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rouiyan · 3 years

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𝘊𝘏𝘖𝘊𝘖𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘌 𝘔𝘐𝘓𝘒 [ 𝘩.𝘳𝘫 ]

synopsis: in a town where the seasons always seem to come a little early and the stars seem to shine a little brighter, two introverted idiots, only extroverted for each other, fall in love.

✧ huang renjun x (fem.) reader (mentioned jaemin x reader) ✧ childhood best friends to loverz

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slow burn ✧ word count : 8.4k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, as in h-e-double-hockey-sticks and probably a darn and a damn

✧ author’s note : another one of my fics that’s based off of an obscure item that i somehow managed to romanticize heavily. anyways, this one was written for the lovely hannah (@moonbeamsung) who said (in some network bio) that she wanted to live in a childhood friends to lovers au so here we are. (please also ignore how this is ever so slightly reminiscent of ‘this shirt of his’) enjoy!

huang renjun. he's tiny, impudent, childish, and not to mention, he's two months younger than you! huang renjun, the boy whose legs are currently kicking at your own from the side. huang renjun who, when you look to your right, has a lopsided smile on his face while he pretends to listen to your teacher drone on about the days of the week.

you lean in his direction, "would you quit it?" the boy looks over at you, nods, stops for a few minutes, then returns his incessant kicking. anger is lashing across your four-year-old countenance as the teacher calls out that recess is about to begin. you're the first out the door.

to say that you had no friends was an understatement. you had no friends and the other children liked to gang up on you. so when you take the opportunity, as the first one out the door, to run to the slides, the most vied for playspot on the whole playground, you're not surprised when renjun sneaks up behind you. well, you aren't surprised but rather unaware of his presence, until he pushes you, shoves you, absolutely rams you off the top. in the span of four seconds, you've pummeled down the slope at lightning speeds and instead of just hitting the ground, the sheer amount of force that was exerted from one four-year-old to another is astoundingly clear as you fly up and off the bottom ledge of the slide, soaring across the air before landing in a heap on your elbow. the wood chips of the playground floor that you've landed on dig harshly into your calves and one side of your face.

you don't let on nearly as much as it hurts when the teacher rushes over and asks if you're okay, if you needed to go to the nurses' office. you nod at her while biting back tears of stabbing pain and embarrassment and, to even more of your horror, she assigns renjun to accompany you to the nurses' office claiming that, "the two of you need to work it out anyways."

face pulled into a scowl and lips twisted into a frown, you limp next to the boy who, even now, finds it his job to ridicule you by purposefully walking fast, he knows you can't keep up. "y/n, you idiot," your mouth drops open at the i-word, "we're never going to make it in time at that pace!"

in reality, you're two steps ahead of him, "huang renjun, i am so going to tell on you."

as it so happens, the bell that rings at the end of the school day not only signals your leave, elbow patched up and held in a sling, but also the arrival of parents, specifically mrs. huang. your teacher beats you to it, guiding the woman by the elbow to the side, a small conversation of nods and creased brows. renjun is next to you, watching as well, but his fingers are fiddling with his sweater sleeves and his nose is scrunched in anticipation—no, dread.

"i didn't mean to," his voice is a bare pipsqueak, the two of you all know he tells tales far from the truth. rolling your eyes, you doubt refuting his claims will ever be as easy as now with his mom sneaking worried glances in your direction, scalding ones in his, "yeah sure, huang. tell that to my broken elbow."

"it's not broken, you're just exaggerating-"

his mom turns in his direction, walks, low heels thudding softly with each step. she's quite the nice woman, you were somewhat sure about that though her face was drawn stern at her young son. she crouches by his side and though you feel a slight outburst oncoming, she turns to you instead, smile taut but polite. "y/n, is it?"

you nod.

"i apologize, first on behalf of my son, and second for my own incompetence in raising him," she gives him an eyeful, turning back to you again, "how is your arm, sweetie?"

you smile up at her because, unlike the boy beside you, she is nice. you forgive her, sweetly, telling her your arm would heal soon and well. she leaves with a gentle pat on your head and a strong arm on her son's own elbow.

it's the next day when renjun is still sitting beside you, the usual scowl on his face replaced with a sheepish grin, snaggletooth and all, as he slides a carton of chocolate milk your way. "this is the one you like right? the brown one?"

you take it from the table and fold back the top, as you had learned, folding forward once again so an opening would slit. taking a sip, you give a hesitant nod somewhat in his direction. truth be told, chocolate milk was not your favorite, certainly the pretty pink strawberry one was, but a part of you didn't have the guts to stand up for yourself and say no, he was apologizing after all, not outright bullying you.

renjun doesn't kick your shins during class, he doesn't so much as utter a word to you, but when recess is called, and yet again you're out the door first, straight to the slides, the boy makes sure he's right behind you, and not for the purposes of shoving you off this time. he sticks around, and it stays that way.

you get your first pair of glasses at the ripe age of seven, only after you'd exclaimed to the class, rather sheepishly, that you couldn't answer the question because the board was too blurry for reasons you'd yet to comprehend. only at the optometrists office did you start to understand the purpose of glasses in the first place.

the next day in class, renjun, who was still your seatmate, pointed and poked fun. you laughed along with him because, well, because it was renjun that was making fun of you. the same reasoning could be applied when later in the day, when a terribly hubristic boy in your class, several inches taller than both you and renjun, had dared to punch you in the face for having such odd, turquoise frames, a pattern you never purchased again. to much of your surprise and even his own, renjun had punched the seven-year-old duche right back in the face. it was actually the chin from his angle, but hey, it's the thought that counts.

you let renjun choose the next pair of glasses you got, and though his preference was much differing to your own, you wore it for the next year and a half until your eyesight worsened once again.

renjun steals at your food, and gets his hand smacked by the teacher, so you pass him the carrots, which you abhor and he passes you the chocolate milk, which you adore. it's as simple as that, and it stays that way.

fingers wiping at your glasses with the bottom hem of your shirt. you're sprawled back onto renjun's bed, hiking your feet onto the footboard. "what happens when we die, jun?"

the boy swivels in his chair to face you, feet planting at the exact moment. twirling the pen in hand, he places the tip of it at his chin and glances up towards the ceiling in what you think to be rumination. turns out, he's mocking you as always, "hmm, i don't know, why don't you test it out?" you play along gladly, "it'll take a zombie apocalypse to wipe me out, i'm telling you. and when and if that happens i'm bringing you down with me."

your best friend discards his pen back into the abyss of textbooks and notes on his table. he stands and walks and plops himself down on the bed next to you. the two of you are the same height, especially seen when laying down. he's yet to grow past you and you've yet to stop teasing him of it. in fact, you're just about to do so when he beats you to the chase, eyes on the ceiling once again but actually deep in rumination this time, "i hope we get matching tombstones, sorta like best friend necklaces but like- much more cool."

it's the first time you notice the brisk palpitations of your heart when in the aftermath of renjun's words. his words that were also so carefully thought out, witty but not insensitive. eleven-year-old you couldn't bring yourself to accept the fact that renjun was proving to be much more than just your designated bff. cheeks aflame, you turn your head to the left to catch his eyes already on yours. a gulp, a blink, a shift of your sights later and you finally have the words to respond. "that's only if we're not eaten alive first."

you can't help but imagine if the person you were buried by wasn't renjun, and just some man that you'd get to know in college and marry because you're too old to particularly care about notions of love. you can't help but imagine growing up with someone other than renjun by your side. you can't help it but you also struggle to, the reason behind that being you simply can't imagine. (how confusing!) renjun's all you've ever known and you doubt he could ever be replaced in your records. but as much as you wish it to stay that way, it's only a matter of time until things happen, until high school happens, until puberty happens.

it all starts when renjun bounds into your room on the first day of school, seven thirty on the dot and more than ready to take on the day after the absolute feast your mom had cooked up for the two of you. he's about to rattle on about girls and how they always take so damn long to get ready when his mouth is clamped shut at the sight he's met with. the sight he's met with being your reflection in the mirror.

you forgot to mention to him that you'd gone to the optometrist a few days back, not for a new pair of glasses but to get your first pair of contacts instead. a great struggle came with getting them in and out but with practice, you'd managed to avoid outright stabbing yourself in the eye, hence the perfectly fitting lens right this moment as you blink out the excess solution. in the mirror, you glance in the reflection at the door of which renjun is standing in front of. you fail to notice the dumbstruck look on his face and rather, exclaim in glee at how for once, you could see him in full clarity without anything sitting atop your nose and getting caught in your hair.

renjun only nods along and stares for a lot longer as you collect your backpack lain across your bed and sling it across one shoulder, beckoning the bewildered boy to follow as you led the way to the garage where your mom was waiting in the car. and even in the car, he fails to conceal his gaze that seems to never leave the glistening of your eyes. in his third period, the only class that you sadly do not share with him, his mind is still playing over and over the look of glee that graced your features in a way he's never seen before. or maybe he has seen it before, and this sudden surge of newfound feelings is just an indication of him going crazy. yeah, he decides as he sets his tray down at the table you'd agreed to meet him at for lunch, he's definitely just going crazy, nothing new.

well apparently, you'd experienced something in the new because you're currently across the cafeteria, waving frantically at him for you to join the table you were sat at. renjun narrows his eyes though it's plainly obvious that you had made friends with people other than him. not that he minds, he's actually glad that you've ventured out of your social anxiety enough to get along with others. it's something that he's always been worried about ever since he stopped bullying you himself. he finds that he's still worrying, for other reasons, especially when he walks over to find you next to a girl and two boys, all of which looked to either be of a year older or just a thousand times 'cooler' than him. he looks over at you, who though is seated at the end of the table, fits in perfectly. with a tight-lipped smile, renjun slides in to your right and almost quivers under the gaze of your new friends as they introduce themselves.

he comes to know them as this: jaemin, the one that overtly flirts with you, donghyuck, the one that never stops talking, and jennie, the one that you seem to closest to, although only knowing each other for just a few periods at most. lunch ends in a blur of conversation, none of them seem all that interested in renjun himself, moving on rather quickly after your introduction of him, but they sure are interested in you. that's what it seems like to him, when in reality, you notice that most the times you've look over at him, he's as quiet as never before. you wonder what's gotten into him.

you trail renjun to his locker during passing period and with a hand holding it open for him and another leaning your weight on the locker beside him, you speak over the hustle and bustle of the hallways, "sorry about that." he gives a light glance your way before shoving a biology textbook into the back slot of his backpack, and eyebrow crooked, "sorry for what?"

"i mean, i did say we'd eat lunch together, i just didn't think that…"

"that you'd make some friends?"

"yeah-"

"it's fine, y/n," he gives you a fond smile, "i'm actually glad that you made some friends."

you scrunch your nose at his response and the solemnity that lined your voice is gone, replaced with your usual, playful and upbeat tone, "geez, i didn't think you'd want to get rid of me already, the first day isn't even over!" he slams the locker door shut, almost chopping off your fingers in the process. you draw them back insticutally with an, "oop!" and renjun gives a chuckle and a ruffle to your hair, "come on, let's get to class before we're late."

he takes the seat next to you in biology, and also in ceramics the period afterwards, and really, you hope it stays that way.

the cafeteria is particularly empty today, most the kids have gone to the school assembly that wasn't actually mandatory but had to be advertised as so in order to get people to go. you pride yourself for being one of the few people in your school who knew that fact and as your eyes rove the span of the room, they stop at a familiar silhouette of a boy that you could never mistake. something about how you didn't know he was going to be here and that he was sitting alone made your heart uneasy.

you set your tray in front of him before he could comprehend who you even are, "renjun, hey, can i sit here?" it's unfathomable, the way you have to ask him but there's the inkling in the back of your mind that tells you it'd be more awkward if you didn't. you wonder how the hell the two of you have reached a point in your relationship where you had to ask to be in each other's presence. and as far as you know, renjun is still your best friend.

"yeah, sure. you're not at the assembly?"

shaking your head, "no. well, seeing as you're here i assume you also know that they're not mandatory, huh." renjun nods his head. truthfully, he did not know and the only reason he was here was because he thought it was mandatory which meant that you would be there. and wherever you were he sought not to be, for reasons that he only he was privy to. that's what made this whole situation unbearable because as you prattled on about your day, he himself giving the bare minimum of reactions and responses, the tightening knot in the pit of his stomach seemed to grow.

it grew exponentially, just watching you talk about your chemistry exam, and then your friends and then...this, "what about you, jun? how's your love life?" he's always been good at concealing his inner emotions around you, he knows what you notice and what you don't. sometimes being in love with your best friend has its perks, he supposes. "love life? you're serious?"

"yeah, i mean," you lean forward across the table, uttering under your breath so that the four other people in the cafeteria wouldn't hear, "we're in high school now. remember what we talked about?" renjun scoffs at that, at how high school y/n and middle school y/n still shared the same idea that first relationships were supposed to be reserved for the first two years of high school. he gives you an incredulous look, "we're not even a semester in, geez."

"so that's a no, like a no for 'nothing's going on'?" the glimmer of hope that glints in your eyes is indeed caught by the boy, your own first love, but his intuitions, the ones that were wrong from the start, prevents him from seeing into it any further. "yeah, nothing's going on. you?"

"well," you figure this is your chance to shoot your shot, as small of a shot as it may be, "me neither." what you didn't understand at that time was that boys, more specifically renjun, didn't take hints very well. he likes the facts and he likes them placed right under his nose. and what you didn't take into account was that by saying those two words aloud, you've in fact reprogrammed renjun's thought process to think the worst. and it really only gets worse and worse from there on out, until everything you've built up with him is suddenly, suddenly nothing.

you didn't study, plain as day as you stare at the blank whiteboard in the front of the classroom while virtually everyone else has their head downs, pencils scratching. there's three days until winter break, your first since high school has started and your sanity is definitely at stake. you look down, circle a two, a one, and two threes, and look back up, propping your chin upon a hand and tapping a finger along your jaw. perhaps a thinking pose with get your brain into the right mindset to dig for the right information. you're then reminded of how the information wouldn't be there in the first place. it might've been if you ever dared to listen in class.

groaning aloud, seemingly the whole class turns to give you a look, a glare, even a questioning glance from your teacher who you're almost sure knows exactly what predicament you're in right now. huffing in equal parts regret and exasperation, you're the first to turn in the exam only forty minutes into the period. after all, randomly guessing the answers to two hundred multiple choice questions isn't all that hard when all you have to do is choose a number from one to three.

sitting back down with a soft thud, you debate sleeping for the rest of class but come to the decision that, one: sleep is for the weak, and two: you don't deserve to sleep after an exam, the only people that deserved to sleep were the people that stayed up late to study, not to watch corny minecraft videos under the blankets. it's not nice to judge other people's definitions of time and worthiness but you're really hard on yourself and the things you do for leisure, for obvious reasons.

body slumped over, you get the closest you can to sleeping without actually closing your eyes. in a classroom full of classmates, some friends and others acquaintances, you feel like you're left entirely to yourself, or your thoughts more specifically. they eat at you. and when your eyes roam and land on that one person, in the column to your left and four seats ahead, you can't seem to stop the spiraling. before you know it, renjun is all you can think about.

the way he twirls his pencil in his hand, you were there when he was watching youtube videos on how to do it. the pencil itself, you were by his side while he read out the reviews for it on amazon. the way he bounces his sneakers up and down in the most rhythmic fashion, the same fashion you'd always scold him for. the sneakers, the ones his mom bought him for christmas just under a year ago. you'd know because you were there too. eyes solely on him, you try your best to find one thing about him that you can't tie your name to before you realize it isn't possible. you know renjun through and through. you like to think you do.

but even with everything that you know, you wonder when you started to feel the tug in the back of your mind that kept whispering that he was moving on from you. maybe you were right to feel that way, the signs were all there. late night texts, facetime calls, hell, even instagram photo replies were scarce these days. and although he'd always chalk it up to his workload, you had to hold it in each time you wanted to quip back with the fact that the two of you were in freshman year, some colleges don't even count first year grades. talking to him at school wouldn't be so hard if he'd stop avoiding you, wherever you were he was not and whenever you'd ask to meet up, he'd give the vaguest of excuses. a general meeting for a club you've never heard of, a math study group with a friend you were sat right next to, a blatant lie. just as blatantly, you come to terms with the fact that it's time to accept and forget.

so when the bell rings and you see renjun rush to do his final, quadruple check, you simply move to put your things away. and when you see renjun return to his seat, eyes meeting yours for a split second, you look away with feigned disinterest. and when he turns to exit the classroom, you stop yourself from linking an arm and forcing conversation upon him. you simply follow in tow and turn in the opposite direction. you don't play into your desires because really, as much as you desire them, your fear of his distance is enough to draw a line. your fear of rejection is greater than any feelings you've ever held for him. isn't that how it always is?

sophomore year is two-thirds of the way through when you notice that renjun is taller than you by over three inches. that alone scares you, and saddens you, because it just goes to show that you haven't talked to him in so very long. his familiar smell and the way his fingers loop themselves in the straps of his backpack bring back a lot of feelings that would've made your heart swoon a mere year ago but now makes it stop dead in its tracks. sighing, you clasp your hands behind your back as your lips thin into a tight-lipped smile, "it's been awhile, jun. how have you been?"

renjun's eyes threaten to water at the sound of your voice. he swears the ground will open up beneath him and swallow him whole in response to the way you still call him 'jun.' the only thing he can do is grip his backpack straps a little tighter and try a little harder to conceal his emotions. after all, his efforts in doing so are what led him into this situation in the first place. "i've been good. you?"

with excess vigor, you nod, "i've been pretty good, studying and all that," you give a motion of your head to denote the obvious that was the building to the side of you. you just had to exit the library at the same time as him and his ride just had to be as late as your own. "so," your eyes snap back to him when he speaks, "how's it with uhh...jaemin?" nodding again, this time with less enthusiasm, as your ex-best friend notes, you prattle on, "it's going really well, seven months strong."

oh hell, what was renjun expecting? even if you hated the living life out of your relationship, he doubts you would have laid it all out for him to see. the two of you haven't held a conversation, much less eye contact, for almost a year now. and by the looks of how your mom's car pulls into view just then and how you leave him standing on the curb with only a wave of your hand, it's about to be a year and counting.

your mom gives you a worried look as soon as the car door shuts behind you, "sweetie, was that renjun?" she veers the car out of the parking lot as you take one big gulp of air only to refute it back out in a dramatic huff. bounding your back against your seat, you strap on the seat belt and frown into the abyss, a clear devastation in your tone, "yeah it was."

"did you start the talking or did he?"

"i did! well, i thought that he would but he didn't!" with a click of her tongue matching the click of the turn signal, your mother gives you the briefest of glances, "darling, if he didn't want to talk to you then, then you shouldn't expect him to talk to you now."

"but it would've been even more awkward to just stand there."

the two of you shake your head for different reasons, your mother's just a bit more reasonable, "it's been a while, y/n. it's clear that he just didn't want to be your friend anymore. and plus, look at you, all moved on from your first love. your second one's quite the catch, huh?"

and she's right. you nod along with the thoughts that renjun's diminished presence was eye opening in many ways. one, it really was about time you got over him, two years was long enough. two, first loves were just that, the first and rarely ever the last. three, you barely had any friends. and four, your life didn't revolve around boys.

na jaemin asked you out three times before you'd said yes. you liked him more than enough during the first two tries but your hesitance was found in the way you didn't trust him nearly as much as you thought you should in a relationship. your phone pings from beside you and you lift it to see the same boy and the ridiculous contact name he had entered for himself, a nana with about fifty different variations of hearts following.

a finger hovers above it, about to swipe and give a quick reply, when an incoming notification replaces it. the contact name is rather simple, huang renjun. you suck in a breath and immediately click your phone shut, shoving it back into the depths of your backpack. jaemin will have to wait for your damned nerves to calm before you can get to his text, the blockade being renjun.

it isn't until you're home, backpack slung on the footboard of your bed, changed out of your clothes and resting atop three heavy blankets that should've probably been exchanged in the wake of spring, that you steel yourself to look at the preview of your text.

let's catch up sometime, tell me when you're free. punctuation and all.

biting down on your lip, you note that the coffee in front of you, or rather just its aftertaste, is sickeningly sweet. looking up ahead, the regret that pools in your eyes is put full on display, unintentionally of course, but there nonetheless. you regret that you didn't text renjun sooner, that you broke up with jaemin on your one year anniversary, that you stopped talking to your mom about things that so obviously upset you, and that you simply took the path of misfortunes when it seemed like nothing else could possibly go wrong.

but the matter of the fact is that you did text renjun, and not out of desperation or to rekindle an old love that was never reciprocated. you texted renjun because after everything that had happened, you still have no idea where it all started to go wrong, you have no idea what you even did that could render such terrible circumstances and you have not the slightest clue as to how to get yourself back together. in short, in very short, you are in need of a companion and, for the better part of your life, that's exactly what huang renjun is to you.

as much as you would have loved to meet at a more secluded place, perhaps just your house, you also knew how informal that would seem of you after not talking to the dude for almost a year and a half now. he meets your eyes with his own, hesitant at first, but the smallest of smiles is soon to follow and you're left to wonder why, just like that, your world already seems to shift back into place and why his smile seems to make it all...make sense.

"how are you now?" the laugh in his tone is bare but detectable only to you. being swaddled in familiarity really does a good number or two on your dampened mood. a smile hasn't chanced on your own face but you doubt it'll be long before it does, "pretty terrible, jun. how 'bout you?"

"about the same."

"same as me or...same as last time?"

"same as you."

the two of you nod, slowly and with eyes locked. his eyes are still on yours when he picks up his venti latte for a sip and even still when he puts it back down. yours are still on his when you do the same, and even still in the moments after when your voice breaches the silence once again, "so this is warranted."

this time only he nods, "you mean that this is necessary."

your response comes in the form of a smile, wide and exhilaratingly relieving, as if you've been waiting for a reason to smile and have, at last, been given one. your hands clasp around the paper cup, the contents inside warming your palms, a feeling that you welcome though the summer heat is fast upon you. the sun sets in the backdrop as your now reinstated best friend walks you home. it's nowhere to be seen when he drops you off at your doorstep and leaves with a mumbled, "goodnight, text me later," and the shuffle of quickened steps down your driveway.

that night, you stay up until the hours of early morning, texting the one person that's always had such a hold on you. sloppily spelled out text after text, you're bound to fall asleep until you do, but not before reading the last he'd sent.

lets hang out tmw. no punctuation needed.

"i got your coffee, even added a ton of sugar," your eyes switch from the floor to the mug in your hands to the boy sat in front of you. instead of being grateful for the painstaking lengths you'd gone to trying to figure out how to get the coffee machine to work, renjun whines, "i only wanted a spoon of sugar."

"but you said you had to stay up late tonight," he takes the mug from your hands, fingers brushing and his eyes peering over the rim as he takes a sniff, "how will i get my caffeine if i can't even drink it?" shrugging, you take it back from him, "then i guess i'll just drink it."

"what? no, you have to go to sleep soon," renjun's brows crease in slight irritation at the proposition. your do the same, a mirror image of your best friend. when you've known someone for so long, slight nuances like these are always shared. "what are you? my mom?"

"no, but if i was, oho, you'd be damned," renjun grabs for the mug and this time takes a sip. he does his best not to scrunch his face when the sweetness hits. "i'm gonna go get ready for bed then, mom." his chuckles resonate from behind.

renjun stays up late to study and, seeing the score you got on the biology final the next day, you probably should have done the same. he looks back from his spot on the desk, the chair being positioned so that his back was to you. it's only been about fifteen minutes since you came from the bathroom with your retainers in and contacts switched out for glasses but it's just that gets his heart beating again, not so unfamiliar to the palpitations it underwent on the first day of high school, all those years ago.

he gets up and crosses the room, sock-clad feet careful not to make too much noise. you're slumped, half on the headboard and half sprawled across the bed itself, passed out already. bending over your figure, renjun slips the phone from your hands and sets it upon the beside table, he pulls your form further down the bed to prevent the worst type of neck aches in the morning, and he draws the blankets to your chin, tucking the ends beneath your figure in the same way you've always liked it.

then he crouches by your side and stares. he stares as your slow breaths fan across his face, lightly billowing the ends of his hair. he stares as the minutes on the blaring red digital clock on the bedside table fly by faster and faster. he stares until the glasses propped on the bridge of your nose bring back all the memories he'd sought to forget, when really, he could never let himself forget.

renjun remembers you crying about it to your mom, in second grade that is, after she'd picked you up with your nose all blotchy and red and renjun's tiny fists scathed. he remembers how much you hated them and wore them the least you could even though you needed them to see practically anything. renjun remembers at the age of eleven, he'd whispered in your ear on the first day of middle school, how much he liked your new frames. he remembers how you always kept them on when it was just you and him at sleepovers, or how you always told him that you didn't care what he thought of you because it was him, renjun.

he still wonders if you feel that way though if not, he wouldn't mind spending more time with you to make it so. to renjun, you're presence is irreplaceable. and not because you make him happy, but because you also make him sad, because when you're angry, you don't mind that he's angry too, and that when the whole world is turned upon you, he's the only one that can ground you. to renjun, you're the only person that's capable of making him feel like the best and worst person in the world, at the same time, or not at all, or everything in between.

and if renjun has learned anything from his studies on the universe, it's that in the whole scheme of the world, the galaxies and galaxies so big that no one can even come close to fathoming their size, he is just as insignificant as anyone else on this planet. but he if he has found something, a someone, to which he can anchor his worth, his lifetime of feelings to, he has all the reason to live. renjun doesn't mean to be dramatic, but as a second year high school student he thinks he has all the reason to say that his reason to live sorta, maybe, possibly is you.

standing, he hooks two fingers under the sides of the frames of your glasses, lifting them off your face and folding them in a hand, careful not to smudge the lens, he places them on the bedside table as well. he goes back to studying but it doesn't last. how can it when all he can think about is you?

the you who he slips into bed next to instead of sleeping on the floor like usual. the flustered you who he wakes up to. the sleepy you who ruffles his hair before getting up and out of bed. the lovely you who brushes your teeth to the beat of whatever song is playing. the caring you who makes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the both of you to share at lunch.

renjun sits in the back seat to your side, his mom smiles at you in the rearview mirror. somewhere in her eyes he can tell that she's glad you're back in his life. maybe because that's how it should've been all along. he looks over to you, now with your head stuck in your textbook trying to (futilely) get some last minute cramming in before the big test. his finger fidget with the loose threads of his sweater, he smiles. and it stays that way.

you're not a fan of the stars, at least not as avid as your best friend but you do your best to recognize the ones he's taught you and learn the ones he's teaching, right now. "that one? i thought that was the chameleon one…," renjun is not the slightest bothered, having the ability to go on and on about the heavens above even if no one was listening. he turns his head towards you, weight propped up on his elbows, "we're not even in the right hemisphere to be seeing the chameleon, y/n."

"oh," you turn your head to face him as well but instead of being on your elbows, you're flat on your back, the grasses that teem over the edge of the blanket brushing your right arm. "do you know how long we've been out here?"

"does it matter? we're literally in your backyard," he sits up to check his phone anyways. "it's barely one, let's stay out for a bit more."

"okay."

renjun lays back down, now also on his back and he stares in appreciation that the little city the two of you grew up in wasn't crowded with light pollution in the summer sky, almost as if him and his star fascinations were meant to be born here. the sounds of ten or so crickets are prevalent but not blaring and the light zephyr that sifts between the houses of your street meets your skin with a warm touch. you're fully convinced that summer nights belong to the young.

breaking the silence, you grasp onto the words that cross your mind in passing, "how was your day?" renjun's head swivels in your direction again. oh how easy it is for him to be sidetracked from his favorite pastime by his favorite distraction. "my day? wasn't i with you the whole day?" your right hand balls a fist of grass and pulls, the blades are plucked sleazily from the ground and fall just as sleazily as you release them into the wind. "well yeah, but like- how was it?"

"it was good, any day with you is a good day."

positioning your body so that it now faces him, there's suddenly many things that are crossing your mind and begging for you to voice them aloud. his curt but sweet answer leaves space for your inquiries. "are you ever going to tell me what happened?" he's turning to face you as well, the blanket beneath the both of you scrunching as he moves and the outlines of his face illuminated by the light of the lantern, a good fifteen feet away. "what exactly are you referring to?"

rejun sees his past being dredged up further and further with each coming word that tumbles from your mouth, "like a year ago." his heart beats a little faster and if he wanted to, he could mouth your next string of words. "you got all...i don't know, distant i guess." swallowing thickly, he can feel your eyes on him as he decides to come clean, half clean.

"that was- that was a weird time for me." a noise of confusion and a, "how so?" gets his brain working double time to feed your curiosities without bearing his heart to you. the mere prospect of telling you his undying love for you is undoubtedly out of the question. "i guess, i was having a hard time getting adjusted to school and i didn't have that much time for...us. that's what happened."

so huang renjun ends up tossing out a blatant lie, something he knows you weren't even close to accepting as the truth but also something he knew you wouldn't question. if he wasn't comfortable with letting you know then so be it. you nod.

there are things that he wants to know as well, "then can i ask what happened with you and jaemin?" and for reasons all too similar to renjun's you also lie, "just kinda fell out of love with him. nothing spectacular."

but renjun knows more than he lets on. he knows from the rumors, things you've told your friends that have somehow made their way around the school, that have made their way to him. it still holds that he isn't all that trusting of silly gossip but the potency this one piece of information holds, the hopes, the desires, the dreams and the fantasies, it's not something he can so easily pass up. he knows that you broke up with jaemin because yes, you fell out of love with him, but that only happened because you were still in love with him, huang renjun.

where you live, september mornings, even still early in the month, have already succumbed to the edicts of fall. fog gags the clear air and renjun finds it difficult to see three feet in front of him. despite that, the road to school is still the same as always and though his mom was unable to drive him today, making it so he had to wake up half an hour early, he doesn't mind it half as much as he thought it would. in fact, he finds himself thinking more about you than anything on the lone walk there.

hands swinging back and forth, a little crazily in the absence of anyone else on the street, he passes by the convenience store a few blocks down from the school, the one that's open twenty-four hours a day and the one that you and him have been frequenting a lot at three a.m. when the midnight hungers start to kick in. the thought almost slips his mind before he has a chance to act on it.

you decide that junior year is the worst. not even halfway through your first period, the looming presence of empty resumes and college application preparations is already making you queasy. luckily, you share four of your classes with renjun who is currently in the seat next to you. he's focused, as always, while your ap us history teacher reads off of the syllabus to stall time. you really should be paying attention as well but the first day of school, especially one with renjun by your side, seems to transport you into the depths of your memories. your first day of freshman year. there's key differences though.

let's start out with the obvious. renjun is now a head taller than you, much to your chagrin. he teases you about it just as much as you had when he was the same height as you. also as obvious, you're no longer on talking terms with jennie and donghyuck, whom have since stuck with jaemin. which leads to the biggest turn of events that distinguishes your first day in high school to your second to last, if such a comparison even mattered.

third period ends, this time ap english language, a class that you don't mind at all and are, in fact, so invested in the free write that was assigned that you don't notice that the bell has rung, or that all the people around you are either packing up their things or leaving. you don't notice renjun, who's still beside you, packing up his own things as well. his desk is completely cleared save for one thing, one thing that he picks up hesitantly and holds behind his back, entirely unsure if now was even the right time for him to be carrying through with his plan.

this plan of his had been meticulously thought out during his walk to school, an impulse driven thought that, if not successful, would guarantee a trashy start of his junior year. the corners of the carton are a little bashed up from being jostled around his backpack for so long and he hopes the contents aren't completely spoiled just yet.

your head snaps up in surprise as he crosses over to the front of your desk and you're even more surprised to see that the classroom is completely void of students, your teacher had even rushed out to make the most of his lunchtime. "oh shoot! we're not gonna get a spot at the cafeteria, jun!" with haste, you start shoving your belongings into your backpack, the pencil case still wide open as you toss it in. renjun himself recedes in his thought process, certainly there would be a better time. if only he lived on your side of town, maybe then he could do it while walking you home. or maybe if he had the last period of the day with you, surely catching you after class would be too difficult. or maybe it he should've done it yesterday after the two of you spent the whole night playing games, that would've worked out a little better tha-

"renjun, what's that you're holding?"

his hand that was once behind his back has now dropped to his side, escaping his notice, and you were bent over the side of the desk to yank your backpack closed, giving you the perfect view.

"oh, this," he overcomes his flustered state in a record time of three seconds. it's now or never, he thinks, "this is for you." renjun holds out a carton of chocolate milk to you. "picked it up on the way to school today."

you take it from him graciously, turning it over in your hands as the realization dawns on you, "wait, this is the same brand as- as that one." renjun licks his lips, he shoves his hands into his pockets, takes them back out, sets them atop your desk, "yeah, it is."

your bottom lip is tucked under your front teeth as you look up at him with thoughtful eyes, no longer of appreciation or revelation but rather…, "jun, why did you get this for me?" you fold back the top of the carton, as you had learned, folding forward once again so an opening would slit. bringing it to your lips, you take three sips, the container so small that that already amounts to over half its total.

the window of opportunity has never been set wider than now. you watch as your best friend gulps, visibly, as he blinks, purposefully, as a hand comes to the scruff of his neck and rubs at it, almost forcefully before twelve years of his pent up feelings are regurgitated into the empty english classroom. the cafeteria is surely packed now.

"i like you, y/n. i got it for you because i like you."

backpack left on the ground beside you, you take a step forward, one which he reciprocates with a step back. another step is taken and another until you're in front of him, the desk directly behind. swallowing your nerves, your eyes glisten in the garish yellow lighting, "that's- that's nice to know. because i like you too."

renjun licks his lips one more time before they're on yours, kissing you just as he'd dreamed of ever since he even knew what it was, what it meant. his hand on your waist is as decisive as his steps that push you back and back until your thighs hit the desk, you prop yourself up onto it. renjun uses his height to deepen the kiss, he duly notes the sweet tang of the chocolate milk on your lips and he loves it. he loves the way it tastes, he loves that it's his lips, his tongue, that's tasting it, he loves that it's your lips that he's kissing, he loves how your hand never leaves the spot on his waist, or the other one on his shoulder, and he loves how he gets to kiss you like this however and whenever from then on. or really, he just loves you.

and it stays that way.

✧ end note — my many inspirations for this piece — the song around by niki, the kdrama 'reply 1997' an all time favorite, and of course, hannah! check them all out hehe... hannah babe, i hope you loved this piece as much as i love you. consider it a token of my love HASHAAs but really, you're such a wonderful presence in my life <33

#neowritingsnet #neothestars #neo-constellations #neoculturecafe #renjun fluff #renjun angst #huang renjun #nct renjun #nct fics #nct scenarios #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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another-fantasy-world · 4 years

Text

Strings Pt.1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x Fem!OC

Summary: in which the true queen of vampires found love when she least expected.

Warnings: ...Light Angst? Slowburn and mentions of death,trauma and depression

Timeline: Breaking Dawn - Post-Twilight

Word count: 1,683

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Patriarch of the Olympic Coven certainly didn’t expect a visit from an old friend, much less a forgotten queen on the time of their distress trying to save their coven from the selfish hands of Aro Volturi.

“Greetings Carlisle. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” The violet-eyed vampire smiled.

“M-My Queen! I-” Carlisle stutters, still stunned by shock and confusion.

“No need for such formalities. We’re friends, are we not?” The dark-haired queen smirked.

“Of course. May I ask, How are you here?”

“ Ah, Dear Carlisle. The years seem to blur doesn’t it? Forgot about me already?”

“It’s...been awhile.” The queen hummed at Carlisle’s response.

“You’re dreaming, Carlisle. Still aware of the fact that I can manipulate your body to sleep? Let’s cut to the chase, Your family is getting worried with the sight of you passed out on the couch. I’ll be sending my representatives over to you as addition to your witnesses. I am aware of your...agreement with the shifters. And I demand that they return to me in one piece. Understood?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Carlisle grinned

“Very well. They will explain once they get there. I wish you the best of luck. Carlisle Cullen.”

And with that, Carlisle’s eyes fluttered open, refocusing on his wife’s worried eyes, he smiled gently.

“I’m fine, my love. It appears that we have more visitors coming.” He grinned

“Witnesses? But how? More importantly, Who?” Edward questions

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Carlisle just took a nap?” Emmett wailed while tossing his mate, Maggie, over his shoulders.

Carlisle sighed at his son’s antics before speeding out of the room, only to come back with an antique looking box. He gestured for them to sit down.

“I think it’s time that I tell you a story...” Carlisle breathed in an unneeded breath, allowing himself to recollect his memories from centuries ago.

“...Anastasia Thorne. Also known as Anastasiarine Maximilliene Rolinde-Thorne.” He starts, voice wavering as he smiles

“She’s also known as The Ghost Queen, Of Volturi and of every other vampires that there are. There were rumours that she was the first ever vampire to walk in these lands and that we came from her. She never really did confirm that fact, whenever I ask her of it, she only laughs and dismissed it with a joke.” Carlisle’s eyes seem to stare into the distance, reminiscing the olden days. He pulls out a couple of pictures, all containing the same woman.

‘Gorgeous’ was the first word that popped on Rosalie’s mind. And soon she wonders what would happen if she ever meets the said Queen. But she immediately dismisses the thought.

The Cullens, besides Carlisle of course, merely looks at each other in silence, urging Carlisle to continue.

“She was many things when she was still young. A Princess, A Queen, A Knight, A Doctor, A Philosopher, A Genius, She was even a pirate once. Above all, She was a paradox. Unpredictable and Bipolar. Always lived in isolation, I do not know how she manages that but she did. Only comes out of her own tower when needed. She was the one who thought me how to feed on animals, did I ever tell you that?” he asked. They all shook their head no.

“Huh, It must have slipped my mind”

“My, Carlisle. You must be getting old.” An unknown voice suddenly pops out of nowhere.

They all swerved their head to where the unknown voice came from and there stood two figures. Two women to be exact.

“Don’t tease him. 3 decades is a long time.” The other slaps the other.

“I’m sorry for being rude, barging into your home like this. Anastasia was quite insistent on us helping you,” The figure in a green cloak grins

“My name’s Veronica. And this is Amore. We are here to help you.” Veronica smiles gently.

“How...” Emmett gapes

“How did we not hear you? How do I not hear you?” Edward asked, baffled

“Teleportation is the strangest thing isn’t it? It also risks losing a couple limbs.” Amore deadpans

“You... have a pulse.” Bella suddenly blurts out

Amore and Veronica looks at each other before chuckling.

“Ah, we can never escape a newborn’s ears. Yes we have a pulse. Yes we are hybrids as well, just not the same as your daughter.” Vero smiles gently

“Uh-huh. We were witches. Salem witches to be exact. We escaped death when some random vampire bit us the day we were supposed to be burned. Somehow our genes as witches halted the venom from fully consuming our body, so when we awoke, we quickly learned we have every strength yet none of the weaknesses of a vampire.” Amore explains.

“What do you mean?” Esme asks

“Well, for one, we don’t sparkle.” Veronica giggles

“Two, we still bleed. but our blood isn’t appetizing. I’ve been told my blood smells like trash...” Amore grimaces “...I don’t know if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“And three. We still have our witchy abilities.” Veronica finalizes, holding Amore’s hand

Amore then furrows her brows as if threatened and offended.

“Mind reader. Whatever your name is, our goal isn’t to hurt your daughter. If it was, My head would already be a decor on our Queen’s Palace. So don’t poke around.” Amore pointedly looks at Edward who tenses in shock

“Amore. Behave. Now where is the hybrid?” Veronica curiously asks

A shy Renesmee pokes her head out of Bella’s legs, Veronica immediately coos.

“Awwee~ Rey, Look! She’s so cute~” The redhead fusses over a now blushing Renesmee

“You’re overwhelming her.” Amore pulls Veronica from her collar away from the hybrid child. “...Behave.” Amore smirks

Amore crouches down to Renesmee’s height and smiles. Staring at each other as if silently communicating then, Renesmee lifts her hand up to touch Amore’s cheek. She looks forward, in a daze then grins wildly, snapping back to reality.

“You have an amazing gift, Little Cullen. Very pretty too. Would you want me to show you mine?” Amore asks, to which Renesmee nods rapidly, already warming up to the visitors, much to Jacob’s distaste.

“Great, More Leeches.” Jacob glares when he steps into the living room, where he found his imprint near a vampire.

“Too Close” He thinks, shifting into a defensive position while trying not to shift into his wolf.

“Hmm, and here I thought Renesmee couldn’t be more special.” Veronica giggles.

“Calm yourself down, shifter. I don’t want to hurt your imprint.” Amore rolls her eyes, then smiles at Renesmee.

The opens her palms and there lies a mixture of purples, blues, pinks, blacks and whites. The universe is displayed in Amore’s hands, Swirling around as if creating a new planet.

“Illusion is tricky, therefore, only those who believe shall see it.” Amore closes her palms and ruffles the child’s hair.

“Coooooool.” Emmett gapes in amazement.

“Very well, shows over. Wolfie, be a dear and take your imprint on a date, will you?” Amore looks at Jacob with a serious glint in her eyes

Rosalie had to quiet her snort when Amore called Jacob, wolfie. She dislikes shifters with a passion, they stink and is very dangerous. Edward merely smirks at his sister before gulps due to Esme’s glare.

“Stay out of my head!.” Rosalie screamed in her head, making him wince.

As soon as the both of them ensured the child and it’s imprint is out of earshot, Their auras changed into a much more serious and sinister one. Frowns prominent on their faces.

“As we’ve said before, our abilities as witches remained even in this immortal form, but along that, we also attained gifts. Amore being the gift of illusion and Mine being knowledge. I know everything. I’m basically a much more reliable and attractive internet. Although I couldn’t see the future as your dear Alice, Once she gets her vision, it adds to my knowledge bank. Therefore, I have knowledge on the outcome of this battle. And it’s not good.” Veronica glares at the floor, silently seething. The once cheerful and happy woman, turned into an angry blob of mess.

“Aro is as insufferable as ever, He wishes to destroy your coven. He merely needs his evidence and he has been waiting a long time for this. He wouldn’t back down easily. As much as we want to help you, we can’t be seen in your thoughts. Or that will ruin the balance of the worlds. We trust in Alice’s plan, You should too.” Amore seriously states, rubbing her mate’s back

“We need your consent. You all have to trust us. I know it’s not easy, us popping into your lives and all. We must mask your thoughts, One where your memories and thoughts of us are hidden from Aro.” Veronica smiles gently, slowly calming down.

“They’re telling the truth” Maggie, The resident lie detector confirms.

“You may discuss it among yourselves.” Veronica drags Amore away.

Rosalie frowns, Trust doesn’t come easy. Do these strangers seriously ask for her trust without them earning it? That was absurd in her book, the last time she trusted someone on a whim, it caused her demise. Her frown deepens when an unknown feeling bubbles up deep in her. She’s confused, she was confused on as to why she felt jealous, envious. Was it their beauty? No, it wasn’t that. Rosalie knew, even though she was only ever been with men, she knew that she found women attractive, although never really caring about it since they had to come and go. she was offended when people misinterpreted her longing looks as glares of envy, she was only admiring after all. Was it that they found each other then? No, it was something deeper. She was jealous of them for something. Something she doesn’t know. And she hated that. She snarled at them then speeds away to the comfort of her room, without listening to her coven, missing the knowing smirks of both Veronica and Amore. They looked at each other then nodded with grins on their faces.

Yep. They were definitely meant for each other.

#rosalie hale #rosalie hale x oc #jasper hale x alice cullen #edward cullen x bella swan #carlisle x esme #olympic coven #cullen clan #the cullens #cullen family #the volturi #rosalie cullen #rosalie hale x fem oc #platonic carlisle x oc #The Cullens x OC #The Volturi x OC #rosalie twilight #rosalie

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etoileholland · 4 years

Text

Seeing Double

Anonymous asked: Hello, my dear, got a fun ask! Tom meets up with reader except it’s actually reader’s twin cousin, maybe aunt (some people get the good genes) and they react defensively when he tries to be affectionate which confuses him at first thinking he did something wrong and tries to win her back over but it gets cleared up in the end

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m so sorry this request is a while overdue, but it’s better late than never I suppose. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist :)

“I cannot believe this.” You muttered to yourself as you hung up the phone with your aunt, Manon. She had just called to say that her and her daughter, Chloé, have come up from France to visit via train. It wouldn’t have been a problem, except for the fact that they had once again shown up unannounced.

You walked into the living room of yours and Tom’s shared home to see Tom sitting on the couch, laptop on his lap. He was typing away vigorously at the keyboard, and you knew that when he’s this focused, you shouldn’t bother him.

“Babe,” you said, hoping to try to get Tom’s attention for a second.

“Hmm?” He hummed, not looking up from the laptop.

“I just got off the phone with my aunt. She called to say that she’s at St. Pancras and they’ve dropped by for an unexpected visit.”

“Oh.” Tom replied.

“Yeah, oh indeed.” You answered. “I don’t want them taking an Uber so I’m gonna pick them up, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay love, drive carefully.” He didn’t bother looking up from the laptop, eyes fixed to the screen.

Walking over to the front door and letting yourself out, you went outside to your car in the driveway. After starting it, you drove to the station to greet your family.

You loved when your aunt and cousin visited, but you wished that they had called you before so that you would’ve had time to prepare. You desperately needed groceries and the guest room could’ve been spruced up a bit, but luckily they weren’t too pretentious. Still though, a call before they left France would’ve been nice.

You hadn’t seen them in a long time, and you wondered if you and your cousin Chloé still looked nearly identical to each other. The resemblance was uncanny, so much in fact that your own parents had a hard time telling each other apart. Everything was nearly identical, even down to fashion choices and mannerisms. It was all fun and games until you were almost always the one about to go back to France, and not your cousin.

When you were both children, it was easier to tell you both apart because of the accents. She definitely had a French accent while you didn’t. Well at least, until you taught the other how to speak each other’s language without an accent; her English being spoken without a French accent and your French being spoken like a native.

You two were the same age, same height, your body shapes were similar, and you both even had the exact same birthmark on your arm. So really, you two were more like twins than you were cousins.

Upon arriving at the train station, you easily spotted your cousin and aunt, luggage in tow. Even after not seeing each other for a few years, and not knowing what the other was wearing, you and your cousin still managed to even dress the same-both of you wearing a pink hoodie and black leggings, with white sneakers. How odd.

“Mon ange, t’es très belle.” Your aunt cooed, running to you to give you a hug and a kiss on both cheeks.

“Merci.” You replied, hugging her tightly. She was more of like a mother figure to you than she was to your cousin Chloé, since Chloé tended to be a bit less affectionate. That was another way that your parents could tell you apart, which was by how affectionate you were, and how unaffectionate Chloé was. She was stereotypically French in many ways, except she wasn’t affectionate. If you tried to hug her, she would stand there stiffly, while you loved being hugged.

With that in mind, all you did was wave to Chloé, which was her favourite way of greeting people.

“I still can’t believe you actually live here.” She remarked.

“What, as in England? You know I love it here.”

“But everything is weird here. The food, the accents, the culture…” she trailed off, while you laughed lightly.

“I don’t think so, personally I love it.” You said as you grabbed her luggage and began to walk to the car.

“My love,” your aunt interjected, “don’t be rude. We’ve talked about this, yeah?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Chloé replied as she got into the car.

“Ignore her.” Manon whispered to you, “she’s just French” which got a laugh out of the both of you.

—

About an hour or so later, you had arrived back to your home with Manon and Chloé, luggage in hand. Tom wasn’t where you had last seen him before you left for the station, but maybe he had gone to clean the guest room. Or at least, you hoped he did.

“Chloé, since I’m pretty sure the guest room needs to be tidied, you can just put your luggage in my bedroom instead.” You pointed at the door that was slightly ajar.

“Merci.” She grabbed their luggage and walked towards the door of your bedroom, opening it to see your boyfriend sat on the bed.

“Hey baby.” He looked up from the laptop screen and gave a smile, all while Chloé looked at him funny. She completely ignored what he had said and walked to the closet to set the bags down.

“I said, hello baby.” He pouted, but Chloé stared at him, silent as she walked out of the room.

“Well, that was odd.” Tom remarked under his breath, but didn’t think twice about it as he went back to typing.

—

After settling in a bit, you and your aunt Manon had tidied up the guest room, all while Chloé had a snack in the kitchen.

After rummaging through the nearly bare cabinets, and scoffing at the English snacks in the cabinets, Chloé settled on a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee to help combat the jet lag.

Just then, you and Manon entered the room, jackets and purses in hand.

“Hey, we’re gonna go get some groceries for the household, do you wanna come with?” You asked Chloé, but she shook her head no.

“You know I hate grocery shopping.” She remarked, scrunching her nose at the thought of going to the shops.

“Right, just wanted to ask.” You hesitated, taking a step back. “If there’s anything you want though from the store, just text me. And can you let Tom know that I’m heading out? He’s busy working so I haven’t seen him since we arrived, but I presume he’s in our bedroom.”

“Alright.” She replied flatly.

“Great. See you in about an hour or so.” And with that, you and your aunt had left the house, leaving Chloé alone.

The house felt eerily empty, and she was beginning to regret not tagging along with you and her mom. She disregarded the thought as she went to take a sip of her coffee, nearly letting out a scream when she burnt her tongue on the hot liquid. She quickly spit out the drink, but the drops got on her shirt.

“Putain,” Chloé muttered under her breath, “fuck.” She walked over to the kitchen sink, hoping to get the stain out of the shirt. It somewhat worked, but now the shirt was soaked, and she hated the sensation of wearing wet clothing.

“Now I’ve gotta change.” She said to herself, walking out of the kitchen and back into your bedroom.

Remembering that she had last seen Tom in your bedroom, she knocked first before waiting a second to make sure the room was empty. She heard nothing, so she cracked the door open to take a peek inside. Tom must’ve moved to another part of the house, so she walked in there to change. She stopped in her tracks as she noticed your closet door open, all while one shirt caught her eye. She grabbed it off the rack and walked over to the mirror to see if it looked good on her.

It was Tom’s white Saint Laurent shirt with the name of the brand embroidered in cursive on the front. Chloé held it up to her, noticing that it would fit her perfectly.

That shirt happened to be one of your favourites to borrow from Tom, and you wore it so much that he gave it to you. He always said that shirt looked better on you anyway.

She pulled the shirt over her head, admiring in the mirror how good the shirt looked on her. The shirt was a little long, but it was extremely comfortable. She heard a little knock on the door and looked back to see Tom standing in the doorway.

“Darling, you know I love that shirt on you.” He walked towards Chloé, and she took a step back. Tom looked at her puzzled, while she gave him the same confused look back.

“Listen, I know you’re stressed that your family showed up unannounced, but there’s no reason to be mad at me.” He said as he tried to put his arms around her waist. Chloé then shimmied out of his grasp and held his arms away from her.

“I am not Y/N.” She stated, and Tom laughed.

“Sure you’re not, like I’m not Tom.” He smirked and she shook her head.

“I promise I’m not Y/N.” She said again, but he looked at her like she said that the sun didn’t exist.

“God you are acting weird today.” He tried to pull her into an embrace but she shoved lightly at his chest.

“Get off of me, you idiot. I am not your lover!” She exclaimed, while Tom just was silent.

He backed up, walked out of the room and stood in the hallway. There was no way that wasn’t Y/N, he knows his girlfriend and that clearly is her.

I know she’s just stressed, so I’ll order her some fish and chips from the shop down the way, he thought to himself.

—

While at Tesco, you and your aunt shopped for an hour, easily losing track of the time while you wandered the aisles.

“Mon ange, you know I love spending time with you.” Manon stated as she browsed the aisles of pasta.

“And I love spending time with you.” You added, lightly touching her arm. “I wonder how Chloé is handling it at home.” You remarked as you shared a glance, shrugging your shoulders while continuing to shop.

—

“What the hell is this?” Chloé picked at the food on her plate, scrunching her nose as she picked at the food.

“Okay you’ve gotta quit this, you know you love it when I order fish and chips for you.”

“This looks like shit, and I have no idea why you Brits think this is...how do I say, edible.” She seethed, not wincing when she saw Tom’s face contort into a frown.

“Okay, that does it! I thought you would like it.”

“Why would you think I would like this? I can think of many other things I would rather eat, even dog food would be more appetizing than this.” She pushed the plate away, and stood up from the table.

Tom sat there, in shock of what to do. You were never this rude to him, and you loved when he ordered from the fish and chips shop from down the way. But yet, he didn’t think of the fact that maybe, just maybe, that she wasn’t you. Then again why would he? He still hadn’t met your family since he’s been busy all day, so of course the thought never crossed his mind.

“Listen, why are you making this so difficult? I’m trying to do something nice for you since I know you’re stressed out, and what do I get? A defensive girlfriend who keeps insisting that we’re not together and god that hurts.” He sat down, defeated. He placed his face in his hands and let out a sigh.

Tom was so upset that he didn’t even hear you and your aunt walk in through the front door. Upon walking in, you both were silent as you were trying to figure out what was upsetting Tom. So, you two stood in the hallway near the kitchen so you could hear the conversation without being seen.

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Or do you genuinely not love me anymore?” He whispered, not looking up at her face.

Chloé looked at him, remorse written all over her face. She didn’t say anything, but just sat across from him at the kitchen table.

“Y/N, please answer me.” He pleaded. She looked at him confused, now finally making the connection that he really did think she was Y/N. She figured he was joking before, but upon seeing his reaction now, she knew she had taken it too far.

You stood by the entrance way shocked, as you wondered why he thought Chloé was you, but then you realised that Tom hadn’t seen the both of you together in the same room. He’d been busy all day, and you’ve been gone for most of the day as well. And if your own parents couldn’t tell you apart, what made you think your boyfriend could? Once you realised that he mixed the two of you up, you and Manon looked at each other, signaling that you both should walk into the kitchen. He was hunched over the table, head in his hands as a tear rolled down his face.

“Baby?” You walked over to him, hugging him as he pressed his head to your stomach. His eyes were closed and you could feel the tears staining your shirt. You looked over at Chloé, while she looked at you sympathetically.

“Why are you being so sweet all of the sudden?” He asked and you looked at him bewildered.

“Darling, what are you talking about?” You tried to step back, but he held you closer to him.

“You’ve been mean to me all day, ignoring me,” sniffle “and not appreciating when I did something nice for you.” He sobbed. You didn’t know that Chloé was being rude to him, but it’s something you should’ve expected.

“Baby, I’ve been busy all day cleaning up the guest room, and I went to the store with my aunt.” You said and he shot his head up.

“What?” He asked as he looked at the both of you, nearly jumping out of his seat when he realised that you both looked identical.

“Chloé, I told you to tell him that I went grocery shopping, why didn’t you do that?”

She just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Je sais pas, j’ai oublié.”

“I know you didn’t forget.” You retorted, translating what she said so Tom would understand.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t, but you gotta admit it was pretty hilarious to have him think I was you all this time.” She smirked.

“You’re terrible.” You laughed, although it was a little bit funny.

“I know.”

“Also, why are you wearing his, well, my shirt?” You asked, and Chloé looked down while she tugged at the bottom hem.

“Oh, I spilled coffee on my shirt and needed something to change into. And I saw this shirt and I liked it, so now I’m wearing it.” She replied matter of factly.

“Now I can see why there’s been some confusion, I always wear that shirt.”

“Which is why I thought it was you when I saw you wearing it, but now I feel stupid.” Tom replied, face still buried at your stomach. You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him relax against your touch.

“You’re not stupid darling, I can see why you got us both mixed up. Even our own parents could hardly tell us apart.” You said while Chloé agreed with you.

“It’s true, you don’t know how many times we’ve both almost ended up in the wrong country.” She replied.

“But now it makes a lot of sense why she kept saying I wasn’t her lover.” Tom muttered while your eyes widened.

“So wait, even after she denied it, you still thought she was me?” You questioned.

“Yes,” Chloé chimed in, “I told him I wasn’t his lover but he didn’t believe me.”

“You can’t really blame me though, you failed to mention that you and your cousin are nearly identical. How was I supposed to know?” Tom asked, eyes flickering back and forth to look at you and Chloé.

“It’s okay darling, now you know.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head while he held onto your waist.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He laughed and pulled you closer to him, all while Chloé and Manon laughed.

——

mes petits anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow @fangirlwithasweettooth @taciturnspidey @harrysleftchelseaboot @quaksonhehe @halfblood-princess-505

#tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland and y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland and you #tom holland and reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #tom holland writing #mine #text

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sichengtual · 4 years

Text

— summary: in which seungcheol, a high-collared executive at his dad’s firm, signs up for a fake dating service in an attempt to make everyone believe his life is more than just the office.

— pairing: choi seungcheol x reader.

— genre(s): fluff, humor, angst.

— au: fake dating, office.

— word count: 2091.

masterlist.

part two — business meeting.

“Thank you so much for meeting me here.”

Seungcheol is nervous, and you can tell.

He sits up straight in his seat, shadows grazing upon his face like silhouettes, contrasting against the bright shimmer of his golden specs. He looks completely comfortable in his own skin, posture relaxed yet composed and facial expression completely at ease — and yet, there is something about him that lets you know not everything is the way it seems. It might be the fact that his grip on the napkin is a bit too tight for comfort and the tapping of his foot against the floor is a bit too loud for you to ignore, but you decide not to dwell on it when his eyes meet yours.

“No problem,” you answer, crossing your legs under the table. “It’s a bit far from my place but when you said you’d pay for the meal, I really couldn’t say no.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, you know,” he says, taking a sip from his wine glass. “This place is really close to my office, and I figured actually going out to lunch would be a very welcomed change.”

“Oh, so you’re actually addicted to your job?” A small laugh leaves your lips, accompanying your words.

“When did I ever-”

“I just figured,” you shrugged.

Seungcheol was an interesting figure. At the first meeting, he was nice and extremely polite, which didn’t really differ from the way he spoke to you on the phone and through his texts. He was handsome, which, thinking of in addition to his personality, didn’t really add up to the kind of guys you usually have to fake a date with. Yoon Jeonghan and the like were handsome men, granted, but they never showed as much consideration as Choi Seungcheol, and that was coming from the first time you actually met him. Not that truth is written in first impressions but the one you were getting from him was a pretty good sign.

“Right,” he mutters, cheeks lighting up in embarrassment. “Am I really that easy to read?”

You let out a laugh. “No, I’m just pretty good at reading people.”

You wouldn’t consider yourself an overly attentive person, an expert at noticing and analyzing body language, or anything of the sort. You are just familiar with pretending, as you’ve always liked to say, and one of the things that comes with it is knowing people act in the exact same way they want to be perceived. Sometimes they succeed, and sometimes they don’t, but nevertheless, the method is always the same no matter the result. And, as such, you’ve found that there are a few cues that fall front and center every time a person is just creating the version of themselves they want you to see.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “What is it exactly that you need from me?”

“Well, I was thinking we could pretend we’re —”

“No, no, I know I’m here to let people believe we’re bangin’,” you blurt out. You notice Seungcheol’s eyes widening and cheeks lighting up at your words, and a part of you can’t believe that is really the most authentic reaction your classic line has gotten to the date. There is an unspoken rule of sorts based purely on how “But who is it that we need to convince? An angry ex, a controlling parent, a meddlesome friend…”

“Meddlesome brother, more like,” he comments, voice a bit softer than it was a moment before. “He uh, he dates a lot, and I don’t, and seems to be under the impression I need to follow his example.”

“It’s kinda weird how we’re expected to follow someone’s lead, isn’t it? Even when it’s something as personal as dating.”

“Do you…”

“Oh, no,” you say. “I do it because the money comes in handy, you know. I don’t think anyone in my life actually ever believes I’m in a real, serious relationship.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Well, I’ve never been in one,” you answer, and it’s now your turn to grow shy at your own words.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of it, because you know there’s nothing wrong with the pace your love life has been running by, but it’s not something you simply blurt out whenever you meet someone new. And especially not someone you’re about to date, even if it’s fake, because well, after all, you’re not exempt from the trying to be perceived a certain way. It’s never easy to tear a wall down, let out some sort of vulnerability. And it certainly isn’t like you.

You turn your head and look outside, eyes peering through the windowsill that covers the entire wall right next to you. The restaurant rises on the top of some thirty-story building, and looking out from the window makes your stomach turn. It’s not about the height, per se, but the effect it has on everything around you. On the clouds, and how some sort of you feels as if they’ve gotten closer, and realest to the touch — and on the people, and how the mere height you’re looking at them from makes the whole scene kind of surreal. It’s as if the height has turned an every-day setting into a scene right out of a movie, characters and all, because the more you look at the figures moving on the ground below, the more their silhouettes blur in and out with each other.

You shake your head.

“So, do you have a plan already? Or have you at least thought of how we’re going to make your brother believe we’re dating?” You ask. “I usually go out on a few dinner dates or tag along to some event, but I… uh, thought maybe you’d figured something out already.”

“Well, I don’t think my brother will actually care if we’re together for a long time or not,” Seuncheol started. He hadn’t given it much thought, but considering the way Mingyu treated his own relationships, he didn’t really think his brother would look into the actual time Seungcheol ‘dated’ someone. “You could maybe stop by the office someday and we’ll come have lunch after that, call me when he’s around… I don’t know. I think he just has to see us together sometimes, don’t you think?”

“That works for me,” you smile. “So, just a few days?”

“Yeah, just a few days.”

Seungcheol raises his cup, and as you imitate his gesture, you clink your cups together.

“Well, I guess it’s on.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing it again.”

Vernon is looking at you from the other side of the couch. It comes out somewhat undecipherable, and a part of you wants to scold him for speaking with his mouth full, but he’d only shake his head at you as a response. He chews on his cereal as he finishes speaking, bowl already half finished resting on his lap.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you roll your eyes. “We’re just going out for lunch for a few days, that’s it. I’m barely even gonna get to know him.”

“Yeah, but after last time, I thought you were gonna quit… all of that.”

“That was different,” you say. Your voice is firm, words coming out of your mouth in complete certainty. “And it was a long time ago.”

“It’s only been a year.”

“A lot can happen in a year!

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve had some remarkable personal growth happening this year, with all those Nicholas Sparks novels you’ve been reading,” he laughs. “Anyways, I kinda get why you said yes.”

You’re not sure whether he’s serious or not, because the tone of his voice lets nothing away. He always speaks in the same ‘I’m joking but I’m also not joking’ manner, which leaves you with his facial expressions to kind of get some idea of the actual direction conversations could take.

“Oh, please, let me out of my misery,” you let out. You laugh a bit as you mutter the words, resting your back against the armrest of the couch. If there was one thing Vernon was good at, which you had told him plenty of times, was thrifting furniture. There definitely had to be some talent behind finding couches that felt just as new but actually were a fifth part of the price. “Enlighten me, you mind reader.”

“Come on, I saw his car when he was dropping you off,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he takes in another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, chewing before he continues his grand, expert reasoning. “Although I’m not sure why he would need to come to you for… you know, whatever it is that you’ll do. Full offense, by the way.”

“Offense taken.”

“I’m just saying, if I had a car like that I wouldn’t hire someone to fake date me, if you know what I’m saying,” he shrugged, which would have diverted your attention if only he had not laughed as soon as he had finished speaking. You knew him better than that.

“Oh God, are you saying the only reason you’re oh so painfully single is because you don’t drive a Mercedes Benz?”

“I’m just saying maybe I wouldn’t need to have you and Chan tag along with me to the movies if I drove a Mercedes Benz!”

“Tag along with you? I’m the one that always pays at the movies, you idiot,” you accuse. “And don’t forget you’re the one that bought the Nicholas Sparks novels.”

Vernon spreads out his legs, kicking your feet off the couch in the process. He pretends not to notice, smirking and turning to face the TV, which, surprisingly, was playing yet another episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You’re convinced that Vernon’s obsession with watching reality shows while eating cereal in his underwear every single Friday night might have more to do with him being single than not having a Mercedes Benz.

“Poor guy, if he only knew your feet fucking stink,” he mutters under his breath before laughing at something on the TV. “I hope he asks for a refund! I would do it if it were me.”

“One of these days, I’m actually going to kick you out,” you retort. You’re not, and he knows that, but that doesn’t stop you from “And I’ll let you know I’m actually a real catch.”

“Is that why you’re just as single as I am?” He laughs, turning his head to face you before sticking up his nose in your direction. Why was he even your friend? “Oh, and also, you’ve been kicking me out since we were in college.”

“Yeah, I really should have done that when we were in college.”

“What, me?”

“You wish,”

You laugh and roll your eyes, turning to look at the TV. A box of Cheerios sits opened on the coffee table, and you stretch your arm for it just as Vernon slurps the milk from his bowl. Unlike your roommate, you’re not caught up with the show, so you lazily keep your eyes on the screen as you snack on the honey-flavored cereal and let your thoughts roam free. A part of you keeps stuck on the lunch date — there was something about Seungcheol that was making it impossible for you to let go of your encounter. He was certainly different from the guys you had fake dated, because, oddly enough, you could tell some part of him was really unsure about the whole thing. He had been nervous, and you could sense it wasn’t just about meeting you, but of everything that could come out of it.

He had been extremely nice, and as such, you had decided you were about to make it as easy for him as you could. Not because he had hired you, but because there was something in the way he smiled at you that let you know he was going to do the exact same thing for you. You had set up a plan in your head, and you would treat the whole thing as you would when making a new friend.

A few days were enough to form a friendship, were they not?

But, by now, you should also know plans don’t always work out. Time passes, and things change, and there is no security behind whatever words were first spoken. It always turns out that words are not written in stone, and neither are business deals.

#caratwritersclub #svt scenarios #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scenario #svt x reader #scoups scenario #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #svt fic #scoups scenarios #svt scenario #scoups x reader #f: svt.#mar.writing #*callme.

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krabstick32 · 4 years

Text

It’s The Little Things We Remember (collab)

We’ll Do It All Over Again - A Modern/Reincarnation AU with @trueblueoceaneyes

Welcome to the second part, or the “head” of the We’ll Do It All Over Again (Modern!AU) Collab! This Modern!AU collaboration is divided into two parts, @trueblueoceaneyes’ “It Took A While, But We’re Home Now” and mine “It’s The Little Things We Remember”. It’s about you and Giyuu meeting in a new life where the Corps and the Demons still exist, armed with the memories and experiences of a past life. Although both of them are set in modern times, and technically within the same timeframe, they are not direct sequels or immediate continuations, so it can be read alone. (Although, we would appreciate it if you read the other’s part UwU)

NAVIGATION:

PART 1: It Took A While, But We’re Home Now by @trueblueoceaneyes

Novelist Giyuu Tomioka passes off his past life as a fantasy series but shit goes down when the main heroine of his book shows up in front of him.

PART 2: It’s The Little Things We Remember by @krabstick32 (You are here!)

You’re tasked to go on a mission with the Water Pillar. He was a bit of a jerk, but despite meeting him for the first time, you already knew that - among a couple of other things.

header was made by trueblueoceaneyes and image used was by @/sinba_ on twitter

Pairing: Hashira!Giyuu x Hashira!Reader (mentioned Mitsuri x Obanai)

Synopsis: You’re tasked to go on a mission with the Water Pillar. He was a bit of a jerk, but despite meeting him for the first time, you already knew that - among a couple of other things.

Tags/warnings: There is some light angst, swearing, a semi-graphic depiction of a fight scene, and a bit of blood. If you’re not comfortable with that please do read something else uwu

Word count: 14.1k~

A/N: I honestly can’t believe I was able to work with the one and only @trueblueoceaneyes. Like literally, all of this was possible by their wonderful and amazing self, and would not exist without them (i still can’t believe how we literally wrote a grand estimate of 23k words) UwU working with her was so fun, and her writing is beautiful and i am willing to sing her praises day and night, so go check them out!! <33 BECAUSE BOTTOMLINE IS: SHE’S GREAT.

To be completely honest, both of us were freaking out with how long this is, and were crying over how we would cut it, until we said fuck it, let it be 14k words long. We thought that theirs was long, but we thought wrong lmao. Anyway, we hope you like our labor of love, and enjoy it as much as we did writing it. Please Enjoy~

NAVIGATION:

PART 1: It Took A While, But We’re Home Now by @trueblueoceaneyes

PART 2: It’s The Little Things We Remember by @krabstick32 (You are here!)

Thursday 9:37 PM

From: Headquarters

9:37 PM

Head to Ubuyashiki Tower—Oyakata-sama’s office at 10:00 PM. Meeting Assignment.

Taking note of the short message, you shut your phone and tucked it into a shirt pocket before heaving a sigh and standing up from where you were perched at the edge of a building.

Ensuring that both your Nichirin blade and Nichirin gun was tucked well onto your person, you turned around and leaned your body back, letting yourself fall as you grabbed a stray railing to hoist yourself back up.

Despite the late hour, the city was loud as you jumped from building to building. From the height you were on, it was relatively easy to hear the sound of cars and sirens, and the faint thumping of music from the bars that dotted the streets. You made sure to keep yourself hidden in the shadows and on top of the rooftops to avoid detection as you were rushing to get to the Ubuyashiki Tower in the few minutes you were notified to arrive. Thankfully, the building wasn’t far from your previous assignment, so you were able to arrive in record time, landing at the top with little difficulty as you walked towards the lone structure settled in the middle for those like you, and entered the elevator inside to go down a few floors.

Exiting the metal contraption, you were greeted by a welcoming lobby with an adjacent garden open to the crisp night air, filled with wisterias and designed with a respectably sized koi pond. Nodding to the young girl at the receptionist table, you continued walking to a brightly lit hallway cushioned with lush carpets, and wall-mounted lamps.

As you walked, you composed yourself for a moment and brushed off your skirt, using your fingers to lightly comb over your wind tousled hair. When you finally reached the large door at the end of the hallway, you took a deep breath before knocking three times and entering.

Upon your entrance, you quickly noted Oyakata-sama sitting on his desk chair and Giyuu Tomioka, a fellow Pillar, standing tall in front of the master. As per protocol and to show respect to the leader of all demon slayers, you quietly bowed and greeted the master as soon as you were in front of his desk.

“Good Evening Oyakata-sama. I apologize for being late, I got caught in a mission.”

“Raise your head.” You obeyed, and saw him smiling calmly at you, easing your nerves. “It’s alright my child, you aren’t late. In fact, you arrived at just the right time. Giyuu himself just got here.”

“Thank you Oyakata-sama.”

The master gave a small nod and gestured to the chairs the two of you were in front of. “Well, now that (F/N) is here, I have something to discuss with the both of you. Please, take a seat.”

You tossed a quick glance at the man beside you and mirrored his actions as the two of you took a seat. Upon your and his movement, Oyakata-sama clicked a button, and the room instantly dimmed as a projector dropped down behind him.

“As the both of you know, we’ve been getting reports about disappearances focused around Natagumo Prefecture.” The screen showed a sizable map with a specific area highlighted in red. “Specifically the town at the base of the mountain. It seems to be acting as the base of operations of the demon.”

He clicked at a small remote and the screen showed fifteen humans aged around ten to sixteen years old. “It’s been a month and over fifteen missing cases have been reported to the police.” The slide changed and showed seven people wearing demon slayer uniforms. “Seven of our own haven’t returned after that mission.”

Immediately your stomach twisted into painful knots upon hearing the deaths of so many innocent lives - you felt sick unto your very core. No matter how long you’ve been a demon slayer, it never gets any easier hearing a death count.

“Could it be an upper moon?” The Water Pillar asked after a moment of silence.

“I’m afraid it’s possible. I hate sending any of you into the battlefield, but I need the two of you to handle this as quickly as possible, to avoid more lives from being taken.” Oyakata-sama replied somberly. “Take the necessary supplies. You can leave at dawn.”

The two of you stood and bowed in respect to Oyakata-sama.

“We’ll update you on any major news.” Giyuu spoke, and you added “Yes, We’ll take our leave now.”

The two of you left and walked back out into the hallway, and through the reception area. The girl from before was nowhere to be seen, so once the elevator doors opened, the two of you rode in silence down to the swordsmiths' floor. A mission such as this would require the two of you to have your weapons checked and to grab any necessary items.

On the way down, you decided to engage in a conversation with Giyuu. Despite being a Pillar for a few months now, this would be the first time you were paired with the raven-haired man, or spoke to him for that matter. You wanted this mission to go as smoothly as possible.

Taking a deep breath, you started, “So, Tomioka-san, this would be the first time we're on a mission together, yeah?” You broke the silence and gave him a smile, only for the silence to stretch on uncomfortably after your words left your mouth. Thinking that maybe he didn’t hear you, you were going to repeat it until the doors opened and he spared you a quick glance.

“Uh, Tomioka-san?”

“Stay focused. This is an important mission.” He spoke, in a strong yet quiet voice, and exited with a brisk pace until he disappeared behind a corner, leaving you standing alone in the elevator to gape at his response.

You were dumbfounded. “He did not just…” you asked yourself, because how rude was it to ignore your coworker and leave them hanging? Those were the first words you spoke to him - apart from the compulsory introduction of you being the new Thunder Pillar - and yet you were promptly snubbed. Even Obanai replied to you when you spoke to him.

In your stunned silence, the doors started to close until you reached out a hand, and exited as well. Briefly, you heard a small shhk that signaled it closing, but didn’t care as you were absorbed in your thoughts, carefully picking apart the situation.

There was nothing wrong with what you said. You were only trying to engage in a conversation - trying to get along for the benefit of your mission, because nothing was worse than a tense atmosphere between a team. But then he goes and slaps your metaphorical face by insinuating that this was all a big game to you, that you’re not taking any of this seriously? You were a Pillar; as if talking to a handsome man would distract you from doing your job and exacting vengeance for those poor souls killed in cold blood.

Letting out a dignified huff, you continued walking, and resisted the urge to stomp your foot down at the Water Pillar’s unfriendliness.

In the back of your mind however, you were barely surprised. He was always like this—always putting up a front in the presence of others, always acting cold as ice, always pretending like he didn’t care even though he did care, he cared so much, all because he felt that he didn’t deserve to be happy after—

“Don’t come closer.”

You were losing breath as you tried to catch up with the raven haired male after a Pillar meeting. How was he even walking so quickly? Not to mention it didn’t look to be as taxing to him as it was for you. He was practically strolling when you were full on sprinting. He was a Pillar, sure, but so were you!

“Hey! Don’t ignore me,” you gasped as you stumbled over the uneven path, but you quickly regained composure. Giyuu doesn’t even pause for a second. “I just wanted to-”

“No thank you. Please leave me alone,” he gruffly replied. How come he didn’t seem the least bit tired? You heard he trained at a mountain, fine, but how the hell was he this fast in such a thick forest? You still couldn’t go around that quick without tripping over some root or getting hit in the face by a random branch!

Making up your mind, you go as fast as you can and tackle him. It doesn’t look like he ever expected you to do that, because he loses balance and you both go crashing into the forest floor.

Whatever you were on top of shifts and you’re forced to move. You groan as you get up, only for the breath to hitch in your throat as you find yourself staring into blue eyes.

Gods above, he looked absolutely divine.

“Why?” he grumbled as he softly pushed you off of him and sat up. “What were you trying to accomplish by doing that?”

“It’s not my fault you were walking so quickly! Who does that when you’re talking to someone?” you huffed, your cheeks feeling incredibly warm at how close you both were. He probably caught how you had gawked at him.

“Fine. What do you want?” he groaned, frowning at you. He doesn’t miss how red your face had gotten and how you couldn’t seem to look him in the eye. “Why do you keep following me?”

“We’re going to be friends.”

“...What…?” Giyuu stares as you smile brightly at him. You were practically sparkling. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course not, you idiot. Do I look like I’m joking?” you huffed again, before getting up and dusting your kimono and uniform free of dried leaves. “We’re going to be friends even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Giyuu is completely dumbfounded, until you reach down and pull at his hands to get him up on his feet. He takes a mental note of how your hands looked so fragile and soft compared to his own, but you had pulled him to his feet with strength that did not match your smaller body frame.

“Why… are you doing this?” he whispered. He couldn’t understand.

“Well, I don’t like seeing people alone. Especially when they don’t look like they want to be,” you grin at him as you both find your way back to the village. Giyuu is quiet, both by your words and because you haven’t let go of his hand. “First off, let’s have lunch! My treat, of course.”

When you blink, you feel like you just took a sudden breath of air and the room comes back to view. What just happened? What the hell was your subconscious on about? Where did those thoughts even come from?

You barely knew the man. You didn’t know where he came from or what his circumstances were. You tell yourself to get your facts straight and effectively push back whatever that was, only leaving the memory of the conversation you just had - or the lack of a proper one, to be exact.That small thought quickly dampened the fire of your irritation, because admittedly, you believed that first impressions aren't everything - to always take them with a grain of salt. Despite how plain rude he was, you had no right nor the sufficient amount of experiences to be able to understand his character and pass judgement.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and exhaled.

Maybe he just had a rough day, or maybe he was just shy and socially inept, a farfetched and random thought may it be. Perhaps that was just how he really was. Regardless of his personality though, you can’t deny the fact that he must be an exceptional demon slayer to be granted the rank of a Pillar, and because of that, you’d try your best to at least be respectful to him, even if he didn’t return the same courtesy.

Shaking your head, you resumed walking, and turned the same corner he did to reach the weapons room.

You wouldn’t say it out loud, but you were willing to admit to yourself that he was amazing.

The way he moved and handled the sword was absolutely unparalleled, you noted as you watched from the side. His actions were like water - the way he dodged was perfectly calculated, his slashes fluid, and precise. It was like no movement was wasted because everything was precise and deliberate. It almost seemed like he read the battle in the blink of an eye before executing an attack.

You couldn’t help but feel awed as you watched his fight. He truly was something else.

“Hey, am I really that pathetic to you? How annoying are you to turn your back on an opponent to ogle your comrade?”

From your periphery, you felt the air vibrate, and without batting an eye, you unsheathed your blade and cut off the approaching appendage with little effort. “I was enjoying the show y’know. It’s not everyday I get to see him fight,” you sighed as you turned, and slashed at air to get rid of the blood on your sword. “But you’ve ruined my fun. Might as well get this over with. So, what’s your name?”

“Are you stupid? You don’t even know me, the great upper moon six?”

“Frankly, no. Not really.” This wasn’t upper moon 6. It was strong yes, but no matter how many humans a demon ate, this was nowhere near the strength of an upper moon. Although with it’s impressive blood demon art of replicating multiple limbs, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a lower moon.

It seemed to pause, before screeching out a loud “How annoying!” as a dozen arms lunged for you.

You quickly jumped out of harm’s way and up a decently sized branch. “That’s a pretty cool blood demon art you got there. Imagin—!” You leaped off the tree before a large snap cut you off as the demon broke the branch you were previously on. “Hey! I was talking!”

“Annoying! You’re so annoying! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Ugh, is that all you really have to say?”

Crouching on the branch, you pushed your feet, and catapulted yourself into the sky. You shut out the world as you breathed deeply, focusing and positioning your body into one of your breath forms.

“Thunder breathing, First form: Thunderclap and flash.” And in a flurry of movement, you landed deftly on your feet before hearing a loud thump sound from behind you.

“Well.” Dusting off your skirt, you stood and faced the demon. “That should do it.”

“How annoying!”

Immediately, you turned around and was surprised to find the demon floating 15 feet off the ground.

“Not so pathetic now, am I? A Pillar like you can’t even kill me!” It taunted, before raising his hands and the ground beneath you crumbled.

It all felt so real. You felt the ground shake and how the earth seemed brittle - only instinct made you twist out of the way as the forest floor seemed to cave under you. A tiny mistake on your part caused you to land quarter of a meter short from what was supposed to be the edge, but once you felt a completely intact forest floor, you immediately knew that multiplying elastic body parts was not its Blood Demon Art.

You need to talk to Tomioka. This could get ugly fast without knowing which was real and which was an illusion. Your eyes immediately found him fighting, but widened in horror as you watched the demon he was fighting pushed at his shoulders and slammed his head against the ground. You felt your heart freeze as you screamed his name, not even noticing that you used his first.

“Giyuu!”

In your haste to reach Tomioka, Giyuu’s vision suddenly slowed as he watched one of the demon’s limb aim for you.

You were distracted from seeing him hit his head, and in a moment of weakness you didn’t notice the demon preparing for the kill.

It was too familiar; it felt like he’s seen this before, like he lived through this. His vision overlapped with a visage, of you wrapped in a painstakingly familiar haori, your skin pale and painted with red, his hands wet and drenched in your blood…

“Giyuu, stop, please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. It hurt having to be moved around so much. You felt really tired, despite being carried.

Red. Red. So much red.

“No, no. Just shut up, please,” Giyuu could feel his lungs constricting. He was so panicked he had forgotten how to use his breathing technique. He felt like his whole chest was on fire, legs only moving due to adrenaline. “Please. We’re close to Shinobu, just-”

“Giyuu…? You’re still there, right?” your voice was so small, so unlike how he usually heard it laughing or calling for him. “Why…? Can’t I see you…?”

It was like something in him snapped.

No, I'm not letting you die again!

“WATCH OUT!” Giyuu screamed as he moved so fast that only your fellow pillars would be able to see how he grabbed his gun from its holster and aimed at the hand reaching for you.

Upon hearing his warning, you immediately flipped back, using the forest floor as a springboard to push yourself out of the way. When you landed, a solid arm got a hold of your waist and you felt yourself being pulled to a strong body, as the air brushed past the two of you.

Quickly, he pulled the two of you behind the cover of a massive tree, Giyuu only letting go of you when he took a quick glance at where the demon was cradling its hand and screaming its head off. You were breathing heavily, immediately aware of how close you were to death’s door.

“Are you okay? Did you get hit?” He turned to you as he asked, gently holding your shoulders and inspecting your uniform for any blood. Whatever he saw just now felt so real, he had to check for himself if you were alive.

You shook your head, dazed as you saw the worry cloud his eyes. “No.”

He breathed out a heavy sigh, feeling relief flood into his system before scolding you lightly. “You need to be more careful! You almost got yourself killed!”

“Sorry, sorry. But that’s besides the point. How are we going to kill it? It’s blood demon art shows some pretty damn convincing illusions.”

Tomioka thought for a moment. “We need to distract it, keep one of us at the front while the other takes the kill from the back.”

You nod in affirmation. His idea made sense. “I’ll be the distraction.”

“What? No, i’ll do i—“ Giyuu stopped talking once he noticed the sound of a clashing sword and found that you weren’t there in front of him anymore. “Sure,” he sighed before gripping his sword and jumping on the trees’ branches for cover.

He didn’t notice you fighting earlier, but as he jumped from branch to branch all around the opening, he saw that you were incredibly fast. Even with his enhanced senses, you appeared to be a blur as you weaved in and out of the demon’s clutches, laughing all the while taunting it.

“Ahh, this is fun! You should’ve put on a fight like this with me back then!” Squealing, you darted out a hand and slashed at its neck. Unfortunately for the both of you, the demon was nearly as fast as you were, and you only managed to land a scratch on its skin.

“Annoying! The way you’re jumping around is annoying!”

Giyuu wanted you to stop talking so badly, because you weren’t supposed to rile the demon up like this! Distract it sure, but not bait it to want to kill you more!

“Oh, are you getting mad already? You seem a little red there.”

“ANNOYING! STOP! MOVING!”

“Ah, would you prefer me to stand still? I wouldn’t mind! You should have said so earlier.”

And when Giyuu saw your eyes dart to his for one quick second, he immediately knew what you wanted him to do.

In an instant, he launched himself off the branch he was on as you pulled back your sword and jabbed it at the demon’s forehead.

“Water breathing First Form: Water surface slash!” Quickly, he extended his sword and slashed at its neck before it could move a muscle as he twisted his body to avoid hitting you. The leaves crunched under his shoes as he landed on his feet a couple of feet away.

“Annoying, annoying, annoying! Put me back on my body so I could prove to you that I’m not pathetic!” The demon wailed as it started to disintegrate on your sword. “He would’ve let me move from Lower Moon 1 and let me join the Upper Moons if the two of you didn’t meddle! You two will pay for this!” It threatened, as the last of its body turned into ash, and its clothes fluttered down to the ground.

The clearing was quiet save for the wind whistling past and the tree leaves rustling by.

“That was the real one right?” You whispered, slightly anxious that another one would pop up in the silence.

“It is.”

Heaving a sigh, you looked back at Giyuu and saw him walking towards you.

“Are you okay? You hit your head right?” You asked him, surprise coloring your face when he tore a portion of his suit. “What are you doing?”

Gently, he took your arm and inspected a decently sized laceration settled neatly in between your shoulder and elbow. It was deep, but it was a clean cut and it wasn’t too bad, considering that you’ve had much worse such as broken bones and dislocated joints.

“Worry about yourself first, will you?” He turned your arm carefully, making sure that his actions were slow and steady before wrapping the piece of cloth carefully and with practiced ease.

You frown. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I feel fine. Now focus on yourself. This is pretty deep. It might need stitches.”

Though it was unlikely, you hoped that it was too dark for him to see your face clearly—it felt too warm for your liking. “I… didn’t notice.”

He tied the bandages off neatly, before answering, “You will soon. The adrenaline will probably wear off in a few minutes.”

“I’m not the best at first aid, but this will do for now. Try not to move so much until we get to Shinobu?”

It felt oddly nostalgic, seeing him worry like this a little, almost like a distant dream or a distant memory. “Thanks.”

Giyuu nodded before pulling out his phone from his coat pocket. “I’ll be updating HQ. Kakushi should arrive in a bit. Do you want to wait for them, or head back?”

You weighed the pros and cons before responding, “I wouldn’t mind waiting for them. The fight was fairly easy, but I feel drained. We could get checked too.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said as he typed another message while you sat down slowly beside a nearby tree trunk. Once he shut his phone, he followed your lead and leaned down on a tree a few feet from yours.

After a few minutes of a slightly tense silence, Tomioka decided to break it, and be the one to start the conversation.

“That… was the first time I saw you fight. You’re pretty fast (L/N)-san. It was amazing.”

“Oh?” You tried to mask the surprise in your voice. Hearing him initiate unnecessary conversation was something you weren’t used to, especially after your first conversation (if it could even be considered one) back at the Ubuyashiki tower. Was he offering an olive branch?

Regardless, you couldn’t deny the warm feeling in your chest as you looked up and automatically smiled up at him. “Well, you were doing really good yourself. I’ve never seen someone move that gracefully in a fight like that.”

At your compliment, he looked down at the ground as he tried to hide his nervous habit of fiddling with the hilt of his sword. “I’m not.”

“Oh don’t be modest now Tomioka-san! You looked amazing!”

“I was complimenting you; don’t turn it around on me.”

Laughing lightly, you let out a breathy “Okay, okay.” After deciding to not push your luck and that you’ve bothered him enough, you raised your hands in defeat before bringing them back down to your lap.

The silence that followed was definitely nicer compared to before, until he broke it again with a near inaudible whisper.

“Giyuu.”

“Hm?”

“Just… Giyuu. Giyuu is fine” he added, rubbing a hand on the nape of his neck.

Smiling widely, you turned to him, “If that’s the case, just (F/N) is fine too, Giyuu.”

“(F/N) it is then.” he spoke, feeling a sense of warm familiarity as he tested the way your name felt on his tongue.

Truthfully, he noticed when you called out his first name even in the heat of battle. It wasn’t much of a big deal back then, because the two of you were focused on staying alive and doing your job, but as he processed the fight in his head, he found that he didn’t mind, and that he actually liked how his name sounded in your voice.

As if on cue, the cracking of dried leaves and branches alerted you and Giyuu, instinct driving the two of you to grab onto the hilt of your nichirin blades. The tight grip on your swords only eased up when the familiar uniform of the kakushi moved into the clearing. There were around ten of them, seven surveying the area and taking down any evidence of the demon’s existence while there were three holding medical kits who walked over to the both of you.

They stopped once they reached a reasonable distance before bowing slightly. “Tomioka-sama, (L/N)-sama, please excuse us. We’ll be checking on your injuries.”

You muttered a grateful thanks as the kakushi attending to you started cleaning the wound Giyuu wrapped earlier. It was wrapped pretty well, so they only applied an ointment before replacing the cloth with gauze. “I apologize (F/N)-sama, I can’t suture your wound here because I’m not trained. We’ll immediately take you in the medical wing of the tower once you and Tomioka-sama head back.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as the kakushi bowed in front of you. “Hey, no need to bow, I really appreciate your help…?”

“...Tanaka Ayaka.”

“Really, thank you so much Tanaka-san.”

“O-Of course (L/N)-sama!” Tanaka said, bowing deeply in gratitude for your kind words.

As you and Tanaka argued on why she should or why shouldn’t bow, Giyuu watched discreetly, feeling the warmth pool in his stomach from the kindness you displayed. He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt the pain on his head multiply as the kakushi tending to him started wrapping gauze on his bleeding wound.

“Please bear with it for a bit longer Tomioka-sama, you have a concussion-”

Immediately, your gaze darted to the side. You weren’t eavesdropping on his conversation - truthfully, you only overheard - but when your eyes landed on a stream of blood coating patch of his hair and a portion of his pale skin you didn’t notice before, you absolutely flipped because how dare he tell you to worry about yourself first, when he was the one with a head injury!

“You idiot! You told me you were fine!”

The kakushi watched on in wide-eyed surprise (and slight fear as well) as the mighty Water Pillar looked everywhere else except at you, the fuming Thunder Pillar, who were scolding him (fairly lightly) for not telling you about his injuries.

Ayaka didn’t even argue with you afterwards.

Arriving at your estate after a mission used to be a nice moment for you, because you could rest and train at the comfort of your own home, but hearing the silent clunk of your keys resonate through the walls… you couldn’t help but feel a little cold and lonely.

It’s been a week since that mission with Giyuu back in Natagumo Mountain happened, and only a couple of hours since you left Ubuyashiki Tower. After your initial report to Oyakata-sama, he suggested that the two of you stay and take a few days off to heal your injuries at the medical floor. The two of you didn’t even resist as you were both led to adjacent rooms, showering immediately before dropping dead at the futon laid in your respective rooms. Now, you were as healthy as you could be, the laceration, bruises and scratches all healed thanks to the week of rest. Before you left, you made sure to inform the master of your recovery and thank Tanaka-san who took care of you and kept you company.

Taking off your blazer and loosening your blouse, you passed by your living room and walked into the kitchen to try and make something to appease the grumbling of your stomach. You did occasionally have your home cleaned on a schedule when you weren’t around, but moments like these were when you were a bit regretful of not hiring any at-home help.

The fridge was a welcome sight as you grabbed the handle to open the door; the contents however - or the lack thereof - weren’t as appealing because it was empty save for a wrinkled lemon, a few bottles of water, and a quarter-filled jug of milk.

“This is pathetic,” You grumbled as you recalled the moment you ate the last bit of leftovers without restocking your kitchen. Whyy.

“I hate myself,” you moaned to your empty kitchen.

Deciding to put yourself out of your misery, you walked up to your room to store your weapons and to change into a pair of jeans, and a hoodie. Once you were in something comfier, you grabbed your phone, your keys, your wallet, and a small nichirin dagger - for safety, at the off chance of getting ambushed by a demon or a human - and put on some white sneakers before locking your door and leaving your estate.

Taking a deep breath, you felt the cold night air nip at your lungs and the exposed skin of your face. The difference in temperature shook you a little, as you broke out into a jog. Pulling up your hood, you tug the strings tighter and into a cute little ribbon to prevent it from falling.

The walk to the convenience store would normally take fifteen minutes, but with you jumping on roofs and taking shortcuts you knew by heart, you were there in record time, and feeling hungrier than you did before.

The convenience store was a sight for sore eyes as the familiar ding sounded upon your entrance. Smiling at the clerk, you grabbed the largest basket and moved around the store, grabbing everything that looked appealing and piling them on as best as you can.

Once you were satisfied, you proudly walked back to the cashier and presented your precious loot to the boy in front of the register.

“Stocking up huh?” He smiled as he rang up your items.

“Yup. The lone lemon in my fridge was feeling a little lonely.” You joked as you grabbed your wallet.

The two of you chuckled as he bagged your food, pointing to the little screen of the cash register once it was done. “That would be 6,854 yen.” You gave a light nod and handed him a ten thousand yen bill. “Here, you can keep the change.”

His eyes bugged out of his sockets at the large tip “Yo, thanks, dude!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed familiar black hair, and a quick glance behind you took you by surprise.

“Tomioka-san! Why are you here?” You asked in surprise.

He eyed your overflowing bag and your silly attire. “Same reason why you are.” He answered. At his surprisingly sarcastic response, you quickly pulled back your hoodie, and looked him over to note that he was in a similar attire to you, though he was wearing a sweater and a cap, instead. “Although i’m just getting dinner, not the entire store.”

The remark caused you to flush red in embarrassment. You didn’t want him—or anyone really!!—to see you pig out. “Oh, um. Well, I’m just… restocking.” He seemed skeptical, but there was a ghost of a smile settling on his face.

“Okay,” He said casually as he moved past you further into the store.

Nodding at the cashier and grabbing your bags with both hands, you walked after giyuu, instinct ruling over rational thought.

“Hey,” you called after him. He turned back to look at you, causing you to stutter in your words a little. Why did you call for him? What could you say to make him stay for a little bit without making yourself look like a total fool? “I—… um, i mean, uh would you like to share my loot? I think i just bought most of their stock, and I… still haven’t thanked you for saving my life back at Natagumo.”

He raised a brow at you. “Loot?”

“The food I got,” you mumbled as you dropped your gaze to the ground and felt your face burn at your choice of words, because who in the world calls their groceries ‘loot’, except you? Ah, how embarrassing!

While you were wallowing in your misery, you missed the way Giyuu turned his face away from you and the way his shoulders shook from containing his laughter. You just looked too cute, all flushed and flustered like that, but he did his best to hold it in because he didn’t think you’d appreciate him laughing in your face.

After a moment, he composed himself, and went back to his cool and normal facade before replying a short, “Okay.”

“Great!” You beamed at him, trying to squash the butterflies in your stomach. “Want to head outside for the tables?”

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Unconsciously, you grabbed his hand after moving your other bag. You didn’t notice his face warm at your casual touch, but the cashier did, and he gave a thumbs up to a flustered Giyuu as the two of you passed by.

“Ah shit. I forgot to get drinks!” You exclaimed as you rummaged through your bags.

Giyuu watched you with a small smile. “With the amount of food you bought, I’m surprised you didn’t raid their drinks too.” He was joking, but he really was surprised. It’s like you bought everything in the store - The two of you already ate two bento boxes each, five bread buns each, three rice balls each, and had a cup noodle… each.

There was even another bag of chips open at the table, and your bags were still full!

“Is that a joke I hear?” You smiled, leaning back in your chair as you popped a chip into your mouth. “Well I didn’t expect to meet you here. I was originally going to eat at home.”

He nodded before standing and stretching a little.“Don’t worry I got it.”

“Wai-“ you were going to hand him spare change, but he was already at the vending machine two houses down the street.

You sighed and used your hands to prop your head upright. How unfair.

As he inserted a few bills in the slot, you couldn’t help but admire his profile. You always noticed him back at work. He was extremely professional, nearly passive as he was assigned missions and at the rare times you catch him training at headquarters. But as the two of you were here together in a convenience store, all of it felt so… so normal. In this short moment, you could just pretend that demons weren’t real, that you still had a family waiting for you back home, that you were just a normal twenty-one year old woman hanging out with a friend from work who you wished was a little more than just a friend.

“Cheater.” You pouted as he walked back within hearing range.

He ignored you, passing you a bottle. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You said, taking the bottle and looking at the cover. “Oh! Yuzu Juice! I didn’t know I told you about my obsession with these.”

“You didn’t.” He answered taking a seat, as you rummaged through your pockets for a bit of change.

“Really? Huh.” You didn’t seem to notice how he scrunched his eyebrows and looked at the drink carefully.

Normally, buying a drink for someone wouldn’t be a big deal, but he didn’t just randomly guess. It was almost second nature for him to pick that drink. He could almost hear a voice in his head that sounded so much like you.

You couldn’t come with Giyuu to Natagumo Mountain because you were hurt pretty badly from the last mission you went to. He had come to visit you at the Butterly Estate.

“Why are you so excited about a fruit?” Giyuu asked incredulously, as your eyes shimmered at the basket of yuzu fruits he brought. “It’s just a fruit right?”

You gasped as you hugged the basket away from him. You looked so offended that Giyuu was taken aback for a second, halfway considering an apology.

“Just a fruit? JUST a fruit?” you gasped again, more dramatically than the last, but you don’t think Giyuu understands you’re pulling his leg because he looks even more worried. “Am I actually hearing this from my own lover?”

“Why? What’s so great about it?” he asked, but you don’t miss the hidden panic underneath his voice. “Am I missing something?”

“It’s a yuzu fruit, Giyuu,” you lean in and whisper, like the greatest of secrets were being shared between the two of you. “And do you know what that means?”

Giyuu shakes his head slowly, entranced. He leans in as you motion for him to come closer.

“It means,” you whisper, before pecking his cheek and grinning as he blushes. “We can make my favorite drink.”

You laugh as Giyuu groans, burying his face in his hands as he fell for another one of your stupid jokes.

“Don’t forget, Giyuu,” You toss him a yuzu fruit from the basket before leading him to the kitchen of the Butterfly Estate. Hopefully Aoi and the other girls wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for a bit. “I can never turn down some good yuzu juice.”

Giyuu blinks, and suddenly he can’t remember what he was thinking about just a second before. He felt like he was forgetting something very, very important.

“I… just took a wild guess.” he muttered. There was no use pondering about it now, no matter how hard he tried to grasp at the straws of his memory.

“Well, you made a pretty good guess.” Placing a hand over the cap, you opened the bottle and took a hearty sip “Ah, I love this so much! Here’s my share.” You said, offering a hand with the money.

“Oh please, as if I can’t afford to get you juice. Think of it as thanks for sharing your food with me.”

“Okay then,” because If he wanted to treat you, who were you to argue?

“Meeting adjourned. Stay alert, the issues we’ve talked about will be sent later as a mission to some of you.” The room was once again bathed in light as Oyakata-sama pressed a button which shut down the projector and automatically drew the meeting room curtains back open. You and your fellow pillars stood as Amane-sama grabbed the handles of the master’s wheelchair. “I’ll be seeing all of you at the next meeting. Take care, my children.”

All of you bowed deeply as Amane-sama closed the door shut, before the nine of you stood from the chairs situated around the large table, moving to talk to the others.

“(F/N),” you immediately felt your heartbeat faster. You would’ve kicked yourself for reacting in such a way when he called for you, but damn it if it didn’t make you feel nice.

I think my heart is broken, what the hell.

“Ah, Giyuu, are we still on for training later?” you smiled politely at your co-worker, and Giyuu faltered for a second too fast for you to have noticed before he had already recomposed himself.

“Yes, but don’t expect me to pull my punches just because it’s training,” Giyuu felt the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly as he watched your face flush.

“I’ll have you know that I hardly break a sweat from fighting off demons alone, so I should be the one to tell you that,” your cheeks were puffed from indignation. The words pour out of you without thinking and you don’t even realize what you’re saying anymore. “Besides, when have you ever pulled your punches? You said you’d always spar with me using everything you had so I wouldn’t die out in-”

“What…?” Giyuu’s voice knocked you out of your rant. He had a funny look on his face, like you had said something odd. You immediately backtrack to your little spiel in search of something wrong - something embarrassing - you might’ve said. “When did I…?”

When has he ever pulled his punches? I mean, it’s true, I’m sure of that, but…?

You stop. How would you have known that? This was your first training session together. What were you going on about? By the thoughtful yet confused look on Giyuu’s face, you could tell the words had not gone unnoticed.

“N-nevermind that,” you tried to salvage your pride, despite your ever glowing face. “I, uh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Sorry, I just…”

“No, it’s fine,” Giyuu shook his head and waved away your apology. There was a pause before he seemed to make up his mind. “Actually I was—“

“Tomioka-san!” You and Giyuu jump as Shinobu suddenly pops up between the both of you. You’re confused whether to be thankful for her cutting in or not - on one hand, she had saved you from more embarrassment, but on the other, you wanted to know what Giyuu was going to say. “Sorry to cut your conversation short, but we need to borrow (F/N)-chan for a little bit. This won’t take long!”

Without even waiting for Giyuu to respond, Shinobu’s already dragging you away from the black haired male. You turn to look back at him apologetically.

“Sorry, I’ll meet you in the training hall,” you see him wave at you in goodbye before Shinobu makes you turn a corner and you both enter an empty meeting room. Well, it was mostly empty, save for a couple of people.

“So, Shinobu, Mitsuri… Uzui and Kyoujuro? What’s up...?” you ask hesitantly. You don’t like the knowing looks and the mischievous grins they have on their faces.

“You tell us.” You don’t like the glint in Shinobu’s eyes as she stares you down. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen Tomioka initiate a conversation on his own.”

“Or smile for that matter.” Mitsuri added, barely suppressing her grin. Shit, didn’t she live for this kind of thing? You were definitely fucked. You need to get out or you’re dead.

Uzui hummed before getting all up in your face, making you take an involuntary step back, but Kyoujuro blocks you from taking another step. You were surrounded on all sides. “Yeah, it was weird. Did you do anything flamboyant to him?”

“Excuse me?” Did they think you pulled some sort of magic trick over him? A sort of spell? “I did nothing!”

“Nothing, she said!” Mitsuri squealed, before turning back to you with eyes glittering. “Did you see the way he looked at you? He looked like he was on cloud nine!”

He… he did?

Brushing it off, you wave off their words, because the very thought of him being genuinely happy while talking to you made you ridiculously happy. And you didn’t want these idiots to see it. You were not going to give them the pleasure of seeing you turn into a bumbling, blushing mess.

“Oh, please, if anything It’s m-” You cut yourself off once you realized that finishing that sentence would lead to an entirely different ballpark you were not willing to enter. “You know what? Nevermind. Giyuu’s waiting for me so I have to go.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘Giyuu’ now huh?” You catch their words before you make up your mind to book it. You thought you were free because you only had to take one more step to get out of this cursed room, but a strong, yet slender hand darted out to grab your wrist, effectively preventing you from walking out of this room and out of this conversation.

“Nu-uh, not until you answer us,” Misturi grinned, locking you into a hug to make sure you didn’t try to run away again.

“Guys, I swear, we need to train.” you grumbled, feeling the sweat gathering over your forehead.

Uzui tsk-ed, and placed a hand over your shoulder. Great, just what you needed: another restraint. “Look, we’re just curious. Tomioka’s flamboyant, but he’s a pretty quiet guy so we’re worried for him.”

“Aw... well, tough shit, I’m going now.” You say, finally prying yourself free from Mitsuri’s soft albeit annoyingly strong grip.

“(F/N)-chan, you don’t have to deny it.” Placing a hand over your shoulder, Misuri smiled softly at you, and you didn’t like how you could practically see the hearts flying around her back.

“Deny what?” Maybe, if you acted like you had no idea what they were talking about, they would drop it, and you can leave, and you can train with Giyuu.

But such things in life would never happen, and you were doomed the very moment Shinobu snuck up on your conversation. You didn’t like the thought of him waiting for you while your coworkers hounded you.

The four of you turned when you heard a light sniffle come from Gyomei. “Ah, to be young and in love.”

“Wh-? No, it’s not like that at all!” you tried to defend yourself, but by the look on their faces you knew you were fighting a one-sided war. They were convinced there was something going on. To be honest, the more time you spent stuck in the room with them the more you were slowly coming to terms with your own feelings. And that was not good. “Besides, we only went on one job together, so why-”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of love at first sight~” Mitsuri giggled, and by the look on her face you had a guess she was already planning the wedding.

“Love at first sight, my ass,” you groaned, recalling your first assignment together. “He basically told me to shut up the first time I tried talking to him. What’s supposed to be cute about that?”

“The first time,” Shinobu emphasized, and you buried your face in your hands at her knowing smile. “But from what we just saw, not only did you talk again, but he even initiated the conversation himself.”

“Not to mention you’re going to be training together,” Kyoujuro nodded vehemently. “And as far as I can remember from my time as a Pillar, Tomioka has never trained with anyone because he preferred to train on his own.”

“And I guess now I’m never going to find out what training with him is like because you guys insist on keeping me here,” you were honestly proud of yourself that you haven’t punched someone yet - but you were oh so painfully close. If not one of them, then you might just punch yourself just to escape the shame. This felt oddly claustrophobic and it was making you slowly lose your mind. “Also, when have you guys turned into detectives?”

“(F/N)-san, we would’ve let you go already if you’d just admit what was going on between you and Tomioka,” you stared dumbfounded as they all nodded, waiting patiently for your answer.

If you guys think I’m going to crack first, you’re dead wrong.

“It’s nothing, okay?” you sighed, exhaustion over this whole ordeal finally setting in. Would you even be able to train with Giyuu like this? “He invited me to train with him after I almost messed up during our mission. That’s all there is. You guys have just been looking too much into it.”

The room goes quiet, the other Pillars taking turns to look at one another, unsure of where to go from there. You shake your head as you pass by them and make your exit.

“NO! I refuse to believe that!”

Oh my god, no, please.

You look incredulously at Mitsuri as she blocks the door in front of you. You feel your eyes twitch sporadically, your hand that was already holding on to the doorknob tightening and your knuckles going white.

“Mitsuri, come on,” you groan. You weren’t too keen on saying anything (too) bad at the pink haired girl since she was honestly really nice, just ever so slightly airheaded, and getting into bad terms with her husband Obanai didn’t sound too appealing. “What more do you want from me?”

“How about the flamboyant truth, (F/N)?” your head whipped back at lightning speed at Uzui, who merely laughed at the dead-eyed smile you gave him.

“What ‘truth’? I already told you guys, I-”

“(F/N)-san, one last thing,” your head turns to Kyoujuro, who shares a look with Shinobu. You watch as something passes between them, before the Insect Pillar nods back at him with a sweet smile. Kyoujuro grins as he turns back to you. “Just do this one thing for us and I promise we’ll let you out.”

Shit. I don’t like that.

But you stand your ground. “And that would be…?”

“Can you look into my eyes and tell me that there’s nothing going on between you?” he raised an eyebrow, challenging you with his wide eyes that seemed to stare deep into your soul.

You lower your head, mentally preparing yourself. You pray to whatever higher being that could hear you to give you the strength to get through this unscathed.

Please, for the love of my sanity-

You look back to Kyoujuro, head held high. He holds your stare - his eyes were intimidating as hell - but to your relief, he backs off first after a good few seconds. He sighs, as does Shinobu.

“Fine, fine. You win, (F/N)-san,” Shinobu grumbles.

“For now,” Uzui throws you a mischievous grin as you pass by. You scowl at him.

“Whaaaaat? We’re letting her go?” Mitsuri wailed as Kyoujuro practically pried her off of the door.

“A deal’s a deal, Mitsuri-san,” Kyoujuro said.

You’ve barely taken a step out the door when a hand is placed over your shoulder. You don’t bother to turn around, scared you really might punch someone this time.

“(F/N), one last thing,” Sighing, you turn back heavily, because it feels like they’ll never let you leave, but when you see Gyomei smiling kindly at you, you can’t help but return it too. “Remember, there is no shame in admitting your feelings. Face them head on and find strength within it. You can only run from your problems for so long until you loop back to where you started, because you can never stop things that were set in stone by fate.”

Despite how drained you were feeling, you manage a genuine smile. “Understood, guys.”

Letting out a sigh, you were finally able to breathe after your nosy coworkers got all up in your business. You were glad that you were alone in the elevator, because at least now you could take a moment to compose yourself and get rid of the blazing blush before you faced Giyuu.

“Can you look into my eyes and tell me that there’s nothing going on between you?”

Kyojuro’s words echo in your head. You were unbelievably lucky for being able to keep your poker face before he cracked, because if that stare-down lasted a second longer, you would’ve burst, and confessed your feelings to them instead of Giyuu.

Snapping out of your thoughts, the doors opened to a bright wide room that smelled of wood and steel. The training hall was one of the many floors in the building and the Corps spared no expense in getting it look as it did with high ceilings, and large areas divided into varying sizes. Some areas were even designed after different types of terrain.

You spot Giyuu with his back to you, warming up in the center on the biggest mat of the entire hall. He was doing practice swings with a wooden sword.

“Hey, sorry I'm late,” You say, causing him to pause mid-swing as he turns to see you grabbing a wooden sword on the far wall and depositing your own blade beside his. He watched, slightly mesmerized as you gathered your hair into a high ponytail on top of your head. “Want to get started?”

He shook off his daze before he raised a brow at you, setting his sword tip down against the ground and leaning a bit of his weight over it. “You’re not going to warm up?”

Smirking, you say “Oh please, this is my warm-up.” You don’t give him a chance to reply as you move straight for him, sword held high.

In one effortless swoop, Giyuu had his sword in front of him blocking your swing with ease. “That’s cheating, in case you weren’t aware.”

“I know.” You smiled, before retracting and swinging again. “But I prefer to call it strategy.”

“Haaaa,” You breathed out before dropping on the floor. “I’m glad we’re on the same team. Fighting you is crazy exhausting.”

Walking towards you, he offered you a water bottle and once you took it, he sat down beside you. He was so close, you could feel the warmth radiate off him. “Likewise. You’re ridiculously fast.”

“And you’re ridiculously strong.” You smiled, taking a sip from the bottle he gave you.

The two of you were quiet, keeping each other company as the other regained their breath. In the silence, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to the conversation back in the meeting room.

“I don’t think we’ve ever seen Tomioka initiate a conversation on his own.”

“Did you see the way he looked at you? He looked like he was on cloud nine!”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of love at first sight~”

“But from what we just saw, not only did you talk again, but he even initiated the conversation himself.”

“As far as I can remember from my time as a Pillar, Tomioka has never trained with anyone because he preferred to train on his own.”

“Remember, there is no shame in admitting your feelings. Face them head on and find strength within it. You can only run from your problems for so long until you loop back to where you started, because you can never stop things that were set in stone by fate.”

All of their words passed by your head like a snapshot. It was slightly disorienting hearing the others comment on your relationship with the Water Pillar. You liked him, but you already planted it in your head that you had no chance. Because who were you kidding? One look at him, and you knew that you were out of his league. He was good-looking (though that was more of a bonus than anything), dedicated, strong, and had a dry sense of humor that could rival your own. A guy like that was bound to have someone waiting for him at home. He was too much of a catch for you to believe otherwise.

“(F/N)?”

“Yeah?” you hum distractedly, still completely submerged into your own head.

“Do you-” He started, and abruptly, your bubble of fantasies popped.

He was looking at you weirdly, an expression you’ve never seen him make, and somehow your mind managed to mix that up with him being able to read your thoughts. You just panicked, your mouth spouting off nonsense before you could process anything, trying in vain to protect yourself from rejection. “No! I don’t like you!”

“Oh.” He looked back at his folded hands before adding a short “I’m sorry.”, before you realized what you just said. Regret immediately washed over you.

“No, I mean, I don’t not like you, I-I’m not making any sense-”

He interrupted you gently before standing up and dusting off his clothes. “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself. I understand. Sorry if you felt forced to train with me.”

Oh my god, you’ve never wanted to slap yourself harder in your life than you did in this moment.

You fucked up. You fucked up so bad.

You reach for him, trying to explain, “Wait, don’t misunderstand please, I was jus-”

“Really, it’s fine. I know I'm not the easiest person to like. Especially with how I treated you back on our first mission.”

“Giyu-”

“I’ll be leaving now (L/N)-san. I’m sorry again.”

And that was the last straw. Hearing him call out your name in such a cold voice hit you so deeply that you tell the consequences to fuck off as you stand up, and pull him back to you.

“(L/N)-san, I swear, it’s fine-” Neither of you get to hear how he ends his sentence, because you grab his shirt, and pull him closer, until your lips were pressed against his.

You felt your resolve crumble as your lips moved against his own, and as his hands reached over, cradling your face closer to his. It was so soft, so warm, and your heart ached as you felt your eyes start to sting. After a moment, the two of you pull away, bringing your foreheads close, before you spiral into a wild spiel.

“You idiot! If you would just listen!” You whisper lightly, afraid of what his reaction would be. “I like you. I really, really like you. I didn’t mean what I said. I only said that because you caught me off guard and I didn’t think you’d like me back! I’m scared of being rejected by you because you're smart, you're funny, you're nice… ”

“I didn't want to tell you but I got caught up in my thoughts, and I just… I know what I said, and I’m sorry, I'm really sorry. It might sound like an excuse to you, but you really did catch me off guard. If I could take it back I would.”

“I’m really sorry, Gi...Tomioka-san. I hope you could forgive me.” You say, before you untangle your arms wrapped around his neck, and walk yourself to the elevator, not even waiting for the inevitable rejection you’d get from him.

Pushing the doors open, you didn’t notice how the other pillars - namely Mitsuri, Shinobu, Kyojuro, and Uzui - were still situated around the room, because your only goal now was to get the bag you left earlier, leave straight for your home, and sleep.

When they saw your puffy eyes however, all of them looked amongst each other, before pushing Mitsuri closer towards you.

“(F/N)-chan, are you okay?” At Mitsuri’s soft voice, you jumped out of your skin, cradling your bag to your chest as a shield.

“W… What are you guys still doing here?” You ask, before furiously wiping at your eyes.

“You’re avoiding our question. Why are you crying?” Normally, you would’ve brushed them off, and replied in a snarky comment, but you were tired, and you just wanted your bed.

“I... Tomioka and I got into a little fight, is all.” You replied, not even looking up from fixing up your bag.

Mitsuri immediately looked back at the others upon hearing you say ‘Tomioka’, before rubbing your back consolingly. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

You sniffed. “No, not really. I’m just tired and I want to go home.”

A quick look passed between Mtsuri and Kyojuro before the Flame Hashira walked over to you.

“And home you shall go! C’mon, (F/N), I’ll drive you back.” Kyojuro said, grabbing a hold of your bag while Misturi took your hand, leading the two of you after Kyojuro. “Yeah! I’ll make you some pancakes, and lots of other food!”

Once the three of you left, Shinobu looked up at Uzui, and nodded.

Shinobu and Uzui found Giyuu splayed back at the center training mat.

For a good second the pair thought that the Water Pillar had fainted, or something of the same degree. But upon getting closer, they noticed him looking up, dazed, with a hand over his lips. Making their way over, they sat at either side of him, waiting for him to acknowledge their presence.

“What are you two even doing here.” Giyuu blinked as he realized he wasn’t alone in the room anymore. They were looking down at him with a mix of surprise and amusement. “Did you just come to stare at me?”

“We should be the one asking you that,” two seconds into talking to Giyuu and he was already testing Shinobu’s patience. “(F/N) went back to the meeting room.”

“Yeah. She was crying flamboyantly, by the way.” Uzui nodded briskly, arms crossed and eyes closed in thought.

Giyuu couldn’t deny how his chest had tightened at the memory of you walking out earlier, “I know.”

When he didn’t speak for another few seconds, clearly having no plans to elaborate until prodded, Shinobu sighed. “Care to tell us what happened?”

Do I have to…? Giyuu scowled softly. But he might as well, since he was lost ever since you left, with no clue what to do next.

“... She told me she didn’t like me, so I apologized and moved to leave,” Giyuu’s voice was no louder than a whisper, as if he was scared someone would overhear. But the other Pillars heard him nonetheless. “But then she kissed me and told me she liked me before leaving me here.”

Shinobu would be lying if she didn’t admit she felt victorious. So you were lying. HA! But that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, you left the other half of the party lying down on the training room floor and it seemed they needed to drag him back to his feet if they wanted a straight answer from you.

“And? How do you feel about that?” Shinobu poked the side of Giyuu’s cheek, but it’s like the male was still lost somewhere they couldn’t reach as he failed to give the slightest reaction besides words.

“Confused.” Giyuu muttered mostly to himself. “Really confused.”

“I feel like there’s a flamboyant ‘But’ in there...?” Uzui honestly felt like he was getting his child to admit what he did wrong - except he had no child, he was talking to the Water Pillar, a grown man who should’ve been easy getting answers from.

Giyuu’s eyes softened at the idea of you, and the kiss from earlier, and the look didn’t exactly escape the surrounding Pillars. “I like her too. A lot.”

Shinobu suddenly stood up, surprising both males. “Well, then, you’ve got your answer. So what are you lying around here for?”

“She left, I doubt she wants to speak with me now,” Giyuu muttered, disheartened - which was the exact opposite of what Shinobu wanted to achieve.

She remembered something odd she noticed when you had left earlier, so she looked around the room and felt like she struck gold.

“Oh, she did leave, it’s definitely too late for that,” Shinobu says, brushing aside Giyuu’s sarcastic “gee, thanks”. “But I have a hunch that she’ll be returning soon.You’ll just have to wait.”

Shinobu pointed to the far end of the training room, forcing Giyuu to muster the energy to sit up to see where she was pointing to. There on the wall was your Nichirin blades among the rack of extra training swords.

“I can’t believe how stupid I am today.” You grumbled before exiting the elevator.

You were on your way home with Mitsuri and Kyojuro, when you noticed that the sword strapped to your waist wasn’t your nichirin blade, but the wooden one from the training hall. Kyojuro was nice enough to turn the car around back to the building, and pressed the hazard button on the car as he pulled up in front of Ubuyashiki tower.

“Take your time (F/N)-san, Mitsuri-san and I will wait here.” Lightly, you smile at him before grabbing the wooden sword and going into the building.

And this is where you find yourself. You were back in the training hall, warm orange light filtering through the large windows as the sun began to set. You were glad you noticed your missing sword when you did because not being prepared for a mission could cost someone’s life. Running your fingers through the wall, you open the lights and feel a slight disappointment at how empty the hall was of people - or rather one raven-haired male.

You messed up once already, (F/N). Why add to that by wishing he was here?

Letting out a sigh, you move to the wall, to where your sword was supposed to be, and jump out of your skin when you notice the Water Pillar leaning over and facing away from you towards the window.

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Because why not?

Quietly, and in hopes to avoid him seeing you, you creeped carefully along the wall, clutching your nichirin blade to your chest, as you exchanged it with the wooden sword. You turn around, thankful that he didn’t seem to notice your presence before walking to the ele-

“Why did you leave earlier?” He asks, not moving an inch from his position.

Of course he noticed you.

“I didn’t think any of us had anything else to say.” you fiddle with the blade in your hands, refusing to turn and face him. Your hands haven’t shook this much in years, the last time being when you had first fought a demon.

“Well, I had something to say,” You cringe as he turned to you, his face as beautifully stoic as you had always known.

Okay, wow. You knew he had a bit of a mean streak going on, one that died down when it came to talking to you but you didn’t really think he was mean enough to roast you for having a stupid crush. Sure, you did accidentally say you didn’t like him, but that was a lie - obviously, since you kissed him like the suicidal dumbass that you were.

“Well, I’m here now, so we might as well rip the bandaid,” you say that, but as his eyes bore into your own, you realize that you’re not ready for what he has to say and you cut in as he opens his mouth. “Before you say anything though, I just wanted to say that I completely understand if you want to stay away from me and-”

As you rambled on, you didn’t notice him walk closer. Giyuu had a determined look on his face as he grabbed onto your hands that were nervously playing with your sword, and held them in his own, softly running a thumb over your knuckles. You immediately drag your gaze from the floor and into his eyes, seeing warmth and gentleness in his blue irises.

Giyuu’s eyes never leave yours, even as he asks, “I do have something to say… If you would listen?”

You swallowed, your mouth feeling dry, as you give him a slight nod.

He breathes deeply before he speaks. “I’ll admit. I don’t really care what others think of me, as long as I’m doing my job and they’re doing theirs. I’m used to people saying I’m cold, and unlikable, but for the past few weeks, I found your company comforting, and I thought that we’ve been genuinely getting along with each other. So when you said you didn’t like me when I was going to ask if you wanted to have another match, I was really confused and hurt.”

“I’m sorry-” You interrupt, before he shakes his head and asks you to let him finish.

“So, I was really surprised when you pulled me back and kissed me. Then you go off telling me that you like me, not even 5 minutes after you told me you didn’t, and then you leave, not even letting me process anything, or telling you what I had to say.”

Giyuu stops for a moment, opening his eyes and looking deep into yours. He seemed to debate something for a moment before he decided, and took a short breath.

“If you would have waited, I would have told you that I like you too.” Your knees felt absolutely weak as he placed his forehead over yours. You could feel the rough calluses on his hands as he squeezed yours softly.

“You would have?” You ask. He nods. “Do you really?”

Your heart melts when you see his face change into a soft smile, a smile he only put on for you. “I do. I really like you (F/N).”

It felt so surreal hearing him say that he liked you too. You felt like you could fly.

“I like you too.” A small watery laugh bubbles up from your throat, and a warm giddy feeling swirls around your stomach, easily replacing the heavy feeling of regret.

You could feel the tears fall from your eyes and the blood rush to your face. You pull your hands off from his as you use it to cover the raging blush on your cheeks. “Ugh, stop making me cry. This has to be the most I've ever cried in my life.”

“And it’s the most I’ve ever been confused in mine too… but I hope it’s happy tears now?” He takes both of your hands into his left, using his other to wipe at the tears and cradle your face, like you were a priceless jewel.

“Yeah,” You hum, moving closer and letting his left hand release your hands as his arm wraps around your waist. He pulls you closer and you revel in his warmth. “Can you say it again?”

“I like you.” His smile grows fonder as you lean into his touch, and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Giyuu has never felt so content in his life.

“Again?”

“I really, really like you.” He says softly, and your mouth stretches into a smile that mirrors his.

“Prove it?” You ask, faintly hinting at what you wanted him to do as your faces move closer and closer until you were an inch apart and could feel his breath fan over your face.

“Okay,” He whispers, before he finally leaned in and kissed you again.

BONUS:

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Obanai groaned as he rolled over in the large training room floormat. You might have used wooden sticks, but it still hurt like hell.

“I didn’t know the training room floor was so cozy,” Muichiro mused, staring up at the ceiling as he was splayed on the ground. “I don’t think I’ve ever been knocked down before. (F/N)-san, help me sit up. My spine feels tingly ever since you hit me.”

You laughed sheepishly, crouching beside the Mist Pillar before helping him sit up. Giyuu, on the other hand, was standing over Obanai, looking down at the Serpent Pillar with a bored gaze.

“You told me not to hold back,” Giyuu deadpanned, bi-colored irises glaring at him from below.

Word had travelled fast that you and Giyuu were going out. And of course, since you had always been dragged into the Pillars’ shenanigans, you had decided it was time that Giyuu be a part of the group. So to warm up a bit to the idea of having him around, you had offered the idea to have a training session with everyone, doing pair up battles to save time and promote teamwork. They agreed, since they have never seen Giyuu train with you, much less have trained with him themselves.

But the idea backfired hard.

“Tomioka and (L/N) win,” Gyomei announces, a small smile on his face. He looked amused more than anything. “That’s 3 wins.”

You decided the pairs by letting four people write their names on scraps of paper and letting the other four pick from the pile. Gyomei had decided to sit this one out and be the moderator, so the numbers balanced out. And since Giyuu was the so-called “guest of honor”, the others had allowed him to pick first.

“You guys rigged it. I know you fucking did,” Sanemi grumbled.

Giyuu had miraculously pulled out your name from the pile. Sure, there were only four names, but it was still a one-out-of-four odds.

“You can check if you want, Sanemi,” you sighed in exasperation. “I didn’t do shit to that paper.”

“Bullshit,” he roughly grabs the scrap from Giyuu and inspects it, the other Pillars laughing as he nitpicks your paper.

You stand next to Giyuu, who was leaning on a wall away from the Pillars, and ask in a soft voice so no one else could hear. “Alright. How’d you do it?”

You see him smile for a fraction of a second from the corner of your eye. “You press down on your pen too much when you write, so I just felt around for the paper that had the most indentations.”

“How the fuck…?” Sanemi exclaimed, and you laughed again.

“You’re so amazing!” Mitsuri squealed, bounding up to the training room floor and glomping you. “You guys worked together flawlessly! ”

“That’s putting it too lightly,” Uzui laughed. “They flamboyantly wiped us out.”

“Yes! Truly amazing!” Kyoujuro nodded. “I’m aware of both of your prowess, but this was truly overwhelming.”

“You fuckers cheated!” Sanemi growled, walking over to the training room floor and pointing his wooden sword at the two of you. “How did you-”

“Your attacks are mostly mid level swings, aimed at the stomach,” Giyuu answers passively as he sits down beside you and Muichiro on the floor.

“Wh…?” For the first time, Sanemi is caught off guard, and so are the other Pillars, but you nod at Giyuu’s words. You don’t notice how they stared at the both of you weirdly.

“Yeah, you do,” you laugh softly, before making a slow sweeping motion with your wooden sword, Giyuu parrying it once it’s within his distance. “You swing, and then when your opponent curls up, either from pain or to try and dodge, you go for a thrust.”

When you stop talking, you and Giyuu turn to the other Pillars, who were mostly looking at you with gaped mouths. Shinobu and Kyoujuro had frozen smiles on their faces and Obanai and Sanemi were looking at you like you had force fed them rotten food.

Was it something you said…?

“Hey, (F/N)-chan,” Shinobu suddenly cut in through the silence, smiling as pleasant as ever. “How did you beat me? Tomioka-san uses hard force to deflect but-”

“You usually do thrusts. I guess because of your sword style, right?” you answer, almost impulsively. “It ends up leaving too many openings, especially if someone hits you from the side.”

“You only do slashes when you’re close enough,” Giyuu adds. “But you thrust when you’re too far away because it helps with your speed and momentum.”

You blink again, the room coming into view again, and find the others staring at you, more confused than anything.

“Tomioka-san? (F/N)-chan?” Shinobu asked, the smile gone. Shit, did you say something you shouldn’t have? “What are you talking about…? I only use a revolver because it carries my poisons better. My sword is usually reserved as a last resort, but I haven’t used it in a long time. I was a bit off today since I’m not used to it anymore, but...”

“Not to mention,” Sanemi grumbles to the side, looking at the both of you suspiciously. “I haven’t gone on any fucking mission with you guys. How the hell do you know how I fight? You stalkers, or something?”

You turn to Giyuu, and he turns to you with a confused look that probably mirrored your own. The other Pillars stared, waiting for your answer. But you blanched.

How the fuck do I answer that?

Finally, Giyuu breaks the stare and turns to the other Pillars, “Mission and Training videos.”

You blinked. And so did the others. Every single one of you had the same confused looks on your faces.

Mission and training… videos?

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them?” Giyuu raised an eyebrow at the Pillars, who looked at one another, expecting someone to know. He sighs as he points up at a surveillance camera at the corner of the training room. “They’re a collection of videos in the Corps archives, mostly of the Pillars during joint training sessions or battles with the Twelve Demon Moons. They’re captured using the crow-drones or the cameras scattered inside and around the building. Demon Slayers can ask to view them for educational purposes, like learning a new breathing technique.”

You gape at Giyuu and Pillars in turn, a frown slowly etching over your face. Something told you that wasn’t the whole truth. Maybe the videos were real, but on how you knew about the other’s battle styles, well…

“There’s such a thing…?” Shinobu mutters thoughtfully, looking at you and Giyuu.

Uh-oh, looks like she doesn’t buy it.

“EEK!” Mitsuri suddenly exclaims, and Shinobu and the others jump from the shrill sound. “What if my videos are super embarrassing? I have to check!”

And she’s out the door, followed closely by Obanai who was trying to reassure her that it was okay. You’re rather surprised Obanai got up so quickly when he was just on the floor earlier.

“Shit like that exists? And I’m only finding out about this now?” Sanemi grumbled, his aura carefully getting angrier and angrier. “What if the fucking demons get a hold of those videos?”

Sanemi was out the door in the next second, yelling about giving away the corps’ battle strategies. Kyoujuro and Uzui followed, interested about seeing the videos. Gyomei took Muichiro to the clinic with Shinobu. The Insect Pillar cast you a questioning look before trailing behind the Stone and Mist Pillars.

And then it was just you and Giyuu again.

“Giyuu?” you called out softly in the silence. When you hear him hum, signalling that he was listening, you push on. “I’ve never seen those videos before. I didn’t even know they existed.”

You turn to him when he lets out a soft laugh, “I haven’t either. I read about them in a report a long time ago, but I never felt the need to see them.”

Wordlessly, Giyuu lies back down on the training mat, arms crossed behind his head. He stares up at the ceiling, looking deep in thought. There’s a question at the tip of your tongue, something you’ve always wanted to ask, but could never muster the strength to actually say outloud.

“It’s odd. Shinazugawa was right. I’ve never been assigned to go on a mission with him,” Giyuu started, still staring up at the ceiling, seemingly muttering to himself. “But I knew how he was going to move. It was almost like-”

“Like you’ve fought with him before?” you finished, and you turned to Giyuu to find his eyes already staring deep into your’s.

“That’s the thing, though,” Giyuu scowled, your image blurring at the edges. Was that a kimono you were wearing? “I’ve never trained with any of them before today. But it felt like I knew what to do. Like I’ve seen it before. Not in a video, though.”

“More like muscle memory,” you mumble, lost in Giyuu’s eyes. Has his hair always been that long? “Like my body already knew how to move on its own.”

The silence stretched on, but it was almost like time had stopped for the both of you.

“I’m not ready,” you sighed shakily, your hands wringing around as you paced in the room before the Ubayishiki garden. You could hear the yells and grunts of your fellow Pillars, mixed in with the clash of swords. “Sanemi always looks at me like I’m a demon and I think this is his chance of actually cutting my head off.”

“Relax, (F/N),” Giyuu sighed, taking your hands into his and rubbing them, trying to get the blood circulating again. “On the bright side, at the very least, he still sees you. I think he sees me as an annoying fly.”

You manage a shaky laugh, and Giyuu takes it as a small victory before making you look him in the eye.

“You’ll be fine, but if you need help,” he smiles softly and you don’t miss the mischief in his eyes. “These are just some things I’ve noticed when he tries to attack me…”

You blink, and you're back in the training room. Where were you just now? There wasn’t a room like that in the whole building. It was old, like the traditional Japanese houses you’d see on T.V. and books. But Giyuu was there, and so were you and the other Pillars, apparently. Your eyes find Giyuu’s face again, and he looks just as confused. Did he see that, too…?

“You know, (F/N), there have been moments where I feel like I’ve seen them happen before, especially when I’m with you,” Giyuu starts hesitantly. You wouldn’t think it weird, would you? “I know for a fact they haven’t, Shinazugawa and Kocho was proof of that, but they just feel so real. And I couldn’t explain them.”

You think of his words for a second - they were exactly what you felt - and nod for him to continue. “But now I wonder - I always push them away because I don’t remember them happening, but now that I think about it, just because they haven’t happened from what I remember, doesn’t mean they never happened, at all.”

“Don’t remember...but doesn’t mean they never happened…?” you whisper, the question you’ve wanted to ask threatening to break out. But looking at Giyuu’s eyes, the wall you’ve been building around to keep your thoughts in place are broken down. “...Like in another life...?”

The question hangs in the air for another second before Giyuu’s face breaks into a small smile and he lets out a small laugh. He turns away from you, and you’re left confused all over again.

“You should see the look on your face right now,” he says, and you turn red at the realization he’s laughing at you. “It’s priceless. Sorry, but you’re really cute.”

“You…!” you tackle him, straddling him and lifting him by the collar of his shirt. “Were you just making fun of me?”

Giyuu stares at you fondly, basically confirming your question. Your blush gets darker as you stand up wordlessly and pack up your belongings. You couldn’t believe he was just pulling your leg! And you fucking fell for it!

Your cheeks are puffed up in anger as you walk out of the training room. You hear Giyuu’s footsteps and his voice calling out for you, but you don’t make the effort to let him know you noticed him.

When you step out of the building, Giyuu finally catches up to you, holding on to your hand.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. You frown at him hard and he responds by raising his free hand in surrender. “I really am. Sorry for laughing.”

You pout, before returning his grip. You suppress laughing at the relieved look on his face. “You’re paying for dinner, I’ll have you know.”

The two of you walk in tranquil silence on your way to your favorite restaurant. You don’t notice Giyuu’s loving stare as you walk hand in hand. For a second, you’re both walking back from a mission. Your kimono and uniform were battered pretty bad, and you had a bruise at the corner of your mouth, but you look up at him and smile.

You turn to Giyuu in surprise when he suddenly squeezes your hand. “Giyuu…?”

“If it really was another life,” he whispers, and you had half a mind to tell him off for trying to pull your leg again. But at the misty look in his eyes - the same one you stared at earlier in the training room - you shut your mouth. “I’m glad I found you again.”

You smile softly, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, me, too.”

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switchbrainedholylime · 3 years

Text

O, Canada

A small gift of Renga fic to @emmettspeakz

Reki laid on the floor awoken by the sun’s rays. He and Langa had just ended up having an impounti sleepover at his workshop since he stayed up until 3 in the morning fixing up their boards. The redhead looked over at Langa who muttered to himself in his sleep.

“Oui, j'aimerais le pain au chocolat (Yes, I’d like the chocolate croissant). Oui, l'école va bien (Yes, school’s fine)...Papa, quand nous reverrons-nous? (Father, when will we meet again?)...Adieu,” Langa opened his eyes only to see a very confused Reki. “What’s wrong?”

“You were just sayin’ some weird stuff in yer sleep.” Reki answered.

“Oh, was I talking in French again? Sorry, I grew up in a resort town between Quebec City and Montreal, where there’s a lot of French-speakers. I speak French, English, and Japanese.” Langa yawned, “Sometimes I speak another language in my sleep.”

“Really? That’s so cool.” Reki’s eyes glistened.

“My adopted dad Oliver-”

“Wait, wait, hold on. You’re adopted? Since when?” Reki’s glistening eyes turned to confusion.

“Yeah, haven’t you ever wondered why I don’t look like my parents?” Langa pointed to himself. “My biological dad gave me up to his two friends Oliver and my mom when I was...4? Yeah, that sounds right. He was really busy with work; he’s a UN representative for Canada and he felt it’d look bad on his part to have a bastard kid so he swept it under the rug. Though it might come out if I go through with Miya on competing in the Olympics in a few years.”

“That sucks, I had no idea...,” Reki sighed, “Who am I kiddin’? I’m practically in the same boat. My dad works at a black company. The old man gets maybe four hours of sleep a week if he’s lucky. I never want to end up like him, just tied to an office chair.”

“What do you want to do?” Langa asked.

“I don’t know. Skate, I guess.” Reki yawned.

“Yeah, but even skilled skaters like Cherry and Joe have day jobs. Hell, even Adam does and he runs the circuit.” Langa brought up.

“Man, don’t bring up that bastard’s name this early in the morning.” Reki groaned. “Besides, I got that job at the shop.”

“We both know that’s not gonna pay the bills,” Langa pointed out.

“True.” Reki sat up, “Our English teacher said the career survey’s due on Monday. Ugh, I still haven’t got a clue.”

“You’re pretty good with your hands and handling tools. You don’t want an office job, and I can’t blame you. Maybe technical school?” Langa suggested.

“Joe mentioned that last week. He said he’d be glad to write a letter of recommendation for the trade school he went to, but I don’t know if I’d like to work in a kitchen.” Reki looked over at his tools. “Maybe a handyman? I’d probably like fixin’ things up a whole lot more than I would be at my dad’s place. Just thinking about being a boring salaryman makes me wanna puke. Dad always looks so miserable, like someone just yanked his soul out of his chest.”

“So sort of what you looked like after skating with Adam?” Langa asked. “Except all of the time?”

“Please don’t say that bastard’s name. It’s too early in the morning.” Reki moaned and rubbed his eyes. “Or ever say it,”

Langa laughed lightly as Reki pouted. “Hey, I wasn’t joking!”

“I know.” Langa smiled and then planted a small kiss on Reki’s cheek. “My biological father and I meet up to have dinner once every six months. I only recently mentioned that I was dating you in a text and he told me he wants to meet you.”

“I’ll need to brush up on my English then.” Reki sighed.

“I’m sure Boyer-sensei will help.”

-------------

Their English teacher was a brunette American woman they called “Boyer-sensei”. She had a larger frame and was pale. She walked around collecting the career survey forms from her students. As usual, Reki was looking at his phone, texting with Langa about a new skate trick they saw on Instagram.

“Reki Kyan. Langa Hasegawa.” Boyer-sensei looked down at the redhead and blue-haired skaters. “Do you have the forms I passed out last week? The student council wants them to be collected by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yeah,” The couple handed them to their English teacher.

Boyer-sensei was genuinely shocked. “You never have your homework done.”

“Are your standards really that low for us?” Langa appeared distraught.

“Yes, they are.” Boyer stated firmly as she read Reki’s list. “A repairman...construction worker...hold on, are you really Reki Kyan? You’re not an Auton, are you?”

“What’s an Auton?” Reki asked.

“It’s a monster from Dr. Who.” Langa explained. “They create replicas of humans. Do you not have Dr. Who available in Japan?”

Reki was quiet for an awkward moment. He wasn’t sure. “Well, I figured it was a weird nerd reference.”

“Anyway, Boyer-sensei, most skaters have day jobs. I’m NOT giving up skating anytime soon.” Reki grinned and winked over at Langa who smiled back.

“I guess that makes sense. I-I just never thought the day would come where you have a single brain cell or atom of responsibility in your veins.” Boyer-sensei was floored. “The world really is ending.”

------

A few weeks later, the day finally arrived where Reki would have to get into a decent pair of dress clothing for the first time since...ever. Cherry and Joe helped Reki pick out a traditional red yukata that didn’t feel trashy as his regular look but not so stuffy it made him visibly uncomfortable.

[SNOW (LANGA): Just got in his rental from the airport. I gave his coiffeur your address. We’re on our way.]

[REKI: Cool. Waiting outside.]

Reki stood at the edge of his driveway tapping his skateboard nervously. He tried to imagine what a fancy-ass version of Langa would look like in a suit with the UN logo.

A vintage red BMW pulled up. He instantly recognized Langa who was in a iron pressed dress shirt and khakis. The coiffeur was a local man he recognized as a regular at S and the shop, but he was silent the entire time.

Next to him was a man with Langa’s exact same hair, face, and height. The only difference the eye and hair color along with the fact that he wore glasses. He had blond hair and purple eyes. His dad didn’t look that old. He looked like he was in his early twenties. He was even more well-dressed than Langa and Reki combined. A satin beige suit, Italians handmade shoes, slightly wavy hair that smelled like fresh-brewed coffee.

Shadow looks older than this guy. Reki blinked, his face full of confusion. Did he say father or brother? Reki was almost positive Langa said father, but how young was he when he had him? Two?

Reki shook his head. Just don’t blow it, don’t sound like the moron you are in front of this fancy-dancy foreign guy.

“Hey, Langa! Got a fancier ride than usual?” Reki greeted them with a smile.

Langa blinked at his and the other man. “Yeah, you wanna get in.”

The moment Reki got in there was an awkward silence. Reki sat in the middle of the two Canadians. The redhead had a million questions but the air in the backseat was so thick.

“So you smell like coffee.” Renga stated as Langa shake his head. “That’s a good thing. I usually smell like sweat and Mountain Dew. I actually took a shower today and brushed my teeth.” Reki smiled brightly.

“Good, glad to know.” The diplomat smiled nervously. “My name’s Matthew Williams, PhD, Canadian UN diplomat.”

“I’m Reki Kyan...I like to skate. I work part-time at this skate shop with Langa. We’ve been dating for...I think four months.” The redhead explained.

“I’ve heard from Langa’s mother. Thanks for teaching Langa and being with him. So is there skate hotels you like to frequent?” Matthew asked.

“Does the hospital count?” Reki asked.

“I wouldn’t exactly give it five stars. Langa, has Japan been treating you well so far?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah, most people are pretty nice. There’s no Tim Hortons, but I’ve gotten addicted to Ramen. Still would love a donut every now and then.”

“That’s the place where they sell donuts instead of fries, right?” Reki looked over at his boyfriend.

“Yeah,” Langa replied.

“Man that sounds delicious!” Reki smiled.

“So Langa, your mother told me that you and Reki had a falling out a month ago because of this shady person called Adam.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

“You know I’ve made people...disappear before for ignoring me, causing me trouble, just being an obnoxious brat of a twin brother who tormented me since 1867 until I couldn’t take it anymore.” Matthew stated with a mixture of innocence and sinstery. “I could make this ‘Adam’ person disappear, too. I’ve made good friends with Russia since we used to share a border back when Alaska was part of the Soviet Union.”

“What do you mean ‘disappear’?” Reki’s eyes widened. “Wait, how old are you? You were around during the Cold War...that’s um, Langa?”

“Alaska was annexed by the US in the 1950s.” Langa stated.

“Right, I knew that.” Reki nodded. “Uh, so wouldn’t that make you seventy or something? Like my grandpa’s seventy-three and he’s got really bad teeth.”

“Reki, why don’t you tell him about your career survey?” Langa smiled.

“Oh, I’m planning on going to technical school.”

“That’s nice.”

There was an awkward silence between the trio.

“So...are you going to charge me anything for making Adam ‘disappear’? You’re not going to get in trouble for that, are you?” Reki asked.

“I have diplomatic immunity.” Matthew replied, “Laws don’t apply to me.”

“Well, I won’t lie it is tempting.” Reki bit his lip.

----------

1 week later

Reki, Langa, Miya, Shadow, and Cherry relaxed at Joe’s Italian restaurant as the TV played the noontime news.

“Politician Ainosuke Shindo has been found in his mansion dead since yesterday morning. It’s suspected that the killer used radioactive poison to taint his food. If you have any information, please contact the police.” The newswoman stood outside of Adam’s mansion that was taped off.

Everyone looked over at Reki and Langa.

“What?” They stared around at their fellow skaters.

#ooc #aph canada #canada #sk8 the infinity #renga #langa #reki kyan #cherry #joe #adam

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

Text

we meet now and then on a winter’s day (and i am all the better for it)

rafael barba x female!reader.

word count: 13,187 (forgive me for either writing less than a thousand words or over 10k. one day i’ll learn moderation.)

rating: teen, for growing pains, and learning to love home no matter where you are (canon-typical mentions of sexual abuse/sex crimes).

link to it on AO3.

You’re too clumsy for your own good.

Your limbs are gangly, your feet are too big, and every step feels like a struggle to stay upright. It’s the worst of times, tenth grade.

And high schoolers are brutal, and you get a feeling it’s extra so in New York. They don’t take no for an answer, they laugh in your face and spit on you (figuratively… sometimes). Girls trip you in their stunning shoes that your feet could never fit in, poke at your knobby knees, and boys don’t even bother with you.

You’re new, and a loner, and can’t keep your books in your hands, and it all seems to combine into an ugly cocktail, one that makes you lash out. Other loners usually have one thing wrong with them. You have two left feet and a name no one knows. Easy target.

So you don’t see the three boys in front of you, walking home, because your head is ducked and your knees ache from the way you fell in the middle of the damn hallway. And one of them for sure doesn’t see you. He’s walking backwards, his mouth running, but you don’t hear anything either, not what he’s saying, not his friends who try to warn him in attempts of Spanish and English.

You feel the collision, though. It’s not violent, but the girth of his bookbag into your chest knocks you backwards onto your ass. You cry out in pain, one of your ankles catching underneath you, and it feels like something twists, hard enough to hurt.

Well. It wasn’t as if you were having such a good day before.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, and when you look up, a boy is leaning over you. His green eyes are startling, and you think he’s apologizing, but your eyes have to blink away some reflexive tears to really see the way his lips are moving. You’re still dazed, but you realize that it’s three of them, leaning over you, and you don’t like the way they’re staring.

“That’s what you get for running your mouth, Barba,” a boy teases, reaching forward to punch the kid directly above you in the shoulder. He takes it, but he’s still focused on you, those eyes not giving you a break. It makes your face redden, and you dip your chin, clench your jaw.

“Shut it, Eddie,” he says quickly, and it takes you a moment to recognize the words. You just manage a tight smile and groan as you shift off of your ankle. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you tell him. He nods at that, but he still doesn’t really take a step back. Just pulls up from his crouched position. “Really, just. Uh. Sorry, I guess.”

“You don’t have to give him an excuse,” the third boy informs her. “Hey, Rafi, give her some space, you don’t have to keep her on the ground.”

With that he pulls back, and you get a good look at them. The three of them are in uniform. You recognize the colors, your block a healthy mix of that particular school’s students and the P.S. you attended. The two behind the one who ran into you – what was it, Rafi? – have their ties undone, shirts untucked. The boy in front of you has his uniform perfect, however, and you watch as he lifts his hand to run through the front of his hair. He looks a little older, almost adult, and your limbs feel like the legs of a fawn, a jumbled heap. You know you look disheveled, in comparison, making you drop your eyes before you push yourself up.

“Can you stand?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you bite out, and the day comes back to you in a wave, one that makes your eyes began to water. “Just. Leave me be, all right?”

“And leave you on the ground?” He scoffs like the implication itself is an offense. It’s as if he doesn’t recognize the scowl on your face as being directed towards him. “Come on, take my hand.”

He reaches out to you. His hand is almost shoved in your face, and you pull back for a moment before looking at the group of them.

They don’t seem… mean. Just… boys. Your mother’s voice sings in your head, reminding you that asking for help isn’t a weakness, just a fact of life. And while you wish that wasn’t true, the fact of life was also you were in a lot of pain.

With a sigh, you settle on reaching out and taking it, and when he starts to help pull you up the other two assist. You tried to ignore the prickle of your eyes, closing them as you were lifted from the ground.

However, your ankle gives out as soon as you put weight on it. You make it to your full height for a moment, before suddenly you’re falling forward again.

But they catch you. Rafi does, really, and the other boys help get you to standing. You ignore the look that the two of them give you, eye rolls and shared smirks.

“That ankle’s not going to take you home,” the Barba kid tells you. You glance down at it, wincing at the swelling, and he turns to his friends. “Let’s walk her.”

“Oh, no, did you break it?” Eddie asks, horrified, but that earns him a smack on the back of the head from the third friend.

“Que eres estúpido? Shut up, Eddie, it’s twisted at the worst.”

A snort left you. You can’t get a word in edgewise, the way they start clambering over each other, arguing, but you raise your voice, make yourself heard. “I’m just… hey, I’m just down the street, I can manage. You guys seem like you need to go somewhere.”

“Well, if you’re just down the street then it’s not a problem.” Rafi’s voice is matter of fact, and with a grin he reaches for your arm. “Alejandro, get the other side.”

“Rafi, no offense, but, uh, let Eddie handle that. You and me together will make her even more lopsided.” Alejandro has a grin, bright at the not-so-subtle dig.

“Eres el peor,” the boy mutters, and with a roll of his eyes, he pulls back, hands lifting in surrender.

Eddie and Alejandro laugh, and so do you, a little chuckle, more for the tone than the actual words. Their banter makes you forget your shitty day, focusing on the group of three as they tussle for a place at your side.

“Where do you live?” Rafi asks, and you point down the street.

“I’m the… fourth building on the right?” you guess, wincing as your foot dragged along the ground. “Fucking, fucking shit, lift it, lift.”

“You’re not exactly helping,” Eddie shoots at you, and your eyes roll, the urge to yank away overruled by common sense.

“I’m trying. Look, you can just leave me alone. It’s not broken, and I’ll make it,” you point out, but all that earns is a scoff from Rafi Barba, an eye roll as he turns to face the three of you as you hobble along.

“Not happening. Look, we’re almost there. Then we’ll leave you be, and you can tell your family how you were rescued by los tres mosqueteros de Jerome Avenue.” His eyes are alight with a kind of mischief, and Alejandro snorts next to him.

“Does it count if one of ‘em is the problem?”

You chat the rest of the way. They bombard each other with questions, and a couple to you, most of which you can’t manage to answer as they tease each other and poke and prod. A couple of times you stumble, but they’re there, keeping you upright, and Rafi makes sure that you don’t fall face first onto concrete. He walks backwards, then forwards, then backwards again, always making sure that you can hear him as he talks about whatever crosses the mind of the three.

It seems like a lifetime, but no longer than a minute or two. You walk, forward, forward, forward, and then you’re up against your building, leaning against it after forcing Eddie and Alejandro to let you go.

“I’ve just gotta buzz my mom,” you tell them. “Trust me, you’re free to go, I can make it.”

“Not likely,” Rafi’s incredulous at the suggestion, but you just roll your eyes. “You can barely stand up straight.”

He’s firmly planted. Eddie and Alejandro look more ready to skedaddle, bouncing on their toes as the cold hits them. Rafi is just staring, and you find yourself meeting his gaze, lifting your chin. “Look, I know you feel obligated, but I don’t make a habit of showing strangers my exact address –“

“And I would contend we’re not strangers. Acquaintances at the very least, maybe even friends. We know each other’s names; we’ve been quite friendly.”

“Oh, yeah? You know my name?”

The silence is deafening. That wins it. Because Rafi Barba, in all of his urgency, in all of their chatting, never once asked. None of them did. Which doesn’t hurt your feelings. It’s easy to pull away from people you don’t know, and you’d rather just make it up the rickety elevators in peace. Crawl into your bed and die from mortification and exhaustion.

You asked for help. Now the help was over.

“Look, you did your good deed for the day, I made it home,” you counter, “now please, can I get there on my own?”

Just then, the door opens. Your mom comes out, sees your swollen ankle, and that should be their cue.

“Oh, sweetie,” she hummed. “No more dancing for a while, huh?”

“Dancing?” Rafi asks, and he looks between you and your mother with curiosity.

“Nope, nothing,” you scramble to say. Those moments weren’t for anyone else, just the two of you. “Anyways, thanks so much, but I should really be getting upstairs, and… sleeping. Yes, sleeping. Okay, thanks again, bye!”

You turn to hobble away, hoping your mother will say goodbye and follow you. But instead, she just smiles at the boys and looks at each of them in turn, looking over their uniforms and identical grins, Eddie and Alex lingering back behind the real culprit.

“Thank you so much for bringing my girl home,” she tells them. Her smile is bright, almost incandescent. She has that way about her, your mother, the kind of face that everyone loves, the kind of laugh that everyone is drawn to. You wish you’d inherited that, instead of gangly limbs from a man you barely knew. “She always walks home alone, and it worries me every time.”

“Mom, they were nice and all, but they probably have lives,” you sigh out, and Eddie and Alex seem to agree. They already seem to be creeping away, but Rafi is stubbornly still. “Let them get home, get out of the cold.”

“Oh, all right, all right.” She reaches for you, wraps your arm around her shoulders, and you wince as it scrapes the floor again. “Thank you, boys.”

“We should get home, Barba,” Eddie calls out. “Tus padres estarán esperando, vamanos.”

Something passes across Rafi’s face. It’s quick, and dark, but it’s there, and he nods, his jaw clenching.

“Thank you,” you say again, and it’s a little more heartfelt, genuine. You even smile, a little, an effort to wash that sour look from his face. But you’re turning away, too, when you suddenly hear Rafi Barba call out to you.

“Your name?” he asks. “Just so I know what to yell next time we almost collide.”

“If he’s facing forward,” Eddie mutters to Alejandro, who you can hear snort and shove his toe against the sidewalk.

Your eyes roll, and you look over your shoulder at the boy. He waits, patiently, for the answer, even as Eddie and Alex start moseying down the sidewalk, and his smile is more a smirk, proud of himself when you give it to him, first and last.

He repeats it, gesturing to you and making sure he gets it right. And then he points to himself, his lips quirking again. “Rafael Barba.” He reaches for your hand, and when you hesitate, he raises a brow. Those eyes pierce you. “Not friends. But. Acquaintances?”

“Cute,” you retort, but you’re reaching to shake his hand without thinking about it, gloved hands warm in each other’s grip. “Deal.”

You don’t remember why the day was shitty anymore. Just that your ankle hurts, and you now know that his full name is Rafael.

College is complicated. College is sitting and studying in your dorm room and then sitting and studying someplace else. College is hitting your head as you wake up because you have the top bunk. College is crying with frustration over chemistry.

But college is also realizing you really like what the psych professor talks about. College is finally making some real friends, and mellowing out because of it. Your lashing out fades as your anger does, the realization that people can be kind. College is getting a job and not minding that either, because you don’t mind serving others coffee if you get it for free.

So you end up liking Hudson, overall. It’s nice. College, the feel, the people, they’re nice. And you’re close enough to home that you and your mom end up still having a little bit of a dance party every so often. New York isn’t too much of a home, it never will be, but Hudson and your friends and your mom are, and it’s… it’s good, for once.

The holidays approach. Your first real break is coming up, but so are finals, and so your eyes are forcing significant figures back into your brain as you walk to your mom’s place. You had promised her you’d take a break to have dinner, but as your eyes cross with the rules you’re realizing it’s becoming less and less likely that you’ll be able to stop and talk much at all.

Your feet start tangling. You’ve gotten better at walking (only took you nineteen years to really master it), but you’re distracted and frustrated, and it’s not long before you’re tumbling forward, knees scraping the pavement, elbow smacking against the ground. You’re lucky the fall is buffered by your heavy winter gear, but your arm goes numb anyway as you nail your funny bone. Your notes go flying, your knowledge of significant figures scattering across the walkway.

“Fucking shit,” you hiss, holding your arm against your body. It’s not broken, but it hurts like a bitch, and you start crawling over towards where your notes fell to start gathering them up when a pair of gloved hands join your sole functioning one.

“Thank you so much,” you start saying, not really looking up in case the bitter winter wind takes away your notes before you can reach them. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, I just wasn’t watching my feet.”

“It’s really okay. Are you all right?” a voice asks you, and when you look up to see the kind of stranger who would help a poor student out on the street, you’re assaulted by startling green eyes.

Suddenly a memory comes back to you, of a wintry street and an ankle that twinges now in remembrance. You don’t know why you remember, but it’s there, three years past suddenly right in your rearview.

“Are you all right?” he asks you, and you realize you’ve just been staring at him. But a name is struggling to come to the surface, and you blink a few times, still captured by those damn eyes.

“Uh,” you get out. Y’know. Intelligently. He just raises a brow.

“Do you… have these?” he tries, and you realize he’s been holding onto a stack of notes that he collected, holding them out to you.

It hits you, then, and you reach for the notes with such ferocity that he immediately drops his hand when you snag them. You remember.

“Rafael Barba,” you breathe out, blinking a bit.

A beat. “How do you know my name?” the stranger asks. But this guy isn’t exactly a stranger, and of course, he’s now seen you fall to the ground twice in one lifetime. Too many times, if the lifetime is asking you, but it’s not, and it’s still far from over.

You pull back, with your notes, absently trying to get them all right-side up. You’re seeing all of him now, kneeling on the ground, face red with the wind, and it’s definitely him. The slicked back hair, and he’s even wearing a sweater over a button up. Very Catholic school.

But all he knows is that a strange girl has been staring at him, openly, and just blurted his name out of nowhere. You scramble to explain yourself. “Sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, just – I – we’ve met,” you stammer out. “Briefly. We’re… acquaintances. I don’t even know how I remember, but you… you might remember my ankle better than me.”

You see him thinking. From furrowed with concern to suspicion. And then recognition, and he’s smirking and shaking his head, glancing around where the two of you are basically sitting on the concrete. He says your name, slowly, like he did that first time too long ago. “I was just thinking about how little things have changed,” he chuckles, and you smirk, shrugging. “Seems like I was right in more ways than one.”

“Well, I don’t think clumsiness goes away,” you admit, “and this time it wasn’t your fault, so you don’t have to walk me to my apartment if you don’t want to.”

He laughs. It’s short, but bright, and you smile, cutting it with a wince as you slide the backpack on your shoulders. “Might have to, to make sure you stay on both feet.”

“I’m sure I can make it,” you assure him, but when you straighten out the elbow you injured, your face contorts, and he winces in sympathy. “I can walk this time, at least. No getting carried by los – los tres mos –“

“Los tres mosqueteros,” Rafael tells you. His voice is soft, and his eyes are ducking now, watching the sidewalk as the two of you start to stumble to your feet. He doesn’t say it with reverence. Is it… is it bitterness? “Well, solamente un mosquetero aqui, pero… I hope that’s enough.”

Self-deprecating. It makes your nose wrinkle. While college mellowed you out, it only seemed to harden Rafi. “More than,” you tell him. “But… I should be heading home. Don’t want my mom to think I bailed on her.”

“I can take those,” he offers, gesturing to your notes, the book you have. Never mind you have a backpack; he offers and you end up taking it. You don’t really know why at first, but as the two of you walk towards your apartment it starts to come into focus.

He’s grown into his voice, his attitude. He’s not just older, he’s grown, and you find yourself studying him, if only because when he talks it’s hard not to look away. He’s handsome, with those green eyes and firm voice and quick turn of his lips. The lift of his chin, as he listens, gives you a smile. But the smile feels flinty. Even after offering to carry your books, your notes, you realize it’s more out of manners than kindness. But he takes them, and you’re walking side by side for long enough that you gather some courage.

“School out of state, then? If you had to come back, for family,” you ask, to keep the conversation going, knowing that as you reach your door it’s over.

“Harvard,” he tells you, and your eyes widen at the tone. He says it with force, as if he has to keep reminding himself as much as he reminds other people. “I’m planning to go to Harvard law, too, after I take my LSAT this summer.”

“Same,” you shrug. He almost trips over his own feet at that, and when he turns to you with a raised brow you just smirk. “I’m fucking with you, obviously. Hudson. For psychology. Right now. We’ll see.”

You don’t plan on feeling bad about it. It’s what you could get, and you’re proud of it. But there’s something about standing next to a Harvard student that makes you get defensive, ducking your head. He has a little smirk, too, and you find yourself glaring.

“It’s what I could get, and that’s fine, you know. I just want to help people –“

“I know, I know,” he laughs, shaking his head, and there’s nothing mean in it. “Just… fucking with you.” It’s the hesitation that gets you, the little hiccup of years of repression, and you just snort.

“That’s right. Catholic boy. I remember,” The jab comes out without warning, and he just blushes a little. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

His head is shaking again, and when he smirks it’s at you. “Trust me, I think my mother will know even if your lips are sealed.”

“Not worried about God?” you laugh, and he mimes glancing around the whole street.

“Trust me, my mother puts the fear of God into me without any help from the Almighty.”

And then you’re in. The conversation starts flowing more freely. He talks about his family. Talks about coming home, to see his mother, his grandmother. There’s something warm when he talks about the homemade holiday meals, the Christmas mass the group of them will attend. It’s just small talk, but you also know enough not to ask about Eddie and Alejandro, to keep walking with him, keep the topics light. He asks about your family, and you tell him it’s just you and Mom, and perhaps a Christmas dance party around the plastic tree.

“Christmas dance party?” It’s skeptical, but your shrug at him, smiling at the memories of years past.

“Family tradition. I dance, my mom laughs. In the end, we end up usually knocking off some ornaments, maybe upturning a tray of cookies.”

“The whole thing?” Skepticism turns to incredulity, and you snort.

“I have a list of casualties. Three trays of cookies, one pan of brownies, a very nice-looking angel. This isn’t even counting the stuff at New Year’s…“

Rafael’s head is shaking, but you’re just dissolving into giggles as the list expands. All at once, you’re telling him about the time you tripped over an armchair right into a perfectly fine plate of muffins on Christmas morning, and he’s either too polite or too horrified to stop you. But in the end, he laughs. At you, probably, but he’s smiling again, and there’s no putting himself down anymore. Just listening to you take your clumsiness in stride.

Tt’s nice. At least you think so. There are bits of laughter that echo down the street, yours and his, and as your door approaches you find yourself dreading it a little. You missed your friends, and this was… close to something.

“Well,” you say, when the two of you arrive. The door is firmly closed, to keep the cold out, and you reach for the buzzer, turning back to look at Rafael with a smile. He hands over your notes, and you ignore the twinge in your elbow to grip everything firmly. “Thanks. For the company. Not thinking about finals was worth the tumble.”

“I was… also glad for the distraction. It’s been a while since I’ve been home and...” He doesn’t elaborate any further, but his face looks a little pinched, and you nod. Family… friends. It’s complicated.

After a moment, though, he’s looking at you as the two of you hear the door click unlocked. “You’ll get through it, though. Finals. I know it,” he assures. “And then it’s just seven more after that. Trust me, I have three left. It gets better.” He’s watching you, as you rub your arm, and though his brow pinches again, he manages a little smile. “It was good to see you again. Glad I didn’t end up doing permanent damage.”

“Well, I don’t know, future lawyer,” you tease. “Maybe once you get all rich and famous I’ll send something about damages your way. Remind you that I knew you when.”

He huffs out a little scoff, shaking his head. “Future psychologist, right? Don’t you want to practice what you’re going to preach? Forgiveness? Acceptance?”

“Where’s the fun in that? I’d rather humble you, Harvard boy.” When he scoffs again, it’s with a hand raised to you, turning back towards where you know his mother must live, the same direction he walked those years before.

As you move toward the door, pulling it open, you pause, looking back over your shoulder. He’s walking away, hands in his coat’s pockets, elbows shaking a little with the cold.

“Take care of yourself, Rafael,” you call out. “Happy holidays, too!”

Another wave, and he’s gone, and you find yourself thinking about those eyes a little later, distracting you from those significant figures you were so desperate to save.

Fuck grad school. Really.

You don’t know what possessed you, when you decided to go. Probably the same thing that possessed you to push to graduate a year early, and the same thing that encouraged you to decide on a doctorate at Fordham instead of a M.S. and moving on.

Masochism. Obviously.

But you’re stuck with it, and every three days you regret it. A new assignment, a long-ass reading, a book you want to throw out of your apartment’s window – it’s too much, and you don’t do enough, and pretty soon you’re drowning. On top of that working, so you and your mom can keep your apartment, buy her medication, and keep the world turning, things that start to feel impossible.

Does everyone feel like this? you want to scream in the world. Does every student after undergrad hate themselves?

You know the answer is yes, but you wish you could hear it from someone besides yourself. Because your mom, bless her, refuses to let you quit, still taking time to dance with you when you need it.

You just don’t want to fail. You can’t fail. So you keep pushing, and find yourself cooped up in libraries, in coffee shops, wherever-the-fuck will take you, doing what you can as long as you can, as much as you can.

There are places you end up frequenting, in the search for a place to get work done, and end up, like most grad students, in a coffee shop. The dim lighting sometimes hurts once you hit your page limit, but the coffee is cheap and strong, and they let you linger in a corner booth with your books all spread out on the table. It’s worth the carpal tunnel, the edges of the tabletop digging into your wrist, because you get shit done.

So it comes as a surprise that your safe haven, your perfect locale, is occupied by Rafael Barba.

At first you don’t even recognize him. When you first notice him, after all, he’s already sitting down, and you can’t see his face. He just looks like another student, after all, bent forward and buried in a book that is even bigger than yours. But when he stands to go get another coffee, and you catch sight of him, it’s immediate.

Of course, he doesn’t see you. Just goes back, sits down with a giant mug, and keeps chugging along.

You keep your smile to yourself, look down at the pages you’ve lost your place in and do your best to get back on track, but now you’re distracted, and Rafael is still just there. It would’ve been less shocking, maybe, if you had perhaps known he’d be in town? But now you’re just thinking about the last time you saw him, the way he laughed, smiled at you before he left…

Oh, fuck it. You just think he’s handsome.

But… it’s been a few years. There’s no way he remembers you, confirmed by the way you stand, to go get another coffee, and he doesn’t even glance up.

So you resolve yourself to doing nothing, acting on nothing. Besides, you have actual work to do, and the third cup of coffee should probably be your last before you’re bouncing off of the walls. But when you turn around, to head back to your seat, you definitely make an impression on Rafael Barba, and the impression is the massive stain on the front of his shirt.

“Oh, my god,” you cry out, and he can’t say anything, the two of you just staring at the mess. “I’m – I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you – oh, god, your shirt.”

“It’s… okay,” he sighs, and he seems to be in just as much shock. You move to grab some napkins from a table. His voice is dry, when he speaks again. “Isn’t a holiday back in the Bronx without some kind of disaster.”

You wince at the wording, but keep blotting, and then your handful of dirty napkins is useless. You pull back, and you think you’ve actually made it worse, but Rafael is just smirking at you.

“I think… it’s beyond help. But thank you for trying.”

The napkins hang limp from your hands. You feel like an idiot, but Rafael just keeps that smirk as you go to throw them away and turn back. When you do, he’s still standing there.

“I didn’t burn you, did I?” you ask him. “That was a fresh cup, I –“

“Really, it’s fine. A shirt. I’ll survive.”

He looks even better up close. Eyes bright, playful, smart. He seems to look you over with an appraising eye, and you don’t know if you measure up but you hope you do. There’s no hint of remembering, but there’s something, and you glance over at your table.

“Well. I owe you,” you say. “For the shirt, at the very least. How much is your dry cleaning? I have some cash.”

He scoffs, and you’re thrown back to high school, that same scoff telling you that you can’t possibly stumble home alone. “No, that’s not going to happen. You’re not paying for my dry cleaning.”

“Then something,” you say.

He takes a moment. Looks over you. Eyes narrow as he turns to your table, the papers fluttering in the heater’s breeze.

“Coffee? We both look like we can use a break.” And then he smiles, and you’re swooning.

He ends up sitting at your table, brings his book over to stack on top of one of yours. The two of you get to chatting, just small talk, and about halfway through your coffees it seems to click with him.

“Do I – have we met before?”

You just chuckle, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, yes. This is not the first time I’ve stumbled in front of you.”

His eyes widen. “I couldn’t place you, I thought I was –“

“Crazy? No. It’s just been… years. And each time, somehow, I manage to take a spill.”

“Clumsy, then?” he asks, teasing, and you snort.

“I wish I could say you just catch me at bad times, but. Yeah. I’m a certifiable mess.”

He laughs, and you chuckle, and the two of you keep talking the hour away. By the time you’re done with your coffee you’ve ordered a pastry, too, and for some reason you keep doubting the fact that he’s been looking at you with bright eyes the whole time.

But when the meal is done, you end up packing up your books, getting ready to leave. You say it’s because you should be getting home, but really it’s because you think if you stay there in the booth any longer, you’ll do something crazy, like ask him out. But instead of letting you go, he offers to walk with you, and the two of you leave the shop together.

“So, you stuck around, huh?” he asks, and you can’t help but notice the tone of his voice. “You enjoy the Bronx that much?”

“I figured Hudson U was enough distance between me and my mom. Fordham had the program I wanted, plus, I could stay back and take care of her.”

He huffs a little laugh. Something about it rankles you, but you put it behind you, and the two of you keep walking.

After that, you start to notice other things. Like that fact that he doesn’t stop bringing up Harvard. At first, you deal with it, because yes, it is a big deal. A kid from the Bronx, ending up at Harvard Law? But he won’t, and can’t, shut up about it, and it makes you antsy.

Other ways, too. Talking about Boston like it’s the be-all, end-all. Mentioning how if he came back to work, he’d settle in Manhattan, not back home.

“I want to become a judge, at some point, and Manhattan’s the best way to get there,” he explains, and you nod, but it keeps… bugging you.

“I’m sure,” you concede. “But I don’t know. I like it here. The people, the town.”

When he scoffs, it’s almost cruel, and your heart aches at the way he dismisses it, all with a hand wave. “Yeah, but, Hudson isn’t doing anyone any favors. You should try to head out, spread your wings. Manhattan’s always in need of psychologists.”

Maybe it’s supposed to be nice, some advice. Yet, advice you didn’t ask for, and to you, all it says is that all he can remember about you is the unfortunate undergrad you went to. It infuriates you, makes you halt walking, your bag with all of your books jostling against your back.

“Oh, my god. You truly think you’re doing me a favor just by talking to me, don’t you?” you say, and he just rolls his eyes at you.

“Of course not, that’s not what I meant.” But it’s the final straw, and no longer does Rafael Barba look handsome. He just looks like an ass.

Part of it is that you’re tired, stressed, overwhelmed. Talking instead of studying. But all you can focus on is his tone, his act. “You think you’re so much better than me. What, because you… you ‘got out of here?’ Out of shitty apartments and neighborhoods, and you can already see the big bucks?” you sigh, and Rafael’s brow only raises at you, looking down his nose at you like that’s how they’re trained at Harvard Law. Maybe they are – an image comes to mind of students preparing to pass the bar by practicing evil smirks and sharp looks.

“Look, I had to fight to get to where I am now, and I’m always fighting to stay there, you understand? I come home to visit, and I’m just saying that you could be wherever you wanted to be,” he tries, but you’re past rational thought. “Come on, don’t you want to get out?”

“Barba, this is where I want to be,” you tell him, but when he raises his brow, you put your hands up in surrender. In the end, you’re too exhausted to be truly angry at him. You simply shake your head and begin the long trek back to your apartment, the glory of the coffee shop well behind you.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and you just shrug one shoulder as you walk away, turning to look at him over your shoulder. There’s a stinging in your eyes, but you tell yourself it’s just the bite of the wind.

“I’m not going to let you bully me, Rafael. I got enough of that in high school. If you want me to pay for your dry cleaning, or your shoes, I’ll do it, but I won’t let the payment of some spilled coffee be me spending time as your punching bag.”

“Bullying you? So, I’m bullying you now?” It’s incredulous, his question.

You turn on your heel to face him.

“Harvard isn’t an excuse,” you snap. “Just because you got to go off and do great things doesn’t mean the people who stay here are somehow lesser. Like we’re not accomplishing anything. And right now, you’re really acting like it.”

A beat.

“And it’s Fordham, now, asshole. At least get it right.”

You don’t wait around to hear his response. You’re walking off, and the only thing you hear is the wind whipping around you.

The ride back is lonely and the scent of coffee has gone rancid. It just feels like another slap in the face, a reminder that no matter how hard you work there will always be something, someone. You’re discouraged, more than a little. When you make it back to the apartment you share with your mother, you’re on the wrong side of miserable, and your reading that you’re already behind on gets more than a little neglected as you choose to watch something on TV, a warm cup of cocoa instead of the coffee you craved.

But it’s halfway through your own pity party that the way Rafael Barba looked at you makes your mouth curl into a sneer, and about two-thirds through the second movie that you realize you’ve wasted the day. Horrifying. All over a man who did nothing but look down at you, for being home, still.

A fire you needed, and looked for, when you started grad school. Besides helping people, why else did you want a doctorate? What was going to push you to getting that damn Ph.D. and across the finish line?

In the end, it’s the feeling of squirming under Rafael Barba’s gaze. Harvard Law or not, the fucker shouldn’t have looked at you like that. Shouldn’t have talked to you like that. And by the time you’re stomping over to your books and opening it with a vengeance, you’ve made a deal with yourself that no one will ever talk to you like that ever again.

Fuck Rafael Barba. He could have his juris whatever, settle in Boston or Manhattan. You were getting a practice, to help the people in your borough, and one of these days he’d have to look at you and refer to you as doctor who got her degree from Fordham whether he wanted to or not.

You should’ve gone with the slacks. The slacks don’t have a hem that needs to be tugged down every twenty seconds, that’s for sure, and the feeling of your skirt’s hem is all you can focus on. The way it slides up as you hustle to the elevator, the way it rides as you sit on the subway. By the time you get to where you’re going, you’re going crazy, your hair frizzing with the energy.

Not to mention, it’s fucking cold while you wait, your knee bouncing as you sit in an endless hallway, waiting for them to call your name.

But you look better in the skirt. You feel better in the skirt, you rock the skirt, and for an oral defense you want to feel your best, so. It’s the skirt. The skirt, and those heels with a splash of color, and when you leave and get a good distance from the clear glass door you get to pump your fist and dance in the skirt.

You did it.

You’re going to be a doctor. You’re going to be a psychologist. Someone’s going to meet you, for the first time, and call you by your title, and come to you for help.

And you’ll be able to help them. On your own. Terrifying, but it gives you a rush, the strength of which makes your head spin, makes your eyes cross just a little. Your fingers move to text your boss, your mother.

“I did it.”

You whisper it to yourself the whole way back. All that’s left is the rest of your internship, and then you’re home free. You’re done. You’re a doctor.

“The worst part is over,” Dr. Olivet reminds you when you make it back to her offices, “but there’s still work to be done.”

“I know, I know,” you tell her, lifting your hands. “I still have to finish my work here, and there’s, you know, getting a job…”

“But you did it.” Her voice is warm, and you’re not afraid to give another little dance, and she obliges you with a hug.

It’s sweet. It’s more than sweet, and your eyes are brimming with tears. God, you have to call your mom. A text isn’t enough, you have to tell her everything –

A hand reaches out to stop you with a gentle touch on your arm. You hadn’t even realized you were talking out loud, but thankfully you’re done in an instant. “You can call her on the drive. We have a full day, then the Brooklyn DA’s office.”

The thought makes you wince. “Two birds with one stone, hopefully?” you ask her, but she just shakes her head, the excitement from the morning bleeding into preemptive exhaustion in the blink of an eye.

Long day is right, when it comes to the law. There’s never been a time when cops have been your biggest fans, but it seems the tensions are always high with them. Nowadays, at least with Olivet, the two of you prefer to go straight to the D.A., when he calls, simply because at least as an expert witness, there’s some respect.

Some. But it’s there.

But not always.

So, the two of you make the journey to Brooklyn, a forty-minute commute from Manhattan, and by the time you show up at the Kings County D.A.’s office, you’re already exhausted. The D.A.s that Olivet consult with are nice enough, you suppose, for lawyers, but only because they have to be. It’s part of the position, and if they want to be re-elected, they don’t want a reputation of being hard to work with. But the A.D.A.s tend to sprint first, ask too many questions later, and every moment is a battle.

But when you get there, head up to the office that Olivet was told to go, there’s a pair of striking green eyes that lift from their spot on a stack of files to meet yours, widening when yours do. They’re matched with a pale lavender tie, and a grey ensemble that compliments him nicely. You suppose it’s made for that, considering how it’s tailored.

The room isn’t posh. The opposite, in fact, a couple of chairs in front of a desk, a table to the side with various books to add onto the bookcase full of them. But there’s flair, and clutter in equal spades. It feels worked in, maybe even lived in, judging by the only other piece of furniture being a couch behind you.

It’s been a long time since high school and wintry streets in the Bronx, that’s for sure, for you and for Rafael Barba.

He stands when the two of you step into the room, and moves around the desk. You watch and wonder what he remembers from the last time you stumbled into each other, but his body language doesn’t betray a whole lot besides his exhaustion. You wonder if he can see the same in you, or if the tapping of your finger against your side is informing him just what you think of him. The great lawyer from Boston, here instead of the Bronx. Never going back home, just like he wanted.

His jacket is off, and you can see the vest and slacks of a three-piece suit as he moves to greet you, sleeves rolled up, a couple of blinks as he takes the two of you in.

“Mr. Barba,” Olivet says politely, reaching out her hand. “You’re the A.D.A. we’re working with, then?”

“Doctor.” His voice is formal, and when he shakes it, there’s a quick one-two before he releases, turning to you without hesitation. “Yes, I don’t think we’ve had the opportunity to meet officially. Rafael Barba, thanks for coming.”

“Mr. Barba,” you greet him, when he turns to you, and when the two of you shake there’s a twitch. “It’s a... pleasure.”

How’re you doing, Harvard boy? Still looking down your nose? is what you want to say, what you remember from him, but you manage a little self-control. You think he reads your mind, and it makes him nod.

“The pleasure’s mine,” he returns. So, he does recognize you, because the familiarity has to the be the unexpected warmth you hear. Or maybe amusement, because your last attempt at friendliness was resolved with little more than chills in the air. “Intern for what exactly?”

There’s a spark in his eyes, and you find yourself lifting your chin. No stumbling at this meeting, just two kids from the Bronx, all grown up. God forbid he thinks for a moment that you ran away and gave up. “For my doctoral courses at Fordham. In about four months, I’ll be a clinical psychologist like Dr. Olivet. She’s who I’ve been training under.”

You dare him to say something. To make a dig.

“Fascinating.” It’s what he settles on. He seems actually impressed,, when he looks at you, and you try to ignore the way his smile makes your heart pound. It’s just because he’s a handsome man in a three-piece suit and smiling, not because he’s Rafael Barba. After all, Rafael Barba was pretty sure you’d never get out of the Bronx, and downright rude because of it. “Shall we get started, then? I want to know everything I can about this guy.”

“Of course,” Olivet returns, and the three of you get situated to get to work.

It’s long. It’s exhausting. By the end of the day, your head is pounding, and Olivet and Barba have exchanged enough words to fill a novel, trying to argue the benefits and the harm of taking this particular offender to trial. He wants to get an answer to his boss by the end of the day, and your boss is not one to make it easy for ease’s sake. You had taken the role of notator, going through the files offered and marking anything for Elizabeth, and the back and forth had made you dizzy. After all, after everything, Rafael Barba was a great lawyer, a fantastic prosecutor, according to a Google search during a break. Leave it to him to make your eyes blur.

“The precedent is set for it,” Barba repeats, for the third time. He’s gone from sitting, to pacing, to sitting again, his eyes closed as he runs a hand through his hair. “And the defense is going to argue that his illness is an excuse for his behavior.”

“I know what the precedent says,” Olivet returns, for the third time. “But I also know that while diagnoses are never an excuse for a behavior, they can explain one. It’s what the defense will argue. His impulse control without his medication – which he has a right to refuse – is significantly lowered –“

“But not completely. Mr. Nelson understands what he did was wrong, he basically confessed –“

Your eyes roll, and you find yourself speaking before you can think. “In an interrogation room in which his counsel, which he did not waive, was not present. Just because he has a diagnosis in the DSM-V does not make him any less deserving of a proper interrogation.”

The two of them turn to look at you, Olivet with a smile, Barba with a scowl. His face pinches as his eyes scan you, and you just stare back.

He may be where he belongs, in a three-piece suit, but you’re where you need to be, too. And he needs to make sure he understands that, because the last thing you’re gonna let him do is underestimate you again.

“No one is saying that,” Barba starts, but you just raise a brow at him.

“If I’m looking at these transcripts correctly, something tells me the cops themselves said that. Look, Mr. Barba, Dr. Olivet and I might not be this man’s direct health care providers, but we still have a duty to advocate for him.” You glance over at your boss, and her hand is covering her mouth, but you see the edges of a smile in her tired eyes. “If I were a doctor, and an expert for the other side, I would make sure my team knew the violations that occurred in that room.”

The room is silent. When Barba looks at the doctor, she just drops her hand, the smile replaced with a somewhat-serious look that threatened an I-told-you-so. “I’d be saying the same thing. She’s right.”

A new energy flashes between the two of you, and when Barba contemplates his options, his lips a little pursed, it’s with you staring him down. It’s a sparring match, your gazes, and it’s a firm draw. That alone seems to perturb Rafael enough for him to relent, just a little. “I’ll worry about the… legality of the confession,” he sighs out. His pages flick to a different section, and he glances over it. “We’re all tired here, so I’ll wrap, but I need to know if he’s competent for the stand without his medication. That’ll be the last thing we cover today.”

“If he’s not a danger to himself or others, then getting him to take it will be difficult legally,” Olivet reminded him. “But. I’ll do an evaluation. See what we can determine while he’s off.”

Another time, another date is set, for the evaluation. You and Dr. Olivet start getting ready to go, and the polite farewells are given and gone.

But before you leave, and the handshakes are made, Rafael looks you over, from head to toe. It’s quick, but you catch it, and it’s before he turns to Dr. Olivet and nods.

“I’ll be seeing both of you, then? Day after tomorrow?”

If it makes your cheeks flush, you don’t mention it, especially not when he glances back at you again, gives you another handshake with a firm squeeze.

“Both of us,” you affirm, inform, and then you’re gone, Rafael Barba’s office behind you, something else entirely in front.

“You know, he never asked you your name, when we went in,” Olivet notes, on the ride back. It’s mild, nothing really there, but the two of you have worked together long enough that you know there’s a million unasked questions down that rabbit hole.

Your eyes don’t leave the windshield. “Oh, yeah. Uh, we lived on the same street. He – him and his friends, really – they almost broke my ankle, my sophomore year of high school.”

A hum from her makes you break from your trance, and you see the edges of her lips curl up. “No, no,” you clarify. “It wasn’t like that, it was never like that. I’ve only seen him, what, three times over the years? He’s just someone I see every so often. New York is the smallest city in the world, I guess.”

“Will this be a problem?” she asks next. You find your cheeks flaring again, turning from the windshield to your own window.

“Nothing there for it to be. Last time didn’t end so well, but… we’re past that. We’re adults.”

Right?

When she laughs, it’s a gentle prod in the direction you were already going, nothing more than fuel to the fire that you barely understood was being lit.

“Well, I know for sure he didn’t shake my hand twice, and I’m the one who’s going to be on the stand for him if this goes to trial. Maybe last time didn’t end as poorly as you thought.”

You refuse to think about it, though. For a little while. After all, it’s work that has to be done, and you’re not across the finish line, yet, so you show up prompt and on time two days later to assist Dr. Olivet with her evaluation and the conclusions that are inevitably drawn. You don’t end up coming until the end of the workday, and when you’re finished it’s well into evening.

“He’s unaware that what he said in the interrogation room amounted to a confession,” she tells Barba, afterwards. After watching the whole thing, the way that you and Olivet had slowly gained trust and revealed the truth, the clench of his jaw is mighty. “There’s no way he gave it willingly.”

“You’re certain?” When he turns to look, it’s at both of you, equally, his eyes flicking back and forth before looking back into the room where you had left him. His voice sounds exhausted, and for a moment you feel pity for him.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off with a hand wave. “Don’t bother. I know the answer.” His frustration is apparent, and you find yourself sharing a glance with Dr. Olivet before nodding. “So, we have nothing.”

“Nothing except someone who needs to return home to his family,” you tell him, and his shoulders slump. It’s not meant to be a jab, but when he looks at you again there’s something in his eyes that tells you he takes it as such.

“Right. Of course. I’ll talk to the captain.” He sounds so worn, and you almost feel sorry for him.Your smile is sympathetic, but he’s not really looking at you. There’s something that tells you to walk away, another part that insists you stay, figure this man out.

“Mr. Barba?” Dr. Olivet murmurs. “I’ll get a full write-up of what I saw here to you tomorrow, but we really should be going now.”

And that makes him straighten, his manners coming back to him as he gestures towards the door. “Right, yes, of course. Thank you so much for your help, Dr. Olivet. Miss Y/L/N.”

“Not a problem,” you say, and the two of you part. No fanfare. No nothing. Just. Done.

You don’t realize how distracted you are until you’re standing by Dr. Olivet’s car, ready to take the two of you back to her office, where you can return to the Bronx.

“Are you all right?” she asks you, and you realize you’ve been fingering the handle for a minute, as she rummages for her keys.

“Yeah, just. Thinking.”

After another minute, Olivet curses. “I must’ve left them inside. Do you mind if we head back in?” When there’s no protest, the two of you walk quickly to get out of the cold, and you find yourself hoping against hope that Rafael Barba is still in there, that there’s something more you can say.

Your head is down, your eyes are closed to protect from the wind. So you don’t see the door, nor notice when it swings out. Neither does the other person behind it, and you feel the edge of it nail you in the forehead.

You’re stunned, stumbling backwards. Your fingers come up to press on where the door hit you, and the person behind the door is muttering curses. A couple of hands come to steady you, and luckily there’s no blood on your hand when you pull it away.

“Are you all right?” a voice asks you, and you have to blink to let the face focus.

“Just when I thought there’d be no stumbling around this time,” you groan, and Barba’s small smile to you is brimming with concern.

“Completely my fault,” he sighs. “Are you okay?” You’re still blinking, but the dots connect, and you realize that Rafael Barba is the one who smacked your head.

Goddammit. And you just starting to like the guy again.

“I got a door to the face, I’ve been better. Fuck, I’ve gotta be careful what I wish for,” you groan.

“Let’s get you to a chair,” Olivet whispers, and the stars you’ll still seeing start to fade as you stumble to a seat in the entryway of the precinct. “Mr. Barba, do you mind staying here with her? I think I left my keys upstairs, and I need them to take her home.”

“Doc, you don’t have to do that,” you tell her, but the lights in the place are killing your eyes. Quickest concussion you’ve ever gotten, you assume, and Barba indeed tells her that he’s got you. Heels click away, toward the elevator, and even the ding makes you wince.

There’s silence, for a few moments. Quiet, as you hold your head in your hand. After a few moments, you’ve realized Barba’s left and returned, holding out a cold water bottle to you.

“Another thing I owe you for?” you ask him, and you must be imagining his wince as you hold it up to your forehead.

“I think by this point we’ve come full circle,” Rafael tells you. “I’m truly sorry, I just didn’t see you when I pushed the door open.”

A brow raised in disbelief, and you tilt your head up so he can see your scorn. “Aren’t the doors clear?”

“My phone,” he offers, and you scoff.

There’s silence again. His shoes are tapping against the tiled floor, and you switch hands as condensation drips down your arm. It sends a chill through you.

“Do you… need my coat?” he asks, and you can’t help but raise a brow at him again.

“I have my own coat,” you tell him, bluntly, and it almost looks like… wait.

Is he blushing?

“I know, just… do you – do you need another one?”

So. This is the great Harvard graduate Rafael Barba, stumbling over his words, offering you a coat. If anything told you he remembered what happened way back when, and felt bad about it, it was that. You’re chuckling a little now, the anger passing into disbelief.

“How bad does your head hurt?” he asks, horrified, but you just keep laughing, dropping the water bottle and leaning back in your seat.

It’s a full-on cackle right now. “You’re telling me this isn’t hilarious?” you ask him. Gesturing between the two of you, the bottle in your hand, the offer of the extra coat. “Every time we meet, something goes horribly wrong, doesn’t it? We can’t just have a coffee, I have to spill it on you. We can’t just catch up, I have to vow vengeance.”

He raises a brow at that, but you wave him off. “I don’t know. I guess I’m telling you that maybe this is what we’re meant to be, Barba. Bad luck for each other.”

Rafael murmurs something, in Spanish. Repeats it, even, but you can’t catch it.

“What?” you finally ask, and he looks at the water bottle next to you and shakes his head.

“I’m saying that’s not true. You’re not bad luck. You… helped me.”

It’s your turn to raise your brow, and you have a feeling if you knew him a little more, it’d be a perpetual expression. But he keeps plowing forward. “You know, when you walked away, last time? I watched you the whole way down the block. I couldn’t stop thinking about how you… said I was using Harvard as an excuse.”

He leans back. Tilts his chin up, and you find yourself watching the line of him. He seems to sink into the seat like it’s the first time he’s sat for a week.

“Excuse to do what, I didn’t know. So I tried to ignore it, and then… it just kept… sitting in the back of my head, the sight of you, looking at me –“ He cuts himself off, and you watch him sit up again, rest his elbows on his knees.

“What?” You prod him, move your knee to hit his, and he sighs, both hands over his face.

“You were right. Harvard was my excuse. It was a way out, but I forgot home on the way. Forgot my mother, in everything, my grandmother. Took steps away from them, and ended up losing sight of myself.”

All of that because of what you said? Something twists inside of you, and you shake your head, lifting the bottle back up to where a good bruise is forming. “You don’t have to feel guilty for working, Rafael,” you murmur to him. “For having a dream. I saw you, and I – I saw a guy who got it all, and I took my frustrations out on you. I’m sorry, for making you think that going out and accomplishing what you have means you’re not – not, y’know. You. I barely know you, for fuck’s sake.”

The curse makes his lips twitch, but he doesn’t look away. “But you never lost sight of home. You were always right there, where you needed to be,” he urges, and you shake your head.

“And that’s me. I love home. I love being home. But maybe you needed to get out. I don’t know your life,” you laugh. “I would love to, but I don’t and… and maybe you needed to step away from… family, from friends, to find yourself. Look at you, you’re an A.D.A. in Kings County. I know you’ve got headlines already. That’s just who you seem to be. You’re the Harvard boy. Don’t feel guilty about that on my account, it’s a big accomplishment.”

A pause.

“But the Bronx isn’t so bad, if you ever wanted to journey back every so often. Not a bad thing to remind yourself where you came from.”

“I don’t think I can forget,” Rafael admits. “Es en mi sangre, just like being a lawyer is.”

Then he smirks. “Plus, those pants still have a stain right on the hem. I keep meaning to throw them out.”

You snort, loud, and then shift to face him. It’s uncomfortable, the little bench the two of you are on, but the position is worth it. “Seems like you’re investing in good-fitting suits. Might be time.”

Olivet is taking forever, it feels like, but you don’t mind. This has been good, a resolution to things, and you don’t really want it to end. Even if it means that you can get home and nurse your head.

“You know, you’re the one who got me through my first year of my Ph.D.,” you blurt out. “After our last meeting I vowed you’d call me doctor. That’s what I meant… by vow vengeance.”

“So you…”

“Yeah. I guess that means you’re good luck, huh?”

He’s agape. “You pushed through grad school out of spite for me?”

“Yup.” The ‘p’ pops in your mouth, and his eyes flicker down to your mouth before he can stop himself.

And then, there’s a beat. And then he’s laughing. His laugh, when it’s light, and free, is contagious, for sure. Shaking his head, running a hand through gelled hair. When he pulls it away, the mess makes it look softer, and you get the sudden urge to run fingers through it.

Damn concussions.

You have enough sense not to mention the craving. You just smile, and drop the water bottle in favor of shoving a hand towards him for a good shake.

He looks at your hand. It’s offered to him in a symbol of peace, but he looks so skeptical still, as if you’ll call him out on not calling home every now and again.

“Since I’m not your bad luck, then. Friends?”

There’s no hesitation. He’s grabbing your hand, firm and warm, and the one-two shake seals the deal.

“Friends,” he concedes, and the two of you sit on that damn bench, the silence more than a little comfortable.

His coat does end up around your shoulders, eventually. It’s nice, another layer of warmth with the windows to your back. It seems silly, but it feels like a shield, a layer of protection.

Olivet comes down eventually. She doesn’t comment on the second coat, but you see her head tilt a little as you stand, hand it back to him.

“You know where to find me, if you’re ever in town,” you tell him, and he nods.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Y/L/N.”

Your grin stretches across your face. It hurts your head, a little, but it’s worth it. “You’ll call me doctor, one day. Next time one of us almost kills the other.”

His smile back is warm. “I have no doubt.”

When you and Olivet leave, she’s just humming a little. You don’t say anything, but when the two of you get in her car, she pulls her keys from the depths of her purse, starts the engine. You realized that you didn’t see them in her hand when she left the elevator, and the dots connect even with the way your brain has been rattled.

The sight makes your eyes widen. “Were they –“

She laughs now. “Oh, you know things like that. Not a problem, we’ll just take you home now.”

“Now?” Your voice is cracking a little with the indignation.

“Now. If we hurry, I’m sure your dinner will still be warm.”

Rafael watches as Liv’s voice gently soothes the woman, her eyes flicking back and forth between the Lietenant and Carisi. There’s hesitation in her statement, the kind that makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

When the two of them leave the interrogation room, he’s clear, or as clear as he can be. “She just confessed to murder, and right now that’s all the D.A. is going to see.”

Carisi’s response isn’t exactly friendly, but Barba looks up at the detective steadily, trying not to let his eyes roll. “You’re telling me you don’t believe her?”

“I’m saying that we’ve already had two victims recant their statements, for one reason or another. Their unwillingness to testify against Mr. Jones gives us very little in terms of evidence,” he sighs out. There’s a weariness as he looks at the woman, moving to lean against the glass and watch as she lays on the couch to rest. He wants to do the same, sometimes. Let his exhaustion take over. “I want to know what she knows about the situation, what she thinks. Otherwise, it’s a cut and dry case, and she gets locked away.”

“But she came to us, Barba,” Liv offers, looking at him with those pleading eyes of hers. They know how to sink right into his soul, and he ducks his gaze for a moment to collect himself. He has no time for being tired, and there’s something infectious about her conviction. But he needs more than a detective’s gut instinct and a lieutenant’s insistence. “We can’t just let her sink. She doesn’t belong in Rikers, she needs help.”

There’s a long silence, and Rafael finds himself sipping from a cup of coffee that has long gone cold. It’s Carisi that speaks up, those classes at Fordham law behind him. “What about a psychiatric evaluation? If an expert can sign off on her testimony, perhaps back up the fact that she was indeed abused, then as a battered woman…”

“Fordham law strikes again,” Barba quips, and then winces at his next sip. Such a shame the precinct couldn’t afford better coffee. Or more skilled coffee makers. “I can see who the D.A.’s office has lined up for those kinds of calls.” He looks between the two cops. “I don’t usually do the defense’s job for them, but this…”

“Is different.” Liv fills in the blanks, and he offers a small smile to her as he moves to the door. “I think we’re rubbing off on you, Barba.”

“God help us all,” he throws back, and her and Carisi’s chuckles are what leave him as he pulls out his phone.

The calls are straightforward. First to Carmen, who finds the list of names and numbers, and then to those names from his desk, seeing who is available as soon as possible for a psychiatric workup. There are options that she trims down, out of the goodness of her heart, leaving him with about ten that he can choose from.

But when he gets the list of names, there’s one name that stands out. One that reminds him of smiles shared across a cup of coffee and a pastry, one that makes him think of Catholic school uniforms and twisted ankles. One that makes nostalgia swirl in his gut. Or is that longing? Either way, it makes his lips purse.

Maybe it’s because in those moments, there were bright spots. Light in days and years that seemed to blur with a lot of struggle.

Or maybe it’s because he’s being dramatic. Either way.

He picks up his phone, prepared just for a consult. Nothing to yearn for, certainly. But he pretends not to notice when he looks up your office and gets a thrill when it’s in Manhattan, or swallow tightly when a photo appears on your website, and your eyes seem to gaze into his.

You’ve made a name for yourself. Any competent A.D.A. would feel comfortable with you in their corner. His fingers fly across his keyboard, looking into cases, finding what you’ve done. Your doctorate from Fordham is only the beginning, and he’s surprised he hasn’t seen you at charity events with all of the credits next to your name. Three years into practice, and he sees you headlining research into veteran populations, starting funds for LGBTQ+ counseling, lighting a fire in your community.

Any A.D.A. would choose you. Never mind the other names.

Yours ends up being the first number he dials. It rings twice, three times. Nothing yet, and his pen is spinning in his fingers. Four times, five times, and for a moment he thinks he’ll just have to try the number at the top of the list –

“Dr. Y/L/N’s office,” a voice answers. “How can I help you?”

It’s not you. It’s a secretary, or a receptionist, but her voice is kind enough. “Yes, is Dr. Y/L/N in? I’m calling about a consultation for the Manhattan District Attorney’s office.”

The little hum that the receptionist gives is… uncertain. “Unfortunately, she’s in with a patient. Can I take a message?”

He’s done his due diligence. He’s tugged on the heartstring, and now he should move on. Try the next name. But something makes him set down his pen, bite his lower lip. A whim, really, that makes him speak.

“Just tell her Rafael Barba called. And if she’s interested, to return this call. I’ll give you the number.”

When he recites the list of ten digits, however, it’s his cell phone. And there’s something in him that hopes you’ll call back with yours. For old times’ sake.

“All right. Thank you so much, I’ll be sure she gets it.” The receptionist hangs up, and Rafael feels like he’s run a marathon the way his heart is pounding.

Each call he gets the rest of the day is enough to get him tensing. Ready to lift and see an unfamiliar number, with your voice in his ear. What he gets instead is silence, and a couple of calls from Liv, during which he does his damnedest to keep the tension out of his voice. By the end of the day, he’s resigned to the fact that it’s simply a missed connection, two ships passing in the night. Another moment of dramatics, but he feels this one.

And then his cell rings once more. He doesn’t look at the screen, just answers and closes his eyes, ready to hear Liv’s voice again, or God forbid, Carisi.

“This is Barba,” he answers. That tension bleeding in once again, and the response he gets makes him a little breathless.

“Kings County not enough for you, Harvard boy?” you ask. It’s teasing, light, and it feels a little like he’s outside in the cold winter wind chill the way his nose surely must be red. “Now I know to send the damages lawsuit to Manhattan.”

His laugh comes out of him suddenly, and it matches yours. “I’ll give you the address. How are you, Doctor?”

You hum a little, and it buzzes against his ear. “Oh, it feels good to hear you say that, that’s for sure. But, honestly, I’m doing pretty well. I’m… doing what I love. Helping people.”

“Too good for the Bronx? Manhattan your mainstay?”

“Oh, please,” you huff. “My office is firmly in the old neighborhood. And on top of it, if I don’t come by every week, my mother has a conniption.”

“Glad to hear.”

And it’s just that simple for you. Rafael has always had his sights set on the future, but you’ve reached it. And you’re content, and still with one foot in the place the two of you grew up. It’s… right.

“What about you?” It’s a question he’s honestly unprepared to answer. He doesn’t linger on it too long, because he doesn’t want to sound like he’s lying, but the truth is perhaps too much to admit to an acquaintance.

No. A friend.

“Manhattan is a little like home now. A lot like it,” he admits. In that moment the SVU crew comes to mind, but he pushes them away. But I have a case here I’m ready to be done with. I’m trusting your receptionist gave you the gist?”

“What she could.” Your voice is no longer light, something firm in it that he recognizes. The tone of work. “The message wasn’t a lot besides your name and your title, but am I right in thinking I’m going to be evaluating someone?”

“It’s a woman who was a victim of sexual abuse. I need to know what your read is on her.”

You hum again, lower, contemplating. “Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

“I don’t want to influence you, or give any unnecessary details over the phone. Just know she’s in our custody, right now, and this case has been complicated.”

There’s a pause, and he does his best to emphasize what’s necessary, what’s true. “We’re trying to help her. Get her where she needs to be. I know it’s last minute –”

“I know the system, Rafael,” you murmur. You don’t hesitate to use his first name, and he tries not to think too much about how it sounds in your mouth. “Am I right in assuming that she’s potentially spending the night in the tombs?”

She’s not, but he doesn’t get the chance to respond, and he doesn’t have to. You’re telling him you’ll be there tomorrow, prompt, early, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Doesn’t mention that waiting for your call could’ve cost a valuable day’s worth of time.

“Thank you,” he breathes, “I owe you.”

“For doing my job?” you chuckle. “This isn’t a personal favor, we should make that clear.”

“For taking my call. Getting back to me so quickly.” For humbling me when I needed it. For being a reminder every few years that home isn’t a bad thing.

“Anything for a friend,” you return, and he ducks his head to hide his smile from the room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And I do insist I owe you. For the nearly broken ankle, at least.”

There’s a pause. He can hear your breath catch, and he hopes, hell, he prays that there’s a smile on your face as you think of him.

“Then, let’s not wait three years to meet again,” you tell him. There’s a click, surely a pen in your fingers, perhaps spinning like his. “I’ll take drinks, once the case is done.”

“How about dinner?” Rafael returns, and he stands to his feet, his window gazing out on the street below. He’s glad he’s not limited by the cord of his desk’s line. The cabs breezing by too quick on roads with black ice, the gusts blowing the flags outside One Hogan Place. “More equivalent, I would say, if we consider twelve years’ interest.”

“I’m also counting the spilled coffee, of course,” you add, and Rafael scoffs.

“Didn’t you spill that on me?”

He walks into it, he supposes, but he doesn’t mind. “Well, then, I’ll return the favor. Two-dinner commitment, and all before we hit fifteen years of acquaintanceship.”

“Friendship,” he amends, and your little laugh is what lingers with him, what he thinks about as he prepares for tomorrow.

“Right. Friendship. Good night, Rafael.”

“Good night.”

The two of you say friendship, as you rise the next morning. Say friendship as you meet, and Rafael introduces you to the precinct. Say friendship, as the case ends, and those dinners begin, with laughter and warmth even in a snowy Manhattan evening.

But at the end of those dinners, twelve years in the making, the friendship is only the beginning.

After all, you look stunning, in your dress and heels, a deep red coat that compliments your lip color. Your hair is pinned up, but some of it has come loose, during the night, and those strands frame your face perfectly.

“Maybe Manhattan isn’t too bad,” you laugh, as the two of you step into the night air, “if it means you get to eat like that all the time.”

“There are definitely some low points, but the high points make it all worth it,” he tells you. He can’t stop looking at you, even as you pause at the curb, side by side and turning to each other. “Back home, then?”

“You’re not the only A.D.A. I work with.” You nudge him with your elbow, hands in your pockets to block out the cold. “Other boroughs, other work. Not to mention that Monday’s coming up quick. Patients.”

There’s a stab of jealously in him. Thinking about you spending time with the other boroughs, with other A.D.A.s at his office. But for some reason, he can’t help but hope that the smile on your face is just for him.

He takes a moment to pull out his phone, stare at the date on the screen. “Well, tomorrow’s not Monday,” he tells you. “Do you… think you could spare a few more hours? Another day, maybe?”

Your brow raises at him, and he finds himself loving the arch of it, especially paired with your smirk. “What are you thinking, Barba?”

“A couple of drinks, maybe.” He nods down the road, trying to play it cool even though his heart is pounding in his chest.

You’ve gotten the gist. The idea. He knows it, and you know it, but you’re daring him to act with the way you bite your lower lip. “And after that?”

It’s a dare he takes. Jumps at the chance to act on, one of his hand lifting to cup your cheek, the other reaching for your waist. He kisses you, there, on the curb, winter in full swing around you, and there’s nothing else can think about but the way you feel against him.

When it’s over, it feels unfinished. Mainly because a part of him doesn’t want it to.

“What do you say? Willing to stay in Manhattan a little longer?” he asks, a little breathless as he looks down at you. Your lipstick hasn’t miraculously hasn’t smudged, but he still lifts a hand to trace his thumb along the perfect lower line. “I know a place you can stay.”

“I’m almost convinced,” you reply with a laugh, voice light. “But if you kiss me again, we can make that an absolutely certainty.”

#rafael barba x reader #female!reader #rafael barba #law and order: svu #olivia benson #sonny carisi #my fic #friends to enemies to lovers i suppose

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trivql · 4 years

Text

an unrequited spring | akaashi keiji

a/n | this was inspired by The Cut That Always Bleeds by Conan Gray. please enjoy!

pairing | akaashi keiji x gn!reader

warning(s) | angst

synopsis | you always come back.

word count | 1432

You and Akaashi had met during school and talked--a lot; over text, call, or in real life, it didn’t matter. You even remembered how Akaashi had confessed to you after a few weeks of talking;

“Cute.” He had said under his breath as you looked up at him--your height difference notable. Akaashi was quite possibly one of the most popular second years at your school--athletic, attractive, and polie--you could see why.

Although it wasn’t like a usual confession, after that day, it was unspoken that you two had a thing for each other. It was obvious in the way you looked at him, and how he always tried to help you. It had gone on for months; the obvious flirting, the teasing, and the blushes.

So why didn’t he ask you out yet?

Maybe that was the funny thing; because while you spent everyday thinking about him, there was one day in particular that stood out--the day you knew Akaashi stopped loving you. Whether it had been obvious before, it wasn’t obvious to you,

until the first day of winter.

He had invited you over to his place to study, and while helping you, you guys had moved closer than usual. You could sense everything about him--how he breathed, the way his hair smelled, or how he would wrinkle his forehead when he got confused. But maybe that was why you loved him.

You didn’t know exactly why he had invited you over--your communication was slowing down. The texts and calls being less frequent, and the lunch time visits vanishing completely. But you ignored it, and just brushed it off as his volleyball duties. Maybe during that two month period, you should have lost feelings for him. It would've been easy to; it wasn’t like you guys were dating or anything. But when he asked you to come over, you couldn’t help but get a little more than excited.

It had been close to two minutes of comfortable silence while Akaashi leaned slightly over you to look at your workbook and tried to solve it. There was a brief moment when your eyes’ met for a second and he moved closer to you--his deep blue eyes meeting yours.

And that's when he kissed you.

You were surprised at first, but quickly shut your eyes, trying to sink into him. The first thought of yours was, I’m in love with Akaashi Keiji. The thought vanished as soon as it came, because when you opened your eyes--for just a second--his, were still open.

It had been a month since you stopped talking to each other. Still not officially dating even after the kiss, talking just faded out. You passed by him every so often in the halls, but he was usually with the third year from his volleyball team, so you just bowed to him whenever he noticed. You didn’t wait for him after practice to walk to the metro station together, and you certainly didn’t go to the games anymore. A little part of you hoped that he missed you; but it seemed to be the exact opposite. Akaashi Keiji--the guy you had fallen in love with--looked happier than ever without you in his life.

Maybe that was why you were so annoyed whenever he would text you.

The texts were brief and short, but always to the point.

“We’re going to nationals.” He sent you after one month of not talking.

You opened the text quickly, and replied even quicker. “Oh, nice.”

“Bokuto broke the ceiling tile today.”

“Hahah.”

“Hi dummy.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He would send them every once in a while, but although you should’ve been mad, you couldn’t help but smile everytime he sent them. You always seemed to be there for him.

“Want to meet up? I hear your team was also going to a competition near our venue.” Akaashi sent you after learning that your team had a competition near his.

“Oh yeah, sure. Where?” You delayed the reply; trying to not seem desperate.

“I’ll send you my hotel’s address.”

You saw him standing there with his Fukurodani jacket zipped up, while he leaned against a pole.

“Akaashi-kun.” You said, facing him.

“Y/n-san,” He smiled looking at you. “I feel like we haven’t talked in a while.”

“Yep,” You breathed out, forcing a small smile. You didn’t know what you expected out of the conversation, but you didn’t know how to act around him anymore. You shifted to stand next to him, looking towards the stars. “School activities you know.”

In your peripheral vision, you could see Akaashi’s breath come out in white wisps and you felt your stomach churn. Akaashi was really here. Not over call, or text, he was next to you, even after weeks of not talking.

“So do you have a game tomorrow?” Akaashi asked.

You tapped your lip and hummed. “I don’t really know what time though.”

“I see . . .” He trailed off. The silence wasn’t exactly awkward or comfortable--you just didn’t know what to say.

“I have to ask Akaashi,” You began, looking down at your feet. “why do you always do this to me?”

“Hm?”

“We don’t talk for weeks then you . . .” You cleared your throat. “decide to text me all of a sudden.”

“Is it wrong to want to talk to you?” Through his words, you could hear him smile, even if you couldn’t see it. He was obviously taking your words lightly.

“No I mean,” You looked up at him, but his face was still pointed to the sky. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Why are you crying?” He asked, dismissing your words, even now.

“Idiot.” You muttered towards your feet, wiping away the tears frantically. “I was in love with you.”

“Y/n-san, what are you-”

You snapped your head up, tears still coming. “Shut up and let me talk!”

He gaped his mouth open slightly, but didn’t speak another word.

“I . . .I can’t be the person that you talk to when you’re bored Akaashi. I can’t be the person that always comes to your call whenever you want me too. It’s always been like this between us, huh? I’m always being dragged by you; no matter how long you ignore me for, I’m always there for you.”

“I didn’t know that-” He started.

“No Akaashi!” You interrupted him. “It’s not even your fault; it’s mine, honestly. You never wanted me did you? Even after that kiss--was it all just nothing to you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why does it feel like it?” Your voice that you had been trying so hard to keep even was cracking. “I was wrong before, because no matter how many times I say that I was in love with you, it doesn’t change the fact; I am in love with you Akaashi.”

“You’re one of my closest friends, Y/n.” Ouch. “But, why are you telling me this now?”

“Cause’ I mean it,” You breathed deeply. “We can’t do this anymore. Not the occasional texts, not pretending to try and stay friends with me-”

“But I was never pretending,” Akaashi looked down at you, meeting your eyes. “I like being friends with you, Y/n. But if that’s what you really want . . .”

“You’re a terrible liar,” You smiled. “Are you really okay with this?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me Akaashi,” You sighed. His eyes sunk into yours and you could still feel your heart quicken. “I wanted so badly, to think you liked me back.”

“But, it’s okay.” You breathed. “Maybe never meeting would’ve saved us some hurt right? Or maybe just me.” You smiled softly and punched his shoulder playfully.

“Don’t say that.” Even going through sad moments, Akaashi still looked beautiful. It was always inevitable for you to fall in love with him; always.

“Well goodnight, Akaashi-san,” You turned on your heel--your back facing him.

A few moments passed before you began to move. “Wait, Y/n-san!”

“Yes?” Your voice came out softly as you didn’t turn to face him.

You couldn’t see him, but he was fiddling with his fingers--a nervous habit he had. “Are you okay with this?”

“Ah, maybe not.”

That was the last thing you said to him, and before you knew it, spring had passed.

A spring without Akaashi.

You slightly hoped that he would make an attempt to talk to you, but he never did. It was like you had never met; not even acknowledging each other anymore. But for the first time since you had met him,

you were okay.

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indigomasquerade97 · 4 years

Text

Brothers Abducted

@brothersapart

Chapter 5 – Vacation All I Ever Wanted

All was silent at the dinner table. Takota fidgeted slightly, glancing between Sam and Jason. Neither were looking at each other, and they both appeared to be lost in their own thoughts.

‘So… how was everyone’s day?’ Takota asked hesitantly.

'Sam got arrested.’ Jason blurted. Sam paused, glaring up at Jason, who just shrugged back as he continued with his meal. Takota blinked, looking over at Sam.

'And just what did you do?’ He queried, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. This is Sam, he reasoned. He wouldn’t go and do something stupid. Sam shrugged dismissively, staring intently at his food.

'Self-defense.’ He answered curtly, returning to his meal. Takota frowned, turning to his bondmate.

’… Did this have anything to do with Zane?’

Sam blinked, looking back at his caretakers. He scowled, slouching back in his seat.

'You knew about that?’ He demanded. Takota just shrugged.

‘Jason’s been watching him for a while now. I figured it would be him.’

‘Yeah, took longer to catch him than I would have liked,’ Jason said, his tone slowly shifting into an almost accusatory attitude, ‘Would have helped to get some solid facts from a victim beforehand.’ Sam hummed, ignoring the deliberate and hardly concealed jab. A poor attempt to make Sam talk.

‘… That’s it?’ Jason asked, cocking his head, ‘Just a non-committal “hmm”?’ Sam groaned, staring down at his food to avoid the Shifters gaze.

'Well, at least he’s okay.’ Takota said, sending a glare to Jason. Drop it, that look said.

'He could have let us know he was getting harassed.’ Jason mumbled.

Sam loudly threw his fork down, glaring across the table at the colossal Shifter.

'What would have been the point? You always seem to poke your nose into my business, you would have found out eventually!’

Takota slumped in his chair. With a sigh, he placed down his fork, rubbing at his eyes. Here we go, he thought.

'I do not do that!’ Jason said, affronted.

'Yes you do.’ Takota mumbled, never moving from his dejected position.

'Yes I do,’ Jason corrected himself without missing a beat, 'but this had nothing to do with you.’

'Yes it did.’

'Okay, yes it did,’ Jason relented, rolling his eyes, 'but Sam, you were not the only one he was harassing. We would have had to deal with him eventually, whether you were involved or not is a moot point.’

Sam huffed, looking away. He was right. Part of Jason’s job was to keep the peace in the community, which was not always an easy job. He would have caught wind of Zane’s behavior eventually.

Still…

Jason sighed as Sam grew quiet, looking to Takota for help. Takota just shrugged unhelpfully. Ash was right, he thought. This is so much harder than I thought.

Jason cleared his throat, looking back at his small charge. He idly tapped a finger against the screen of his watch as he thought over his proposition.

Hey, I recently was requested to work on a new settlement. I was wondering, with all the craziness going on… would you like to come, Sam?’

Sam frowned thoughtfully. He didn’t leave the planet often. HQ was designed to have everything someone could need. The people there wanted for nothing. But that also meant that it could get a little dull at times.

A new settlement, going through the process of building and integrating into the native society, could definitely be an exciting change.

'I guess so.’ Jason smiled, already bringing up his messages.

'Excellent. I’ll get everything sorted.’

‘After you eat!’ Takota called out. Jason paused, halfway out of his seat. He looked down at the meal he had barely touched, nodding.

‘After I eat.’ He agreed. Sam rolled his eyes. Man, he can be an idiot sometimes, he thought fondly.

…

Sam sighed, fiddling with his seat-belt. Takota was sitting quietly beside him, reading through the reports about their destination.

Earth 364-C. An average sized planet, where the populace would be around the same size as Jason. There were reports of… strange creatures among the native humans. A list was still being comprised, but ghosts were already a confirmed threat.

It was strange to Sam just how many variants of the exact same world existed in the universe. Like some godlike being enjoyed creating humans…

…It made looking for his own world a bleak thought. Like finding a tiny needle in an infinite haystack.

‘Make sure you two are strapped in,’ Jason said through the comm, 'We’re about to hit the ionosphere.’

Sam quickly double checked his seat-belt, making sure that the buckle across his chest was secure. Here we go, he thought with an excited smile.

The shuttle jolted, but Jason was quick to steady them. While he was far from a great Pilot, he had gotten trained by the best. Perks of being an Original, Sam supposed. He snickered slightly as he thought about his brother’s old fear of heights. How would he react to Jason’s crappy flying?

'How long do you think it’ll be?’ Sam asked. Takota shrugged.

'Depends on how well Jason can be a meteor, I suppose.’

It had been agreed that the ship would hide within a natural meteor shower in order to hide their presence from the natives. Their species had evolved quite rapidly, having already landed on their moon and even monitoring their immediate surroundings. They were not stupid, so it was better to be cautious. The Shifters were not ready to make their presence known yet.

The shuttle shuddered, swaying slightly as they entered the atmosphere. Any natives that happened to be looking to the stars would only see a handful of bright lights that skimmed across the sky, gone before they could get a good enough look to see that one light was closer than the others. With careful movements – the route predetermined so that there would be little need for deviation and revealing itself to be more than a mere space rock – the speedy shuttle splashed into the designated lake. The water sizzled slightly as the burning hot metal landed, barely slowing its forward momentum as it headed for an underwater cliff. Then, sensing the presence of the craft, the rocks began to move, sliding apart to reveal a hanger into a hidden underground facility. Like a hidden cartoon lair, Sam mused.

Takota kicked his legs impatiently as Jason docked the shuttle. The two tiny’s glanced at each other when the shuttle came to a hard stop, rolling their eyes as they listened to Jason cursing somewhere above. It was clear he needed to get more lessons on piloting space faring vehicles.

'Okay, we’re clear.’

Sighing with relief, the two men unbuckled themselves, quickly exiting the room. Jason was already waiting for them, one hand held out. They climbed onto his waiting palm, and he ferried them to each shoulder. They took a moment to burrow into the fabric of his hood, threading their tiny fingers through the tiny, almost unnoticeable loops that were built into it. After the first time they had accidentally unthreaded it, Jason had made sure they would have something to hold onto without ruining his clothes.

Once they were ready, Jason easily plucked up their tiny bags, placing them in his pocket. It didn’t even leave a bulge. He then grabbed his own bag, pressing a button on the wall. The entire back wall opened up to the entry bay. There were two Shifters waiting for them. A young man with a clipboard, and a woman in a uniform.

'Mr Metetta?’ She asked.

'Yeah?’

'I’m Diana Terrence, head of security. I’m glad you’re here. We have a request.’

Jason raised an eyebrow. He motioned to the shuttle, which was still dripping from its recent swim.

'I literally just touched down.’ He complained. She nodded, hands clasped around her back.

'I am aware of that, sir. But we have a situation, and need a man with your skills.’

Jason sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He was slow, making sure his movements didn’t disturb his passengers.

'It’s fine, Jay.’ Takota said, patting at his neck.

'You’re here to work. We understand.’ Sam affirmed. Jason turned his head slightly, but couldn’t quite see them since they sat flush against his neck.

'We’ll get settled in our quarters first. Then I’ll report to your office.’ Jason decided. Diana smiled.

'Good to hear.’ She nodded to the young man, who motioned for them to follow him.

'The room was prepared as you requested,’ The young man said, nodding towards Sam and Takota, 'We hope the quarters are to your liking.’

The room was quite bare. Almost like a hotel room. It was, after all, just the guest quarters. But it was still much better quality than the rooms that made up most of Sam’s childhood. It was cosy, with warm colors. The light was tinted slightly blue, giving a calm aura.

Jason threw his bag onto the nearby bed, making a beeline towards the counter with the small apartment that had been placed there for his boys. He leaned against the counter, arms straight to give them a platform. Sam was quick to trot along his arm, the process easy after a decade of practice. Takota was a little hesitant, nervously looking down at the drop below. Sensing his Bondmate’s distress, Jason scooped him up and lowered him to the bench. Takota smiled gratefully, easily slipping down to the counter.

'I’d better go see what all the fuss is about,’ Jason fished out their bags, placing them right at the door of the box, 'I’ll see ya later, guys.’

'Have fun.’ Sam called as Jason began to leave.

'But not too much fun.’ Takota warned. Jason laughed, sending them a grin.

'Now when do I ever have too much fun?’ He laughed, finally leaving the room.

Sam and Takota rolled their eyes, but hoped it would be an easy assignment, whatever it was.

#@brothersapart #Brothers Abducted #contest entry #my writing #chapter 5

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shawol9196 · 4 years

Text

Off-Air (Oneshot; Jongho; ~2.2k)

When Jinki drives Jonghyun home from the radio station meeting, he learns a little more about his off-air life than he’s expecting.

“So why do you dislike that Choi guy so much?” one of the other DJs asks as Jinki sits down next to Jonghyun.

It’s weird for them to all be here together: a huge gathering of DJs and radio staff all gathered into a tiny bar. But Jinki’s excited for a night out without having to be on interacting-with-consumers behavior, so he figures he’ll let it unfold as it will.

Jonghyun takes a sip of whatever soju concoction he’d ordered before looking over.

“Well first off he’s my number one competitor for my time slot.”

“You know you don’t own the hours of 12-2am, right?” Jinki teases.

Jonghyun glares and Jinki isn’t sure if it’s at the comment or the interruption. “Second, it’s annoying to have listeners calling in to talk about another DJ while you’re DJing, if you didn’t know. His music is too broad in genre. Like I get it’s a show of soundtracks but I’m not and never will be emotionally ready to switch from “My Heart Will Go On” right into “Footloose.” Also he’s too damn tall.”

Jinki nearly spits out his drink at the last item in the list. The other DJ had wandered off halfway through the spiel, but now Jinki’s interest was piqued.

“Too tall?”

“He’s 6’2” and that’s too tall.”

“And that matters...?”

“Jinki I know you’re my boss and you know I cherish you in that way and also in a friendly way but you’re too tall to understand my feelings about people who are too tall. Your complete averageness in terms of height prevents you from understanding the full plight I speak of.”

“First off I’m the show producer not your boss. Second of all I’m only two inches taller than you, tops. I thought you had to be under 5’4” to complain about height. Third, how do you know his exact height?”

Jonghyun ignores his comments in favor of finishing his drink. As silence falls between them, Jinki finds himself reminiscing of the now locally famous Choi-Kim radio rivalry.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this purple dusk radio?”

“Yes it is. I’m DJ Jonghyun and you’re lucky caller number 4!”

“Oh my goodness!”

“What’s your name?”

“Miyoung.”

“I’ve got the prize package right here for you, Miyoung, all ready to go, I just need you to do one thing for me alright? Just tell me one thing you enjoy about purple dusk radio.”

“Well, to be honest, normally I listen to silver screen on channel 99...but I just happened to tune in to this station for the first time tonight and it really fits in with my music taste.”

“So what I’m hearing is purple dusk has a better selection than silver screen does?”

“It fits better with my likes, yes.”

“Well congratulations, Miyoung, you won! Just promise me you’ll stay tuned in to the better midnight show, okay?”

Jinki listens as the girl on the phone starts squealing in excitement and Jonghyun signs off for the commercial break. Once the “ON AIR” sign is deluminated, Jinki laughs at Jonghyun’s little victory wiggle.

“Did you hear that, Jinki? We saved another poor soul from having to listen to silver screen!”

Jinki jumps at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. It’s Kim Kibum, producer for silver screen. The rivalry between DJs didn’t extend to them -- mostly due to graduating from the same college program.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“You looked pretty far away there for a second, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, not at all. I was just remembering an old show.”

Kibum slides into the seat that previously held Jonghyun.

“Any particular show? I mean you’ve only been on this show for six years now.”

“A particular one but for no particular reason.”

The conversation is interrupted by the bartender appearing. Jinki waits for Kibum to order, turning around to glance around the restaurant for Jonghyun. He finds him at another table with a few other DJs from their station.

“Minho’s got a significant other but he won’t tell me about them.” Kibum huffs once he gets his beer.

“If he won’t tell you about them how do you know he has one?”

“I overheard him on the phone and ‘I love you, honeybun’ doesn’t seem like something you’d say to everyone, now does it? Also he has a new ring, one of those ones that leaves an impression of a heart when you take it off.”

“Kibum, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; you make a great producer but you would’ve been a great detective.”

Kibum laughs before sipping his beer.

“So how are things at PYQK, besides the fact that Minho won’t share all the naughty details of his love life with you?”

“I never said I wanted the naughty details; even some sweet vagues would be nice. The station’s doing well. And at PYXQ?”

“Basically the same. Why doesn’t Minho ever come to these, besides the fact that Jonghyun’s here?”

Kibum scoffs as he puts down his beer. “He goes to work out after the show finishes like some kind of weirdo.”

“To each his own, I guess.” Jinki goes to take a sip of his drink, but pauses. “Weird question that I’ll explain the context of afterwards, but how tall is he?”

“Who? Minho? Bit over 6’ I’d say. Why?”

“Someone was asking Jonghyun why he doesn’t like Minho and one of the reasons was he’s too tall, but he said a very specific height, which I thought was a bit odd.”

“I think Jonghyun may be trying to get in on that sort of experience,” Kibum says with a giggle, pointing to where Jonghyun’s begun standing on a barstool and thanking people for coming to the party that he absolutely did not partake in planning.

“Oh jeez...I’ll see you later, dude.”

Jinki makes his way over to Jonghyun quick as he can; persuading him to come down off the stool isn’t easy but eventually he manages.

“I just wanted to make sure that everyone could see me!” Jonghyun explains with a hiccup as Jinki pulls him out towards the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” Jonghyun slurs, clutching Jinki’s arm to help steady himself.

“I’m going to drop you off at your house since you’re in no condition to drive.”

“How do you know that?”

Jinki gives him a stern look and continues guiding Jonghyun to his car. It takes Jonghyun a few minutes to remember his address to punch into the GPS but soon enough they’re on their way.

It surprises Jinki to realize he’s never been to Jonghyun’s house. The latter had visited him many times for holiday parties and garden dinners but not once in the four years they’ve worked together on purple dusk had he ever gone to -- or been invited to -- Jonghyun’s place. The house isn’t that big, but it has a pretty little garden in front and there’s something charming about it that seems perfectly Jonghyun. As they walk up the driveway, Jonghyun seems to perk up and Jinki is somewhat relieved to see a light through the living room window.

“My house!”

“Well I’m glad you recognize it.”

Just as quickly as it appeared, the perky feeling dissipates and Jonghyun stops in his tracks.

“I don’t have people over at my house.”

“I just want to make sure you can get in, I’ll leave right after okay?”

“I...don’t want...can’t let people know about him.”

“About who?”

“Him.”

“Come on, I just want to make sure you can get in.”

Begrudgingly he starts walking again, searching his pockets for his keys. Eventually he finds them but after four attempts to unlock the door it's clear he’s too drunk for such a delicate operation. Just as Jinki goes to offer to try, the door opens.

If Jonghyun revealed himself to be an alien at this very moment, it wouldn’t surprise him more than seeing Choi Minho standing in Jonghyun’s doorway.

“Oh, hello, Jinki. I...wasn’t expecting anyone to be with him.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here either, least of all you.”

It takes Jonghyun a moment to process that the door is open but once he does he immediately wraps himself around Minho, seemingly forgetting about Jinki’s existence.

“Baby I had fun at the party and I missed you.”

Minho’s cheeks turn pink as Jinki’s jaw drops to the floor.

“Do you...why don’t you come in for a bit so we can talk?”

“I...if that’s fine with Jjong I’d like that.”

It takes a few minutes of fussing and denied kisses for Minho to send Jonghyun off to shower. He joins Jinki in the living room after a moment, sitting opposite him.

“Don’t the two of you hate each other?” Jinki asks before Minho has a chance to say anything.

An odd smile crosses Minho’s face. “Only publicly. We’re very affectionate at home, as you can see.”

“How long have...”

“Have we been together?”

“I was going to say be friendly but yeah that’s also included in the question I guess.”

“We met in college, partnered for a project in a journalism elective.”

“Really. Did you get unpartnered for bad behavior or something?”

“No, actually-”

Minho’s interrupted by Jonghyun unceremoniously plopping on the couch with the highest amount of dramatic flair he can muster, still oblivious to Jinki’s continued presence. He’s snuggled up to Minho and asleep before he can even react. As confused as Jinki is, it’s a warming sight.

“As I was saying, we actually got along really well. Got bonus points on the project for being cooperative. We got into the habit of hanging out and things just...kinda went from there. We’ve been living here since I graduated. Sleepy here inherited it from his grandparents.”

“So wait...why the rivalry? Like we all legitimately thought that you two hate each other.”

Minho chuckles, but Jinki can’t tell if it's in amusement or in sadness.

“It was his idea, oddly enough. I don’t know if you remember the predecessor to silver screen, but it was... to put it kinder than Kibum would, it was a mess. So when I got hired, it was made very clear that if I didn’t make it successful, I would get fired, Yunho -- the producer that pitched it -- would probably get fired, and the station would basically have to resort to playing ads and royalty free spa music during that slot. Jjong had already got purple dusk comfortable by that point so he was trying to give me pointers and things. It didn’t really help though; Kibum always said it wasn’t my hosting that was driving people away, it was the bad taste left from the old show. Obviously he couldn’t just give me a shoutout, being on different stations at the same time and all, so he came up with hyping the competition. I always thought that we should’ve included you guys on it, but he said it’d make it feel manufactured if you all knew and also tried to play it up.”

“Oh, so that’s why I’ve had to hear Kibum complain about not knowing about your love life for two years now.” Jinki teases.

“Oh man, he’s got you hooked in on that too? I swear I can’t make a personal call at the station without at least 4 people scooting as close as they think they can get away with to eavesdrop.”

“If it makes you feel better, he was just as inquisitive about when I started dating my now-wife back in college.”

“I am not surprised in the least.”

An awkward silence falls between the two as Jonghyun starts to snore and Jinki struggles to process.

“It was hard to get used to the act, when we first started it. We’d both come home all apologetic -- ‘I know I said you sound grating but your tone was so nice today’ or ‘I’m sorry I was so mean today, but how can you not be mean when the theme of the show is noir films’, that kind of thing. Now it’s just a bit of a game. I always listen to the podcast recording when I go to the gym and come home telling him he’s recycled insults.”

Jinki chuckles and checks his phone. There’s a few messages from Kibum, asking him where he’s headed off to and if he took Jonghyun home.

“I suppose you should probably be heading home now. I know we live the night life already but I’m sure your wife would appreciate you coming home before the sun.” Minho says as he tries to wiggle his way out of Jonghyun’s grasp.

“You’re probably right. We don’t have the luxury of the same working hours like some people do.”

They walk to the door and Jinki half expects Jonghyun to wake up, but he doesn’t.

“Thanks for bringing him home. While it is amusing that such a lightweight enjoys gatherings so much, I do worry about him getting home in one piece.”

“Oh it’s no trouble. Even if it was, this dramatic turn of events made it worth it. Good luck with your show tomorrow and surviving Sherlock Holmes- I mean Kibum’s investigations.”

Minho cracks a smile and nods a thank you, waiting til Jinki gets into his car to close the front door. Through the living room window he can see him carrying Jonghyun to bed. His phone pings again, Kibum continuing to be nosy. For a brief moment he thinks to share the news with Kibum but instead closes his phone and heads home. What Jonghyun and Minho do in their off-air time really isn’t any of his concern; plus, he’d grown fond of Kibum’s investigations being thwarted.

#hello fellow youths its been a while #this is just...........a thing #my idea was a bit different but this is how it turned out and ive missed writing so here it is #jongho #1 shot 2 shot just for 1

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crue-sixx · 5 years

Text

Kiss The Bride

Title: Kiss The Bride

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue Movie)

Summary: You are getting married to Lucas, who you think loves you for you but Tommy informs you that he only wants your money.

Warning: Swearing, death of a parent, smut and the reader's fiancee being a dick.

You met Lucas through a business connection with your father, who was an oil tycoon. He was different from the other rich assholes, in the country as he insisted he pay his share in the community. He helped build schools, housing and playgrounds along with paying off student loans for people who deserved it. He imparted those values on you, but he'd only gave you a trust if you fulfilled his requirements of going to school, getting good grades and marrying the love of your life. You agreed to these terms, getting into university on your own and a part time job at the library to help pay for semesters.

There you met Lucas, who seemed to have been having a hard time with the card catalog. He was trying to find a book about business planning, when you said "Can I help you?"

"No, sweetheart" he said condescendingly "but if I ever want to learn about cooking and cleaning, I'll be sure to hit you up!"

You bit your lip at that, knowing that if you flipped your lid at another dude who thought he was smarter than you, you'd get canned for sure. You hadn't told anyone who your father was, having been known around campus as Y/N M/N (middle name). You weren't ashamed of your last name, you just didn't want anyone to treat you differently because you were filthy fuckin' rich. Just then, your father paid an unsolicited visit. You were happy to see him so you went up and gave him a big hug. Lucas was perplexed at first, but the family resemblance was uncanny. Your father spoke up "Lucas, this is my daughter Y/N" you then gave him a comical wave out of spite.

"O-oh" the younger man stammered "I was unaware..."

"Y/N, this is Lucas" he introduced you "he's the son of my new business partner. I hope you get along swimmingly!"

"Don't worry, Daddy" you said to him "Maybe I'll come over and clean his house and cook a meal or two for him!"

Lucas was so ashamed of his behavior that he offered to buy you dinner. When your father was out of earshot, you said to him "Hell no" and went back to placing the books alphabetically on the shelves.

"Why not?" he whined.

"Because of the way you talked to me before you knew I was the daughter of an oil tycoon. You talked to me like I was worth less than the worms inside the dirt" you raised an eyebrow at him.

"But most people ARE worthless" he said, to which you looked at him in total shock "the only people who are worth anything are people like us-well to do" he insisted on taking you out, but you shoved him off.

It was then a tall skinny young man with drumsticks in his belt came up and said "She said she's not interested, dude. Leave 'er alone" he looked the type not afraid to throw down, but from the scared expression on the younger female behind him's face he didn't want to resort to violence right away.

Lucas looked at him like he was the scum of the earth. But he relented and backed off. You turned to the young man and said "Thank you, I was about to get fired from throat punching him..."

"No problem" he smiled at you, his height not bothering you at all. "I'm Tommy" he looked over to the younger female "and that's my sister Athena" the younger female smiled and waved at you two. 'She's applying to go to school here!"

"What about you? Are you applying too?" you asked him.

"Nah" he laughed "I'm too dumb for school. I'm a drummer in a band! We're playing at the Troubadour later! You should totally come watch us when you get off! We go on stage at 11!" you did like the rock and roll scene, but didn't have many chances to go since you had both work and school, but one night wouldn't hurt.

"Sure thing!" you said "I just gotta clean up a little and I'll be right over!"

"Cool beans, dudette!" he was corny, but that was what you liked about Tommy Lee.

You had a blast at the show, and an even better time at the after party where Tommy gave you his full attention. Thankfully he hadn't seen or heard the conversation that Lucas had tried to continue with you, so you had a chance at making some new friends. You were immediately fond of Vince, Nikki and Mick-they were like a fucked up version of The Brady Bunch on everything that could be snorted, injected or drank. But they never pressured you to do anything you didn't want to. You were thankful for that.

Over the next few days, Lucas tried to talk to you but you shut that shit down quickly when he started that whole "holier than thou" speech. Sometimes Tommy would come and scare him away, but you were able to do the job just as effectively. Eventually, he had learned that he in fact did not shit gold. It had seemed like he was being pulled down to earth. "Y/N, I'm sorry for being a horse's ass..."

This grabbed your attention, you never expecting a sincere apology from some douche bag with a silver spoon in his mouth. You stood silently, looking expectantly at him for him to continue. "My life isn't worth any more or less than anyone else's...can we please start over?"

You were a believer in second chances, so long as the person looking for said second chance was willing to put in the effort you deemed worthy of your time. "Sure, Lucas" he was a total gentleman to you and the waitress, being sure to leave a sizable tip. After that night, you'd made it official.

Tommy was surprised that you'd date such a dickhead but after you explained that he did a complete 180 and was so much better than he used to be. He seemed suspicious but he accepted it, the whole thing not taking his time with you from him. He was up and coming in his band-they had just signed a record deal and were on their way to the top.

You and Tommy stayed close friends, you disapproving of his many girlfriends playfully. But the one that got your goat the most was Roxy. She was a total slut-sleeping with a different band before getting together with Tommy and you suspected that she was banging the whole of Motley Crue as well. On a day where Lucas and your father were busy working a deal, you went onto the set of "Looks that Kill" to visit with everyone.

"Y/N!" Tommy scooped you up and twirled you around "How the fuck are ya?" you both laughed and he put you down.

"I'm good, just working a whole lot at the library" you had told him and his friends that your dad was an oil tycoon and about the trust you had waiting for you on his death. They were understandably pissed off at first, but after they had seen random dudes trying to discuss dowries with your father, they understood why you didn't say anything. The degree you had been working on and eventually gotten your Masters in was library science, running a library and ensuring everything was in tip top shape.

"Neat-o!" he ruffled your hair like a big brother would do to his little sister, but you felt that he wanted it to be more-and you did too. You had excused yourself when Tommy was introducing Nikki and Roxy to his parents, but you overheard him introduce her as his fiancee your blood ran cold. You know you shouldn't have ease dropped on the conversation, but you couldn't resist.

"So how did you and Tommy meet?" asked Tommy's sweet mother.

"Well I was actually hanging out with this other band, then I met Tommy and it was just meant to be!" she said happily. To you, her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. You wanted to say the word out loud, but Mrs. Bass said it for you.

"I know this word" she thought only a second "groupie! Is that how they call you?" you snorted with laughter, Roxy looking so angry with Tommy and Tommy so annoyed with his mother.

"Mom!" he scolded "Not cool!"

"You say this word like its the best thing in the world!" he mother retorted.

His father chimed in with "Why not date Y/N? She actually went to school for something!' Tommy hadn't told his parents about your family, so they had no idea. You had been over to his house for family dinners plenty of times, you being nothing but polite and perfect table manners.

"She's dating Lucas!" he hissed. "I can't mess with that!"

"I see the way you look at Y/N" his dad put an arm around his mom. "It's the exact same way I still look at your mother". Tommy blushed deeply and just walked away.

You were about to turn the corner when you bumped into Roxy, who viewed you as competition. "What's got you all giggly?" she asked sarcastically.

"Nothing!" you assured her "just watching Mrs. Bass get confused over words. English isn't her first language and sometimes our lingo gets her caught up!" you tried to play it off as ignorance, but you knew better.

"Well she's a cunt" Roxy spat out hatefully. "Why're you hanging around Tommy anyway? It's not like you two are datin'!"

"Because he's my friend and I've known him longer than you" you defended yourself "plus I already have a boyfriend. If I really wanted Tommy, I would have taken him off the market when I had my chance!"

"Really?" she raised an eyebrow, then smiled wickedly "Tell Lucas that I think the birthmark in the shape of a warped heart right behind his right ear is adorable" your heart stopped hearing those words. Lucas did indeed have a tiny heart shaped birthmark behind his right ear, but that wasn't visible to the naked eye. You had to be in sex having range to see it.

"Did you fuck my boyfriend?" you quietly asked her.

"What else do you expect?" she mocked you "I am after all just a groupie" she then left you there, cackling like the witch she was. You felt sick to your stomach, you had to get out of there. That was the only time you left Tommy without saying goodbye.

A few weeks after that, you had stayed away from Tommy. Lucas had in turn stayed away from you while he was closing the biggest deal in the company's history. You knew he was lying to you and seeing other women, but you felt like you couldn't do any better than him. You twirled the beautiful diamond engagement ring he had so ceremoniously given you around your finger when you got the phone call that broke your heart-your father was dead.

His lawyer said he had a fatal heart attack, that he was dead before he hit the ground. You sat in stunned silence for a while, then asked Mr Potts for make all the funeral arrangements. All the details were set in your father's will so there was no question as to what he wanted. You then called Lucas at the office "Lucas?" you sniffled.

"Babe, what's wrong?" he sounded like he was forcing concern.

"My father is dead" you wiped your eyes "please come home. I need you now..."

With no hesitation, he responded "I can't. I'm about to close this deal" you went silent with disbelief, then exploded.

"Your fiancee's father just died! I'm sure they'll understand if you explain the situation!"

"I'm sure they will, but if I dip out now the company's future might be at stake! With your father gone, the company's as good as mine!" you then heard a sound of shock from the other line, he had just given himself up.

"FUCK YOU AND FUCK THE COMPANY!" you slammed down the phone and sobbed to yourself, taking off his ring and throwing it out the window. He played you like a cheap banjo for two whole years. Your father had already paid for the venue, the reception and even the fucking wedding attire. Now it would all go to waste.

You took a moment to yourself and did what you should have done in the first place. "Tommy?" you called his house, where his maid answered the phone. He was at The Hellfire Club, a private club for the higher end of Los Angeles.

When Tommy came to the phone he said "Y/N? What's up? You alright?"

"My father is dead" you said through sniffles "I need you..."

He took a moment to digest the information and asked "Where's Lucas? Did you call him first?"

"We broke up" you flatly said "He loved my father's company more than he loved me" that was all he needed to hear, and he promised he'd be right over. He was there in half an hour and with a hungry look in his eye he started kissing you like a lover the minute you opened the door for him.

You had no desire to stop him, your only protestation being ":What about Roxy?"

He stopped for a second "We broke up too" and in between kissing your neck "She stabbed me and called my mother a cunt" you had to stop at that point.

"What?! Are you okay?!" you took of his shirt to see the wound, a small pen sized puncture that was already healed.

"We can talk about that later, baby" he continued kissing you, working his hands up your shirt and feeling your breasts. "All I need right now is to be with you..." he tore off your shirt and pulled down your bra, exposing the nipples and sucking on one. You let out a sigh of pleasure as you gently held his head in place.

"Tommy..." you sighed, him switching nipples and licking them "fuck me..." he threw you over his shoulder and you pointed him to your bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed, kissing you down your body starting at you lips. He trailed down your neck to your cleavage, then your belly and finally he was at your entrance. Just staring at it like it was the holy grail.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous..." he lifted your legs over his shoulders and began kissing your inner thighs "I've waited so long to be with you like this..." he dove right in, his tongue working its magic on you. The sensation was nothing you felt before, and your body responded naturally. Your hips began to rock back and forth in time with his tongue. He chuckled and said "It seems like you've been waiting too."

You blushed at this, remembering the time you had said his name when you and Lucas were having sex. "Please don't keep me waiting any longer. Tommy" you begged him. He grinned, going back to work and adding his fingers. It didn't take you long to cum all over his face and hand, but that only seemed make him even more hungry for you.

He laid down on the bed, working his pants and underwear off and tossing them aside. You marveled at his length, the girth was average and you just looked at it. "Is it going to fit?" he laughed, clearly having been asked this many times before.

"If it's hurting you, we can stop" he leaned forward and kissed you softly, tasting your juices on his lips. "That's why I got you so wet, so it would just slide right in..." he grunted, you having moved your hand to jerk him off.

:"How do you want me?" you asked him, your turn to kiss his neck and pump his dick.

"I need you to ride me" he groaned, his head going back on the pillow.

"Do you want me to suck you off first?" he took a second to answer.

"A little, but don't make me cum" you trailed kisses down his body, just like he did for you "I want to give you my A- Game after all" you had to laugh at that, even after all this time he was still that corny drummer boy you met at the university library. That's all you ever wanted, or needed him to be.

You licked the shafted and teased his slit, him being unable to form any sensible sentences. "Ohhhhh fuuuucccckkk..." you took him into your mouth fully and moved your head, humming with his cock in your mouth. He jolted at that "SHIT!" you felt his dick twitch and he stopped you. "I gotta calm down..." he panted.

"Okay Tommy" you laid next to him, just kissing him. Your tongues exploring the other's mouth and surrounding skin. After a few minutes he let you know he was good to go and you straddled him. You reached down and guided yourself onto his erection, the both of you releasing a string of curses. When you had adjusted to him, you leaned forward, touching your forehead to his and asked "Ready?"

"Oh God yes" he answered, taking hold of your waist as you sat up and began riding him. He felt wonderful, your walls slick enough to allow him to slip in and out easily. At first you bounced slowly, appreciating his length. "Do I feel okay, Y/N?" he was worried that he was too big for you "Am I hurting you?"

You looked down at him with your best bedroom eyes "No baby" you rode him slowly "You feel amazing..." you began to ride a little faster, to which he cursed more often and louder. The squelching sounds from your love making were audible, and only fueled the fire even more. You felt his hands move from your waist to your arms, eventually locking your fingers with his.

Tommy was nearing his limit, so in one swift motion he flipped you on your back. He gripped onto the headboard of the bed as he gave you the final hard thrusts "Holy shit, Y/N I'm about to cum..." followed by quick shallow thrusts "where do you want it baby?"

"Wherever you want to put it" your eyes rolled in the back of your head, a silent scream escaping your lips as you came hard around his cock.

He let out a whine and a strained "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" the feeling of you cumming on his cock sent him over the edge and he let his own release erupt inside you. He stayed inside you as he shuddered, giving you every last drop of what he had to offer. When he was done, he'd pulled out and steadied himself over you on his elbows.

After catching your breath, you both leaned forward to a tender post love making kiss. He flopped beside you, opening his arms to you for a cuddle. You fell into him, and it felt so right. You looked up at him and said "I love you, Tommy Lee. I just don't know why it took me so long to see it..."

He chuckled and said "I love you too. I just thought I'd never be good enough for you..."

This intrigued you "Now what moron told you that?"

"Lucas" he rolled his eyes "he tried to intimidate me from seeing you as a friend."

"Roxy did the same thing to me! But she told me an intimate detail about Lucas that only a person who had sex with him would know!"

Tommy did a mock soap opera gasp "That bitch!" and you both had a laugh.

The next morning, your father's lawyer Mr. Potts stopped by to tell you everything was in order with your father's final arrangements. Before he was leaving he mentioned "So is the wedding still going according to plan in three months?"

You sighed and said "We had irreconcilable differences and broke up..."

Mr. Potts was surprised "So you broke up with Tommy?"

Both you and Tommy looked up and said "What?"

"Your marriage license says Y/N as the bride and Tommy Lee Bass as the groom" he produced the document to show you.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." Tommy said in disbelief.

Mr. Potts smiled "Your father submitted this when you first applied to get a marriage license. It has both of your signatures on it and everything!"

You didn't question it, so you looked at him and said "What do ya say? Wanna get married?"

He grinned widely and said "Fuck yeah I do!"

Three months later, you walked down the aisle with Tommy's father, his mother and sister sitting in the audience both bawling their eyes out. Tommy was waiting for you, and he too burst into tears at how breathtaking you looked. Mick, Nikki and Vince were his groomsmen while their wives or girlfriends were your bridesmaids. When it came time for the vows, Tommy wiped his eyes and said "Y/N, I've loved you since that day I saw you in the library. I was such an idiot for waiting to tell you, then I saw you be snatched away right from under my nose. I tried to be happy for you, but then I realized that I want to be happy WITH you...I promise to love you above all else and make you the happiest woman you could ever be..." he slipped the wedding band on your finger.

"Tommy" you began your vows "my sweet boy. I never should have let that man come between us. I knew I wanted you since I saw you play on stage. I was just too stubborn to see you for what you're worth. I love you, and I promise to be the best wife I can and to make you the happiest husband ever" you looked into your husband's eyes and saw only love.

The minister smiled at the both of you and went on with the ceremony and said "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride" Tommy did just that, sweeping you off your feet.

After the honeymoon, Mr. Potts called you and Tommy into his office to read your father's will. "I (your fathers name) of sound mind and body bequest to my daughter Y/N one American dollar and this small note" both you and Tommy laughed at that "my business and my assets are to be dissolved, and the proceeds given to the charities that I have specified within this will" Mr. Potts handed you a small envelope.

"To My Darling Y/N,

You're wondering why I changed the names on the marriage license. I saw the way Tommy made your face light up, then saw how dull it was when Lucas was around. All a person needs to be happy is a home, a bag of gold and a love to make it all worth while. I love you, and wish you and Tommy health and happiness. Signed Daddy"

You wiped a tear from your eye and held Tommy's hand. You had all you needed right in front of you, and you'd be damned if you let it slip away twice.

#motley crue #mötley crüe #the dirt #tommy lee #motley crue imagine #mötley crüe imagine #tommy lee imagine #motley crue fanfiction #mötley crüe fanfiction #tommy lee fanfiction #submitted #not mine #submission

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6570 Chapter: 8/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

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Chapter 8

If you had asked him even yesterday Madara would probably have said that he never expected to find out what a sleepy tessen fan looked like. Sure he knew that even as inanimate objects his fellow residents here at the castle did need to sleep but they did so in the royal apartments, one of the few areas he still had yet to go back in to. And besides that the only living tessen fan he knew was Mito and she was a woman who clung to her poise at every minute of every hour. Seeing her sleepy, in his mind at least, would be like seeing Tobirama sit in the middle of the floor to start crying.

Yet there she was floating in to the room with her painted eyes half-lidded and her thin lips opened for a yawn while Hashirama flustered along the ground beneath her. Behind them Tobirama slinked in as best he could with cloven hooves in place of feet.

“Why does Hashirama look so panicked?” Madara asked him quietly. He was fairly sure he already knew the answer and though he hoped it wasn’t true those hopes were dashed by the sad red eyes turning away from him.

“He fears for his wife. She is…not well.”

“You mean she’s sick?” It said a lot that his tone was almost hopeful but again he was disappointed.

“No, she is not ill. She is tired. It has come as a shock to both of us.” Tobirama fell in to stillness and closed his eyes, visibly attempting to rein in his emotions, and Madara couldn’t blame him. He hated that his guess was right. This was the last thing he wanted for any of the friends he’d made here.

Keeping a weather eye on her floating form as she took over the cooking, he allowed himself to be shooed away to go sit on Tobirama’s other side. “She’ll be okay though, right? I see her every day and she’s never shown any sort of…tiredness.”

It took his companion a while to answer. In that time Madara watched as Mito sent her husband apologetic yet muted smiles to which he responded by attempting to wring his hands together. Even the way she drifted through the air seemed almost listless, weaving side to side rather than her usual straight lines, movements sluggish where normally she zipped from place to place with an effortless decorum. How a fan managed to affect decorum he couldn’t say but it was one word that always came to mind whenever he watched her working.

“Her pain was kept well hidden from us all until today,” Tobirama murmured eventually. He couldn’t seem to look at anything but the floor, each word a low rumble so as not to drift across the room. “She is tired, as are we all, but I did not realize she had given up on hope after all this time. Of us all she has always seemed the strongest. Now she feels that with you and your brother here she need not worry for her husband and she has lost the strength to keep herself awake. It won’t be long.”

“Until?”

“She will fall asleep,” was the simple, heartbreaking answer.

Madara didn’t need more than that to understand. She would fall asleep as so many others had and become nothing more than another object in the cavernous halls to sit still and collect dust. Just thinking about how devastated Hashirama would be by her loss made him shudder and push the image from his mind, snagging Tobirama by one wrist and turning to pull him from the room without warning.

“You are not responsible for this,” he hissed the moment they were alone in the hallway. When Tobirama flinched he knew he had hit the mark.

“It is I that keeps them all trapped in this–”

“No, it’s that crazy witch lady who trapped you all here. Maybe they don’t quite agree with how you feel but not one of them blames you for it.” He nearly growled with frustration to see the other wrinkle his brow with disagreement.

Still not lifting his eyes from the floor, Tobirama ran a hand through his wild hair, stopping when his fingers ran in to one of the horns growing out the top of his head. He paused to trace the ridges with disgust shadowing his face. “If I were a stronger man I would have freed them from this hell decades ago. If I were still a man at all.”

Disgust turned to shock when Madara punched him square in the chest. With the sheer size of his current form the blow did very little but it was enough to break him from his thoughts and force his gaze up to see that Madara was angry. Not truly angry in the sense that he was offended in any way but there was certainly a good heavy irritation building up inside him after going over the same words again and again with no progress. Utterly done with having to repeat himself, Madara reached up and snagged a fistful of the man’s collar to pull him down so their faces were of a level, staunchly ignoring the fact that he only succeeded because Tobirama followed the motion probably out of pure disbelief.

“I’m gonna say this again and you’re gonna clean the shit out of your ears and listen this time,” he growled. “You are a man. And a damn good one. You can have all the pity parties and magic tricks you like and that won’t change anything. You’re a human with human feelings and just because they hurt doesn’t mean you get to run away from them!”

“Madara…”

“No! Shut up! You think I didn’t feel like a monster when I figured out our parents abandoned us? You think I didn’t feel like an unwanted burden not good enough even for the people who made me? Well I got over it! And you’re just going to have to get over this!”

“It is not as easy as–”

With a snarl Madara cut him off again. “You might not think so but it really is! You have had a hundred damned years to wallow in your little pity party but it needs to stop! You think you did a terrible inhumane thing. Fine. So make up for it! Atone! It if makes you feel better you can abdicate the throne and run away to live the harrowing life of a peasant. I know a stable you can help me muck out. But for the love of all the gods just- would a monster feel the guilt that you do!?”

Tobirama had no answer. He seemed a little too busy gaping with his jaw hanging loose and from this close Madara couldn’t help but note that it was a startlingly adorable expression on him. Actually there were several things he had the chance to notice now. With the height different between them he’d never seen Tobirama’s face in such detail but from merely an inch or so away he could see the exact garnet red shade of his eyes, the soft almost peachy pink of his lips and the frown lines around them. Twisted his features might have been but there were enough hints towards the handsomeness his true self would wear that Madara very nearly blushed.

Since he was still more angry than anything else he did no such thing. He did let go of the clothing in his grasp, awkwardly smoothing it out in apology when Tobirama failed to straighten right away.

“You’re so caught up in what you see in the mirror,” he continued, “that you can’t see what’s actually on the inside. If you looked at yourself like I do you wouldn’t see a monster.”

“Peace,” Tobirama breathed, holding up both hands in surrender.

“Oh believe me, I’m feeling mighty peaceful right now.”

His companion let out a single humorless puff of laughter. “Indeed. Madara…the way you speak of me is…I am glad you came in to our lives. I’m glad to have known you. The things you say mean more than I can express and I don’t think I could ever repay you for the kindness you have shown me.”

“It’s not kindness, its basic human decency.” Madara sniffed haughtily.

“There are many who would not offer even that. I…”

Seeing Tobirama hesitate was odd, enough so that Madara felt almost obligated to put him out of his misery. The man needed to hear these things but every time he tried to bring them up he found himself incredibly weak to the flash of vulnerability that followed his words. Confident that Tobirama would think on what he said, he awkwardly patted one massive arm and cleared his throat.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I yelled, you’re obviously already stressed about the situation.”

“No need to apologize, you were in the right to stop me from spiraling in to a darkness that would help no one. That is not what I had intended to address however. I wished to tell you, ah, how I feel.”

“God, please, no.” Madara retracted his hand to slap it over both eyes. “Don’t get touchy feely on me, I’ll break out in to hives.”

“Oh.”

When he peeked Tobirama looked so downcast it sent a wave of guilt burning through his gut and Madara hurried to balm the wound he’d just made. “We’re friends and I know you appreciate me, I swear I do. I just, ugh. You don’t need to compose sonnets or anything about it okay? I’d burn up from embarrassment.”

“Friends, yes.”

“Right.”

After staring at him for a long time with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher Tobirama took a deep breath and let it out slowly before indicating the door back in to the kitchen. “Shall we rejoin the others?”

“Are you alright to go back in?”

“Yes, I should attend to my brother and his wife. It is only proper that I offer what comforts I can.” His words were stiff with what Madara could only assume to be some embarrassment of his own. That was understandable. Madara himself didn’t deal very well with the shameful disaster that was expressing himself so he could hardly blame anyone else for the same struggle.

The kitchen, when they entered, was filled with silent tension that even Kagami seemed unwilling to break. Madara would be tempted to check the boy’s temperature if he thought wooden soldiers could have a temperature. Did their animated chattel bodies have any physiological human characteristics? Something to ask about. At the moment he kept his focus on the way Hashirama had settled himself on the edge of the kitchen counter with the stubborn expression of a watchdog. If he still possessed muscles and feet Madara could only imagine they could have been spread to set himself in an unmovable stance much like young village lads playing tackle ball games in the fields.

It was easy to understand his concern but it was also quite easy to see the tightness of Mito’s illustrated lips. She looked much more alert now, thankfully, and did not seem to appreciate her husband’s stubborn hovering. Knowing that increasing the tension would not do anyone any good Madara stumped over and unceremoniously scooped a protesting Hashirama up, carrying him along to find a seat where he usually did.

“Madara, my good man, I must insist you return me to my station!”

“Your station is off to one side admiring her ‘pretty folds’ and completely missing the dirty implications of your own words.” He gave his friend an unimpressed look and poked him until he fell down on his backside. On the other side of the table Tobirama held one hand up to cover a weak smile.

“I would never make lewd observations in public!”

“That you know about,” Madara grunted.

He accepted the smile Mito gifted him when she brought his salvaged breakfast as the gratitude it was meant to be and said nothing further, listening with only one ear as Hashirama went off on some rant about respecting the fairer sex and maintaining decorum. Anyone who skidded around corners so fast they crashed in to walls on a weekly basis had no room for lecturing about decorum.

Breakfast was delicious, though for once he neglected to say so. No way was he admitting that Mito’s cooking really was that much better than his own. Izuna, on the other hand, had no qualms about loudly declaring how glad he was to avoid eating his big brother’s cooking again after so long without. The comparisons he made were less than flattering despite years of his compliments for the chef. Madara made sure to give him a hefty swat on the back of his head on the way to wash his dishes in the sink. No matter how many times they assured him that none of the dishware they used had ever been a reanimated human he simply couldn’t bring himself to leave them dirty.

Just in case.

The possibility of Mito’s declining mental state seemed like a family matter so Madara was well prepared to drag his brother away once they had both taken care of their dishes and probably lock themselves away for some quality time of their own. He was more than a little startled to have Hashirama invite them to join the castle residents for the day, spending time together as one big happy group. A rarity and an honor. Madara accepted the invitation easily and, with Izuna trailing along behind curiously, he walked next to Tobirama in companionable silence as they all made their way up a floor to gather in a lovely sunroom he’d never seen before, darker now as the afternoon faded but the fire Hashirama lit gave off enough light to admire rich furniture and tasteful décor.

Since half of their little gathering didn’t exactly take up much space the three of them without any bulk all settled on a low table centered in the middle of the seating area, Izuna carefully draping himself over a massive armchair while Madara settled next to Tobirama on a small couch. Considering how much furniture there was about they didn’t really have to sit together but it felt ridiculous to have all three of them with bodies spread out when it would be much easier to converse if they were all closer. And if he happened to enjoy the rather pleasant scent of sandalwood coming off of his friend then that was for him to know and hopefully no one else to find out. It was his own business if he made sure to angle his body to lean a bit more towards the opposite side of the couch where every shift and movement of Tobirama’s body sent another waft of pleasant aromas through the air. His friend must have bathed before dinner as well.

For the most part conversation stayed light as everyone tried to keep their mind off of the way Mito wasn’t quite as interactive as she might normally have been. While she could never be described as exuberant neither was she the type to withhold her opinion if she had one but today she offered very little, resting quietly on the tabletop and looking as though she would dearly have loved to fold up her ribs and rest.

Hating the guilt that shadowed Tobirama’s face every time he so much as glanced in her direction, Madara did what he could to keep the conversation going between them even when the rest of the group branched off on to other topics. Distraction was not allowed. If he had to be the center of Tobirama’s focus for the rest of the day he would even if he didn’t see himself as all that interesting. Luckily for him it was never very hard to keep the other’s attention.

“You never ride them?” Tobirama asked after listening with a muddled frown to a description of how Madara spent most of his days back home.

“No, they’re not mine.”

“But you are caring for them, do you not take them out for exercise in a yard or field?”

Madara lifted one eyebrow. “It’s an inn tavern, you sheltered noble. I just watch them while their owners get drunk and then I have to let them go again to carry the sodden asses back home.”

“Well that strikes me as incredibly dangerous. One should never travel whilst inebriated.”

“Have you ever been inebriated?”

“Such things are unseemly,” Tobirama sniffed. When his eyes opened again it was to peek and make sure his brother wasn’t listening. “However I must admit that, yes, I have experienced it and did not understand the attraction. The devils of drink were always more Hashirama's vice, not mine.”

“Weak stomach?” Madara nodded sagely.

He delighted in the bitchy look that earned him. For a king Tobirama had some excellent bitch faces.

“I will have you know that my constitution is far above average.”

“Oh so you’re an expensive drunk then. I can get that. Didn’t want to waste the money it takes to get you plastered?”

Tobirama’s face pinched even tighter. “For your information I was indeed in charge of the royal coffers and not once was it ever a concern whether or not I was spending too much on such frivolities as alcohol! I have some decorum!” He paused to visibly compose himself, then added in a flippant tone, “Unlike some others here.”

It took effort to clamp his teeth down on the gleeful snicker that wanted to escape.

“You trying to say something?” Madara demanded instead, valiantly holding in his laughter.

“Why, I would never raise such implications against your person – unless you deserved it of course. Should I direct my inquiries to your sibling?” Tobirama cast his gaze across the room to where Izuna had kicked his feet over one arm of the chair and tossed his head back against the other arm with raucous laughter. He smirked openly when Madara scrambled to wave both hands forbiddingly without drawing too much attention to them.

“Don’t you dare!” he hissed.

Tobirama hummed and settled back in to his seat a little more firmly, a silent declaration that he would have mercy this time. “Perhaps it is best I determine my answers from the source, as it were. I don’t suppose you would care to join me for a nightcap?”

“Eh?” Spinning his head around to check the window, Madara frowned. “It’s not really night yet.” When he looked back Tobirama was giving him a look that said he had definitely missed something, though he had no guesses what that something might be. A nightcap was supposed to be a drink at the end of the night as far as he knew. Something to end your day with. He was pretty sure. It was one of those words that no one down at his end of the social totem pole ever used.

“You interpret the word too literally. I meant only to invite you to my room for a drink.”

“What, trying to get me drunk? Is that your way of throwing a challenge?”

“Ah, if you choose to see it as one.” Tobirama shook his head as if disagreeing with himself but before Madara could question it he affected a smile and added, “Any time with you is time well spent. Even if you do insist on hearing only the spaces between whatever meaning I am attempting to convey.”

Madara gave him a funny look, to which Tobirama lifted one eyebrow, a challenge asking him to refute such claims. He really wished he could but as much as he always enjoyed a good argument he really wasn’t clear on what he was arguing against. It felt like lately he was always missing something whenever he spoke with Tobirama – which was pretty much every day. The more time they spent together the closer they became and the cycle could only wind inwards infinitely. But if sharing a drink at the end of the day was what he wanted then Madara certainly wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t often he got to enjoy a mug or two, not usually able to afford it, and when he did it was almost always the swill at the end of the barrel after the innkeeper finished serving his ‘more important’ guests.

Plan in mind and determined not to make a drunken fool of himself too easily, Madara gave his companion a friendly shove before lifting his head to respond when Izuna called him from across the seating area. He was easily drawn in to a debate over whether the cloth produced by a spinning jenny could really be the same quality as one produced by a team of workers spinning by hand. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how far behind the times these folks were and how little they knew of the world’s latest technologies.

The silly debate ended with Hashirama demanding that Izuna craft a spinning jenny for him to try for himself, to which Izuna responded by nearly falling off his chair with laughter and holding out both soft-palmed hands.

“You think I’m the worker of the household? I’m an invalid, your highness, I haven’t done much more than simple house chores since I was a boy.” He seemed quite pleased with his excuse too. Madara grumbled just loud enough to get his point across the room but his brother ignored him. “Even if I was I wouldn’t know how to make one for myself.”

“Oh. I rather thought…hm.” Hashirama didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, a little consternated, a little confused.

“Thought what?”

“It was my thought that if one understood how to use it then surely one must understand how to construct it.”

Madara relaxed from where he’d been about to burst in to laughter in case Hashirama made some dumbass comment about the entire working class sharing skills. That was just the sort of empty-headed assumptions he was used to hearing from nobles but he should have known to expect better of his friend. Not that the assumption he did end up making was all that much smarter.

“The improvements he has made continue to impress me,” Tobirama said quietly and Madara didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was watching Izuna.

“No kidding. Thank you again. For helping.”

“You need not thank me.”

“I do need to. You can’t know…well I guess you can know what it’s like to lose a brother. We already had to bury the rest of our siblings but I don’t have to bury him and that’s thanks to you. I owe you everything.” His cheeks were burning by the time he’d finished saying his piece and Madara considered giving Tobirama another shove to bring the mood of their conversation back out of the seriousness he’d just dove down in to.

Thankfully Tobirama seemed to recognize what he needed. “If you absolutely must pay recompense then I shall consider your acceptance of my offer for a nightcap as such. Mayhap I truly will get you – ah, what was the term you used? – plastered.”

Madara roared with mirth to hear such a colloquial term from the fanciest idiot he’d ever met. His laughter caught the attention of Hashirama, who he then had to explain to what it meant to get plastered. The conversation turned then to include the entire group as they all traded embarrassing stories about each other under the influence of alcohol or other accidentally ingested substances. Most of the latter were stories about Tobirama stumbling out of his laboratory to report on unknown reactions with new chemicals. Madara liked those ones, although he didn’t appreciate Izuna’s lurid descriptions of the few times he had stumbled home from the inn after being allowed the dregs of his so-called betters. The one story about Mito and her bloomers, on the other hand, he found particularly amusing.

Even more amusing was seeing the stars in little Kagami’s eyes and watching Hashirama awkwardly try to talk him out of the idea that he too wanted a good drinking story when he was finally able to grow old enough. High moral values were difficult to impart with Izuna egging the poor boy on from the sidelines.

Such antics eventually led to the end of their evening all together, Mito shaking the stupor away long enough to scold her husband for encouraging Kagami towards such raunchy behaviors and refusing to hear anything about him being the only one trying to protect the child. When she expressed her fatigue Hashirama's face fell in response. In an instant he was up and fussing around, encouraging her to bed and bidding the rest of them a good night. After watching them go Izuna’s mood seemed to have dimmed as well. Before long he was scooping up Kagami and trotting off with the toy soldier in tow, murmuring together like co-conspirators on their way out. Madara wondered if his brother planned to let the boy sleep in his bed for the night and what might happen if Izuna rolled over in his dreams. He would need to stay alert for screaming.

“It seems we have been abandoned,” Tobirama observed to the otherwise empty room.

“Time for that drinking contest you were calling for?”

“Have a bit of class, I pray.” Sticking his nose in the air, his friend affected the snootiest expression he’d ever seen, clearly exaggerated for comic effect. “To waste such fine sake on something as crude as a contest to see which of us may imbibe more! Heavens forbid.”

“Oh quit being such a ponce!” Madara told him.

Watching Tobirama preen to have amused him with a good joke was hilarious, though he opted not to say anything. Embarrassing the man could only end in having any offers of alcohol revoked and Madara found that he was quite in the mood for a few drinks. Magnanimously choosing to be merciful, he instead waved for his friend to lead the way and followed with giddy anticipation, curious to finally have his first proper look around the royal apartments. He knew someone of Tobirama’s station probably had an entire set of rooms to himself so they were most likely just moving to a different type of sitting room but he could guess that it was still quite an honor.

As they shut the door of the sunroom and set off down the hall he turned to his friend with a curious expression. “Wait, we’re drinking sake? That’s supposed to be rice wine right?”

“Indeed it is. Have you never had the pleasure?”

“No. Usually all I have is whatever beer gets leftover in people’s mugs at the end of the night. Already paid for, you know? The innkeeper would never give me anything for free and I don’t usually have the money to spare for being choosy.” He shrugged because that was the way of things in his life and there was little point in getting all riled up about it.

Turning a corner brought them past a window, light from the rising moon flickering across the deep creases between Tobirama’s brows where he had pulled them in to a frown. “How very uncharitable of him. You deserve much better than the leftovers of men who could never hope to be your equal.”

“Damn, back at it with the flattery.” Madara tossed his hair over one shoulder. He noted the way Tobirama’s gaze followed the motion though he didn’t think much of it since the man was probably just wondering what it would be like to have so much hair thick and heavy on his own head. A lot of people asked questions about his hair. Not many of them were very happy with the honest answer that he had grown it out mostly by accident at first and then because he was stubborn in the face of so many people telling him to cut it. Apparently he needed to have some kind of important motivation or something to make it understandable.

“Would you have me be unflattering?” A few beats too late Tobirama finally replied.

“Can you be?” he asked skeptically. “You’re not too much of a prissy royal to mince words with a commoner like me?” The grin he threw was more of a challenge than if he’d tossed a gauntlet on the floor between them and words could not express how thrilled he was when the other took that challenge.

Drawing himself up even as he drew the tapestry out of their way to invite Madara in to the royal apartments, Tobirama affected a mocking glare. “You look death’s head upon a mop stick you foppish, cow-handed gasser. Do you think me uneducated in the lower speech?”

The only response Madara had to that was to throw his head back and wheeze for air, shamelessly holding on to the other’s arm to keep himself upright. Never in his life had he heard something so nonsensical yet delivered with such unadulterated bitchiness. Something told him that none of those insults were in any way related to each other but relevancy was hard to focus on when he could barely think passed how utterly ridiculous it all sounded. Old timey insults were hilarious. Hearing them out of Tobirama’s mouth only made them so much better.

It wasn’t much farther to where they were going but they spent the rest of their walk trading insults that only grew more and more absurd as they went. By the time they stumbled in to a lavish sitting room they were ready to fall over in a dual fit of the giggles, although Tobirama somehow managed to retain a small bit of decorum even in this. Madara was starting to think he would have to challenge the idiot to a mud wrestling competition or something just to see him act entirely like a normal person.

“Right!” he declared as soon as he’d caught enough breath back to form words. “Where’s this sake you were talking about? I’d love to wake up tomorrow and whine about a hangover.”

“If you disrespect my vintage so I may be tempted to defenestrate you.” Tobirama lifted one eyebrow warningly.

While Madara tried to work his way through whatever ‘defenestrate’ was supposed to mean Tobirama stepped over to a side table and removed a small set very similar to something the innkeeper had brought out only once when a military captain happened to pass through their small village and demanded the finest services the poor could offer. Madara hadn’t liked him much but he could remember being very curious of whatever clear booze had been poured for him.

The set of dishes laid out before him was a hundred times fancier than the one at the inn, he could tell that at a single glance. Black lacquered porcelain with fine gold filigree forming what he could only assume was a house crest on each, a matching decanter and a tray with gold trim to carry it all, it probably cost more than the collective entirety of Madara's possessions both here and in the village. He kept his hands carefully by his sides at he leaned closer to admire the craftsmanship of each piece. But when he sat back and looked up he noticed Tobirama watching him expectantly.

“In this weather there is little need for the sake to be chilled elsewhere, as luck would have it.” His tone was casual, if a little impatient. Madara nodded slowly.

“Didn’t know it needed to be cold.”

“Some are served chilled, others served hot. This here is perhaps my favorite. I’m glad of the opportunity to share it with you.”

More curious than ever, all Madara could do was nod again. “Cool. Share as you like.”

A long pause stretched out for what felt like forever in which neither of them moved and he tried to figure out why Tobirama had offered the sake but wasn’t actually moving to serve it. It took a couple minutes before finally the man rolled his eyes with all the drama his brother usually managed and carefully stepped over to fiddle at the delicate ceramic with his thick clawed hands.

“What?” Madara demanded. “You’re looking at me like I’ve done something wrong. I’m just sitting here!”

“Precisely. When sharing a drink one is expected to pour for one’s betters.”

“Ooh, you saying you’re better than me?”

“I never said such a thing.” The serene tone of his voice was a dead giveaway but Madara refused to laugh just yet, clinging to his pretended offense.

With arms crossed he stuck his nose in the air and declared, “You inferred it!”

“One implies. It is up to the recipient to infer, though what inferences you make are surely beyond my control. Heavens forbid I ever claim to understand how a mind such as yours might work.” Tobirama, unfortunately, was much better at playing snooty. No doubt a lifetime of practice was no blame.

“I want to say you just implied that I have a crazy mind but I can’t quite parse it out because you always talk so damn fancy!”

That finally broke his friend. A smile cracked Tobirama’s stern expression and Madara pumped both fists in the air with triumph, eliciting a low chuckle. “Pour the drink, you hooligan, before I am lowered to doing so myself.”

“Now that’s something for the heavens to forbid or whatever.”

Since he had already won Madara figured it wasn’t losing in any way to let himself smile as well as he snatched up the chilly decanter and poured them each a dish of the clear liquid he had only seen once before. Being made of rice he would have thought their little farming village could make this stuff in abundance but for the fact that all of their rice went to paying taxes and supporting the lord of the closest town since technically he owned their land.

Actually, he realized, even more technically Tobirama probably owned the land, though likely no one remembered that.

Clinking their glasses together was a much more delicate affair with such small dishes than he usually witnessed in the rowdy tavern and despite his care Tobirama still rolled those pretty red eyes like he’d done something country bumpkin again. Madara ignored him, tossing back the drink in one mouthful. His abilities had been questioned and he was determined to make a good showing of himself.

Of course, because that was just his luck, he was spluttering and coughing in the next instant as the rice wine burned his throat and his eyes began to water, one fist coming up to pound his chest as though he could beat the sensation back out of himself.

“That stuff has a kick!” he wheezed, much to Tobirama’s obvious amusement.

“It would not have affected you half so much if you were not such a boor as to pour it down your gullet like goat’s milk. Fine sake is meant to be appreciated, not guzzled.”

“A little warning would have been nice!”

“Had I given you warning,” Tobirama murmured, “that would not have been so funny.”

Madara opened his mouth to retort and cut himself off with another coughing fit. He wanted to be annoyed but he also had to admit that he would have done the exact same thing if their positions were reversed. In light of that he grunted and pounded his sternum a few more times without saying anything. He could almost breathe again by the time Tobirama settled next to him on the couch with delicate movements, ever so careful not to spill a drop of his own drink.

A quick look around told him that they didn’t necessarily need to sit right next to each other. Just like the sunroom, there was plenty of furniture here and they would have able to hear each other just fine from different seats. Madara neglected to say anything. Sitting together like this gave the room a much more casual and intimate air so it felt less like dining with the king and more like drinking with a friend. He wondered if that was Tobirama’s intention but didn’t ask, content with the mystery. Instead he reached to pour himself another cup and listened to his friend go off on a lecture about how it was polite to offer one’s companions a refill when one wanted some for themselves.

Several cups later he had convinced Tobirama to give up on the idea of proper manners but he had also somehow managed to lay sideways on the couch with his legs tossed over the arm and his head pillowed against one of his friend’s thighs. Every time Tobirama looked down he began mumbling about propriety again, which for some reason struck Madara as the funniest thing. He kept imagining some highborn lady walking in on them and fainting to see them being so familiar with each other. A few times he imagined Hashirama doing it and that was even better.

“I don’t think I can get up,” he confessed after struggling to reach for the sake yet again and failing to even reach the table. “Might have to just pass out right here.”

“Scandalous,” Tobirama murmured, though it really didn’t sound like an objection.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out too,” Madara noted. He giggled under the squinting eyes that tried to glare him down yet only managed to focus somewhat to the right of where his head actually lay.

“I will have you know that I am per-fen-ec-tally fine.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment while Madara tried to work his way through that.

“What?”

“I’ll not be repeating myself. I am not sure that I could, in fact, as memory seems to have abandoned me. What were we talking about?” Tobirama raised his head again only to drop it back against the couch where one could only assume he was watching the ceiling spin in circles. At least, that’s what Madara was doing.

Wriggling a bit until he’d found a more comfortable position, Madara closed his eyes to block out the world. “I think we were going to sleep.”

“No. No! I had something I wished to discuss with you! Something of utmost importance!”

“Can it wait until we’ve slept?”

“I…yes, alright.” The sheer defeat in Tobirama’s voice in addition to the bone-melting exhaustion of both their bodies was enough to have Madara giggling again, albeit very weakly. Now that he’d said he was tired it was like sleep had grown claws and sunk them in deep, pulling, pulling him down when he was too weak to resist.

Humming pleasantly, turning his face to burrow against the warmth pillowing his head, Madara gave a few sleepy mumbles that might have been translated in some languages as a sort of goodnight. Tobirama mumbled something back but sleep must have gotten its claws in to him too and they were both fading fast. Whatever he said was lost to the ceiling and the uncaring shadows that cradled them deeper in to the night.

A moment later the room was silent but for the even breaths of two men prepared to regret their choice of pastimes come morning.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #kagami #izuna #mito #fanfiction

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