#but right now I think I need at least a whole week
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thinking about a dumb jock boy again.
specifically a dumb jock boy who you help with studying in the library sometimes. i’m talking about pushing your heads together as you go over your notes. his side pressing into yours as he reaches out to take the pen from your hand. him asking you for your number so that he can hit you up if he has ‘any more questions’. the whole shebang.
and you, well… you don’t mind giving it to him. he’s big and strong and surprisingly kind-hearted — at least way more than you’d initially thought — and he always smells like men’s body wash because he usually comes to see you after he’s done hitting the showers after practice. he’s nice. simple. the broad shoulders and easy-going attitude are just an added bonus.
sometimes, if he’s in a rush, he comes to the library with his cheeks flushed red and his hair still damp. you watch, hiding your gaze underneath your lashes, as his hair slowly upturns and frizzes at the ends because of the water, and can’t help but find it cute. can’t help but find him cute. it’s a realisation that startles you at first, but you make no effort to push it away. he seems to know it, too.
weeks pass and you eventually grow closer. he texts you just for fun sometimes now, not only to arrange the time for your next study session. you went out on a little coffee date that neither of you called an actual date once or twice, even if he doesn’t drink coffee and you’d opted for a hot chocolate instead.
fleeting glances turn into familiarity and slightly awkward waves turn into quick hugs goodbye. he greets you with excitement whenever you bump into each other on campus; not caring that his group of friends give him confused looks when he chooses to come running up to you.
“yo, guess what; i passed!” he says, his smile stretching from ear to ear when he reaches you. he pulls the crumpled exam paper from his backpack and shoves it into your chest with puppy-like enthusiasm that almost knocks you off your feet. “but imma still need some help with the one that’s on tuesday… so you’re down to study with me again, right? you gonna swing by?”
what a silly question, of course you will! he’s your friend now and it’s a nice friendship you’ve got going on here, so why wouldn’t you pay a short visit to his dorm so that you can go over the material together?
and you do — you do go over the material together. you help him study and quiz him, and then when he tells you that he can’t possibly fit any more information into his brain tonight, you order takeout and watch a movie together.
however, besides that, you also end up with your skirt hiked up and with your thighs wrapped around his head; threatening to squeeze all that air out of his dumb skull each time he brings you closer to your climax. you end up with two thick fingers pumping into your pussy at a steady, perhaps just a liiittle impatient pace, and with a warm tongue pressed tightly against your clit. you end up cumming with your own hand clamped over your mouth so that you can stifle the moans that are threatening to spill out, and that become sort of muffled when he dips down to kiss you.
it’s just his way of saying thanks… maybe he can teach you a thing or two as well.
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Guard Dog II
Part one
Warning: minors dni, fluff, smut, fingering, penetration, no protection, language
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x you
Summary: You and Daryl have started seeing each other, but not much has changed between you two. Yet, all you can think about is how much you need it to —need him to touch you, but he hasn’t made a move. Thus, you take charge.
Word count: 1.6k
…
Though it hasn't been said, flat out, you and Daryl are dating. And although nothing about your dynamic has altered, you’re still fairly certain, you're dating now.
But, the routine is just the same. You go somewhere, Daryl follows. However, nowadays you talk regularly, and he's visibly more comfortable. The others even started to notice your relationship and the changes in Daryl as well. One of which is, according to Eugene, is he seems happier, lighter, like a weight has lifted from his shoulders.
So, how is it that you feel something missing? You guessed a relationship with Daryl would be nothing less than this. But deep down, you expected him to at least touch you. And all you really wanted, was a kiss.
Sometimes, when he's close enough, you feel his warmth radiate over your very being. Sometimes, you sense his touch from when he grabbed your wrist, and held you in his arms weeks ago.
It left you craving more. Perhaps it did for him too...
Various times you swore his hand would hover over your skin, debating whether to reach out to you or not. Other times, he follows you to your house, but never steps foot inside, not since that day. He continuously stops short at your front deck, giving you a prolonged nod for a goodbye.
You’re shy in many ways, as is he, so if things were to change, you figure you have to be the one to take the reins. After all, he did admit to "wanting" you, so what did you have to lose?
…
Sighing, you open your door, squinting to welcome the blazing sun.
As of late, your mornings consist of this smouldering summer shine, and a mouthwatering, sleeveless Daryl Dixon, leaning against the pillar upholding your porch, waiting for you to wake.
"Morning!" You greet cheerfully. Daryl looks at you, and his scowl instantly softens. "I'm thinking we should do something today, together," you boast, trudging off the porch. "You know, switch up our usual routine somehow." Pausing thoughtfully, you notice how patiently Daryl observes you, waiting for your word, without any interruptions. It almost shocks you how docile he truly is, beneath that dim, tough exterior.
Your eyes explore Alexandria's landscape, catching areas with dull greenery. Your mouth opens in 'ah!'
Daryl appears disquiet and you holler, "Gardening!"
"No," he contradicts, quickly shutting down your idea. You huff, hindering a small smile. "Oh please, it would be fun!" You persuade, "This place needs more character, it's too-" desperately searching for a word, you make Daryl smirk a bit. "Colourless right now," you proclaim.
"And adding some flowers, will make this place look less like a 'dump'?" He mocks plainly.
"I don't think it's a 'dump,' it just needs some," once more, you seek the appropriate word, and Daryl expels a breathy chuckle. "Sprucing," you finish, and he nods with a tiny shake in disbelief. "Let's go!" You shout, heading to a plain field of grass.
"Yes ma'am," Daryl grumbles behind you, and you giggle.
...
The both of you spend hours outside, digging up weeds, replanting flowers, and spreading plant seeds across the lot. The whole ordeal left you both filthy, decorated in dirt. Though it's nothing new for Daryl, you feel pretty disgusting, not to mention 'hideous.'
Engrossed in your obsessive thoughts, you miss the way Daryl longingly watches you. That’s until you feel a plant stem, tuck your hair behind your ear. You spy Daryl’s calloused fingers, gently placing a pink flower there. His pinkie lightly coasts down your locks, to your shoulder.
You peer into his eyes, struck by his tenderness. His dilated pupils hold so much depth, that you get lost in them. So absentmindedly, you shift closer to Daryl. His eyes roam your face, down to your lips, focusing on them.
A short breath escapes you, heart dropping, and he stands up. Now on his feet, Daryl brushes the grime on his hands in a clap, then lends one out to you. “You’re covered in dirt,” his throat bobs, “Let’s call it a day,” he heaves you upright, “take a shower.” You nod in agreement, kind of discombobulated.
Hand in hand, you silently walk to your house. Once you get there, he retracts his palm from yours and scratches his crown awkwardly. “You’re not coming?” You mumble shyly, and his wide eyes shoot to yours.
You fight to remain calm, staring at him. He licks his lips, once again, looking at your parted ones. “Separate showers, or...?” He asks airily.
“Whatever you want,” replying in a whisper, you slowly back up your steps, intently watching him. He refuses to break eye contact as he follows you inside.
When the door clicks shut, the only audible sound is his breathing, which is more like panting.
“You sure about…?” He trails off, delicately admiring your face. When you faintly mouth a 'yes,' his eyes train to your figure. You leisurely stride towards him.
“You’re so,” before he finishes his sentence, you peck his lips. He jerks his jaw moderately, and his gaze struggles to decide, whether to look at your eyes, or your body.
“Touch me,” you practically beg, nudging his abdomen with your knuckles. His sharp breath fans your face, and his expression distorts right before he instinctively, crashes his mouth into yours. Tongues mingling together, he grunts quietly, and you hum a whine in return.
Bodies pressing hard against each other, his hands tangle into your tresses, cupping your head. He rolls his hips rather harshly and you whine louder.
Breaking away with his name on your tongue, you clutch his hand and haul him upstairs.
Reaching the top of the staircase, he hugs you from behind and buries his face into your neck, breathing in like you're his lifeline.
“Daryl,” you sigh then gasp when he suddenly lifts you up. Your toes drag on the floorboards while he sucks on your nape. “Bathroom,” he rasps.
“To your left,” you huff in response, pushing your backside atop his crotch. Daryl just about growls, hastily carrying you into the bathroom.
Putting you down nicely, he forcibly tugs the shower curtain to the side. You spin to look at him and see him surveying you, staring down at your frame like he's in heat. You bite your lip, raising a hand to push away the black hair blocking his eyes.
“May I?” He asks politely, gesturing to your clothes.
“Yes,” you nearly moan.
Together, you remove each other’s garments, one by one, piece by piece. Eyes equally wandering, to every newly revealed section of flesh. Daryl adorns your naked body and his lip tilts. You lean towards him to turn the shower knob.
The shower head roars, and Daryl tenses when the tips of your breasts graze his chest. “God,” he groans then takes your dome in his hands again, yanking your mouth upwards.
Your fronts fix together, and he palms your ass, reddening the skin there. His hard-on rubs your cunt, and he ambles you both under the flowing stream of water.
“Fuck,” you moan wildly when your spine hits the cool wall.
“Ya feel amazing,” he resounds into your ear, kissing it with a swipe of his tongue. You grind onto him. “Like that baby, again,” he instructs hoarsely, almost pained.
Moving in sync with each other, his cock continuously moves over your clit. You whine his name over and over and scratch your nails down his lower back. You moan out appraisals and smooch a trail from his chin to chest.
His hushed tone chants your name, trying to get your attention. But, when he gets tired of you ignoring him, his digits abruptly slip into you. You instantly cry out, then move in rhythm with his fingers, riding them. He begins to elicit an orgasm, so you pull away from his aggressive kiss. “Wait, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.
“Good,” he groans with a smirk, trying to capture your mouth again.
“No, no, I wanna cum with you,” you plea, whispering, "on you," barely coherent. His fingers immediately slow and withdraw, at once, replaced by his girthy cock.
You scream a yelp and Daryl releases a lengthy, unreserved, animalistic groan. “So, tight,” his dark voice grates your ears. He cups your breast, playing with its nipple, and you sob while he mutters how badly he needs this.
After a moment of adjusting, Daryl starts thrusting. "Harder!" You express, and his hips lunge into you, untamed and vigorous.
Though his bottom half ruthlessly takes you, his hands and mouth are kind and attentive. His palms glide over your torso, holding you securely, and he kisses your features.
“Daryl, I love it,” you exclaim, then repeat yourself.
“Y-yeah?” He stammers, pinning his forehead to the side of your skull, and you grip his muscular biceps. “Yes, you’re so good.”
He growls your name, pumping even faster, evidently getting closer to his climax.
His hands move to squeeze and spread your ass, and ever-so-slightly, his finger sweeps across your unfilled hole, circling it teasingly. You squeal and huddle into him, and he murmurs something so quietly, that you can hardly hear it.
“What?” You gasp, craning your neck back.
“-fucking love you,” Daryl moans roughly, hoisting up your leg by its thigh. Pushing into you one last time, he then pulls out, cumming on your stomach.
Daryl's confession strikes such a cord, that you also cum when he removes himself. His meaty arms swiftly embrace your trembling form, snaking around your curves firmly.
After a short while, you hug him too, burying your face in his sternum. “Can you, say that again?” You ask meekly, and as if he can hear your smile, he chuckles.
“Later,” he pauses to kiss your scalp, “Lemme catch my breath first baby.”
#smut#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon#daryl#the walking dead daryl dixon#the walking dead daryl#twd daryl#daryl x reader#twd daryl dixon#daryl fanfiction#daryl dixion imagine#daryl smut#the walking dead smut#the walking dead#rick grimes#twd smut#twd#twd fanart#twd negan#negan smith#norman reedus#daryldixon
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Thinking about getting assimilated into the retired 141 polycule.
You find Gaz and Soap first. Entirely by chance, they’re sat at the bar when you go up to order a drink.
It’s a busy night. You have to wait a moment for your order to be taken, so you strike up conversation with the two cuties you’ve come across. They seem sweet, charming and don’t mind that you interrupted their conversation.
Eventually, the bartender brings over your refill, and as you go to leave, you say, ‘one more for them, on my tab.’
Soap tilts his head, ‘shouldn’t we be the ones buying you a drink?’
You shake your head, ‘not here, you’re not,’ before wandering back to the table your friends are at.
The next week, they’re there again, and preempt you, by buying a round for your whole table, just to be polite, y’know? And, y’know, you kinda need to come up to the bar with them, to make sure all of the orders get put in right.
A flimsy excuse, but it gets you away so they can chat with you some more. You wait at the bar again, this time with one of them on either side of you, chatting about how your week was, (only yours, since, ‘we don’t get up to much, doll. Least, nothing we can say in polite company’) until the drinks come out and you take them back the the table. They trail behind you, then manage to find seats where they can stay at your side.
Gaz and Soap stay there all night, through each round, each bar hop, queuing for the bathroom with you, always right there on either side, right up until it’s time to go home.
As your friends split off into taxis, Gaz offers for you to go back to their place. Soap reassures you that there’s no pressure, only if you want to, and you kiss him before he can finish saying the words. Gaz pulls you apart to get a kiss of his own, pulling you close as Soap protests about being interrupted.
The walk back to their place and everything after is a blur. You wake up in the morning, sandwiched between two bodies, who are whispering back and forth over your head.
You peel the sheet from your face and glance up, to see Soap on the phone.
‘What’s up?’ Your voice is hoarse, your throat parched.
‘Nothing, doll. Just making sure our breakfast actually gets made.’ Soap pinches your nose, sending you squirming away into Gaz’s arms.
‘You’ll stay for it, right?’ Gaz murmurs to you, dragging you away to sit up, pressing a glass of water into your hands.
You sip it, as Gaz steadies your shaking form. ‘Course.’
‘Good. You want chips or bacon? Keep your tits on Simon, I’m asking them now.’ Johnny hushes his voice when he speaks into the phone, keeping the harshness directed to Simon, on the other end of the line.
‘Chips.’ You say, letting Gaz push one of his shirts over your head as someone knocks on the door.
‘Yeah, John?’ Gaz glances over his shoulder.
‘Does our guest want tea?’ a husky voice, John’s, comes from the other side of the door.
‘Tea, or coffee?’ Gaz asks you.
‘It’s tea, or no tea,’ comes John’s voice again.
‘Fine, cap. Tea for everyone.’ Gaz rolls his eyes, setting the water aside before pulling you off the bed, leaving soap to flop down on the covers where you just were.
‘If you want coffee, I can make you some.’ Soap pouted as he missed his chance to grab you, instead scrambling up to make himself decent as Gaz set you down.
‘Who was that?’ You nod towards the door.
‘That’s John. We all used to be in the military together, so we call him cap. You’ll like him.’
‘You sure?’ You say, as soap passes you a pair of shorts (on closer inspection, a pair of his boxers) for you to put on.
‘Course. Me and Gaz have good taste.’ Soap taps your shoulder, pulling you towards the door, unsure if the good taste was about the as of yet unseen John and Simon, or you. ‘Come on, Si will be back with food any minute now.’
#kyle gaz garrick x reader#john mactavish x reader#gaz x soap#poly 141#gaz x reader#soap x reader#gaz x soap x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#cod#cod mw2#mw2#mw3#cod mw3#call of duty#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#cod gaz#cod soap
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Ape boy
--- Originally posted on 2017-01-10 on realhankmccoy ---
“Just don’t make me dumb, man, I want to keep everything about my mind totally intact,” I told my friend at the lab.
I was totally willing to go through the procedure but I didn’t want it messing with my intellect any – my job and lifestyle were too important to me.
They promised me a whole new masculine experience, that they could bring out the man in me in ways that were easily accessible through epigenetic therapy.
I’d be fitter, more energetic, more attractive and just altogether healthier. It was in the beta testing process and they said they’d throw in $3000 if I signed off, too. I’d only need to take a few weeks off work for an outpatient trial.
“That didn’t seem so bad,” I said after the doctor finished up removing the slow drip from my arm and the infusion was complete. Took two different bags of fluid but I mostly felt fine, if a little faint at first.
I got home and realized I was pretty tired so I stripped down and went to bed. I started noticing the changes the next day already. I did have more energy. My face seemed handsomer, just a tad. After two days I was feeling pretty into this.
It was the third day when I started noticing that I was getting beefier.
That was cool, I thought, but then I noticed I was feeling hornier, too. I ignored it at first, but by the end of the day I was jacking off in my bedroom, hard. I got up off my bed, still stroking my dick, to check myself out in the mirror.
“Looks hot,” I thought, stroking it slowly. If this stuff made my sex drive a little stronger, that was fine with me.
I started getting obsessed with checkin’ out the changes in the mirror, and I had so much energy that I started working out. I’d be doing pushups on my hardwood floor and getting excited over how I was going to flex in front of the bathroom mirror after I finished a set of 50.
I went back to the lab and they didn’t seem to think it was a problem.
So I figured, what the hell, I might as well enjoy this. Pretty soon I was hanging out in just my underwear all the time. That didn’t make me dumb, I knew, it just felt good. I might as well get into it, I figured.
Only problem is I got used to it pretty quick. I hate wearing clothes now, dudes.
I looked in the mirror one day and I just looked so fucking good with these thick pecs and the thicker stubble on my face. I figured I should have fun with a haircut so I got kind of a high and tight, cut real short though, and that just turned me on. Even my facial structure has changed from this shit they’re doing to me. My ears look like they stick out more, like some dumb ape or something, and that just makes me hard. I’ve hot this thick abdomen and these beefy deltoids. I feel like I look more like a football dude, even, and I started watching football even. Might as well have fun while I’m stuck in outpatient anyhow.
They told me it wouldn’t alter my mind any but it’s like I’m addicted to working out, flexing in the mirror, taking selfies, hooking up – with dudes – I just find em on my phone. I stopped reading. I look at these hairy legs and I get hard just touching em, I rub a hand across my pecs and my nipples are hard right away and I feel my cock jump up wanting a piece of the action. All I can think about is my goddamn cock, man.
So I took another week off work because I’m not ready to go back, and told myself on Monday I’d start getting ready to get my life on track. I just procrastinated the whole day, jacking off in bed, mostly, slowly stroking it. I guess my new bod’s so awesome that it’s just depressing to think of going back to the office.
My alarm goes off on Tuesday, and I throw it against the wall and say fuck it. One more day of fun’s not gonna hurt. Dudes, I look so fucking good. At least I’ll be productive today, I tell myself. So I start off the day with a ton of pushups, make myself a protein shake, and I look so ripped in the mirror that I figure I’ll score myself a hookup off Grindr. Guy comes over, and his hairy, hard pecs crushed against mine – my rubbing the short beard I’ve got started all up on his asshole, and that turns him on enough that he’s letting me lift his legs and plow the shit out of him..
After he’s gone, I’m back in front of the mirror saying “you fucking stud. Yeah you fuckin’ ape boy. Fuckin’ just want to fuck with dudes, don’t you, gay boy. Yeah you jocked up fuck. Just want to get naked and fuck, don’t you?”
Still hard, still horny, so just stroking my dick slowly while I put the game on for ambience. I don’t know how Thursday’s gonna shake out but today I just went out and bought a basketball hoop for the driveway so I could burn off some of this energy. Felt fuckin’ great, too, goin’ out in the sun in just some shorts and Nikes working on my game. Soon as I was back indoors though, man, just stripped back down to my underwear – I can’t stop admiring this body. Gotta get another dude over here to mess around with. Fuck work, man, you only live once, right?
Think I’m gonna pick up a big screen for the bedroom because that’d be pretty cool, and I just found out gay dues have their own hockey leagues you can join so I’m thinking of that. How hot would that be – those dudes are fuckin’ built, man, and I could pick it up pretty quick I bet.
Fuck, let me know if – oh, fuck it, I’m gonna order a pizza and see if I can find a hot hookup for tonight. Some dude with pecs as thick as mine and who’s like me slapping this cock all over his tongue for a couple of hours while I tease the shit out of his hot jock ass. Yeah man. Fuckin’ hot, man, I could pump a full load into some dude’s muscle butt and be ready to score again two hours later. That’s how good I feel. Friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it as long as it’s none of that lovey-dovey or dramatic shit – I’ve got em on the phone. Sex, muscle, good food and workin’ out, so glad I met those lab rats.
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The Nanny
Pairing: Rafe x Nanny Reader
Summary: Being Wheezie's nanny was great. The only downside was dealing with the oldest Cameron, Rafe. What happens when his fascination with the nanny becomes a reality?
Warnings: Angst, mention of drugs, sexual harassment (some creep tries to force themselves on reader), forced kiss (same creep with the reader), slight comfort?, (please be careful if you have any issues with sexual harassment it doesn't go far but I don't want anyone uncomfortable), (let me know if I missed anything), fighting
Wc: 7.0K
A/N: One more part to go! Sad to see it coming to an end but thank you for all of your support.
Chapter 8: What are we?
You just watch as Rafe leaves. A sinking feeling builds in your chest. It’s like when you’re on a rollercoaster and you get to the really big drop. You always hated that part of the ride, somehow this feeling tops it. Fighting back the tears you walk to your room. Wheezie can wait until the morning, right now you just need to go to bed. You try to calm your breath the whole walk to your room. Scared if you made too much noise someone will hear.
Entering your room you finally let the tears go, finding solace within the four walls. The tears well onto your lashes, falling down in fat drops. Choked sobs echoing inside the silent room.You furiously try to wipe them away, hating how small you feel at this moment. This isn’t what you wanted. Deep down a part of you wanted him to fight for you. Seeing him give up so easily just adds salt to the gaping wound.
You strip from your clothes, throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and stopping when you reach for a shirt Rafe left. A part of your brain is screaming to find another shirt, the other is dying to have at least one last piece of him. Against your better judgment you grab the shirt and put it on. It faintly smells like him, another reminder how you truly thought he cared. The birthday cologne smelt slightly more bitter than it did before. But it was still him.
You turn to your bed, the sage green sheets lay perfectly flat, a bouquet of flowers on top. Walking closer you notice that they are white roses, your favorite. There’s a little note tied on the string that holds them all together. You pick them, opening the card to read it. I’m sorry Sunny. I fucked up but I can’t lose you. Please let’s just talk it out. I miss you. -R
The note makes you sob harder. He knew your favorite flower and he wanted to work things out. If you had just seen this before interrupting maybe things would be different. Maybe he would be he instead of walking away. Why would he remember your favorite flower? You barely even remember when you mentioned it around him.
“What are you doing?” The voice behind you makes you jump. The rose in your hand flies as you grip the scissors tighter. You turn your head to see Rafe leaning back on the kitchen counter. “Jesus Rafe you can’t do that. You scared the crap out of me.” You lean on the kitchen sink, regulating your heartbeat back to normal. He chuckles a little, a small smile spreading on his lips.
“Sorry didn’t mean to scare ya. Just saw you standing there and was curious.” He eyes your ass getting a perfect view from his spot behind you. “I’m cutting the stems of these roses.” “What Rose wants to be in every part of this house now?” He thinks he’s funny but he’s not. “No smartass. They are my favorite flowers, specifically the white ones.” You got back to cutting the stems, picking up flower to flower.
He sits there and watches and you finish the rest of the flowers. “Kinda seems corny doesn’t it? Like every chick likes roses it's never another flower.” Rafe remarks. Teasing you for the choice. “Well I like them because of my grandma. She used to get fresh bach every week and put them around the house. I get them because they remind me of her.” That’s the most you’ve shared about her since she died.
She was kind of the glue that held the family together. She always knew how to make everyone laugh. Always made you feel safe and welcomed. Your parents weren't that bad when you were growing up at first. They loved you so much as a baby, couldn’t have been prouder. Then the older you got the more money they had to spend. The more time they had to put into you and not them. It seemed the older you got the more problems they had. The more pressure they would put on you to be better.
Your grandma did a great job at shielding it from you for as long as she could. The flowers were the thing the two of you shared. Spending time picking out the right ones just to go home and build a bouquet. It was the highlight of your weeks and after she died it was over. You held on to the last bouquet until all the petals were left to nothing. Rotting on your dresser, burning holes into the wood to leave their marks. No bouquet felt the same after but it brought you comfort.
“Remind you?” Rafe questions. “She died when I was eight. I make bouquets to feel connected to her.” He just looks at you as you fill the vase with water, adding the roses one by one. He remembers watching his mom arrange flowers for the house. She would bring him along as she picked out various flowers. Always asking him for his input because he was her special helper. It was their special day activity, Ward would get upset at the sight of Rafe helping out. His mother would go to his defense, nipping Ward’s words in the butt the moment they exit his mouth.
It hurt to remember his mom, the memory causing more heartache than anything. The image of his happy mom crushed when he realizes she’s gone. Left him behind with a man that hates him. In a town where no one will ever care for him. But then he watches you do a simple action that brings her back. It hurts but he can’t help but smile watching you. “I’m sorry. I bet it was hard losing her. They look good, she’d be proud.”
You look him in the eyes, a soft smile gracing your face. Rafe can’t help but to think how beautiful you look. “Thank you. That was very sweet of you Rafe.” You praise. He blushes, straightening up and walking off. “WHatever don’t tell everyone now.” You laugh at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The memory makes the feeling worse. He had remembered that conversation this whole time. It had happened early on to you working here, one of the first few meetings with the oldest sibling. You thought he was just being polite because you were new and you just told him something sad. But he still had that information stored away in some filing cabinet in his mind. The fact he still knew makes you want to find him and forgive him. Then you think about the fact he gave up.
You can’t really fault him, he has a right to do what he wants. Yet it still stings that you weren’t enough for him the first time and you weren’t enough for him this time. You place the flowers on the bedside table. Pulling the covers back you climb into bed, curling up into a ball and going yourself to sleep for the second night in a row.
✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶
The sound of voices stir you slowly awake. “Come on, leave her alone.” A hushed voice breaks through the door. “I want to know what happened last night. She never came to tell me.” Wheezie’s hush whispers fully wake you up. “No, let's go.” Sarah’s voice firmly states, footsteps fading down the hall. The room is bright, the curtains are fully open, you must have forgotten to close them last night. The light is harsh on your eyes, they still sting from crying the night before.
Everything keeps replaying in your mind. Memories creating a slow motion picture just for you. They are on a continuous loop as you get ready for the day. Your mind keeps going back to what Wheezie said to you yesterday. Would you be okay if you saw him with someone else? No you wouldn’t, seeing him with Sofia was hard enough. You don’t think you would be able to handle it further.
That realization brings you back to the flowers and the note. He has kept the memory with him since that day. Rafe wanted to make it up with you and showed you that he does care about you. He used the memory to do something that would make you happy, even if he caused you pain. The note made it obvious he wanted to work things out, maybe you should have listened to him. He didn’t actually have any reason to stay loyal to you, no conversation was had for the next step to happen.
Once you are finally dressed you slip on your shoes determined to find Rafe. You look around the hall when you step out, not wanting to run into anyone and change your mind. You make your way to his door and knock. Butterflies fill your abdomen, the nervous feeling eating you from the inside out. “Rafe?” You call out, keeping your voice low. Your right hand opens the door and you are faced with an empty room. The room is still a mess, things littered everywhere, a perfect match to him.
Sighing you close the door again, heading downstairs to get some breakfast. Voices can be heard from the kitchen, they aren’t loud so it’s hard to make anything out. Entering the kitchen you see Rafe talking with Sarah and Barry just sitting at the island. “He shouldn’t be here Rafe. Dad will flip out.” Sarah argues with her brother. “He already doesn’t like me, why should I care?” He huffs out and turns around, pausing when he sees you at the door. Barry and Sarah to look at what caught his attention.
“Well hello baby. Thought I would never see you again.” Barry’s voice rings in your ears but you can only focus on Rafe. “Hi.” You squeak, your voice giving away how nervous you are to see him. His jaw is clench, his hands forming fists as he looks at the man staring you down. “Let’s go Barry. We got shit to do.” He says pushing the other guy's shoulder as he passes him. Rafe gives you a nod as he walks by you and leaves. Barry tsk’s as he gets up making his way out as well. “That boy never learns does he?”
You just stand there, eyes glancing at Sarah. “I’m sorry I didn’t think you would be up right now after last night.” You smile at her and go in further to make food. “It’s fine. He already said he was going to leave me alone from now on. I just didn’t take him seriously.” Boiling water, you get the oats out of the cabinet, oatmeal was the fastest thing you could think of. “Wait what?” Sarah exclaims. Her shocked face staring at the back of your head.
You know she won’t leave you alone for the rest of the day. You have picked up on a few things over this past year. Never interrupt Ward when he is in meetings or talking in general. Rose really does care but the kids will never respect her so she lets them be. Rafe has been hurt for so long that he refuses to be himself now. Even though Sarah and Wheezie are different people they have the same personality trait. They care so much that they don’t know when to call it quits. Granted Sarah is better at keeping it at bay than Wheeze.
Knowing this and knowing how she feels about her brother you give in. You spilled and told her everything. How Wheezie accidentally was the reason why Ward knows what happened. How Ward was yelling at Rafe and how you stepped in. Then told her about the argument between the two of you. Finally leading to him saying he will leave you alone from now on. The whole conversation lasted all of breakfast, the oatmeal you made for the two of you long gone.
“I can’t believe that he just walked away like that. He was the one to mess up, he can't be mad.” She’s saying things you’ve already said to yourself. He did mess up and he shouldn’t be mad. But another part knows that you hurt him too in some way. You shut him out when he wanted to fix things. You ignored him and refused to talk. In the end you did the same thing he did, you didn’t communicate with him how you felt. “It’s not that simple, Sar. He hurt me yeah but I also shut him out. I’m sure that had to hurt him too, I can’t expect him to wait around for me.” You are trying to be reasonable. This is her brother you are talking about, you don’t want to be the reason why they are not on good terms. Things just started to die down between them.
“But it is simple. He messed up by kissing another girl and all you did was get space from him. He decided to just give up without much of a fight.” Her words force you to think back to when he was crying. Pleading with you to give him a second chance, just to hear him out. “He did try. I just didn’t give him the chance and it’s okay. He’s hurt and he needs his space too. I can’t get upset with him for doing the same.” Deep down you know you have a point. He is hurt and needs time which is what you did. It just hurts that when you figured out how you felt it was too late.
“Why are you defending him so much? I get that you liked him but he hurt you.” You are quiet, looking at your bowl. “Do you still like him?” She asks, watching your reactions. When she doesn’t get an answer she realizes it was deeper than what she thought. “Oh.” You both sit there, the weight of your unspoken words heavy in the air. “We never said we were exclusive. It was never something we talked about so he really didn’t do anything wrong. I just can’t hate him.”
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The thrap of the tennis ball takes you out of your daydream. Wheezie had dragged you out to the country club for a round of tennis, stating it would help you feel better. It was sweet of her for caring but the exercise was not welcomed. You would rather be enjoying the day reading then out on the court hitting a ball back and forth. “How many points is that?” She asks, a smile bright on her face. “6-2 I think.” You respond. You bounce the ball a few times before throwing it up and hitting it to her.
The rest of the morning was uneventful after your talk with Sarah. She tried to talk to you more about how you should be upset but it got nowhere. Once Wheezie popped into the kitchen the conversation died and it was over with. You were relieved when Wheezie didn’t mention Rafe at all after. Even happier when all she wanted to do was go out. That soon faded when she said she wanted to play tennis. It was just an excuse to see the cute tennis instructor that just started there.
Everything was going well until you were both leaving. You were stepping off the court when a golf cart blew past you. “Watch it, asshole.” Wheezie yells causing the cart to stop. The boys inside it all turn around and low and behold there’s Rafe with some guy you’ve never seen. “Watch it, Wheeze. Next time you might get run over.” The boy next to him chuckles. “Yeah, stay out of the way.” Rafe shoots him a look and the boy quiets down. “Oh please like you are so scary. Stop driving like a maniac and be normal.”
Rafe looks at you, eyes lingering for a little longer than needed. You smile at him, opening your mouth to greet him. He turns away before the words could escape. The cart drives off again leaving the two of you alone. He was really taking this leaving you alone seriously. You had hoped that he would be able to talk to you or be civil at least. You miss his voice, his smile, you miss him. Standing there you both just watch them drive off, walking to the building to get changed into clothes.
Wheezie wants to comment on how Rafe didn’t say anything to you. Noticing the look on your face as he ignored you. There’s a nagging in the back of her brain to ask you about last night. Her anxiety is getting the best of her, she’s scared that Rafe hates her. She has seen him get really angry and as much as she isn’t afraid of him, she still doesn’t like it. Wheezie doesn’t want to be the reason why her brother is angry at their father or at you.
“What should we watch tonight? I saw 10 Things I Hate about You the other day while scrolling and I’ve been wanting to watch it. What do you think?” You ask the younger girl as you walk the halls to the changing rooms. Wheezie clams up, her anxiety increases a bit more as she tries to think of an excuse. She needs this to go perfectly, nothing can get messed up. “Can we watch it as soon as we get home? My friends and I are having a Netflix watch party tonight.”
“That’s fine. We can get some dinner and then watch it. How does that sound?” You ask while getting your clothes from the locker you put it in. “That’s perfect.” Wheezie wasn’t lying it was perfect. She needed you to be happy and complacent for the time being. She knows that you might be a little angry with her by tomorrow so she wants to butter you up while she has the chance.
You both got changed and packed up the rest of your things. You are trying hard not to think about Rafe but are failing. Would he still want a second chance if you gave it to him? Yes is the first answer that pops into your brain. Then you think about how he’s ignoring you and that changes. He seems to have no problems pretending you don’t exist, maybe he doesn’t actually want you. Maybe the roses and letter was a ploy to get in your bed again. Yeah that was it.
Snapping out of your thoughts, you have Wheezie order some food. Getting into the car you drive to pick it up before going home. The house is quiet, no one seems to be home besides Sarah. “Hey guys.” Sarah shifts her eyes back to the book in her hands. “Hey! We are going to watch a movie. Want to join?” You ask as you make your way to the living room to settle down. “What movie?” “10 Things I Hate about You.” Wheezie answers. “You had me at Heath Ledger let’s go.” Sarah bolts up, the book forgotten as it flies in the air.
The three of you all get comfortable and queue the movie up. You all just sit in silence, eating and enjoying the movie. Once the food is finished , everyone relaxes back. Only really speaking to comment on the movie. “Uh, I wish he would sing for me.” Sarah dreams out loud. You chuckle at her, nudging her thigh with your foot. “Want me to tell John B to serenade you?” Wheezie laughs at your teasing. “Oh my god. I would pay to see that.”
You honestly can’t help but see the irony of watching this movie. Boy pretends to be into the girl only for her to find out it was all a lie. She tries to hate him but can never seem to, only to find each other in the end. But this isn’t a movie. Clearly Rafe is content with having you out of his life. There won’t be some big confession that absolves him of all his mistakes. He’s too proud to let anyone see how he feels. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of movie.
Some masochistic part of you wants to feel the pain of watching something that will never happen. To soak in that feeling just to spite yourself. If the girls weren’t here you would probably be crying right now. Mourning the what if’s that plague your mind. It isn’t fair to do this to yourself and you know that. You just can’t seem to help yourself from finding comfort in your own pain. So used to the feeling that anything else seems foreign.
The rest of the movie plays out. Patrick and Kat just made up and are now kissing. Every muscle in your body feels heavy. The weight of the situation pulls you down further into the couch cushions. The credits start to roll and the girls are stretching. “Okay I’m going to my room now.” Wheezie gets up to leave. “Already? It’s still early.” Sarah questions. “Yeah I’m doing a watch party with some friends.” Wheezie shrugs trying to walk fast out the room. Sarah squints her eyes at her younger sister and watches as she leaves.
“Doesn’t she usually stick to you like glue until she goes to bed?” Sarah asks you. She finds it weird that she randomly watches parties with friends. She looks at you when you don’t answer. You were still stuck in your head that it took you a while to process what happened and Sarah’s words. “Um yeah sometimes. It’s good that she’s hanging out with friends. I’m not always going to be her nanny.” That’s when it hit you, this job isn’t forever. There’s no reason for any of them to stay in contact with you after Wheezie gets old enough. The girls would most likely stay in touch you know that. But you won’t be forced around Rafe anymore, maybe that’s a good thing.
“What are you even talking about?” She laughs. “You will always be a part of this family. At least you will be with Wheeze and I. You can’t get rid of us that easily.” She smiles at you. It makes you feel better having that reassurance. Even in the end you will still have them. “I think I’m going to go to my room and read. If you want to hang out or need me just come in.” You tell her. There’s a book on your night stand that you want to finish.
You must have been reading for an hour or two when Sarah bursted into your bedroom. “Is Wheezie in here with you?” She asks. You look up from the book, your face scrunching in confusion. “No, why?” Her face seems worried which only intensifies when she realizes Wheezie isn’t here either. “She’s not in her room and I can’t find her around the house. I wanted my sweater back and she was just gone.” Worry starts to gnaw at you. She has to be here somewhere, she couldn’t have just disappeared.
“Hold on. She has to be here somewhere. I’m just going to call her.” You place your book down and grab your phone. You dial her number and it rings. Sarah just stares waiting to see what happens. She didn’t answer. “Nothing.” You say. Sarah sighs not knowing what to do. “Let me track her phone.” Sarah gives you a bewildered look. “You track us?” She practically yells. “No. Your dad put it on Wheezie’s phone and I just have access to it. I never use it but this is kinda important.”
The app shows Wheezie at a house not too far from Tanny Hill. “She’s at a house. It’s close to here.” You get up putting your shoes on and grabbing your keys. “I think she’s at Trevor’s party. The one she was talking about yesterday.” Crap. Of course, that’s why she had a watch party. She just wanted me to leave her alone so she could sneak off.
The car ride to the party was tense. You were so upset and worried. She went behind your back and put herself at risk to go to this party. No one knew where she was and something could have happened to her. Oh god what if something did happen? She is still young and people like to take advantage of that. This situation is setting panic alarms in your mind. You just hope Ward doesn’t find out because the Rafe situation can be forgiven. Letting his teen daughter go to a party and get drunk might be his last straw.
Loud music is blasting as you pull into the street. There are people everywhere and the feeling of dread increases. It’s going to take forever to find her here. Not only that, you know Rafe is around. There’s no way that he would miss the opportunity to sell and take drugs. Walking into the house was a hassle, people kept blocking the way. Drinks are being spilled on you, soaking your shoes in the process. This is the one thing you hate about parties, they are always a mess. People get too drunk and throw up everywhere. Others start fights or spend the night taking copious amounts of drugs. You don’t judge them, it's just not something you enjoy.
“We should split up. I’ll call you if I find her.” Sarah yells over the music. “Sounds good.” You head towards the stairs to check up stairs. The stairs are littered with cups making the floors sticky. Most of the doors are closed so you have to open each one. You found a couple in one room, the rest being empty or locked. Laughter fills your ears from the other end of the hall. Walking over you see a group of guys all sitting around.
Looking closer you can see that they are doing line and in the middle of all of them was Rafe. Barry was sitting next to him chatting up a customer trying to upsell. A girl enters your view and you watch as she walks over to Rafe. She leans down and whispers in her ear and rests her hand on his shoulder. You watch as he smiles up at her, shaking a little bag in her face. He turns to make a line for her on the table and he catches your eyes.
He freezes, the card in his hand stalling. He picks up his actions when the girl whispers to him again. She makes her way onto his lap and that’s when you look away. Heading back down the stairs, missing how he pushed her off his lap and shot up. How he looked for you but you were already gone.
You keep looking around the house. Stopping into every room to check them. The next thirty minutes were spent searching the house. You kept coming up short which was freaking you out even more. You look at the app again and can see that she is still in the house. She’s here somewhere but you just can’t seem to figure out where. Your phone starts to ring in your pocket. “Hello?” You answer
“I found her. I’m bringing her to the car so we can leave.” Sarah tells you. Relief floods through your system. “Okay I’ll meet the two of you there.” She hangs up. Knowing that Wheezie is safe now you are ready to leave. You walk through the living room, eyes trained on the front door next to the kitchen. A body blocks you as you get right outside the living room. “Hey.” Some random guy says.
“Uh hey?” You say wearily. You are a little weirded out. You have never seen this guy before and he keeps blocking you as you try to get around him. “You’re that nanny for Rafe’s little sister right?” He asks. “Yeah.” He nods at you. His hands are in his pockets, he looks a little awkward like this. He takes a step closer to you, your body backing up closer to the wall. “Sorry for what he did to you. Think he’s kinda stupid for letting a girl like you go.” He says.
As if his words would make you feel better about what happened. “Thanks. I have to go now.” You try to step around him again and his arm lands on the wall, blocking you. This is starting to get more uncomfortable by the minute. “Hey I’m just trying to talk to you. I think you’re really pretty. We can just have some fun.” He tries to ration with you. “I’m good, I really just want to go. I have to get back to Wheezie.” You try to push him off you but he just gets a little closer.
His breath fans against your neck as you squirm away from him. One of his hands grabs your bicep, keeping you still. “Come one don’t be like that. I just want to get to know you. I think we could really like each other.” His body is now pressed up to you. You can feel how hard he is through his pants. It's disgusting. Your hand raises to his chest trying to push him off. It only makes it worse, in lips kissing your neck.
From the kitchen Rafe has been watching the whole interaction. Watching as he hit on you and how you stood there. He watches as his hands are touching you, his lips kissing the same skin his own lips touched. He was angry. Angry at himself for fucking this up, angry at his dad for being the reason he’s like this, mostly mad at you for moving on right in front of him. He was just filled with anger.
It didn’t help that he was so high and coked out that the feeling was ten fold. He had spent all day yesterday and today taking bump after bump. Smoking the day away and drinking. There’s so much in his system that he’s surprised he’s even standing. No matter how much he takes you are always still there. There in his home, at the country club and now here. He can handle seeing you, not really but he could manage. But he can’t stand there and watch as you are with someone else. His breaking point is when the guy kisses you.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. One moment he was just watching you, hating his life. Now he’s marching over to drag you out of here and yell at you. You can’t just rub it in his face how little he means to you. He was about to call you out when he heard you speak. “Get off of me.” It’s like a switch flipped. He is now paying attention to your body language. Rafe sees her hands trying to push his chest. How the guy keeps grabbing them to bring them down to his pants. “Just shut up and stay still.”
That was Rafe’s breaking point. He grabs the guy from the back of his shirt, throwing him to the ground. You watch in horror as the guy hits the floor in a hard thump. Rafe’s fist meets the guy's face in an instant. You stand there as his body holds the guy down and he keeps hitting him. Everyone is yelling in horror, telling Rafe to stop. “What is wrong with you? She told you to get off her.” Rafe yells.
His voice snaps you out of it. The guy is trying to block Rafe’s hits but he can’t do much in his position. Rafe has him trapped on the floor. “Rafe stop, let him go.” You yell. You really don’t want to be the reason that he got into a fight. It’s bad enough that his dad yelled at him over you.
Topper and Kelce run over, dragging Rafe off of the poor guy. “Fucking touch her again and I swear I’ll kill you. I won’t hesitate if I see you near her again.” Rafe screams as his friends drag him away. You look at the guy on the floor, he just lays there as people try to check on him. “God he’s such a psycho. Who just attacks a random guy.” Someone says as they pull out their phone to call the cops. “Maybe he shouldn’t be such a creep forcing himself onto people.” You say without thinking. Heads turn to look at you in confusion. Some people connect the dots as to what happened. “DId he try to..” You walk away before people can ask questions.
You find Rafe outside, pacing in circles as he yells at his friends. “Why would you pull me off? FUcking asshole deserved it. He’s lucking I didn’t fucking kill him.” The boys just look at him with worried looks. “You can’t just say you are going to kill people Rafe.” Topper tries to reason but it falls on deaf ears. “Nah I mean it. He was going to hurt her and I wanted to kill him. I would do it to anyone who even thinks about touching her.” The boys don’t know what to say. Rafe is like a ticking bomb when he’s like this.
“Rafe.” Your voice calms him, he turns to you. “Are you okay?” He rushes to you. Examining you to make sure that creep didn’t harm you in any way. “I’m fine. Thank you.” You don’t know what else to say. He helped you out back there and you are grateful. “I swear if he hurt you I’m going back in there and killing him. DOn’t care if they arrest me.” He’s being irrational. “Hey, just calm down. Everything is fine now. You made it okay.” He pauses, your words sinking in. He made it okay.
He was the one who helped you, the one that saved you. He reaches out to you, caressing your check. Relishing the feeling of you leaning into his touch. “You should go home.” He whispers. Your eyes open and meet his. Their red and his pupils are dilated. “Come with me.” He looks at you, debating if it’s a good idea. “I can’t. I said I would leave you alone, so I can’t.” He takes his hand off your face, about to back away from you but you stopped him.
“I want you to come with me, please. You can’t drive like this.” He gave in, no fighting was needed. You want him and that’s all he needs to know. He steps closer, walking side by side to your car. He sees Wheezie and Sarah in it. “What are they doing here?” He asks you. “Wheeze snuck off to the party. We came to get her and when I was leaving well.” You look back at the house and at him. “Well you know.”
He nods at you, not saying another word as you get into the car and drive off. The car ride was filled with you and Sarah lecturing Wheezie on how dangerous this was. That if something happened to her and no one knew where she was it could end badly. Rafe tenses at this thought. He was so coked out he didn’t realize his own sister was at the party. You were right she could have been hurt. Look at what happened to you, the same could have happened to Wheezie.
He’s on autopilot as he walks into the house and up the stairs. Your conversation plays in the background in his mind. He enters his room shutting the door but not noticing how it doesn’t click shut until a moment later. “Are you okay?” Rafe turns to see you in front of the door. “Yeah, I just want to get to bed.” What he really wants is to take another line and sleep the thoughts away.
“I just wanted to say thank you again for helping me today.” You shift your eyes from him. “No problem. Didn’t want you to get hurt.” He sits on the edge of his bed, folding his hands and looking at them. “That’s all? I got the flowers you gave me.” you take a step closer, wanting to be near him. You want to fix this, tonight made you realize he does care.
“Oh yeah. You can just forget about them. Don’t know why I even got them in the first place.” Your smile fades, the small flame of hope flickers out. “So that note was for nothing?” He doesn’t say anything. Guess you finally got your answer, it's over. “Don’t know why I even tried talking to you. You don’t care.” You go to leave the room. “Don’t leave.” He calls out.
Your hand is still on the door knob, one twist and you’ll be free. “Why? There’s nothing to stay for.” You hear him grunt, the bed squeaking under him. “Do you think I want to be like this? I can’t stand myself. I’m a fuck up, everyone knows it. For fucks sake my own father hates me.” He gets up, adrenaline coursing through him.
“I wish I could be normal. That I was enough of a man to be worthy of anything. I’m just a failure at everything so no point in pulling you down with me.” His eyes are collecting tears. His breath came in short bursts. “That’s the drugs talking. You are normal Rafe.” He scoffs at you. “No, the drugs just make it easier to swallow that pill.” He laughs out.
“I know what everyone says about me, I’m not stupid. Ever since my mom died I was some monster. No one wanted to be around me and I just kept acting up. I know I’m not worth anything, then there you were. My own personal sunshine. For a second I was able to forget who I was. I was someone else and didn't have to worry about the rumors that go around. Guess I forgot I don’t deserve good things.”
He’s laughing but you can hear the hurt in his voice. Tears fill your eyes at the thought of him feeling so worthless. “You do deserve good things.” “Look at what that got us. I fucked it up and you don’t even want me around. I get it, don't get me wrong but it sucks. I didn’t think you meant anything, the little voice in my head saying I was a fool for wanting to be with you. I let it get to me and now whatever we were is gone.”
A tear falls down his cheek. “I lost the last good thing that ever happened to me. You know you’re the only person that cared about me. It’s funny not even my own family likes me but you did. You were a breath of fresh air, the sunny day after a storm. I finally had you and I couldn’t even keep that. So no, I don't deserve good things.” His voice raises. A hollow feeling in his chest, he wishes it was a blackhole ready to swallow him up.
“Is that why you call me Sunny?” The nickname starts to make sense to you now. “Yeah, you’re this bright light that took everything away.” He sits down on the bed again, looking at the sun necklace laying on his table. He picks it up, playing with the gem between his fingers. “My Sunny. So beautiful it hurts. I’m sorry I’m such a fuck up. Wish I was different, maybe then we would actually be together.”
Your breath hitches, was this just the drugs? He did say that it just made it easier to handle how he feels. “I don’t want you to be different.” You stroll over to him, stepping between his legs. You grab his head in your hands so he can look you in the face. “I just wanted you to be you. I like who Rafe Cameron is. Why would I want you to be anyone different?” His eyes are shiny, glossed over with the tears that keep falling.
“It doesn’t matter now right? It’s too late.” His hand wraps around your wrist. “We can talk about this tomorrow. You should get some sleep, we’ll talk when you have a clearer mind.” You go to leave the room but he stops you. “Stay. Don’t leave me.” His eyes are pleading with you. “Okay.”
You take off your shoes as he gets up. He hands you a change of clothes and he strips from his, laying in his bed waiting for you. You don’t know whether to change here or go into his bathroom. His eyes are are staring at you and you decide fuck it. He divulged how he felt, you can give in for at least this. You change into the shirt he gave you, leaving the pants to the side and get into bed. His fist still holds the necklace, you take his hand. The piece of jewelry moving to you.
You look at it, mixed emotions fill you. The happiness when you first got it, how you thought it was a step further in the relationship. The sadness of when you found him at the bonfire. The confusion you feel at this moment. You forgive him. You want to get past this and it seems like he does too. There’s still this fear in the back of your mind.
He traces your facial features with a light touch, scooting closer to your body. You are both on your sides facing each other. His eyes are drooping, sleep knocking on his door. Slowly fading his consciousness as he fights it off to have one more minute with you. “I think I’ll always be in love with you.” His words are softly whispered between you two.
Your mind short circuits. He said he was in love with you. There’s no way he actually said that. His hand lays motionless on your side, the sandman claiming him as his next victim. You look at him and then the necklace once again. Shifting slightly as to not wake him, you put the necklace back on. You move closer to him, touching his jaw. Letting sleep take you with it. “I’ll always be in love with you too.”
#rafe x reader#rafe cameron#rafe obx#obx#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe x you#rafe outer banks#rafe x nannyreader
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Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love
Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland
Rating: T
Word Count: 18.000
Read on AO3
“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there are more important matters at hand.
“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”
He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.
“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.”
____________
Edwin takes the Cat King up on his initial offer, so instead of a few hours, he is gone for six weeks.
Charles isn't good at coping with it.
Tags for everyone who wanted one ♥: @that-ineffable-devil @mentally-unstable-fangirl @tipsyscone @butternutsquashthesenutz @makemeimmortalwithahug @mylu @imineffible @fabledshadow @asherxme @twopercentboy
„Now, I think this concludes our business“, Edwin says and fixes his bow-tie, the collar of his shirt. His lips feel strange, now that they have tasted their first kiss (and their second, and third, and fourth, and…, his treacherous mind corrects him), but this was a small price to pay for safe passage out of this godforsaken town. “So, could you please transport me back to my friend?”
The creature in question unfurls his body from the sofa they were lounging on for the transaction, and even if Edwin cannot find much that is good about this situation, the Cat King at least has been rather civil about it all, no matter his unconventional request for payment.
Even now, he walks closer and there is a smirk on his lips.
Lips, Edwin does not want to look at, because he knows how they feel and knows that they felt right in one, and terrifyingly wrong in all other ways.
“If you insist”, the Cat King drawls, and brushes two fingers across Edwin’s shoulders. “I can take you back to your little friend. But you’re also more than welcome to stay a little longer…”
“No, thank you”, Edwin cuts him off before he can continue, because he needs to get back to Charles, and as soon as possible, too. “As far as I can tell, you have been made quite happy, so I consider my debt repaid and would very much like to return where I belong.”
And the Cat King looks at him like he knows something he won’t tell Edwin yet, and snaps his fingers, and the world changes.
Edwin disappears in front of their eyes, and Charles forces down the spark of panic that comes with that.
The Cat King wanted to talk and Edwin can handle it, of course he can. Even if Charles would have liked it much better if he could have done it within his sight.
The warehouse looks different when it reappears.
Edwin needs a moment to make sense of it, but then his gaze gets stuck on the scratches on the walls, the splintered wood and bent metal, the wrecked throne and the hole in the floor that looks like someone dug it with their bare hands, blood streaked across the grey concrete.
It looks like a crime scene, like a war had been waged inside of it, and then Edwin’s eyes find Charles’ form in the middle of the broken up ground.
He’s sunken on the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his coat torn to shreds, his white socks stained, and his hair a matted mess of curls. Bits of concrete are stuck in there, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice, like he doesn’t seem to notice anything else around him, and it scares Edwin more than anything ever has before.
Before he knows it, he is moving, gasping out Charles’ name, and for a terrible, terrifying second, Charles does not react. He just sits there, motionless, like he is stuck in limbo; then he looks up, slowly, like he is moving through molasses, and somehow, it’s worse.
There is no life left in his eyes.
Usually, they shine brighter than the sun itself, sparkling with every emotion Charles is feeling, but now their light is dimmed until it has all but gone out, their brown not warm and inviting anymore, but flat.
A sound tumbles from Edwin’s lips, although he cannot quite make out what kind, something between a sob and a plea and a prayer, and Edwin is about to drop to his knees in front of him, when Charles propels himself upwards and flings himself into Edwin with a force that knocks them both to the ground.
If he was still breathing, the impact would force the air out of Edwin’s lungs, but he is certain that even then, he wouldn’t realise it, because Charles is holding him so tightly it compresses his non-existent ribs, like he has been hurt, like he had thought Edwin was.
And he’s crying.
It’s the kind of crying Edwin hasn’t experienced before, but something which he understands anyway; it’s the kind of crying he would hear in hell, seeping through the cracks of his doll house, the kind he would see much later when he was escaping.
It’s crying without any kind of restraint because there is no strength left to fight it, the kind of crying that comes from desperation so deep it captures your entire soul, and forces anything else into meaninglessness.
Edwin has never cried like this before, and he swears right then and there that he will find and butcher whoever did this to Charles.
Three hours have passed and Edwin isn’t yet back.
Charles is doing his very best to keep calm, but it is so, so difficult when the only thing those damned cats are willing to say is, sometimes the King likes to keep them for a while.
What is a while?, Charles had asked, but there had been nothing but a self-satisfied meow, which most likely just means that the cats know about as much as Charles does.
Which is not reassuring, but in the end, it will be fine.
Edwin might not know how to fight, but he’s clever and he’s brave and he would never leave Charles alone.
“Shh, it’s alright”, he is whispering into Charles’ curls, trying to soothe him even though it doesn’t seem to be working at all.
Charles is crying like the world has ended, his sobs so violent they make Edwin’s chest seize up, his fingers grabbing and pulling at Edwin’s clothes like he wants to sink into him and fuse their bodies together.
And Edwin might not know how to fix this, but he’ll damn himself to Hell if he lets go.
He’s about to try and change their position in hopes of making Charles more comfortable, when there is a thud and the sound of splashing liquid behind them.
“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there’s more important matters at hand.
“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”
He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.
“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.”
Edwin has been gone for a day and a half and Charles is going insane.
He knows he’s going insane, but that doesn’t change anything, because Edwin has been gone for a day and a half, and they have never been apart for this long since they met.
“I swear to God, if you don’t bring him back, like, this instant, I’m going to start breaking things”, he tells one of the cats that have come to watch them; it’s not an effective threat because Charles has been saying this for at least six hours, but he cannot stop himself, because he feels like breaking things.
He feels like he needs to break things, and that scares him, but what scares him much, much more is that Edwin isn’t here, and he has been gone for a day and a half, and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.
“Sure thing, lover boy”, one of the cats replies, and Charles shouldn’t, but he screams.
Silence stretches between them, only interrupted by Charles’ sobs, his heaving breaths.
“What do you mean, I have been gone for six weeks?”, Edwin finally asks, dread of a previously unknown type and magnitude filling him with every tear Charles is crying into his suit.
“What do you think I mean? I mean, six weeks, you have been gone for six weeks, and we have been looking all over for you and this one”, she gestures to Charles, “has taken the entire town apart because he was so convinced that he would have to dig you out of Hell with his own bare hands. That’s what I mean with you have been gone for six weeks.”
And she looks down at Charles who is shaking in Edwin’s arms, and there is tenderness and true affection in her eyes, which vanishes as soon as her gaze returns to Edwin.
“So, like. Good to have you back, but also, what the fuck, how could you do this to him?”
It’s been two days since Edwin was whisked away by that absolute prick of a Cat King and Charles is losing his mind. Whatever he thought before about going insane was nothing, nothing at all, because this is so much worse.
Crystal, bless her, has been trying to calm him down, but there is only so much she can do, which is nothing at all, because Edwin is gone and no one will fucking talk to Charles and tell him what is going on.
So, he is pacing, because he cannot start smashing things up, even if he wants to.
Not because of any consideration Charles has for the Cat King or his kingdom or his subjects, but because Edwin will come back and he will have solved everything, and he will be so cross with him if Charles starts smashing things up.
So, instead, he paces, and thinks about how he’ll hug Edwin once he’s back, no matter if Edwin wants him to or not, and how he won’t let him out of his sight for the rest of eternity.
Six weeks.
The words shatter something within Edwin that he didn’t know existed, tear him down until he’s not sure if he’s still the same person as he was before.
Because Charles is crying in his arms like he watched the world end, and suddenly Edwin doesn’t just understand the emotion there, but feels it deeply, viscerally.
If Charles had been gone for six weeks, he would be tearing the world apart with his bare hands to get him back.
And suddenly, every one of Charles’ sobs is an open wound, every trembling grasping of his fingers a broken bone, every time he breathes in, wet and desperate and painful, is a death he dies, because Edwin is the one who caused this.
Edwin, who was gone for six weeks without knowing, who has left the most important person in his life to suffer without him; Edwin, who can’t do anything but hug Charles tighter, and pray to whatever god will hear him that Charles will be able to forgive him.
It’s been three days and Charles doesn’t care anymore.
He has told Crystal as much, after she had dragged him out on a coffee run, insisting that he cannot spend his entire time in that godforsaken warehouse. Which she is wrong about, he realises as soon as he has stepped outside, because Edwin could come back any second and Charles would not be there to take care of him after whatever this Cat King has been putting him through.
At first, the Cat King hadn’t seemed too bad, not dangerous, more annoying, but apparently Charles had been wrong because Edwin isn’t here, and there is no way Edwin would leave Charles alone for this long, especially because he must know how worried Charles is by now.
So, the only explanation is that the Cat King must be keeping Edwin from leaving somehow and Charles will not allow it.
He should have gone with him right away, shouldn’t have let Edwin out of his sight, will never do so again.
So, he lets Crystal get the coffee she wants, but ignores her looks when he brandishes his cricket bat even before they walk into the warehouse. Maybe he is overreacting, because it has only been three days, but at the same moment, Charles knows he isn’t, because maybe for other people, spending three days away from their best friend is just part of everyday life, but it isn’t for them.
Charles is used to looking up at any given time and finding Edwin within his sight and the fact that he isn’t terrifies Charles to the point where it is hard to think.
That’s why it doesn’t matter that Crystal is obviously uncomfortable when Charles twirls the bat around as he enters the warehouse, just like it doesn’t matter that the cats scatter, not even that Edwin would tut and tell Charles to use his head to solve this, not his muscles.
Because Edwin isn’t here, is he?
“Oi!”, he calls into the vast room and sends more cats running. “One of you little fuckers is going to tell me where your King has taken my friend or I’ll start smashing shit up around here, alright?”
Just to make sure they know he means business, Charles brings down his bat on the closest barrel and feels the metal dent under the impact.
It’s satisfying in a way that scares him, but everything scares him right now, so this doesn’t matter, either.
“Do you hear me?”, he shouts and knows that he doesn’t sound commanding, just desperate, because that’s what he is, desperate and scared and not even good enough to keep the most important person in the world safe. But maybe desperate is enough for this, because desperate people do desperate things and Charles is about to rip this place into bits and pieces until he finds Edwin again.
There is no answer, and Crystal reaches out to tug on his jacket, like she thinks he doesn’t mean it, but oh, that’s where she is wrong.
They have only spent a week and a half together so Charles doesn’t hold it against her, but he’ll show her, just like he’ll show the cats, how much he means it.
Edwin isn’t certain how long they stay like this, but it’s not like he cares either. His mind is still reeling from the revelation that he has been gone for six weeks, his heart caught in a cycle of ripping itself apart for leaving Charles alone and patching itself up once more because he cannot let Charles see how much he is hurting, not when Charles needs him to be strong now.
Despite having existed for over a hundred years, Edwin has never become comfortable with another person’s touch – Charles’ being the exception – but he knows that Charles needs it, so his hands have started running over Charles’ back, combing through his lovely curls, anything that will let Charles know that he is here and he is safe and he isn’t leaving ever again.
“For me, it was only a few hours”, Edwin whispers, a response that comes far too late, feels like far too little, because who cares what it was like for him if it has left Charles in such a state? “If I had known that time passed different there, I would have come back immediately. I wouldn’t have spent a second with that blasted man.”
His hand is cupping Charles’ head, trying to support him through sobs that seem to wreck through his body with the intensity of an earthquake, the tears they bring soaking through Edwin’s jacket and shirt. Even if his spectral skin cannot feel them, Edwin knows it anyway, just like he knows the desperate grip Charles has on his back, the shaking of his slender body in Edwin’s arms.
“Time passed differently-”, Crystal starts but then stops herself, almost like a decision Edwin can see her make, before she crouches down and puts a hand on Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s. Part of Edwin wants to push it away, because it should be him who touches Charles, no on else. “You know what, we can talk about that later. We have to get him out of here first, then we can figure the rest out.”
Metal bends and wood breaks and concrete doesn’t do much at all apart from sending shocks up Charles’ arms, especially if he does it again and again and again.
If he was still alive, his muscles would be screaming, he’d be covered in cuts and bruises, splinters embedded in his flesh and being driven deeper with every motion; like this, there is nothing, just Charles and the cricket bat and the violence he is unleashing.
The first hit had felt good, like a release, but by now it feels like nothing at all anymore, but in the end, he does not do it to feel better, but to get these goddamned cats to finally tell him where Edwin is.
It’s the only thing that matters, that has mattered, will matter, and Charles will take the whole fucking warehouse apart if that is what it takes.
His bat slams into the side of a barrel, denting it, and a cat flees; his bat hits a post and another one does.
“Just give him back!”, he screams and he sounds crazed, but that doesn’t matter either. “Tell me where he is!”
There is carnage around him, there’s bits of wood flying where Charles’ swing has toppled a palette over, and it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all.
It’s nearly impossible to get Charles to stand up and it breaks Edwin’s heart, because Charles should be light on his feet, a flurry of motion even if he is trying to stand still, but instead he stumbles when Crystal helps lift him up. His hands are still clutching to Edwin’s clothes, cramped to the point where Crystal can’t dislodge them, although she is whispering soft nothings, coaxing with even softer touches.
In the end, they shift his arms so that they are around Edwin’s neck, clinging to him when Edwin picks him up like one would a child.
Were they still alive, Edwin wouldn’t be able to carry him a step, but Charles’ astral body has no weight to it, so Charles’ head comes to rest somewhere between Edwin’s neck and shoulder, fresh tears spilling down to wet his collar.
His sobs have quieted somehow, but he is still crying, still mute to Crystal’s questions and Edwin’s attempts of encouragement.
In all the three decades Edwin has known him, he has never seen Charles like this, never this closed off or devastated; it hurts in ways Edwin didn’t know he could hurt.
Crystal doesn’t talk much to him, but for once, Edwin doesn’t blame her: if he had been here in her stead, watching Charles spiral from his usual self to this state, he also wouldn’t want to talk to the person responsible for it.
So, he just follows her to the room she is still renting, holding onto Charles’ trembling form and swearing to never let him go again.
Eventually it’s Crystal who stops him.
She screams his name over the sounds of destruction, an expression on her pretty face that Charles has no energy left to decipher.
“Charles, they are not telling you anything”, she says, and yes, that’s the problem. “Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Edwin is somewhere else entirely, maybe the Cat King has taken him somewhere else in town.”
It makes little sense, and Charles wants to go back and smash another barrel into pieces, just in case it’s this one that will make those fucking cats tell him where Edwin is, when Crystal puts a hand on his shoulder and adds, “Maybe he needs our help there.”
Suddenly, a barrage of images: Edwin kept prisoner, forced into iron shackles; Edwin, being tortured; Edwin, waiting for Charles to come free him.
Charles, who has sworn to protect him and failed once already.
Edwin puts Charles down on Crystal’s bed, but even then Charles doesn’t let go of him and Edwin is touched, Edwin is terrified.
He seems so small like this, curled up on Edwin’s lap, and Edwin’s heart aches with love and with devotion and with an unbearable amount of guilt.
Without thinking, he pushes a hand through Charles’ hair again, but this time, Charles shivers against him, either because of the touch or by chance, Edwin isn’t sure.
“What happened?”, he asks Crystal softly, as not to disturb Charles.
“What do you think?”, she asks instead of answering, “He thought you were gone. He thought you might be gone forever, or trapped in Hell, or another thousand things his poor brain came up with. Would have gotten himself wiped out of existence if I hadn’t stopped him. Or dragged down to hell. He was willing to do absolutely anything to find you.”
She looks down at Charles and Edwin watches her eyes soften, like she is watching something precious; she is right, of course, but part of his heart still screams for her to stop.
“I’m not sure you know how much he loves you”, she tells him, her expression still soft, and it’s preposterous, it’s uncalled for, and Edwin desperately wishes it not to be true.
They search the harbour and the lighthouse, the library and the abandoned houses scattered around town, the high school and the cemetery; Edwin is nowhere and Charles curses Port Townsend and its people, curses the two of them for ever setting foot in it and curses Crystal for bringing them here.
In the woods, they find something akin to a shrine, complete with ancient writing that Charles cannot read, but there is no sign of Edwin anywhere. Around it, skeletons are scattered across the grass, and Charles should care about it, should make this a case, but the thought of it feels so far removed he’s almost surprised when Crystal picks it up to bring with them.
That summons the skeletons and they run, and Charles forgets about it almost immediately afterwards because it doesn’t matter, nothing does.
As Crystal outlines the events in the past six weeks in broad strokes, Charles hardly stirs, even if his tears dry at some point.
He’s not asleep, because that is not a luxury granted to them, but Edwin notices this kind of exhaustion anyway; he’s felt it before, after he had crawled out of Hell, covered in soot and bile and blood, and had collapsed right there on the floor, finally safe, but unable to move for what felt like an eternity.
And he understands it, too: he’d rather go to Hell again than lose Charles.
“He just sat there?”, he asks when Crystal is nearing the end of her tale, because it seems impossible, should be that. Charles is movement, is a constant dance, and yet Crystal is telling him that prior to Edwin’s return, he hadn’t moved in a fortnight. And it should be inconceivable, but Edwin thinks of how he found Charles, sunken into himself like he had become part of the ground itself, and suddenly it is difficult to doubt her words.
Crystal nods, and again her gaze softens when it touches Charles; again something within Edwin twists and hisses.
“He said he wasn’t leaving until you came back”, she explains, and her voice is a caress not meant for him, but Charles, who cannot hear it. “And he said he would wait forever if he had to… and I believed him.”
“Oh, Charles.”
It’s a declaration of love, of sorrow, of everything in between, and for a second, Charles stirs in Edwin’s lap, before he settles back down; it’s for the best, even if Edwin craves to see Charles’ eyes with some semblance of life in them like a starving man might crave a meal.
He strokes his knuckles down Charles’ spine, wishing he could feel the bumps of every vertebra, and Charles presses closer, almost imperceptibly so.
“Thank you for taking care of him”, he tells Crystal and means it, even if the words feel like pulling barbed wire through his airways, because taking care of Charles isn’t Crystal’s duty, it’s Edwin’s. But she was there when Edwin wasn’t, and it comforts him at least a little to know that Charles hadn’t been alone.
“Of course”, Crystal says, and her eyes stay soft, stay on Charles, “but don’t you fucking do that again.”
The vase helps nothing at all, because Charles cannot read the words that were transcribed on it or the table, because he’s useless without Edwin at his side.
Edwin would be able to solve this, there is a reason why he’s the brains of the operation after all, but Charles? The best he can do is put the vase down on Crystal’s table and all but forget about it.
Until he comes back that night from another trip to the harbour, the magic shop, the warehouse, without Edwin, whose absence feels more like a gaping, oozing wound with every passing second, and there is a stranger in Crystal’s bed.
She’s petite and looks peaceful, but Charles doesn’t even get to ask what she is doing there before Crystal starts talking.
“I put some flowers into the weird vase we found”, she says, and it doesn’t explain anything at all, “Dandelions that I found when I went back to check if we had missed anything in the woods, you know, because of the skeletons. And I heard a thud from the hallway and Niko here had passed out right in the middle of it. Which, in itself, would have been concerning, but then...God, there is no way to say this without sounding insane, but there were little people? Crawling out of her mouth? Which are now asleep in the dandelions I put into the vase.”
She looks at Charles like she expects a response, but it’s really difficult to give one, when it’s… well. When it’s not about Edwin.
“That’s good?”, he tries and Crystal rolls her eyes, looking annoyed for a second.
“Charles, I know this isn’t-”, she starts, but then stops herself, her expression softening. “I know you are worried about Edwin, but I need your help with this, okay? It won’t take long, we just have to take those little creatures back to their little altar thing so they won’t crawl back into Niko once they wake up. Can you do that for me?”
It seems reasonable and Charles still wants to say no, because nothing matters as long as Edwin isn’t back where he should be, but then he remembers, dimly, through the pain and the confusion and the gaping hole that is Edwin’s absence, that this is what they set out to do.
Help people.
So, he nods, and Crystal smiles, and that might matter at least a little bit.
“I’ll take him back to London tomorrow”, Edwin says into the silence that has settled around them. “Through the mirror. Not because I don’t want you to come, just…”
He doesn’t quite know how to say it, but Crystal seems to understand it anyway.
“That’s a good idea”, she agrees easily, and reaches out to touch a hand to Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s hand once more. “I think he should be back home and you two… I think it might be good if you had some time to sort through things. I’ll join you later.”
In any other situation, Edwin would ask what she means by that, but right now, it really doesn’t seem to matter, so he just nods, settles back against the headboard, and lets his eyes slip shut.
Charles takes the vase back where they found it, and there should be some kind of satisfaction in it, something about the job being jobbed and the day being saved and the stranger, Niko, being out of danger, but there is nothing but the gaping hole in his chest where his heart is supposed to be, because Edwin isn’t there with him.
When the sun is rising, the first rays of light coming through the windows, Edwin tries to rouse Charles once more.
“Charles?”, he asks as softly as he possibly can, not yet pulling away. “I was thinking, we should go back to London.”
For a few moments, there is no answer, but then Charles slowly, ever so slowly, sits up, his arms still around Edwin’s neck, as if he couldn’t bear to lose their closeness.
And Edwin expects a reaction, but none as violent as he gets when he finally sees Charles’ face again.
It’s not like he has forgotten it; for him, not even a day has passed, and yet it feels like seeing him for the first time.
His eyes are the same brown Edwin has become so familiar with, but they are dull still, even if a hint of life has returned to them; they are rimmed with red, eyelashes clumped together as if Charles had just been crying. And he might have been, even if the thought that he didn’t notice hurts Edwin in completely new, unexpected ways.
“You’re really back”, Charles whispers and the words are a sob and a prayer and an exaltation, and Edwin’s heart breaks because he should never have been back, he should have just been there. “You’re really here.”
There are tears spilling down his face, making his gaze a little brighter and yet not worth it; Edwin reaches out to wipe them away without thinking and Charles trembles under his touch like he never has before.
“I never meant to be away that long”, he tells Charles, although he’s not sure it matters, because he was, and there is nothing he can say or do to make it better. “I never wanted to worry you.”
I never want to be away from you for more than a few seconds, he thinks, but doesn’t say, doesn’t recognise the thought but knows it to be true nonetheless.
“I know”, Charles says, and it’s still half a sob, more tears spilling down his cheeks for Edwin to wipe away. “I always knew that. And you came back and you’re safe and that’s all that matters and I just. I missed you so much.”
And it’s not all that matters, not by a long shot, but for now, Edwin just nods and wipes another tear from Charles’ skin.
Niko wakes up again and she’s lovely in a way Charles knows Edwin would have enjoyed, but if anything, that just makes the need to get Edwin back worse.
It’s been a week and Charles desperately wishes he could sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to feel this all the time.
At least Niko seems to be willing to help, which would be a relief if Charles had any hope left that looking through town would bring Edwin back. But they have been everywhere thrice, have looked at every single thing Tragic Mick has on sale, and Edwin is just gone, like the Cat King has made him vanish from existence.
The thought cuts into Charles’ flesh like iron would, burning hot and torturous and it’s been a week and maybe there’s no other way. Edwin must be hurt or captured or a thousand other things Charles won’t allow himself to think of, and Charles will bring him back, no matter what it takes.
“Could you girls go and check the lighthouse again? Maybe the beach?”, he asks and maybe Crystal is getting suspicious, but he cannot find it in himself to care. “I just, I don’t want him to get back and there not being anyone there to take care of him. Please?”
It’s enough to convince them; they won’t find anything, he knows it deep in his bones, but it gives him the time and the space to go back to the warehouse and do what is necessary.
It takes some convincing to get Charles to let go of Edwin enough to stand up, his hands sliding down Edwin’s arms like he doesn’t want to lose contact, and it’s then when Edwin’s gaze gets caught by something that should be impossible.
There’s red on Charles’ fingers.
Not the red Edwin associates with him, but the red of dried blood and fresh wounds and overwhelming pain; Charles’ fingers are stained with blood, his nails torn to the flesh, some missing ,his knuckles scraped and bruised.
A gasp escapes him, because they cannot get hurt, they are already dead. Wounds, even those from iron, are fleeting, fade within minutes. And yet, Charles’ hands are battered, bloodied, like he had just been punching a wall.
Without thinking, Edwin takes them in his, fingers delicately gripping Charles’ wrists as not to hurt his poor, wounded hands any further, as he raises them up for inspection.
“What happened?”, he asks and hears his voice breaking, feels his heart do the same.
Charles’ eyes flicker downwards and there’s a fleeting look of recognition there, but nothing more. No surprise, no confusion, not even pain.
“Oh, yeah”, he says distractedly, turning his hands within Edwin’s grasp. “It happened a few weeks ago, when I was trying to dig through the concrete. Started out with just a scrapes that healed again, no problem, but then at some point they just stayed. Don’t really know what they’re about.”
“Do they hurt?”
“Yeah”, Charles says easily, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send Edwin’s mind spiralling. “But you get used to it, don’t you?”
It’s the warehouse again because it’s always the warehouse because Edwin has gotten lost there, and Charles has to get him back, no matter what.
So he marches into there, cricket bat brandished, and sends the cats scattering. Their King has not yet returned, his throne empty and Charles’s non-existent, aching heart seizes in his chest, like it does every time he looks at that horrible pile of palettes.
For a moment, he wants to beat it into splinters even more than he already has, wants to reduce it to dust, but then he stops himself.
It’s not what he is there to do.
One of the cats is too slow; Charles catches it easily, even if it is scratching and screaming and twisting its little body in a futile attempt to break free.
Charles doesn’t want to hurt it, but if that is what is necessary, he will.
“Tell me where he took my friend”, he hisses at the creature, ignoring that the scratches sting like fire, ignoring that the cat is most likely terrified of him. “If you don’t I’m going to crush every bone in your body and I won’t even regret it.”
There is a moment of silence, and Charles sees his hands covered in blood, feels thin bones splinter in his grip, imagines a life going out because of him, and he doesn’t want to do it, but he will if he has to.
Its little legs kick out again, before they go still and then, with the most contempt Charles has ever heard in another being’s voice, it says, “There is a cave south of here where the King sometimes goes when he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Is Edwin there?”, Charles asks, a hint of hope blooming in his chest, because it’s a direction at least, a possibility. Yet, he tightens his fingers just so, just enough to let the cat know he means it.
“If you will find him, it will be there”, the cat replies and Charles breathes a sigh of relief, and lets go.
Edwin tries not to watch Charles say goodbye to Crystal, but it’s impossible not to, because Charles won’t let go of his hand. And Edwin cannot feel it, but he knows that Charles’ knuckles are still raw and his nails torn down to the flesh, and it is impossible to think of anything else.
“You’ll take care of yourself, okay?”, Crystal says, and reaches out to hug Charles, who goes willingly, their joined hands dragging Edwin closer, too. Their joined hands, Charles’ bruised and bleeding because of Edwin.
“’Course I will”, Charles answers and buries his face in Crystal’s hair; Edwin wants to tear him away from her and keep him to himself for the rest of forever. “You, too, though. And take care of Niko.”
“I will. Maybe she wants to come with me to London. See the sights. The agency. The haunted vending machine.”
The words give Edwin a start; that case, the vending machine that used to be haunted until Charles and he convinced the ghost stuck in there to move on in 2002, is nothing Crystal should know about. It’s one of the cases Charles and he still refer to sometimes when they pass that particular machine, a little inside joke.
That Crystal knows about it, that this Niko does as well, is an almost physical blow to Edwin’s chest, and for a moment, he does not know why.
But then Charles pulls back, his bloodied hand in Edwin’s still, and says, “That’d be brills. And we can make a few new memories, too. Good ones, this time.”
And suddenly, it is so clear: in the last three decades and some, there have been almost no memories they haven’t shared, and suddenly, there are six weeks of Charles’ existence that Edwin hasn’t been part of and the realisation of it feels like it’s ripping him to shreds.
“We should go”, he says, before he thinks of it, and it is unkind and cruel and selfish to ask Charles to cut his goodbyes short; yet Edwin cannot help but feel relief when Charles looks at him for a second and nods. “I’ll see you in two days, okay, Crys?”
And Crystal, who has a nickname too, nods, and Edwin breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
Charles drags the girls with him to the woods to the south, unsure where to find the cave and yet determined to do so.
Chances are that Crystal is just humouring him, but Charles doesn’t care. And it doesn’t matter, does it, because it’s her who finds it in the end.
“This doesn’t look very nice for a kitty”, Niko comments as they come closer; Charles still isn’t certain if she knows what and who they are looking for, but he doesn’t have the time stop and explain it, not if Edwin might be here, might be hurt, might be being tortured.
“I’m not sure if the Cat King would describe himself as a kitty”, Crystal replies as they get close enough to see into the cave, “But in general, I agree. I don’t think this looks nice for anyone in particular.”
She’s right; it looks damp and overgrown with weed, not a place fit for a king, but maybe for a prisoner.
“You wait outside”, Charles tells them, because he can’t die anymore, and because he isn’t sure if he wants his new friends to see what he’ll become if faced with the Cat King now. “If I need help, I’ll shout for you.”
Maybe Crystal answers, maybe she doesn’t; Charles doesn’t wait to hear it, just pulls out his bat and barges into the cave, ready to knock the whiskers off the damned creature that has taken his best friend, the best person in the world.
Inside, the cave is cosy, carpeted, a large bed and a bar crammed into a corner; it’s magic, quite obviously.
And it’s empty.
Being back in London feels right, even if the hand in Edwin’s still feels wrong.
Not because Edwin doesn’t want to hold Charles hand – he finds, although he never would have considered it before, that the weight of Charles’ hand in his is comforting, the pressure of his fingers grounding, that the occasional tug makes his heart skip a metaphorical beat – but because even without feeling, he is constantly reminded of the state of them, the blood caked under Charles’ fingernails.
Almost, he raises their joined hands again to see if maybe, some of the bruises have healed, but when Edwin turns around, Charles is looking at him with such wonder, such care, such lingering pain, that it takes his breath away.
That look alone is like a stab, a full-body blow, and Edwin hates himself for having caused it, for thinking about his petty jealousies when Charles has been through six weeks of what must have been Hell.
“Charles”, he says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say, but he doesn’t even get to finish saying his name; before he does, Charles pulls him closer, into another hug, that feels almost as desperate as the one they shared back at the warehouse, kneeling on the ruined concrete floor.
“I thought I lost you”, Charles sobs into his shoulder, and the only thing Edwin can do is hold him. “I didn’t want to believe it for a second, but you were gone for so long and I thought- I didn’t think I’d ever be here again, I didn’t think I’d be here again with you, I didn’t-”
It makes Edwin think of what Crystal said an ocean away, that Charles didn’t want to leave the warehouse, not without Edwin, and there are tears in his eyes now, spilling over and impossible to stop, because Charles there on the warehouse floor, unmoving as the world changes around him, is the worst thing he has ever imagined.
He hugs him closer, and Charles buries his face in the crook of Edwin’s neck, hot tears spilling against Edwin’s skin and soaking into his blazer, changing the fabric in the most fundamental of fashions.
The girls find him eventually.
Charles isn’t certain how long he has been sitting there, but he isn’t sure he cares anymore, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know where he is, so he can’t save him, which means Edwin is somewhere out there, alone and lost and most likely hurt. And he must be waiting for Charles to come, because Charles has always come, Charles has promised him, again and again, that he would always come.
And now, Charles doesn’t know where to go.
He doesn’t know he’s crying until Crystal is crouching before him, dabbing at his cheeks with a crumpled tissue, and it’s like everything falls apart around him, beneath him, inside him, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.
They eventually part, although Edwin isn’t sure he likes it; he’s not used to this kind of closeness, and yet it feels good to hold Charles, to comfort him.
It’s not like Charles goes far either, he keeps one of his poor, battered hands on Edwin’s wrist and drags him to their sofa, pulls him down until Charles can rest his feet on Edwin’s lap, their fingers still intertwined.
At first, it’s difficult to find somewhere to put his other hand, the one that is so used to holding books when he sits here, but Charles looks at him hopefully as he fidgets, until Edwin puts it down on top of Charles’ thin ankle, fingers snaking around to hold it.
“Do you want to tell me about what happened?”, Edwin asks after a few moments of silence – not uncomfortable, but heavy still – but Charles shakes his head almost immediately, dark curls bouncing.
“I’d rather not”, he says, and it sounds prim, almost rehearsed; it hurts in a new, novel way to think that Charles feels like he has to prepare answers when talking to him. “It wasn’t… pleasant. Do you wanna tell me how the Cat King kept you there for so long?”
His immediate response is no, he doesn’t want to tell Charles just what he had to do to appease the Cat King. There is an explanation ready on his lips, one he has rehearsed, back when there were lips on his throat, leaving imperceptible marks, but then he thinks of Charles’ hands, of his eyelashes clumped together with tears, and Charles deserves the truth, especially because there is so little else Edwin can give him.
“He asked for a kiss. Or rather, several”, he explains, then, because he isn’t certain how much Charles understood back then, on the warehouse floor, “For me, it was only a few hours, but wherever he took me, time must have been stretched there. It is the only explanation I can come up with.”
And he expects a chuckle, a smile, anything at all, but Charles’ eyes go dim again, go dull, and Edwin hates himself with renewed passion for causing it.
Charles isn’t sure how they end up in Niko’s room; he cannot remember walking, cannot remember teleporting either. But they do, and he is still crying, surrounded by pink and purple and bright yellow, and there are two sets of arms around him and they still don’t make him feel better.
He can’t remember the last time he cried, and he doesn’t think he ever cried like this before, not even with his father’s belt raining pain down on him. This is worse, because this is Edwin, and this is forever, and this is all his fault.
“Maybe the cat just didn’t know”, Crystal says softly, rubbing a hand along his back; for a brief moment, Charles wishes he could at least feel this. “Maybe their King doesn’t tell them much, I don’t think kings usually do. We’ll just keep looking. We’ll find someone who does.”
It’s meant to soothe, but it doesn’t; if anything it makes Charles cry harder, because who is left? He could go through the cats, one by one, and he will if necessary,, but if this one didn’t know, why should the next one be any better?
He doesn’t know how to answer, because any sound that comes from his lips is coated and drowned and swallowed by sobs, but he doesn’t have to, because Niko kisses the top of his head, and says, “You did mention a witch, maybe she knows? Maybe she has one of those crystal balls to look inside and find your friend!”
And she’s wrong, because Esther would never help them; and she’s right, because Charles has questions for her anyway.
A bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes quickly, thank God. Edwin isn’t sure what snuffed it out in the first place, but he swears not to make the same mistake a second time; his soul would not be able to take it.
He tries to keep the conversation light, only that so much of it seems to be caught up in everything that has happened.
It’s unusual, having to tread lightly around Charles, and Edwin hates it with a passion that surprises even himself. But it just feels so wrong, even more so than watching Crystal’s hand on Charles’ back, hearing her mention anecdotes from a life she wasn’t part of.
So, when he again almost asks Charles just how Crystal could have known about the cursed vending machine, he instead picks up the book lying on their side table and holds it up without even looking at the title.
“Do you want me to read you something?”, he asks, because back when they first met they occasionally did this, especially on winter nights whose cold they couldn’t feel, when Charles still remembered dying.
For a second, there is silence, Charles’ thumb brushing warm across the back of Edwin’s hand, and Edwin could live in this moment for the rest of his existence.
“The Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids?”, Charles asks, and there is a hint of his usual smile curling around his lips, a ghost of his normal teasing.
“I could get another book”, Edwin counters, and gives Charles a smile in hopes of getting a real one in return, “but I would have to get up to get it.”
And Charles is shaking his head immediately, and the smile on his lips grows into something Edwin almost recognises.
He reads the Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids to Charles for hours.
They get to E.
“Don’t do this”, Crystal repeats for the dozenth time, but Charles doesn’t slow down his steps, doesn’t even think about it. “Charles! Don’t do this. You remember the last time, she’s dangerous.”
“I know”, he answers, and he does. It’s just that it doesn’t matter. “That’s why she might have Edwin. Because she’s dangerous. Or she might at least know where he is. I can’t, Crystal.”
And he does stop, just for a second, turns around to see her and Niko trailing after him, Crystal obviously distressed, Niko most likely just confused. And he wants to care so much, but he just can’t.
Not when it’s Edwin.
“You stay out of this, Crys, please. But I can’t, not when it’s him. If there is any chance that Esther knows what that goddamned Cat King has done to Edwin, then I have to try. I have to.” He doesn’t expect Crystal to understand; they don’t know each other for long, it’s a miracle she’s even here still. “He’s my best friend. He would do the same for me.”
For a moment, nothing.
Then Crystal’s expression softens, like she might understand after all, and she nods.
“Alright”, she says, “Niko and I will stay around the corner and I’ll try to read her mind. But be careful, Charles. You won’t be much help to Edwin if you join him wherever he is.”
Night falls and they are still wrapped up into their cocoon of warmth on the couch, Charles’ hand by now a familiar weight in Edwin’s.
“I know you want to ask”, Charles says into the comfortable silence, and Edwin rejoices just for the pleasure of hearing his voice. “And I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, just… not now, okay? I want to enjoy having you back before I have to think about all that again.”
“Of course”, Edwin answers and he means it, understands it, too. He looks down at Charles’ hand in his and that is enough for now. “Whenever you are ready. There is no rush, we have the rest of forever to figure it out.”
Charles’ fingers twitch in his and it must be the light, but the knuckles look slightly less raw, less torn. Without thinking, Edwin lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss on the wounds, hoping that it won’t cause more pain.
It gets a response, at least, a sharp intake of breath, Charles’ fingers clenching around his, but when Edwin looks up at Charles, allowing their hands to drop once more, his eyes are wide and warm and a little alive.
“Doesn’t hurt”, Charles answers the question Edwin has yet to ask, but his voice sounds a little strangled still. “It’s just that you don’t usually do… any of this. I thought the hand holding would be almost too much, I just couldn’t let go.”
Because I need to make sure you’re really back, he doesn’t say, but Edwin hears it anyway. And the sentiment hurts, the thought that Charles thinks physical touch is a burden to him to the point of trying to let go of Edwin’s hand for his sake.
“I do not mind it in the slightest”, he declares, making sure to tighten the grip he has on Charles’ hand. “Not if it’s you.”
And Charles’ eyes widen once more, a spark in them igniting, and Edwin kisses his knuckles, one by one, vowing that he won’t let go until Charles can look at him without fear in his eyes.
“Esther!”, he yells before he has even reached the door, ready to barge in without knocking, even if Crystal has implored him to at least stay outside of Esther’s house. “If you don’t come out, I swear to God, I will come and find you and-”
“What?”, the door swings open and Esther is standing there, pipe at her lips as she regards Charles with a put upon kind of disinterest. “I heard you boys were still in town, but oh my God, can’t you let a woman cook up her revenge in peace? You boys are so annoying.”
If he was still alive, his teeth would splinter from how hard Charles is clenching them; his fingers are itching to grab the bat and just try and mash her face in.
“Do you know where Edwin is?”, he asks instead, because that’s more important than feeling her skull split apart again.
“Who’s Edwin?”, she drawls, taking a drag from her pipe and blowing the smoke into Charles’ face. “Is that the other one? I can’t keep up with you kids and your stupid little names.”
“That’s him, yeah”, Charles answers and God, he wants to smash her kneecaps in, he wants to beg her to help, he wants to storm past her and tear her house apart until he finds Edwin. “Do you know where he is?”
“You seem desperate”, Esther says, smirking, taking another drag from her pipe. “I like it. What’s it worth to ya?”
“Everything”, he replies, although he shouldn’t, because in the end, it’s the only answer he can give.
“Love that. Not for you, but for me.” Esther is sizing him up, obviously considering something Charles won’t like the least, and yet he knows that he will do it, no matter what it is she asks, if she can only tell him where to find Edwin. “It’s gonna cost you, and I mean, like, a lot.”
“I’ll pay it”, Charles answers without a second of hesitation, and Esther smirks in a way that should make him regret his words; it doesn’t. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”
Sometimes, Edwin forgets how different they get to experience time; sometimes he's forcibly reminded of the fact. Because Crystal and Niko find them like this, wrapped up in each other.
Part of Edwin wants to tear himself away from Charles, although there is nothing untoward they are doing, but another, one he understands even less, wants to press closer, wants to kiss Charles' knuckles again and let the girls see.
"You made it!", Charles exclaims when he sees Crystal, voice sounding at least a fraction alive, and Edwin loves it, despises it at the same time. "How was the trip?"
They are dripping rain water on the floor, Edwin belatedly realises, but he decides against mentioning it anyway, less for their sake and more for Charles’.
“It was alright. Long, mostly”, Crystal answers, pushing a hand through her thick curls and sending a spray of water down onto their wooden floor. Edwin does his best not to notice it. “How are you? Is everything alright?”
The concern is palpable in her voice, almost a physical entity in the room, and Charles seems touched by it, his eyes softening and another sliver of a smile playing across his lips.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Edwin’s here”, he replies, like it explains everything, and Crystal nods, as if she agrees that it does.
Her gaze flickers over to Edwin for a second, then back to Charles, whose fingers clench around Edwin’s almost imperceptibly before he shakes his head, the motion so small Edwin almost misses it.
He’s about to ask what he is going on, but then Niko steps forward, spreading even more water on their floors, and Edwin is distracted by the bright teal of her coat, the white of her hair that wasn’t there before he was taken.
“You must be Edwin”, she says and holds out a hand that Edwin cannot take without letting go of Charles’. “Charles has told us so much about you.”
“That would be me, yes. I apologise, my hand is currently quite occupied”, Edwin answers, then raises their joined hands to help explain why he cannot shake Niko’s; an expression flits across Crystal’s face, too quick for Edwin to make sense of it, yet Charles seems to understand it easily.
It shouldn’t bother Edwin as much as it does.
“Ooh, that’s okay”, Niko says, and she sounds like she means it. Her eyes are wide and happy and suddenly, even without knowing much about her, Edwin is glad that she was with Charles when he was gone. “You should be holding Charles’ hand, that’s much more important. I completely understand.”
And silently, Edwin agrees.
Esther is grinning at him in a way that reminds Charles of the snake Edwin had found in her house, cold and dangerous and like he should be running from that smile.
Instead, he takes a step forward, and he would take another if Crystal wasn’t suddenly next to him, yanking him back.
“She doesn’t know a thing”, she half hisses, half shouts, her voice as deadly as Esther’s smile. “I read her thoughts and there is nothing in there. She just wants you to promise her that you’ll do what she asks, and then use you.”
Her grip is so strong Charles feels it through his clothes, through the barrier to physical touch that is death, and as she yanks him back, Charles feels the heart he doesn’t have break in his chest once more, because for a moment, he had had hope.
Esther cackles and Charles knows there are tears spilling down his cheeks, even if he cannot feel them.
“Well, it was worth a try”, she says, sounding like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter at all, and something in Charles just snaps.
Crystal’s hand on his shoulder still feels solid, but the cricket bat in his hand does even more so, especially when it connects with Esther’s still-smirking face.
While the girls go and dry off, Charles sinks back into the cushions, his eyes fluttering close. Almost, he could look relaxed, but Edwin can still see the tension in his body, like a spring curled tight and waiting for the lightest touch to set it off.
Edwin wants to soothe him, but he doesn’t know how to, especially not when there is still so much he doesn’t know about those six weeks.
He is trying to figure out a way how to ask, or at least hint at it, but then Charles opens his eyes again, and they are softer than they should be when Charles has been through so much.
“I think you’ll really like Niko”, he says, and he sounds wistful somehow; Edwin desperately wishes he knew why. “She’s pretty brills. Might have saved me once or twice.”
“Saved you? What from?”
Edwin imagines Esther and her giant snake and Hell and everything in between, but Charles’ eyes don’t change, neither does his voice.
“Myself, really.”
In the end, it takes both of the girls to pull him off Esther.
His whole body is aching from her iron cane in ways he had forgotten he could hurt, but the pain is distant, far away; the only thing that matters is that she had said she knew how to get Edwin back and she had given him a sliver of hope and then she had snuffed it out again.
Another thing that is far away: he is screaming, or crying, or both; two sets of hands drag him down the steps, and Charles knows he’s fighting them, because… because he doesn’t know what else to do.
And then he’s just crying.
Arms pull him close against a solid chest, fingers card through his hair, and there is nothing stopping the sobs wrecking through his body, so violently Charles feels them almost like he had felt the hits from Esther’s cane.
He doesn’t know how long they stay there, crouched on the ground, but it is a long, long time.
When they come back, Niko hops onto the sofa’s backrest and Charles looks up at her with obvious affection.
“Do you need some band-aids for your hands?”, she asks, placing a little box on her knee. “I brought the Hello Kitty ones.”
The words make no sense to Edwin, but Charles nods, and Edwin hates how much he doesn’t know, hates that they ever had to spend time apart.
Charles twists and turns until he can put one of his bruised hands into Niko’s lap, who inspects it, before a bright, bright smile spreads across her face, like a sunflower opening to greet the morning.
“It looks better!”, Niko tells him, and she’s right; the knuckles are still red, but have scabbed over, the cuts are a little less prominent against Charles’ warm skin.
“Does it?”, Charles asks, and sits up straighter to see for himself. “I guess your dad was right, then.”
“I told you.” Niko is pulling a pastel pink band-aid from her box, unwrapping it before placing it gently across one of the deeper scratches on the back of Charles’ hand. It covers only half of it, if even.
“Charles”, Edwin starts before he can stop himself, “what is the purpose of this? Those patches won’t make your wounds heal any faster.”
It takes a moment, but then Charles turns to look at him; it’s a silly thought, but it almost feels like Edwin has missed his eyes on him.
“They won’t”, Charles agrees, and his lips are curved into an almost-smile. “But it will make them heal better.”
Charles cannot remember how they get back to the butcher shop, but they do, because Charles ends up sitting on Niko’s bed, while she rummages through her night stand.
He isn’t certain what she is looking for, but she finds it with a little ah!, and returns to the bed with a box in her hand. It’s metal, dented and scratched in a way that shows it has been loved; she opens it and there are dozens of colourful band-aids inside, waiting to patch someone up again.
“Now, I don’t know Edwin”, she says in a strange cadence, like she is trying to figure out what to say while speaking.”But if you love him so much, then I don’t think he would like you to be hurt. And since he isn’t here to make it better, I will try.”
The words make Charles’ eyes sting with tears once more, because Niko is right, Edwin wouldn’t want him to hurt; because she is right, Edwin isn’t here.
“Ghosts don’t-”, he starts, because if he doesn’t talk, he’ll start crying again, “Our wounds heal differently. Those band-aids won’t make them heal faster.”
Niko stills for a moment, then takes one of his hands in hers, which is scratched from Esther’s cane. The wounds won’t last more than a day, Charles knows it, but Niko still touches his hand with so much care, as if she thinks she could hurt him.
“My dad used to put band-aids on my knees when I fell from my bike”, she tells him as if it’s an answer to a question Charles hasn’t asked; maybe it is. “And he always said that even if that wouldn’t make the scrapes heal faster, it would make them heal better.”
And Niko looks up at him, her fingers cradling his hand like she thinks he can still feel it.
“Do you want a pink or a green one?”
“Pink”, Charles says, and doesn’t bother to blink the tears away this time.
Niko covers Charles’ hands in band-aids until she runs out of them, Charles’ wounds too numerous for what her little chest holds. They feel strange against Edwin’s palm when Charles switches the hand he is holding Edwin’s with halfway through, the plastic so different to Charles’ skin.
He watches the exchange and it tugs at his heart in ways he doesn’t understand; it hurts and it heals, because at least Charles had someone to put little plastic patches over his wounds, even if how familiar both of them are with the process means that there must have been far more wounds than Edwin was aware of.
At the very end of it, Niko places a kiss on Charles’ knuckles and Edwin’s lips ache in jealousy.
“Thank you”, Charles tells her, and she nods, bright and happy, before she starts sliding off the backrest.
She stops, though, and cocks her head as she looks at Edwin.
“The kiss makes the wounds heal even better”, she says, like imparting a secret, and then, she’s gone.
“You can’t keep doing this”, Crystal tells him the second they are alone, in a voice that allows no objections; Charles knows he will object anyway. “Charles, I know you cannot die a second time, but you cannot keep doing this. Esther hurt you and we had to watch and I just. I can’t do that again. I know he’s your best friend, but you’re running yourself into the ground with this and I don’t know if I can watch it happen.”
She looks like she means it and Charles wants to help, but if there is one thing he cannot give her, it’s this.
“I can’t”, he answers, and looks down onto his hands, peppered with brightly-coloured band-aids someone who cares about him put there, up at Crystal who saved him from being bound to a witch’s whim, and yet it all pales in comparison to the gaping hole in his chest where Edwin’s presence usually lingers. “I’m so sorry, but I just can’t stop, not as long as he’s still gone.”
He wants to tell her about how Edwin would do the same for him, about how he has saved Edwin from a hundred monsters and will save him from a thousand more, about how he isn’t sure if he can continue existing without Edwin at his side.
But he doesn’t get to, because Crystal takes a deep breath, and asks, “What if he’s not trying to come back?”
The question shocks Charles into silence, but Crystal continues talking anyway, words blurring into each other with how fast she is speaking.
“I didn’t want to say anything, because I know how much you care for him, but maybe he just left. Maybe that is why we can’t find him anywhere, why the cats couldn’t tell you anything either. Because he doesn’t want to be found.”
And it’s-
It’s the most ludicrous thing Charles has ever heard in the fifty-odd years he has spent on this Earth.
“No”, he tells Crystal, “No, you’re wrong. And not because I couldn’t bear it although I really, really couldn’t, but… that’s not how we are, Crystal. He wouldn’t leave. Never. If there is anything in the world I know for certain, it’s that Edwin wouldn’t leave. And that means he’s out there somewhere and he is hurt or captured, and he is waiting for me to come and get him. And I will, Crystal, no matter what happens, I will.”
There’s nowhere in the agency for the girls to sleep, so they set out to find a hotel, and Edwin breathes a sigh of relief, even if he hates himself for it only moments later.
He shouldn’t be so jealous of Charles’ attention, his affection, especially not when Crystal and Niko have stuck with him for six horrifying weeks, and Edwin should be nothing but grateful to them for taking care of the best, the most important person in existence instead of him.
But the door closes behind them, and it’s just Charles and him once more, and Edwin is weak, is possessive and greedy and looks down at Charles’s hand in his, and thinks that at least one thing is right in the world.
“Alright”, Charles says and turns to look at Edwin. “You can ask me. Not about everything all at once, maybe, but you can ask me.”
It should take him at least a second to understand what Charles is talking about, but it doesn’t; Charles says you can ask me, and there’s a thousand questions swarming through his head immediately, begging to be spoken aloud.
He nods, but before he can decide on any one thing to ask, he takes Charles back to the sofa and makes him sit down, their hands still loosely joined between them.
Touch is something Charles has always needed, but now, with Charles so hurt, so vulnerable, Edwin realises that he needs it almost as much.
There are so many things he wants to know that it feels impossible to settle on one thing, at least to start with, until suddenly, there’s a question that blazes through his mind so painfully that Edwin speaks it out-loud before he has a moment to reconsider.
“Did you ever doubt I would come back?”, he asks, then corrects himself, “No, did you ever doubt that I wanted to come back?”
He tells himself that he’ll accept any answer Charles will give him and it’s the truth; another truth: if Charles ever doubted that the only place Edwin wants to be is at his side, it will shatter his heart to pieces.
“Of course not”, Charles says, not missing a beat, and Edwin gets to keep his heart after all. His voice is soft and his eyes are, too, even if their light is still dimmed. “I’d never doubt that. It’s you and me against the world, isn’t it?”
Edwin nods, and there are tears in his eyes he does not deserve to cry.
“Thank you”, he says, unsure what he is thanking Charles for: for still being here, for believing in Edwin, in the strength of their friendship, for enduring all of it. “I know it must have been Hell, because that’s what it would have been had the roles been reversed, but something must have happened, because your hands…”
Without wanting to, he looks down at Charles’ fingers, wrapped in bright plastic, his own woven between them, pristine because he allowed the most important person in existence to go through this alone.
“I’m not really sure”, Charles replies, and when Edwin looks up again, it’s Charles who is staring at their joined hands. “To be honest, I didn’t really stop to think about it. We found out about this other dimension the Cat King uses to escape, and I just went mental, didn’t I? Started trashing the warehouse completely, and when my bat broke, well. I just used my hands. I guess they’re not as sturdy.”
He tries for a smile, and it rips Edwin’s heart to pieces.
“You-”, he starts, but doesn’t get the words out, because the thought is too much to bear, the images of Charles ripping his fingers to shreds to find him too vivid.
“Had to get you back somehow, didn’t I?”, Charles asks, answers, still smiling, and Edwin cannot take a second more, so instead, he pulls Charles against his chest and hugs him so tightly he knows that, if he had any bones left, he’d feel them creak.
Maybe he should be discouraged, maybe it should be difficult to go back out and start looking for Edwin all over again, but it isn’t.
What would be difficult is sitting down and waiting; what would be impossible is to let Edwin stay wherever he is being kept.
So, he walks.
Past meadows and across streams, up hillsides and then looks down into the valleys and still finds nothing, nothing at all. It’s maddening, it’s the worst thing he has ever felt, because the scenery is beautiful, the days long and the sun bright, and Charles feels like he is dragging himself through barbed wire and broken glass.
When he gets Edwin back, he’ll never let him out of his sight again, he swears when he walks up to the lighthouse once more, for the fifteenth or five hundredth time, sparing a look at the ghosts sitting there, watching the water. He’ll keep him close, keep him in his sight, keep one hand in Edwin’s, no matter if he likes it or not, for the rest of eternity, just to make sure he won’t stray too far.
It becomes a thing between them when they are alone.
Charles will look at him and say, one question, or three questions, and Edwin will go through his mental catalogue of them, realising how much he hates that there is anything about Charles he does not know all over again, every single time.
How long did you wait in the warehouse at first?, he asks, and Charles says, days. Crystal had to force me to leave it for the first time.
Why is Niko’s hair white now?, he asks another time when they sitting on the roof, the sounds of the city dulled down to a gentle buzz. Oh, that was mental, actually, Charles answers, and launches into a story about gnomes crawling from her mouth, and Edwin sits there and watches him, and wishes Charles would tell the story like he would have two months ago, animated and excited about it, instead of matter-of-factly.
How long would you have stayed on that floor?, he asks, and doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer this time, only knows he has to. And Charles looks at him strangely, fondly, sadly, and says, forever, mate.
Crystal catches up with him at the warehouse again, where he is pacing on the horrible, hated concrete floor, thinking about battering it open and seeing if he can find Edwin between the pieces. She’s been looking at him more often now, so openly worried Charles sometimes finds it difficult to hold her gaze, but there is nothing to be done about it, is there?
It’s the same way she is looking at him now, forehead furrowed and her dark eyes on him feeling like they are taking Charles apart, piece for piece, thought for thought.
“What are you looking for?”, she asks like she doesn’t know it, like the answer has ever changed.
He doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how to say Edwin’s name without breaking into tears, because if he says his name, he might not stop anytime soon.
“Charles”, she tries again and it stops his feet mid-step, “Charles, what if you don’t find him? What if he never comes back?”
It’s words that never should be spoken, because they cannot be allowed to be true, and Charles closes his eyes, just to save himself from the look in Crystal’s eyes.
“I’ve been to Tragic Mick’s shop and I asked him about ghosts and their wandering, because you are scaring me”, she continues, “and he told me that the only ghosts who wander are those that killed themselves. And that scared me even more.”
And Charles wants to shake his head and tell her she’s wrong, but it feels like that somehow; like half of him died and he is doing everything he can to follow.
Niko comes to change Charles’ band-aids and Edwin doesn’t think about it much, just watches her take out the box and tell Charles about the characters depicted on them. The wounds themselves have healed slightly, and even if no one knows why, Edwin breathes a sigh of relief at the discovery.
He expects Niko to let Charles choose a colour again, like she has done before, but instead she turns to him, who is just there because Charles is still holding his hand like it’s a lifeline.
“I think you should choose the colour this time”, Niko tells him, holding out a hand with three different band-aids in it, three different colours, three different patterns.
“It’s not my hands, though”, Edwin protests, but Niko just shoves her hand closer.
“No”, she agrees, “but they’re your wounds, too.”
And Edwin glances at Charles, who, for once, isn’t looking back, takes in the sharp cut of his jaw and the dullness of his eyes, thinks of his bleeding knuckles and broken nails, and knows she is right.
“This one, then”, he says, and leaves the green one, covered with leaves, the yellow one, covered with stars, and picks up the red one, covered in hearts.
The thought doesn’t appear gradually, it rips through him one day when he is walking through the library, forgetting to avoid the bookcases and just phasing through them instead.
Two days before, Niko, in a futile hope to console him, had put a hand on his shoulder and given it a squeeze.
“If he has come back from Hell, then I’m sure he’ll come back from where he is now. Especially if he knows you are waiting for him”, she had said, and back then, Charles had just tried giving her a smile, not thinking anything of the comment.
But now, it’s like a bolt from the heavens, a thought so devastating it leaves him gasping in the middle of the room, clutching at his chest like he still had a heart to calm.
He knows little to nothing about the Cat King, because in the end, Edwin had always been the brains of their operation, the one with the encyclopedic knowledge of anything supernatural, but something he knows intimately are Edwin’s stories about Hell.
Most of them, he has heard at least a dozen times, and even if that is not enough to imagine the horrors there, it’s enough to know that the entities there use souls like bargaining chips.
Edwin had told him before that he had been traded from demon to demon, and back then, in the comfort of their agency, Charles had shivered and put a hand on Edwin’s shoulder in lieu of pulling him against his chest, tucking Edwin’s head under his chin and never letting him go again.
Now, a picture forms in his mind that is so terrifying Charles feels like screaming, and Edwin is not here, so Charles will claw him from the mouth of Hell itself this time.
“Charles, could I borrow Edwin for a second?”, Crystal asks one evening, and Charles’ fingers tense around his own.
It’s a strange phenomenon that has only increased with time; occasionally, Edwin thinks he can almost feel Charles’ touch, not as just resistance, but like he used to when he was still alive.
“It won’t be long and I’ll bring him back, I promise”, she adds, not even bothering to ask Edwin, just assuming he will follow her.
“Yeah, sure”, Charles eventually answers, even if a second too late, and slowly, ever so slowly, untangles their fingers from where their hands had been resting between them. It’s the first time since Edwin has come back that they are not touching, and Edwin feels the loss of it immediately, his fingers itching to find Charles’ once more.
For now, though, he only gives Charles a smile before he follows Crystal outside, where she stops immediately.
Her expression is one Edwin cannot decipher, anger lingering behind her eyes, but almost concealed by something much greater, much more important.
“Do you have any idea how much Charles loves you?”, she asks, and the anger is there in her voice, the other thing is, too. “I know I asked you before and you said yes, but I don’t think you do. And I think you need to.”
“I am perfectly aware-”, Edwin starts, but he doesn’t get far.
“You are not”, Crystal interrupts him and she sounds so certain that Edwin feels helpless hearing it, because even if he doesn’t believe her, there are things now that she knows about Charles and he doesn’t. “I watched that boy beat up a witch that almost took out all three of us, because she had lied about knowing where you were, and the only reason he didn’t bash her immortal head in was because Niko and I pulled him off of her. He was willing to sell his soul to her just to get you back. To a demon, too. He nearly ripped off his own fingers trying to reach you, because he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”
She pauses for a moment and Edwin can’t speak, can hardly think, his brain trying to sort through the information and failing, because it hurts too much.
“I thought he was going to die, Edwin. Cease existing. Whatever”, she continues, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and the anger is still there, and Edwin understands it now, deserves it. “I went to see him every day at that warehouse after he had just sat down and accepted his fate and every day I expected him to just not be there anymore. That’s how much he loves you, I thought he was going to disappear just because you had, too. He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone.”
“Crystal…”
“If you hurt him, I’m going to make you regret you were ever born”, she finishes, and Edwin believes her without reservations, “and the only reason I won’t kill you a second time is because I know it would kill Charles, too.”
It’s not easy to get Crystal to tell him where David is, but Charles manages anyway.
The roller-skating rink is dark and dirty, the concrete floor too close to the one in the warehouse for Charles not to shiver when seeing it for the first time. But it doesn’t matter, isn’t allowed to matter, because crouched in the corner is a human figure with shaggy hair and a too-large fur coat, and Charles wants to rip him apart for Crystal, wants to beg him to help for Edwin.
“Oi!”, he yells out and David scatters in a way that reminds Charles of a bug of some kind. “You remember me, yeah?”
“What do you want?”, David spits back, pressed against the wall and trying to look like he wouldn’t flee if Charles gave him an opportunity to do so. “Haven’t you ruined enough?”
“Didn’t ruin a thing”, Charles replies, but there’s no fire to it, because in the end, as much as he hates it, he needs the bastard’s help. “I need you to send me to Hell.”
If he wasn’t so desperate, if there wasn’t a constant loop of torture behind his eyes whenever he blinked, showing him thousands of ways that Edwin could be torn apart this second, he would try to find a better, a more subtle way of putting it, but there is, and Charles has long since stopped caring.
He hasn’t seen Edwin in more than three weeks and if his best friend in the world, the one person who never deserved to go to Hell, spent three weeks there because Charles was too stupid to put the pieces together, he will never forgive himself for it.
“What?”, David asks, and Charles has no time for this, for any of it.
“Hell. I need you to send me to Hell, because my friend might be there and I need to find him”, he repeats, and it takes a moment, but then David laughs, an ugly, rough sound.
“You want to go to Hell”, he repeats, like Charles hasn’t said so twice already. “Voluntarily.”
“Yes.” Charles closes his eyes for a second, wishing that the deep breaths he used to ask Edwin to take would still have the same effects on him as they did when he was still alive. “You don’t need to understand it, you just have to send me there. I’ll sell you my soul or whatever it is you do, I don’t care. I just need to get to Hell as quickly as possible.”
David still looks like he wants to laugh, but this time, he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step forward, raising his hands as if he was trying to placate Charles, a smile on his lips that Charles wants to knock off.
“Alright, alright”, he says, and Charles hates him and hates the Cat King and hates himself for letting it come to this. But it will be worth it, anything would be worth it if it brought Edwin back. He’ll figure out what to do about his own soul later. “I’ll get you to Hell, absolutely. But it sounds like you’re desperate, so I might need a bit more than just your soul to make it happen.”
“No.” He thinks of Crystal and Niko and Jenny, all safe, all oblivious, hopes they’ll forgive him. “You’ll get my soul, and that’s it.”
David pretends to think about it, but Charles has dealt with enough demons to know he will accept; they are greedy creatures after all, and a soul is a soul is a soul.
“Okay”, he says at last, and still, Charles feels relief wash through him. Just hold on a little bit longer, Edwin. I’m coming. “I’ll take your soul. And I’ll send you to Hell. But I’ll choose the Circle.”
“Sure, whatever”, Charles replies and the smirk that David gives him should scare him, but he’s far past scaring. “I’ll find him no matter what.”
Crystal’s words echo in Edwin’s head when they return to the agency and Edwin slots back into the spot next to Charles, their fingers intertwining naturally.
He knows Charles loves him, of course he does. Has known it for thirty years and has it carved so deeply, so prominently into his heart that he’ll never forget it, yet something about Crystal’s words makes that knowledge scream in his chest when Charles looks at him, a little bit of his usual brightness returning to his eyes as soon as they touch.
It’s not frightening, that knowledge, but it’s not comforting either.
It’s just there, beating in his chest like a heart might, asking if Edwin feels the same.
And without a moment’s hesitation, Edwin answers.
Yes.
“Oh, you fucking won’t”, rings out Crystal’s voice just before Charles’ hand touches David’s, and for a moment, Charles hates her.
Then someone grips his shoulder and flings him backwards, and Crystal is standing there, breathing heavily, a cleaver in her hand, and for another moment, Charles loves her.
“You won’t fucking touch him”, she hisses, and David laughs, the sound just as rough, just as ugly.
“He came here by himself”, he tells her, grinning still. “He asked me to take his soul. He begged me to do it.”
“Well, the offer has been rescinded. And you better go wherever the fuck you came from, before I send you back there myself.”
“Crystal, I need him to-”, Charles starts, desperate, but he never gets to finish the sentence, because Crystal turns her head to look at him, and her eyes are blazing like fire, before they go white.
“No one needs him for anything”, she tells him and her voice is distant and emotionless and powerful, echoing in the empty space like it is made of a hundred women speaking.
And Crystal reaches out and puts a hand on the centre of David’s chest.
For a moment, nothing happens, then he is being flung back against the wall with an invisible force, kept there suspended.
“You won’t touch him again”, Crystal says and the other voices still echo within hers, leaving Charles breathless and awed and despondent. “And you won’t touch me either. Otherwise I’ll bury you so deep you’ll be begging me to send you back to Hell instead.”
And she lets him go; when she turns back to Charles, there’s a small pouch in her hand.
“Crystal said you almost sold your soul to a demon”, Edwin starts the next time Charles allows him a question.
Everything Crystal had told him has stuck with him, but this he had only realised much later, and it had scared him like hardly anything else had before.
Charles just nods, this time doesn’t even try for a smile, and Edwin is glad for it; he’s not sure if he could take it.
“I didn’t really think I had a choice”, he adds after a few moments, like it makes it better. “I thought the Cat King might have sold you to some kind of demon and that was why I couldn’t find you anywhere. And the idea of you, stuck down there… I couldn’t take it.”
“But there was no proof, there can’t even have been any indication that…”
“No, there wasn’t”, Charles replies and this time, he does smile, and the sight is as torturous as Edwin knew it was going to be. “But I had to make sure. No version of you getting dragged to Hell where I don’t come and get you, is there?”
His fingers, adorned with less band-aids than there were before, squeeze Edwin’s and for a moment, they almost feel warm, real.
And Edwin blinks back tears and thinks of Crystal saying, he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, and squeezes back.
“How am I supposed to get Edwin back now, Crystal?”, Charles sobs, the words coming out drowned in tears and desolation. “What if he’s in Hell and I can’t get him back?”
He’s on the floor of the roller-skating rink, David’s collapsed form just metres away, and Charles should move in case he wakes up again, but he can’t. His limbs are not moving, his thoughts spiralling, because the only thing that counts is that Edwin might be trapped in some kind of torture chamber in the one place Charles cannot reach.
Two familiar hands pull him up and into a hug that Charles cannot reciprocate, shaking too violently with the intensity of his sobs.
“Jesus Christ, Charles”, Crystal mutters into his shoulder, and she sounds shaken, sounds almost in tears. “Have you ever stopped for a second and thought what would happen if Edwin came back and you were in Hell?”
“Now that we’re all back, do you guys want to get back into detecting?”, Crystal asks them, and Charles flinches almost imperceptibly, before forcing a smile onto his pretty lips.
This time, at least, looking at it is a little less painful.
“Yeah, of course”, Charles says, “but maybe not right away. Unless Edwin…”
“No, I think a bit of a break would do us some good”, Edwin tells him before Charles can even finish the sentence. “Maybe once Charles’ hands have healed. We have no reason to rush it, do we?”
And watches as a little bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes.
It’s later, although Charles cannot tell exactly how much.
Crystal had to half-carry him out of the roller-skating rink, where they had both collapsed on the ground, unable or unwilling to move.
With time, Charles’ sobs had dried up, even though it feels like he has an ocean of them still stored inside his chest, lapping at his unbeating heart like waves. But Crystal had been right, he doesn’t know if Edwin is in Hell, just fears it more than anything else in this world.
“Charles?”, Crystal asks into the night air, sounding pensive, drained.
“Yeah?”
“I know you and Edwin are best friends, but that can’t be all that there is to it. Not with how you’ve been in the past weeks. What’s going on?”
It’s not the question he expected, it’s not even one he has ever asked himself before, but there is exhaustion so deep in his bones, paired with despair he didn’t know he could even feel, and Charles knows that Crystal deserves an answer.
So, he looks inside, pictures Edwin, his little smug smile when he wins at Clue and the elegance of his gestures and the way his voice softens when he knows Charles needs reassurance.
He thinks of Edwin, bathed in the light of the morning sun, and illuminated by the stars, thinks of Edwin’s wit and his brilliance and how easily he gets annoyed at period dramas on TV when their costumes aren’t historically accurate. Thinks of Edwin reading him to sleep when he was dying and reading him poetry afterwards when he found out that Charles had never truly liked a poem, and how Edwin’s voice had almost made him cry when he had recited Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale.
Thinks about how when he’s sad, it’s Edwin he wants to talk to, and when he’s happy, it’s the same thing, the same intensity.
Thinks about how no one has ever known him like this, inside and out, with all his flaws and imperfections and silly little quirks, and how Edwin does and still wants to keep him; how Charles knows just as much about him and feels the same.
Thinks about how it’s impossible to imagine a world without him in it, and how Charles never even wants to try doing so.
Thinks of Edwin and how he is the best, the brightest, the most important part of his existence.
“I love him”, he finally answers, and he’s choking on the words because they are true and yet he hasn’t known until a second ago. “Crystal, I love him. I love him so much and I never even got to tell him.”
And he’s crying again, just as hard as before, and Crystal reaches out and holds him until it’s morning again.
“Crystal and I found the vending machine”, Niko tells them the next day when the girls arrive around noon. She’s skipping, obviously excited as she sits down between them, completely ignoring that it means they have to rearrange their intertwined hands. “The one that was haunted. It was so cool, I got an orange soda out of it.”
She’s unpacking her band-aids, although nowadays, Charles doesn’t need many of them anymore, setting them out as a surgeon would their instruments, and no matter how charming Edwin finds her, the reminder that the girls know of the vending machine still makes something in Edwin’s chest clench uncomfortably.
“That’s great”, Charles says and maybe there is a little bit more light in his eyes than there was yesterday. He plucks a band-aid from Niko’s lap and hands it to her. “This one today, please.”
And it really isn’t great at all, but Edwin doesn’t know how to formulate the fact into a sentence that doesn’t sound like complete lunacy.
“And this one”, he says instead, and grabs a random band-aid too, just so he won’t make a fool of himself.
It’s the first time he has participated in the little ritual by his own volition and Niko smiles at him, almost a reward, before taking a look at the plaster he picked.
“That’s nice”, she tells him, and puts it down next to Charles’ choice for later use. “And really fitting. They’re in love in the anime.”
Charles’ hand twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else until Niko is finished.
“There is one more thing”, Crystal tells him as they are walking back to the butcher shop, after she has explained the power of her ancestors she has just discovered to him, or at least tried to. “When I was in David’s mind, I could see… something in the warehouse. Somewhere he thought about escaping to. I think it’s something like a little pocket dimension, if that makes sense. Maybe Edwin is in there.”
That night, Charles gives him another question, and Edwin knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself.
“When did you tell Crystal and Niko about the Case of the Haunted Vending Machine of 2002?”
Charles looks surprised, and Edwin cannot blame him; it is such an inconsequential thing to ask when is so much else Edwin doesn’t know yet, but then his eyes soften a little, and there is a spark in his eyes that Edwin has missed dearly.
“I’m not entirely sure”, he says, and it makes Edwin feel a little better to know that: at least to Charles, it wasn’t an occasion that mattered. “But they asked about you sometime, especially Niko, after she could see me. About why I wanted to find you so badly, about how our life was like before we came to Port Townsend. And I thought the easiest thing was to just tell them about cases. And you were brilliant in the vending machine one.”
He smiles and for the first time since he got back, Edwin doesn’t have to suppress a flinch; it almost looks like the smile he is used to.
“So were you”, Edwin replies without thinking, and means it, too. His fingers tighten a little around Charles’ and he could swear he can feel skin against skin, flesh against flesh.
“We were pretty brilliant together.”
“We were”, Edwin replies and wants to pull Charles closer, wants to never let him go again, “And we still are.”
This time, Crystal doesn’t even try to stop him.
Charles walks into the warehouse, cricket bat in hand, vowing then and there that he won’t leave until he has found this pocket dimension, no matter what or where it is.
He starts with whatever is left of the furniture, smashing it to pieces and ripping those apart until they’re nothing more than splinters. The palettes strewn about are next, nails flying as Charles pulls the boards apart and leaves them scattered on the ground.
Then, the walls, tearing down the panelling, until the metal is bare and covered in dents and scratches and holes where his bat bust through the rust. He rips out the light fixtures and grinds them to dust under his loafers, shreds the nets hanging between the beams and leaves their tattered remains wherever he happens to be standing.
Finally, the floor itself, because if he has to dig down to Hell with his nails and teeth, he will.
The concrete cracks under the barrage of hits he rains down onto it, magic putting more force into the blows than his spectral muscles could, until the ground looks like a meteor hit.
It turns out to be too much for his bat, which splinters just like the palettes, the pillars, the concrete did, so Charles throws it away and uses his hands instead, shovelling away gravel and debris and chipped wood, digging deep into the ground until it, and Edwin, are the only things he can still think about.
Somewhere in between, his hands start bleeding, his nails cracking and ripping down to the flesh, but Charles pays them no mind, even as pain radiates up his arms with every punch, every blow, every cut.
It feels like the scratch of a cat’s claw, just a hundredfold, and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter.
Nothing does.
“Why is this so important to you? All the questions, I mean. I know Crystal told you the gist of what happened during that time”, Charles asks after he has answered another one of Edwin’s queries. He looks relaxed, his head pillowed on Edwin’s lap, and when he looks up at him, Edwin knows he could count the lashes around his deep, dark eyes.
They’re less dull nowadays, but still don’t hold that one spark that Edwin misses the most of all.
“It’s silly”, he confesses, not because he wants to, but because Charles has shared so much with him that he deserves to have at least one question of his own answered truthfully. “It’s just that for decades, all of your memories were mine as well. And those six weeks… I wish I could change them, I wish you didn’t have to endure them, I wish I could take all of it away, so please, don’t think that this matters more to me than that.”
He takes a deep breath, something that he had forgotten about in Hell, something that Charles had showed him once more after they had met, something that now will always be Charles to him.
“Suddenly, there are six weeks in the middle of your existence, and I wasn’t part of a second of them. And I hate that, much more than I should.”
For a few, long moments, there is no answer, just Charles’ eyes on him, just his fingers brushing across Edwin’s knuckles.
“Edwin, you were there for every second of it”, Charles finally answers, and his eyes are still not as bright as they used to be, but they’re bright anyway. “You were at the heart of everything. I missed you in every single moment.”
His hands are bruised and bloody, some of his nails missing, the others torn down until they are little more than gaping wounds, as Charles tears another piece of concrete from the floor.
He has looked everywhere and Edwin isn’t here and it is a constant refrain in his head; he’s not here he’s not here he’s not here.
Occasionally, there’s tears mixing with the blood, but Charles doesn’t pay them any mind either.
On the third day, Crystal finds him, covered in dust and grime and blood and splinter of what might be wood or bone or whatever is left of his ruined heart.
She breathes out his name and it’s a sob; when he looks up at her, it takes a second until he recognises her.
“You can’t continue like this”, she says, and there are tears in his eyes, on her cheeks, dripping down her chin. “Edwin wouldn’t want you to torture yourself like this and I can’t watch it any longer. It’s been almost a month, Charles, you won’t find him like this.”
It takes a moment or two until he finds the words, remembers how to speak, and when he does, he knows he’s crying, too.
“But what else is there left I can do?”, he asks, and Crystal chokes on her tears, before she reaches out and pulls him into a hug.
“I don’t know, Charles. I wish I did.”
“Your hands are almost fine again”, Edwin remarks and lifts the one he is holding up to inspect it. There are just two band-aids left, one around his ring finger, one on the back of Charles’ hand, green and yellow respectively.
“I know”, Charles answers, lifting the other one, a single frog-themed plaster around his thumb. “It’s a miracle, innit?”
And Edwin looks at him, his almost-perfect smile, the slope of his nose and the dark brown of his eyes; he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal says in his mind.
“Yes”, he replies, “it really is.”
“Come with me”, Crystal pleads, trying to pull him up from where he is sitting on the ground, between broken pieces of concrete and wood.
“I can’t”, Charles says, and knows it is true. His limbs won’t move, his body refusing Crystal’s attempt to lift him up; he won’t leave without Edwin at his side.
“You have to”, Crystal replies, and Charles wishes he could reach up and brush the tears from her cheeks. “You can’t stay here. Not like this.”
“You don’t understand, Crystal”, he says, and maybe he is crying, maybe he has forgotten how to do even that. “I can’t leave. If he isn’t here, then nothing matters. I cannot pass on, because there’s no Heaven if Edwin’s not in it. And I could stop existing, maybe, but if I do and he comes back, then he’ll be alone. So, if I can’t find him, if I can’t bring him back, then I’ll just… stay. And I’ll wait. Forever if I have to.”
Even though Charles, who used to flit between places like breathing, seems most content inside the agency these days, Edwin drags him up to the roof, because the weather is lovely and Edwin wants to see the sun on Charles’ skin, reflected in his eyes.
He seems different today, distracted, but he gives Edwin a small, almost-right smile when they sit down on the ledge, looking down over the city.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to ask a question today”, Charles says after a few seconds, but he sounds far away, almost distracted. “I know you like them. It’s just. There is one thing that I don’t think you how to ask about and that you should know. So I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”
Something about his words makes Edwin’s metaphorical heart beat faster, makes him look at Charles and notice everything at once: the way he clenches his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows, how his tongue darts out to wet lips that don’t get dry any longer.
He looks nervous, and Edwin hates it, because there is nothing Charles could say that would make Edwin care for him any less.
“You can tell me anything, Charles.”
“I know”, Charles replies and gives Edwin the smallest of smiles. “That’s what makes this so hard.”
For a long time, there is nothing, then Charles shakes his head slightly, a tick Edwin knows so intimately it almost pains him.
“You see”, he starts, “when you were gone, I found something out about myself. About you, too. I’m not sure if I would have otherwise, at least not now. And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, and now that you’re back it’s suddenly so difficult, because you’re here and I know it won’t change anything, not between us, but it will change something for me, anyway.”
He lifts their joined hands, the single band-aid stark against his skin, and smiles; for a moment, Edwin forgets that he doesn’t understand what Charles is talking about, because there is something so fond, so sweet, so devastating about the look in his eyes.
“I love you”, he says, and Edwin’s metaphorical heart stops, speeds up, swells until it is straining against his ribs, “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m in love with you, Edwin. And I thought I might never be able to tell you, so I’m doing it now.”
And he looks over at Edwin and for the first time since he had launched himself into his side in that godforsaken warehouse, Charles smiles at him and it’s the smile Edwin missed the entire time, every bit of sunlight in the universe bundled into his eyes, into the curve of his lips.
“You don’t have to feel the same. I don’t expect you to”, Charles says, and his voice is trembling, but he sounds happy nonetheless, sounds content. “I just needed you to know that you’re loved in every way there is.”
A beat, a second, another one, and Edwin looks at Charles and it’s like he is seeing him for the very first time, at the same time like he has never seen anything else in his entire existence.
He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal’s words echo in his mind, and she was right all along, and Edwin…
“I love you, too”, he says without thinking about it, because he doesn’t have to, he has known this for years, decades, maybe forever.
“I know”, Charles replies and he’s still smiling; he’s so beautiful Edwin wants to break down and thank the fates that he was sacrificed, that he was dragged to Hell and escaped it, that he is allowed to be here, holding hands with the best, the most important, the most beautiful boy in the world.
“No, Charles. I’m in love with you.”
And another beat, another second, and Charles’ eyes go wide, the sun behind them goes supernova, and Edwin can’t believe he ever looked at him and didn’t know he wanted to kiss those lips.
“Oh”, Charles breathes out and he sounds overwhelmed, sounds almost bashful. “That’s… that’s brills, innit?”
“Yes. It is.”
There is a pause, because something shifts between them; it doesn’t change, because it was always there, even without them knowing, so instead, it blossoms and blooms and grows into something so delicate, so resilient, so beautiful that Edwin finds himself smiling, almost laughing, almost crying.
“Can you just kiss me, please?”, he asks, love and happiness and devotion woven into every syllable.
And Charles nods, eyes brighter than Edwin has ever seen them before, and there is a second of hesitation, but then he leans in and kisses Edwin, and this time, there’s no mistaking it; there’s lips pressed against his, warm and soft and sweet, and Edwin can feel them just as if he was alive.
“I love you”, he whispers against Charles lips, and Charles laughs, before pressing closer still, kissing him again and again until Edwin’s head is swimming with it, his lips wet and swollen and his cheeks wet with the happiest tears he has ever cried.
“I love you”, Charles whispers back, and he’s smiling.
And he kisses him again.
#dead boy detectives#dead boy detective agency#edwin payne#edwin paine#charles rowland#painland#payneland#paynland#chedwin#charles x edwin#edwin x charles#i am sooo glad i got this finished before the holiday#because i would have hated to explain to my friends that no unfortunately i wouldn't be able to go to a bar i needed to write gay boy angst#anyway i hope you guys like it!!!!!!
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LOVE AT FIRST AND LAST SIGHT. (N. Seishiro)
001: Stormy Brew
Warnings (for this chapter only!): ooc nagi
Its raining? Awh, how irresponsible of you to not bring an umbrella! But fearnot! Your little bf is here to help you!
꒷꒦⋆⑅₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ・ ┈ • ┈₊⑅⋆꒷꒦⋆⑅₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ꒷꒦
It was, of course, just another normal day for you since last week on Friday. You and Nagi's little fake date. And it is Monday again. As soon as you went into the classroom all your friends rushed over to you.
To talk about the date.
"You had a date with Nagi?"
"Did you two kiss?"
"Is he still nonchalant?"
All the questions filled your head and you couldn't even answer any of them cause after one question, another is added! "Hey wait slow down! Yes i did!" As you put your hands up to surrender. "O. M. G. You need to tell us everything!" Your friend squealed. "Is it that big of a deal?" And they all shouted yes as you explain the whole story.
You just finished explaining until your adviser said for everyone to sit down, so all your friends went back to their seat. As you did, you couldn't help but notice Nagi staring at you, with his head atop of his hand. Had he been staring the whole time? Class started, class ended normally and everything just went normal.
Well its recess now and you just stayed at the classroom. You had your own food anyways and you had your little friends to be with you to talk to! While Nagi is with Reo, at the cafeteria talking about you.
"Say that again?" Reo asked.
Nagi looked down at his phone, at some point he couldn't even focus on his game match properly even just by talking about you. "I said.. i think i like her. Like, like like her." Nagi said as he looks at his screen. MATCH OVER. On the screen as he sighs putting down his phone on the table, and raised his hand to put his head atop of it. "Wait, wait, wait wait- Nagi. The Nagi. The Nagi Seishiro. LIKES SOMEONE? and its-" Reo just realized how loud he is talking right now and put his hand on his mouth. There was a lot of people in the cafeteria, most of them that are near to those two, stared at him.
"Liking someone is such a hassle." Nagi said as he buried his face to his arms on the table. "Well, what are you gonna do about it?" Reo asked. "About what?"
"Are you serious? Are you not gonna do or plan anything on confessing to her? Or at least making her fall for you?" Reo knows its easy to fall for someone like Nagi, but to continue it is harder. Reo is not even sure if you're gonna last long with Nagi.
"What happened anyways? How did you like her? What did she do to catch your attention?" That is the question. What did you do? You really didn't do anything. Was it because of your smile? Your pink cheeks? Your hair? Well that sounds a bit.. petty of Nagi, liking you for your looks, but maybe that was the reason. You just seemed so perfect for him. Like as if you're his type. But Nagi Seishiro doesn't have a type. It's a hassle. But maybe you changed his mind.
"Everything."
.
.
.
"Do you not know how to give context?" Reo, emphasizing the last word. "Explaining is too tiring." Nagi replied. "But.."
First off, of coursed what made him look at you. Your laugh. It wasnt so cute and bubbly but it wasnt so evil and mushy also. It seemed, calm. Like hearing smooth jazz music on your right ear and rock hard music on your left ear. Does that sound weird? Well not for Nagi. Second of all, when he did look at you. He saw that beautiful eyes of yours. Its like going through a portal of colors. The rainbow. The skies and the seas. It was perfect. Third, your pink cheeks. It sounds all cheesy but when you noticed him looking at you, your cheeks turned all pink and it seems too cute to ignore. Nagi can't believe someone like you can get easily blushed with just a look. Then fourth, your humor, or overall how you talk. You know how to fix your tone in certain times. Like when you guys played on the arcade, it was a tone of joy and laughter, overall just giggly, joy and bubbly. But when you two ate dinner it was calm, collected. You didn't want too much attention to the both of you so you two weren't loud. There was one last tone though. When you both we're at the train station. He couldn't really understand your tone but it seems all giddy and.. he doesnt know. Hr cant even explain it. It was just something as if you're suprised on getting 10 million dollars as a donation when your homeless. And lastly, your kindness. He doesnt know if your only kind to him- well he can be selfish sometimes but, wow. He hasn't met anyone that knows their limits. You know how to talk on how special or not-special the people your talking to are. You have respect. Well not only to special people but also to the ones that are your level. Normal.
"Thats why." Nagi said, finishing his whole thoughts. And beside him, his friend, Reos jaw was dropped. "So this is what the Nagi Seishiro is inlove like.. its scary." Until the bell rang and the friends went to their classrooms.
Class just went normally as everyday is until, your second-to-the-last class. It rained. And not just some normal drip rain, it was pouring rain. And you didn't have any umbrella, but its nothing you can't handle. You still have the bus to take anyways.
.
.
.
Well guess what! Happy new year, cause oh my gosh. When your second-to-the-last class ended, Ohoh! A notification came up saying the bus station is closed because of the hard pouring rain! Ha ha! What a great day to still be alive! And it didn't even stop. It was your last class, and there was even thunders and lightnings. And outside the window, there was even wind whooshing, you can see the trees moving, but it wasnt too, strong. For now. By the end of the class, you were even starting to think to sleep at the school because no way can you go back to your apartment with limited money your carrying right now cause you thought you can take the bus! Great.
Well, school ended and you bid your goodbyes to your friends and now your standing stupidly in front of the school gates. But you weren't actually out, you're under a roof, shielding yourself from the pouring rain as you sighed. You should've asked your friends if you can go with them but you were just too shy earlier. And now, you can't even call anyone right now. Your phone is dead..
You sighed, as you turned around to the school, thinking about where you should sleep. But will you look at that, as soon as you looked up, its your little boyfriend, Nagi! Your eyes widened.
"Nagi? What are you doing here? Its been an hour since school ended." You said
"Well, Reo had to leave me because his parents were sick worried about him from the pouring rain, i had to stay a bit longer because my game will end if i lost wifi. I was using the school wifi." Wow. Very.. you, Nagi. "What about you? What are you doing here?" He asked back
"Well, long story, short. I don't have an umbrella, the bus station is closed, i don't have enough money to taxi, and my phone is dead." You said ss you sigh looking down. And before you could think if he had an umbrella, he spoke. "How 'bout you come with me? I can take you home, and i have an umbrella." But your apartment is seriously far. Without that bus, it'll be way tiring for you and Nagi.
"I.. can't. My apartment is really far from here." As you chuckle nervously. You already knew damn well how lazy Nagi can be. And your not up to the task to even carry him.
"You.. can stay at my apartment." Nagi spoke.
.
.
.
Did you hear that right? "Y-your apartment? Won't i be a disturb to anyone there? To you?" You didn't even expect he would give that offer at all. "Not really, i live alone anyways." You really didn't have any other choice so you accepted. The both of you went to the taxi station and somehow you both already got one. Of course, he paid. Again.
As Nagi entered the apartment, his apartment seemed, normal for someone like him. Few dirty dishes, some hoodies on the couch and some pillows on the floor.
"Looks like the rain doesn't plan on ending soon. You should sleep over here." Nagi said. "Wait, seriously? Its okay?" You ask and he nods. You heard his stomach growl as he sighed and look to the shelfs of the kitchen and see some pack of noodles.
"Do you want me to cook noodles? If thats fine of course." You spoke, and you see Nagi's eyes lit up as he nods rushingly. "I'm just gonna go chan-.." He cut himself off as he noticed that your still wearing your uniform, your arms are holding each of your arms as you hug them. You we're cold and even you didn't realize it. But you noticed him and you also just realized it. "Is one of my hoodies okay?" Huh? As you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head. "Are you okay with wearing one of my hoodies?"
.
.
.
"HAH?! A-are you serious?- Sorry for shouting.. A spare shirt is fine. I think i have my PE uniform here- Oh. Only the bottoms are here.." Before you can even look up at him, he was already handing out you his hoodie. "Just take it. Its cold anyways. Imma go change." He said as you get his hoodie. NO WAY IS NAGI SEISHIRO GIVING YOU HIS HOODIE. "A-alright, i'll make some noodles for now." As you went to the kitchen.
You finished boiling the water as you pour them to the cup noodles. Nagi came out of his room and saw you on the kitchen and went to you. You noticed his presence and turned to him. "I just boiled the water. The noodles should soften soon." You said "Soo, uhm, wheres the bathroom?" You said as you nervously smiled and Nagi pointed to where it was and you went there and changed. You were still a bit shock that Nagi offered that you stay on his apartment and even let you borrow his hoodie.
Eventually, you got out of the bathroom and saw Nagi still standing there on the kitchen, watching the noodles patiently. You come up to him and check the noodles with some chopstick and it seemed like it has softened already.
You both went to the dining table and sat then chomping up your noodles. You've been hungry for a good while. But oh, there it is again, your curiosity. You still dont understand the whole You and Nagi thing, okay. So you ask him about again.
"Hey Nagi?" You called as he raised an eyebrow at you.
"Did you.. get your nintendo switch back?" You ask and he nods. "Then, why are we still like this?"
.
.
.
"This time, Reo changed my password on most of my games. He left some but most of them are boring..This time we need to be together." Oohh, Didn't know Reo is strict. "Do you.. still need my help?" You ask and he nodded. Alright. You notice him not eating his food at all and looking at you. As if waiting for you to do something. "Aren't you gonna eat your food, Na-"
"Nagi? Aren't you gonna give me a nickname?" He asked. What is bro on about. "Alright.. Shiro. Is that good?" He thought about it for a moment. You can see it and he nodded. "Soo, why aren't you eating, Shiro?" You ask and he just simply raised his hand and put his head atop of it. "Eating 's such a hassle.. Can you feed me?" You chuckle at how lazy he is, but you accept. You grabbed his chopsticks and got some noodles on his noodle cup and faced it to him. And he simply opened his mouth to eat it.
Sooner later, you finished your food faster than him. He was a slow muncher. So now, all you have to do is finish feeding him. "By the way, is it okay if i charge here? Don't worry i have a charger." And Nagi pointed where theres a nearby extension cord on the living room and you charged there. You went back to the dining table and saw his head was laying on his forearms and he seemed like he was waiting for you. When he saw you sit down, he already opened his mouth as you feed him.
You checked the time now. It was now 9:37 PM, Time goes by pretty fast. And you remembered you had homework to do. "Hey Shiro.. do you perhaps have a desk? I'll just finish my homework.." You spoke. "You can do it in the living room. Theres a coffee table there." You nodded and whispered a thanks, before going to the coffee table.
"Are you done with your homework?" And he simply just hummed "Wow, already?!" And he hummed again and yet here you are struggling with your own homework. How sad..
"Why? Do you need help?" And you look at him, and laugh hesitantly.
You both worked for hours and somehow, Nagi didn't seem as lazy as you see him before or how people describe him to be. But you have noticed him struggling to explain and groan about it but it was nice to see him make efforts.
Eventually, it was already 11:52 PM but at least you both finished, and you stood up happily from finishing your assignment. And you put your homework back at your bag.
"You can sleep in my bedroom. Dont worry, there's an extra mattress there. Do you want to sleep in my bed or the mattress?"
"The mattress is fine. Thats even more than just 'fine'." And he nodded. He prepared the mattress for you and even picked out some pillows and blanket.
"Thanks alot Shiro. Really, this was alot." And he nodded, sitting on his bed.
"Good Night, Seishiro." You said before sleeping.
"Good Night." He replied.
.
.
.
After a while, he was still playing on his phone with his games and your already asleep on the mattress. He put his phone on his desk, and looked at you from below. Admiring you. As he did, he brushed a few strands of hair before sighing and going back to his own bed, turing off the lamps, goind under the blankets and sleep.
A/N: 2.4K WORDS OMG😭😭 y/n lore on next chapter?!?! Lmk if u wanna be in the taglist!
Taglist: @purriodsblog
#bllk x reader#bllk#blue lock#bllk x you#blue lock x reader#bluelock x reader#nagi seishiro#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi x reader
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K&J x MMSS 4: Valen & Jim Part 7B
Part 7 of the "B side" universe for AU4. You can check chapter 4B for clarification on what this means if you're lost.
K&J masterlist
MMSS masterlist
K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist
To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday
Warnings: Aftermath of torture
In this chapter: Valen continues to make healing progress despite the setbacks.
***
Things continue relatively smoothly for the next few days. Liz gets Jim a blood draw kit that he uses to feed Valen, anxiously entering the realm of becoming food again, but the fact that it's his choice this time makes it different.
"You're looking a lot better." Jim notes as he removes Valen's bandages to change them. "I don't think we need to put new ones on. You wanna try talking?"
Valen is feeling a lot better. He can smile without hurting his face now, and his skin has mostly grown back. He doesn't flinch looking at himself in the mirror these days.
You wanna try talking? Jim is surely prompting him to do so, but it still feels dangerous to assume permission for things, and to answer anything other than the exact literal question. He nods vigorously, then waits patiently to be given permission, managing to flicker his eyes up to make eye contact a few times.
"Go ahead." Jim encourages excitedly. "Try saying something."
Valen can barely remember the motions to go through to talk. He vibrates his throat, and a horrible, raspy noise comes out. His eyes widen with shock, and he claps his hands over his mouth.
"Yeah, there you go!"Jim gives him a winning smile. "Keep going, try again. You gotta practice, it's not gonna be perfect on the first try."
Valen steels his nerves and makes a few more dry, horrible grunts, clearing his throat, shaking the cobwebs off. He ramps up to it. ".......................jjjjjjjjjJjjjjjJJJJJJJJJIM."
And his face breaks into a delighted smile. He rocks back and forth happily, wiggling his hands. "Jim!" he rasps again
"Valen!" Jim says back enthusiastically.
It hasn't even been a week yet, and Jim is nervous about it, but he's a hugger. Valen is fed now, so it should be fine, right? He lightly wraps his arms around Valen, a bit tense, ready to pull away if he needs to. "I'm so happy for you."
Valen giggles and hugs back, firmly but not squeezing, and does an excited spin, lifting Jim off the ground slightly. "Jim! Jim!"
"Oh!" Jim freezes up, his heart beating fast with anxiety.
No, stop freaking out, this is Valen, not Kane. He's not going to pin you to the wall by your neck and choke you. He's not going to throw you to the ground so hard it leaves bruises. It's Valen. He's just picking you up because he's excited.
Jim forces himself to try to relax. "Valen Valen! Congrats, man. It's only been a few days and you've come so far."
Valen remains oblivious to Jim's anxiety, setting him back down on the ground and leaning into his chest, crying happily, not letting go, savoring the warm feeling. He still feels some urge to bite, here in Jim's embrace, but he's well-fed enough to easily resist it. That just adds to his happy crying. It feels like he's never been this happy in his whole life.
Jim calms down significantly once he's back on his feet, unharmed. He holds Valen close, carding a hand through his hair. "We'll get there. Soon you'll be speaking in full sentences again."
He hesitates before adding, "So, I was thinking. Seems like you've definitely got your strength back, at least. Would you wanna get blood packs from vampire territory to bring back here? I know your stuff's probably gone by now since you've been captive so long, so if it's not feasible that's fine. I can keep feeding you. No matter what, you'll be safe and fed here."
Valen's face falls a little bit, suddenly realizing how burdensome his presence here is. Of course Jim would want him to-
No, come on. Jim is proposing a reasonable idea to lift some burden from himself, not saying he's going to kick Valen out, or hates him, or anything like that. Valen is capable of doing things to help himself, and Jim. Jim freed him, and fed him, and hugged him. He can do this.
His face hardens with resolve. "Yes," he croaks. "I can try."
"Hey, there's a sentence! And you don't need to rush it, okay? Just something to think about doing once you feel up to it. I seriously don't mind feeding you in the meantime. And we'll make sure Liz clears it with her coworkers so no one stops you on the way. Can even drop you off and pick you up from the border if you want. Whatever you need." Jim smiles.
Valen salutes.
Valen's first order of business in this endeavor is not, in fact, to go to the border. Valen tells Jim he's going to go out one night. First he has to go to his house where he'd been living to see if any of his valuables are still there, because he needs money to buy the blood. And the imported stuff isn't cheap.
He manages to get a few miles away before his nerves fail him and he runs straight back, shyly reporting that he would try again the next night and go a little further.
He repeats this process, getting a bit further away each night, until one day he manages to get back to his house and find his stash of valuables, bringing them back and showing Jim an outrageous pile of jewelry and gems and precious metals
"Holy shit." Jim laughs. "You're loaded! Thought you were just a normal guy, but I guess you made out like a bandit with that asshole husband's stuff?"
"Yes," he says, trying to suppress his laughter. "I'm sure he was disappointed when he realized I was never coming back to return the things he'd convinced himself I'd merely 'borrowed.' I'll be sure to be careful where I sell them, lest he starts seeing them appear in pawn shops."
"Nice." Jim high-fives him.
Valen manages to work, up the courage to back over to vampire territory and return with blood packs.
Things go on. Valen is starting to look like his old self again, having access to his old clothes and getting back on T. Jim continues to coax him out of his shell, growing more comfortable himself now that he doesn't have to provide blood. The hunters in the area know not to fuck with Valen.
One day, the phone rings. When Jim answers with a "Hello?", Valen hears a very familiar voice on the other end.
“Hey, Jim, how are you? It’s Chase. Just calling on behalf of the vampire hunters to check up on ya. Been a couple months, so we just wanted to make sure everything went okay with the leech after pickup.”
Valen had been unloading the dishwasher in the kitchen; as soon he hears that voice, he drops the armload of cups he'd been carrying, cracking a few of them. He stands still, absolutely frozen, eyes glazed over in terror, instantly in tears.
"Everything's fine. Not a great time, don't call back." Jim says curtly before slamming the receiver and rushing over to Valen.
"Valen? It's okay, he's not here, he can't hurt you anymore." he says softly.
Valen steps back until he hits the wall, pulling away from Jim, and sliding down to curl up in a little ball. "I'll be good, Jim, sir, please, please don't let him take me, please don't put me out in the sun, please please please."
Jim stays where he is, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoping that's a little less threatening. "He's not taking you. He's not even trying to take you, and if he did try, I wouldn't let him. No sun. No one's ever putting you in the sun again, least of all me. You're safe, remember? Can you try to remember that?"
Valen squeezes his eyes shut. "Please don't give me back to them, Jim, I'll do anything you want to stay here. Safe, safe, I'm safe here. Please let me stay here. Please don't send me back."
"I won't. I would never, ever make you go back there. Part of being safe means being safe from having to go anywhere you'll be hurt, okay? I don't just mean you're safe here, I mean you're safe in general. Do you understand?" Jim asks.
Valen nods. "Thank you. Thank you for your mercy, Jim. I know I don't deserve it, thank you, I'll be good."
"You deserve it, Valen." Jim's heart breaks for him. "You didn't do anything wrong, first of all. They had the wrong guy, remember? Second, even if you did do something, no one deserves the shit they did to you. You deserve to be safe."
"Thank you, Jim. Thank you. I think I want to go downstairs now, into the basement. If that's okay?"
"Yeah, 'course it's okay. You want me to set anything up for you down there? I can blow up the air mattress again for you to lie down on, like when you first got here." Jim offers.
"N-no, that's okay," Valen says. Still crouching, he scuttles away from Jim and into the basement. Dark, solid, safe. He closes the door. Dark, dark, dark. That's safe. He curls up under the stairs.
He'd thought he was better by now, but hearing that man's voice had set him all the way back like he couldn't imagine. He's still out there, walking around, free. He knows Jim's phone number, maybe where he lives. He doesn't dare come back out.
Jim cleans up the cups Valen dropped. He's been thinking that action against the hunters needs to be taken, talking to Liz about it, but he's afraid to rock the boat. Right now, no one's coming after Valen, who they believe to be safely contained and that Jim has a right to keep with him. What if that changes if the truth of the matter is revealed?
He'll talk to Valen about it later, he decides. When Valen's calmed down. It should be his decision.
He waits until it's dark out to go check on Valen, knocking on the door. "Valen? It's dark out now, if that makes you feel a little safer. Just wanted to check in on you and make sure you're holding up okay?"
Valen's wide eyes appear from under the stairs. "J-Jim. Does he know where you live? He has your phone number, does he know where I am? Could he show up here?"
"No, he doesn't know where I live. He's not gonna show up here." Jim promises. "I promise, you're safe here. You are never going back to that place."
Valen crawls up the stairs, lying in a heap at Jim's feet, hugging his knees. "But he's still out there, they're all still out there. What if they-they come here, and you aren't home?"
"They handed you over willingly, right?" Jim reminds him, crouching. "It's not like you escaped. And they wouldn't just, like, bust down the front door and break in. Even if they somehow showed up here when I wasn't home, hours by car away when they don't even know where I live, they still wouldn't get you. Okay?"
Valen nods, sniffling. "Okay. Thank you, Jim."
Valen is much more needy than usual over the next few days, barely ever leaving Jim's side, and even more rarely making eye contact. Jim notices Valen eating less often than usual, and when he brings it up, Valen admits he's been trying to make the blood packs he has last longer to put off leaving the house for as long as possible. "It's not like I need to be strong for anything," he offers as his rationale as to why it's okay. "Nothing bad will happen if I don't eat for a while."
"I know what it's like to be terrified you're gonna get snapped up again and taken back." Jim takes Valen's hand. "How about I help you out, huh? No going hungry in this house. I'll get the blood draw kit back out."
"I can't ask you to," Valen says, voice thick. "I'm sorry. I know it makes you uncomfortable. And then I'll feel like I have to go out faster so you can stop. I would rather just not eat for a while."
"Well good thing you're not asking me to, then. I'm offering." Jim counters. "I wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't willing to do it. Starving yourself isn't an option. As your friend, I'm vetoing it."
He grabs a blood pack from the fridge and hands it to Valen. "Drink. When you run out, I'll feed you, for as long as you need me to. You don't have to feel rushed."
Valen cries again, feeling overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of actual support. He starts to feel better not being hungry all the time, and works up the nerve to go get himself blood again soon enough.
Jim is glad to see Valen feeling confident enough to go out again. He decides this as good a time as ever.
"Hey, so, Liz and I have been talking. About the hunters who hurt you and all. She thinks it might be possible to get their hunting licenses revoked. She's not sure about prosecution, since this is kinda an unprecedented situation so there's no laws against it, but that might be possible too. Would that be something you're interested in?" he asks.
"Um." Valen is terrified by the prospect of having to come face to face with any of these people again, and the possibility that they might seek him out for retaliation. But the idea of taking away their power to do that to anyone else is too appealing. "I-I think that would be the most responsible thing to do. It-it should be made known what they're capable of. They're-they're dangerous people, walking around free. Yes. You'll be with me the whole time, right? In case I have to, have to c-confront them?"
"Of course. You won't have to see them. Liz and her friends and I will handle it." Jim gives Valen a quick hug. "You're gonna be alright."
This process actually goes very smoothly, partially helped by public opinion. Once Jim makes it known that Valen is the vampire who rescued him, from the bestselling book, there is a lot of public support for him. Hunting licenses are revoked, though the lack of existing laws makes prosecution hard. The process of getting a law put into place to prevent torture of vampires has started. This may cause a certain someone to put a rush on certain experiments getting going.
Jim's address is not known- that's the whole point of him moving out here in the first place- but Liz is sent things for Valen from random humans. Letters of support. One comes with a teddy bear holding a heart that says Get well soon.
Valen is relieved when it goes smoothly. He'd half expected the whole thing to be dismissed, laughed off. He's shocked when he starts receiving encouragement from random humans. He has a hard time accepting the idea that a faceless crowd of humans could like him, instead of hate him, because he'd been told and shown for five years that only the latter was possible. He keeps every single correspondence and gift he gets, setting them in a box and putting it in the basement, along with a blanket and a beanbag chair. When he has his bad days, he goes downstairs to be away from the sun and sits there, curled up, reading and re-reading and re-re-reading every nice, comforting, supportive thing humans who are complete strangers to him have written. Sometimes, when he's brave enough, he writes back and asks Liz to mail it out.
***
@barebarb
@cc1010foxy
@emcscared-whumps
@gt-daboss
@hurtpluscomfort
@jakersdaboss
@lolrpop
@melancholy-in-the-morning
@pigeonwhumps
@some-thrilling-heroics
@starfields08000
@t0rture-me
@thecyrulik
@thejinglingcourtjester
@vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff
@whuarri
@whump-cravings
@whump-my-heart-away
@whumpycries
@wolfeyedwitch
@whump-addict
@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question
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you again?? - jameson x reader
pairing: jameson hawthorne x fem!reader
warnings: swearing
a/n: part two is here!! hope you like it! its also like 11pm when is started writing this so sorry if its crap - i need to sleep guys
part one: i don't even know your name
its officially been one week since the night you met jameson.
jameson hawthorne to be exact.
one quick google search of his name - okayyy you were curious about the guy and searched his name up, but you weren't expecting him to be fucking famous - and you now had enough information that you could practically be his mother.
so yes its been one week since you were kissed by the devastatingly handsome boy and then you left him on the stairs running into the night.
your thoughts have been plagued by him. you even made a playlist for him.
cause you know what? you're only human.
try having the most handsome, charming, flirty person you've ever met kiss you and not think about it. its physically impossible.
so for seven whole days you've had to fight off the thoughts of jameson.
you were majorly unsuccessful.
like right now, as you sit on the bus driving towards your new job. clearly the whole stealing a car didn't work out. but you choose to positively ignore it, the same way you try ignore any thoughts of jameson - delusion is real.
pulling up at the nearest bus stop you get off the bus in your new clothes that you spent nearly every every penny you own on.
you trek the five miles uphill and in the heat to get to the gate of the house you were working in. nearly dying from the exercise you're about to press the ringer to call up to the house when a black unmarked veichle pulls up beside you.
the window winds down and alisa's - the woman who interviewed you - head sticks out looking down at you in question.
feeling its better to lie you simply say "car broke down this morning, had to catch them bus then walk."
at alisa exasperated look its clearly just the answer she was hoping for. "hop in the car."
pulling yourself inside you make eye contact with alisa and smile hoping it will be returned. it wasn't.
"okay, so y/n... was it?"
you nod. "yes."
"okay, good. y/n, when we arrive up at the house shortly, i'll give you your company computer, keycard - which will get you inside the property and our office in town - and files. you can also have the keys to this car - until you can get your own sorted - how long do you think it'll be out of action for?"
"at least a few months," you lie effortlessly. "they have to order the parts in from overseas."
alisa eyes you for a moment and you tense up wondering if you'd been caught out. "thats fine, just let me know when its out."
you revert back to silence and look out the window to the house - well actually house is an understatement. its a fucking mansion. like seriously its huge and gorgeous like straight out of an 1800's movie.
the sweeping structure looks like it has at least four floors. alisa noticing your wonder at the house starts off into a spiel about the house - it has a bowling alley?? - woah this is a huge place.
when you pull up in front of the house the driver gets out and opens your door handing you the car keys and walking off. alisa appears by you side and opens the huge - and i mean huge - front door.
she struts inside, seriously she's like a supermodel, formidable and determined as she walks into the house - mansion - and over to a table inside the grandest foyer ever.
holy shit these people are loaded.
it has grand archways on either side of the room and a intricately carved ceiling. you could honestly house at least ten families of five in here and still have room for more.
alisa turns back to you and hands you a key card, computer and two books that you have to read through as soon as possible.
"read that sooner rather than later, the hawthornes have quite a bit of information you have to learn about before you're officially allowed to be here without me."
you smile up at alisa. "thanks."
wait...
hawthornes?
alisa smiles back at you, before her looks returns to its usual stoney face. "that look of wonder in your eyes will disappear after you read this," she says patting the folders in your arms. " a word of warning though, don't lose your heart to a hawthorne, its not worth it." her words are sharp, a warning.
you're about to ask why, when a voice appears from the bottom of the stairs. "and who is this?" you turn to see a darker skinned boy with a charming grin walking towards you.
"xander, this is y/n my new assistant, she'll be around more often," alisa explains.
the boy - xander - raises an eyebrow and takes your hand, kissing it with a grin. "enchantè, y/n. i have a feeling we're goign to be best friends."
you can't help the grin that takes over your own face. "really?"
"mhm. besties."
you're about to respond to him with a cheeky remark when another voice appears at the bottom of the stairs. "who's the new girl?"
you tense up and try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. that voice. its the same flirty voice that has filled your dreams for the past few nights.
turning around you past on a smile and look to the approaching jameson hawthorne.
he falters slightlym his eyes creasing in recognition before he continues on his path towards alisa. pretending he doesn't know you.
"and you are?"
"y/n," you answer, in the same fashion. "who are you?"
"jameson hawthorne at your service."
"lovely to meet you y/n," he winks. "for the very first time." he turns to xander in expliantion. "we've absolutely never met before, never before. and we most certainly haven't done anything illegal."
you can't decide if you want to slap him or kiss him.
the second is certainly more appealing.
a/n pt2: i hope you liked it!! sorry there wasn't too much jamie in this one <33
taglist: @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @ravenclawdirectioner, @mrs-jameson-hawthorne, @tornqdowarnings
@zenikswaffleshop
#jameson hawthorne#jameson winchester hawthorne#jameson hawthorne x reader#jameson hawthorne x you#jameson hawthorne x y/n#jameson hawthorne x fem!reader#jameson x reader#jameson x you#jameson x y/n#jameson x fem!reader#the inheritance games#the hawthorne legacy#the final gambit#the brothers hawthorne#the grandest game#ems writes ᯓ★
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I have 5 different fic ideas writing down in my phone memo. They all came to me in the space of a week.
I think I'm cursed with ideas and no time to explore them.
#inspiration is amazing#and everybody knows those two idiots in love inspire me a lot#but I have no fucking time for all of this#I wish I could write about them more#I wish I could draw them too#I started a kind of comic book drawing with them#I'd like to draw something for every fic I wrote#like bits of dialogue or just one drawing to set the tone of the fic#we should just be allowed to take a day off when inspiration is there#or just say to your boss#inspiration is there I have to go bye and just take off#but right now I think I need at least a whole week#where like I see nobody and just expresses myself through art#I don't know#they make me sick#with inspiration I guess#and when you're sick#well you just have to stay home you know#so I should be able to#destiel#deancas#castiel#dean winchester#writing fanfiction#I wish I had more time to do that actually#my personal experience with destiel#my destiel fanfic
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I’m finally biting the bullet and contacting a therapist today after being ambivalent ab it for so long… this hellsite has its many disadvantages but one thing I can say is it has truly helped me be less scared of pursuing therapy. Silver lining etc etc
#And to be clear I have nothing against therapy. I’ve seen it do wonders for other people#I think the reason it’s a point of defeat (just a little) for me to be like ok. I need a therapist. Is bc I’m admitting to myself that I#need one to begin w. And I get it’s not healthy but I always liked to think I could handle anything by myself#That was even the whole point of this blog. It was supposed to serve as a conduit for these feelings#And I’m not saying I don’t have a support system. I do. I have many wonderful friends#But I struggle to be vulnerable at all tbh and whenever I am I’m guilty ab it bc#I understand so many people have busy lives & I feel like an emotional burden on them by venting#Despite them telling me that it’s totally fine. Obvi a therapist is literally paid to listen so no guilt there#And I think that’s what I need#I’m not like on the brink of a psychotic break or anything but it’s just little things. I think it’d be nice to sit in someone’s office for#One hour a week and just go. That did bother me actually. I am tired actually. I do feel that way actually.#Rather than just burying my feelings w school and a busy schedule#I don’t think therapy will make me any less of a workaholic anytime soon but it’ll at least allow me to slow down one hour a week#And also not bottle shit up so fuckin much#But ya all of this is to say I’m drafting the email to her RIGHT now .#Starting the day off strong by oversharing on tumblr dot com
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Maaaaaaaaaaaan, come on.
(the post has ended up in the tags btw. I am not changing this and I need you to understand that it is just me talking to myself semi-publicly)
#Nevi Writes#things said by a guy writing a thing he doesn't even intend to be writing and it's like 10k of words now. >:[#while that's true I do want to emphasize that nobody should get excited about it right now tho okay#because like it's just. idk. I feel very much like it could end up not worth pursuing anyway. it's just a little baby wip.#(when the fuck did my little baby wips get to be 1/4-1/2 the length of my previous 'finished' stories!! what the hell)#it just feels nice to make words tho. and it does have that kind of 'ah good to catch up with these guys again' vibe which is nice.#even if the break has once again been like. on the order of days to a week maybe. I'm so bad at this taking a break business suddenly. lel.#but I don't have anything much to say about it at this point#other than I'm debating inventing a reason that presidential elections would have been moved by a couple of years between now and 2212#what is it with me and having to be so damn precise with dates in this whole narrative. am I just mad that Capcom never tries?#(yes) (so mad)#(and 2212 would actually be an election year is the problem. I want time to have passed but I also want there to be a pres. election.)#(it's fine don't worry about it)#(this is how I decided that Blucifer got bload up and then replaced also. weird reliance on mashing up IRL things and fictional explosions)#(but it's fun isn't it? got that veneer of verisimilitude. I'm good at long words)#idk this is inevitable isn't it. but I'm going to keep playing like it's not. I think I need a little more space for this one mentally.#the first one just sort of fell out of my head fully assembled and the second one did that also but with different vibes#though it did actually take some cutting things and adjusting things to make it work which Failure to Compile did not#Failure to Compile was bizarrely effortless until the mad editing dash. Outcome Unpredictable was WORK#fun work at least! but in hindsight it was definitely more work to make it flow properly.#the real job for the 3th if it happens is gonna be wrapping up threads without dropping new ones in bc that's such a habit of mine now
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the number of times that I've been actively researching a scientific topic in preparation for writing a sci-fi story that incorporates that topic
and then brand new info on that topic is released into the scientific community. while I'm in the midst of reading up on it
is too damn high, and honestly starting to get a little spooky
#this week's example isn't nearly so ridiculous as the time I had to reload the wikipedia article I was in the middle of reading#because Stephen Fucking Hawking had released a new paper *since I opened the wiki article two days earlier*#that changed the whole fucking understanding of the field#that's still the high water mark in my ongoing saga of 'why is science doing this to me I'm just trying to write science fiction'#by comparison this week's is pretty minor#'oh you wanna get back into research for a story that involves a massive solarstorm? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A MASSIVE SOLARSTORM RIGHT TF NOW?'#this happens to me. so often. I don't even know what to think any more.#at least there are lots of new articles to read and videos to watch I guess???#dear universe: thank you for the science research help. please stop being spooky#or at least restrain your spookiness to spooky action at a distance#or. wait. maybe that's what this is#maybe it's all spooky action at a distance lmao#maybe I should put down the solarstorm research and get back into the quantum physics research#at some point I do actually need to write all these stories#tagtalking#2024 mood#2015 mood#process thoughts
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am finally back home and can say without a doubt that i am just fundamentally not built for long distance travel however the train was much nicer than planes
#that being said. pressurized cabins drive me insane a little bit#and also it gives you pretty intense sea legs for a While#like. the ones from the first trip hadnt gone away by the return one. so. might be stuck with that for a few days#we shall see#also ajr live fucks severely#the albums were already incredible but that was a goddamn religious experience#like. idk the way i think abt it is theyre more djs than a regular band esp w their performance showing the making of way less sad#like their music is very electronic‚ theyre making mixes of their own sound effects more than singing in one go#so like. the vocals were a teeensy bit rough at times#notably times it has taken me Literally Hundreds Of Hours Practice to be able to consistently sing along with#and times ive found its literally physically impossible to like. no matter what#idc how big your lungs are‚ there is no human on earth who can do that final run of karma in one breath#much less to An Entire Stadium After An Hour Of Jumping And Dancing And Singing Loud As Fuck#so like i dont blame them for that‚ you dont go to live shows expecting it to be 100% perfect anyways jwbdjsbfksb#the trumpet however. well she was certainly playing sometimes. and was very enthusiastic about her flares.#however. in most of their songs they use midi trumpets to my ear at least#meaning she was likely an addition specifically for live performances and in my personal band kid opinion#prooobably was not in any of the like. higher tier bands? idk just. a lot of the mistakes she was making were hitting as stuff that got#taught out of us the instant we joined any band beyond regular concert#so i would guess she was probably just like. a friend who happened to play trumpet in high school or maybe even just middle school#and they knew that the trumpet parts in their pieces were big and distinct enough that like they /had/ to get a live player#and just kinda. didnt anticipate the audition -> performance gap#like. her tone was really fried the whole time like she was playing as hard as possible#which. she was mic'd. have the sound guy turn her up.#the way they did it made it sound like she was using a mute but not. like she only got the bad parts of a mute from it yknow#her tempo and timing were. bad. theres no nice way to put that one it just Was Bad‚ like the trumpet runs in ajr songs arent. complicated#like. quite literally if you handed me the sheet music right now i would have it down perfect in a week at absolute most#and better than that player on sightread. like. we did so many sightreading drills.#like ill share my band kid creds if anyone cares but i need to emphasize this isnt me being braggy like. they genuinely just arent hard#fuck im out of tags. w/e i think only like one of yall also listens to them anyways so i can leave it there
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i want to paint, but autism is hungry and needs to be fed 8hrs of skyrim a day
#i'm trying to set up to paint bc i want to!! but every bone in my body says no#i'm gonna feel sad and disappointed in myself if i don't paint because i want to actually *do* something#and not spend this whole weekend having barely even scraped the surface of what i truly genuinely wanted to do#and instead just burn away the time looking at skyrim#i'm not even really having all that much fun playing it!!! but i can't break away from it#which isn't always a bad thing especially on week days but? on a long weekend where i want to enjoy myself??#and i can't because my brain won't let me??? not fun!!!#painting is so boring and understimulating and my brain is way too foggy right now to think about mixing colors and layering#(secretly i don't even want to paint i just want to feel satisfied at creating a thing!!) (my brain is too fried to hold a thought long#enough to do the physical action of painting! it sounds wayyyy too daunting and taxing right now!!)#but if i spend this whole weekend having sat on my ass doing nothing will i feel rested? no!!!#but if i spend all my energy doing A Hobby will i feel rested? also no!!! but then i'll at least have something to show for it#i'm riling myself up and i feel like i ALMOST could make myself paint right now#but as soon as i think of what it will feel like to sit here and focus and move my hands to do the painting my brain screams NO#and sure i can argue i'll feel better if i do it i'll be glad if i do it and it'll be easier once i start#but this isn't the walk i took yesterday (that i was glad i took but still felt like garbage after)#i WANTED to take a walk. i was just struggling with the level of exertion i could manage (walk my neighborhood or drive 30min to the park?)#my brain is latching on to 8hrs a day of skyrim bc that's all i have the energy for#work has been killing me#and it's so painfully bright in my apartment but i can't close the curtains bc i need all the sunlight i can get#i WANT to have the energy to paint and enjoy it but i just don't.... (but i feel like if i Give In to the exhaustion then i'm#no better than my mom who just sits around all day refusing to live her life bc she refuses to take care of herself.#and calls sitting perfectly still—instead of actuvely managing her condition—'not letting her disability win')#(so i don't want to be that. i don't want to waste away like my mom bemoaning how i Just Can't when i totally can!!!#i could push through this exhaustion and hype myself up but the only thing i'm going to be thinking about is Am I Done Yet? Can I Rest Now?)#and i can't convince myself that 'just paint for 30min' is worth it bc mixing paint and setting up is Just So Much#enough that 'just 30min' is a lie and not a legitimate out if i need it to be#i need to commit or not do it. and i just can't......... my eyes hurt and i'm tured and i just wanna play my game#and all this indecision and feeling like i'm wasting time is just making me want to cry. im gonna close the curtains and boot up the xbox;(#personal
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#shut up kell#we have officially hit that part of the year where i just kinda. go a little squirrelly. bc of grief#and this year has extra flavour. bc it'll be ten years on sunday. so that's. crazy#i have my meds now at least but i did leave work early today. thinking i might say fuck it and play hooky tomorrow#but at the same time i don't wanna like. be a dick lmao. also i need money#and god forbid i tell my boss 'heyyy babes! sorry if i seem a little crazy this week! the anniversary of my nana dying is coming up!'#'yeah no it hurts fucking gutrot terribly every single second of my life but it's worse right now! happens every year don't worry lol!'#anyways. happy birthday to my depression 😍 a whole decade xoxo where does the time go#i'm good i'm just like. not good. lol#anyone who thinks that there's a time limit or strict linear timeline on grief has never truly loved something i think.#there is no blueprint. there is no one way. there is no instructional manual. there is no getting over it.#there is pushing through and there is making peace and there is understanding but there is never an end. at least not for me#just had to like. yell somewhere about this. it will likely happen again
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