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warmau · 3 years

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“that’s the worst sound i have ever heard in my life.”

you stand up too fast from behind the counter and bump your head with an ouch before looking to see what sicheng is complaining about now

outside the window of the cafe, you see a group of laughing boys and the bright, loud dirt bikes they’ve started riding around town

the sound of the engines and skidding tires managing to make their way through the windows

you wipe your hand on the front of your uniform’s apron and shrug

“i think they’re kind of cool.”

sicheng swivels around on the creaky bar stool, a script open halfway through is laying beside his iced-coffee

“extreme sports is just the polite way to say hey, this shit will get you killed”

you roll your eyes and check the clock that hangs above the display of baked goods and menu - almost eight, so almost time to close

you point it out to sicheng who packs his things up, you go over to help an elderly regular clean up their table and when the customer leaves you tell sicheng he doesn’t have to wait up for you

he throws his bag over his shoulder and looks over his shoulder at the parked dirt bikes

“hey, if one of them bothers you when you’re locking up just call me.”

“im pretty sure they’re not even going to notice me.”

sicheng still frets as he slips out of the door

you hum as you fall into your end of the day routine. you’ve been working here part-time through university, but with summer coming around, you’ve come on full-time

it’s a lot of work for one person, but the boss trusts you like their own children, and you actually enjoy having the quiet responsibility of locking up

you sweep the floor, put away all of the left over food and milk in the fridge, check the register and print-out the sales for the day

your last task is to close all of the blinds, the cafe always has them up in the summer, the tops open to let a slight breeze in when it coasts by

as you go through each them, you finally reach the last one that faces directly out of the front of the cafe. out onto sidewalk across.

it’s right in front of the intersection where the sidewalk turns into the boardwalk, and there’s a bike rack and some parking spots

the dirt bikes have all been left there, tires soiled with wear and sand

beside one of the bikes, a sleek red bodied one with various silver accents, stands a lone figure

in the summer heat, he’s still got leather gloves on that clutch the matching colored helmet in one hand, long jeans and lace up heavy boots

the only breathable part of his outfit is the white tank top that clings to the obviously toned lines of his upper body

a silver chain hangs around his neck, the links look so small on his overall broad figure, but they still shine against his sun kissed skin

he chews on the end of a toothpick and staring -

you step back slightly - he’s staring right at you

something in your stomach feels off, the crossing wires of concern and shock tell you to enter a state of heightened awareness

scurrying back to your work, you tell yourself you are just seeing things. you should listen to sicheng, finish quickly and hurry home.

the summer sun is quietly being pushed out by the summer moon by the time you lock the front door of the cafe and drop the keys into your bag

you turn around and whisper a small - shit! - when the figure from before is still there

he’s probably waiting for his friends, but sicheng was all wound up about them so now i am to- oh wait i think he’s coming over here!

and you’re right, the figure looks both ways before he crosses the street and jogs easily up to you

suddenly your hand itches to fish those keys out of your bag because what can a guy (a very handsome guy, up close) on a dirt bike have to do with you-

“hi - do you work in the cafe?”

he asks, voice deeper than you expect, his eyes are large and the color of autumn chestnuts

“um-yes?”

he sees the way your shoulders are tensed and he immediately retracts himself a step backwards

he puts his hands up, helmet still in his right, “oh right - sorry to scare you, i was just asking because ive seen you around-”

something like a flush coats under his cheeks

“wait - that sounds weird too, i just meant to say that i think you’re - that i wanted to know your name is all....”

you blink, your shoulders don’t relax completely, but you can tell there isn’t any bad intent coming from him

“well, what's your name first.”

he stands up taller and grins, white teeth almost blinding in the dusk

“wong yukhei! i came here for the summer with some of my buddies.”

he tilts his head toward the bikes and you nod, saying only your first name - sichengs cautiousness seeping into your own

yukhei repeats it, with an almost a bit of a goofyness in his smile when he does

“well - ill see you around then?”

you aren’t sure what to make of the situation, so you just shrug - “maybe?” - he seems satisified with this answer though, and crosses back to his bike

you don’t know why, but you feel embarrassed just standing there, so you shuffle your feet and start your walk home

at some point you turn to look over your shoulder, right at the corner that you have to take, but when you do - yukhei and his bike are gone

“really? see, this is why i should stay while you lock up.”

sicheng’s eyebrow twitches as you finish telling him what happened

it’s the next day, and it’s noon - right when the days get the hottest and most of the cafe’s customers are just coming in for the free air conditioning

“i don’t think he’s dangerous, i think he just wanted to say hi.”

you answer, fixing what must be the twentieth order for shaved ice-cream

the slices of strawberry fall gently onto the heap, and you place two pairs of the forks beside the dish

carrying it carefully to the pick up counter, you call out the order number and watch as a young couple - still dressed in their beach attire - comes up together, unable to break apart for even a second

you smile at them and return to sicheng, taking his empty glass and turning to fill it up with ice

“you can think he’s not dangerous, but any idiot who owns a death trap like a dirtbike-”

“sicheng, it’s like a normal bike but with an engine. it’s like a car but without the-”

“the safety, without the safety. really - i didn’t think you’d be the type to be into bad guys like that.”

you make a pfft sound with your lips, filling the glass with water and setting it down beside him

“first off, im not into anyone - i talked to him once. and just because they like bikes, doesn’t make them bad - you’ve been reading too many of those cliché scripts.”

sicheng makes his own sound of disapproval, but takes the drink you offer and brings the straw to his lips

you get busy with other customers, at some point kun and xiaojun turn up and distract sicheng

the whole time you work, something in you keeps making you stop to look out of the window

last night, the row of bikes had been there, but now they’re gone - maybe they’re not coming into town tonight?

you reprimand yourself every time you do look, because really it is just like you said to sicheng - yukhei was just saying hi.

finally it’s time for you to close the cafe again

the only reason sicheng doesn’t stay is because kun drags him somewhere else and if there’s anyone more stubborn than sicheng, it’s the elder of the pair

you take your time - calling the boss to let him know you’re leaving

“did that group of loud boys wreck havoc again?”

“group of boys?”

“the ones on those bikes, not motorcycles the other ones-”

your hand gets a little sweaty as it holds the phone

“no, they didn’t come around today.”

“good. be safe going home.”

you think about the conversation as you subconsciously start walking after you lockup

there’s a way to get home that’s faster, and much safer, but there’s a longer way too - that has you walk most of the boardwalk

really, it’s still safe - because of summer the beach is as bright as a movie screen till midnight - but you avoid it for the crowd and the noise

your feet urge you to turn at your usual corner, but you don’t, you make way to the little stairs that lead from the sidewalk and onto the old wooden boardwalk

there are lots of people still about, packing their things up from their time at the beach or coming to stroll by the waves when the sand isn’t burning under their feet

groups of friends, smiling strangers, couples with kids or without

everyone is enjoying their summer, and you almost feel out of place because your summer is going just as you thought it would. completely uneventful. long days at the cafe, lonely nights in your room

“oh?”

you hear your name suddenly and turn your head left to see yukhei leaning against one of the benches

on the bench are what look like some of his fellow friends, some have those moto jackets you’ve only seen on tv hanging off their shoulders and others are drinking out of cups and swinging the keys to their bikes around their fingers

yukhei comes over to you and everyone in his crew throws a look over their shoulder

you blink when he stops in front of you - right, you think, he’s pretty tall

“are you getting off work?”

“yep”

“it’s really late, your boyfriend doesn’t ever walk you home?”

“boyfriend?”

you retort almost sarcastically, because where did the sudden idea that you - walking alone on a boardwalk made for summer romance - have a boyfriend

yukhei scratches the back of his neck and you notice some scrapes on his elbows

“oh there’s the guy - in the cafe with you all the time, he glares a lot - uh-”

“sicheng? oh no, he’s a friend.” you can’t help but chuckle “but you’re right he doesn’t smile often.”

yukhei seems to suddenly beam at the confirmation, which makes something inside of you feel a little warm, but awkward so you point to his injuries

“bike accident?”

he pokes at the yellowing flesh and winces, “yeah. but it happens a lot.”

“it seems like a dangerous sport, do you not mind getting hurt?”

the question is more curiosity than anything - you’re not trying to be mocking or even mean - and yukhei can tell from the way you’re still casting a concerned look at his other arm for evidence of any other “accidents”

“i mean i mind it, but i love it too much to give up”

yukhei laughs and it sounds nice, pleasant - people with good laughs tend to have good hearts

“and im not really good at anything else. like if i was to be a waiter in a cafe like you, id probably hurt myself a lot more than i do on a dirt bike”

you want to correct him, you’re technically not a waiter - but a barista - but you stop because you are slightly transfixed by the kindness that glows from him

you’ve never seen someone else radiate so......positively

suddenly one of his friends calls out his name, asks if he’s going to join them as they head back to get their bikes

yukhei looks at you before he answers - “i could walk you home, since it is late.”

“that’s ok, thank you for offering.” you push your hands behind your back a little as you tell him goodnight, before you’re a couple of steps away someone from his group shouts out

“yukhei’s not only good with dirt bikes - he’s a good kisser too-”

by the sound of it, yukhei jumps on his friend and tells him to shut up! you hear the aftermath of the scuffle, but don’t turn around as you giggle to yourself

a couple of times after that, you see yukhei simply in passing

sometimes you’re in the middle of your shift and he walks by the window with his friends, he looks up and sees you and waves - but he doesn’t come in

you wave back every time and a part of you pinches when he the door doesn’t open after

other times, you’ll see him after work - or you’ll hear his bike somewhere and he slows down to ask how work is before speeding off to catch up with friends

little bits and pieces of interactions, never anything more than that

you don’t really tell sicheng about it either, he grumbles enough about the noise they make and the other things he doesn’t like so you decide not to bother even though he’s a close friend

and the twilights of a little crush on yukhei are most definitely seeping into your brain

but everything changes when you find yourself closing the cafe after a super busy saturday, where you hadn’t been able to get everyone out until it hit past eleven.

the boss had thanked you profously and promised a good overtime check since you’d stayed so late

and you were too exhausted to be too mad about having to stay past your schedule

as you went through your routine, you nearly jumped from your skin when the door opened and you turned to explain - no really, you were closed now when you came face to face with yukhei

the side of his cheek is obviously bruised, scrapes that look like bad road rash cascade down past the angle of his jaw and onto his neck

he limps a little when he makes it across the doors threshold and you see dried blood on his knuckles

“yukhei?” you rush over and take him by forearm, making sure to hold onto the skin that isn’t covered in some kind of wound

“yukhei what are you doing here - did you fall off your bike, you have to go to a hospital now!”

not anywhere close to being a doctor, you can only prematurely tend to him with the cheap ass first aid kit from the kitchen

the entire time you keep saying that he has to go to the hospital

and yukhei mumbles that he doesn’t know where one is, his friends weren’t with him either - he got hurt alone - so he came to the only place that was close by and familiar

you look up at him - he’s sitting on the same bar stool that sicheng is usually in and you’re standing between his legs, bottle of ointment uncapped on the counter - bandages in your hand

“ok, ill take you - ill call a friend who has a car.”

“im ok.”

he lifts a hand and wraps it gently around your wrist. you can feel the wear on his skin from his leather gloves and old callouses from old injuries

he stares at you and the only light is from the kitchen, flickering on and off

“you’re not ok, you might have a more serious internal injur-”

“if i was bleeding inside, i would know.”

you frown, he says it like it has happened before - you wonder how many times has yukhei fell off his bike, or gotten hurt some other way - how many times has he done it alone

“fine, you don’t have to go now but go sometime soon. promise me.”

he looks at you, the autumn chestnut color you saw when you first met him is glazed now in a darker brown.

“ill promise you if you promise me something too.”

swallowing, you become acutely aware of how close you are - his knees are grazing either side of your thighs. your wrist is still in his lax hold.

you smell sweat, blood, and cologne on him. he smells the tiredness of your work on you.

“this isn’t a joke yukhei, i just want you to be-”

“i will go, i promise but promise me something too.”

“ok. ok fine, what? do you want free coffee or -”

“promise you’ll kiss me at least once before this summer is over.”

before you even realize it, you agree. simply because you want him so badly to go to the hospital, or at least that’s how you come to terms with it on your own.

you itch as the promise swirls around your head, even hours after you watched yukhei walk away from your front door - banged up and bruised and stilling insisting on walking you home

when you see sicheng the next day, you want to tell him about everything because your head feels like a tangled mess

but you don’t - you just pick at the strings of your apron, make drinks and heat up pastries

three days go by and yukhei doesn’t show himself anywhere. he’s not even in his group of friends who you see once again on the boardwalk one night after work

you somehow push past the nervous feeling and ask one of them where he is

“ah, his bike is all fucked up so he’s been mopping about it while it’s in the shop.”

“did he go to the hospital?”

the guy laughs, shakes his head - “knowing yukhei, probably not. but we haven’t seen him for a while either.”

you say thank you and turn to leave - you hear some kind of buzzing, some kind of mention of you and yukhei and what kind of ‘relationship’ you’re in - but you push past it

you don’t even know where he lives, let alone where he rides his bike so you can’t really go and check on him

you have to wait for him to come to you - that bothers you.

you stop and return to the group, who all simmer to silence when you come close again.

“where do you guys usually ride your bikes?”

you’ve never been this far up the beach, mostly because this part is relatively blocked off from swimming because of the high ridges of rocks and the part of the coast that disappears into the mountains

there’s a trail for hikers that leads off and into the trees, but you don’t go there - worried you’ll get lost without a map or guidance

yukhei’s friends said they mostly biked here - dirt bikes aren’t motorcycles you know that right babe?

you cross your hands over your chest - on your one free day of the week, you want to be splayed out on your floor under a fan. not looking for yukhei - someone who is practically a stranger to you

is he though? we might have talked less times than i can count on all my fingers but would i really call him a stranger?

you look around but it seems barren, almost eerily quiet and isolated

so when the loud sound of an engine roars from that opening into the mountains, you almost teeter back

with a flair of dirt and sand that flies toward you in a storm, you hear a bike rip down and into dune

the red bike strikes against the sizzling backdrop of the summer day and your eyes widen when you see it do a half-circle and come to a halt

yukhei pulls the helmet off and shakes his sweaty hair from his forehead - he looks over at you and you think you have lost the ability to speak

i know im supposed to be angry and concerned, but he looks so hot it’s almost unfair

the road rash on his cheek is healing better than expected, but his wounds are all still clear as day - scabbing as they heal

he doesn’t get off the bike - just looks at you and then beckons you over with a tilt of his head

you almost protest because you came here to be all strong willed and insist that he go see the doctor, also when did his bike get out of the shop?

but you bend to the command and make your way over

he kills the engine and stares at you - you stare back

“where have you been?”

“i went to the hospital like i promised.”

the sudden confession makes you drop your hands - “really! what did they say?”

“no internal bleeding.” he leans his body slightly over the side of his bike “told you id know if i was dying.”

“still, im happy you went. it’s better to be safe than so-”

he drops his helmet on the sand and your sentence cuts off with the sound

“so i kept my promise, do you want to keep yours now?”

don’t be silly, im not kissing you - you don’t even like me and i don’t -

all the excuses in your brain just get lost in the jumble that’s already made a home up there, so you just decide that fine. you will keep that idiotic, dumb, heat of the moment promise.

you grab yukhei by the sides of his tank top, starling him as you push yourself toward his mouth

using the leveraged grip you let your hold relax only enough so that you can dig your nails through the fabric and into the skin of his ribs

yukhei makes a growling noise into your mouth that is somehow more sweltering than the summer sun

he cranes his neck slightly so when you run your tongue across the slip of his lips he can easily grant you any of the access you require, one hand goes up to grip the back of his neck

he takes one hand from the handles of the bike and slips it to the small of your back - then up between your shoulder blades as he pushes you closer

it’s supposed to be one kiss. one little, flimsy kiss, and yet the attraction you feel between you two is so charged that you cannot stop

you only break back to see if yukhei feels the same thing, and it is written all over his face, he does

that and the way he tells you to step back as he gets off the bike, it falls to the sand and you start to ask why in the world he’s so careless with everything when he just wraps you up in his arms and starts kissing you again

“i wont be careless when it comes to you”

his mouth is magical, even more so as it drags down to your neck and the layer of sweat between your bodies is threatening to turn to fucking cement and keep you stuck in this embrace for the rest of eternity (not that either of you would mind)

but it’s so hot and you are not about to fall back on this sand - so you somehow manage to tell yukhei to meet you later tonight

“want a ride home?” he pants, but you unglue yourself from the plane of his perfect chest and shake your head, “meet me at ten.”

yukhei is there on time. he didn’t bring his bike, which is a good idea considering the noise it would make, he looks so sweet when you come downstairs and he asks if you want to go on a date

a date, like go get dinner if you haven’t had any or play boardwalk games until midnight

you say yes. just not tonight

yukhei’s look of childish confusion makes you laugh as you take his hand and lead him back inside.

sicheng might have warned you about yukhei being “bad”, the only little problem is you might have always been the “bad” one all along

with how big, strong, dirt biking yukhei looks up at you with absolute awe as you forgo chitchat over shared ice-cream and push him down onto the sheets of your bed

in the morning, you have to go to work and yukhei has to leave through the window, but you kiss him one last time and he mumbles he’ll meet you after your shift

“now i do have a boyfriend to walk me home, huh?”

you giggle and yukhei nearly trips over himself at the word

you do let yukhei take you on a date, of course you do - and it’s as soft and sweet as you expect because yukhei is the opposite of what he looks like at first glance

all the bruises, all the confidence, all the arrogant handsomeness that is ingrained in his perfect features is just a cover. he’s a big teddy bear.

refusing to let you pay, giving you his jacket, offering to come over early and help you lock up

holding your hand gently, kissing your forehead when you complain about dumb customers, the absolute sugary-sweet pillow talk that sometimes makes you feel like you’re in a hallmark movie romcom

when sicheng catches yukhei with a hand around your waist on the boardwalk - he nearly calls the police, but you explain everything - sans the more intimate details and it takes a long time for sicheng to accept it but

you are happy, god you are so happy it is pouring out of you - especially when you are with yukhei

even your boss warms up to him (only him, the rest of his buddies are basically barred from coming into the cafe)

and yukhei, when you see him with others, it’s obvious that he is an extroverted charmer - one afternoon he helps you with orders and when he returns, the receipt is covered in numbers

of course - he crumples it and tosses it into the garbage as he lets a secret hand sneak up your shirt behind the shield of the counter

and then, the summer is whisking away, and you feel the first kisses of autumn when yukhei is helping you steady yourself on the dirt bike - even though you refuse to actually ever ride it

you shiver at the breeze and yukhei feels your goosebumps under his fingertips

“hey, are you going to leave once summer is over - i know you and your friends are just staying here because it’s a great place to bike but-”

he leans down and buries his face in your hair

“why, you gonna miss me if i leave?”

you reach behind you to try and flick him, but he dodges

“i just wanted to know - if i should get ready for heartbreak or-”

“don’t ever say that, i would never hurt you.”

his tone drops and you know he’s being serious

“i love you and im not going anywhere.”

he helps you off the bike and then pulls you into his arms

“promise?”

you whisper, but yukhei hears it and you feel him nod

“promise.”

a couple of years later, you hear a loud sound from the living room and rush out to the garage

you see yukhei rubbing his head - wrench in one hand and a broken looking bike on the floor

“what happened?!”

“i didn’t put the kick stand down all the way so it toppled over”

you kneel down beside him and examine him for any wounds,

yukhei watches you and the concern that is always so bright and tender in your eyes when it comes to him

you turn his hand over to make sure, the engagement band on his finger catches the light as you do

the matching one on your hand feels cool against his skin.

“you’re so careless, seriously!”

you puff your cheeks out and chide him with all the love, he smiles back and leans in to kiss your frown

“true, but im never careless with you.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s true - ever since he first said it till now.

#ok in my defense.......i think dirt bikes are cooler than just motorcycles.#also the suits they were during xgames is so cool like imagine yukhei in one #yukhei au #lucas au #nct au #wayv au #lucas imagines #yukhei imagines #wayv #lucas #yukhei #blood/#wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #yukhei scenarios #lucas scenarios #nostolgic au

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ilguna · 4 years

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Belamour - Chapter One (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, death mention

wc; 4.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The horrid sound of wailing is enough to wake you up from the dead of sleep. Sweat runs down your back in tiny droplets, tickling certain nerves, making you shiver even though it’s nowhere near cold. As you instinctively search the room, expecting an intruder to be waiting in the doorway--you’re met with nothing.

The room is dark, and quiet besides the muffled sobs that sound from the corner of the room. When your eyes land on the crib, you’re able to see your sister, desperate to get out and get the day started already. That or she’s tired of the silence, and she’s hungry.

“Please.” she asks politely, hands outstretched for you to help her.

You run a hand through your hair, getting it to stop sticking against your forehead. As you slip out of the small bed, you stretch your arms above your head, yawning loudly to try and get the grogginess to leave. It’s no use this early.

“Good morning.” you scoop her up gently, going to set her on her feet. The second she realizes this, she grabs a hold of your shirt tightly, clearly in no mindset to let it go anytime soon. So, instead you let her lay her head against your shoulder like she did when she was a baby, and go to leave your bedroom.

The second you step out, you realize that the house is empty. And a clear indicator is the fact that the curtain’s aren’t open to allow sunshine in. They’re still drawn shut tightly to make sure that no peeping neighbors get the pleasure of seeing what it looks like in the morning.

Although, with the severity of today’s date, you’re sure no one would bother to do something like that. Maybe some other day, or month. But things are already pretty low at the moment, why make it worse?

As you tuck your sister, Alyssum, into her booster seat, you wonder what there is for breakfast besides oatmeal. If you even think to bring it up, she’ll undoubtedly throw a fit over it. So, you take a peek into the old, paint-chipped cupboards to try something that won’t cause a fight.

You find nothing.

You pull down the oatmeal, and then for good measure, grab the sugar. Right when you turn to give her a speech about breakfast options being limited today, the lock on the front door rattles. You close your mouth and lean against the counter, watching as the handle turns and then opens to reveal your two older brothers.

The first and oldest to come through the door is Reed. He’s got an old backpack over his shoulders, and in each hand is a jug of water. Alyssum pushes herself up in her seat to look over the back of the chair and see who’s joined you. When Reed realizes he’s got an audience, he smiles.

“You look rough.”

“You look rough.” you mock, he laughs at the tone, setting the jugs onto the end of the kitchen counter, and turns to face your second oldest brother, Mox.

In his hands is a blue cooler that seems to be weighing him down. He’s hunched over, teeth clearly clenched and looking disgraceful. He blows a single strand of his long hair out of his face repeatedly, likely irritated that he’s been stuck with the heaviest object of them all.

“Need help?” Reed asks.

And in the same exact way you mocked Reed moments earlier, Mox says; “Need help?” in a high-pitched voice, “Shut up.”

Reed snorts, delighted with himself. He slips off the backpack and sets it onto the counter. When he unzips it, he starts unloading everything he must’ve got while he was out with Mox. It starts with bathroom items first; shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, a brand new package of toothbrushes. And then immediately after is what you were hoping for, food other than oatmeal.

“I’m hungry.” Alyssum whines, Reed slides the fresh loaf of bread your way. This is from the local Bakery, this isn’t from The Square.

“How much was this?” you ask, looking at Reed.

When he doesn’t answer, you look to Mox instead. The two of you have a long staring contest, which is made up of you mostly waiting for him to cave. And he does, with a sigh, he looks back to the cooler and pushes it into a small space between the wall and the counter just big enough to fit it sideways.

“We didn’t have much of a choice.” Mox says, pushing on the lid to make sure it’s shut tight, “The Square was out, they were busier than usual today. If you’d gone, you’d understand.”

“So you couldn’t have gotten something else?” your attention is turned to Reed, now.

Reed shrugs, “We had a little extra change to spare. And really, it wasn’t all that much. In fact, we were practically begged to buy it because it would go to waste. He lowered the price considerably for us.”

“Enough to make a profit but now enough to gorge us.” Mox agrees, “It’s fresh too.”

You nod, hoping that they aren’t making up some blatant lie just because they wanted a fresh loaf of bread from once. You know that the bread from The Square can be daunting at times, but if they didn’t dance around the food for so long, then they wouldn’t psyche themselves out.

Plus, it’s not like anyone along that alley would willingly give anyone diseases or sicknesses. Especially not your family, with how long you’ve been going to get food from them. For you all to leave now would mean to risk going out of business, losing regular customers like that.

You pull the bread knife out of the silverware drawer, turning it over to make sure that it’s been cleaned thoroughly since Mox has a habit of not double-checking when it comes to putting away anything supposedly clean and dry from the rack. When you’re sure it’s fine, you sink the blade into the top, and find yourself satisfied when you don’t have to fight for the bread to give.

You plate a slide and a half of the semi-warm bread, and set it in front of Alyssum. She reaches over immediately, tearing apart the crust from the soft middle, and goes straight to eating. Mox gets her a small drinking cup, halfway filled with water and sets it beside the plate.

“I’m gonna go pick out our outfits.” you push the cutting board and knife away from the edge of the counter. You scoop up the toiletries to drop off on your way to the back of the house, “Feel free to start dumping water in the tub.”

“Sure.” Reed says.

You set up everything neatly and in their respective places inside of the bathroom. Above the glass tub is a tiny window with tiny curtains. You open them enough to allow light in the room, hoping to save gas in the lanterns for nights you actually need them. On the way out, you pass Reed, who’s got the first bucket of many that will fill the tub.

You start with the easy outfit first. This one will cause little to no thought when it comes to it. Alyssum is still relatively small. She’s grown since last year of course, but she’ll still fit into the dress you wore when you were her age. So, you pull it out of the bottom of the dresser by her crib--that seriously needs to be upgraded into a small bed, instead--and lay it on top.

A dress, a clean change of underwear, socks, her tiny Jane’s. You place a small cardigan on the occasion she gets cold in this summer heat while she waits. Then, you move onto the more challenging task. You find yourself standing in front of your parent’s bedroom, unable to open the door and go inside.

Every year, it’s the same struggle. The same argument inside of your head. Why bother going inside when you can wear last year’s dress? And then you remind yourself that last year’s dress doesn’t fit anymore, and therefore you need a bigger one. None of you have the money to spare for a new one, so you have no choice but to try and fit into what used to be your mother’s dresses.

You know that the second the door opens, the old smells will be overwhelming. It’ll be enough to bring tears to your eyes and freeze you in the middle of the room. If it’s too strong, you’ll probably collapse to the floor like you did two years ago, and you ended up succumbing to the onslaught of tears that year.

You don’t want that to happen again.

You should be able to just ask one of your brother’s to do this task for you, then. If it’s so unbearable painful to go through. But it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for you. Reed doesn’t show it anymore, but you know that he doesn’t like to be put into situations where he’s compared to your father. And if anyone even mentions the fact that Mox looks like your mother, tears will well in his eyes and he has to excuse himself from the conversation, never staying long after her mention.

It’s been a couple of years, but the wounds are still very fresh in your minds.

Knowing that the tub water is getting cold now, you tilt your head and grab the cold doorknob, turning it slowly like you’re afraid you’ll stir up memories. You avoid the squeaky floorboard strategically, and take your last breath of air to ensure that the smell of the room won’t be a distraction.

The first sight you’re greeted with, is the mirror that’s directly across the room from where you stand. You’re able to see that your hair is messy, and you’ve got a tired look in your eyes. To be fair, you haven’t really had a chance to fix either of those things just yet, and you’re hoping the bath will.

Wasting no time, you move over to the wardrobe. Inside on hangers are old suit jackets that belonged to your father, and dresses that you never really saw your mother wear except on formal occasions, which were rare. You pick through the dresses, looking for one that’ll fit you. Over the years you’ve grown out of even her wardrobe, proving just how much of a small woman she was.

You go ahead and settle on mustard yellow one way off to the left. You tried it on once, way in the distant past. Back then it was much too big for you, so you had to give up the surprisingly pretty color. Now, you’re fearing that it’s too small for you. Oh, how the tables seemed to have turned.

You shut the creaky wooden door as you situate the dress over your arm, making sure that the doors don’t slam back onto the frame. Your lungs are already burning, upset at your slow pace in the room. And the exact moment you go to hurry up, you manage to stir up a puff of dust that makes home inside of your nose.

Oh shit.

You sneeze, turning your head away from the dress to make sure that no matter what, it stays clean. It’s not just once, or twice. After the third sneeze has left you, Reed rounds the corner to check up on you. At first, his face is grim at the sight of you in your parent’s bedroom, but then he’s amused.

“It’s dusty in there, huh?”

“Shut up.” you sniff, and then instantly regret it because it’s obvious that there’s still stuff up your nose. You quickly shut the door behind you to make sure that after round two, there won’t be a three.

Once your body seems to get a hold of itself, your eyes are watering and you feel a little miserable. You’re just glad that you don’t have allergies like this all year round. In your room again, you fold the dress in half neatly, placing it on top of the dark oak desk. Then, your underwear, socks right on top. Off to the side, your own black flats.

You poke your head out into the doorway to the front of the house to see that Mox and Reed are at the table, eating their breakfast. Alyssum seems to be about halfway done, her pace slowing considerably. It looks like she’s done, and you’ll unfortunately have to finish off whatever soggy bread she didn’t touch.

In the bathroom, you shut the door and set out a towel. The water is probably luke-warm, mostly on the side of cold. And the second you dip your toe in, you’re so right. You scrub your skin with the sickeningly sweet soap that they had bought. As if the first smell isn’t nauseating enough, the shampoo doesn’t help much at all, either.

At least it’ll be able to temporarily wash away the smell of salt on your skin. Even if you haven’t been on the dock, in a boat or into the water in a week or so, the smell never seems to go away. It’s only a matter of time before you naturally begin to go back to the original scent that plagues the district.

And it’s not even close to the smell of sweat. In fact, the salt smell compared to the sweat, makes the salt smell sweet. Not as much as the soaps from The Square, but it’s a hell of a lot more pleasant than sweat and body odor.

When you get out of the bath, you dress in a second set of clothes that you had laid out in preparation of giving Alyssum a bath. To keep the dress dry, you’ll wear an old nightgown. Luckily for you, Alyssum doesn’t get fussy during bathtime, and she finds herself enjoying it.

And with how old she is now, you don’t really have to do anything other than monitor her. So, while she uses the soap and swoons at the brand new scent, you brush your hair free of tangles and dread the moment where you have to make it look nice for this afternoon. At the end of the bath, you still have to wash Alyssum’s hair, but right after you’re able to leave the humid room, taking the hair brush with you.

“Bathroom is free!” You shout, heading towards your room.

You shut the door behind you, setting Alyssum onto the edge of your bed. She complies patiently as you take your time getting her dressed. You skip over the shoes for now, since they’re a little tight on her feet now. Might as well let her be comfortable for as long as possible.

She manages to find a toy to entertain herself while you move to getting dressed. You make sure that your skin is dry entirely, afraid of the dress sticking to you while getting it on. While you pull it on slowly, you come to realize that the dress is loose. It’s not as nearly as tight as you thought it would be.

You dry your hair when the damp towel you used earlier, squeezing the most out. Alyssum mimics you in the motion, and manages to get the corner of your bed wet in the process. Hopefully by tonight, it’ll be dry and disgustingly wet against your feet.

You go ahead and do Alyssum’s hair, assuming that your brothers are still busy in the bathroom. You sit behind her on the bed, gently bringing the brush through her hair because you can’t feel the pain like she can. Alyssum let’s you know when it hurts, and you work your way around it. You bring half of it back, use a tiny band to secure it, and mostly leave it loose for taking it out later.

As you start your hair, you can hear the bathroom door open. With Reed being done, it’s only Mox left to go inside. You manage to get your hair to stay in place, allowing full movement of your head in any direction. It’s a relief, really. To not have to worry about that this entire afternoon.

On your way out of the bedroom, you slip on your flats and wait for Aly to slide off the bed. She lands on her feet, let’s out a nice giggle, and then rushes out of the room and towards the right. Going straight to Reed, probably.

You hang the towels up on the hooks outside the bathroom in the hallway. The bathroom is too small to have so many things clustered around at once. If and when guests come over, you’ll take the towels and whatever else might be out here, and tuck them away in the cupboards or singular shelf to resume the idea that the house is nice.

In the kitchen, you grab yourself a slice of bread and enjoy it while you wait on your brothers. Eventually, Mox comes out and wanders the hall to the shared bedroom with Reed in nothing but a towel. And not even a second later, Reed comes around fully dressed with Alyssum on his arm.

“I’ve got to do my hair now, pumpkin.” Reed says, setting her on the couch, “After that we’re gonna go.”

She huffs, but doesn’t say anything. You grab a glass of water, being careful with the jug. Once you’re done, you set everything that had been used into one neat stack on the left side of the sink to indicate that it’s all dirty. When you come back later, you’ll probably be the one to take care of it, since Reed and Mox will likely go out fishing as soon as possible.

Mox is ready before you know it, joining you, Reed and Alyssum in the kitchen. Upon agreeing that you’ve got everything you need—Reed had put Alyssum’s shoes on—and you’re not forgetting anything, you all head out, dragging your feet on it.

The second you step foot out of the house, you’re welcomed with the sight of Caspian’s family doing the same. Caspian is an old friend of both Reed and Mox. You’ve tolerated him since middle school, but recently stopped paying attention to him because he has a bad habit of getting on your nerves. Whether that be purposeful or not, you don’t pride yourself on surrounding yourself with people you don’t like.

Although, it’s not really like you have a choice. He’s a friend of Reed and Mox’s, and they’re not gonna leave him behind just because you say so. Your brothers love you dearly, but not that dearly.

“Hey!” You hear Caspian call, “Long time no see.”

“Haha.” Reed says, heading over after locking the door.

You tune the banter between them out, because you’ve got bigger fish to fry. Today is reaping day, and today your name is in the bowl four times. And compared to the people that have to take tesserae, it’s nothing. The four little slips of paper with your name on them, mean absolutely nothing. Especially with the population of District Four.

However, it’s still four. And next year the number will be five. And the year after that the number will be six. The more it grows, the more your odds increase. The thought alone is enough to make your heart stutter and struggle to resume it’s regular beat.

To say that you’re afraid is an understatement.

But you’re one little person in a sea of thousands. There’s no way you’ll get chosen. And since the odds are supposed to favor those in need of help, your name should be skipped right over. Two valuable people in your family’s life have died already, and you don’t want to be the third.

Reed and Mox are barely above the reaping age. There’s only a year’s gap between the two of them. So, Reed is twenty and Mox is nineteen. If the two of them scraped on by without being chosen, then you should be just fine too. Plus, they were taking tesserae for a good two years while you guys got back on your feet.

The walk to the stage on your part is relatively quiet. You have nothing to hold onto since Mox is carrying your younger sister, so you pull on your fingers to ease your nerves.

After a certain point, you decide to hum to fill the silence. The more you walk, the bigger the crowd gets. Until you’ve come upon the line of where you need to get signed in at. Without any instruction, you go ahead and get into line, still pulling on the finger that they’ll inevitably sting.

By the time you reach the front of the line, you feel sick. A part of you wants to believe that it’s just simple intuition, but you know better than that. This happens every year, and this year isn’t any different. Your finger is stung, and then you’re ushered towards where the eligible teens for the reaping stand in sections.

Your brothers catch you just before you go inside. Mox assured you that none of your hair is out of place, and Reed gives you a small pep talk on how it’s unlikely, but never be caught off guard.

You bid them goodbye, heading into the fifteen section on the left with the girls. They let you in freely, and you stand and try not to sway in the hot sun. It’s exactly overhead, maybe even a little behind. As long as it’s not directly shining into your eyes, you don’t really care where it is, exactly.

You take a quick look behind you to check up on your brothers. Unfortunately, since the back rows are the older kids, they also get taller. You can’t exactly see your brothers, but if you strain on your toes hard enough, you can barely make out the top of Alyssum’s head. Clearly, she’s on Reed’s shoulders.

When you turn back to the stage, you’re greeted with the sight of the mayor helping Mags onto the stage. Mags is the only female victor of District Four, therefore she’s the only mentor that the female tributes can get. Which is a bummer, considering her age. She might mentor every year, but that doesn’t mean she’s too knowledgeable about the technologies inside of the arena now.

She was the winner of the eleventh games, which were fifty-four years ago. Talk about there being a time difference between when she was in, and when people go in now. Back then you’re pretty sure that they only fought in one arena every single year.

Following Mags is a small parade of male victors. The first one seems to be just as old as Mags, maybe a little younger. You think his name is Luther, but you’re not entirely sure. Behind Luther is Scotch, a lot younger than Luther. Scotch is completely bald, and seems to have a scowl on his face.

The final person to walk out is Anchor. He’s the most recent victor of Four, and he won—ironically—four years ago. Despite this, seeing him on the stage is still very new to a lot of you. Especially because of the age gap between Anchor and Scotch, which is a good ten to fifteen years, at least.

You’re sure that District Four would have more victors if it weren’t for the careers and how they prepare for the games. It’s no secret that they’re doing something with their tributes. The number of victors they have is unnatural. And one very good example of this is the latest female and male victors of District One.

Typically, you wouldn’t remember their names, but it’s the fact that they’re siblings and back to back wins that makes it stick in your mind. And they won so recently too. First, Gloss won the sixty-third games, and then his sister, Cashmere, won the sixty-fourth.

Both from District One. They’re siblings. They’re back to back wins. That’s never heard of. It’s just not normal, and the Capitol has to know this. They just let it slide because they’re a favorite, which is so unfathomably unfair.

You manually unclench your teeth and settle for pulling on your non-injured finger while you wait. It doesn’t take too long, soon the victors have sat down, the sections are full and the anthem is playing over the stage. You watch as your mayor shuffles up to the microphone, clears his throat, and then begins the wretched speech that you have memorized by now.

It’s just a background history on why the Hunger Games had been created. It’s been nearly a century, and the Capitol is still hung up over something that happened sixty years ago. And it’s even funnier to think that they’re punishing the descendants of their beloved ‘criminals’. Simply being alive in the districts nowadays is offensive to the Capitol.

The speech finally ends, the mayor closing it up promptly to keep on time with the program. He introduces your Capitol Representative, and then takes his respective seat on the right side of the doors, opposite of where the victors currently sit.

Elysia Petalsong—honestly, their names are so ridiculous. As if their body modifications weren’t heinous enough, now they’ve got last names of fairytale characters. Anyway, she’s looking a lot more humble this year. Her outfit isn’t as outrageous as the last, which was mostly so she could get a good year's worth of spotlight. Now she’s just as lame as she was before.

She wears a blonde wig, and you can tell because there was one year her hair was brown, and her hairline wasn’t shifting every time she moved her head. She wears a yellow outfit that strangely resembles the sun. If the fabric had been a little more metallic, there’s no doubt that she’d be reflecting the sun right into all of your eyes.

There’s a huge smile on her face as she leans into the microphone. Even from this distance, you can see her unnaturally white teeth. She stands tall, “Good afternoon, citizens of District Four,” unlike other Capitol Representatives you’ve heard, her accent doesn’t stand out nearly as much, “Happy Hunger Games.”

Before you know it, you’re involuntarily rolling your eyes. They land on the ground before you, and you can see that some dirt and dust has been kicked up and onto your black flats. Luckily, there’s no actual imprints of someone stepping on them.

The Capitol finds joy in the games, while the districts writhe in agony. You’re not sure how a bunch of people can find fun in watching twenty-three teenagers fight to the death. But then again, who’s to say that the Capitol citizens are even human? They don’t act like it. They don’t think like it.

“We’ll start with the ladies.” Elysia chirps, making your heart skip in your chest. All at once, the nerves seem to resurface. And even with your greatest attempts to repress and ignore, it’s impossible.

You wish it were possible to turn around and see your brothers. You know for a fact that would bring comfort. But there’s tall girls behind you, and your eyes seemed glued to Elysia, monitoring her every movement.

She moves smoothly to her left, gazing into the bowl as if the white paper slips inside are mesmerizing. You can’t help but to wonder if she gets a power trip each time she pulls one out. Knowing that her fingers could have selected the next victor.

She reaches in, the rings on her fingers clinking against the rim of the bowl. She hovers for a moment, like she can’t decide which one will give the best outcome. The tension that had started in your stomach has risen past your chest and straight into your throat.

You hold your breath, it’s not like you have much of a choice anyway.

She picks out a paper slip, and you can audibly hear the other girls around you hold their breaths too. All of you share the same amount of anxiety as to who will be chosen this year. Eyes wide, and some praying that it won’t be them.

Elysia moves back to her microphone, taking her time with unfolding the paper so that it doesn’t accidentally rip. She reads it to herself, it seems and then that smile spreads back over her face. She looks out to you girls.

“District Four’s girl tribute is (Y/n) Gallows.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair lacuna #lacuna

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lokisgame · 5 years

Text

Rainbow’s End [2]

[part 1]

What a strange man, Dana said to herself and looked inside a box full of dinnerware, knowing that she should wash everything before putting it away into drawers and cabinets but having no time to do that. She picked two plates, and set aside everything else. They probably will eat out of cartons but she wanted to at least have the chance to offer. Fox, what a strange name, didn’t look like someone who stood on ceremony. She cleaned up the table, straightened the chairs, and leaving a carton on one of them, started to take out and rinse mugs, lining them up on a rag to dry. Coffee and tea was all she had around the house for now.

Mulder went downstairs with a silly grin on his face. Talk about small world, fate and fortune coincidences. Her warm smile was just as he remembered, real, he didn’t imagine it. A little angry at himself for not locking the door, he found the menus under the coffee table, took his wallet and stoped holding the doorknob. Calm down, relax. Where’s the fire? You know nothing about her, she might have someone, a guy, a girl perhaps. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Going through this silent rant, he double-backed to the fridge, white wine or beer? Beer, less alcohol, and anyway she can always opt out. He was locking his door when Alex passed him in the hallway, noticing the six-pack under his arm. “Wow, you’re cheap Mulder.” “Maybe for you Krycek,” he turned and went in the opposite direction than the other man, dislike quickening his step. “You know who moved in upstairs?” He called after him, but Mulder didn’t have time to answer. He knocked on the door and let himself in, “I’m back.”

Dana huffed out a small laugh without bothering to turn around, this guy knew nothing about boundaries. But as in other men it annoyed her, he made it feel casual and safe. She heard the clank of bottles and looked over her shoulder. “Don’t you have enough glass for one day?” “Something to wash down the food, totally optional, I’m not counting this into your tab,” he set the bottles on the table and spread out the pamphlets, “pick a place.” “I just moved here, how should I know which one is best?” “It’s like an adventure, come on, they’re all great so there’s no wrong choice to be honest.” “Okay, how about this,” she picked the most subdued design. “Not bad, best egg rolls of them all, mean sweet and sour chicken, but it’s your choice.” “Okay, let’s have that, I’m really not picky, and you seem to know your way around.” “You sure?” “Yup, go wild.” “Such a vote of confidence, I’m touched.” “Oh, just order already.” He picked up the phone, ordered and laughed with the person on the other side of the line, it sounded as if he was a regular customer. In the mean time she went to the box with kitchen utensils and found a bottle opener. “One hour tops,” Mulder said hanging up and took the bottle she offered, lifting it in a small salut, “to new friends.” “And safety glass,” she added and sipped from her bottle then went back to washing and drying the mugs. “So, Fox,” she started and he barked out a laugh. “Please, just Mulder, nobody calls me Fox, not even my parents.” “Alright, Mulder, what do you do for a living?” “I write horoscopes,” he went to his usual joke. A small lie combined with the fact that his novels were published under a pseudonym, bought him at least a few of days to get to know people without signing copies of his books for friends and relatives and answering questions about extraterrestrials. Life of a sci-fi novelist was hard. However the side effect of such innocent lie was her gaping mouth and bewildered smile. “What?” He chuckled, “someone has to do it.” She looked cute, frozen mid-wipe of a blue china cup. “How do you do that?” Dana forced herself to remain calm, “you had some kind of training?” “I took a four year course in Oxford,” he pushed on, wondering how far he could go with pulling her leg, before she burst out laughing, “came back to the states and now I run a little column for Cosmo, I can read your palm if you want.” And that was that, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, she bent over, arms crossed over her stomach and laughed, and laughed, and he laughed with her, marveling at the wonderful sound. “No, seriously, what do you do,” she gasped, siting at the table, wiping her eyes. “I’m a psychologist, not practicing, but I work for the FBI sometimes, mostly consulting jobs.” “And that leaves you with time to read people’s futures?” She teased, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “Enough to balance dabbling in criminals’ past.” She laid both her hands on the table, palms up. “Okay, what do you see in my future” Mulder chuckled, but took her hand in his awkwardly, his right still throbbing under the bandages. “I see a tall dark stranger, completely harmless, no need to worry,” a wink earned him a smile, “a charming young man who could be a true friend if you’ll let him, well versed in neighbourhood politics, a wellspring of knowledge about best parking spots, local take-out joints and deli stores.” “How many girls did you try to pick up with that line?” Her gaze was honest and she made it clear his BS made no impression, except maybe being slightly amusing. “Not as many as you’d think,” he let go pf her palms and dialled back on the teasing. “It’s not very effective,” she went back to washing the mugs, “so about those neighbourhood politics, are there some unwritten rules I should know about?” “Not really,” he could feel that he crossed some line, but didn’t let it scare him away. Dana Scully didn’t suffer fools and he made note to remember that. “The guy above you, Alex Krycek doesn’t like noise, I don’t mind either way, the couple downstairs, the Petrie’s are away on an extended holiday, haven’t seen them in three months, and I don’t expect them to be back anytime soon.” “Where did they go?” “I didn’t ask, they kept to themselves, and I respected that.” “So you do not make a habit out of barging in on your new neighbours on their fist day?” That stung a bit, he was beginning to regret his forwardness. “No, I do not, and if you like, I can leave,” he pushed the bottle aside and started to get up, “you did enough for me as it is, and I see you have a lot to do.” “No,” suddenly alarmed, Dana turned to face him, “I didn’t mean it like that, please, stay. I’m just not used to being,” she stoped, he wasn’t sure why, but a cloud of shame passed over her face, “called someone’s friend after 20 minutes since meeting them. People usually take me for the Ice Queen.” “You didn’t meet me 20 minutes ago,” he sat back down, trying to bring her back from the shell she was crawling back into, “we met this morning.” “We did?” “Yeah, you passed me when you were leaving the diner at the end of the street, great waffles and coffee, probably the best in D.C.” “I did?” She raked her memory, but pulled blank. “You probably were too busy to remember, with the movers arriving soon.” “How did you know that?” Her eyes grew wide, and she became worried a little, despite his assurances. “Calm down, simple observation, I saw the truck, I remembered your clothes and hair, eidetic memory, just a simple matter of putting two and two together.” “You do work for the FBI.” “Part time, but you pick up a habit or two, I swear I mean you no harm.” “Even if you did, I took a self-defense class, so I know how to take care of myself.” “I don’t doubt that,” he tried to smile his most sincere and non-threatening smile, and she began to relax, still he was curious. “Why do people call you Ice Queen? I see no reason for that.” “You seem like the exception to all rules,” she sighed and dried the last mug. “I guess I’m skeptical of all new acquaintances, you can call it trust issues if you want.” “I’d rather call it reason,” he got up and rounded the table. “You’re going? What about the food?” She sounded anxious but didn’t step back. “No, I’m not going anywhere,” he pushed up the sleeves as much as he could with his bad hand, “put me to work, how can I help?” “But your hand.” “I’ll manage, and if I break anything I’ll pay for it,” he was completely serious and she saw it. “Come on Scully, I’m at your disposal.” “Okay,” she let slide the use of her last name, with what he said about his own name, it seemed kind of fair, “maybe we’ll leave the dishes for now, I don’t want you to get those bandages wet, we could unpack the books, you think you can handle that?” “I’ll hand them to you, and you’ll arrange them inside the bookcase, because I’m sure you have a system.” “Yup,” she smiled and led the way to the stack of boxes in the living room, “I sure have.”

The process went quite smoothly as they waited for the food to arrive. Thanks to her sensible packing, the books were basically ordered the way she wanted them, the only problem was picking bookshelves. He didn’t skip a chance to laugh at some of the titles. “’Inflammatory Bowel Diseases: A Personal View’ now that must be a real page turner,” he laughed handing her another pile of books. “You have no idea, Steven King has nothing on this one.” “Nope, wait, we have a winner, this one I got to read,” he picked a medium-sized volume and started to page through it. “Give it back, Mulder,” she reached for the books but he turned away. “Hold on a second, this is great.” “What have you got there,” she tried to take the book from him but he escaped her again, “a layman shouldn’t read this stuff, you’ll read something and you’ll think you’re sick or dying.” “I’m not a layman, I’m a psychologist,” the book was hidden behind his back and smile, “not a hypochondriac.” “All men are,” she laughed and her arms went around him, searching for the book. Mulder froze and she realized what she was doing. She was holding on to him, her arms around his waist and he was looking down at her with a wicked grin. “Like I said, you’re no Ice Queen,” he took half a step back, still in her space but no longer in her arms, and showed her the title. “DIY Brain Surgery,” he said and gave her the book back, “you have to lend me this one sometime.”

The doorbell saved them. Scully from thinking too much about the hard muscle of his chest, and Mulder from trying to remember when was the last time a woman putting her arms around him made him laugh with excitement. He went to the door and paid the Lin boy, as always, tipping him handsomely. “You want to eat here?” She asked walking to the kitchen, ready to set the table. “Sure,” unpacking the food, he grimaced as she set the plates and napkins and silverware, “I thought we said no dishes.” “I want to try everything, so we’re sharing, I’ll do the dishes.” He didn’t argue, and she did try everything, eating with gusto, as befit someone who did a honest day’s work. The sight made Mulder almost as pleased as if he cooked for her himself, although he never did things like that. “I like this chicken thing, not too spicy to burn you through,” she said around a mouthful of moo goo gai pan. “Easy on the deep fried shrimp then, the sauce is pure fire,” he warned. “Really?” Taking a piece and dipping it cautiously, she nibbled at the end then gasped, “oh-ghod-wha-ish-thish” She covered her mouth breathing deeply, hoping the beer could put out the fire, gesturing with her chopsticks for him to take the shrimp. “Put it down,” he said and she did, the shrimp and the beer, looking down, flushed at being caught taking too much liberties. “You don’t pass food like that,” he said with a smile, picking the shrimp of her plate and dipping it in sauce, “it’s a funeral custom in Japan.” He bit of half without flinching, then licked his lips, and the sight made her feel warmth that had nothing to do with the hot sauce. She wanted to argue that they were having chinese not sushi, but he licked his lips again and she lost her train of thought for a moment. “Try the dumplings,” she heard him say a moment later and time picked up its’ usual pace.

The food was great as promised, and they had a second beer with it, each. “This was probably the best Chinese I ever had.” Scully sighed, leaning back in her chair with a contented smile that suddenly turned into a frown. She looked over his shoulder to the living room, “do you have some strength left in you to help me clean up the couch?” “Sure,” he said looking back to the overstuffed monster he saw before, now stacked with bags, most likely clothes, “you want to unpack or just move it?” “Move it, I’ll do that later or tomorrow.” “‘key.” So they moved the bags and sank into couch cushions, shoulder to shoulder. “I think I’m in danger of falling into a food induced coma,” Scully giggled and pulled her feet up, folding them underneath herself. Elvis record he found and she let him put on, made another circle and the King crooned softly about things that couldn’t be helped. Mulder reached over and pulled down the blanket she left on the back of the couch over her, gently drawing her into his side. “Sleep,” he said quietly, shifting to make them both more comfortable, “I know a good doctor.” Scully half laughed half sighed, but sleep was stronger than either of them. Mulder closed his eyes, and drifted off, rocked by her steady breath and the King’s lullaby.

One floor below, phone woke the answering machine who beeped, startled, and then reciting her line, took a message from the woman on the other side. “Fox, I can’t meet you tomorrow, maybe some other time.”

#rainbows end #MSR fanfic #x files fanfic #x files au

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