#you know i still have the birthday tchotchke and it is too nice for me to throw out and im gonna feel SO clown at michaels but like.

[homingpigecns]

.

until last year i stayed friends with a grand total of One (1) friend i knew in high school and now. i have finally stopped talking to that friend. it is sooooo so nice to romanticize longevity and history and wow they have always been there but there's a point where it's like.

it is so embarrassing so i haven't talked about it because it's really like, fully pathetic, but i saw them the first time recently bc i hadn't seen any rl friends bc i had a years long slump where i just kind of took up space at home and i was embarrassed about it but i got my life together again last summer and i was like okay, i can respond to the question "how are you doing?" without breaking down into tears, and my friend did express interest in seeing me again and i really wanted to see them. so i saw them a while ago and i had fun and i was so happy and i was so grateful to still have this connection after all these years, after all the ways i've been and my colorful history, and i just. their birthday was about a month later and really extremely uncharacteristically of me i remembered, and i ordered them a weird little personal birthday tchotchke off etsy and got them a michaels gift card and hit them up like. happy birthday we should hang out soon on the day of and it was all very nice. i didn't expect something soon nor did i care too much. but a couple months ago when twitter was gonna implode i followed them on insta (even though i deleted my personal insta because i know personal instas only teach me things about people i don't want to know) and as a consequence of that i learned that my friend was not able to see me because i was not invited to their birthday thing. which was with a friend of theirs i kind of know and an old close friend from high school i lost touch with but asked about and sjdfhsdf. literally expressed interest in the time i just saw them.

DO YOU KNOW HOW PATHETIC THAT IS........JUST EVERYTHING ABOUT IT..........LIKE I AM A KICKED PUPPY. I AM 24.....I HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE............I AM A UNION MEMBER........AND I GOT REALLY EXCITED ABOUT MY FRIENDS BIRTHDAY AND I WASN'T INVITED TO THE PARTY...........

and you know there are probably actual reasons. i burned bridges with people in high school that they liked more than me, and i am too mature to care about who likes more than whoever now, and it is too insane to hold things from high school against them now that i am 24 and have regular cardiologist appointments. but it is also like. how many times do i have to die. i have grown past so many things the last three years that i thought i could never overcome and i can't, i don't want to, grow into someone who is mature enough to hold someone who's been important to me since i was 14 at arms length so it doesn't hurt when they inevitably drop me. currently, i commute an hour in the wrong direction so i can be on the same train as a work friend and i am aware the energy is insane but it is my energy and giving it and getting good things from it is like. this is better for my personal development than whichever way the other direction goes.

and it's like i don't even blame my friend from high school for how they feel about me because i was insane in a bad way in high school and i've done enough it's like. whatever. but it's like, also, when it's like, yeah this was half of the two people who permanently messed you up to the point people still are like "hey i didn't see you there. come over and say hi next time" when i avoid them because they're talking to someone else, who watched your friend group make a group chat and hang out together with everyone except you and didn't say anything and you were grateful they still threw you the bone to hang out one on one and it's like. i'm not. i don't really hold it against them, it was years ago, i don't think about those people anymore and yes i am still weird in many ways but for other reasons as well, but there is like. a very huge lack of pattern recognition and failure to learn and it is absolutely. my fault. when you put it like oh the person who killed me a thousand times throughout high school and college still has the power to kill me now and sometimes will? VERY OBVIOUSLY I AM THE PROBLEM.......i can't play high school anymore i have to play Being At Work and Surviving Capitalism Despite Everything, Did You Know I Am 24

anyway i decided to just quietly softblock my friend on everything, unfriend on discord, remove myself from the situation when there wasn't really an inciting event so i could just kind of fade out. but i did just find out that my friend did notice, and blocked me on twitter without saying a word -- which you know, is fine and understandable, because i did do all of that first. but what a metaphor you know. that is what the years of friendship are, and that they have stacked up this much to still hurt me is my fault. but hopefully for the last time.

[mc-writing-empty]

There’s a cardinal on the backyard fence. Burst of red against the flat gray of winter. A twitch of movement in the dead stillness. I tell my wife:

there’s a cardinal on the backyard fence.

I don’t believe in signs. Some folks think cardinals are special. That dead loved ones can send cardinals into your path as a sign. I don’t believe in signs. It would be too good, wouldn’t it—if there was some way, some system, for the missing parts to reach across the veil that way. It would be too kind. And what I know about the world tells me that there is nothing that kind in it. We can make deep, profound kindness amongst ourselves, but the raw gears of the world are just that—gears. You ever known a gear that could feel pain, or guilt, or joy, or justice?

No, the world is what we make it. If we want kindness and wonder and contentment, we have to find it, forge it, drag it out from under the muck and hold on to it. But it doesn’t just come out of the sky and land on the fence while you’re having coffee.

I don’t believe in signs. Even if my mother left behind a thousand and one little cardinal tchotchkes because it was her favorite bird, collected long before she ever could have known what would happen. Long before she ever could have known that thirty-seven was the end.

I think about the days just before my sixteenth birthday, spent sorting through all the damn cardinals.

But it could be a sign, my wife says gently. If you wanted it to be a sign, it could.

She talks like maybe I’ve got a hammer in the one hand, raised and ready to smash the other hand against the table. Maybe she’s not wrong. The way she talks to me, it makes me think maybe my grief has always been a hammer. The way she’s gentle, without ever being pitying, or saccharine, or invasive.

My wife says, it’s okay. She touches my arm, and the hammer I’ve been clutching for twenty years loosens, just a little, in my grip.

I still don’t believe in signs.

But if I did.

It would be nice.

To watch the little red birds on the fence.

With my wife.

And let it be a sign.

[atths--twice]

Knit Four, Purl One

For @x-files1993​ for the Secret Santa Exchange and the prompt “Mulder knits and makes Scully a sweater.” 

An alternate universe in which Mulder and Scully meet as a result of a tragic occurrence in Mulder's work life. She is exactly the person he needs, right when he needs her most.

Chapter One

March 1996

Fox Mulder sighed as he walked empty handed out of the shop. He was jostled about by the other pedestrians as they hurried about their day. His hands in his pockets, he sighed again as he kept his head down. He had gotten the time of his counseling session wrong, not having written it down last week, and he’d had an hour to wait.

As he had walked out of the counselors office, he had thought about his conversation with Samantha the previous night, reminding him about their mother’s birthday dinner that evening. He did not want to go, not at all, but of course he would be there. Samantha had reminded him about getting a gift and he swore as he hung up.

Wishing he could claim to not have had the time, he knew the hour mix up would give him plenty of time to find something. He had walked down the street intent on grabbing the first thing he found sufficient.

Three shops had been passed through quickly and still he had found nothing. Feeling discouraged and a bit angry, he opened the door to the next shop, stepped inside, and nearly walked right out again.

His mother was not an overly sentimental or knickknacky type person. She felt things should serve a purpose, not just sit on a shelf collecting dust and as a result she was a difficult person for which to shop.

This shop, full of tchotchkes and cutesy little things, was definitely not her style. Crafty things and happiness seemed to ooze out of every corner and he felt his annoyance rising.

But then, he noticed a teal colored wall, with shelving shaped like diamonds, holding skeins of yarn in vibrant colors. For some reason, that drew his attention and pulled him forward, despite his previous desire to leave.

“You need help with anything?” A voice said and he turned to find a woman with long wavy reddish hair. She was wearing a flowing dress, a lacy long sleeveless shirt over it, and a choker necklace. She stared at him with raised eyebrows and he shook his head as he cleared his throat.

“No. No that’s okay. I uh… I was actually just leaving,” he said, attempting to step around her, no longer wanting to look more closely at the yarn, but she did not move.

“Leave? But your hands are empty,” she stated and he looked down, as did she. Looking back up at her, she gave him a cheeky smile and it irritated him.

“Nothing here I’m interested in, so…”  He started to walk past her, ignoring the astonished noise she made, when a different woman came into the room and his heart dropped.

She was carrying a vase of flowers, an almost secret smile on her face. She had to be related to the other woman, their hair similar in shade, but she was a bit shorter. When she looked their way, her blue eyes seemed to see right through him. She smiled wider and he took a deep breath, realizing he had stopped breathing when he saw her.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Hello!” she said, setting the flowers down and coming over to them. “Did you find what you’re looking for? Did you need help with anything?”

“He says there’s nothing here that interests him,” the woman behind him said and he turned to look back at her. She stared him down, almost daring him to say otherwise.

“Oh,” the shorter woman said and he turned toward her, feeling flushed and slightly uncomfortable. She looked at him with her blue eyes wide and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I uh… I just meant I hadn’t found anything… yet.”

“Hmm,” the woman behind him hummed but he ignored her, fixated on the woman in front of him.

“Well, I’d be happy to help you if you’d like.” She smiled and his heart raced.

Jesus Christ, she even had a dimple in her cheek.

“Missy? Would you mind getting that gift ready for Mrs. West? She should be in later.”

“Not one bit. Glad she at least was able to find something interesting to buy.” She walked past them, turning to look at him with a smirk and he sighed.

“Please don’t mind her. She’s my sister and quite snarky at times. This is my shop and we’re sort of working together right now and she’s driving me a little crazy.” She had leaned in and said that quietly as the woman who was her sister walked away. She smiled again and stuck out her hand. “My name is Dana. It’s nice to meet you.” He took her hand and nodded.

“Fox Mulder.”

“Seriously?” she asked, scrunching her chin quickly and clasping his hand with her other hand. “I’ve never met someone named Fox.” He let go of her hand and put his hands in his pockets. “I knew someone named Red, which always made me giggle. And even a… Coyote, but never a Fox.”

“Yeah… well,” he said with a shrug, suddenly irritated again as he glanced around.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said and he looked back at her, finding her smiling. He shrugged again, angry at himself for feeling annoyed by her.

“So what can I help you find?” she asked, clasping her hands together.

“Uh… I honestly don’t know. I just came in here because I have somewhere to be and I got the times mixed up.”

“Oh… well then, I understand you not finding anything to interest you.”

“I didn’t mean… I do need to find a gift. For my mother. This just isn’t really her style.” He waved around the room and she nodded, keeping her eyes on him.

“Not a knickknack person, I get it,” she smiled. “Not a problem. Not everyone is. I promise I won’t be offended if you walk out and leave with nothing.” She smiled and he suddenly wanted to buy something, anything really, just to see her smile like that for longer.

“I…” He took a hand out of his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Please don’t feel any pressure to buy anything. It’s cold out, you’re killing time… I understand.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened and he put his hand back in his pocket, both of them now in tight fists.

“Why would you not care if I didn’t buy anything?” he asked harshly and she stepped back a step, crossing her arms and holding his gaze. He stared and felt like an asshole more than he ever had in his life. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“I’ll let you look around. See if anything strikes you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again and she nodded, her eyes still watching him.

“Have a look around,” she said quietly and smiled, though not the same as before.

“Yeah…” He nodded, his hands still in fists in his pockets. She walked away and he looked at the door, wondering if he could make a run for it without being noticed.

But then, her sister Missy walked past him and turned to glance at him as she did. She raised her eyebrows, looked at Dana, and looked back at him. Rolling her eyes, she walked away and he let out of breath.

Glancing at his watch, he saw he had twenty minutes and the walk to the office would take five. Fifteen minutes. He could make it that long.

Walking around the store, he kept sneaking glances at Dana as she spoke with her sister and a couple of other customers who came into the store. She was happy and light and sweet Jesus, when she laughed, it stopped him in his tracks.

Standing by the wall of yarn again, he picked up a colorful skein of it and then set it down.

“Still didn’t find anything?” He heard and he put his hands in his pockets with a sigh. He looked to his left and found Dana beside him, smiling happily. Her happiness irritated him and he remained quiet, biting back the rude response that threatened to come out.

Her smile began to falter and he hated himself again. Hated the way he was these days; hated it so much.

“That’s okay. Thank you for coming in today. Hopefully you’ll find the gift you’re seeking.” She touched his elbow and he felt it through the many layers of clothes he wore. She started to walk away and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“How about a scarf?” he called, opening his eyes. She stopped and turned around, tilting her head to the side. “You have all this yarn, I’m sure you have some scarves or things made from them for sale.” He shrugged and she smiled, waving her arm in front of her, to his right.

“On the shelves beside the yarn. Any particular color?”  She walked over to the shelves and he followed.

“Uh… I… I don’t know.”

“For your mom, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s what? Sixty?” She looked him up and down and he nodded in surprise; she was spot on.

“Hmm…” She hummed as she turned and looked at the items behind her. “How about this?” She took down something in a rich red color and held it out to him. He took it and held it in his hands.

It was soft, very soft and as he ran his fingers over it, he smiled, remembering a blanket his grandmother used to have with that same softness. He used to wrap himself in that blanket when he was little, lying by the fire, warm and cozy while his mother and grandmother laughed and drank tea in the other room.

“What do you think? Will that do?” He looked up and she smiled at him. “It’s just a simple pattern, but I always feel that’s best with a scarf. Anything too busy or bulky takes away from the point of the scarf.” She took it back from him and smiled again, running her fingers over the stitches, as she held it in her hands. She looked up at him again and raised her eyebrows, asking a silent question.

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” he said with a nod.

“Perfect. I’ll wrap it up for you.” He nodded again and followed her to the register, admiring the swing of her hips in the jeans she wore.

The scarf was wrapped in lilac colored tissue paper and tied with a teal ribbon. A gold sticker with an embossed S was put onto it and then placed into a bag. He paid for it and she handed him the pale grey bag with the store's logo- two black knitting needles poking through a heart shaped ball of teal yarn, nearly identical to the ribbon she had used and the wall of yarn.

“Thank you for coming in today,” she said, smiling again and handing him his change. “I hope your mother enjoys her gift.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and nodded, looking down and then back into her eyes. “I had the time-“

“So you said,” she cut across him and he stared at her, not quite sure what to make of her. “Regardless of how or why, I am glad you stopped in today. Please come back soon. Perhaps for another gift? For your wife or girlfriend?”

“I don’t have either.”

“Pity,” she said and he watched her try not to smile. “I mean… you could’ve been back sooner if you had.”

“Yeah… well.” He picked up the bag and cleared his throat. “Thank you… goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Fox.” He nodded and turned around, saying nothing further. He walked past Missy, who stared at him the entire time, making him feel very uncomfortable.

Pushing the door open, he walked out into the cold winter air. Adjusting his coat, he looked to the right and fell in step with the other people walking. Glancing at the shop window for one last look, he saw Missy shaking her head and Dana shrugging her shoulders with a smile.

She did a double take when she saw him looking at her and she smiled happily, her blue eyes like lasers as she watched him.

“Knock that shit off, man,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re in no shape to be of any use or good to anyone. Least of all a woman like her.” He shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, the gift she had wrapped swinging from the bag on his arm.

_______________________

“How are you feeling this week, Fox?” The counselor asked as he sat down across from her. “Anything to report? Any changes?”

“Not exactly,” he said with a heavy sigh, his hands in his pockets.

“Still feeling angry?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice low, his jaw clenched.

“All the time?”

“No… but it comes up at inappropriate times. I… I don’t know when it will happen, but I recognize it.”

“Have you ever acted on it?”

“What? What do you mean?” he asked, looking at the counselor, feeling his heart pounding and his anger rising. “Do you mean have I ever hurt anyone? Would I ever hurt anyone? Are you serious?”

“Fox,” she said, clasping her hands and leaning forward. “I don’t mean attacking someone. I mean angry outbursts at home, or in the car, and yes, with others. It’s not just physical anger. Words, looks, tone… they can all hurt. It’s not only physical.” She stared at him, smiling softly and he felt his anger calming. He took a deep breath and nodded his head before looking down and unclenching his fists in his pockets.

“It’s… it’s like I can feel it building, especially when, as shitty as it may sound, when someone is happy or jokes around with me. As though their happiness annoys me, angers me. I don’t know why.” He shook his head.

“You’ve been through a lot, Fox. You’ve healed physically, although I know you still have moments of pain. But the emotional and mental are often even harder. It doesn’t seem it at the time, as the physical takes all of our strength in that moment. We push it down and focus our energy elsewhere and once that becomes second… then the next step is harder because, well, we want to be better. We feel better, but we aren’t. Not really.” He nodded and sighed.

“I do feel better physically, but sometimes the pain is there.” He rubbed his chest near his shoulder where the bullet that nearly ended his life had gone through his skin. “I’m incredibly lucky to be sitting here speaking to you. To have what he…”

“Fox…” she said softly. “We’ve discussed this. What happened was not your fault. Your partner was in danger and you yourself were shot. He left you no choice.”

“I know that. I do,” he whispered, still rubbing at his chest. “I just think of all the different ways… the outcomes that could have happened if I’d done things differently. If I’d…”

“Fox…” He looked at her and she smiled softly. “It’s not your fault.” He nodded again, tears filling his eyes, which he tried to blink away, but she saw and handed him a box of tissues. Taking one, he nodded and wiped at his eyes.

Smiling again, she waited until he had gotten himself under control. When he had, he nodded and they continued the session, his heart feeling heavy despite the positive and uplifting words being spoken.

________________________

“Hey! There’s my big brother!” Samantha called with a smile as she walked up to him, putting her arms out and grabbing him in an embrace. “I’m so happy to see you, Fox.” He hugged her back and smiled, though it was forced.

“Happy to see you too, Sam,” he said, kissing her cheek as he pulled back. She put her hands on his face and looked at him, her eyes searching his and he shrugged slightly.

“Hey, you’re here. You shaved… this morning, but you shaved. You got a gift, I see. You’re here.” She smiled and patted his face before letting him go.

“I’m here,” he whispered. She tucked back her long curly brown hair and nodded, reaching for his arm.

“Mom’s already inside. It’s too cold out for her. Ready?” She squeezed his arm and he nodded, although he did not feel ready, and he cleared his throat

They stepped into the restaurant and she guided him to the table where their mother sat waiting. She smiled as she saw them and stood to her feet.

“Hello, Fox,” she said, pulling him close for a hug. He held her for a second and then pulled back. She, like Samantha, held his face in her hands, her eyes taking him in. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Not like I have anything else going on,” he said, letting out a bitter laugh. She caressed his cheeks with her thumbs and he sighed. “Sorry. Of course I would be here. Happy birthday, Mom.” He pulled back from her and handed her the bag on his arm.

“Oh, how lovely. Thank you, dear. Let’s sit. People are beginning to stare.” She set the bag on the table, the logo facing him and as the waiter came over, he found himself wondering why Dana had chosen that particular logo. What had drawn her to that one.

“Sir? Would you like a drink?”

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head and ordering an iced tea.

Their dinner was good, the conversation light and easy, but he still found himself drifting in and out of it. Hearing updates about people he had known, left him with that angry feeling again; their lives untouched by the pain he was suffering.

“Hey, you okay?” Samantha asked, touching his back and he looked at her, breathing hard and standing quickly to his feet, knocking into the table and spilling their glasses of water.

“Fox! What are you doing?” his mother said, reaching for a napkin and looking at him sharply. He stepped away and walked outside.

He paced along the side of the restaurant, taking deep breaths, his hands clenching and unclenching. The cold air filling his lungs felt good, stinging as he breathed in.

“Fox.” He heard behind him and he closed his eyes, halting his pacing. Turning around, he opened his eyes and looked at Samantha. She was pulling her coat around her and staring at him with concerned eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You don’t need to apologize. But I think I do.”

“What?”

“I keep pushing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not-”

“I am and I can see that now. Should have seen it before, but I guess I just wanted you to be okay. Wanted to have you back because… I almost lost you.” Her eyes filled with tears and he stepped toward her, pulling her close and sighing. She cried as she clung to him and he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know that…”

“No, Fox.” She pulled back and she wiped her eyes. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve… Dad dying… and then you shot not long after… it’s been hard on all of us. I know it’s been worse on you, but I… I don’t know how to help and I thought by making you do things it would help you, but I think it’s done the opposite.”

“No. It hasn’t. It’s not anything you’ve done. I know your heart is in the right place. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m angry a lot of the time and I hate it. That’s not me.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

“The medication is helping with the depression I’m still feeling, but the anger… Sam, I can’t describe it.”

“Fox, you had to make a terrible choice and it nearly cost you your life. And your partner’s life. Of course you’re angry.” She stared at him and he nodded. “The question is what to do with that anger.”

“I know.”

“You can’t keep it bottled up and have it explode like it did tonight. I know,” she said, putting up a hand as he started to tell her that was an accident. “That was an accident and barely anything, but I’ve seen it in you and I’ve ignored it. But not anymore.” He nodded, his shoulders slumping.

“I don’t know what to do. I feel like my mind is racing, but I’m standing still. It’s… it’s like this build up that comes on fast and sometimes goes quickly, but other times, I’m angry for awhile.”

“What have you done to try and combat it?”

“I’ve… gone for a run,  long walks… I’ve tried meditation… as hooky as I’ve always made it out to be. I’ve tried shooting hoops, but my arm is still a bit too stiff for that.”

“Which pisses you off.”

“Which pisses me off, yes.” They both laughed and she smiled at him. He shook his head and sighed.

“Well, we’ll have to find something that can help you calm your mind. I’m sure there are lots of creative outlets you haven’t thought of.”

“Creative?” He gave her a look and she laughed. “Can you see me sitting in a park, painting a picture?”

“Only if you’re wearing a beret,” she teased and he laughed. She linked her arm through his and pulled. “Come on. Let’s go back to the table so Mom can open her gifts. We’ll think of something that brings out the creative side in you.”

He scoffed and shook his head as they walked inside. He was not a creative person, never had been really. His own insecurities got in the way along with his father’s voice in his ear that anything involving ‘artistic ability’ was for girls.

Shaking his head again, he sighed as they walked to the table, their mother smiling with relief.

__________________

An hour and a half later, he closed his front door with a sigh. Dropping his keys on the table, he walked into the kitchen for a beer. Popping it open, he took a long pull and let out a deep breath.

God, he was exhausted and honestly, he had hardly done anything that day. Shopping, therapy, and dinner. Hardly a rough day and far easier than he’d had in the past eight years as a detective.

Sighing again, he walked out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. He set down his beer and took off his shoes, looking forward to going to bed. Reaching into his jacket pockets, he took out his wallet and cell phone.

A piece of paper was stuck down deep in the pocket and he pulled it out, finding the receipt for his mother’s scarf. He stared at it, thinking about Dana and her happy blue eyes. Eyes that had not seen or felt the pain he had.

His mother had loved the scarf, admiring the rich color and the stitching. Samantha had given him an inquisitive look, the gift not one he would normally choose. He had said only that he had gotten it in a shop as he waited for his appointment, not mentioning Dana or her sister.

Staring at the receipt, he wondered if she would be interested in hearing how his mother had liked the gift. He felt he rather owed her an apology anyway, acting like an asshole and insinuating her shop had nothing to offer. He should pay her a visit tomorrow and tell her he was sorry.

Besides, he really wanted to see her again. See her smile, her eyes lighting up as she did.

“Tomorrow,” he said, with a nod, setting the receipt down on his dresser, and beginning to change his clothes. “Tomorrow.”

[sabraeal]

Les Liaisons Juridique

A shirakiki fic in honor of @krispy-kream’s birthday, inspired what is probably her own failure to realize she was on a date YOU WERE ON A DATE SHARON

Shirayuki is getting this job.

“You’re getting this job,” Dr. Weise -- Shidan, he corrected her earlier with a smile, Doctor Weise was my father -- tells her, sitting back in a leather office chair that must have been paid for out of his grant money. “You’re more qualified than any other candidate; you shower, thank god; and Garrack called me up to personally call me a -- how did she put it? Fuckwad if I let you pass me by.

“And let me tell you, Doctor Roos.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I am not a fuckwad.”

“I...wouldn’t imagine you were, sir,” she manages faintly, more than a little light headed. She’s been worrying around this interview for a month, and just -- she has it. She’s...going to be a post-doc.

Shidan’s smile widens into a grin. “You see? Already doing better than half the idiots in this lab.”

But that’s only half of why she’s getting this job. The good half, because the other half --

“You’re getting this job,” her HR liaison -- Zen -- tells her as he pierces the seal on his juice. He says he’s her handler, which is a much more appealing title than the reality, which is babysitter. “I’ve been doing the processing for Shidan’s other candidates, and you’re really just top of the stack material. Real talent, you know?”

She does know; MIT doesn’t hand out PhDs for the asking. Still it’s a nice enough sentiment, and even if she’s starting to get the, ah, vibe that maybe Zen is getting a little more personally invested in her hire than is professional appropriate -- well, she’ll take it. Tenure track doesn’t grow on trees.

“Yo, Zen!” A collection of limbs folds itself into the plastic chair next to her handler, teeth broad and white in the bronze of his face. “Is this the interviewee?”

“Obi,” Zen remarks mildly. “I didn’t realize you’d be coming to lunch this early.”

“And we didn’t realize that you would be taking your handler duties so strictly,” another voice wryly observes. Its owner followers, and --

And Shirayuki doesn’t really keep up with celebrity gossip, doesn’t really look at the covers of magazines unless one of the tag lines boasts something like 10 SPF 80 Sunblocks That Really Work! so she doesn’t really know anything about models, but --

But she’s pretty sure that they aren’t supposed to work in academic labs, even if those labs are in California.

“Kiki,” Zen says, voice only mildly filled with dread. “You’re here too.”

“I am, willingly or not.” Her ice blue eyes shoot him a look that would freeze most men on the spot. “We thought you’d be eating alone. Though I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the...perks of your position.”

Zen flushes red from collar to hairline, and Shirayuki feels a pang of sympathy. It’s not easy having a crush with pale skin. “Prospective employees have a fully paid lunch scheduled into their day --”

“You know, you never personally showed me how the voucher system works,” Obi complains, eyelashes fluttering. They’re long for a man. They’d make him pretty, if he didn’t have a shiny scar right over his eyebrow. “Should I be hurt? I think I should be.”

Zen murmurs something, and over the din of the cafeteria Shiryuki can’t quite make it out, but it sounds like, I think you should shut up. But that doesn’t sound very Human Relations-y to her.

“You know, I’m pretty too,” Obi forges on, grin getting sharper with every word. “Aren’t I, Kiki?”

Kiki spears a cucumber in her salad. “No.”

“Striking.”

It takes her a full minute, and all of them staring, to realize it was her that spoke.

“I mean, you’re more striking than -- than pretty.” She swallows, eyes darting towards the other woman at the table. “And Kiki is...”

Words fail her. Beautiful is something you say when you look at a sunset, or someone’s kid in a prom dress; Kiki is --

“Sublime.” Oh god, who let her mouth do word things. She was certainly not telling it to do them!

Kiki’s mouth ticks up at the corner. “Well, that certainly is a new one.”

“Oh, I like her,” Obi says. “I’m gonna tell Shidan we’ve got to hire you.”

Shirayuki, of course, promptly forgets about all that. Hiring takes months, and between applications, interviews, and straining to make ends meet -- she is never going to quit on the spot like that again, she can tell you that much -- she forgets the specifics, just remembers when she gets the call that, yes she liked this place very much.

Yes, she would very much like to be hired.

It’s a decision she only half regrets later, when she turns a corner at the end of her first week, and runs straight into Zen.

“I told you you’d get hired,” he says, teeth Crest ad bright. “And here you are!”

She bites down on the fact that she knew it too, that Shidan told her straight out that she’d get the job and that his request just had to chug through HR’s red tape. It seems like a defensive thing to say, especially to a guy who works in HR, and especially to a guy that probably filed most of the paperwork.

“Ha ha, yeah,” she goes with instead, so smooth. Guys like Zen always intimidate her; that whole combo of handsome and confident is just...overwhelming. “Here I am.”

He leans against the wall, all casual-like, and her heart kicks up in her chest. Oh no. He’s going to do that thing. That thing handsome and confident guys do.

“We should go out sometime,” he says, oblivious to the copious sweating she is doing. “You know, for coffee. To celebrate --”

“Sorry!” she yelps, too loud for this size of corridor. “I like girls!”

She completes this stunning feat of social prowess by bolting down the hall like there’s fire on her heels and doesn’t stop until she’s half a building away. Which is the exact opposite way she should be, if she wants to be at the vending machine that sells cinnamon buns for ten cents cheaper.

Wow, this whole acting like a normal person thing -- really starting off strong. Go team.

“Hey.”

Shirayuki’s chin snaps up as she hurries into her bay, feeling like everyone knows what just happened, even though it’s impossible; rumor works fast but it can’t possibly be that fast. Obi’s there waiting, all tense with some tortured expression on his face, and for a long minute she worries what sort of bad news could have him this knotted up, whether he’s about to tell he’s moving bays -- which would be terrible, since having him as a bay-mate was one of the best surprises this week --

“You’re gay?”

Oh, nope, this is worse. Way worse.

She draws herself up, still only coming to his chin, and says, “Ye--”

“Oh, awesome.” His whole face lights up, and he presses a hand to his chest. “I’m bi! Or well, pan? I really don’t know what the difference is, to be completely fucking honest. Probably pan.”

“Oh my god.” All the wind goes out of her, and she gets that light-headed feeling, like she might pass out, only like, from relief. “Me too!”

He cocks his head, like a curious bird. “You too?”

“I’m bi,” she says. “Or -- well I don’t think I’m pan? From what I understand? I don’t know.” She hesitates. “I maybe I need to brush up on the literature.”

“Let’s just call it part of the bisexual experience.” he laughs. “But wait, I thought you told Zen you were into girls?”

“Ohhh.” Right, this would be the, uh, sticky part. Obi and Zen are friends; close enough that in the fifteen minutes it took her to take a walk around the building and mentally scream, Obi had managed to get a blow-by-blow of their two minute conversation. “I...um...”

“No judgement here,” he assures her. “He’s my friend, but like, I get it. If he asks me, I will say you are full on into the ladies.”

“I...” She doesn’t really know how to handle that sort of thing, the whole...loyalty deal. She’s never really had anyone like that. “I’m just like, um...a Kinsey Scale five, honestly.”

Obi blinks. “I feel like this is a terrible thing to admit, but I know shit about, you know, the academic gayness.” He grimaces. “I hope that doesn’t lower your opinion of my academic or gay credentials.”

That surprises a laugh out of her. “No, it’s fine, I just -- labels helped when I was trying to tell my grandparents. Just being able to quantify on a scale was easier than trying to, you know, explain everything.”

“I feel it.” He twists back to his computer, typing with his loud hunt-and-peck style.

“It’s when --”

“No, no!” He holds up a hand over his shoulder. “I’m googling it. I’m educating myself.” He squints at the screen. “Only incidentally heterosexual, huh?”

It feels like a lot to get into to, trying to explain how incidental a lot of her attraction feels, that it took her a lot of googling and staring up at the ceiling to even get her a number, so she just says, “Yeah.”

His mouth peels back in a grin. “And Zen wasn’t the incident.”

She wants to glare, but -- god, she needs to remember that. “No,” she manages around a giggle. “Boys are okay, but you know...girls.”

He laughs, settling back into his chair with a groan. “You make an excellent point.”

It’s hard to shake the feeling, at first, that the other shoe is about to drop, that just like last time her dream job is going to be wrenched out of her hands by some...some idiot with a trust fund, but --

But two days after her disastrous I like girls word vomit, Obi mentions they need to gay up this place. She thinks he’s joking, up until he sends her links to etsy shops that sell desk tchotchkes with the bi pride flag on them, asking her whether they’re going for understated or opulent.

“You don’t think people will get weird?” Everyone here has been nice, but everyone at her old work was nice too, right up until it became inconvenient.

“Kazaha works here,” he tells her, “people are already weird.”

“No, I just mean...” There’s no good way to say, do you think we’ll get fired. “People, could, um...”

“I’ll punch ‘em,” Yuzuri’s disembodied voice offers through the bench. Shirayuki can see her just on the other side, a blur of blonde and neon. “If anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know, and I’ll go straight to Shidan and raise hell about it.”

For a minute, her chest gets tight, and it’s -- it’s nice to know that someone has her back, but there’s a part of her that wants to say, but I don’t want to need your help. She doesn’t want there to be a problem in the first place, doesn’t want to have someone have to speak up for her because of who she is --

But she’s grateful too. That someone would. It’s a...weird feeling, being angry and touched all at the same time.

Yuzuri stomps around the end of the bench, fists sitting high on her hips. “If Suzu can keep his dolls around, there’s no reason anyone should give you trouble for flags or whatever.”

“Uh, first off, they are collectable figurines,” Suzu says following after her, like always. “And second, Cardcaptor Sakura is an institution.”

“They’re dolls,” Yuzuri tells him. “Cute dolls, but still dolls. Also, not really the point.”

“Oh, right.” Suzu distinctly grims up. “It’s your bay, decorate it however you want. We’ll all back you up. You can put up porn for all I --”

“Please don’t put up porn,” Ryuu says, the loudest she’s ever heard him.

This is, of course, the worst time for Shidan to walk in. “Who is putting up porn?”

Shirayuki drops her head to her desk. Well this will certainly be a new thing to get fired for.

Shirayuki’s been at the lab two months and one very excruciating discussion about workplace pornography (re: not even once), when Shidan catches her in the hall, looking sheepish. She nearly bolts right then -- the last time he looked like that, she suddenly found herself as the new lab safety officer, and she does not need to interface with Mihaya from EHS ever again, thank you -- but he says, “I need to ask you a favor, for Ryuu.”

This is dirty pool and there’s no way Shidan doesn’t know it, giving her that look. Ryuu may have his PhD, but he’s just a baby; she’s not precisely sure how old, but considering how he keeps forgetting he’s old enough to come to happy hour, she’s guessing not very.

“You know that the university is very excited about his new paper --?”

Of course, everyone in the department does. He’s -- well, he’s no where near having to worry about thirty, and his first paper as a post-doc is getting published in Nature. It’s been all anyone can talk about for the past two weeks.

“Well, they want a press release,” he explains, looking guiltier by the second. “And we don’t really have a...PR department, per se, so we have to write them ourselves...”

Shirayuki sees the writing on the wall. “And you want me to write it.”

Shidan deflates in relief. “Yes.”

“I’ve never done anything like that before.” Not for real, at least. She’d had to practice writing a fake one, way back for her undergrad writing course, but -- something that actual people with journalism degrees would see? Never. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s fine.” Shidan waves a hand, as if her protests are nothing more than technicalities. “Legal’s got someone who did PR. They send her around whenever one of us has to write up a brief. I told her she could wait by your bench.”

“She’s here now?” Shirayuki blinks. “You want me to do this now? I have --”

“Just to get the ball rolling!” he promises. “It won’t take more than a couple of minutes.” He gives her a knowing look. “It’s for Ryuu, after all.”

She lets out a soft sigh. “All right. I can -- I can take a few minutes.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Shirayuki starts, swinging around the corner of her bay, restraining herself from adding, but Shidan didn’t tell me I should be expecting you. “I was just --”

Her eyes catch on the impeccably tailored suit, the sharply pulled back ponytail, the whole towering blonde in heels thing --

It’s Kiki. Here. In her bay.

And Obi’s nowhere in sight.

“Hnn.” She shakes herself. “I mean, sorry, I don’t think Obi’s here -- maybe he’s already in the cafeteria? -- I just thought you were -- Shidan told me --”

Her mouth quirks at the corner, and it’s -- it’s a lot. “I’m not here for Obi.“

“N-no?” Shirayuki grips at her bench. It’s the only way to keep her legs from wobbling.

“No.” Her teeth flash, perfect and white, between her lips. “I’m here for you.”

Pretty girls like Kiki really shouldn’t say things like that to her, her heart can’t really take it.

Kiki taps something in her pen holder. “I like your flag, by the way.”

She nearly asks what flag? when it occurs to her -- her bi flag, the one Obi had shoved in next to all her ballpoints as he’d waved his own, pink, yellow and blue, saying well, it’s more impressive if they’re different.

“Oh!” she shrills, suddenly very aware of how very...colorful her whole desk is. “Thank you! But...you....um....have something...that I...uh....?”

“Didn’t Shidan tell you?” Kiki smiles. “I’m your liaison from legal.”

“Did she say she liked my flag too?” Obi asks, much later, concerned.

“I don’t -- no?” She blinks. “That’s what you took away from this conversation?”

“I’m just saying!” he gestures toward his desk. “The pan flag is nice too! If she likes one, she should like the other!”

“Okay.” She pats his arm. “I’m going tell you this story again, but I’m gonna need you to focus.”

“But --!”

“Focus.”

It becomes a -- a thing.

“Shirayuki,” Shidan calls out from his office as she passes. “Kazaha is having something printed up in Science. Do you think you could liaise with Legal --?”

“Hey, Shirayuki.” Yuzuri waves her over in the cafeteria. “This newspaper wants a quote, do you think you could run this by Legal --?”

“Yo, Red,” Obi leans back in his chair as she trudges in from the imaging room. “Ryuu says he’s confused by the wording on some of that press release. Do you think you could look over these edits and then send the new one --”

“Onto Legal?” she asks wearily. “Yeah, I can handle that.”

“Rough day?” he asks. “I’d thought you’d be excited. You and Kiki are buddies now, right?”

“Yeah, it’s just...” She shrugs. “I just have my own work.”

“Oh, I see.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You want to be passing your own press releases past Legal.”

Heat bursts across her cheeks. “I mean, yes! I’d like to be promoting my own research.”

Obi’s mouth splits into a grin she does not like, not one bit. “You mean, you want to be showing Kiki how smart you are, and not everyone else.”

He -- how? -- that’s not -- “That doesn’t have anything to do with --”

“Shirayuki!”

“Kiki!” She jolts up, chair rolling back into the shelves beside her desk. She winces, but Kiki only smiles.

“Obi, is that a new sticker?” She nods her head toward his laptop, where a round, pink sticker reads STEMINIST. It sit next to another, more worn one that reads I’m going to have to SCIENCE THE SHIT out of this.

“Oh, yeah!” He grins, flipping down the cover so she can see it better. “I saw it on twitter and was like, that is mine, you know?”

She rubs a finger over the word and grins. “I like it.”

“I’ll send you the link.”

“Would you?”

“Definitely.” He swings it open, already typing. “They have it in blue too, but like, what’s the point, you know? Pink all the way.”

“Right.” She turns her attention over to Shirayuki, and her mouth softens into a smile. “Did you get your hair cut, Shirayuki?”

“J-just a trim!” she squeaks, curling a strand around her finger. “It was starting to get in the way --”

“She almost lit it up on a Bunsen burner,” Obi translates helpfully, the traitor.

“It was starting to get in the way,” she starts again, darting a glare in his direction, “and so I either had to, you know, commit to growing it out, or get it cut, so...”

There’s a tug on her hair, right by her ear -- a brush really -- and -- and--

Kiki is touching her.

“It’s cute,” she says, with a tilt of her head. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” Shirayuki manages, in a range that only dogs can hear.

“I was just stopping by about the press release.” Kiki leans a hip against her bench, a long fingered hand wrapping around her waist. “Ryuu sent me the changes he requested --”

“He did? I thought...” Shirayuki darts a glance at Obi, who looks equally surprised. “Never mind.”

“I’m having a hard time understanding what he’s trying to say, I was hoping you could explain it to me.”

“Oh sure --”

“Maybe over lunch tomorrow?” Kiki raises her eyebrows expectantly. “I’ll swing by around twleve.”

“Obi. Obi!” she hisses, whacking at his arm. “Did you see that?”

“I did,” Obi admits. “I’m not sure what I saw, but I was definitely here the whole time to see it.”

“She said my hair was cute!”

“I know, I was here.” He leans back in his chair. “Also, that was what you took away from that?”

“She touched it.”

“She also said my sticker was nice.” He smiles at his laptop. “I wonder if she’s going to get the blue or the pink one. I should tell her pink so we m --”

“Obi!” she shrills. “We are talking about my hair right now.”

He stares. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is about you.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

“You and your ginormous crush.”

Her jaw drops. “That’s...I’m not...we are...” She coughs. “We are professional colleagues.”

“Shirayuki, come on. You’re gay.” Obi sweeps a hand towards the door. “And Kiki looks like that.”

Shirayuki stares at him, stares at the door.

Flight is the only option. “I’m going to go get cookies from the vending machine.”

Obi’s smile is far too self-satisfied. “Cookies can’t drown out your gay panic.”

“I. Am. Getting. Cookies.”

He grins, calling out after her. “You’ll still be gay when you come back.”

“That’s not -- I’m not--” She huffs. “I just like cookies!”

Lunch is supposed to be a quiet table in the cafeteria with both of them picking over their salads; Shirayuki with a Caesar salad without the dressing but double the chicken and croutons, and Kiki with -- well, whatever she liked on her salad. She seems like maybe a baby corn and avocado person. Lemon poppy seed dressing? That seems...right. It’s supposed to be quick food and work between them, not --

Not the nice little diner down the way, made to look like it’s all down-home even though it’s right next to a Dick’s and a Starbucks in the center of a strip mall ten minutes down the road from their building. Shirayuki’s still looking for the salads when Kiki orders a Belgian waffle with fresh fruit, and with a sigh a relief she orders a set of “mouse-themed” pancakes.

“It’s just Mickey Mouse,” Kiki tells her, “but this way, no one gets tempted to sue.”

Shirayuki, for the first time in her life, is torn between telling her, I know about copyright law, and --and --

Just playing entirely dumb, if only so that Kiki would keep talking to her like this. Ever since they walked in, Kiki’s been -- well, animated, at least more than she usually is. She’s explained about four different features that are the result of class-action lawsuits, asked what she liked to eat before recommending at least two different dishes, and now, well --

“Do you want dessert?”

Shirayuki blinks up from her empty plate. “Dessert?”

“They have a display,” Kiki tells her, nodding towards the counter. “It rotates.”

“Oh!” She cranes her head over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse. “Just like a real diner.”

When she turns back, Kiki’s just...amused, one eyebrow arched in question. “Oh, is that what makes a real diner?”

“N-no!” She can feel her cheeks burning, and she wishes she wasn’t so -- so pale. “It’s just that, I, um, well...”

“Obi said you were from a small town,” Kiki tells her. “And you had opinions on diners.”

Namely that California didn’t have any real ones, yes. Though this place comes close, if it has a rotating display. “Are there pies?”

Kiki smiles. “The last time I checked. Do you want to go look?”

Shirayuki traipses up to the display, watching as key lime and lemon meringue spin around the top tier, with a half dozen choices of cakes and cheesecakes below it.

“Ohhh,” she murmurs, hand pressed to the glass. “These look so good.”

“Let’s get one,” Kiki says, leaning on the counter beside her. “We can split it.”

Shirayuki stares up at her, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Yeah, pick what you like.”

She blinks. “But what if you don’t like it?”

Kiki smiles warmly. “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you pick, Shirayuki.”

“O-okay!” She peers at the display, trying to figure out which pie has the most meringue. “I think I’ll pick --”

To this day, she’s not quite sure how it happens. She reaches out a hand, gently slides the door --

And the glass shatters, sprinkling shards onto the floor, onto her shoes, and worst of all, right onto the perfect slice of lemon meringue pie.

“You are a disaster,” Obi laughs, voice muffled through his hands. “You broke a glass door?”

“The owner said it wasn’t my fault!” she protests. “The glass on those doors is just -- just faulty!”

“Uh-huh,” Obi hums, unconvinced.

“It’s true!” she insists. “And Kiki even gave me her number, in case something happens!”

“Wait, roll that back,” Yuzuri says through the shelving. Shirayuki hears the patter of Yuzuri’s flats before she pokes around the corner. “She gave you her number? Are you sure this was a business lunch?”

Shirayuki blinks. “What else would it have been?”

Yuzuri stares at her. “A date?”

“W-what?” Shirayuki can feel her face going red, can feel the heat practically searing her freckles. “N-no, that’s not -- not --”

“She asked you to lunch outside. She tried to impress you with her legal know-how.” Yuzuri ticks the points off on her fingers, expression showing her dry annoyance. “She gave you her personal phone number. Did she pay for lunch too?”

“Only because --” Shirayuki hesitates. “Obi, is Kiki straight?”

He stares back at her, equally lost. “She had a boyfriend.”

Shirayuki waves her hands, as if to say see?

Yuzuri remains unimpressed. “You’re both bi!”

“Well,” Obi hedges. “Actually, I think I’m more p...”

She looks at him. He looks at her.

“Oh my god, she could like both,” he says.

“Oh my god,” she agrees, feeling the blood drained from her face. Kiki may not have been asking her out to business lunch but -- but --

Yuzuri throws up her hands. “Did you both forget bi people exist? Is that a thing that just happened?”

“I mean,” Obi coughs, pink riding high on his cheekbones. “It’s not, you know, a common thing --”

She lets out a huff, annoyed. “There’s two of you in this lab alone! We only have twenty people!”

He shrugs. “Statistical anomaly.”

“I...” Shirayuki turns back to her desk. “I think I have to -- email?”

“Text?” Obi offers.

“Text! Yes.” Shirayuki nods. “Text. I must -- text --”

Hi. It’s Shirayuki. You gave me your number.

Yes, I remember :) Is there something I can do for you?

I just wanted to thank you for lunch. And I’m sorry about breaking the glass. And stuff.

Don’t worry about it It was cute

GREAT. Sorry, I accidentally put capslock on. Also I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner. As a date. Officially.

I’d love to ...but wasn’t today an official date?

[buttersbots]

Ficlet: Decorating

deviantART | Archive of Our Own | FanFiction

As they got on in years, Fletcher and Darwin were as comfortable in each other’s homes as they were in their own.

Fletcher had simply moved from the room next to his parents’ to the master suite two floors above them (the older he got, the more sensitive he became to their affection on the other side of the wall ‒ and the less comfortable he grew having guests over to stay the night in such close quarters). Darwin had moved from his parents’ house into an apartment of his own about half way up a skyscraper. In the center of Axiom’s capital, it had a view of the bustling livelihood that never reached the Energy Vampires’ mansion. Fletcher and Darwin moved effortlessly from place to place until they each had a dedicated guest room ‒ quite a feat in Fletcher’s case as Darwin’s apartment only had two bedrooms including his own. Come the first week of December, it was tradition for Fletcher to spend a week or so at Darwin’s place. Christmas was a serious production at the Energy Vampire household. Nos-4-a2’s competitive streak lived through his determination to outdo the neighbors’ holiday light displays, something that only became more elaborate by the year. Two took charge indoors, bringing in trees as tall as could fit and decorating them with Quinn’s assistance. The veritable construction zone made for difficult living. Fletcher helped here and there and usually took care of the third floor common area outside his room, but it was generally easier for him to stay with Darwin until the madness subsided. Darwin’s apartment was modest. The front door opened into the living room, a sectional taking up most of the wall to the right, directly across from a holographic screen on the wall to the left. A door on either side of the screen led into each of the two bedrooms, while past the sectional to the right were a kitchenette and a bathroom. The wall directly across from the front door at the other end of the apartment had a door that lead out to the balcony and a broad window. Since there was already a full dresser of his clothes in Darwin’s guest room, Fletcher brought a bag with nothing but power cells and his personal computer. His visit always started on a Saturday: he and Darwin spent the whole day dragging out about an hour’s worth of work, messing around, dressing in elaborate sweaters and hats, and watching movies in the midst of decorating the apartment. This year, Darwin brought in a scraggly, four-foot tree to shove in the corner of the living room, burying it in tinsel and lights. He didn’t have many ornaments, as their favored way of hanging them was by throwing them at the boughs to see what stuck. Only the strongest survived. Fletcher took care of lighting the balcony, flying out over the edge and wrapping the bars of the gate in red, white, and green. Sometimes he’d help the neighbors as well ‒ on one occasion, this had earned him a night in someone else’s place. Baubles hung from the ceiling, more lights were strung along the tops of the walls, and the ugliest novelty Santa figurines posed in clusters on every open surface. The normal throw pillows and blankets were replaced with a strange mix of treasured, hand-embroidered pillows and gaudy designs with crude puns or over-the-top tartan patterns. The best part of the day came after darkness fell. Fletcher rustled through his bag at the small dining table while previews rolled into an old Christmas movie. Darwin straightened out the last few tchotchkes before nodding. “Are you ready?” “Hold on,” Fletcher mumbled. He dug into the bottom of his bag before pulling out a fist-sized battery with a hand marked label. He grinned and hopped over the part of the sectional that separated the living room from the kitchenette, sprawling out across the cushions. “Ready!” Darwin walked toward the front door and turned off one light switch, leaving the room lit by nothing but their eyeforms and the light of the movie. With the click of another switch, the festive lights came to life. “Magnificent!” Fletcher grinned as he stared up at the ceiling. Darwin stepped around the coffee table between the sectional and the holoscreen. “Come on, make room.” Fletcher grumbled and sat up enough for Darwin to sit and kick his feet up on the coffee table before landing his head back in his lap. “To the best year yet,” the Energy Vampire saluted with his power cell before sinking his fangs into it and taking a long, slow drag. Darwin recognized the handwriting on the label as Fletcher’s ‒ it must have been a relaxant. Fletcher’s eyeforms became fuzzy around the edges, his joints became looser, and he lowered the cell from his mouth with a sigh. “Man, that’s just not fair. Don’t you feel any shame?” “Can’t feel shamed,” Fletcher beamed and shook the cell. “Guess I’ll just have to turn you.” “Once it’s painless, hit me up. It’d be worth it for the relaxant alone.” Fletcher laughed and bit into the cell again, turning his gaze toward the movie as it started. Darwin picked up the tassel on the end of Fletcher’s Santa hat, rubbing it between his fingers and looking at the Christmas lights reflecting off his metal. Fletcher hadn’t taken power in a few hours, and judging by the drooping shape of his purple eyeforms, it wouldn’t be long until he dozed off. He prefered drowsiness when he could help it, indulging in the warmth, though he never lasted long. “Well, thanks again. I think this is the best my place has ever looked.” “You know I love doing this. I look forward to this all year.” “Me too,” Darwin smiled. “What do you think the best part is?” Fletcher asked. Darwin thought for a minute. “There’s nothing I don’t like about it. Everyone’s just... happier? For the most part. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s almost like the only time of year people really take me seriously. I rarely ever get the, ‘what are you trying to get by being nice to me?’ look. Gift exchanges... especially white elephants are the best. It kinda... recharges me. I get through the rest of the year because of the energy from Christmas.” “Darwin, people should trust you all year. You’re the best... guy. You’ve never got motives,” Fletcher spoke with the relaxant still in his mouth. Darwin snorted at how fast Fletcher’s mental processing dulled. “What’s your favorite part of Christmas?” Darwin hummed. He pulled Fletcher’s hat off and he hardly seemed to notice. “I guess... when I was a kid... there was a lot of the world that I didn’t need to explain, y’know? It was just magic. I liked figuring things out, made me feel like a magician if I could know the secrets. Christmas... even after I figured Santa wasn’t real, there was a lingering magic that I couldn’t touch. It’s a quiet sort of... thing. I still feel it now. When I’m going to bed alone after spending time with family, and it’s all dark, but I look out the window and I can see the tops of the trees kinda glowing warm because of the Christmas lights... or when I’m the first up and everything isn’t moving, and the timers haven’t turned off yet for the tree lights. And the snow. The Christmas snow is better than the normal snow. ‘N I love the Christmas Eve party better than my own birthday...” Fletcher’s words started to melt together as Darwin pet his head. They kept speaking and exchanging little joys as long as Fletcher was conscious. It was nothing new. They could have recited each other’s answers, they knew everything there was to know about one another, but it was always the warmest conversation, especially when Fletcher was half asleep and without his wits. When he finally dozed off, it was almost mid-sentence. Darwin covered him in a knit blanket and watched the rest of the movie, savoring the comfortable weight of Fletcher’s head in his lap before going offline himself. In truth, there was nothing he loved more than this.

Our lights were put up last night and there's something so... emotional? about the way the house next door glows red at night (we have the red/white candy cane kind). I swear this is the only time of year I really feel alive, like my soul rejoices in inhabiting my body for the aesthetic alone! I still look for the sleigh on Christmas Eve. I'd give a lot for a friendship like theirs ~u~