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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

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Not Your Hero. chapter 5.

Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four,

AN: Let The Games Begin.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation, sexual harassment

Prompt/Inspiration: Cringe - Matt Maeson

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By the time you made it back to the tribute center, you’d stopped crying and had instead gone numb. You’d taken your shoes off at some point. Your feet were cold. You sniffed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand and remembered, too late, the make up you’d been wearing.

“Fuck,” you said, without any real emotion as you took in the black smudge-marks on your hand, “that’s annoying.”

You weren’t surprised to find Finnick in your living room when you opened the door to your suite. When your client had first started to pull you away, you’d panicked and searched for Finnick with your eyes, but you never found him. Now, some part of you was grateful for that.

He looked a mess. His blazer was flung haphazardly over one end of the couch, his bowtie was loose, the sleeves of his shirt were dirty and rolled up past his elbows and his auburn locks were sticking up in all directions, like he’d been carding his fingers through his hair. He was watching a recap of the tribute parade on television but, when the door clicked into place, he whipped around. His eyes met yours and, as soon as they did, as soon as you saw the care there, the fear and tenderness all swirling together in the eyes of someone you trusted so much, you broke.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears spilling over your cheeks in a rush as sobs threatened to tear themselves free from your throat. In a second Finnick had leapt over the back of the couch and was in front of you, his arms half outstretched, like he wasn’t sure whether or not he could-

You launched yourself into his arms, collapsing against his body and letting him engulf you in a firm embrace. He smelled like vanilla and bourbon, and something cool and wild, like the ocean and you clung to that like a life raft, letting it flood your senses and block out everything else. Finnick held you like you were something precious, letting you cry into his shoulder while he stroked your hair and whispered comforting words into your ear. It was so gentle, so loving and tender that it made you feel painfully fragile, like you might shatter into a million little pieces at any second. Part of you wanted to pull away and hide, to push Finnick out and never let anyone touch you ever again. The other part thought that, if Finnick ever stopped touching you, you might die.

“I’m okay,” you eventually sniffed, your voice thick with tears and muffled by Finnick’s shirt.

“No you’re not,” he replied, squeezing you tighter, “I know you’re not.”

“I am,” you insisted, pulling away slightly to look Finnick in the eye, “I mean, I’m not but, the worst is over now, right? It’s done, I don’t have to be afraid of it happening anymore because it’s already happened.”

Finnick looked concerned, like he was fighting the urge to argue, but eventually he nodded.

He reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, making you shiver, “Come on, you should get cleaned up.”

For a moment you panicked. The thought of being alone with your thoughts suddenly so overwhelming that your heart froze but, as Finnick gently took your hand and led you down the hall, you realised what he’d meant. Finnick Odair had no intention of leaving you on your own, he wanted to take care of you. Without so much as a word, he washed your face, combed out your hair and put your shoes back in your closet. He waited outside while you showered, scrubbing yourself clean more times than you needed to because you couldn’t escape the feeling that you’d missed a spot. When you were clean and wrapped in a bathrobe, he helped you pick some pyjamas, three sizes too big with long sleeves and long pants and, while you changed, picked up the dress you’d stepped out of and took it away, putting it somewhere where you’d never have to look at it again.

By the time he got back, you felt almost like yourself again, or more accurately, like someone who could be you, given time. You’d slipped into bed and were sitting up against the headboard, staring into space and trying to convince yourself that it was time to sleep. Finnick, still without speaking, clambered in on the other side and shifted so that his side was pressed against yours. You snuggled into him, resting your head on his shoulder and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. It was comforting and warm and safe with Finnick, the kind of safe you couldn’t remember feeling since the games and you thanked your lucky stars that you’d met him when you did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Finnick asked.

You shook your head, “Not really. I think you can probably imagine what happened.”

“Thadius?”

“No, some banker’s son named Proculos. He said he liked my hair.” you explained.

Finnick nodded, “I’ve met him. He’s a prat.”

“He is a bit,” you agreed, “but at least he’s too stupid to be mean.”

Finnick chuckled, even though nothing about the situation was funny, and gave you a gentle squeeze as you lapsed into comfortable silence.

“Thank you, by the way,” you eventually said, “for being here.”

Finnick smiled to himself, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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From there, life took on a strange kind of normalcy. Most of your time was spent coming up with strategies for your tributes or watching past games and taking notes. You hung out with the other victors in the sponsor rooms, made connections, charmed people, did interviews. You never talked about what happened with your clients and Finnick never asked you to, but he did watch you a little more intently than before, searching for any signs of distress. On his part, Finnick felt like he was being ripped in half. Every second spent worrying about you was a second he wasn’t spending on Annie and, every second he spent with Annie was a second not looking out for you.

How had this happened? How had Finnick Odair, king of the capitol, known bachelor and playboy, become so deeply entangled in the lives of the people around him?

“Hey, you,” you greeted, breathing heavily as you took a seat next to Finnick, “why the long face?”

You looked incredible, Finnick noticed with his usual pang of annoyance, with your hair pulled off your face and tight fitting training gear on. You’d taken Gloss up on his offer to train you in your free time, building up your strength and endurance with the fiery determination that Finnick had always admired in you so much. It was working too. In the few days it’d been happening, Finnick could already see the beginnings of real improvement. It made him absurdly proud.

“Annie.” He explained, “She’s not getting the buzz she needs from sponsors.”

“There’s still time,” you assured him, “and maybe when the training scores come out-”

Finnick cut you off, shaking his head sadly, “She won’t get higher than an eight.”

“An eight is good!”

“An eight is standard,” Finnick corrected, “at least for us it is.”

“I’d pay someone to give Adam an eight,” you sighed, “right now I’m expecting a five or six.”

Finnick cursed his own insensitivity, “Sorry, Y/N. No one really cares about the training score anyway, unless it’s super high or unreasonably low. They’re not really an indication of how well he’ll do.”

You shrugged, drinking deep from the water bottle you were holding, “I know,” you replied, “I only got a five on my year and look at me now.”

“Exactly,” Finnick smiled, “but for careers…”

“You’ve got to be better than good to stand out,” you commiserated.

“Yup.”

You opened your mouth to say something but, before you could, Gloss called you over. You shot Finnick one last sympathetic look and stood to leave.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” you called.

Finnick nodded, pushing down his disappointment, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” you smiled.

And, just like that, you were gone, leaving Finnick with his thoughts. He knew he was moping, that there were surely better ways for him to be spending his time than sitting around feeling sorry for himself but, as he watched you and Gloss training in the distance, he couldn’t muster up the energy to do any of it. Without meaning to, he let his mind drift back to that first, horrible night when you’d broken down in his arms.

Never in his life had Finnick been so filled with rage. Not when he was reaped, not when his parents had died, never. That night, for the first time, Finnick had understood the desire to cause pain and fear in another human being. He hadn’t wanted to kill the person who’d touched you, he’d wanted to destroy them, to slowly cut away little pieces of them, one by one, until nothing was left but the raw, ugly, corrupted heart of them. He wanted to make them so afraid, wanted them to feel the pain they’d caused so acutely that they begged for death. Only then did he want to kill them.

It was a terrifying feeling, knowing that that monster lay inside of him somewhere, that it could come out at any time and do something terrible to the people he loved. How could a man be capable of such thoughts, such passionate hatred and such tender care? How could a man be both, without the two sides tearing one another apart?

Despite popular belief, Finnick wasn’t actually an idiot, he knew it was because of you. He knew he cared about you more than he should and his feelings were just a reflection of that but, nevertheless, it made him deeply uncomfortable. That’s why he’d decided to keep his distance a little, put some space between the two of you, redraw those lines separating friendship from more that had become so blurry. It was harder than he’d thought it would be. You were just so...you all the time, and he wanted to be around that every single day. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. For both of your sakes, it would be better if he wasn’t. He had other obligations after all, other responsibilities. Annie needed him focussed.

He remembered the look on her face when she stepped on the train like it was yesterday, all wide eyes and abject terror.

“This is insane,” she muttered, “Fin, what’s going on? How is this happening?”

He shook his head, still reeling from the shock himself, and pulled her into a rough hug. His ears were ringing, his fingers were numb, everything around him felt like it was happening in slow motion. Annie? Why Annie? She’d never taken out tesserae, she wasn’t a star pupil at the academy... It didn’t make sense. Why had no one volunteered? Why had she ended up alone on that stage?

It’s because of you, the voice in his head whispered, it’s because of you. You did this, you doomed her. Because of course it had been rigged. There was no way that, in all of district four, Annie Cresta, known associate of Finnick Odair, could be picked randomly for the Hunger Games. It couldn’t happen. This had to be some sort of message from Snow.

Which meant, Finnick realised with growing horror and dread, that it was his fault. She was here, sentenced to die, because of him. Shame wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt.

He pushed himself up and made his way back to the elevator, determined to get some work done before the event that evening. Finnick could hear your voice echoing against the walls and, for a second, he considered just staying for a little longer. He’d almost decided that he would stay when the elevator door closed behind him and Finnick was reminded, once again, that he was alone. With a sigh, he pressed the button for the fourth floor. He felt like he was making the right decision, but why did it have to be so hard?

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When the big day came you felt woefully unprepared. Ever since the victory tour you’d spent every free second trying to make sense of this moment. The start of the games. The first day. Everyone told you that the first one was the worst that, as the years went by, it would get easier. It was meant to be comforting but, to you, it had always sounded more like a threat.

You took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly through your mouth as the hands of the clock ticked on, bringing you closer and closer to the moment of truth. You were vaguely aware of the other mentors flitting around the large viewing room but they were like flies or little birds; pretty, but ultimately distant and unimportant when compared to the screen in front of you. You cracked your knuckles. It should be starting soon. Where was Adam right now? You wondered. Was he in the loading bay? Did he have his tracker in? Had his stylist helped him into his clothes already? Surely she must have. Your eyes flicked to the clock. Yes, by now he would be dressed and ready, maybe even already in the tube. What did they have in store for him?

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you swallowed hard past the lump in your throat. Arketia was explaining what to expect and you were trying to listen, you really were, but your eyes kept being pulled towards the glass ascension tube in the corner of the room. It was like a magnet, pulling you closer and closer to death with every passing second and there was nothing you could do but stare.

A rough hand under your chin pulled you back to the present.

“Focus!” Arketia insisted forcefully, “I’m trying to save your life here you silly girl.”

You winced as her grip dug into your chin, but nodded, recognising the sincerity in your stylist’s eyes.

“Sorry.”

Her gaze softened and she let go, gesturing to the outfit in front of you again, “Like I was saying; this is all cotton or some other lightweight fabric designed to breathe,” she explained, “except for the jacket. That means hot days and cold nights, you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered, looking over the beige and khaki outfit with a growing sense of dread.

“I would bet on it being some sort of desert,” she continued, “like a savannah or veld land.”

Your bottom lip trembled with the effort to stop yourself from crying, and you could feel the tube pulling your gaze, but you resisted. Arketia was trying to help. And, some part of you pointed out, this might be the last friendly interaction you would ever have.

“If it is, you have to find water, and soon,” she told you, a sort of desperation in her eyes, like she was trying to burn the information into your brain with only her gaze, “you’ll lose a lot in those high temperatures, more than you expect. And it’ll get extremely cold as soon as the sun goes down, so try to find somewhere sheltered to sleep, alright?”

You nodded, biting back a comment about how that was fairly general advice and letting her help you strip out of your fancy capitol clothes. All too soon you were dressed, and all you could do was wait together, sipping on bottles of water like they were a lifeline and letting your anxiety creep up and up and up and up.

“Jesus Christ, you’re really not listening to me, are you?” A voice questioned, snapping you out of your reverie with a jump.

Finnick collapsed onto the couch next to you, his perfectly sculpted face the picture of calm. You could see the tension he was holding in his body though, in the way he held his shoulders and fists. As you examined him further you could see the signs of sleepless nights in his face too. You smiled weakly.

“You look wrecked,” you teased, “your stylist didn’t have something to cover up those designer eye bags?” You asked, poking his cheek with your finger.

He laughed, moving his head away from your prodding, “Hey! Who asked you, kid? It’s rude to pick on me in these trying times.”

You scrunched up your nose, “Oh come on, you know you look perfect as usual. I pick on you purely out of jealousy.”

The banter was light hearted and joking but you both knew that it was nothing more than a smokescreen, a comforting exchange that kept you both from spiralling into uncontrollable panic and fear.

“Aww, Y/N/N,” he replied, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, “you’ve got nothing to be jealous of, kid.”

You flushed but, before you could answer, the anthem rang through the crowded room, silencing everyone and drawing their eyes towards the screens. You felt Finnick tense up beside you but you were frozen in place. Your heart was pounding in your ears as the cold hand of dread gripped your heart. For a moment, as the screens came to life, all you saw was the savannah, the miles and miles of brush and sand and the blistering sun, and the cornucopia; blindingly bright in the sun. And you were right back in it. Only the faint brushing of Finnick’s knee against yours pulled you back. You took another deep breath.

“I can do this,” you promised yourself, “I can do this.”

And with that, you pushed your panic deep down into the recesses of your mind and focused on the scene before you. You heard Finnick sigh with relief, and a few quiet sounds of celebration from the other mentors and you couldn’t help but agree, feeling the knot of worry in your chest loosen slightly. The arena was green, with sloping hills creating a sort of river basin and a towering wall of concrete and cement in the distance that looked like a dam. That fact, in particular, made you smile. Your district was full of dams, they were how you generated power and, even if the dam in the arena was unhelpful, you knew the sight of it would give your tributes some comfort the same way the river would for the tributes of district four. James caught your eye and gave you a brisk nod.

You heard the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith as he announced the start of the games, and the roaring cheer and excitement of the crowds of thousands of Capitol citizens who had gathered in the outside viewing areas. It made a rush of bile rise up in your throat.

The countdown began and, instinctively, you reached out and grabbed Finnick’s hand, squeezing tight as your eyes finally found Adam.

“3….2….1,” the robotic voice called.

“And so it begins,” Finnick said softly.

You nodded, “And so it begins.”

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@i-love-you-green , @heatherhollowayst

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softsillytwsted · 4 years

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The Sleep of Blue Roses

I had this thought in my head of a what if story about an Ace betrayal and couldn’t stop myself from writing this until it was done. This is honestly not what I usually write because it’s kinda dark, but hey - it fits October doesn’t it?

Warnings: implied character death, implied domestic abuse, angst, the slow crawl of helplessness

Somewhere between now and back when you were still here, Deuce never understood limits. How can he? You were magicless, but you selflessly faced those impossibly stronger than you and succeeded. Deuce felt that nothing was out of reach when he was with you, with Ace, with Grim, Jack, Epel, Sebek...

When did things go wrong?

After weeks of strategizing a way to rescue Grim, who’s habit of eating everyone’s negative energy finally caused him to overblot, the gray monster was finally back to normal. Looking back, Deuce could only see how reckless and impossible the task was. They were up against a monster that had the combined magic and unique magic of the 7 strongest students from an academy of elites. The situation that promised death loomed over everyone, yet with you there, no one had any doubts they would fail. Not Riddle, not Leona, not Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, nor Malleus. And the impossible was made possible.

And you left this world thinking the impossible can be made possible.

“I arrived in Twisted Wonderland right after my mom contacted me,” you admitted shyly. “I haven’t talked to her since I was a kid because my dad always told me to stay away from her but... I really want to see her again.”

You were in front of the mirror, bags packed and your friends surrounding you. You can finally return back home and with a piece of the Dark Mirror in your hands you can communicate with them whenever you desired.

Deuce beamed at you, “It’ll go great, I know it will! My mother is always kind to me and she wanted what was best for me. I’m sure yours will be the same too!”

Ace hugged you before you left. “It’s seriously going to get so boring without you around. You better contact us or I’ll go over there and kick your ass.” Jokes aside, you and Deuce could tell by the glint in Ace’s eyes that he meant every word. You smiled at him then, because despite knowing each other for a year, the three of you shared an inseparable bond.

“I promise.”

You left them.

Days passed, then weeks, with no word from you. After one month, Ace angrily stormed into the Mirror Chamber and demanded to go see you.

“They do not exist.”

“Of course they don’t fucking exist, they’re in another world- now lead me to them!”

“They do not exist in this world or in any other world.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that!? They were here just a month ago!” Ace lunged at the mirror. His fists futilely pounded on its glassy surface before he tried to shake the mirror out of its placeholder. Deuce had to restrain the wildly thrashing Ace before the ginger stilled in his arms- lifeless. “Whatever, I’m over it.” He took a deep breath and walked away, ignoring Deuce’s and Grim’s cries after him.

If Deuce took better notice of the chill that followed Ace’s steps, maybe things would’ve been different. Instead, he visited the Mirror Chamber until a year passed and he too gave up- only visiting again on occasion, whereas Grim still stops by everyday.

Ace’s friendship with Deuce and Grim were strained at best. The ginger acted the same, but something was different. Like a cherished photo misplaced. Deuce didn’t question when Ace started hanging out with Kalim and Jamil more and Deuce and the other first years less. Nor did he stop to think about why Ace volunteered to do errands for Azul and Crowley. He even looked away when he saw Ace chatting it up with the two princes of the school.

They graduated like this without mentioning the name Y/n.

***

“AAH! Oh no are you alright?” Deuce yelled after you when you somersaulted from a heavy onslaught of his color-changing magic. “I’m so sorry!”

You could only giggle at your current state. Ace warned you not to get close to Deuce while he was changing the colors of the roses, but you assumed being behind Deuce would be safe. You were now paying for your mistakes. “Don’t worry about it Deuce,” you paused. The smile you flashed him revealed a weariness he couldn’t comprehend. “It was my fault too.”

***

Two years later, Deuce finally passed his test to become part of Rose Kingdom’s Elite Division. Right after orientation, he was pleasantly surprised by a visit from Ace who threw an arm over the bluenette’s shoulders and cheekily grinned at him like the two never grew apart. For a long moment, Deuce believed they never did as the two went to a bar to celebrate and catch up. Deuce breezed through all the sleepless nights he spent studying and training; Ace regaled his continuation of his internship.

“They loved me so much they made a new position to get me to stay!” he said. “And guess what? He said that if he becomes prime minister he’ll make me one of his advisors. Not too bad huh?”

Deuce couldn’t be happier for Ace. He always wondered what Ace, who blanched at the idea of the future, would do with his life. He admits, however, that politics was the furthest thing he would ever imagine his friend doing. “Being in the political scene can be dangerous I hear. Luckily I can assign my own bodyguards, including a certain elite policeman.”

This was news to Deuce. He was unaware of any political strife that would need the Elite Division, which specialized in magic-related crimes, to act as bodyguards... Maybe he needs to follow the news more closely. Regardless, Deuce grinned with all teeth and slammed his fist in his palm. “Just leave it to me, no way in hell I’ll let my buddy get hurt.”

“...Glad I can count on you... buddy.”

***

Deuce helped you up and tried to wipe off the paint on your uniform. You didn’t bother telling him that he was only smearing the paint into your clothes because of the look of concentration on his face telling you how hard he wanted to make this right. “Oh Deuce, you ended up painting the finished roses blue too.”

“What? Oh no...” he groaned at the extra work he’ll have to do. Will he be in time for the Unbirthday Party?

“Hey relax, I’ll help you out! We should be finished within an hour if we hurry,” you reassured him. He flashed you a grateful smile which you returned with a soft smile of your own.

***

The time between then and the election passed with a blink of an eye. Once his candidate won, Ace swaggered over to Deuce’s department with the confidence and authority that didn’t fit a 21 year-old advisor. It didn’t take long for Deuce to find himself a part of Ace’s security detail. It took an even shorter amount of time for Deuce to feel like he was slowly crawling into a waking nightmare.

Deuce tried to ignore it, tried to give Ace the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t excuse the things Ace did right in front of him. Dismissals of important emergency committees, deregulation of organizations with authority, increased spending on militarized weapons. The public blamed all these new policies on their new prime minister, but Deuce knew who the real mastermind was.

It didn’t take long for him to confront Ace - especially after he realized that the recent strings of overblot cases popping up across the country were a direct result of Ace’s policies.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Ace sneered. Deuce looked away; the gun in his hand hung lifelessly by his side. “You couldn’t even stop Y/n from leaving to die. You definitely won’t stop me from having my way with this country.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me that... You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Ace looked at Deuce like he was a bug beneath his shoe, but the quake in his eyes said otherwise. “You’re hereby dismissed from your post. If the next time I see you and you try to stop me, I’ll crush you.”

Ace walked away from Deuce- just like he did years ago.

“I’ve done too much to have you get in my way.”

***

Deuce felt so lucky to have met you, despite the rocky beginning. You never hesitated to help and encourage him. Sometimes, when his vague idea of an honor student wasn’t enough to guide him, he would look to you.

He wondered if you knew how much he wanted to repay you for being you.

He wondered if he can one day be someone you would be proud to know.

He wondered... what you thought of him.

***

The familiar halls of Night Raven College felt comforting - a temporary balm to the turmoil Deuce felt lately. He had hoped to see some of his old teachers and Crowley, but the school’s headmaster was tasked to find the Magic Mirror, the legendary mirror that the Beautiful Queen used once upon a time. No doubt, this was Ace’s doing.

When Deuce reached the Mirror Chamber, he was surprised to find Grim was nowhere to be found. Deuce ignored the churning in his stomach and thought to himself that maybe he was just early. After all these years, Grim never stopped believing that you would return to them. Crowley always spoke with pity in his voice about how the little monster would visit the Dark Mirror everyday- waiting, staring.

Deuce respectfully crouched in front of the mirror - like a mourner in front of a grave.

“Hello Y/n I’m sorry it’s been a while since my last visit,” Deuce began, he softly smiled while thinking of all the memories he had of you. “I was able to pass the qualifications to be part of the Elite Division. One of my first assignments was actually to guard Ace, can you believe that?”

He paused and tried to gulp down the lump in his throat. “Um… about Ace he… he’s made it big as a politician. He’s my friend and I was happy for him but… a part of me is scared. He’s not the same anymore after you left Y/n. Looking back, I can’t help but think how reckless and dumb we were to risk our lives against people we had no chance against. But we always made it through thanks to you.” Every single sentence, every single word came out in a rush. It was a confession to all the sins he committed letting Ace go. A realization that he could never be the man he wanted you to be proud of.

“You somehow make the impossible possible… I… I really need that right now...” He begged, “Please… I need...”

Deuce didn’t realize he was crying until the tears flowed down his cheeks and onto his clenched fists. He looked up at the Dark Mirror and activated it. “Oh Dark Mirror, show me Y/n.”

“...”

“They do not exist.”

***

“Hey Deuce,” you began as you picked up a blue rose. The two of you were almost done cleaning up the mess Deuce made and you decided now was the time to take a breather. Deuce slouched in the shade of the hedge, too tired to do anything but hum to show he was listening. “In my world, blue roses were never found naturally, so they symbolized the impossible. But after years of research, my world was able to grow one.”

You handed Deuce the rose, its petals shone brilliantly despite its withering edges. Deuce took it curiously and the two of you shared a sweet smile.

“They now symbolize miracles.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #Deuce Spade #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade x reader #Ace Trappola x reader #twst fic #angst #character death #implied abuse #set in the future

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letterstomilen · 3 years

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i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 1) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe (read part 2 here) When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe has a very effective method of getting through college. His little sister, who’s caught him making coffee at three in the morning on more than one occasion the past week alone, would beg to differ.

“You’re the best older brother,” she starts off, and he’s sure she’s trying to convince herself more than him at this point, “but you need to fix your sleeping habits.” Then, because she’s his little sister, she’d flash him a smile and pat his shoulder reassuringly.

(The comment is not lost on him though. He understands his sleeping situation will eventually wear him down if it hadn’t already, but he believes if he’ll drink a coffee every morning and a Monster every night, he’ll get through three days. By the third day, he’ll hardly be coherent but that doesn’t matter because he’ll conk out for the next twelve hours and then repeat.)

“Don’t worry, Tonia,” he says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible as he contemplates whether it’s worth it or not to swallow a pill of 5-hour energy with his morning coffee. “Once break ends, I’ll get back to normal.”

“You said that six seasons ago.”

Childe frowns, trying to remember if his sleeping schedule was this dysfunctional last year. “Huh?”

“The Walking Dead seasons,” Tonia clarifies, as if she’s not twelve years old and the show is for grown adults. He thinks. He hasn’t checked Commonsensemedia ever since La Signora labeled him as a “helicopter parent” and his Netflix tab has been playing How to Get Away with Murder as background noise for the past few weeks.

Isn’t it a show about zombies though? Tonia’s sheepish smile tells it all, because it’s the same exact guilty look he had when he got caught red-handed as a kid.

(Once he remembers later, Childe promises himself, he’ll check out The Walking Dead.)

“Oh. Well. I have a lot of shows to catch up on, you know. Not to mention a ton of my professors gave me reading for over the break.”

A half lie. They did give him a lot of reading because each professor assumed that their classes were his only one, and with seven days left, he still has a textbook worth of reading to go through. But there are no shows that Childe would sacrifice his precious sleep for. As a matter of fact, he would love to sleep. He’s spent the majority of his classes back in high school sleeping and faking attention, saving his grade at the last minute — it was quite the extreme sport really, if he says so himself.

Whenever he tries to sleep recently, his thoughts run at several hundred miles per hour, and he spends several hours staring at the ceiling before succumbing to the computer at his desk and watching trashy movies. At this point, he must have gone through the entire romance comedy list on Netflix. (Not a proud point in his life but if anybody ever wanted him to give a list of best to worst romance comedy movies, he now has one.)

Tonia, on the other hand, isn’t incredibly convinced.

Admittedly, the excuse was lame. Also, he can’t easily lie to his little sister, who’s far shrewder than he takes her for at times.

“You never start your reading in advance. You like to speed read it right before your class or watch a five-minute video on the chapters while your teachers take attendance. But that’s… uh, ‘a bad work ethic.’” Tonia looks immensely proud of herself as she says this, finishing it off with, “Zhongli told me that.”

“Zhongli?” he repeats, trying to remember if that’s one of her classmates or some stranger that’s hoping to kidnap his sister.

“The guy that volunteers at the library sometimes. He recommended me a loot of good books to read, but he talks like an old man.”

“How old?” Childe can tell she’s enjoying this — talking about her new friend at the library that he’ll probably have to run a background check on.

“Like he’s in his sixties or something. But he looks… actually, he looks your age! And he’s a student too. I told him all about you.”

Well, that doesn’t sound very reassuring coming from the mouth of a twelve-year-old. He’s not sure if that translates to his social security number, his current dilemma, or just that he’s her older brother.

“Like all of the stories you told me when I was a kid. And then when Lumine came to pick me up, she stayed to show him pictures of you too.”

“Of course she did,” he mumbles, ruffling her hair. One of these days he’s going to move without telling his classmates and the twins won’t enter his apartment unannounced. (But Tonia adores their company and the stories they tell her far too much for him to actually do it. But that doesn’t mean he’s above making threats when they tell his little sister about the bet he made about white-out and how it could dye hair. The jury is still out on this one.) “She’s just mad because I get away with it and she doesn’t. But don’t do it yourself. It’s a bad habit,” he adds, remembering that he should at least try to be a good influence on his younger sister when he can.

“Okaaay,” she says unconvincingly, before shaking her hair and running off to her room with lunch he prepared for her.

Watching her close the door and no doubt continue her binge of The Walking Dead, he takes out his phone and texts Lumine.

Childe