#and it haunted me ever since. so i bought some from a local shop today but obviously a different brand (it was locally made)
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Why do I keep wanting to eat salty licorice
#like. i had some back when i visited Finland. and i Wildly Oscillated between liking it and hating it as i chewed#and it haunted me ever since. so i bought some from a local shop today but obviously a different brand (it was locally made)#and this shit was just plain AWFUL. absolute shit. i did not have the wildly oscillating thing that i did with the Finnish brand#i literally spat it out.#and yet. tell me why my brain kept going 'sure it wasn't as bad as you remember from literally earlier today! i know you spat it out. but#what if its different this time!' LIES. This is the devil whispering in my ear as i fall asleep!!!!#anyway. guess i know what im gonna do tomorrow
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Happy Oct. 1 and the start of Halloween! Please enjoy this spooky inspired Nessian fic! :)
It had been an accident. A complete and absolute accident. Cassian had agreed to host a mini Halloween party at his loft apartment. They would order food in, play some drinking games, maybe binge some horror movies. It was going to be fun, and Cassian simply wanted his place to look the part. So he had bought those fake spiderwebs and hung them from the lamps and across the curtains. He bought some fake skulls and plastic pumpkins to set about the living room and kitchen.
And he simply thought it would be funny to draw a pentagram on the floor. It looked just like in those cheesy Halloween movies, and he knew Azriel would get a kick out of it. He even set some candles around it to really make it look the part, and he couldn't help but put on his best 'spooky' voice as he said some words he'd read in one of Rhys' musty books in his library, some language he'd never heard of but sounded cool. He didn't think anything of it.
And that's how Cassian ends up with a woman standing in the middle of his apartment.
Cassian has no idea who she is, but he can’t deny that she is breathtakingly gorgeous. Her golden brown hair is braided up into an intricate crown, a few wisps of hair falling against her temples and framing her face. It brings out the cut lines of her cheekbones. She’s wearing a form fitting dress, the black fabric hugging her curves and arms before it flows into a deep blue at her feet. But Cassian’s eyes get stuck on her eyes, as dark as night as they pierce into Cassian’s own.
"I am the Goddess of Death, Princess of Decay,” the woman says, her voice seeming to boom and echo in Cassian’s apartment. “Who are you who commands me?"
"How did you get in here?"
The question seems to give the woman pause, and she blinks at Cassian for a few seconds. Cassian watches as her head tilts slightly, her eyebrows pinching.
"Excuse me?" the woman asks.
"I mean my front door is locked so I'm just confused how you got in here."
"You summoned me."
"I summoned you…?"
Cassian takes in where the woman is standing, right in the middle of the pentagram, her too dark eyes, and the way power seems to radiate off her in a way that rumbles in his own bones. Finally, his brain catches on.
"You're a demon."
The woman crosses her arms, her weight settling on her left leg. She raises her eyebrows at Cassian, her face cold and unimpressed. It pretty clearly reads ‘no shit.’
“I summoned a demon?”
“Are you asking me?”
“I summoned a demon,” Cassian mutters, mostly to himself.
“What are you expecting? Congratulations?” the demon-woman quips. “Look, just tell me what you want.”
“About that…'' Cassian starts, clearing his throat awkwardly and rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “I actually didn’t mean to summon you. It was an accident.”
“Is this a joke?”
“Unfortunately not. But I don’t need anything from you, so I guess you can just go back to wherever it is demons live.”
“That’s not how it works. I’m tied to you until you banish me.”
“And how do I do that?”
“You don’t know how to banish me?”
“I just told you I summoned you by accident. I’m not even sure how I did that.”
The demon-woman closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh through her nose like she’s trying to stay calm. Cassian can’t help but wonder what would happen if she doesn’t stay calm. Would she attack him like demons in movies? Are the representations of demons in movies accurate? Would it be rude to ask her? After a moment, the demon-woman takes a deep breath and smooths back her hair before settling her eyes back on Cassian.
“So, let me get this straight,” the demon-woman says. “You summoned me by accident, you don’t actually have any biddings for me to do, and you don’t know how to banish me.”
“Yes,” Cassian replies, chuckling sheepishly.
“Great,” the demon-woman mutters. “I was summoned by an idiot.”
“But I can Google it,” Cassian promises.
It turns out, Google isn’t that helpful when it comes to actual demons. Cassian tries various different searches, but all that he’s able to come up with is a bunch of television and movie references, a Buzzfeed article comparing different celebs to demons, and a weird article about making deals with the devil. Luckily, he is able to find a local witchy shop that’s only three blocks down from his apartment. Unfortunately, they’re closed and don’t open until the next morning, so he and demon-woman are stuck together for the time being.
He had moved to the sofa when he started his Google deep dive, and the demon-woman had stepped gracefully out of the pentagram to sit on the opposite end. She hasn’t said anything since their initial talk when she appeared, and Cassian can’t help but steal glances her way out of the corner of his eye. She looks like a queen the way she’s perched on the cream colored sofa cushion.
“So,” Cassian drawls into the silence. “Do demons eat? I can order pizza.”
The demon-woman turns to him, one eyebrow poised. The look sends a shiver down his spine. He's not entirely sure it's out of fear.
As it turns out, demons do in fact eat, as Cassian learns. He also learns that this particular demon prefers her pizza topped with veggies and that her name is Nesta.
“Have you always been a demon?” Cassian asks, taking a bite of his pizza slice.
“Seriously?”
“You’re the first demon I’ve ever met. You can’t blame me for being curious, sweetheart.”
Nesta’s eyes snap to his, a scowl pinched across her lips. The expression pulls a smile across Cassian’s own face, which only makes Nesta’s eyes narrow more. Cassian’s fingers itch to reach out and smooth the lines between her eyebrows. The desire is so sudden that Cassian busies himself with grabbing another slice of pizza out of the box to distract himself.
“First of all, don’t ever call me sweetheart again,” Nesta starts. “And to answer your question, no. I haven’t always been a demon.”
“Then how did you become a demon?”
“I made a deal.”
“Was it worth it?”
Something passes over Nesta’s face then, like ghostly fingers leaving a haunting trail against her skin. Her spine straightens like steel, and when her eyes meet Cassian’s again, there’s a guardedness to her expression that speaks volumes yet leaves Cassian with even more questions.
“Most days,” Nesta replies simply.
~ * * * ~
The witchy shop is decidedly less spooky than Cassian had envisioned, but perhaps that’s just his biases and what movies taught him coming into play. He expects cobwebs and weird animal parts in slimy jars, and maybe a black cat that screeches at him when he steps inside. Instead, there’s an aisle dedicated to herbs and another dedicated to crystals. He squints at the black scrawled writing of the placards declaring what each crystal is for. He supposes it would be a bit too easy if one just said ‘banishing demons.’
Nesta sighs loudly from over his shoulder when he picks up a candle to smell. When he glances her way, her arms are crossed and that scowl from before is back plastered across her face. Slowly, he turns back around and sets the candle back down on the shelf.
“Do you mind?” Nesta quips.
“Alright, alright,” Cassian acquiesces, keeping his voice down to avoid attention. Another thing he learnt last night was that only he could see and hear Nesta.
He heads for the counter of the shop where a young woman is arranging jewelry in the display case. As he approaches, the woman looks up and offers him a friendly smile. Cassian tries to offer one back, but he’s sure it must look more like a grimace. Once at the counter, Cassian clears his throat, shoving nervous fingers through his tangle of hair.
“Hello,” Cassian starts awkwardly. “This is probably a weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how to banish a demon, would you?”
“Do you have a demon problem?” the shop worker asks.
“Something like that.”
“Well, is the demon powerful?”
Cassian looks over his shoulder to Nesta, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. In response, she merely smiles. It’s all teeth and the exact opposite of innocent. It stirs something deep in his gut.
“Very,” Nesta bites out.
Cassian turns back to the shop worker. “Very.”
“Wait,” the shop worker replies. ���The demon, is he here?”
“She,” Cassian corrects. “And yes.”
“But how did she get past my wards?”
Cassian’s gaze follows the shop worker’s own, to the silver trinkets that twist and clink together softly above the shop’s door. He can hear Nesta’s scoff at the suggestion, and he doesn’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes.
“It would seem they don’t work,” Cassian offers sheepishly.
The shop worker gapes for just a moment before she turns on her heel, pushing past the beads hanging over the doorway to the backroom. When she returns, she has a box of crystals that she sets down on the counter, a bundle of herbs labeled ‘sage’ and a folded up piece of paper nestled on top.
“You’ll need to draw a circle and set these crystals around it,” the shop worker explains. “Make sure you charge the crystals under the full moon and don’t wait. Do it the next day. That’s when they’ll be the most powerful. Burn the sage to cleanse and say this incantation, and you should be free of your demon.”
“Great,” Cassian exclaims, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “I’ll take it.”
After paying and gathering his items, they head out of the shop. Cassian feels lighter already. They have a plan. Plus, the fall weather today is gorgeous and that always helps to lift his spirits, the cool breeze and canopy of yellow and reds above their heads. It definitely helps that fall and Nesta look amazing together, the golden rays of the sun bouncing off her hair. Cassian can’t help but offer her an easy grin as they walk side by side.
“See? That was super easy. We’ll have you banished before you know it.”
“And when’s the next full moon?” Nesta asks dryly.
Cassian startles slightly at the question. He shifts the weight of the things he just bought to one arm and digs his phone out of his pocket with the other. A quick Google later, and Cassian takes in the date glaring back at him on the small screen with a frown. When he looks back up at Nesta, she’s staring back at him unimpressed, clearly already knowing the answer. With a roll of her eyes and what sounds to Cassian like a muttered ‘idiot,’ she takes off ahead him back toward his apartment.
It’s going to be a long two and half weeks.
--
And Cassian simps the whole time for those two and a half weeks. And there’s feelings. And Cassian makes a deal of his own to save Nesta’s soul. And they live happily ever after.
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The old shop
Written by my old friend Colt.
On a bright autumn day, when the low angle of the sun, the sudden warmth of Indian summer, and the riot of scarlet and yellow leaves all cast a spell over the Virginia countryside, I set off for a drive, with the car windows rolled down. Intense glare alternated with deep shadow, as the road wound through fields and woods. It led to a town called Hapsburg, where it became Main Street, nearly deserted on Saturday afternoon. I parked along the sidewalk, and got out to stretch my legs.
The buildings were of red brick or painted clapboard, one or two stories. Shop windows were empty, or contained faded posters, long out of date. I walked past a café, a drugstore, a lawyer's office, and a barbershop, all closed. Next came a shop that sold old furniture, chipped plates, sentimental pictures, obsolete farm tools—the debris of former households, past lives.
In the display window, draped over the back of a chair, as though the wearer left it there minutes ago, and would soon reclaim it, was a black leather jacket. Creased and scuffed, it had evidently seen hard use. So casually was it thrown on the wooden chair—was it also for sale? I tried the latch, and the ancient shop door opened. A bell jingled sharply overhead, as I stepped inside.
A pale, thin man seated behind a counter barely looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were watery blue or gray, and his hair was sparse, showing the scalp. I pretended to look at a dusty shelf of books, then wandered to the back of the shop, which seemed to have nothing of value. At last, I returned to the front. Except for the man at the counter, there was no one else.
The black leather jacket was compelling. I touched a sleeve—the leather was thick and heavy. I searched for a tag, a price, a label, but found nothing. On the shoulder, a red patch bore the legend: "Hapsburg Motor Patrol." "Go ahead," the man said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and strong, despite his age. "Try it on. You'll be the first, since it just came in. Who knows, this may be your lucky day."
I slipped my arms into the sleeves, shrugged the weight of the leather over my back, and tried the zipper, which worked smoothly.
"A perfect fit," the man said, "like it was custom-made for you. There's a mirror, if you don't believe me."
It was uncanny, but the old leather jacket did fit perfectly. Stiff yet pliable, it was already molded to my shape, broken in by the previous owner.
"Whoever wore it must have had exactly the same upper body size," the man said.
"So you don't know who owned it?" I asked. "Anything about him?"
"Not a clue."
"What about the patches? Will I be arrested for impersonating a police officer?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. The town police department disbanded years ago, when the county took over everything—schools, taxes, roads, jail. The county police wear a different uniform, not that red patch. As it stands now, that jacket is a collector's item, a genuine Hapsburg Motor Patrol issue. Quality leather—they don't make them like that any more. The badge is missing, of course. It went in that reinforced hole in the chest."
The leather creaked, as I flexed my arms and walked to and fro. I inhabited the jacket, inhaled the smell of leather, and felt slightly giddy.
"There's plenty of wear left in that jacket. It will keep you warm on the road, and protect you in case of a spill. When you're riding, that is. Yes, sir, it fits you like a glove."
"How much do you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.
"That depends on how much you want it," he answered, suddenly shrewd. His pale eyes glittered in the shadowy interior.
Though I detest haggling, I was unable to take off the jacket. I named a price, a round number, which I hoped was low. To my surprise, the man instantly agreed.
"Sold!" he shouted, as though at an auction.
I reached for my wallet, anxious to complete the transaction before he changed his mind, or before I did.
"Like I said, that leather jacket was meant for you. What are the odds that someone would walk in here, exactly the right build, with an eye for police memorabilia?"
"So you don't know where it came from?"
"Sorry, my friend. It could have been someone cleaning out an attic, getting a house ready for sale, winding up an estate. Wait! Now that you mention it, some other things came in with the jacket. Here's a helmet, the standard police type."
He handed me a white helmet, and I lowered it over my head. Snug, but comfortable. I started to ask the price, but he cut in.
"At no additional cost—special today. And check out these beauties." He rummaged behind the counter, and produced a pair of black leather riding boots.
"Somewhat the worse for wear, but you can replace the heels, and shine them up like new. Here, try them on."
Hurriedly, I untied my shoes, and shoved my feet into the tall boots, folding my pants inside the cylindrical shaft. Amazingly, the boots fit. I wiggled my toes, rocked from side to side, and strode a few paces. Like the jacket, the boots felt eerily right, as though I had worn them for years. Looking in the mirror, I caught my breath.
Instead of the man who entered the shop, an ordinary citizen like millions of others, I saw a police officer, a motorcycle cop, a figure of speed and power, a member of an elite squad, albeit from decades before. The fantasy was exhilarating.
"Do you want a bag?"
Abruptly, I remembered where I was, in a dusty junk shop, in a forgotten country town. I took off the helmet.
"No bag, thanks. I'll wear it."
"What about your shoes?"
"Oh. . . yes."
I handed the man my shoes, which he dropped into a crumpled paper bag. He handed the bag back to me, with a wink of his gray eye.
Jacketed and booted, as though dressed for a costume ball, I exited the shop, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The air was growing cooler, and the sun would soon set. With the helmet under one leather sleeve, and clutching the paper bag, I strode to my car for the drive home, through the inflamed countryside.
In the following weeks, as the weather turned cold and windy, I sometimes wore the leather jacket. As promised, the thick, back skin kept me warm. It did not attract attention, other than a smile or nod of approval. The thrill I felt on first putting it on mellowed, and in a way, I grew into the jacket.
One day, it occurred to me to search the pockets. An inner zipper revealed a small black and white photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle. He appeared to wear the same jacket and boots, with the same white helmet on his head. He also wore a police badge, a silver star on his chest. His posture was upright and confident. The photograph bore no identification, no name or date. It was impossible to tell the man's age, or where the photograph was taken. Still, I was convinced that this was the officer who owned the items I had bought.
His uniform included a pair of riding breeches, tailored snug at the calf and flared at the thigh, almost as though inflated. It was a picturesque style, something that went out of fashion long ago. I could not recall ever seeing such a uniform on the street. In color, the riding breeches were dark, with areas of sheen. Were they made of black leather, too? I placed the photograph in a dresser drawer.
Though out of sight, the image haunted me. Who was this man, in purely physical aspects so much like me? What were his tastes, his habits, his personality? What was the police officer's story?
With no conscious intention, I began to read classified ads for used motorcycles, and I looked more closely at those I passed in the street. I wondered what type of motorcycle my officer rode. What type would a small-town police department be likely to have? When a neighbor parked a motorcycle in his front yard, a machine much like the one in the photograph, with a "For Sale" sign attached to the seat, I did not hesitate.
The neighbor, an engineer who would soon move to another city to start a new job, taught me how to ride the motorcycle, and he gave me advice on maintenance and repair. My luck continued in the form of a mild winter, which allowed me to ride on weekends, gradually learning how to handle the motorcycle on narrow roads, and in traffic. Though not especially powerful, it was quick and responsive. I wore my leather jacket, boots and helmet, of course, and sturdy jeans. By spring, I had become a confident, if careful, motorcyclist.
One Saturday, as the trees were coming into leaf, and the air was newly fragrant, I set off to ride through the green landscape. I started with no destination, but the road became familiar, as it wound through fields and woods. Just as it did six months before, it led to Hapsburg. Slowly, I cruised Main Street, looking for the old shop where I had bought the leather jacket, the same one I was wearing. Not seeing it, I turned around, and rolled in the opposite direction, but still failed to find the dusty display window. I parked, pulled off my helmet, and stood in the middle of the street, baffled.
A place I did not remember, a combination art gallery and custom frame shop, hinted at economic revival. Clean, freshly painted, with a gleaming steel and glass door, it was open for business. I entered, and at once was greeted by a young man with black hair, dark brown eyes, and an eager smile. After browsing the drawings and paintings, all by local artists, I explained what I was looking for.
The young man grew solemn, and said he would be right back. He walked briskly to a storage room in back, and returned with a large envelope, which he handed to me. Scrawled on the envelope, as a kind of address, was the phrase:
"For the man in the leather jacket, when he returns."
I studied the envelope for a moment, then asked:
"How can you be sure that this is for me?"
"The junk shop you describe was here, this space. I cleaned it out, renovated, put in new lights, and so on. A lot of work, you can imagine. The previous tenant passed away, I was told, and he left the shop as you saw it. I never met him—a retired police officer. Nothing of the contents was worth saving, but I did save one thing. That envelope was lying on the counter."
I lifted the flap, and extracted something heavy and pliable, made of black leather.
"Looks like a pair of pants," said the young man, clearly interested.
"Yes," I said, "or riding breeches. I saw them in a photograph."
"Awesome! They match your jacket and boots. Want to try them on?"
"I don't need to. They're exactly my size. Don't ask how I know."
"Okay, I won't. Strange things happen, even in Hapsburg. But here's the really strange part. They told me that the old man passed away more than a year ago. So how could you have met him here last fall?"
I shrugged my shoulders, and the leather jacket creaked. I slid the breeches back in the envelope, and tucked it under my thick black sleeve.
"Thanks," I said, turning to leave. "And good luck with the shop."
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With You In My Head || Rafe Cameron x Reader
part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight
summary: it’s going to be a long summer. living in the Outer Banks with your trailer park mom and fancy mansion dad, you know it’s going to be a tough three months. things only get harder when your best friend’s brother, the notorious Rafe Cameron, begins to complicate your life even more. but will the island’s biggest wildcard successfully steal your heart, or leave you more broken than before?
word count: 5k
warnings: some casual smut for the TL, enjoy ;))
*not my gif, credit to owner*
PART THREE
You didn’t sleep at all that night. Hours were spent tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling above you and trying not to close your eyes. Whenever you did, Rafe’s face flashed into your mind. More specifically, the chilling expression of intensity that he’d worn while beating the absolute crap out of JJ. It haunted your thoughts, and you were sure that if you fell asleep you’d see it in your nightmares.
Rafe had scared you more than anyone ever had before. Violence had always made you sick, which was one of the reasons why you avoided the many skirmishes the Pogues found themselves in. Bruises and blood didn’t sit well with you, and the smell of JJ’s blood was burned into your nose. The cracks of Rafe’s fist against his body also echoed in your ears, and it was as if the fight had overwhelmed all of your senses and was slowly drowning you.
So when the morning light began filtering into your room, you were grateful. You could get up and make breakfast and do everything in your power not to think about what had happened.
Trudging into the small kitchen of the trailer, you peered over and saw your mother snoring away on the pull-out couch. Her body looked contorted on the thin mattress, twisted in such a way to try and sleep comfortably. She looked stiff and there was a frown on her lips, making you sigh. It pained you that your mother had to live in this stupid trailer, and you angrily recalled the giant house you’d visited your father in yesterday.
It was so unfair. Their divorce had stolen every last drop of energy and life from your mother, leaving her defeated and passive. Your father ended up more egotistical and self-centered than ever, at the expense of your poor mom. You wished more than anything the roles had been reversed, and it was him suffering in this dump rather than her.
But this was real life, and you’d learned a long time ago to accept things the way they were. This mindset made it hard for you to be optimistic, and you rarely ever hoped for anything. Frowning, you realized you’d had a sliver of hope on the beach yesterday with Rafe. You’d secretly hoped you could learn to trust him, and that the two of you could be friends. But that dream had been destroyed almost as quickly as it was created, which seemed to be a trend in your life.
You felt claustrophobic in the small trailer, and after rifling through the fridge decided to take a trip to the local market. You barely had any food, and you thought it’d be nice to get some fresh fruit and vegetables for your mother.
The market was buzzing with early morning activity, and you smiled at the familiar faces of the merchants. You drifted through the various stands, admiring the ripe selection at your fingertips. Lifting an orange to your nose, you inhaled the citrusy scent and sighed contentedly.
All of a sudden, a shadow fell over your shoulder after someone came up behind you. Flinching in surprise, you whirled around and dropped the orange. It rolled across the ground and landed at none other than Rafe Cameron’s feet. With a smirk, he knelt down to pick it up, extending it to you with gleaming eyes.
“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted, and you snatched the orange out of his hand. Fuming with embarrassment and irritation, you dropped the orange into your woven produce bag and glared over at him.
“What are you doing here, Rafe?” you demanded, crossing your arms. You hated how he had taken you by surprise, and you also hated the flush that rose to your cheeks when he looked at you.
Rafe looked taken aback at your harsh tone, but recovered with a charming laugh. “It’s a public farmer’s market, Y/N.” He had his own bag of produce hanging off his shoulder, sure enough.
Scowling, you retorted, “What do you want?” You didn’t feel like wasting time. The sooner you could get away from Rafe the better.
“What’s wrong? I thought you and I were becoming friends.” He actually sounded a little hurt, but you tried not to let this affect you. Rafe couldn’t be that stupid to think you wanted to be his friend after what he did to JJ.
He walked beside you as you continued strolling through the market, preferring to look at the fruit rather than his eyes. “I thought we were too,” you told him. “Until you almost killed my friend last night.”
Rafe stopped in his tracks, and reached out to grab your arm to stop you too. Immediately wrenching your arm out of his grip, you glared at him as he threw his hands up in surrender. “What are you talking about? The fight was fair, and don’t you remember that my side lost?”
You met Rafe’s eyes with a pointed look. “Topper and Kelce may have lost, but you didn’t. One more minute and JJ would’ve been in the hospital for a year.” As you said this, memories of the fight burned across your mind and made you shudder.
Rafe frowned, and you couldn’t tell if he looked regretful. You also remembered the way he looked at you before leaving, with slight guilt in his eyes, but you couldn’t detect any of that now.
“It’s not like JJ didn’t get any punches in,” he defended, pointing to his face. It was then that you noticed the cut on his forehead, and a purple bruise on one of his cheeks. You hadn’t seen these injuries before, and you took a second to take them in. So I was wrong, you thought, biting your lip. Maybe I was too harsh on him.
Shaking your head, you were determined to keep your resolve and not let Rafe break you. “Still,” you murmured. “You were brutal, Rafe.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes distant. “He would’ve done the same to me if he could have, trust me.”
Again, he was right. You knew JJ, and he’d left his enemies looking just as bad as he did after fighting Rafe. Realizing Rafe was steadily disproving all of your arguments for being mad at him, you huffed. How was he so good at that? He was nearly impossible to hate.
Sensing your apprehension, Rafe sighed. “Look, I’m not proud of what happened. I didn’t even want to fight anyway, but I couldn’t just abandon Topper.” When you still didn’t budge, he swallowed roughly, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “I’ve never been able to back down from a fight. Ward, he...” Rafe struggled to find the right words. “He taught me that a fight is never over until you either win or die trying. There’s no such thing as losing to him.”
This sent chills down your spine, and also a wave of sadness for the younger Rafe who had to grow up that way. You couldn’t imagine the extreme difficulty of being Ward’s son, of not being allowed to be vulnerable or show weakness. Rafe must have had a lot more issues because of this, and he’d alluded to them on the beach.
Naturally, your sympathy for Rafe overtook your anger, and you let go of the frustration you’d harbored over him. Giving him a stern look, you said, “Fine. But next time, don’t kick a guy when he’s already down.” JJ had lost the fight long before Rafe actually stopped hitting him, and he could’ve spared the blonde boy a few bruises and pains.
Rafe smiled in relief, and you liked the way he looked when he wasn’t so serious. He was much more handsome this way. With an enthusiastic voice, he declared, “Let me make it up to you. Sarah and I are throwing a party tonight, and I want you to come.”
Raising your eyebrows disbelievingly, you asked, “You two are throwing a party?” You couldn’t imagine Sarah doing anything with her brother that wasn’t arguing.
Chuckling, Rafe rubbed the back of his neck shyly. “Alright, we’re not exactly throwing it. It just happens to be taking place at our house, since Ward is going out of town for a few days. Other than that, I have zero hosting duties.”
Pursing your lips, you tried to think of an excuse not to go. “I don’t know, Rafe. What would I even talk to people about? I’m not exactly a Kook.”
“Come on, Y/N. Your dad plays golf with my dad every Sunday. Your boat is docked three spots down from ours. You have more in common than you think.”
Rolling your eyes, you said, “It’s not my boat, it’s my father’s.”
Rafe was refusing to let this go, however. No excuse was good enough for him. “Please? I think you’ll have fun. Besides, Sarah will be there so you can complain about how much you hate it with her.” He looked so desperate for you to agree that you couldn’t help but smile. Something about Rafe broke down all of your walls and banished every inhibition you had. You couldn’t decide if you liked this trait of his or not.
“Fine, I’ll come.” He pumped his fist, and you laughed, continuing your shopping. Rafe accompanied you for the rest of your trip, even offering to walk you home. But you firmly rejected this offer, threatening not to go to the party if he tried to walk you home. You left him with a smile on your face and nervous energy in your heart.
Whenever you were dreading something, time tended to fly by. Today was no different, and the hours flew past until it was time to get ready to leave for the party. Even though things with Rafe had improved, you still did not feel like being around a bunch of Kooks for the night. But you’d promised him, and if this friendship thing was serious you had to honor that promise.
You went through your entire closet before you settled on an outfit. You settled on a pair of flowy shorts in a rusted pink color with a white crop top. Sarah had bought this outfit with you, and she’d told you it accentuated all of your best features. You threw it on over a stringy white bikini, and after over-analyzing your appearance in the mirror you gave up and just decided to leave.
From a block away you could hear the voices at the party. Music was blaring through the balmy night air, and as you approached the Cameron’s house you could see hundreds of people milling around the property. Your jaw dropping in disbelief, you felt a pang of anxiety at the sheer number of Kooks. They were all expensively dressed and wearing judgmental expressions to match. A group of girls whipped their heads over to gawk at you, and if looks could kill you’d be six feet under.
Walking through the yard, you wove through the crowd and avoided eye contact with the people around you. Your sole mission was to find Sarah, because only she could make this nightmare tolerable. But when you’d crossed the entire yard, even checking the inside of the house, there was no sign of her. The lights in her room were off, and she was nowhere to be seen.
You were officially stranded here alone.
A thousand emotions swirled through your mind. Humiliation, regret, slight irritation. You were humiliated to be at a party completely alone, regretted even coming at all, and also felt massively irritated that Sarah had bailed. But then your irritation shifted to Rafe, and a thought occurred to you. Was Sarah even planning to come at all? Or was that just a ploy by Rafe to convince you to come?
Seething with anger, you stormed back out, now changing your sights to try and find Rafe. Luckily he was easy to spot, his tall frame towering over the other party-goers. He caught your eye across the lawn, and broke into a wide smile. He said something to the group he was with and then started towards you.
“Hey! Look who showed up!” His happiness was infectious, but you were so pissed it had no effect on you. He picked up on your sour mood, smile faltering. “What’s wrong?”
“Sarah isn’t here,” you snapped. “I’m leaving.” All you wanted was your warm bed and to sleep off the embarrassment you felt right now.
Rafe sighed, pushing a hand through his gelled hair and messing it up slightly. “Don’t go, please. I’m sure Sarah will be here later, she’d never miss a party like this.” His eyes were fixed on yours, holding your gaze with an electricity you couldn’t ignore. “Besides, how am I supposed to make up for last night if you leave now?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Sarah is coming later?” you reiterated, making sure he wasn’t bluffing again.
Rafe nodded. “Like I said, she loves parties.”
Once again, you couldn’t find any good argument against him. He was annoyingly triumphant in most of these situations, and you rolled your eyes at him. Rafe took this as a victory, and placed a hand on your back before leading you through the crowd of people.
“Let’s get you a drink, yeah? Being drunk makes these things ten times better.” He stopped at a makeshift bar setup, and grabbed a solo cup before filling it with mysterious liquid. When he handed it to you, you saw an odd red colored mixture and sniffed it hesitantly. It smelled strongly of alcohol, but also had a fruity tang.
“What the hell is this?” you asked, unsure of what the concoction could be.
Rafe smiled proudly. “It’s my signature. Half vodka and half whatever fruity seltzer we have in the fridge. Tastes amazing, and also gets you drunk without the awful taste of regular vodka.”
Shrugging, you took a long sip, and Rafe whistled approvingly. “Damn, you’re really trying to get drunk, huh?”
You shook your head. “I’m the opposite of a lightweight. It takes a lot to actually get me hammered.”
“Oh, well then drink up.” Rafe poured himself a cup, and you toasted the solo cups with a laugh. Now that you weren’t wandering around alone, you were actually sort of enjoying yourself. But after a minute, you noticed people staring at you, and the group Rafe had abandoned to talk to you looked annoyed at his absence.
You bit your lip. “Um, Rafe,” you started, causing him to look over at you. His blue eyes shocked you as always, and you blushed. “You don’t have to stay and talk to me. I’m sure you’d rather be with your friends, I’m just a drag.”
He looked shocked that you’d even say that. “What are you talking about? I’m not hanging out with you out of obligation.” At your doubtful shrug, he sighed. “You know what? You’re gonna come meet my friends.” He grabbed your hand, leading you once again through the throng of people.
Panic striking you, you stuttered out, “Rafe, I don’t think that’s a good--” But it was too late; you’d reached his group of friends. You recognized Topper and Kelce, and forced a pinched smile. They both sported black eyes and multiple bruises, not to mention glares pointed directly at you.
“Guys, this is Y/N,” Rafe introduced, and a few of them nodded or muttered greetings. He went around and said half a dozen names you knew you wouldn’t remember, but you smiled at them anyway. Rafe was right next to you, and you found yourself almost leaning into him as a shield. The proximity was closer than you’d ever been, and you got a whiff of his expensive cologne.
The group started chattering about something you only sort of paid attention to. Instead, you focused mainly on observing Topper and Kelce. You figured it was a good idea to get to know Rafe’s best friends if you wanted to be friends with him. Over the course of the conversation, your view of both of them changed. You realized Topper was more pathetic than anything; he actually cared about Sarah, and missed her like crazy. This made him easier to understand in your head, and the dislike you held for him before was replaced by pity. Kelce didn’t change much for you, just confirmed that he was a meathead with little else going for him. He didn’t have any original thoughts, always trailing behind Rafe or Topper and doing whatever they wanted.
You attempted to listen to the conversation for a little while longer, until you were so bored you couldn’t stand it anymore. Leaning over to whisper into Rafe’s ear, you said, “I’m gonna go see if Sarah is here yet.” You smiled warmly at him, hoping he could see you actually appreciated his effort to incorporate you into the group.
Wandering around again wasn’t any more enjoyable this time. You still felt ostracized from the other Kooks, like you didn’t belong here with them. An hour must have passed of just aimlessly searching for Sarah, and by the time you gave up it was so late at night you realized Sarah probably wasn’t going to come at all.
Which meant Rafe had lied to you.
Once you made this realization, the anger you’d overcome earlier resurfaced. Why the hell would he lie about this? Did he just want to lure you here for his friends to mock and make fun of? What was the point of making you feel like an outsider, other than to hurt you? Friends didn’t pull stunts like this.
You stormed towards the pool, heading straight for Rafe who stood beside it talking to his friends. When he saw you approach he grinned, but this expression quickly changed when he read the anger in your eyes
“Y/N--”
“Why did you lie about Sarah coming?” you interrupted furiously. “Why would you drag me to this stupid party if you knew I would be alone and miserable? I mean, did you want me to feel like shit?”
Rafe looked completely stupefied. He opened his mouth, but no words came out he was so speechless. You glowered at him, cheeks heating up as you felt the stares of everyone else on your face.
“Well?” you insisted. Rafe looked more confused than ever, and you rolled your eyes. At this moment, Topper stepped out next to Rafe.
“Relax, Y/N, you don’t have to make a scene.” He reached out to touch your shoulder, and you flinched away from his touch. But this sudden movement caused you to lose balance, and you felt yourself tripping backwards.
Before you knew what was happening, your body hit the pool. Ice cold water cascaded over your head, and your arms floundered desperately under the surface. You reemerged a second later, but you were soaked to the bone and came up to the sounds of hysterical laughter. Rubbing the water out of your eyes, you saw Topper and the others snickering at your clumsiness, with Rafe staring down at you just as clueless as before.
He recovered quickly though, and extended a hand to help you out. You grabbed it angrily, and he hauled you out of the pool.
“Y/N, I am so sorry--”
You didn’t wait around to hear his apology, Instead, you stormed out of the crowd and headed away from the house, trying to ignore the mocking laughter behind you.
The beach seemed to be the place you always went to at times like this. The waves were calm again tonight, and despite the freezing pool water drenching your clothes the air was warm with summer heat. You stopped beside a long wooden beach chair with padded cushions, discarding your wet shorts and shirt. You folded the soggy fabric and left them by the chair along with your shoes, leaving you in just the bikini you’d put on before coming.
In order to work off your anger and dry off your body, you started on a walk down the shore. It was peaceful at this hour, and you eventually walked far enough from the party to be in total silence. Normally you’d let your thoughts run rampant right now, but tonight you didn’t want to think about anything. You especially didn’t want to think about Rafe. He’d genuinely hurt you, and for the second time in a matter of days. No matter how sincere he seemed in the aftermath, this humiliation was overpowering.
You must have walked for miles, because the stretch of beach became unfamiliar and prompted you to turn around. By the time you neared where you left your clothes, you were exhausted and drained from feeling upset. You were so tired in fact that you didn’t notice someone sitting in the beach chair until they spoke.
“I thought you left.” Rafe’s voice was soft and timid, worried you’d yell at him again. You just paused beside him, folding your arms across your exposed chest.
“Why would I leave when my clothes are still here?” you said pointedly, and Rafe nodded in defeat. He was quiet, clearly picking up on your mood. You almost appreciated this gesture, if he wasn’t the person who’d ruined your mood to begin with.
Glancing at his house in the distance, you saw the lights were off and the sound of voices had ceased. The party had finished by the time you returned from your walk, which meant it was just Rafe around.
He was laying across the big chair clad only in board shorts, his exposed torso gleaming in the moonlight. His gaze was directed towards the sky, face peaceful.
Wanting to fill the silence, you asked, “Why are you out here? Aren’t you tired from the party?”
Rafe shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be up for hours. I just came out here to look at the stars.”
You snorted. “How cute,” you commented, but when you realized he was serious you regretted your jab. Rafe shifted aside on the chair and patted a space by his knees for you to sit. Tentatively, you settled there and gazed up at the stars as well.
“I’ve always loved astronomy,” he admitted. “I think it’s so cool that there’s so much else out there. Kind of makes everything down here seem insignificant.”
You furrowed your brow. “That’s morbid.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s sort of comforting. Like, however shitty things are here, that’s not how it is everywhere.” This made you turn your gaze to him, frowning. You wondered if he was referring to Ward, and you sensed you were right when he couldn’t meet your eyes.
A minute passed, and then Rafe said, “I really am sorry.” His words were genuine, and tried to let them sink in. It didn’t make up entirely for tonight, but it helped.
Sliding your eyes along his face, you saw something flit across his eyes. The air suddenly filled with tension, and you found it hard to breathe with his gaze so fixated on you. Your body almost felt a magnetic pull towards his, and when he rested his arms on the edge of the chair you hitched your breath.
Without even thinking, you swung your legs over and shifted your body until you were settled between his legs. Your head leaned back against his chest, his chin resting just by your ear. Having his warm skin under yours felt beyond good, and his arms encircled you to rest by your waist.
You laid together like this for a while, neither of you saying anything. Your hands drifted up his arms, absently feeling him as he breathed against the back of your neck. Occasionally he’d lift his hand to point out a star pattern, and when you tilted your head to see it you rested against his shoulder.
While you looked at the sky, Rafe looked at you. Turning your head to the side, you realized how close your faces were and parted your lips. Even in the dark his blue eyes were striking. You held your breath, anticipating his next move.
And when it came, you rejoiced inside. Rafe leaned forward to connect your lips, his mouth warm and gentle. You accepted the kiss gratefully, molding against him and twisting slightly so you could bring a hand to his cheek. His tongue swiped out across your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to grant him entrance. Your tongues pushed against one another, deepening the kiss and making your head grow fuzzy.
Tearing his lips from yours, Rafe moved down your jaw and to your neck. You faced forward again, watching as his hands slid up your abdomen. His fingers found the ties to your bathing suit top, and in one swift movement he undid them. The white bikini fell out of place, your breasts exposed to the warm night air.
Breathing hard, you felt Rafe’s hands skim across your breasts, making your nipples harden into peaks. His fingers were rough against your skin, and when his thumbs grazed your nipples you exhaled softly. His lips worked the side of your neck, sponging kisses there while his hands were at your chest.
Waves of pleasure drifted through your body, and your lips hung open in a wordless gasp. Rafe pinched your nipples lightly, causing you to arch your back against him. As you did this, you felt something hard pressing into your back, and realized it was his firm length through his shorts. You continued to grind your hips slowly against his, and his breathing increased by your ear.
“Y/N,” he breathed, making your eyes roll back. He gave your breasts a firm squeeze, and you raised one hand to touch his cheek. You were breathing erratically now, and this only increased when he removed his hands from your chest and moved them downwards, towards the pool of moisture already collecting in your bathing suit bottoms.
His fingers dipped below the band, his fingers shockingly cool against your hot skin. You tensed up when you felt him right where you needed him, and when his lips kissed your ear you exhaled.
And then his middle finger pressed into your clit, causing a moan to tumble from your mouth. He’d barely touched you and you were already putty in his hands. Rafe started circling his finger, and you couldn’t control the sounds leaving your throat.
“Yes,” you released, crying out when he dragged across your slick entrance. “Rafe.” you moaned his name, and a gentle growl rumbled in his throat behind you.
Rafe’s fingers worked expertly against you. He focused entirely on your clit, knowing exactly what to do to drive your senses wild. The bundle of nerves was going haywire under his hand, and your hips ground into his palm to try and increase friction.
“That’s it,” he murmured into your ear, causing goosebumps to raise across your skin. “Do I make you feel good, baby?” The nickname made you moan again, you brought a hand to roughly squeeze your breast.
Rafe quickened his movements, and your legs were shaking from the sheer pleasure. When he pinched your clit, you knew you were done for. An orgasm exploded in your abdomen, and you cried out in ecstasy, tensing against his hand and whining his name.
“Rafe,” you panted, resting your cheek against his chest. His lips pressed into the top of your head, and you watched him bring his hand out of your bikini bottoms to his lips. He licked off your moisture, and the sight drove you absolutely crazy.
Slowly flipping over so your chest was against his, you dove in to give him another kiss. Rafe eagerly reciprocated, spreading his fingers across your back and pulling you close. But you broke away from the kiss after a second, holding his gaze as you moved down his body. His mouth hung open while he watched, and when you reached his waist he swallowed.
Slowly, you brought your hand up over his clothed cock. Rafe jerked at the subtle movement, and you smiled. You palmed his mound again, licking your lips in preparation. You wanted to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.
When you were about to pull down his shorts, a voice broke through the silence.
“Rafe? Are you out there?”
It was Sarah. Panic flared in your chest, and you pressed yourself as far into Rafe as you could to stay out of view. He was panting by now, distracted by your body on his and the erection in his pants.
“I’m coming in a second,” he called out. The distant sound of departing footsteps told you she was gone, and you then scrambled down off the chair and into the sand. It sounded like Sarah had left, but you didn’t want to take any chances.
Rafe sat up quickly, blowing out a sigh and running a hand through his tousled hair. He looked worked up, and still very much hard. But you ignored him as you pulled your shorts on, retying your bikini top and putting on your shirt.
“Y/N,” he began, but once you slid into your shoes you wasted no time in running off of the beach, not even bothering to say goodbye.
~ ~ ~
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Long Stretch of Love - Chapter 1
A/N: - Well hello again. Here’s a little something I’ve been working on for quite a few months now.
This story is about a young woman starting a new chapter in her life, opening up a small business and finding love along the way. After all love happens when you are least expecting it.
Sometimes you dreamed, dreamed of what it would be like and what you would do but never did you actually think it would come real. There was never a cost when you dreamed, it was just there, in front of you and you'd look around and it would be just as you had envisioned it so many times before. Reality is much crueller.
Now stepping into the little shop so early in the morning that the sun hasn't even decided to rise yet, you couldn't help but smile. Smile at the peeling paint, the dust covering every surface and the possibility of what it could be. The smile grew as you looked around the spar shop floor and just like you'd done in your dreams you saw the décor come to life as the lights flickered on at your touch and the rattle of your truck outside as your brother pulled in pulled you back to now. That definitely had to wake the neighbours.
The cost wasn't lost on you though, you could never have afforded this on your own, no, you wiped a tear that slid down your cheek as your eyes connected to the one framed picture left on the wall. This feeling was a mix of so many, sad for what had lead you to this point but over joyed to be standing right in this spot with the possibilities laid out before you. That was pretty much how your life had been lived up til now, you lived, moved and once the hardships were done you looked back on them with fondness as it turned you into the person you are right now.
“Thanks mum." You whispered, as the light over the counter flickered and blew out right where the photo of you and her was sitting on the wall. A smirk curved your lips again, you didn't really believe in ghosts or spirits but lately little things had been happening, ever since the funeral a few months ago. The thing was before your mother passed you hadn’t lost anyone you loved or hated so there was no one to haunt you until now. The thought made you laugh a little. If your mother was haunting you, you really were in deep shit.
"Move it sis, you gonna help me haul your crap in or not?" Your brother bumped your shoulder as he walked into the room, he definitely had enough room to go around you. You watched as he not so carefully dropped it in the middle of the shop floor and turned to face you, brushing his hands as he looked you over. His facial expression softened at the site of your red eyes, you hastily wiped away a tear again as he stepped towards you but you shooed him off and moved away. If you hugged him one more time it would be more than you’d hugged anyone in a life time, that or you would completely break down again and you weren’t prepared to do that today. You needed to get through one day without completely losing it. That reminded you, you needed to make sure your punching bag was set up today, you hadn’t seen it loading up the truck this morning so you made a mental note to make sure it was on the next load.
You shook your head to clear your thoughts and were brought back to the case at hand. "That's my books and paperwork.” It was clearly labelled so he had definitely known what it was holding and still brought it inside. “It goes upstairs, not in here, I have a lot to do in here before I can bring my office down here." His expression changed immediately, now it was more of a 'get stuffed, you move it.' but you just rolled your eyes and walked out. Just as you stepped outside you turned and -, "There's stairs outside around back and remember there's a bottle of whiskey in this for you." That was his payment because family never did anything for free these days. To be fair there was a lot of crap.
"Better be top shelf or I'm accidentally dropping half of your boxes." There was a deep sigh followed by a grunt before he walked back out and around the corner to find the mysterious staircase that he’d forgotten he’d walked up not the night before.
"Break anything and I'll make good on my threat of no freebies on anything I make, ever.” You yelled and then added for good measure, “Not even mum's special triple fudge cookies." You grin and you know for sure he’s mumbled something unlovingly brotherly. The one thing you wished that this place had was an access from the apartment to the shop inside but that's probably why your mum picked it. She always liked keeping work life and home life separate, that’s probably why she lived such a fulfilling and long life.
Not one of your family knew your mum had bought this place. You hadn’t seen it until the Will was read and you were handed the keys a few weeks ago. When people heard they all seemed to say the same thing. ‘That sounds like your mum.’ And it was true, she always did everything she could for her kids. You wished you got to thank her for this one but you had a feeling your happiness would be all the thanks she needed and to see you succeed in something you loved.
The sun started to rise but the brisk air didn't chill you to the bone it kept you fresh and moving with all the things you unpacked. When people say you don't know how much crap you have until you move house, they arent lying. It had been years since you moved fully, somehow well your mum mostly, to keep every little thing since a child and had to move it with you, much to your brother's dismay. Truth be told you’d been traveling a lot over the past year and a half, never spending more than six months in one place with only your backpack full of everything you needed. Going from job to job was thrilling for you, not knowing where you were going next or who you would meet. That all changed with the passing of your mother, it wasn’t unexpected but it did happen quick so much so that you wanted to be closer to family and to make your long-lost dream a reality instead of just wandering through life.
With the sun rising brought along with it your brother’s patience. He had grouched for the thousandth time this morning and you just laughed when the grouching stopped as soon as you held out a tin of cookies. You had these as back up because you knew it was going to be an early morning and a long one. He shut up for the next half hour after that, nothing much was said between you as you both worked. You were on your third round, unloading boxes and resting in between when someone caught your eye, it was the first person you’d seen this morning who wasn’t in a car on their way to their nine to five job in DC.
You'd just run back downstairs from hauling one of the heaviest boxes you think you packed and now enjoying a rest against the side of the truck with a long swig of coffee when a woman came around the corner, slowing to a walk from what looked like her morning run. You watched as she sucked in a few deeps breaths and checked her watch. You were unsure why exactly you stopped and stared at her but one thing was for sure she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed, black sports bra revealing her toned abdomen covered in a light grey unzipped sweater. Her full-length black tights left nothing to imagination. She must work out a lot you pondered and smiled at the thought of this as her usual morning route.
You quickly averted your eyes when she looked up at you, turning you pushed yourself off the truck and climbed up onto the tray to grab another box. Your ears pricked at the sound of footsteps coming closer as you tried your best to find a light box and not look like a fool. The fact that you cared what this stranger thought of you had you on the back foot. You hadn’t cared what anyone thought of you for years.
There was a soft cough from behind you, she probably did that so you wouldn't get a fright even though you felt your heart beat faster. "Morning." She all but sung. You turned to see her stop at the side of your truck, resting her elbows on the lip of the tray, peering inside. You carefully bent over and the lightest box you could for some reason holding the box made you a little less nervous but she continued when you didn’t reply. "Moving in?"
An outstanding observation from the amount of boxes still in the tray and others piled close to the door of the shop but you nodded instead of responding with a sarcastic quip as you didn't know the woman and if you was a local you didn’t want to piss her off right away . She was still staring at you waiting for a response when you shook your head slightly before answering, "Morning...” You stammered, get a grip woman. “Yeah, apartment above." You felt like a complete idiot and added a small smile at the end to not look like a complete weirdo. It was probably too late for that though.
You saw humour in her eyes, probably from how stupid you sounded but she was distracted by easily by her curiosity to get to know the new person in the area. "Renting or did you buy the place?" She seemed genuinely curious, looking back at the shop with a small smile. She continued before you could get a word in, words were very hard to come by right now. You were thankful your brother wasn't here to see you stumble at a simple conversation. "Always liked the owners here before. Had a nice little flowers shop that I'd often buy a bunch or two off to make my place a little livelier except I’m hardly around much to keep them alive for more than a few days." She looked back up at you, her smile fond from reliving the memory but it quickly turned to a frustrated bend in her brow at the thought of killing so many flowers. You wanted to laugh but held it in, she intrigued you more and more with every word she spoke.
You shifted the box in your hands before placing it on the side of the tray, it wasn't heavy but you didn't want to risk the jump down and tripping in front of her. The woman must've guessed what you were doing and moved to the side more but not before she offered her hand to help you down. You wanted to ask if she was sure but the look she gave you answered that question.
Did she know what you were thinking? Usually, it was you who could read people so easily but you were having a hard time deciphering her.
"Thanks, but I can manage." You put a bit too much confidence in your tone and hoped you could make this jump with the exact same confidence. She stepped back and watched you jump and to no one’s surprise you tripped over your feet but you were steadied by warm hands at your waist, they were gone before you turned around. It was possible you imagined them but if you had you definitely would’ve fallen over.
She ignored your flushed cheeks and you thanked her for it with a small smile. "Probably shouldn't jump like that too many times, your knees will ache - at the end of the day and you didn't answer my question." Her words got muddled together. You smoothed your hands down your sides, the heat from where she'd held you was still there.
You normally would've been a bit taken back by how nosey a person was but the way she said it, like she genuinely cared, made you second guess your response. Just as you were about to respond your brother came around the corner and jumped into the truck. "Don't bother, I've tried telling her that for the past five hours." Without a second glance your way he shifted a few boxes around the truck.
"Whiskey isn't going to buy itself, Joshua." You scolded, glaring at his back.
"Oh it's Joshua now? I don't see sissy or daddy dearest helpin' ya kiddo." You wanted to punch him for the pet name which you usually didn’t mind being called but right now it seemed to bother you most. There was only five years between you. He shifted a rather big box towards the back of the truck before hopping down in a safer manner than he'd been doing all morning. Clearly doing it for present company and to prove a stupid point.
The woman smirked at your banter but you saw her eyes light up at the mention of Whiskey. "If whiskey is what you get for helping, count me in."
You both raised your eyes at the woman. She was very forward but you liked her even though you had hardly met her. Hell, you didn’t even know her name yet. "Bought. Mum bought it for me before she passed." You answered her earlier question. The brightness and spark in her eyes instantly darkened however instead of pity, something you'd both gotten far too much over the past few months, you saw compassion and heart ache from someone who knew the kind of pain you’d felt.
"That's an incredible gift." Was all she said. She took a look back at the shop before adding. "I should probably finish my run." Although the way she said it made it seem it was the last thing she wanted to do.
"What happened to that hand you just offered? You ain't intruding, you'd probably be more help than this one. I seem-" You turned to glare at him again which cut him off instantly this time.
He took the large box and walked into the shop, you tracked his movements and when you couldn't see him anymore, you turned your attention back to the beautiful blonde in front of you. "My names Y/n by the way.”
"Sloane, Jacqueline Sloane but please call me Jack." She held out her hand and you took it. She had a firm but gentle hold, her fingers smooth against your skin but you could feel small calluses on her palm. She must like to do a bit of handy work or weights, now that had your mind spinning. What was wrong with you today?
You dropped her hand after a few seconds too long and cleared your throat. "If you can put up with our banter it would be a great help but don't feel like you have to. It was incredibly kind of you to offer help to a complete stranger." Confusion set in your brow, why would someone offer such help to a stranger? You hadn't seen such kindness in a person for a long time. The only person who would do something like that that you know, or knew was your mother. The thought of her softened your expression.
Jack was about to answer with what you guessed was a yes to her offer because she just seemed like that overly caring and helpful person but her cell cut it off. "Sorry, I need to take this." She stepped away as she answered.
"You gonna stare at the stranger or help me move your crap into your building." His emphasis on crap only made you want to hit him harder but instead you picked up the box you were previously holding and followed the shithead inside. "Also feel free to carry the heavier items, save me the chiropractor bill."
You didn’t give him a smart quip back, you were still stuck on your building. You hadn’t owned anything more than a second hand car before and now owning a building was just completely mind blowing to you. The thought of that may never sink in completely so you continued hauling you stuff inside.
You placed another box just inside the door as you heard Jack finish her call. You were about to say something rude and mean to your brother but her presence stopped you.
Jack slid her phone back into her pocket of her tights and smiled at you. "Sorry, work calls."
"Saved by the bell." You smiled even though you knew it meant the end of this meeting.
She swayed like she was weighing up the options. "Not really, I would prefer helping you." Now her eyes matched the beautiful smile, they shone with something you couldn't quite explain. Who would prefer moving someone else’s things rather than work? Clearly her job wasn't as interesting as she seemed to be. "I'll see you around, then?"
Again, you realized you'd been staring for a little too long rather than being a normal human and replying to her. "I'll be here. This your normal run?"
"Sure is, every morning the sun rises and I don't have to work too late the night before or have too many beers." The last added comment made you smirk. “It’s either running or going a few rounds on the punching bag.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. You had a feeling people judged the punching bag answer by the way she shied away from it, just like when men heard you say it and instantly took a step back.
However, you keep a note in the back of your mind to figure out what beer she liked, but first you probably should get to know her a bit more. "Hope work isn't too bad."
Jack laughed, like what you said was unlikely before started jogging down the pavement. You watched for a bit too long as your brother just stared at you from the front door. You shot him a glare when you saw his smirk and pushed past him with the next box. He didn’t say a word.
The next few hours were spent doing the same thing, driving back and forth between your old apartment that you’d only been renting for two months and the new place. Plus a few runs to your parent's place to pick up somethings your father had put into boxes from the kitchen. Things he swore he'd never use because it was all your mothers and you were the only cook in the family now. The kitchen was very much your mother’s domain, a place you remember fondly growing up, watching her dance around the kitchen making delicious sweets, pastries and rich scrumptious dinners. Yelling your brother and father to stop eating all the ingredients before she even made the goodies and politely telling your older sister to leave the kitchen while she was in the middle of cooking. One rule when your mother was in the kitchen was that no one else was allowed but you seemed to be the only one who took that rule seriously. When you grew up a bit and started cooking by yourself, you understood why.
Your brother bailed midafternoon claiming a sore back and he needed a nap. It was Saturday after all and you knew that meant a few beers and watching some kind of sport. Another reason your brain flicked back to Jack this morning, who worked on a Saturday or got called into work on a Saturday? She didn’t look like a person who worked in Retail or Hospitality for that matter. Josh guessed she was a doctor or something. He only guessed that because you pondered it out loud by accident a short while after she left. To your surprise he hardly teased you about her at all which had your suspicions high for the rest of the day.
Whomever she was and whatever she did, she had clearly struck something in you because when you heard a cough at the front door the next morning you smiled widely at who it was. "G'morning."
"More moving today?" She skipped the normal ‘good morning’ which made you smile and stepped in when she knew you didn't mind as you didn't move from your spot on the floor sorting through one of the boxes of pictures. She looked around as you picked out the frames you wanted. This would've been a box you normally would keep in your home but as your mum bought this shop for you, you figured some photos should be hung up around to show who this place was for.
You placed the last frame on the floor and hopped up, grabbing your coffee from the counter. "Later. Josh complained he needed a sleep in after yesterday so we are starting at 0900." Jack's eyes lit up and snapped back to you at the use of military time. Without explaining you questioned, "Father was in the Core, you?"
"Me. Army." She walked along the counter that ran almost the length of the shop and stopped right in front of you.
Something in her eyes, made you not ask anything more about her Army days. "Guess you didn't work too late last night then." Her brows drew in, in confusion and then it clicked, you saw the light bulb flash in her eyes.
"No, team got a case, I helped as best I could but ended up leaving early afternoon."
"Cop?" Now this made even more sense and also clicked together why she would help a complete stranger.
"Special Agent and Forensic Phycologist, actually. You got more of that coffee or do I have to help unpack to get some?" Her eyes on your cup as you drew it close to your lips again with a smirk.
You gulped down, you watched her eyes track it and then shoot to your eyes again. Did the room just get a little warmer? "Impressive. Explains a lot." Your eyes shot open as your lips let slip what you were thinking rather than keeping it in your head but it made Jack smile which was worth it. "How do you like your coffee?" You place your cup down and put some space between you by walking around the counter to pour her a cup.
"Sugar with a hint of coffee, don't judge."
You snort with her quick add-on of judging as you pour what's left of your premade pot and froth up from milk. "Isn't that your job?" You shoot back, your back turned so you miss her roll of the eyes.
"No, I read minds, actually." She sassed you back which only made you like her more. You’d only been talking to her for a total of ten minutes including yesterday’s greeting and you felt far too comfortable around her.
Taking the pot of sugar beside your coffee machine and the cup of coffee, you place both on the counter in front of her and grab a teaspoon before handing it to her as you would a knife. She quirks up a brow but takes the spoon. "Don't like putting in the sugar?"
"It's a delicate balance of too much or too little so I'll let you taint your coffee as much as you desire." You try to hide the horror on your face as she pours way too much sugar into such a good dip of coffee. But the hum you hear as the brew hits her lips distracts you completely. Something bubbles inside you and you push it away, distracting yourself with another box of memories
"Thanks." She breathed behind you as she stepped closer, looking over your shoulder to see what you were looking at. It was another box of photographs. "I can lea-" Sensing your mood change as you picked up an old photo.
"Haven't ordered the takeaway cups yet." You answer but your mind is back in a memory of the photo you are holding. "And that's my favourite cup." You add.
At your words Jack looks at her cup. She didn't take note of it before, too preoccupied on getting some much-needed bean juice after her extra-long run this morning. She'd actually woken up earlier than anticipated and added an extra block to make sure she got to the shop at the same time she did the morning before and didn’t want to put too much thought into why she wanted to so much. She smirked at the Harry Potter quip "Don't let the muggles get you down." She read aloud.
"You aren't a muggle are you?" Still not looking up from the photo in your hand.
"No Harry, I'm a wizard." You laughed and the sound of her laughter brought you out of your memory.
You placed the frame on the counter, it was of you and your mother in the kitchen of your first house. You were sitting on the counter, giggling because you weren't allowed up there when she was in the kitchen but she was laughing as well. "Don't remember this but-" Your words were lost as a tear rolled down your cheek, you quickly wiped it away before Jack saw. If she did, she didn't say anything.
She smiled at the photo. "But looking at this photo feels like you do." She finished your thought and you nodded slowly.
You'd never let a stranger this close into your bubble but she just seemed to fit and felt less strange than even your closest family. Then it clicked, this was her job, she was trained to get people to open up to get into their heads but there was a big part of you that knew this was different.
The minutes passed by as you went through more of the photos and shared the memories with Jack. She listened and added to the conversation when it was needed but you mostly did the talking. All too soon her coffee ran out and neither of you could think of an excuse for her to stay.
"Thanks for letting me unload on you. Probably weird from someone you hardly know." You shifted awkwardly, not looking her in the eyes.
Jack shrugged. "Not in my profession, I always like to hear fond stories, memories, usually all I get in my job is horrible ones." She placed the cup down on the counter beside yours. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" If you didn't know any better and you hoped you didn't, you could've sworn there was a rise in the second half of the question. She wanted to see you tomorrow.
You looked up at her then, folding a box into the corner with the rest. "I've got a few meetings over town tomorrow to start sorting out the shop. So.."
"- a sleep in is definitely needed before that." She picked up where you were going and hid her disappointment with a smile, stepping towards the door. "You'll be exhausted after the weekend moving."
"Hadn't slept so well in months until last night." You didn't add on that you dreamt about your meeting yesterday, she'd read too much into it and probably think you were creepy. "I'll see you around, Sloane." You smile as you watch her walk out.
Her smile falters for a moment, you don't see it because she’s almost out the door but Jack picks up her smile again and turns to you as she exits. Ignoring the feeling in her gut after you said her last name with a low gravel in your tone. "You still haven't mentioned what you're doing with the shop." Although by the reference to cups and the larger coffee machine behind the counter it would take an idiot to not know what you had planned for this place. She was just grabbing at straws to extend the conversation that little bit longer.
"Coffee shop.” You smile at her before walking around the counter and add, “with the sweets that will even have your sugar levels satisfied." You look up to see a beaming Jack in your door highlighted by the morning sun.
She laughs, "I look forward to it.", and she was gone before you could add in me too, although you were pretty sure she could work that one out on her own.
--------------
How’d I do? This one has been stewing for so long and I enjoy the idea so much so I hope I can pull it off. I’m hoping to update this story every few weeks so don’t rush me >.<
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I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC
Word Count: 1,385
You can stand me up at the gates of hell
But I won't back down
I'm gonna stand my ground
Won't be turned around
And I'll keep this world from dragging me down
1 | 2 | 3 |
Pt. 2- The Last 6 Days Until Apocalypse II, 2019
The next few days passed much the same as they always did. School was indeterminable boredom and after was a blur of time. It was nights that Lola really lived for. She wasn’t sure why but the dark, mysterious blackness that covered everything was so much more intriguing than the bright daylight. It helped spur her mind into its most aggressive thinking, it sped her heart up as she made her daily route to the large, unused library, it made her eyes strain to the best of their ability to see outlines in the blackness.
Now, don’t get her wrong- she was a fan of the light. She needed it to write, to see distinctly, but the quiet calm that came with the night was something so few people experienced in a world of billions that it made it more special to her. She didn’t think she’d ever like complete blackness, though.
The dark of night allowed her some cover as she slipped quietly into the Umbrella Academy’s library, her feet soft and quiet on the wooden floor. By now, she knew the layout by heart and made her way easily to the last place she’d taken books from and zipped open her bag carefully, extracting both volumes. While they hadn’t been extremely interesting, she’d liked learning from them as much as all the other books she’d borrowed from the library.
Lola quietly slid out the next two. One was a thick, bound leather book and she could feel the embossed gold on the cover as she slid it gently into her bag. The books on the shelf fell with a muted thump as the space became available and she winced but no one came, as usual. She moved to the next one, which was slimmer and a regular hardcover, its contents remaining a mystery until she could read them in the light.
After zipping her bag back up, she crept back down the stairs and made her way towards her usual escape except- she bumped into a soft-bodied figure and nearly screamed.
“Who-who’s there?” a light, airy voice called out, “are you a ghost?”
Her pulse picked up and Lola’s voice came out in a stutter as she said, “y-yes. O-of course,” then, feeling the need to be more ghost-like, she gave a fake, quiet moan, “wwoooohhh, my spirit is restless,” she sang in whisper.
A hand gently hit her face and brushed up and down as if petting her, “there, there, ghostie. Don’t bother me now.”
She leaned away from the man’s touch and scrambled for what to do next, but then the man seemed to freeze, “why’re you solid, ghost?”
“Uh- I’m special?” she tried, wincing at the lame answer. Luckily, the man seemed accept this and nodded, “okay, well, don’t follow me to bed. I’m open to many things but ghost sex is stretching it,” he gave an exaggerated shudder and stumbled past her, clumsily patting her on the shoulder.
Lola’s face burned bright red and she was glad it was too dark to see. After he left, she hastily made her way to the open window and slipped out, breathing a sigh of relief when her feet landed on the grass. His kids must have come back for the funeral, she thought as she made her way home. He’d spoken about ghosts, so it- it must’ve been The Séance.
She hoped he wouldn’t tell his siblings what had happened- that wouldn’t bode well for her. Luckily, he hadn’t seen her face and he also hadn’t seemed to be completely there, so he probably wouldn’t remember.
--
After school on Friday found Lola walking down the main street towards her father’s store. Now that it was the weekend, she didn’t need to be picked up and hurried home from school so she could start her homework. The local bookstore caught her eye and her father’s words echoed in her ears about the Hargreeves’ autobiography.
The bell jingled as she entered the shop and a female assistant made her way to the dark-haired girl to greet her, “good afternoon! Is there anything in particular you need help finding today?”
Lola gave her a smile and nodded, “yes, actually. I’m looking for an autobiography. Its, um, by someone of the last name Hargreeves.”
The woman’s smile flickered for a moment before broadening, “of course, right this way! We’ve moved them towards the back now that they’re not popular sellers. I think we still have a few copies, though.”
Sure enough, in the back of the non-fiction section the name Hargreeves stood out like a sore thumb, at least in Lola’s opinion. The book was titled Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven. The brunette slid a copy off the shelf and turned it over to read the summary on the back. There seemed to be a surprising amount about the woman’s- Vanya’s- family contained in the book.
“Will that be all?” the attendant asked.
She gave a nod, “yes, thank you.”
“Alright, dear, I can check you out at the counter.”
Lola followed the employee back to the front and made her purchase using her saved-up allowance money. Most of it was used for notebooks, writing utensils or additional book-buying so she had enough saved to purchase Vanya’s book. After leaving the shop, she made her way to the local diner, Griddy’s, texting her uncle of her change of plans.
Once there, she sat at the bar where an elderly woman came to greet her, “hello, dear, what can I get for you?”
Lola eyed the treats behind the counter thoughtfully, “classic glazed, please, Agnes,” she added her name after reading the woman’s tag.
“Of course, one moment,” Agnes said cheerfully and turned to complete her order.
She set the doughnut down in front of the girl, “if you need anything else just give a holler.”
Lola nodded in thanks and cracked open her new book, eager to read a professional autobiography. While she had studied some for research it had been awhile since she’d seriously read one.
My name is Vanya Hargreeves and this is my story it started out and the brunette smiled slightly at the similar openings. Pulling her pencil from behind her ear, she jotted down a note in the margin before continuing.
We were never a real family. We were our father’s creation, family in name, but not in fact. In the end, after our brother Ben had died, there was really nothing connecting us. We were just strangers living under the same roof, destined to be alone, starved for attention, damaged by our upbringing, and haunted by what might-have-been. We all wanted to be loved by a man incapable of giving love. Our father never missed the opportunity to remind me that I was ordinary, a hard thing for a little girl to hear. If you’re raised to believe that nothing about you is special, if the benchmark is extraordinary, what do you do if you’re not?
Lola sat at the counter as minutes slipped passed, slowly eating away at her doughnut and reading Vanya’s book, occasionally scribbling between the lines as she wrote notes for herself. As she read, she realized she liked Vanya’s writing style. The woman didn’t write daily stories and chronicle her life as if everything was significant but she also didn’t write the major events like they were items on a grocery list to be ticked off once they were written. Instead, she wrote in a way that made the objective viewer feel as if they were actually there, experiencing Vanya’s life. The brunette supposed that this is why the book lost popularity; some of the moments were too raw, too painful, to want to go back and reread and live through again.
Sometime later, her phone buzzed in her pocket, causing her to jump in surprise. The book lay before her more than half-read, pages wrinkled and dirty from pencil smudges and sugar from her sticky fingers as she’d turned the pages, hardly looking like a newly-bought book. Reaching into her pocket, the girl checked her text which was her uncle wondering where she was. Looking outside in surprise, she realized the sun was setting.
“Shit,” she breathed, hurriedly packing up her things. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get too much of an earful.
#The Umbrella Academy#Umbrella Academy#five#five hargreeves#tua five#five x dolores#five x oc#five hargreeves x oc#five hargreeves x reader#5#pre-tua#umbrella academy x oc#tua x oc#umbrella academy x#dolores#human dolores#apocalypse#dolores isn't a mannequin#hargreeves#vanya hargreeves
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The Naughty Poltergeist
TITLE :The Naughty Poltergeist
CHAPTER: #1 of ?
AUTHOR'S: lokilover9 & velvetzybanshee
RATING: M
NOTES: This one shot is based on Loki having paid penance for ruining Thor's coronation. He never fell from the bifrost, nor attacked earth and is now free. Not to discount his true history, we just thought he deserved some happy. As for Felipe, he's based on the Spanish character Agador Spartacus, from the movie The Birdcage and speaks in broken english.
EXTRAS: Madre = mother niña = girlfriend panocha = pussy
Original Imagine
Imagine thinking your new house is haunted. No one knows Loki lives there because he's always invisible and conjures furniture as needed. Disgruntled by your presence, he behaves like a poltergeist until one day you've had enough."I'm not leaving! Show yourself dammit!" Nothing happens for days and you think he's gone. Then while giving friends a tour, you find him naked on your bed drinking whiskey. "Cheers, darling. You did say show myself." Only you can see him and he follows you around like that for the remainder of their visit.
Loki was content residing on Midgard. With Thor King of Asgard remaining heavily influenced by Odin, he felt displaced as ever and decided to travel abroad. It was aloud providing he didn't hide from Heimdall and returned were the realm threatened, but that didn't mean he behaved. Midgard's continents teamed with beautiful maidens and Loki spent months at a time seducing them across the globe. Yet an introvert by nature, the constant socializing became exhausting. He needed intervals of solitude to rejuvenate his mind and cock. Indecisive of where, he conjured a world map, closed his eyes and randomly chose a location.
First attempt. "A Frost Giant in the Amazon? I think not."
Second. "Middle of the Bermuda Triangle? Know enough aliens already, thank you."
Third. "Inside and active volcano? Fenrir's arsehole." He scoffed.
Fourth. "Very well. Maine it is."
The god settled in a vacant Victorian evicting its two following buyers with 'ghostly' shenanigans. Yet to the king of this miniature palace's annoyance the next didn't frighten so easily.
Alexis was proud having bought her own house after a long divorce. Closer to friends and hours from meddling family, she'd thought herself free of troubles until sensing the place haunted. While unpacking, items started going missing and resurfacing in different places like her keys, clothing and once her vibrator after an evening of ménage à moi, disturbingly appeared in her dishwasher the next morning. Doors would slam, electricity short circuited, faucets unexpectedly ran, but most disconcerting was a voice randomly whispering 'mine' into her ear. Whether in the shower, her yard, doorways, the ghost didn't care. Alexis burned sage, had the house blessed, held a seance with a local paranormal group, but nothing helped. When returning after a long day at work to find half the main floor repacked, she angrily shouted into the air.
"Ha ha, trickster! You don't scare me and I am 'not' leaving!" She held up a large envelope. "This is 'my' crib and here's the deed to prove it. Show yourself dammit!" Nothing happened so she put everything back, showered, grabbed her vibrator and stormed into the upstairs corridor. "And one more thing! See this? Touch it again and I'll summon your ass with a ouija board and douse you in holy water!"
Loki inwardly chuckled. 'I'll be sure to bring a towel.' When she fell asleep reading in bed, he snuck a peek at what had intrigued her. 'Smutty fanfiction? Tisk, darling. Who could your heartthrob be? The name sounded familiar so he googled it. 'Ah, the actor from Crimson Peak. Good movie, but I'm much better looking. 'A wicked grin curled his lips when she moaned Tom's name. 'Maybe I need to play a little 'dirtier.'
With the next several days uneventful, Alexis thought she'd frightened the ghost off when in reality he was buying time. Since moving her in friends offered extra hands in their free time, but it was her befriended neighbor, a single gay man with a flamboyant, funloving personality who'd helped the most. They met one afternoon when she peered over his fence to complain about blaring Salsa music as he hosted a pool party. Felipe was sunbathing in a yellow thong, wearing sunglasses with enough bling to impress Liberace and choked on a shot of tequila when she whipped a pebble at his head. He invited her over with a promise to adorn shorts, they hit it off and became besties.
Alexis planned to have other friends over for dinner one month after moving in, but with all the goings on had postponed twice. Now with a set date, Felipe was invited too and asked what she planned to cook.
"Who said anything about cooking? I suck at it Amigo and prefer no one hurling on my lawn."
She waved a take out menu and he dramatically gasped. "Chinese food for eight people? Where you gonna put up you blow job booth to pay the mortgage after?"
Alexis smirked. "You're such a slut, Felipe."
He shrugged. "Happy whoopie stick makes a happy me."
"I think I've forgotten what they look like."
"I show you mine, but no touchy touchy." She laughed, knowing he was kidding. "Too long without sex causes brain damage, niña. How long its been for you?"
"Since my ex and I separated nineteen months ago."
"Ay dios mio. I lend you my Dustbuster for the cobwebs down there."
"Not funny, Felipe."
"See. Abstinence makes everyone bitchy. My sister Maritza too. She was happy single before becoming a nun. Now she's Oscar the grouch with eyes like the chucky doll."
"How come you can pronounce words like 'abstinence' and 'cock' so well yet not others?" Alexis teased.
"Don't make me spank you. Come, we go shopping."
"For what?"
"I help you cook. We stay home and talk about cock, mine will curse me in Spanish. He's lonely too."
Alexis slipped on footwear.
"Why you wearing those?" Asked Felipe.
"What's wrong with flip flops?"
He stepped onto the porch. "You need something sexier, like bitch boots."
"It's ninety degrees in the shade today."
"So?"
Loki sighed when the door closed, relieved for some peace. He thought Felipe annoying enough as a neighbor yet worse as a guest who never stopped talking. So much so, he'd pondered concocting a tongue numbing spell, sneaking into his house and applying a heavy dose while he slept. But knowing his flair for drama, he'd run panicked to Alexis in the Boo from Monsters Inc. robe worn onto his deck every morning, carrying a note pleading to stay and until recovering, would hysterically sob each time he couldn't sing along to one of the show tunes on his phone. Loki opted to tolerate him for now. He'd be gone once Alexis left.
The day of feasting came and while she handled finishing touches around the house, Felipe prepared guacamole dip and ingredients for fajitas while mixing margaritas. Hearing music, Alexis snuck to the kitchen and started recording him singing to Bad Girl, by Donna Summer while dancing like a hussy.
"Toot toot, hey, beep beep
Toot toot, hey, beep beep
Hey mister, have you got a dime?
Hey mister, do you want to spend some time, ooh yeah
I got what you want, you got what I need
I’ll be your baby, come and spend it on me…"
He startled when noticing her. "Girlfrien', you post that on social media, I kill you."
Alexis propped her phone on the counter and joined in wildly shaking her chest.
Felipe tried the same. "No fair. I need big titties like yours to jiggle. Next time I bring tangerines and a bra."
Loki secretly watched on. 'Fucknuts.'
The three couples soon arrived. One, old neighbors of Alexis, Blake and Deidre, the others, her friends, Sage, Lisa and their newest flames Colby and Grant. She started a tour on the main floor then the upper leaving her bedroom for last. Excited to show it off, she was already opening the door as they shuffled out of the second.
"And this is my creme de la...eep!" She quietly squeaked once inside.
The resident spookster sat perched against her headboard sporting only what the Norn's delivered him to the universe in and winked pouring himself a whiskey. "You did say show myself, yes?"
She hurried out, slammed the door and her friends froze on approach. "Erm..wouldn't ya know I forgot to make my bed. Anyone for a drink?"
Alexis passed them for the stairs and cringed when Deidre spoke. She was nice enough, but sometimes persistent when it wasn't welcome. "Nonsense, friends don't care. Right everyone?"
Alexis continued down. "Enter at your risk then."
Felipe watched her rush by into the pantry, close the door, followed and closed it too. "What you are doing?"
"I can't go back out there."
"Why?"
"He's upstairs naked on my bed." She anxiously whispered.
"Which boyfriend? I take up the wooden spoon."
"No, the fucking ghost!"
"It's a man? Is he hot and what do I tell your peeps? You afraid to come out of the closet?"
"Felipe!"
"Sorry, it's the margaritas."
"I thought you the one person who believed my stories."
He eyed her sympathetically. "I do. You want I go bribe him to leave with a mcsqeezy?"
"Will you be serious? Ghosts aren't supposed to be naked. One look at him and everyone will think I invited them for an orgy."
Blake and Grant came down first catching bits of their conversation and quietly conversed.
"Can't believe she's still imagining this ghost." Blake wise cracked. "I always told Deidre she had a screw loose."
"Nah." Said Grant. "Lexi's a smart cookie. Sounds more like she needs a man. There's one inside with her. Maybe they'll shag, knock some shit off shelves."
Felipe stuck his head out the door. "You not so quiet, cumquats. I gay. You want I show you my jolly green giant and shag 'you' inside against the creamed corn?"
Loki rubbed the back of his neck. 'I sacrificed prowling beaches of the French Riviera for this?'
Hearing the ladies coming, Alexis approached Blake and quietly inquired. "Still peeing in your wife's pond at night, murdering her koy? I'd see you through my bedroom blinds. Who's a few cans short of a six pack?"
"Oooh snap." Said Felipe.
Grant nudged the arse. "Let's chill in the dining room. There's a makeshift bar and appetizers."
The ladies entered the kitchen. "Who's a nincompoop?" Asked Deidre.
Felipe almost answered but pursed his lips together when Alexis loudly cleared her throat. "You know, just my ex."
"He sure is, honey."
"Your bed's made, girl." Said Sage. "The room looks great."
They all agreed passing through while thirty year old Lisa's younger boyfriend lingered. "Pretty awesome digs ya got here."
"Thanks." Replied Alexis.
Colby slid his hands into his pockets. "Soo..Lisa says you think it's haunted."
"Yep."
He spaced out for a second, staring at the floor. "I once thought a bat in our house was my dead uncle Howie haunting my parents for selling his mannequin of Vlad the Impaler. But hey, sometimes weird shit happens when you're stoned right?" Alexis and Felipe were saved when Lisa called him. "She misses me already. Laters."
"He looks fresh from his madres panocha." Commented Felipe.
"That's the way Lisa likes them. Says the younger they are, the easier it is to train them."
Loki rolled his eyes. 'Age is irrelevant.'
Felipe feigned fright by playfully biting his nails. "She bad. Maybe Colby wear a leash and bark like a good doggy for her?" He goofily imitated one in a deep voice. "Woof, woof..woof. Or maybe he sound like an angry chihuahua?"
Alexis smirked. "I have my own problems. A streaking phantom who now makes unexpected appearances."
Felipe gave her a margarita. "Cheers. These make everything better."
Alexis gulped down the beverage as he watched with raised brows. "Thanks. Next time that streaker appears, I'll just ignore him."
"Next time I give you smaller glass. Go enjoy you friends, niña"
She gave a thumbs up on her way out. "I got this. Easy peasy right?"
Loki mischievously grinned. 'Darling, I'm just getting started.
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Jar of Rebuke Episode 5 Unofficial Transcript
Season 1 Episode 5: Perfect Attendance
INTRO
The following audio recording is classified documentation for Case [audio distortion] with the Enclosure. Unauthorized access to this information will lead to immediate intervention. Progress further if proper clearance has been given.
TODD
Hey Jared, it's Dr. Carmen. Listen, I know you asked to cash in on some of that paid time off you've got, but I wanted to let you know that I couldn't fulfill your request quite yet. There's one little thing I need you to look into for me first. There's some circulating rumors of a former teacher causing some trouble at the local school. I say former because she's been dead for about a hundred years or so. I don't know the exact details yet besides what Dr. Rahal heard- footprints with no source, flying clocks, startled janitors- you know the drill. So I need you to go and investigate. Since you're just so good with those little kiddos that come by your place at night, I figured you'd be even better with some actual kids. And since you've been doing a little personal community outreach, why not put that to use? Now go see what you can figure out and report back to me, then we can discuss that vacation time of yours. Oh, also you're welcome for the plumbing fixture, by the way. I know you've been too busy to stop by with a proper thanks, but I'm just glad we could get that all fixed up for you. Well, I'll keep an eye out for your report by the end of the week. See you around.
JARED
“Oh you're welcome for the plumbing fixture, by the way.” Oh, geez Louise, I literally never asked them to fix my plumbing. I called it- now he's gonna hold that over my head for gods-know-how long. I know that some folks say that being motivated by spite ain't the best way to live but it's a real hell of a motivator. I don't plan to delete this voicemail till I get that chat about time off because if I get brushed out about that PTO again after everything, I'm going to remind them that he guaranteed me a talk about it. I mean he normally sends me out over the dangerous stuff, but this was just tedious. More like Todd just wanted to send me out on an errand and just threw me out over the first thing that he could. I mean, considering that I drowned a few weeks ago, this was expected to be a bit of a piece of cake. While it wasn't life-threatening, it was annoying. And draining.
So today, I just so happened to bump into the principal of the local school. I know that she goes to the Chronicle Inn’s country store a lot, especially during her lunch breaks. So I went in the afternoon and spent some time there talking with Ester and Laura as I waited for her to arrive. Ester was wearing a really lovely dress and a floral apron, the pale pink accented her gray hair really nicely. And Laura was already in her denim overalls and plaid flannel. Apparently she was wanting to get some woodworking done in her workshop, but then she decided to stay in and help Ester out with managing the shop for the afternoon rush, you know, since all the folks started pouring in on their lunch breaks. And that afternoon rush was what I'd waited for because that's when Mrs. Anika Ralsh showed up. We haven't really ever talked much, just enough to get to know each other's names and general identities. So when she saw me she greeted me with a small smile and a wave. She asked how I'd been doing, you know, what I'd been up to, the usual. I had planned on how I was going to broach the subject of the haunting in the school considering that it's not exactly something that just, uh, comes up naturally in conversation. I needed to find some inconspicuous way to shift focus to, to that topic in a way that wouldn't trigger too many red flags. But then she dropped the bombshell on me!
She said that she'd spoken to Darius and that he mentioned that I had some curiosity with the supernatural, which was weird because I remember mentioning that passively to him like once when I panicked when he asked me what I do for a living. And that was a while ago. I'm shocked that he remembered. So I basically told her what I told him. Yeah, I'm a scientist who studies natural phenomena around here but I also have an interest in supernatural phenomena but that's more of a hobby. Which is a boldface lie, but far more acceptable than the truth. The script in my head of how the conversation would go was now entirely thrown off which did, in all honesty, throw me completely off my rhythm. But she actually got far more to the point than I would have planned to so I guess it worked for the best.
Anika said that she hadn't been sure who to reach out to about this, but when Darius had mentioned me she thought it'd be worth a shot to ask me to look into things. That there's a ghost of a deceased teacher that keeps stirring up trouble at the local school. It was a former teacher who taught fifth graders back in like the 80s or something like that. She taught up until the day she died, and she's rumored to still linger around. But she's been getting more disruptive than before and it's getting a bit out of hand. So, Anika asked me if I knew a way to get this ghost to calm down, but to not get rid of her. Apparently this Mrs. Alice Caller has been a part of the school community for so long that even if she scares or startles people sometimes they don't really want her gone. She startles the staff more than anything, the teachers and all that. But the students seem to get a kick out of it. Every building has their character after all, that's what Anika said. And I guess you could consider a haunting to be a splash of character.
Anyways, so yeah, after chatting for a bit and pretending that I had my knowledge of ghosts and hauntings due to at-home research and not my nine to five, even if it's more of a six to five. I told her I could investigate, but I'd probably want to do it when there weren't, you know, students in the halls? She'd asked if I was free literally that evening and considering Todd was basically holding my paid time off as hostage I said of course. I mean the sooner I got it done the sooner I could have some sort of vacation. As preemptive compensation, she bought me lunch which was really nice and told me to come by school after I finished eating. She took her food to go, but I stayed and ate there at the end and chatted with Ester and Laura a bit more. I also texted Darius and asked if he told Anika about my supernatural interests. He said yes and apologized if he shouldn't have told her but I said that it was fine, that I was mostly surprised that he'd remembered. I'd mentioned it a while back and we really don't ever talk about it, so the fact that he remembered... it was sweet. I mean especially considering I let him do most of the talking in conversation. He has a nice voice and tells really nice stories. I was flattered more than anything.
After I ate and played some mindless puzzle games on my phone I headed out towards the school. If I'd really wanted to I could have walked but I had driven to the end from my house anyways and had no reason to just leave my car behind. I got there a little before the last class ended and just went to the front office. After some light chit chat, I was given a tour. It was one floor, maybe like 13 classrooms in total. Not including the small computer lab, the gym, the restrooms or closets. I saw teachers wrapping up classes and students getting ready to head home. Nothing seemed off during the first walk through. She asked me when I got into tracking the supernatural and I told her about two years ago. Not a lie, I guess. She asked what I did for the Enclosure. “We don't really know what it is you all do, I guess we're just curious,” is what she'd said. I felt like she was reading every movement and microexpression in response to whatever my answer would be. I kind of panicked. I told her that I just keep tabs on the natural anomalies, animal behavior primarily. I told her I'm involved in monitoring wildlife just to make sure that the ecosystem is in balance and stuff like that. Then I quickly changed the topic because I know jack diddley about biology beyond the basics.
I got to talking to Anika about what's been happening, which was what Todd had said and then some. Flying clocks, footprints, and startled staff. But there were also a few other things as well. Things apparently turn on and off by themselves, like the janitor's vacuums or the lights. One time the cleaning staff heard some stuff moving around in an empty room and then when they investigated the room, apparently a bunch of desks got moved around and flipped over. Seems that this Mrs. Caller has also been knocking over projectors and has made things go missing, especially in the old classroom where she taught. After Anika showed me around the whole school, uh, greeting kids as classes let out, which, let me tell you, made me incredibly uncomfortable. Again, I'm not good with kids, so I just kind of gave awkward waves and half smiles to them. Anyways, after she showed me around and led me back to where Mrs. Caller's former classroom was, she asked if I needed anything before she'd go back to work and leave me to meander. Right before she walked away though she asked if I had any tools for the ghost hunting. I hate calling it that. I'm not hunting the ghosts or anything, I'm more just trying to communicate, check in and see what's going on. They don't always want to talk and I definitely respect that. I mean, heck, there's times I sure don't want to talk to people. I told her I mostly wanted to check out the place first. I would bring in my equipment from my car once all the students were gone. She asked if I needed to wait till night time and I told her that that's just a rumor. Paranormal investigations often happen at night because it's quieter from interruptions and easier to use the night vision. But if the ghost has been haunting during the day then it makes sense to investigate during the day as well.
So we walked back to the front door. She went into what I guess is her office and I went and grabbed my kit that I keep in my trunk. It's got an EMF sensor, a voice recorder, which is basically just a fancier version of what I use for these journal entries. An infrared thermometer, high power camera, other nifty little tools. Mostly the basics, they don't give me the heavy duty kit for assignments like these, of course. I made my way back to Mrs. Caller's former classroom and gave passing greetings to everyone that I passed and made eye contact with. Just a little smile and wave, asking how are you, as neither party planned for an extensive conversation. I got over there and introduced myself as I set up the equipment. I definitely felt something. I wasn't sure if it was her or not but with the way that it felt, well I felt more comfortable. It felt more familiar. So I told her my name, that I was there just to communicate and see if I could help calm her down at all. I explained what I was setting up and what all it would do. I felt my muscles relax as I just felt far more comfortable in this situation than being surrounded by students while talking to Anika. Nothing against Anika, I felt quite comfortable talking to her back at the restaurant. I think it was just the whole being surrounded by people thing. So I got everything set up and started to poke around the classroom. I started asking general questions, ones that I'm encouraged to ask based on protocol. What do you want, how did you die, why are you here? And so on. I hate those questions. What makes anyone think that those spirits would want to answer them anyway?
So after I got very little response I sat down on top of one of the desks crisscross applesauce, put the equipment down and just chatted. I asked how she was feeling. I apologized if it was bothersome being pestered with questions especially if she'd been primarily been being ignored, except for people prying. I asked why she lingered in her former classroom, like why this place? That was when a small frame holding up what looked like an obituary caught my attention, a hung up above the door, so I asked her about it. I heard some beeps from my pile of tools but I didn't need to pick it up. I knew that particular beeping. It wasn't an auditory reception, it was an energy spike. And I could feel the shift in… the atmosphere? The mood of the room? At first I just felt like I was being watched, but then I felt like it was more, um, that I was encroaching in someone else's living space. That I was somewhere that I shouldn't be or doing something that I shouldn't be doing. I slid myself off the desk and went to start gathering my supplies, but then the feeling went away. Seems like she'd just been upset that I was sitting with my feet up on the desk like that. So I muttered an apology and just made my way over towards the door to take a closer look at the obituary. It felt like something was practically breathing down the back of my neck. Not literally, but, I don't know. I could just feel it there. I turned around slowly and saw, unsurprisingly, nothing. But I knew in my gut that she was right there.
Then what scared me more than anything was that the classroom door flew open behind me. Not enough to slam on the wall or anything, but enough to make a sound. It was just some student who apparently left her notebook behind her something. She couldn't have been more than, what ,13? She was sweet, asked what I was doing back there. I told her a half truth, which is pretty much just my life at this point. I told her I was investigating on behalf of Mrs. Ralsh, which in my opinion is not a lie, just not the whole truth. She then went on to tell me about an experience that her dad had last year. Apparently her dad is one of the school janitors that had an incident early one morning when he'd come to clean up the place during the weekend. He was helping wax the floors in the halls by the back door, and at some point he turned to see footprints in the wax finishing on the tile. Her dad got pretty freaked out since he knew that he did not hear or see anyone walk by and the footprints were all too small to be his. He followed the footprints to the back door. He tried the handle but the door was locked, it was a door that needed a key to be unlocked. So he used his key to open the door and discovered footprints leading from the door to the direction of the town's cemetery, which wasn't too far away. The same cemetery that Mrs. Caller was buried in. I asked her if her dad had experienced anything else since then with Mrs. Caller, and she said that he's seen loads of stuff. But normally he sees the aftermath, like he has to clean up the messes that she makes if the other teachers can't for whatever reason. So I thanked her, she grabbed her things, and then she wished me luck before she hurried out.
So once again I stood alone in the classroom. Well, alone besides the presence of Mrs. Caller, which was definitely still strong. Maybe it was a bit smarmy of me, but I asked her, “now why would the girl wish me luck?” I was told that Mrs. Caller isn't aggressive towards people but she definitely wants her presence to be known, and I guess she didn't like the idea of the disrespect in my tone in her own classroom. Suddenly there was a blur in front of me and the sound of shattering glass, the framed obituary that hung above the door had been knocked off the wall and landed practically at my feet, which made me jump instinctively. Thankfully my boots are sturdy enough that I didn't have to worry too much about getting hurt from the glass, but I noticed that there was something tucked behind the obituary in the frame. My hands are already fairly scarred up from work and I don't think the nerve endings in my fingertips really work as well as they used to, so I kind of just reached down without thinking. I brushed away the glass and picked up the paper so that I could examine it.
The obituary itself was hardly remarkable, exactly what I'd expect from a beloved school teacher who passed away many many years ago. But what was behind it was odd. An old Enclosure business card. I still have it with me. It looks probably as old as the obituary, if not older. It's the same general logo but it doesn't look as modern, as if they've updated it since then. The colors aren't as bright, aren't as jarring. But something about it made my stomach twist. It felt wrong, not like the uncanny valley wrong, but just I don't like looking at it. I pocketed the business card and carefully put the obituary on the desk. I asked what Mrs. Caller was trying to tell me, but the energy felt... tired? Strained? A little concerned. I asked for literally any other message, any other sign, anything that could be helpful with whatever this, this business card is. Then I saw chairs in the classroom start to move. Instead of them all being pushed into desks they were all shifted as if whoever was seated in the chairs were all facing me. I was the focus at that point. It suddenly felt like I was being watched far more intensely than I've been in a haunting situation. It was like I was standing in front of a crowd who were all watching me with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes. At first I just gave a huff and said “oh haha, very funny”. But then, the smell of something sweet. It was... it was a mild smell, not like anything I've ever smelled before, but as soon as that smell hit my senses my chest hurt and my stomach churned. I looked back at the obituary on the desk and saw Mrs. Caller's smiling face, then looked up to see the words “do your homework” written on the whiteboard in neat handwriting and one of the markers uncapped on the little storage ledge thing. So I told her, okay, I would, but I had to leave. I felt sick, which has never happened in a situation like this before. I normally have a gut of steel but something about that sweet smell just shook me to my core. I hurriedly capped the marker, wiped off the whiteboard, and then rushed over and started to power down my equipment that I hardly even used. I have been chased, drowned, attacked, and so many worse, worse things than having empty chairs turned to face me, but my heart was thudding in my chest and my palms started to sweat. I needed to leave. The sweet smell still lingered and I couldn't stand it!
I packed up my equipment and just got out of there. As I made my way back towards the front door I knew I couldn't be seen by anyone like that, I couldn't stand the idea of anyone's eyes on me at that point. I ducked into the bathroom, I tucked myself into a stall. I put my box down on the floor and just sat on the toilet before I just... stared at my hands. My scarred, now nicked-with-glass fingers, the creases in my palms, the swirl of my fingertips. I just reminded myself that I was there. The sweet smell was replaced by the smell of cleaning supplies and other musty smells. While it wouldn't normally be a pleasant smell it was far better than whatever I had smelled previously. After a few deep breaths I finally stood up and started to prepare to leave. That was when my bathroom stall flew open to reveal... nobody. It was more like Mrs. Caller was telling me to skedaddle on home and get working on my homework. I don't know why I couldn't fully see her like the ghost set the Chronicle Inn, but I could surely feel her presence strongly enough.
I'll admit I got a little huffy with her. I told her it was rude to barge into a stall like that and I was getting ready. Considering I hadn't actually used the bathroom, I just grabbed my stuff and headed out. Thankfully I made it to the front entrance without really catching anyone's attention. I was actually even able to slip by the front door without anyone noticing me, or at least they didn't call out to me. I felt a little bad without saying goodbye to Anika, especially after only being there for like, what, an hour? But I just wanted to get home. And now I'm home. And what was my homework? Well I decided to look more into this Alice Caller. She had a husband who passed away not long before she did. The husband worked in town and apparently had some ties with the Enclosure. Not an employee, they don't really hire townsfolk. But seemingly a friend of a former employee. I did hours of digging after I got home and found a mention in a newspaper of him and a Dr. Severin Kelder. I don't know why that name stuck out to me, but it did. I don't know if I've seen it on a research file before, or what. But I'm going to look more into it when I have my work computer at the lab tomorrow. Maybe Mrs. Caller saw the Enclosure logo on my equipment or something? But why was that business card even there? This business card isn't even for a particular person. I mean, it has a phone number on it but no name. I don't recognize the number and when I looked through my roster of numbers it didn't match anything. So perhaps, it was an older, no longer used number? Also, Todd said that Mrs. Caller died like a hundred years ago. Well, if this business card from the Enclosure was there, then that's impossible. The Enclosure settled here in like the 1930s. I think Todd was just exaggerating. Also both Anika and the obituary said that she taught and then died in like the 80s, so, whatever. Not that that really matters.
I put the old Enclosure business card away in the back of one of my drawers. I don't want to look at it anymore than I have to, it reminds me of that sweet smell in the classroom and I hate it. I normally love sweets and sweet smelling things, but something about that particular smell, it… I don't know. It triggers flight or fight down to my very core. Even if I know logically that I'm safe. [shivers] Just thinking about it is sitting me on pins and needles. Oh gods, and I didn't even tell anyone about the broken glass. A janitor probably had to clean it up. Totally forgot. Now I feel like a jerk... should I send an apology? Should I call in the morning?
[tapping sounds] Oh, I hear you! But you're not coming in, not after last time! I don't want to have to replace my couch again. I told you to just please, please leave me alone. Why'd you even want in my place so bad? There's other houses for you to knock on! [takes a deep breath] They're just kids, Jared. They're just doing whatever it is that they do. There is no need to shout at them. They don't know better. Sorry! I'm gonna stop the research for tonight and get some rest, I've stayed up way too late and I think that the black-eyed children are drawn to my house due to the fact that my lights are still on. I'm gonna call Anika in the morning and see if I could come back Friday after school, have the place relatively to myself, examine a bit further. It also gives me time between now and then to do some more research. I know Todd wanted the files on his desk by the end of the week, but I could always go in Friday afternoon and drop off the files Saturday. Still at the end of the week, he never specified what day. So, till next time, I guess. This is Dr. Jared Hel, signing off.
OUTRO
Jar of Rebuke is written and produced by Casper Oliver, who is also the voice of Dr. Jared Hel. Dr. Todd Carmen is voiced by Conrad Miszuk. The intro is read by Vanessa Rosengrant, and credits are read by Ashley Craft, who has created the podcast official graphics. Music was created by Luke Menniss, spelled m-e-n-n-i-s-s, who you can find and support on Bandcamp, Spotify and Twitch. Find us on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter for updates. You can support us on Patreon or Podhero by following the links in our episode description. And special thanks to our patreon supporters Becky Thompson, Perry Bruns, Tristan Fraud, Nico Allen and Devin Wright.
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ABRUPT
My second “first meet” AU of SOBBE. Please enjoy❤️❤️❤️
“Happy birthday to me... happy birthday to me... happy birthday dear Robbe... happy birthday to me...”
A lonely brunette hair guy blows the candle on his birthday cake—well, it’s not actually a cake but a single chocolate cupcake he bought earlier after walking from the morning shift at the mini market. Today is his 20th birthday and Robbe IJzermans is celebrating alone, again. His friends back home and his parents are congratulating him, of course, but it doesn’t feel the same when they’re all together.
Robbe is an exchanged student from Belgium and been studying at University of Central Florida (UCF) for two years now. Time goes too fast, and there isn’t a single moment passed without him missing home and everything.
It’s only eight in the morning. Even though, his body is tired but his mind is restless. Robbe’s already know this kind of situation. There won’t be any use if he’s trying to get some sleep. So instead, after eating his cupcake, he grabs the jacket, backpack and leave his humble flat—suddenly have this idea of going to the theme park and treat himself there.
———————————
It takes more than two hours by train from his flat to Universal Studios, and when he’s finally get there, he whispers to the air, “home!” and smiles to himself as his feet enters the theme park.
Robbe ALWAYS love the theme park, any kind of it; probably the second favorite place in the world besides the local caffe near the college. His inner child screams in utter joy whenever he sees rides such as roller coaster, haunted house—basically, everything.
Wizarding World of Harry Potter is the place where he can NEVER EVER get bored. So many things to do, too many things to buy, but he always saves the rides for later. For now, he just needs to take a walk for a bit to clears his mind. Not many people comes at this hour, so it’s a good thing.
After buying a cold butterbeer, Robbe’s first plan is to see the castle and takes a selfie (if he brave enough).
“Ah, what a beauty!” Robbe says while admiring the Hogwarts Castle from afar. He knows he’s a Hufflepuff through and through but would it be so much more amazing if this school actually exists in real life? A guy can dream.
When he’s satisfy enough looking at the magical castle, Robbe continue his walking to the ice cream parlour. When he’s almost there, for the tenth time since he got there, Robbe stumbles over his own feet and.... he accidentally trips his drink over someone’s t-shirt and also knocks down theirs.
“SHIT SHIT SHIT! I AM SO SORRY! SO SORRY!” He panicks without looking at the person. “I DON’T HAVE TISSUE! SO SO SO SORRY! I STUMBLED OVER MY FEET! YOUR DRINK IS FELL TOO! I’M SO STUPID! SORRY SORRY SORRY! I WILL—“
“Dude, stop!”
Robbe’s body freeze for couple seconds after he looks up and sees a guy around his age, wearing black everything but his bleached hair is making a beautiful contrast to the appearance. This guy’s looking... handsome? Devilishly handsome? In a way; and he’s looking rather pissed.
I’m dead, Robbe thought.
“I’m so sorry. I accidentally—“
“Yeah yeah, I heard you before. You accidentally stumbled over your feet, I know. I’m not deaf. But now what’re you gonna do to fix this? This clothes is expensive. Can you buy me another one?”
Robbe is super embarrassed right now. Cursed his feet and his too-clumsy nature!
“Look, I can make everything’s right again, okay?” He finally manage to find his voice and courage. “I can wash your t-shirt, even your jeans and buy you another drink. But please, forgive me! I’m sorry!”
Not long after, the bleached hair guy snorts and laughs loud; he’s too loud, almost everyone looking at them now.
“OH MY GOD, YOU SHOULD SEE YOUR FACE! YOU LOOK TERRIFIED. SMILE A LITTLE, DUDE! IT WAS JUST A JOKE!”
“W-what?” Robbe asks, genuinely confused.
“This fucking t-shirt isn’t expensive,” the bleached hair guy says after he finally manages to calm himself from laughter. “In fact, I wanted to burn it.”
“But why? It’s nice.”
“Nope, you should buy me a cup of stracciatella ice cream then I’ll talk.”
Robbe can’t believe this weird guy; a total stranger, a little bit bossy but also exciting at the same time can stunned him easily. Feels like there’s an invisible sign above his head that speaks “DANGER!” but to hell with this—it’s still his birthday and no danger will be happened at the theme park, as far as he knows.
“Yeah, okay.” Robbe says as he follows the handsome stranger to the ice cream parlour.
Robbe almost trips when the bleached guy abruptly dead-stop in front of him.
“What is it?”
“Almost forgot,” he says, as he turns around and offers his hand. “Sander, 22, Juilliard student.”
Robbe takes Sander’s hand. It feels warm and strong in his, “Robbe, 20, exchanged student at University of Central Florida.”
Sander smirks, letting go the handshake, “cool. Come on, then!”
After they buy some ice creams and eat them on the spot, both agree to ride a Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey after this.
While they walking side by side, Robbe says, “now that I’m finally bought you an ice cream, mind to tell why you wanted to burn your clothes?”
Sander doesn’t answer for a minute or two. But when they walking pass the souvenir shop and Robbe’s being a little distracted by the wizard hat in the window, Sander says.
“Because my girlfriend gave it to me,” then he adds. “Well, an ex now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be,” Sander shakes his head. His voice is surprisingly calm and playful still. “She was cheating on me. Here, at this very park.”
“ARE YOU FOR REAL?!” Robbe absentmindedly yell but quickly compose himself. “I mean, what? Here? That’s not possible!”
“But it IS possible, Robbe.”
“I’m sorry...”
“Stop saying that!” Sander giggles. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad I could finally get rid of her!”
“Can we... can we just sit somewhere and talk?”
Robbe doesn’t know where he gets the idea but one thing for sure, he also have the need to pour his heart out too to this guy. They may just know each other less than 2 hours, but... don’t know, but Robbe’s already trust Sander; something that never happen with anybody else, ever. And mostly, he feels that Sander need someone to talk to, even though his exterior speak otherwise.
“Because it’s you, I’ll do it.”
Wait, what? What does it mean because it’s me? Robbe thought, feeling bewildered but doesn’t mind.
“Before I continue,” Sander says after they finally sit at the cafetaria. It’s so crowded now, that they have to wait for almost 15 minutes to get a seat. “Do you think I’m a bad person for saying those things?”
“About?”
“That I’m happy for getting rid of her.”
Robbe shakes his head and smiling softly, “not at all. I swear.”
“Okay, then,” Sander sighs in relief. “We’ve been together for nearly a year now. Ups and downs, of course. But never in my life, even for a second that I thought she’d cheated on me,” he sips his iced-tea before continuing. “Like I said before, I’m a Juilliard student, that’s in New York and she’s in USF, which means we had a long distance relationship. You can still keep up, right?”
Robbe nods, not saying anything.
“Long story short, I just got here yesterday and we’re supposed to have fun today blablabla... then when I came back from the restroom, she was supposed to wait for me near the giant globe but she was nowhere to be seen. Was looking for her for nearly half an hour when I accidentally saw her french-kissed this asshole near the haunted house. Well, I took a pic of them, sent her that and said ‘wow! A public porn!’. She still had the audacity to sent “I CAN EXPLAIN, OK?!” but I blocked her number after that. The end. Happily ever after.”
“Wow...”
Sander gives him a mocking snorts, “that’s it? Just wow? What’s wow about that?”
“Um, sorry. No, of course it’s not a wow. Not that kind of wow. It’s just,” Robbe takes a deep breath to calm himself. Damn this nervousness! “I can’t believe someone actually did that. Cheating and everything.”
Sander lets a huff and rolls his eyes, “but some people could. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”
Robbe is a bit perplexed by the sudden change of topic, “me?”
Sander smirks while pierce his stares at him, “only you.”
Why does everything he said does something weird to my heart and stomach??? Robbe thought with annoyance.
“What do you wanna know, then? Ask away!”
“Why are you here alone?”
“Because I want to.”
“Give me a better answer, Robbe.” Sander mocks.
Robbe gulps. He plays his thumbs as self-assurance that what he’s going to say next isn’t that embarrassing.
“Well, today’s actually my birthday and I’m celebrating alone for 2 years now. I’m from Belgium, by the way. I always miss it and my friends.”
Looks like there’s only single information that Sander catch because he says “happy birthday” without making any comment about other things.
After saying that, he smiles as his hand ruffling Robbe’s hair. This gesture make Robbe’s heart beats even faster than before. But it’s only a friendly gesture, right? Like what big brother usually do to his little brother? Or as a friend. Right? No matter what is, he likes it too much to care.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Robbe laughs at this, “no.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No but I’d love to.”
Sander’s green eyes widen, “so, you’re a...”
“Gay, yep!”
“Good for you,” Sander grins. “But did you realise that you just come out to a stranger?”
“You’re not a stranger anymore,” Robbe mumbles shyly as he holds his glass tighter. “I trust you, Sander.”
Both are silent for few minutes before Sander taking off a necklace around his neck and place in Robbe’s palm. It’s a gold necklace with a mini violin as the pendant.
“Yes?” Robbe asks, utterly confused. His brain’s momentarily has stopped working when their hands touch once again, but this time they linger.
“This is your present.”
“For what?”
“For your birthday, dummy!” Sander says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“No, Sander. I can’t! This is too expensive!” Robbe yelps but the bleached hair guy holds his hand even tighter.
“I need you to keep it!” He demands, “my mom gave it to me for my 4th birthday. It’s for a good luck and now it’s yours.”
“But—”
“I gave it to you, okay? Keep it,” Sander cuts him. “Or if you still insist, give it back to me when we meet again next time.”
“What?”
“I’m having a solo concert at Juilliard in two months. Would you be there?”
At this point, Robbe can never say no to him. Probably ever. He doesn’t know the reason why, but he’s certain that this sudden friendship will turn into something more. Hopefully. God, is he already whipped for someone he just met today?
“Are you gonna play a violin?”
“Yes,” Sander beams. “So? Would you?���
“I’d love to.”
“You promise?”
It’s true that they just met, it’s true that both doesn’t know each other that well yet, it’s true that this is quite abrupt but who would’ve thought, behind Sander’s devil-may-cry attitude, there’s an innocent and child-like insecurity? And Robbe is more than happy to get to know more about this special person.
This time, Robbe place his hand on top of Sander’s hand and whisper gently, “I promise.”
He isn’t sure how it’s gonna be, where it’s gonna lead but just them being like this—it’s more than enough. It left unsaid, but both already understand.
And that’s all that really matters.
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LOST TIME (part 1 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.
Return to the Master Story Index
Return to Flocking Bay
LOST TIME
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
5556 words
© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck
written 2003
All rights reserved.
Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.
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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.
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It stands out even in the dark ... It shouldn’t. It’s just a house. A damned old house. Not even that old really, not for New England. It’s a two story salt-box style with an observation deck under a cupola at the peak. It is probably just the setting. Rusty old iron fence, gnarled elderly trees, unkempt lawn not quite out of control, windows that the neighborhood kids haven’t broken. It should be a witch’s house but it isn’t. It is mine. I just closed on it yesterday.
The kids are going to have a field day this time. I don’t like the daylight... been on night shift as far back as I can remember. That’s a longish way back. But I’m not a witch, nor vampire. Nothing exotic that I know of. I’m just one of those people (you probably know one or two) who don’t show their age. If you envy me, think again. YOU try to explain to a traffic cop why your ID has you pegged for seventy+ and you don’t look over twenty. I carry a copy of my fingerprint record from the military, because they can check that.
Funny part of it is, I really don’t have the slightest idea how old I am. Traumatic amnesia the doctors called it, during the war. The head wound was minor, they said.
That is a matter of opinion. It robbed me of my past, my name, my identity, my loves and hates but left my skills intact. I was an empty shell. I am still trying to find my past.
The name that I use comes from more or less modern myth. Vandervekken. The Flying Dutchman. Wandering Dutchman would be more accurate. He sails the seas off the Cape of Good Hope until Judgment Day. He can’t find his home either. I bought the house because it is the first place that I have seen in over fifty years where I want to stay. You explain it.
The rusty gate opened silently, thanks to the bit of oil that I put on the hinges. Going up the uneven walk, between the looming trees is an experience. The door lock is old-fashioned but still works smoothly. Covered furniture could have made ghosts to haunt the place, if I were superstitious or given to being easily frightened.
As I said, I like the night. I even enjoy things with a bit of a spooky atmosphere. I also like antiques and handcrafted things which is why, if I ever find out who did it, I will cheerfully throttle whatever philistine covered the finely inlaid hardwood parquetry floors with battleship gray paint.
Stripping and refinishing those floors was on my priority job list. Actually, I shouldn’t beef too much. Pointing out the problem got me a price reduction of nearly $2000 on an already underpriced house with all of its furniture as part of the deal. Estates can be wonderful when you are on a tight budget. Too bad that someone else had to die to create my good fortune.
As I pulled the dust covers from the furniture, I saw that my good fortune was been complete. It was all sturdy, hand-carved hardwood with Chinese silk brocade upholstery. The furniture alone was worth what I had paid for the house and contents. The tops of even the smallest hall tables were inlaid with rich veneers, ivory and mother of pearl. You couldn’t buy furniture like this any more. Besides the cost, the ivory in the inlays is no longer legal to obtain. I could get as much from the sale of just one or two pieces as I could from a year of writing if I could bring myself to part with any of this treasure. It just feels like the house would not be complete without it.
Whoever it was that had died and left this for me to have has whatever blessings it is in my power to bestow. The only wonder is that this place stayed on the market long enough for me to find it. Usually, deals like this get snapped up by the real-estate brokers before people like me ever see them.
When I got to the kitchen, I received another little jolt. I knew that it was fairly up to date, but some thoughtful soul had stocked the fridge and set out a bit of a snack for me. Just cookies and a glass for the milk, which was staying cold in the cooler. Thoughtful. I wondered who did it.
While munching on the cookies, I opened a few windows to air the place out a bit. Going out to my car, I saw that the flags of the walk needed leveling because of the weeds that grew up between them. I drove around to the alley behind the place, opened the garage and parked Lilitu, my classic pre-war Packard touring car. She looked right at home in there. Few, even of modern garages were big enough for her. I ferried my few personal goods up to the house. On my last trip, I saw a couple of wide-eyed kids looking over the back fence.
“Told ya, told ya so!” one of them chanted. “There’s somebody sneakin’ inta the ol’ Vekin place!”
“I wouldn’t call it sneaking, to move into your own place,” I answered as civilly as I could manage. “I just bought it. Why do you call it the Vekin place?”
“If ya ain’t sneakin’, why ya goin’ in the back way? An’ after dark, too?” she shot back. I could now see that they were a girl and a boy. She was obviously in charge.
“I like nights. I’m a writer, so I can keep any hours I like. Why is it the Vekin place?” I asked again.
“Dun’no - Crazy guy named Vekin used to live there,” she contradicted herself.
“Lot of folks tried to buy the place since then,” the boy piped in.
“But nobody ever stays,” the girl finished for him firmly.
“So, this is the neighborhood’s haunted house?” I inquired jovially.
“No,” was as far as the boy got.
“Its down the street, on t’other side,” she cut in.
“I looked at that one,” I said thoughtfully. “The old Victorian. Somebody’s broken out all the windows. Not like here. If the Vekin house is so bad, why hasn’t some kid chucked rocks at it?”
“‘Cause we’re not THAT crazy!” exclaimed The boy, getting out a whole thought. The girl gave him a push, and they ran off into the night.
I got up about noon, after the most restful night’s sleep that I’d had since the War. After my breakfast and a quiet tour of the place from attic to basement, I went out. My goal was the local newspaper. THE FLOCKING BAY VOICE was sprawled across the plate glass window in Old English style letters of gold leaf and black. Smaller letters proclaimed Est. 1841. I pushed open the door. My nose was assaulted by the multiple odors of printer’s ink, paper and grease. The VOICE occupied one large room. An elderly web press crouched at the back of the space, behind several rolls of newsprint. Cubicles made offices in the middle of the room. An old oak counter that had once seen duty as a bar had several signs suspended over it on thin chains. They read ‘submissions’, ‘advertisements’, ‘subscriptions’, ‘billing’.
There was a bell on the counter. Some wag had put a sign on it, “Please ring bell, it won’t help but it will give you something to do.” I gave myself something to do, energetically, a few times.
A trim little blond lady answered the bell’s summons. She wore a green eyeshade and a pin on her sweater announced, ‘Lois Martin - cook, bottle washer & EDITOR in CHIEF.’ “What can I do for you, today?” she asked.
“I came to see what I can find out about the Vekin place,” I answered, trying not to stare at her.
“Just a moment, I’ll get the file out of the morgue. I was going to get it anyway. Somebody went and bought the place again.”
“Wait a minute,” I protested. “Someone buys a house and that makes news in Flocking Bay? This town must be even quieter than it looks.”
“Oh,” she retorted, “it can get downright interesting around here when the old Vekin place sells. You’ll see.” She disappeared among the cubicles and I heard her feet clattering down a flight of stairs. I heard a file drawer creak and slide, then slam shut. It wasn’t long before she reappeared, a rather fat file clutched in her hand.
“If you’d like, we can have lunch over at Mike’s Soda Shop,” she proposed. “He makes decent submarine sandwiches and real ice-cream sodas.”
“Well ... ” I pretended to hesitate, “I haven’t been invited out by a beautiful blond in a long time, so, yes.”
“I hope that I haven’t just made a fool of myself,” she remarked, laying aside the eyeshade. “You are Mr. Vandervekken aren’t you? The man who just bought the place?”
“Too true,” I said.
“Then I’ll make it an interview and deduct it from my taxes,” she smiled.
“You make enough to pay taxes?” I asked, looking back as we crossed the street.
“I have hidden assets. The paper is a tax shelter.” She opened the door of Mike’s and ushered me in.
As I was seating her, I just couldn’t help blurting out, “Your assets seem to be pretty obvious.”
She grinned, “Go ahead and stare. I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t wear a snug sweater and put my pin just here.” She pointed, then added, “Looking at it will keep you off your guard while I ask my questions.”
“OK, Ms. Martin, but let me look at the file first. You can order for me. You know the food here,” I said, reaching for the file.
“Lois,” she replied, “call me Lois, everyone else does.” Then she hollered to the man behind the counter, “Oh, Mike! Two butterscotch sodas and a big turkey sub! Divide it in half!”
“How did you know that I liked butterscotch?” I asked. “It’s not that common a preference these days.”
“I just had a hunch, that’s all. You looked like another butterscotch type person.”
I was leafing through the file on the rather beat-up table while we waited. I couldn’t resist snorting with amusement at the name of the house’s builder. Capt. Von Der Vekin. The house had been built in 1894 by the Capt. and his elusive son, Charles. Nobody had ever seen Charles until he came into town, on April 1st, 1900, to report his father’s demise and burial on the property. He ordered a headstone hewn of the local limestone. Charles had returned from WW I with honors and lived quietly, claiming to be a writer, though nobody ever saw any of his work in print. When asked, all that he would say was ‘Pseudonyms are great for privacy’. He was not so lucky when he volunteered to assist the French resistance in 1939. He never came home.
Next==>
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beauty and the beast - hwang hyunjin
♛➩ genre: fluff, angst
♛➩ pairing: fem!reader x hyunjin
♛➩ warnings: cursing and mentions of death
♛➩ summary: there were tales of a prince so beautiful, so handsome that even the gods would bend to his will; he was said to live alone in a castle by the lake, rumored to have killed his parents to earn aphrodite’s blessing. you are but a poor villager who strayed too far from the path home, lost in a haunted forest - until a certain, mysterious boy rescues you.
♛➩ word count: 9.4k
“Father, please stop trying to fix what is already broken.”
“Y/N my dear, just about anything can be fixed if the right tools are used!” The plump, graying man chortled in a burst of usual optimism. His hands, covered in calluses from years upon years of laboring away in the tiny workshop off the back of the house, were holding a hammer and nail respectively. Back hunched over the edge of the creaking desk that was littered with tools and dust, the man aimed the head of the hammer and slammed down on the shiny silver nail, forcing it to dig into the bracket of the door he was trying to fix up - for the third time that same cold season.
Usually you would try to help your hardworking father, but ever since you had finally hit the ripe age of eighteen, he would insist that you save your “delicate” hands for less laboring jobs; like knitting, or perhaps sewing hats. Most of the other girls and women did the same, though there were a handful who worked more tiring jobs.
You would have given anything to be like them - to wake up early in the morning to get dressed for a long day of working at the local mill, maybe even the more populated woodworking shop in the heart of the village. Whenever you passed such a woman on the streets, you would occasionally admire how toned their muscles were, how simply powerful they looked wearing a traditional yellow or baby blue dress whilst they made their way to work.
You were not as lucky as them, though; you weren’t too toned nor built due to staying indoors a majority of the time, either reading or baking to your heart’s content. Before you had turned eighteen, you would pop into the quaint workshop resting off the other side of the kitchen area, munching on a freshly baked muffin or cookie; then, you would get to work on melting materials or handing off tools to your father while he continued to work.
The day you’d turned eighteen, your father had made sure not to put you in any possible situation that involved, well, anything remotely difficult or potentially damaging. When a girl came of age in your country, it was tradition that they halt any and all activities (namely ones that would dirty their skin or crack their nails) until they married. You were, of course, now put into that circle until you got married, but truth be told you didn’t plan on doing so any time soon.
That isn’t to say your father was a terrible man who believed in the system, but he was more than aware of your family’s low status in the village. After all, you still wore your late mother’s hand me downs from when she was your age, and it had been years since you had the proper luxury of being able to shop for your own clothes. You were tempted to sew or knit your own, but at the end of the day, you knew that it was better to sell the crafted dresses and skirts for a bit more money.
If you were to marry, he wanted you to be as pristine and beautiful as you always were in his eyes; this meant no hard labor and more time for you to have just about nothing at all to do some days. On such days you would either watch your father, or you would venture out into the village with a friend. Said friend would constantly point out richer looking men that the two of you came across, hinting that perhaps they might fall for you and, in turn, provide a better life for you and your father.
You found that mighty ridiculous, to say the least. “Right, just like your tools helped you fix the same exact door not even two weeks ago.” The words seemed to slip out of your mouth more naturally than your father would have liked, since he heard from around the bar that most wealthy men preferred women who were soft spoken or didn’t speak their mind at all.
Not that he agreed with any of that particular nonsense, why - he preferred you just the way you were; although it did mean he was the victim of your somewhat blunt undertone more often than not.
“Aye, my sweet little dove,” he hummed in a jolly tune, still pounding away at the hinges of the rickety door, “this damned door was fixed not once, but twice before! Door be damned, I’ll be able to fix it by the time the moon rises over the castle on the hill.”
“Yes, door be damned,” you said in amusement, chuckling to yourself as you turned and began to head towards the front door, tattered bag slung over your shoulder, filled to the brim with hand-made clothes made to be sold at the marketplace, “I’ll be home in time to make supper, father. Have a nice day!”
“You need to stop with the cursing, Y/N!”
But you couldn’t hear him, having already shut the door behind your figure in favor of leaving the shack that you called home. Your home rested on the edge of the village, not too far out to be considered an outlier, but it was enough to convince the other villagers that you were only at the rear end of society; more so than you could have ever imagined before.
By the time you had reached the marketplace, you had heard just about every insult known to man thrown your way.
Bitch.
Lowlife whore.
Forgotten trash.
Considering you had heard all of these names before, you could only hope that the minuscule brains of your harassers were able to conjure up better insults next time you came into town.
There was only one empty stall left for the taking, thankfully enough, though by the time you’d walked over you realized why no one had used it. Or rather, who had made sure no one else claimed it.
“Good morning, Jisung.” You smiled in greeting to the slightly taller boy, who grinned in a maddening joy upon seeing you set your bag of clothes onto the stall he had so diligently protected the past hour while he had waited for your arrival. “Thank you, for saving this stall.”
“Ah, it’s no problem at all, Y/N!” The blonde beamed in delight, “Today is Friday, and Friday is our day.”
You started to lay out a dress over the edge of the wooden stall, just under the hood of the balcony draped over with a purple linen cloth so the harsh sunlight wouldn’t make the dress too hot in case someone bought it and decided to slip it on in the inn just a few feet away. “I know, I know! We might as well just open up a booth together and split the profits at this rate.”
“One day, my dear friend; one day we’ll earn enough coin to build our own shop from the ground up, then we can run it together and become filthy rich!” He insisted loudly, a soft laugh threatening to escape your lips when a couple of girls flinched at his booming voice.
“Well, I’m afraid that I might be missing a few days of selling,” you hummed casually, catching how the blonde’s eyebrows quirked in curiosity at your words, “I am going to close my booth early today so I can go out and... look for a proper job.”
Your companion chokes on his breath, which had visibly hitched in his throat upon hearing your mini-declaration. “Y/N, n-no offense, but you aren’t exactly the blacksmith kind of material. And I don’t think any of the other shop owners are hiring - women... sorry.” He reminded you gently, his pink lips curling into a hint of a sympathetic frown. Both of you knew that women were still looked down on in the local villages and towns, though there had been talk of a movement in the more northern sanctums of the country.
Unless you were as fit and strong as can be, it was rather difficult to find a steady job in your village as a woman. Blacksmiths were always looking for hardworking men and women to help them forge weapons for the war effort to the eastern coast, but any other establishment was focused on saving money in case said war reached far enough into the countryside to force anyone to flee; because of this, a handful of workers had been fired and many more had been rejected of work so that the owners wouldn’t have to use their money on their efforts.
“I’ll find someone to hire me, Ji!” You insisted, “who knows, maybe there’s a couple who might need a midwife, or there could even be a tailor who needs an extra hand.” Your optimism is bright and burning, which you hoped would help you get through the day ahead of you, especially considering you figured you would face a handful of rejections before you found what you sought out.
————————————————————————
You certainly hadn’t been anticipating so many rejections, at least, not at the amount that had hit you in the face full force. Bakeries refused to even give you a chance, using excuses that were along the lines of them not needing any new workers; even if it was one that you knew was going into debt due to the lack of bakers. Any blacksmith was out of the question as well, you simply lacked the manpower to properly work a smithy or carry loads of iron bars. Why - you even tried the newspaper stand at the other end of town, but the boy working there at the time, Felix, could only offer you a sympathetic frown as he informed you that his boss couldn’t afford to pay another worker.
Luck had clearly not been on your side that day, or the next day - or the following five days after that. An entire, unsatisfactory week had passed, leaving you with a semi-permanent frown gracing your chapped lips as you once again made the long track home from your stall at the town marketplace.
The moon, cut into a soft crescent, glowed dimly down onto the path of pebbles and dirt you walked upon, occasionally kicking a gray stone aside to quench your everlasting boredom. Yet another uneventful day had passed, the only payment in the depths of your bag being a matching pair of copper coins, which had been given to you by a soldier as he bought a pale yellow dress for his wife back home.
He had said that his name was Minho, that he was a soldier for the country’s army. The raven haired man had also mentioned that his pregnant wife was practically all alone back home on the countryside, her only real company being her younger brother, a boy named Jeongin, who was already busy tending to the farm most days to ever take her out. When he had told you that she was more than likely going to give birth while he was fighting in the war, you had felt a surge of empathy rush through your veins. You offered him a lower price than you would have given to any regular customer, telling him to give it to her as a gift when he got home to his wife and baby.
Curse you for being so empathetic! A measly two copper coins would barely be enough to purchase a loaf of warm bread; you figured that you would have to make due with a bit of flour instead so you could bake the bread yourself, and then you would likely use the rest of your money to buy fresh carrots to prepare a broth...
In the midst of your brooding, you failed to notice that you had slightly strayed off the path to your home on the edge of town; in fact, the crescent shaped moon had thoroughly been blocked out by the canopy of haunting trees that stood proud and tall, how you didn't realize that you had stumbled into the blanketed forest leading towards a hillside, you would never know.
Only when a twig snapped nearby were you brought out of your hefty daze, your gaze shooting upwards from the ground to take in the sudden new scenery around you. The air had become chillier, more menacing than before when you were out in the open and exposed to the elements. Now, lanky tree roots dotted the less populated path and dense shrubbery popped out of seemingly nowhere.
Before the utter panic of being lost, or at least in a new territory where it was totally unknown to you, could settle in, a puff of cold air brushed past the side of your head. “Are you... lost?”
You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice, twisting and turning your body to feel less - vulnerable, so to speak, your chest heaving as you attempt to quickly regain your breath. The man - no, boy, now in front of you radiated a strange sort of aura, his hair as dark as the night sky and his skin as clear as any pool of water.
“W-who are you?” You manage to stutter on your words in pure nervousness, feeling all too small compared to the tall stranger a few feet away.
The boy appears to be at a loss for words, his lithe fingers twiddling with the cuffs of his oddly fancy, lavender button-up shirt. You give him a hasty once-over to size up his character while he hesitates to speak up, taking note of how his black dress pants and shiny brown shoes stood out from the familiar common rabble in the town. Putting yourself in his shoes would be an unfamiliar experience, due to your tattered, raggedy cloths, which seemed incredibly inferior to his almost noble attire.
“I’m Hyunjin, I live in - in the castle on the hill,” he finally replies to your question, his voice cracking as if he hadn’t spoken in centuries, “I don’t mean to intrude, but you seem a bit... lost. It’s dangerous for anyone to be out this late in the forest, you know.”
The only forest you knew of anywhere close to town was Cupid’s Forest, said to be seething with the rage of spirits who hadn’t been granted access to neither the underworld or the gates of Olympus. Since Cupid itself had originally been resurrected in the forest of spruce and pine trees, it had been dubbed of his name; but that legend was not what brought the area fame - or rather, mystery.
There was apparently a “lost prince” who resided in a lone castle on the single hill overlooking both Cupid’s Forest and Echo’s Lake, rumored to be a monster who had sacrificed everything he had to the goddess Aphrodite just to gain her blessing-
Oh.
“Y-you’re the pr-prince,” you breathe out in a stunning realization, eyes widening all at once. You watch carefully as Hyunjin’s muscles tense under his clothes, the boy clearly troubled at how you’d addressed him.
He tried to close some of the gaping distance between your bodies, both of you tense and mildly unnerved from the odd interaction so far. “Please, come to my castle - just for tonight,” Hyunjin pleads with you, stiffening even more than before at the chilling sound of a howl in the distance; it was not the howl of any beast he knew, rather it was the harrowing call of a spirit waking from its slumber at the presence of mortals in its forest, “if you wish to live, you must trust me, please.”
Damn it - damn it all. How could you have possibly roped yourself into such a situation?
“Lead the way.”
————————————————————————
Hyunjin had hastily led you to his home - his castle, for god’s sake, in record time. The second he slammed the front doors shut (which were a good eight to nine feet tall, something you didn't quite understand) both of you were subject to listening to the furious spirits pounding on the dark wood, their aged moaning and groaning akin to someone raking their nails down a chalkboard.
Even as the two of you hunch over to try and catch your breath, exhausted from the run through the periling forest, you can’t help but lift your head to scan your surroundings; after all, you were still technically in the home of a complete and utter stranger - no matter how handsome or kind he appeared to be, you had done well to remind yourself of the unsettling rumors that aged with his castle, his very existence.
Bright candles burned to give flickers of light inside the cobblestone structure, some of them engraved with odd details that nearly resembled a human face - though you assumed you were imagining that aspect of the décor, even if it did carry onto a particular bookshelf and an antique tea set.
In the center of his castle were two grand spiral staircases, blooming with vines and pink flowers that dwindled from the ceiling and entangled with the gold spindles that traced the outline of the white painted stairs. Craning your neck to get a better look at the dazzling staircase and the chandelier that hung above it, you spotted what looked to be a rounded, glass case of sorts at the very top of the stairs. You couldn’t quite make out whatever was inside the case, though you could see the tint of red and green that mingled together in the transparent glass.
“Miss,” the owner of the looming, mysterious castle uttered softly, catching your attention. You bring yourself out of your second daze of the night to glance over to Hyunjin, curiosity bubbling through your veins. Despite the nasty rumors you had heard on more than one occasion, the so-called prince had welcomed you into his lonesome home and saved you from the spirits outside in the haunted forest, why, even his voice was softer and kinder than you expected it to be. “I can take you to one of the guest rooms for now, if you like. I’m afraid there isn’t any food prepared, since I wasn't quite expecting a guest tonight - or... ever, actually.”
Your stomach rumbled hungrily at the mention of food, or lack thereof, but you didn’t feel the need to pry for a meal; not when Hyunjin had let you into his home. “That’s alright, I’m not too hungry anyway,” you lie easily, “but I am awfully tired.”
“R-right... well then, follow me.” He ushers out quietly, turning his backside to you so he can lead you through his enormous castle. You silently follow behind his figure, eyes flickering all about the cobblestone walls decorated with paintings and other knick-knacks that seemed somewhat out of place - even inside a castle belonging to a prince.
Instead of hanging paintings of his family, there are portraits of wildlife creatures that were either said to be myths, or they were known to be so dangerous that no one dared to go into their lands. From the likes of a dark coated Cerberus to the golden maned lion, it seemed as if Hyunjin had a taste for collecting paintings only of menacing beasts.
There were also out-of-place items that piqued your interest, such as the silver lined mirror that radiated a desire for you to take a peek at your reflection, although you ultimately decided not to in favor of keeping a steady pace behind the boy walking ahead. All across the walls were different symbols representing doves: including a painting, a wreath hung above an archway, and a statue depicting a trio of white doves circling a fountain of sorts.
How... strange.
So caught up in your observations of the grand castle, you hadn’t even noticed that the boy had began to lead you up one of the spiral staircases; at least, not until you tripped on one of the ledges, a squeak of surprise escaping your lips as your body begins to fall forward.
But you never hit the stairs. A pair of arms catch you just in time, slowly wrapping around your back to help lift you back up on your own two feet. Breathing a bit heavily from your awkward stumble, you manage to lift your head, quickly (and unexpectedly) met the gentle brown gaze of Hyunjin.
Hands still wrapped around your waist, fingers trailing along the ragged cloths that hung over your body, the boy’s pink lips parted in question. “Are you alright?”
“I - I’m fine, thanks to you.” You breathe out with the most minor of blushes, flustered by the immensely close proximity between your bodies. He smiles awkwardly at your thanking him, his own melanin cheeks showing a hint of red. When another few seconds pass in complete silence, both of you realize the little distance in the space between your bodies, and Hyunjin hastily lets go of your waist while you cough to break the almost perplexing sound of nothing.
Not another word is spoken in the time that he continues to lead you to one of the guest rooms in the castle, the sickly sweet silence deafening compared to the unabashed quietness echoing in the halls. Eventually you reach the end of one of the various hallways, Hyunjin opening the lone door that creaked open with a loud screech.
“Sorry about t-the cobwebs and stains, like I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t really expecting any sort of company.” He apologizes again, scratching the back of his neck while you step forward and take in the atmosphere of the bedroom.
Thankfully there aren’t any paintings of beasts or anything of that nature, since you figured that the haunting images on the canvas would likely gift you with nightmares of being hunted by the wild animals. Nestled in the corner of the room was a bed bigger than you had ever seen - no, ever dreamt of. Pearl white sheets drifting over the sides of the plush mattress, those which were covered mostly by a large, pastel pink blanket. A trio of fluffy white pillows rested against the wooden headboard, just asking for you to plop onto the soft material and roll around in all its greatness - but you held yourself back.
The cobwebs, which mostly dangled around the edges of a tall bookcase, didn’t really bother you all that much; after all, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to spotting them in the corners of your home, no matter how often you would clean the crannies of the tiny hut. “It’s nothing I’m not used to, Hyunjin. Besides, the rest of the room outshines the occasional cobweb - it’s... beautiful.” You echo your thoughts aloud to the quiet boy, fully stepping into the bedroom.
“O-oh, that’s good,” Hyunjin murmurs in relief, sheepishly wringing his cold hands in front of him while he watched you, a beautiful stranger, ogle over the room he considered to be a mess of filth. It hadn’t been occupied in years, unfortunately, having once belonged to - a friend, yes... a friend. “Please, get some rest. You must be exhausted after walking through the forest.”
Gods, did he suspect that you were someone important, trekking through the haunted forest all alone? “Yes, thank... you. I am pretty tired, to be honest.” It wasn’t quite a lie, as your feet did ache from the walk that had originally gotten you lost, though you neglected to mention how you were just a peasant who had stupidly strayed from the simple pebble path. If he was truly a prince as everyone said, he might be so bold as to kick you out should he discover your identity... then again, the raven haired boy has only been kind to you.
Hyunjin nods, but upon realizing your back is turned and you can’t see his actions, he clears his throat and slowly starts to shut the bedroom door, the creaking catching your attention once more. “I will wake you in the morning, my lady. After breakfast I shall escort you back to the opening of the forest.” He informs you, accepting your little nod as response enough before he finally closes the door, leaving you all by your lonesome in the guest bedroom.
You hurriedly kick off your dirty shoes and throw yourself onto the plush double bed, laughs of disbelief pushing past your lips. You couldn’t believe you luck, being (technically) rescued by a prince and offered a room for just a night in his wonderous castle. On top of that, said prince was awfully welcoming and, to an extent, just like any normal boy; not counting the fact that he was extremely handsome.
Ah, no need to dwell on that now, you thought to yourself, tucking your body under the plush pink blanket and white sheets as your head nuzzled into the comfort of one of the stray pillows, sleep poking at your senses, I was just lucky, that’s all.
Just as your eyelids began to flutter shut, you see something move in the reflection of a standing ornate mirror by the bed. Blaming the strange vision on your exhaustion from the events of the day, you shrug it off and huddle closer in the pile of sheets and blankets to block out the sudden chill that swept over the bedroom, falling into a peaceful slumber.
————————————————————————
The next morning, you wake to find that you aren’t in the small, uncomfortable bed that was tucked into the most cramped room of your house. Instead, you come to the quick realization that you are still tucked into the seams of the bed in a guest room that belonged to Hyunjin, the considerate boy who had given you a place of shelter for the night.
You recall him promising to wake you himself, but he is nowhere to be seen. The only trace of him having been inside at all was a stack of clean clothes sat on top of the bedside table, which had previously been empty when you first fell asleep hours ago. Clearly he had meant for you to see the bundle... did he mean for you to wear them?
Sitting up from the bed, you latch onto the clothes and bring them into your lap, carefully inspecting the fine material and sewing that went into the cloth. The top was a cotton, green button-up that closely resembled the shirt Hyunjin had been wearing the night before, adorning the same fancy sort of cuffs and perfect handiwork. The accompanying trousers were made of a foreign, incredibly soft but protective material, dyed a tan color that closely resembled the delicate skin color of your friend, Jisung.
In no time at all you’ve slipped out of your rags for clothes, letting them drop to the floor with no care in the world before you tug the cleaner, nicer cloth onto your body, all the while hoping that you weren’t in need of a bath; to stink up his own clothes would be pretty rude, you thought.
You choose to head out of the bedroom and into the hallway, not daring to explore the depths of the castle without the owner in your presence. Recalling what twists and turns he had made to lead you to said bedroom the night before, you retrace your footsteps until you come to the two spiral staircases. In the center of the balcony, there laid a pedestal - the very one that let the glass dome you spotted before rest on its top. Now, you could make out the familiar shape of a single rose inside the clear dome, the prickly stem green with life and stuck into a mound of... air?
“By the gods...” you can’t help but snort in wonder, taking a tentative step closer to the encased rose, blinking many a time to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. The delicate plant was seemingly floating in midair, the blood red petals still attached to the bud.
Suddenly, a sensation of chills ran up your body, goosebumps trailing your covered arms. You look around the balcony, trying to see if perhaps a window had blown open and let in a cold chill, but you found that they were all shut tightly and covered by the burgundy curtains accented with gold entrails. When you look back to the rose, a single petal had already mysteriously fallen off, going to float in the empty space of the dome.
Shying away from the rose, you shake away the unsettling feeling stirring in your stomach and make your descent down the staircase. A delectable aroma wafts through the bottom of the staircase, tempted your hungry self to follow the scent in search of food; you hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, leaving you quite desperate for at least a snack.
The fascinating aroma leads you into what you suspect is the kitchen of the castle, stacks of fruits and vegetables tucked inside wooden crates, two stovetops nestled beside one another with lit fires brewing underneath them.
“Good morning,” the boy cooking his concoction greets you warmly, his back muscles moving with any twitch of his arms against the oddly tight gray shirt he donned. His black hair was messy and unkempt, though it only added to his charming, boyish appearance. “I apologize for not waking you earlier, my lady. I’m afraid that a blizzard blew through last night, covering the only path to the opening of the forest. If we try to trudge through the mounds of snow, we will surely get a bad case of frostbite or even hypothermia.” He explains as he cooks.
So that was why you kept experiencing sudden chills - he had to have a stray window open, you just didn't see it. “I don’t wish to die in the midst of a blizzard, so... I suppose I’m stuck here for a little while longer, then?” You hum quietly, not wanting to sound intruding as you point out the obvious. Hyunjin nods to himself at your observation while you make yourself comfortable at the dining table, admiring the chestnut color and plush seats.
“I’m afraid so - not to be rude, but may I know your name? Calling you my lady out of sheer politeness is beginning to sound somewhat redundant.” He questions you as he finishes cooking, placing the food he had made onto two separate plates before he brought them over to the dining table, setting one of them down in front of you. He sauntered over to the empty seat opposite of your own, munching on a slice of bread.
You look down at your own plate, nearly drooling at the uncommon scent of ham, fresh bread, and jam; commodities you weren’t able to enjoy on a daily basis. “No - you’re fine, Hyunjin. My name is Y/N.” You answer him, grabbing a fork and stabbing the ham so you can bring it up to your lips, munching on the meat with a quiet sigh of content.
He smiles to himself at your enjoyment, having grown accustomed to having practically the same meal every day for his own breakfast. “Y/N... such a pretty name,” Hyunjin can’t help but mutter, repeating your name like a mantra inside his damning thoughts. For some reason, putting a name to your face only made his heart race faster and faster in his chest, made his words knot together in his throat as he tried to continue the conversation. “H-how did you come into Cupid’s Forest, anyway, Y/N? Most people tend to avoid it because of the spirits, even if it is daytime.”
“Erm, well-” you hesitate to tell him the truth, engrossed with the elegant meal and the oddly caring aura that radiated from his curious figure. Would he be upset that a commoner had wandered inside his walls, his safe haven? “I was walking home, but I got distracted and sort of... stumbled into the forest... by accident?” The words you say come out more so as a question, as if you were silently praying for him to avoid asking you anything else.
Luck was not on your side, apparently.
“Is your home really so far from the main hub of the town? Why would you take such a long path in the middle of the night? Isn’t it dangerous-?”
“I’m a peasant, Hyunjin… I have no other choice.” You finally burst out to put a halt to his questions, your fingers gripping onto the handle of the fork while your eyelids squeeze shut in sheer embarrassment. Gods, you were wearing his clothes - his expensive, brilliant clothes! And here you were, admitting so clearly that you were but a peasant in his castle - you’d blown it.
“Oh... well... you must find a different path home, then.”
You cracked open an eye in confusion, peeping to see the boy in front of you still casually chewing on his breakfast. “W-what?”
“I don’t want you to accidently wander into the forest again, you might get hurt if I’m not there at the right time.” He insists with a furious blush, letting his unkept black hair dangle just in front of his eyes to hide how nervous he was. “... And, you can keep my clothes that you're wearing.”
The only thing you can utter out is a hushed, “thank you,” your own cheeks mimicking the beat red color that dusted his cheeks.
————————————————————————
The damned blizzard had lasted three days since then, meaning you had been gone from home just shy of a week, and even now the terrible weather showed little signs of letting up. They were not uncommon in such a cold season, of course, as you could recall experiencing shut-ins due to many a blizzard in your time. However, you could not once think back to an instance where the snowy storm had lasted for such a long period of time - that in itself worried you deeply.
Was your father alright, all alone in the hut you called a home? Would he be overworking himself to distract him from the thought of you being gone for so long?
Did Jisung make sure to shut all his windows as the storm hit? Was the blonde, passionate boy safe and eating well? After all, he couldn’t have known that you hadn’t made it home those days ago, not with how dangerous the weather conditions were outside.
What of the soldier who had bought one of your dresses? Would himself and his fellow soldiers bare the harsh, dropping temperatures in measly tents and spare scraps from a local inn? What of his pregnant wife and her younger brother - could the boy properly take care of them all alone?
“You’re thinking again, Y/N,” you’re ripped out of your thoughts by the boy next to you, the sleeves of his knitted, caramel brown sweater pushed all the way up to his elbows as he slaved away at the bottom pane of the giant window he was cleaning. On the third day of your stay in his castle, you finally caved and began to clean his dusty, dirt ridden home, and he had joined you in favor of being a gentleman... and to clean up his home, of course. “What’s on your mind?”
You pondered on how to answer Hyunjin’s question. It wasn’t invasive, no, but you tended to hesitate on the idea of your friends and family back in town; not that you didn’t care or worry for them, you simply didn’t care to dwindle on the idea of leaving the castle when the storm finally lifted. Should you elaborate on your worries aloud... perhaps it would bring that reality closer than you would like.
“I’m thinking about my father and friend, wondering if they’re safe in such a dangerous blizzard.” You admit with a hum, steadying yourself on the step of the ladder as you scrubbed away at the top window pane with a key diligence.
“I... I can’t promise that they will be alright, Y/N, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Worse has happened, surely a blizzard won’t put them in a vast amount of danger.”
“I think Jisung will be okay, but I worry for my father,” you explain with a sigh, unknowingly gripping onto the damp washcloth tighter and tighter the more you pondered the fate of the only family you had left. “He’s probably worried sick about me and is overworking himself since there’s no way he can possibly look for me with this weather. Not to mention w-we didn’t have a lot of food left in the pantry before I left that day - oh dear, he’s all alone!”
For some reason, the panic for your dear father only just begins to truly settle in. He wasn’t as young and healthy as some of the other men in your town, he would struggle to move the logs into the fireplace - oh, what if he couldn’t even start a decent fire? He would surely freeze! What of the food? Knowing him, he would be too busy fretting over your sudden disappearance and working to remember to eat enough to sustain himself-
“Y/N, love... come here.”
You unconsciously listen to the concerned boy stood beside the rickety ladder, reaching over to take his hand and walk yourself down back to the ground. Immediately he wraps his sweaty, toned arms around your waist, effectively pulling you into his warm chest. A wave of warmth floods your senses as he tries to comfort you as best as he possibly can, going as far as to gently press his palm to the back of your head and encourage you to rest into the crook of his neck.
“You have to relax, love,” Hyunjin says truthfully, slowly walking you over to one of the loveseats in the main living area, just outside of the dining room where you’d been cleaning moments ago. He sits back on the red cushions, carefully adjusting your body so you could fit on his lap; the close proximity made his heart do cartwheels like gymnasts in a circus, but he didn’t mind. All he wished for was to help you relax and calm down. “I... I’ll tell you a s-story, if you like. Maybe it can help you calm down.” He offers softly, glancing down and taking your slight nod against his neck as a yes.
“Hmm... once upon a time, there was a royal family from a far, far away land, where the sea was as blue as the skies and the beach stretched out from town to town. They were a happy little family of three, ruling over their promised land in content - until a nasty woman who claimed to be a goddess came down from the skies with a message. She said that their only child was too beautiful, too good for this mortal realm - that he didn’t deserve to be seen as he was by the people of their kingdom. The woman was jealous of the family, especially since they openly defied her very existence and those of her strange family,”
“So, she banished the three of them to a lone castle in a distant land, surrounded by vengeful ghosts and terrifying beasts who could tear them limb from limb if they wanted to. In her mind, she assumed that they would drop to their knees and beg her for her blessing, which in a way meant they would surrender to the very being that they had defied for so long. But she was terribly wrong - they stood by their beliefs, their morals, no matter what she did to them...”
He started to trail off, a lump growing in his throat. When you shifted in his hold, though, he quickly cleared his throat and continued.
“For months they would go into the nearby town and offer refuge to any who needed it, and by the sixth month of their stay at the castle, most of the rooms had been filled with thankful civilians; from nobles to peasants, all were welcome. Then, one night, their son was foolish enough to try and venture out of the castle in the middle of the night. He wandered into the forest all alone, seeking out a spirit - by his logic, he thought that he could help them move on to a better life, but he was wrong,”
“No, a spirit didn’t get ahold of him - a wild wolf did. It nipped at his legs, tearing the muscles from one of them so harshly that he would never be able to walk without a limp. The beast clawed at his face, ripping down a set of scars that wouldn’t heal properly, leaving him to look like a mangled mutt. One of the residents at the castle, a friend he called Seungmin, heard his cries all the way from inside his bedroom. He quickly brought out two other residents and somehow managed to rescue the prince, bringing him back home for his parents to see...”
“They recoiled, immediately swearing that the boy they had brought to them was not their son. They raged, stating vehemently that their son, a prince, was handsome and fit - the very opposite of the mangled boy at their feet. In a state of disbelief, they fled, never to be seen again. The goddess laughed at the prince’s misery at first, but grew furious when his friends insisted that looks didn’t matter, that he was still beautiful on the inside and on the outside. S-so... she cursed everyone living with the prince, turning his only friends into inanimate objects and forcing his body to return to its normal state. She said, that whenever he fell in love and kissed the person of his dreams, he would revert back to his ugly form from the attack - sure to scare away the only other person who could ever love him... the end.”
You whine into the crook of his neck, dissatisfied with the ending of his story. “The prince has to be happy, Hyunjin… I think that his love will stay with him, he sounds lovely, after all.” You insist with a light yawn.
The boy chuckles half-heartedly at your words, using his fingers to soothingly rub your back and encourage you to sleep. He found it amusing how you were so far from the truth, yet so close at the same time - you even knew he was a prince, apparently. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Hyunjin mumbles, eyes glazed over in sadness. “But he isn’t as lovely as you might think, love. He drove his own parents away-”
He pauses mid-sentence when he hears a light snore escape your parted lips, looking down once more with a fond sensation crawling into his heart. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, a tiny bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, but he didn’t dare try to move you away from him.
Not when this was as close as he could possibly get to you without ruining everything.
————————————————————————
You weren’t sure how you ended up back in the bed of the guest room, truth be told. The last thing you could fully remember was Hyunjin telling you a story, with you curled up in his lap - oh... and hadn't the story been awfully sad, as well?
Perhaps you could ask him at breakfast. Yes, that is what you would do; had he heard the story from a book, or did he know the prince in the tale himself? It sounded so, so familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
With a huff you slide out of bed, running your fingers through your messy hair as you stand and look to the bedside table, expecting to see another fresh bundle of his clothes for you to wear; but nothing was there, nothing at all. Maybe you had woken up before him, for once.
Not wanting to go out and see Hyunjin in dirty, likely stinky clothes, you hop over to the closet by the window, opening it up and searching its contents for a top and trousers. Soon you come across a plain gray sweater and green trousers - that would do.
Slipping the new clothes on, which were a tad bit smaller than Hyunjin’s, you fix your hair as best as you can, taking a quick, nonchalant peek out the window. Your jaw gaped in shock at what you saw, or rather, lack of what you saw. All the snow had melted, leaving remnants of the blizzard by the traces of white on the leaves of the trees on the prickly grass. The blizzard had come and gone - meaning that you could finally go home... away... from the castle, away from Hyunjin.
Why was it so hard to accept? You knew that you would have to go home at some point, but you had come to enjoy being at the castle... being treated as an equal. You - you enjoyed being with Hyunjin.
Feeling less enthusiastic than before, you trudge out of the guest bedroom, heading straight for the staircase. Unknowingly, you look at the rose in its dome, blinking sadly as you realize that only one petal remained. The others had since wilted off the flower, deemed worthy to only float in the space of the small glass cylinder. It seemed as if both you and the rose had succumbed to an eerie sort of sadness.
You finally find Hyunjin in the library, his nimble fingers slowly tracing the black ink of the novel he was currently engrossed in. His midnight black hair had been combed neatly to reveal the true, soft nature of his head of hair, though instead of the usual cuffed shirt or sweater, he now donned a long sleeved white top and black vest, his dark trousers held up with a belt that was decorated with a single sword nestled in the hilt.
“Good morning, Hyunjin,” you greet the boy in a soft manner as to not startle him, smiling bittersweetly at his cute jump of surprise and the noise that escapes his throat. Turning to face you, he opens his mouth to speak, only to fall silent. His sharp gaze runs up and down your body, a hint of... a scowl, of all things, gracing his features.
“Morning, love,” Hyunjin puffed after a moment of utter silence, sweeping his gaze straight back up to meet your own confused one, “... my clothes are outside your door, I didn’t want to accidently wake you up so early today. Go change.”
“I - excuse me?”
He flushes at his harsh tone, quickly shutting the book in the palms of his hands and pushing it into the bookshelf, back in its original spot. “S-sorry... I um, I just - this is your last d-day here... I would like for you to wear my clothes, I guess.” The soft-spoken boy finally admits with a burst of semi-confidence, catching the both of you by surprise.
“I - would... like to wear them, I guess,” you echo him sheepishly, feeling a wave of heat crash into your cheeks, cursing yourself for blushing so easily in front of the boy. He visibly brightens at your words, straightening his posture to appear less nervous.
“Good - I mean, great! W-we should-” he’s harshly interrupted by a pounding sound from the front door of his castle, causing both of you to freeze in surprise; you, more with confusion, him, more with fear. Hyunjin was no fool, he knew of the rumors surrounding his castle - his life. No one dared to approach his castle on their own good will, he had learned that lesson long ago. “Stay behind me, Y/N.” The prince ushers you behind his figure in haste, one hand holding your hip to keep you safe while the other rested by the hilt of his sword. He knew you would try to follow him if he pushed you into another room, so he figured keeping you behind him would be better than nothing.
Slowly but surely, he walks towards the front door, leading you out of the library and to the tall entryway. Whoever is on the other side is persistent in their knocking, furiously pounding on the dark wood as if their life depended on it. Hyunjin carefully opened the door, breath hitching in his throat at the sight before him.
A crowd of soldiers and townspeople were gathered at the front of his castle, brandishing either torches, rakes, shovels, or in the worst case, swords.
“Y-Y/N! Sweetheart!” A booming voice snaps you out of your wonder - no, it couldn’t be, right? Still, you peek around Hyunjin’s arm, nearly crying out in relief when you see your father. “Get away from my little girl, you foul beast!” He calls out to the boy stood frozen in front of you, waving his lit torch around threateningly.
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Hyunjin was no beast, he had saved you, protected you - treated you like a real person. “Father, you must be mistaken,” you answer him in bewilderment, causing a ruffle in the crowd, “Hyunjin - he’s the only reason I’m even alive right now. He saved me from the spirits and gave me shelter in the blizzard.”
The crowd of civilians and soldiers brush off your words with no hesitation, a few of them stepping closer to brandish their weapons at the raven haired boy. His grip loosens on your hip, until his hand falls completely off of your body. “No, he’s right, love. I - I am a monster.” Hyunjin whispers, much to the satisfaction of those throwing insults at him.
“That’s bullshit, Hyunjin,” you curse at him in hurt as he tries to back away and let you go to your waiting father. You can barely make out the sound of your father insisting for you to come to him where it’s ‘safe,’ as well as Jisung calling out your name in pure confusion. Yet, you don't move, choosing to stand your ground in front of the wilting boy. “You are anything but a monster. Why - why would you think anything like that?”
“B-because I am the prince in the story, Y/N!” He shouts in pure, heartbroken fury, lifting his head to meet your concerned gaze, his brown eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. “The real me is ugly and unlovable - fuck, I was so ugly that my own parents ran away, and they died because of it! If I hadn’t been so fucking stupid, I wouldn’t have been attacked! I - I wouldn’t be a monster that scared his own mother and father so much that they would run from the only safety they knew, only to get killed by the other beasts in this damned forest!”
You hear the people behind you shifting, as this had been the first time anyone had confirmed any of the boy’s backstory - and it came from the prince himself. The prince...
“The second I kiss my one true love, they will see what I truly look like! T-they will run away in horror at how fucking disgusting I am - and I can damn well prove it...” Hyunjin breathes heavily, throat sore from his screams of rage, of pain - of loss. Without a second thought, he pushes away any hope he has left in his soul, stepping forward to cup your cheeks in the palms of his warm hands.
The heartbroken boy brings your lips to his own, passionately kissing you with everything he had left - he just knew that the second you opened your eyes, you would run. You had only known him for six full days, there was no possible way you had fallen for him like he had for you - but he knew you were the only person for him. The second you had stepped into his castle, one of the petals from the rose Aphrodite ‘gifted’ him had wilted, revealing that his time as the handsome prince he used to be would be over soon.
And this - this was that time.
When Hyunjin pulls away, you slowly open your eyes and see him. There’s a set of scars running from his hairline all the way down to his bottom lip, the flesh not fully healed from the devastating attack. You glance down, spotting his left leg, once normal, now lame and slightly wobbly. He has to lean against you to hold himself up, but he clearly expects you to push him to the cold, damp ground and flee back to your father’s arms.
You kiss him. You kiss him with all the love you can muster, bringing your fingers to his scarred face and tracing the wounded skin as if you were mapping him out for the first time. In just a measly six days, you had truly fallen for the lonely but sweet prince, loving him for his soft-spoken words and nervous stumbles, his cooking that certainly needed some work, his talent for storytelling - for him.
When you pull away, you smile up at the stunned prince, eyes flickering all across his beautiful face. Scars or no scars, he radiated warmth, and he looked just the same to you.
“H-hey, where did you come from!?” A soldier suddenly calls out in surprise, causing both you and Hyunjin to look towards the entrance of his castle in confusion. His eyes light up when three other boys stumble into the sunlight, all wearing different styles of clothes and donning differently colored hair.
“Woojin, Chan, Seungmin - h-how?” Hyunjin stuttered in utter shock, leaning against your side for support since he couldn’t properly walk towards them.
One of them steps closer, glancing between you and his friend with an amused glint to his gaze. “I guess Aphrodite gave up since your girl didn’t run away - oh, by the way, you’re wearing my clothes, miss.” The brunette boy hums with a cheeky smirk. You blink, glancing up at a flushed Hyunjin in quiet amusement.
So that was why he wanted you to change back into his clothes.
“I - I suppose you’re right, Seungmin,” he breathes out softly, happily squeezing your hip as he turns to face the mumbling crowd. “S-sir, please - I know I’m the farthest example of a man you could ever expect, but... I truly love Y/N.”
You turn in his grip to face your father, who narrows his eyes almost suspiciously at the black haired boy holding onto you. And then, he says, “- welcome to the family, my boy!”
Wait -
Your pudgy father waddles over to you, placing a hand on both you and Hyunjin’s shoulders. “I suppose if anyone can win my daughter’s heart, I must approve. I’m afraid some of these men in town are only after her because she’s so damn pretty. She’s much more than just a pretty face, you know!”
“Trust me, sir, I’m well aware,” Hyunjin laughs quietly, fondly looking at you once more.
“Sorry about the soldiers and shit,” your friend from town speaks up, having finally pushed through the bustling crowd and approached the little group, “we all thought you were like, a murderer or something. Rumors and all, not too kind to you.” Jisung apologizes with a sheepish laugh, all the while shaking Hyunjin’s hand.
At the mention of the awful rumors, a majority of the crowd quietly apologizes as well before dispersing; after all, a mere boy was no real threat to them, not when they learned the truth.
You smile up at Hyunjin, stepping up on your tip-toes to reach his mouth, pressing a faint kiss to the corner of his lips, just above part of his scar. He blushes furiously and does the same to you, resting his forehead against yours, his soft breaths fanning against your lips.
“Thank you, love.”
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#hwang hyunjin#stray kids#skz#stray kids fic#stray kids scenario#stray kids imagine#stray kids drabble#skz fic#skz scenario#skz imagine#skz drabble#stray kids fluff#stray kids angst#skz fluff#skz angst#hyunjin fic#hyunjin scenario#hyunjin imagine#hyunjin drabble#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin angst#hey I finally posted
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the debts of the gods are yours to keep (RoD)
a/n: I’m... really fucking proud of this one. I started this as a wild inspiration behind Colt’s backstory, writing at full-speed, and then got *major* writer’s block. I left the doc hanging on my desktop for a while, and I don’t know. I got major inspiration today and finished it. Fair warning, it’s not written in Choices-style, and reads more like snapshots throughout his life but I hope I did my best bb justice. Maybe I’ll write some actual romance, but for now, character study is where I live. CC is always welcome, and I hope you enjoy :)
pairings: Colt-centric, but some light Colt x MC + Logan x MC with Colt/Mona and Colt/Kaneko interactions
summary: Colt can’t tell when he stopped caring about his father. (Somewhere, deep in his heart, he knows that’s not true.)
rating: ehhhhh PG-13 for swearing but honest to god I had a sailor’s mouth when I was like 10 so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
length: 4612 words
The summer before his seventeenth birthday, Colt found his first love.
A 1989 Yamaha FZR-1000 – one of the first four-stroke sportbikes. He’d bartered for it at the local motor shop, offering $2000 and to fix up cars for an entire summer.
“You got your motorcycle license?”
“No.”
The old man narrowed his eyes. “You’ve ever been on one of these before?”
“Once.”
He harrumphed. “No deal.”
“You’re serious?”
“You seriously looking to get arrested, kid?”
“You can’t get arrested unless you get caught, Dale.”
For a second, the old man looked as if he was going to explode of anger. Then, he began to guffaw, the corners of his eyes crinkling like shiny little candy wrappers. “Fine. Entire summer. I expect you to be here, every day, you hear me? And I give you the bike after.”
“That wasn’t the deal –“
“That’s the deal I’m offering. Like I said, you can’t take this girl anywhere until you’re legal to drive it. Take it or leave it.”
Colt crossed his arms. “Fine.”
It wasn’t his ideal summer, but working at Dale’s shop beat working for his own father. He’d put on rock music from the 70’s and whistle along. He had regular customers coming in, charmed by his good nature and fair prices. Instead of throwing Colt onto his ass whenever he did something wrong, he’d patiently take the tool from his hand, lie back on the creeper, and would show him how to do it properly. It’d been a nice few weeks, one without trouble or disappointment or boredom.
“Where were you today?” It was the first thing his father said to him when Colt got back to the auto shop. He was sitting in the back room, eating a cup of yogurt. “I thought you were going to work for me over the summer.”
Colt opened up the fridge and pushed the milk aside. He snorted. “And do what – draw up price estimates for people and do paperwork? No thanks.”
“Colt, you made a promise, and I intend that you keep it –“
“Yeah, well, I don’t remember making that promise. Sounds like you and mom decided what would be best for me. As always.” He reached for the back and pulled out a Coke.
“And your driving lessons?”
He took a sip of his drink. “I passed.”
“You took the test already?” Colt tried to figure out if his father sounded upset. He decided that he didn’t.
“Yeah. Guess those driving lessons you gave me really paid off, huh?” Every year, since he turned fourteen, his father had promised him to take him out driving. He’d taken him out twice. Somewhere along those years, Colt decided that he didn’t care much about driving anymore. His father didn’t let him touch the cars, anyways, so what was the use?
“And I told you, I’m busy with the business here and –“
“Business? Yeah, keep on acting like I don’t know what’s going on here. You think I don’t know that you jack cars and sell them off to rich fucks with money to spare? You honestly think that you could keep this from me forever? You think you can just fix this by spending the bare minimum of time with me? Well you know what I say to that? Fuck. You.”
A tense pause blanketed the room. His father’s face darkened.
“Get out.”
It was strange, hearing those words coming from his father. His face was red and enraged, and Colt turned around to leave. “Yeah, I was about to leave anyways. Don’t bother calling mom to tell her what happened.” The door to the office slammed. He spun around on his heels, ready to stomp out, but someone was standing in the doorway.
“Well, he-llo, Mr. PMS.” Mona stood by, leaning against the doorframe. He’d met her once or twice. She’d appeared one day in the shop, a couple summers ago, her face haunted with something wicked. It was the first time he saw her. And it was the last time he saw that expression on her face again.
“Fuck off, Mona.” He pushed past her.
“God, I’m joking. Ass.”
“Yeah, well for it to be a joke, it had to be funny.”
“Seriously, kid? Where the hell is your sense of humor?” Mona rolled her eyes. “Come on. I’m done for the day. I’ll grab a couple beers and we’ll drink in the courtyard. Tell me about all your hormonal, teenage problems you’re dealing with.” She walked alongside him, grinning.
The “courtyard” was a makeshift junkyard for the auto shop. Whatever grass left planted was yellowed and rough from the sun beating down on the space. A decrepit chain-link fence encircled the area, rusted from years of weather.
“Christ, I don’t think I could ever get used to the summers here.” Mona fanned herself, taking a swig of her Budweiser.
Colt shrugged, sipping at his own drink. “Where are you from?”
“The Bronx. New Yohh-wk,” she said, exaggerating an accent. “Left when I was a little bit older than you are now. What are you, like fifteen?”
He sat up straighter and puffed out his chest. “Almost seventeen.”
“So around the same then. Been here ever since.” She finished her can and tossed it into a pile of junk.
“Why do you work for him?”
Mona paused. “What do you mean why?”
“I mean, what do you see in him? He’s a goddamn asshole.”
“That’s not how things work around here, kiddo.”
“You mean in the crime world.”
Mona chuckled. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“So tell me how it works then. Because every time I walk into this goddamn shop my dad’s on my ass about something different. I know all of you think I’ve got it easy being the boss’s son and all, but he’s never treated me more than just some punk kid ready to get in the way.”
She stared at him, taking a long sip from her can. “Heard you bought a bike from Dale.”
“Yeah. And?”
“What, the old geezer strike you a deal or something?”
“Two-thousand.” Colt paused, gauging Mona’s reaction. “And I’m working at his shop for the summer.”
“Where’s the bike?”
“He says I’ve got to work it off first. What does this have to with anything?”
“Same thing.” She downed her beer and threw the can across the way again. “You’ve gotta pay before you get your bike. Except in my case, your father here gave me my gift first.”
“What was it?”
Mona paused, and looked over at him. He thought he saw that expression again, flitting across her eyes. “My freedom.”
Before Colt could answer, Toby swung open the back door, covered head to toe in car grease.
“Hey! No fair! You guys are drinking without me?” He grabbed a beer from the 24-pack and cracked it open. Mona snatched it from him.
“Yeah, well maybe you should have thought about how fair it was to drink all of my Red Bulls right before my job last week.”
“What? I didn’t know they were yours!”
“What’s going on out here?” Ximena called, sticking her head out the door.
“Nothing, aside from the fact that Toby thinks he can just constantly take shit from me –“
“I paid you back!”
“Yeah, if you count adding dumb mods to my car repaying me. “
“It’s a cooler! Now you don’t have to store your Red Bulls in the communal fridge!”
In the midst of the commotion, Colt slipped out. The bus ride home was packed, the idle chatter of different languages humming underneath his thoughts. He watched the auto shop fade away into the distance, like a balloon, floating high into the sky.
****
He doesn’t understand her. Or him, for that matter. They walked around the sideshow, looking at each other with googly eyes and at him with daggers, like he’d done something to ruin their lives.
As if. He’d met them like, what, an hour ago? And soon after that, Dale had gently told him that the smirking kid in the t-shirt was his replacement. Logan, no last name. He snorted at that.
“Him? He couldn’t outdrive the girl he’s pulling around.”
Dale shook his head. “Everyone’s saying he’s the new hotshot driver that Kaneko’s been training. Came around a year ago, I s’pose. Don’t know anything else ‘bout him. Anyways, how’s school on the East Coast?”
Before Colt could answer, shouts filled the air. He rode his way around the crowd, finding the center of the commotion. Salazar. The man towered over Logan, an assured smirk plastered onto his face. Logan’s girl stood by, equal parts indignant and terrified at the events unfolding in front of her.
“Seems your boyfriend’s looking to add insult to injury.”
The girl whipped her head around scowling at his comment. “Whoever you are, this is none of your business.” She turned back around, watching as Logan popped the hood off of the…
Aylesbury. How many times had he seen his father drive off in that car, the deep green hunk of metal rumbling down the street? And how many times had his father slapped his hand away for even touching the side mirror?
And here the boy was, keys dangling from his back pocket as he fiddled around with the engine. He wasn’t going to. He couldn’t – not if Colt could help it.
“That car… he’s wagering it on the race?”
“I think it’s totally crazy… but yeah.”
“Then it just became my business.”
He could feel the girl’s eyes on his back as he negotiated his way into the race. His heart pounded. Heat radiated from the inside of his helmet. There was no turning back now. This was his race to win.
****
“You could have gotten killed.”
Colt scoffed and slumped into the plastic seat by the office door, taking in his surroundings. His father paced the space behind his desk. Papers were strewn everywhere – on the ground, on the desk, and tacked up on the walls. By the furthest corner was a small pile of trash, mostly filled by yogurt cups and takeout containers, overfilling the wastepaper basket.
“Looks like you’re doing real well here.” His father glared at him. Colt groaned. “Ohhh, I see. We’re going to pretend to care for each other now. Well, guess what? In all my generosity, I won your fucking car back for you. Not him.”
“You’re careless. You don’t think. And you expect me to thank you?”
“No. I expect that we’re even now.”
His father stopped pacing. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand! You’ve shut me out of this life – your life – for so long. And then you bring in some pretty boy to do your bidding, praise him for almost wrecking your car –“
“Listen here, boy, do not pretend to understand my relationship with them.” He pointed out the door, lowering his voice an octave. “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re not going to get involved with this crew.”
“Why not? You scared, Pop? Terrified that your own son will take the throne?”
“No. Because you’re weak.”
The words cut, like crawling naked on fine shards of glass. But he balled his hands into fists and bit his lip. “You need me. I’m staying. Whether you like it or not.”
After a long pause, his father finally answered. “Fine. But you’re working the desk. No questions.” And with that, he pushed open the door, ready to tell everyone the news.
Colt un-balled his fists. There, on his palm, were eight little crescent indents filled with blood.
****
“Where is he?”
The voice called out, above him somewhere, the words hanging in between the clinks of metal and occasional drilling. It half scared him, having gotten used to the loud humming of the shop. The noise was calming; almost white noise, with no expectation of conversation or small talk. It was why he hated the front desk. The crackheads, reeking of old sweat and smoke, trying to barter their way out of paying for the work on their jalopies. The lost LA moms, waiting for their SUVs, their sparkly designer sunglasses parked on top of their heads. Every few seconds, they’d touch them, as if he was going to snatch them and run.
Colt slid out from under the car. “What?” He snapped.
She looked mildly surprised to see him. “Oh. I thought you were only supposed to work the desk.”
“Toby left for some sideshow in Arcadia. Are we done here?”
“Logan. Do you know where he is?”
Colt snorted. “No.” He slid back to the undercarriage, hoping she’d take the hint.
Instead, she crouched down. “Come on, I know you’re here all day, you probably saw him leave.”
He slid out and threw his gloves onto the ground. He walked into the back room. She followed, right on his heels. “If you’re half as smart as I think you are, you should probably stay away from him.”
“I – What did he even do to you?” She crossed her arms, her expression darkening. “Or me, for that matter?”
“It only takes an idiot to see that you don’t fit in here.”
“Oh, so, what, this is middle school now? You’ve got a clique, and I’m not allowed because I’m not cool enough?” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even know me!” Her eyes were fiery now, defiant. It gave him a jump in his stomach. His fingers tingled.
“I might not know you, but I know your type.”
“Try me.”
“Let me guess, 4.0 GPA, Daddy’s Princess, and broke curfew once because you stayed late at the library? You’re the teacher’s pet, so everyone pretty much hates you, and let’s see – a virgin?”
He could see her steaming at the last comment, and he laughed. “Did I really get all of that right?” He shook his head. “I’m good, but I’m never that good.”
“You’re a coward.”
“What?”
She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her eyes were all fire, the flames licking up whatever oxygen was left in the room. “You’re a coward. You think you’ll never measure up to anyone; not Logan, not your dad, not a single person out there. So you stopped trying a long time ago because you think that disappointing anyone, especially yourself, is worse than the chance at succeeding – and guess what? You’re right. You’ll never succeed. Because as soon as you get that slightest taste at victory, you get an ego, you think you’re invincible – and you’ll fall, right back down with all of us that work the daily grind.”
She was close now, her eyes barely an inch away from his nose. This is the part where you kiss her, his mind shouted, but he silenced the thought as soon as it blared out. A ridiculous suggestion, Colt thought, pampered by stupid movies and TV shows. He opened his mouth, ready to retort, but someone called out her name.
“Logan!” Her voice rose an octave, peppered with excitement.
Colt shoved his hands into his pockets as she floated away from him. He pretended to avert his eyes from them, sneaking glances at them from his periphery.
There was something wrong with this picture. He was going to find out what.
****
Who knew she was so dangerous? Even more dangerous than his own father. After all, they only targeted the wealthy, fingers well-oiled and fat off their own gluttony. Her father? As much as the cop thought he was keeping the streets clean, he picked up good, honest people in some dire times as much as he did the trigger-happy gunslingers, the greedy dope sellers. He’d seen the stories in the papers. Colt knew some of them, the ones that were swept away behind bars. Always labeled with their race, their age, their poison of choice. Black, 28, robbery. White, 35, aggravated assault.
In the back of his mind, Colt wondered when he’d see his father in those listings. His habits and idiosyncrasies erased, his identity reduced to the corporeal.
She doesn’t know what a deadly game this is. For him, for his father, for Mona, for Toby, for Ximena. For Logan. For her. His father’s voice boomed in his head. The cops don’t owe you. You owe the cops.
****
“I know how you feel.”
“Huh?”
“My mom was sick.”
“It’s different.”
“It’s not different. We’d had a fight the night before, about something stupid, like cleaning up my stuff or not finishing my homework or something. I stormed out the morning after without saying goodbye. And… and – she collapsed while at was school. And when I found out, I thought it was my fault that she was there, that I somehow willed her to get sick. So every night, I’d pray to something out there, a God, or maybe a star, that if she lived, I’d promise to be the best daughter ever.”
“And here you are.”
“She died a month later.”
“And the promise wasn’t kept.”
“My point is, it’s not too late for you. He’s in there. He cares about you.”
She reached out her hand. Colt gently took it. Her palms were soft, her knuckles smooth.
If the cop’s daughter was the end of him, so be it.
****
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Mona groaned.
She sounded more annoyed than worried, which relieved Colt. If he could show her how airtight the plan was, she’d agree.
“Not a big deal for me,” Salazar grunted.
“Your ex-wife’s kid doesn’t count.” Mona rolled her eyes and Salazar deflated, grumpy that she’d revealed his secret. “Why are we listening to him, anyways?” She leaned on the desk, towering over Kaneko, as if she could pull the answer from the man’s mouth herself.
“I’m not a kid anymore – “
“We’re talking about kidnapping. A fucking member of The Brotherhood.”
“About 3800 pounds lighter than stealing a car.”
She gave Colt a dirty look. “This isn’t the time for one of your wisecracks. Boss, you do realize that this is a dumb plan, right? We kidnap the guy, hold him for ransom, and then what? Have the fucking Brotherhood come after our necks with chainsaws?”
“Yeah, what’s in it for me, huh? Sounds like this is a whole lotta trouble for a couple thousand bucks.”
Everyone began to argue, but Kaneko held up a hand, shutting the three up. He cleared his throat. “Have you ever heard the story of The Hare and The Lion?”
Colt furrowed his brow. Mona rolled her eyes. “It’s official, the old man’s lost it.”
“So I take it you haven’t.”
Salazar slammed his hand on the desk. “You better be going somewhere with this.” Kaneko gave him an imperceptible nod, barely flinching at the noise.
“Once upon a time, a lion ruled the jungle. The lion was very cruel, and every day, he demanded that an animal from the jungle be delivered to him, so he could devour it.
“One day, the hare was picked for the lion’s daily meal. Of course, the poor hare didn’t want to be eaten at all. So the hare, full of wit, presented himself to the lion and told the beast that on the way, he’d met another lion that claimed to be the King of the Jungle.
“The lion, very angry that another animal dare take his title from him, asked the hare where this other lion was. The hare led him to a well, claiming the lion was down there waiting for him.
“The lion looked down and roared, intending to scare the other animal into subservience. But of course, the lion was not very smart and mistook his reflection as another lion calling back at him. Furious with this imposter, he jumped into the well to attack the lion, and he drowned. And the hare ran off to tell the other animals of the jungle, free at last.”
Kaneko knitted his fingers together and placed them on the desk. “Well? What do you think?”
Mona glared. “I think if you’re not going to tell me what this goddamn nonsense means, I’m out.” Salazar nodded, in rare agreement with the other.
“What I’m saying is that we pretend to scratch their backs.” Colt pulled up the picture of the contact. “We tell them that there’s another enemy, a traitor in their ranks. We kidnap him, and offer him up to the fuckers.”
Mona widened her eyes, and smirked. “We give them their own fake lion.”
“They’ll be so wrapped up in dealing with him that they won’t see us coming. We’ll get them out of our way, for good. We’ll be arranging the pick-up…” He pulled up the picture of the stadium on his phone and showed it to Mona and Salazar. “…Here. The shithead’s a huge fan of the Badgers. It’s why we need you, Sal.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Colt caught a glimpse of his father smile. The first, he thought, in seven years.
“And what about the others? Toby, Ximena, the girl… Logan?” Colt knew why she asked. After all, he’d been in on it up until this point. Up until he got tangled in her lips and her hair and that sunshine smile and… Colt swallowed. He shook the thought of her from his mind.
A slow pause filled the air. Finally, Kaneko answered. “He won’t understand. He’s weak with love. He won’t risk putting her in danger.”
No, he wouldn’t.
****
Pop… please… you can’t leave me.
Go, Colt. Go, and don’t look back.
****
He’d been on the cusp of twelve years – almost twelve revolutions around the sun, as his father liked to say. He’d grown a half-a-foot in the past summer, his legs long and spindly, like a baby doe. Sometimes he spent his time playing driveway basketball with the neighborhood kids – well, only if they’d let him. Most of the time, he sat on the curb, steaming as the kids called him “half-breed” and “slant-eyes” all while participating in a game of keep-away, six little demons against himself. So he’d sit on his front stoop and adjust the laces on his Air Force 1’s, trying to make room for his ever-growing feet. Occasionally he’d walk to the mini-mart and pilfer candy from the aisles. Last time though, the shop owner caught him pocketing a peppermint, and threatened to call his parents. Colt didn’t care. His parents never listened to him much these days. His mother would cry while his father would drive off, almost always with a knapsack and silent ruffle of Colt’s head. Moonlight would bounce off the shining silver rims of the car and Colt would watch until it was a tiny speck of green, floating on the edge of the horizon, the cries of the engine lasting far longer than his young eyes could see.
But his father always came back. Always.
Sometimes with a gift – a shiny new Hot Wheels that mirrored his father’s latest ride and half-wilted supermarket flowers for his mother. A sorry gift from a sorry man, Colt thought now, but at the time, it was the most romantic gesture he’d ever seen. The carnations would sit in a plastic thermos filled to the brim with lukewarm water, and he’d count the days down. By the time all the petals gathered around the makeshift vase, there would be another incident.
It’d been a good streak this time around. No incidents. The petals on the last bunch of flowers had long been swept up, leaving the shriveled stems in the vase like long, fragile pieces of straw. Colt hoped this time it’d be different, with his birthday in a week, and the arid LA heat withering to make room for cooler breezes. He imagined he’d ask for new shoes. He’d blow out number candles from a chocolate cake.
And different was what he’d got. Three days before his twelfth birthday, Colt jolted awake from the familiar sound of the engine. The sky was dark gray, hinting at the sun’s imminent arrival. He’s leaving, Colt thought. Without saying goodbye. Pulling the covers off his bed, he tiptoed down the stairs and burst through the door.
“Hey!” His shout barely rose over the engine’s hum. “Wait!”
His father peered over from the driver’s seat window. He sighed and turned off the engine. “Colt, you should be asleep.”
“I want to go with you,” Colt replied breathlessly. “Please.”
Colt looked for a hint of give in his father’s face. There wasn’t any. His face remained stoic, like always. “All right. Hop on up.”
Colt stepped into the car, the fuzzy car mat tickling the soles of his feet. His father turned the keys in the ignition and backed out of the driveway. Colt looked out his window, watching his little house until it turned into a speck of dust. He turned back around, looking over at his father.
“Where are we going?”
There was a pause. “Where do you want to go?”
Colt thought for a second. “In-N-Out.”
His father laughed.
Soon, Colt was dangling his legs off the cliff, chowing down on a Double-Double Cheeseburger and dipping his French fries into a strawberry shake. He looked down as he ate, watching the waves slurp up the side of the precipice. Further into the horizon, the water rocked, reflecting rivulets of the orange sky in between the blue. There they sat, completely silent. He remembered the times when his father would push him off the cliff, rambling about courage and honor and bravery in the face of danger. And he’d fall, fall, fall, his father’s words lost in between the roaring folds of water.
“Colt.”
“MMmreah?” He mumbled, mouth full of burger.
“When – when I was your age, my father didn’t give me a choice.” His voice cracked, and his usually serious tone was tinged with a hint of sadness.
Colt furrowed his eyebrows. He’d never heard his father stutter, and it made him nervous. “Whaddya mean, Pop?”
“He told me that in this country, we would never be seen as equals. So we had to take the power for ourselves. That to make a name for yourself, you had to yell it louder than anyone else.”
Colt thought of the kids down the block, who called him names and didn’t let him play basketball.
“Your grandfather was a great man. I strive to be as fearless as he was. But I’ve done some things in my life that I’m ashamed of.”
All he could think of was the kid’s face, bloodied and bruised. He’d called him a “dirty half-breed bastard”. Colt had pummeled the kid’s pudgy face, fat from a steady diet of Twinkies and Butterfingers he’d seen him munching. He could recall how soft his face was against his own knuckles. He remembered how he didn’t feel any pain, not for a while, not until two hands wrestled him off of the boy. He’d ran back to his stoop and cried, his right knuckles stained blood-red.
“You’ll be better off this way. I’m a better man than your grandfather was, and I know you’ll be a better one than me.”
The brightening sky cast a golden halo on his father’s face, and the water sparkled with the brilliance of a thousand diamonds.
“Someday, you will thank me.”
His father rose and walked back to the car, and beckoned for Colt to get up. Grabbing the bag of food, he followed, and his father accelerated away from the cliff. Colt gazed at the fiery ocean, the distant sounds of the Pacific lulling him back to sleep.
****
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Where We Were
For Oikage Big Bang 2018
Words: ~12,400
Art: @artchiboku made a darling piece to accompany this fic for the event! They’re a huge sweetie so please go look at it and leave some love!!!
Summary: It’s been a little over a year since Tōru left Tobio, presumably, for the last time. Fate has other things in store for them.
Notes: @deadfreckledboys thank you for stepping in to help me beta this monster!! And for keeping me together when I kept thinking, “This isn’t good enough, I can’t do this!” It was a struggle of a last few months trying to navigate deadlines and work slights, but I’m so glad I did this and finished something (close... to on time). Thank you to @oikagebigbang for hosting this event!!! It was a lot of fun and everyone was very sweet!! I also put together a list of song I used to write this if you wanted to listen~. This fic was heavily inspired by this one though.
Read it on AO3 here!
~*~
Fog overtakes the city for what feels like eons, and so when Tobio stirs awake to find the sight outside of his window particularly obscured in a dark, white haze he can think of very little else but, Again?
If he squints, Tobio can piece together the fine veins of the once majestic oak where it’s barren branches rest along his windowpane. It might still be impossible to see them, he imagines, if not for the murky halo of light from the street lamps still dutifully glowing down below, casting an ombre halo through the dark.
Vision still logged with sleep, Tobio tosses away the comfort of his cotton sheets. The first sting of cold races along his skin like an ice bath. It sends a zing throughout his blood, but it seems to lose power before hitting his brain. His eyes droop against the burn of the waking world and it is with immeasurable strength that he hoists himself out of bed, padding across the room to begin his morning routine.
Tobio yawns around the toothbrush in mouth, reaching under his pillow to kill his alarm just as the jingle begins to play it’s first, soft note. He remembers someone telling him, already in the process of switching the settings on his phone, that gradually waking up was a benefit to his health, but Tobio’s never quite gotten used to that process. He could change it now, Tobio supposes, when they’d never know. But he doesn’t.
(Because, maybe, he’ll have to change it back one day).
He still doesn’t feel quite awake by the time he’s pulling on his shoes in the doorway, just blearily remembering to grab a hoodie from the front closet before locking the door. Taking the long route to his starting point is a new habit. It comes to him naturally now, but it’d taken almost all year before he didn’t have to think it through. He could change the location, probably, but he likes the running path through the local park. It’s quiet in the early hours of the morning, and cleaner than most public places in the city.
And maybe, while he won’t let himself think it, he’ll run into someone there.
Tobio’s surprised when he plops his water bottle in his usual hiding place under the slide, that it is alone. Usually by now Tōru’s thermos is already there, proudly declaring, “Train like a BEAST; Look like a beauty”. It’s the only sign really that he still lives in the same city. It is always gone before he gets back. Tobio wonders if Tōru was deterred by the thickness of the fog today. Around him the park is little more than shadows under opaque clouds.
Or, perhaps, he’s just running late. Unlikely, but possible.
It’s not exactly Tobio’s business. Not anymore.
He progresses his day by taking the first few minutes to stretch, and if he takes a little more care on every movement today, if he checks over his shoulder a beat longer than he should, well, there’s no one there to take notice.
His water bottle is still the only one there after his first round. And on his second lap, there’s no sign of a second soul.
Tobio frowns.
He finishes off the rest of his water, and after a few minutes more of stretching, sets back on his way home.
By the end of the week, Tobio’s certain he’s been running the trails completely by himself.
Maybe Tōru went somewhere on holiday. Or he got sick of that routine, Tobio reasons. Perhaps he abandoned the park altogether, for a better place.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
On Sundays, Tobio’s cool down walk takes him through the city center to pick up his weekly groceries. Always on Sundays. It had been a habit he’d picked up over the last few years, because Tōru had insisted on them doing it together and only once a week.
“It’s like a weekly date,” Tōru would sing, slipping his arm through Tobio’s just until the first throng of people came into view.
Unconsciously, he looks to his empty side and is just a little blindsided when Iwaizumi Hajime blinks back at him from the entrance of the nearby coffee shop, looking just as openly mistified.
“Tobio,” he says, which could be a question—something like is that really you? He isn’t sure, but guilt washes over Tobio with a suddenness that dries his throat.
He hadn’t contacted Hajime since—since then. He never really did before, the few times he and Tōru had taken breaks in their relationship. It felt like a breach somehow—a custody contract Tobio doesn’t remember signing but keeps to anyway. But those had been short tiffs, practically water breaks, and mostly in the late years of high school to early college. Never a year; never after they’d come to live together.
Hajime stares at him, haggard, and the gnawing sensation turns Tobio’s hands clammy. “You look good,” Hajime says after a beat.
Tobio can’t say the same back without lying. The bags under his eyes seem fresh, haunting, but the grays in his hair are old now and still growing relentlessly. Hajime used to point them out in the middle of his banters with Tōru, detailing exactly how he’d receive each one from his best friend until Tōru had had enough and bought him a tote bag full of black hair dye. Tobio doesn’t think he’s used a single box.
He looks down.
“I was—” Hajime falters for a moment. “Do you want to get coffee?” When Tobio looks up at him, Hajime’s already holding a cup of something with the logo from the store behind him, but he looks vaguely imploring in the way that even Tobio notices and so he nods.
They sit in a booth by a window, even though they can barely see much outside. A waitress comes by and Hajime tells him to order breakfast if he hasn’t eaten yet. Tobio gets a cup of tea instead and Hajime, still nursing his coffee, gets the same.
“It’s been a while,” Hajime starts. Tobio opens his mouth to say something more, but then he notices his old classmate’s eyes, averted just slightly down in something like a wince and that’s when he looks down himself, at the hoodie he’d pulled from the front closet this morning and --
Hajime recognizes it. Of course he does.
Tobio tugs the zipper up higher towards his collar bone, even though it's reached the maximum zenith of teeth to latch onto. The action brings him a moment of relief from the anxiety in his stomach, the shaking in his hands, like he's hiding from the dark eyed stare studying him across the table.
Everything on the hoodie is quintessentially Tōru, as if it were custom fit to his tastes. The little green alien busts would be decent enough of a tell that someone pulled it from Tōru's closet before even the splattering of peace sign silhouettes and little spiral globes spanning across the front and back. Tōru always found delight in pointing at the little spheres and telling him, "They look just like volleyballs!" Tobio hadn't realized they weren't.
"He's been asking about you," Hajime starts, eyes flickering down to his untouched tea cup. He doesn’t say who. Tobio knows, innately. “He wants to, uh, see you…”
Tobio deflects his own gaze out the window and swallows down, hard. Over the rooftops outside the fog has taken on a peachy tinge, the sun just beginning to ascend over the misty city. Everything is still and quiet outside the frantic beating of his heart.
“Does that—” He swallows down on his pulse “—does he want to get back together?”
Hajime looks as if he’s wincing again, eyes zipping down to his hoodie and back up again without answering. “I wouldn’t say—that’s not…” He slides his arm up the table, fingers grabbing and shaking the sugar container for a moment. He dumps a little too much into his tea and stares down at the table with an interest that concerns Tobio. “That’s not exactly the case,” Hajime admits.
Tobio fidgets with the ruined cuffs of the sweater, flexing his thumbs between the stressed holes there. He bunches the fabric into his palms before allowing it to escape just so he may collect it again. Tōru’s brother-in-law had been responsible for one of the thumb holes, had cleared through the fabric with the burning end of a cigarette bud. He’d been skunk-drunk and thought it was funny, but Tōru had never been forgiving. He’d tried sewing the hole up, but after a single wash the stitches had given way to a slightly larger one. Eventually, Tōru had crafted a matching hole for the opposite cuff.
“Look, Tobio-chan! I’m a genius!” He’d been so proud.
Hajime startles him with his stare, a pointed intensity that Tobio hasn’t felt since they been on opposite sides of the courts. His throat burns.
“I have a favor,” Hajime says.
*
Sometime just before lunch, Tobio trudges his way back home. Instead of groceries, a deep, dark tiredness weighs down his arms. He leans down to untie his shoes, but even that is too heavy a task for his body, and so he lets himself slump against the wall. The unsmooth paint peppers his face like little thorns, but it distracts Tobio from the prickling feeling in his chest.
Tobio stomps the door shut with the heel of his running shoes. The slam echoes for a moment, and then leaves him only with with the ring of tinnitus in his ears. They reach for a sound, something lighthearted or haughty, a welcome home, but there is only silence.
There is only ever silence now.
He nuzzles his way under the collar of the hoodie and breathes in.
It had felt like a betrayal the first time he'd taken it out of Tōru's closet, the insistent voice in the back of his head telling him he would notice, that Tōru would come back soon and use this as fodder against him. Months had passed by then, though, and Tobio had reached for it—for something—and it had helped, for a moment, dull the indelible ache of missing him.
The hoodie smells nothing like him now, the unique scent of Tōru obscured under a healthy layer of ocean breeze and the fresh bite of winter air, but he remembers the warm curve of Tōru’s neck, the remnants of day-long cologne clinging to his skin, hibiscus shampoo that Tōru seemed absolutely incapable of washing from his hair. The smell had lingered on his pillow after Tōru left, had lulled Tobio to sleep in his absence for long enough, so he closes his eyes and breathes in again, calling for the scent on the tip of his memory and it is close.
Close enough.
*
Oikawa Tōru exists only to make Tobio's life tumultuous. He absolutely believes this to be a rule imparted by the universe at large, as a punishment for some misdeed it believes he perpetrated.
It is the only explanation that brings Tōru to his doorstep a week from his meeting with Hajime, glaring down at Tobio through the long slope of his nose. He lifts a finger to tap against Tobio's chest, a rough little push he can feel through the fabric of his sweatshirt—he made sure of it, today, that it was his own—and it feels like a pinprick against his heart. Lilac sunlight struggles in through the smog late this evening just to brush highlights into Tōru's hair, all the way down to the wisps that curl around the shell of his ears.
“You're the worst,” Tōru says, his voice quivers and it extends down the length of his arm, a residual tremor from the accident Hajime explains to him. “What kind of person doesn't visit his boyfriend in the hospital.”
The accusation feels like a stab.
“Ok, ok,” Hajime urges. Tobio moves back instinctively as Hajime pushes the taller man inside with a bump of his shoulders. “Stop badgering him already.”
Tōru fumbles through the foyer and frowns. Tobio watches the clench of his jaw, the minute shake in his shoulders. Changes, Tobio thinks, are obscure, but he wonders what Tōru's eyes catch, if a lamp is too far to the left or a bulb burns with a different temperature than he remembers.
Tōru sheds his shoes at the lip of the foyer. Without so much as a glance back, he stomps his way down the hallway as if he lives there.
Still lives there.
Hajime crosses into his vision, slipping the burden of a large duffel bag from his shoulders. “This should be all his stuff from the hospital,” Hajime informs him. It hits the floorboards with a loud thud, and Tobio winces impulsively. “I grabbed some necessities from his apartment; extra clothes, his glasses. I talked to the landlord and got his mail forwarded to my place, so I'll take care of ‘em when I get back. Just until he's back up on his feet.”
Tobio nods. He wonders if Tōru's condition is communicable because his hands shake where he has yet to relinquish his hold on the doorknob, the metal clattering about where the bolts don’t hold it tight enough.
Hajime scratches the back of his head. “Maybe this…was a mistake,” he relents. “I can still cancel my flight.”
Gaze forward, Tobio pushes, “It’s fine,” and his voice does not belie him this once.
Hajime doesn't seem heavily convinced, but his fingers release their hold on the duffel bag straps. Down the hall, Tōru's voice calls, the contents of his yell muffled by layers of wall.
“He's been dealing with it,“ Hajime says, a little rueful smile tugging the edges of his lips up. “The way he does everything that frustrates him.”
“Ignoring it,” Tobio supplies. Hajime nods, but Tobio knows him well enough to read his exasperated smile for the fondness underneath. It is, likely, a condition for dealing excessively with Tōru.
“It's your birthday soon,“ Hajime mentions offhand. He taps along the lining of his jeans and frowns. “Follow me to my car?” He makes a gesture towards the hallway and a halting motion to Tobio. “Just let me tell Oikawa I’m heading out.”
*
Parking is hard to find so late in the evening on their street and so it is a mild trek out to Hajime’s car. Frost clings to what little green has survived this late into winter. When Tobio strays off the sidewalk, it crunches satisfyingly under his shoes.
“His parents and sister were here until yesterday,” Hajime rubs his hands together, warming them through the friction of his gloves. “When I said you were willing to help out, I think they were pretty relieved. There’s not many people who can put up with Trashykawa for long enough.” Hajime gives him another rueful smile. “The doctors thinks it'll be good for him to be around something familiar.” He drops his hand into his pocket and one of the lights from a silver Honda Civic blinks at them a few cars down the road.
Hajime starts his car first, exhaust fumes almost indistinct among the fog still lingering. He dives around the front seat and pulls out a thin, long package. It's neatly wrapped in unassuming brown paper. Something smaller clatters around inside when Tobio pulls it to his chest.
“Thank you,” he says.
“I think you'll like it,” Hajime beams at him mildly, plopping back into the driver’s seat. He leaves the door open, both feet planted on the pavement and smiles up at him. Numbness seeps in through the thin material of Tobio’s sneakers, but there is a warmth in Hajime’s stare that keeps him rooted there. “Shittykawa helped me find it,” he shifts uncomfortably after the admission, clearing his throat. “Don't worry about mentioning it.”
“How has he been?” Tobio ventures to ask.
“We text,” he says, clicking on the heater, fans whirring to life inside the engine. Hajime's ears look bright and pink. “I make sure he's eating when I can. He's got a studio all the way across the city and it's just… It's been busy,” he admits, Hajime's gruff tone is laced with a hesitant sheepishness.
“I just—” Hajime furrows his brows, visibly contemplating his words before he continues, “I just want you to know that if I thought this wasn't good for Oikawa, I'd have him on the plane with me tonight. You know—” Hajime's stare is heavy, single hand resting on the steering wheel going white knuckled as he adds, “He loved you, Kageyama. He's just… an idiot.”
*
Tobio doesn’t remember leaving the heater on when he had left, but the apartment feels particularly warm when he shuts the door behind him, locking the cold on the other side. It is welcomed, though the sudden change in temperature agitates a small migraine in the space between his eyes. Tobio pushes his thumb up and against the skin there, attempting to relieve it with the icy sting of his fingers, and he almost misses it, the dulcet call of, “Welcome home.”
Tobio follows the voice into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe when he catches the caller standing before his refrigerator with a perplexed stare.
“How come,” Tōru starts, his cadence that high pitch he reserves when he's asking questions that do not have answers, fingers reaching out and unclipping one of the cards Tobio had set up on the fridge, “my mom sent another new year’s card to only you?” He turns the card from back to front several times. Tobio had been surprised, too, when the card came in the mail this year. Parents were always fond of him, and Tōru's mother had in no way been an exception. Tōru looks back to the fridge again, in search of something he cannot find. “Didn’t she send one already?”
Tōru holds the card up, towards his face, and keeps it there. Tobio takes to reading Tōru’s face instead, reacquainting himself with old frown lines and the healing cuts along his lips. His cheekbones look sharper, but Tobio thinks he still looks well and it feels like yet another stab.
“Stop staring, Tobio-chan,” Tōru lilts, the edges of his lips quirked up, a single dimple on display. “It’s creepy~!” He imitates a shiver, wrapping his arms around his body to protect himself from an invisible chill.
Tobio's fingers flex at his side. He is almost afraid to look away, as if Tōru's presence in his kitchen is only fixed there by his stare.
“Say something,” Tōru demands. Tōru raises a finely maintained eyebrow at Tobio, then smiles, “Or did my roguish good looks stun you into silence?”
Tobio watches the pink of Tōru's tongue lick along his lower lip where the stretch of his smile had aggregated one of the cuts.
“You should take the bed,” Tobio decides and Tōru pulls a sour face. “Please sleep well, Oikawa.”
*
Tobio had taken nothing to bed with him save for a small throw blanket already tossed messily over the couch, and the small pit of dread settled tightly in his belly, but it is the first time, since he can remember, that Tobio sleeps past the first set of alarms on his phone. Awareness creeps every so slowly through his mind, but a heaviness lays thickly over his body and—
Oh.
Tucked around him is the comforter from the bedroom. Tobio blinks, squeezes his eyes, and blinks again. Outside is still dark, hazy, and settled against the swell of his hip is a crown of oak brown hair that, when he jostles slightly, only seems to nuzzle in closer. Tobio watches, heart wavering with a mix of emotions, the way Tōru breathes in softly, murmuring incoherently in his sleep, cuddled up against Tobio’s waist on the farther side of the couch.
When his alarm goes off once more, Tobio chooses to disarm it, but he doesn't move any more than resting his head against the couch pillow, relaxing the minor strain in his neck, and lets himself sleep in.
When he next wakes up, the gloom outside his window had been mildly dispersed by the winter sun and Tōru is no longer alongside him. His heart stutters despite his efforts to calm it, and Tobio startles himself, quite gracefully, off the couch.
“Good morning,” Tōru’s voice sings across the apartment. Tobio hears the sizzle of something burning in the frying pan and the smell of bacon reaches his nose and sets off a growl in his stomach. He follows the smell, after a decent tussle with the comforter wrapped around his legs, into the kitchen where Tōru busies his attention between two hissing burners. He shoots Tobio a glance over his shoulder when the younger man shuffles up to sit at one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Sleep well?”
Tobio grunts, absentmindedly running a finger down the seam in the marble wallpaper lining the countertop. Tōru had been adamant when they decided to move in together, that they needed a breakfast bar. It was quintessential to being a modern adult, he had reasoned.
Tōru drops a pile of bacon on a plate already lined with paper towels and then flips a single egg on to it’s own plate. He pushes that one towards Tobio. It is mildly disturbing, the way Tōru reaches for a fork without missing a beat and lets it drops it beside the plate.
“Are your parents still coming in on Wednesday?” Tōru asks. He slides up along the breakfast bar and reaches along the counter for the basket of bacon. He stays there, leaning over the counter and dipping the piece into the egg yolk. Tobio watches the yellow liquid spill out and stream down the expanse of his plate.
“Thursday,” he replies. He cuts himself a small piece with the flat side of his fork and takes a bite. It is enough to feel full, fighting against the nerves welling inside him, and Tobio swallows a second time as if there’s something tighter woking itself down his throat. Tōru watches him.
“Your birthday’s on Wednesday,“ he challenges Tobio. When he bites down on his next helping of bacon it crunches loudly.
Tobio glances over at the old calendar across the room clipped to the side of the refrigerator. At the end of the month is a clutter of black sharpie marks, but Tobio spots the one proudly declaring his birthday with tiny little, red marker hearts, sitting in the center of the week. It had been Wednesday, last year.
He clicks on his phone and swipes over to the calendar app and searches quickly for the 22nd. “It's Thursday,” Tobio relays. Then thinks, “Maybe I should have them wait until the new year instead.”
“Why?” Tōru furrows his brows.
Tobio stares. “I'd have to leave you here. Alone.“
“Nonsense,” Tōru scoffs, reaching over again for another bacon slice, “I'll go with you.” He holds a hand delicately up to his heart, “Your parents love me.”
Loved. Tobio swallows the correction down with a glass of milk when Tōru offers him a drink.
Tobio's parents had loved Tōru, had made despairing jabs at their son's expense, that it was a miracle someone like Tōru loved their son, as obsessive and insensitive as he was. And for all that he protested that Tōru wasn't very different, mildly Tobio had wondered himself how much longer Tōru would stay in his orbit.
(Longer than he expected.)
“Don't sleep on the couch tonight,” Tōru tells him, the hook of his mouth pointing downward. “I don't sleep well when,” Tōru mutters the rest inaudibly, the very tips of his ears shading in a nice pink. Alone, Tobio knows.
He wonders if Tōru had learned to sleep without him, or if he fills his bed with bodies that aren't Tobio himself. He wonders if Tōru tells them, “I love you,” just before he curls around them, if he pushes his toes up and under their pajamas bottoms until they shriek from the nipping cold on their skin. He wonders if they ask about him, and if Tōru tells them, “I loved him,” and the thought churns his stomach too much to eat.
“I'll think about it.”
Tōru huffs at his lack of a real answer, running a hand frustratedly up and through his hair.
He has cut it since they last met, Tobio realizes, and such a simple thing aches.
Because Tōru knows.
*
Hitoka had been furious with him last November.
Her hair had been sheared into a bob that sat higher on her cheek bones and she'd sat by him, smiling expectantly for the entirety of their morning commute. All she'd gotten was a cold shoulder and while her anger had lasted merely a couple minutes, the event had simmered on Tobio's nerves all day.
"I didn't recognize her," he'd muttered to Tōru that same night, scowling at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Water clung to his face where he'd washed away remnants of toothpaste. It had been a mild winter, but a chill still lingered in the air, invited into their apartment through a crack in the bathroom window and Tobio shuddered, reaching for the face cloth hung up nearby. Tōru at his side had been warm, particularly where their elbows touched. "I don't notice things about people," he'd admitted. "Most of them look the same anyway."
Tōru had met his eyes in the mirror at that, fine eyebrow raised high in question. His electric toothbrush hummed in the silence. Even indirectly Tobio could feel, still remember, how heavy his stare had felt.
"They do," Tobio had insisted. In the glass he could see the pink rising in his cheeks and it made him all the more frustrated. "It's like I remember the way people look as a package, but when they change something I can't...."
"They just look like a different blob?" Tōru had leaned up, brushing further along Tobio, to rinse off his toothbrush. It beeped, acknowledging when Tōru had properly aligned it with the charger. Tobio nodded. "So how do you remember people during games?"
"That's different," he grumbled, knitting his eyebrow at mirror-Tōru. “Everything's more distinct on the court."
Tōru had snapped his fingers against his forehead then. "Doesn’t that mean you're just focusing better?"
Tobio shrugged.
"So if I get a tan next summer," Tōru had joked wryly, only a single corner of his mouth perked up, "I'll have to carry a volleyball around the house so you don't think we're getting robbed?" He leaned over towards the sink and turned on the faucet. He'd cupped his hands and splashed a moderate amount of water along his face. Tobio had handed off the cloth he'd just finished using and Tōru’s fingers brushed his as he accepted it. His reflection sneered, "Good to know."
"That's not it." Tōru's eyes had narrowed at him in the mirror and Tobio had looked down to the puddles on the countertop, lingering on the slow path they took towards the ledge. He fumbled to find words, to get his point across, but nothing came to him.
Tōru had left him there, after that, in a mild huff and Tobio had felt sick, glaring at his reflection. But Tōru had come back, not too long after, with a fresh cloth. As he had soaked up the remnants of water along the sink’s edge his scowl had dissolved into something tempered.
"You're hopeless, Tobio-chan," Tōru had sighed. He swiped the towel along the counter one last time and lingered next to Tobio, taller still after all these years. Tobio looked at him then, unsure, and Tōru hadn't hesitated to steal a short kiss. "I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing if I had to carry a volleyball around for the rest of my life." He'd taped Tobio's cheek with his hand with a quick, “Good night," and left Tobio, red faced and heart singing, alone in the bathroom.
But Tōru needn't had fret over it. To Tobio, he'd glowed just as brightly off the court as he did on it, that Tobio was never able to forget him, even if he tried.
(And he had.)
*
The futon gives Tobio little comfort, spurs an ache in the crook of his back by the second night, but he sets it up beside the bed as a compromise. His sacrifice brings little reward.
Tōru, it seems, is perpetually tired.
He'd been a bubble of energy their last few days together, always on the verge of tipping over some imaginary edge. But the steam that had been pushing him seems spent now, and Tōru barely seems able to lift himself from the bed for more than breakfast before laying out along the chaise of the couch.
It's always where Tobio leaves him, and always where he finds him late in the evenings, huddled under a heavy duvet he'd procured from the couch’s storage space.
It's enough to make Tobio's heart twinge, and yet he always seems to find reasons to run an extra lap in the mornings, to goad Shouyou into practicing with him despite their coach expressly forbidding it over the holiday season. If Tōru sees the intent of his excessive scheduling, he is at least too tired to show it.
“It's like the fog leaked into my brain,” Tōru admits one night.
Tobio can see his laugh, breathy and short, in little puffs of condensation against the glass of the living room window. A whistle cuts in through the silence, that night’s college volleyball match still roaring in the background. Tobio glances at its bleary reflection in the window just over the tallest hairs of Tōru's head. In the dark it looks as if someone has dyed his upper tips in electric blues and yellows.
Tobio says nothing and Tōru laughs again like there's a joke only he is privy to. When he leans back the top of Tōru’s head falls easily into the crook of Tobio's arm and he rests there, as if he belongs.
“I'm going running with you next time,” Tōru tells him authoritatively.
Tobio breathes in. The scent of Hibiscus tickles his nose and he frowns. Tōru must see his expression in the glass, too, for he delivers a swift pinch to the side of his thigh.
“I'm going,” he insists, the same hand now resting on the plump of Tobio's leg, just above his knee. Tōru is still watching the window, the first soft patter of rain beginning to pepper at the pane. His jaw looks set and Tobio knows there's no reasonable argument that will keep Tōru at bay. “Besides,” he continues, lifting his chin in that way that makes him look like a petulant child, “I cleared it with my physical therapist and she thinks it’s a great idea.”
And that's hard to argue with, especially when Tōru looks back up at him directly, warm brown eyes imploring, yet firm. Shadows of his lashes stretch along the expanse of his eyelids, beautiful and dark, and Tobio isn’t sure how he’s ever said no to this man in his whole life.
*
Tobio looks like his mother.
At least it's been said enough that he has no reason to believe otherwise. Quite possibly, they have the same temperament, too. Her eyes on him are as sharp as the wind outside, howling at it cuts by and leaving a chill against Tobio’s cheek where it rests on the window.
Even through valiant efforts, the sunlight filtering directly on him barely abates the cold but it is just strong enough to sting his eyes and so Tobio closes them.
"How was your trip?" Tōru asks beside him, the hum of his voice as steady and high as it always has been, but the bounce of his leg jostles against Tobio's own. He shuffles it away when the friction of his jeans on his ankle makes his teeth ache.
"We got in just fine," Tobio's father says without missing a beat. "I always enjoy taking the train. So scenic." Tōru hums in acknowledgement. "What have you been up to this year?"
Tobio cracks an eye open just in time to watch his mother deliver a swift, barely passable smack to his father's arm. He smiles back at her lightly and murmurs a short, "Oh right."
"We heard about your accident," his mother says, locking her steely gaze into Tōru. She leans forward onto one arm on the table, her frown lacking any sort of sympathy. "So sorry."
"A few weeks in the hospital and some scars, but I'm fine," Tōru says, shrugging.
Tobio's father hums as if he's unsure by the answer. "I thought your mother said you'd had some memory loss."
Tōru swallows. The thumping at his side increases in tempo and Tobio closes his eyes again. "I'm fine," Tōru says and he sounds fine, as far as Tobio can hear in his timbre, but when Tōru grabs for his water glass it quakes in his grasp, little droplets of water scattering on both his and Tobio’s pant legs.
"Lost over a year, she said," his mother adds in.
It feels as if half the contents of Tōru's glass is now seeping into Tobio's pant leg. His hand finds Tōru’s bouncing knee and rests on it steadily enough that it calms the tremors, if only mildly. Tōru's hand feels cold when it clenches around his. The smile on his face when Tobio looks up is still unnaturally unperturbed.
"Excuse me," Tōru says politely. He squeezes Tobio's fingers a moment tighter and then stands to leave. "I need to use the restroom. "
Tobio watches him leave, rolling his head along the window until the back of it rests on the glass, hair cushioning against the still present chill there.
Tobio's mother taps the table, clicking her tongue. Tobio doesn't look back.
"You should have come home this year," she insists. Tobio nods. "Not that we mind coming to see you out here, but it'd be nice if you'd come home sometimes." She reaches across the table, her cool soft hands resting on his, fingers twitching lightly. His mother used to trade beauty secrets with Tōru over dinners, discuss volleyball and television programs instead of sharp glares and he wonders if maybe, she was hurt, too.
"Your mother was worried," his father puts in, almost hushed.
“Is this alright?” His mother's other hand comes down and taps the table cloth with the tip of her nail apprehensively. “Are you okay, Tobio?"
He feels more exhausted telling everyone, “It’s fine." Tobio tips his head to look at her, and then averts it to the outside.
"What happens if he remembers," she pushes, "and then he leaves you again." Her nails just barely nip him where she holds on tightly. "You were so…. oh, I never want to see you that sad again, sweetie. You've been doing so much better since the break up, I don't —I don't want you to get hurt again like that."
"We didn't." His mother blinks at him, both hands now holding his, gripping along his wrist, and this time Tobio meets her sharp stare with his own. Even when his throat burns he manages to say, "We didn't break up."
"Tobio—"
Tobio's father brings a hand to her arm then and her grip slackens until it finally gives way. "I love you, Tobio," she says softly.
Tobio breathes in, let's his hand skirt along the edge of his mother's knuckles, until she takes hold of his hand again, sending him a weathered smile. "I know," he says, and he does. Tobio may resemble his mother in her sharp features and curt temper, but he thinks that's about where it stops. She is always clear in what she means, how she feels, and Tobio is left wanting.
Tobio says, “I love you, too, mom."
Tōru doesn't come back.
Tobio pats his jean pockets, entertaining the idea of texting him before he remembers Tōru's cellphone is nothing more than a broken screen and exposed wires in the bottom of a mostly forgotten duffel bag.
But he doesn't have to worry too long. His phone buzzes with a new text alert. This is Tōru, the little bubble tells him before going off again. Borrowed a phone. I'll meet you back home. Tell them I wasn't feeling well.
His mother watches him across the table, her free hand drumming on the cloth again and he can practically feel the nerves leaking in to his own body where their hands connect. Tobio smiles weakly.
He sends his parents off a little later into the evening, waving them down through the train windows as they take their seats. He exchanges weight on either side of his legs while he waits for the initial take off.
Tobio rubs his hands together, berating himself for putting his gloves in the wrong jacket. It had been just brisk enough to ignore when they’d left their apartment earlier on, but now they ache from excessive cold.
Their apartment, he thinks wryly.
He'd been standing here with Tōru last year, huddling in close for warmth and then slinking away to find a nearby cafe for warm drinks. Tōru had bought him a small cake from the glass case, profusely apologetic that he lacked any funds that year for a proper present.
The train makes a sharp, metallic clang as the gears rev to attention and his parents wave frantically, excitedly, as if they might never see him again. Tobio returns their gesture with half the vigor.
His hands fall back into his pockets to hide from the numbing cold and his parents faces slip away into the long, dark night as the train barrages down the tunnel.
Tobio licks at his bottom lip and remembers how much sweeter the chocolate cake had been when he'd tasted it from Tōru's smile under the twinkle of christmas lights and he had thought it was enough back then to have Tōru with him, forever.
*
“Oikawa,” he calls, slamming the door shut behind him and clicking on the foyer lights.
Silence greets him.
The rush of fabric as his jacket slides past his arms is almost deafening. Tobio's eyes flutter to the floor. Two house slippers sit there, untouched since the morning. No other signs of a second occupant greets him, the black duffel bag the only reminder someone had been there. Something heavy plummets from his chest to his gut and twists like angry serpents fighting for a meal.
He doesn't bother to flip on the rest of the lights as he rushes into the living room, fingers skimming the stucco walls on his way. At the mouth of the hallway his feet smack down on a stray windbreaker that seems to jump up and tangle around one of Tobio's legs. The burn of hitting the floor joins him a moment later, stinging his hands and knees, but his body knows these aches from years of diving along laminate floors and so, as he always does, Tobio picks himself back up and rushes towards the bedroom, tugging the windbreaker from his legs as he goes.
There is already a light on in there when he pushes through the doorway. Clothes and belts and shoes flood the little bits of floor space, strewn about with an emergency that tightens Tobio's windpipes. He rushes to the closet doors and stills.
Tōru blinks up at him.
“What are you doing?” They both ask.
“I just got home,” Tobio says, drinking in as much air as his lungs allow him. “And no one answered so I thought—”
“Someone was robbing us?” Tōru titters.
Tobio clenches the windbreaker in his hand and says nothing. In the light he can see now that it is Tōru's, the other having not even shed his shoes before coming to his current position, cross legged before his closet doors, stuffing his hands into a pair of old, abandoned jeans.
Tōru seems to notice his gaze and smiles, almost bashfully. “I was looking for something.”
Tobio manages to drop beside him before his knees buckle in relief. Tōru scoots a short distance away, moving the jeans out of Tobio's reach defensively. Tobio glares. “Let me help.”
Tōru sniffles. “Absolutely not.” His hand wiggles around in the jeans momentarily before he frowns and it emerges, empty. “Besides I've looked everywhere already.”
He pulls his knees up to his chest, looking petulant in every way. Tobio leans forward to grab at the forgotten pair of pants, but Tōru shoos him away. Then he narrows his eyes. “Did you go through my closet?”
“No,” Tobio says, fiddling with a nearby shoestrap.
He looks miserable and puffy eyed, Tobio notices. He swallows, an apology for his mother on the tip of his tongue, an explanation for her behavior, but what comes out instead is, “Were you crying?”
Tōru stares at him. “No,” and he sniffles again.
“Was it important?” Tobio wonders, fingers slipping along the plastic edge of the strap. There's a slight crack along one side that he unconsciously favors.
“Yes,” Tōru whispers, a sleeved hand coming up to wipe at his eyes, aggravating the already swollen flesh into an angrier red. Tobio swallows down his thudding heart when he catches the pattern of alien busts and not volleyballs and peace signs along the sleeves. He’d taken care to bury the hoodie back in Tōru’s closet, hoping that he wouldn’t notice it had ever been moved.
Tobio hopes it stays, even if Tōru doesn’t.
“If you tell me what it is, I can look for it later.”
Tōru snuffles, the tips of his ears burning a bright red and mutters, “Don't worry about it.” Tōru stares forward, rapt and resolute, into the near empty closet and lets out a disheartened huff. “I feel like someone's playing a practical joke and any minute now they'll jump out the closet and everything will pick back up where it was.”
Beside him Tōru's presence is warm and steady, and it pulls him in until their shoulders just barely bump together. Tobio trains his own gaze ahead at the closet and wonders how many times the same thought had run through his mind.
“Hey, hey, Tobio-chan~” Tōru leans the rest of the way in, knees falling along Tobio's lap and his hair tickling the curve of his neck. Tōru wrings his hands, thumbs pulled up and through the little cuff holes and he whispers, “Happy Birthday,” in a way that almost belies his tear stained face. Tōru's laughter skirts along the curve of his neck and Tobio can barely suppress a shiver. “Sorry I didn't buy you anything this year.”
His hair is soft when Tobio rests against it, smelling sweeter than anything he could conjure in his memories, and breathes it in as deeply as his lungs allow him. Tōru giggles at the sensation and Tobio tries to commit that, too, to memory, hoping it'll nestle into his mind like pop songs on the radio.
“It’s alright.”
(It is the first time, in a long time, that Tobio enjoys the silence when it settles in between them.)
*
He remembers Hajime's gift the next morning, the little brown package still sitting by the spice rack in the kitchen where he had dropped it. In his hands, the contents rattle and shiver audibly and Tobio digs his nails under one of the folds in the wrapping job and rips it open after several tugs.
Tobio barely notices the other presence until the fridge door plops closed and Tōru asks, “What's that?” He pours juice into an older cup still on the counter.
“A present,” Tobio says and it comes out like an awed breath, “from Iwaizumi.”
Tōru's fingers are cold when they slip along the nape of his neck and slide softly up and through the back of his hair. Tobio leans into the touch without thought, enjoying the sensation of nails just barely ghosting along his scalp.
“Nekoma,” Tōru reads, resting his drink back on the counter and pulling the dvd case from Tobio. Tōru's fingers still in his hair. “The battle of the trash heap, huh?” Tōru clicks his tongue playfully and places it back into Tobio's hand, but his eyes linger on the cover.
“Maybe we'll finally get to watch it this time,” Tobio says.
“Sure…” Tōru's eyes are dark, unreadable, when Tobio glances up at him, eyebrows narrowed as if he's trying to recall something. His fingers give another light scratch against Tobio’s scalp before Tōru retreats into the other room. He steps back a second later, fingers drumming on the doorway trimming for a second and he points one of the fingers that should be holding his glass accusingly at Tobio, “Don't forget to thank Iwa-chan for that! A recording that old isn't easy to come by.”
The images of him and his teammates, his opponents, oddly photoshopped along the cover stare up at Tobio. He and Shouyou are easy to spot, young and energetic even when frozen in time. Half of Shouyo’s face bends around the spine and Tobio almost thinks to send him a picture of it to mock him.
He's not sure if the DVD is authentic, can’t quite remember if there had even been a cover on the original copies. There had been a pre-order, he remembers vaguely, for the televised program. Kiyoko and Hitoka had reminded them for weeks, kept a manila envelope out for the team to leave money and order slips, and still Tobio had forgotten to secure one of his own. He never quite found the patience for online auctions or internet scrounging to find a proper copy after that either. He had tried burning his own from Shouyou’s that last winter. He'd been disappointed when it had turned to static right after the first round when he attempted to show Tōru, Shouyo’s version irreparably scratched.
He'd burrowed a proper copy from Kōshi when he'd seen him on Christmas last year. He'd been excited to show Tōru, had left the recording in the console player for weeks, but by then he'd known, Tōru wasn't coming back.
It's a very nice gift, much nicer than the one’s Iwaizumi usually gives him. Last year’s gift card is still in his wallet, and Tobio has no idea if the funds are even accessible anymore.
“Shittykawa helped me find it,” Iwaizumi had said.
Tobio frowns, turning the disc over in his hand, a thought itching quietly in the back of his head and slowly Tōru's steely expression clicks. Unfamiliar.
Tōru hadn't recognized it.
*
Sleep does not come easily to Tobio that night. More than the burn in his back where the futon refuses him proper support, is the dark pit of anxiety that seems to never bottom out, and never empty. It must be far past midnight. He breathes in, sharp, steady, then let's it back out in a huff.
When he opens his eyes, something flutters in front of his vision, grainy and darker than the ceiling. It is a minute before he recognises it as a hand, Tōru's arm bent slightly around the bed frame. His fingers squeeze together and seem to beckon at him and instinctively Tobio reaches out.
Tōru's face leans over the edge next, and though it is almost too dark to tell Tobio can imagine the soft, sleepy grin half buried in his pillow. Tōru squeezes again, this time the act comforting, loving, his palm turning until he securely fits his digits between each of Tobio's own. His skin burns pleasantly wherever Tōru's fingers touch.
“Come up,” Tōru whispers, tugging lightly as if he can pull Tobio up just like that. Tobio shakes his head and Tōru lets out a haughty little breath, fingers releasing their hold. “Fine. “
Tōru is beside him suddenly, flush and warm at his side. The flat of Tōru's chin rests atop his head, breath tickling his hair and Tobio breathes in, arms wrapping instinctively around the other's torso, pulling him taut, fingers sinking into the fabric of his pajama shirt. Tobio can't quite make out Tōru's soft murmurs, isn't even sure he's saying anything in particular, but it fills in the silence, eases the tight coil in Tobio's gut.
And he thinks, if time could just stop here — now — he'd be perfectly content.
*
His arms are empty when he wakes up. Which, he's used to now.
Should be.
(He isn't quite used to it.)
He throws one arm far to the side, turning on his back. One of the tree branches taps gently on the window, barely a foot above him where he lays now just beneath the ledge. Tobio's always been a leaden sleeper, dropping like a stone wherever he lays, but Tōru's always been restless, and somehow even in sleep Tobio's always instinctively found ways to accommodate around his roaming habits, so he is barely surprised to find himself quite a distance from the futon.
The bathroom door opens a second later. Tōru's feet tread gently on the carpet, padding his way over toward Tobio.
"Good," Tōru says, "you're awake". His voice is soft, as if he's still being cautious to not wake him. Tōru's hair has already been brushed in that almost careless way he likes to pretend is natural. Tobio knows better. He kneels down beside him on the floor, already adorning his joggers and running shorts with the matching, mint jacket. Tobio recognizes the set, the one with the little galactic planet logo on the back with holo glitter, declaring Out of This World in circular print around it.
Tobio'd gotten the set for Tōru for their last anniversary.
Somewhere behind him, Tobio's phone goes off.
"Time to get up," Tōru sings, feathering fingers along the fringe of his bangs. It is cruel, so very cruel, and then Tōru shoots him with a small, sleepy smile, fully visible now and up close, and reminds him again to get up.
Tobio bites down on his bottom lip, pulling his eyes up and away, willing the tears at the edge of his vision to dry swiftly.
"Hey —" Tōru starts, but Tobio flings his arms over his face, smacking the gentle fingers from his hair and hiding effectively from Tōru's stare.
"Go away, " Tobio demands—practically croaks—at Tōru. "I'll get dressed.”
*
It is his feet that carry him left when Tōru continues forward, chasing a path he had grown used to.
“The park's this way, “ Tōru tells him. “Dummy,” he adds with a snide little smile, fingers lacing through Tobio's and he tugs him back, beckoning him to follow. Tobio does.
Until a few block down, and Tōru's feet weigh him to the cement. Tobio looks back at him, over the stretch of their arms, halfway in the street already.
Tōru's eyes look vaguely wild, lips pressed together tightly. His hold on Tobio doubles and pains him, but instead of letting go Tobio squeezes back.
“Let's go,” he says, and Tōru nods. But he stays on the sidewalk. “What?”
“Here,“ Tōru says, not looking up. His brows knit together, eyes distant as if there's a memory he cannot quite recall on the tip of his tongue. “It was here —” Tōru swallows audibly. Tobio can barely feel any circulation in his hand now. “—There was fog… I didn’t see them and then the car... it didn’t stop and I—”
His eyes finally meet Tobio’s, but he’s not sure Tōru actually sees him.
Tobio walks the distance back between them, shoulder bumping carefully against the other. Where their hands connect, Tobio pulls Tōru back along with him, retracing their path back the few blocks over. Tōru eases his hand eventually, pulling up alongside Tobio and slipping their joined hands into his pocket where they sit, protected from the cold.
Over Tōru's head, just before they take the right to the park this time, Tobio sees the edges of his apartment building and wonders, briefly, what business Tōru had on the other side of the city from his own apartment, so early that morning.
*
Shouyo texts him sometime in the late afternoon on Christmas Eve. Several other texts flood in from Shouyo’s phone, their tone implying that at least Ryunosuke and Yuu had taken possession of it to harass Tobio to join them for an evening of drinks and catching up.
Flurries had dotted the sky since the early morning and Tobio's content to watch them flitter and fly from the comfort of his couch. Tōru smiles at him from the far end, legs huddled in what seems uncomfortably close to his chest, adorning the same gaudy alien hoodie he'd procured from the closet the other night. He is vibrant against the gray outdoors.
Tobio declines.
We said it'd be tradition, the next message reads.
You're single this year no excuses!!!, says the last. He kills his phone's power after that.
It startles him when Tōru plops himself right between the couch pillows and Tobio's back.
“Did you know the first recorded UFO sighting was in 1639?” He keeps his far elbow bent on the cushions, holding his head up to stare beyond Tobio’s hairline at the screen. Still, he is close enough that Tobio can feel his breath along the shell of his ear. On screen is an alien documentary, but Tobio doesn't have the mind for it. Tōru continues without waiting for an answer, “Though some people say they've been mentioned as early as the bible.”
Tōru prattles on, his fingers dancing unmindfully along the bend in Tobio's waist. Where Tōru touches him, his skin tenses and tingles. Tōru might as well be planets away, but his presence on earth is still warm and comfortable against Tobio’s back. He leans into it, tilting his head up to watch Tōru’s face instead. Under his chin is a small litter of scars Tobio knows wasn’t there a year ago. He wonders if they are painful and swallows down the urge to kiss each and every single one better.
Tōru blinks at him the moment he notices his stare. “What?”
“It’s boring,” Tobio says. “Aliens are stupid.”
“Oh?” Tōru sings, removing the hand on his waist to tap a single finger to Tobio’s nose. “Maybe it’s because you’re stupid, my dear Tobio-chan.”
“No.” Tobio’s glare fuels Tōru’s laughter. His finger follows up the curve of Tobio’s nose and runs through his hair.
“Well, you know,” Tōru starts, hand curving down Tobio’s cheeks, palm resting upon the full expanse of it and he smiles, wickedly, “you kind of look like an alien.”
Tobio sputters. “I do not,” he protests. But that only seems to amuse Tōru. He takes hold of Tobio’s other cheek and pushes and pulls against the flesh until Tobio’s lips pucker like a fish, then pulls his mouth into a long smile.
Tōru only laughs harder as Tobio tries to shake him, and he can’t quite stop himself from himself from joining in.
Beyond him the sun peaks in the sky, chilly beams clinging about Tōru's face as his head lulls back. Tobio's heart swells. Tōru looks soft, delighted as he is, and Tobio fears that touching him may ruin the moment—that Tōru would slip through his fingers like the falling snow.
And then, Tōru kisses him.
His fingers on Tobio are cool, a vibrant contradiction to the heat pooling in his cheeks, and welcomed. A thumb taps on the plump skin of his cheek bone and then caresses down, curling at the base of his neck. Tōru's mouth is warm, and when he breathes, “Tobio,” between them it is so sweet, tooth achingly saccharine, and Tobio purloins a second taste, a third, and then loses count.
He could lose many things—a year’s worth of things if luck grants him it—to the scent of hibiscus shampoo and a tongue so sweet it might drive out all the bitterness.
But he doesn't.
His fingers remember the measure of every curl in Tōru's hair, his palms the exact plump of Tōru's cheeks. He can feel every nuanced change, and it is enough to make his heart throb.
“Tōru,” he manages to croak. Tōru pauses, sitting back just enough to stare him down and Tobio almost chokes. Liquor had never been one of his vices, but Tōru’s eyes are as fine and dark as a spiced rum as they catch glints of the winter sun, and Tobio thinks he would be perfectly content to drown in them, to stay unendingly intoxicated.
But that he also cannot.
Unsatisfied, Tōru leans back in, the warmth of him so sorely missed that it almost burns, is almost enough to throw away pride and reason, but instead Tobio's finger clutch the pillow under his head and shoves it between them.
“Tobio-chan!” Tōru shouts, equal parts miffed and confused.
“Don't,” Tobio manages. “Don't.”
“Don't what? Kiss you?” Tōru huffs.
Tobio cannot see him, Tōru obscured completely by the cream pillow, but he can feel where the other's hands clench around the couch’s edge, can see the knuckles turning white and pink. Tōru's arms shake mildly and Tobio wonders if he's about to cry, or if it's still the effect of his accident.
“I don't get it, Tobio-chan,” his voice is only a whisper, but there’s a quiet whine under his breath. “I kept asking for you, back in the hospital, you know?”
Oh, definitely near tears Tobio decides.
“Iwa-chan… he said that you'd want nothing to do with me.” Tōru chuckles, joylessly. “But then you did. And I thought, I thought maybe you still loved me after all, and we could just go back.”
“I have to—” Tobio barely manages to breath,” I have to go—”
He pushes Tōru away with the plush of the cushion and storms his way down the hall, trying his best to ignore the prickling sensation in his half asleep legs.
He loses against them at the front hallway, dropping on his back end upon the lip’s edge there that divides the room into the foyer. Tobio slips his shoes on as quickly as he can. Tōru doesn't seem to be following him.
The black duffel bag stares up at him before Tobio can reach for the door. He doesn't know what possesses him to kick it. Perhaps it's the ever insistent reminder in his doorway that things had changed, that even if today Tōru loved him, well, perhaps tomorrow he would not.
He kicks it again.
This time it falls forward and something chimes on the tile as it slips from a carelessly closed front pouch. Tobio leans over to grab for it and his heart simultaneously freezes and breaks. He catches himself on the far wall and turns the object around between his thumb and pointer finger.
It's a ring.
A simple, little band with a single diamond embedded deeply into the gold, but Tobio knows exactly it's intent.
It’s an engagement ring.
He swallows, turning the band around several times. The entryway light catches along the inner curves, beaming back at him brightly.
It doesn't suit Tōru, he thinks, despite it's simple beauty. Tobio would have bought a bevy of diamonds, for someone like him. Something gaudy, yet beautiful. But he didn't.
Someone else had. Someone who didn't know Tōru.
(Someone who wasn't him.)
*
“We should go,” Tobio says, hand slipping into the pouch of his sweater. The duffel bag sits heavy against his waist.
Tōru blinks up at him then and Tobio cannot meet his gaze, and so he turns away. “I think someone’s waiting for you.”
Before Tōru can make any vein protest, Tobio insists, “You need to go.”
The television clicks off.
Tobio gets the address from Hajime and sets the location in his phone. They take the bus all across town. It chirps like a confused bird, grating on Tobio’s nerves until their stop finally comes up, only a short block around the corner from Tōru’s apartment. In his pocket the ring sits heavier than the duffel bag across his shoulders. Tōru’s head is tilted back the whole way over, gaze climbing up and trained on the long faces of the older architecture.
Hajime, always reliable, makes sure to send Tobio the building code with his texts, but it fails to be useful when someone on their way out smiles at Tōru and keeps the door open for them. The key is found easily enough in Tōru’s personal effects.
For one person, the shared living space is comfortable. The windows are wide, almost the length of the far wall, flowing through with natural light from the near-dawn sky. He can see just a peek of the sun, over the top of the adjacent building’s roof. Tobio looks for signs of life around them, but none greet him.
Tōru picks up a book sitting on the dresser that is pushed up against the wall by the door. He lets it plop back down, the smack of it on the glossed over wood sounding like a gunshot in the silence. Tobio glares back at him, but Tōru shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs.
“I don’t see anyone,” he says. The door shuts heavily behind him, and this time they both jump. Tōru places a hand over his heart, and looks at Tobio, wide eyed. “Is it a ghost?”
Tobio frowns in reply.
Barely an hour later, Tōru watches him under droopy eyelids from where he’s strewn himself and the rest of his belongings across the double bed. It must be a gift, Tobio thinks, to appear absurdly bored at all the possibilities the last year has brought him.
But then again, Tōru has never been a standard of normalcy. Point in case: the little poster above his head declaring, “Surround Yourself With People Who Will Lift You Up!” that depicts a tiny stick figure being abducted by an alien spaceship. The rest of the apartment, however, is decorated with a more classy taste, only a few odd trinkets popping out to the eye.
“So,” Tōru drawls, “what makes you think there’s anyone else coming back here?”
Tobio taps one of the figurines closest to him, some anime girl from one of Tōru’s shows he could never really get into. Dust lingers on his finger when he lifts it back up. He wipes it off on his pants with a face.
It is not the only thing in the apartment that looks unloved.
“Well?”
Tobio twirls in the stool seat, eyes sweeping over the apartment again. Even he can see, it hasn’t been very well lived in as of lately.
“C’mon~” Tōru trills, pushing up into a sitting position. “Share with the class, Tobio-chan!”
Tobio dips his hand back into his sweater’s pocket. The ring burns where it slips between his fingers and into his palm, hand clenching unconsciously until the ridges bite into the fatty flesh there. As if there’s a string between them, the feeling mimics in his heart.
He doesn’t see why someone wouldn’t be waiting for Tōru.
Tōru huffs, grabbing for one of the pillows from the head of the bed and pinning it against his chest with his now raised legs. His head rests on it as he continues to glower at Tobio across the small room. Tobio stares back, silent.
After a while, Tōru sighs. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But—” he pats the place next to him with pleading eyes that are unfair “—come sit with me?”
Tobio can’t deny him that, and so he drops off the stool and joins Tōru on the bed. He scoots further back until his back hits the wall, the tip of his hair tapping along the poster’s edge.
Tōru pushes back on the bed, slumping against the wall just a hair's breadth from Tobio. His hand wraps tighter around the band. It is a reminder his heart needs, but doesn’t, necessarily, want.
“We should eat soon,” he says. Tōru, unexpectedly, laughs.
Tobio watches him, the little lines visible along the edge of his mouth and the vision of Tōru shaking with uncontrolled laughter causes him to ache.
“Of course!” Tōru titters, “The first thing you want to talk about is dinner.”
Tobio breathes in through his nose instinctively, and the sound comes out like a little sniffle. There’s a weight on his chest he cannot ignore any longer and his hand squeezes ever so tightly, he can barely feel the jewelry in his grasp now.
Tōru will probably never laugh with him again.
Tōru will never push him off the bed in his sleep again.
Tōru will never buy his favorite buns from that one shop three bus stops out of his way, pretending he ended up there by accident because he’s actually really sorry for the last argument he started.
Tobio doesn’t recognize the first hiccup as coming from his throat, but Tōru startles. He can feel his face pinch against the sensation of crying, all thoughts on keeping the tears at bay, but it doesn’t work.
“Tobio-chan~” Tōru coos. The fabric of his hoodie feels comforting on Tobio’s skin where Tōru cups his face, the pad of his thumbs peeking through the tattered old holes in the cuffs, and softly wiping his cheeks dry. His fingers feel as if they’ve caught an ever permanent frostbite, nipping where they touch him, but Tobio doesn’t mind.
“Tobio-chan,” he says again. “Breathe for me, okay?”
Tobio breathes in deeply, but it doesn’t seem to help more than give fuel to tears. With no resistance against him, Tōru manages to pull him to his chest. The lean strains Tobio’s back, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t adjust further than latching his fingers together behind Tōru's broad back and squeezing in closer.
When he breathes in again, the scent of expensive laundry soap and too spicy cologne and curry tickle his nose and eases something inside him. Something he’s missed.
Home.
“I’m sorry I laughed at you about dinner.” Tōru whispers and Tobio can feel the breath of his laugh fan along the fringe of his hair. Blunted nails run cautiously along the curve of his scalp, fingers catching in and untangling threads of hair.
Tobio shakes his head.
He slips the hand still holding the jewelry out from underneath it's hiding spot and holds it up for Tōru to take. Tobio feels him shift to accommodate grabbing the trinket without compromising their position. There is no relief when Tobio relinquishes the ring into Tōru’s awaiting hand.
There's a slight hitch in his breath when Tōru asks, “Where did you find this?”
“In your stuff,” Tobio mutters. “The duffel bag.”
Outside the door, feet shuffle by, and momentarily it feels like his heart has stilled just to listen. The stranger passes on without even a test of the knob.
As if sensing his thoughts, Tōru's fingers return to petting his hair.
“No one else is coming here,” he says finally, certainly. Tōru’s cheek is cold, too, when it comes to rest atop Tobio’s forehead. If the position pains his neck, Tōru gives no tell. “Don’t you think Iwa-chan would have known?”
It's a sob that follows the question, heart wrenching, and it leaves cracks in Tobio's heart, along the already jagged edges. He squeezes, fingers digging into Tōru's back unconsciously, mind chanting, I don't want to let go.
I don't want to let go again.
But despite himself, Tobio pulls back. Tōru smiles at him, the edges wobbly at best, and it should not be an earth shattering realization that for all his bravado, he is scared too, yet somehow it is.
Stars burn in his eyes, a sickly green cast against wine-dark, and Tobio notices them in the lack of sunlight now, latched to the ceiling above them. He remembers owning a set of similar decals in his childhood bedroom, a make-do nightlight against the monsters hiding under his bed, in his closet.
“Sorry,” Tōru murmurs. “I thought we’d finally gotten it right this time. I just—” he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands “—woke up with this idea of what tomorrow was supposed to be like, but it's already gone and it feels—” he presses his lips together tightly and breathes in. “It feels like some body snatcher froze me in time and took over my life and then dropped me back off without so much as a rundown.”
The poster by his head crinkles where his hair tickles the edge and he looks, so unimaginably small, distant, though it would take barely any effort at all to touch him. Tōru breathes out for a long while, disturbing a tuft of his own bangs. “I don't know what I did Tobio-Chan—”
“You left,” Tobio answers, briskly. He busies himself watching the makeshift sky, imagining the way Tōru would choose to lay out the stars, wondering if he’d hold up a picture on his cellphone to make sure he’d gotten some cluster of galaxies just right, and then plucking them off one by one to try again. Tobio furrows his brow at them, trying to remember from nights stargazing, stretched out along the fields back home in Miyagi, recalling Tōru’s excited prattle, just which one he might have been going for. “Because of me. I think.”
He can hear Tōru when he breathes in, nose absolutely stuffy with snot.
“I'm—not good,” he presses. His voice—his hands—his heart quiver in tandem. He swallows. “I don't get things all the time, so you must have put up with a lot.”
One of the stickers above them sits on its last leg, ready to drop where the binding agent isn't sufficient, a single edge still fighting to keep hold. Tobio wonders if he could make a wish on it, if it were to fall.
I want to go back.
“It was Christmas, I think. We had plans, maybe. I think. We usually don’t so I didn't…I don't think I remembered—some of the guys were in town and I—you were texting me, but I didn't read them until—”
Oh, he's crying again.
“You said—one of the last things you wrote was that I probably didn't love you enough—but I—”
“Did you?”
Tobio nods.
Tōru stares at him a while, considering him quietly. “Did you tell me that, Tobio?”
“No,” Tobio whispers. “I was—I was waiting until—”
“Until what?”
Tobio swallows. “Until you came home.”
“What's with that?” Tōru laughs, a bitter little thing. His eyes shine like dark embers in the limited lighting, moreso from the swell of tears gathering under his eyes. It's a very unattractive face, but it looks well on Tōru regardless. “Hey Tobio-chan,” he implores him softly, “if I didn’t come back, would you have just kept waiting?”
The answer seems obvious to Tobio. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
Tōru looks at him, eyes steely and wondering, and it feels like his mouth has gone dry. Tobio wants to touch him again, to feel the swell of his cheek against the palm of his hand, to kiss the square of his jaw, his forehead, his lips until they both forget.
But he doesn't.
“I love you,” Tobio says instead. He breathes in, pushes his gaze to stare down at the mattress instead. He can't recall what the globs of color were meant to be even though there had been light not but an hour ago. “Even at your worst,” he swallows, “even if you don’t love me back— for me, it’s just always been you, Oikawa. So I’ll wait. ”
Tōru stares at him and Tobio thinks he can see a galaxy of stars behind it. “You know one of the last things I remember thinking?”
Tobio shakes his head.
“‘I want to be with Tobio-chan forever.’” Tōru snorts. He holds the ring up between the two of them, pinning the band between his thumb and forefinger. Tobio’s eyes follow the path the ring takes as Tōru rolls it along the curve of his thumb, pale lights catching and gleaming in the dark gold surface. Tōru pulls it back a second later, cupping the ring in his palm and away from Tobio's sight. “Seems like I probably never stopped.”
There is an audible thump where Tōru hits his head back against the wall. “I must have kept this the whole time,” he sniffles. “How pathetic.”
Tobio tilts his head, not quite understanding and Tōru slips the ring into his jean pocket with a haughty sniff.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I'll explain it to you later.”
Street lamps flicker to life outside. Tonight they are unobscured by any fog, yet they do little more to help lighten up the studio than Tōru's stickers. But what little does smuggle it's way in sits softly along Tōru's face, catches brightly in his eyes.
Tobio leans back against the wall with him, unsure. Tōru's hand finds his.
“Let's go back,” Tōru says, resolutely. His eyes look back at Tobio and his mouth quirks up along one side. Tobio adds Tōru's dimples to the list of things he'd like to kiss. “I think… that’s what we’ve both wanted. Make things right. Go back to where we were.” He takes a reconsidering pause, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe just a little before that.”
Tobio squints. “The couch?”
“I hate how endearing I find your stupidity,” Tōru scoffs. “I'm asking you out.” He pauses, “Again.”
Tobio stares until the request sinks in and then finds himself nodding. Tōru hikes one of his legs against Tobio's other side, straddling him. His free hand curls around the curve of his jaw, tilting Tobio’s face up to look at him, as if he hadn't been rapt enough.
“You want to know something funny, Tobio-chan~?” From this distance Tobio can read the mirth in Tōru's eyes. “I just realized you were right about something.”
Tobio frowns. “That's not funny. “
“But it is,” Tōru insists. “Because someone was waiting for me.”
The breath of his laughter ghosts over Tobio's lips when he leans forward, only to be replaced a second later by Tōru's own. There's a smile in his kiss, sweeter than chocolate or hibiscus, and Tobio makes sure to press his own smile along the underside of Tōru's jaw, his forehead, his dimples, before returning to his lips.
Above them, unable to keep hold, the little star finally gives out. Tobio barely notices it, until Tōru laughs, brushing the stray decal from his hair before kissing him again.
#Oikage#Okbb2018#kageoi#tumblr ate the italics again and I'm#just don't have that energy lmao#as always I'll maybe come back and fix the emphasis but I probably won't lmao#sparkle garbage#I love how the minimum was like 5000 and just about everyone was like#'you mean per chapter?'#this is the longest thing I have written in YEARs and probably the longest oneshot of my lifeeeeee#long post
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Blinding
BlackWitch!OC x Erik
Summary: A disheveled Erik is led to Noah, a witch, who will help him on his journey of discovering his true fate.
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~4k.
A/N: I have two fics that I need to be writing a part three and part two to but here I am starting a whole new series because I can never complete one train of thought. I hate myself ugh.
Cessabit
The gentle flow of the wind hit Erik’s window, causing it to make silent whistles. Rain wasn’t a reoccurring friend to the sunny, upbeat town, probably because it was scared to interfere with the sun’s arrogant rays. With the weather, Erik’s attitude changed, reminding him of how lonely and depressed he was under his nonchalant facade. He sat by the window studying the dark grey clouds and their rapid movement. The rain didn't fall too hard but she definitely made a grand entrance, inconveniencing the people that were walking below her. They ran for cover, throwing bags or briefcases over their heads trying to avoid getting wet. The rain seemed to enjoy her fall, needing the human contact.
Erik let his thoughts wander further before his stomach interrupted them. He hadn't eaten since this morning and his body was in dire need of energy. Forcing himself out of the window seat he stalked over to the refrigerator, glancing at the emptiness that awaited him inside. Lately, he hadn't been in the mood to shop. His stomach rumbled again, this time causing him to let out a loud groan. How can hunger consume someone in a matter of seconds? For as long as he’d been siting in that chair, his body was content and now, all of sudden, it felt like he hasn’t eaten in years.
Walking to his room, he made his way toward the closet where he slipped on his shoes and pulled out a wind jacket. He decided to go out and get him some food and tomorrow, if his mood changes, he’ll fill his fridge and cabinets. By the door was an umbrella he bought a while ago that still had the tag on it.
Just a few days ago, people were begging for rain and just as she made an appearance, they ran from her and shield themselves from her kindness. He put the umbrella back in it’s spot and walked out of the door, locking it. He walked down the hallway to the elevator and out his apartment entrance, deciding to walk instead of drive. He wanted the rain to feel welcomed; he wanted her to know that he was grateful for her.
He walked swiftly, with his head down and hands in his pockets, passed the familiar shops dodging any form of human contact, almost knocking over a couple of people, letting his hunger guide him. He was determined to get out, get food and be home in a span of twenty minutes, if the local restaurants felt the same. He heard the light ding as he walked in one of his favorite spots. Instantly, the change of scenery put him in an eerie mood as a dark cloud crept over his head. He felt danger and he was about to walk back out but he had no control over his body.
“Welcome to Burger Town!” Erik winced at the sound of the shrill, shaky voice. His eyes met blue ones, the owner of the voice. She stood behind the counter with a big smile showcasing her bright, perfect teeth. Her thin, straight, blonde hair rested on her shoulders neatly. The restaurant was gloomy and empty. The vibe was off, he could feel it the moment he walked in but the smell is what drew him closer, leading him to god knows what.
He’d been there a couple of times before when the weather wasn't so bad. The place was never empty but I guess the rain scared away potential customers. He walked up to the front counter and observed the menu that hung above the cashier.
“How are you today, sir?” He looked at her and then back at the menu. “Order when you're ready,” she said through her teeth, that never left their position ever since he walked in. Now that he realized, he’d never seen her before. It was always some nice asian chick who took the orders.
“What happened to the asian girl?” Erik spoke breaking his eyes away from the menus to meet, Luci’s, at least that was the name on her name tag. While slowly moving her head to the side, her teeth hid in her mouth but her lips turned up into a sinister grin. Erik squinted his eyes at her facial expression, uncomfortable with her choice.
“She was...fired.” One of the most terrifying laughs left her mouth sending chills down Erik’s spine. The fuck is wrong with her?
“Oh, uh, alright,” Erik shifted from one foot to another, his body temperature rising suddenly. Luci noticed and scanned him over quickly, glancing over his soaked body licking her thin lips. Erik noticed and spoke accordingly, “I don't do white girls.” If Luci’s looks could kill, Erik would be six feet under with a spatula up his ass.
“What made you think that I wanted you to ‘do’ me?” The grin was long gone and she looked at him through hooded eyes, snarling almost. She leaned forward, slightly, with her hands placed on the counter stretching her arms and locking her elbows. At this angle, he could see the evil in her blue eyes, stabbing his face and daring him to say one word out of line. This angle is where he also noticed her lack of clothes. She had on a thin red dress, something he didn't notice before. He could’ve sworn she had on a uniform.
“Yeah, can I get a turkey bacon burger with wheat bread? I want it all the way with light onions and light mustard, please.” Luci stayed in her position, contemplating on her next move. Erik noticed her internal battle and cleared his throat at the awkwardness. “Uh-”
“Do you want fries, a drink?” She spoke too fast, still in the same position, slouched over the counter looking up at Erik through those piercing eyes.
“Sure, regular fries and a sprite is fine,” he hesitated. For some reason he was stuck in this position, wanting to move. Something was keeping him there forcing him to meet Luci’s gaze. She didn't budge and she looked at him with disgust and rage. Her face grew red and the silence between them made Erik’s blood boil. He tried to speak up but his lips wouldn't move and soon his breathing stopped also. Luci clearly was informed of his affliction because a smile crept over her pale, but red face. Her eyes, black, once blue, moved down to Erik’s hands where she placed hers on top before trailing her eyes back up to his. Her hand stayed there along with the smile. Oh and that smile. That creepy, threatening smile that laid on her face. That smile alone would send someone to the madhouse.
Erik felt the heat rise in his body along with the increase of blood circulation due to the lack of oxygen entering his body. He tried to open his mouth to let in air but his lips were glued together. Luci tilted her head to the side freeing Erik of her eyes. Erik’s chest tightened and his mind started to panic. He couldn't breathe and the sensation was starting to become too much. His hand shook under Luci’s and a tear escaped his eye. She gripped his hand tighter and instead of feeling her grip on his hand, he felt it on his neck, tightening with the intent to kill. Erik’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before a ding sounded off in the back.
“Order 666,” many deep voices yelled from the kitchen, laughing. Impossible because Luci never put in the order and Erik never paid.
Luci released his hand and air traveled back to Erik’s lungs. He opened his mouth and sucked in some more air, coughing. The smile crept away from Luci’s face as she turned around to pick up his order. Erik’s chest heaved and he groaned at his uneasiness. He wanted to run out of there but his feet were still sunk in the floor. Instead, his eyes followed Luci and saw that, not only did she not have on much clothing, she was barefoot and covered in blood. Erik’s eyes grew alert and his survival instincts kicked in.
“Relax, Erik,” a calm, soothing voice called from behind him. He snapped his neck around and saw nothing. “Cessabit.” The distant voice whispered the foreign word over and over again and Erik’s body immediately reacted. His limbs grew peaceful and his shoulders slouched. All of the tension and panic that was once sheltered in his bones, were evicted at the evocation of the word.
Luci came back with a white bag in her hands that she threw on the counter.
“Your...turkey burger.” She tilted her head to the side and looked at the bag then at his hands. If he wasn't so relaxed, he would have cursed Luci out and then ran out of the store. Luci noticed his lack of movement and spoke up. “Your food.” The word bounced off her lips in utter disgust and annoyance. Erik glanced at the bag, ready to pick it up but his hands didn't move. They stayed at his side, weighed down by a force. “Pick up the bag, Erik.” How did she know my name? Erik started picking at the side of his shorts, panicking at his lack of control over his body. Luci was fustrated and Erik could hear her breathing increase with each breath.
“Cessabit.” The voice spoke again making Erik slink back into a relaxed state. Luci must have heard it too because she perked her ears up and walked around the counter.
“Noah? Is that you?” A haunting laugh left Luci’s body as she walked around Erik looking up and down his form. “He’s a little bit too stocky, arrogant and human to be meddling with someone as gentle and magical as you, Noah.” Luci stopped directly in front of Erik and looked at his eyes. “What did he do to get your services? What did it cost him? Hopefully, everything.” Her hands met with his face and she made him look directly into her, now, light brown eyes.
Erik squirmed at her heated touch and his hands picked at his shorts rapidly. “Cessabit, Erik.” Luci’s laughed radiated through the diner along with laughter from the people in the back.
“Relax, Erik.” the voice spoke.
“But how can he relax when two forces other than himself are trying to control his body?” Luci released his face and looked into his eyes deeper.
“Release him!” The once calm voice boomed with strength, casting strong gusts of wind throughout the small restaurant. When did we become so enclosed?
Cessabit, the voice spoke in his thoughts, relax. Luci laughed and Erik felt a heavy weight lift off of his shoulder, his legs feeling like jell-o. “Your powers have grown, witch. Show yourself. Come to me, so we can talk.”
Get out of there, now!
“You heard her, Erik. You better listen while she's holding me. She's not that strong.” Luci grunted and her head twisted quickly, demonic. “No! Erik, don't forget your food!” Luci laughed and yelled at Erik as he sprinted out of the door. Fuck that food, he didn't know what was happening. He ran and ran and ran for what felt like hours. The restaurant was only a good ten minutes, walking distance, away from his home but for some reason he was in the forest now, wandering. How did I get here?
***
The trees rustled and swayed to the song of the wind. The rain brushed against Erik’s window, waking him up from his slumber. When did I fall asleep? “How did I get home?” He looked at the clock that read 4:00 AM. Four o'clock? What the fuck is going on? He got out of the bed feeling the sudden urge to pee. After he finished releasing his bodily fluids, he walked to the kitchen still unsatisfied from the lack of food.
Suddenly, all of the events that occurred the day before fluttered to his mind: the restaurant, Luci, the calm, strong, distant voice in the back of his head. Cessabit, that word still repeating itself in his subconscious. Cessabit. His stomach let out a monstrous sound before he could put anymore thought into yesterday.
Opting out of going out again because of the previous events, he opened up his cabinets trying to find something to snack on so he can go back to bed. Nothing. He laced up his shoes and walked out of the house again, following the same routine he did earlier. Except, this time he walked in the opposite direction, wanting to be as far as possible from that burger joint.
Just about every shop, store and restaurant was closed except for trash ass McDonald’s and Taco Bell. He didn't want neither of them because of what they did to his stomach. His legs stopped when he heard a high-pitched, angelic sound brush the inside of his ears as a sweet smell grabbed the hairs in his nose. His eyes, instinctually, fluttered close while he followed the song and smell allowing their waves to guide him. All of his senses stood at attention and his legs stopped in front of a small shop.
The outside was covered with plants, trying to ward itself from the rest of the city. Erik glanced at the building and studied it’s location. It was at the corner of a crossroads and close to the thick woods that rested behind. It wasn't far from other buildings but it wasn't close. Whoever owned it didn't care for money, surely, due to its whacky location. Nobody would ever go there unless they were wandering or curious, like him.
Erik walked up to the door trying to find a ‘closed’ sign. When he didn't, he put his hand on the handle and swung it open. Instantly, a peaceful gush of wind pushed against his body and relaxed his tense bones. The shop was beautiful inside, decked with plants, crystals and books. His breathing was sharp, concise, his lungs thanking him for placing them in the pure air. He looked around and saw where the smell came from. A fresh batch of bagels rested on a small table in front of a door closed off by long vines hanging from the frame.
His legs moved towards the food then stopped when he heard a glass break in the back. He was about to leave but then a woman appeared through the door frame, throwing what appeared to be salt in the air. “What do you think this is?! A hotel?! Get out!” She had her back towards Erik, throwing salt over her brown shoulders, her loose curls bounced at her movement swaying with her hips.
“Excuse me?” Erik spoke, unsure if he should have. She was just about to throw another sprinkle of salt into the air before she turned around to meet his voice.
Erik let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when his eyes met her face. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen in his entire life. Her reddish-brown, wild, curly mane framed her chubby, brown face where her big doe eyes and button nose rested. Her plump lips were moisturized, begging Erik to suck and kiss on them. His eyes trailed down he curvy body that was covered by an extremely thin, pink, spaghetti strapped dress. Her toes wore the same pink color and Erik’s mouth watered as his eyes danced back up to her thick, beautiful, long legs. His eyes traveled up and down her body a couple of times taking in her image, burning it in his mind.
“May I help you?” Her voice was rich, deep and sultry just like her skin. Erik didn't speak, still lost in her trance, confused because he’s positive that he’s heard her voice before. “I won't ask again.” Erik looked at her eyes, they were calm like her words although the phrase was meant to be intimidating. She threw the last particles of salt that rested in her hand in the air and placed the glass container that held the salt on the counter. “Speak. Explico.”
Without a second thought, Erik’s mouth blurted out words and his intentions, ”I’m hungry. I don't have anything to eat in the house and I took a walk to find something. Your shop was the only one open so I walked in to see what smelled so good.”
She smiled, genuinely and moved behind the table surrounded with plants and crystals, sitting down in front of the bagels. Erik found himself angry, wanting to look at her body a while longer.
“Was that hard to say?”
“No.”
She pushed the plate and motioned for Erik to sit across from her. With no hesitation, he walked over to her in a euphoric state and sat down. Her brown orbs softly looked into his as she placed her hand on her cheek, a tired expression grazed her soft features. She broke the stare looking at the bagels and then back up at Erik. “You're hungry. Eat.”
His hands found a warm bagel and placed it at the entrance of his mouth biting down. He closed his eyes at the beautiful sensation. All of his taste buds were stimulated by the sweet taste of the brown dough. He hummed and his body swayed to the music that came from the warm food. “I know you.” Her closed eyes fluttered open at his revelation.
“No, you don't.” She shifted in her chair and placed her arms over her chest. He watched her as he finished the bagel and glanced at her, begging for her approval for another one. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed.
“Well, I don't know you but your voice is familiar.” He bit into another bagel, smiling with his eyes closed because it taste better than his first.
“Do you always bring your friends with you everywhere you go?” Erik’s eyes opened at her question. Friends?
“What do you mean? I came by myself.” He looked around at the empty shop and viewed his surroundings. He squinted his eyes in confusion and then took another bite of the bagel.
“Huh. Well, who do you think I was talking to, earlier?” Erik finished the bagel and went for another one. She smiled at his comfortableness and giggled to herself.
“I don't know who you were talking to. Maybe you were seeing things?” She perked up at his choice of words and her laugh filled the room once occupied by Erik’s loud smacking.
“Yes, Erik, I do see things. The things I so happened to see a while ago, were attached to you.” Erik finished his bagel and leaned over the table, clasping his hands together.
“How do you know my name?” She looked at his serious expression and picked up a bagel, offering it to him.
“Cessabit.” Erik took a deep breath and took the bagel from her hand.
“That word,” he placed the bagel in his mouth, “I heard you say it yesterday when I was in that burger joint.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at him devour his fourth bagel.
“Yes, you did. What made you go there in the first place?”
“I told you. I was hungry.” Her lips turned up into a smile, her eyes trailing to the table that stood in front of them.
“No, that isn't enough. Something drew you to that place or, maybe, something drew Luci to you.” She leaned forward and studied his face. Erik shrugged his shoulders and went for the last bagel, still not feeling satisfied. “Enough,” she spoke, softly but firm making Erik cease his movement and sit up in his chair. Just like that, he felt full, on the edge of throwing up full.
“Do you have a bathroom?”
“No, cessabit.” Erik shuffled in his seat feeling slightly uncomfortable at that word. He hated how it altered his mood. It made him feel tranquil and defenseless. His muscles would instantly drop and he almost felt tired.
“What does that mean? Stop telling me that.” She was caught up in her thoughts, ignoring his words. She was trying to figure out the meaning of his arrival and why she was drawn to him. It had never been her business to interfere with whatever plans Luci had, but all of a sudden she felt the urge to protect and watch over him, a complete stranger.
Thunder roared outside causing Erik to jump in his seat. “Cessabit.”
“I said stop saying that!”
“I apologize, Erik, but you need to relax.” She stood from her seat and pushed in her chair staring at the table.
“I am relaxed and that is the problem!” He stood up with her and followed her to the back. She walked into a room that was filled with more plants. A bed was placed at the far right of the room, Erik guessed this was her home as well.
“So this is your shop and home?”
“Sure.” She pointed at a door to the left of the room and sat on her bed. Erik eyed her, waiting on instructions. “You needed the restroom?” He shook his head and went inside. She sat on the bed and watched the door close, quickly pulling out some old fabric from a basket that rested on the side of her bed. She scribbled a sigil on it with some one thousand year old ink and crumbled the cloth in her hand. She brought it up to her mouth and recited a spell that would help her subconsciously stay with Erik. She heard the toilet flush and she sat back on the bed, quickly.
He left the bathroom and glanced at her, suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you?”
She got up from the bed and walked over to him, seductively. It reminded him of a wild cat stalking its prey. Her eyes met his and their lips brushed against each other sending a chill through Erik’s spine.
“Cessabit.” Her hands moved down his torso and to the side of his body where she placed them in his pockets, drawing him closer to her warm frame.
“I told you no-”
“Taceo.” Erik’s mouth closed and his brain went silent, scaring him a bit. Everything was silent, the only noise filling the room was their light breathing. She whispered something sweetly against his lips but low enough only for her to hear. His body reacted to the words before he could and before he knew it, his hands rubbed up her body and found there way to her soft bum. She giggled on his lips making him smile. He felt weird, happy and his thoughts were silent. He was moving without thinking.
“Go home, Erik. Rest until tomorrow. Wake up and forget about this day. Forget about yesterday. Forget about Luci and forget my voice.” She smiled lightly and kissed his lips, sealing her words and casting the spell. Erik’s eyes fluttered close, sending him to an empty place his mind couldn't escape.
***
The next morning he woke up sweating, gasping for air. His stomach hummed loudly in the airy room. He looked around to see the sun shining brightly outside his opened window. Why is the window open? He got up to close it and then walked to the bathroom to pee.
The toothpaste lightly grazed his teeth just before he heard rustling come from the kitchen. He ran out of his bathroom, prepared to fight when he walked in the kitchen to find nothing but a batch of freshly baked bagels sitting in the middle of the table with a beautiful plant and a light crystal. The fuck? Who breaks in a house and leaves bagels? I don't even eat bagels. He heard the rustling again coming from his bedroom and he ran to meet the sound. His window was reopened, allowing the sun and windy breeze to meet his body.
“Cessabit.” The wind spoke the foreign word, calming Erik instantly.
Materlist
Single Word Spells
cessabit (keh-sah-bit) - calming spell [to rest, be free of]
explico (eke-pli-ko) - reveal information [explanation, to unfold]
taceo (tak-eh-oh) - to silence [shut up]
tags: @eriknutinthispoosy @theunsweetenedtruth @yoyolovesbucky @forbeautyandlife @misswakanda2018 @meeeeeeeeeps @maliadestiny @iamrheaspeaks
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1-100 or whichever you care to tell me... I would like to know everything though :3
Well here goes the rest of my night :3 1-100 here we go.
1. When you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal, or more cereal than milk?
Answer: It honestly depends on the cereal. If it’s anything from the CheeryO’s family, I’ll eat that milk-less. If it’s Cookie Crisp, or Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I had better have some damn milk.
2. Do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a cold wintery day?
Answer: FUCK NO!! WINTER SUCKS!!
3. What random objects do you use to bookmark your books?
Answer: I just remember the page number. Despite my crap memory, I somehow manage to remember what page I was on when I’m reading.
4. How do you take your coffee/tea?
Answer: I’ll take an energy drink instead.
5. Are you self-conscious of your smile?
Answer: Admittedly yes, I don’t like giving toothy smiles whenever I or someone else takes a picture.
6. Do you keep plants?
Answer: No, plants=bees. I hate bees. I’m not allergic or anything, I’ve just been stung one too many times for me to feel comfortable around bees. Hell if anything buzzes past my ear, I reflexively flinch even if it’s just a house fly. So no plants for me.
7. Do I name my plants?
Answer: *skips*
8. What artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?
Answer: I write. A lot, though I’m a little self-conscious to post a lot of it
9. Do you like singing/humming to yourself?
Answer: Oh hell yes, I’ll do this all the time. At home, in the car, at work, with my friends … I’ve said too much.
10. Do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?
Answer: I answered this one already, but since you asked me to do 1-100 (and like a fool who clearly does not value what he does with what is left of his evening) I’ll answer this one again. I’ll fall asleep on my stomach or back, and somehow find myself awake on my sides.
11. What’s an inner joke you have with your friends?
Answer: Ohhh there are several, all with an interesting story behind it. Anyone reading this feel free to ask about said stories of said inside jokes. However, the two best ones I can think of at the moment are: “White-face Mexican Jesus,” and “I’m trying to send a donkey to someone for their birthday, but customs is being a bitch!”
12. What is your favorite planet?
Answer: Pluto (”Ohhh but that’s not a planet anymore” fuck off it’s a planet if I say it’s a planet. And that’s the bottom line, because Stone Cold said so!)
13. What is something that made you smile today?
Answer: Listening to Neon by Jeff and Casey Lee Williams.
14. If you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?
Answer: Shit. I’m still figuring Tumblr out, so I have NO idea how to link stuff (embed or html or whatever the fuck it is) so… for a base idea, probably something like 221b Baker Street from BBC’s Sherlock.
15. Go Google a weird space fact and tell us what it is.
Answer: *skips*
16. What is your favorite pasta dish?
Answer: Just give me spaghetti and meatballs.
17. What color do you really want to dye your hair?
Answer: Purple. It’s my favorite color, but I seem to have a distinct lack of purple in my wardrobe. But if I was to dye my hair, it would have to be a real dark purple.
18. Tell something dumb/funny that has since gone down in history between you and your friends that is always brought up.
Answer: *deep breath* No.
19. Do you keep a journal? And what do you write/draw in it?
Answer: I do not keep or have ever kept a journal.
20. What is your favorite eye color?
Answer: Dark brown, kind of like my own.
21. Talk about your favorite bag. One that has been to hell and back, and that you love to pieces.
Answer: Okay, well I still use this backpack. I’ve had it since my freshman year in high school. Its right strap is worn down, because I only ever wore it over my right shoulder, and still only ever wear it over my right shoulder. There’s also a Wings of Freedom button on the right strap, despite my dislike for the Attack on Titan anime (I liked the manga better). That backpack has been through high school, survived college, and gone to every single anime convention I’ve gone to since I’ve had it.
22. Are you a morning person?
Answer: No, I’m more of a crack of noon person. But high school has ingrained it into my brain that I need to wake up at the ass crack of dawn.
23. What’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days when you have 0 obligations?
Answer: Oh so everyday I don’t have work? Okay then. I either write or play video games, I’m currently playing Mass Effect Andromeda and loving it (despite the issue with the character customization).
24. Is there someone out there that you would trust with every single one of your secrets?
Answer: Yes, and they know who they are.
25. What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?
Answer: My friend Neil and I once had to break into his own house because he forgot his keys, and nobody else was home. There was a ladder under the balcony of his parents bedroom, we set it up, and Neil held the thing in place while I climbed up and over the ladder and over the balcony (thank god the sliding glass door was unlocked).
26. What shoes have you had forever and wear with every single outfit?
Answer: Normally my shoes don’t last that long.
27. What’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?
Answer: Ummmm… I don’t have a preference to bubble gum flavors. :3
28. Sunrise or sunset?
Answer: Sunset. Sleep is good.
29. What is something really cute one of your friends does, and is really endearing?
Answer: One of them is our designated group mom, and she cares for all of us. Love you Panda!
30. Think of it: Have you ever been truly scared?
Answer: Yes. There is a local haunted place close to where I live. It was an old rock crusher/munitions factory back in WWII, before it exploded and covered nearly all of it’s workers in acid. Since then the place has been haunted by the spirits of the workers who have died there. And then some idiots attempted to perform some ritual to summon some sort of demon … And it fucking worked. Anyways, my friend Neil and I go up there a few years ago on Halloween. In reality I allowed myself to be talked into it, but I was so freaked out the whole time we were up there, and I could have sworn I was seeing shit move just past the range of my vision. Anyways we are about to head back to his house, and we are right in front of the old rock crusher, when I become aware that Neil is not walking beside me. When I turn around, I see him passed out in front of the old structure … Then I hear this horrible voice in my ear: “Leave him, he belongs to us now.”
31. What is your opinion of socks? Do you sleep with socks? Do you confine yourself to white sock hell? Really, just talk about socks.
Answer: *skips*
32. Tell a story that happened at 3am while you were with friends.
Answer: Ummmm there are no stories like that. Even if we’re at cons, we’re asleep before midnight.
33. What’s your favorite pastry?
Answer: Cinnamon covered doughnuts. So good~
34. Tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a child.
Answer: I had/have 3. A lamb, and 2 teddy bears. I don’t remember what happened to the lamb. I know it’s in the house somewhere, I just don’t know where. But as for the teddy’s: One is a standard-size teddy bear named *drumroll* Teddy. I was adopted when I was 4 days old, and Teddy is the only thing that I have from my birth mother. The second one is larger, kinda like the size of a carnaval prize. He was given to my by my Uncle Desmond “Dezzy” Caine (I really miss Uncle Dezzy), so he’s named the Dezzy Bear. I still sleep with both and I’ll be 25 in like 9 days. Dezzy still props up my pillows.
35. Do you like stationary and pretty pens?
Answer: Meh, they’re not so bad. I have really bad handwriting so I’m kinda divided 50/50
36. Which band’s sound would suit your mood right now?
Answer: Nightwish. Oh their lead singer’s voice is beautiful~
37. Do you like keeping your room messy or clean?
Answer: Messy, definately messy. Sure it looks disorganized, but I know where everything is in the mess.
38 Talk about your pet peeves.
Answer: No, it’s too late at night for that shit.
39. What color do you wear the most?
Answer: White. Undershirts mostly. I would wear more purple, but there is a distinct lack of purple in my wardrobe, and not a lot of purple clothing in the stores I shop at (mostly Hot Topic) that fit/I would wear.
40.Think of a piece of jewelry you own. What’s it’s story? Does it have any meaning to you?
Answer: Ummmm admittedly, I have a lot of jewelry pieces. Mostly necklaces that I rarely wear. My favorite by far, is a pewter dragon with it’s body wrapped around a blue crystal. I bought it at the county fair a few years back, and it was the last one that was ever sold from that vendor, because I havent seen his stall in the past few years.
41. What is the last book you really, really remember loving?
Answer: Monster Hunter Memoirs: Grunge. It’s a new book in the Monster Hunter series by Larry Correia.
42. Do you have a favorite coffee shop?
Answer: No, I don’t like coffee ever since I made the mistake of drinking the swill on an empty stomach.
43. Who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?
Answer: My friend Neil, and that was years ago when we decided to head up to a local haunted area.
44.When was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?
Answer: This morning in the shower :3
45. Do you trust your instincts a lot?
Answer: Yes. Going back to when Neil and I were up at the rock crusher, and I heard that voice in my ear. Something told me: “Neil is your brother, get his ass out of there!” I grabbed him, and ran for it.
46. Tell us of the worst pun you can think of.
Answer: Is this some sort of pun-ishment? Well I guess you can call me the Pun-isher (hate myself).
47. What food do you think should be banned from the universe?
Answer: …shit I had something for this, and now I can’t remember…
48. What was your biggest fear as a kid? Is it the same today?
Answer: I was afraid of the dark as a kid (mostly due to my brother being an ass), and that fear carried through. I still have to sleep with a light on.
49. Do you like buying CDs and records? What was the last one you bought?
Answer: I haven’t bought a CD or a record since I had my first iPod. The last one I bought was Disturbed’s Indestructible album.
50. What is an odd thing you collect?
Answer: I answered this one before, but I’ll do it again. I collect and assemble Gundam models. I have 8 currently. And I have yet to finish/start the assembly on the last 3.
51. Think of a person, what song do you affiliate with them?
Answer: I think The Animal by Disturbed would suit Neil just fine.
52. What are your favorite memes of the year so far?
Answer: *skips*
53. Have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? Beetlejuice ect. What do you think of them?
Answer: Nope.
54. Who is the last person you saw with a genuine look of sadness on their face?
Answer: That would be my cousin who had to recently put her elderly golden retriever to sleep. Something like that is never easy, and I know how bad the pain of losing a pet you have had for years feels.
55. What is the most dramatic thing you have done to prove a point?
Answer: Ummm that’ll be the time when *skips*
56. What are some things you find endearing in people?
Answer: When I find something, I’ll let you know.
57. Go listen to bohemian rhapsody. did you reenact the lyrics?
Answer: Um whoever doesn’t needs to be punished to the fullest extent of the law.
58. Who is the wine mom, and who is the vodka aunt in your group of friends?
Answer: Me on both occasions.
59. What are some of your favorite myths?
Answer: Mostly the ones involving the 80′s horror movie villians.
60. Do you like poetry?
Answer: Meh.
61. What is the stupidest gift you have ever given/received?
Answer: I gave my mom trick candles to use on my brothers cake a few years ago … And they found their way on to MY cake. Does that count?
62. Do you drink juice in the morning?
Answer: Very rarely, and when I do it’s cranberry.
63. Are you fussy about your books and music? Do you keep them organized or leave them be?
Answer: I leave them be. It goes back to the question of how I like to keep my room.
64. What color is the sky where you are right now?
Answer: It’s steely grey. It’s in the transition of seasons. Winter to Spring.
65. Is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time that you’d love to hang out with?
Answer: Yeah, my friend Neil.
66. What would your ideal flower crown look like?
Answer: *skips*
67. How do gloomy days make you feel?
Answer: Yep skipping that one too. *skips*
68. What is winter like where you live?
Answer: Hoth
69. What are your favorite board games?
Answer: Risk … and I cannot think of any other ones of the top of my head.
70. Have you ever used a ouji board?
Answer: Fuck no! I am not stupid enough to do that! Especially after what happened after the rock crusher.
71. What is your favorite kind of tea?
Answer: I don’t drink tea.
72. Are you a person who needs to note down everything you need to do or else you’ll forget it?
Answer: Only when I am at work, and even then I rarely note things down.
73. What are some of your worst habits?
Answer: *skips*
74. Describe a good friend of yours without using their names or gendered pronouns.
Answer: Hmmmm… Long and lanky, unkempt and scraggly hair and beard. Quick wit, sharp tongue, but with a big heart.
75. Tell us about your pets!
Answer: I had two white Siberian Huskies. Tundra and her brother Topaz were born on the same day I was, and we had 18 great years together.
76. Is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?
Answer: Nope.
77. Pink or yellow lemonade?
Answer: Why not both?
78. Are in the minion fanclub or hateclub?
Answer: I’m in the “I don’t give a fuck” club.
79. What is one of the cutest things anyone has ever done for you?
Answer: They wouldn’t want me telling that story.
80. What color are your bedroom walls? Did you chose that color? If so why?
Answer: They’re white, but if I could paint them, they’d be purple.
81. Describe on of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.
Answer: *skips*
82. Are/were you good in school?
Answer: I was decent. Not good, not bad, but decent.
83.what is some of your favorite album art?
Answer: I care more about the songs rather than the artwork.
84. Are you planning on getting any tattoos?
Answer: Yes, I’m planning on getting either the enochian sigil from Supernatural, or a full back tattoo of a set of angel wings with the words: “Angels on our shoulders” above them.
85. Do you read comics?
Answer: Not really
86. Do you like concept albums?
Answer: The hell are those?
87. What are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?
Answer: All the James Bond movies, Star Wars including the prequils, and the 3 original Indiana Jones movies.
88. Are there any artistic movements you enjoy?
Answer: The only one I can think of (and I’m not sure it even counts) is the Renaissance
89. Are you close with your parents?
Answer: Yes very close, although they drive me crazy at times I still love them.
90. Talk about one of your favorite cities.
Answer: *skips*
91. Where do you plan on traveling this year?
Answer: Well my group is planning on heading to Washington DC for Ota-con this year.
92. Are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese? Or do you barely sprinkle a pinch?
Answer: The cheese. Give me all the cheese!
93. What is the hairstyle you wear the most?
Answer: Short and very unkempt.
94. Who was the last person you know to have a birthday?
Answer: My girlfriend. :3
95. What are your plans for this weekend?
Answer: The same thing I do every night. Try to take over the world.
96. Do you install your computer updates quickly? or do you take forever?
Answer: Yes. :3
97. Myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and Hoggwarts house.
Answer: What the hell is the first one? But I’m an Ares, and a Gryffindor.
98. When was the last time you went hiking? And did you enjoy it?
Answer: it was years ago, and no I hate nature.
99. List some songs that resonate with your soul every time you hear them.
Answer: I have 220+ songs on my iPod that attest to that very question.
100. If you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, and one that allows you to go 5 years into the future, which would you press and why?
Answer: I’d go into the future. Past is past and that’s where it belongs. Plus when I go back to when I pressed said button, I would have an advantage over everyone else *evil smile*
#theangstygrad25#asks#ask promp#holy shit that took forever#and that is the last time I ever do a 1-100 answer prompt again
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[RF] Chapter One - Fear and Liberation
Chapter One - Fear and Liberation
On my sixteenth birthday I moved out and was put up in a B&B by social services, in an old Victorian building next to a railway bridge. That's where I spent the next two weeks, alone in my small room with a selection of my favourite foods bought with shopping vouchers from my best friend's mum, and one communal bathroom with a precarious lock I didn't trust. When I went, I had to sit with both of my legs to the side pressing against the door.
The first step into that unfamiliar room, more than ten miles away from the town I grew up in, brought an extreme fusion of terror and freedom. I was frightened, because I was alone with no idea what was to come, and too young to make big decisions and face the adult world and my independence. But free, because I was outside the reach of tyrannical adult rulership, technically able to do whatever I wanted. I remember thinking, "I'M FREE!"
I freaked out whenever I heard a knock on the door. My uncle, who persuaded me to leave home in the first place, warned me of the dangers I might face in the social housing systems. Even though I'd already been through so much, I was naive and full of childish hopes, but in the back of my mind somewhere I was vigilant to the darkness of existence. Everyone in the building looked shady. I kept myself to myself.
I spent the first two days exploiting my newfound freedom, on my Nintendo DS, sending funny faces to my friend across the Wi-Fi, eating cheese toastie bagels with tomato ketchup, designing games from the paper and card I'd bought from Poundland and playing them on my own, and watching my Doctor Who DVDs on the small TV above my bed.
The next day my youth worker Kezia came to visit. She rocked up in her cute little car wearing those laced heels, I don't know what they're called. She had her shiny black hair in a ponytail, and pink rosy hamster cheeks and mousy lips with tiny teeth. I adored her in ways you can imagine a sixteen-year-old boy would.
She drove us to a coffee shop in town and we discussed my situation over a social-services-paid lunch (i). So far, I'd been living off an emergency payment by the government, she told me. I didn't really understand it that well. I was just pleased I somehow had more money to spend than I'd ever done. Though admittedly I wasn't buying any "toys".
Apparently, I wasn't guaranteed any money yet; I needed to go to the Job Centre and apply for something called Income Support and Housing Benefit. That's the only way I'd be able to live in accommodation long-term.
We chatted for a bit. I told her I was worried about what was going to happen with money and if I was going to be able to live anywhere. She reassured me that as long as we did all the things she said we needed to do, everything would be alright. But I was annoyed, because to me the process seemed so cold and heartless; at the end of the day, I was a kid with nowhere to go. The fact that I had to go through any process at all seemed crazy to me.
When we were done talking, we took a trip across town to the Job Centre and picked up a couple of forms, then went back to the car to head to what would be my new place, just as soon as everything went through, as Kezia told me it would. I was going to start the form in the car but before I even put pen to paper Kezia told me we were already there, and I was nervous.
The house was at the top of a steep hill, at the end of a secluded road. It was another Victorian-style building, but with unpainted grey stone and a lot bigger. As we traversed up the long hedge-lined driveway towards the big red door, I couldn't help get the creeps. It looked like some kind of haunted mansion, and with the trees around it in the middle of nowhere, it kind of felt like it.
The fact that it was social housing with six rooms, a communal living room and kitchen, and two communal bathrooms, didn't really sum it up.
We buzzed the Office button on the side panel next to the big red door. "Come in." A high-pitched voice replied. I tried pushing the door but it wouldn't open, so we buzzed again. "Sorry, the door mechanism sometimes gets jammed, we're having it fixed soon. I'll come down and let you in."
An old-ish woman ballooning at the thighs opens the door. "Heya. Miserable weather isn't it?" (It had been grey all day). As I stepped into the tiled hallway I felt empty. I wasn't sure whether that was me or the house. "I'm Karen. Nice to meet you Luke." She said, waddling us up the stairs and then through a door which seemed to lead up to the attic and into an office. We all sat down.
"Hello Luke. I understand you've come from a difficult situation and you're looking for a place to stay."
"Yeah." I didn't know how to feel about this whole thing. Is this really the place where I'd be living for the next year/ foreseeable future? "This is a new housing project. Currently there are no residents. There are six empty rooms, so all of you who are moving in will be new to this experience."
"That's something you were worried about, isn't it Luke?" Kezia turned to me. I nodded unconfidently. "Have you sorted out the housing benefit stuff yet?" The woman asked my youth worker as though I wasn't there. "Yeah we went down there today didn't we?" I nodded feebly again.
Karen told me some basic stuff about the accommodation and what my living situation would be like, by going through this wad of paper which she called a Tenancy Agreement. All of these words meant nothing to me. I was either living there or I wasn't. I don't know why I had to sign a piece of paper to make it official.
Memorable information from the Tenancy Agreement includes: almost nothing, except:
. Staff in the office every weekday from nine to five, available to chat and talk through problems.
. No curfew - can go and come back as I please.
. Guests must be signed in, and for no more than two days a week.
. Security take over from staff and don't leave until staff get back the next day.
This one interested me. I already didn't feel safe, especially how my uncle had hyped me up for some kind of life or death confrontation with someone who might want to steal my money. So, hearing there would be security made me feel a bit better. I didn't know at this point what I was up against. I'd been through many fights in school and wasn't confident or keen to go back to doing it. Especially since my last fight involved me getting repeatedly punched in the face with zero retaliation. Ever since that I had been humble.
But hearing there was security, it was like being in the presence of a teacher in the playground; you know the bullies can't harm you as long as they're around. At least, that's the way I hoped it would be.
I left with squids in my stomach; half excited, half terrified, and feeling slightly sick, dreading a little having to go back to my B&B room and spend the rest of the day on my own without Kezia. As she drove us back down the hill, I managed to persuade her to let me fill in the Job Centre forms in her car while she parked in town.
I scribbled through it quickly and she helped me with some of the questions. I ran through town and handed it in at the JC, then she drove me home. "Let's arrange another meeting. How about next Tuesday?" She said. I agreed, but secretly wished I'd see her sooner, and then sooner again. She was the only source of stability I had. "And Luke," I turned awkwardly towards her car, "Make sure you shower!"
"Yeah yeah." I said condescendingly, skipping back into the B&B like a div.
I know for a fact I hadn't showered in a week, at least.
I went to the supermarket twice that evening just as something to do and get my mind off being alone in the B&B, it was hard to sleep with all my anxieties swirling around my mushy head. I was floating in the ocean of uncertainty, as I had done for most of my life. But this time I was truly alone. One worry in particular kept circling: what will my housemates be like? Will they be as brutal as my uncle said they would be? Or will they be nice? I am nice, aren't I? Would I be able to make friends? Find a girlfriend, maybe?
The next morning I woke up dramatically, as though I had been pummelled in the chest with a bag of bricks. A bag of lead bricks. I felt the emptiness from yesterday creeping through the front door of the B&B, spreading its unwanted talons across the walls of my subconscious, attempting to trap me inside myself, inside the prison of panic I'd become accustomed to.
I couldn't spend another day cooped up in this B&B. I felt not-well, scummy, like I was deteriorating fast. I needed to do something, before this feeling swallowed me up completely. I got in the shower.
I spent fifteen minutes in the hot water and steam and decided to go on a long walk, explore the local area.
I had heard there was a beach about a mile away, which was one possible destination. The weather was grey again, but it didn't look as though it was going to rain. So that was something. Though, I'm not one of those people who is uppity about having ice creams on a cold day (ii).
Before I went out officially for the walk, I wanted to get some milk for my Cheerios (iii) and also maybe a packed lunch. So I put on some clean clothes and donned my blue rucksack, opened the door and set off down this road that was still alien to me.
It was strange. As I stepped out into the pavement, my anxieties lifted. Cars that scooted past me on the narrow road seemed friendly. The silver linings in the grey sky shone. The Cornish seagulls cawed in the distance. The coastal air filled my lungs. I had this feeling like New Beginnings. I could almost hear Rose's Theme in my head from Doctor Who. I was my own person in the big world, free from my tyrannical mother, with my whole life ahead of me.
I almost skipped to the supermarket. And I probably did.
Footnotes
(i) She told me she got a budget of about £5 for lunches and drinks. I am led to believe this has since been completely abolished due to Conservative government cuts and Brexit. Also youth workers are no longer part of social services.
(ii) This was before I found out that cold foods actually make you cold.
(iii) I liked to start the day with some calorie-rich cereal. I'd usually have two bowls. Sometimes it was Wheetos, sometimes it was Cheerios. It depends on how hung up I was about my health at the time (Wheetos being the sugary, unhealthier option I would avoid. They were also expensive).
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