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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

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Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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ssscentral · 3 years

Text

Mine

Summary: Is it a dream? A nightmare? Just a figment of my imagination. Or is it something more?

WIP - Masterlist - Members

Pairing : Namjoon x Reader || Established Relationship

Genre : Horror, Demon!AU

Warnings : Character death, brief gore at the end, it be scary

WC : 2.6k

Member : Kas || @voiceswithoutlips

A/N : This is the fourth and last installation in the “Hell of a Ride” series. All four parts have the same prompt, but the authors have interpreted it in their own way. This is a horror fic, like it’s scary, there’s no fluff or smut. Thank you @taegularities and @heejinnien for being awesome betas and for all your feedback <3 And a special thanks to @eternalseokjin for helping out <3 I hope you guys enjoy it!!

Sunday

I wished Namjoon and I could go on a long vacation somewhere. I barely saw him since he had started working at night. He seemed so distracted these days - his company had just landed a big project, so he had to work overtime. Yesterday I came home from work and he was just leaving for his office. He gave me a quick peck on the lips, and then he was gone. That’s all the action I’ve gotten since the Halloween fiasco, to say that we went wild would be an understatement.

We had attended a friend’s Halloween party. I had dressed as a slutty demon and Namjoon had gone as a priest. My red dress had been so short, it barely covered anything. Halfway through the party Namjoon had finally snapped and dragged me back to our apartment. Needless to say, the sex was incredible. He had quite gotten into his role and incoherently grunted in Latin as things got heated. I had no idea what he was mumbling, but I was too far gone to care.

That was a month ago. Unfortunately, after that I’d barely seen my boyfriend in the house, or anywhere else for that matter.

Monday

I could barely sleep last night. I went to bed after a lonely dinner. I’ll admit to being a little tipsy after all that wine but in my defense, I missed my boyfriend. As soon as the lights turned off, I heard this scratching noise coming from the walls. I tried to ignore it, I really did, but the thought of rats running around in my apartment brought goosebumps on my skin. Our building was really old and the landlord never really did any TLC, one of the reasons we got this apartment cheap. What if there were raccoons in there? I shivered at the thought.

After about two hours of that unholy noise, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I got up, turned on the lights and armed myself with a broom. I lightly tapped the broom on the wall, maybe the noise would scare them into leaving. After a few more taps the scratching stopped, thank Lord for that. I didn’t want to go sleep in the living room or call our shady landlord.

I glanced at the clock when I went back to bed. It was almost six in the morning. How the hell did that happen? I remember waking up at midnight. Did I fall asleep? Somehow I’d lost a few hours. I bet it was the exhaustion and stress taking over my wine addled brain.

Tuesday

We had this really romantic dinner planned at our favorite restaurant. Namjoon said he’d pick me up from work and I was so excited for it, but he called at the last minute to cancel. His boss had called him in early to work on some presentation. It is safe to say I was extremely upset, and rightly so. I’d barely seen my boyfriend for a month, even texting him was getting annoying. I’d ask him something and by the time he replied I’d already be fast asleep. One dinner, was that too much to ask for?

I couldn’t help but feel disgruntled at how things turned out. Even though I knew Namjoon missed me just as much as I missed him, I couldn’t help but feel unwanted. It was illogical and petty, and the moment the thought crossed my mind I felt guilty. He worked so hard and here I was bitching about him.

Dinner was a sad affair, I was too upset to cook anything, so I ordered some chicken and drowned my sorrows in beer. I was about to fall asleep when I heard a light knocking on the door. I thought maybe Namjoon was back early, my sleep addled brain didn’t wonder why he’d knock when he knew the door code. I opened the door with excitement, only to be disappointed at the empty space in front of me. There was no one at the door. Either someone played a prank on me at this unholy hour or I missed my boyfriend so much that I imagined the knock, either way, it was disheartening.

I went back to bed in hopes of a quiet night. I hadn’t slept properly for two days. To say that I was exhausted would be an understatement. Sleep deprivation coupled with being a kindergarten teacher who had to run around all day after toddlers was taking its toll on my body.

Another knock came, but this time it sounded much closer. I squinted my eyes at the darkness - was I imagining things again? Heavy curtains covered the bedroom window. I could barely see anything in the room. Was I so lonely that I was hearing phantom noises now?

I turned on the lamp after a third knock. It came from the left wall. Rats don’t know how to knock, do they? I got up from the bed with a shiver. The bedroom was cold, I could see my breath in front of me. I gingerly touched the wall, it was just a wall, what did I expect? This time I could feel the vibrations when the knock came again, much louder. I ran back to bed, dread settling in my bones. What if there was some homeless person behind it? It was an irrational thought, I knew that, but I couldn’t help the fear.

I tried to call Namjoon but it only went to voicemail. And what would I even tell him? That there was someone inside our bedroom wall? The whole situation seemed ridiculous but at the same time the knocking only got louder. I huddled in my blanket waiting for it to stop. The knocking had turned to pounding, the sound reverberating through my skull. Surely our neighbors must’ve heard it?

Wednesday

I called the landlord and insisted that he should check for rats, but he said there were no rats. I asked the neighbors about the sounds; nobody had heard anything, not a single scratch or a squeak. I was losing my mind. Namjoon looked so concerned when he came home this morning. I looked like a crazy woman, red eyes, disheveled hair, don't even get me started on the eyebags. He insisted that I go see a doctor, maybe a therapist. The stress was getting to me. I was so desperate for sleep, but all I could do was get ready for work.

The day was a blur - the only thing I properly remember was almost screaming at a five year old for showing me his drawing of a rainbow. I was going crazy. I stared at the empty bed, dreading to fall asleep. I prayed to every deity in existence for sleep. I was sure that the noise from last night had been stress induced and after a good night’s sleep everything would be okay.

Someone was speaking. Was Namjoon back? I glanced at the clock, it was midnight. I reluctantly shuffled out of the blankets and turned on the light. The room was empty, just another dream then. But as soon as I turned off the light, I heard it again, clear as day, a quiet laugh. It echoed around the room as if it had a life of its own.

I fought the rising panic in my chest. I was standing in the dark with my hand on the light switch. I desperately wanted to turn on the lights but I was frozen in place, heart pounding. There was someone in the room, someone besides me, someone who wasn’t my boyfriend.

I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck. Someone was standing right behind me, so close I could feel the cold radiating from their body. A chill ran down my spine. My brain stopped working, all I could think of was how much I didn’t want to die. Was he going to stab me? Strangle me? Maybe he’d torture me just for the fun of it.

“MINE!” a guttural voice said, laced with such malice that the adrenaline finally kicked in. My fingers acted on their own, turning the lights on. My body whirled around before I could stop it to see the face of this stranger. But there was no one there. The room was empty.

Thursday

I woke up with a massive headache. I was somehow in my bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. Fear spiked through me as soon as I heard someone walk towards the bedroom door. I was about to scream when Namjoon peaked through the door and said, “Hey baby, want some scrambled eggs?”

I don’t know what took over me but as soon as I heard his voice I started sobbing. He quickly scooped me up in his arms and tried to soothe me. He was so confused as to why his girlfriend was crying first thing in the morning. Between sobs I told him what had happened, what was still happening - I couldn’t help it. I wanted someone to know, no, I needed someone to know. It felt like I was losing my mind. How could the room be empty?

Namjoon insisted that I take a day off today, but I couldn’t. I needed to get out of that apartment, I couldn’t stay there. I wanted to feel the sun on my skin, I wanted to hear the children’s laughter. My boyfriend was sure that it was just a nightmare. Was it though? I was sure I was wide awake. I had heard his voice, clear as day, mine, that’s what he had said. Mine.

Namjoon tried to take some time off but his boss wouldn’t let him. He had to go on a business trip. I had assured him that I would call him immediately if anything happened. Maybe it was just a nightmare, maybe there was nothing in the dark. The sleep deprivation, loneliness, and the stress had finally gotten a hold of me. That’s what it was, my brain trying to make sense of my emotions. Nothing else.

I reluctantly got off the elevator. It was almost midnight, I had stayed out with my friends as long as I could. I was dreading going back to my empty apartment. As soon as I entered, I swept the living room with my eyes. Everything was in its place. Namjoon was a bit of a neat freak, I didn’t know what I was expecting. I exhaled shakily; I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.

I debated whether I should turn off the bedroom lights or not. On one hand, I was an adult and I could just sleep with lights on. On the other, I was an adult and not a six year old who was scared of some imaginary monster. I had too much pride, so I hesitantly turned off the lights and hopped under the blankets.

I couldn’t fall asleep, I was too tense. The sound of the refrigerator, the comforting ticking of the clock, every familiar sound had suddenly turned eerie. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt exposed, like someone was watching me, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I debated whether I should open my eyes or just keep them closed.

I chickened out and opened my eyes, frantically looking around. There was nothing. The bedroom was slightly illuminated and I had purposefully kept the curtains open, just to let some light in. I sighed and burrowed more under the soft fabric, hugging a pillow. Nightmare, that’s all it was, just a nightmare.

I slowly relaxed, tracing patterns with my eyes on the dull, yellow wallpaper. I’d always hated that wallpaper, it was the color of piss. The pattern on it was irritating, just a bunch of lines that seemed to lead nowhere. The more I looked at it, the more I was vexed. I had half a mind to get up and violently peel it off the wall when I saw it.

A pair of eyes were looking at me from the heating vent. The vent was located on top of the wall, its cover was open. Even though it was pitch black in that small space, I could clearly see those hostile orbs. Vertical pupils stared at me with such hatred that I couldn’t help but whimper. Every instinct in my body recoiled from terror. I could feel the blood pumping in my veins, my heart painfully pounding in my chest, I’d never felt so alive and so helpless.

I wanted to run away from those eyes, the staring boring through my skull. I wanted to scream - surely someone would hear me? I wanted to call Namjoon, I wanted to feel safe. But I couldn’t. I had a sinking feeling that if I made any movement, it’d come out and jump on me. So I just laid there, barely breathing, perfectly still, like a dead body.

It laughed. A horrible grating laugh that rang through the room. It touched my skin and I felt an intense pain, like a thousand tiny cuts. It was such a repulsive sound that I had to force myself from flinching. My tiniest movement could set it off. I didn’t know how I knew that, I didn’t know if it was even logical but at that moment, all I could think of was those eyes, dripping with venom.

Mine. It growled. It kept saying that over and over again, sometimes it was soft, like a baby’s whisper, sometimes it was louder than thunder. The sound was in the room but at the same time it was in my head, like an airpod had fallen through my ear and landed in my skull. It was everywhere.

Friday

I woke up groggy. My body felt like someone had put it through a blender, my head throbbing in pain. I could barely open my eyes, everything hurt. I didn’t remember much about last night, the only thing I could recall was being extremely afraid. I reached for my phone and somehow, through trial and error, dialed my boss to call in sick. I was so exhausted and as soon as I mumbled my apologies, I lost consciousness.

My eyes opened to a dark room. I sighed when I felt a body press against my back. Namjoon was back, everything was going to be okay. I rolled around and buried my face in his neck. I’d never felt so safe. I inhaled deeply, he smelled so good, like orange blossoms. When did he change his cologne?

He put his hands around me, clutching me to his chest. I had missed him so much, I gripped his shirt. When did he start wearing a shirt to bed? His arms caged me to him tightly.

“Joonie, too much,” I whined when he squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe.

“MINE,” he growled.

Saturday

The smell hit him before he could see inside the room, metallic, like the smell in a butcher shop. Detective Jung almost lost his breakfast when he saw the crime scene. The ugly yellow wallpaper was covered in blood. It had seeped through the blankets and the mattress. Every color was distorted by red. There was a pile of undistinguishable body parts on the bed. The soft carpet made squelching sounds as the forensic team moved around the room.

Detective Jung left the apartment in a hurry, a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. He would question the suspects first - to him, everyone who wasn’t the victim was a suspect. It was better than going back inside and putting together the puzzle that once used to be a human being.

Kim Namjoon was sobbing in a corner, the victim’s boyfriend. He was the one who had called the police after coming home from a business trip. He was in shock, he could barely comprehend anything that was happening around him. Detective Jung tried to talk to him with no success, he’d just have to wait.

“What happened?” a melodic voice asked.

“Who are you?”

“Park Jimin, I moved here a month ago.”

#bts x reader #bts horror #demon jimin #bts demon au #bts fanfiction #park jimin #kim namjoon #bts jimn #bts namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #ssscentral #sssc #kas

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earlgreytea68 · 5 years

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It’s my FOBiversary!

A year ago tonight I started reading this Regency AU about people I didn’t know. I stayed up all night. And then a year ago tomorrow I woke up and thought to myself, Who the hell is Pete Wentz? And then I found out.

And if you’re wondering how I’ve spent my past year, it’s been learning this:

That:

Once upon a time.

Once upon a time there was a boy named Pete. He was supposed to be a lawyer. What he wanted to be was in a band. He wanted to stage-dive into crowds of people. He wanted to scream into microphones for attention, and to have the audience scream back at him.

He wasn’t especially good at music himself. (What he was good at was soccer. Really good at it, as Patrick Stump will tell you. All-State in Illinois.)

But what Pete was also very good at was two things that turned out to be super important to his future: emo LJ poetry, and Making Things Happen when they needed to happen (even if that made him the asshole).

Pete was in a band that was touring and stuff but he was kind of getting bored. He knew this kid Joe who said, “Hey, let’s try a pop punk thing for fun,” and Pete was like, “Ha, that sounds hilarious, let’s do it.” (Pete was once part of a band where the members were only allowed to perform using instruments they didn’t know how to play. Pete had a history of bands-for-jokes.)

At the same time:

Once upon a time there was a boy named Patrick. He was super-good at music, had written it in his head for as long as he could remember, sang so well naturally that it literally didn’t occur to him that singing wasn’t something everyone could do. He was so good at music that he could be lazy about it, that he took up drumming because it was so easy for him that he didn’t have to put much effort into it.

But by the old age of seventeen he was also super-disgusted with everyone around him for failing to take him seriously, when he was *really good at music.* Just because he was a *drummer* didn’t mean he didn’t write *awesome music,* ugh, it’s really rough to be sulky teenage Patrick Stump, let me tell you. (It’s also rough to be stubborn, control-freak Patrick Stump later on, and Patrick-Stump-who-has-such-a-beautiful-voice-why-doesn’t-anyone-respect-me-as-a-MUSICIAN-goddammit. Patrick’s a sweetheart but he’s also got the kind of effortless affinity for things that makes you very impatient at how long it’s taking everyone else to WAKE UP ALREADY.)

Anyway. One day, the drummer boy Patrick was working at a Borders and interrupted a conversation he heard two boys having about the band Neurosis. Because that’s the kind of pretentious music geek our boy Patrick is. One of the boys happened to Joe, who was about to change Patrick’s life and Pete’s life and his own life by somehow stumbling upon Pete Wentz’s creative soulmate in a Borders bookstore. But how was anyone to know that at the time? Joe just thought, “Wow, look at this kid who’s pretentious about music, I bet he’d get along with Pete.” So Joe said to Patrick, “Hey, do you know Pete Wentz? I’m starting a band with him and we need more people.”

Patrick knew of Pete Wentz. Pete was in real bands. Bands that toured. Pete would be an excellent person to know in this scene Patrick wanted to get more into, instead of just know of. So Patrick was like, “Whatever you need for your band, I can definitely do it.”

Joe called up Pete. Joe said, “Hey, you know that pop punk thing we’re going to do?”

Pete said, “Oh, yeah, that joke band?”

Joe said, “I met this kid Patrick, he could be a drummer or, I don’t know, anything. Here’s his MySpace.”

At this point it’s unclear exactly what happened, although it seems to be that Joe and/or Pete definitely approached the meeting of Patrick with the idea that he was definitely not going to be the band’s drummer.

They go to Patrick’s house. We know exactly what Patrick was wearing because Pete tells us: He wore shorts, knee socks, and an argyle sweater. Pete thought this kid and his outfit were kind of amazing. Patrick, when he tells this story, say that his first impression of Pete was he thought he would be taller.

Patrick, apparently, sang. According to some accounts, he sang Through Being Cool. Pete said, “Yo, we’re going to make you our singer,” and Patrick was like, “But...I don’t really sing,” and Pete was like, “You definitely sing,” and Patrick was like, “I guess, man, whatever, can the band play my music?” because that’s really what Patrick wanted at that point, and Pete was like, “Sure.”

It was a joke band. Pete had a serious band. It would have been ridiculous for Pete to leave his band for this pop punk thing with a couple of kids. In fact, Patrick actually held songs back, kept them in his pocket, assuming the band wasn’t going to work out and he would need them for when he struck out on his own. He was building connections, he was using Pete Wentz for everyone he knew, he was hiding his favorite songs and riding this whole thing out.

But the thing about Pete Wentz: He’s smart. Always smarter than he acts. Joe in a Borders had stumbled across a one-in-a-million find, a kid with a once-in-a-lifetime voice, a huge reserve of natural talent, someone who was preternaturally good at music to make up for Pete’s lack of that. Pete looked at this kid and thought, He’s a golden ticket, and held on tight, and never really let go.

Patrick was a restless kid, with one foot half out the door. When he tried to quit the band, Pete said “NO, NO, THIS IS THE SERIOUS BAND NOW. I AM DEDICATING MYSELF TO THIS BAND.”

And he did.

He broke up with his other band and he devoted himself to Fall Out Boy. (In fact, Pete’s the one who originally registered their trademark, charmingly listing his AOL email as the band’s contact info. Letting one person in the band trademark the name is exactly what a lawyer would never want you to do, but, because Pete’s a good guy, he transferred the mark over to the band’s corporation once they were big enough to incorporate.)

And Pete said to himself, “We are getting ourselves a record deal, now that I have dedicated myself to this band.” This is how Pete is: If someone needs to make something get done, it’s Pete who does it, and if he has to be an asshole to do it, then so be it. Patrick, in the later years, will give interviews constantly defending Pete, marveling at the impression people have of him, begging people to understand that he’s a nice guy who’s a great friend (Patrick, of course, is Pete’s favorite, and the beneficiary of most of Pete’s single-minded get-it-done-ness, so he’s possibly somewhat biased).

So the band makes a demo. Pete goes to the guy who will eventually produce their first album and says, “Hey, I’ve got this, like, joke band, can you listen to it?” The producer was like, "Who's the singer?" And Pete was like, "Patrick. I think he said you recorded one of his former bands." Which was true. So the producer was like, "Patrick, the drummer kid?" and promptly never listened to the demo, because he was like, "Pete has lost his mind" and moved on.

And then eventually when he finally heard Patrick sing he was like, ......oh.

The producer is recording this other band, and this other band was, like, the first band in this particular Chicago scene who had made it this far. So this band has this deal and the producer is super stressed out about it because it's his first kind of chance to prove himself to a major label and the band, it turns out, is terrible with vocal harmony, like, just awful, and the producer is like, “What the fuck is this, we can't give the label this.”

So he tells the band they need to go out and find someone to do harmonies for them, and the band starts asking around, and hey, wouldn't you know it, a rumor had begun that you know who's aces at vocal harmony? That kid Patrick. (I BET I KNOW WHO STARTED THAT RUMOR.) So the band says to the producer, "We're getting Patrick to come do the harmonies" and the producer is like, "WHAT IS WITH EVERYONE AND THIS KID PATRICK ALL OF A SUDDEN.”

So Patrick comes in to the studio, and literally he is a child in high school. The producer remembered him as a fourteen-year-old, but he’s still only seventeen now. He had to keep calling his mom to extend his curfew. So Patrick comes in and they're all ordering lunch, so they ask Patrick what he wants and Patrick is like, "no, no, I don't want to eat anything before I sing," and the producer is like, "look at this pretentious kid.” So he's like, "okay, whatever, go record some stuff.”

And then Patrick starts singing.

And the producer is like, WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN HAPPENING.

And keeps Patrick in the recording booth for like thirteen hours or something, with no food, with Patrick periodically calling his mom to be like, “Nope, still recording.”

So then the producer went back and listened to Pete's demos.

You see, it was a slow gradual shift from joke band to “hang on, maybe something is going to come of this.” For everyone but Pete, who seems to have never doubted and always been all-in.

It starts with Take This to Your Grave.

No, it starts with Evening Out with Your Girlfriend, but Patrick is cranky about that one.

So it starts with Take This to Your Grave. They record fast and cheap, because they have no other option. Pete is hiding from his parents because he’s supposed to be in school. Patrick writes the songs and Pete nitpicks the lyrics so intensely that they have vicious fights about it and sometimes the rest of the band isn’t sure the album’s going to get made. Patrick is so annoyed at Pete’s rewrites that he has a sudden revelation: “Wow. I must really want to be in this band.” Even for Patrick, it has gradually gone from an opportunistic joke to a real possibility for a future. Patrick struggles to write lyrics with Pete, but eventually becomes so exhausted by Pete’s dedication to his particular ~~visions that he’s like, “OH MY GOD, IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE SO PICKY, YOU COULD JUST WRITE THE LYRICS AND I’LL WRITE THE SONGS AROUND THEM,” and Pete’s like, “Oh, cool, let me go get you all of my emo LJ entries we can use,” and so that’s how that arrangement starts: Pete feeds stream-of-consciousness poetry and Patrick makes music out of it.

The first song they write together successfully is “Saturday.” It’s the first song they don’t have a knock-down, drag-out fight over (and Patrick is not shy about throwing a punch at Pete at times). And it’s a song explicitly about them. The lyric reads “Pete and I attacked the Lost Astoria,” but Pete claims he wrote it with Patrick’s name and it was switched up for Patrick to sing. “Me and Pete,” Patrick sings at the end. And it’s this song -- this first song of successful collaboration, this song that’s all about them -- that they still play at the end of every concert. (In the video, Patrick plays a detective chasing down Pete’s charming serial killer whose calling card is the Queen of Hearts, until the plot twist where they’re actually the same person.)

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The buzz around their joke band is building. Their shows start turning into near-riots (because Patrick is just that good when he sings). Pete stage-dives into crowds and lets audiences shout lyrics at him. Where is your boy tonight? Boys like you are overrated. Two more weeks. They fantasize about playing bigger venues, not Wrigley or anything, because who would aim for that, but just shows where they’re getting paid in more than pizza. Pete is beating down the door at indie labels, with a strategy of landing them a small deal to build a fanbase before springing up to a major record label. He tours the band with exhausted determination, in a broken-down van. At one point, Patrick has to break the news to his family that he’s going to delay college because he’s got this band he’s in. They’re like, “What do you do in this band?” He’s like, “Oh, I’m the singer,” and his family is like, “...You sing?”

Because Patrick’s a singer because Pete saw it in him, Pete wanted him to be. Patrick sings Pete’s words; Pete sings through Patrick.

The producer finishes up Take This to Your Grave while they’re on tour. When they get back, Patrick is pleased with it. He’s the kind of perfectionist who spends all night on thirty seconds of feedback at the end of a song, but the producer knows what he was going for and Patrick’s happy.

Pete wants his screaming to be louder, so he goes back into the studio to re-record his screams.

Pete’s plan eventually works perfectly. They start small. They build a following. They land a major record label.

Pete Wentz suddenly finds himself, with his joke band, staring directly at the future he dreamed of.

And it drives him into a panic. He engineered their strategy. He held them together. He bought Patrick a hat when he worried about not wanting to see the audience while he sang, and he promised to be the frontman, the on-stage presence, the complement to Patrick’s musical talent. Together, he and Patrick are two halves of one perfect rock star.

And Pete Wentz is panicking.

(TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE)

The band keeps scrapping songs and writing new ones, unable to get exactly what they want. Pete, terrified of letting his band down, plummeting into a depressive episode of his bipolar disorder, isolates himself, handing lyrics over and then going back into hiding. Overwhelmed, he takes too much Ativan in a Best Buy parking lot. He says later he wasn’t trying to kill himself, just shut his brain up for a little while. (He talks often about needing a creative outlet; he writes often about his brain being a noisy place.) He says later that he remembers Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” on the radio. He says later that he felt exhausted by the act of being Pete Wentz, that he was so much Pete Wentz for everyone that he forgot to be it for himself.

A phone call to his manager saves him. He doesn’t die in that Best Buy parking lot. He spends a week in the hospital before moving back in with his parents. His band goes to Europe without him, struggles through shows without their epicenter.

The suicide attempt is a discernible thread through Pete’s lyrics through the years. Also discernible, it seems, is a promise made to Patrick: not to do it again.

~~~~~~~~~

The band regroups. The band writes a number of songs in a frantic two-week session, including “Sugar, We’re Goin Down,” which Patrick claims later to write in ten minutes, fooling around, and then says to the band, “I just paid for our kids to go to college with this song.” The album’s producer agrees. He signs on after hearing their demos of “Sugar” and “Dance, Dance,” two songs he predicts will be smash hits.

They are. Only after Pete once again goes to bat for the vision he wants, because the record label hates the refrain of “Sugar,” calling it too wordy. Pete wins, in basically every way he could win.

His joke band’s a big deal now. His joke band gets nominated for a Grammy. Patrick, at the Grammy ceremony, realizes, “Huh. I...think I’m a singer now. I should probably take this seriously and, like, get lessons or something.” (This is, incidentally, why he’s so difficult to understand, as it was a while before he learned proper enunciation. In the beginning, he sometimes wrote songs out of his vocal range by accident.)

They tour. They write. They promote. Pete keeps up a steam of Q&A’s at their fan website, patiently giving advice on relationship break-ups and losing loved ones, and talking about how hot Patrick is whenever he gets a chance.

He makes up a string of nicknames for Patrick, then tells the fans they’re not allowed to use them, only Pete can use them.

(Patrick says later he has no nicknames, but Pete, as ever, makes his own reality.)

He says that he makes Patrick sing his favorite songs to him whenever he wants.

He says that Patrick is so perfect he basically dreamed him up.

He says that he always wants to be wherever Patrick is.

Patrick is his true blue.

Pete is always the source of Patrick’s loudest applause. Pete would take a bullet for him. “Patrick is the only reason anyone will ever listen to this band,” says Pete.

“Pete’s lyrics are ninety percent of the reason anyone listens to Fall Out Boy,” says Patrick.

They’re like that, these two.

They descend into what the New York Times at one point refers to as their “creative exclusivity.” They talk of never having a friendship ever before like the one they share. They reference cryptophasia in how they communicate. Their long-suffering bandmate Joe suggests they should just get married already, and they respond, “We are.”

Pete teases Patrick about wanting to do him, whispers in his ear at concerts, leans on him or curls close, kisses him on the cheek.

And always, they finish with Saturday.

They write Infinity on High quickly and easily and it’s a huge hit, but in the meantime Pete’s gone down in infamy with one of the first viral dick pic leaks and Patrick’s had to talk him out of quitting the band, the same way Pete did for him years earlier. Patrick goes into protective mode, defending Pete far and wide to anyone who will listen. Patrick gives interviews where he says he wishes people understood who Pete is, how he’s loyal to a fault, how he’s Patrick’s best friend. “What do you wish people knew about Fall Out Boy?” people ask him. “What do you wish people would ask you?” “How great Pete is,” Patrick says.

But, you see.

Patrick is tired.

They’ve been touring non-stop for years now. Patrick skipped college in favor of Fall Out Boy. Patrick has grown up on-stage next to Pete. And Pete’s five years older, but Patrick’s been supervising him all this time. Pete’s the sort who thinks it’s a good idea to jump off a roof holding a patio umbrella. Pete once took to throwing bowling balls overhand around a luxury hotel suite they were in. Patrick has perfected the rolling of his eyes and the careful, nonjudgmental removal of himself from the more questionable situations. When Pete, convinced he would die at the age of 27, turned 28, it was Patrick who received the calls of congratulations for having gotten Pete through.

And Patrick is tired.

And Pete is in a whirligig of fame. Patrick’s best friend is still shorter than he thought he would be, is still a good person to know, is still loyal and smart, is still a poet who sends Patrick lyrics for him to mine, picking together pieces from here and there, archeology of Pete’s soul. Patrick will say later that what he does is write the score for Pete’s life.

Pete is still his best friend. It’s just that Patrick’s best friend is now also very famous. They’re a big-deal band, and Pete is far more than the bassist. Pete is the showman; Pete is the onstage banter; Pete, Patrick will say, is the singer, he just sings through Patrick.

When Pete gets married, Patrick’s the best man, just as Pete will later be Patrick’s. But when Pete gets married, the wedding photos are on the cover of People Weekly.

Writing the album that will come to be Folie a Deux is a struggle. They fight more than they have in years. Patrick spends most of his time in the studio. Pete waltzes in and out, criticizing what Patrick’s doing. Once, they get into a physical fight over chord progressions. After phone conversations with Pete, Patrick throws things around the studio. Pete has descended into a haze of prescription pills, because Hollywood doctors will give you anything, and, hey, if a doctor handed them to you, it must be okay, right?

Patrick remembers touring for Folie as being a disaster. This is possibly for reasons other than the tour itself, because the rest of the band seems to disagree. At any rate, it is Patrick who asks for a break. Patrick says they need to take a breath or they’ll end up hating each other. Pete doesn’t seem to take this very well.

They release “What a Catch, Donnie,” a rare ballad that ends with a medley of their greatest hits. In the video, a lonely Patrick collects the detritus of Fall Out Boy’s success. He gets a happy ending, joined in the end by the rest of the band and all of their friends. Notably absent is Pete, who puts himself on a sinking ship and leaves everyone else partying joyfully without him.

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The hiatus begins.

Pete says it feels permanent.

Patrick embarks on what at first seems like a fun passion side project, and then increasingly gets more pressure put on it as the hiatus drags on and Pete says he can’t imagine ever playing for Fall Out Boy ever again, can’t imagine the band ever getting back together. Patrick is still writing songs for Fall Out Boy that he tucks away for “someday,” says he would still take a bullet for Pete Wentz, but it feels increasingly like maybe he’s a solo artist now.

Pete starts another band and finds himself a female lead singer, because, he says, he can’t replace Patrick. But they feel increasingly separate. Fall Out Boy feels increasingly in the past. Patrick tours on his solo material without his trademark hats. He bleaches his ginger hair blonde and sticks devil horns on his head. If once he had Pete for the showmanship side of rock-stardom, Patrick steps forward to be the whole thing now.

But the thing is. The thing is that one day Patrick posts an angry, frustrated, lonely, unhappy blog entry. Oversharing on the internet: used to be a Pete Wentz thing, becomes a Patrick Stump thing. But Pete Wentz knows what that kind of oversharing means.

Pete reads the entry. Pete considers his friend, furious at being a has-been at 27. Pete paces. Pete thinks about how tough it is to call your ex after a bad breakup. But Pete does it. The reunion sex might be great, after all.

Pete says to Patrick, “You need your band.” He says, “We built each other’s houses and you don’t even know my kid.” He says, “I need a creative outlet, can we try writing?”

He says Patrick agrees not because he wants to, but because he’s a nice guy.

But Patrick’s got Fall Out Boy songs tucked in a drawer somewhere. Patrick always wanted a pause, not a full stop.

They write.

They get nowhere the first session, but they write.

They write well enough to try it again, and then they write “Where Did the Party Go?”

And then they write.

They get the band back together. It takes Patrick six hours on the phone with Joe, Joe with his successful new projects and his butting up against Patrick’s stubborn control over the music, but Patrick makes promises and they get the band back together.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath for a Fall Out Boy reunion,” Pete tells the press.

The next day, there’s a Fall Out Boy reunion. There’s a new single, recycling a lyrical line Pete first wrote years earlier and that they liked enough to revive. There’s a new album, and on it is a song written by Patrick during the hiatus, about hot whiskey eyes. I miss you missing me, Pete wrote in a poem during the Folie era of their lives. I miss missing you, writes Patrick.

They tour. Not the tour of small venues they thought they would have because no one would care, even though that very first show people waited hours outside in the Chicago cold and the crowd was so loud Patrick could barely hear himself. No, they shift to arenas. Patrick has to find a way to sing live songs he thought they’d never tour on because no one would ever want to hear them.

They write another album, fast and easy like the old days. It’s history repeating but they get to do it right. They write songs with lyrics that say And in the end, I’d do it all again. And I think you’re my best friend. And I’m yours.

For the third album of their second chance, Pete writes, I’ve lived so much life God is gonna have to kill me twice. A far cry from the lyrics from the first album of their first chance: I read about the afterlife but I never really lived more than an hour.

They perform. Sometimes Pete still stage-dives. Always the crowd shouts his words at him. Always Patrick makes those words beautiful.

Always they end with me and Pete, in the wake of Saturday.

So.

That’s what I’ve been doing.

#long post #fall out boy #peterick #fob #bandom

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animeniacss · 4 years

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6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 7 - Starting to Stress Out

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy)

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 4.5k words

Chapter 7 - Starting to Stress Out

Light forced its way through the curtains early that next morning, making its presence known to you as it ran along your bedside and up towards your face. The intensity of the light stirred you from your slumber, and you felt your senses return to you. Stretching your limbs out, a groaned ripped its way through your gut and out into the bedroom. When your eyes fluttered open, you immediately felt two things that were different than normal. One, your head was pounding at a rapid pace. Two, your lips were dry and you were craving something to drink. Rolling onto your side, you saw a full glass of lukewarm water, and you shot up in bed. Grabbing hold of it, you brought the cup to your lips and downed the water within seconds.

“Christ…” you gasped, setting the empty glass back down onto your nightstand. “Ow…” Your head continued to pound, and you rubbed it as you checked the time. It was still a bit early, leaving you some time to get up, make breakfast, and try to keep yourself from being enveloped by the sensation of death that overtook you, knocking on the door that was your noggin and was causing your headache to get even worse. “I guess I should make breakfast and take a shower.” You groaned, getting yourself out of bed.

You dragged yourself into the living room, rubbing your forehead as the pounding in your head grew more intense with every step that you took. Upon entering the living room, you were stunned to see Hoseok on your couch. He was laying under the blanket, one hand draped over his face as he slept soundly, his chest rising and falling. It took a moment for you to remember what happened the previous night, but once you were able to recall the memory, you were surprised that he actually stayed on the couch. It was challenging to try and walk past him on the wooden floor, but you tried your hardest to not wake Hoseok up yet. You opened the cabinet, grabbing a pill bottle and opening it, popping one of them into your mouth and downing it with a handful of water you got from the sink. With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, you closed the water and tried to think of what you should make for breakfast, or if you should cook anything at all. You couldn’t eat anything right now, but you knew that you would regret it later.

While you were trying to make a decision regarding your next meal, you heard sounds of Hoseok waking up from the living room. He let out a yawn and groan, and the couch shifted around a few times as he fixed his position on it.

“Augh, what time is it?” He mumbled, shifting up on the couch. Glancing in his direction, you saw Hoseok’s arms reach up into the air, a loud yawn escaping from his mouth. “Mmmmm~!” he groaned.

“Good morning.” You hummed, finally deciding to open the fridge. “Are you hungry?”

“Hm?” Hoseok got up off the couch and looked at you. His clothes were a bit crumpled and his hair was messy, but he still looked really cute. “You’re going to cook?”

“I have a hangover, but I know I still need to eat so...” You assured, grabbing some ingredients from the fridge. As you were preparing to get cooking, you saw Hoseok walk into the kitchen, scratching at his head, tiny grunts and noises came from his mouth as he was still waking up. He plopped himself down on the chair at the kitchen table, and let out a deep sigh. You glanced over at him. “Sorry, you ended up having to sleep on the couch last night.” You said simply.

“Hm? Ah, it’s okay.” Hoseok assured. “I probably would have fallen asleep on my couch at home anyway.” Hoseok let out a yawn. “But your couch definitely is very comfortable.” He said. “My back doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.” A chuckle escaped your lips as you stood in front of the stove, breakfast sizzling in a pan. “What are you making?”

“Eggs.” You said simply. “I figured it's simple enough for my fried brain, you know?” Hoseok chuckled as he turned to watch you cook, dragging yourself from the cooking pan to grab some bread and jam, setting them on the table. The meal wasn’t difficult, and you completed it within minutes. The sizzling warmth of the eggs made both of you realize how hungry you were. “Enjoy.” You hummed, sitting beside him. You watched Hoseok, who was much more awake than you, say his thanks before he began to eat. Glancing down at your plate, you felt the heat rise up into your face. It made you ridiculously hungry, but you found yourself unable to eat. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it wasn’t, you honestly didn’t know. However, it kept you from eating. Hoseok must have noticed because he glanced over at you.

“Hm? Are you not hungry?”

“I am.” You said softly.

“Is the hangover making it hard to eat?” He asked.

“…Maybe.” Setting your utensils down, you quickly got up and out of your chair, heading over towards the little medicine cabinet you had. Your head was still pounding, and you opened the cabinet again, grabbing a pain killer and popping it into your mouth. Once again, you swallowed the pill with a handful of water and rested against the counter, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach was making slight gurgles, and you wanted to eat. It felt like your stomach was eating itself. “Fuck, I don’t even think that I ate dinner last night…” you mumbled. “I just drank my weight in wine.” Hearing the sound of Hoseok’s chair being pushed back, you heard his footsteps head towards the fridge. It wasn’t long before you saw a water bottle in front of your face.

“Here.” He smiled, resting his elbow against the counter. You smiled a bit, taking the water and opening it, downing the liquid quickly. “I really hope you don’t mind me digging through your fridge.”

“Nah…” you hummed. “It’s fine, go ahead. I don’t have anything interesting in there, anyway.” Hoseok smiled a bit. “I just don’t want to eat right now. I thought I would because I’m so hungry.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Fuck, my head is still screwing with me.” Hoseok pursed his lips together.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked curiously.

“I don’t know how you can help me. You can’t take my thoughts out of my head.” You hummed softly.

“Hmmm..” Hoseok crossed his arms. “Well, I can try.” You glanced in his direction, some of your hair falling in your face, which you had to blow out of your view with your breath. “How about we take the girls somewhere fun?” He smiled a bit. “You said that they’ve noticed you’ve been in a rut, so taking them out somewhere will improve their mood and yours.”

“Where would we go?” You asked curiously. Hoseok shrugged.

“The aquarium? A zoo? Maybe even a movie. Just something to get their mind off the negative stuff for a few hours.” He suggested. You thought about it for a moment. It had been a while since you had really taken the girls on a day trip. Occasionally, you would go shopping or to the park, those were nearby, simple…and well, pretty cheap depending on where you would go.

“That…actually sounds really fun.” You said, a smile finally forming on your lips. “When do you suggest we go?”

“Well, what about this weekend? The girls are with you right?”

“Yep.” You said, the tone in your voice raising as you began to get more excited about the idea. “I’m free Saturday.”

“Awesome!” Hoseok cheered. “Then we just have to decide where to go.” He hummed, pressing a finger to his lips. You tried to think as well. Silence fell over the both of you for a moment. Hoseok chuckled, clapping his hands. “Well, we have time to think about it, don’t we?” he suggested. “Why don’t we eat? Before we know it, we’ll have to go to work.”

“Great…” you groaned, pouting a bit. Hoseok laughed as the two of you took a seat at the table again. Hoseok continued to eat. It took you a moment of staring at the plate again, but you finally were able to start eating some eggs, and a piece of bread with jam. It wasn’t much, but it would do for now. Hoseok seemed to have no issue eating, and he was scarfing down the bread with jam, along with his eggs, the biggest grin on his face as he did so. “You act like those are the best eggs you’ve ever eaten.” You joked, forcing one final bite into your mouth.

“Of course! It’s delicious!” He smiled. “If we do end up going somewhere like a zoo, you should definitely make lunch for the day. It would be so good.”

“You think so?” you asked curiously.

“I know so.” Hoseok cooed, a chuckle following after as he finished eating. “Mmmm. Alright.” He checked the time. “I should get home and start getting ready. There’s a meeting at the studio today about budgets and applications…. you know, fun stuff.” Both of you chuckled. “Try and think of where you want to take the girls, I’m okay with anything.”

“Alright.” You stood up, collecting the plates as you walked to put them into the dishwasher. “Want me to walk you out?”

“Nah.” He said. “You should rest off the rest of your hangover before you go to work.” He suggested. “I know what it’s like going to work with a hangover. It sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” You agreed, turning the dishwasher on, the rumble of the machine warming up filling the kitchen. “I’ll text you.” Hoseok smiled a bit as he walked towards the coffee table, grabbing his wallet, keys, phone, and other belongings. Stuffing them into his pockets, you followed him towards the door as he got his shoes on. “Have a good day at work.” You said happily.

“You too.” He said happily. You couldn’t help it; you felt a huge grin form on your face. “…Why are you smiling so wide?” he asked, the sight of your smile making him have to follow suit. You looked at his little heart smile and it just…. well, for a moment, it felt as if you no longer had a hangover.

“Nothing.” You said quickly. “Just…it’s been a while since I told someone to have a good day at work in the morning.” You admitted. “I hope that isn’t weird.”

“Weird?” Hoseok asked, his cheeks tinting pink. “No, it’s not weird.” He chuckled. He shrugged. “I hope to hear you say it again, sometimes.” You felt your cheeks heat up, even more, your heart starting to beat a little faster, as if you were a high school student having her first conversation with her crush. It was a feeling that you hadn’t experienced in such a long time, the butterflies in your stomach a long-forgotten sensation for a young mother such as yourself. “I’ll see you soon.” He said.

“Okay.” You nodded, waving him off as he headed towards the elevator. You closed your door, chewing on your lip as you tried to calm your racing heart. Just…knowing that Hoseok was here all night, taking care of you while you were drunk and lonely, trying his best to help both you and the girls recover from this rut that you were in, it made you feel a way that you had not felt in such a long time, a sense of companionship and a sense of happiness. It was different happiness than what you felt with your girls, it was even different happiness that you felt with coworkers and friends. It was an odd feeling, but a good feeling. It was feeling that you thought you would never feel again. The painkillers you had taken must have finally kicked in, and you took a deep breath. Knowing that time was ticking away, you headed into your bathroom and went to take a shower.

---

You got to the daycare after work, right as the clock was passing 4:30. Opening the door, you stepped into the building to the sound of screaming babies and toddlers. Young women were walking down the hallways with young children, signing children’s songs and giggling in enjoyment. You smiled as you passed them, some of the little kids curiously waving towards you when they saw you. As you entered your daughter’s section, you opened the door to see her sitting on the carpet with another small brunette girl, a shapes-based game in between them. Min Ja was very smart for her age, and she was assisting the other girl with her shapes. You stepped in, being greeted by Yun Yun and a few other women who were sitting around the room playing with the children. When Yun Yun called for Min Ja, she jumped up and hurried to you.

“Mommy!” She squealed, jumping into your arms as you hugged her tightly. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, baby.” You said happily. “Let’s go get Hyo Bin and go home. We have some stuff to talk about.” Immediately, you saw Min Ja frown a bit.

“Did we do something bad?” she asked. You watched one of the workers walked over with Min Ja’s little backpack.

“No,” you assured. “You didn’t do anything bad…right?” you curiously raised your eyebrow. Min Ja quickly shook her head, and you smiled. “Then let’s go.” You looked at Yun Yun as Min Ja waved goodbye to the elderly lady. She told you that your youngest was in the toddler room, so you took Min Ja and headed down the hall.

“What do we have to talk about, Mommy?” Min Ja asked curiously as you walked down the hall.

“It’s a surprise. I’m going to tell you and Hyo Bin together, okay?” Min Ja nodded. “But you’ll like it, I know you will.”

“Is it a snack?” Min Ja gasped. “Those snacks Mr. Hobi left that uhm…that one time, they were super yummy!” You giggled.

“Yes, they were.” You said. “But it isn’t a snack this time.” Approaching the new room, you stepped inside. Music was playing, and toddlers ages 2 and a half to 3 were waddling around the room, toys in hands as they babbled to each other. Toddlers between 1 and a half to 2, which was where Hyo Bin fell, sat with workers on their laps as they played, as to not get entangled with the slightly bigger toddlers. A few kids by the door turned to look at you and Min Ja stepping in, and Hyo Bin was one of them.

“Mama!” She shouted. Squirming her way out of the clutches of one of the workers, she dropped the toy in her hand and toddled towards you. “Mama, hi! Hi, Mama!” You scooped her up into your free arm, kissing her forehead.

“Hi, baby girl. Ready to go?”

“Mommy has to talk to us, Hyo Bin.” Min Ja said quickly. “Were you bad?”

“Bad?” Hyo Bin mumbled curiously. Her eyes fell towards you, wide and innocent. “No, Mama….”

“I know…” you assured. “Let’s go home. Say bye-bye.” The girls said their good-byes in unison before you carried them out of the daycare building. The walk home, Min Ja shared some stories of her time with her friends, and how it was almost time for her to finish going to the daycare and start going to school.

“I’m really excited, Mommy.” She said happily.

“Yeah? That’s good.” You said as you listened to her. Min Ja looked at you.

“Are you sad today, Mommy?” She asked curiously. You glanced at your daughter when she asked this.

“Uhm...” you hesitated, unsure of what to say to her in response. On the surface, no, you weren’t sad. You were excited to see how happy the thought of a day trip with Hobi would make your girls, and just as excited to be able to experience it. However, as you checked deeper into your thoughts, you knew that there were sadness and stress still bubbling in your stomach. Stress about Weong-Bin, stress that you were trying to stop yourself from thinking about, but it would only make you more stressed. “No, I’m not sad, honey.” You ended up responding. “Mommy is just…Mommy just has a lot going on, right now. But it’ll be okay. The surprise is going to be so exciting.” Min Ja didn’t look convinced, but nodded, nuzzling into her mother’s shoulder as you sighed.

The walk from there on, until you reached the apartment, was silent. The lack of talking from Min Ja began to make you anxious, as she usually spoke about her day nonstop until you arrived home. You hoped you didn’t make her think that you were sad. You tried to prompt her with questions about her day, but she wouldn’t really give any big responses, just simple hums or groans in response, her head still nuzzled in your neck. You bit your lip as you hurried into the apartment. Opening the door, you set the girls down and watched them hurry into the living room. Setting down their bags, you walked into the kitchen in an attempt to get a quick dinner ready. Opening the fridge, you pulled out some vegetables and began to cut them up for some stir fry.

Weong-Bin, you scumbag! You thought to yourself as you prepared the food. Going around doing whatever you want, not caring about who the hell it hurts in the process. I swear you’re such a jerk! It was killing you that you were still unable to hide your worries from your girls, and it was all Weong-Bin’s fault! It wasn’t long into your angry Weong-Bin based thoughts that you heard footsteps hurrying towards you, calling out to you.

“Mommy? What’s the surprise?” She asked curiously.

“I’ll tell you at dinner.” You said simply. Min Ja whined. “Min Ja-.”

“I want to know noooooow.” She begged. Just like that, as if two heavyweights were dropped onto your legs, you felt the girls latch onto you. “Mommmyyyyy.”

“Mamaaaaa.” Hyo Bin copied, both girls giggling in amusement. You tried to ignore them at first, as they continued to giggle and call out to you. It was cute at first, and you didn’t mind. However, as you were trying to continue with your preparation, the girls continued to shout and beg. It was starting to get on your nerves. It was getting louder and louder, and the girls were roaring with laughter and screaming at the top of their lungs as they begged for you to tell them the surprise.

“Girls.” You said quickly, but it fell on deaf ears. “Girls….” Again, they didn’t hear you, they just continued to cling to your legs, screaming and laughing in childish bliss as they began to get under your skin. You were trying to remain calm as you tried to get them off, however, the loud noise was digging into your ears, and your heart was pounding. “GIRLS!” You snapped, setting the knife on the counter and looking down at them. Almost immediately, they got silent, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Enough screaming. I have a sharp knife in my hands and you’re making it hard to focus! Go inside and stop bothering Mommy while she is cooking or there will be no surprise! Do I make myself clear?!”

“…Yes, Mommy…” Min Ja said softly. You felt your legs lose pressure as the girls released them from their tiny grasps. Hyo Bin looked at you with wide, glossy eyes. It looked like she was about to cry. You sighed softly. “C’mon, Hyo Bin.” Min Ja took Hyo Bin’s hand as they went into the bedroom. Silence fell onto the apartment as the bedroom door closed.

“…Fuck.” You groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Fucking Weong-Bin…” You glanced back down at the knife and half-cut veggies before you shook your head. “No…that was all on me. I shouldn’t let him get to me like this…” A hand ran through your hair as you felt a lump in your throat. “God damn it, I’m so awful.” You choked out. Without missing a beat, you headed towards the bedroom and knocked on the door. “Girls?” you hummed. No response, but you didn’t expect one. “Can I come in?” When neither of them responded, you sighed softly. Suddenly, you heard footsteps hurry towards the door, followed by one of the tiny chairs in the room being pushed towards the door. The sound of the door jiggling open was heard from the other side, and the door began to open. You opened it fully to see Hyo Bin and Min Ja were sitting at the little color table against the wall. Min Ja pushed the chair back from the door to its spot and sat down. You followed them over and sat in between them. “Mommy is sorry she yelled at you.” You said softly.

“…Were we being bad, Mommy?” Min Ja asked curiously. “Is that why you got mad?”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been bothering Mommy while she was using a sharp knife.” You said simply. “But Mommy should not have yelled at you so loud and angrily either. So, we all made some poor choices today, huh?” Min Ja nodded a bit as she set her crayon down. Hyo Bin held up her picture towards you. It was just scribbled, but she offered you a smile, and you returned one, no questions asked.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Min Ja said softly, getting out of her chair. She quickly hugged you tightly, and you felt another lump in your throat as you took a deep breath.

“Sorry, Mama…” Hyo Bin said right afterward, and you offered an arm to take her into your embrace as well. You nuzzled them both, kissing both of their heads.

“I’m sorry too, girls…” you admitted softly. “Mommy just has a lot of stuff she’s thinking about. And it’s making her very stressed out.”

“What does ‘stressed out’ mean?” Min Ja asked curiously. You stroked her hair as you glanced at her.

“You know how you started to get really mad before your recital because you were nervous?” you asked. Min Ja nodded. “It’s the same thing for Mommy, but there’s no dance recital. Does that…make any sense?” Min Ja was silent for a moment but nodded.

“I think so.” She said softly. You chuckled, hugging her tightly again.

“How about I tell you girls the surprise now?” You asked. The girls cheered a bit, and you quickly quieted them down. “Okay, so I was talking with Mr. Hobi early, early this morning. He said that we should all take a fun trip somewhere.” Min Ja blinked.

“…Where?” she asked curiously.

“Well, maybe to the aquarium, or a movie, or the zoo-.” Min Ja’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the word “zoo”.

“ZOO?!” She asked in awe. “Mommy, Miss. Sochun read us a book about the zoo once!”

“Did she?” you asked curiously. Min Ja nodded.

“Mhm! There were tons of animals. And….and Jin-Hwan said he went to the zoo one time and saw tons of animals! Like Uhm, like pigs, and llamas!” You smiled a bit, nodding. “I wanna go see them too! Please, Mommy!” You glanced over at Hyo Bin, who was watching her older sister’s excitement with as much interest as you were.

“Does the zoo sound fun, Hyo Bin?” You asked curiously. “We get to see a whole bunch of new animals.”

“Animals?” she asked curiously. “At zoo?” You nodded. She looked at Min Ja again, who eagerly pleaded with her sister to say yes. She smiled a bit, nodding. “Yah, the zoo! The zoo!”

“YAY!” Min Ja screeched, clapping her hands. She was jumping up and down. “The zoo! When do we go, Mommy!? I wanna go now!”

“Now? It’s dinner time for the animals, Min.” you said simply. “I have to talk to Mr. Hobi and we will go really soon, okay?” Min Ja looked at a bit disappointed at the idea that she would have to wait, but you kissed her forehead. “I promise, it’ll be soon and we’re going to have a ton of fun.”

“Okay…” She said. Suddenly, your attention was directed back to Hyo Bin, whose stomach rumbled. She looked down, lifting her shirt up to expose her tiny belly. Patting it with her free hand, she glanced up at you.

“I’m hungry…Mama…hungry.” She begged, pouting a bit. You smiled.

“Okay. I’ll go make dinner. You two girls stay here and color something for me. It’ll be done really soon, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.” Min Ja said, hurrying back to her little plastic seat. “I’m going to draw the zoo in the book we read!” You got up, your knees cracking from the horribly uncomfortable sitting position you were stuck in. Smiling happily, you left your girls to coloring before returning back to the cooking on the counter. As you went back to cutting vegetables, you felt much better knowing that your girls were excited about this trip to the zoo.

When the stir fry was almost done being cooked, and the rice was set on the table, you called Hoseok. It rang for a moment, and you rested the phone in between your shoulder and cheek as you set the table.

“Heeeeeellllooo~. Hobi here, and at your service” He chimed upon answering, his high-pitched voice making you giggle.

“Well hello there, Hobi.” You said. “I spoke to the girls.”

“Ooooo, and?” he asked curiously.

“Min Ja is now talking about how she learned about the zoo at daycare recently, and she’s begging to go.” Hoseok laughed a bit.

“Then the zoo it is! Does Saturday still work for you guys?”

“Yes, it does.” You assured happily.

“Perfect! Make sure to pack lunch, that way we only need to buy dinner. I can do that part.” You sighed.

“No way am I letting you buy dinner for my glutton kids.” You said, and Hoseok laughed again.

“Well, to bad. But we can argue about this later. Im meeting Yoongi and Namjoon for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, really?” you chuckled, thinking about to those two. “Tell them I said hello, will you?”

“Of course! I’ll be going now. See you Saturday!”

“See you Saturday, Hobi.” You agreed, before hearing Hoseok hang up on you. Setting your phone down, you finished setting the table and called the girls to come to eat. They hurried out form their rooms, and you helped Hyo Bin into her seat before the three of you began to eat. The entire meal, Min Ja was going on and on about what the zoo might be like, and what she was excited to see. You listened to her chatter, glad that she was just as excited to go on this little trip as you were to take her.

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 5 years

Text

Wrote too much so I had to submit hope you don’t mind!

So the main idea was to just make him a cult leader but as I was drawing I was like “ hey this sounds fun!” so I ended up with this

Rabie is a spirit who is most benevolent in summer and is most malevolent on winter he lives on a mountain close to a handful of villages

Because i want to make him a cryptid but don’t want to tie him in with already existing ones let’s call them Zurzhvegrok it doesn’t mean anything for those interested

From the start of winter to the middle of spring

He leads a cult that is just like the rabies thing but makes new cult members either kill someone making them semi officially a cult member

or make them be killed thus transforming them into feral more ‘rabid’ versions of themselves making them full members

The flesh of mortals makes him grow (◡‿◡✿)

Starting summer to the middle of fall

Due to a deal made so long ago people forgot the villages are required to bring the last year’s remaining meat to the beast’s den anyone left behind may become the beast’s meal or new cult member

And for the ridiculously cheap price of rotten meat he grants wishes to anyone who makes it to and back to his den but he only grants wishes like a functional relationship and physical and emotional well-being anything emotional or physical he can do

Second middle of spring and fall

He hibernates but is really easily woken up instantly attacks

So that’s all I got for now! Hope you enjoyed!

…..

Yo I LOVE THIS!!! Awesome drawing too! It seems like he’d fit right into the Dark Fantasy AU! (though of course if you don’t want him in the AU, I understand ^^)

#submission #rabies mark #tw gore #tw death #dark fantasy au

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years

Note

“Listen, we have very thin walls and I heard you crying in the shower, are you okay?” au Pleaseeeeee!!

I know it’s like 5:30 am but I hope you like it! (also on ao3!)

Derek wasn't usually a nosy neighbor. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He was an introvert at heart. He had been ever since he was a little kid.

It was just another facet of his personality, one that his sisters and absolutely adored poking fun at. It was a great source of entertainment amongst a pack of werewolves that valued camaraderie and community above all else.

That wasn't to say Derek didn't cherish those values just as much as the rest of his pack. In fact, he appreciated them more than anyone else solely because he was so selective about the company he kept.

In high school, he had only had two friends, Boyd and Erica, who managed to accommodate his reticence and dry humor enough to want to actively hang out with him. Beyond them, he didn't have many friends, or acquaintances period.

Sure, he had been popular enough thanks to the positions he held on the basketball and baseball teams — being captain wasn't something to turn one's nose up at — but that popularity was limited outside of games.

He had never been invited to the parties celebrating the wins that he was mostly responsible. He had always been both grateful for and annoyed by that fact: on one hand he hated parties with a passion but on the other hand, it was nice to be invited.

While he almost single-handedly carried both teams he played on, he had always been, and always would be, a nerd at heart. He would take a quiet afternoon spent reading and sipping tea over a raucous night partying any day.

That being said, it was no wonder why he became an English teacher.

After graduating from Stanford, he managed to secure a highly sought after position at the high school in his hometown. Apparently, the previous holder of the position was a darach, reminding him of just how crazy the little town of Beacon Hills was.

After a few months of living with his parents while he settled into his new job, Derek found himself an apartment in town. It was closer to the school than the Hale House which meant a shorter commute which in turn meant he could sleep in for just a little longer.

In his seven years living in his apartment he had seen several neighbors come and go, nearly half a dozen or so. And all of them had their little quirks.

First, there had been Mrs. Peterson with her seven cats and fifteen grandchildren. She had been bright and sunny, always bringing Derek cookies and pies and other baked goods.

She used to play oldies at all hours of the night. She claimed it was the only way she could stay asleep for more than a few hours at a time.

She eventually moved out of the building in order to live with one of her grandchildren in Florida. Her seven cats went with her.

Mr. Twain was his next neighbor, a balding middle aged man who was going through a messy divorce. He smoked enough pot to mellow out an alpha on the full moon, the smell seeping into Derek's apartment.

After meeting a nice woman with two kids, Mr. Twain got married and moved out of his apartment. Unfortunately, the stench of cheap pot lingered long after he had left.

His next neighbor was Riley Morris, a single mother of three who worked two jobs. Her dog, a little ankle biting Yorkie, rarely shut up.

Derek wasn't proud of it, but he had resorted to flashing his eyes at the little yapper just to get it to shut the hell up so he could grade papers.

She moved out after getting a promotion that allowed her to quit her second job and move into a small house. Derek never once missed the incessant barking of her damned Yorkie.

Next came Taylor Rhodes, a recent college graduate reveling in all of the luxuries of life. From a downright ridiculous amount of sex to illegal drugs, she embraced all aspects of hedonism.

Of course, that was eventually her downfall. She was arrested only five months after moving in.

The other neighbors weren't exactly worth mentioning, a bickering couple bogged down by asinine gender roles followed by an old teammate of Derek's that was addicted to Netflix and rarely showered.

Then there was his new neighbor. Stiles.

He had moved in seven months ago, a young guy about a few years Derek's junior. His big brown eyes and pouty lips paired with his wild sex hair and mole dotted porcelain skin made him look like a model but he claimed to be a cop.

Derek had been suspicious but there was no indication of a lie in his new neighbor's heartbeat. Which meant the local sheriff's department was hiring twinks to fight crime.

Wonderful. Derek felt safer already.

Stiles seemed like a model neighbor at first. He was quiet and took his garbage out on time, was discreet as possible about his occasional hookups, and didn't have any obnoxious habits.

Except for the crying in the shower. But that was more disconcerting than annoying.

About three weeks ago, Derek had noticed something extremely odd while showering after work. The sound of soft sobbing.

Pausing with his arms raised, fingers buried in his hair to massage shampoo into his scalp, Derek had tried to figure out where exactly the sound was coming from.

At first, he suspected that he might have accidentally left his TV on. But he quickly discounted that theory since he hadn't turned the TV on all day.

His mind had then jumped to his phone which was resting on the bathroom sink, his shower playlist on full blast. But he knew every song on the playlist and none of them sounded even remotely like someone sobbing.

Other options exhausted, Derek had, quite literally, pressed his ear to the wall. The wall he shared with his neighbor. His neighbor who was crying in the shower.

Feeling like he was intruding on a vulnerable moment, Derek had quickly rinsed the suds out of his hair and climbed out of the shower. He figured it would be best to leave his neighbor to his sorrow.

The next time he had taken a shower, coincidentally at the same time as Stiles whose schedule seemed to sync up with Derek's without a hitch, he had heard the police officer crying again. And again, he had fled his bathroom to give him more privacy.

But the pattern was already set in motion and it seemed as though every time Derek took a shower Stiles did. And every time, Stiles cried.

It was a heavy crying, too. Not just a few sniffles. No, it was a hiccuping bout of heavy sobbing, the kind that made one's stomach ache and their head pound with a migraine.

It was pained. Full of palpable sorrow and indescribable grief. Heart-wrenching wails that echoed against the tiles.

They seemed to stab Derek in the gut, twisting blades that nearly made him whine in sympathy for his neighbor. His friendly, sarcastic neighbor with the brilliant smile and biting wit who always seemed like he could conquer the world.

Which is why, after three weeks of sitting through Stiles' sobbing in the shower, Derek found himself knocking on his neighbor's front door, a Tupperware container full of cookies in his free hand.

"Yeah, I'll be right there!" Stiles' deeper than expected voice called, always catching Derek off guard with how deep it was. Nodding to himself, he waited patiently for Stiles to answer the door.

In all honesty, Derek hadn't given much thought to what he was going to say. He had been packing up some chocolate chip cookies to send to his older sister in New York when he heard the now familiar sound of Stiles crying.

Something in him had snapped and before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving a bunch of cookies into a plastic container and rushing out of his apartment. He didn't know whether to chalk it up to werewolf instinct or his own fascination with his gorgeous neighbor.

Either way, there he was, standing in the hallway waiting for Stiles.

"Yo," Stiles greeted, pulling his door open a fraction to peer out at Derek. His hair was still wet, unbelievably messy like he had just run a towel over it.

He was wearing a baggy Mets t-shirt, a good portion of his collarbone on display, revealing smooth pale skin. His big brown eyes were rimmed with red, evidence of his tears.

"Oh, hey..." Stiles drawled, opening the door wider. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, "Derek, right? What's up, dude?"

Without any more preamble, Derek very eloquently blurted, "Are you okay?"

Stiles' brows immediately drew together. "What?"

"Listen, we have very thin walls and I keep hearing you cry in the shower," Derek explained in a rush. "Are you okay?"

The last thing Derek expected was for Stiles' face to split into a radiant grin, looking absolutely delighted. Looking seconds away from clapping his hands and skipping, Stiles demanded, "Really? I was that believable? Dude, that's awesome!"

"I... Uh... Wait, what?" Derek stammered, fumbling over his words as he began to fidget with the Tupperware container in his hands.

"Oh, yeah, that probably sounded really fucking weird, huh?" Stiles countered, scratching the side of his head. When Derek just nodded, dumbfounded, he continued on, explaining, "My friend Kira's working on this play and someone had to drop out at the last minute so she asked me to fill in so I've been practicing to make sure I'm believable on stage."

Oh. That made sense, Derek guessed. It was still weird as hell, but it made sense.

And there was no trace of a lie in the explanation.

"Were you really worried about me?" Stiles inquired, chewing his bottom lip. He glanced at the container in Derek's hands.

"Uh, yeah," Derek answered dumbly. Dropping his eyes to the cookies, he thrust his arms out, announcing, "I, uh, brought you some cookies. Thought they could cheer you up."

"They're definitely working," Stiles declared, beaming up at Derek with a wide grin. Stepping to the side, he wondered aloud, "Do you-Do you wanna come in?"

Derek realized that he did. More than anything. Introverted tendencies be damned.

#sterek #alternate universe #no hale fire #werewolf!derek #teacher!derek #officer!stiles #neighbors #getting together #my fic #fic #thedefenderrs

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theraredreamer · 6 years

Text

The Raven Cycle Fic: A Study of Living in Your Own Skin (A Presentation by Adam Parrish and Richard Gansey the III)

By: @rarity-kasket

14k words, Rated T

Summary: Hate would be a strong word for Adam Parrish to use to describe his feelings for Richard ‘Dick’ Gansey the III, the overtly pretentious guy who sits in the front row in his world history class. Adam’s feelings for Gansey are complicated, and it doesn’t help when Professor Malory suggests that the two boys make a presentation for an upcoming Comparative Mythology Conference. As Adam encounters Gansey and his strange obsession with a dead Welsh king named Glendower, Adam learns an invaluable lesson that Yale could never teach him. There is always more under the surface. (An Adansey AU)

Hello, peeps! This a gift for the awesome @coolkumquat in celebration of the @trc-exchange because the world needs a little more Adansey, and these two nerds need a little more love. Enjoy and Happy Holidays! #teamrarepairings

Click for Ao3 Link

***

Hate would be a strong word for Adam Parrish to use to describe his feelings for the overtly pretentious guy who sat in the front row in his world history class. Annoyance, maybe? Frustration, definitely yes. If Adam was honest with himself, he would admit that this all boiled down to a simple case of jealousy, as irrational and passionate as it was.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, like clockwork, Adam ran into Professor Malory’s world history course, warm and sweaty because Introduction to Psychology was located all the way across campus, and the only way he could make this class on time was if he sprinted. And before every class, like clockwork, Professor Malory and Richard ‘Dick’ Gansey the III engaged in a highbrow, scholarly conversation while the rest of the class sat in silence, watching the two intellectuals go back and forth like a tennis match. That was annoying, but it wasn’t the most irritating thing about class.

The most insufferable part of world history was watching Gansey’s hand fly up again and again and again to answer Malory’s questions with the most roundabout and pretentious responses known to mankind. The guy couldn’t go three words in a sentence without breaking out an SAT prep word such as repugnant, injurious, and grandiose. Words that made the entire class nod in approval and lean forward in their seats to get a glance at Richard Gansey the III. Meanwhile, Adam felt like he needed to bring a thesaurus to class.

The students at Yale University were the daughters and sons of CEO executives, senators, and Nobel Prize recipients. Adam Parrish was the son of nobody. Most students here inherited a disposition towards success from their parents. Adam inherited a disposition towards quick anger and alcoholism. Being at Yale, being surrounded by thoughtful intellectuals, was a constant reminder that he didn’t belong. He was just an imposter, a wannabe, killing himself with academics just to prove to the world that Adam Parrish was normal, that he could fit in, that he wasn’t as fucked up as he felt sometimes. In the presence of Richard Gansey the III, Adam felt like a nobody. He felt it like a stab to the heart.

Today in class, Professor Malory started on a grueling lecture on the culture of ancient Greece, and it wasn’t long before Gansey’s hand rose high in the air to contribute to the class discussion.

“Contrary to the fantastical myths the Greeks constructed, much of their culture was rooted in an essential rationality. The Greek hero Hercules was said to have conquered some of the most preposterous beasts, and yet, he resided in the city of Thebes, an actual city in Greece. Coincidentally, the exact city where Aphrodite, the love goddess was born of sea foam. The Greeks endowed their gods with the resemblance of man, ‘at the age when youth is loveliest’ as Homer once quoted, because man was most rational, and therefore their gods dwell in the image of man.”

While Malory and his classmates nodded in approval before launching into a discussion of the role religion played in ancient Greek society, the corner of Adam’s lips twitched with irritation. This guy could not be more full of himself, sprouting out ridiculous words like endowed just so heads would turn in his direction. Who just threw that word into normal speech? Who randomly quoted Homer on regular occasions? No one, except Richard “Dick” Gansey the III. Other hands punched the air to add on to the ostentatious comment.

When class ended, Professor Malory implored the students to pick up their essays assigned from two weeks ago. Adam spent his time slowly packing away his notes as other classmates piled into one line to collect their papers before dashing off to their next class. He glanced down at his wristwatch, a cheap thing that he splurged on at Walmart once. Adam, thankfully, had a free period, and he had planned to spend it in the library catching up on this week’s readings. When most students had cleared out, Adam approached Malory who was engaged in a deep conversation with Gansey. Malory’s smiling eyes flickered to Adam before he pulled his paper off the top stack.

“Ah, Mr. Parrish, wonderful essay on Hammurabi’s code. Absolutely insightful. This is what I mean about thinking critically about history.”

Adam’s expression brightened, and he stood a little taller at Malory’s compliment like a plant in the sunlight. “Thank you, sir.”

“You must know Old Gansey boy here.” Malory reached over and patted Gansey on the shoulder, and Adam’s gaze drifted to him. It was hard not to miss his presence. He was like the light that drew in moths; wherever Gansey went, eyes followed. Adam had never been this close to him before. Gansey was one of those model types that could be found in a Ralph Lauren spread with his styled brown hair, his Hollywood smile, his classic, Anglo-Saxon face that any sculptor would kill to look upon.

“Pleasure to meet you, Adam Parrish.” Gansey’s mouth wrapped around his name in a way that would make anyone feel worthy, and for a second, Adam was almost bewitched. He extended his hand to shake, and Adam took it. The handshake was steady and firm.

“It’s great to finally meet you. You have so much to say in class.”

Gansey laughed, letting go of Adam’s hand and dropping his own to his side.

“Now that you two have met,” Professor Malory pushed his spectacles up on his nose. The statement caught Adam off-guard, curious as to what the professor would say next. “Mr. Parrish, this year, Yale will be hosting a Comparative Mythology conference at the end of January. Gansey Boy here is looking for a partner to present with, and I would highly recommend you as a worthy co-presenter.”

Adam felt gobsmacked by the offer. He turned to Gansey, who appraised him, a hopeful glimmer in his deep hazel eyes.

“I…” Adam cleared his throat. “Could I have some time to think about this before I commit?”

Professor Malory looked to Gansey for answers, who simply nodded.

“Yes indeed, in fact,” Gansey reached into his satchel and produced a business card, which he held out to Adam. Adam tried not to judge the fact that a college freshman carried business cards, but also, why hadn’t Adam thought of an idea like that? He took the card, which had Gansey’s telephone number and email address on it. He even had a website too. What could he possibly have on a website? Oddly, his first name Richard or his nickname ‘Dick’ was nowhere on the card, just his last name, Gansey. “Take my business card in case you have any questions.”

“Of course,” Adam tucked it safely in his back pocket. “I should go, but thank you for the invitation.”

Adam bade goodbye to Professor Malory and Gansey before dashing off to the library. It was not a long walk from his history class. Adam found a peaceful corner to study in. Normally, he would dive into his Virgil translations, blocking the outside world until he drowned himself in Virgil’s beautiful Latin prose, but his mind kept going back to a certain crisp pastel pink polo shirt. Adam gave up on Virgil and made the decision to stay up later tonight to spend more time on his Latin translations. He pulled out the business card in his back pocket and a laptop that he borrowed from the library on his first day of classes before typing in Gansey’s website address.

It was amazing how much time a person could waste on the internet. Adam must have spent thirty minutes sifting through Gansey’s website. Whoever this Owen Glendower legend was, Gansey was obsessed with him. There was a fountain of information on his life, the mystery surrounding his supposed death, these things called ley lines, and other related supernatural events. There were pictures of Gansey’s globe-trotting adventures and notes about his findings. Adam never met someone so… obsessed.

Adam pulled out his graded essay and stared at the comments made by Professor Malory on the pages, his chest swelling with pride. Maybe he did belong here.

“Yeah, Dad is taking us to Montreal for the Christmas holiday. How gay is that?”

Adam groaned and slipped low into his chair. Unfortunately, he knew that voice anywhere.

“Speaking of gay, sup Parrish.”

“Tad.” Adam forced through clenched teeth. Tad strolled over, cuffing him on the back of the head. Adam Parrish had the most unfortunate pleasure of sharing a room with Tad Carruthers. If there was anyone who annoyed Adam more than Richard Gansey the III, it was Tad.

“What are you looking at?” He peered over Adam’s shoulder, breathing on his neck and pressing his big nose into the laptop screen.

“Who’s that? Your boyfriend, Parrish? I got to say, you have nice taste.” Tad and his friends, who hovered by the table, laughed.

Adam slammed the laptop shut before packing his things away. “I was doing research for a conference that I’m presenting at in January. If you would excuse me, I have to go.” He snatched his belongings off the desk and ran straight into the men’s restroom.

Adam locked himself in a bathroom stall, leaning against the wall with his eyes squeezed tight before slowly picking apart his anger. He knew boys like Tad all too well. The small hicksville town he came from had a fancy private school full of Tads with their expensive cars and superior attitudes and impeccable uniforms. Adam remembered how badly he wanted to be them, to have all the wealth in the world. He wanted the sharp suits and the nice cars and the women draped all over him like the magazine spreads he used to collect.

Yale was supposed to change that.

When Adam calmed down, he left the bathroom stall and walked to his next class.

*** The next morning Adam got up super early, made coffee, and hiked to the library to do more studying. As he dropped down into his chair, a yawn escaped his lips. He finished his Latin translations despite the fact that Tad had sexiled him until two in the morning. Adam stayed up another hour studying for an upcoming test.

As a stack of books dropped on the table in front of him, Adam flinched before he looked up from his psychology notes. Gansey stood before him looking abnormally pristine and chipper for seven in the morning.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” He asked, waiting for an affirmative. Adam stared at Gansey, startled by both his appearance and request. He recovered quickly, clearing the table to make room for Gansey.

“Be my guest.”He sat across from Adam and cracked opened books of his own to study. They worked in silence, which surprised Adam because the guy never shut up in class. Every once in awhile, he stole furtive glances at Gansey hunched over his textbook, eyebrows furrowed and his thumb brushing thoughtfully over his lips as he poured over the text. Every time, Adam swallowed thickly and went back to working furiously.

Gansey cleared his throat, and Adam looked up at him to find curious eyes studying him.

“Have you given thought to my proposal?”

“Is that why you sat over here? Are you stalking me?” Adam asked, and Gansey’s cheeks flushed.

“No. You didn’t call last night to ask questions. I was here first, and I saw you sit down, so I thought I would ask.”

“Richard–” Adam started, but the other boy cut him off.

“Gansey.”

“What?”

“Please call me Gansey. I prefer it,” he corrected. That explained the business card.

“Okay… Gansey,” Adam tested the name on his lips, “I’m flattered Professor Malory regarded me so highly that he thought I would make a great partner to present at this conference–”

Gansey cut him off again.

“Please consider this piece of information before you decline the proposal. I actually suggested partnering up with you, and Professor Mallory agreed.” He admitted, and that tiny bit of information shook Adam to the core. Gansey choose him? He personally sought him out because he wanted to work with Adam? When Adam didn’t reply, Gansey continued. “Your comments are so insightful and brilliant when Professor Malory calls on you. I’m jealous sometimes that I hadn’t thought of such a response.”

Richard Gansey the III was jealous of him…

Adam Parrish the I.

The words almost knocked the breath out of him. He spent months envying Gansey for his intellect and his wealth and his popularity. And this whole time, Gansey envied him. Adam felt something dangerously smug blossom inside his chest.

“I would be honored to have you a part of the team,” Gansey said. Those words had sealed Adam’s answer.

“Okay, I’ll do the presentation with you in January.”

Gansey’s entire expression brightened, and he clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent!” He cried.

“Do you have an idea of what you would like to present on?”

At Adam’s question, Gansey’s eyes grew keen as he leaned over the table in a conspiratory manner.

“Have you heard of the Legend of Owen Glendower?”

***

And so, Adam and Gansey became friends. Gansey was no longer the guy with the overambitious comments in world history, even if he still occasionally threw out an SAT vocab every third word. After classes, they would go to the library to conduct research, or they would go up to Gansey’s dorm to discuss theories about Glendower. Adam even met Gansey’s roommate Henry Cheng, who was a member of the Yale Student Environmental Coalition on campus and planned to run for student council in the spring. Adam enjoyed Henry’s presence, and he liked being in Gansey and Henry’s room. It was bright and imaginative and colorful. On their walls, they tacked up maps of exotic places and posters of Madonna. By their window sill, Gansey had a collection of potted mint leaves. They even squeezed a bookshelf into the dorm, filled with carefully preserved books on various topics from astrophysics to ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Some of the books on the shelves weren’t even in English. Some were in French and Latin and Mandarin and Sanskrit. Some were in languages that even Adam couldn’t identify. In a quaint dorm room, they had their own personal library. Adam was in love with Gansey and Henry’s room, and now he had access to it whenever he liked.

Sometimes they didn’t study when Adam came over, but they went driving in the Pig or watched movies like Indiana Jones and Star Wars instead.

“What’s your house, Adam? I bet you’re a Ravenclaw. Ooh nevermind, I can definitely see you being a Slytherin.” Henry asked on a particular day that Adam and Gansey were studying in their room. Gansey sat at his desk facing the windows, typing quietly as he went back and forth between two opened textbooks and his laptop, and Adam sat on his bed. Initially, he felt uncomfortable sitting on another’s person bed, but Gansey insisted that it was fine.

“My what?’ Adam looked up from his notes at Henry, who was leaning off the side of his loft bed, upside down and smiling at Adam.

“Your Hogwarts house? Gansey and I are both Ravenclaws.”

The word Hogwarts registered to him. Henry was referring to the Harry Potter series.

“Oh. I don’t know. I’ve never read the books or seen the movies.” He said. Adam remembered most kids in his grade being obsessed with the series. He never got a chance to enjoy fanciful and childish things like Harry Potter. His father had beaten all that was whimsical and magical out of Adam’s childhood.

To Adam’s offhand remark, the soft clicking of Gansey’s keyboard stopped as he swiveled around in his chair to look at Adam, and Henry sat up in his bed to openly gape.

“What?”

“Adam Parrish, do not ‘what’ me,” said Henry. “How have you–” Henry paused, appearing lost for words. When Adam glanced at Gansey for help, he too was staring at Adam as if he was an alien from out of space.“What do you mean–Even if you haven’t read the books, tell me you’re lying about the movies.”

Adam mustered his best apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay. That’s it.” Henry climbed down his loft bed. “Everyone, drop what you’re doing right now.” He said, walking over to Gansey’s laptop and closing it shut.

“Henry!”

Henry ignored Gansey’s protest and grabbed the books that Gansey had flopped over. He took up Adam’s notebook too and dropped them on his desk. “There will be no more Glendower tonight. Instead, Adam is going to grab clothes from his dorm because he is most definitely staying over. Afterwards, we’re driving to Target for popcorn and gummy worms. Then we’re going to have a complete Harry Potter movie marathon, and we will stay in this dorm together for however long that takes.” From the intense, dead serious expression on Henry’s face, Adam believed that Henry would keep him prisoner here until every movie was watched. There was no escape.

“That’s absurd! You can’t show him the movies before he has even read the books.” Gansey cried, horrified, gawking at Henry as if he had suggested setting a library on fire.

“If he sees the movies first, then he has nothing to be disappointed with,” Henry replied before he grabbed the keys to the Pig and tossed them at Gansey, who caught them with an ease that impressed Adam.

Henry had committed himself to this movie marathon sleepover. So Adam ran back to his dorm and packed a bag with his clothes and homework. Despite the fact that this was inconveniencing his plans to study in the library all day tomorrow, Adam felt excited about the prospect of staying over tonight. He never got to do things like this as a child. It didn’t take long to pack his belongings before meeting Gansey and Henry outside by the Pig. Henry was already in the back, so Adam slipped into the passenger seat next to Gansey. On the way to Target, Henry talked a lot about his quasi-romance with a blonde guy who skateboarded everywhere around campus. Once he almost ran Henry over…that was the extent of all their romantic and non-romantic interactions.

“Every time I look at him, it’s like glitter exploding inside of me, you know?” Henry gushed in the backseat.

“Uh-huh, that’s nice,” Gansey said distractedly as he leaned forward to see if any oncoming cars were driving towards them as he prepared for a left turn. Henry threw Gansey an exaggerated glare before he sat up, something in the window catching his eyes.

“I forgot there is a Barnes and Noble next to the Target. Pull into the bookstore.” Gansey complied, pulling into the parking lot. Henry took Adam by the hand and dragged him inside.

“What do you need from the bookstore?” Gansey asked Henry, who grinned back at him.

“It’s not what I need.” He grinned at Adam. The other boys were quick on the uptake. They searched the store for the Harry Potter section. It wasn’t hard to find as the table was obnoxiously dressed with Harry Potter merchandise. Henry picked up a book and handed to him. Adam barely glanced at the title, flipped over the cover of the book, and scanned the barcode tag.

Ten dollars and ninety-nine cents.

He could afford that.

Adam flipped the cover back over to reveal a scrawny little boy riding a broomstick. Stenciled at the top was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

“Henry, if you’re going to make him read the series, wouldn’t it make sense to get him this?”

Adam’s head snapped up, and Gansey was holding a huge box of books. Adam’s stomach plummeted. He knew that box cost more than ten dollars and ninety-nine cents, more than what he could afford.

Adam no longer had to work tirelessly at three jobs, and he lived comfortably on his stipend from his one work-study assignment. However, Adam still didn’t have money to splurge on whatever he fancied.

“Oh, that’s smart! And it’ll save money!” Henry claimed. Adam took the box in his hands. The price tag almost made him drop the box. Henry must have noticed.

“What’s the matter?”

Adam didn’t know how to explain to them that he didn’t have the money to pay for this. That awful divide that separated Adam from their world reared its ugly head. His mouth was dry, and heat crept into the back of his neck.

“I didn’t bring enough money for this. So let’s just get the one book.” He started to put the box back, but Gansey grabbed the other end of it.

“Well, I was planning on buying it myself anyway. Don’t worry about it.” Gansey said. Adam stared at him, horrified.

Gansey paying for the books was worse than Adam not being able to afford the books.

“I couldn’t let you do that.” Adam pulled on the box.

“It’s no big deal. It’s only a hundred dollars.” Gansey said with an air of frivolousness that made Adam almost drop the box again.

“Well, a hundred can be a lot for some people.” Adam shot back. “At least let me pay you back for the books.”

“You should hold on to your money. Consider this a gift from Henry and me.” Gansey flashed him that Hollywood smile that could get away with murder. “If anything, this is a gift to Henry.”

“He’s not wrong.” Henry agreed. “You reading the series is payment enough.”

Adam’s pride didn’t let him buy into that. He glanced reluctantly between the two. “Fine, but I get to buy the snacks at Target.”

“If that is what it takes, fine.” Henry snagged the box and made an eager stride towards the counter. It left Adam and Gansey alone in the aisle, and Adam could barely meet Gansey’s gaze.

In the end, Gansey paid for Adam’s books. As the price ringed up on the register, Adam turned away. Gansey and Henry, however, were true to their word and let Adam buy the snacks at Target, which assuaged some of his guilt. Later that night, they made buttery popcorn in the communal kitchen. As they snacked on popcorn and gummy worms, and sodas, Adam let Henry and Gansey walk him through their favorite books. Henry preferred the Goblet of Fire while Gansey’s favorite was the Half-Blood Prince. Adam didn’t know what any of that meant. They made it far into the marathon. Henry was the first to go. He fell asleep during the third movie. Adam couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore halfway into the forth.

“You’re falling asleep,” Gansey said as Adam’s head nodded back into the futon. Henry was sprawled out across their laps.

“No, I’m not…” Adam protested. “I’m watching.”

“Adam, your eyes are closed.” Gansey pointed out.

“I’m picturing the movie in my mind.”

“We should stop for tonight.” Gansey made a slow attempt to stand, but Adam pulled on his arm.

“I’m awake. I promise. I’m watching.” Adam’s words slurred, and he forced his eyes open to look at Gansey who stared back at him with a hint of distrust before settling back into the futon. Adam’s eyes fluttered closed again, and his face sagged into Gansey’s shoulder.

“I never said thank you earlier,” Adam mumbled into the fabric of Gansey’s sweater. He inhaled deeply and caught the strong and comforting scent of mint.

“For what?”

“The books.”

“Oh, it was nothing really.” Gansey dismissed.

“But it is…” Adam’s yawned. He felt sleep dragging him further and further down the rabbit hole, images swirling until he could see the movie clearly in his mind. Then it was just Gansey and him in their Hogwarts uniforms, walking together on school grounds. “I’m not used to things like that.”

“Things like what?” Gansey sounded far away, despite the fact that he was standing next to him. Adam’s eyes flickered to the dark blue tie, tucked under his jumper. Adam was wearing a matching green tie.

“Doing nice things for me…I’m used to being on my own.”

Gansey smiled, and his hand reached out to brush Adam’s cheek. His voice was as gentle as the balm of Gilead. “You deserve to have nice things happen to you all the time.”

Adam couldn’t remember much of his dream after that.

***

They were in the local coffee shop pouring over history and mythology books. Gansey had ordered something large and ridiculous like a dirty Earl Grey chai tea with extra vanilla and nutmeg. Adam had ordered a simple black coffee. Gansey offered to pay, which started a passive aggressive argument in front of the cashier. They stopped when the lady behind them cleared her throat in a loud and obnoxious way that told them to take their argument somewhere that was not delaying her caffeine fix.

At the current moment, they were having another disagreement at the table. This time, more intellectual.

“But why would Glendower have his body sailed across the Atlantic ocean of all places? How would he have known about the landmass across the Atlantic when Christopher Columbus didn’t land in the Americas until 1492? Glendower went missing in 1412, eighty years before the Europeans knew about the land?” Adam challenged Gansey.

“Oh, Adam, ye of little faith and always the skeptic. Glendower possessed supernatural abilities as it is mentioned in Shakespeare’s King Henry IV Part One. Glendower says ‘Give me leave to tell you once again that at my birth the front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, the goats ran from the mountains, and the herds were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have mark’d me extraordinary; And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men’ Don’t you see, Adam? Glendower is a magician. He could have easily used his magic to conceal himself without others knowing. And the Vikings discovered America before Columbus, so why can’t Glendower?”

Adam wanted to tell Gansey that quoting Shakespeare in common conversation was pompous, but instead, he said,“You can’t discover land that already has people occupying it. That’s called colonization, also known as a dick move.”

“I can’t tell if that is purely a criticism of colonization or a pun ridiculing me?”

“I’ll leave that up to your interpretation,” Adam smirked.

“Then I am choosing the former.” Gansey laughed before the lines around his eyes and mouth grew soft, and his smile became sheepish. He leaned across the small table, and Adam, feeling daring in the moment, mimicked the gesture, letting their forearms brush together. Gansey glanced down at their arms strangely, but didn’t complain or inch away. His eyes traveled up to Adam’s face. The lighting in the coffee shop brought out the hazel in his eyes. Gansey took in his fair share of Adam too, eyes roving over the features of his face. Heat crept onto Adam’s ears and neck. He couldn’t tell what Gansey was thinking, and when the staring overwhelmed him, Adam swallowed and turned his gaze out towards the window to watch the snowfall.

“I wanted to ask you a question, but I’m not sure how you will respond,” Gansey said, so quietly that Adam had to tilt his head towards Gansey because he was straining to hear.

“Oh?” Adam asked calmly, but his pulse started to race.

“I don’t know if you have plans for the winter holidays or not, but I have a possible lead on some mysterious ley line activity, a few hours outside of DC. I thought maybe you would like to stay with my family for the holidays, and we could drive to the ley lines together…for research.”

It wasn’t the question he expected, and Adam felt both disappointed and foolish.

“Winter break is a month long.” He frowned. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding at all. I was planning on returning to campus early after the new year. My mother has this new years party that I have to attend. You should come. There will be all sorts of influential people that I’ll introduce you to, who can offer you summer internships.”

The thought of Gansey whoring him out to CEO execs and senators just so he could kiss ass and beg for internships made him nauseous. The heat in his ears and his neck spread all over until Adam was positively brimming at the audacity of Richard Gansey the III.

“And what? Am I supposed to just be your puppy on the leash for the night? Is that it?” Adam asked through clenched teeth. Gansey instantly realized his mistake.

“No, that’s not–”

“You want me to roll over and do tricks for your little friends hoping that someone will throw me scraps.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What did you mean?”

“I just… I wanted you there for the holidays.” Gansey sighed. His shoulders sagged, and his eyes dropped down to the table. “I mentioned the party because I thought it would make you say yes.”

“I’m not superficial,” Adam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not your friend because you can get me connections. I’m your friend because I want to be.”

At those words, Gansey stared at Adam reverent and utterly awestruck.

“Uh, thank you.” Gansey cleared his throat. “That means a lot.”

“I’ll come.”

“What?” Gansey asked.

“I’ll come to DC over the break, and we can check out the ley lines for the presentation.”

Gansey smiled, his eyes bright and twinkling in the soft light of the coffee shop.

***

Adam had never been to Washington DC before, and Gansey showed him all that the city had to offer. They went to the Lincoln Memorial and sat on the stairs where Martin Luther King had a dream, looking out over the reflecting pool towards the Washington Monument. They visited the National Archives to get a glimpse at the Declaration of Independence. Every day, Adam thought about the thousands of people they passed by. Some of these people were lawyers who argued before the Supreme Court or doctors rushing off to save lives. Around them, people were making a difference in the world, and Adam wanted to be one of them.

They had just got off the metro at Dupont Circle. As the two boys stepped onto the chilly and crowded streets of Connecticut Avenue, Adam pressed himself close to Gansey’s left side as they walked down the street together. Gansey refused to tell Adam where exactly he was taking him. The only clue he would give when Adam asked was that this place was his favorite setting in all of DC. Adam was naturally curious. They didn’t have to walk for long because Gansey stopped outside a small ma and pa bookstore. Stenciled outside the shop were the words Kramerbooks & Afterword.

“Your favorite place is a bookstore?” Adam laughed. Honestly, he should have known.

“Followed by the Library of Congress, That would be my favorite location if we could actually keep the books,” Gansey said before opening the door and motioning Adam inside. Kramerbooks was small and quaint with shelves and shelves of books lining every inch of the wall. Display tables were everywhere and piled with mountains of books, and Adam couldn’t move anywhere without brushing shoulders with another person. Gansey instantly busied himself with perusing the shelves. The place was small enough that Adam felt comfortable enough to detach from Gansey without losing him. He wandered around the store, flipping through books and reading covers until he stumbled upon a title that struck his interest. He snuck furtive glances over his shoulders, his ears burning before he snatched the book to find a comfortable nook to read in. Crammed into a small corner with the book perched on his knees, Adam realized why Gansey favored this place. The bookshelves enclosed around Adam, nestled him into a small and comforting pocket of the bookshop. For a while, Adam was in his own world, reading.

Philosophers love puzzles, and love provides a welter for puzzle. It does not take exceptional humility to admit that we are often confused about it. Love is selfless; love is selfish. Love is kind; love is cruel. Love is fickle; love is forever. Love is heaven; love is hell. Love is war–

“What do you have there?” Adam’s head snapped up. Gansey loomed over him, peering down at Adam curiously. Adam snapped the book close and stood to his feet.

“Just a book that I found laying around. It looked interesting.”

Gansey glanced down at the cover before his eyes drew back to Adam’s face with a raised eyebrow. “You thought Love: A Very Short Introduction looked like an interesting read?”

“Yes. It’s a very philosophical read.” Adam’s ears burned before his gaze traveled to the books tucked under Gansey’s arms. “Did you buy those?” He slipped the book back on a shelf in a discreet fashion as Gansey fumbled with his books.

“Oh yes! Let’s grab a table in the cafe, and I’ll show them to you.” Gansey said, and Adam followed him to the back of the cramped bookshop and into the cafe. They sat at an empty table before a waitress came by and jotted down their orders. She came back with an apple crumb pie for Adam and a sweet potato cheesecake for Gansey.

“What books did you get?” Adam pointed to the stack of books that Gansey had on the table before cutting into his pie with his fork. As Adam ate, Gansey enthusiastically showed Adam the books he picked up, Other Worlds: Spirituality and the Search for Invisible Dimensions by Christopher G. White and The Lost Art of Finding Our Way by John Edward Huth. Gansey would even flip open the book to read interesting passages out loud, and Adam let him because he liked the sound of Gansey’s reading voice and the way his mouth moved as it wrapped around the words. Gansey prattled on endlessly about his new books for so long that the waitress had picked up Adam’s empty dish way before Gansey finished his cheesecake.

“I’ve heard of strawberry cheesecake or chocolate cheesecake, but sweet potato and cheesecake seem like a strange mixture.” Adam scrunched up his nose, watching Gansey polish off his plate. He still had half a plate of cheesecake to get rid of.

“Would you like to sample a bite?” Gansey asked, pushing the plate across the table, Adam stared at the dessert apprehensively before he picked up Gansey’s fork. He sliced into the cheesecake and took a bite. The sweet taste of maple melted on his tongue and a soft hum of delight escaped his lips. Adam slid the fork out of his mouth.

“Okay, I was wrong. That’s good stuff.” He smiled and held the fork out to Gansey, who stared at him so strangely. He didn’t miss the way Gansey swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing, before his fingers closed around the fork, brushing against Adam’s.

“So,” Gansey cleared his throat. “This is probably none of my business, but I’m curious about the book you were reading earlier. Are you endeavoring to court someone?”

“I can’t believe you just asked me if I’m courting someone.” Adam snorted. “How old are you? Eighteen going on eighty-five?” He asked, and Gansey didn’t miss a beat.

“A hundred and two actually.”

“Well, then you look good for your age.”

Gansey burst into laughter, and something proud blossomed in Adam’s chest that he managed to put that luminous smile on Gansey’s face. When his laughter died, he asked Adam again. “So are you courting someone?”

Adam shook his head, and his ears started to grow warm again. “I was curious about what love is…from a psychological and philosophical point of view.”

“And you thought you could learn that from a book?” Gansey questioned, furrowing his brow as if he was trying to piece something together about Adam.

“Pathetic, right?” Adam laughed it off, but Gansey didn’t buy Adam’s self-deprecating humor, studying him like a sheet of glass with fracture lines all over, with hesitation and caution. When the staring became too much, Adam changed the subject.

“We should go down to the waterfront today. We didn’t get a chance to go yesterday.” Adam said.

The subject change distracted Gansey.

“You’re right! We didn’t. The Wharf isn’t far from here. We can take the metro down there and walk around for awhile. It’s not a far walk from the National Mall either.”

Gansey, with help from Adam, quickly finished off the rest of the cheesecake before they left the bookshop and hopped back on the metro towards the Wharf. The view was gorgeous, even for winter. Boats and small yachts sat on the sparkling blue water next to the luxurious high rise apartments and swanky shops. Gansey insisted that the view was better in the summer sunshine. They walked along the waterfront, watching the boats in the harbor with Adam’s right shoulder barely brushing against Gansey’s left shoulder as they walked.

“What are you going to do with a psychology degree?” Gansey asked him out of the blue, but Adam could tell that he had been sitting on this question for a while. The comment came off condescendingly.

“What are you going to do with an anthropology degree?” Adam shot back at him.

“No, I’m being serious.” The twinkle in Gansey’s eyes was earnest, and Adam didn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m going to law school to become a criminal prosecutor. Psychology sounded like a smart choice for a background in law.”

“Why?”

Adam paused to look at Gansey. Next to them, a bonfire roared to life and a crowd was making s’mores around the fire.

“Why is psychology a smart decision?”

“No. Why do you want to be a prosecutor?”

An uncomfortable and thick silence passed through them, and Adam felt himself grow awkward by the second. He got the question about what he wanted to do after college all the time, but no one ever asked him why. Adam thought long and careful about what he could say to Gansey.

“I want to help people who can’t defend themselves,” he said, and his own confidence surprised him, as well as Gansey, who stared at him with parted lips.

“That’s…” Gansey took his time with a response. “That’s very noble of you.”

He ended the sentence with a smile that warmed Adam from the inside out, more than the fire they were standing next to. Gansey’s eyes regarded him as some sort of god made for worship, and Adam rather liked it before he chastised himself for being vain. Vain enough to think that Gansey, the boy with all the wealth and beauty that anyone could ever want, found him worthy. How could Gansey want him when he didn’t even know how broken he was?

“I’m kind of cold,” said Gansey. “Do you want to snag one of those chairs and have s’mores?”

“Sure.”

“Excelsior!” Gansey cheered, rushing towards an empty chair. Adam laughed.

“Calm down buddy, it’s just a chair–” Adam clipped the end of the word chair as soon as he heard the southern drawl slip out. It made Gansey pause to cock his head curiously at him. Adam’s ears burned with shame.

“What was that?” He asked.

“What was what?” Adam’s voice returned to normal.

“That southern drawl just now?”

Gansey had definitely heard it.

“You can’t talk. Have you heard your voice?” Adam tried to laugh it off, but Gansey flinched and cast him a wounded expression.

“Okay, but I’m not fabricating a neutral accent,” Gansey called out, and the word fabricating made Adam irrationally upset. Did he need to casually throw that word out now? Gansey swallowed thickly, his gaze flickering away from Adam. He appeared hesitant to speak, and Adam hated that he was a thing that Gansey had to be cautious with.

“I don’t want to fight today. Could we just forget all of this and get s’mores?”

Adam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They did just that, ate s’mores on the harbor and pretended like nothing was boiling under the surface.

***

The night before they were supposed to leave town, Adam was in the middle of chapter twenty, The Dementor’s Kiss, of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He felt determined to finish the book tonight, so he could move on to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire as soon as possible.

Adam now understood Henry’s shock when he admitted that he had never read a single book. The writing made him laugh out loud. At times, it made him misty eyed. It made him smile so hard until it hurt. It tore his heart out of his chest and left him to bleed. Behind the fantastical backdrop of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was something painfully real and human that lived in the spirits of the books.

There was a knock at the door. Adam crawled out of bed, carrying the Prisoner of Azkaban with him. When he opened the door, Gansey was standing in the frame. Adam’s eyes swept over his body. His normally styled hair was tousled and damp from the recent shower he had, and the t-shirt that he wore clung tightly around his torso, exposing the thick muscles of his arms. Adam wondered what would happen if he just dragged his fingers up Gansey’s arm. His hands clenched at his side before quickly releasing. Adam leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I wanted to check in, make sure that you were comfortable with leaving at eight tomorrow,” said Gansey. The two of them were setting off early in the morning to find information concerning Glendower. Gansey had located some psychics who lived on the ley lines just a few hours outside of Washington. Gansey’s eyes drifted down to the book, dangling in Adam’s hand. “I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“Oh no, I was reading. I just found out that Peter Pettigrew is the traitor, and Sirius is innocent.”

“I love Sirius! He’s my favorite character.” Gansey’s expression brightened. “Do you have a favorite character yet?”

“I like Harry a lot.”

Gansey didn’t say anything. He nodded and quietly studied the lines in Adam’s face. Adam continued. “I’m surprised to hear that Sirius is your favorite. I expected you to say Dumbledore.You’re both are old and eccentric. I thought you would bond over that.”

Gansey laughed and shook his head. “No, Sirius is cool with his long hair and his flying motorcycle.”

“So you’re telling me that you like the bad boy types?” Adam grinned, and Gansey mouth fell open as a scarlet blush crept into his cheeks. He recovered quickly.

“Not a fan of bad boys, are you?”

“Not really, I tend to like them super dorky and kind of obsessed with Welsh mythology.” The words just flew off his tongue without a second thought. His ears grew warm at the unexpected confession, and he reached up to scratch the back of his ear. He was certain Gansey liked him back, but the astonished expression on the other boy’s face caused Adam to second guess whether he had misinterpreted Gansey’s intentions.

“You’re…” Gansey started before he swallowed. “You’re attracted to me?”

“Did I make this awkward? I was getting the vibe that maybe you, uh, felt the same…but if I was wrong–”

“No, no. You weren’t…wrong.”

“Oh,” Adam said because he doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t plan this far, and this was not the way he pictured confessing to Gansey.

The two stared at each other, at a standstill. Gansey acted first. His hands slid over Adam’s shoulders and down his chest, and his palms spread wide on Adam’s breastbone as he pressed Adam against the door. The book in Adam’s hand slipped and hit the floor with a soft thud, and Adam could hardly bring himself to care when the boy with the Hollywood smile and classic Anglo-Saxon face was so close and warm against him. Adam’s hand dragged up Gansey’s arm, feeling the strong muscle underneath, and he thanked God for the rowing team.

Adam’s eyes flickered to Gansey’s lips. “Are you sure–“

The warm press of Gansey’s mouth silenced him, and Adam’s other hand slid into Gansey’s hair, fingers curling around damp, dark locks. Their lips moved slowly and curiously against each other, and their mouths were like explorers on uncharted territory. As Gansey’s tongue work its way into his mouth, deepening the kiss, a gradual warmth flooded Adam’s stomach. His fingers gently pulled at Gansey’s hair, drawing soft moans from his mouth.

Gansey pulled away. Adam let his head fall back against the doorframe, and his hands fell to his side. For a while, the only noise he could hear was his own heavy breathing.

“It’s late,” Gansey announced. “I should probably get to bed.”

Adam’s eyes strayed to Gansey’s moist lips. “Probably,” He mumbled back in agreement. Gansey leaned up and caught a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Sleep well.” He turned to walk back to his bedroom, and Adam watched Gansey’s figure retreat until he couldn’t see him anymore. Adam doubted if he would sleep at all.

***

They were on the open road to find more information about Glendower and the ley lines the next morning. Adam was left wondering if last night actually happened or if he dreamed it all. Gansey didn’t bring up the kiss or attempt to kiss Adam again, even though Adam desperately wanted him to. Instead, they talked Glendower, or they listened to one of Gansey’s favorite podcasts. Myths and Legends, creating discussion after each episode by using the knowledge they had acquired from Professor Mallory’s class and previous history courses that they had taken. The only tiny reminders that Adam had of last night were the brief and smiling glances that Gansey would make in his direction when he thought Adam wasn’t looking.

Everything was great. Life was great. Gansey and he were great until…

Adam started to notice the very familiar scenery. At first, he had chalked it up to just the landscape of West Virginia, but the resemblance became too noticeable to ignore. Adam had biked up and down these roads many a days.

He sat up in his seat, suddenly alert. “Gansey?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gansey leaned over to turn the speaker down.

“I don’t recall you actually telling me where these psychics were located.”

“Oh, I didn’t?” Gansey frowned. “I must have been so fervid in looking for the ley lines and Glendower that I glossed over some key details. There is a ley line that runs through a small town called Henrietta. Ever heard of it?”

All of the good feelings from last night evaporated. The breakfast from earlier this morning threatened to come up, and his hands shook so awfully that he slipped them under his thighs and sat on them.

“Are you okay? You’ve gone pale.”

“No. I’m fine.” Adam managed to say as he reclined back in the chair, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose and out his mouth. Just his luck that Glendower managed to be hiding out in his old hometown. He considered lying and telling Gansey that he was too sick to make the rest of the trip, but he thought about Gansey’s disappointed expression. He’d called up some important experts to get information about the Henrietta ley lines and driven all the way down here. If Adam lied, it would be all for naught, and he would be sabotaging valuable information for their presentation next month.

They rolled into the sleepy town of Henrietta. It was just like he remembered.

“This is a charming little town,” Gansey commented enthusiastically, watching the scenery whip by with awe. Everywhere Adam looked was a graveyard of memories that he thought he left behind. Finally, they arrived at a blue house on Fox Way. Adam had recognized it. He had biked past it a hundred times on his way into town, but never went in. Adam had heard of the psychics of 300 Fox way before. The topic made for a good laugh with friends when the psychics correctly predicted a run in with an old friend in Walmart or an anecdote when they foretold a disastrous event involving the number six. Adam would be amazed if he actually believed in magic, but these predictions were coincidences, something to forget about when real life got in the way.

They got out of the car and walked up to the door. Gansey lifted his hand to knock, but before his hand even touched the wood, the door swung open to reveal a disgruntled woman with brown skin standing in the doorway, her arms crossed.

“How did you know that we were already here?” Gansey asked with amazement.

“Your car is loud as shit. You can hear it from the next block over. I’m assuming you’re our afternoon appointment.” The woman said, and Gansey nodded before she let them inside. Two other women were waiting for them. Another psychic with dark hair greeted them.

“Could we get some names?” She asked.

“I’m Gansey, “ he pointed to himself before he gestured over his shoulder. “And this is my friend, Adam.”

The psychic who greeted them at the door snorted at this, though Adam didn’t understand what she found so funny.

“I’m Maura. These are my counterparts, Persephone and Calla.” Maura gestured to each one of them before ushering Adam and Gansey into a room that oddly had a hanging portrait of Steve Martin on the wall. Gansey took a moment to examine how out of place it was before they sat down in chairs.

He pulled out a tape recorder and laid it on the table. “Do you mind if I record our conversation? For research.”

“As long as you’re paying, I don’t care what you do,” the woman named Maura said. “Who would like to start first?”

Both boys looked at each other, deciding for a long time before the women name Persephone pushed the deck of tarot cards into Adam’s hands. She told him to shuffle them and get his “energy on the cards.” When he had finished, he handed the cards back to Persephone and watched her lay the cards out before him.

“Pick three.” Her voice was whimsical and soft. Adam did as he was instructed, and Persephone flipped the cards over in front of him. He didn’t know what any of it meant, but his eyes snagged on the card with a lot of swords stabbing into a heap of dirt. That didn’t look good. Persephone’s gaze followed his.

“Life has not been kind to you, Adam.”

Adam swallowed thickly but didn’t answer. He was painfully aware of Gansey’s keen gaze burning into the side of his face.

“You’ve experienced a deep trauma. That is what the ten of swords is telling me. You also have the judgment card next to it. So you have been given a second chance. Have you recently moved?” Persephone asked.

“Yeah, actually.” He cleared his throat. “I moved to Connecticut for college.”

“Good for you, Adam.”

“So, um, what is this card?” He pointed to the final one.

“The magician,” Persephone told him.

“And what does that mean?” Adam asked her, and she smiled at him.

“When you need something done, you call a magician. The possibilities are endless, but that is only if you can let go of fears. Magicians are also connected to healing. Now isn’t the time to throw yourself into your studies and neglect emotional confrontation.”

Adam nodded numbly. Maura took out her own set of cards for Gansey to shuffle. He went through the same routine as Adam. Maura placed Gansey’s cards before him.

“You have drawn the knight of wands, the tower, and the page of cups. The knight of wands usually represent embarking on a journey. You’re looking for something in particular?”

Gansey leaned forward in his chair in slight interest. “Yes, I am. For years actually.”

The presentation and research for Glendower had always been intense, but Adam suddenly realized that their research had very little to do with the presentation and getting published in an academic journal. Glendower wasn’t for the prestige and the honor, Glendower was Gansey’s life. Adam didn’t know why he was so desperate to find him, or why Gansey needed Glendower like he needed air to breathe. He wondered what would happen if Gansey found Glendower. Would he just die because there was nothing else to live for?

“Well, I suspect that there will be new developments. The page of cups usually signals new beginnings, but this could be in other aspects of life, not just your journey. Lastly, there is the tower. You should beware disaster is coming, possibly with the arrival of a stranger.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Adam said.

“I don’t care about that,” said Gansey frankly, which took all the psychics in the room back. Adam wanted to chide Gansey for being rude, but he kept talking. “That was interesting,” Gansey said it in a way one would say about a story someone told them that wasn’t actually interesting at all. “I was actually wondering if you could give me information about the ley lines in Henrietta.”

“The ley lines?” Maura looked at him strangely. Adam didn’t blame her. Gansey was a strange character. Stranger than the Steve Martin portrait they had hung on the wall.

“Yes, the ley lines.” Gansey went into a descriptive explanation of what the ley lines were, and his suspicion of where specifically the ley lines could be.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” She said in a way that told Gansey and Adam that she definitely knew something about the ley lines and refused to help them.

“You can’t or won’t?” Gansey challenged.

“Gansey!” Adam said.

“You’re right. I won’t help you.”

“Well, that is quite alright then. Thank you for your services. My friend and I will be leaving. How much do we owe you for your time?”

Gansey paid the women, and the two boys walked out of 300 Fox Way.

“That’s was completely useless.’ Adam mumbled when they climbed into the car. He turned to Gansey in the driver’s seat of the Pig. His eyes were keen, and he looked alive more than ever.

“On the contrary, the psychics provided us with formative information. The ley lines are here, and something important must be on it if they are closely guarding it.”

“Or something dangerous.”

“Glendower is here. I just feel it.”

The Pig roared to life.

***

They managed the whole day in Henrietta without Adam running into anyone he knew. Granted, they spent most of the day in open fields and on the outskirts of forests with Gansey’s high tech gear looking for clues. They found nothing, but that didn’t derail Gansey who grew even more confident that they would find something the next time they drove down.

Adam didn’t know if there was going to be a next time with Gansey and him. He spent the entirety of his life trying to escape this hellhole. He never envisioned that he would return.

After a long day of hard work, note-recording, picture taking, and researching, they pulled up to a pizza joint that Adam instantly recognized as Nino’s. It was where the Aglionby boys would frequent after classes. Everyone in Henrietta knew that the Aglionby boys owned Nino’s. Adam hardly went to the restaurant. He couldn’t afford it most days.

The boys entered the restaurant and took a booth in the far corner. Adam’s knee bounced incessantly under the table, and he couldn’t help but glance up every time the doorbell rang, signaling an entrance or departure. Halfway into dinner, Gansey dropped his pizza back onto his plate and asked, “What is the matter with you? You’ve been acting strangely all day since we got here. I would even use the word jittery to describe your behavior.”

“Gansey,” Adam sighed, but he never got to finish the rest of his sentence.

“Y’all gotta be kiddin me! Is that Robert Parrish’s lil boy?” A woman’s voice called out from across the restaurant. Adam recognized the thick country accent. Gansey and Adam’s heads turned in sync. It was Ms. Jody, the woman who stayed in the trailer next to him. She was an unmarried woman with two sons, a few years younger than Adam. Sometimes she would let her mutt wander into the Parrish’s yard. His dad hated it, but Adam never minded because Buttercup kept him company.

“Oh. Hey, Jody.” Adam offered an uneasy smile and stood to let Ms. Jody pull him into a bone-crushing hug. All while, he could feel Gansey’s hot gaze on his back.

“Have you been home this entire time, Adam? ”

“Um, I’m just in town for the day,” Adam said uncomfortably. “What are you doing here?”

“I was pickin up dinner. I have to say that I’m surprised to see you. Your daddy been tellin the whole town that you turn your back on them and left for that big fancy school of yours. They haven’t heard from you since. I hope that ain’t true. Your parents are good hardworkin Christian folk, and you should never forget where you come from.”

Adam wanted to tell her that was a lie. His parents weren’t good people, and neither was she. How many days had she seen Adam sporting bruises on his face and quickly glanced away? She could have helped him, but she did nothing. The words wouldn’t come. His mouth felt rubber and boneless, and he could hardly tell her that he hadn’t been home. Ms. Jody gave him a long stare and shook her head as if it was a shame. As if he was the wrong one. The guilty one.

Her gaze followed Gansey, taking in his pristine appearance with a hint of suspicion and apprehension. It was the look that the people of Henrietta reserved for Aglionby boys. Gansey didn’t wait to be introduced. He stood and stretched out his hand.

“I’m Gansey, Adam’s–” He hesitated, and quickly glanced at Adam. “–friend. We study at Yale together. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jody. This is a charming little town that you have here.” He flashed her a dazzling smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but nevertheless, the effect worked just the same.

Ms. Jody remembered her manners and returned the handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Gansey,” She said before releasing his hand. She turned her gaze back to Adam.

“I should go. The boys are waitin in the car, but come visit us at the trailer park sometime soon. Don’t be a stranger.” She said before leaving the restaurant.

An uncomfortable silence lingered at their table. Adam stared forward, avoiding Gansey’s gaze. He swallowed as his chest constrict painfully. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t really happen. Ms. Jody didn’t just expose him as a fraud, as the white trailer trash he was.

“Adam.”

“We should go before it gets dark,” Adam said, as he pulled out his wallet and slapped money on the table with more force than he had meant to and left the restaurant. Gansey ran after him.

“Adam, wait!” He pulled on his coat sleeve, spinning him around until they were face to face in the Nino’s parking lot. Adam flinched away from him. “Could we at least talk about this? Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you think I would judge you for this?” Gansey gestured around.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Adam stuffed his hands into his pockets, avoiding Gansey’s stare.

“No. We’re not doing that anymore. What the hell is going on, Adam?” He demanded in his Richard Gansey the III voice, the one that commanded authority. Adam hated it.

“I don’t have to tell you anything because, you know what, Gansey? The world doesn’t revolve around you,” he seethed, quietly.

“I’m not trying to make this about me. I just want to understand. Obviously, something happened to the point that you don’t want to go home…” Gansey gently hedged the topic as if he was walking on glass.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, so just shut up!” Adam snapped, and Gansey stared at him with parted lips, stunned.

“Look at yourself. You’re like some cornered animal, scared and==”

“Stop! You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.” He sneered. “You’ve only known me for a few months. You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know who the real Adam Parrish is because you don’t give anyone the chance. You just sweep your secrets under a rug and pray that no one looks underneath.” Gansey glanced down, and he swallowed thickly before he looked up at Adam with an uneasy expression. “Adam, were you ab– I mean…are your parents the reason why you can’t hear out of your left ear?” Gansey asked. It was finally out there, and though Gansey only asked about his ear, Adam knew that this was so much more than that.

“How do you know about that?” Adam had never told anyone about his left ear.

“You always walk on my left side, and you’ll turn your right ear towards someone if you can’t quite hear them. There were other things…” Gansey said quietly. Adam felt so exposed. He thought no one would know about the scars Robert Parrish left on him, but Adam had been wearing his scars for everyone to see this entire time.

“You want to know who the real Adam Parrish is?” Adam asked in a careful and controlled voice. “Sure, what do you want to know about me?”

“Adam–”

“No, what do you want to know about? That I lived in a shitty trailer with no money? That my dad beat the living fuck out of me for eighteen years while my mother just stood around and let him? That, yes, my dad punched me so hard that I fell down the stairs and lost my hearing? That I have worked myself to death with three jobs on top of school to make sure that I got out of this stupid town with these stupid people! So there, now you know the real Adam Parrish, the freak show that was my life. We all can’t be as spit and polished as you are.”

“Adam–” Gansey looked horrified by Adam’s admission.

“Not everyone gets to grow up in fancy boarding schools, shaking hands with senators and sprouting out the most condescending and pretentious words known to mankind. And we’re definitely not all fortunate to go traipsing around the world because we have the time and money to waste chasing dead Welsh guys. Some of us work for a living because we have real problems. So congratulations, you won the fucking lottery!” Adam shouted. Gansey flinched at the scathing words.

“Is that what you really think of me?”

“Yes,” replied Adam.

Gansey didn’t say anything else. They stood in an unnatural silence, and Gansey looked at him with a soft and wounded expression as if Adam was a sheet of glass threatening to shatter everywhere. Adam’s body shook with rage. He wanted to scream and hit something until his voice was sore and his knuckles were bruised and bloodied. If there was anything Adam hated more than that authoritative voice, it was that soft and pitying look that Gansey cast him.

“You don’t get to look at me like that, like I’m a thing to be pitied. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want your damn pity.”

“I wouldn’t have to look at you that way if you didn’t act so pathetic.” Gansey snapped, and the words struck Adam down in the chest. Gansey’s eyes went wide, and he cupped his hands over his mouth as he realized that what he said had crossed the line. “Wait, Adam–”

Adam gaped openly at him for a moment before storming out of Nino’s parking lot. Gansey jogged after him, calling his name. Adam didn’t stop or look back to see if Gansey was there long after he stopped calling after him. He didn’t know if he could trust himself not to swing out and hit something. Adam distracted himself with theories of natural law and Latin legal maxims until he couldn’t feel his anger anymore, just shame. A few minutes later, Adam heard the roar of the Pig pulling up next to him. Gansey rolled down the passenger window and called out to him.

“I’m sorry,” Gansey yelled over the Pig’s engine. Adam kept walking. “Come on Adam, I’m not leaving you here. Where do you have to go? Please… just get in the car. You don’t have to talk to me after this ever, but let me take you back to Washington.” Adam stopped, and the Pig slowed to a stop next to him.

They didn’t speak a single word on the way back to Washington DC.

***

The past two days in the Gansey household had been unbearable. Despite the Gansey’s gracious hospitality, Adam found being in the house suffocating while Gansey and he were still fighting. He spent most of the time out in the city at museums and parks. When he wasn’t exploring, he read the Goblet of Fire. He was in the middle of the novel one night when his phone buzzed next to him. It was a tiny, ancient thing but it got the work done.

“Hello?”

“Parrish, ole buddy, ole pal!”

“Henry?” Adam asked.

“The one and only,” Henry replied, and Adam could hear the smile in his voice. “So how are the holidays with the Gansey’s? I’m bored out of my mind here! Have you guys accidentally conveniently shared a bed together yet?”

“What?”

“You know how in every fanfiction where two guys go out of town together, they conveniently end up sharing a bed together.”

“I don’t read fanfiction…”

“That’s a shame. We’re going to have to do something about that when you get back. Me? I’m a big Drarry lover. I was thinking when my sweet blonde lover and I finally get together, we could dress up as Drarry for Halloween and go make out on the steps of one of these old Hogwarts looking buildings on campus.”

“Drarry?” Adam asked. “Is that suppose to be Harry and Draco?”

“Yes, and It’s the best love story known to mankind after mine.”

“You don’t even know this guy’s name. You’ve barely talked to him. He’s just some guy who skates everywhere around campus. He could be a ghost for all we know.”

“Well, you are wrong about one thing, Adam Parrish. With all the free time on my hands, I was able to find him on Facebook. I had to go through all the members of our class Facebook page, but I found him. Noah Czerny.”

“I’m impressed,” Adam said because it was the truth. Henry had the patience to carefully comb through thousands of Facebook profiles.

“Damn right, but that was like the second day of break. Gansey hardly responded to my text about it.” At the mention of Gansey, Adam abruptly remembered that the two were roommates and close friends. Henry never called Adam on his phone. He mostly texted.

“Why are you calling?” Adam asked suspiciously.

“I told you I was bored.”

“It’s been two weeks into the break and you’re calling now?”

“Okay you got me,” said Henry. “I’ve been busy playing the three of us on Sims 4. We share an apartment together. Gansey got probed by an alien, so the two of you are raising Gansey’s bastard child, but you’re quite happy together–”

“What did Gansey tell you?” Adam asked aggressively. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“Woah, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did something happen? Did you two get into a fight or something?” Henry’s airy tone evaporated quickly, and Adam realized by the sudden shift that Henry hadn’t called on Gansey’s behalf. He felt stupid all of the sudden. Adam sighed into the phone.

“I screwed everything up.” That was what Adam did. He ruined things, taking all that was good and pure and making it ugly. He thought of Gansey’s broken expression. Adam had done that because he couldn’t control this malignant compulsion inside of him that clawed and scratched and bit at everything that showed him a hint of kindness. He didn’t deserve for good things to happen to him like Yale and Henry and Gansey.

Adam told Henry about two days ago. The drive to Henrietta, the psychic visit, Nino’s, the argument in the parking lot, and the ugly things he said to Gansey. He left out most of the details about his personal life. He didn’t think that he was strong enough to tell Henry any of that.

“Jesus,” Henry swore into the phone.

“You probably think I’m the worst person.”

The line went silent for a very long time, and for a moment, Adam’s worst fears were confirmed.

“Have you ever been kidnapped?”

Henry’s voice was oddly light for the question. Overall, it was a strange question for Henry to spring up at the moment.

“No,” he said.

Another long silence followed before, “I was kidnapped once. I was ten.”

“Shit Henry. That’s…” Adam didn’t have the words. What words could he say to something like that without sounding cheap? “Awful.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for me, Parrish. They brought me back, didn’t they?” To Adam’s horror, Henry even laughed at his own joke

“I was locked in a dark hole for days with no human contact. I screamed myself sore. At the time my parents were in two different countries, so getting a hold of them wasn’t easy.”

“How did your parents find you?” Adam asked quietly.

“Oh, the kidnapper made me record a video for my mom, detailing all the things they were going to do to me if she didn’t pay the ransom. My mom is a badass though, told them that she didn’t pay for damaged goods and hung up in their face. They struck a decent deal and came to an agreement. I came back mostly unscathed.” By the end of that, Henry sounded winded. Adam couldn’t see his face, but he knew that whatever expression he wore, it contradicted the airiness of his voice. Adam closed his eyes shut and squeezed the phone in his hand.

“How are you so casual about this?”

“I’ve had years to process this Adam. I am claustrophobic because of…you know, well, I use to be. It’s gotten better. It gets better with time.” Henry said.

“Why are telling me this?”

“Because we’re haunted people, Adam. Everyone is carrying some kind of trauma on them, but we don’t have to let that trauma define us. You get to do that for yourself. Look at yourself and everything you have accomplished. You made it to Yale all on your own on a full tuition. You’re an ace student. And you’re a big fancy hot shot that everyone wants to bone. So cut yourself a break.”

“I’m not a hot shot,” Adam mumbled into the phone.

“Parrish, where the fuck have you been? Everywhere we go, the girls drool over you. The boys too. Please tell me you’ve noticed how much your roommate wants to bone that sweet body of yours, right?”

“Tad?” Adam asked disbelievingly and opened his eyes. “He’s straight.”

“Sure Jan.” Henry snorted into the phone. For the first time in several days, Adam laughed.

The line went silent again, and Adam debated with himself in the silence. His stomach rolled unpleasantly at what he was about to do. He had to say the words. If he could say the words, maybe they wouldn’t feel like a heavy weight dragging around his feet.

“Henry.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t hear out of my left ear.”

“Yeah, I know, Adam,” said Henry softly.

“My dad did that. I was–” Adam swallowed and despite the fact that his tongue felt like lead, he forced himself to say the words.“I was physically abused for eighteen years.”

It was the first time he had ever spoken the words.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah.”

***

“Wow Adam, you clean up well.” Helen whistled as she passed him in the hallway, her eyes raking across his body. Adam’s face grew warm under her compliment. Helen was a beautiful woman, her smile just as charming and her eyes just as keen as her brother’s. It must be a trait passed down from generation to generation.

“Thank you.” He accepted her compliment. “Do you know if Gansey is in his room?”

“I’m assuming that he’s still there. I haven’t seen him roaming the halls yet,” Helen said. She took a few steps down the hall before she paused and turned back towards Adam. “Find me during the party. Maybe we can share a drink together?”

Adam almost told her that he didn’t drink, but it felt rude to refuse her. She never said that it had to be an alcoholic drink, and he was sure that there would be non-alcoholic beverages downstairs.

“Sure thing.”

Helen’s lips curled into a sharp smile before she strutted down the hall. He went his separate way. Adam stood outside Gansey’s door for a while, debating whether to knock. It had been three days now, and they hadn’t spoken a word to each other. Things needed to stop, and if that meant that Adam needed to swallow his pride and apologize first, then he would do that.

Adam knocked hesitantly on the door before he heard a muffled, “Come in,” from the other side. Adam twisted the knob and let himself in.

Gansey stood in front of a full-length mirror, working on his tie. When his eyes caught Adam’s in the mirror, the fabric slipped from his fingers. They stood there just watching the other, waiting for one of them to make the first move. Finally, Gansey cleared his throat.

“Come in and sit. You can close the door.” He motioned to Adam before he resumed tying his tie in the mirror. Adam closed the door before he took a seat on the edge of the bed and watched Gansey in the mirror.

He looked good in his tailored navy suit. The jacket wrapped snug around the muscles of his arms. The crisp sky blue button-down that he wore brought out the hazel in his eyes. His tie matched his suit, and his shoes were a nice black oxford. He looked like a model straight out of those magazines with the men and their the big gleaming watches. Before Adam could calculate how much that entire outfit must cost, he shut down the thought in favor of just admiring Gansey in the mirror. Their eyes met again, neither sure of how to proceed from here.

“I’m sorry,” Gansey said first before Adam could get the words out. “I shouldn’t have called you pathetic. I wanted to say that the moment you got in the car, but I didn’t think you would want to talk to me. You’re not pathetic. I mean, you’re a survivor of abuse and that makes you one of the strongest people that I know, to endure something like that for so long.” Gansey turned to look at Adam. “You’re not just strong. You’re ambitious and you’re hardworking and you’re so clever and witty. And you make me laugh all the time. After everything that you’ve been through, you can still laugh at things.”

Adam decided to take Henry’s advice and cut himself a break. Despite his many flaws, and Adam had a lot, Gansey thought he was intelligent and clever and witty and hardworking and strong. It warmed Adam all over that Gansey saw those things when he looked at him.

“I’m sorry too,” Adam said. “I said some awful things to you. It was insensitive to think that you don’t suffer from real issues…because you have money. I was embarrassed, and I took out my frustrations on you…which wasn’t fair. Not to mention that I said searching for Glendower was a waste of time, so I guess we have to find him now so I can apologize to him too.”

This made Gansey laugh before he moved towards the bed and sat on Adam’s right side. They sat in a calm silence before a question came to Adam.

“You’ve never told me why you’re looking for Glendower. I always assumed that you were going to ask him for a wish, but why Glendower?”

“You don’t know this about me, but I have a severe allergy to wasps. One sting and I could die.”

Adam swore under his breath, but Gansey continued.

“Years ago, I accidentally step on a wasp nest out in the woods–” As Gansey told the story, his breath hitched and grew uneven as he recalled the memory. “They were too many to count, and honestly, I should be dead, but when I was laying on the ground, I swore I heard a voice, and it told me that I would live because of Glendower.” Gansey paused, and the room fell into a hushed silence. Adam didn’t know how to process the story. The skeptic part of him would chalk this up to delirium from being stung by hundreds of bees. The other part of him–the part infected with Gansey’s eccentric enthusiasm–wondered if maybe magic did exist out there in this chaos of life.That maybe there were more important things in life than wealth and status…

“Glendower saved my life, Adam. So that means I have to find him, right? That’s why I’m here. To find him.”

“What happens when you find Glendower?”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s something we’ll have to find out when we get there. That is… if you still want to continue this beyond the comparative mythology conference.”

Glendower meant returning to Henrietta.

“I want to find Glendower,” Adam said quietly. “I also left Henrietta for a reason because… I’m afraid of being stuck, tethered to this awful place and can’t escape.”

“I don’t know if you realized this, but you left Henrietta twice, without hardly looking back. That means that you can keep leaving. You could go anywhere, do whatever you want. You’re the–what did Persephone say?” Gansey took a moment to think about it, but Adam instantly recalled the word.

“The magician.”

“Yeah, Like Glendower.” Gansey smiled, the lines on his face grew soft. “That means the possibilities are endless for you.”

He reached out and grazed the shell of Adam’s deaf ear with gentle fingers. Adam closed his eyes, and something in the kind gesture made his breath hitch and his stomach flop and his face blush and his insides go to jelly. When Adam finally opened his eyes, Gansey was staring back at him. Their lips were so close, and Gansey cupped Adam’s face in his hands before his lips curled into a nervous smile. Adam watched as he leaned in, but instead of kissing Adam’s lips, he kissed the shell of his ear, feathery soft. Then he kissed under his earlobe. And then he kissed his neck. Adam’s eyes fluttered closed, and then Gansey lips were everywhere, his chin, his nose, his forehead, his eyelids, the freckles sprawled across his cheeks. Gansey lips were warm. They were tender. They seeped into Adam’s skin and whispered words of wonderment and worship and want.

Overwhelmed and choked on emotions, Adam could stand no more of it. He grabbed the front of Gansey’s suit jacket and crushed their mouths together. Gansey’s mouth fell open on his, and he made a soft murmur of approval in the back of his throat as Adam kissed him ardently, ravenously as if Gansey was the last drop of water in the desert.

They pulled apart, both flushed in the face and panting. Gansey looked a lot less like those older models posing on those magazines and a little more like a teen boy his age should. Gansey stood to go look at himself in the mirror and smoothed out his suit jacket. He turned back to Adam. “Your tie is crooked.”

He walked over to fix Adam’s red tie. When he was finished, his hands lingered. Adam could feel his heart racing in his chest.

A sharp knock sounded at the door that made the boys jump apart.

“Hey Dick,” said Helen. “Mom needs you downstairs soon. So hurry up!” They could hear her footsteps fading down the hall.

“I guess we should go downstairs,” Adam said, standing. “Do you maybe want to talk later?” Adam asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “About this…” He gestured between them.

“God yes!” Gansey said eagerly before clearing his throat and composing himself. “I mean, yeah. Maybe after the party… if you’re not too tired.”

Adam smiled. “You do realize that it’s New Year’s Eve? The earliest anyone will be leaving this party is one.”

“You’re right. Then let me take you for coffee at Kramerbooks in the morning… for a first date?” Gansey suggested.

“And we’ll talk?”

“And maybe do a little more than talking.” Gansey’s hand slid down the front of his tie.

“You mean purchase books and find a nice corner to read in for a few hours?”

“Yes Adam, that’s exactly what I mean.”

***

The last of their audience members filed out of the presentation room, chattering eagerly among themselves. Henry turned to them, grinning broadly before he pulled both Adam and Gansey in for hugs.

“Congratulation!” Henry said as he pulled back. “The old lady on the front row left with a bigger boner for Glendower than Dick III over here.”

“Henry, You can’t just say the word–” Gansey gave a cautious look around before he whispered. “–boner in public.”

Henry laughed along with Adam.

“Adam please tell your very ancient boyfriend that it’s not the fifties anymore. The cops are going to arrest you if you say penis out loud.”

Adam shrugged at Gansey as if to say what can you do about it, and Gansey shook his head disapprovingly. Adam grinned. He was dating an old grandpa.

“Why must everything be about penises with you Henry?” Gansey asked.

“If Shakespeare made a living telling dick jokes, so can I. ”

“He has a point,” Adam said, and Gansey turned to him.

“Are you just going to be Henry’s amen corner all day?”

“You’re just jealous of the profound connection Adam and I have. Sure, I’m not sticking my tongue down Adam’s throat like you are, but it’s still a strong connection.” Henry said, and to that, Gansey choked on air while heat and color gradually spread over Adam’s ears, neck, and face.

“Henry, please stop talking,” Gansey quickly distracted himself with the conference itinerary book. His book was tabbed and color-coded with notes in the margins. Months ago, Adam would have found the behavior obnoxious, but now it had grown on him to be endearing and so painfully Gansey.

The three of them started to make their way out of the presentation room, wandering without a destination.

“There is a presentation on metaphors and mythical languages that start in fifteen minutes.” Gansey looked up at Henry and Adam hopefully.

“We should go,” Adam said.

“Sure, but I’m taking a long nap after this.” Henry yawned. “This eight am is kicking my ass this semester. Who thought it was a good idea to take political science at eight in the morning?”

“That was your idea, Henry. It was the only class all three of us could take together.” Gansey replied.

“You’re an insomniac, and Adam thrives off of exhaustion. Eight o'clock in the morning looks well on you guys. This–“ Henry gestured to himself. “–takes a lot of time and hair gel.”

“You do look like a baby mandrake first thing in the morning,” Adam smirked. Henry’s jaw fell open, and Gansey failed horribly at stifling a laugh.

Henry composed himself, narrowing his eyes at Adam. “I made you, and I can destroy you. I’ll spoil The Deathly Hallows for you, I swear.”

“You will no such thing!” Gansey gasped, horrified.

“That would be a real dick move. I was going to start tonight, now that I have some free time.”

“From Glendower?” Henry snorted, turning to face Adam as they walked up the stairs. “You’re apart of the cult now. Trust me, there is no escaping Glendower–”

Before Adam could warn Henry to watch out, he walked directly into another person. Henry stumbled on the stairs, and the stranger grabbed him by the arms and pulled Henry up straight.

“Sorry! I should have been paying attention.” The strange boy said. He had skin the color of fresh milk, mischievous blues eyes, and blonde hair that had been combed back. Henry stared at him as if he saw an apparition, and his mouth hung open for an embarrassingly long time. When Henry didn’t respond at all, the boy grew distressed, inching backward. “Again, sorry.” He awkwardly shuffled around them before continuing down the stairs.

It didn’t take Adam long to piece together what happened.

“So that’s him, huh?” Adam asked.

“That’s…the love of my life. I’m going to marry that boy.” Henry said.

“You have nice taste. I approve,” said Gansey.

Adam turned to his boyfriend and raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

Gansey smiled. “Let’s be honest. Out of the two of us, I should be worried. Who else is going to debate with me over whether Shakespeare or Marlow is the better playwright?”

“Definitely Marlow.” Both Henry and Adam said at the same time.

“See, that is where you’re incorrect…” Gansey launched into his tirade as the trio climbed up the stairs together. They argued passionately back and forth on their way to the next presentation.

Months ago, Adam would have been horrified by his pretentious behavior. But today, he didn’t mind how nerdy or pretentious the three of them were together because he was finally learning what it meant to be comfortable in his own skin, flaws and all. Gansey’s affection or Henry’s kindness didn’t magically heal him because some days his trauma popped up unexpectedly like a game of whack-a-mole. But instead of beating it down in the ground for no one to see, Gansey and Henry’s friendship taught him how to carry his sorrow with him just like he carried his joy and his laughter and his few good memories. Some days, the load was heavier to bear than others. Today, however, Adam couldn’t ever remember feeling so free.

#trcexchange2017 #adansey #richard campbell gansey iii #adam parrish #henry cheng #noah czerny #background czeng #these nerds are in love #trc fanfiction #the raven cycle #trc #my writing #my fic

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