Tumgik
#won’t be a fic but will be a massive chunk of ideas on how cool it would be for Fawcett Citys logic to run how a genuine child would expect
bonebrokebuddy · 2 years
Text
“I don’t understand why you’re so adamant on asking me this, Hal. I just mentioned to Barry that I talked with the head Easter Bunny once and now everyone keeps asking me if I think the Easter Bunny is real! Why do people keep asking me? I’ve met them. I don’t understand why I have to ‘believe’ in the Easter Bunny for them to be real! They exist!”
Hal put his hands up and stepped back, clearly not expecting the frustrated and somewhat hostile response of Billy who slumped back into his seat, which was slightly less satisfying in his bulkier body, and began running his hands through his hair.
The repetition of being interrogated over a simple comment was not only bewildering but had gotten increasingly more annoying to answer as somehow the members of The Justice League, the literal most powerful group of people on earth, didn’t seem to understand a piece of basic knowledge.
Billy was not only very tired of being asked the same thing but even more-so he wanted the laughing at his ordinary response to stop.
He paused and looked Hal dead in the eyes then began to speak in the most dead tone Hal had ever heard from the usually cheerful man.
“Hal, I know the Easter Bunnies are real because I had to spend two, very long weeks personally overseeing the creation of their union that made sure they no longer routinely experience unsafe working conditions and helped establish 8 hour working days so they no longer get overworked or are required to do 80 hour weeks prepping for Easter and get punished for doing less or don’t get paid”,
Billy’s previously slow, blank tone grew more rushed and frustrated as he went on,
“I mean, I didn’t even do much other than sit there and look intimidating by throwing around lightning sometimes and make sure the Easter chicks didn’t do any funny business or tamper with the legal process!
It was in all the papers in Fawcett! I had my picture taken with them and everything. But Hal. I can guarantee you that the Easter Bunny exists. Please. Please stop fucking asking me.” Finally done, Billy slumped onto the table with a loud clunk.
Hal stood there shocked for a moment. “Marvel, did you just imply there’s multiple easter bunnies and they established a form of government?!”
Billy, with seemingly tremendous emotional effort, lifted his head from the table by a few inches and looked Hal in the eyes with a pleading tone, “If I just say no, will you please stop asking me?”
“Absolutely not, now I have even more questions”
Billy let his head fall back onto the table with an even louder clunk and groaned.
2K notes · View notes
villainscomplex · 3 years
Text
this, at least.
hey so anyway yall know how there was that big boom of angsty ship fics right
,,,,,i wanted to write one too and I have no other excuse
!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!
Also on: 
AO3
Wattpad
FFNet
Quotev
----------------------------------------------
In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.
His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.
And he does.
Asahi jerks awake violently, legs tangled in his blankets and hair plastered to the back of his neck, cold with sweat. He still feels like there’s — what? He doesn’t know the source of the pain, only that it is sheer pain, radiating through the core of his very being. It’d be easy to think it’s something simple, a bullet wound or head trauma, but the way it nestles into his chest and takes root there begs to differ.
In his dreams — nightmares, they prefer — Asahi is made of fear and desperation, of please, no, and the unnerving feeling that he’s forgetting something. There’s always someone with him, always whispering his name, fingers cold on his face.
It’s always the same scene.
He steps into a doorway and panic swells in his chest, but he’s never sure what triggers it. There’s nothing in the room but darkness, and then his feet come out from under him, and he is falling. The ground is far, and he falls forever and ever, until time stops short. He crashes into it in one graceless dive, shatters apart, and reforms at the seams with the sweet familiarity of agony.
He’s sure, with every fiber of his being, that something is missing. He doesn’t know what, or who, only that it is missing and the absence feels like a hole in his chest, a hollow place where the pain doesn’t reach.
Asahi leans forward in his bed, struggling to catch his breath. His hair falls like a curtain around his face. He can’t remember why he keeps it long, only that the idea of cutting it feels wrong, and so he lets it grow.
Suddenly, his bed feels unappealing and cold, and he staggers out of it into the quiet of his apartment.
If his life was a story, the narrator would say something like this — Azumane Asahi is a twenty-six year old man with severe amnesia and a wedding ring on a necklace, to which he doesn’t know the location of the missing pair. And that’s it, they’d say, just a detective with no memory and a lot of anxiety. He doesn’t think he’s important enough of a character to warrant any sort of life story.
His phone is where he left it when he’d arrived home the night prior, tossed onto his side table in a fit of weariness. The screen blinks dimly back at him, still miraculously alive, but only with about six percent to spare and at least three new messages to speak of. They’re all from one of the few people he actually texts, and even without looking at the contact name, Suga’s typing style is distinctive from Daichi or Shimizu’s.
He checks the time in the corner of his screen. It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning, which isn’t a bad time, but it’s still earlier than he normally gets up. Going back to sleep is about the most unappealing thing he can think of right now, so even if he isn’t a morning person, he plugs his phone up, clicks on the shabby TV, and goes to make a pot of coffee, listening to the steady drone of the early weather report.
The ring around his neck is a cold weight against his bare skin, small and heavy against the hollow where his throat meets his clavicle. It rolls and clinks softly against its chain as he moves, a quiet, ever-present reminder of a past he doesn’t remember.
It’s easy to make assumptions. He doesn’t know who has the pair to this ring, only that it feels too important to get rid of, so he keeps it around his neck. For all he knows, he was married once. Someone else had — maybe still has — the pair to this ring. He doesn’t remember being married or who his partner is, but he’s sure they must exist.
Maybe they’d left because he’d forgotten.
Asahi tucks the assumption away before his anxiety can take it and run. He’s got a life now and he can’t go ruining what he has by overthinking whatever he used to have. Lacking the vast majority of his memories hadn’t stopped him from rebuilding his life these past few months, bit by bit.
It’s only been a few months since the accident and even though he doesn’t remember it personally, that’s all everyone keeps referring to it as. The accident, like he’d gone and suffered a massive memory loss by total coincidence.
Asahi kind of hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it.
In hindsight, it hadn’t been an easy recovery. He supposes nobody ever really thinks about what would happen if they lost a chunk of their adult memories and nobody would tell them why. He’d had friends to support him through it, even if he had taken a while to remember the three of them, and because of their support he’d been able to get back on his feet.
He’s still a rookie at this detective work, but sitting down and poring over the facts and figures of the cases he’s investigating is oddly comforting.
Light peeks out from over the horizon as the morning settles in, blanketing the world outside and the living room within in a sheet of pale light. Asahi’s eyes ache from his lack of sleep. The bags beneath them have gotten worse, and he’s sure he’ll inevitably get scolded about them when he sees his friends again.
By the time Asahi arrives at his workplace, the city around him has come to life. It’s never quiet here by any means, but once the sun is up, it seems everyone takes to the streets at once. He leaves early to avoid the rush, but always inevitably catches the start of it and makes it just in time, stumbling into the doorway of the detective agency’s office.
“Hey, Azumane,” the receptionist greets with an easy smile, leaning over the desk to be seen, “just in time. Still relearning the trains?” Asahi isn’t too familiar with Narita, but the man is calm and rarely bothered by high stress situations, and he appreciates the cool head and easy attitude first thing in the morning. He’d been one of the first to make sure Asahi had felt welcomed here, and Asahi is eternally grateful for it.
“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, averting his eyes, “it’s a lot to get used to all over again. I keep hoping I’ll just jog my memory somehow and miraculously remember.”
Narita laughs. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in that head of yours.”
Asahi doesn’t stick around to chat much longer, heading up to the main office. There’s only two others inside, both at their desks doing very different things. Akaashi, ever studious, is hunched over a case file from a recent completion of his, scribbling away. Kozume, on the other hand, their resident cyber specialist, reclines back in his chair, tapping away at his phone and looking like he’s half asleep. “Azumane,” Kozume yawns, “there’s some files on your desk.” There are in fact — Asahi turns to confirm — files on his desk.
There’s also a boy there.
His back is to Asahi, but he can see the slicked black hair, wild and dark, sharp against the evident paleness of the boy’s skin. The boy visibly straightens when Asahi turns to look, whipping around in his chair.
Okay, no, a man. A grown man.
Asahi feels a little like deer in headlights, caught in the sharp stare of the man’s golden eyes, interrupted only by the equal shock of bleached blond hair in the forefront of his bangs. Asahi feels pinned in place by that unblinking stare, and it takes him a moment to remember to move.
He circles to his desk a little hesitantly, starkly aware of the other man’s stare following him the entire way around. It’s still on him when Asahi seats himself on the opposite side of the desk, and Asahi steels himself to meet it, smiling nervously.
“Hello,” he greets, “I’m Azumane. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “I’m Noya!” The man declares, gives no further context, and slaps a file down in front of Asahi. “I need you to look into this.”
The words CASE CLOSED stands out in stark red lettering on the front. Asahi resists the urge to frown. It isn’t uncommon for them to receive requests to look into closed cases, but generally speaking, they’re a waste of money and time.
“Listen,” he starts hesitantly, “honestly, I’m still very new at this. Could I recommend you to one of our more experienced investigators?”
Noya shakes his head adamantly, looking appalled at the mere suggestion. “No!” He says, loud enough that Asahi flinches. “This is important to me! You have to do it!”
“I-”
Noya stares at him, lips turned down, eyes wide in a silent plea. Asahi takes the file.
There’s no photo inside, but it's very clearly labeled as involuntary manslaughter. The victim had only been twenty-five, but the details are absolutely minimal. There really won’t be a lot he can do with this, even if he does accept it. He’s sure the case is closed for a reason.
“Look,” he starts, raising his eyes.
Noya is gone.
Asahi leaps out of his seat, file in hand. Noya had just been there. He’s not surprised the man is fast, but Asahi hadn’t even accepted the case yet, and Noya hadn’t even stuck around to answer questions. Asahi races out of the office and into the entry lobby, head swinging from side to side in search of the shorter man.
“Narita,” he asks, leaning over the side of the receptionist’s counter, “did you see where that man went?”
Narita frowns at him. “What man? I haven’t seen anyone pass by.”
“I-” Asahi sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to yank it out of his half bun and just resigns himself, tucking the file under his arm. “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” Narita gives him another odd look as he turns away, returning to the main office. When he enters, Akaashi and Kozume both glance up strangely, matching the look Narita had previously given him, but Kozume loses interest much quicker than he’s gained it, as if this is a perfectly normal, everyday incident. Akaashi’s gaze tracks him all the way back to his desk, and only then does it fall away, leaving Asahi to his own devices. For a long time, Asahi just stares at the file. Case closed stares back at him, bold and red and final.
It isn’t to say that it’s quite uncommon for them to get a closed case to investigate. Generally speaking, it’s recommended to avoid closed cases. More often than not, they lead to dead ends and more broken hearts than when they began. The police may not investigate as much as private detectives, but they weren’t always wrong by any means. But Noya hadn’t given him too much of a choice in the matter, so against his better judgment, Asahi opens the file.
It’s almost pathetically small, three pages at most. There’s no photos, but from what Asahi can gather, it’s a twenty-five year old man who fell victim to an armed robbery incident, whose death was ultimately ruled involuntary manslaughter as a result. The culprit had never been caught, but the man’s partner had suffered some sort of collateral damage. There’s no further information on any of the three; the partner is unnamed and there are no photos of the man or the partner.
There’s nothing here that points to the case being anything other than what the file says, much less any sort of connection. He considers, briefly, that maybe Noya is the partner and wants the man brought to justice, but he doesn’t have any confirmation to this theory. It just seems like a home robbery turned homicide.
It’s essentially a dead end. There’s no address to begin the investigation and no family on the file to contact in regards. If Noya is the partner, Asahi could start there, but if he’d suffered some sort of trauma related to the incident, then Asahi has to take his testimony with a grain of salt. And this is all based on assumption — he doesn’t even know the extent of Noya’s personal involvement with this entire situation.
Noya hadn’t left him any contact details.
The thought strikes him abruptly, and Asahi sighs. This isn’t going to go anywhere without Noya’s cooperation. Asahi hadn’t agreed to investigate it in the first place. Resigned, he closes the file again and slides it underneath a few others on his desk, where it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of the rest of his work.
When he leaves that evening, files tucked away in his bag, the sun hangs low over the horizon, lethargic orange rays reclined across the darkening sky. It’s as beautiful as it is ominous, and Asahi ducks his head to avoid wandering eyes as he hurries to the train station, long coat swishing behind him.
The temperature sinks as it grows late, and despite his scarf, Asahi’s face burns with chill by the time he gets to the stairs leading down into the train station. People swarm around him, talking and huddling, faces as red as his own and stark with the relief of getting somewhere decently warmer.
Close enough to the rails to actually get on the train, but not close enough to get trampled by those trying to get good seating, Asahi tucks his chin into his scarf and takes a steadying breath.
He wonders if he was always an anxious person like this; had too much noise always been overwhelming to him? Had he ever walked with his head up, unconcerned about the opinions of those around him? Was this ever present bundle of nerves set deep in the square of his chest just a side effect of a tragic accident that nobody will tell him about?
He slides his thumb over the crest of the wedding ring on his necklace, a motion that feels like nothing but pure instinct, and then nearly yanks it clean off his neck when a hand grips his elbow, hard, and he flinches.
Asahi looks down.
Staring back up at him indignantly, lips fixed into a frown and golden eyes wide, looking as if he’s entirely unbothered by the cold despite being in nothing but a t-shirt and basketball shorts, is Noya.
“Azumane-san!”
Asahi is unbelievably shaken right now. After all, the odds that Noya would show up at the same train station as him were slim, even for this side of the city, but here he is, grip hard on Asahi’s elbow. If Asahi had gears in his head, they’d be stalling right now, and the little embodiment of his consciousness would be trying to restart it to no avail.
When the wires finally reconnect, Asahi gasps. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”
The words come out more demanding than he intended, but it’s too late to apologize, so instead, Asahi strips off his overcoat, and then the coat beneath it. Goosebumps prickle over the nape of his neck where it’s exposed to the cold, and he hurriedly yanks the long coat back on, handing the other off to Noya. Noya, who has since let go, looks a little surprised as he accepts it.
“I’m fine!” Noya huffs, but he pulls the jacket on regardless.
The sleeves slip past his fingertips, effectively dwarfing him. Asahi thinks it would be rather comical if he wasn’t so upset at this precise moment, but even swallowed up by Asahi’s undercoat, Noya feels like a force to be reckoned with, a storm lying in wait.
Asahi can’t put his finger on it, but Noya’s brash personality seems familiar, somehow. Mentally, he goes through his limited list of friends. Sugawara fits the bill closest, but even his chaos is of a different sort.
The train whistle breaks him out of his thoughts. He spots the lights as it barrels down the tunnel.
“Have you solved the case yet?” Noya asks, gaze still fixed on Asahi, unwavering.
Asahi frowns at him. “Listen,” he begins, turning his gaze back to Noya.
His words die in his throat. Noya stares back at him, eyes glittering in the faint light of the underground station, wild hair stirred around his face by the gust of cold air the train brings with it. The doors hiss open, but Asahi doesn’t move to get on yet. People stream by them on their way on or off the platform.
He can’t say no. He doesn’t know what it is, but Asahi is suddenly resigned to seeing this through. Noya’s eyes are intense and focused, hard with determination and a type of fire that Asahi can’t remember ever seeing before. He can’t say no.
“I haven’t,” he says, “but I’m going to investigate it as best I can.”
Noya’s grin makes him think that perhaps this is the right decision after all.
The train whistles again. Asahi starts, whirling back around to the platform. Oh no, the train’s going to leave.
“Are you-” He begins, glancing back to Noya, intending to ask if he’s getting on the same train.
Noya is gone. Asahi stares incredulously at the spot where the man had been, dwarfed in Asahi’s coat. He turns, glancing a full circle around himself, trying to spot that shock of blond in the crowd, but no, Noya is gone.
Maybe he got on the train.
Asahi follows suit, tucking his overcoat a little tighter around him as the doors slide shut. The people on the platform all blur together in a mass of color as the train pulls away, but Asahi swears he catches the piercing stare of golden eyes. It’s gone before he can think too hard about it, and Asahi spends the train ride and subsequent walk home staring into space. He hadn’t gotten Noya’s contact info.
“I’m home,” he says to no one as he opens his door and steps in, taking his shoes off.
Maybe he should get a dog.
Sighing heavily, Asahi drops his bag onto the floor by the door, where it tips to the side and lets a few papers and files slide halfway out. He pays it little mind, figuring he can think about it later, and makes his way down the narrow corridor into the bedroom at the back.
It’s sheer muscle memory that gets him through his nightly routine, and by the time he lets his hair down and flops into bed, he’s too exhausted to think. The somber tendrils of heavy sleep drag him deep into the sheets.
He dreams. (He has nightmares.)
Wake up, wake up, wake up, the voice is saying. Asahi, please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Please, no. Please, no.
This time, when Asahi jerks awake, the sun is still low below the horizon and his phone reads 4:36 A.M, but there’s no chance of him going back to sleep so he dons a hoodie and decides to do something with himself. In the end, Asahi goes for a run. It’s been a while since he’s just gone out like this, so he takes the short route that loops through the backside of a local park. Asahi jogs what he can, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t nearly as in shape as he clearly had been once. He can tell he used to be muscular and healthy prior to the accident, but he’s hardly been focused on maintaining that post memory loss. Still, running feels natural, so he tries to keep it up.
He runs into Noya again. Asahi rounds the bend, huffs of breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air. There’s only a handful of other souls up and about this early, and from what Asahi can tell, they’re all out running too. It’s a nice change of pace to get his mind off of everything, but it’s clear the universe has other plans. As he nears the park’s massive lake, he spots a figure sitting right at the bank of it, leaning precariously over the water.
Even from this distance and without his glasses, he recognizes Noya’s wild hair paired with the white t-shirt and black shorts combo. Noya’s back is to him, but he visibly straightens as the sound of Asahi’s footsteps approach, head twisting around to fix those ever startling eyes on the taller man. “Azumane,” his eyebrows pinch, “what are you doing here?” There’s this nagging feeling in his chest. It strikes him as odd again; something about Noya is so unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s sure if they had known each other prior to his memory loss then someone as headstrong as Noya seems to be would have said something about it by now, but Noya doesn’t seem bothered like Asahi is. He shakes it off.
Something seems off. Noya is quieter, more pensive. His gaze has returned to the surface of the lake immediately after confirming that he knows the person approaching him. It’s a strange change from the loud, fierce boy Asahi has started to know him as. “Noya,” he greets softly, joining him carefully by the water. “I was out for a run. Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?” “Oh,” Noya seems to remember something, “I forgot your jacket. Sorry.” Asahi shakes his head. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I was going to come running. It isn’t like I’ve done this in a while.” Noya is staring at him again, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He’s frowning — it’s only a faint, downward quirk of the lips, but it seems so out of place on Noya’s features that it catches Asahi off guard. A matching frown slips onto his face.
“Have you made any progress?” Noya asks suddenly, peering up at Asahi intently. “With the case, I mean.” “Noya, it’s only been a night,” Asahi reminds him gently. “I’ll look into it more later, but nothing’s changed from when you asked me yesterday.” “Yesterday?” Noya echoes, as if confused. “Oh… Right. When you gave me the jacket. Okay.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asahi persists. “I’m fine! Listen, I’ve gotta go, ‘kay? I’ll catch you again sometime soon.” Noya takes off before Asahi can so much as consider asking about contact information. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck only contacting Noya whenever they happen to run into each other in town. Belatedly, near the tail end of his run, he realizes that Noya must live nearby, to have been at the park.
So why had he been all the way across town yesterday? Asahi glances back, as if the answer will appear behind him. The cold wind replies, whispering through the bare branches of the trees. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is too familiar about Noya to forget. Maybe it’s just the man’s strange tendencies or the way he seems so desperate for the case to be solved as soon as possible, but Asahi just can’t get rid of this feeling. He doesn’t know what it is yet, only that it feels too important to completely dismiss a third time.
So this time, he tucks it away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.
⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤
“Oi, Azumane,” Kozume leans around his laptop, “what was that new file you got? An investigation?”
Asahi starts at the sound of his voice. After the two loudest members of their agency had gone off on lunch, the room had finally become quiet enough for Asahi to focus on his research. His desk is in clutters, public records scattered across the surface, laptop balanced precariously on the corner and held in place only by half of a large, opened book. Asahi is in the middle of rereading the case file when Kozume speaks up. He's so focused that, in his surprise, he nearly takes out his laptop himself. Kozume just lifts one disinterested brow, strands of dark hair slipping back into their usual place over his face. “Uh,” Asahi begins, eloquently, “something like that. Client wants me to look into a closed case. I think he’s probably got some pretty personal roots in it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t a good idea to reopen old wounds.” “You’re too nice, Azumane-san.” Akaashi remarks from his desk without looking up. “Sometimes, it’s best to put a stop to it before it can start.” “Then again,” Kozume muses, “I guess we are getting paid for this, huh?”
They lapse into a mutual silence again.
Asahi feels like there are still eyes on him, but Akaashi is still looking at the paperwork on his desk and Kozume has returned to his laptop screen. The rest of the employees aren’t here, and Narita is presumably still at the front desk. With a faint frown, Asahi shakes the feeling away and returns his attention to the files.
His information is severely limited. That’s the biggest issue. If there had been an address on the file he could have started his investigation there, but Noya would be the easier source. The only issue with that is that Asahi still hasn’t gotten Noya’s contact information to ask him about it. That being said, he’s not even sure if Noya actually knows anything or if this just happens to be a personal investment of his. Asahi isn’t in the habit of prying about people’s personal connections to a case. As long as he can get their information and go on about his business, he’s content, but Noya is so forthright and intense that Asahi can’t help but be curious.
It bothers him, but he doesn’t know why.
“Oh,” says Kozume, voice breaking into Asahi’s thought process abruptly again, “another robbery. I wonder if it’s a chain?”
When Asahi looks back up, Kozume is still looking at his laptop, but now he’s leaning closer to the screen, visibly reading something. He turns away and wheels his swivel chair over to the side table by the door to retrieve the remote.
“Last I heard, there wasn’t any correlation between the places that were being hit.” Akaashi replies, gaze lifting from his papers. “They’re thinking it’s separate cases, but who knows. The police don’t read too into situations if the evidence is obvious.” “Lazy asses,” Kozume scoffs, clicking through channels on the overhead TV.
“Robberies?” Asahi speaks up, confused.
He hasn’t been actively keeping up with the news outside of early weather reports recently, a little more concerned with his own issues and his work. It’s more than enough to balance work and the whole memory loss thing, and while he definitely should be better about keeping up with the rest of the world, it hasn’t been his main concern as of late.
Kozume settles on a news channel. The news anchor is in the middle of reporting on the subject at hand — another local robbery. It’s the third in the past two weeks, but there’s no evidence to connect it to the other two. This one had targeted a tiny, one bedroom home on the city outskirts. Asahi frowns at the news coverage. He doesn’t understand why anyone would target a place where there was unlikely to be anything to be gained, but he feels bad for the homeowner. The newscast says they came out undamaged since they weren’t home at the time, but nonetheless, he understands the feeling of having your life uprooted suddenly.
Asahi shakes his head and returns his attention to the files before him, scribbling notes down on things to look into further and potential leads. He’ll have to remember to find Noya again and get his contact information this time. Noya is the best lead he has at this point, and hopefully he can get something out of the other man to get him somewhere in this seemingly dead end case.
In the background, the television drones on.
When evening gives way to the end of his work day, Asahi finds himself searching the rush hour crowd for the tuft of electric blond that he’s becoming so familiar with. He can’t figure out why he’s trying to find Noya here; after all, he’d come to the conclusion that he lives on the other side of town, so he doubts he’ll see him here. On the other hand, it’s possible Noya works over here too. It’d be a strange coincidence for him to be in the same working and living situation as Asahi himself, but it’d make sense as to why Noya had come to their agency in particular. It's possible that it's also the opposite way around, with Noya living here and working on the other side of town. All of the facts Asahi knows check out with one of those theories; it’d explain why Noya was at the train station, too.
But by the time he gets to the station, he hasn’t spotted Noya anywhere. Even amongst the people waiting on the platform, he can’t see the wild, dark hair, and there’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it’s a persistent feeling, and more surprisingly, one that doesn’t feel new. He can’t imagine forgetting someone like Noya, but he’d forgotten someone like Suga already, so his memory loss isn’t discriminating.
The train whistles a warning. Asahi startles, hurrying on instinctively. He hadn’t even realized the train had pulled up. He looks for Noya one more time, but upon confirming that the other man is nowhere to be seen, averts his gaze to his feet. The train doors hiss shut around him, before it lurches into motion, pulling away from the platform.
It’s strange, he thinks, how lonely the platform looks disappearing behind them.
When the train comes to a hissing stop at his destination platform, Asahi’s phone begins to vibrate aggressively against his thigh. He waits until he’s clear of all the people to check it, unlocking the screen to several tests and a missed call from Suga. Just as he’s going to check the texts, Suga’s name lights up his screen again. Asahi nearly drops his phone in his haste to answer the call.
“Asahi!” Sugawara practically yells. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”
Asahi slowly brings the phone back to his ear as he walks, having held it away in his haste to avoid having his eardrums blown out.
“The news?” He echoes. “Like the robberies?”
“Yeah! Apparently, there was another one! I guess the person tried to fight back and get this - they ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”
Asahi grimaces. If all of these robberies are connected, then it could be a problem. Generally speaking, most robbers would flee if they were caught or met with resistance, but if this one had no qualms with hurting people, it could get dirty. Asahi is hoping they aren’t connected, but it’s starting to look doubtful. He’ll have to catch up on the situation when he gets home.
“That’s-”
Asahi cut off, turning his head to follow the abrupt streak of color that had caught his eye. He’s a few blocks from his apartment, at best, but now he turns around entirely, gaze searching. He spots it again just in time to watch it vanish through the door of a tiny coffee shop. Asahi hesitates.
“Asahi?” Sugawara calls from his phone. “Hellooo? Earth to Asahi! What happened?” “S-Sorry, Suga,” Asahi says quickly, feet already guiding him towards the building, “I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“Huh? Hold on, wh-”
The line goes dead as Asahi jabs the end call button, shoving his phone unceremoniously back into his pocket as he enters the cafe. The bell chimes gently overhead as he pushes the door open, and someone at the front calls out a greeting that he only half hears. He’s busy thinking about how Suga will be upset with him later for hanging up so abruptly; he’s thinking that maybe he should feel a little worse about that than he does, and it has him wondering if he’s less of a friend for it. He’s busy thinking about how he’s sure to get an earful later, but his body is moving across the cafe, toward a booth in the corner where he can see the backside of dark, wild hair, and the small flick of a tag sticking up from the inside of a white t-shirt.
The man in the booth lifts his head when Asahi rounds the table, piercing gaze fixing onto the detective. It’s as if he comes back to earth all at once, awareness lighting his eyes and his expression picking up in something vaguely resembling surprise. “Asahi!” He half yells, slamming his palms into the table and standing in one motion.
Asahi flinches at the abrupt shout and one of the employees glances their way. Ducking his head bashfully, Asahi makes himself as small as possible as he slides into the booth across from Noya, reaching out to gesture Noya back into his own seat. Preferably, he thinks, as quietly as possible.
Luckily, Noya drops unceremoniously back into his seat, staring intensely at Asahi.
“What are you doing here?” He demands.
“I…” Asahi grimaces, knowing how strange this is going to sound, “I saw you coming in. You never gave me any sort of contact, so I haven’t been able to reach you for anything regarding the case.”
Noya visibly straightens. “Have you figured out something new?”
“Well, not exactly, but-”
“Oh,” Noya continues, cutting him off, “I don’t have a phone.”
Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it? It’s just Asahi’s luck, he supposes. Still, he’s got to figure out some way to keep up contact with Noya, since he’s Asahi’s only sure link to the case.
His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.
“Okay, then take mine,” Asahi grabs a napkin from the table, fishing a pen from the front breast pocket of his jacket. “And if you can, just let me know if you come across anything new. Can we meet again sometime here to sit down and talk? Like Friday?” Noya takes the napkin and with surprising tenderness, folds it, and tucks it into the pocket of his black basketball shorts. He’s staring at Asahi still, but Asahi can’t tell what he’s thinking about.
“Okay,” Noya says, “Friday.”
And there it is again; Asahi meets his gaze and he feels like he’s missing something, like there’s a piece here that he should be aware of. He can’t shake it, that feeling that he just knows Noya from somewhere, from before all this.
“Noya,” he breathes, “have we met before? Before you came in with the case?”
Noya scrutinizes him for a long moment, almost unresponsive, as if the question hadn’t even registered to him. There’s something off about the entire moment, the motionless state of someone who feels like he should always be moving. Slowly, his lips pinch into a frown, just a little downward tilt that looks so off on his features. His expression darkens, hooded over like a shadow fell across him.
He looks unsure. He looks scared.
It’s only for a moment, so quick that Asahi is sure it must have been his imagination because then Noya is laughing, loud and rambunctious and more like the one that seems familiar to Asahi.
“No way!” He decides. “You must be imagining things, Azumane-san! There’s no way you’d forget someone as cool as me!”
Asahi feels like his veins have frozen over. He’s cold down to the bone.
“Of course,” he agrees, smiling shakily, “that’s true.”
There’s a seed of doubt rooting itself in his chest, and Asahi is too scared to try to figure out the root of it.
He stands again, bidding Noya a good night, and hurries out the door before the other man gets another word in edgewise, but he feels Noya’s gaze follow him out the door. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, and he takes it out, preparing himself for the earful he’s going to get.
Something is reassuring about Suga’s ranting on the other end. It gets him home.
When he looks over the case again that night, he writes details about the recent robberies down on a notebook next to it. He gathers what he can from the news and more from the internet. Tomorrow, he’ll get more info on it from Kozume, and Friday, he’ll get what he can from Noya. He doesn’t know yet if he’s making progress here, but he’s hoping for the best.
At this point, it’s all he can do.
It isn’t until he’s getting ready for bed, braiding his hair back out of his face, that the thought strikes him. He’s thinking about the tiny coffee shop, about the bell over the door, about the way Noya had called him Asahi. He has the distinctive memory of introducing himself only as Azumane.
So where had Noya gotten his given name?
⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤
“You look different,” Noya remarks.
Asahi feels like he’s having deja vu. He hardly knows where the week has gone, and now he’s back at the tiny coffee shop with Noya. They’re seated in the same booth as before. Noya’s shirt tag is sticking out. Asahi has his hair loose.
“It’s the hair,” they say, in sync, and Noya grins when Asahi cracks a smile.
“Finally!” He laughs. “I was starting to think you couldn’t smile properly! You’re so nervous all the time that I was starting to wonder how you’d ended up in this line of work.”
Asahi tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, I’m sure it probably wasn’t my dream career, but I don’t remember enough about my old life to know how true that is. I guess it seems like a pretty unpredictable career, but it’s routine enough to be comforting.”
Noya frowns at him. “Whaddya mean you don’t remember?” Asahi winces. Outside of the fact that nobody else wants to discuss the accident, Asahi tries not to talk about it too much. Trying to remember gives him an intense migraine, and he hates the pitying looks he gets from it. He hates feeling helpless, and there’s this part of him that wouldn’t be able to handle it if Noya looked at him like that.
“I had an accident a while back,” Asahi replies vaguely, waving one hand dismissively, “nothing important.”
Noya’s watching him like he doesn’t believe him. Asahi avoids his gaze; he has the distinct feeling that Noya will see right through him otherwise.
“Okay,” Noya finally says, “then what about that necklace you’re always playing with? The ring. Are you married or something?”
Asahi doesn’t even realize he’s messing with it until Noya points it out. He’s busted, caught like a deer in headlights under Noya’s drilling questions. His words die in his throat, lips parted but nothing coming out.
I don’t know, he thinks, clenching his fist around the ring. He shoves it back into his shirt and grips the edge of the table, focusing on keeping his hands there. “No,” he manages, smile tight again, “but it doesn’t matter. We’re here to talk about the case, remember?”
Noya’s gaze flicks down, but he doesn’t push it.
“Right.”
Noya talks. It’s not all connected, more stream of thought and dropping details as they come to him, but Asahi listens. He takes notes, putting things that he knows already on one page and things he’s hearing for the first time on another. Some of Noya’s tales have nothing to do with the case, but Asahi lets them slide, and then he realizes that Noya hasn’t been talking about the case for a while.
But here’s Asahi, pen down and still listening. There’s something about Noya’s energy that’s so easy to get wrapped up in, and Asahi hadn’t even realized he was in it until it was too late. Maybe it’s the way Noya feels familiar to him, like second nature, or the way he’s sure he must know Noya from before, but the sensation is contagious, quick like electricity and quiet like a thief.
“Azumane-san?”
Noya’s voice breaks into his thoughts again. Asahi starts, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped writing, or when the case discussion had ended and the casual talk had begun, but he does realize, belatedly, that they never got their coffee. The baristas bring them out here, he’d noticed, so it strikes him as a little strange.
“Sorry,” Asahi tells him, “I just realized we don’t have our drinks.”
As if on cue, Noya’s gaze moves from Asahi to the woman approaching their table. Asahi tears his gaze away from the man in front of him to focus on her as well, putting on his most polite smile as she sets the coffee down in front of him.
“Here you go,” she says, “sorry about the wait.”
She turns to leave, and Asahi realizes that she’s only brought his drink.
“Sorry, ma’am?” He calls quickly. “What about my fri-”
He turns to gesture at Noya and falters. The seat across from him is empty; Noya is gone. The employee gives him a strange look, glancing between him and the empty booth across from him. Asahi swallows his sentence back down, where it feels like a thick lump in his throat.
“Nevermind,” he says instead, “thank you.”
She glances at the booth opposite of him again and then seems to simply accept it as strange, for she turns and heads back to the front, leaving Asahi alone with the ghost of Noya’s electric presence.
He ends up getting a to-go cup for his coffee.
Asahi doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, only that he gets there and he comes back to awareness when he’s unlocking his front door. He falters, hand on his doorknob, gaze fixed on the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. Everything comes back all at once. Is this the right thing to do? Should he have just followed the advice and refused the case upfront? He doesn’t even know when Noya had slipped out. Had it been the brief moment he’d turned his attention to the girl at the shop? Asahi hadn't even heard the bell.
Why hadn’t Noya said anything?
Asahi is starting to think he’s getting too ahead of himself, thinking one normal conversation and a borrowed jacket makes them friends or something. But there’s the thought he’s been hesitant to admit to himself; he wants to be friends with Noya. Something about the other man makes him feel comfortable, regardless of his eccentric nature, and he’s starting to think that maybe Noya was right about his career choice being the wrong one for him.
He can’t afford to get attached to every other person he meets in this line of work. Noya is the first, but Asahi can’t say for sure if he’ll be the last, and Asahi doesn’t even know when the line in the sand got washed away. He doesn’t know if it happened halfway through their conversation or the first time he’d realized something about Noya was too familiar to ignore. Still, Noya had been right about one thing: there’s no way Asahi could have forgotten someone like him.
It’s the only reason Asahi is hesitant to let the feeling of familiarity go.
He realizes with a start that he’s still standing outside, so he pushes the door open and ducks into his apartment. Whatever he ends up deciding to do here, he’s got all the information he thinks he’s going to get from Noya. For now, he needs to crack down on the case. The longer he drags this on, the worse it will get for the both of them. He wants to give Noya the best chance he has of moving on from this, and the only way to do that is to solve it as soon as possible.
Asahi takes his shoes off at the entryway and heads into the living room, setting his bag down next to the low table in front of his couch. He yanks his hair up into a half-hearted bun and collects his notes and files, adding them to the growing pile on the table. Clicking the television on for background noise, he gets to work sorting. The details are still minimal, and the progress looks minimal, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, there’s still that robber at large, and while Asahi has no surefire proof to connect the two outside of a gut feeling, he’s learned very quickly to trust his gut.
He glances up at the TV just in time to catch a glimpse of a reporter standing in front of a house, door caved in and front yard taped off by obnoxious yellow crime scene signs. It catches his attention immediately, so he glances down at the caption.
Armed robbery. Voluntary manslaughter.
Asahi’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes dart down to the file. What were the odds?
What if it hadn’t been involuntary? The file states that the person had been found dead at the scene, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from a robbery gone wrong. Robbery. Check. Armed suspect. Check. Had they considered a lack of qualms against hurting people? Asahi flips his notebook to a fresh page and begins charting all the locations the robber had hit thus far. Maybe there’s some sort of pattern they’re overlooking, a rhyme or reason to the places the robber is targeting.
His facts are minimal but sure.
The robber only targets houses, never businesses. The types of houses vary. No known pattern thus far.
The robber is armed and dangerous. Generally, there’s minimal damage to any people they happen to rob, but when those people get in the way or fight back, it’s a different story. There have been people both hospitalized and killed.
The robber has no qualms about killing people who got in the way.
Asahi stares at the page. Finally, at the bottom, he writes Noya? beneath his list of facts. He doesn’t know what the precise connection is with Noya’s case in all of this, but if he can predict where the robber is going to strike next, maybe there’s something to be found there. That’s only if the police themselves don’t beat him there first. Either way, hopefully, some sort of confession would come out and Asahi could call this closed properly. If this is unrelated, then he’s going to have to think of something else fast.
It’s nearly four in the morning when he finally talks himself into going to sleep, but it’s restless at best, and he rises early. He’s off on weekends, so they’re his only opportunity to go get things done if he doesn’t want to go right after work. The case weighs heavily on his thoughts for the entirety of his morning run. When he passes the lake he’d run into Noya at that time, he pauses, only for a moment, to glance around, but Noya isn’t there.
Asahi keeps running, but he’s starting to feel less like he’s keeping active and more like he’s trying to get away from something. He feels like he’s running away from a lot of things, as of late. It can’t be helped.
Azumane Asahi is a coward, he tells himself, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a lie at all.
The next time he sees Noya, it’s on the same route and nearly a week later. Asahi finds himself searching the route consistently without even knowing if Noya even lives in the area, hoping to catch some sort of glimpse of the other man. He hasn’t heard anything from Noya since the day at the coffee shop, and he’s starting to grow a little concerned.
His traitorous heart says something else, but Asahi tries not to listen too hard to things made of glass.
There’s rustling overhead when Asahi passes beneath a tree. It’s followed by a loud yowl, and it’s this that makes Asahi falter in his steps. He pauses, turning his head up to squint into the branches. The early morning sun is bright, near blinding, but the shadow that covers Asahi blocks it out.
He sees the little tag sticking out of the collar of the white shirt first, and then the outstretched arm, pale and skinny, reaching out to a higher branch. Asahi can mostly only see the person’s silhouette, but he knows that figure anywhere.
“Noya?” He calls up hesitantly.
Golden eyes fix on him immediately. Noya looks vaguely surprised, arm still outstretched, lips parted into a perfect little circle. There’s a cat a few branches up from his perch, a skinny little tabby with all of its fur puffed out. Its teeth are bared at the other man, a low growl rising in his throat.
Asahi hasn’t ever seen a cat react like that to someone. Usually, the strays around this area are calm, used to the joggers and families who come through the park trails all the time. He frowns a little at the sight, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to shield his eyes as he peers up.
“Oh,” says Noya, “Hey, Azumane. Fancy seeing you here.”
“I run here every morning now,” Asahi frowns, “you already knew that. What are you doing up there?”
Noya gestures to the cat, who swings at his moving hand. “I came up to save him, but he won’t let me anywhere near him. I think I’m just gonna grab him and deal with the consequences later.”
“What.” Asahi intones.
Noya reaches for the cat.
“What?” Asahi repeats. “Wait, no-”
Noya stretches out of his crouch and snatches the cat in one quick motion. The tabby immediately begins yelling, claws sinking wherever they can reach. Noya yelps, and then takes a surprised step back into mid-air. Asahi shouts. All at once, Noya and the cat come crashing down through the branches, and Asahi slides down on his knees beneath them, breath leaving his body as they collide.
Asahi groans softly from his place on the ground. Noya scrambles off of him, eyes wide. He’s still holding the cat, who looks shaken, but overall unharmed.
“Asahi!” Noya gasps. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry!”
Asahi waves him off with one hand, sitting up slowly. His torso aches where he’d ungracefully caught them, but at least they seem unharmed. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, and he looks around for the tie, only to find it snapped on the ground. It’d been fraying, so he isn’t surprised, but it’s still a little inconvenient.
“It’s okay,” he manages, when he finally catches his breath, “are you two okay?”
Noya beams, holding the cat up victoriously. “We’re totally fine!”
The cat bites Noya’s hand. Noya drops the tabby, and he bolts without so much as a glance back. The short man sulks as he stares after the vanishing animal, crossing his arms over his chest. There are claw marks down the length of his forearms and branches still stuck in his black basketball shorts.
“Rude,” Noya says, getting up.
He offers a hand to Asahi, but Asahi, a little doubtful that Noya can lift him, stands on his own.
“You should be more careful,” he says, frowning.
“I had it handled!”
“You fell out of a tree.”
Noya purses his lips. “You know. Fair.” He sticks his index finger out as if to agree that Asahi has a point. “You got me there.”
“How did you even get up there?” Asahi asks, gazing up at the tree.
There aren’t any visible branches that Noya could have used to climb, and Asahi has to admit that even with his height, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the lowest ones. There’s no way to get a handhold on the trunk, either, so he’s not sure how Noya got up there to begin with.
Noya shrugs. “I climbed? The cat couldn’t get down so I went up to help him.”
Asahi sighs. “Okay, Noya. My apartment isn’t far from here, so let me at least treat the scratches. It’d be bad if you got something.”
Noya hesitates, but then he looks down, inspects his arms, and grimaces a little.
“Okay, lead the way.”
Asahi tucks his hair behind his ears and turns, starting at a steady pace back up the pathway. Noya keeps at his heels, carefree and cheerful as he turns his arms over, inspecting his new battle scars. It’s almost endearing, Asahi dares to think, but he’s still not over how the cat had acted with Noya. Asahi is sure Noya isn’t a bad person, but he’s never seen a reaction like that in the months he’s been running here.
He frowns back as if the tree itself will give him answers, but it stands tall and silent, shadowed against the pale blue sky.
When they climb the steps to Asahi’s apartment, the realization hits him like a bullet. He’s bringing Noya into his apartment. How had they gotten here? Is his apartment even clean? It’s so plain that he doesn’t know what Noya is going to think about it. Had he done the dishes already or were they still sitting in the sink?
Anxiety settles in like a second skin, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re already at the door and Noya is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it. Asahi tries to hide the way his hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and opens it, letting Noya into the dark entryway.
Noya kicks off his shoes at the entrance, and Asahi follows suit, stepping in ahead of the other man. The sink is clean. The living room has a few books on the table and stray papers from his brainstorming session the other night, but otherwise it isn’t unacceptable. He flicks the light on and crosses to the table, shoving the papers messily together.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, “make yourself at home and I’ll grab my first aid kit.”
Noya plops onto the couch, looking around like a curious child. Asahi feels strange having someone over like this. He seldom has company, especially new company, and he feels like he’s being assessed for some sort of test. Clutching the papers to his chest, Asahi hurries into his room for the first aid kit in his bathroom.
Noya is still sitting on the couch when Asahi returns. His gaze is fixed on a photo hanging on the wall. It’s of Asahi, fresh out of the hospital, Suga and Daichi standing just behind him in the frame. Shimizu had been the one to take it, and it’s one of the earliest things he still remembers. Noya frowns at it a little, like he’s struggling to think about something, and Asahi just figures he must have zoned out.
“Noya?” He says as he nears.
Noya straightens, almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to Asahi as the other man crouches in front of him, opening the first aid kit and setting it aside on the table. Noya gets the hint and offers out his arms while Asahi prepares a cotton pad for cleaning the scratches.
“Ouch,” Noya hisses once Asahi starts dabbing over them.
Asahi shakes his head, holding Noya by the wrist to keep his arm steady.
“Are those your friends?” Noya asks suddenly.
Asahi glances up at him, and then back at the photo. “Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back onto his task. “The one with the silver hair is Suga. The dark-haired one is Daichi. Our other friend, Shimizu, took the photo, but she’s not very fond of being in them. They were there with me when I was in the hospital for a while.”
“What were you there for?”
Asahi grimaces, remembering why he’d avoided the subject the last time he’d talked to Noya. “Uh,” he starts hesitantly.
He can feel Noya’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Asahi gets the feeling that he’ll spill everything if he does, so he stubbornly keeps his focus on treating Noya’s scratches.
“It’s okay, Azumane-san,” Noya laughs, “you don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”
Asahi exhales, a little relieved. He wraps up Noya’s first arm, having finished treating the scratches there. Moving onto the second one, Asahi grabs a fresh cotton pad. He frowns as he sets back to work.
“Noya,” he starts, “where did you go, the other day? At the cafe, I mean?”
Noya stiffens a little under his grip.
“Sorry about that,” the other man mumbles, “I had an emergency I had to handle, so…”
“Oh,” says Asahi, unconvinced, “okay. I was just worried… You just up and vanished without saying anything.”
Noya doesn’t go into any more detail, and Asahi doesn’t push it. He gets the feeling Noya isn’t telling the whole truth, but he’s not going to try to force it out. He has his own secrets, and he’s sure Noya has plenty himself. Despite seeming like a very open person, he’s come to notice that Noya is strange, like he’s never quite there most of the time, and the times that he is, he seems so full of life that he’s ready to burst with it.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Noya’s voice is painfully soft.
Asahi’s heart aches. He doesn’t know why that gentle voice hurts, only that it does something strange to him. He catches himself holding his breath, as if even that will break this moment. He knows better. He knows better. He doesn’t know Noya, and Noya doesn’t know him. They’re client and employee, nothing more.
Asahi doesn’t even know himself. How could he even hope to let someone else know him?
“It’s okay,” Asahi gets out, but his voice sounds foreign to himself like it’s coming from someone else speaking in his place instead of him.
Something about the intimacy of the moment makes Asahi feel like he’s an outsider, watching his own hands and fingers tenderly take care of Noya’s newly acquired scratches. He knows there’s more on the man’s face, but he’s scared to raise his gaze. He’s scared that whatever is happening is going to shatter the moment they make eye contact. Asahi is going to realize it’s all in his head, or Noya is going to realize it’s strange for him to be in what is essentially a stranger’s house.
He feels like he knows Noya. The feeling won’t go away, but Noya has told him that he’s sure they’ve never met. Asahi couldn’t forget someone like him, and Asahi is inclined to agree. He’s stalling now, and he knows it, and he’s sure Noya knows it, but neither of them say anything about it as Asahi cleans over the scars a second, and then a third time.
Finally, he bandages the second arm. Noya’s skin is cold beneath his grip, freezing like the other man has been standing in negative temperatures for hours. Asahi knows this isn’t the case, so he assumes Noya must just run cold in comparison to Asahi himself. Noya seems unbothered, either way.
“Thanks,” Noya finally breaks the silence.
Asahi dares to raise his gaze. Noya’s eyes are trained on him, sharp and focused with such intense clarity that Asahi is momentarily taken aback. Noya looks as if he’s a page ahead of Asahi, waiting for him to catch up. Asahi isn’t sure if he should, much less if he wants to.
“Well,” he replies, averting his gaze to get another cotton pad, “I wasn’t just going to leave you after I watched it happen. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem like you’d neglect taking care of them.”
Noya grins crookedly in the corner of his vision. “You’re right,” he says, “I would. But that’s not all I was thanking you for.”
Asahi pauses, mid-turn, pad raised to start in on the scratches on Noya’s face. He blinks, confused. “Huh?”
“That was for everything,” Noya continues. “I know this case isn’t easy on you. I’m sorry I dumped it on you, but something told me you’re the only one who can handle it, and I always listen to my instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So I was saying thank you for putting up with all of this.”
Oh, Asahi thinks, and then says, “Oh.”
Noya laughs. “Oh?”
“Sorry. No, wait. I mean… You don’t need to thank me.” Asahi reaches out, carefully starting to clean the scratches across Noya’s cheek.
“Ow,” Noya says, again.
“Sorry,” Asahi frowns, knowing there isn’t much he can do about the pain.
“It’s okay. I got myself into this, so I’ll tough it out!” The golden-eyed boy declares.
Asahi smiles to himself. Noya’s energy is near contagious, and he’s just about forgotten about his previous anxiety of having the other man in his house. Noya seems nonchalant and uncaring, like he doesn’t care to judge how Asahi lives either way.
“There,” Asahi says, putting bandages over the last few scratches. “Done.”
Noya gives him a double thumbs-up, grinning so widely it looks painful. “Cool! Thanks, Asahi! You’re the best!”
Asahi holds both hands up placatingly. “I wouldn’t go that far…”
“No!” A fire lights in Noya’s eyes, and he reaches out, grabbing both of Asahi’s hands so abruptly that the brunet squeaks. “It’s true! Don’t go selling yourself short, okay?”
Asahi’s voice catches in his throat. He wants to protest again, but Noya’s gaze is so intense that he physically can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod in agreement. It seems to satisfy Noya, so he releases Asahi’s hands and hops up from the couch.
“Alright! I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? We’ll get this done!”
Noya reaches out, bumping Asahi’s shoulder with his fist. The little tap startles Asahi back into reality, and he scrambles to his feet, following Noya to the door and watching him put his shoes on. At the door, they both hesitate. Asahi looks down at his feet, but he can feel Noya’s gaze on him.
“Be safe,” Asahi says, finally.
Noya stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he reaches out, squeezes Asahi’s arm, and then turns away and bolts down the stairs. Asahi watches him jog down the road, and then vanish over the crest of the hill, out of sight, but never out of mind.
Maybe, he considers, he should have tried to make him stay.
Asahi stares at the hill Noya had vanished over for a long moment longer. He stares as if he’s waiting for the other man to turn around and come back, citing that it’s too late to head home, and the trains aren’t running anyway, so it’d take a while on foot. Asahi still doesn’t know if Noya lives nearby or closer to the agency, but either way, he could have thought of something.
He stares on, but Noya doesn’t come back. Finally, Asahi closes the door behind him and flicks the lock.
“You’ve been busy lately,” Kozume remarks, the following Monday, without looking up from his Switch screen.
Asahi doesn’t know how he gets away with playing video games at work so often, but he supposes as long as Kozume is efficient at his job, their boss doesn’t really care. He’s starting to give Asahi some eyes about the case he’s on, so he knows it’s time to hurry up and wrap it up.
Narita comes in, bearing coffee. He hands them out to each of the others in the room, setting Kozume’s next to him and handing Akaashi’s off. Crossing to Asahi, he offers out the coffee.
“Same as usual? How’s it going?” He asks.
Asahi accepts the warm drink from the receptionist. “It’s going,” he sighs, “I haven’t made too much progress outside of some guessed predictions. My sole witness has this habit of up and vanishing and apparently doesn’t have a phone to contact.”
Narita nods sympathetically. “Client isn’t making it easy, huh? This is probably your first one of those, but I see them come through all the time. It’ll work out, so don’t stress too much.”
“He can do with a little stress,” Akaashi comments, taking a sip of his coffee.
Narita turns to give him a withering look and then turns back to Asahi. “Anyway, drink up while it’s warm and then go back into this thing with a fresh mind, yeah? Good luck, Azumane.”
Asahi watches the receptionist go, and takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch away. The moment of pain, however brief, does its part to make everything come into sharper focus. Three days from now, he’ll have been slugging through this case for a month. That’s the time limit he’s going to give himself; if he hasn’t figured this out or made any significant progress in the next few days, he’s going to tell Noya he can’t do it.
Resolution set in his mind, Asahi dives back into his work with renewed vigor.
“Don’t stay too late,” Akaashi says, later that night.
Kozume is already long gone, and Akaashi had finished his work, so he’s getting ready to leave too. It’s just Asahi now, with everyone else out. The black-haired man puts his jacket over his arm and strolls out. Only a moment later, Narita peers in.
“Azumane? Someone is waiting outside for you.”
Asahi glances up, confused. He hadn’t been expecting anybody, but it’s as good a reason as any to change location. He nods in acknowledgment to Narita and hurries to pack his things, pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.
Outside, he glances around in search of the person. It takes him a minute to spot them, but when his gaze shifts down, it catches on the streak of blond in Noya’s hair. The other man looks up when Asahi emerges from the building, and then stands immediately when he realizes who it is.
“Noya?” Asahi questions, surprised.
“Hey,” Noya smiles crookedly, “sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I was out and I just ended up here. Are you getting ready to head home?”
Asahi readjusts his bag. “Yeah, I just finished for the night. How did you end up way out here again?”
Noya opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again, frowning in confusion. Finally, he just shrugs a little, as if he isn’t sure himself.
“I just did,” he says. “Can I walk with you?”
Asahi hesitates, but finally nods in concession. Noya falls into step beside him as he heads out towards the train station. It’s later than Asahi usually leaves, and the streets are nearly empty now. The sun is starting to set beneath the taller buildings in the distance, and Asahi gets the feeling it will be well past dark by the time he gets home.
“Do you live around here, Noya?” Asahi asks, glancing down at the other man.
He recalls seeing Noya back near where he lives, as well, but maybe the shorter man just gets around a lot. This is his chance to finally figure it out, so Asahi seizes it.
Noya hesitates a little, lips parting like he’s going to speak, then closing again. “Uh,” he starts, glancing around, “well-”
Noya cuts off, gaze catching on movement nearby. There’s a girl, no older than seven or eight, stumbling down the sidewalk. Even from this distance, Asahi can see the scrapes on her knees. She’s bawling, rubbing her face with the back of her hands, but steadily making her way down the sidewalk nonetheless, like she’s on a mission.
Asahi exchanges a look with Noya, and they both hurry toward her. Noya reaches her first, crouching in front of her and starting to talk. Asahi is a short pace behind him, catching up just in time to hear the child speak through her tears and sniffling.
“A bad man came into our house,” she sniffles, stuttering around her hiccups, “and Mama told me to run away and get help, but she’s stuck there with him!”
Asahi’s blood goes cold. This is it. The one time he hadn’t been trying to find the man and it practically fell into his lap. Noya is clearly thinking the same thing, expression hard and eyebrows downturned. He meets Asahi’s eyes and nods.
“Hi,” Asahi says, crouching down, “I’m a detective. I can go help your mama, but I need you to tell me which house is yours. Can you do that for me?”
The girl sniffs, looking up at him. “T-The one with the flower mailbox Mama and I painted…”
Noya is already running. Asahi squeezes the girl’s shoulders, getting back to his feet.
“Listen carefully. We’re going to go help your mama, so I need you to be brave for me, okay? Find someone and ask them to call the police for you. We’ll make sure your mom is safe.”
The little girl’s gaze follows him as he runs after Noya. He has no chance of catching up with the spitfire of a man, but Noya waits at the door for him, clearly trying to find a good way in. Asahi glances into the shattered window. The coast seems clear. He gestures to Noya and creeps around to the front door, opening it slowly.
It doesn’t creak, and Asahi thanks any god that exists as he and Noya sneak into the quiet house. Asahi puts a finger to his lips, signaling for Noya to follow him. Together, they quietly round the corner and immediately come face to face with the robber.
They catch the man by surprise. Asahi sees it in the glance he gets of the man’s expression before he’s forced to leap out of the way, bullets riddling the wall where he’d just been standing. To his right, Noya hisses from his spot on the ground, and Asahi has to suppress the nausea that rises in his chest at the sight of red blossoming across Noya’s shoulder.
“Noya,” he gasps, scrambling over, “I’m so sorry. I should have reacted faster. You’re going to need medical attention-” “Asahi,” Noya’s grin edges on pained, but he’s pushing through, nudging Asahi away. “I’m fine. I'm tough, remember? So don’t worry about me. I’ll live, so worry about that kid’s mom first. You bust that guy for the both of us, okay?”
His fingers brush Asahi’s cheek, cold against the skin there, and Asahi’s everything zeroes in on just that sensation. He focuses on the way that Noya’s hand feels against his cheek, electricity at his fingertips. He focuses on the way that regardless of whether he’d known Noya before or not, he knows him now, and he wouldn’t ask for it any other way.
Kissing Noya feels like second nature. He’s careful of the other man’s shoulder, even if it’s nothing more than a brief press of lips, but when he pulls away, Noya exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.
“Stay safe,” he tells Asahi, “‘cause if you die on me, I’ll summon you back and annoy you as a ghost.”
Asahi laughs. “I won’t. Get somewhere safe, Noya.”
He squeezes Noya’s hand and then hurries into the hallway, keeping low and staying alert. He doesn’t know where the robber is, but the robber doesn’t know his location either. But only one of them has a gun, and it isn’t Asahi, so he’s at a disadvantage here. His priority is getting the woman out safely, but he hasn’t seen her yet, so he’s hoping she’s already hiding somewhere safe. His and Noya’s arrival had distracted the robber for a moment, and he just has to hope the moment is enough if he can’t find her first.
Asahi ducks behind the couch just in time to avoid being seen by the man who creeps in through the next hall. He drops to his hands and knees, sneaking around the side to watch the man’s slow progression towards the kitchen, where he assumes there’s a side door. The man’s gaze sweeps the room once, twice. Asahi creeps forward when his back is turned, and the moment he takes a step to move away, Asahi lunges.
He’s scared. God, he’s terrified. He shouldn’t have made any promises to Noya. He isn’t immortal. If this man gets the upper hand, Asahi knows he has no chance.
But he can’t think about that. Right now, he can only focus on survival, on grappling with the man before him for control over the single gun. The robber’s eyes are wide, wild with disbelief. Asahi can’t figure out what he’s so surprised about; surely, he’d expected someone to come after him eventually for all of this? Asahi pulls and the man resists, They shove and turn and twist, brute strength against brute strength, fighting for control of the situation. A stray shot shatters a vase, and there’s a muffled whimper from the closet next to it.
The woman.
Asahi has the upper hand. It’s only for a moment, but the sound distracts him, and the moment is more than enough. The robber twists around and slams his elbow into Asahi’s face hard enough to send him pinwheeling back into the coffee table, head slamming into the wood hard enough to make his vision go black, and then blurry. The aftermath leaves Asahi feeling like there’s an army in his skull waging war against the bones, pounding relentlessly against his forehead.
It hurts. It hurts. He can’t think. He can barely see straight.
He’s been in this situation before.
When he manages to get his vision to focus, only a little, he is staring down the barrel of the gun. The man’s chest heaves, expression twisted in fury, all bared teeth and vicious stance. And this is it — Asahi has no chance here. This is the end, and his promise to Noya will go unfulfilled after all. He thinks about Noya, laughing loud and free, holding his hand to the sunlight so the golden band on his finger glitters. Except Asahi doesn’t know where he picked up that memory. His head is pounding, a steady thump, thump, thump against his skull. His head is pounding and he is thinking and Azumane Asahi is going to die here and now, just like the man in the case he’d been trying so hard to solve. He can’t even close his eyes, watching the man’s finger on the trigger as if in slow motion.
But it never comes.
Instead, there is Noya, howling bloody murder, all feral motions and vengeful anger, streaking out of the hallway and barreling into the man. They both hit the ground and the gun skids away from them. Asahi’s shaken, but he still notices the lack of red staining Noya’s white t-shirt. Asahi trembles, but he realizes right away that Noya’s wound looks as if it had never existed to begin with. Noya looms over the man like a wraith, teeth bared, golden eyes glittering with a promise, a threat, and Asahi thinks to grab the gun before the man recovers from Noya’s winding attack. The would-be thief writhes beneath the other man, but Noya is unyielding and less hesitant than Asahi.
He takes the flower pot off the table and breaks it over the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Asahi is left in stunned silence, clutching the gun, staring at Noya as he hunches over the unconscious man, shoulders heaving with every breath. Asahi is still concerned; he can’t see Noya’s wound, or any sign of it, but for all he knows, Noya had just managed to find an extra shirt. It’s doubtful and farfetched, but it’s the only possible explanation, isn’t it?
“Asahi,” Noya gasps, “Asahi, are you okay? Did he hurt you? You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t noticed, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Asahi touches his head and his hand comes away red. He stares at his fingertips, dizzy, and finally sinks to his knees. Noya scrambles off of the man and barrels right into Asahi, straddling his waist to lean over and inspect Asahi’s head. Outside, sirens wail as their backup arrives, and Asahi sighs, relieved that the little girl had found somewhere safe. The officers come flooding in. Asahi feels like hell, but he’s more worried about making sure everything gets taken care of, so he directs them to the woman hiding, and then to the unconscious robber on the ground. It’s over.
Reaching out to touch Noya’s face, Asahi feels like sobbing. “I’m okay,” he rasps out, “I’m okay. You got shot, though, didn’t you? You shouldn’t do reckless things with a wound like that.”
Noya scrambles back off of him and out of Asahi’s reach before the detective can inspect his previously injured shoulder. He takes a little step aside, gaze averted, frown fixed on his features. Asahi’s eyes follow him as he moves away a little.
“Noya?” He frowns, moving to stand.
One of the officers shouts. Asahi’s attention catches on the shout and his gaze follows, catching sight of the previously unconscious man thrashing on the ground. He’s on his stomach facing Asahi, and one of the officers is straddling his back to cuff him. It’s his expression that catches Asahi’s notice, the sheer rage, face twisted up in hatred. His eyes glitter furiously, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” He shouts. “You both died! I know I killed you, so why the fuck are you still alive?!”
Asahi’s heart falters in his chest. His head hurts. God, it hurts.
“I robbed you months ago! I shot that boy to death! You were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”
He keeps shouting it. Asahi is cold to the bone, dropped into an endlessly deep pile of fresh snow with no way out. All he sees is the man’s face, and all he hears is dead and his head hurts so much. He’s supposed to be dead? He’s alive, though. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have memories, and he’s supposed to be dead. What boy had he meant? Noya? Did that mean Asahi had known him before after all? Had they both lost their memories?
Something is screaming in the back of his mind to come out. Asahi clutches his head in his hands, feeling panic swell heavily in his throat, suffocating him. His vision is dark at the edges and the gun is on the floor beside him, just within his gaze.
“Asahi,” Noya croaks behind him, voice soft and pained.
Asahi, it echoes and echoes and echoes, and all at once, everything slams back down. He remembers, and he doesn’t know how he could ever forget. The wedding band burns against the hollow of his throat like a brand. He watches, dumbstruck and breathless, as the robber is hauled out. He remembers who he is. He remembers who Noya is.
“Yuu,” he gasps, whirling around.
But the other man is gone.
⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤
Asahi hates the smell of hospitals.
The nurse tells him he’s fine to leave, but he needs to come back for another check-up in a week to make sure there isn’t further head or brain damage. The doctors know his memory has returned, so they’re hopeful, but Asahi can’t share their joy. He goes home, empty-handed and desolate. He’s thinking about everything, about Yuu, about the wedding band around his throat. He doesn’t know where the other man had vanished to this time, but he hopes he’d at least had the sense to get medical attention.
And a week goes by.
In the seven days that Nishinoya Yuu is gone, Asahi dreams.
In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.
His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.
Except this time, he doesn’t. This time, the pieces reconnect themselves. He is not the one in pain, nor is he the one being called out to. In his dreams, Asahi comes home to their shared home and finds Yuu on the floor, riddled with gunshot wounds and already bleeding out. In his dreams, Yuu is unconscious, and Asahi is sobbing, his voice cracking as he tries desperately to call the police.
“Yuu,” he’s begging, “Yuu, please wake up.”
In his dreams, Azumane Asahi does not make it home in time to stop his husband from fighting a robber. Azumane Yuu had fought alone and lost, and by the time Asahi had gotten back, he’d already been half-dead. Asahi hunches over him, pleading with any god that might listen.
He doesn’t know when he got up, only that he’s standing. He doesn’t know when the man appeared around the corner, only that he’s surprised by his appearance, and when they fight, Asahi does not win. He sees the table come into his line of vision.
There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.
Asahi wakes slowly from the darkness as the pieces slide together in his mind. Suddenly, everything makes sense. He hadn’t given the theory any thought before; it’d simply been the most unbelievable thing, but now he’s sure. It all makes too much sense. The name, the vanishing acts, the same outfit all the time, the strange looks Asahi would get when he would bring Yuu up with others, the missing bullet wound in his shoulder.
Yuu is already dead.
Asahi thinks the cold chill of resignation is the hardest part.
When he sits up, Yuu is sitting on the end of his bed. Asahi can see the door through his blood-stained shirt. The sight makes his heart ache anew. How cruel, he thinks, to make him fall in love with this man all over again, only to lose him once more. Had he really ever had Yuu to begin with?
Yuu looks like he had the last night Asahi had seen him as Azumane Yuu, and not Noya. His face is pale and hollow, golden eyes set into his features, a shade duller than Asahi is used to seeing them. His shirt, previously white, is riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Asahi is scared to even breathe for the fear of Yuu leaving once and for all.
Yuu doesn’t look at him when he speaks.
“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. Yuu knows this is a fact. “Right?”
“I’m sorry,” Asahi chokes out.
It isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. He has so much more he wants to say to Yuu. He wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to tell him that it should have been Asahi who’d died that day. Yuu had so much to live for, and Asahi barely knows how to live for himself. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how they were supposed to have a whole life ahead of them. Their adventure had only just begun and it had been torn out from beneath them before they could take the first step.
Asahi chokes on his breath. It isn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.
He wants to say, please, don’t leave me again.
Yuu’s form flickers. Asahi covers his mouth to stifle the sob there. Yuu is in front of him now, gaze soft with acceptance. Even in death, he is the stronger of the two of them. Even now, his unwavering dependability makes Asahi feel safe.
“Asahi,” he says, ghostly fingers brushing past the strands of hair by Asahi’s ears, “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Asahi manages. “Why are you sorry? Yuu, I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hadn’t gotten held up that day-”
“Then you would have died too.” Noya cuts him off.
Yuu stares him down, golden eyes piercing, and Asahi falters beneath that gaze.
“Asahi, I’m saying sorry because I promised you forever, but I have to go now. I love you so much, you stupid crybaby. I love you more than anything, and even if we were reborn, I’d find you again in ten thousand lifetimes. It’s always going to be you. You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’d do everything the same if it meant I had the chance to love you.” Asahi feels like he’s suffocating in his own words. He wants to grab Yuu and hold him close, but his hands pass right through the other man’s shoulders.
“I don’t know what to do without you,” he sobs, “Yuu, I don’t want to go without you. I don’t know how to socialize properly, and nobody else reminds me to take my meds. I can’t ground myself alone when I have an anxiety attack, and you always know what to say when I have a nightmare. I’m not brave. I let people walk over me when you aren’t there to tell them to lay off. You can’t leave because I don’t know what to do without you. I’m brave when you’re around because you make me feel like I can be.”
Yuu laughs. It’s a strangled half sob.
“Someone as cool as you shouldn’t be such a crybaby. You’re your own person, Asahi. You don’t need me or anyone else, even if you think you do. I’m not the one who makes you brave. You do that. And I need you to be extra brave for me now, okay?” His smile wobbles as he reaches out, hand hovering over Asahi’s cheek. “I need you to be brave enough to live the rest of your life, even if I’m not there to live it with you. I wish I could stay and make you as happy as you made me. I wish we could travel the world and have kids and grow old together. But I’ll always be with you.” And this time, when he reaches to touch Asahi, his palm settles over the ring strung around Asahi’s neck and stays there. The point of contact is warm, pulsing out into Asahi’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. Asahi is so tired of being scared.
He manages a shaky laugh. “You still have my jacket.” Yuu smiles, something soft that touches the edges of his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffs, “sorry about that.” Asahi covers the hand Yuu has over his chest with his own. “Yuu,” he says, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have, and I’m sorry I never said that enough. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life we deserved. But I’ll keep living for you, as long as you promise to wait for me. Find me again in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that. Please let me fall in love with you again.” A single tear slides down Yuu’s face.
“Always,” he says.
Asahi does not get his coat back, but he feels it like a pit of warmth in his chest when Yuu is gone. He sinks slowly forward, gathering the blanket up in his arms and pressing it to his face in a futile attempt to gather the last bits of Yuu’s presence from the fabric. But he’s gone, and Asahi is alone again, with nothing but the ghost of his memory and a promise. His room is empty and the pit of warmth in his chest is a sorry excuse for Yuu’s presence. He’s alone for now, but he’s going to be brave, and he’s going to find Yuu again in the next life. He may not have him now, but he’s never going to let him go again. He has that.
His fingers close slowly over the ring dangling from his neck, pressing the memories there deep into his chest where they’ll make a home.
(And this, at least.)
9 notes · View notes
heartofsnark · 3 years
Text
Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Five): Just To Want It All
Notes: As stated in last chapter notes, i have a decent chunk of chapters done so these are coming out pretty rapid fire. Otherwise, I don’t have much to say other than massive thanks to my friend who reads these over for me and has been cool with me dropping 80+ pages of fic on them in a week. because yeah...I finished another chapter of this. 
Word Count:  7885
Chapter Warnings: mentions of alcohol and cursing, if that counts as a warning in cyberpunk 2077.  
If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~
Lizzie’s Bar stands out brilliantly in the city; out of all the gangs, she thinks she likes The Moxes aesthetic the best. Vivid pink and bright teal. Their colors splashed across the overpass, along with a neon pink skull sign with hair and a bow. At the side of the building is a towering neon skull girl sign, full bodied with an animated kicking leg and axe held above her head, the same hot pink color.
She parks and gets out of her car, doing a quick scan of the area, searching for more Militech drones. None that she sees, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. The credchip burns in her pocket, remembering some of the stuff T-Bug has taught her. How to crack an encrypted shard and see what’s on it, how to transfer its contents. V rifles through her bag, remembering she had a blank credchip somewhere. If Militech did anything dirty, V should be able to transfer the eddies onto a clean chip.
V makes a beeline to the front door, cement blockers and walls covered in graffiti.  More neon signs, the bars name over the door in glowing turquoise letters. Lizzie Jizzie scrawled across an outside wall; two screens on each side of the double stores, all covered in Nicola ads requesting V ‘taste the love’.  Groups of people loiter in the open outside the bar. V’s eyes are drawn to the two bouncers outside the doors.
Two women, one leans against the outside wall as she puff away on a cigarette. Short slicked back hair that starts blue and then fades to green, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a gold septum piercing in her nose. The other one stands in front of the doors, a yellow spiked bat held over her shoulders. Long hair pulled up into space buns, purple roots and pink ends. Both of her arms are metal; black with pink and teal accents as well as spikes along the forearms.  Both women are skimpily dressed, no shame in that. The one wielding the bat has a white top with cleavage going beyond her breasts,  showing her almost plastic looking skin and the Moxes tattoo across her chest. The other shorter haired bouncer is wearing neon pink pasties beneath a teal bomber jacket.  V’s been here before, has maybe seen them in passing, both really attractive. She’s not sure there’s a Mox member who isn’t.
“Hey there, dollface!~” The bat wielder greets her with a grin, as if she could actually see V’s face.
“Interest you in a preem BD?” The smoker offers.
“What you got?” V asks to be polite, she doesn’t honestly even like brain dances. But the girls are cute, so… no harm in a little small talk.
“What don't we got? Women and men of your dreams, synaptic acting A-listers. No washed-up virtuporn boytoys or blow-up dolls here.”
“Auteur stuff - It'll grip your heart and blow your nerves right outta your body. Pure bit-based ecstasy - that’s why people come here.”
“Sure know how to sell it, don’t you?” V signs, trying not to laugh as the bouncers give her the spiel.
“Not a sales pitch, it's a warning. I'll give you one word - bespoke. Not for everyone's synapses.”
“Think you can handle it?”
“Think I can manage it,” she tells them, knowing damn well she has no intent to get any sort of virtus.
“Mmhm. Couple of things you need to know first,” she affectionately rubs her bat, “Ahem. Severe penalties for any unauthorized recording… “
“No drugs, no groping. Someone catch your eye, you do not grab 'em. You find 'em in the catalog, ask for a BD and get yourself a box.”
“No worries, not even my first time here.”
“Door's open. Have fun, Doll.”
“Welcome to Lizzie’s.”
The double doors open and V walks through a blue beaded curtain. There’s a front room, a stand where a woman with a bright pink mohawk is selling clothes, under another Nicola ad and neon letters saying ‘Fuck To Death’ behind her.
“My what a sweet face you have,” she says, her tone honeyed but its clear she hasn’t looked up from the counter, not even noticing as the masked merc walks past through another beaded curtain and double doors to the main club.
“Here in Night City~”
Music thrums as she steps in; the room is lit with strobing pink and teal lights. Couches with neon glowing lights on the underneath, some people with BD wreaths and others playing on their phones. People dancing  to the club music and  bar tucked away in the corner.  She doubts the client will be right at the start of opening, so V finds an empty stretch of couch, sitting down on black leather with a pink neon light at her feet.  V slides the Militech cred chip into her mask, it takes a moment, but she manages to crack it and get a look at the inside.
Ten thousand eddies and malware; it was meant to send all of Maelstrom’s data to another server and then fry the systems. Meaning, if V handed it over Maelstrom would get their systems fried, with her and Jackie dealing with the aftermath. V slides the blank cred chip into another slot in her mask’s edge, transfering the clean money over to it. Fucking around with tech and daemons isn’t her strong suit, but if she recalls Bug telling her that fairly simple malware like this could be reworked pretty easily. She works through the coding with her thoughts, the data and interface all on her mask. If she can get the coding right, she might be able to have it send something other than data back to the Militech servers…  Shifting and twisting what she thinks will work… if she’s done it right, instead of sending data back to Militech’s server, it should inject the same malware back into their system. If used, it would spike both Maelstrom and Militech.
She’ll call up T-Bug before they hit Maelstrom, double check she did the steps right. If Maelstrom play nice, they can pay and be done, if not...she can fuck over the gangoons, Militech, and walk away with an extra ten thousand in her pocket.  She puts the credchips in her pockets, spiked one in her left and clean one in the right.
Time to have a look around for the client. V making a beeline for the bar, bartenders always have all the info. Lizzie’s Bar in neon over the drink station, a brightly blue lit corner where a man works at making drinks, shelves of booze behind him.  She climbs onto a blue vinyl bar stool, feet no longer on the ground and unable to resist swinging them a bit. The bartender comes to her; a man with slicked back dark hair,  glowing white cybernetic eyes, and silver embellishments run across his cheeks and jaw. His shirt bright blue with a tropical design and if not for a single button above his pants, it’d be completely open. Beaded necklaces bringing even more attention to his exposed chest and stomach.
“Get you something?”
“Looking for Evelyn Parker,” she speaks the woman’s name, not wanting to waste time fingerspelling it even if the sound feels tight in her throat.
“And you are?”
“V, me and her were supposed to meet here.”
“Well, V,  it’s a pleasure. I’m Mateo.”
“Nice to meet you… any idea where she’s hanging around?”
“Club's big. Gonna have to look around. Can't do it for you-”
“It's all right, Mateo,” a feminine voice calls out and V’s eyes are drawn to a woman at the bar, “I was waiting for this one.”
There’s something about her, distinctly Mox and also not. Her hair is a short vivid blue bob with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Heavy makeup, a tight silver sequin dress with a dipping neckline, red thigh high vinyl boots, a black trench coat that pools around her knees with a pink and white feathered collar.  She holds two fingers up to the bartender and moves to the bar stool closer. There’s a clang and tink of glass; Mateo getting out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.  
“That won’t be necessary,” V signs before he can fill the second glass, “I don’t drink on the job.”
“Aww, what a good girl,” Evelyn coos, a smile pulling at her painted lips, “Evelyn Parker. I knew it was you as soon as you walked in.”
“And you decided to let me wander around instead of introducing yourself?”
“I wanted to get a good look at you first.”
“And?” V watches as Evelyn takes a swig of her tequila.
“Rest assured, if I didn’t like what I see, you’d know,” she takes another drink, “C'mon. Know a place we can talk where ears won't prick up to listen. We'll be in the lounge, Mateo. Anyone asks we're not here.”
Evelyn takes her black clutch purse and leaves the bar, V puts some money down for Mateo; if nothing else to compensate for his time. V hops down from the stool and follows after Evelyn, through a pair of double doors that goes into a hallway tinted red and pink, booth doors lining the way. The blue haired woman opens up a door, standing to the side as V walks in.
The booth is small, circular with a red vinyl couch around it’s curve, a table in the middle projects a hologram of a stripper who twists and dances. V sinks into the cushions, watching Evelyn stride in and light a cigarette as the door closes behind her. Everyone in the city a smoker it seems.  As Evelyn puffs on a cigarette, V is somehow just noticing the gold nail like finger caps she wears.
“Dex had a load to say about you. Called you professional, effective. And trustworthy. I hope he wasn't overselling…“
“You don’t give a shit what he says,” V retorts, not missing the tinge of disdain Evelyn’s voice. V doesn’t need anyone to blow wind up her ass.
“You have trouble accepting compliments?”
“Flattery’s beneath you.”
“Maybe Dex is beneath you,” Evelyn moves around the table, grabbing an ashtray from the table, then sitting down next to V, crossing her legs, “Have you known each other long?”
“First time working with him.”
“Hmmm, I've heard there are two kinds of fixers. Those with stable crews on long contracts and short leashes. Loyalty and predictability they value above all else. Then there's the other kind- Dex's kind.”
“Meaning?”
“Headhunters. They lay their trust elsewhere, not in people but in a thing- their intuition. They bet on potential. And if they lose that bet…It's the last mistake they ever make. I’m hoping Dex’s intuition served him well in this case.”
“Let's get to the point, why am I here, what’s this about?”
“Your target - I trust you know what it is.”
“Arasaka biochip.”
“Mmmhmm, their Relic, secure your soul technology. Arasaka's poured billions into personality transfer technology. But me - I just want the data on this one. The chip is tucked away inside Konpeki Plaza, the hotel. You ever been?”
“Fancy corp hotels? Yeah, no, way out of my price range.”
“The decor's to die for. As you'll see for yourself.’
So, V and Jackie have to bust into some fancy hotel to get the chip people are arguing about on tv. Understood, so far. But, theres a lot of risks involved in a heist of this scale. Its one thing to rip off a dropped piece of cargo or a convoy from a corp; but this kind of top notch tech?
“You know where the chip is, exactly?”
“In a suite on the top floor. The room's occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka.”
V swallows the lump in her throat, the son of Saburo Arasaka, heir to the entire fucking corp. She’s once again finding herself wondering why Dex thinks her and Jackie can handle a job of this caliber, the Arasaka’s seem downright un-fucking-touchable to a merc like her.
“He’s in NC?”
“Don't you read the screamsheets?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Well, the media couldn't get enough of Yori coming to Night City, it was all over the headlines. He's heir apparent to the Arasaka empire - Saburo Arasaka's only surviving son.”
“So, he trying to take over while he’s in town?” V asks, trying to understand what exactly is going on.
“Only a handful of people in Night City know what the Arasakas' real plans are.”
“And you included in that?”
A smirk stretches across her face, green eyes devious; “Yorinobu is a puppet. He lost all his cards years ago when he failed to do daddy's bidding. Saburo's had Yori's balls in a vise for years. He might just turn the screw and crush them outright if he learns his son's up to no good again.”
“Someone like him is bound to have an army surrounding him, that hotel is probably a fortress by now.”
“Yorinobu keeps exactly no muscle around. Not one guard. Got rid of them a long time ago.”
“Why?”
“Surely you know what they say about Arasaka intel? Sneeze in Night City and a blossom drops from a cherry tree in Tokyo. Yorinobu was convinced his Arasaka security detail reported directly to his father.”
“If you got a spare ache up your sleeve, I’d love to see it.”
“ Now, this should make your tits perk up,” she says, putting the ashtray aside and leans forward.
“My tits are quite comfortable where they are, I assure you.”
“Cute, but more importantly, Yorinobu recently swiped the chip from an Arasaka laboratory. He's made a deal with NetWatch, aims to sell it to them. Have you spotted my ace yet or do I need to spell things out?”
“Okay, no muscle because he has daddy issues and no security on the device because he stole it from said daddy. Any idea where he’s hiding the thing?”
“Likely in a specialized container, one that mimics an organic neural environment. On the outside, it looks like an ordinary briefcase.”
“Which would be where?”
“You'll see for yourself soon enough,” she stamps out her cigarette and stands up, walking to the door, “Provided we're done gossiping about the Arasakas.”
“You know anything else about him?” V asks, wanting to see if she can mine any more useful information about the heir that could help.
“Quite a bit, actually. He studied finance and biotech in Tokyo. Hm, probably didn't have a choice in the matter, come to think of it. Saburo was grooming him to be his successor. But then Yorinobu vanished to chase his own dreams, cut himself off from the corp for years. Long story short, though the black sheep returned, the bitter taste remained. But that's only one side of him. There's another - an intelligent man who has always walked his own path and so has his own designs on the corp.”
There’s no doubt in V’s mind now that Evelyn knows Yorinobu personally, the way she talks and speaks is clearly colored by experience. Some prodigal son who ran away from his father and then came back with his tail between his legs when he couldn’t cut it alone. An odd lump in V’s throat at the thought; running away from shitty dads, being a black sheep…
“Sounds like any other corpo dick to me,” V signs, not liking the parallels her brain is starting to draw.
“Hm. Ever tried to imagine what life might be like for an emperor's son? You have everything, yet you are no one, nothing. At least as long as you remain in Saburo Arasaka's shadow. I…” she scratches almost sheepishly at her neck, her wannabe femme fatale attitude slipping for just a moment, “...sympathize. It's a vulnerability I understand well.”
V is still finding herself finding uncomfortable similarities between herself and fucking Yorinobu Arasaka. Its stupid, she doesn’t know the man and he has the wealth to destroy her for pretending she does. But, a power hungry leader for a father, leaving home, terrified of being under his thumb. Only difference, well many, but most pressing is she’s managed to make it on her own...so far… at least. Not that she hasn’t had her doubts or worries.
“So, what’s next?” V asks, practically shaking her head to dispel the weirdness swimming in her brain. Black sheep or not; Yorinobu Arasaka has a silver spoon in his mouth. She’s a nomad turned Night City edgerunner; their lives couldn’t be more far removed.
“Now comes the best part,” Evelyn opens the door and turns to leave, “Follow me. Got somethin' for you. Should help you plan. Braindance from Konpeki Plaza.”
V follows Evelyn out into the hallway, “ how’s a braindance going to help?”
“Think BDs are only good for fondling virtual tits, jackin' off to in those boxes?”
“Thought that was the main selling point, yeah,” V teases back as they turn a corner in the hallway, headed towards a door.
“No. They can be a very useful tool. Good for analyzing details human perception, even boosted, doesn't grasp. Exactly what you need,” Evelyn teases as they enters a dressing room, a few Mox at the tables painting their faces with makeup and styling their hair.
“What's on the tape?” Through another door and neon lights fade to harsher, darker lighting.
“Yorinobu's suite. The glorious interior,” the walk down a short metal flight of stairs, “You'll need to locate the Relic yourself. Hope I grabbed enough detail to make that possible.”
The stop at the end of the steps, Evelyn turning to look at V with a hand on her hips. Not that V really had any more doubt about it, but she’s been given more evidence that Evelyn and Yorinobu know each other.
“You recorded it?”
“Mhm. BD rec implant. Why, you object?”
“Not particularly, who you know and what you do with them is none of my business, lets see the braindance.”
“Judy'll help. She's a Mox, too,” down another short flight of stairs, deeper into the basement, “Besides, we go back… years.”
Evelyn stops them again outside a pair of double doors, Lizzie’s is starting to feel like a little maze at this point. But more importantly, Evelyn’s paused again, stumbled over her words and showed something under her facade. V felt something was off, a Mox but somehow not, and she’s starting to think Evelyn is purposely trying to put up a front. That she’s trying, a little too hard, to come across like femme fatale or corpo. Evelyn clears her throat.
“V, this is important. Judy's always been there for me. Always helped out. I trust her. But she's a Mox, not the latest member of your crew. Try not to forget. So you'll be a good girl, tread lightly and keep that tongue on a leash.
“Oh, but it's not my tongue you need to worry about.”
“Hmm, can feel you smirking under that mask, keep it up and I’ll tie those hands down, too,” Evelyn says with a wink as they pass through the double doors into another hallway, then through one more door.
Evelyn leads her through the basement doors, a dark little room with servers, netrunning chairs and screens. In an office chair slouching with one leg on a desk is a woman; late twenties or so with olive skin. One side of her hair is shaved, the other shaggy and down to nearly her shoulder, a deep green color with bright pink ends. The woman is heavily tattooed, bright red roses nestled above her collar bones, a spider web on her right shoulder, a cartoon ghost sitting in a shell, and a large number 13 on her bicep are among the standouts. But V could spend hours describing each artwork.
“Ahem.”
“Hey, there you are…” Judy greets Evelyn, a playful almost flirty tone to her voice.
“This is V. She's here for that BD roll. And V, this is Judy - best braindance editor I know.”
“Enough already, gonna make me barf.” There’s a slight accent to Judy’s voice, not unlike Jackie’s.
“Impressive set up,” V signs, at least, she assumes it’s impressive. Tech is already a bit of a blind spot for her, especially when it comes to brain dances.
“Mhm, Analyzers, sensory sig amps, acoustic and emotive wave monitors, facial expression translators.”
“Ahem, Judy,” Evelyn stops the inked editor before she can tell V more.
“All right, all right… Compiled your BD, Ev.”
“What do you think? Will it do?”
“Still pretty raw… but yeah, oughta do.”
“Mhm. V needs to get deep inside, that's most important.”
“So, let's calibrate, tune it to her,” Judy stands up from the table and moves to the desk closer to the door, sitting down below a neon pink light, “Believe me, I've dealt with worse. Should see the dig-Jig Street porn we gotta contend with sometimes.”
Evelyn has followed behind Judy, standing behind the editor’s chair, “So we drop V inside? Let her look, let her rummage around, right?”
“How 'bout it, V? Raw braindance - ever taken a dip before?” Judy leans forward on the desk, looking at V.
“No, not at all, but I’m a quick learner,” that feels like a lie as soon as she says it, “ and need to know what I’m dealing with. So.”
“Siddown, settle in, and we'll get you goin'.”
V turns around to the chairs, either netrunning or ripperdoc chairs, she’s not sure. But, she climbs into one, settling down into it as Judy comes back out around the desk. Judy is nearby, fiddling with a brain dance wreath.
“Be easier to fit without the mask.”
“Mask has optic tech, linked to my neuroport and biomon, should work just like it does with any set of cybereyes.”
“‘Fraid of ruining the mystery?” Evelyn asks, teasing again.
“Mask is for business, lot harder to track a merc if you got no clue what they look like. You that curious, feel free to try and track me down during my off time.”
“Fine, fine,”  Judy affixes the BD wreath around V’s head, lining it up properly on the merc before walking back to the desk,  “Gotta create your sensory profile first.”
“Go for it.”
“Now, sit still, look at me. Gonna run the analysis soft should feel a slight tingling…”
V’s breath catches as it prickles across her skin, a crackling and warm sensation crawling across every nerve. From the base of her skull, down her spine, across her arms to her fingers, running down her legs to her toes. A vague pulse, a current of something.
“OK now let's set the optics and other sensory sigs. Look smack into these two screens, pretend it's an eye exam.”
The two wreath panels flash and strobe white light, building in urgency and frequency.
“Gimme two more minutes. One more sec, need to get the pain receptor limiters in… OK. All set. Need to test your profile first. Tossing in a sam-”
“We can just use my recording, there’s no point in wasting time,” Evelyn interrupts Judy.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I’m fine with just jumping to her BD,” V interjects her opinion, “better to get right to it.”
Judy sighs and rolls her eyes; “Fine, fine, what do I know.”
“Great, I’ll just need to patch Bug in.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Who?” Judy jumps up from her desk, crossing her arms and looks at V like she just asked to summon Satan.
“Runner from my crew, security specialist. She'll tell me what to look for while we analyze. No problem, I assume?”
“Actually, it is a problem! You’re already asking me to cut fucking corners and now you want to bring someone else in?! Not what we agreed, Ev!”
“It’s not a big deal,” V signs, not sure what Judy’s sudden problem is.
“No big deal! You don't quite grasp the risks I took by lettin' you in here! What I'm risking pokin' around with this stuff!”
Judy continues to yell and V rolls her eyes, she’s a BD editor, not part of the actual crew, the client, or the fixer. If Arasaka goes after anyone it sure as shit won’t be Judy, so why is she throwing a fit.
“And you don’t seem to grasp the risk I’d be taking if me and my partner went stumbling into that hotel with no fucking clue as to what we or our runner are up against. I miss one hidden turret and I get pumped full of lead, either my runner links in or I’m gone.”
V makes a point to twist her head and look at Evelyn at the last part; Bug is the most highly trained member of their crew and Dex’s go to runner. Without her involvement and eyes on it, the job won’t be going anywhere.
“Bye then!” Judy yells out, “good riddance and don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”
“Judy, please…”
“Ev, she wants to bring a 'runner in. What part of that don't you understand?! How do I know she'll only perch in this footage, observe, not fuck with anything?!”
“Because Bug is literally involved with the heist, has a dog in this fight, and wants it to go well too,” V signs, hoping the AI voice is getting her annoyance across, Judy does level a glare at her over Evelyn’s shoulder.
“Me,” Evelyn steals Judy’s attention, “I'm your guarantee.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Help me, this one last time. I promise everything'll work out,  just like we planned.”
And it hits V, between the flirting and the soft drop in Evelyn’s voice here. The reason Judy is so worked up about this; her and Evelyn have something. Friends teetering the line into something else, girlfriends already, or maybe even more than that. V’s not sure. But there’s something distinctly not platonic to the way they interact. Maybe that’s the play on Evelyn’s. Scam Yorinobu Arasaka then run away with her porn editor girlfriend.
“Fine,” Judy shakes her head and sits back down, the anger gone, “call Bug and we’ll dive in.”
That issue taken care of V rings up T-Bug, the netrunner answering after a ring or two.
“What’s up, V?”
“Bug, listen. I got some useful footage from Konpeki Plaza. It's a braindance.”
“Konpeki? Ohhh, thought as much…” Judy looks up at Evelyn.
“Someone there with you?”
“Client and her...friend...is what I’ll settle on; that’s not what matters right now, its going to give us a layout of the room, a chance to find where the chip is, and some idea of security.”
“All right, see if I can walk you through it. Jackin’ into your tech now,” notifications alert across her mask’s interface, “Mh, you've gotta give me access. Opening port 1779… Secure protocol? Good, I'm goin' in. Should be getting my request… …now.”
“Got it. You ready?”
“Millisec. OK, connection confirmed, now some quick temp ICE and… we're clear. Ready to dance.”
“Let’s do this.”
And with that the wreath panels begin to flash and strobe in front of V’s eyes, quicker and quicker until the world goes out in white. And in the next snap of a moment, one reality becomes another. Her body is no longer her own, she’s placed in Evelyn’s mind standing outside an elevator. What feels like her body, moves to adjust a purse strap, gold capped nails.
“All right, V - eyes open. Gotta find out where Yorinobu is keepin’ the Relic. Everything is controlled by thought and intention; you can step into editor mode, access everything her cyberware picked up a signal of, can scan, rewind, fast forward. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
The doors open, exposing the hotel room, and a horror show of a man walking towards her. V can feel the spike in fear, whether from Evelyn in the moment or V’s own instinctual reaction; she isn’t sure. He’s around eight feet tall, complete metal and cyberware from his feet to his upper lip; more machine than human. Wire, hydraulics, steel; all branded with Arasaka. The flesh section of his head is sickly ashen protrusive veins, glowing red where eyes should be. As he draws closer there’s a whirr of machinery, hydraulics pistoning to give him movement. How is he alive? How is he functional?
“You look like a cut of fuckable meat. Are you?” He asks as he walks past, voice edged with something inhuman.
Evelyn reigns her fear back in, the past version of her walking deeper into the room, where a dark haired man sits at a table in front of a large screen where another blonde haired man speaks back to him.
“I said no,” the dark haired man speaks out, his voice colored by a Japanese accent and V knows it’s Yorinobu. Evelyn continues to walk closer, her heels clicking against the floor.
“They'll have my head for this…”
“Then you shall perish for a good cause.”
“But I-”
“Make yourself comfortable. I need a minute to finish,” Yorinobu tells Evelyn, sparing just a glance over his shoulder.
“Listen in on that conversation, V! Could be something important.”
She wants to watch through first, do an initial watch to look for things and then go more in depth. Two watches at least should mean she’s covered everything. Yorinobu switches the conversation to his holophone, pacing around the room. Evelyn meanwhile puts her purse down on the chair, then walks behind him, trying to keep him in range
“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble! You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”
Yorinobu continues to talk as Evelyn pours herself a glass full of champagne and takes a drink, the tech allowing V to taste the sweet bubbles as if they were on her own tongue. Glass in hand she takes a slow look around the room and walks back to the center of it, sitting at the table, the plush of the cushion letting her sink into it.
“Noted,” Yorinobu says into the phone as he starts to walk back to Evelyn, there’s something in his eyes, “enough.”
He hands up, putting the phone down on the table. Evelyn looks up at him and V through her eyes gets her first good look at the Arasaka heir. Dark hair with the sides shaved down close to the scalp, glasses perched on his nose. His cyberware is surprisingly minimal for a man of his wealth, two streaks of silver going up his neck to his jawline.
“Sorry, to make you wait,” he touches Evelyn’s shoulder and the woman rises, “business can be stupid.”
They’re close and V can feel his hands on her, Evelyn’s, hips. Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder.
“Mmh, it wasn't long,” Evelyn hums and it feels wholy unnatural to feel like she’s speaking with someone else's voice, “Not even long enough for me to grow bored.”
His hands start to creep and Evelyn goes to pull away, movements playful, when Yorinobu pulls her back in. Then he starts to dip his mouth.
“Fuck no!” V yells out as she pushes the thought to enter editor mode, separating her senses from Evelyn’s before she has to feel Yorinobu’s lips on Evelyn’s neck. She looks down and sees herself, though slightly digital, her bright blue nail polish and not gold jewelry. The scene around her has paused and a digital filter over them.
“Something wrong?” T-Bug asks with a slight laugh.
“Nearly had corpo droolon me,” V signs, happy to find the tech allows her translator to work in editor mode, “was going do a watch through, then a second go in editor mode, figured two look throughs would be best...then”
“Then you nearly had to lock lips with Yorinobu Arasaka.”
“Gag, rewinding back to scan the call fully.” With a thought she watches as Evelyn and Yorinobu move in reverse, getting back to win the heir was starting the call. Once she gets where she needs to be she scans his phone and restarts it from editor mode, thankful for the sensory disconnect. She hears the man on the other end of Yorinobu’s call speak.
“Please speak with your father. He's taken a particular interest in this project, he can certainly explain the risks invol--”
“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble!”
“I should not even be listening to such things.”
“You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”
“Read the documentation carefully. The Relic requires specific storage conditions. You MUST provide them.”
“Noted,” Yorinobu hangs up again and V pauses the BD.
“Heard that? Relic docs gotta be around here somewhere. Look for them,” Bug confirms.
“Once we find where the chip is stored we’ll do a clean sweep of the security, okay Bug.”
“Smart thinking.”
V watches half-heartedly as Yorinobu and Evelyn interact; her range of vision and senses limited to Evelyn. She fast forwards through the two canoodling, only mildly catching Evelyn mentioning something about ‘candy’ though V assumes it’s of the nose variety. Evelyn separates away from Yorinobu for a moment and walks to a control panel, offering to lend music to the scene.
But V’s interest is piqued when she catches Evelyn rifling through Yorinobu’s messages, a few spam and scam emails. Then she pulls up an email from Clouds, a dollhouse in the city. Evelyn deletes it, V rewinds back and pauses. The email thanks Yorinobu for his patronage; hmm, heir has a taste for doll prostitutes. Something, Evelyn doesn’t want that email to be there… Its all beginning to make more sense and V’s not sure she likes it.
The merc fast forwards further through the BD, moving through to Evelyn playing awful music and going to meet Yorinobu in his bed. Where he sits with a tablet, the second the screen is clear. She pauses and scans it, bingo.
“Manual details a special temp controlled container. Relic needs to be kept real cool,” T-Bug explains through the technobabble.
“Chip’s got to be in a freezer.”
“Yep. Could damage it otherwise. OK, switch on thermal layer detection in the editor. Should be easier to spot where Yorinobu's keeping the chip.”
V switches with a thought, the world turning into temperature signatures as she searches for unnatural cold places and spots. An air conditioner pumps out cold air, but that would be a stupid place to put billion dollar tech. One malfunction and you lost it all.  She rewinds back to get more of a view, a ice bucket for champagne, a fridge?
“That’s just a regular fancy fridge, not cold enough,” Bug tells her when she spends t0o long contemplating it.
V rewinds further and an amass of blue ice cold air from behind a pillar catches her eye, It seems to come up through the floor, unlike the AC, ice bucket, or fridge she has no clear idea where this one is coming from. A secret container in the floor? Seems like a much craftier place to hide expensive stolen tech, V scans it.
“Right, grabbed the heat sig. Matches the spec in the docs,” T-Bug tells her.
“Chip has to be here, we got it.”
“Mmhmm, time to scan security.”
V switches back to the regular mode, looking for what she needs to scan. The camera system first.
“Shit, cameras packed with newtech motion sensors, heat sig activators. IFF.”
“Can you kill it?”
“With access to their subnet, but we need the Flathead bot for that.”
They continue on, with Bug commenting on each security measure they scan. Alarm with fresh firmware, Automated turrets connected to the hotels server. Yorinobu’s pistol, loaded with the safety on. V rewinds and fast forward, searching anything else that might be an issue but comes up empty handed.
“Seems like we got everything. Looks like all their security systems are linked to the hotel subnet. We need the Flathead. No other way to shut down these systems,” T-Bug sumises.
“No way around it ourselves?”
“Nope. Least I'm fresh out of ideas. Think we got everything we need.”
“Okay, but hang on the line with me after we get out of the BD, need you to look over something for me, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.”
V exists out of the brain dance, a flash of white and the world returns. Judy and Evelyn looking at her from across a desk, T-Bug still in the call panel of her mask. Her eyes hurt, her throat feels dry, and she can feel a migraine pushing at her temples. She fucking hates brain dances.
“Get everything you need?” Judy asks, a dark raised eyebrow.
“From the BD, yeah, got to clear something with Bug while I got her on the horn,” V gets the chip she fucked with out of her pocket and slides it into the proxy reader of her mask, “got a chip I fucked around with; decrypted and tried to rewrite the virus on it, so it will spike the people who gave it to me. But I want to make sure, I didn’t fuck up.”
“Need me to grade your work, V?”
“Kind of…”
“Oh, shit, V. You fucking over Militech?” T-Bug exclaims, a little pride in her voice as she reads over the code, thankfully her voice is only audible to V through her hearing aids.
“Mmhmm.”
“And you don’t want to sign and have your translator read it, because you don’t want to risk the client knowing you’re fucking over Militech while prepping to fuck over Arasaka.”
“Mmhmm, will it work?”
“It will fry the servers of any tech it’s plugged in proper and fry the servers it’s linked to, a Militech van from the looks of it. Won’t be a dent in their bottom line, but will surely piss off some reps. That what you meant for it to do?”
“That was the plan.”
“Preem work then, but I do want to make some...edits,” T-Bug edits the chips code in front of V’s eyes, “there we go.”
“Something wrong with it?” Nerves creep up V’s throat, if she fucked up, she’d rather learn her lesson now.
“Nah, I added a bit of a personal touch for you, nothing wrong with a little style added to your hacking.”
“Appreciate the help.”
“You know I won’t always be here to check your work.”
“I know, I know, but it doesn't mean I won’t take advantage while I can. Thanks again, talk soon.”
“Later, V.” With that V hangs up the call and slots the spiked credchip back into its respective pocket. Judgement, suspicion, and resentment are radiating off of Judy.
“I'll wipe the cache and your data. You were never here.”
Judy stands up from the desk and V tries to decipher a few of the tattoos she sees, noticing more sea themed ones, like a dolphin and sharks. V flinches behind her mask as Judy removes the BD wreath, glad to be free of the contraption, but she could have taken it off herself.
“Thanks…” V signs, despite this, just trying to be polite despite their spat.
“Keep it,” Judy hands her the wreath, V getting a good look at the octopus tattooed on the woman’s hand,  “I'll put it on Ev's tab. Portable device for handling BDs. I already uploaded your calibration settings. Not as sophisticated as what we got here, but should do the trick.”
“And it keeps you outta harm's way. Clever.”
“Speaking of harms way, know what I see looking at you,” Judy pins her hands to her hips and gives V that look again, “walking, talking corpses.”
“We needed this recording, just… relax, will you?”
“Relax! If Arasaka finds out you have it, you're dead. I'm dead! If you fuck this up and Arasaka comes knocking on my door!”
“Judy, relax, that’s… not gonna happen,” Evelyn is the one trying to soothe the editors temper again.
“Evelyn, please… no shortcuts. You go that route, city'll always win. So be careful.”
“'Course I will be. Besides, we'll talk in a bit,” Evelyn looks to V,  “lets walk.”
V stashes the new BD wreath into her bag and climbs from the chair, following Evelyn out of Judy’s basement space. It’s not like V is heartless or doesn’t know anxiety; but of everyone involved, Judy has the least skin in the game. V can’t spend her time coddling someone who doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot to worry about compared to her, Jackie, or Bug.
“Well? What do you think?” Evelyn asks and V can see that hint of nerves coming back.
“You’re not worried about this coming back on you, if they start looking through everyone he’s been dealing with?”
“They'll have a long list, then. Packed full of big names. Much bigger than mine. You tell me who they check first. Corpo hotshots and cutthroats? Or a little bedroom plaything like me?”
“Well, then... “ V tries to find her words, this all seems, too good, “intel on the heir, on the place, know roughly where the chip is, and how we should get to it… Seems like a perfect plan and job.”
“Mm. Thanks. Now the punch line, please.”
“Seems too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch…”
“Cold feet? Are you looking to get out of it?”
“I want to know you’re in control here; that there’s no secrets, no catches, no surprises that turns this heist from a cakewalk into a bloodbath.”
“V. I have zero reasons to haze you. We’re in this together. Really. Trust me that I got this.”
“Okay, if you say so, what next?”
“V….” there’s nothing good in the way Evelyn pauses, words stuck to her tongue for a moment, “Do this job for me. I mean me alone. No splitting the payout with anyone else. No middlemen. No Dex.”
Of course, of fucking course, there had to be something. Evelyn’s trying to play cutthroat corpo, fucking over a fixer because she has dollar signs in her eyes. But, she’s too damn naïve to the game to know that no merc with the lead in their gun would pull that shit. Greedy mercs who screw over their fixers end up broke on the street at best and swimming  with cement shoes at worst. And a high profile one like Dex has the means to destroy her.
“Fucking knew there was a catch, you want to fuck over our fixer.”
“Dex is a middleman. And a useless one at this point.”
“You don't fuck with fixers. That's the one rule every merc in this city knows - and actually follows!”
“But if we're smart…”
“There is no smart to this, a mistake like that will cost me my reputation and without that, a merc is fucking nothing in this city. Are you serious about this?”
“Better ask yourself that question. Do you want to spend the rest of your days blasting scavs? Or become a legend overnight? Your choice.”
“He would put me in the ground, if I pulled some gonk shit like that.”
“I could give you fifty percent, V, . Eddies enough to do whatever the hell you like, without needing Dex for anything. With cred like that, you wouldn’t want for anything, you could retire.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“I thought you were a merc. I thought it was always about the money.”
“No, its not actually. He trusts me, he’s taking a leap with me. And even if he weren’t, I’m not the only person I got to worry about. Bug vouched for me too and Jackie is my partner. I fuck over my fixer, it hurts them too. I’m not going to send them down the river for a bigger cut of the pie.”
“Fine. I never asked. But V?”
“Yeah.”
“I just hope you're as good as you are naive.”
“Pff, you think I’m the naive one, here. Cute.
“If you need me, call. I'll send you my number. Now go. I need a few words with Judy.”
“Later, then.”
And with that V heads back up the stairs, tension draws tight across her shoulders. This whole damn thing with Evelyn throwing her off. The BD and everything seems clear cut, if they get the Flathead, the job might even be easy. But, wanting to fuck over their fixer. Evelyn is not the corpo or femme fatale or whatever she seems to think she is. A doll, V’s sure of that.  Evelyn must have deleted the email from Clouds because its’s connected to her and the Mox offer protection to sex workers; must be where she and Yorinobu met. Clouds even has connections to Arasaka through the Tyger Claws. And she managed to become a powerful rich man’s plaything, so now she thinks she’s smart enough to fuck over not only him but Dex too.
She’s a messy client with good intel. V doesn’t want Evelyn to get hurt. The older woman is in over her head and doesn’t know how the merc world works. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt for that, the last thing V wants is for Dex to lose his cool and hurt the woman. But, V also owes it to him to let him know Evelyn put that deal on the table. If she doesn’t, what’s to say Evelyn won’t pull this on another fixer? Or Dex gets another job aligned with her and the next merc she offers this to isn’t so loyal? She has to tell him.
V fumbles with her holo as she walks back through the club, doing some quick research on Konpeki Plaza. Finding their policy on guns. Given the stealth nature of this mission, she can assume the only way they’re getting in is to find a way to get in like regular patrons. Which means they’d be scanned for guns as soon as they get through the door. If something goes south, she doesn’t want her and Jackie left unarmed with a hoard of Arasaka soldiers on their ass.
But they can’t confiscate cyberware.
Might be time to cash in her savings for something. Her holo buzzes in her hand as Dex calls; her stomach drops. Unsure for a moment what to say to him, if she should go ahead and tell him what Evelyn tried to pull. Would he lose his temper? Drop the entire damn heist? Would he hurt her for it? It weighs on her shoulders as she pushes through a blue beaded curtain, considering her options with a finger hovering over the phone.
10 notes · View notes
chonkychornes · 4 years
Text
Open Arms Part 5
Synopsis: You come back broken from a mission, and the one person who could barely put himself back together is one trying to help you.
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Language. Angst. And here’s the smut I’ve been promising. 5 of ? My first reader insert fic, so please be kind, and if you like it, please reblog it? 
Also, this is really for @quant-um-fizzx​ I couldn’t/wouldn’t have done any of this without her help or guidance.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Tumblr media
Movie night has very few rules; anyone and everyone in the compound was invited. Admission was a contribution towards food, either chip in for takeout or bring something to share. 
That had been eye-opening.
Natasha is especially adept at dips; and not just salsa or ripping open a packet of onion soup powder and dumping it into a tub of sour cream. This girl will customize guacamole to your spice and chunk preference.
She’ll make vats of spinach and artichoke dip without breaking a sweat. And her BLT dip? You don’t want to know what is in it, because you’re certain that it would require an extra two hours in the gym and turning down the personal batch she’ll make just for you to horde in your fridge. 
Then there’s Steve and Barnes: The witless wonders in the kitchen. Although Steve can make a mean soup and he knows just how essential a crockpot is. And Barnes is getting better since he’s instituted dinners with you, where you’ve been teaching him how to cook. 
Sam insists that the only thing he can properly make is breakfast and a Thanksgiving turkey, so basically you’re just counting down the days for him to show up or shut up. 
Banner is the complete dark horse. You like baking; it’s relaxing and you get to make pretty and delicious things. You just don’t have the patience for the fancy stuff. 
Bruce does. 
He makes macarons, pavlovas, and pies with the most intricate and decorative crusts you’ve ever seen outside of a bakery. Two weeks ago he made chocolate souffle and you got so excited that you jumped into his arms and squeezed him tightly. 
The final rule of movie night is that if someone picks the first movie in a franchise, you have to watch all the movies before moving on to something else. Apparently, according to Tony Stark, if you pick The Hobbit … you’re not only watching those three movies, but also The Lord of the Rings trilogy ‘because they’re all set in the same universe and this is my place’.
Tonight marks the halfway point through a franchise and you thank your lucky stars that this one only has five movies in it. You like this franchise, but frankly, Johnny Depp is getting a little old to play a rummed up pirate with a questionable moral compass.
After leaving Natasha in the gym and taking a quick shower you spend the rest of your afternoon making cupcakes. Five dozen to be exact. The clean up took longer than you’d planned, but you still managed to do all the things to yourself. After loading them all up in the massive cupcakes carriers and then into a large box, you exit your quarters only to be met with Barnes. 
You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when his eyes go wide when he sees the load you’re trying to maneuver and he reaches out to take it from you. “I could’ve managed, but thanks.” 
He gives you a wry smile and glances into the box, “You made cupcakes? What kind are they?” 
Before you can answer him though, he’s put the box down, ripped the lid off the top carrier, grabbed a treat and somehow managed to take the baking paper off and shove the whole thing in his mouth in less than 10 seconds. 
You smirk because he’s going to get a toothache or maybe he’ll choke, but it’s also sort of cute. 
He could still choke though. 
“They’re salted caramel with vanilla buttercream swirled with a caramel drizzle and then topped with sea salt.” You look at him as he groans and you can feel it straight into your bones and various other places. He finally swallows and reaches for another when you reach out to stop him. 
“I made 60, so there’s plenty,” you say, and he has the good grace to look slightly ashamed.” You also have a little buttercream right-” You reach out with your thumb and wipe at the corner of his mouth. Instinctively, his tongue darts to the spot and for whatever reason - only you and your vagina understand - you put your thumb into your mouth. 
His eyes darken and you both stand there for a solid minute staring at the other, daring each other to make a move. When he steps over the box at your feet, your heart jumps. His hands find your hips and he grips you gently and pushes you against your door. You can feel the cool metal of his left hand versus the heat radiating from his right. 
“Tell me to stop,” James whispers, begging you, but you can’t form the words that are caught in your throat. He skims his nose along the column of your neck and up to your ear. He nibbles softly and you melt against him. He thrusts one of his knees between your thighs to help support you and runs his hands up and down your ribcage. 
As you whine softly and grind on his leg he mutters into your ear, “Dracu-ma (fuck me).”
You’ve heard him speak Romanian before. He mutters in the gym while lifting weights. When a glass slipped from his hands just last week when he was doing your dishes. You’re almost certain you heard him mumble disjointed sentences when you both dozed under that maple.
This is different.
And that’s when the world comes crashing down around you. 
If you were going to go down this path with him, it won’t start out in the hallway. 
It won’t be when you can’t even figure out what name you want to call him and just realized you had real-time feelings for him. 
It won’t be when you aren’t sure how to tell him you want him you lo- 
It won’t.
It’ won’t. 
You won’t.
Your body stiffens and he immediately drops his hands, “Did I read this wrong?” His striking blue eyes search yours and you see the concern, tinged with a little fear clouded over into resignation. “I get it,” he says and takes a deliberate step back, remembering to step over the box of cupcakes. 
“James, no.” You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes and contemplate screaming for an hour to release the frustration you’re feeling. “You didn’t read this wrong.” His eyes sharpen on you. “I just … I’m not sure how to tell you what I’m feeling.”
You find yourself in the same situation you were in mere moments before; you’re both staring at each other until he finally speaks. 
“Well, I hope you’re feeling up to movie night,” he says, and bends over to pick up the box and sends you a wink and smile when he straightens. “Steve says the TV is out in the media room and it’s just the three of us tonight, so we’ll see you at our place in a bit.”
He walks away and you slide down the door into a heap on the floor and just sit there for a solid ten minutes before you pull out your phone and send off a text to Steve to make sure he’s still in for his part of the plan (and to talk you down off the ledge you’ve built for yourself.) 
When you let yourself into Steve and James’ quarters thirty minutes later, the scene you find would be comical if you hadn’t had a part in orchestrating it.
Steve is sitting in his favorite cushy armchair with a look of despair and tiredness etched across his features. 
“Boys,” you acknowledge as you enter and notice that at least one of the cupcake carriers has been relieved of at least a dozen treats. 
“Hey, sweets.” James isn’t looking at you and you raise an eyebrow at his slightly dismissive tone and a new spin on a nickname. “Have you seen my copy of ‘At World’s End’?” 
You now realize why he’s on the floor and every movie that belongs to the two men is strewn about.
“I have no idea. How could you have lost it?” You lean against the arm of the couch and watch the show as James scoots around on his hands and knees searching. When you glance over at Steve he rolls his eyes and then stares pointedly at you. 
You clear your throat, “So, who ate all those cupcakes?” James freezes in his tracks, sits up on his haunches, and turns to look at you over his shoulder. 
“I only had that one.” He smirks just enough and then points a finger at Steve who is prepared and has a sheepish look on his face. 
“I can’t resist salted caramel!” He’s protesting and James is laughing at him. You eye him to tell him to take it down a notch or two. “If it makes you feel any better, my stomach is killing me now.” He groans lightly and sinks further into the chair. 
Perfect. 
“Poor baby, can’t handle his sweets.” You wink at him and he flips you off when James goes back to searching. “Hey, Bucky,” you say, and his head swivels slowly around to look at you. “I’ve got the box set. Come over and we’ll order food and leave this child to suffer the consequences of his choices.”
You grab some cupcakes and saunter out, knowing full well that he’ll follow you. 
You offered him movie night and food. 
You called him Bucky. 
And you have some unfinished business. 
Precisely six minutes later, after you somehow manage to put the DVD in and cue it up and light a fat jar candle you have on your coffee table, you’re still waiting for the Tin Man to appear. You assume it’s taking him so long because Steve made him clean up the mess he made, but you suspect that there are just piles of DVDs stacked haphazardly around the living room down the hall. 
When he finally knocks, you call out to tell him the door is open and your voice catches a little in your throat. You walk out of your kitchen as he walks in, holding up two take-out menus. 
“Your choice, I’m fine with whatever.” You don’t mean for the phrase to come out sounding like some double entendre, but it does a little bit. 
He plucks them both out of your hands and considers them seriously for a few moments. “This one,” he hands a menu back to you and walks you back into the kitchen until you hit the island with your ass and he cages you with his arms. “I’ll take two orders of the assorted dim sum, the house special lo mein, and do you like wonton soup, doll?”
You swallow hard. 
There is no way this should feel like foreplay, but it does. 
“I love it. Do you like salt and pepper wings?” he says, nodding, and you reach into your back pocket for your phone. “Then I’ll call it in.” 
When you bring the device to your ear, he backs away and wanders around your quarters.
After quietly finishing the order and telling the restaurant the instructions for when they arrive, you hang up and stare at him. The broad expanse of his back is hunched over as he’s crouched down and looking at some photographs on one of the lower bookshelves. 
He’s been in here, but you usually push him right out the door as quickly as possible after he’s washed the dishes after one of your dinners. 
He never lingers over coffee and conversation.  So, this is the first time he’s investigating your space. You’re not sure you like. 
“My family,” you say softly and he looks over his shoulder at you. “My parents and my older brother died when I was seventeen and my younger sister was only nine.” 
He fingers the edge of the frame before standing but doesn’t say anything. He’s looking at your diploma from Columbia and the few other photos you have when you see him still and his gaze land on a photo of you and Steve. 
You suddenly think that all of this, whatever it is, is a terrible idea. Granted, whatever was between you and Steve is in the past, but that doesn’t mean everyone sees it that way. 
“You look really happy here.” His voice is soft and gentle. You know what picture it is, but have the wherewithal to walk over and look at it with him. 
You were at one of Stark’s galas. It was black tie and the two of you had gone together because it seemed easiest. Both you and Steve were bored quickly, so you made up a drinking game where you took a shot every time a woman (or man) hit on Steve in front of you.
Steve did the same for all the men that hit on you but seeing as he couldn’t get drunk, you turned yourself into a shit show rather quickly. The resulting picture is somewhere between shot numbers seven and ten. 
“I was happy. I was also incredibly drunk, but we had fun that night.” You laugh lightly to yourself, “I tried to convince him to let me throw his shield.” 
“Did he?” He looks into your eyes and smiles, “Because I don’t think you could throw it stone-cold sober.” 
“He didn’t and I can’t.” You shrug and walk towards the couch. “C’mon, let’s start this before the food gets here.”
You press play on the DVD menu and the familiar refrain begins as you side-eye James to see what he’s doing. 
The couch isn’t a loveseat but it isn’t a sprawling sectional either. It’s three-seater and you’ve both made some unspoken agreement that the middle cushion is no man’s land. In fact, you’re pretty sure you haven’t sat this far away from someone while watching a movie on a couch since high school. 
Forty minutes into the movie, the food arrives and you pause to eat and you take the opportunity to steal a few dim sum and settle in a little closer and a little more open towards him. When you start up the movie again, you’ve got one knee up on the middle cushion, body angled towards him slightly, and one elbow propped up on the back of the couch and supporting your head.
He’s not making any moves and you wonder if when you told him to stop earlier, he took it to heart. So, you start doing little things that end getting you closer, inch by inch. You kick off your little house slippers. “You can take off your shoes if you want.” 
Then you reach almost across him to get a fortune cookie that’s sitting on the table in front of him, which gains you a few millimeters. You pretend to crack your back, and at this point, you’re basically straddling the space between your cushion and the middle one. 
At some point, your arm falls to the back of the couch as you react to the scene and when you realize that your hand is on James’ forearm, he’s moving a little bit closer to you. Where you feel shy, he seems sure. His eyes are dark and determined. 
“You could come closer,” you say softly and he shrugs. His eyes flicker back to the screen and then back to you. He’s watching you and only you. 
“I could, but I need you to tell me how to move along with this.” He flips your hand over and his fingertips dance over your palm. So you scoot closer. You know he’s warm and suddenly, your skin has broken out in goosebumps. 
“I feel like there’s been a shift in the last couple of months, between us,” he says low, his voice like a hot coffee with a generous shot of whiskey, and the sound of it sends a bolt of electricity straight to your center. “It feels like there’s been a lot of starts and stops too.”
“I’d have to agree.” You look up at him and find his blue eyes dark with intensity. You rotate your wrist and mirror his actions and run your fingers along his palm and wrist. “There’s something more here, between us, I mean.”
“Of course there is. It’s why I spend all my free time with you.” He slides a little closer and his warm, rough fingers tickle that sensitive skin inside your elbow. “I just need to know what you want. I need you to spell it out for me.”
That’s when you realize that all of this has been foreplay, but where you thought he would take the lead again, he handed it directly to you. 
He wants you to spell it out for him. But he isn’t stupid, he’s playing you like a fiddle. You might have all the power tonight, which you enjoy, but he’s been orchestrating the entire thing. 
What you want is the singular focus in your mind right now, but there’s more buried underneath.
“I … want you.” He moves a little closer and smiles warmly, lips over teeth, but remains silent. 
“I need you… James.” His eyes darken slightly and he reaches for you with that metal appendage and pulls you to him this time and drapes your legs over his thighs. His hand is resting on your knee and you are acutely aware of his proximity.
“I just truly realized it today, but I’ve been feeling something for weeks now.” He shifts you both closer and his hand moves to your thigh. You can feel the muscles jumping, trembling, quivering, waiting for more. 
“I was annoyed because you were everywhere, always.” You huff as he laughs and cocks his head to the side and wets his lips with a quick dart of his tongue. “But I breathe easier when you’re around.” 
He pulls you closer and wraps an arm around your shoulders and you can feel yourself melt into his embrace. 
“It’s like,” you pause as his hand moves to curl around your neck to lightly massage the muscles there. “It’s like I hadn’t realized that I’ve been lost in the desert … that I need water.” 
That’s when he leans in a breadth away, you can see how clear and dark blue his eyes are. The short stubble that you pray will rub you raw in places people can see and places they can’t. 
“Dehydration is a bitch,” he points out and nudges his nose against yours only to pull back and look at you again. 
“I need the water to save me … I need it to be real. ” This time you move closer to him, but there’s barely any room left between you two. 
“This is real. I’m real,” he grips your hand and places it over his heart. “You can take what you need and give what you can. But I’m here now. This isn’t some mirage.”
 It’s now or never because if you can’t make this happen now, you’ll give up or spontaneously combust. 
Or leave and just never come back. 
“I’d give everything to have all of you, Bucky.” There’s a split second hesitation and then his mouth descends upon yours and it’s like he’s giving you the kiss of life because surely you weren’t truly living before this. 
His tongue sweeps across your lips begging for entrance and when you open for him he devours you and you groan in delight and surprise. You can admit now that you had dreamed of this and naturally it’s better than you imagined. 
He’s warm and firm, spicy from dinner and something that you suspect is strictly just him. The hand on your thigh has moved up your ribcage and is dancing up and down when you squeak into his mouth. 
When he pulls away, you give him an impish grin. “I’m a little ticklish.” He smiles and proceeds to dig his fingers into your side until you’re laughing and screaming in delight. 
“Is that your real laugh? I’ve never heard it before,” he says, grinning, and dips in for nips at your lips, cheeks, chin. “I like it.” 
When you smile it makes your cheeks hurt. You realize that ever since you came back, you’ve been holding back those smiles, not giving them your all -  except for this one. It’s full tilt and explosive and maybe a little manic, so your lips find his earlobe and when he shudders under your ministrations you feel it in your core.
He shifts you so you’re straddling his thighs and he’s so thick you can feel the fabric of your jeans straining against the stretch. There are no pretenses anymore. His hands are under your shirt, his thumbs flick over your hardened nipples. You’re trying desperately to garner any friction between the two of you, but the denim you both wear makes it difficult. 
You focus on his lips, his tongue, his hands, on the way he makes you feel; his touch is soft but fevered enough that you know he wants you. He’s tempering his movements for some reason. Maybe he’s worried you’ll be scared or intimidated.
In one swift motion, you pull off your shirt and unclasp your bra. You need his hands on your skin to feel the contrast between cool and warm, the polished and the rough. 
You want his lips on you and just as you look down at him he growls lowly in his throat and attacks. He grasps you by the back of the head crashes your mouth to his, teeth clanking and noses bumping. Chapped lips meeting, caressing. His stubble marking your chin and cheeks.  Tongues sliding wet and hot over each other, trying to claim every bit of real estate possible.  
Your hands are tangled in his hair and as you tug lightly he moans into your mouth and immediately kisses a trail down to your breasts. He licks and nips and sucks until you’re moaning and keening and grinding into him. 
“I need you.” You speak at the same time and the look shared between you two is soft and reverent. 
When he stands up from the couch with you wrapped around his hips, it’s not just sexy; it makes you feel safe and secure in a way you’ve never felt. When he kicks open the bedroom door, it’s with great satisfaction that the room is clean and orderly. 
He drops you softly on the bed and all but rips his long sleeve shirt from his torso while you lay there, propped up on your elbows just watching. It isn’t until he reaches for his belt that you spring into action.  
When you reach out with slightly trembling hands, he stills and looks at you questioningly. You offer him a smile because while you are nervous, it’s the good kind. 
You slide the leather through the buckle and undo the button fly and slide the jeans down to reveal nothing between the rough cotton and the already ready and willing member inside. You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow. 
“What? I don’t even own underwear.” 
You smirk and let him step out before running your hands up and down his bare thighs. His legs are spread shoulders width apart and he looks down at you. He’s breathing heavily and you understand the feeling. When your hands find him, he sucks in a breath and the muscles in his stomach clench. 
You aren’t shy; this is one of your favorite things to do. You delicately lick the head to spread his own moisture and mix it on your tongue. He gasps and his hands grip your shoulders as your mouth sinks down onto him. 
You find and set a pace that works using tongue and a little bit of teeth. Your mouth sucking, slurping, and rolling his balls in one hand. When you bottom out and he hits the back of your throat with little resistance from you, he groans from low in his gut and you can feel it reverberate in his body. 
The hands that had been gripping your shoulders reach under and hoist you up and off of him and he flings you back into the middle of the bed. 
On all fours, he stalks towards you, like a hunter after his prey. 
He reaches for your jeans and rips them off. You’re shocked. You figured something like that might hurt, but even though every nerve ending is firing, you felt nothing. 
“Those are pretty,” he murmurs and you glance down at the lace panties you’re wearing. You shrug. 
“I have plenty more.”
He grins and rips those from your body too. 
You’re both exposed to each other, naked and wanting. The air already lingers with the smell of arousal.
He doesn’t waste any time and crawls between your thighs and spreads your legs before him and sighs contentedly. 
“I’ve heard plenty of guys say a pussy is a beautiful thing, but I never got it ‘til now, sweets.” You’re laughing at the absurdity of his remark as he takes a long swipe, top to bottom and the laughter dies on your lips. 
Immediately your hands are fisted in the sheets, in his hair, clawing at his shoulders and back. His languid movements might be the death of you. 
Not a bad way to go, all in all. 
He’s humming against your nub when he inserts two cold fingers and the contrast between your hot center and his cold metal fingers makes you cum instantly.
You cry out and buck up and see him grin as his eyes meet yours but he won’t remove his mouth or his fingers from you. As you come back down, he adds a third finger and the second climax builds instantly again. 
You can’t catch your breath. 
He has you anchored to the bed with one arm wrapped around a leg and the other arm bringing you to a third, albeit slower orgasm. 
When you come down from that, you can only see stars and the curtain of his hair as he leans over you. 
“You hangin’ in there, sweets?” He leans in to kiss you and you can feel the stickiness in his stubble and on his tongue. 
You nod and feel the immense relief of knowing that he wants to make sure you’re still with him. 
And you are.
 It’s all been leading up to this, you finally realize it. Circling around each other, setting it all up. He’s ingrained himself in your life and now you’ve let him into your personal space. 
You’re both caressing each other waiting for your heart to slow, waiting for just the right moment. 
Because while it isn’t a game at all, sex and all that goes along with it never should be, this has been. It’s not cat and mouse though, it’s more like chess. Strategically testing the waters with each other over the last couple of months, delving in and learning new things. 
He’s like Bobby fucking Fischer as he settles his body between your legs and leans over you.
He’s set his queen right where he wants her. 
As he lines up his head with your entrance, gathering the wetness that lingers there and teasing you all the while. He’s taking too long, far too long. So, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him to you and when he slides in, you never felt more perfect and full. 
You give a small laugh at the surprised expression on his face and he leans down to kiss you. 
“I want to be with you all night,” he breathes, as his lips drag across your collarbone and you clench around him. “We have all night, sweets.”
He pulls back and pumps back into you slowly, tortuously. You whine already, knowing full well that he can and will prolong this as much as possible. As he keeps up the arduous pace, your hands make trails up and down his biceps and back. Your fingers delicately trace the white and pink scars at his shoulder. 
His elbows cage your head, your legs still locked around his hips, but when you reach up and pepper gentle kisses to that left side. He slows even further. 
“You … you don’t have to …” His voice cracks but he hasn’t stilled his movements. 
“We have all night,” you parrot back to him. “I want my lips on every inch of you.” 
There’s a gleam in his eyes and by a trick of the light you think it might be tears, but it’s gone before you can question him.  He slides an arm under your back and begins to pick up his pace, pulling your hips to his to meet every thrust. 
The mingled sounds of skin on skin and your ragged breaths fill the quiet room until you shove gently at him and he pulls out of you and you move him to his back and you climb on. He twines his fingers with yours and supports your weight as you situate yourself and slide down. 
There’s a slight pain there as you adjust but he gives you a moment, softly kneading your breasts and smiling like a cat that caught the canary. 
As you begin to move he holds your hips softly, gently as you work him up and down, over and over. You have all night, there’s no need to rush. No need to move at a frantic pace. He reaches up and wraps his hands in your hair and pulls you down to catch your lips in a kiss. You’re still moving and the grinding sensation of your clit on his pelvic bone is speeding up this next orgasm. 
He bucks his hips up to meet yours and when the dam breaks you moan into his mouth while he latches onto a hardened nipple. 
You lay on top of him for a moment before he pulls you away and brushes the hair out of your face. You smile weakly at him. 
“I might need a little break,” you mutter as you try to stifle a yawn. “If we really do have all night.” 
He laughs and smacks you lightly on the ass and pulls you off of him and tucks you into his side. 
“We have all the time in the world, sweets.”
105 notes · View notes
waterchestnut123 · 4 years
Text
CHAPTER 3 / The Peculiar Perils of Straw Hat Parties
Common commentary throughout the 5 seas held that Straw Hat parties were notoriously wild. This is something that Trafalgar Law, as well as the rest of his crew, are learning first hand. Not that Law particularly feels like partying; after Dressrosa, the Heart Pirates Captain has a little soul-searching he’d like to attend to. But one tends to become… drawn in, to certain things around Luffy—regardless of one’s plans or intentions. This is how Law finds himself developing an unlikely and unexpected friendship with his ally’s navigator—and how that friendship, much like Luffy’s parties, grows far beyond his intentions.
More About This Fic / Read on AO3 Chapter Index | < Prev · Next >
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Chapter 3: The Consequences of Poor Party Planning
Chapter Rating: T Warnings: References to gore, traumatic experiences, mild language.
“Hard to Port! HARD TO PORT!”
Nami clung to the bannister of the top deck as though her life depended on it (and realistically, it probably did) as she shouted instructions to Franky at the helm. Remaining upright was a struggle, the vicious rocking of the ship threatening to dissolve what tenuous equilibrium she had established in her inebriated state. Violent gusts whipped her hair in every direction, cold rain pelted her face, and as a massive wave came crashing down—just shy of where the ship had been moments ago—she debated just how hard she was going to pummel Luffy when all this was over.
The storm had hit fast and hard, but she’d been able to give enough forewarning to the two crews that they were, so far, successfully staying just ahead of the worst of it. How long that would continue to be the case, however, she wasn’t sure. They were in no shape to navigate the Sunny: Usopp was completely passed out after his game of sake-scotch—tucked away in the men’s quarters by Zoro before they set off; the usually unflappable Zoro was unsteady on his feet as the ship rolled violently with the tide—a sure sign of his extreme level of intoxication; Luffy was struggling to keep his meat down, and Brook couldn’t stop laughing at Zoro’s frequent stumbling and subsequent cursing. What little headway they had made was entirely attributable to her early detection. The storm was gaining—and their ability to outrun it was rapidly deteriorating.
“Franky—we need a coup de burst! We can’t keep this up!”
“The cola engine is empty—it needs a new barrel! You’ll have to do it, though, I’ve gotta stay on the wheel!” Franky shouted back, holding tight to the spokes as they pulled violently starboard.
Nami worried her lip. Traversing the ship in her current state and in the present conditions—with every wooden surface slick with rainwater, was firmly in the “bad idea” category; but she didn’t have much choice. She eyed Franky’s wrestling match with the wheel and took a deep breath to steady herself.
“Alright—be ready! We need to head directly east by southeast to outrun the storm!”
“You got it, sis!” He then turned his attention out to the deck. “Oi! Everyone! Raise the sails!”
Wiping sopping hair out of her eyes, she gripped the railing tightly, taking careful steps towards the deck stairs. It felt like an ageless journey to get to the rear of the ship—her progress slowed by the ship’s turbulent thrashing. She was forced onto all fours as she crossed the lawn deck due to a sudden bout of nausea; though she rather hoped at the least that lowering her profile would reduce the likelihood of being blown off the ship by a violent gust. After covering in almost five minutes a distance that should have taken less than thirty seconds to cross, she found her way aft. Sliding down the ladder into the bowels of the ship, she planted her feet carefully on the floor of the cola room, wiping water from her face and taking quick stock of her surroundings.
The cola engine was currently filled with empty barrels as Franky had said, and she quickly set about removing them. She struggled to place the full, fresh barrels in their place—heavy in their own right, made worse by the unsteady ship—but eventually managed to work all three into place with a final, frustrated kick. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Franky shouting instructions topside, then the whir of the engine coming to life.
She turned to make for the ladder again, grateful that it would soon all be over—however that was where she made her mistake. Grabbing hold of the rungs, she didn’t get more than four feet up before she heard a particularly strong wave violently crash against the side of the ship, and felt a sudden, sharp lurch. With her weary grip and wet shoes, she lost her footing and tumbled down the ladder, landing harshly on her ankle and feeling a resounding crack followed by a sharp, shooting pain in her ankle.
“AGHHH!”
Her vision went briefly white as she hurriedly pulled the injured leg out from beneath her, cradling it delicately between her palms. Eyes tightly shut and leaking tears, she grit her teeth against the searing ache, feeling her stomach turn in response to the pain. She had barely repositioned herself comfortably at the base of the ladder when she felt the force of the coup de burst push her against the rungs, briefly stealing her breath. The laughter of her crew above followed quickly after, echoing down the chute and signaling their escape from the storm’s clutches. She had that to be thankful for at least.
After a minute, as the ship began to slow, she let out a slow, shaky breath and turned her head up, eyes still leaking pained tears. Now she just needed one of those idiots to carry her to the infirmary.
“Oi! Luffy!” she shouted up the chute, voice pitchy with pain. “Get your rubber ass down here and give me a hand!”
—:—:—:—:—:—:—
“What did you do?”
Law stared down at the swollen mass that was now her ankle with an amused, if dumbfounded, expression, Chopper’s ice pack resting beside her calf atop the infirmary bed. They had managed to find an island nearby with a protected cove at which to make repairs; and it was good, too, as the ship had gotten quite a good trouncing in the storm. Or perhaps it had been their abysmal reaction time. Either way, they had a ship to fix.
And a navigator too, apparently.
Nami grit her teeth as Law gently turned her ankle to examine it, still a bit tender as the local anesthetic had yet to take full effect. A broken tibia was Chopper’s diagnosis—and quite bad, too. No sooner had they had docked than Chopper hailed down Law in his sub who, according to the tiny doctor, was far better equipped to mend such a break with his ope ope no mi than he was with only his hands. Er, hooves.
“I slipped and fell down the ladder in the energy room,” she ground out, attempting not to flinch at the gentle pressure of his fingers.
Law released her ankle, turning to her with a raised brow. “You know you really should have been more careful going up a wet ladder while drunk,” he commented mildly.
She glared at him, eyes narrowed and expression distinctly unamused. “Shut it, Doctor spots. Can you fix it or not?”
He repressed a bemused smirk as he stood, crossing his arms as he eyed her ankle thoughtfully, then turned to Chopper.
“Bring her to my operating room on the sub—I can reset the bone and mend the damage to the surrounding tissue, but it will require surgery. It shouldn’t take too long, but even if I speed up the healing process, the recovery will still be almost a week—and she’ll need to be careful for another month after that. We can go over follow-up care once I’m done.”
“Oh, good!” Chopper breathed a sigh of relief, tense shoulders relaxing. “Thank you so much!”
But Nami’s ears were still ringing with the word ‘surgery’. A wave of anxiety washed over her, momentary visions of an old memory—of bloody scalpels and chunks of flesh littering a concrete floor flashed through her mind; but just as quickly as they came she shut them out, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth until the images ceased their assault. As she opened them she forced the anxiety down, allowing the much more manageable emotion of anger to take its place. Grinding her teeth, she turned towards the open door, shouting with renewed irritation for the closest thing she had to a punching bag.
“Where is that rubber idiot?! I am going to give him such a beating!!”
—:—:—:—:—:—:—
Chopper, in heavy point, carried Nami onto Law’s sub, down an elevator and into the operating theater where he placed her gently onto the operating table. Once she was situated, Chopper wished her a speedy recovery and departed to tend to the rest of the crew’s numerous scrapes and bruises.
Law busied himself preparing additional anesthesia for injection, as well as pulling out the needed equipment. Nami eyed him warily as he worked, placing scalpels, cotton pads, and other supplies upon a metal tray.
Finally ready to begin he turned, activating his room to encompass the bed—only to notice his patient gripping the sheets beneath her in a white knuckled grip, her eyes periodically darting anxiously towards his tray despite the otherwise cool expression of her features. He paused before reaching for his scalpel, eying her thoughtfully. After the roughness of Punk Hazard and Dressrosa, he wouldn’t have thought she’d suffer from something like medical anxiety.
“The surgery shouldn’t take more than an hour,” he said carefully as he pulled the tray towards him, situating himself near the foot of the operating table. “You can stay conscious while I operate, or I can sedate you, if you’d prefer. You won’t feel anything either way.”
“Sedation,” she said without hesitation.
He nodded, reaching for a mask draped atop a metal canister beside the bed. As he approached, he noticed that her posture had not relaxed, and she eyed the mask apprehensively. Drawing upon his patience, he gently pushed her down flat onto the bed.
“It’ll  be over before you know it.”
She closed her eyes, fingers clenching and un-clenching as she took a calming breath, and Law seized the opportunity. Quickly raising his arm, he gently pressed the mask against her face and activated the flow of gas. Her eyes flew open and she attempted to sit up again; but his hand on her shoulder was steady, and though he was briefly subjected to her signature glare, her gaze quickly became unfocused and her eyelids fluttered shut.
Finally, he could begin.
The surgery went smoothly. Her fracture was, as he anticipated, quite bad, and the surrounding tissue severely irritated. Thankfully, though, it had suffered little actual damage. Copious evidence of a previous fracture in the same location suggested that to be the reason for the severity of the break; the bone structure was already quite weak.
In total it took no more than an hour, and by the time the sedative was due to wear off, he had finished the surgery and already started a healing acceleration treatment.
The sound of her groggy voice alerted him to her wakefulness, words faintly slurred.
“Mmmm… ’s nice,” she mumbled.
He lifted his head, glowing palm unmoving from its location atop her ankle. He’d been told by his patients before that the treatment felt vaguely like warm water gently flowing through the affected area—it seemed Nami agreed. Slowly, her eyelids struggled open and amber eyes turned to gaze blearily at him. He could tell from the slightly vacant look on her face that, though wakeful, the sedative was keeping her higher faculties from emerging.
She blinked slowly, repeatedly, gazing at him with her head cocked against the pillow in confusion, “Wha… Hi—hi Torao. Hi. Whas… whas’re you doin’?” she glanced from his face to where his hand rested atop her ankle, then back to his face, expression full of childlike curiosity.
“Healing your ankle,” he answered noncommittally.
She blinked at him, then shifted slightly on the operating table before her eyes widened and she attempted to sit up on her elbows
“Where did you put my foot?” She asked urgently.
Law repressed a snort. While the sedative had worn off enough for her to wake, the local anesthetic may not have, and it was likely sensation from the mid-calf down was, at the least, muted.
“Your foot is securely attached to your leg, Nami-ya. As you can see.” He gestured with his free hand towards the ankle he was working on. She followed his hand with her eyes, but didn’t look convinced.
“But I can’t feel it. You must have taken it off.”
“You can’t feel it because I numbed your ankle for the surgery. Your foot is still attached,” he reasserted firmly, if with a hint of annoyance.
She narrowed her eyes as she examined his face closely. “And what’d I need surgery for, hm? HM?”
He glanced up, feeling his eyebrow twitch with growing irritation as he answered, “Because you broke your ankle.”
At his words her eyes widened, and she nodded with sudden clarity. “Oh—OH! I broke my ankle!” Then, more softly, “I broke my ankle…”
He rolled his eyes, adjusting his hand with a quiet sigh. He never was a fan of dealing with sedative-induced delirium. He had hoped he might be done before she woke expressly so that he could avoid this, but luck was not on his side.
For several minutes she seemed content to watch him work, lying back against her pillow silently as she stared down at him. Then, suddenly, she grinned, sitting up on her elbows again as her gaze rose to his face with childlike enthusiasm.
“Hey—hey Torao… ask me if I’m orange.”
Law’s eyes rose to meet hers, and he felt that twitch in his brow return.
“No.”
She immediately frowned, looking thoroughly put out. “Oh, come on! Ask me! Pleeeeease?”
He sighed, drawing on his patience. He was almost done, he reminded himself—almost done.
“Are you orange, Nami-ya?”
She continued to smile at him, biting her lower lip to withhold her glee, before finally blurting out, “No!” and dissolving into giggles.
He stared at her flatly as her chest heaved with her laughter, feeling a distinct desire to put her under again. Thankfully it seemed her poor attempt at humor had, for the moment, satisfied her; for as her laughter died down she simply settled more comfortably on her elbows, eyes curiously watching his glowing hand slowly, carefully tracking over her ankle.
He was rewarded with another few moments of peace, before she broke the silence again.
“What’re you doing?”
He momentarily shut his eyes before forcing out an answer. “I’m healing your ankle. Like I told you.”
She frowned slightly, clarifying her question. “No, I mean… aspif—epsific—specifically.”
“I’m accelerating your body’s natural healing process by increasing blood flow and feeding your cells mitochondrial energy.”
He had hoped the specificity of his answer would disinterest her from further query; but no. Of course not. Instead, she raised her thoughtful gaze up to his face, blinking rapidly as she inquired further.
“How d’you do that?”
“By feeding you some of my life force,” he answered noncommittally, readjusting himself on his stool.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, expression becoming sharp despite the bleariness still coloring her expression. “Is… that doesn’ seem like it would be very good for you.”
He shrugged. “By the time I’m done with your treatments, it will probably have taken a few days off my lifespan.”
With unexpected speed and strength she pulled herself upright and yanked his hand off her ankle, expression horrified.
“No!!”
He eyed her with a furrowed brow, crossing his arms over his chest in distinct irritation. “No?” he echoed incredulously, “You were the one who complained about the recovery time.”
She shifted in the bed, moving her arms to support her weight on her hands as she started to sway. The sudden move had clearly been an effort. “I was… I was just mad ‘cuz I didn’t want to have surgery! Don’t waste your life like that! You can’t!”
Once more Law rolled his eyes, moving his hand back to her ankle and re-activating the acceleration. “It’s just a few days, Nami-ya. I lost years on Doflamingo.”
Again she surprised him with her strength as she leaned forward in an attempt to shove his hand away—but this time he wouldn’t be deterred. He grabbed her with his free hand by the wrist to hold her at bay; but she just reached for him with her other hand to pull him off her ankle—and before he could understand how exactly it had happened, they were engaged in slap fight, with Nami managing to muster a shocking amount of speed and strength.
But that strength didn’t last long. Her precision and speed quickly faded and she began to sway in her upright position. Taking advantage, he grabbed both of her wrists, holding them away and her upright, exasperated and irritated in equal measure.
“Nami-ya!” he commanded sharply, “Would you stop.”
“No!” she asserted stubbornly, weakly struggling against his grip. “You just got your life back, and at a huge cost—I won’t let you be so quick to waste it—especially on me!”
That was… not an answer he was expecting. His surprise caused his grip to slacken and she used the opportunity to slip free of him, settling her arms across her chest with a frown. His eyes moved to meet with hers, and though her gaze was still a bit hazy, they were nonetheless resolute. His brow furrowed and he frowned, thinking. He had not anticipated she would be upset about this, nor that she would seem to carry such… strong opinions, as to how he spent his life force.
“This is the nature of the Ope Ope no Mi, Nami-ya,” he said carefully, “Certain abilities feed on the user—that’s just how it works.”
He allowed a moment for his words to sink in before placing his hand back on her ankle, re-activating the acceleration; and when she weakly reached to try and remove it again he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, eying her sharply.
“It’s a worthwhile use of my abilities, and a relatively small sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he said with finality, the glow under his palm igniting again. “If there is anyone between our two crews we need able-bodied, the navigators are at the top of that list. Stop fighting me or I’ll put you under again.”
She frowned at him, and as he released her wrist she thankfully settled back against the pillow instead of making for his hand again. She let out a frustrated breath, closing her eyes. Her posture seemed weary—the energy expended fighting him off had clearly taken it out of her. She remained still and silent for some time, and Law used that opportunity to examine his progress. The swelling had gone down significantly, and he could now feel the bone beneath her skin, smoother now at the break site as the bone began to knit neatly back together.
“Luffy said you made a room so large on Dressrosa he couldn’t even see it,” she said quietly, breaking the stillness. “Is that what cost years of your life?”
He raised his head, seeing her sitting up on her arms again as she eyed him.
“Mugiwara-ya didn’t regale you with the details?” he commented lightly before returning to his examination. She frowned.
“He’s not a complete idiot, you know. He does know when something’s personal and to keep his mouth shut. When I asked, he only told me the basics, and said I should ask you if I wanted to know the rest.”
Law turned to study her annoyed expression, surprised by her words—and Luffy’s. He had assumed that the whole of the battle would become common knowledge to Straw Hat’s crew, as much as he wouldn’t prefer it.
Luffy’s… unexpected tact—a concept he would never have ever thought could be associated with the lunatic captain, was… appreciated.
He turned his gaze back to her ankle, sliding his hand beneath it to examine the tendons. Given that he doubted she would remember much, if any of this conversation later, he decided to humor her.
“Yes,” he answered simply.
She stared at him wide-eyed, expression dumbfounded.
“Why?”
“…Why?”
“Yeah—why would you just… waste years of your life like that?”
“To maintain situational advantage,” he answered absently, carefully feeling along the achilles tendon. “And the years weren’t wasted—they ended up saving my life.”
She stared up at him with something suspiciously like concern, voice quiet. “What happened?”
He paused, eying her a moment, contemplating. It wasn’t something he particularly liked to dwell on, but…
“I was shot by Doflamingo. Twenty-two times, I believe. By keeping up my room too large to be seen, I was able to remove the bullets and heal myself while Doflamingo was busy with Luffy, thinking I was dead.”
She sat up fully, her eyes widening in alarm and a hand moving to cover her mouth. Silence, and the occasional metal creak of the Polar Tang as it shifted in the waves were the only sounds to fill the space between them. She said nothing for several moments, and he was content to leave it at that—but then she quietly spoke, voice soft and words unexpected.
“But… you were still shot, right? The Ope Ope no Mi can’t stop you from… feeling all those bullets—right?”
He held her gaze briefly before offering a small but clear nod.
Her eyes widened a moment before she let out a breath, turning towards the wall, eyes far away.
“I thought you seemed different when you came back to the Sunny with the others,” she said softly. “Luffy told me that you used to be a member of Doflamingo’s crew until he killed someone you cared about; that you had allied with us only because you wanted help getting revenge, and were willing to do anything to get it.” She lifted her head and her eyes met his—her gaze uncomfortably knowing.
“I get it—I do. An old captain you hated, who took someone you loved away from you…” She closed her eyes, one hand raising to unconsciously rub her tattooed shoulder. “I would understand more than anyone else. I’ve wanted to ask for a while, but… I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk about it.”
She opened her eyes and gazed at him with a small, sad smile.
“And why would you understand?” he asked coolly, though with the unexpected turn in conversation he felt suddenly anything but.
She turned her gaze down at the thin cotton blanket lying across her lap, thumb gently stroking her tattoo—though, in looking more closely, he could see her thumb was actually circling a scar hidden beneath the ink.
“When I was ten, the Arlong pirates invaded my village, taking over my island and demanding everyone pay tribute or be killed. We were poor, and my mother had only enough saved to pay for my sister and I. So… Arlong shot her, right in front of us. And when he found out I could make maps, he kidnapped me and forced me into his crew.”
Her voice had grown small, and Law could tell, recalling these events was difficult for her. He felt uncomfortably voyeuristic; as though he were becoming privy to something too intimate, too… familiar—things not meant for the ears of a rival. He was about to tell her she needn’t continue—he felt fairly confident she wouldn’t have were she not under the influence of a drug; but what she said next halted his words on the tip of his tongue, and curiosity overtook his better judgment.
“I hated him so much,” she said with a venom unbefitting the quiet atmosphere. “I spent eight years as one of his executives—robbing pirates to try and buy back mine and my village’s freedom. That was the deal I made with him. The villagers didn’t know why I joined, and they hated me for it—or at least, thats what they wanted me to think.” Her anger dissipated slightly, and she let out a sigh.
“When I had finally gotten almost all of the money, he sent his marine lackeys after me to confiscate it all. He never had any intention of honoring our agreement—never intended to let me go; just wanted to give me false hope.”
She closed her eyes and took a breath, then turned to him, a self-deprecating smile on her lips.
“I found out later that the villagers knew all along—they’d just been playing a role so that if I ever wanted to run away, I wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning them and leaving them all to die. When they found out about Arlong’s duplicity, they finally decided to go after him. I gave up and went with them; I thought I had no other way out. I was going to kill him, or die trying.”
She stared at him pointedly, then—eyes both fierce and gentle. Her gaze felt strangely piercing for a woman only on the cusp of cogency; and yet he found himself unable to maintain her gaze. He turned his eyes back down to her ankle.
“What happened?” He asked quietly as he shifted his fingers over her ankle bone. She smiled fondly.
“Luffy.”
Ah. Figures.
Silence pervaded once more, and after a moment she settled back down onto the bed, closing her eyes with a quiet exhale.
He allowed himself a moment for his mind to drift back through her story. She was the one Straw Hat he’d gotten to know the least. Their interactions on Punk Hazard had been rushed and frenzied—as most of the endeavor had been, and they’d been separated throughout the events of Dressrosa. Yet it seemed they had more in common than he ever would have guessed.
“I think I would have missed you, y’know,” she said suddenly, unexpectedly, pulling his mind from his thoughts. He lifted his head to find her smiling softly, eyes still closed.
“If you’d died on Dressrosa,” she clarified. “You’re a good guy and a good captain. You’ve grown on me,” she added, her smile broadening just a bit.
Law’s brow furrowed as he gazed at her sincere smile, unsure how to take, let alone react, to the sentiment. He decided instead to deflect.
“Me, or my bear?” he inquired coolly, thinking back to the night before. Nami laughed.
“Okay,” she said with a yawn, “You and the bear.”
Silence stretched between them once more, and Nami hummed contentedly as he moved his hand back to the top of her ankle. He forced his attention away from her face and back to his work, fingers trailing over the the site of the break one last time.
“Thas’ nice…” she murmured, settling deeper into her pillow, “I take it back… you can spend your life force doing that any time.”
Law felt a small smile pull up the corners of his lips, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on finishing his examination. It seemed just about where he wanted it to be for now—mended enough to get her through until tomorrow. With a flick of his wrist he stopped the acceleration, looking back up ready to pronounce her treatment finished for the day—but instead he found that she had fallen back asleep.
With a breath, he slumped back on his stool with a weary sigh. The acceleration always left him feeling drained, but her argumentativeness—and the unexpected conversation, had taken more of a toll on him than he’d anticipated.
Had he not spend so many years as a pirate, he might find it difficult to imagine she had ever struggled against such hardships. She certainly didn’t carry herself that way; she was clever and headstrong, at time ferocious and at others, playful. Though he hadn’t seen much of it for himself, he knew from the other members of her crew that she could be… tempestuous and domineering; though they remarked upon it with the utmost fondness.
She was flirtatious and often smiling; yet if her words were to be believed, she had suffered—isolated and alone, most of her life. But still she found a way to be cheerful, and to demonstrate seemingly genuine care about his own hardships, even though there was little reason to. He was a captain of a rival crew, in a temporary alliance with her own—beyond his abilities to fulfill their agreement to take down Kaido, there was nothing to be gained from deeply and truly caring. He was torn between thinking her abundantly kind or outright foolish.
But, then again, when had anyone on Mugiwara’s crew ever made much sense?
And though he was loath to admit it, she had struck a cord. Under the lingering influence of the sedative, she was just so damned sincere in her concern. He couldn’t even remember the last time a relative stranger gave two shits about the things he’d been through—maybe the nuns at the church in Flevance. He’d certainly never met anyone with a story like his before, either.
And though he was even more loath to admit it, he was also left feeling guilty. He shouldn’t have let her carry on the way she had. Even if he couldn’t have stopped her, he should have at least tried; but, perhaps selfishly, he’d found himself wanting to know what made her tick. He knew she wasn’t in her right mind, and if she remembered any of their conversation when she woke up, he suspected she would be cross at best, furious at worst.
Though, he couldn’t help the small smile which curved up his lips as he thought back to her final comment. He’d grown on her, huh?
A quiet, yet firm knock came at the door and he wearily stood from his stool. With a click he turned off the brighter overhead lights and opened the door, finding Penguin on the other side.
“Lunch is ready, captain,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Do you want me to bring something for you and Miss Nami?”
Law glanced over his shoulder at her still and slumbering form. Turning back to Penguin, he shook his head. “No. I’m just about done here, and Nami-ya is asleep. I’ll meet you in the mess hall in a bit.”
“You got it, Captain,” Penguin smiled before turning and heading back down the hall.
Law shut the door quietly, turning back towards the operating table. He’d just have to deal with the consequences of their conversation later, when she woke up again. Hopefully she wouldn’t remember, and he’d have nothing to deal with at all.
He began cleaning up his tools and equipment, pausing briefly as Nami shifted in her sleep. He chanced a glance at her; the arm that had risen to her tattoo now rested loosely atop her waist, her head fallen slightly to the side. Orange curls framed her face like a strange halo, and her dark lashes lay peacefully closed.
His mind cast back to the night before—to Luffy’s party out in the middle of the ocean, and his and Nami’s conversation on the aquarium bar balcony. One moment in particular stood out to him—when she’d taken his hat. He could easily have taken it back using his ability just as he’d done with his wallet; but for some reason, he let himself get drawn into her game, just as he’d let himself get drawn into conversation with her not ten minutes ago. And when he had her cornered against the far wall, blinking up at him from beneath those lashes, he’d felt… drawn to her; caught in the orbit of her gravity and unable to pull out.
He could chalk it up to the alcohol. She was a beautiful woman, after all, and had been looking up at him with those impish eyes, face cast in the silvery light of the half moon. He was only human.
She hummed quietly in her sleep, and the sound jarred Law from his reverie. He forced his attention back to the task at hand, picking up the remains on his operating tray before sliding it back into its proper place. He needed to stay focused. Now that he had been reunited with his crew, taking down Kaido was next and that would be no easy task, requiring every ounce of his attention and focus especially with Luffy in the picture—and she was beginning to take up too much room in his head.
As he headed for the door, he quickly checked her IV and tossed the remaining refuse into the medical waste bin on the wall. Reaching for the handle, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. She still lay quietly on the bed, her chest rising slowly but steadily with her breathing.
Yes, she was taking up far too much room in his head.
He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, shutting it softly behind him—and with it, all wayward thoughts of the navigator asleep within.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
More About This Fic / Read on AO3 Chapter Index | < Prev · Next >
5 notes · View notes
jewishangus · 6 years
Text
you are my sunshine (a.k.a the fix you’ve all been waiting for)
hello and welcome to your daily afternoon news, its eden “jewishangus” adventurezone from fantasy wikileaks, and boy do i have news for you!
remember @inkedinserendipity ? remember that hell fic she wrote a couple days ago? you know, the one without a fix? well, seren’s a dirty stinkin’ liar, and she wrote a fix. unfortunately, our girl seren couldn’t do one thing right and didn’t fucking finish it, so, as the sole recipient of this fix, i took it upon myself to write the 2.5k words i apparently needed to get the goddamn thing done. i have no idea whether it fit her original vision or not? but as far as im concerned, this is canon. how do i know?
Tumblr media
that’s how i know. i’ve done it, kids. i’ve got your fix. itll be under the cut, along with some extra screenshots for photographic evidence. 
let’s hope i do this massive hit some justice, shall we?
so. here’s the news story:
seren told me about this hit a few days before she posted it. how? idk. im from fantasy wikileaks, i have my ways. (just kidding, all i did was sacrifice my nap to the sleep demons. they rewarded me with this wonderful hit we all love so much. never making a deal with those assholes ever again.)
but anyways, while she did that, i was very generously promised a fix - a fix she later gave to me once she published the hit - and here it is (if you can’t read the screenshot, the text will come later on):
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
as much as the later piece she sent was wonderful, i ended up going with the former, as you’ll later see.
immediately after, she said this:
Tumblr media
(haha, seren, serves you right), and then i promptly went to sleep for the night. the next day, we debated fixes for a bit:
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
and i officially got the go-ahead, as well as some important information. the conversation, of course, escalated from there, no thanks to tess and her angst, but thats all irrelevant. 
you want this fix, don’t you? well, take it.
When Lup and Barry come back from the ten-year celebrations, there’s something different about Kravitz. Nothing they can pin down, just — he smiles less. Frowns less. Emotes less, in general. Barry remarks to Lup that it’s the most dead they’ve ever seen him.
They don’t put the pieces together until Lup realizes it’s been two months since Kravitz has asked after Taako. Before, he would ask every other week.
She hated it, those ten years. Every time he asked she would be forced to look him in the eye, knowing there was a part of him dedicated to her brother, a love he carried that he would never return, and tell him he meant nothing.
She asks, “Are you okay?”
Kravitz says, in this new way of his, flat and toneless, “Fine.”
“It’s just — you haven’t asked about Taako in a while.”
Kravitz cocks his head at her and asks, “Taako?”
“My brother,” she says, “your — ”
Beside her, Barry hisses a gasp between clenched teeth. Lup doesn’t realize she’s balled her hands into fists until her nails break skin.
“Well,” she bites, “your nothing, now.”
Lup awakes to a quiet chirp.
At first she thinks it’s a raven. It’s hardly uncommon for their Queen to send them missives, whether tied to the raven’s foot or pried from their beaks. But when she peers groggily toward the window she sees nothing.
Another chirp, by her chest. She looks forward and yelps to find a silvery mongoose, head cocked, nosing at her collarbone.
“What the fuck,” she whispers.
It perks up at the sound of her voice, butts at her chin. It’s not solid, and its brush against her skin doesn’t feel like fur but rather a whisper of rain, a deep chill. She shivers and sits up, cradling the mongoose in her two hands.
It looks up at her and chirps insistently.
“What are you?”
The mongoose bounds around her hands, spinning in circles as if chasing its own tail, before leaping from her cupped hands and onto Barry’s chest.
“No — ” she blurts, but it just butts up against Barry’s nose, pressing tiny paws against his lips.
“Lup?”
“It’s not me,” she says, handing him his glasses. There’s something...familiar about this, whatever it is. Something lost. Something just now found.
“What is that?”
“Don’t know.”
“It looks like....”
Barry looks at her. “It looks like a soul, Lup.”
“But not a complete one. It’s too tiny.” She picks it up again, studying it carefully. “Way too small.”
There’s silence for a moment as they both think. “Can I see it?”
“Sure.” Lup passes it off to him, and he cradles it carefully, smoothing back its fur.
“Lup,” Barry says, “this is Kravitz’s.”
It chirps excitedly at the name, paws skittering along Barry’s arm as it races to curl on his shoulder. A near-constant stream of chirring issues from the mongoose as it looks at Lup intently, brushing its tail against Barry’s jaw, intelligence bright in its keen eyes. Then it bounds off of Barry’s shoulder and in one fluid motion, scrambles out the door.
Lup’s already shrugging on her robe. Barry stumbles into proper footwear, dons his own, adjusts his glasses on his nose. They take each other’s hands as they leave.
They follow the mongoose out of the house, a little ways down the lane, before it disappears.
“Okay,” Barry says. “That — probably isn’t supposed to happen.”
It reappears just as quickly as it had vanished and chirps impatiently at them before disappearing again.
“I think it’s going to the Astral Plane,” Lup says, and manifests her scythe. She tears between the planes and steps through and, sure enough, on the other side waits the mongoose.
author’s note: that was seren’s bit, and here’s mine:
It keeps looking back at them as they follow it, scurrying across the Astral Plane’s beaches only to occasionally stop and turn its tiny head around and nod at them before continuing — it’s the first time, after all these years, that Barry doesn’t stop to take in the view of the sea in front of him — but, despite its worries, they follow it safely to a small door behind the stockade, where it stops one last time before chirping to them impatiently.
When Barry sees the door, his face goes beet-red. “How the fuck did you know this was here?” The mongoose chirps again, getting a laugh from Lup, and Barry stammers in an attempt to explain. “Like. This is Kravitz, right? It’s a part of Kravitz’s soul.”
“Yeah? What about it?” Lup prompts him to keep going mid-giggle.
“Lup, how does he know?”
“What, that you have a secret lab in the back of the stockade? Let’s face it, that’s a pretty open secret at this point.” She slips her hand in his pocket and pulls out the key, unlocking the door and watching the mongoose scurry in as Barry stands there in slightly over-exaggerated shock.
“But—I didn’t even tell—“
“Come on, Bear,” She drops a kiss on his cheek, causing him to blush further, before taking his hand as she steps forward, jolting him out of his (definitely fake) shock as she pulls him. “Krav won’t wait forever, won’t he?”
They follow the mongoose through the (very long, Lup complains every time) hallways that lead to Barry’s lab, passing by the old storage rooms full of broken necromantic artifacts and through the illusory wall that disguises the entrance to the lab itself; Lup laughs as the mongoose sniffs the magic around them and recoils at the stench, and Barry sighs as he taps his wand against the key, changing its form slightly, and holds the door open as the two enter. Barry can’t help but notice how the mongoose runs to his desk, pawing at the drawers as if trying to climb the thing, before glancing upward, noticing Lup staring at the very new, very unfamiliar thing that sits where he had cleaned a couple weeks before.
“Barry— is that— those are—“
“Lup, I swear I wasn’t the one who brought these—“
“Barold J. Bluejeans, I swear on the Raven Queen, if you had these in the lab this whole time and waited for the fuckin’ soul mongoose to let me know, I would have kicked your ass into the Soul Sea.” She breaks into almost a relieved, hysterical kind of laughter; one that in all these years, he can count the amount of times he had heard on one hand. “Taako’s soul shard is in there!!!”
“I know it is.” He smiles at her, and she smiles at him, still breathing through her laughter.
“We can find Taako’s soul piece, and put it back together, and—“
“I know—“
“We’ll make it right, babe.”
“Yeah, we will.” He walks towards his desk, spinning the mangled ball of soul shards around and listening to its mix of songs, Lup joining him in her chair next to him as they work to decipher what they’re seeing.
“Are we going to have to—“
“Sort through them all?” Barry finishes her sentence, like he usually does. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Song by song?”
He nodded. “Memory by memory, too.” His smile turns grim, at that. “It’ll take a long time.”
“Babe?”
“Yeah?”
“We have all the time in the fucking world.” She pauses, and Barry laughs, processing what she said before she did. “Ok not all the time, I get that Taako’s still mortal, but can you let me sound cool for once?”
Barry laughs again, and kisses his wife on the cheek before turning back to the chunk of souls in front of him. “You were the one who brought it up!”
“That doesn’t mean you have to make me notice it!” She protests, taking the tip of her scythe in her hand and sticking it gently into the mix of souls, watching its energy wrap gently around the blade. “So… If we shut up and close our eyes, we’ll both hear the soul’s song and watch its memory, right?”
Barry nods. “Well, you will, because your scythe’s in the thing.”
“And because it’s the piece that belongs to their soulmate, I’ll see memories of their soulmates. Meaning we know we’ve found Taako’s when—”
“When you see Kravitz, yeah.” Barry finishes her sentence again, and she thinks about it a bit before responding.
“Then you’ve gotta mark where one soul ends and another starts.” He raises an eyebrow at her, and she laughs before continuing. “I can’t see, right? So you guide my hand, and I tell you when the memories change, and then we’ll cut each soul shard and set it free.”
“Then?”
“Then I’ll tattle to our boss about you having a secret necromantic laboratory in the Eternal Stockade — we’ll just go and match every one of them to their original, duh.” Lup laughs. “There are at least 750 souls in here, that’s like….”
“Fantasy 37500 First Dates.” They both say that at the same time, and can’t help but laugh.
Lup closes her eyes, letting the first memory enter her head, as Barry interrupts with a “...I still actually like that movie.”
She peeks an eye open, her smile betraying her fake serious-ness. “Shut the fuck up and take my hand, Barold.”
He laughs. “You didn’t even have to ask.”
It takes the two reapers a lot longer to sort through each soul than they would like. They take turns looking at memories — the realization that everyone they’re looking at was faced with either a dead soulmate, or a soulmate that doesn’t remember them is a lot for one person to bear — and spend a long while carving out souls, knowing that if they mess up once, it’d be even harder to repair. Their first soul shard — their soulmate is a bard who wrote them stories that made them cry, once upon a time — took them a few days, but they eventually become quicker with practice, and one of the storage rooms next door becomes filled with animal friends and their hoard of assorted objects. It’s there that the two go whenever they feel the memories the hardest, or when Taako wonders aloud about how they seemed to stop loving him two years ago, about how they don’t spend any time with him anymore, about how they’re always “working,” and don’t say where or why or tell any stories.
And by the time they find Taako’s soul shard — it had been three years, long enough that they had long since stopped counting the months and the days and the hours — the room is full, vibrant, brimming with energy, and Lup walks in there to cry, the mongoose crawling into her lap as it recognizes the feather it had missed for so long.
“Hey, Barry?”
“Yeah?”
“Their anniversary’s coming up.”
“Since when did they have an anniversary?”
“Since they had a fuckin’ date at the Chug and Squeeze, nerd.” She laughs through her tears. “I thought I told you!”
He laughs, wiping the stray tears off of her face. “Do you want to fix their souls then?”
Lup smiles. “It’d be kinda poetic, wouldn’t it?”
Barry shrugs. “It’s been like 13 years, but sure.”
It’s quiet for a moment, besides the now bright and chirpy songs of the souls around them, and then Lup sniffs and wipes her eyes. “You’re going to have to convince Krav to give you his soul, y’know.”
He smiles softly. “That’s the easy part.”
“Ok, Mr. Confident.” She smiles back. “Good luck with that.”
He smirks. “Who said I needed luck?”
She laughs. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
“Last time I checked, I was Barry, so….”
“Shut the fuck up.” She pecks him on the cheek, then looks down at the now-sleeping soul mongoose in her lap, cuddling around the feather it missed for more than a decade. “It’s about time.”
It’s weird, Lup thinks, to be stealing her brother’s soul while he’s sleeping. He’s normally such a light sleeper, too, even with Lup’s Silence spell, but its almost as if Fate herself is blessing her with her luck that night, and she appreciates it all the more so as she sits on the floor by his bed and starts casting. It floats in place as she works, round, smooth and brimming with energy and heat and yet somehow missing the full extent of its glow, somehow broken and chapped like lips in the wintertime, yet she has to mold it into shape, coax it into a different form, to get the feather to fit in the soul it’s always belonged in. So she shapes it into the raven that’s been sitting at Taako’s windowsill, stretches it and expands it, the fibers that hold it together spinning to match their new form, and then fits the feather in its slot, welding it in with her magic, and the world seems to go still around her as she does; all that’s important to her, now, is this bird and its broken wing.
It takes her a couple hours of work, only stopping a few times to renew her silence spell, and eventually she shapes the bird back into the round, ordinary soul shape she’s familiarized herself with and places it gently onto Taako’s chest, letting it sink back into his body.
His soul is complete, the job is done…. Now, Lup thinks, they wait.
It’s when Lup and Taako are making dinner the next day, chopping vegetables for the spicy fish they’ve been meaning to try, that Taako brings it up again.
“Hey, Lulu?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember Kravitz?”
Lup smiles, trying to hold back the swell of emotions that bubbles in her chest as he says his name. “Kravitz like my boss?”
Taako blinks, pausing for a moment before turning to the food in front of him. “Wait — oh fuck, yeah, he’s your boss.” Taako laughs, and maybe Lup’s over-analyzing, but the laugh sounds almost heavy to her. “Well fuck, I can’t date him now—“
She changes her smile into a smirk. “Babe, if you wanted to date him, I should have set you up 10 years ago.” She can’t help but almost laugh, at that. “You can never say Barry and I are bad ever again.”
“Shut up! I just wasn’t that into him until now, okay?” Taako reaches into the spice cabinet, pulling out a few things before taking both the now-chopped vegetables and the spices to the deep-pan on the stove. “But I just remembered I tried to date him once. In the b-oh-b days. Fuck was that like? 13 years ago, today?”
Lup raises an eyebrow. “What happened, then?”
Taako shrugs. “Well, I did save the world. Got some good fuckin’ sex out of it, let me tell you.” He pops open the spicy paprika and sprinkles it into the broth before continuing. “But I guess I just? Forgot about him. Didn’t really want a guy I would settle down with or some shit.” He pauses, for a moment. “He’s still hot, though, right?”
Lup laughs, almost in surprise. “Taako, he’s dead, of course he’s still hot.”
“Well hit me the fuck up then!” He laughs along with her, and she picks up her Stone of Farspeech and starts to dial Kravitz’s frequency before Taako stops her with a “Hold on a fuckin’ sec, sis, you can’t just dial him right now while I’m in the room, I’m not that desperate.”
“Ok, well in that case….” She drops a kiss on Taako’s cheek, getting a groan from her brother. “I’ll be right back.”
“Taako?” Lup yells his name from the other room in the loud tone he’s grown so used to.
“Yeah?” He yells it back, though not nearly as loudly, hearing her footsteps approaching before she peeks her head through the doorway
“How does tomorrow night sound?”
He thinks about it, for a moment. “I’ve got no plans,” He says, shrugging, “But if I do they can wait.”
Lup smiles, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Hell yeah, I’ll let him know!”
Kravitz wakes up in the morning to the thought of Taako — oh fuck, why does he remember Taako, shit, it’s been three years that shouldn’t have happened he worked so hard — and the sound of Barry — it’s very obviously Barry, from his soft steps and the way his soul sings and the occasional clang of silverware falling on the floor — in his kitchenette, which, in hindsight, should probably explain everything and yet somehow doesn’t.
It’s only when he gets up and walks into his living room, seeing Barry eat breakfast at his table, and says “What brings you here?” and Barry responds with “Hot damn, that sleeping spell did a number on you,” that Kravitz remembers the dubious way he fell asleep the night before.
“Wait, that was you?”
Barry raises an eyebrow. “Who else would it be?”
Kravitz thinks about it for a moment, shrugs, and then said “But why?”
Barry shrugs in return. “It looked like you needed it.” He sips his coffee, letting Kravitz join him at the table, and then says “So how has your morning been?”
Kravitz looks at him suspiciously — he knows Barry’s been lying —  before deciding to play along. “I’ve been sleeping up until a few minutes ago, but it’s been alright,thank you.”
“Nothing special?” Barry presses him, and Kravitz sighs before dropping the act.
“Barry?”
“Yeah?”
“What did you do last night?”
“Nothing, I—“ He almost seems to blush, out of nervousness. “Fine, Lup and I just fixed both yours and Taako’s souls last night and we’re waiting to see if you remember each other, okay?”
Kravitz sighs. “Well, to ignore your blatant act of necromancy and answer your question, it worked.”
Barry scratches the back of his neck; it’s a nervous tick Kravitz is used to seeing, at this point. “Ok—but—I’m just glad you remember.”
Kravitz grimaces. “I didn’t want to.”
“I know.” Barry smiles, in that soft reassuring way he usually only sees when Lup’s around. “But this time, Taako remembers you, too.” He stands up, going to wash the mug he was using before calling back to Kravitz. “Hey Krav, do you want breakfast or something?”
Kravitz shakes his head. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”
It’s only later, after Barry and Kravitz finish their first bounty of the day, that they get the call from Lup. She opens it up with a “Hey Krav, remember my brother?” and they can hear her satisfied smirk and the happy tears that she’s holding back behind it, hear the way her voice seems out of breath from excitement and the soft cushiony noise of her collapsing onto the couch, and Barry’s smile turns giddy and Kravitz starts to smile again, soft and relieved, as he says, “Did he finally decide he wants to date me?”
246 notes · View notes