are a little tough for me right now. And, besides, shouldn't you be going home to your boyfriend?" "He's the one that suggested I should get to know you. And, besides, he is busy with work this weekend." "Oh, I didn't know you guys were in an open relationship." "Yes, it's something we do so we don't get too needy with each other." " I guess that makes sense. If it works for you two." "So, see you around 10:00? Its not anything serious that I'm asking you out to. Let's just hang out, have a few drinks, talk music..." "Well, I did promise someone that I'd get out more. Okay. I'll try to finish up and get out of here a little early. It's been a little slow with the rain so that shouldn't be too hard." "It's never too hard for me." "What?" "Nothing. See you at the Cafe. If you do get there before 10, poke into Tower. I might still be in either the Goth section or the Classical section if I lose track of time. And I usually do." "I know how that is. I do it all the time in music stores and bookstores. Sure, I'll see you around that time." Jimmy gives a little wave to Blake as he walks towards the door and a group of trendy teenaged girls wander into his department. "Well, this will take up the next hour," he mumbles to himself before he turns back around, smiles and approaches them. An hour later, Jimmy is in the Castro and rushing in the rain over to Tower Records. Just as he's about to pass the entrance to Cafe Flor, Blake jumps out in front of him. Jimmy, who hates being late and is rushing, doesn't even notice him until he bumps into him. "Oops, sorry sir. Oh, it's you." Blake gives him a quick hug. "That's okay. You can bump into me anytime you like." "Haha. Were you waiting long? I got busy right after you left and could barely get them to leave to close up on time." "I've just been here long enough to get a glass of their merlot. It's not the greatest but it's not horrible. Want to try a glass? Or are you a beer and pretzels kind of guy?" Blake leads Jimmy over to one of the tables on the side of the cafe that is covered but away from the more crowded tables. "This is my favorite spot in the the city for people watching. Let me buy this round." "Thanks, they have a nice sangria. I tried it when Drew and I came here once," as he's setting his backpack down on the wooden bench alongside the glass front of the cafe and takes off his wet jacket and baseball cap. "And, if we get to a second round, it's on me." Sitting in that narrow section with the little row of white marble cafe tables between two windows overlooking Market Street, Blake and Jimmy start to talk about the day at work and the customers and coworkers. Then, Blake reaches into his leather shoulder bag and takes out his Walkman and the new cd he just purchased. He waves it in front of Jimmy's face a little, unwraps it eagerly and pops it into the player. "You must hear this," as he hands a pair of small headphones, that are little more than a flat curved wire between two round foam cushions, to Jimmy. "I give you the honors of hearing this first." "Don't you want to hear it too?" "It's a compilation of their imports and I have most of it. Besides I want to hear what you think of them. You have heard of the Cocteau Twins, right?" Jimmy puts on the small headphones as Blake presses the play button. The music starts with a drum machine and a guitar strumming very simple chords. A voice starts singing and Jimmy doesn't know what to make of this ethereal singer. The woman is singing in a soprano that floats over the instruments. And he doesn't have the vaguest idea what language she's singing in. But it's as if her voice is one more instrument in this new wave-ish space waltz. "I don't want to sound stupid but what language is she singing in?" "Who knows. I think she makes it up as she goes. What do you think?" "It's like nothing I've ever heard before. But I like it. There's something otherworldly and all so romantic about it." Nice description. People either love them obsessively or hate them. My partner hates that he can't understand what she's singing about. He wants words that he can sing along to. I think it's all of that Motown and r&b that he grew up listening to. He prefers that I play them on my headphones or when he's not home." "Really? It sounds like great music to make out to." "Think so? Maybe we can try that out later?" "Wow, you're incorrigible." "And you're irresistible." "Blake, it's only been a few months since I lost Drew. I'm not ready for anything heavy. I don't even know if I'll ever be." "Jimmy, you sweet boy, I'm not looking for anything more than a new friend and maybe a little action once in a while. I love my partner and I'd never leave him, not even for someone as adorable as you. But we rarely have sex so I'm free to get my needs met with other people. I hope that's not weird for you." "No. It's different. But it's not weird." They sit silently for a moment. Then Blake puts the earplugs back on Jimmy's head. "You keep listening and I'll go get you that sangria." "Thanks," Jimmy says as Blake gets up and starts walking toward the entrance. Jimmy hits play and thinks to himself as the singer starts up in her strange non-language, "Well, this is very different and maybe that's what I need. Something very different." When Blake returns with the sangria and another merlot for himself, they share the earplugs and listen to the rest of the Cocteau Twins. They also listen to a few bits and pieces from other CDs that Blake pulls out of his shoulder bag. "Want one of my designer cigarettes?" Blake asks as he pulls a silver antique cigarette case out. "They're very smooth." "I rarely smoke but sure, I'll try one." For another hour they sit under the awning, protected from the steady heavy downpour of rain that rarely happens in San Francisco, huddled together smoking, trying each other's drinks and listening to music. "So," Blake finally says, " tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up? What brought you to this wonderful city? How old were you when you came out?" "I'm from here. Grew up in the Mission." "Darling, no one is from here." I am. I grew up in the Mission with an aunt and about seven other kids that she raised. I guess I came out when I was twelve but I don't know if I was ever in the closet. There were so many people in the house that no one really noticed me or cared. I usually did what I wanted to as long as I got good grades and was home in time for dinner." "Lucky you. I'm an only child from an overly-protective fundamentalist mom. I moved here from Denver as soon as I was old enough to get away, the day after my eighteenth birthday. I had my first gay experience on the back of that bus that brought me here. Dear old Mother still doesn't know, or want to know, I'm not sure which is more accurate." "You never told her?" "I have tried. I've brought up the subject a few times but each time she changes the topic of conversation. I mention Gary and she will only refer to him as my roommate. I think she's decided to go the grave thinking that her boy will someday meet a nice Christian girl and make lots of green-eyed masculine babies. Hey, want to go back to your place and fuck?" Jimmy chokes on the sip of sangria he just took, "What? Wow. Uh, well, I don't know." "Come on. I'm not talking about a lifetime commitment. We won't have to pick out matching drapes in the morning. Just a nice night of escaping in sweaty passion between two horny young men." "It's a really nice offer and I do think you're attractive but..." "But nothing. You look like you haven't gotten laid in ages." "Feels like years. But...I'm not sure about this." "Why you're practically a virgin again. We won't do anything you won't enjoy." "It would be nice to cuddle with someone a little but maybe next time." "Okay, I'll let you off this time. But not forever. I've watched you from my department too long."