#and then im going to go over the seams with red thread to make them pop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dewykth · 4 years

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SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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gallickingun · 4 years

Note

hiii im in love with your writing!! and i surprisingly fell hard for that little oneshot of kirishima arriving home and just snuggling SO i thought it was the most adorable thing. i was wondering if you could write another wholesome sweet moment, perhaps during an afterglow or during pregnancy or just another snuggle i dunno jaj sorry if it's not from a prompt list i couldnt find one PLEASE AND THANK YOU YOURE AWESOME BYE

a/n: omg thank you SO MUCH YOU ARE SO SWEET!!!!! i love love love kiri, and i love making him soft. he deserves a sweet lil SO who will love him and hold him tight! here we go!! 💕

ps, you got a pregnancy afterglow!!! hope that made you doubly happy! spicy, so below the cut!!

pps, we have.... daddy kiri here. in BOTH senses of the word. hope that’s cool with you!

“That okay?” Kiri asks, hands gentle around your waist as he shifts you on the mattress. His fingertips brush the slight swell of your belly, thumb finding your navel as his eyes wash over your full figure.

You nod, biting your lip as you gaze up at him. Really you want to beg him to go faster, your hands in his hair and his name on your lips, but you can’t help to keep yourself quiet when you see the way he’s looking down on you in pure adoration.

Kirishima’s mouth brushes over the highest part of your stomach, dragging his tongue and teeth up your sternum until he connects to the upward curve of your chest. He smirks up at you, “These are nice.”

“Kiri!”

“What?!”

You giggle, shaking your head as your hands drift into his hair, threading through the bright crimson strands. You tug a little to guide his mouth down to your chest and he takes the hint pretty quickly. He licks over your skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface as the air conditioning hits you from above.

“Gonna start movin’, ‘kay?” Kirishima mutters, teeth catching your nipple. You whine and whimper, trying to force your head to nod up and down. He must understand because he starts rolling his hips forward again, using your gathered slick to slide into you easily.

It’s not hard for him to work you over the edge, not at this point. He’s had you going for a little while now, sweat sticking to your temples and lower back from the effort. The tinge of red on his cheeks reminds you of the amount of effort he puts into loving you.

Kirishima pulls away from your chest with a pop, lips bright red as he meets your mouth in a kiss. One of his hands rests in your hair, the other drifting around your torso, indecisive in his desire to touch your belly or support your back. His tongue presses into the seam of your lips and you part for him willingly, keening into him.

“Shit, sweetheart, you feel good,” Kiri murmurs into your mouth, the stroke of his cock within you turning your head away in pleasure. You whine, jaw dropping to let your panting gasps fall free from your tongue.

Kiri takes advantage of your wanton state, mouth ravaging your throat. The sharp ends of his teeth make quick work of your thin skin, nipping until you’re crying out and then soothing with his tongue and lips afterward. It’s like he lights you on fire only to then calm the flame.

You palm over his back and shoulders, the rippling muscle underneath your fingertips doing little to quell the wetness gathering between your thighs, distributed as he ruts into you. Kirishima has sucked at least three hickeys into the curve of your neck but you have little mind to care. You’re overwhelmed by him; the scent that fills the room, the heat that radiates from his body, the calloused pads of his fingers.

“C’mon, baby girl, tighten up for me.” Kiri’s hand in your hair tightens, yanking at the base of your head. He smirks, that confident persona he puts on once the clothes come off becoming much more evident the longer his cock is in you.

You nod in acknowledgement before focusing as much as you can on clenching yourself around him. Kiri nods, chewing on his lower lip as he loiters above you, thumb traveling down the expanse of your thigh to eventually find your clit.

"Such a good girl," Kirishima kisses the top of your knee, using his thigh to prop you up, "You always come so good for me, yeah? So pretty."

You're a blubbering mess, words unable to form on your lips, catching on your teeth like a net. You push them out anyway because you think Kiri loves to get you flustered; the smirk on his face and the tensing of his shoulders only does more to confirm your suspicions, so you continue.

He twists so he can get your leg over his shoulder, penetrating you at a whole new angle. You cry out at the first thrust but your cheek is pressed into the pillow so it's muffled.

Kirishima chuckles, "You like moanin' for me, baby?"

"Y-Yes, Kir-"

He tuts his tongue against his teeth, mouth scraping over your knee cap, "What was that?"

It's a warning, a promise that there will be repercussions if you don't follow his lead.

You turn, blinking wide eyes up at him in an attempt to have him forgive you, "Yes daddy."

"Good girl."

Your hand wanders around in midair, something you can't see, in search of him to help him ground you, to anchor you to this world before your spirit flies too far away. He slips his knuckles between yours, effectively grounding you. His mouth pressed to each of your fingers, soothing the nonexistent pain of your bones.

"Tell me what you want, pretty girl," Kirishima mutters. You can barely hear him over the mixture of panting and blood pumping in your ears. You let out a wanton cry, eyes screwing shut as he drills into you mercilessly, hips slamming into you, surely leaving bruises.

You gulp, your throat sticky from whining into the open air, "Please, I-I want your come. I want you to come in me!"

He chuckles and the deep baritone sound rolls like a wave, the vibrato of his chest making you shiver. You only wish he were talking in your ear instead of so far away.

"I already gave you a baby, sweetheart, what else do you need my come for?" Kirishima snaps his hips particularly fast and you feel your cervix cry out from within you, a jolt forcing its way up your spine.

You whine once you realize what he's said, tears beginning to pin prick the corners of your eyes, "B-But, I-I wan'it."

"Yeah?"

He's mocking you, you know it. His tone is too patronizing, the glimmer in his eyes sarcastic. You pout, squeezing his hand, "Please, daddy. Please. Want you to co-come in me."

Kirishima has his thumb circling your clit, hardening the tip of his finger just enough to give you added friction. You grind your hips upward, chasing the high that will have you crying out his name and stuttering for moments after.

His free hand wraps around your neck from behind, pulling you forward so he can kiss you on the mouth, "Such a good girl," the words are mumbled into your lips, muffled and distorted by the skin, "takin' me like the perfect little slut you are, huh?"

You whine into his mouth, palming at his back as you buck along with him, but he's got you producing waves of slick already. Your eyes roll back in your head as he continues fucking you through the crescendo, his own release building and begging in the form of his cock twitching within your dense muscular center.

"Please daddy, please," you know your irises are swallowed by your pupils, eyes blown wide with serotonin. You whimper, sifting your fingers through his hair before digging your nails into the tops of his shoulders, "Wanna make you come, wanna make you feel good, please."

Kiri pushes both of your knees back so he can butterfly you open, your thighs pressing into your chest as he ruts into you sloppily. You can tell by his rhythm that he's nearing the edge of his resolve, his mouth twisted and his nose scrunched at the center.

Your begging for him pushes him over, beckoning a wave of pleasure for him to ride just as steady as he's riding you. Kirishima's hips stutter and his cock twitches from base to tip and you can't help the moan that parts your lips.

After he's come down from the aftershocks, Kiri nuzzles his face into your neck, tugging your legs just enough to help you lay flat on the mattress. He kisses your cheek, "Such a trooper, sweetheart."

"Worth it," you giggle as he blows raspberries against your throat.

His mouth trails, pert blushed lips tickling your body, from your collarbones to your belly. He laughs once he gets to your navel, his voice soft as he speaks, "Not givin' mama a hard time, are ya'?"

Your heart warms at the sight of Kirishima mumbling to your unborn child, his fingertips tracing patterns and names over the stretched skin. He never fails to make you feel beautiful and important, especially not now. Kiri is always telling you how amazing you look, even if it's in a pair of sweatpants and one of his tee shirts.

"You’re so perfect, you know that?” Kiri kisses the top of your belly before pushing himself closer to your face. He’s smiling as he kisses you gently, much in contrast to the past couple of hours you’ve spent between the sheets. He doesn’t mind, though, not right now when your hormones are raging and you want every bit of him that he has to offer.

Kirishima kisses your cheek before pulling away, tugging you close so you can curl up into him, “I don’t know who I had to bribe in another life to get lucky with someone like you, but thank goodness I did it.”

You lay your palms flat against his chest, the muscles of his pectorals flexing under your touch. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but overall your body is tired and slow to move. He notices, dipping his head down so he can kiss your forehead and temple.

“You’re gonna be such a good momma,” Kirishima murmurs against your cheek, voice a low rumble in his chest. “I can’t wait to put another baby in you, keep you full all the time, yeah?”

If you were being honest, you’d have as many children as Kiri wants you to have, so long as he’s willing and ready to help you take care of them. And you know he will; Kirishima has been fawning over being a dad since the day you got married a couple of months ago. You’d been together for too long for him not to know with his whole heart that you were to be the mother of his children.

Even so, you scrunch your nose and swat him away, “I’d need a break sometime, you goof.”

“There’s my girl,” he’s peppering kisses over your cheeks now, giggles passed between the two of you at the action, “I can’t wait to meet them. I hope they’re just like you.”

“Kiri,” you whine.

Another bout of laughter escapes his lips, the vibrations in his chest making you feel whole somehow. You never believed any of those sappy romance stories before Kiri; everyone else had played with your heart - toying with it like it was some sort of thing detached from you as a person. He had been the first to throw himself at you and be truly vulnerable, the kindest person you’d ever met.

“What?!” He has you caged into his body now, knees on either side of your waist and elbows by your shoulders. In every sense of the word, you should feel panicked, frightened by the proximity and your inability to escape it. However, the only things flooding through your system are comfort and safety.

Your hands float to meet his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the tops of his cheekbones, “I hope they have your heart. You have such a rare one.”

A blush paints over his cheeks, starting at the neck and making its way skyward. You smile at him, the hormones making a raging comeback as tears fill your vision, “I am such a lucky woman, a lucky wife. You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

Kirishima tucks his face into your neck, careful not to let his hips hover too close to your belly. You feel the wetness of tears on your neck so you drift one hand into his hair, soothing his scalp with your nails. His mouth presses openly to the column of your throat, nudging his nose over your jugular. You smile at the warmth that spreads throughout your body as he curls closer around your, tightening his grip.

“You’re amazing, Kiri,” you murmur into the darkness of the bedroom, “I love you.”

He kisses the juncture of your jaw and neck, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

The next few moments are spent in silence, hands finding different patches of warm skin and mouths touching over bones and muscle. His fingertips roam over your belly, hushed words whispered as he brushes his nose over your rib cage. You are sure to echo the same amount of kindness in return, your nails mapping out the dips of his muscles and your mouth littering kisses over the top of his head, planting seeds of kindness like flowers in a garden.

“Wanna take a shower?” Kiri asks after a particular lull in conversation.

You scrape your fingertips over his back, a shudder running down his shoulders at the motion. A hum from you tells him that you’re in agreement, so he shifts away from you, standing to his full height beside the bed. Kiri holds you by the hand, but you tuck your legs into yourself as a shiver racks your body.

“S’cold, Kiri,” you whine, pouting in hopes that he’ll pick you up like he always does.

The redhead chuckles before tucking his arms underneath your shoulders and knees, plucking you from the bed and cradling your body into his chest. You rest your head on his collarbone, nuzzling your nose into his pectoral, “You’re so warm, honey.”

Kirishima kisses the top of your head, turning his body as he walks through the bathroom doors. He sets you down on the counter, your legs swinging slightly while he starts up the shower. The mirror fogs at the top from the heat and you feel a little dizzy from the sudden amount of steam.

You blink when he comes to stand between your legs, hands brushing over your ribs and down over the growing swell of your belly. He’s smiling, a genuine grin that you can’t help but mimic. Kiri leans forward to kiss you on the mouth, hands palming at you to keep you close. He is slow but deliberate, melding his lips to the shape of yours, gently tugging you toward him.

He hums, disconnecting just enough to press warm kisses from the corner of your mouth to your ear. A sigh from his lips makes you shiver, your hands instinctively threading into his hair. Kirishima kisses the juncture of your jaw before pulling away, “Ready?”

You nod and he helps you down from the counter, holding your hand as you step into the shower. Kirishima is quick to pick up your shampoo from the corner shelf, lathering it in his hands while you dampen your hair. His hands are gentle, smooth, much in contrast to his quirk’s abilities. He slides his fingertips through your hair, building up the bubbles as he works the soap into every inch of your hair.

A gasp parts your lips when you feel him press up against you, his torso completely parallel with yours. Kirishima kisses your shoulder, hands slipping down over your body, settling at your hips. He chuckles, “Relax, angel, you’re so tense.”

Kiri’s hands continue to map out the planes of your body, soap trails in his wake. The water from the shower washes over your body, erasing the evidence of his touch. Kirishima helps you to wash the soap out of your hair, turning your body so you’re facing him now. He dips his head under the water to kiss you on the lips, hands still massaging in your hair to relieve it from shampoo and suds.

“You’re so pretty,” Kiri murmurs against your lips. He tugs you forward, rolling his hips up into you, “God, you’re so beautiful, I’m so glad that you’re mine.”

Your hands find his shoulders and you pull away so you can look up at him, stars in your eyes. Just as always, the truth in his gaze - the reality that he really does love you with his whole heart - turns your insides into hot lava, warmth licking at your ribs the longer you stand in front of him. You smile, leaning into him so your bodies are entangled.

You’re not sure when it happened, when you truly became one. But now, you’re satisfied with the idea that you can’t truly tell where you end and he begins.

And you wouldn’t change a thing.

TAGLIST: @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @voiceofreader @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @bitchtrynafck @cutest-celestial-princess @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki @bakuoushoe @tenyaingenium @lxvely-mha @myherorambles @ramen-rambles @bratwritings @samanthaa-leanne @orokayagi @tumblingintothefeelstrain @sunbeamwrites @bnhawritten @bnhasidebin @lovekatsukibakugo @aizawamirite @plusultrawritings @bnha-violetnote @yuueimagines @suckersuki @heroes-landing @bnha-mha-imagines @heroesreverie @pink-imagines @brattyquirks @kazooli

#kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima smut #bnha smut #eijirou smut #kirishima eijirou smut #morgan writes bnha #my writing

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yslkook · 4 years

Text

#customer centric (4)

#corporate masterlist summary: you arrive in tokyo and spend a few days catching up and reminiscing. jin comes as well, with a few old friends that you haven’t seen in years. Or, you wander around the city visiting familiar places and go to a club with people you haven’t called friends in years. word count: 8656 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, lots of alcohol a/n: this is part 1/2 of being in tokyo!! this is the top i envisioned for oc lol

You missed Tokyo, and Tokyo missed you. The city itself brings bittersweet memories to you, memories of your childhood with your dead father and grandmother passing through your mind as if you’re watching a movie.

Your dad had brought you to Tokyo every summer when you were young, until you were about seventeen or eighteen. Tokyo had become more of a second home than a vacation place for you. You haven’t been here since college, about two years before your dad passed away. But despite that, it feels like home.

You can read, write, and speak Japanese fluently, which is part of the reason why you’ve been such an integral part of the team so far. The company’s sister branch is in Tokyo, and it’s not your first time visiting the branch, or interacting with your team members based in Tokyo.

You’ve wondered often, quite bitterly, if your fluency in Japanese is the only reason you’re even still on the team. Your boss and his boss at least trust you enough to be the responsible party for your team- there’s only one other member of your team here, Sana. But she’s relatively new, so the responsibility has fallen onto you.

That’s alright. You operate well under pressure.

You’re joined by your small knit team, Sana, Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon had managed to finagle with the budget enough that you could arrive a day early, on Friday, and spend the weekend in Tokyo before the workshops began on Monday.

And Seokjin would be flying in on Saturday morning with some of his friends. You’re grateful that at least Jin was coming. Whenever Jin makes these spontaneous types of trips, they’re bound to be eventful.

Monday and Tuesday will be filled with workshops, proposals and pitch meetings. You made Jin promise that he’d spend time with you during the weekend, so that you could show him some of the treasures you remembered from the city. Despite your many years of friendship, you had never been to Tokyo with Jin and you want to show him some of the places Appa used to take you to.

You’re excited. Even if Jungkook, with his big, sparkling eyes and his natural curiosity is coming along. Seeing him, even though it’s been well over three months that he joined the company, sends you down a dangerous path that isn’t fair to him or to you.

You have to constantly remind yourself that it’s not his fault and you shouldn’t be mean to him. It’s not his fault that your boss and his boss are out for your blood and refuse to give you recognition. But you can’t help but feel like he’s part of the problem that has faced you for the last three years. Part of the same awful old school, conservative mindset that so many of your peers were part of as well.

The leadership at your company needed a drastic overhaul, but you would be the last person to voice those thoughts out loud. Unless it was to Jin.

You know Jungkook doesn’t deserve your unspoken rage. You can admit that, but you’re not saint enough to channel it somewhere else. You’ve mellowed out considerably from the initial few months, but you could stand to be a little warmer to him.

After all, the way his bunny smile takes up half of his face when he offers it up to someone so worthy… that means nothing to you.

You arrive in Tokyo with your team at around eleven AM, and you check into your hotel rooms about an hour later. Jungkook and Sana had planned the logistics of the trip, from the hotel to the taxi service to lunch, dinner, and the company sponsored happy hour on Monday and Tuesday.

Because you were in Tokyo for work, you fully planned on using your company card to the fullest for the next few days. This company could kiss your ass, and you would be more than willing to spend as much as you needed to as a subtle ‘fuck you’. It was your version of flipping off your boss, for when he would have to approve your expense report sheet.

Namjoon had given you Friday to yourselves, to get acquainted with the hotel room and the area itself. Sana and Jungkook had done a good job with choosing the hotel- it has a wonderful view of the city from the rooftop, and being inside the sophisticated hotel with it’s hues of black and white and pops of color and elegance. This regal building screams opulence and you’re bathing in the luxurious feel of it all.

The diamonds of the chandeliers hanging high above you glint in the dim light of the lobby, bouncing off of the sleek, black piano and adding to the romantic air. Was this a love hotel? You scoff to yourself, keeping your head down as you exit the hotel and head in the direction of your favorite park, the Happo-en Garden.

When you had told your therapist that you’d be coming to Tokyo for the first time since your father’s death, she had immediately picked up on your hesitation-

“It feels weird to be there without him. Almost like the place doesn’t exist if he doesn’t,” You scoff, wringing your hands together.

“It certainly exists without him. And you do, too,” She says kindly, “Maybe you’ll feel close to him when you go there.”

And she was right, as she usually is. You sit alone at a freshly painted red bench with a box of street snacks, including some of Appa’s favorites. The sunshine glimmers against the still lake in front of you, hues of green fading to orange and red reflecting in the murky water.

This park was a favorite of Appa’s-

“We’re still in Tokyo, but it feels like we’re so far away. Right, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes shining. Appa’s hand tightens around yours and you nod excitedly.

“Yeah! Like we’re close to the princess’s castle!” You gasp.

“That’s right, but the only princess I see here is you,” Appa smiles and you beam at him, all smiles and sunshine.

The memory is from when you were maybe seven or eight years old. Everytime you came to Tokyo with Appa, you always came to this park. Specifically to this area, where Appa claimed that the sun shined on the leaves and the water in a specific way that made everything feel like magic.

You had always scoffed at him, especially as you grew older and the lines around his eyes grew deeper. But you still entertained him. You never saw that magic that Appa claimed to see, but now, you wonder how you could ever not see it.

A breeze ruffles through the trees, whistling as it threads through your hair and running over the water. The clouds part for a moment, allows a burst of sunbeams to spread over the water and you gasp at the sudden golden filter over the surroundings in front of you.

Another breeze, one from your left side, presses against your shoulder and your cheek. Almost like it’s whispering to you. You whip your head to the side, only to find nothing next to you. You feel like you’re floating, with the gentle caress of the wind to keep you company.

You eat your snacks in silence, embracing the way that it feels like the wind is Appa’s caress against your skin.

By the time you return to the hotel, the sun is beginning to go down and a bittersweet sort of happiness settles in your heart. You feel closer to your dad than you have in a long time- this city was bound to feel like home with its welcoming arms curling around you warmly. You had spent the better part of the day visiting old sights and places that you had frequented to with Appa.

It was peaceful, like a walk down memory lane. You could almost see your younger self bursting at the seams with joy at all of the new places. You could almost see her so eager to learn and demanding that Appa teach you Japanese immediately.

You wonder where that girl went. She’s lost, buried beneath layers and layers and maybe someday you’ll find her again.

Stopping by one of your favorite restaurants, you order all of your favorites times three. For your colleagues to have something to feast on when you returned from your day trip. You hadn’t been on your phone for most of the day, choosing to mute the group chat with your colleagues so you could truly be alone.

Once you approach the familiar blue neon sign of the restaurant, you send them a text:

you: evening all. dont worry about dinner, Im bringing lots of food back sana: look who woke up from her coma namjoon: did you put it on your card? you: of course i did. you dont have to remind me joon ;) you: want to have dinner together? jungkook: ya where should we eat Namjoon: come to my room, it’s room 1804 you: ok, be there in about thirty min

With your heart feeling full, brimming with fondness for your teammates, you pay for the heavy bags of food and make your way back to the hotel. You can’t help but smile as you walk with a little pep in your step.

“You should have asked one of us to help you,” Jungkook says reproachfully, taking half the bags from you.

Your arms ache, not that you’ll admit your stubbornness. You only smile sheepishly, “It was only a fifteen minute walk.”

“And this is a lot of food,” Jungkook muses, peeking inside as his doe eyes sparkle in anticipation.

“It’s our first team dinner in Tokyo. We deserve it,” You shrug.

“I also bought a few bottles of wine,” Sana chirps, dangling two bottles of red in her hands, “We deserve it.”

You laugh and she winks at you. Namjoon is already setting up the many boxes of food on the mahogany wooden desk in the corner of the room. The curtains are pulled back, affording you of a breathtaking view of the city lights and the now hanging moon high in the sky.

“The boss has the best view, huh?” You tease, nudging his shoulder.

“Jungkook picked it,” Namjoon shrugs, “I just wanted to share the view with you all.”

“How sweet of you,” You say sincerely, “Dinner with a view. That’s pretty romantic. And Jungkook has good taste.”

Jungkook’s ears flush at your praise and he covers his ears for a second. Not that you notice. You sit on the floor, across from Jungkook and offer to scoop food onto everyone’s plates for them. You ignore their protests and do it anyway, quietly asking how much of each they want. Sana fills up plastic cups with wine and labels everyone’s cup with a black marker so you can all keep track of them.

“How classy of us,” Namjoon snorts but says thank you to Sana.

“Did you bring wine glasses in your luggage?” Sana shoots at Namjoon, “I didn’t think so.”

You stifle your laugh behind your hand and shake your head. “Feels like college, if only those cups were red,” You joke.

“My roommate still uses red cups sometimes, for casual purposes,” Jungkook says softly, “It drives me up the wall. Like, can you drink out of a normal cup or what? I get flashbacks to beer pong almost every morning.”

You laugh a little harder at that, and the sound is sweet in Jungkook’s ears. He wants to see if he can get you to laugh like that a little more.

“I mean, we’re grown now. I can’t believe Taehyung sometimes, having his morning orange juice in a red solo cup. It’s heinous.”

Your eyes are overflowing with mirth, the sound of your genuine happiness echoing in Jungkook’s ears and he can’t help but smile in return.

“Morning orange juice,” You mutter, “That’s adorable. Taehyung? That’s the name of your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, “We did undergrad together and he’s an aspiring art gallery curator. He’s actually coming here tomorrow-”

“Wait, hang on,” You say after chewing through a mouthful of noodles, “Is this Taehyung, as in Kim Taehyung who you snuck into that bar with and he ended up getting absolutely hammered and stealing three bottles of alcohol? Before getting kicked out and Jin and I took you both home? That Taehyung?”

The fondness with which you speak of Taehyung unnerves Jungkook.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, “That Taehyung.”

“Sounds like a real class act,” Sana says dryly.

“Wow, I haven’t seen him in years,” You exhale, “I think Jin’s bringing some friends from college tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah, he mentioned a Jimin and a Hoseok,” Namjoon adds.

“Damn, Sana, maybe we should’ve brought our friends, too,” You murmur, teasing but honestly, you don’t really have anyone you would’ve asked to bring, “Can’t wait to see what this boys weekend brings.”

You fully anticipate that Seokjin will rope you into whatever shenanigans they have planned, and you don’t even feel bad about crashing. You make a mental note to let Sana know of whatever plans they invited you to, so that she wouldn’t feel left out.

They don’t ask where you were all day, and for that you’re grateful. The lines of professionalism are beginning to blur for you, and you don’t want to burden them with your feelings and problems. You don’t want them to think differently of you for trying to catch a glimpse of Appa in your memories.

Jin would say you were being silly, but you can’t help it. Maybe someday, but not today.

But Jungkook does wonder. Where were you all day? When the group chat was going off, you were silent. It was none of his business, but he’s curious. And he’s curious about you. You hadn’t changed out of your day clothes or taken your makeup off. He can see the nearly gone darkened stain of your gloss on your lips and the curl of your lashes. Jungkook keeps his eyes above your neck, knowing that if his eyes begin to wander he would be even more of a goner than he already was.

It’s September in Tokyo, meaning that it was warm during the day and somewhat chilly in the evenings. Your dark green long sleeved shirt is tucked into your shorts, complete with a black belt, leaving your tanned thighs on display. Jungkook thinks he catches a glimpse of a tattoo peeking from your shorts, but he thinks he imagines it.

Until your shorts ride up just a little and he sees an array of colors and the fleeting sight of a flower on your upper thigh. Jungkook swallows nervously and stuffs his face full of udon noodles without hesitation. If his mouth is stuffed with food, then nobody will look twice at him and he can keep his thoughts to himself and ogle at you in peace.

The logic makes sense in his head.

Your voice carries over to Namjoon, telling him that you’ll be picking Seokjin, Jimin and Hoseok up in the morning with the rental car.

“Hey, if Taehyung is arriving at the same time, do you want me to pick him up?” You ask, turning your gaze to Jungkook.

“Huh?” Jungkook asks. You roll your eyes.

“Taehyung. If he arrives at the same time as Jin, Jimin and Hoseok, do you want me to pick him up?”

“Er,” Jungkook says eloquently, “He’s actually been here for the last week. Thanks, though.”

You want to say that Jin would cause a scene and whine at you if you didn’t pick him up from the airport, the prince that he is. But you keep it to yourself- after all, he’s somewhat of a boss to Jungkook and Sana.

You nod in understanding and shove more noodles and meat into your mouth. You stretch your legs out in front of you and Jungkook doesn’t look away, instead allowing his eyes to rake over you shamelessly. Nevermind that Namjoon and Sana are right next to him, probably wondering why he’s staring you down so intensely.

The four of you spend the rest of the evening discussing your plans for the weekend, avoiding the topic of work altogether. It’s nice, you can almost believe that you’re all just four friends making a weekend getaway without the confines of work looming over your heads.

Namjoon offers to split the remaining food amongst the four of you and puts equal amounts of everything into each container for all of you to take back to your rooms.

And then Sana pours more wine for each of you and you feel yourself beginning to get more and more relaxed with each sip you take. You want to open your stitched together lips, tell them how it’s been so long since you’ve had alcohol with anyone who wasn’t Jin. You want to tell them that you like red wine more than white wine, but nothing beats soju-

“What’s your favorite kind of wine,” Jungkook asks. He comes to sit next to you on the floor, stretching his legs out. His shoulder brushes against yours and you feel something like electricity at the soft touch.

“Um… I like reds over white wine. But I haven’t had that many reds to say which kind is my favorite,” You muse.

“Guess we’ll have to try some more red wine, huh?” Jungkook says, his eyes sparkling and bunny smile on display.

Your heart warms and sputters at the same time.

“Yeah,” You nod breathlessly, “What about you? What do you like?”

“I’m not picky. I don’t really like cabernet,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “Too bitter for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You giggle, unable to believe that such a noise is coming out of your mouth. Despite Sana and Namjoon having their own conversation on the other side of the room, it feels like it’s just you and Jungkook for a minute in your own bubble.

“I like a good chardonnay, too. Nice ‘n crisp.”

“Me too, I love that crisp taste of a good white wine,” You reply, unable to keep your eyes off of him for longer than a second. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are a pretty pink and you wonder if his cheeks are as warm as yours are.

“Thought you didn’t like white wine?” Jungkook murmurs, head tilting inquisitively.

“I prefer red, but if there’s white wine in front of me, I mean,” You shrug, “It’s not like ‘m gonna say no.”

“Oh? We’ll have to test that out, too,” Jungkook smiles, “I like soju the best. Nothin’ beats soju.”

“Yeah, peach and green grape,” You say knowingly, “The only flavors with rights.”

“Exactly. You get me,” Jungkook nods with wide eyes. He asks you about Tokyo, if you come here often. You answer him somewhat vaguely, but tell him that you grew up reading, writing and speaking Japanese. He looks impressed by that and the fondness in the lines of his lips startles you.

You chalk it up to the romance of this city making you soft and pliant to his doe eyes and the warmth of his smile. He’s so easy to get lost in- you find yourself leaning closer to him to hear what he has to say about his own travel dreams. He wants to go to New York City and Bangkok and Athens- the way his eyes light up constricts around your heart.

Every part of him radiates warmth and you want to be draped by it. He says something that makes you smile and laugh, and you swat at his shoulder reflexively. Jungkook only looks at you in that way. The way that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s good at that.

He has hearts and stars in his eyes for you and it makes you choke.

Maybe you had imagined it all because you remember where you are. You’re in your boss’s hotel room and he’s standing right there. Jungkook sees the spark in your eyes disappear immediately and you pull away just as quickly, as if the moment had never happened.

He won’t deny the sting, but you’re so easy to get lost in. The fog in his mind clears, and while it’s only been a few minutes that you’ve been alone. It feels like much longer. But Namjoon and Sana are still deep in conversation, his dimples on display and her smile bright.

You pull away but your dark eyes are still wide and focused on him, stars swirling in your irises and Jungkook thinks he might fall into this wonderfully brown abyss held in your pretty face. Finally, you move away from him on the floor, almost immediately missing his warmth. You look back at him as you move to get some water, the same curious look on your face.

Your face is burning, and you’re surprised you’re able to keep this cool for this long. The urge to bolt from Namjoon’s hotel room and back to your own is one that you have to fight. But instead, you stay planted where you are. Jungkook confuses you, you hardly even know him and you had let him get so close to you. It’s not something you usually do, but what unnerves you is how nice it felt. The closeness of him, his eyes on you and only you. Are you bothered by it?

No, you realize. No. You quite liked it. You’re supposed to hate him- he represents everything you hate. A young kid, a boy, raising quickly through the ranks of your corporate world, while you grasp at straws.

Does he? Does he represent everything you hate? What a load of bullshit.

You swallow again. You need to leave.

“Hey, Joon,” You say softly, touching his elbow, “I’m going to head out. It’s getting late and I’ve gotta head out early tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He’d made you so uncomfortable that you were abruptly cutting your night short. Because of him. He needs to make this right.

“I’ll walk with you,” The words tumble out of Jungkook’s mouth before he can stop them. His heart is pounding in his ears- he needs to apologize before you hate him even more.

“Okay,” You reply with a smile, “Here are your leftovers.”

“I’ll walk with you both,” Sana says, taking her bag.

With that, you say your goodbyes and leave Namjoon’s room to the elevators. Your head feels like static, a wave of thoughts congealing into something impenetrable. The doors ding shut, all three of you standing on opposite ends of the elevator. You can’t look at Jungkook, you can’t see his doe eyes. Not right now.

Sana calls your name, “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem, Sana,” You murmur, “See you tomorrow.”

And then it’s just you and Jungkook in the elevator.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says immediately, “I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna talk to me outside of work, I get it-”

“What?” You ask, finally looking at him. You take a step forward, close enough to him that you’re in his orbit. “You didn’t… You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Jungkook. I would have told you if you did. You just… confuse me.”

The last bit comes out as a vulnerable whisper and all Jungkook can do is nod.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” You say clearly, casting him a look over your shoulder as you exit the elevator. Your eyes are guarded once more, as if the night hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t fallen for you even further. You wash him away from your bloodstream quickly and Jungkook feels his heart aching once more.

By the time you pick up Jin, Jimin, and Hoseok from the airport and arrive at the hotel, it’s nearly noon. The car ride back was fun, dare you say it. It amazed you how Jin still remained close in contact with people you went to college with. It felt natural, talking to Jimin and Hoseok. As if years hadn’t gone by.

They were hot, and that was your first assessment when you had met them at the airport. Jimin and Hoseok had both embraced you in tight hugs, without any regard for whether you wanted one or not. You found that you didn’t really mind.

You didn’t know how you were going to survive this weekend surrounded by these many attractive people.

“We should celebrate. For this reunion,” Hoseok says.

“Jungkook is here, too,” You reply, “A great big university reunion right here in Tokyo, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting you guys work together now,” Jimin says.

“Wait, you guys are friends still?” You ask.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Jimin says, genuine confusion in the handsome planes of his face.

You suppose everyone else is better at making and maintaining friendships than you are. It stings a little, having so many people from university in the same place. In the city that already holds so many memories for you. But you’ll embrace it, because that’s what you’ve been working on. Embracing change.

And of course, what was a boys weekend without a night out at the club? Jin had all but demanded that you come, in true dramatic fashion- I can’t go out without you, you know. I can’t believe you’re considering leaving me like this. I’ll die there without you.

It didn’t take much from you to roll your eyes but agree and tell him that you were inviting Sana.

“Go pregame and get ready with your boys,” You had urged him, “It’s so rare you all are together like this. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Are you sure?” Jin asked with uncertainty and you had only smiled warmly at him.

“Yes, Seokjin. I’m sure. I’ll be crashing the party soon, don’t worry,” You reassured him and he left your hotel room. He promised to text you when to come and you just nodded, shooing him away.

That had been nearly two hours ago, and you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup with Sana getting ready in the bathroom. Music is playing through your phone and once you’re done with your lip gloss, you make drinks and prepare shots for you and Sana.

“You’ve gotta tell me how you’re friends with so many hot men,” Sana says, taking a seat on the bed.

You scoff, “I’m really only friends with Jin. The rest of them come with Jin, we’re hardly friends.”

“Oh?” Sana asks with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow, “You all went to school together, right?”

“Yeah… Something like that,” You say lightly, “Jin kept in touch with all of them. I didn’t.”

You leave it at that and Sana knows not to press further.

“They’re all nice guys. I always had fun with them,” You say fondly, “You will, too.”

“Cheers to that,” Sana grins, “We look hot. Let’s take a picture.”

“Should we send it to our boss,” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, that would send him off the deep end. He’d be here in five seconds, dragging us out by our ears,” Sana rolls her eyes as well with a laugh.

You try your best to make Sana feel as comfortable as she can with you. At least so that she’s comfortable when you go meet up with the guys later. You know it can be intimidating being around people who are so close, but they’ve always been welcoming.

It begs the question- why did you let them all go?

You don’t have time to unpack all of that. By the time Jin texts you, telling you to come to his suite on the eighteenth floor, you and Sana are three drinks and two shots in.

You’ve drank more in the last two days than you have in the last year alone. At least that’s what it feels like.

You make sure to take your hotel card, phone and wallet and ensure that Sana does as well. Giggles erupt from the both of you when you enter the elevator, and excitement thrums in your veins. The liquid courage bouncing around in your veins makes you feel relaxed and you tug Sana’s hand out of the elevator once the steel doors open.

You text Jin from outside his door, you can already hear the loud peals of laughter and the beat of music through the walls. You wonder if they’ve gotten any noise complaints yet, but probably not- his room is the only one on this side of the hotel. He probably did this on purpose.

When he doesn’t answer your text, you decide to knock obnoxiously and Sana giggles at your impatience. On your fifth knock, the door swings open and you see Jin’s tipsy face complete with reddened cheeks and his broad smile.

He hugs you like he hasn’t seen you in years, he even lifts you off of the ground a little bit. Your heart flutters with affection for him as you whine for him to put you down.

“Jin!” You shriek, “At least go inside, dummy- stop embarrassing me-”

He finally puts you down and holds you by the shoulders to take you in. His eyes are sharp and he says nothing as he assesses your outfit, apparently deeming you as acceptable as he waves you inside. He says hello to Sana, who returns his mellowed out hug graciously.

Jin hands you both full cups, and you trust Jin enough to know it’s a yummy but strong drink. You grip your cup tighter and allow Sana to go in front of you. The last thing you want is for her to feel left out, so you want the guys to be introduced to her first.

Besides, they all already knew you.

Jin does the introductions quickly, the guys all warming up to Sana and bringing her in for hugs as well. Her cheeks are flushed, and you knew she’d feel flustered. They’re intense in their friendliness and it would make anyone feel flustered and warm.

And then their eyes land on you and you wish you could melt into the floor. Six pairs of eyes stare back at you- apparently Yoongi had also decided to come as well.

College reunion indeed.

You stay close to Jin, offering them a weak wave of your fingers and a smile.

“Hello boys,” You say dramatically, “Long time no see.”

“Jin’s been hiding you all to himself, hasn’t he?” Jimin says, not bothering to hide the way he’s looking at you. And you don’t mind, not really- you know you look good.

“I just saw you this morning. When I picked your sorry ass up from the airport,” You reply and Jimin pouts at you as everyone around you laughs at his expense.

“Still so mean,” Jimin murmurs and you roll your eyes.

And with that, alcohol continues to flow as the chatter continues on.

You cast another glance to Sana, making sure she’s not by herself. You relax when you see her talking to Yoongi and Hoseok, smiling to yourself at how quickly she takes to them.

“Hey pretty,” Jimin says, seeing you near the alcohol and joining you.

“Hey you,” You parrot back and he smiles at you in that sweet, disarming way, “Want a drink?”

“You always made the best drinks,” Jimin says, handing his cup over to you. You ignore the way your chest tightens at his use of past tense.

“Maybe you just never knew how to make drinks,” You murmur, “Probably still don’t, huh?”

Jimin laughs lightly at that as a silence falls between you both. “You look good,” Jimin exhales, “You doin’ alright?”

You never know what to say to that. “Yeah. You look good, Jimin. You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah. I’m still in Seoul at the dance school. Don’t be such a stranger,” Jimin murmurs and before you can protest, he pokes your forehead affectionately.

“You’ll ruin my makeup,” You complain but give him a small smile, “Jimin. ‘M glad to see you. All of you.”

Jimin looks like he wants to say something more. But he bites his tongue. This isn’t the place to pick a petty fight, so he lets it go. Jungkook approaches you both, resting his arm on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin groans dramatically and Jungkook only offers him a smile and a giggle.

“Cup’s empty,” Jungkook says, wiggling his cup to both of you, “Stop hoggin’ the alcohol.”

“Blame Jimin. Everything’s his fault,” You tease and Jimin rolls his eyes at you both.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jungkook grins and Jimin slips out from under Jungkook with another roll of his eyes. “Hey, you met Taehyung yet? My roommate? You ‘member him?”

His eyes are slick with alcohol, and yet they still sparkle at you like you hold all of the answers to the universe in them. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. It unnerves you, like many things about him do.

“No, where is he?”

Jungkook shouts for Taehyung to join him and you wince. All of a sudden his sandy haired roommate pops up from the direction of the living area and joins you at the drinks table. He looks a far cry from the boy you had driven home that night many years ago.

You knew being in the presence of so many attractive people was going to kill all of your brain cells by the end of the night.

Taehyung calls your name and nerves seize you inexplicably.

“You remember me?” The words escape your lips before your brain has a chance to stop them.

“Course I do? The pretty girl who saved Kook and I at that one bar that I’m still banned from?” Taehyung grins, his eyes sweet and sincere.

“Jin was with me too, don’t forget him,” You say dryly, “Nice to see you again after all this time. And you’re Jungkook’s roommate?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chimes in, earning him a laugh from you.

Taehyung is magnetic when he speaks to you, honey dripping from his tongue as he tells you about his journey as an aspiring art museum curator. Passion lights up his dark irises, his smile matching the intensity of it and you’re certain he has this effect on everyone he speaks to. They’re both so close to you, in your bubble and the scent of their cologne wafts into your nose.

You drink more. You don’t know how to cope with all of this. So you drink.

Jungkook tells you that they’ve been roommates all through graduate school and they had recently moved into a new, bigger place. Now that they were both making a little more money. You find yourself benignly jealous of the life they live- two close friends living together and living for these kinds of nights with their other close friends. The bond they built and strengthened over the years is obvious in the way Taehyung holds Jungkook close, the way Hoseok lights up the entire room and makes everyone smile just because he’s smiling, the way Yoongi and Jimin bicker like an old married couple… Namjoon has already slotted himself within the group. Jin probably introduced him to them a while back, you realize.

Jungkook excuses himself to use the bathroom, leaving his cup next to Taehyung on the table. Taehyung’s gaze makes you nervous- the shift in his eyes is apparent as he lazily rakes his eyes over you.

“Kook told me he was workin’ with you again,” Taehyung murmurs, “What he didn’t tell me was how pretty you are.”

“What a line,” You say flatly and roll your eyes. To your surprise, he laughs, his smile making you smile as well.

“Just bein’ honest,” Taehyung shrugs, “‘Snot everyday you see our hot grad school girl after five years.”

“You’re full of it,” You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, “‘Our?’”

“Jungkook was-” Taehyung starts but he’s interrupted by the man himself. Jungkook was what?

“You talkin’ about me?” Jungkook says, elbowing Taehyung. Taehyung only shakes his head and hands him his cup, before excusing himself. He throws you another charming smile and if you weren’t so on edge, your knees might have buckled.

“He’s…”

“A pain in the ass?” Jungkook supplies, “Yeah.”

“No, I was gonna say he’s interesting,” You laugh. A short silence settles between you both, giving you a moment to really take him in. You itch your chin nervously before pushing your lips to the rim of your cup and watching him.

You’ve always known that Jungkook was somehow handsome, sexy and cute all at the same time- wide, doe eyes, pinchable cheeks, pretty smile, and then his body… His thighs strain against the tight material of his pants and you’re certain it’s deliberate. His button up shirt is loose but still molds to his muscles in that way where it leaves you wanting more. His shirt is buttoned at the elbow, giving you a peek to the smattering of tattoos on his forearm. His dark hair is parted in the middle, all soft and shiny, and a little long. It settles over his forehead, almost in his eyes, effortlessly. Two hoops in each ear glint in your direction and you swallow nervously.

Jungkook catches you looking at his tattoos- how ironic, considering he’s doing the same of you. The satin black top you’re wearing has a plunging neckline, giving him a view of the tattoos stemming from your upper arm to your clavicle.

It also offers him a teasing hint of your bare chest where if you turn to the side just a little, he catches a glimpse of even more. It makes him swallow, just as nervous as you. The top itself is loose, only cinched a little at the waist but your pants are tight, your strappy heels adding even more dimension to your legs.

You nervously twist the layering of gold necklaces around your neck. Jungkook has always thought you were beautiful, but he’s never seen you like this. Not even when he knew you years ago.

“Your cup’s empty again,” You laugh nervously, offering to make him another drink. You don’t know what to do with your hands, wanting to keep busy.

“Oh,” Jungkook breathes, “Yeah.”

He tries to keep his eyes on your hands, really he does. But you bend forward just a little and his eyes immediately flit to your plentiful chest.

Jungkook thinks he might die, and what a way to go.

You pull away from the table, handing him his drink and he thanks you quietly. Jungkook ignores the way your eyes shine curiously at him, and he buries himself in the confusion fuzzing up his mind.

Jin, to your relief, pulls you away from Jungkook before you can do something incredibly stupid. Like let him burst through your carefully structured walls even further than he already has.

Typically, clubs are not your favorite place to be. The intense crowd, the neon lights, the smoke… It’s all over the top. Usually, you can’t even hear yourself think over the music. Though, you don’t mind the sense of anonymity in such a crowded place. Besides, you’ve heard great things about IBEX, so you’re curious about it.

It’s a huge place, easy for everyone to split up, but still small enough that you can easily find your group. You urge Sana to go have fun with the guys as you order a round of drinks for everyone. As one of the oldest of your friends, you felt that sense of responsibility for them. Even if you hadn’t called them friends in years.

You signal them over once the drinks are ready, catching Namjoon’s eye and beckoning him over. They slowly begin to surround you, shouting thank you’s over the music. Jimin slings his arm around your shoulders as if it’s nothing. As if he’s known you for all this time.

It makes you feel warm. He gazes at you with crescent eyes and a full smile. It makes your heart thump heavily in your chest.

“Cheers,” Jimin says, tearing his eyes away from you and towards the group. His toast elicits a sequence of ‘cheers’ from everyone. You scan across all of them before your eyes inevitably land on Jungkook. He’s looking at you with a smile, the kind of smile that makes you wonder if it’s a smile only for your eyes.

Your smile matches his in intensity, neither of you pulling your gazes away. Until Jin pulls you away from Jimin, exclaiming that he needs to dance with you. His best friend.

The moment passes, and you make sure Sana is okay. She’s conversing with Yoongi now, and he’s laughing at something she’s saying. It makes you feel warm. Again.

You allow the music to pump through your veins as laughter bubbles from your lips freely at Jin’s antics. You entertain him, copying his coordinated movements with his same enthusiasm. You can tell he’s drunk, from the fiery flush in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He abruptly pulls you close to him for a tight hug and holds your face in his hands.

“Jin,” You giggle, “What you doin’?”

“I love you,” Jin giggles, “Y’r my best friend, ‘n I love you.” He always got like this when you were drunk, so affectionate. You wonder how he knows exactly what you need to hear, when you need to hear it.

“Can’t wait for you t’meet Yuna when we get home,” Jin slurs.

“I’m excited, too-”

“She’s nervous y’know,” Jin continues as if you hadn’t said anything, “Knows y’r my best friend.”

“Jin,” You exhale, “Even if she doesn’t like me, you clearly like her. I shouldn’t matter-”

“No,” Jin says sharply, “Why d’you think you don’t matter? You matter to me.”

“Jin-”

“Stop it,” He silences you and you comply with a sigh.

“She doesn’t have to be nervous around me,” You finally say.

“You can be a little scary when you want to be,” He teases.

“That’s exactly how I want to be known,” You scoff and Jin laughs, swaying with you offbeat to the music. You stand with Jin like that for a few minutes, sipping on your drink and giggling at his antics.

“Seokjin,” You murmur, voice a little shaky, “I never say it but… I-I love you. So much. You’re my best friend and my rock. I don’t know who I’d be without you-”

“You’d be you,” Jin says without missing a beat, “You’d be scary, intense, kind, genuine, petty, funny and beautiful with or without me, sweetheart.”

Jin sees wetness in your eyes and pulls you in for another hug. “None of that,” Jin murmurs, “Hey, let’s take a picture ‘n send it to Grandma. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

You stand in Jin’s arms, in the crowd of people surrounding you and not paying attention to you. Despite the throng of people around you, it feels like it’s just you and Jin, and your friends in the club.

“Let’s get back to our friends,” You say, “They probably think we’re making out-”

“You would be so lucky,” Jin scoffs, “Only Yuna gets this handsome face.” You pinch his cheeks affectionately and coo at him.

“Hey, by the way,” Jin says, “Not to be totally unprofessional here. But I’m pretty sure Jeon Jungkook has the hots for you. Kid won’t stop lookin’ at you. Not that I can blame him, I mean look at your tits.”

With that statement, Jin walks away from you, leaving you confused and curious- two words becoming increasingly common with your thoughts of Jeon Jungkook.

“Hey pretty,” comes a sweet voice to your right side. You already know it’s Jimin before you meet his sincere eyes.

“Hey you,” You reply, “Wanna dance? We used to always be in sync.”

If Jimin is surprised he doesn’t show it. He only takes your drink and finishes it, placing it on a high table near you. He walks behind you, a hand on the small of your back as you weave through the crowd easily. Bodies push back into you but you only dance along with them to move past. Jimin pulls you closer to him once he finds a spot, pulling you into his side. He turns you so that you’re facing him, the lights of the club illuminating the sheen of his lips and the shine in his eyes. You push a stray strand of his silver hair back behind his ear.

“I meant it you know,” Jimin murmurs, for your ears only, “You look good.” You lean into him at his praise, a hand on his chest. Your nails press into the soft material of his dress shirt and he tightens his grip around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles.

“You do, too,” You reply easily, “You always did.”

Jimin scoffs but you look at him earnestly. “I mean it,” You say with a smirk, mimicking his words. He says nothing, only holds you and rolls his hips into yours to the beat of the music. He watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. You snake a hand to the base of his neck and lightly scratch as he presses his nose to your neck. You’re lucky he’s holding you tight- you’re certain you’re knees would buckle if it weren’t for him.

It’s been years since anyone danced with you like this. You let out a soft sound into his skin and Jimin groans, pressing his hips into yours even more slowly if possible.

“Why’d you leave,” Jimin breathes into your skin, “Missed you. Missed my friend.”

“I was a mess,” You mutter, “I’m still a mess.”

“You’re here now?” He asks, looking at you with big eyes. Jimin cups your face tenderly, and you’re not sure how many of these kind touches you can take for one night.

“Yeah,” You say faintly, “I just… couldn’t. I still can’t.”

You won’t apologize for mending your own cracks the way you needed to. And Jimin knows that. “Don’t be a stranger,” Jimin says and pulls you in for a hug.

“Jimin,” You mumble, “I missed you, too.”

Barely stifling a yawn, you look around for your group. They’re all within eyesight of you- Sana and Yoongi were still engrossed in conversation with each other, Namjoon with Jin, Hoseok and Jimin and Taehyung with Jungkook. Taehyung casts a look over to you and immediately whispers to Jungkook. It shouldn’t surprise you that they both saunter over to you, standing on either side of you. Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans against you as if you’re old friends. At this angle, you can see the expanse of his tanned, golden skin since the top few buttons of his shirt are popped.

“See somethin’ you like?” Taehyung asks coyly with a wink.

“No, just wondering why you’re wearing tinted aviators inside,” You mutter, pointing at him, “You look like an asshole.”

Taehyung laughs, throwing his head back good-naturedly, “You clearly don’t know fashion. You must think you’re hilarious.”

Before you can retort, a yawn overtakes you. “Are we boring you?” Jungkook teases.

“No, ‘m just tired,” You blink to force yourself to stop yawning, “Hey, you guys wanna get ice cream?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says instantly.

Taehyung nearly snorts but agrees. By the time you and Jungkook say your goodbyes, and you ask for the tenth time if Sana wants to come with you (she declines, opting to stay with Yoongi), Taehyung is nowhere to be found. Jungkook rolls his eyes, his phone vibrating with a text from him-

taehyung: you’re welcome

“Tae’s not coming,” Jungkook says slowly, wondering if you might change your mind if it’s just you two getting ice cream.

You shrug, “His loss. I know a great place.”

Taking Jungkook to one of your favorite ice cream places that you used to come with Appa to feels intimate. But it feels right and you’re not bothered by it. Once you buy your respective cones (you pay for both before Jungkook can even fumble for his card), you head back outside for a short walk towards the hotel.

The ice cream place itself was close to the hotel, though you had to Uber here from the club. It’s a nice night for a walk, a little chilly but not uncomfortably so. You and Jungkook fall into an easy conversation, talking about the silliness of your shared friends.

He looks nice under the moonlight, you decide. A light breeze lifts his hair up briefly before it flawlessly settles over his forehead.

“I can’t keep up with you,” Jungkook whispers, his words carrying into the night air.

“What do you mean?” Your heart picks up immediately at the anguish in his tone. The air between both of you shifts immediately. What was easy becomes hardened, the space between suffocating you. You can physically see him pulling away from you. Months, or maybe years, of frustration seems to be coming to a head right here. Right near your favorite ice cream shop.

“One sec you hate me. The next, you’re asking me to get ice cream with you,” Jungkook says, something familiar and icy curling in his brown irises. It always looks so off-putting, the callousness in his eyes. It seems to be directed at you so often these days.

“I don’t hate you-”

“You avoided me for 2 and a half months. You’re only talking to me now because you have to!”

“That’s not true-”

“Oh, really? You telling me that you the last two and a half months was all in my head?”

You stay quiet, because he’s not wrong.

“That’s what I thought,” Jungkook says to himself, tearing his eyes from you. The cold look in his eyes has returned and it makes your heart ache. He can’t look at you like that, you can hardly bear it.

“I’m fucked up, I get it. Don’t think I don’t get it-”

“You left. Without a goodbye and now fuckin’ five years later- my dream girl’s my colleague and she hates me.”

A sudden, chilling epiphany douses you- he has no idea why you left. You know him well enough to know that he’ll feel awful once you tell him. Apparently none of his friends had told him. Maybe they thought it was your story to tell. It’s not much of a story, not really. It’s the story of a heartbroken girl with commitment issues.

Your face drops. Maybe he’s hurting you the same way you hurt him. But it changes nothing.

“You can’t even look at me now!”

“You listen to me, Jungkook,” You hiss, “I’m not your dream girl. I’m nobody’s dream girl, so let’s get that straight. I’m awful a-and terrible and mean- and…

“My dad died,” You finally whisper, “Appa died and I couldn’t handle grad school so I dropped out. Dropped off the face of the earth. Got the first job I could, for Grandma and me.

“I fuckin’ dropped out, my daddy died and I can’t look at you sometimes because it fuckin’ reminds me of when I was happy and I can’t chase that feeling because I don’t know what it feels like anymore!”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, pretty pink lips parted in speechlessness. Fuck. You’ve ruined any chance at friendship with him, you know that. So you bury the dagger even further in whatever this is and you turn on your heel and run. Because that’s all you’re good at. Running. Your eyes are blurry with freely falling tears and the sound of your own heaving sobs are loud in your ears.

You leave your heart out on the streets of Tokyo, near your favorite ice cream shop but you don’t even hear the sound of Jungkook chasing after you.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts x reader #bts fic

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 4

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

genre | angst, exes au

summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

word count | 4.2k

chapter rating | PG-13

warnings | none

a/n | IM SO SORRY this is late 😔😔 skldjflkj i was trying to get this out for namjoon’s bday butttt i failed HAHAH sighz life just threw consecutive curveballs my way ok but here we go!!!! part foouuuurrrr

If you thought things between you and Namjoon would be awkward, well, they were. Undeniably and unbearably awkward. The silence stretched long between you without Hoseok to fill the space. Maybe you should have reserved some topics of idle chatter instead of expending them all during last night’s dinner. Maybe you should have asked Namjoon to come over after Hoseok’s dance class. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to hang out at all.

Wistful regretting will get you nowhere. You know that. But you indulge in it all the same, stirring your straw and watching the ice cubes in your latte swirl and clink against the sides of the glass. Pointedly keeping your eyes trained on your half-full cup and off the man seated at your shared table in the cafe, his fingers thrumming nervously on said table, you feel a twinge of guilt. How long will you let this silence drag on?

It’s not for the lack of trying. You’re trying. You really are. And you know that Namjoon is too. Small talk just seems to evade you. And deeper issues are off the table, for now at least. Not until you’re sure that he’s not going to abruptly drop out of your life again. Although you’ve agreed to give him a second chance at friendship, the emotional shields were still difficult to lower.

Flicking your eyes to your watch for the thousandth time that afternoon, the unease only gnaws at you further when you realize that the minute hand has scarcely ticked forward by two minutes. Forty more minutes to go. It feels like it’ll be a lifetime before Hoseok is done.

As Hoseok’s weekend trip came to an end, you wondered if the hangouts with Namjoon would experience a similar fate.

But then again, it’s not Hoseok whose friendship he was looking to rebuild. That had never ended. It was just yours. So should you really have been surprised when he invited you out for lunch midweek when Hoseok was miles away back home and away from the city?

You had to give him credit. When he said that he would do anything he could to attempt to make reconciliation happen, the guy had really meant it.

The first couple of lunches together - lunches that you dragged yourself to because you had agreed to give him a second chance - were a total cringefest.

Namjoon was the one who pushed through it with unwavering perseverance. And that was what spurred you to continue trying.

It’s not like you don’t enjoy his company. You do. It’s hard not to, really. Not when his dimpled smile and rounded pleading eyes are as disarming as they are. Namjoon has always been a good listener, always making you feel valued for your ideas no matter the frivolity, but lately he’s picked up this habit of bending down to your height, tipping his chin down just so so he can peer up at you with the most puppy dog look ever and you just- you can’t handle it.

It’s devastating. It’s irresistible. It’s a bulldozer through all the walls you’ve put up over the years, smashing them to rubble in a matter of weeks.

And so the lunches you used to drag yourself to became lunches to be anticipated. The text conversations that began in stiff formality soon gave way to a barrage of emojis and typos left uncorrected, and you find your walls gradually giving way too. The two of you had always shared an easy chemistry, something that hasn’t faded with the years and unaffected by the breakup.

The breakup was the one thing that still remained taboo.

Well if he hadn’t wanted to speak about it in the time leading up to your breakup back then, why would he want to talk about it now?

You know you’ve chosen to forgive him. But the residual bitterness still sits much like the dredges at the bottom of your daily morning cup of coffee. Unprovoked, it would be fine. It lies dormant so long as nothing shakes it up.

And you’re not going to shake it up. Because you’re over Namjoon.

“Ke- ketchup?!” Namjoon sputters, jaw dropped and eyes wide. “I know it’s been five years, but damn…”

“What?” Your tone is defensive, but your facial expression is irrefutably sheepish as you drag a fry through the offensive red condiment you’d just squeezed onto your plate.

“What ever happened to the vendetta against ketchup?” he asks, still gaping at sight of you consuming the very thing you’d once condemned as unworthy of being ingested.

You shrug and answer simply, “Lots of things can change in five years.”

It was just meant to be a passing comment, nothing more. But Namjoon seems to take in the sight of you afresh, then nods emphatically.

“That, it can.”

The noise that escapes you is tiny, hopefully indiscernible, as he places an elbow on the table, suddenly leaning forward with his chin in hand, hovering over his half-eaten club sandwich. Determinedly refraining from shifting a little in your seat under his scrutinizing gaze, the words of protest sit heavy on your tongue as you keep a tight grip on them much in the same stubborn manner. You will not break. You’re over him.

“You’ve changed,” he says, gaze still roving over you. It’s not an accusation in the slightest, but more of an observation. “And it’s not just the ketchup.”

“Thank god. If the only character growth I’ve made in the past five years is learning to consume ketchup, then that’d be a real problem.”

He laughs - the staccato hah odd but familiar - and reclines back, elbow propped casually against the back of the chair now.

“But for real,” he says, gesturing with his sandwich-filled hand, the crumbs go flying all over the table. He takes a pause as he stuffs the entirety of it in his mouth, his cheeks bulging with the too-big-mouthful. It’s amazing how he doesn’t choke, but he manages, gulping it down so he can continue. “It’s like you’re more comfortable in your own skin now somehow.”

“Hm,” you ponder between your own bites of your burger, “what do you mean by that?”

“You just seem more sure of who you are lately.”

You purse your lips at that. After the breakup, you finally stopped chasing Joon’s shadow and embarked on your own journey of self-discovery. But you can’t tell him that.

“Maybe,” you offer instead. “I could say the same about you. About having changed, I mean.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you emphasize, jabbing towards him with a fry. “It feels like -” same fry still in hand, you tap it against your lip as you think through your words, then point it at him again as it comes to you - “like you’re finally letting the words out. You’ve always had this really deep inner world - god knows how many times I’ve lost you mid-conversation to your daydreaming - but now you actually verbalize it.”

The poor fry that’s been waved all around as you gesticulated your thoughts finally gets popped into your mouth. “And it’s nice. It’s nice having a peek into the landscapes of your mind.”

“Maybe it comes with publishing,” he jokes, but his eyes shine with unsaid appreciation at your words.

Your heartbeat stutters a little at the sight of it, but you ignore it. Because you’re over him.

You’re over him. You’re over him, you’re over him, you’re over him.

That’s what you remind yourself, smacking your cheeks as if the sting of it would resonate the words into your stupid brain and make. it. stick.

Sighing out to yourself in the bathroom, you ready yourself to return to the living room. To return to Namjoon.

Yes, it’s pathetic, but you’re hiding in the bathroom away from Namjoon.

Steeling your nerves, you twist the lock and pad your way trepidly back to the sofa where Namjoon sits.

Feigning normalcy, you take a seat next to him and tap away at your phone for a distraction.

Underneath you, the cushions shift and jostle you lightly with the shift in Namjoon’s weight as he scoots closer to you. His warmth bleeds into you where his thigh presses against yours. At least he’s got his pants back on.

“____.”

You look up at him.

“Are you really ok?” His eyes are full of emotion - concern, repentance, sincerity - as they search yours.

“It’s fine, Joon.”

It’s not.

Maybe you were being too naive when you thought you could just be friends. That whatever existed between you two before all this would never get in the way. That the same memories that plague you don’t similarly affect Namjoon.

It had all been going well before this came in like a bucket of cold water dousing you in shock from head to toe.

Namjoon sat in your bed, blankets pooled around his waist to conceal his bottom half. His pantsless bottom half. Not that it took particular prominence in your mind, you dismiss, as you focus on pulling the thread through.

It seems Namjoon’s reputation as the god of destruction lives on. And neither his pants nor his ego are safe from it. What began as an afternoon of dorky fun, attempting to reproduce Hoseok’s latest choreography video (and poorly), peaked into hilarity when Namjoon’s pants spontaneously decided they would have no more of what can barely be termed as dancing. With a sharp ripping noise, his pants seam tore straight down the middle.

The way his eyes shot wide, his hands flying to shield his crotch, had you doubling over in laughter till your sides hurt and you had to gasp to catch your breath between peals of laughter. He whined for you to stop, but it only made it all that much funnier.

The occasional giggle still escaped you, but eventually you calmed down enough to offer to patch it up for him, brandishing the sewing kit you retrieved from the depths of your closet.

And that’s how he ended up hiding under the covers while you mended the rip in his berms.

A chuckle - this time not your own - breaks your concentration.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Hey.” You elbow him lightly. “Share the joke.”

He bites his lip as he considers it for a second. Prodding him once more, it makes him relent.

“I mean, I imagined being undressed in your bed again, but I definitely didn’t think it would be like this.”

Oh.

It registers somewhere in the back of your mind that it is pretty funny. But your laugh sounds hollow, even in your ears. Dropping your gaze back to your stitching, to the sewing that you’ve completed, but you repeat the stitch on the same spot a couple more times. It’s unnecessary, but it’s all you have to hold on to right now in the midst of your shock.

But you can only do this for so long before it reveals itself for the irrationality it is. Knotting it up and snipping the thread hastily, you pass the article of clothing back to Namjoon as you rise from where you were perched on the edge of the bed, the action taking him by surprise.

“Here, I’ll give you some privacy to put them back on. I need to use the bathroom anyway.”

You’re speeding off before he can get a single word in.

“____,” the sound of your name pulls you out of your thoughts. His hand is warm where it grasps your arm, shaking you gently. He’s doing his head ducking thing again, stooped to your level so his eyes can bore straight into yours. “I crossed a line, didn’t I?”

“No, no.” You shake your head, and you fake a smile as you huff out an exhale. “It was a good joke, Joon.”

“But it made you uncomfortable.” His eyes never leave yours. “I made you uncomfortable.”

You don’t answer. What were you supposed to say?

“I’m really sorry, ____. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine, Joon. It’s fine.”

It’s not. It’s really not.

But it has to be. Because you’re over him.

It’d occurred to you once that the fates had a sense of humor, and now you’re quickly realizing that tormenting you is their favorite brand of humor.

It should be great that Namjoon blended into your friend group with little to no problem.

Ever since the first time you invited him over for lunch in the museum’s cafe - something that was meant to be a one-off, a compromise so you wouldn’t have to cancel your lunch appointment with Namjoon while also accommodating the deluge of urgent work that had cropped up without warning - his visits, both to the museum and its cafe, had become much more frequent. When asked about it, he’d explained that the artwork in the galleries became a great source of inspiration for his own work.

But you know the real reason. He’s lonely.

The city may be bustling with people, but it’s still a lonely place. At least with your job, you have regular coworkers you meet every day and have formed friendships with. But for Namjoon, being a novelist may grant him the luxury of flexibility in his work environment, but it also denies him the company of regular coworkers. His ready availability, no matter whether it was for morning coffee runs or lunch appointments or after-work dinner or drinks, made it easy to piece together that his way of life before this was quite a solitary one.

So it should fill you with selfless joy that your close friends have taken to him well.

In reality, a selfish jealousy simmers in the pit of your gut.

Watching as Yeri feeds Namjoon a piece of cupcake, your stomach turns at the blatant attempts at flirting. Unable to stand the sight, your gaze drops swiftly to the cupcake in your own hand. Chomping into it, you grind your teeth with a force that’s entirely unnecessary for such a moist cupcake.

You have no right to be upset with Yeri. Honestly, she’d done her due diligence. You’re the one to blame.

Having recognized Namjoon from the lecture, and noticing the number of times he’d walked you to work after your occasional morning coffee run, it wasn’t long before Yeri marched you to the pantry, arm hooked in yours. She steered you away from prying ears and towards where Soo-eun sat, waiting.

Yeri plucks the coffee cup out of your hand, ignoring your sputtered protests, and places it firmly on the counter with a solid thud, hot liquid sloshing about in the cup and rendering the poor barista’s efforts at latte art a complete waste.

“I’m sick of waiting for you to spill to us about your boyfriend, ____, so I’m taking things into my own hands! It’s been weeks. We need the juicy details!”

Soo-eun, who had been brewing her own cup of tea, nodded as she stuck her tea bag into her mug. “I have to admit, I’ve been waiting too.”

“Guys,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal. “It’s not like that. He’s just a really old friend.”

Well. It’s half true. They don’t need the messy details, you decide, as you recount how you met Namjoon all those years ago. It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re over him.

“Nooo,” Yeri whines, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “I thought something juicy was finally happening in your life, ____.”

Oh, if only she knew.

Jealousy bubbles up like an emotional acid reflux that you desperately try to keep down. With every flirtatious touch, you have to remind yourself that you’d never explicitly communicated that Namjoon was off-limits. Because he’s not.

You can’t lay a claim on him because he’s not yours. Not anymore.

But as you grapple with the jealousy that threatens to boil over, you’re forced to wonder - maybe you’re not that over him.

You put a finger to your lips, shushing your friends, then beckon them forward. Shooting them a thumbs-up, they return ones of their own.

Your knocks rap sharply on the wooden door. Heavy footsteps approach the door and the three of you ready yourselves.

The door cracks open and Namjoon peeks out, messy-haired and shirt all rumpled.

“____, wha-”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” your trio hollers more than sings.

As the song - if the cacophony can even be called that - carries on without care for neither the time (midnight) nor the neighbors (probably highly annoyed), Yeri shoves the cake into Namjoon’s unsuspecting hands, clearly unaware of his klutzy nature, and the cake very nearly ends up in a heap of strawberries and cream on the ground. But your hand shoots out to catch it, rebalancing the weight of it quickly, well-practiced after the years of growing up around Namjoon. The reflex action doesn’t go unnoticed by him and his lips quirk upwards as Soo-eun snaps a party hat - glittery and obnoxious just like the ones donning each one of your own heads - to Namjoon's head, hiding his bed hair.

"... happy birthday to yoooouuuu," the song drags out into a dissonant finale.

Namjoon's smile has always been captivating, but it's even more so with his features illuminated by the soft orange glow of the candlelight. The tenderness so evident in his eyes pulls you in, irresistible and unrelenting. And though the urge to avert your gaze usually plagues you inanely, it seems to have been entirely overrode by this strange new fixation on the sight of his dewy-eyed expression.

“Thank you so much,” he says, and the sincerity in his words isn’t diminished even with the way he half-whispers it out.

Quiet affection settles like a gentle hum in your heart. Before this, the exhaustion from the day had been eating at you, your eyes strained and dry from the unforgiving glare of your screen at work, your bones heavy with lethargy and craving nothing more than the plush welcoming hug of your mattress. But now, seeing him alight in jubilation, it’s enough that you feel the tiredness recede.

“But please.” He hurriedly jabs a thumb back to his apartment twice. “My neighbors’ hate for me is probably increasing at an exponential rate the longer we stand here.”

“Screw them!” Yeri whispers sharply, the irony of it lost on her. “Blow out your candles first, Joonie.”

Joonie.

Just a single word, but it yanks you right out of the pleasantry you’d been floating along in. Jealousy pulls you under, suddenly irrationally possessive over the simple nickname as you drown in the ebbing waves of the nasty emotion.

Turning back to Namjoon, you plaster on a polite smile. “Yeah, make a wish first.”

Looking between the three of you, it registers that none of you are going to be making any moves to enter his place until he submits to your bidding. Better to just you guys what you want. Relenting, the candles get extinguished in two puffs, and your cheers - hushed this time - fill the hallway.

“Alright!” Yeri claps her hands together, breaking out of a whisper with her exclamation. “Time to check out Namjoon’s abode!”

In typical devil-may-care Yeri fashion, she pushes past Namjoon and walks freely into the place, making herself comfortable. Used to her antics by now, Soo-eun laughs a little, but follows her lead, grabbing the cake from Namjoon on her way in.

“I’ll get this sliced.”

Your eyes trail after Soo-eun as she enters the apartment. When you turn back to Namjoon, you find him looking at you. There it is again, that look. It’s a look that you don’t want - don’t dare - to decipher, but it’s a look that seems to linger whenever he thinks you won’t notice.

You’ve noticed it for weeks now.

In feigned nonchalance, you brush past Namjoon to make a beeline for his couch. After the number of times you’ve hung out at each other’s places, Namjoon’s apartment is like a second home to you now.

“How’d you know I’d be home?” His voice is echoey where it carries over from the doorway as you plop yourself into the leather seat, letting your body get swallowed up in comfort. The front door clicks shut and Namjoon joins you in the living room soon after.

“Face it, Joonie,” Yeri calls from where she’s inspecting his bookshelf. “We’re your only friends in this city.”

“Ouch.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But touche.”

Slices of cake get distributed, courtesy of Soo-eun, and the couch gets crowded as all four of you squeeze onto the tiny thing that was definitely meant to seat two. But there’s no complaints. Not when there’s cake.

Squished between Namjoon and Soo-eun, your bodies pressed up side by side, you’re not sure if you’re imagining it when you feel Namjoon stiffen up momentarily, then hesitantly relax and lean into you. The feel of him is indulgently familiar, and you wonder if it’s the same for him.

The room settles into a contented quiet for a while. Clearly, consuming the dessert takes priority over conversation.

It’s Soo-eun who starts up the conversation again. “Didn’t you go to college here, Namjoon?” she asks. “Did you not keep in contact with anyone?”

You watch carefully as Namjoon fiddles with his fork as he clears his throat. “How do I put this?” he begins, the silver of the fork gleaming distractingly with the way it catches the light under his fidgeting. “I guess, I, um, wasn’t in the best space in college to be making friends.”

“Well,” Yeri interjects before the mood can dampen further, placing a hand on Namjoon’s thigh, “that’s fine, because you have us now!”

Namjoon eyes the hand on his thigh, but says nothing. Jealousy threatens to consume you. Teetering on the brink and frankly unsure which way it would swing, you jump up from the couch.

“I’m kind of thirsty from all the dessert.” It’s a blatant lie. You’ve only had two bites. “I’ll get water for everyone.”

Extricating yourself from the situation, you march into the kitchen. Concentrating on locating the drinking glasses helps to get your mind off of what just happened and the jealousy seeps away.

The drawer where most of Namjoon keeps most of his utensils opens to reveal three glasses. Looking around for a fourth, you finally spy one sitting on a high shelf to the left of the sink.

Rising onto your tiptoes to reach for the glass, you stubbornly maintain that you can reach it if you just stretch that last inch, but a tanned arm grabs it before you can.

The clink of the glass on the counter is barely audible with the way your ears feel like they’re completely stuffed up with cotton. The warmth emanating from the figure behind you causes warmth of your own to rise in your cheeks.

You whirl around.

“I could have gotten that,” you say, trying but failing to keep the bitterness out of your tone. “I didn’t need your help.”

“You seem a little off. Are you okay?” Namjoon asks, his brown eyes scanning you. Testament to the decades of friendship you two shared, of course he would know something was wrong.

“Sorry for being a party-pooper on your birthday, Joon. I’m just tired,” you say with a sigh. “It’s been a long day.”

His hand raises, as if meaning to touch you, but stills for a moment before it drops back to his side.

“I understand. Thank you, ____. You didn’t have to do all this for me, y’know. You should have just gone home to rest.”

“But I wanted to,” the admittance comes slipping out. You frown a little as you look him in the eye. “How did you celebrate your birthday last year, Namjoon?”

His jaw, slacked in surprise, fidgets as he formulates a response. Finally, he huffs out a sad laugh. “I didn’t.”

The hollow loneliness pangs through you and even if it’s only secondhand, it’s still enough that it wraps around and constricts your heart, the emotion welling up tightly in your chest.

Against all better judgment, against the boundary lines you’d carefully drawn up, against the promise of just friends, nothing more, you reach for Namjoon’s hand. As your thumb skims over his knuckles, you marvel at how familiar the sensation of his skin under yours feels, even after all this time.

The way he watches the tender strokes of your thumb - that same lingering look you didn’t want to confront - confirms your earlier thought. The indulgent familiarity of each other’s touch is one that is shared.

“Has it been really lonely?” you ask, compassion leaking through the crack in your voice.

The pause is answer enough. And you expected it. What you didn’t expect, though, was his reply, “I have you now.”

The sheer amount of cherishment in his eyes plunges you into an abyss you can’t fathom ever emerging from.

Everything seems to move in slow motion as you lean in close, catching the way his eyes widen in your peripheral vision.

“Happy birthday, Namjoon,” you whisper into his ear. And, fuck it, you snip the final cord of self-discipline, untethered and free-falling into the dizzying swirl of emotions as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You’re definitely not over him.

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

Text

Commission - Harry Hook x Reader- do I love her? Do I love her not? - part 3

@musicarose

Mal growled as she watched Harry lean into you, making you laugh as he tried to glance at your answers for your algebra homework.

“Harry stop, do your work!” Harry snickered, pulling back and leaning on his hand.

“But I don’ wanna~” he whined, pawing at your paper. You snatched it away, rolling your eyes. “please lass? I'll buy you a cookie~”

You snorted, pushing his shoulder and standing “I already have three packs of oreos harry, Im good, do your work” and with that, you walked off.

Mal watched as uma walked over to Harry, leaning down and whispering in his ear, to which he gave a grin and whispered back.

Mal knew it, they were up to something, she stormed off after you, calling your name “(y/n)!!”

You stopped, turning and tilting your head “whats up Mal?” you yelped as Mal caught up to you, tugging you into an empty classroom.

“don’t you see!” she screeched, pacing the room, you just stood there, trying to regain your bearings. “hes using you! Hes plotting something with Uma, probably to get the wand so they can rule the world or something, just like-“ Mal paused, seeing the look on your face.

You were glaring, arms crossed and foot tapping on the floor. “are you finished?” you droned, tilting your head, Mal squinted “good, because may I remind you” you seethed, stepping into Mal’s face and poking her in the chest, “you and your friends were the exact same way when you arrived, may I remind you, that YOU were going to steal the wand and reign evil on all of us”

You stepped back, cracking your back and turning to step out of the room.

“but” Mal stuttered “Harry, hes using you I know it! Hes-“

You let out a yell, face contorting into a snarl, Mal squeaked, she had never seen you so angry.

“you're such a fucking hypocrite mal”

“we’ve hardly gotten anything on the wand from her Harry, have you even tried?” Uma was tense, picking at a pomegranate, her leg bouncing on the mattress.

“I don’ want ‘er ta get suspicious Uma” Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. “ these things take time cap’n, I don’ want ‘er runnin’ off ta ben” Uma sighed, nodding.

“alright whatever, just get that information from her” uma stood from his bed, walking out of his room.

Harry groaned, faceplanting on his bed. His mind was telling him to follow umas orders, but his heart….he didn’t know what he was on, every time he even thought of her his heart raced, butterflies swarming in his stomach.

What was happening to him?!

oh….oH…OH!

oh shit…

You hummed, leaning against a tree in the backfield of the dorms, pulling at a thread from Harry’s torn jacket, pulling the seam closed.

Harry had gotten into a fight with the tourney guys, Jay, Carlos, and Ben had come to help, so Harry had gotten away with a few scratches and tears.

“(y/n)?” the voice you had gotten easily used to, popped up from behind you, an odd shy tone to it “can I talk to yeh?”

You turned, raising your brows as you took in Harry's from, his face was red, fidgeting with his hands, and shuffling in place.

He was nervous, that was obvious, but what for?

You stood, walking up to him and tilting your head in worry.

“harry” you muttered reaching up to touch his forehead “are you alright? you're burning up!” you started to try to push him back towards the dorms, thinking he was sick.

“no! i-I need to tell yeh somethin’” he reached out, grabbing your hands and bringing them between the two of you.

“I-I figured out somethin’ and-and I need ta get it off my chest” you nodded slowly, twisting your hands around and intertwining your fingers.

“what is it” you whispered, leaning in closer, your face inches away from Harry's.

“I've-“ harry stuttered, looking away for a moment, before leaning in closer, lips brushing against your ear “I've fallen for ye”

You squealed, breaking your grip on his hands and covering your face, dropping to the floor. The swarm of butterflies coming in full force.

You had confided in jane over and over again about how Harry's “threat” from a while ago, about making you fall in love with him had come true.

“I get it” you looked up, harry was backing away, tears brimming in his eyes “im a villain kid, ye don’t like me in tha’ way”

You leaped up, grabbing his coat lapels and dragging him down to your height, pressing your lips to his.

Harry's eyes widened before they fluttered closed, wrapping his arms around you.

You pulled away breathless, a large smile on your face, stroking Harry's face with your thumbs.

“I've fallen in love with you too” Harry broke into a smile, beginning to spin you around.

He set you down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, pulling back and fishing out a box from his jacket pocket.

“I wanna give yeh somethin’” he said giddily, you nodded, bouncing on the balls of your feet “it was my ma’s” he opened the box a beautiful opal necklace resting within.

“oh my” you breathed, reaching out and tracing the gem. “its beautiful” Harry bit his lip, twisting his finger, motioning for you to turn around.

You did so, letting harry clip on the necklace.

“This is very valuable to me love” he muttered, pulling you into a hug, your back against his chest.

“ill protect it with my life” you laughed, tilting your head up and kissing his jaw “I promise”

Harry re-entered his dorm that night, a soft smile on his face. He paused, Uma giving a devilish smirk at him.

“amazing acting har, now, onto phase two”

permtaglist

@mockeryhamato

taglist

@forever1313

@ietss

#descendants #Descendents #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #commission

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memcaked · 3 years

Text

Handmade

Source: Subarashiki kono Sekai | The World Ends With You

Relationships: Eri (TWEWY)/Misaki Shiki

Characters: Eri, Misaki Shiki

Additional tags: Sewing, Mr. Mew, pre-game, Meet-Cute, Not beta read

Summary: This is the first real template Shiki’s drawn up and sewn herself. Or would it be sewing?

Beginning notes: Addendum: This was first written and uploaded on October 8th, 2020. day 7 was while really cool was also really exhausting... so, shiki sewing mr mew and meeting fashionista eri for the first time. learnt while writing this october 8 is international lesbian day, so i think this means we have to wish these two well

even if the actual sewing didn't actually make much of an appearance i went through a shitton of old plushie tutorials i used to watch and i feel like i am obligated to put some here. maybe watching stuffed animals being made is good for your mental health idk mate im not a therapist i just type words here.

mario plushie tutorials

alpaca sock plushie tutorial

sheep sock plush

Body: This is the first real template Shiki’s drawn up and sewed herself. Or would it be sewing? Its been like this for days now - finishes her meagre lunch fast, reaches into her bag for the sewing box that’s so packed with threads and needles and felt her spine will be horizontal when she’s done, pulls out the carefully straightened templates encased in a large ziploc, and gets to work. It’s a clump of black felt that spreads out flat like a Rorschach, but when her needle goes through she knows it’s going to take form into the head. If she can make sure her blanket stitch loops do go through, of course…

She’d stuff socks and make these cutesy pill-shaped things, tape googly eyes and decorate them with her (god, not even fabric) markers, stitch up small charms she found in DIY books or online and knot them to zippers. She’s had this idea in her head for some time now, a black toy cat with white socks to carry around in your arms. And after all the sketches she did of how it’d move around or sit the template finally came to her - she used up 3 hours of her weekend drawing shapes and thinking in her head of what stitches she’d be using to piece them together. She’s only really started cutting up the felt and putting together the scraps recently and made her first stitch into it days ago.

The fabric joins together roughly - she pushes down raw edges and undoes the last six stitches when she realises how the seams will stick out like a sore thumb, trying to visualise how the cheeks group up to form the face (oh, she just realised the eyes and mouth need to be embroidered) and which point to attach the body to. She hears a thump, something like the ones of sewing machines--

“Hey,” Shiki jolts up, almost losing the thread off her needle. She scrambles to pick it up from the table and sees these stylishly smooth thin navy sneakers, washed red laces that reach up to her ankles. Her eyes travel up to the school uniform, grey tartan skirt to the black blazer unbuttoned at the top to reveal the white dress shirt with the red and white striped necktie. Up top, red-streaked hair that falls under her shoulderblades topped with a dark grey newsie. She’s only okay at faces, but Shiki assumes this is the sleeper hit Eri, the fashionable, bubbly, popular, smart, the all-star girl she sees.

“Who are you?” Shiki must be staring owlishly at this girl with her hands clapped over her mouth in a dreaded shock. She swears she saw that paperboy cap jump in how fast she moved.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to shock you like that!” The girl lifts out her hand, wearing this warm smile tinged with an apology. “I’m Eri, yeah. I, didn’t want to interrupt but I’ve been watching your sewing for a few minutes now and I wanted to tell you how good you are with a needle… how long have you been doing this?”

“I’ve spent a week on this,” Shiki lifts up the ziploc. “He’s meant to be a cat. I don’t know what to name him…”

“Mr. Mew.”

“Hm?”

“I said, call him Mr. Mew.” Eri points up, eyes glittering like this is her eureka moment. “It’s a cute name for a toy cat and it’s alliterative. You’ve just got his head?”

“It’s a work in progress, I haven’t even finished his head, I still need to bring it together and do the rest of him.”

“What’s he going to look in a week? A fortnight?” Eri’s eyes blow wider and wider like if she’s imagining something immaculate, sprung from golden thread and six-figure thread counts.

“In a week I think I’ll be doing his body. Or starting on the stuffing. If I really crunch in two weeks, maybe I can,” Shiki’s thoughts trail off, but Eri’s excited awe cuts the slack for her.

“He’ll be finished?” Eri claps her hands, grinning this pearlescently white smile. “Mr. Mew’s going to be a handsome little cat. Next period’s starting soon, can I visit you again? And see him again?”

Shiki stares down, lazily pulling another stitch through the loop. “Come all you like.”

End notes: i guess this didnt touch upon too heavily on the sewing thing but i tried to make shiki sound noviceish with this GOD why does mr. mew look so good i did textiles in school and i was heavily intimidated by my teacher who was this 60 something woman who's been sewing since 12 and has had a living ruler in her brain and would laugh at me when i had to count centimetres with rulers. also had a in-built centre of gravity/alignment and assured me she cannot leave any wonky frame alone even if the queen was there. i should've continued textiles alas stem/language consumes all my units

#twewy #the world ends with you #shiki misaki #eri #erishiki #twewytober 2020 #08/10/2020 #writing #fanworks

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nortromthesilencer · 4 years

Text

Bits and Pieces (Compiled)

A compiled RP between @rizzrack and Myself

Nortromthesilencer

“What’sa runt like you doing out here alone, anyways?”

This was bad. This was beyond bad. Nortrom backed away some more, the heels of his feet hitting a large root, tree directly behind him inhibiting any further attempts to retreat. Was this really The Silencer? Not in any recognizable sense by those that knew him now: He was much shorter, much leaner, much younger. The once middle aged man was not seen in this child, meekly cowering from the trio of bandits closing in. Used to harassment from his peers and preceptors, Nortrom normally met them with submission and acceptance. Now, he wasn’t sure how to act. He was lost in more ways than one.

“Doubt the kid’s got anything on ‘im. Might be able to ransom ‘im to the town though,” A toothy sneer dragged across the lopsided face of one of the bandits, knife slowly unsheathing. Nortrom’s pale blue eyes locked on the blade, scared, anticipating. Again he tried to back away, pressing his shoulders firm against the rough bark. With no weapon or sense of where he was, the child knew he was facing greatly skewed odds.

“Leave me alone, please.” The timid request was quiet, near begging, and the least threatening thing in the world. It brought about a great laugh from the men, a sound that caused the boy to flinch.

“Ya hear that? Th’ runt said please! Oh boy, now we hav’ to leave ‘im alone!” Their mocking jeers forced Nortrom to droop even more, his situation getting more hopeless by the second. What did he do to wind up here? Why were these men doing this? The outside world was foreign, and even more so the lawless corruption of thieves.

Rizzrack

Elusive and unpredictable, the Timbersaw still has the uncanny ability to show up in places no one wants him to be, so long as there is a single tree around.

Just a single tree off a dirt road that connects two small towns together. It caught his attention from a distance, like a single thread poking from the seam of a military uniform. Upon approach however the small-keen takes notice of the group. It’s immediate to him that the situation is a bad one. Very likely a dispute between two parties. Normally he wouldn’t intervene… most adults can take care of themselves you know! However, this victim was obviously a child, and Rizzrack would not let that slide by.

If the little gathering wasn’t so absorbed within their matters, then perhaps they may have seen the waddling saw suit approaching in the distance. If they did not, then for sure they would have noticed the metal claw that suddenly smashed into the trunk dangerously close to the child. In mere moments the suit pulls itself over, bumping roughly into the tree and partially uprooting it.

“Oh, pardon me!” The clawed hand nudges the child away from the tree and behind the suit before lifting up and punching the woody giant completely to the ground. He takes a quick glance at the bandits, and the partially unsheathed knife is enough to confirm his assumptions. “I was passing by and couldn’t help but notice your entertainingdisplay of blades!” The Small-Keen leans forward in his seat, eyes squinting at the weapons the bandits hold. “Is that your mother’s silverware? Cute.” He chuckles as he falls back into his seat. The suit brings the saw-arm forward, holding the buzzing limb between them. “Now what do you think of mine?”

Nortromthesilencer

When claw met trunk, the child screamed. Reflexively diving away, beige tunic smearing with dirt as he went to ground, Nortrom watched in wide eyed horror while the massive machine lurched to a stop before them. Mouth agape, he slowly scrambled back, still on his butt.

The bandits were not so lucky in making any meaningful distance, instead stuck face to face (or face to saw) with the timbersuit. One looked at the kid, still dragging himself even further away and much too shocked to stand just yet, then back to the saw, then his knife, then the saw again, and threw his hands up with a shout. “Fuck this, not worth it!” At those words, the trio were quick to run, not wanting to risk their lives over this.

Realizing now that one of the threats had retreated, Nortrom scrambled to his feet. Not taking his eyes from the timbersuit, he stepped back ever so slowly, thinking that if he went slow it wouldn’t notice him. With how little else there was around them, he knew this was doubtful but tried anyways.

Rizzrack

The small-keen can’t help himself but to let out a little “ha-hah!” at the sight of the fleeing bandits. “Those three made the right choice! I really wasn’t looking forward to spending a day cleaning a red mess off my blades. Now then…” He glances behind him at the child slowly backing away, his expression becomes stern.

“Oooh no no no I need to have a word with you, little one!” Rizzrack hops down from the cockpit and approaches Nortrom, finger pointed disapprovingly. “Don’t you know it isdangerous out here nowadays?” He stands before him, looking up with hands on cocked hip and tsks away. “Lucky thing I was around. Who knows what could have happened to you? They could have seriously hurt you!” he exclaims, waving his hand towards the direction the bandits fled. “Or that!” He includes the uprooted tree. “Your parents must be worried sick! Unless… they sent you out on an errand all alone. Then I’ll have a word with them too!”

Nortromthesilencer

Once out of the suit, this odd fellow wasn’t anywhere near as intimidating. Nortrom recognized the race, a small keen, from his many studies yet never imagined they really were as short as he read. Hell, the child was only 10 and still stood taller than this one!

He stopped backing up now, one arm rubbing his other anxiously. Still speaking softly, the boy maintained eye contact out of habit. “S-sorry sir. I know it’s dangerous but I don’t know where I am… or how I got here even…”

Clasping the fidgeting hand into a fist, he thought, expression shifting as he did so every few seconds, wracking his brain as to just how he got here. “M-Maybe it was an error in the teleportation spell…?” Nortrom sunk into his own hands, holding his head and groaning loudly, “I’m going to be in so much trouble for this…”

Rizzrack

Firm face turns to a softer expression, one of sympathy for the poor boy. Don’t stress him any more than he needs to be, after all he did just get out of a frightening ordeal.

“Oh, perhaps! B-but don’t think about that right now. Let’s just get you back home, how’s about that? Sound good? Good!” He turns back around and climbs his way back into his suit, continuing to talk to the child. “So you may not know where you are, but if you know where you need to go, we can work from there. Teleportation is tricky business, you won’t catch me messing with that sort of thing often. Oh!” Once seated, he brings the suit over to the boy and leans out over the cockpit extending his gloved hand. “I’m Rizzrack by the way, also known as Timbersaw by those that get on my bad side. Hehe, but you won’t have to worry about that! Now what’s your name kiddo?”

Nortromthesilencer

The cultural concept of a hand shake is lost on the child, who just stares with confusion at the yellow glove as it’s presented. Instead, the boy bows his shoulders slightly, and keeps his eyes down while speaking, “Greetings, sir. I- I have been instructed not to tell outsiders my name. I do thank you for the help, however.” While Nortrom didn’t completely know why this was a rule, he assumed it was for safety or the sort. The reality was quite close, his order wishing to keep him secret and safe from any who would disrupt their prophesied plan.

Lifting his posture once more and cautiously taking a look over at the suit before him, blades and all, the boy absentmindedly tried to answer Rizzrack’s other question. “I’m from the Hazhadal Barrens, by their northern mountains.” Metal, wood, and other strange materials; He had never seen such a contraption before and was fascinated by it. All but ignoring the keen, Nortrom was in awe as he looked over every joint and limb.

Rizzrack

The little bow is odd. It’s polite, but odd, something that Rizzrack has never seen to come from a child. The small-keen nods understandingly. “That’s smart! I get it, you can’t trust everyone.”

He leans back into his suit, thinking on the response. Hazhadal Barrens? That sounds oddly familiar. Where did he hear that from? Hmm, barrens… maybe someplace he himself wandered to for some momentary solace from the trees. Rizzrack looks back to the child, taking notice of how captivated he is of the suit. He has every right to be! Not many who live in a world where magic is the norm can appreciate the true wonder that is technology. It fills him with a sense of pride, and dangerously enough, an urge to show off his creation and perhaps even influence a young mind.

“Pretty amaaaazing, right? Hmhm, I know.” Rizzrack pats the dashboard lovingly. “The one-of-a-kind Timbersaw. Top of the line monster to lumber converter! It slices, it dices, it chops up your nightmares into itty bitty pieces so you’ll never have to worry about them again. And-” He continues. “It can be your best friend.” Shoving a few levers, Rizzrack brings the suit down into a squat, enabling Nortrom to get a much better look at the controls within. “You may behold my amazing invention, but don’t stare for too long or-.” Rizzrack’s jesting is interrupted as the suit suddenly begins to shudder. The smoke from the exhaust sputters until it all falls silent. “Oh, no no! Dangit! Not again…”

Nortromthesilencer

Jumping back as the suit staggers and creaks into a crouch, Nortrom can’t help but grin a bit while Rizzrack goes on his rant about the wonders of the suit. He circles it, not touching, ogling every gear, every lever, every system and weld. Knowing very little about such mechanics as it wasn’t a topic of study in any of his courses, the boy can’t help but be enraptured by this new sight. Curiosity eventually gets the better of him and Nortrom carefully runs a finger across one of the welded seems. The suit sputtered and twitched as if in protest, and again the boy jumped back.

“I…” Did he break it? A dawning look of horror replaces the short lived grin, hands pulling back to his side immediately, and a few very slow steps in retreat his first instinctive reaction. Nortrom store wide eyed up at the suit’s angered pilot and cringes, recoiling into his own posture, “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to break it…”

Rizzrack

Completely distracted by his suit, Rizzrack fails to see the boy’s growing stress.

“I can’t believe it!” Hands fling into the air and he groans out his frustrations to the world. “You just have to go and break, don’t you?? Disappointing, ABSOLUTELY disappointing!” Rizzrack moans. It’s only then that he hears a quivering voice and turns his scowling face towards the child. “What? Break it?” He stares down at the shrinking, fear-stricken child. “Ah no, trust me, even if you wanted to break it you wouldn’t… er…” His words did nothing to comfort the boy. Confusion replaces anger, and Rizzrack can only stand there and rub the back of his neck awkwardly. Geesh, the kid sounds like an orphaned apprentice, and Rizzrack wouldn’t at all be surprised if he was adopted by some nasty keen-folk from that town near The Jungle. “I-it’s okay! It happens! Sometimes things go wrong but they go wrong for a reason. Sometimes that reason is your normal wear and tear, other reasons is to just make me miserable. Why don’t we just take a look, hmm? Nooo reason to be scared.” Turning towards his suit, Rizzrack begins his very unorganized method of trouble shooting. A few minutes are spent opening compartments, tracing wires, tapping gauges until finally he finds a possible cause.

“Ah-hah! There’s the problem!” His tone of optimism is quickly dulled by annoyance. “The fuel line leaked… No matter! I always keep a little extra on me in case of emergencies, such as when the hose clamp doesn’t want to do its one job. Just give me a second.” Fishing around in the cockpit, the small-keen pulls out a bottle large enough to require to of his hands to properly hold and pulls off the cap to sniff the contents. “Nope.” He places it back and grabs another identical bottle and repeats the process. “Oh yeah, that’s it.” He places the bottle of clear liquid upon the control panel of the suit. “That my boy, is fuel, and it’s what makes this big brat run.” Rizzrack turns his attention back to the hoses of the suit as he attempts to make corrections. Every few seconds there’s an annoyed mutter and a bump, and with every bump, the bottle slowly nudges closer and closer to the edge of the slightly tilted cockpit…

Nortromthesilencer

The child let out a deep sigh of relief, breath being held as he waited to be berated. It was reassuring knowing he wasn’t the cause of the malfunction, and although still on edge, worked up the courage to peer over Rizzrack’s shoulder at the work he was doing. So lost was he in the hoses, gaskets, valves, and makeshift repairs that Nortrom paid little attention to what was beside them, that small bottle inching ever so closer to the edge of the timber-suit.

“This looks really complex,” he noted, head tilting in confusion at the machines innards. Not wanting to get in the way of Rizzrack’s light, when the keen moved so too did the child, right into the bottle. An echoing crash of broken glass against stone forced his attention away, the look of horror dawning on his face once again.

This time, he knew he was the cause.

He lept back, crowding the broken bottle, kneeling down to start frantically picking up the glass shards with his bare hands. “No, no no… I didn’t mean… I’ll, I’ll clean this up. I’ll…” Nortrom knew he couldn’t replace the bottle contents, and that scared him most of all. Not only did he break the glass, he ruined whatever was inside. Nearly hyperventilating in panic, he untucked his tunic and held it forward, placing the shards in like a makeshift basket, shaking, and not watching out for the sharp edges that occasionally grazed his skin.

Rizzrack

“It looks complex, but once you become familiar with what’s what, it’s really quite easy to understand an-”

The breaking of glass causes him to flinch and let out a squeak of fright. He whips around and leans over the Timbersuit to stare in dismay at the broken pieces, watching the diesel flow across the ground and dissipate. Brows furrow and with gritted teeth he turns his attention to the boy. “Why would yo-..!” The boy’s frantic attempt to clean the shards and utter disregard of the glass cutting his skin stops Rizzrack from reprimanding the boy. Is this kid alright!? Once again confusion and worry grips the Keen. “D-don’t… stop picking those up you’ll get seriously hurt!” Hands pat the air as he tries to calm the boy. Seeing as he won’t let up, Rizzrack grabs the other bottle of water in his arms and carefully leaps down from the suit.

Placing the bottle down beside him, he firmly grips the child’s wrists. “Stop! Stop! Look!” he turns the palms skyward, shaking glass shards from them and wincing at the sight of the red nicks. “No need to save the pieces. We can’t put it back together. Ugh. Keep your hands there.” Retrieving the bottle of water, he removes the seal and positions the neck over the boys hands and slowly begins to pour the contents. “You can’t just handle broken glass or chemicals without proper protection. You need to wear gloves. Like I do.” Placing the bottle back down beside him. the small-keen takes a knee in front of the boy in an attempt to seem less intimidating in hopes the boy would calm down. He begins to inspect the young hands for any small slivers that may have embedded themselves within the skin. By the looks of it, nothing very serious.

“I appreciate you trying to be responsible, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” He sighs, quite annoyed at the loss of fuel, but it doesn’t mean the end of the world for them. Yet.

Nortromthesilencer

As Rizzrack raised his arms, the child coward, glass shards falling from his tunic as it bent back, arms attempting to protect himself from an expected beating. When they grabbed his wrists he bowed his head, still cringing, waiting, expecting pain at any moment…

None came.

Opening one eye and sheepishly peeking out from his cowering form, the child watched as Rizzrack worked to clean his hands instead of pull at them. But why? It was his fault the bottle fell, it was his fault it broke, and it was his duty to accept punishment for his errors.

As the seconds passed, Nortrom found himself breathing less erratically and forcing himself to stand more straight. He still held the look of a scared animal, but there was even more confusion turning his brows.

“I– I’m sorry. It’s my fault, I ruined your repairs.” Some part of him expected the Keen to no longer wish to help him for being such a useless kid.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack places Nortrom’s hands down. He takes a moment to observe the child, to ensure he’s calmed down. Just about every reaction from the boy confuses the small-keen, bringing to mind worrisome thoughts for the child’s well-being and questionable upbringing.

“It’s fine. It was an accident, and what every good inventor knows, accidents can lead to discovery. Thus, I have discovered I shouldn’t leave fragile glass bottles on the edge of the timbersuit. I think that’s a good lesson.”

He stands back up and closes his remaining bottle of water. He turns his attention back to the suit, glancing over it in thought. Hmm. Until he can get more fuel, he’ll just have to operate it through ‘keen-power’. The sawblades won’t operate and the suit will be completely ineffective at cutting, but it’s still a much better alternative to the other possibly dangerous option. An option he shouldn’t have to take for as long as there’s no immediate danger, everything should be fine.

“Welp.” Rizzrack climbs his way back into the suit, placing the bottle away and beginning to convert the suit from fuel-power to muscle-power. “No point in wasting more time sitting around. We’ll take a trip to the town east of here and get some more fuel, then from there we’ll ask for directions to the barrens. Don’t worry kiddo we’ll get you home.” After some quick reassuring the small-keen begins to ride the Timbersuit towards the desired direction with much more force and effort required to push and pull the levers. It occurs only now occurs to Rizzrack the child may not want to follow a stranger to some other place, but he hopes the boy won’t decline. It’s unsafe out here, and despite there not being much vegetation, with the suit in a vulnerable state, anything could mean death.

Nortromthesilencer

Despite the lessons learned, Nortrom didn’t feel at all convinced that this wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t deserving of punishment for being so careless. Still, the child wasn’t going to push the matter, happy to for once not be berated. What didn’t cross his mind, however, was not following: it would be a hell of a lot safer with this keen than out alone in the middle of an unknown land.

“Yes sir.” Obediently he followed the suit, walking with his hands held at his sides and posture straight. Operating the suit manually looked labour intensive, and while the child wanted to ask if he could help, he also didn’t wish to cause any more problems.

He took this time as they walked to silently look more at their saroundings, and even curiously ponder what the town would be like. Where he came from, most hubs were built around oasis or well points, and he was always instructed not to speak to anyone or leave the group. Never had Nortrom had a chance to freely explore, instead letting his imagination run wild as to how many things might be hidden where no one dare look.

The child was lost in his own thoughts, so very quiet, walking in file.

Rizzrack

He’s following. Good. Good. It settles well with Rizzrack, bringing about a good feeling. He trusts you! But can’t let him down, might be the only one he can depend on out here as well. Which reminds him…

“How did you end up in this place anyways? hmph. Did you get kidnapped? huff.” It’s only been a few minutes and he’s already working up a sweat. “Wouldn’t surprise me. hff. There’s all sorts of whewfelids around here. They’re happy to help strangers, but hmff the moment their eye catches any huff any sign of vulnerability, you’re nothing but prey to them. huff huff. So stick close to me.”

The landscape is flat and dry with little vegetation dotted about. It’s a perfect place for Timbersaw to travel through and wind down from territories infested with trees. It’s also perfect for the inhabitants who love to disappear into the dust when they desire to lose a chaser off their tails.

They couldn’t get to the town soon enough. One can be easily fooled to believe it to be a ghost town. The style of buildings and height of doorways hint that humans lived here before at some point. Perhaps it was some trading hub, seeing as how it resides on a road that connects two seperate, larger towns. Due to the other town being destroyed by powers of nature, it left this road unused and the little town soon abandoned. At least by the humans.

Shadows move glide silently within the buildings like ghosts. Its unsettling and one would think the dendrophobic keen would be frightened, but he is not. Instead, he continues through, passing by a very large structure resembling a bucket with a cone on top.

“That is a water tower. It has no water in it. Speaking of.” He stops the suit in front of a creaky shop with a wooden sign reading “supply”. He grabs the bottle from earlier that is only now filled halfway with water and hands it to the boy. “Drink. It’s easy to die out here.”

Rizzrack hops down from his suit and takes a moment to rub his tired arms before heading up the uneven wooden steps to approach a dark open window. “Madini?”

Emerald eyes appear from the darkness within like orbs of magic in the night.

“Se ‘ami newi, keen. The mechanism thirsts for more? Hmhmm.” The voice is soft and feminine, yet raspy. Already familiar with this particular customer, the sound of her retrieving a can of fuel and placing it upon a table is heard within. As she awaits a container to fill, her eyes glance behind Rizzrack and catch sight of the boy. “Ah, t’enika, a strong young boy. You belong to the keen? Give me the bottle.” From the dark a black furred paw emerges. Pad facing up, the claws open and close, beckoning the boy to come near.

Nortromthesilencer

Watching the Keen struggle wasn’t something Nortrom wanted, but still he feared helping would instead make things worse. Instead, the child quietly answered his questions to the best of his abilities, “I’m not sure how I got here. I woke up in the middle of the road, and I hurt all over. Maybe one of the teleport spells we use at the cantonment messed up?” He shrugged, just as confused as anyone else would be.

With a gracious bow the child took the jar, a small ‘thank you’ chirping from his lips before he took a sip. The rest he saved, holding on to the bottle very firmly, not wanting a repeat of the last accident.

There was something oddly familiar about the town, a sort of Barren-esque feeling that put Nortrom at a bit more ease than he was before. The cities and towns there would come and go like the wind, their lively-hood based on weather conditions and water, and shifting just like the dust that inhabited them. Even the shop keeper was familiar, a feline like race he had seen before in the Barrens. Nortrom recalled a small fact that their large ears helped thermo-regulate their bodies,and survive the harsh conditions where other races would overheat…

He snapped out of his trance like state when spoken to, looking down at the bottle in his hands. Tilting his head towards Rizzrack, the boy cautiously stepped forward and placed it in her paw. If Rizzrack was trusting of this figure, surely he could be as well? Well, maybe not trusting, that was the wrong word, but at least accepting that she didn’t mean them harm for the time being. They did seem to know one another.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack crosses his arms and sighs, head bowed as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Ugh, you could say that. The fuel hose came loose and I don’t have enough diesel to clear the lines. Do you know how troublesome it is to fix that? Very troublesome! Sometimes I have to ask myself why I don’t just…” The small-keen continues on rambling to a feline who couldn’t look any more disinterested.

Madini grabs the bottle with both hands and pulls it in through the window. Noticing that there is still some water within the vessel, she takes a moment to lap up some of it before dumping the last remaining bit out the window in a wasteful manner. Such is the way of felines. With some patting of the bottle to empty it as much as possible, she sets it down to fill it to the rim with fuel from the can.

“… I mean I could always take a more economical route and attach a-” Rizzrack is interrupted from his vocal thoughts by the sound of a claw tapping glass. Seeing it, he grabs it all while continuing his yammering and goes back to tend to his suit. Finding the keen to be distracted, the feline leans ever so slightly towards the window. The light of outside just barely reaches in to show her previously hidden features. Unlike the fur on her arms, the fur of her face is much shorter and freely shows her wrinkles. It’s possible she may well be along in her time. She beckons Nortrom closer, expressing her desire to speak to him.

“We’ati, how are you stuck with this keen?” She waves a paw towards the direction of Rizzrack who is much too occupied trying to restart the Timbersuit to notice the the talking going on behind his back. “Do you know what one means when they say someone is not all there? He is crazy.” She hisses softly. “Talking, talking, talking about trees. Everything trees. He say he will cut them all. What trees do you see out here? Monyi…” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I do not think those teeth only cut through wood.”

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom finds himself looking back and forth between the pair, Rizzrack lost in his suit and Madini gracefully getting the fuel situation sorted out. He was used to just silently standing to the side, a backdrop, as others spoke and did their thing. When gestured to approach the feline closer, he felt it fine to do so as Rizzrack was occupied with the suit.

“Er…” Hesitant to cast any judgement, the boy side eyes Rizzrack as she spoke, the way he was talking to his machine as he worked, and slowly nodded. Maybe it was just Keen thing? “He– He helped me when bandits wanted to hurt and sell me. Said that he will help me get back home.” The more the child thought about it, the more doubtful he became. Could this odd pink Keen actually help him? “I don’t know where we are, Ma’am; where I am. I’m trying to get back to the Hazhadal Barrens.”

Nortrom still refused to give his name out, remembering the preceptors lessons very well. As much as he felt an outcast and useless, Nortrom missed his bed. He missed the secure walls of the cantonment, and the fact there was food. For some strange reason, he even missed his studies. Out here? He was alone, scared, lost, and unsafe.

Sinking into his posture as those thoughts crept on him, the child huffed softly, depressed. “I don’t know what else to do but follow him.”

Rizzrack

The feline tenses ever so subtly at the mention of the bandits, her slit pupils gradually dilate. “Fi’ hateh tena fe.” Madini looks behind the boy, startled by the noise the machine makes as it sputters and returns to operational status. Desperation hinting, she continues. “Do not go with the keen. You are smart boy. You are better with me. I know the Hazhadal Barrens.” She leans back to avoid suspicion as Rizzrack returns with the now empty bottle.

“Whew, well that’s resolved! I’ll need another for the road, madame.” Rizzrack trilled as he pushed the bottle through the window. Madini is much less talkative now, a detail Rizzrack fails to notice as she refills the bottle and trades it back to the keen in return for a sum of gold. Taking the bottle, the keen does a cringing attempt to bid a farewell in her tongue as he made his way back to the rumbling suit to climb in and place the bottle away. “Alright boy let’s get you back home.”

Madini watches silently, intently, gold in paw and her pupils like a black sun in an emerald sky. What will the boy do?

Nortromthesilencer

Oh no. Doubt floods Nortrom’s little head, and now he’s not sure keen on following the keen. His expression sours, tense, and for once the boy chooses to speak up for himself. “Wait,” If he could get one thing answered, he might be more inclined to choose, finding out who really does know of his home and who doesn’t, “Where are we right now? What region, or border?” This sudden change of demeanor will most likely not go unnoticed by the Keen, and Nortrom knows it, but he has to ask. He needs answers.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack pauses and pulls his hands from the levers, confused at Nortrom’s actions. Before he can even say anything, Madini pounces at the opportunity to answer. “This town is to the west of Sunridge, where one may see across the canyon the remains of the Fortress of Valhessi.”

“Canyon? Oh, I’ve passed by a canyon not too long ago! That way.” Madini is once again quick to correct the direction the keen points in. Realizing he may be wrong, Rizzrack sheepishly plays off his incorrect finger-pointing as a hand wave. “.. That waaay… may be the best way to go. Yep.” The suit adjusts its orientation to face the direction Madini pointed to. “Thank you for the directions Madini I’ll be sure to visit you again soon.” The timbersuit begins to walk as Rizzrack is quite sure the boy would have no reason NOT to follow him, especially now that he’s going in the right direction.

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom’s doesn’t budge. He frowns, fists balled up, “Sir, are you lost?” Looking around, the child compares the sun’s path with what Madina had said and indeed confirms her directions to be true. With a cocked head and a sour look, Nortrom sighs, “I’m thankful for your help, but how can you help me get home if you don’t know where we are?”

Turning to Madina, he gestures innocently, “Ma'am said she knows where the Barrens are from here.” If she wished to keep her little conversation secret, that opportunity was now lost. Nortrom was taught to never lie, as deception is the weapon of the Fold and he was better than that, “She said she could help.”

Rizzrack

The suit stops and the keen turns to face the boy, expression in a forced smile followed by a nervous laugh. “D-do I, LOOK… lost? Do I?” Nostrils flare as the boy points out that it’s true, Rizzrack doesn’t know where they are. The keen looks to the feline and practically shoots daggers at her, now quite aware she has some sort of part in this. Of course. Madini nods quite calmly, ignoring Rizzrack’s growing temper. “I will be gr-”

“NO!” Rizzrack interrupts. He huffs, then laughs, finding his own reaction to be a waste of energy. “No, haha, I understand! It’s okay! Stay with the cat! She knows better than I do! I don’t know anything!” He adds, hands waving about his head in dramatic fashion. “I helped out enough, after all. You don’t need me anymore. Madini will help you get home.” That last sentence in particular is said quite roughly towards the feline. Almost as if it were a threat. She remains cool and grants a mewl of pity towards the keen. “Veti ni me’e-”

“Don’t patronize me, I know I’m wrong!” Rizzrack takes another breath, putting effort into speaking more calmly. In the end he sighs, posture slumping, defeated. He didn’t like to be wrong, but pretending to be right won’t erase the embarrassment, nor get anyone home. “Just be safe, okay? It was nice knowing you- uh…kid. ” He never got the boy’s name, but maybe it was for the best. Turning around, the Timbersuit heads back the way it came. No beckoning for the child to follow. No good bye.

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom felt guilty, very guilty, as the Keen went on his little rant. He sunk even more, shoulders tucked in, posture hidden, trying to disappear into the air. “S-sorry. Thank-you for your help…” He couldn’t take his eyes off Rizzrack as his machine walked away. Was this the right choice?

Still slumped, the boy shuffled to face Madina. His lips were pursed, sucked into an awkward frown, “I- er… I guess I’m with you now, Ma’am.”

Rizzrack

Madini’s pupils thinned, her gaze relaxing and with excellent hearing one may be able to pick up the faint sound of purring. “He is a danger. Ayi zeni, Ayi zeni… Do not feel sorrow. I will be sure that you are taken care for.” Leaving her spot from the window, she steps to the side behind the door next to where she was. There is some fumbling, some clicking, and the door opens partially to reveal more of the feline who is quite surprisingly close in height to Nortrom. She beckons the boy inside. “Come in, stay cool. I will prepare for the travel.”

Nortromthesilencer

Looking back one last time at Rizzrack vanishing in the distance, Nortrom nodded and obediently followed. Escape from the sun is most welcome, as is the prospect of finally having a route home. Forgetting about his hunger and regret, the boy instead takes comfort in what appears to finally be a positive tone to this whole damned experience.

The inner room is quite cluttered, stacks of goods and supplies gathered in crates and bags against the walls, and dirty sewn rugs laid out on the ground. Nortrom was very careful not to touch anything.

Rizzrack

Very carefully Madini closes the door. Her steps are light as she moves around and away the dim light, nearly one with the shadows and objects. She paces about the boy, her attention on moving around various objects with no real purpose, keeping the boy within her periphreal vision.

Waiting.

She steps behind Nortrom, a thin rag in her paws. When she finds she’s out of the boy’s vision and he’s grown relaxed to the environment… She makes her move.

Pressing her form against his back, she throws her hands with cloth over his head, taking advantage of whatever shriek he may have cried out of surprise by tugging rag tight between his jaws. “Shhh.” Keeping the hold firm against herself and slightly above the ground she forces Nortrom on his toes. Maneuvering him to a wall, she pins him there and hisses to a previously unseen party to assist in capturing the boy.

Nortromthesilencer

With both the door and the window closer, there was very little light. Nortrom stepped inward more, avoiding tripping on boxes or Madina, and stood still awaiting directions.

The sudden movement and force caused Nortrom to jump, his yelp cut off mid breath by a cloth being abruptly wedged between his teeth. His hands shot up trying to grab hold of her own from behind him, the awkward angle doing little to help, and the shock leaving him off guard long enough for her to shove him against the wall. Even with the cloth making it hard to speak, muffled questions and protests were attempted, Nortrom still trying to push his hand against the wall and free himself from her weight.

“W-wht ar yu dongh?!? Et ee go!”

No longer at ease, he was quite the opposite! Nortrom was terrified, expecting this woman to help him and not assault him. He thrashed, refusing to make things easy for her.

Rizzrack

Madini did not respond to him, instead she only kept him firm against the wall but unable to do anything else. That is until another pair of hands came into the picture, grabbing the boys wrists and securing them together behind his back.

“Me’in iyadereki newi?”

“Lijuni leme shet’i ini mokiraleni.”

“Madini!”

The voices sound nearly identical, giving the illusion that Madini could possibly be talking to herself. One voice is angered, apparently appalled, the other voice trying to calm the first and speaking like this is usual business. They speak in their tongue all while two pairs of paws (one being reluctant) work on binding the boy. Elbows, knees and feet tied tight together, Nortrom is pulled away from the wall and returned to it with his back against it and pushed to the floor. He is faced with the shadow silhouettes of two nearly identical felines. The only difference being their dress and demeanors. They speak to each other, the one that must be Madini trying to reason with the other, and eventually being successful. The twin gives up, only glancing the boy a blank look before stepping out of the room.

“Do not be upset. It is only to make sure you do not get lost again.” ***

He laughed, chuckled, even joked about it. It was his looks. A bald dirty keen trying to help out a child. He must’ve been scary from the start. Of course a lady, feline or not, would be more trustworthy than himself. He may have goofed up once or twice, flustered by the sudden question and not knowing east from west. He was put on the spot! He’s not that foolish…

The feeling continues to linger. It’s a feeling many others have felt, for example, what a child may feel when they see a friend run off to go play with another friend and getting left behind. Perhaps it was silly to get worked up over it, but Rizzrack couldn’t help it. What makes him feel even worse is the last memory will consist of a very miserable looking boy who definitely did not intend to make the keen feel bad. Knowing already how the boy reacts over small mistakes or accidents, Rizzrack can only imagine that he left the boy in tears. Oh no.

“He probably hates me! Probably never wants to see me again. Never ever. But I probably made him feel bad so…” The keen sighs down to his suit. “It’s okay. He’ll get home and be safe… hopefully.” Rizzrack, caught up in his thoughts, slows the suit to a stop and the engine drops into a low idle, but thoughts about the boy refuse to leave his mind. Will he be home safe? Will his parents be happy to see him? Judging how jumpy he was previously… What if they’ll yell at him or punish him for being lost? Even worse, what if they’ll beat him? Thinking on and on about it, he’s suddenly reminded of someone else with a harsh upbringing. Silencer. Rizzrack shakes his head at the thought, imagining that poor boy growing up to be a bitter man like that one. Just get the bad thoughts out of your head, he’s a young timid child. The world can’t be harsh to him. He probably just has strict parents, don’t think too much of it.

The thoughts only keep coming, thoughts about how the child was almost kidnapped, how he could fall to harm, hurt, scared, crying….

Screaming…

“Great, now I’m hearing things.”

Nortromthesilencer

It didn’t matter how he fought, the awkward angle and pulling was just too much and soon able to wrench his hands behind his back, binding them tightly. He winced, biting hard on the cleave of fabric as his shoulders were contorted painfully, rough rope digging into his skin against his will.

Turned around and pushed back, Nortrom let out a sharp exhale as he hit the wall, sliding to the ground and pulling his knees into his chest in fear. He cowed, eyes pleading with them not to do this, tears dotting the bottom on his eyelashes as he shook. Oh gods, what had he gotten himself into?

He tries one more time to cry for help, something, anything. Most likely no one is around to hear…

***

Their last mark had been a bust, and damn were they sour about it. Refusing to walk away empty handed this day, a pathetic looking trio skulked about the dust laden town in looks for their next target. As fate would have it, the nearest shop or storage haven would be owned by a certain cat-like woman, with a target of her own.

Rizzrack

Lijuni why do you let your sister play around in such undesirable practice? She steps about outside to ponder her thoughts in the visibly empty town.. all save for the figures approaching. She remembers them, as not too long ago during a nightly walk she observed them stalking a small caravan along a trail. Suspecting the trio intending foul deeds, she returns inside to see her sister Madini crouched down beside the boy, gently patting his hair and clicking her tongue softly to calm him.

“Madini, lēbochi yimet’alu.”

Her ears perk and her attention is seized away from the boy. Could it be the same bandits earlier that the keen mentioned? If so, they’ll no doubt want the boy and may pay a small sum to take him. If he was their hostage, the ransom they seek will far outweigh the expense made to regain their lost captive. The boy will be back with his family, the bandits will have their gold, and she will have her share. Perfect.

“Lijuni, tewe.” Madini rises from her spot and approaches her twin, stopping the other from barricading the door with crates. They speak more, with Lijuni growing powerless to persuade her sister away from this idea, and Madini pushing her aside to keep an eye on the boy while she steps out.

Immediately she catches sight of the party, and with graceful steps she walks from the wooden porch and approaches them with utmost confidence.

“Se ‘ami newi, my friends. How tired you are. Seek shade within my shop. Look around while you rest. Perhaps I may have something that will interest you as well?” Her voice is smooth, welcoming, so sure that yes, they will find something they will like to get their hands on.

~*~*~*~*~

Did he drink enough? What if he gets sunburn? Or dehydrates? Gets heat exhaustion? Will Madini take care of him? What if she doesn’t know the signs of heat stroke and he dies? Or worse, what if she ignores his pleas for water? What if they get lost? Would she kill and eat him to survive? She’s a predator after all, with those sharp claws and animal eyes.

Images, terrible fantasies, any horror he could think of filled his mind more and more. Why was he feeling this way? He should feel sure knowing the boy is with someone who knows the area. But why does he have his doubts and worries? Does he really trust Madini? She never personally wronged him but…

The suit stops in its tracks. He won’t get over it, but maybe, just maybe if he goes back, maybe to give a proper farewell to the boy that he deserves and to keep good ties with Madini, maybe he’ll feel better. yeah, maybe he’ll feel better.

Timbersaw turns around, stepping back through the dusty dirt towards the town in the distance. It was hot now that the sun was only just now falling from high in the sky and he had no more water on his person, but the trip back won’t take too long and perhaps he could pay a little more gold for some of Madini’s water rations.

Nortromthesilencer

With every pat the child flinches away. Other children may enjoy such coddling, but Nortrom never had that sort of nurturing touch, and to him it felt very unfamiliar and served to make things worse. He whimpered, pulling himself even tighter into a ball.

There was more speaking, more movement, and more words that Nortrom didn’t understand take place. As they spoke he fiddled with his wrists, twisting and turning them, doing little but further rub raw his flesh and cause more pain. Eventually the source of their conversations was made known, a familiar trio stepping into the home.

Nortrom’s eyes widened and he froze. Oh no. No no no.

Upon seeing the child, thoughts of raiding the place anticipated and instead turned into a much more sadistic grin, the bandits stepping closer and chuckling between themselves. “Your right, you do have something that interests us, Kehehe…”

There were negotiations, multiple bartered offered, plans, and more being made over the boy as he could only sit and listen, his own self being nothing more than a commodity to be bickered over. If any looked his way during said discussions, his eyes begged, pleaded for them to reconsider, head shaking slowly. Legs having cramped he was no longer curled up, and in opening his posture he felt even more exposed to their leers and dire intentions. It took every ounce of strength for Nortrom not to blubber like a baby.

Rizzrack

Madini was quite proud of herself, finding buyers she could bargain with, pushing her limits to get as much gold out of it as possible. Lijuni could only stand by and watch the dealings silently. No sympathy was shown for the boy, eyes blind to the fear and tears so that she may not be stirred to interfere with her sister’s work. Finding an amount she’s willing to trade Nortrom for, Madini turns her attention back towards the boy. “I can only imagine the discipline and teaching that went into raising this boy. He is worth a very fine price.” Although she is not intentionally rough, her pulling and forcing him to his feet cause pain, maybe even draw a whimper from the boy. She beckons her sister over to help hold him, and with a paw out, she waits for their payment. “He is all yours.”

~*~*~

Nearly back into town, Rizzrack continues to talk away his worries, convincing himself that everything is fine. There’s no reason to think anything wrong. His intuition wasn’t always right.

Except when…

The suit pauses and the small-keen leans over the cockpit, having caught an interesting detail in the dirt road. Footprints. Not paw pads, but actual boots. Felines weren’t find of footwear, preferring their steps to leave little to no marks or sound on other surfaces. On top of that, these marks broke over his suit’s after he left town. Someone came after him, someone he doesn’t know.

Or does he?

Worried and once again thinking the worse, the suit starts forward again, picking up pace. It can only move so fast without the assistance of a nice trunk to be cut. However it’s not long before he approaches the shop, his eyes trailing the track of foot prints right up the steps.

“Madini? A-are you still here?”

The two felines within tense up and look towards the door. Not wanting to lose her chance, Madini becomes more demanding, nearly shoving her claws into one of the bandit’s face. “Pay now or you don’t get the boy!” she hisses.

Nortromthesilencer

Yanked to his feet and roughly dragged due to being bound, Nortrom gave a muffled yelp through the gag and attempted to hop along as not to fall over. Distracted by everything going on, he doesn’t hear the sound of a voice outside, instead feeling a sharp prick of alert claws digging into his arm where it held him up.

The trio did, however, hear Rizzrack’s voice. They may not recognize it, but could tell Madini was now rushing them because of whoever this was. The smaller, portlier, of the trio dug through his bags, scrounging up what was agreed, shushing the cat to ‘calm her titties’ and stop hurrying them.

With both feline’s attention occupied elsewhere and the men not looking directly at him, Nortrom felt he had little other choice but to take his chances and get the hell out of there. Jumping up he slammed down on Madini foot, the sudden pain forcing her to let go and shout. Another strong leap pushed the boy away from all others and towards the door, his shoulder hitting it hard but not buckling the wood. Expecting he couldn’t break it down, frantic small hands behind his back tried to push the knob around. Not being able to see what he was doing, and having his movement greatly restricted at the elbows, he only just cracked the door open before being grabbed once more.

“What the fuck do you think your doin’ lad?” He was forced forward by the hair, directly into another waiting fist to his gut. Nortrom crumpled forward, as far as he could while being held up painfully by his messy black hair, and groaned. Now their property, the bandits weren’t afraid to prove it to the child through force. A strong armed punch to the face rocked Nortrom forward, slamming into the door, forcing it wide open as he toppled to the ground, “You don’t fuckin’ misbehave, ya hear me?”

Coins were thrown Madini’s way finally, the tallest focused on Nortrom who lie on the ground. After a kick that rolled him onto the side coughing, blood dripping from his previously battered nose, the child tried to curl up into a ball once more and protect himself. About to drag the child up, both men now outside stopped when they saw the cast shadow of a very large, very clunky machine.

They panicked.

One got down to the ground near Nortrom, dragging him closer by the collar, wrapping his arm around the boy’s neck to hold him close as he drew a knife and held it threateningly, “You! Don’t you come any closer!” The edge drew lightly across Nortrom’s cheek, his head pulling away only to be blocked by the arm. He whimpered.

Rizzrack

Madini quickly overcomes her pain, the scattering coins calling to her to gather them from the floor. She does not turn her eyes to the men who beat the boy. preferring to remain ignorant of the pain she’s brought upon him. Instead, she picks up every last coin and slinks her way to the opposite side of the room past the crates and shelves beckoning to her sister to follow her out the window. Unknowing to her, Lijuni does not hear, too distracted by the panic, curious as to who may be outside. They sound familiar.

Within he could hear clattering, yelling, a screech, and the door shake before falling still. Rizzrack watches intently with held breath, focused as his suspicions pulled together and formed a narrative in his mind of what just went on behind that door. What other evidence could he need?

The boy fell through the door before him, battered and beaten. Following him to the ground were two men, recognized to be the bandits from before.

That is it. Overwhelmed by fury, Timbersaw lunges forward, sending metal claws over them and crushing through the wooden door and wall as if it were merely paper, a small demonstration of what he can do to the bandits with ease.

Timbersaw roars and the hand returns to trade it with the saw , but the blade hesitates at the verbal threat. The keen is silent, frozen in place by fear and rage. He can only stare , momentarily held back by his concern for the boy. It’s only then he realizes the damage already done to the poor child. Bound, blade to his face, eyes red from tears and blunt trauma, the sight causes Rizzrack’s blood to boil in his veins. It makes him absolutely sick. He hates himself for leaving the child behind. He takes in the sight of the bandits, and it takes him a good amount of restraint to not immediately throw a blade through their bodies at that very moment.

He hates them more.

Black smoke billows from the exhaust like dragon’s breath. Blades and saw teeth continue to whirl loudly, enough to cause discomfort to one’s hearing and down out most sounds to the keen. If he had heard the boy’s whimper, he would have completely lost it on the spot. Rizzrack falls silent, but everything in his face told them,

try me.

Nortromthesilencer

“Leave the kid behind, it’s not worth it!” Dashing out of the door way, the portly bandit cowers behind his comrades in fear of Rizzrack’s powerful display and revved up blades. The one holding Nortrom shakes his head, getting to his feet and dragging the boy along with him. Being shorter than the bandit, he’s forced up on his toes, struggling to keep up with the steps, breaths cut short by the arm around his neck.

“No. We gotta get back our money, and this is insurance. We drop the boy, no guarantee that freak won’t chase us and cut us down.” The Bandit tightened his grip and took some more slow steps back. Nortrom just softly sniffled, occasionally gulping air. That knife was close, too damned close. Both of the others looked at one another, not sure what to do, “You there! Turn off that machine or I carve him a new mouth!”

Breaking away from the others, one of the bandits stepped aside the house, attempting to shimmy out of Rizzrack’s view. From the splintered door he had grabbed a long piece of wood, thick and stable, and continued to act casually as he side stepped. Just trying to escape, nothing to see here, concentrate on the child… *WHAM!* When finally ignored, he lunged at the Timber-suit and slammed the wooden piece down against the main body. It left a scraped mark across the metal and wooden frame, but much greater damage was done to the makeshift club than Rizzrack’s pride and joy. This didn’t deter the bandit, who continued to whack and smack away at the suit in various places, intent on taking Rizzrack down.

Rizzrack

Timbersaw remains in place, focus never leaving the blade. He leans forward to follow as they drag Nortrom, the keen within fuming and muttering curses under his breath. They give a demand, and if it were any other situation, Rizzrack would have very likely just went after them, but any wrong move and… He doesn’t want to think about it, but he knows he won’t be able to live with himself if that happened. Hands tight on the lever, he takes a breath and prepares to try to negotiate.

“The machine stays on.” The bandit is stubborn, but Rizzrack himself refuses to budge. “You let him go, and I don’t kill you. How about that?”

Wait a second. Weren’t there thr-

CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK

Timbersaw’s top spins around to face the bandit. Claw raises high and swipes, but misses the take down. Claw readies again for another swing, but this time the keen gasps as a shadow begins to fall over him. The reactive armor is activating, and he can’t stop it. “No, no no! STOP!”

Finding no reason to ever need to design the automatic defense system with an emergency stop and only a simple locking mechanism, the dome continues to close. He scrambles first for the lock, but in a panic, he then leaps out of his seat and grasps the rim with his hands, but it’s a futile attempt. It closes, nearly slicing his fingers with the sharp teeth as he pulls away and is left with only small gaps to look from. He’s trapped.

Trapped. And now at the will of the bandits.

Timbersaw does not move. In fact, the engine ceases and armor stays shut for as long as the other bandit beats it.

“Okay! Okay! It’s off!” Frustration and fear wavers his voice. He’s desperate now. There’s little he can see, little he can do. He may as well be their second captive. “Let him go and I’ll give you all the gold I have. Please.” His pitiful pleas reverb beneath the metal dome. He pants and gasps. It’s getting hot in here.

Nortromthesilencer

Not only are the bandits confused, but Nortrom as well. Seeing the suit clam shut and Rizzrack suddenly acquiesce to their demands stops all parties watching on, wondering if this is some elaborate ruse or a technical error.

Wooden plank still in hand, the closest reacts with one last smack against the arm of the machine before pulling back slightly, looking to the others and shrugging.

“Just how much gold are we talkin’?” Machine now off, the tallest relaxes his grip slightly, arms lowering so that Nortrom can touch the ground better. The child gasps, catching his breath in wavering pants and soft sobs. Were he not tied he might be able to do something, to help in some way. Instead, he can barely move without falling over. How pitiful. Nortrom figures that if he was going to be abused no matter where he was, he would much rather it be back at the cantonment where he was familiar and sheltered.

“You actually trust that pink freak to do it?”

“Shuddap. As long as we get paid, and live, I don’t care who has the kid. A pack of cannibals could buy him for all I care.” More steps back, this time dragging Nortrom along instead of forcing him to hop. He didn’t trust that this wasn’t a trick by the keen, and would rather run the hell away. Too bad it was hard to run with the kid in tow. “If you got enough gold, leave it on the ground and back up. It better pay us even or no deal!”

Rizzrack

“O-okay, okay!”

He fumbles through the cramped confines of his suit. It feels so much smaller than usual. His eyes sting from the sweat that drops down. It keeps getting hotter. Hold yourself together, stay calm. He finds his gold and can only hope he has enough. Please let it be enough.

The keen’s hands pat around the dome above him. It won’t budge open any time soon, and forcing it open will only keep him stuck longer like tugging at a finger trap. He starts to take the gold coins from the pouch, flicking them between the dome’s teeth and out to the ground. “H-here!” It’s a mess, like throwing corn to chickens. Once the pouch is empty, he continues to plead. The suit stays where it stands, off.

“That’s all I have!”

Nortromthesilencer

Motioning to the portly one, hands still fixed in place holding the child, the other frowns at how much of a burden this all was. Still hiding, the other didn’t move. No way was he getting closer to that– that– THING! With a resigned sigh, the closest rolled his eyes and threw down his plank of wood, going about collecting and counting the gold. Minutes passed under the hot sun, and then, “It’s more than we paid. Not a lot, but it’s something.”

The tallest nodded. “Fine, you have a deal, freak.” Pulling himself from around Nortrom’s neck, he let the kid get his own balance before taking the knife to his bindings. First the elbows, then the knees. Then the feet, and finally the hands. He held Nortrom with one hand by the arm, wondering if they could indeed trust that this Keen wouldn’t come after them once he had the kid back.

Internally, Nortrom’s mind was racing. His captor was hesitating and not letting go; Were they even going to free him, or was this all a show before forcing him to run off? More time ticked by, the standoff feeling as though it had gone on forever. His pulse raced, sweat collecting across his tunic and soaking into the thin fabric, nerves elevated to the small gusts of wind that passed. As his thoughts grew more frantic, he became more desperate. More seconds. More waiting. No. He wasn’t going to let them run off with him, damnit! He was stronger than that!

Twisting in place, the boy lifted the hand that held him to his face and bit down hard. The skin broke as he pulled away, bloody muscles and tendons ripping, gore gathering across Nortrom’s face. The pain forced a scream from the bandit, other hand dropping the knife to grab his injury. Nortrom ducked down to the ground to avoid any retaliation, scrambling to grab the knife as he skittered forward in the space between them and Rizzrack. While one bandit reeled in pain, another kept hiding, and the third approached fast.

Nortrom threw the knife.

He may not have been a mage. He may have failed casting any spells and been mocked incessantly for it, but what he lacked in arcane power he made up for in other studies and training. Nortrom didn’t have magic but he did have damned good aim. A bit too good…

The knife landed with a sickening crunch, blade embedded deep into the attacker’s forehead. It took some time for his body to connect with what was happening, frame lurching forward a few unstable steps, blood seeping from around the hilt and out of his nose, arms limply pulled at his sides. One step. Two steps. By the third his nervous system had caught up, the rest of his muscles going limp and sending him crashing to the ground. Dust puffed up where he landed, settling in messy piles across his clothing, clinging to the sanguine leakage from his face.

The adrenaline was dropping fast. Nortrom fell on his behind, kicking back away a couple of paces before freezing, eyes wide, only now realizing what he had just done. His jaw dropped. After everything that had just happened to him, and now this, the boy broke down and started to bawl.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack can only look helplessly from the gap of the armor, but even that granted the keen little vision of what goes on on outside. The bright light entering into the dark suit blinds him and he can only hope to listen. Scratching sounds, the click of currency, their acceptence. The keen sighs, trembling, anxious to know if they’ll follow through. Cutting sounds, it seems like it.

Then a scream.

His blood runs cold. What’s going on!? The sounds of a scuffle has the keen’s nose practically pressed through the small gap. What is happening? There’s a crack… a thud… silence…

Then sobbing.

Sobbing.

What did they do??

The suit twitches, claw fingers flex… then it moves.

Timbersaw charges forward, metal foot stomping down beside the child nearly crushing him, the other foot moving inches above and over his head before landing back down upon the skull of the fallen bandit with a gooey crunch. Blind rage guides the mecha to the gold-holding bandit slack-jawed by his partner’s demise. With a shriek his arms fly up in fear as the last thing he sees are metal claws closing in.

Timbersaw lifts the cretin by the head. There is no mercy, no second thought to his actions. He hangs the struggling body close and lets the midsection blades do the work. Blood spatters all around, showering the dry dust with the red rain it thirsts for. The earth is not the only thing bathed. That’s two down, one to go. Tossing away the shredded remains, Timbersaw swings the saw arm forward. He will FIND that last bandit. It detaches. Like a glowing disc from hell it whirs through the air and chews through the wooden shop, leaving a disaster only a tornado could match.

Lijuni never left. She only watched, She regret staying. The feline ducked, nearly missing a beheading. The other bandit was not so lucky. She scrambled and screeched, clawing and bounding for protection. The structure cracked and within moments it all fell. Crashing wood drowns out the screams until all that’s left is the buzzing of the sawblade. It returns to the arm it comes from, but the pilot is far from satisfied. Tearing through the wreckage, the limp body of the feline is salvaged. Lijuni is held up to the still-closed armor of the suit, but she is seen all the same.

“If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened at ALL!”

The first slam.

Her body is flung back down, wheezed gasps unheard beneath the cracking and splintering debris. Her body rises again to meet her reflection in the blood that coats the armored dome.

“N-e’eh, pl-” “Do you know WHAT YOU’VE DONE!?” Her body is flung down again. Spears of wood pierce her body, puncturing lungs, stabbing organs. She is a fighter, but her struggles to escape the grip are too weak and meaningless. She rises again, and falls again, rises, falls… the pain grows distant, the sky dark…

Saws and teeth come to a halt. Timbersaw is motionless, painted with blood and holding a fur bag of broken bones. The claws open, releasing the corpse and only then does the armor finally begin to open. Rizzrack is revealed. Condensation drips from within and back onto his dry skin. His usually pink-tipped nose and ears are flushed a vibrant red. His pupils were dilated, quick to contract from the bright light. Delirious, he slumps over the dashboard, grasping at something unseen. Slowly coming to his senses, he struggles out of the suit, practically dropping to the ground into the mess of feline blood.

….

“I’m so sorry.”

Rizzrack looks down to the bloody boy. With shuddering breathe he can only whisper out one last apology before dropping to his knees and wailing into his palms.

Nortromthesilencer

The carnage was all around him, physically inescapable. Nortrom remained kneeling on the ground, tears filling his eyes but not sobbing any longer. He had cried himself out, throat raw, blood drying over his jaw and from his nose. Where he was punched his eye was swollen half shut, bruised, and very much out of place with the vacant wide eyed stare that looked onward. Not at the blood, the death, or the destruction, but past it.

The boy may have been there, on the ground, in the middle of it all, but he wasn’t there mentally, retreated inwards and dissociating from it all, a quiet place, a silent place. He came here often to escape the pain and neglect, yet as of this point he knew not where he would go. The adult knew. The adult understood. The child, not so much.

He didn’t hear Rizzrack coming to his side, the Keen’s tears, or the gradual crashing of the building as it’s remaining supports give out. No, he heard nothing. It was peaceful here, not thinking about the fact he had just murdered someone. It was silent, there were no bodies. There was no blood. There was only himself, alone.

A familiar place. His place.

Rizzrack

The keen rocks back and forth. Between gasps and sobs he cried his mantra. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Pulling his hands away from his face, he looks back up to the boy. His state, it’s familiar. Not something he’s seen, but felt. Actually, it’s not even a feeling. It’s an absence of it, a numbness. When everything becomes too much to take in. When you’ve realized your world’s come crashing down, reduced to a small workshop crushed beneath the weight of vines and roots, and life as you know it is gone… You end up looking like that.

Destroyed. Traumatized.

Another sob and his heart goes out to the boy. Rizzrack drags his knees as he brings himself closer to the child. Slowly but without hesitation he brings his arms to embrace the child’s shoulders. At least he doesn’t have to be alone. Don’t let him be alone. His touch is gentle. Hands pet the child’s back, finding no other way to bring comfort.

When was the last time he cried like this? Not too long ago,after learning of the pain Silencer went through in his childhood… Why must the world be cruel to such youth?But something occurs to the keen that did not before. He slowly pulls away from the boy and looks to his eye. A familiar blue… His hair raven black…and that place…

Hazhadal Barrens. Rizzrack knew he recognized that name. That’s where the Silencer was raised with a strict upbringing. An upbringing that could cause a child to be so meek, so disciplined.

His breath is shallow, a result of being absorbed and lost within his thoughts. He snaps out of it, once again facing the boy before him. Eyeing his features, a theory burns in his mind, a crazy one he can’t ignore.

Is it possible?

The voice is soft, unsure, but desperate to know.

…

“Nortrom?”

Nortromthesilencer

Hearing that name snapped the boy out of his trance with a jolt. He gasped, breathing so shallow before and now his lungs craving, no, demanding to be filled. He looked about, again seeing the vile display before him, this time noting the keen. Was it his voice? Pushing himself up more with his hands, the boy looked at Rizzrack with fear and fought the urge to back away. To run.

“Ho–How… How do you know my…?” Was knowing who he was the cause of all of this? Trust was in short supply, and Nortrom didn’t wish to give away what he had left so easily. Not again.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack is… He’s not sure what to think. He really wasn’t expecting his thoughts to be confirmed, and now here he is with this kid who might just be the Silencer. How?

He might sound crazy, maybe he is. His hands grasp the boy’s shoulders. “Nortrom, I… This is so…” He take a breath and sighs, letting go of the boy so that his hands may instead go to his head while he tries to make sense of things. “I know your name because… because you look like a frie-… someone I know.” His arms fall back to his sides, still finding the thought to be utterly ridiculous. “You just reminded me of him. Hah, I didn’t think I’d be seeing the Silencer again in any way. I had to go away. Do you know why? Because I did something terrible to him. Ahaha…”

A twisted, pained smile as he whispered that end to himself. The boy doesn’t need to know any more horrors. “Because I thought I was doing something right. And now? I only wanted you safe.” His voice trails off in a whimper but the keen is determined to keep himself together.

Nortromthesilencer

Now he was both terrified and even more confused. Nortrom pushed back, refusing Rizzrack’s attempted comfort and placing a short gap between them. Able to take in the sights without being completely lost, he took a deep breath and got to his feet. It smelt disgusting, burnt, dusty, and… familiar. It still smelt familiar.

Turning his back to the keen, he looked at the body of the man he killed. Now crushed, the initial image of a knife sticking out from his skull remained. Nortrom did that. It would be dishonorable to the man, to the event, if he denied that fact. Nortrom knew he couldn’t hide from what had happened, and now given some time to process it, he didn’t want to.

“Nortrom. My name is Nortrom, of Aeol Drias,” Yes the Keen knew this now, but it felt more formal to give an actual introduction when before he denied to give his name. After all of this, there was no point in protecting his identity, “And I am a murderer.” He stood up straight, strong, defiant. Nortrom took a swiveling step and faced Rizzrack head on, wiping the blood and tears from his face.

“I did it to protect myself. That doesn’t make me a bad person, does it?”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack reached out, afraid to lose him again. But the child did not run. He stands tall and faces the reality about him. The keen looks up at Nortrom, unseeing of it. He no longer sees an innocent child, and his statement sends a chill down his spine. On his knees he pleads for him to renounce his statement. “No, don’t say that!“ He stammers through his horror.

“Killing monsters isn’t murder. You’re not a bad person.”

The grim surroundings burn into the keen like glares from a damning crowd. He knows what he did, but refuses to believe it is murder. He never murdered anyone. He never will.

Nortromthesilencer

While facing reality may have been his intent, Nortrom still found himself paralyzed by it all the more he thought on it. Standing there, looking at the keen, the blood, the ground, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Why did you come back?” It looked so very surreal, this young boy unflinching as death and decay rotted the very air around them, holding tight in a transfixing gaze his ability to move. The child huffed, lifting his tunic from his belt to continue to wipe his face. It stung.

“Thank you though. I’m sorry I doubted you; I just wanted to go home.” Another small sniffle. Nortrom forced his eyes shut and took several deep breaths. He couldn’t allow himself to cry any more.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Rizzrack

“I came back because I was-” His explanation is interrupted by the thanks, and Rizzrack finds it unneeded to restart and instead let Nortrom speak. “Don’t apologize.” He feels he should be one the doing that. He made the boy doubt, he made the boy afraid, he left the boy behind against his own intuition. This was more his fault than anyone else’s. Here comes the guilt again. Well, it never left in the first place. It always lingered, and now it’s a new wound over a scab.

Rizzrack stands to his feet. His knees wobble, as earlier’s rampage and the heat of the day leaves him exhausted and burnt out. He wants nothing more than to ease the boy, tell him it’s alright, but Nortrom seems to be handling it well on his own. A feat that awes the keen. “Like you yourself said, you were only protecting yourself. Now let’s get out of here.” Finding nothing else to say, he turns away back towards his suit and makes what feels to be a long walk. His eyes stay straight ahead and above the wreckage, but do what he may to avoid the sight, he can’t avoid the blood upon the Timbersaw.

Rizzrack returns, this time careful to avoid stepping in head gore.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, but I”ll be honest. I’m afraid. I don’t want to be… I don’t want you to be alone.”

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom flinches as the timbersuit walked up to him. Could he really trust this keen? Yes they returned and seemed very much willing to help, but they also murdered and proved to be lost. He sighed. Not like he could judge, the blood was on his hands too.

Rubbing his wrists where the ropes cut his skin raw and red, the boy looked down. In an effort to not cry again, he focused on everything else he was feeling instead, mindful of what was going on in his body. The pain of the rope burns, the torn corners of his mouth where the cloth had been cleaved tight, the bruised eye that stung with every blink, and the deep rumble in his gut.

“I’m hungry.”

Nortrom looked up at Rizzrack as he pilot the suit, showing his intent to follow the keen. It was obvious he wasn’t as stable as he let on, the inner turmoil fighting as he pushed it back.

“Can we leave? I don’t want to stay here any longer, sir.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack looks down to the boy just as exhausted as he. “Yes.” He wipes his glove across his face, smearing dirt with the thin film of sweat he can still manage to produce. It feels as if steam is blowing from his ears. Any more longer out here and there could be many more consequences to follow. They need water. They need food. There is a river to the north from where Rizzrack had traveled from and did not expect to be traveling back through any time soon. It was not very far from the Silencer’s home and at that point the keen realizes that’s the home he needs to go to.

“Don’t panic. I’m going to carry you.”

Quite suddenly the claw comes down. It does not grab the boy roughly, it just merely nudges him onto the flat of the saw blade with unmoving teeth. Parallel to the Timbersaw’s mid-drift it acts as a makeshift bench. Something similar to what it did not too long ago. Once adjusted, the suit begins its walk.

“Now let’s get out of here.”

The boy may only notice once they leave the town that they aren’t exactly going west towards the supposed location of the Hazhadal Barrens. The keen suspects this. “I will take you home, I promise that. But…” he sighs, licking his lips and finding himself to be quite parched. “But we need to get to the closest river, and that’s thirty miles north of here… fifty kilometers… quite a ways.”

The suit speed picks up speed and could quite easily match the pace of a jogging human, maybe even surpass it. Even so, at that rate it will take at the very least a couple of hours to reach the destination. Rizzrack can only hope that despite the bumpy ride, perhaps the boy could find a moment of rest.

At least the light breeze is somewhat soothing.

Nortromthesilencer

Don’t panic? This machine of death and blades, so close and now picking him up, and the Keen tells him not to panic? The look on Nortrom’s face betrays his previously calm demeanor, hands gripping white knuckled to the claw and eyes staring at the previously spinning blades. Even sitting down the boy is tense, knowing what this damned machine was capable of now. It wasn’t so much awe inspiring any more as it was terrifying.

“That’s quite a detour…” One last look back before leaving that hellish scene behind, the scene of victim-hood. That scene of the crime; Many crimes. Nortrom leaned back against the body of the suit, his head above the lip where the control panel was. He made sure not to let his head lull in Rizzrack’s way as they traveled. Feeling exausted, the boy yawned. He knew sleep wasn’t an option, nerves still on edge, no matter now tired he was.

“Um… Could I ask you a question sir? Why– Er, No… Do most people out here try to take advantage of others?” That wasn’t the greatest wording, especially for Nortrom. He hummed, thinking of a better way to put his thoughts, “Let me try again: What do I keep doing wrong so that everyone wants to hurt me? This can’t be normal.”

Rizzrack

It was quiet for a while. Rizzrack finding it hard to initiate any small talk. He didn’t have the energy or breath to talk. The boy wants an answer however. “Because they’re evil monsters.” The boy reworded his question and Rizzrack feels obligated to try and give a more meaningful answer.

“You’re right. It’s not normal. Sometimes bad things happen to us. On purpose or on accident, but no matter how it happens, there’s a why, there’s always a reason. That reason isn’t you, but it is you. Does that make sense?” He pauses to think of a better way to express the thought. “There are people who only want to gain things for themselves. They see their victim and think to themselves ‘how can I abuse this innocent being to my own advantage?’ They lure you in with promises of love, promises of protection. Then they slowly begin to take from you while fooling you into believing it’s for a good cause. Then when you begin to doubt their kindness, they twist your words on you and make you out to be wrong. They take more and more until the blood loss leaves you dizzy and weak, then when there’s nothing left to be gained of you, they try to kill you because you’re worthless to them! Hahah! Isn’t that something??”

Throughout the speech his voice gradually grew in volume. So caught up was he within his own memories and experiences that the end of it all, he was cackling breathlessly. Taking a moment to recover, he makes a small apology and blames it on the heat.

“You can’t trust everyone. Sometimes you can only trust yourself, and that’s where your intuition comes in. I don’t always listen to mine, and look what happens, bad things happen.”

Nortromthesilencer

He listens intently to the rant, legs stretched out at an angle down the blade. Occasionally the boy nods, understanding, feeling that he’s heard a very similar speech some time before.

“My intuition,” he idly commented at the end, looking up at the sky above, “is that you’re not a bad person despite all of this. You don’t know me but you want to help. I don’t know you but even if you’re kinda strange, you seem nice.”

Nicer than most, anyways. Nicer than the other children. Nicer than his teachers. Nicer than those cat people or bandits. Nortrom didn’t know how to word it, or what to say due to a real lack of experience of people being nice to him, but he appreciated it all the same.

“It’s getting darker, sir. How much longer do you think until the sun sets?”

Rizzrack

“Oh!” He nearly squeaks, surprised. “I’m touched… I think.”

It’s a compliment that calms him from working himself up by his own thoughts. At least the boy is honest, and Rizzrack is once again reminded of who this child really is. There is sadness, but along with it there is a little more appreciation for the Silencer.

The keen remains quiet until the boy speaks up again. “Hmm?” He wasn’t aware of it until it’s pointed out. Based on how much lower the sun is, it must be the start of evening. It felt like only minutes ago it was the afternoon. “Er….”

It’s been so long since he last used a clock. For years and years the ability to tell time never relied on a visual of marks or numbers, but instead on a feeling and how long it took to perform certain tasks or to travel from one place to another. He knew they would reach the river and clean up with plenty of time to spare before the sun vanished. The keen hums and glances at the odometer on his dashboard. “I would say two hours, give or take.”

They had already traveled far enough that Rizzrack knew that they were getting close. The change of the landscape from mostly dry dirt and scare vegetation to much more scattered green confirmed those feelings. Metal feet kick through small shrubs as they stop at the edge of water.

Beautiful, cool, flowing water.

Lowering the blade so that the boy may get down easily, Rizzrack himself lacks the patience to deny his tongue of water any longer. Crawling down from his suit as fast as he can, he tosses aside his helmet and practically goes face first into the river.

blblbblbl

He raises his head and dunks it repeatedly, alternating between gasps of breath and gulps of water. Finally satisfied he pulls back out of the river to catch his breath while slinging off his gloves so that he could wipe water and dirt from his face.

“Aaah…” He looks back to the kid. He nearly forgot about him. “Hey. Nortrom, come. Get a drink. Then let’s get you cleaned up, you’re a mess.”

Nortromthesilencer

The air feels lighter, more humid, as they get closer. The boy remains awake in silent contemplation, the sights and sounds all new to him and something to enjoy. It’s a much needed calming after such a stressful afternoon.

Nortrom hops off the blade at a much more leisure pace than Rizzrack, walking to the water’s edge. Taking his his boots and leg wrappings off, the boy sits on an elevated rock on the bank and dips his toes in. The kiss of cold water made him gasp in surprise, having to try again little by little until he got used to the feeling. As he let his feet splash, Nortrom bent forward and washed his hands before taking some water in them, cupping it to his face and enjoying the crisp taste.

Spending some time just watching, drinking, and waiting, he finally could forget all about what had happened and instead focus on what was happening. He was lost, he didn’t know how he got here, and he didn’t know how to get back. Nortrom sighed, leaning forward again to stare at his reflection. There was blood on his face still, eye discoloured and puffy, and something else, something stirring in his memories…

“Mirror…” The word was said without thought, something about it felt memorable, the tug of recollection just out of reach, “A mirror! I remember a mirror, that’s how I got here!” Excitement bounced his feet, splashing away the reflection as he turned to grin at Rizzrack with a uncharacteristic look of elation. He was proud that he remembered something, even if it was so little. But what else?

“I– I remember a mirror. Something happened, and I woke up near where you found me.” Nortrom scrunched his face and grunted, a childlike gesture of wracking his brain for more clues, “Hmmgh… I can’t remember why though…”

Rizzrack

Giving the boy his personal space to care for himself, Rizzrack continued to clean his face and go for another drink. This time he cups his hands to bring water to his mouth instead of dunking his head to drink. Nortrom’s enthusiastic exclamation surprises him and the keen momentarily splutters and coughs, fearing for just a brief moment that the boy got hurt.

He looks to him. “Hem.. M-mirror?” he squeaks, still clearing his throat around the word. Another cough. “Some sort of magic mirror?” he doesn’t know much about the Silencer, even less about him as a child, but Rizzrack does know based on their little mishap with a hexing staff that Nortrom can have unexpected results with enchanted objects. “Can you remember where the mirror was? Or if there were any people?”

Nortromthesilencer

More scrunching of the face, it looking very comical with his already injured face. Becoming frustrated by the fact nothing was coming to him, the boy pouted. “I don’t know. Let me think.”

Nortrom slips his shirt off, dunking it in the water and using it to clean himself off. Taking a smooth rock from the water, he then starts to clean the blood and dirt from his shirt with it, back and forth, a typical laundry routine.

“Hm… I remember wooden walls.” That detail me have been mundane to most, but Nortrom was raised in a cantonment built mostly of sandstone and granite, so pure wooden walls like that of a cabin would stand out to the child, “It was quiet. I don’t… No, I don’t recall any voices.”

His head was starting to hurt thinking so hard about this, and he imitated the Keen by dunking his head under the water a few times. Up and drying himself off, the child spoke under his breath, “Maybe I actually managed to cast a spell…?”

Rizzrack

A spell? The keen lets out a few chuckles. “Hah, Nortrom, you cast a sp-” He stops himself to rethink his words. Adult Nortrom is about as magically gifted as Rizzrack himself. But just because that’s a fact the keen is aware of, he shouldn’t talk down the kid. He doesn’t know. “It’s.. it’s possible! It sounds like you’re really close to solving this mystery.” Finding it shameful to gaze at people bathing (as he himself would dislike being watched), Rizzrack grabs his helmet and turns his eyes down to the water to take care of getting something to eat. Pecking under rocks with his fingers, he begins fishing out crawfish and tossing them into his bucket helm.

“So if it was a spell, what do you think it was for?”

Nortromthesilencer

Even though Rizzrack cut off his jab mid-word, Nortrom heard it, and knew full well what he was going to say. At that moment he didn’t wonder why Rizzrack would have known he had issues with casting, but instead remembered every other time he was mocked, doubted, jeered at, and belittled for being unable to use magic. The boy shrunk in his own frame, going silent. Of course it was ridiculous to think he could have ever cast something.

He didn’t answer the Keen’s other question, instead silently finishing cleaning himself off without a word or change of expression. What a foolish thought. Casting a spell. You? In your dreams. The boy’s mirthful grin was gone. He knew better.

Rizzrack

As Rizzrack was not looking directly at the boy, he only thought the silence was due to him being deep in thought. He continues digging through the bed, waiting for an answer. But the silence is unusually long. The child’s chatter is gone. Realizing that his laughter was probably the biggest tell-tale of it, he makes another attempt to salvage the moment. “Whatever the spell was, it definitely did something…?”

It finally dawns on him that the damage was done and once again he is acquainted with regret and guilt. Just be quiet Rizzrack you’ll just make things worse. After collecting a few of the little snappy critters, he sifts water in and out of the helmet to get rid of any mud they may have been covered in.

Silence. Silence. Silence.

He thinks about it, and thinks about it. Children can be cruel too.

Uncommon were the days where he as a child was able to join the other young keen on the streets. Showing off their toys, bragging about inventions their mothers may have created and holding contests about who’s father was smarter.

“My dad can count all the sand grains on the beach!” “Oh yeah? MY dad can count all the stars in space!!” “And Rizzrack’s dad can count all the rocks on his shovel!” “HEY!”

It may have been in jest, but the mere fact that his father grew up an orphan working the mines was far from brag-worthy. In fact, it was the equivalent of amounting to nothing. No family trade to continue, no master to be an apprentice to. An uneducated fool to many of the neighbors, but Rizzrack knew his father was wise in his own way.

Silence still.

“Nortrom.” Rizzrack sets the helm aside and wades over to the boy. “Look, you… You may not see it, but you are special. You’re terrible with magic. It’s not because of you… but it’s also because of you. How do I go about explaining this? Okay, I don’t get magic either. Not everyone does. That’s why I have technology. We find our strength through weakness. And you, you have something, something FAR more amazing that I’ve never seen come from anyone else! The strength you will find within you is just… It’s beyond my comprehension, really.” The keen sighs. “I”m sorry I laughed it’s just… I know you. The older you. And honestly? I‘m jealous. You’re smarter than me, stronger than me, taller than me… You’re the Silencer.”

Nortromthesilencer

Perhaps it was stress, built up and festering under the skin, a disgusting wound just waiting to burst. Perhaps it was from hunger. Perhaps he was tired. Most likely all three, but Nortrom remained silent only this time with his shoulders occasionally twitching. A few more seconds and his breaths could be heard, a quiet sniffle giving away the fact that yes, he was crying.

“What are you even talking about??” large blue eyes looked at the Keen now, wet and red, a slow draw of tears trailing down his cheeks as he accusingly store at the keen, “How do you know me?!? How do you know all this!?” Nortrom lurched forward, falling closer to Rizzrack and supporting himself up with his hands to lay in a crawling position on the stony ground. He looked up, trembling, voice wavering in panicked breaths, “What do you mean you know me?”

None of this made sense. Being here in the first place, barely remembering what had happened before, the Keen’s familiarity with name his lack of spellmanship, and now saying that they knew him as an adult? How? He was here, 10 years old, and that was the truth. How could anyone know him in another instance of time? What was even going on?

Nortrom grabbed his own head, burrying his eyes in his palms and keeling.

“I want to go home!”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack didn’t know how the boy would react, but he didn’t imagine it to be like this. This isn’t want he wanted. Trying not to panic, he desperately pats the air down. “C-calm down! Please don’t cry I’m just-This is hard to explain but I ca-” Seeing the boy fall, he follows down onto a knee. His hands are out but he does not touch the boy in fear of getting another bad reaction from it. It hurt Rizzrack to see this. He can’t do anything right for him. Nothing at all. The hurt, the confusion, the frustration. Oh, the frustration. He’s getting tired, and his patience suddenly vanishes as he hits the bottom of the pity bucket. Sympathy drains. He would never imagine himself to be this way with youth, yet here he goes.

He grabs the boy’s shoulders and roughly pushes him back to sit on his heels. His own tear filled eyes looked into the boy’s as he yells out in exasperation.

“Grow up!”

Nortromthesilencer

Panic sets in, a response to protect himself when expecting to be harmed, hit, or abused in some way. He’s felt it all too many times before, the loss of patience of another before they lashed out and took out their frustrations and stress on him. Nortrom forcefully shoved the keen away and sprung to his feet, “Get away from me!”

Jumping to his feet and forgetting about what had been removed previously, shoes, wraps, and tunic, the boy puts a few feet distance between him and Rizzrack. “Why? Because you know me as a grown up? Because I’m obviously a useless burden like this?!?” He looks hurt, angry, sad, and a mixture of so many feelings that even Nortrom doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

Gritting his teeth, he turns and runs away from Rizzrack and into the brush, shouting out one last thing, “FINE!”

The Keen wanted him to grow up? Fine, grown up’s don’t need help. Nortrom kept running, the river long past and the greenery getting thicker. His feet stung from the thistles and stones, and his lungs were heaving as he went. The boy wasn’t sure for how long he kept going, only knowing that he wasn’t going to stop until he couldn’t move any longer. Stupid Mirror. Stupid Keen. Stupid self… Mostly that last one, this was all his fault and he knew it.

Tripping over a bump in the ground from his feet growing numb, the boy lands hard and rolls, stopping on his side. He doesn’t move, instead gripping tight to his sides as he heaves and gasps for air from running for so long. The efforts made to wash himself were all but wasted now, mud caking up and down his body and trousers, but Nortrom didn’t care. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, he didn’t matter.

Grow up, the boy thought bitterly, I wish I could. Then maybe people wouldn’t hurt me.

Rizzrack

He didn’t expect the boy to retaliate. Rizzrack fell back and submerged. The keen isn’t fond of water, not used to frequently bathing and when he did he was reluctant to ever go underwater. He flails and splashes about before finally sitting up in the shallow water. He gasps, frantically brushing water from his face and nose until he finally calms and catches his breath. That’s when he sees the boy is gone and a nice trail of wet footprints telling of where he ran off to.

He wanted to yell out, he wanted to retort and call him out for being so childish. Rizzrack slaps down the water angrily with his hands. Fine! I don’t care! I just wanted to help! He’s going to have to accept that he won’t ever become mage! Brat!! The keen rises from the water and steps out of the river. Everything is dripping as he never bothered to take anything but the gloves off. He walks past the boy’s belongings and goes over to his helmet to angrily place it on his head.

A shower of water and sharp pinchers greets him. He slaps the shellfish away, finding any feeling of hunger to have vanished as he goes to retrieve his gloves, slipping one after the other and then flapping about as he bitched and moaned under breath.

“I tried to apologize! I tried to help! I saved him! Ungrateful!” No longer did he view Nortrom as the child he is now, but instead saw him as the man he knows he is. “I’m telling him the truth! I’m being honest! I did everything I could for him! Why… why when I was his age, I didn’t have anyone! It was just me! And… and you!” He points to the Timbersuit off by the shrubs. It lowly purrs, saying nothing. “I tried to give him what I didn’t have! I tried to care for him! I tried to help him! I did it all to no benefit for myself! What… what did I do wrong!?” He paces about, palms tapping his forehead as he wracked his brain for an answer.

He treated him like someone he wasn’t. Silencer is who he could become, but isn’t who he already is. He is just a child, and although he has so much still to learn about the world, he wasn’t ready for all of that to hit him in one moment. It was too much. The cruelty of strangers wasn’t just a lesson taught to young Nortrom by the bandits alone. Rizzrack is just as guilty as harming him, and now the keen thinks he knows where he went wrong.

Rizzrack wished he never said his name. Rizzrack wished he never looked into his eyes. He wished he never left the boy behind, that he never went into that town, that the container of fuel never fell and broke. So many things. So many regrets. Sobbing at the edge of a river and feeling regret doesn’t do anything, however. He looks over to Nortrom’s abandoned clothing. His heart aches. He cares, and he wishes he didn’t.

Fabric and shoes are bundled up and tossed into the suit. Rizzrack follows and heavy metal steps crunch through the brush and out into the dusk-painted landscape. As much as he regret first saying the name, he knew he had to call it out. “Nortrom!” He went so long calling him by Silencer out of spite ever since the man took offense to being called ‘Nortie’. Ever since then, keeping the relationship as something impersonal and unfriendly to convince Rizzrack to keep any fond feelings or positive thoughts out of the picture was the only reason he persisted. It didn’t work for very long.

“Nortrom!!” The wet footprints were gone now, having vanished into the dry earth some distance back. Rizzrack has no idea where he may have run, and can only hope he kept to one direction. Maybe the boy had no idea where he wanted to go. Maybe he just wanted to get away. The blood crusted suit continues on, the pilot desperately still crying out to the boy.

Nortromthesilencer

One the ground, wet, muddy, and sore, Nortrom is quick to learn just how cold it is outside without shoes or a shirt. His grip on his sides tightens and he curls up, crying becoming nothing more than a pathetic whimper and sniffle. He doesn’t hear the calls at first, and when the first hint of his name is carried on the wind the boy cringes. Maybe if he stays quiet he’ll be left alone. Maybe if he stays here he’ll just disappear and no one will miss him. The sad oddity of a 10 year old thinking about his own death and wanting to die was lost on Nortrom, too caught up in self hate. They said he was a burden, so why would they care if he vanished?

Rizzrack didn’t relent. The voice got louder, and Nortrom knew he was getting closer. Nortrom groaned and rolled on to his back, arms splayed out, legs apart, a carpet of flesh and mud on the ground. Maybe if he was lucky that giant robot saw thing would step on him and crush him, putting an end to this.

Silencer. What a joke. He was probably mocking me for failing as a mage, who would call someone ‘silencer’ anyways?

Rizzrack

The ground crunches beneath every step the suit takes until it comes to a halt. The keen is silent, making out the form of the boy laying upon the earth in the dim glow of the evening. Lucky thing, for if he looked any smaller, likely wouldn’t have seen him. With a shuddering breath the keen is relieved. He shuts off his suit. It’s silent, save for the soft chirping of crickets, the gentle breeze through blades of grass and the light brush of feet across the ground. A short figure stands besides the boy with arms full.

“You… you left your clothes. It’s cold out here at night. You’ll need these.”

Nortromthesilencer

Drat, his plan was foiled. Nortrom rolls on to the opposite side of the keen and culls up defiantly, “Good. Maybe I’ll freeze out here.” A few seconds pass, and guilt eats at the boy, so used to obeying authority and not protesting. He rolls back again, this time to face the keen, “… Thank you, sir.” It sounded soft and reluctant, but Nortrom couldn’t bring himself to be any more of a dick to the closest thing to an adult around here.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack made no move but to only look down upon the boy and sigh. He could only wait. His brows creased, expression like a father who patiently waits for his toddler to grow tired of pouting. It’s quick, and he hands the articles over one by one as they’re placed back on. “You really don’t have to call me sir. You can just call me Rizzrack.” Handing over the last piece, he sits on the ground across the patch and faces Nortrom. His breath shudders, signifying that he too had got done crying as well not too long ago.

This is a quite familiar setting.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have lost my patience.” His voice cracks somewhere in there, so he attempts to speak softer. “I’m just a crazy little keen who said a whole lot of things you didn’t need to hear or know. If I were in your place I would have been just as scared. Maybe more.”

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom was ashamed of losing control like that, and hid his eyes from the keen even after getting dressed. He sits cross legged, head cast downward, hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry for acting immature, si— er, Rizzrack.” About now would be the time he would be hit, yelled at, and locked away for disobeying and being beligerant, yet Nortrom for once in his life assumes that won’t be the case. He dips his head even further, an apologetic gesture, a pathetic gesture.

“I’ve caused you nothing but trouble. I don’t know what’s going on, or why, but I do know that if this were a test I’ve failed terribly.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack remains quiet, hesitant and unsure of just what to say without it being some other dumb utterance that could upset the boy again. It’s surprisingly hard to comfort someone, to be the mature support that a child needs when he himself is just as troubled. “Well, if there has to be someone who failed today, it’s me, not you. I’ve failed.” He sighs, stressed and worried the boy may still be fearful of him and his intentions. “But I can’t give up despite that.” Rizzrack looks to the child, eyes pleading, voice sincere. “Can you trust me to take you home? Believe me when I promise you to take you where you belong.”

Nortromthesilencer

He’s hesitant to trust anyone, always have been always will be. Now it’s even harder, but as the boy rises to his feet he nods. Hunger be damned, Nortrom was used to going nights without food as punishment, and he could handle it.

“I’ll accept, as I have nothing else to rely on.” Did he trust Rizzrack? No, not really. Was there any better alternative? Also no. It was one of those cases where the boy may as well go with the flow and accept things for how they are.

Looking even worse for wear now than before, albeit with less blood and more mud, the boy shivered. Night had set upon them fast, and with it the creeping shadows grew ominous. “I’ll follow your lead, s– Rizzrack.” Old habits are hard to break.

Rizzrack

There is another sigh of relief from the keen. He gets up and does his best to brush away the clumps of dirt that stuck to his bottom and legs. He gets into the machine and it starts up again, familiar deep purr drowning out the songs of nocturnal insects. Rizzrack knows they still have quite a bit more traveling to do along the river until he’s back to familiar lands. He wants to get there has fast as possible , so just like before the timbersuit guides the boy to sit on the unspinning saw like a seat and begins the trip back north again.

The Timbersuit speaks in place for Rizzrack as it steps along the river following a thin trail nearly lost to the darkness of night. Rumbles, clanks and the occasional squeak of a joint fill in for ramblings and gripes of the keen who would normally jump at the opportunity to rant. Instead he is silent. He’s exhausted. Physically. Socially. So used to only having to worry about himself, Rizzrack is left running on empty. The thought of finally being alone is a very pleasing one.

The darkness of night settled long ago. Nothing but the stars and waxing moon light the field around them. There is more grass, full and green with scattered tree stumps across the plains and hills. Some spots of trees that were spared from being cut speckle a portion of hills that a few homes reside on. It’s all familiar even under the mysterious visage of darkness, and the keen finally mutters. “Almost there.” Words exhaled as if he were bearing a heavy load. He eyes in the distance a familiar cabin far from any other and knows that it is only a moment longer until he walks up the path to that door once again.

Nortromthesilencer

Despite all of his efforts, Nortrom can’t help but fall asleep as they travel. The hum of the timber suit, the hunger in his gut, the pain of wrists rubbed raw from rope and other injuries, the cool evening air: It all leads to the boy curling up on his side atop the flat of the blade and slumbering.

Up the mountain the suit plodded on, the pathway well groomed and maintained for ease of travel. Bordered by tall trees and ample brush for wildlife to hide, soft sounds of crickets and nocturnal creatures occasionally break the silence of the night. Soon a familiar stone fence pushed back the foliage, leading the rest of the way up to the clearing where Nortrom’s lodge resides, nestled on the cliff overlooking a small village.

It’s still, with no sign of the owner for very obvious reasons. Only the timbersuit disturbs this place, and were it not for the child in his possession there would be no indication that anything was amiss.

Rizzrack

They made it.

Timbersuit slightly bowed, the engine rumbles to a halt and the driver climbs down tiredly, careful not to startle the boy yet from his rest. Rizzrack approaches the door. It’s dark, but patting around looking for the lock and handle causes it to budge, telling that the door was left open. Pushed wider, the keen steps in to inspect the room. He sees no obvious signs that the place has been invaded from what he can make out in the darkness. No risk of getting jumped. Good. Door propped open, Rizzrack turns to the sleeping boy.

“Okay.” He readies himself, takes in a deep breath and exhales, and as gentle as a keen a tad smaller than a ten year old can, he scoops his arms beneath shoulders and knees and lifts him from the saw. Oh boy. Maneuvering his way in, he carries Nortrom over to the couch he last saw the man reclining against. He places him down and carefully pulls away. Whew. Such a good couch.

Rubbing the small of his back, the keen looks around. Of course there isn’t much one can see in the dark. Remembering a lantern nearby, he searches for it, finding it close to the door along with some matches.

Now with a portable light, he closes the door and turns his attention to the kitchen for some food. Having calmed his nerves during the travel, he finds himself quite famished. He can imagine Nortrom will be as well as soon as he awakes.

Nortromthesilencer

The boy stirs once on the couch, the awkward angle of being carried by a small Keen more than enough to awaken him. He yawns, groggy, and stretches with a groan.

Nothing is out of place on the main floor, even if the boy looking around doesn’t know it. Tidy as can be, the main room and kitchen looked barely lived in, but completely free of dust and cobwebs. Nortrom gets up and stretches again, turning to Rizzrack with half lidded, sleepy eyes, “Is this your home?”

His eyes trace ever wall and angle. There is something oddly familiar about this place…

Rizzrack

Rizzrack rummages around through drawers and cabinets, tracking flecks of dirt across the floor. It can be comparable to a maze for the keen, coming across assorted kitchen ware instead of anything edible. Finally understanding the organization of things, he’s managed to gather a bowl with an assortment of fruit, seeds and strips of jerky.

The voice slightly startles him, and he panics at the question. “It’s y-… No, not exactly. But-” The keen hopes that being honest is the right thing. He walks over, lantern in one hand, bowl in the other. “I don’t think there would be any objections to me making myself home. As long as I keep the place tidy.” So much for keeping the floor clean. Rizzrack hands the bowl over to Nortrom before picking out a strip of meat for himself. He glances about chewing, and it’s then he realizes… He’s gotta go. Despite being so thirsty, he drank enough water to make it through him.

“Eat as much as you want. I’ve gotta take care of business really quick. I’ll be back, don’t worry.” Placing the lantern down so that Nortrom wouldn’t be left in the dark, Rizzrack steps outside to find a suitable spot to relieve himself in.

Nortromthesilencer

Food! Sweet, glorious, nourishing food! Nortrom is more than happy to begin to eat, his resolve of ignoring hunger gone the moment he smells the dried meats and other goodies. Manners are out the window, and the boy stuffs a large apple in his mouth and bites down greedily. He nods at Rizzrack, still remembering to not talk with his mouth full at least.

The small apple was no match for Nortrom’s mighty jaws. Taking a handful of seeds and a strip of meat, he looks curiously at the home. If this wasn’t Rizzrack’s home, than who was the owner and why were they gone? Nortrom stood up and explored the main floor: closets, bathing room, kitchen, and all. He noted stairs going up, and a large hatch in the hall, much too large for him to open alone, and decided the stairs were the best route for more adventure.

Lantern in hand, the boy ascended the wooden steps. The first room was tiny, and looked out of place with the rest of the tidy home. Loose sheets and books were strewn about, pillows thrown into a corner, papers with crude drawings messily tossed about. Whoever stayed in this room didn’t care much for organization. Moving on, another storage closet, and finally what looked to be the master bedroom. It’s was massive, the large four post bed near the entrance, wooden dressers and shelves lining the walls, a few desks, and… What was that? Against the wall there was a strange twine wrapped sculpture with a few open cut boxes and platforms placed at seemingly random points. It was damaged, the twine ripped and torn on the base of the main stand. What an odd looking thing.

In the dark the boy didn’t notice that not all was in place and neat, and he nearly fell over tripping on a loose black cloth that hung out of a flat case lying open on the ground. Kneeling to get a better look, it was then Nortrom noticed his lantern reflecting off something else partially obscured by this black cover.

A mirror. THE mirror.

He jumped back in shock, the strange words and jumbles of information Rizzrack had spoken off echoing in his head. How could he know this place if he had never been here? Something strange was going on, surely. Nortrom rushed back downstairs, leaving the open case and mirror where he found them, and called out looking for Rizzrack.

“Rizzrack, Rizzrack! I found the mirror- or I think I did! It’s just like I recall, come quick!” The panicked wonder and excitement was marred by an underlying fear in his voice.

Rizzrack

Head hanging back, eyes closed, Rizzrack looks to have almost fallen asleep standing, having already finished moments earlier. Swaying on the spot, it takes someone calling his name to snap him back to alertness.

“O-oh! Alright I’m on my way!”

Seconds later he’s run to the door and steps through, still slipping his gloves back on. “I’m here, I’m here. Where is it?” Curiosity peaks. When the mirror was first mentioned, Rizzrack didn’t think of it as a possible cause to Nortrom’s current state. He actually didn’t think such a thing existed, just something the boy thought up of as he tried so hard to recollect memories. But now? Maybe he can see just what happened, or how it happened, why… and if it could happen again.

“Show me, b-but let’s not touch it or anything yet, okay?”

Nortromthesilencer

He nodded, still overcome with excitement as he led the keen upstairs and into the master bedroom. There, on the floor where he left it, was a wooden box with runes carved along it’s edges, lid flipped open. Out of it a black satin like sheet led, curled over the edge and on to the wooden planks where it loosely wrapped around half of an ornate, silver framed, oval, mirror.

“This is what I saw– er– remember, sir. The wooden walls, the black sheet, the silver mirror; Everything!”

Nortrom set the lantern down on the ground, angling it to illuminate the room better as he looked around for some other source of light they could use. There was a torch scone by the balcony door, and the boy grabbed it and brought it over. “Here, this may help.” Rizzrack told him not to touch the mirror, and so the boy waited and watched instead.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack follows Nortrom up the stairs, finding the very act of climbing steps through a home to be… Nostalgic in a sense. Cautiously the keen follows Nortrom in, looking about at the belongings and studies before finally looking at what the boy is excited to show him. “So, this must be… Hmm.” Rizzrack grabs the torch and lights it. Holding it firmly in both hands he stares at Nortrom and waits for him to do something.

Oh, I’m the adult here. Well then.

“Uh…” Unsure and hesitant he looks to the mirror facing up. What if it pulls some other funny stuff? Step by step, inching closer, he gradually peers over at the mirror being sure to not let his reflection be seen by himself. “Do you remember saying any spells or incantations? Or touching it?” With a single finger he begins to inch the fabric off the mirror to show off more of its frame. Nothing quite happens yet, so to test the waters he waves a hand quickly over the top of it.

Nortromthesilencer

“I, hm…” The boy thought, the mirror reflected. Nothing happened as the mirror was revealed, safe for a greater reflection of light and flame off it’s now exposed surface. The hand shows as one would expect, and for all intents and purposes it’s just a mirror.

“I was holding it, looking at it but it wasn’t me. I mean, the reflection wasn’t right but I could be remembering wrong because that doesn’t make any sense.” Nortrom huffs to himself, realizing how silly it all sounded. Kneeling on the ground, he grows impatient and pulls the cloth all the way off, folding it neatly into the box but still not touching the mirror itself, “It’s just a mirror. I don’t see anything special about it.”

Rizzrack

“Well that’s the thing with weird magic stuff. They look like your typical book, you open it and then suddenly there’s five golems chasing you.” Still slightly suspicious of the mirror, he quickly taps it with the leather covered tip of his finger. Nothing still.

He slowly picks it up in one hand and begins rotating it around to inspect it, maybe even find something like instructions. This mirror has GOT to have been responsible for this. He even looked for cracks, recalling the mishap that hexing staff had caused. Then again, maybe the boy IS right. It hasn’t done anything to make him believe it’s magical. Rizzrack hums a note of disappointment and believes now that it is in fact just some ordinary mirror. He holds it over to Nortrom and decides that perhaps maybe there is something in the box.

Nortromthesilencer

Hesitant to take the mirror, Nortrom gives Rizzrack a concerned frown, looking for approval. The keen passing it over is good enough, and he takes the mirror in both hands just like he remembered. The edges are etched with ornate detail and flourishes, making this mirror look like something a Lord might have in his manor, but still there’s no sign of anything strange.

The boy watches Rizzrack explore the case, but finally works up the nerve to look directly at himself in the mirror. The light may be low but he can still make out his features, the black hair, the injuries, the blue eyes, the… wait. Something wrong. Nortrom can’t bring himself to look away no matter how hard he tries, and is unable to say a word or motion that this is the case. He’s stuck, transfixed staring at this mirror, trapped in his own body and knowing that this is the case. The boy’s mind spins, panicking, trying to use every thing he can to pull away and instead he just kneels there, calm, looking.

The reflection ripples ever so slightly. With each blurring motion it shifts, the boy’s face changing bit by bit. His features harden, lines becoming more defined, older. His eyes brighten with a soft glow, deep set and tired. His hair grows longer, his jaw more square. The boy is terrified now, his body shaking from fear. Once the image has completely changed to what he perceives as a completely different person (Or was it really?) he pulls back with a gasp.

Panting for air, Nortrom is quick to place the mirror down and back away. The image on the mirror hasn’t moved with him, acting more like a picture frame than a reflective surface. Still panting, he points in exasperation to this oddity taking place, hoping Rizzrack pays attention.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack is completely unaware of what goes on behind him. The silly keen is much too occupied pecking around the fabric and wood of the box. No etchings, no scrolls, no writings in blood. He sighs, feeling they were no closer to solving this mystery. He scratches the back of his neck while pondering about the next step to take when sounds of shuffling catch his attention. It sounded quick and abrupt so he turns and sees a very bewildered boy pointing down to the mirror. He assumes the boy dropped the mirror and is panicking, fearing he may have broken it.

“Nortrom, it’s okay it’s okay! It’s just a silly mirr-YEIP!” Hand reaching to pick up the object quickly recoils back. Nortrom’s older visage burned into the reflection completely catches Rizzrack off guard.

“D-Do you see that too?!” He points to it, looking like a pink midget parody of the boy. “The mirror IS responsible!”

Nortromthesilencer

“I– Who is that? What is that?” Eyes darting between Rizzrack and the mirror, Nortrom gets to his feet and scratches his hair, dumbfounded. “Why would that have to do with all of this? I’ve never been here bef–” His word cuts with a violent jerk, the boy choking back a harsh breath. His hands flex, confusion drawing into a pained grimace and another lurching jolt. Nortrom’s hands gripped at his clothing, looking for something to hold on to as the pain intensified.

“It hurts! What, what is going on?!?” The child’s knees buckled and he fell forward, form crunching low and arms moving over his head. It hurt, oh god did it hurt. He felt like his body was being torn in two, mind being ripped from his head and flung around the room, innards twisting and turning in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Forcing himself out of his confined ball, he looked up at Rizzrack in agony, tears rolling down his face, “Rizzrack! Help, it hurts!”

Another jolt of pain extorts a yelp and the boy falls forward, head pressed to the ground on his knees, rocking back and forth as he cried out for the torment to stop.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack stammers, trying to figure out how to safely explain to the boy he’s looking at the older version of himself. Before he can even form a coherent word, the boy’s cries of pain alert him to panic. What’s happening? He’s just as confused as Nortrom is.

He quickly crawls over to the boy, trying to look under him, trying to see if something were harming him. But there seems to be no outer source causing. Instead, something within, and Rizzrack feels completely powerless to stop it. Here he is, this poor child who has already gone through more pain than anyone should in a day let alone their life, crying out for help to a keen who can’t do anything at all.

“I-I want to but I can’t I-” his own hands grip the brim of his helm in helpless horror. No, there must be something, there MUST be something! Pained pleas, tears of suffering, desperate begging… It quickly overwhelms Rizzrack. He embraces the boy in one last attempt to stop the pain, and that’s when he eyes the mirror. That damned thing, the cause of all this pain! He hated it. Absolutely hated it. And anything Rizzrack hated, he destroyed no matter what.

Lunging for the mirror, he grips it with both hands, fingers pressed so tight the frame of it crackled. Then with arms over head, mirror raised high, he brings it down and smashes it back down into the box from whence it came.

“FUCK you!”

A slam of the lid follows suit, and the trembling keen turns back towards the child. Well… Rizzrack expected to turn back and see a child

Nortromthesilencer

The shattering shower of glass brought with it a flickering light, each shard a spotlight that condensed where the child was blinded him from the outside world. Blinded by light, blinded by pain, blinded by how own hands over his eyes as he screamed, the massive arcane force that erupted from that spot blew papers and sheets from their rest, snuffed the lights, and knocked the child flat on his back.

Well, sort of.

By the time he hit the ground, it was no child. The contorting pain materialized from the light, dissolving over his body and in an instant reforming into a much larger frame. It only took seconds for everything to settle down as though nothing had happened, save the mess of papers and now grown man splayed out on the ground in casual attire. As for the rest of the room, it was dark as once before.

Nortrom groaned, lips curled in a sneer. His head was pounding, akin to the one time he found himself hung over and swore never to do that again. Keeping his eyes shut he rubbed his hands down his face a few times, skin stretching, massaging, in hopes it would help relieve some of his grogginess. Slowly he opened his eyes, the pale blue glow easily seen in the dark of the night. Night? Just how long had he been out? Last time Nortrom remembered it was early morning…

Rizzrack

Rizzrack was quiet, silent, listening to the familiar grunts of a grumpy man. The glow of eyes is unsettling. Rizzrack knows very well that, despite darkness masking all, there is no longer a child there. Still coping with the overload of emotions moments earlier, he remains still with held breath. After what nearly felt like a minute, he slowly takes in a deep breath and makes his presence known with a cautious whisper.

“Nortrom?

Nortromthesilencer

The voice from the silence made Nortrom jump to a sitting position, only to immediately regret getting up so fast and bend forward, holding himself up by a hand as he waited for the dizzy spell to pass. He sighed, shaking his head, an odd after feeling lingering, heavy, hazy, and definitely not comfortable.

“Rizzrack? What the hell are you doing here?” Slowly looking towards the balcony window, the Silencer grunted in annoyance, “What time is it? Actually, better yet, what day?” He had to know how long it had been.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack flinches, still programed to react to Nortrom’s pain with concern. He grows aware that Nortrom may not remember anything at all, and the thought of trying to explain anything without sounding crazy (hah) seems like a waste of time. Despite those thoughts, Rizzrack digs around for the matches he grabbed earlier. Finding the lantern where he last saw it, he lights it and finds the man sitting and quite frankly, still looking terrible.

“Uh, it’s… About three in the morning. A Tuesday morning.”

All a complete guess, well, the time is a guess. The day of the week is based on Rizzrack’s own calendar as he hasn’t seen an official one in years. He could be right. He could be wrong. Who knows? What he does know Nortrom is not going to be happy to see him, his room in a mess and… Oh, the mirror. Rizzrack hopes that wasn’t important.

“Does anything hurt?” He’s still concerned. Every second looking at the Silencer that passes, his heart sinks more and more, but despite it all, he is happy to know that Nortrom isn’t hurting anymore.

It feels so strange.

Nortromthesilencer

“Three in the…? Ah fuck…” The whole day was gone. Great. That’s exactly what he didn’t need to hear, but had to accept it all the same.

Nortrom squinted as the light was shone, piercing in the darkness uncomfortably. He got to his feet, a bit wobbly at first, and reached up to the hanging brazier from the ceiling beams above. The spring flint tied to it’s frame served it’s roll well, allowing the man to light the coals and illuminate the room fully.

“Hurt? How about everything? I swear, that’s the last time I believe the reports when they say that something is inert…” He grumbles to himself, bitter about this whole situation. Artifact retrieval? Sure, a common task and something he’s done many times. Most, however, were correct in their handling procedures and expectant of the way his powers behaved oddly around magic. This time, not so much. Stretching his shoulders, Nortrom vowed to punch whoever wrote that damned report.

“I feel like my head’s being accosted by a small siege engine. Ugh. Rizzrack, you haven’t seen a silver framed mirror around here, have you?”

He looked around, the arcane binding case still by his feet, closed roughly with the protective drapery stuck out of the edges, and wondered if he actually managed to seal the damned thing before blacking out. Squatting down, Nortrom started to notice something else, the small flecks of glass hinting at something more. A sudden look of worry marred his features, and he bolted to open the case.

Shards. Lots and lots of shards and a bent silver frame. The colour drained from his face. “… I am in so much trouble…”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack said nothing when asked about the mirror. He watched Nortrom walk over to the box, his heart speeding up with every step. He was glad he could walk again without casts but at the same time… The look on Nortrom’s face was nearly enough to get Rizzrack to jump over the balcony and run. He won’t say what happened, but his looks we’re a dead give away to anyone that he knew what happened. After all, the keen looked guiltier than a dog covered in pillow feathers. He set the lantern down in a safe spot upon a desk. Just in case.

“It was… I’m sure it was already broken to begin with. Heh… Anywhoo, um, it’s… Good to see you’re alive and well at least. With great use of your legs again. So I’m just gonna go…. Okay?” He squeaks as he begins to step his way to the bedroom door.

Nortromthesilencer

His head darted from the mirror to the keen, expression piercing, worried, ready to stop Rizzrack if he attempted to run, “Wait. You still haven’t explained why the hell you’re in my house.” Something was up. He knew it.

Throwing his hands up and running them roughly through his hair with a very loud groan, Nortrom knew he was going to hear hell from this. He kicked the case in frustration, mumbling to himself ways he could explain this. “No, no… No matter how I spin this I’m in deep shit…” He was supposed to bring back an inert, thought lost, artifact, retrieved from the depth of an abandoned ruin. Instead, he shattered it before transit.

His hands gripped as his hair, tugging a bit, frustrated. “Rizzrack, what the hell happened here?”

Rizzrack

Remember, you can run! He’s upset, he’s not gonna listen, and you’ll permanently get on his bad side.

Rizzrack is nearly at the door but he can’t find that last push to get out.

You broke the man’s legs before, if he gave you a chance after that, then surely he will after you explain everything and this broken mirror.

“Okay okay! I’ll explain everything! But it’s a long story and you’ve got to hear me out on this.”

He tells Nortrom of how he found a young boy out in the middle of nowhere being attacked by bandits. He tells Nortrom of how he saved the boy, how they travelled to a town to get fuel so he could take the child home, how the child got recaptured, how they escaped….

“So we get to the river, there’s a bit of a misunderstanding between us, hence, heh why I’m all muddy. Anyways long story short I apologized, the little boy apologized, we had a nice quiet trip back to home–your home, then he found the mirror. Then that… That damned thing…” He snarls. “He touched it and that thing was hurting him and I, I didn’t know how to stop it except by smashing it. So I did it, I smashed it. Alright?” He sighs, no longer looking ready to run, but instead intent on setting everything straight and approaches Nortrom closer, ready to tell him the rest. “But…” Suddenly his throat tightens on him and he chokes on his words.

Oh God no.

His hands go up to his face, covering his mouth but failing to cover the tears that begin to well in his eyes. “That poor boy is gone now, and now you’re here. B-but so many terrible things happened… to him…to you…that poor child was you.” Rizzrack can barely hold himself together as he looks up to Nortrom, barely sputtering out his words between choking sobs. The little keen is so distraught. “Why DID they hurt you? You didn’t deserve ANY of that!” The last few seconds he spent with the boy is burned in his mind. His pleading cries, his pain. His eyes connect with that glowing blue gaze, and he fears that somewhere in there, he is still hurting greatly.

And there is nothing Rizzrack can do to help.

The day’s events have obviously taken their toll on the small-keen. He begins to pace about, sobbing and muttering fragments of sentences. Poor child, poor Nortrom. He recalls a particular moment after he discovered the identity of the child, and Rizzrack can only curse the name of Aeol Drias repeatedly.

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom listened intently, becoming more confused as the story went on. How peculiar! So the mirror had some sort of chronology altering affect on him, changing his form and pulling from his past memories to recreate what he once was. Nortrom hummed in curiosity, brows furrowed as he thought.

Hearing Rizzrack’s fervored passion for the trials and tribulations that his child self faced, the Silencer sighed and tilted his head sympathetically, “Rizzrack, it sounds like you’ve been through a lot today. I admit, I’m still not completely sure what happened, but I do know you need some rest. If you want you can sleep here, I’ll get a quilt and some pillows from the closet, and the couch should be more than big enough.” Truth was that Nortrom too was exhausted and needed time to think this all over, and knew he would have more questions for the keen in the morning.

“I think we both need some rest. I’ll deal with the mirror tomorrow.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack could not speak a reply. Face in elbows to hide his tears, the small-keen could only nod in agreement that yes, he would like to rest. The desire for comfort exceeds his wants for the safety of his suit. There is a little quivering peep of “thanks” before Rizzrack turns to leave, making a straight bee-line for the couch. He won’t delay himself from sleep any longer.

Hands first, knees follow. He crawls onto the couch. Face into the crevice between backrest and armrest, the rest of himself curls up into a little ball, quite similar to how he could sleep within his suit. The only article of wear removed from his body is his bucket helmet, which sits just below his feet also on the couch. Crusted boots, stale gloves, Nortrom’s couch won’t be making it out of this encounter spotless. Already content to be laying down and finally hiding from it all, he closes his eyes.

The shudderings and sniffles gradually leave to leave only the slow and steady sounds of rhythmic respiration.

Nortromthesilencer

Glad that his offer was accepted (as it would mean not having to hunt the Keen down at a later date), Nortrom followed his downstairs and grabbed a thick blanket from the linen closet as well as a spare down pillow. He set the pillow beside the curled up Rizzrack so that he could grab it as he pleased, and unfurled the blanket over top the poor Keen. He looked pathetic, curled up, crying, and now tucked away in his little blanket cocoon. The tired Silencer wished to follow suit, and head back upstairs to get the torches doused.

Torch snuffed, Keen put to bed, it was time to zonk out. Flopping down on the bed with little care for clothing, Nortrom was lost in slumber mere seconds later. For once his sleep was uneventful, no dreams to recall, only the dead silence of night. He awoke early, as usual, and checked on the mirror now that the sun was starting to rise and illuminate the room.

It was unsalvageable. Nortrom expected as much, but had to be sure. Careful to not miss any shards, he tucked them into the black satin cloth and set it all gently in the case. Not making a sound he tip toed downstairs with the broken bundle. Rizzrack was curled up, still snoozing away, with Stig contently loafing in the morning sun that grazed one of the many windowsills. Assuming he had time before the keen awoke, Nortrom decided to quickly use the teleport route to Aeol Drias and get the whole mirror fiasco over with as soon as possible.

***

The sun was overhead, time well past noon. Nortrom groaned as he shut the door, careful not to bend his shoulders too far or touch his back to anything as he walked. Even with the fresh bandaging wrapped about his upper torso, the brushing of his loose shirt stung the freshly torn nerves. As expected, the Factol’s were pissed. This was a mistake he made in handling an artifact, something irreplaceable and deemed important to the order, and it was only fair that he be punished as such.

Walking with an awkward gait from the lashing injuries across his back, still fresh, still lightly soaking the bandages in a soft red, Nortrom grabbed the pitcher of water on the kitchen counter and poured himself something to drink. By this point the man had forgotten he had let Rizzrack stay the night, and instead focused more on thoughts of what he could have done better to prevent this all from happening. There were no doubts in Nortrom’s mind that this was his fault ultimately.

Rizzrack

He awoke. For what may have been the tenth time. He can’t remember what keeps waking him. Maybe he’s just not used to sleeping this way. Once again he turned to his opposite side, facing outside the couch and pulls the quilt over his head. He had to keep reminding himself of where he was, where his suit was, and of course to not panic. Everything will be fine.

The door opens. A stranger? A visitor? It’s Nortrom. He figures he must have not heard him left in the first place. Where did he go to? Rizzrack peers beneath the covers, watching him make his way into the kitchen. Why is he walking like that? Why is he making that face? Is he upset? It would be understandable. Rizzrack mimics the expression, trying to understand this new situation. Should he stay quiet? He waits for Nortrom to turn the other way and takes this opportunity to sit up, tossing aside the quilt and finding his helmet (now on the floor) he places it back upon his head. He eyes the door, looks back to the man, then steps down from the couch and makes his way over towards him.

“Nortrom?” Rizzrack approaches the corner of the counter and rests his fingers and chin upon it, keeping the rest of himself hidden. “Thanks for letting me sleep here.” He backs his face away from the counter, but hands remain upon it. “Look I… sorry again about the mirror. If there’s any way I can make that up to you…”

He spies something on the back of Nortrom’s shirt. Something that could be easily glanced over. A small, reddish spot. The keen’s brows crease with worry as the sight raises within his mind certain thoughts. “… Are you okay?”

Nortromthesilencer

He flinched at the voice, remembering second later that yes he allowed Rizzrack to sleep there the night. Nortorm huffed a small, entertained, chuckle at his reaction before continuing on grabbing a plate and stove rack from the cupboards. “Good morning, or should I say afternoon?” He shrugs, wincing and immediately regretting the action.

Figuring it would be best to be polite, he poured a second glass of water for the keen and set it before him, then took a large swig of his own. God he needed that. “I’m fine. And I already spoke with my superiors about the mirror. It’s been dealt with.”

Nortrom went to the small stove and lit the flame, placing the rack topper above and waiting for it to heat. He turned to Rizzrack, trying his best to act casual, “Hungry?” Sure it wouldn’t be anything special, but right now Nortrom craved something substantial, and he knew he had a thick cut of venison in cold storage that would fit his needs very well.

Starting to walk down the hall to gather what he needed, the man stopped, “Rizzrack, I– Hm. If you don’t mind, I would like to discuss the other day. I have questions.”

Rizzrack

His worry never leaves him despite Nortrom’s cheery greeting (which Rizzrack finds uncharacteristic of him). He takes the cup and sips it, nose bumping the opposite side of the rim. It’s a typical experience when drinking from something other than a bottle. He says nothing and once again just settles to accept that what is done is done, and the mirror will now only be a thing of the past.

At being asked if he was hungry, his mouth immediately waters and he perks up. “Yes. Yes yes I am very hungry. heh.” He’s distracted momentarily from his worries, now peering over at Nortom and curious to see what he may possibly be looking for to make.

“O-oh, sure.” Oh boy, question time. These sort of things could go either way, but Rizzrack can’t find any reason for this discussion to go negatively. After all, it’s not only his hunger he hopes to satiate. His curiosity had desires as well, and he hopes to learn of some more things to answer his questions. Taking that as a cue, Rizzrack places the cup back down upon the counter and walks after Nortrom.

“So! Interrogation time…” he claps his hands together, the gloves making a muffled and dusty slap. “Ask anything you want, just don’t go Good Guard Bad Guard on me, hehheh.”

Nortrom’s odd gait does not escape his notice.

Nortromthesilencer

“Heh, right. It’s more the fact that I can’t remember any of the events you spoke of yesterday,” Kicking aside the rug at the end of the hallway, Nortrom reveals a large wooden hatch with an iron ring fit into the floor. He pulls it open, both the hatch and him making pained sounds, and descends the steps. Even with how dark it was in the storage, the Silencer didn’t bother to light the torch scone as he knew exactly where he left the meat hanging, a large leg of venison, and also a crate that was mostly empty of vegetables. He threw the leg on top of the crate and took the whole thing in one lift, again wincing in pain as he did so, and walked back up the stone steps.

“You said I was child? How did you know it was me in the first place? Did I have any recollection of my current life, or was I fully regressed back?” It was awkward walking with such a large bundle in arm, but he managed to make it to the kitchen and plop the whole thing down on the counter. A cutting board and large knife were also set aside, and soon he was butchering the meat. (May I not that Nortrom didn’t know a damned thing about proper butchering and only cut based on his hunting experience from years of living alone. He was sure any professional chef would smack him upside the head for improper technique and ruining such fresh cuts of meat with his awkward angles and poor separation.)

“Though, all in all, you did get me back here. What the hell is with things recently and you being stuck dragging me back home?” He forced an awkward laugh, still hacking away at the deer leg.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack nods and waits at the top of the entrance, peering down into the darkness. He’s fine not following all the way through.

“Yes. I didn’t know it was you at first. You were polite, well-mannered, I can say I was impressed! I can’t say I agree with all of that resulting in you being timid and fearful. You had mentioned the Hazhadal Barrens and then I noticed you look like a, well, young version of you. It just added up.” He rambles on as the Silencer returns and heads back to the kitchen. The small-keen continues to trail after him. “I could actually be fooled into believing I somehow ended up in the past. You had no idea about your future self. Heh, in fact, when I tried to tell you, it was too much and you freaked out on me.” Rizzrack shrugs. “I can’t really blame you for that reaction. You had a terrible day getting kidnapped and beaten up…” Rizzrack wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to go further into detail with that event. Even just thinking about it brought about feelings of anger. He’s practically seeing red.

Wait a second.

Instead of joining Nortrom in a bout of awkward chuckles, Rizzrack is silent. He takes off his glove carefully. He stares at the man’s back while he cuts away. There are specks of red on the fabric that congregates just below his shoulders. He reaches up as high as he can and lightly presses his hand to Nortrom’s back. Please don’t be blood.

Nortromthesilencer

Still listening but not saying anything as he concentrated on not cutting himself, Nortrom nodded. A few nice steaks later, the man is about to turn around when he suddenly feels pressure against the recently torn skin of his back and yelps, jumping with a hiss from both being startled and in pain. Whipping around to look at what had just happened, he spies the small keen and exhales with a dramatic huff, “What the hell are you doing?!?” The anger subsides into a slumped sigh, and huffilly the man grabs two large steaks and takes them to the stove top. “I said I’m fine. It will heal, and I’ll change the bandages out in a bit.”

He didn’t enjoy the intrusion, or the method Rizzrack used to confirm his suspicions. going back and forth to throw random vegetables on the stove top grill as well, the man growls. “Fine, look, I’ll level with you here: This is twice now you’ve been privy to information about me and my past that I don’t exactly share with others,” He hovered a hand over the grill to check the temperatures then went back to set out some plates, “I’m none too pleased with that fact.”

Nortrom pushed the crate to the end of the counter, wiping down where it was with a cloth. Resting his elbows on the table in a leaning position, chin on his hands, the man sighed again. His eyes trailed from the stove to Rizzrack, efforts to hide his anxiety and what went on while Rizzrack was sleeping, gone.

“My superiors were not pleased that the mirror was broken. It was only natural that I be disciplined for such a failure. My mission was the bring back the artifact in tact. I did not. It’s nothing to worry about and dealt with.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack stepped back, honestly having expected to be punted after it became apparent there was quite an injury under there. “I suspected you’re hiding something! I want to know what happened. Who hurt you?” His tone was firm and demanding and unwavering. He felt completely entitled to know.

The keen repositions himself, moving to the opposite side of Nortrom now, attempting to get face to face with him and still demanding to know.

Stern expression becomes concerned. “Just because of that? But it wasn’t your fault! You told them I broke it, right? Then they should have been understanding!” He huffs and clenches his hands into fists at his sides. “This isn’t dealt with at all. In fact I should be dealing with it! I should go there and give them a piece of my mind, that’s what I should do.” He grumbles, unaware of how ridiculous he sounds.

Nortromthesilencer

Nortrom rolled his eyes, “Oh don’t be absurd.” He pulled the meat from the rack, cutting it open to check. It was bloody and pink in the middle, just how he liked it. Not knowing if Rizzrack liked his steaks this rare or not, he plated them anyways.

“It’s completely my fault, and foolish to think I don’t deserve some form of disciplinary action for failing at my duties. I mishandled the artifact, leading to it’s activation. There is no one to blame here by myself.”

Nortorm grabbed each plate and went to the table, placing them down. A large venison steak with roasted vegis awaited the pair.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack finds it fruitless getting anywhere with Nortrom on this subject and settles with dropping it. What a shame. He opens his mouth to begin another conversation, but he becomes distracted watching Nortrom carry two plates to the table with the most delicious looking cuts of meat he’s seen in ages.

Hungry.

SO HUNGRY.

He walks over to one of the plates set down and looks to Nortrom as if to confirm that one was for him. Yes. Gloves are set on the table and he grasps the portion of meat with his hands and quite greedily begins to tear into it. He’s not even sitting. No time to sit, only time to eat. He gets more ravenous, forgetting whatever manners he may have as he bites off as much as he can without choking.

“Mmffmf hnk yu. mmfff.” He finishes his mouthful. “I haven’t had anything this good in who knows how long!” Easy to say when one lives off insects, fish and the occasional fowl. Another bite of meat is taken, and the veggies are continued to be left ignored.

Nortromthesilencer

While the man raises a brow at Rizzrack’s ravenous display, he isn’t put off by it and instead cuts himself a few large pieces and also enjoys finally eating something of substance.

“Good? I heated meat. Most people would call my cooking abysmal, so I admit I’m now curious as to what the hell you normally eat.” It couldn’t be much if this randomly charred pile of roots and meat counted as ‘good’ by any standard but his own.

Feeling it best not to disturb the keen as he eats, Nortrom is content in silently devouring his own plate and glass of water. Time passes with neither saying a word, the only sound is of them chewing and tearing away. After feeling full and taking the final mouthful of water from his glass, Nortrom sets it down with a loud and content sigh before looking once more at the keen, more seriously this time.

“I’m hoping you won’t go and speak of certain things to others that you may have seen or heard of about me, Rizzrack. Given the fact you’ve been painted a very jaded and incomplete picture, I’ll answer your questions, but it’s not because I feel any sort of kinship here. It’s because I don’t want you getting the wrong impression about things.”

Rizzrack

The meat soon vanished into the small-keen. Rizzrack picks around at the left over veggies on his plate, inspecting them. Deeming only SOME of them to be suitable for consumption, he decides to eat just one. If only to not be rude. He’s quite full now.

Chewing the last mouthful, he rests his elbows upon the table and clasps his fingers together to give his chin something softer than wood to rest on. “Do you think I’m that kind of person?” He pauses, remembering not too long ago he made it almost a routine to put up signs around the local town that slandered the Silencer. “I mean, whatever sort of things I did say were obviously not true.” He takes a few seconds to slip his gloves back on before returning back to his previous pose. “How was I supposed to know this… Fold… was responsible for such terrible acts?” His brows rise as he remembers. “By the way, did you get that locket to its intended recipient?” One hand moves to prop his cheek. “I hope so. I… I really thought you were just looting the bodies. I know now though, and I think I can say I don’t like The Fold either.”

Nortromthesilencer

Fingers tapping on the edge of the table, Nortrom frowns. “I doubt you share what transpired at Augury Bay with any real detail with most, as it wasn’t a pleasant time for you. I will say most of my life fits that theme, and would still appreciate it kept to yourself.” The man reclined in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. Pressure being put on his back, he flinched, leaning back forward almost immediately. That was a bad move that also alerted him to the fact that bandages would have to be swapped soon, as his shirt was getting ruined.

“Mmhm. Unfortunately when he pried the locket open, the picture inside was destroyed, but the sentiment of the piece remained. What ill fated timing for her to visit during– well. It’s too late to ruminate on that. What happened, happened. As for the Fold, do not think me innocent either. My role is a soldier and sort of inquisitor: I fight. I kill. I interrogate. I torture. Though, I can at least say I have not slaughtered a village merely for being neutral in the conflict,” He chuckled, as despite the dark occurrence there was a morbid humour in it to the Silencer that he doubted Rizzrack would share, “I was bred, in all technicalities, to commit genocide.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack gives a questioning nod of agreement. He did at first, way back when he sought help and comfort. Bits and pieces of events dressed with tears as he struggled to share his horrors. Of course, the first few merely attempted to correct his accounts into a different narrative. Outside of his own kind, others merely pitied him, seeing him as a confused and traumatized victim of war like many others. Over time his attempts at telling the whole story grew shorter and shorter, until eventually it only became a single sentence summary he’d blurt out before proceeding with a cutting spree. He nods firmly now. The small-keen deems himself a better audience than those he hoped would listen to himself. Nortrom should count himself lucky.

A disappointed sigh, but the locket will be treasured regardless he supposes. Rizzrack continues to listen, his brows furrow and he shifts on the spot uncomfortably as Nortrom lists off his duties. It’s not something he agrees with, but because of recent events, a new light is shed on conflict and war to the keen that he was unfamiliar with. It’s not exactly black and white, but at least Rizzrack knows he prefers the lesser of two evils. It’s Nortrom’s last statement that gets the keen to finally speak up.

“You’re telling me your purpose is to kill? Nortrom, the Timbersuit is made to kill. You can see it in the design. Are you telling me you were born with a glaive and shield in your hands?”

Nortromthesilencer

The comparison makes the Silencer laugh, albeit lightly. He shakes his head, “Yes and no… It was ordained well before I was born what my duty would be; Two-hundred years before hand actually. I was crafted, made over seven generations of selective breeding according to a prophesied pedigree to be the ‘worlds greatest battle mage’,” He scoffs as he speaks the title, finding his this whole breeding thing to be ridiculous, “A creation to smite the Fold. From birth I was trained to this task. Alas, it was not a mage they got, but a child without a drop of magic. You can imagine how upset that made many.” With a sigh Nortrom shakes his head and lets it droop over-dramatically.

Lifting himself back the man stood, clearing the plates as he still spoke, “You, on the other hand, are a clean slate. While your past may have taken much from you, your future is unsure as you have yet to create it. Any place, any journey, any task: Fate is yours to command. But I? Just as your timber suit is a tool for your destruction, as I am theirs. My life has been decided for me, and because I owe my order everything: They created me, raised me, educated me, fed me, clothed me, and gave me purpose; I am forever in their debt.”

A dipped in sink like wash basin lies set into the back counter, and Nortrom places the dishes within and grabs a nearby cloth, washing them down. He sighs, the cold water raising goose-bumps on his arms while the rippling, sloshing, feel of the suds calm his nerves from speaking about all of this.

“So yes, in a way I was born with a glaive in my hands and blood on my boots.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack listens, recalling at the river how the young Nortrom took it much more negatively than expected when the keen laughed at the thought of him casting a spell. Imagine, being held to such high expectations and being essentially turning out to be a dud to everyone? “Well they shouldn’t have taken their disappointment out on you. Still, looks like you showed them, hm? I bet you left them…. speechless!” The small-keen laughs at his own shitty joke before quieting back down. Rizzrack doesn’t know very much of the arcane world, but he does know Silencer’s ability is a bit uncanny. They must’ve felt like complete fools for punishing the poor boy.

He moves from his leaning spot over to the chair Nortrom left and decides to keep the seat in use, preferring to stay near the man but not in his way as he washed. “Nortrom, have you ever thought that maybe… I dunno..” He rests his arm horizontally on the table and props his head with his hand. “I’m guessing that to you, they’re the closest thing you’d call family, right? Parents do all those things, but do they expect you to pay them back? No! They want you to grow and follow your own dreams! My family made harvesters, I wanted to make toys. Did they stop me? Maybe my uncle b-but that’s not the point. The point is, you don’t owe them anything. You just think you need them.” Rizzrack crosses his arms and nods, feeling confident with his points. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s quite the opposite. They need you!”

Rizzrack begins to get a little too excited, having transitioned from sitting to standing on his little improvised soap-box. “Demand better treatment! Better pay! Compensation for the pain they’ve put you through! Or else you’ll leave them, THEN they’ll be sorry!”

Nortromthesilencer

“Your passion is admirable, but no, a parent has a child to build a family. I was ‘crafted’ not birthed, the intent was never to be more than a tool of war. Besides, it’s not as bad as that all sounds, I actually enjoy many part of my job.”

One final pass to dry the dishes, and Nortrom leans against the counter facing Rizzrack, “And I do get paid well. You see this? How I live?” He extends an arm, paying notice to how barren and plain his home was, “I choose to live this way because I enjoy the simplicity. Financially, I’m quite well off, even if my home doesn’t display luxury.” It was true; Nortrom had been paid since graduation, and never spent the money on much. Instead he saved, hording it in a sense, but not because of greed but due to the exact opposite: There was nothing he wanted to splurge on. Now he was one of the richest men in Aeol Drias yet none would know based on how he acted or lived.

“There’s also something quite therapeutic about interrogating someone. After a long, stressful, week of battle, the control you have during torture is… cathartic.” A morbid smirk painted his lips. Soon he shook it away, not wanting to drag Rizzrack into his other hidden side, the side of sadism.

Nortrom shoved himself off the counter and decided to finally do something about these bandages that weren’t stopping much. He stepped out toward the hall, pulling his shirt off and revealing the wraps around his torso and the myriad of scars peeking out from under them. While the bleeding strips were new, many marks on his skin told much older tales, some painful, some memorable, all now permanent reminders etched into himself.

“Wait, you said you wanted to be a toy maker? Is that why you wanted to work on those spinning things before? Hm, what a contrast, from making toys to the timbersuit!”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack looks unsettled by the grin. He gives a nervous chuckle before sitting back down and passing it off as Nortrom’s strange sense of humor. He watches the man step off, observes him taking off the shirt and takes notice of the stained wraps. He winces at the sight. He himself has scars, but are mere nicks in comparison to Nortrom’s. Those fresh lines will just be another layer upon his body.

Rizzrack turns away and focuses on his fidgeting hands at the table while he waits for the Silencer to tend to himself. He only pipes up again after Nortrom speaks. “Y-yes, I did.” He confirms bashfully. His mouth does a poor job resisting the urge to form a smile. “Heh, cutting things is what I do, but not the only thing I do! I’ve gotta make gold somehow.” He returns to resting his chin on the table while his feet swing about idly. “It is. I honestly never would have expected it. My Uncle tried to teach me to design and build machines, just like him. It never really felt like my thing. My creations were far from practical. The first prototype I designed was deemed a failure for having ‘too many legs and not enough wheels.’ Needless to say, my plans were left to gather dust in the workshop, but as you can see I eventually made use of them.” He adds as he waves a hand to where the Timbersuit is parked outside.

The small-keen sighs as solemn thoughts approach. “Every day I wonder what things would be like if I had-” he flinches as the rest of the words stop at the edge of his tongue. It’s a thought that plagues him, that eats away at his strength and power and renders him to feeling at fault. It’s a thought that hurts no matter how he looks at it, and the only way to avoid the pain is to avoid the thought.

But perhaps now he can face it? Rizzrack attempts to start over, but chokes on the same word. “I-I’m sorry I… Nevermind. I almost let myself get off track.” He sits silently, but his mind refuses to drop the topic. “Nortrom, do you ever wish you could change the past? If you could, would you? If you knew you could make everything better?”

Nortromthesilencer

Rizzrack’s own fumbling words do not go unnoticed. Going down the hall, Nortrom too falls into silence as the keen fights for what to say, grabbing a small box from the closet and a couple of wash-clothes before returning. Then, Rizzrack tries once more but this time with a question. Nortrom hums, brows furrowed in thought. Would he?

“I– There are not many things I would attempt to change. What I’ve been through, it’s made me who I am. It’s shaped me, my personality, my skills, and more. To take that all back would be to erase myself entirely.” He sighs, carefully unwrapping himself and trying to not get blood on any of his furniture. Part way through Nortrom stops and stares at the ground, lost in thought. “Though, there is one thing I… No. To even think on it is pointless. What’s done is done, and dwelling on the past with hopeless potentials will only make it harder to move on.”

Even saying that, he wasn’t completely convinced. His expression remained lost, somewhere else, contemplating what could have been. The one person who needed saving most of all, the one person he would want to help above all else–

Nortrom snapped out of his trance when he felt the bandage loop come loose the rest of the way and fall on to the floor. He swore under his breath, bundling it up and making sure no stains were left on his floor. He carefully set them beside the washbasin, dipping a cloth in before reaching awkwardly to pat his back clean.

“The one thing I regret most of all, that will never leave my memory no matter how long time goes on, is not mine to change. Even if I could go back, there is no guarantee I could even right things. For all I know, my interference would only make it worse in the end.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack remains silent at the table as he dwells on Nortrom’s views. Why wouldn’t anyone go back to undo all the wrong that’s been done? Or to erase everything bad that’s happened? If the keen sacrificing his present self meant his family… everyone could still be alive to this day, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Nortrom wouldn’t go back for any benefit of himself, but he feels a hesitance he can empathize with when Nortrom considered it for another’s sake.

The keen’s restless legs fall still as he considers his next question. He has a hunch about who this person is, all based on Nortrom’s spilled secrets during his vulnerable stupor. He thinks it over, running various versions of questions through his head to see if Nortrom’s opinion stands firm, rewording them more and more until it comes out quite suddenly and blunt. “Do you think it’d be better if you never knew him, like how you never knew your parents?”

Nortromthesilencer

A few winces here, a grunt there, and some very strange stretches in an attempt to reach all of the wounds, but Nortrom manages to clean himself up for the most part. From the box, a first aid kit of sorts, he pulls out some disinfectant and gauze. In the middle of reaching around again to apply the disinfectant, he’s forced to stop by the Keen’s question. Nortrom makes a small, uncomfortable sound as he places the disinfectant back down.

“That–” He freezes mid breath, eyes darting to the side, uncomfortable, unsure. Would he be better off? “He… He caused a lot of issues, for me, for everyone. We were raised the same, expected to be the same, and hidden from one another all the same but he took things very differently. I… I regret not being able to help him when he needed it most. Had I never met him though? Had he never existed?”

Nortrom sighed, this was quite hard to talk about. His voice was losing it’s rough edge, almost cracking at the ends of his sentences while he spoke. Feeling a need to fiddle as his nerves always called for, he turned to the gauze and started to wrap himself back up while speaking, softer than before, “If I never met him, then hundreds, perhaps thousands would still be alive. Icarus would not have been driven to madness. My friends would not have been tortured. I would not have b–” Another pause, and a low hum. “I do not know the answer to that, Rizzrack. Through him I learnt more about myself than I ever had known before. Through him I finally knew family. The pain he caused was enormous, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. I’m sorry, I just can’t answer that.”

By this point his voice was wavering, each word taking astounding effort to form and say. Nortrom takes a shaky breath, and holds his jaw tightly clenched. He knew that to speak now would carry the risk of emotions overflowing, and that wasn’t something he wanted to show. Concentrating completely now on patching himself up, the Silencer remained silent once more.

Rizzrack

For the first time since Nortrom began tending to his wounds, Rizzrack looks to him, feeling his pain in a way. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why the man could love or care deeply for someone who hurt him so much. He can see Nortrom himself doesn’t understand as well. The keen is feeling quite sorry for bringing that up for him, having never seen the Silencer this open, this exposed. He sees something in common between them, and he pities him for it.

“We don’t have to talk about this anymore. You’ve shared a lot.” Though with everything shared between them, he can feel neither of them have gotten closer to the answers they seek. If Rizzrack must find some good to come from this however. “Hmm, you know, I’ve always felt alone. I never thought I’d meet someone who could understand me. It doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.” It’s comforting. It’s genuine. It’s not forced pity or guilty sympathy. He’s hopeful. “I hope you don’t feel so alone.”

Less and less did Rizzrack see Nortrom as some irritable hermit. He sees himself, he sees them both, hiding beneath their bubble, their armor, avoiding what they fear to face while retaining their facade of stoicism or bravery.

Nortromthesilencer

A tinge of guilt overcomes Nortrom when he hears this, and with his back turned to the keen, hands on the counter, he huffs. “I only shared such things with you so you could get a more complete picture and not jump to conclusions. Had you not been forced to encounter my ‘past state’, we would never be having this discussion.”

The box is arranged back and closed up, ready to be put away once more. Taking it in arm, he walks again down the hall, depositing the crate into the closet and closing the door. The force is harder than intended, the wood slamming as it latched, his nerves obviously on edge. With his hands running through his hair and massaging his scalp, Nortrom returns and stands at the room’s edge.

“People get close to me for only three reasons: To harm me, to use me, or to claim ownership of me. Anyone I get to know will either fall into this category, or get harmed in some way by being in my proximity. Don’t take personal offence, Rizzrack, but I’m not exactly ready to take any chances,” Sliding his arms down, he crosses them and leans against the nearest wall. The Silencer carries very little of his stern resolve normally seen, tired both emotionally and physically, in pain, and vulnerable. He’s conflicted, still not sure where Rizzrack actually stands with himself, or he to the keen, “It’s actually unfortunate that you had to be dragged into my past as such, though I feel this is my fault. I tried to offer you a different insight into your own issues, and in doing so opened the doors for further interactions. I really need to learn to keep to myself more.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack sighs. Perhaps that’s the case with Nortrom, but he can’t help but feel that maybe it all happened for a reason?

He flinches at the sound, and his thoughts turn. No Rizzrack. You know better, you know it’s not the case.

A desire to reach out to the man is snuffed by guilt and regret. Because perhaps still, if it weren’t for his meddling, the man wouldn’t have gotten hurt more.

“It’s fine, Nortrom.” He finally decides to hop down from the seat, turning quickly to wipe the wood of any dust he may have left behind. “If not your darkness, then it’s mine. Either way I’ll have to face unpleasant things. I”m not sure if I should thank you as I didn’t want to, but I guess it was necessary.” Adjusting his gloves he walks over to Nortrom. “Now not to be rude, but I think it’s best if I get going. You really look like you need your space. I think I need mine too.” His hand reaches out for a shake. “Thanks for the food, sorry for the trouble.”

Nortromthesilencer

He forces a smile, bending down slightly as to reach the hand offered. Taking it in a firm shake, Nortrom nods, “I believe we do. There was no trouble, Rizzrack. You take care, and perhaps more will come of this at a later date.”

There was a certain glimmer of hope that maybe Rizzrack would prove his track record wrong. The keen had certainly faced his share of hardship, and now knew much more about him than most. In all of his years, only one person came to mind as not following suit and causing him further suffering, and he would be amazed, and relieved, if that happened once more.

Standing back up straight and brushing the front of his chest, Nortrom yawns. Yup. Still tired, despite sleeping in.

“Safe travels, Rizzrack.”

Rizzrack

With a nod and a single wave, the small-keen turns, ensuring this time that yes the bucket helm is on his head before he steps out the door. The sound of the suit starting up can be heard, and after a minute of consistent rumbling, crunching steps can be heard taking off, and the noise grows distant. All that remains is the wafting scent of exhaust in the air, and tracked dirt within Nortrom’s home.

The Timbersuit wanders back towards the direction of the river. Rizzrack once again looks bothered, the stains of blood on the suit’s hull reminding him of the people he murde-..

He mutters to himself. He only rid the world of monsters. It’s one less thing to worry about. One less thing to plague his thoughts. There’s other, more important things to worry about, such as…

“Caw…caw…”

His thoughts are interrupted and his eyes glance to a broken and abandoned wooden fence, eyeing the group of crows gathered upon it. He swallows dryly.

...Such as finding a new, even further region to travel to.

He needs to get away from here before something worse comes.

#Compile

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