#i may cry (affectionate OR derogatory) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vinylhazza · 4 years

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Can you write a lil thing about confiding in your best friend (either twin) about your abusive relationship and then he helps you leave and shows you real love. I'm in a abusive relationship atm and I wish I had it :(

LEAVE HIM FOR ME (G.D)

warning: mention of physical abuse, trauma, mention of sexual abuse, angst, fluff

*italics are flashbacks/past conversations*

grayson would have been trying for so long to figure out where the bruises were coming from. he stopped at nothing to try and pry the information out of you until he finally started to back up after you got angry at him one evening for not letting it go.

“just let it the fuck go grayson, i fell. i told you that.” or “yeah straightener is a bitch you know? you’re not a girl you wouldn’t understand gray, i’m okay.”

you knew he was trying to help, but feared that giving them the knowledge would only make it worse. your jackass of a boyfriend was dangerous, you knew it even if he didn’t. he could hurt him, and that was the last thing on earth you would ever want - for grayson to be hurt. you would get teary eyes and a flustered blush when he noticed your frown at the mention of the bastards name. it was like a shock to your system. with grayson...everything was different. you weren’t weak. you weren’t some piece of meat that could be abused and used whenever he pleased. you weren’t a derogatory name that seemed to define you.

he kept you safe. he kept you warm when you shivered. he made sure you ate when he notices you haven’t touched a single piece of food all day, takes e time to cook your favorite meal of all. he would care for you, wait on your every hand and foot when you felt ill, make that special soup his ma taught him when he was younger, he knows how much it helps. he braids your hair to help you calm down, and he’s actually very good at it. something about the tenderness and care he gives you when he’s messing with your hair immediately eases your stress, and you don’t know it, but he has a small smile the entire time.

God that man would love the fuck out of you, just waiting in the shadows for you to see that he was right there, waiting to give you all the love that he could give. Grayson’s love language was physical touching, he loved to have his hair played with, back scratches, hugs that last too long, having your legs propped up over his lap as you watch a netflix special. he often watches you close in those moments, running his own fingers through your hair, deep slow massages, and sometimes....he even leaned in for a kiss on your cheek, your forehead, and when he was especially clingy, your neck. you didn’t think anything of, even tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach - the butterflies swirling around like a tornadoe. and you especially ignore the clenching in your lower region, trying to convince yourself it’s not him in particular but the lack of affectionate touches you never receive from your boyfriend.

deep down, you know your heart tells you different. but you aren’t a cheater and how could you leave? you know he would come after you, after your family, after grayson, even after ethan if he’s as crazy as you thought he was.

the first time he hit you, was the first night he ever yelled at you as well. it had been sudden, out of nowhere, shocking. he was...not right that day. he was irritable, not really speaking to you all that much...just quite frankly being a dick. your love language is physical touch just like graysons, but...not that kind. you had just wanted to hug him, maybe give him a reassuring squeeze to let him know you were there to help him and be there for him through whatever it was he was struggling with. you know how hard it is to be in your own head and have no one to share your pain with.

but his hand slapping into like a tidal wave prevented that from ever happening.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?! can’t you see i want to be left the fuck alone?! are you fucking dumb?! get out!”

you spent the whole night crying, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you tight, a bag of frozen peas pressed up against your right cheek. in the morning when you woke up with a groan, you stumbled into the bathroom to find a black and blue bruise right along your cheek bone - a hateful looking mark. this...this wasn’t love.

“such a slutty, dumb little bitch. thinking you can wear that out and strut around like a whore? then i’ll treat you like a whore.”

he never apologized and the violence never stopped. the punches became more frequent, and it was getting so hard for you to hide them that you began making excuses: falling, fluke accidents that sometimes made no sense, dropping something, bumping into things. but everytime you made up a lie, it took a piece of you away. a piece of you that you felt would always in some way be connected to him. to his viscous words, actions, and those little moments that kept convincing you to stay.

you stayed for the rare moments he would smile, the times that would remind you of the man you fell for - the one that didn’t exist anymore. you knew you were foolish and anyone with a brain could see right through your stupid lies and excuses, but you simply avoided talking about him. he made you think it’s what you deserved. and after a while you believed it.

you stopped being sexually attracted to him in the very beginning, when the hitting first began...but he...he was a man of selfish desire. take what he wants and be on his way, keep treating you like dirt, keep kicking you while he knew you had no fighting chance. he took advantage of your body, used you like a toy and threw you away. made you think it was a yes even when you screamed no. a hand over your mouth, his tongue down your throat, you didn’t have a choice.

grayson knew it all along. he knew the bastard hit you. he knew the disgusting filth of a man you would go ‘home’ to. he knew it wasn’t your true home. your home was him. your home was grayson. but you had to keep him safe, hence the reason you never admitted to the consistent mental, physical, and sexual abuse. but grayson refused to do nothing, stand by and watch the women he loved suffer all alone, determined to be your knight in shining armor, save you from the villain trying to ruin your beautiful life so full of purpose.

“what am i supposed to do e? he’s hurting her, like really hurting her. the bruise on her neck isn’t a fucking burn it looks like a goddamn hand was choking her to death. what am i supposed to do? tell me what to do.”

Distraught was an understatement when it came to a teary eyed grayson sitting at the foot of his brothers bed. you had left after a movie night, having to lie to your boyfriend and tell him you were at a girlfriends house, you’ve already been beat up for even mentioning graysons name. you would never make that mistake again.

ethan sat straight up against his headboard, pulling at the stubble on his chin, brow furrowed with a concerned, and angry, scowl.

“the asshole thinks he can just get away with hurting her because she sits there and takes it...it’s killing me. God how did she get herself into this mess...i just feel...useless. i’m supposed to protect her e, that’s what you do for the people you love and i fucking fail her over and over again everyone i let her walk out the front door of this house,” grayson grumbled, leaning over the bed with his head in his hands. his shoulders were tensing, something that usually happens when he’s especially stressed or upset about something.

“i’m sure ‘taking it’ isn’t exactly what she’s doing. she’s scared. he’s a big guy gray, a dangerous guy, he can really do damage to her if she tries to fight him back,” ethan mutters, not wanting to make his brother more upset. it didn’t seem to be working, “you know this isn’t her fault and so do i gray. a man like that will stop at nothing to control her every move. it’s an act of dominance, control, he wants to rule every action, every thought, every move she might make. if we do anything, we need to do it fast, and do it in a clever way that won’t get her fucking killed by that psychopath.

“it’s just impossible to sit here and have her flinch when i try to touch her...i would never fucking hurt her. i never have. and i know it’s so hard for her to trust anyone with all of the shit she has to deal with...but God dammit i would move heaven and hell for that girl and i need to save her,” grayson sits up, a noticeable tear streaming down his face. his love was evident in his every word, “i’ll take my time. make her see she deserves better. whatever the fuck she needs to convince her to leave that dumbfuck, i’ll do it. i just need help e, that’s all i’m asking.”

“of course gray, you know i got your back. and i have y/n’s too. we are gonna get her away from that creep and show her what real love is. not that fake disgusting shit he claims it is. doesn’t even know what the fuck it means and he has no business using that word frankly.” ethan’s tone is clipped, sharp, and deep - he would do whatever he could to get away just like grayson would. granted he’s not in love with you, but he doesn’t have love for you, and he would still do anything to protect you, “but be patient with her. a guy like that stops at nothing to tear down a woman until she thinks she deserves what’s coming to her. she accepts the pain because she is trained to live in silence. we need to break that silence and make sure that she knows it’s okay to tell us and we would never put her in danger.”

there is silence for a moment, full of tension, worry, for their friend. graysons worries if he speaks, he might cry. instead he ops for bouncing his knee in a steady rhythm, something you taught him to do when he felt restless. and it helps. but with a deep breath he’s turning back to ethan.

“okay so, how do we do it?” grayson stands, ready to take on whatever it is to get her in his arms safe and sound. even if that means hurting her jackass of a boyfriend. hopefully soon to be ex, he thought.

“well, i think maybe tricking her into a little intervention is the only way to go about it. or maybe one of us can convince her to spill the beans. it might be too much on her if we both start hounding her with questions she’s scared to answer. i’m sure some of them are very personal. we can’t freak her out, she’s already so fragile.” grayson knew he was right. he needs to proceed with caution. maybe if he could convince her he’s who she belongs with...confesses to his desires and wishes maybe she would have the strength to leave. if that’s even what she wanted. if not it would ruin their friendship and she would still be in a bad situation.

“true...if we go to their apartment fists up and ready to fight, it will probably make it worse and fall back on her. she’s doesn’t need any more problems than she already has. i mean hell, she’s even scared to sleep anymore,” grayson ponders. he remembers the nights she would stay over when her boyfriend was away gallivanting with whatever floosy he could find. cheating abusive bastard that he was. then it dawned on him.

“what if, and hear me out, what if we just move her out and have her live with us? i mean the guy doesn’t know where we live and fuck it i’ll get security if i have to. we’ve been needing it for a while anyway. she would be safe, protected, and with her closest friends who wouldn’t let a damn thing happen to her,” grayson tried to explain himself, gauging ethans reaction to see if he had a disapproving face.

to his surprise, he didn’t. in fact, it was like a lightbulb clicked inside of his head. with a clap of his hands he’s standing.

“that’s actually a great idea. i don’t know when he leaves or whatever the dumbfuck does but when he does we can go over there and get all of her stuff out and move her in here. we just have to make sure we know when he leaves, when he comes back, and most importantly if she will even say yes.”

it was three days after when you finally stopped by. the bruises on the left side of your neck and cheekbone fading away. graysons heart broke every time he saw the purplish hue on your face. he would kill him if he could. he would do whatever it took to keep you safe. he just had to do it like a civilized human being. he knew that at least if you’re on his property and your stupid bitch if a boyfriend came by...well let’s just say he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

he pulled you into the backyard with the sun just sinking under the horizon. he wondered how you managed to sneak away without a scratch, but hopefully it would be the last time you had to.

“i need to talk to you about something,” grayson started, pulling at your hand to bring you further into the backyard, standing in the grass just beside the pool. he was nervous, palms sweating already. this was a big moment, and it could change everything for them.

“is it about the last piece of banana bread? cause i ate that like a week ago and if you just now noticed maybe you don’t really love it like you claim you-“ you started, teasing him with a smile. always the jokester. he wondered how you found the strength the smile. but he cut you off before you could finish. his frown had your smile wilting.

“i know he’s hitting you. don’t try and hide it either like you always do. you always try and cover up his abuse and his fucking disgusting behavior. and i understand you’re scared, y/n. but this ends now. i don’t care what i have to do to make you see you deserve better but this...this isn’t it. you have so much to give and deserve someone that would burn the whole fucking world down to keep you safe. so stop pretending and tell me the truth.” there it was. that face he was dreading. the face of absolute terror.

he knew. he fucking knew.

you thought you had been good at hiding it from him, from everyone really. even your mother loved your boyfriend. she often said he was “good for you” that she was happy you found him when you did because “he’s the only one that’s really ever gotten you under control”. you haven’t talked to her in months, to say the least.

grayson recieves a chest rattling silence. something he wasn’t expecting from a girl that was known for word vomit and stuttering all over herself trying to get a thought out fast enough before it slipped away. but you stared at him with wide, misty eyes. you were scared - frozen in his backyard. you couldn’t believe he had come right out and called you on your bullshit. but you knew it was coming, you tried your hardest to hide it, but grayson wasn’t stupid.

with a slow shake of your head, you swallow the tears threatening to escape your eyes. you won’t be weak in front of grayson. you spent so much time being weak because of him, but no, not in front of grayson. he deserved better than someone that couldn’t even escape a white boy she fell for after a run in at the movie theater. he deserves someone that can fight for herself.

“so you know. you and ethan i’m assuming?”

a nod with more silence. he is watching you, not exactly staring, but certainly focused on watching you try and hold yourself together. you know ethan is somewhere close by, watching this go down from his own little hide out. you’re half tempted to yell out to the house and tell him to get the hell out there and face you, but then you know you’d have to confess the truth in front of not one, but two of the most important people in your life.

“...what then? you want me to sit here and cry? you want me to break down and talk to you about all the times i’ve come over here and lied? pretending everything was okay and putting a smile on my face? because believe it or not this is my safe place and i’d rather not think of him. you make me forget. i just wanted to forget and i know that hurts you that i didn’t say anything but i don’t know what i’m supposed to do right now gray...” your voice is thick with emotion, hands coming up to twist at the flowy tank top resting on your torso. it suddently became very chilly in the backyard that felt previously warm in the suns dying moments until morning.

“i’m not letting this go. not like all those times before. i had my suspicions, had those little clues that would pop out when i reached to tuck your hair out of your face, or help you with the laundry you still do even when you don’t have to. you would jump, y/n...from me. and i would never,” he swallows, you can feel all the strength it’s taking him not to show you just how much he wants to cry, “i would never, hurt you. there isn’t a bone in my body that would ever touch you in any way other than love and adoration. i know it’s because of him. he’s - he’s fucking sick, y/n. he’s twisted and made it almost impossible for you to live a normal life. you snuck over here didn’t you? it’s nearly 8.” you know he won’t let it go until you answer, so you give him another small nod, biting at your bottom lip and flinching at the tear that drops down onto your cheek. it would wash away that pathetic layer of concealer you put on, exposing more of the purplish bruise he left there.

“where is he? let me guess - he said he was going to “tanners” right?” his voice remains calm, with just a hint of a grit there to show how truly disgusted he was by the man that abused you time and time again.

another nod and small sniffle.

you felt like a child getting caught by your parents for sneaking out.

you and grayson both knew there was no tanner. there was and never would be. it was just another girl he decided to fuck around with before coming back to control you, make you feel like the disloyal one. make you feel like the monster.

“and what happens when he comes back and you’re not there huh? what happens if he comes back early and wants you to text him a picture of where you are? actually fuck that have you even thought that maybe the psychopath put a tracker on your phone? ...why are you back away? hey hey come here it’s okay i’m not mad at you,” grayson is trailing off into an apology when he notices the distance beginning to grow between your two bodies. he was near yelling at the end of his little speech and you’ve learned enough to know what yelling means. of course he said he wouldn’t hurt you, but that’s exactly what he said in the beginning too. and look where you are now.

before you can back away from his touch any further, he’s tugging you into a hug, cradling the back of your head against his chest. his heart beat was steady, the calm thumping easing your own nerves. he never held you like this. grayson wasn’t him. it was unfair to be afraid of everyone because someone tried to stifle your fire. with your body tucked into his arms, grayson rocks side to side on the bottom of his shoes, eyes closed and chin resting on the top of your head. you liked to be held when you’re upset and overwhelmed and he knew it. it helped ground you.

he’s pulling away too soon, swiping a hand through his hair in frustration. you know it’s hard for grayson to express his emotions sometimes. giving him the same patience he gives you is the least you could do. you stand quietly in front of the tall block of muscle, arms crossed once again - a comfort mechanism you’ve taken up over the past few months - and wait for him to sort his thoughts out and try again.

“i didn’t mean to yell but dammit, y/n. i mean it when i say you can trust me. i know he’s ruined so many things but this - us - isn’t going to be one of them. he doesn’t get the satisfaction of pushing us apart. you -“ a huff “you’re too...special to let go. and it’s his own fault he can’t see it.” from the dead serious look in his hazel eyes, you know he means every word.

you wouldn’t say grayson is entirely closed off, especially when he’s always touching you in secret, tender ways when no one else is looking. he tells you secrets he’s scared to tell anyone else. he’s not a secret. he’s just in some way...scared just like you.

“gray i don’t know what to tell you...it’s not as easy as you’re making it seem. and yeah he has ways of tracking me i’m sure, but i can’t just go without you you idiot. that would kill me. it would fucking break me and i hate that you’re making me admit it.” he frowns at the break in your voice.

“leave him,” graysons voice is soft, but more serious than you’ve ever heard it. so deep rooted with...something you can’t quite catch...that it makes you shiver.

“gray...”

it’s not that simple. you can’t leave a man that has his grip on you too tight. you can’t just leave a man that has made it his goal to make sure it never happens. you can’t just leave because you wish to be with the love of your life...you can’t just...want love when you’re trapped with no hope of escape. especially when that very same person whose love you yearn for is promising it to you, unknowing of the sure consequence.

he doesn’t give you a chance to turn him down, say anything more that will certainly be a way to weasel yourself out of this. he knows you’re in denial, denial of what there is blossoming between you, the bod consuming desire to always be touching whenever you are together - whether it be a pinky hooked around another, an arm over your shoulder, an arm around his waist, fingers massaging at your scalp. whatever it was, it was real.

“might i make a suggestion gray?” ethan frowns, biting at the skin of his bottom lip, now raw with his anxious assault.

“whatever it is make it good because i’m not changing my mind,” grayson grunted, slicing his bananas at a quicker pace. he’d have to build up strength for this conversation, lord knows it’s going to tire him out. you’re a tough one to crack. another reason that he fucking loved you so much.

“tell her how you feel before it’s too late. i’m sure you’ll be pleased with the outcome.”

how could he be so sure?

fire twists in your tummy as grayson inches towards you, eyes narrowed right at your own misty orbs. with irises blown out and black, he tucks that cussed piece of hair behind your ear. with his fingers feathering across the skin of your cheekbone, another tear drops to your cheek. it streaks a hot river across the skin, chipping away that milky concealer, a mask to hide the evil. the way he gazed at you like you were and always would be the most beautiful treasure, only made you confirm to yourself that it was torture to love someone you were scared to have.

“i know you feel this...don’t fight it...just let me show you how good this can feel...how it’s supposed to feel” his voice had switched from one of raw emotion to one of earnest and...need.

within an instant he is grabbing your face and pulling you close by the back of your neck, a hand digging deeply into your mane of hair. he made a fist to secure you to him, afraid if he let go you might disappear. another hand was pressed against your cheek - being careful to not apply direct pressure to your bruise, instead rubbing it tenderly with his thumb. his touch not only eased the pain, but the memories that matched themselves to it. soft plump lips landed on yours perfectly with a hum resonating in his chest. it was a pathetic, needy sound - one that made you aware that he really meant it. he’s been waiting for this. to have your lips smashed up against his. it was like an itch he’s been waiting to scratch, now relieved. he takes his time to let himself feel his way through the kiss - initially feeling your shocked lips at a stand still.

he almost backs away in defeat, but then... you’re sighing, a satisfied, eager sigh tossed between the two of you. biting at his bottom lip felt like a burst of unashamed power coursing through your veins. your tiny nimble fingers are tugging at his white cotton t-shirt and pulling him even closer if possible, goose flesh tracking from your shoulders down to your fingertips. youve kissed let that be known, a guy here or there, but none of those kisses had ever felt like this. before registering how much trouble you would get in if he ever found out what you were doing and how good it felt doing it, you are tilting your head to the side and moving your lips against his greedily. humming into his mouth and pushing your front against his flat. fuck his kiss felt so good. his lips were patient and languid, lapping like smooth waves of the ocean. persistent.

his hands made sure to move your face just the right way, get just the right angle, sure he could feel you turning weak at the knees already. not anything like any other kiss you’ve been given. it’s patient, tender, purposeful - that purpose being to convey just how much you mean to him and always will mean. the way he’s kissing you is a desperate move to tell you how he feels without having to say it just yet. this is everything you’ve ever wanted but never knew you could have, or feel, or want.

his tongue is slipping into your mouth when you gasp in shock at the electric fire burning through your senses and into every nerve in your body. your hands feel tiny on his massive biceps, but he loves the feeling of your thumbs rubbing at his skin while he kisses you so deep. your tongues danced together, the kiss stealing your breath away. it was fierce and passionate, everything you thought kissing him would be like. you had daydreamed about this moment forever, and you couldn’t believe it was finally happening. especially not like this. not when you’re a damsel in distress, waving your pathetic hand at the top of the tower in hopes your knight in shining armor would come and save you. the day had finally come.

he’s pulling away slowly, begrudgingly, panting from working his mouth so hard against yours. wanting to take it farther than a kiss, but understanding enough to know it would take a lot more time to be at that poin - no matter how bad you both wanted it. your trauma lurked beneath the surface, a fight for another day. he poured everything into that kiss. the rosy red color of his skin being a testament to that. he hoped you knew just how much it meant to him. from the way you stared at his mouth in a trance, he knew it meant just as much to you. the look of wanting in your eyes made him shiver.

“you want me?”

the best you give him is a puffed out “yes” between your lips, staring at his own longingly. it was a pathetic sound, a cringe fighting to shrink in your shoulders and hide yourself from him, but you accepted it as it came. you wanted more. you thought for a split second that you couldn’t imagine never feeling that again. electric. strong. like fireworks igniting in your body over and over. your eyes travel slowly from his mouth to his soft wishful eyes, feeling the sudden urge to cry again.

“leave him for me,” his whisper is pained, vulnerable and aching for you to want him back. need him back. love him back.

“but i can’t have you, you know i can’t. he won’t allow me to leave him.” God it killed you to even say it. You wanted to throw caution to the wind, and in a way you had, but to throw it all out would mean putting him in the line of fire - and you didn’t know if you could bare seeing him burnt.

“yes you can, you can have me. every hour of everyday. you can fucking have me. you have always had me, y/n. i think you know that. i can’t lie anymore. not when it means this much to me. he won’t keep you a prisoner. i refuse for it to happen. i know you want this as much as i do. i feel it. i’ve always felt it. if you don’t leave for you, then leave for me. just...you have to let me protect you.”

the way he says it, just holding you in place, forehead resting against yours in an attempt to stop the tears bubbling behind his eyes. it killed him to see you caged like an animal when you wanted so badly to be free. he would do whatever the fuck he needed to do and he swore his life on it. whether you believed it or not.

“but how? he’s a psycho grayson the man beat me for getting gas without telling him. i was gone for 5 minutes.“

“i know sh, i know it sounds crazy and reckless,”

“really reckless,” you tutted, popping your lips out in a dissatisfied pout. it was cute but he needed to focus.

“- just hear me out. me and ethan have a plan that involves no contact, and if he does show up i don’t think you are underestimating the lengths we will go to, to make sure he doesn’t lay a finger on this beautiful body of yours. he doesn’t get to have you anymore, he abused that privilege, literally. he didn’t appreciate and cherish what he had so now it’s over. you won’t ever have to see him again. but it’s gonna take a little cooperation and for you to be that sneaky little detective i know that you are.” he waits for your reaction, confused that your eyes are still closed, your thumbs still rubbing at his forearms. it was peaceful. for the first time, you felt protected. and really understood. important. valued. loved. whole fuck you felt loved.

“i don’t know how much help i can be,” you choked, voice a lot weaker than you wanted it to sound. truth is, it was taking every bone in your body not to kiss him again, get that fire ignited again. but you had to focus. one battle at a time. beat the dragon, then you get the prince.

“how about this, you and i, we go back in the house, i’ll sit you down on the counter - yeah that’s right the counter - because i don’t give a fuck if ethan thinks it’s unsanitary. i’m gonna cook you you’re favorite meal, kiss those beautiful lips for as long as i want,” he pauses to dip his head down, pecking your lips slowly as an example, a butterfly flew through your core, wings licking at the buzzing nerves, “and explain every tiny detail until you understand just how serious we are about getting you away from that sick creep. i may be persistent but my brother is a determined mother fucker too and he cares about you, y/n. as much as he loves to tease you and throw his little tantrums when you eat the last piece of pizza - he cares so much. and he wants you to be safe. to be with us. be with me...if that’s what you want.”

“as in like...live with you? are you sure that’s a good idea? i mean i kind of have a crazy guy on my back you sure you guys want that baggage?” you’re tone is lighthearted and witty, but he knows that’s just you trying to hide how nervous you were.

“you know, when you love someone, their baggage becomes your baggage. you have that weight together and find the strength to carry it along the way. at least that’s what i’ve found out.”

when you love someone

when he loves someone

when grayson loves...

he loves you

“you love me?” the gleam in your eye is too obvious to miss, the excitement of a child, the joy of a rich man, the satisfaction of a sinner, the bliss of a saint.

“maybe a little,” he grins, lips dropping onto random areas of your face, making their way slowly down, down, down to your blush pink lips. the feeling of them puckering had him pulling you closer again.

“is it too much to ask that you say it again? just for good measure.” your request has him chuckling in your ear, hair tickling you when he bobs his head in a nod.

“i love you,” he sighs, finger hooked under your jaw to tilt your head to the side, sealing his lips down onto yours again. breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume. it drowned his every sense.

it felt so fucking good to say that.

it sounded like your favorite melody. and somehow, as cheesy as it sounded, it gave you strength. gave you that extra power you needed to know that this life did have a purpose beyond pain and misery. it had people like grayson. people like ethan. people that cared about you. people that protected you. people that were ready to do anything they had to do just to make sure you knew how loved you really were.

“i love you too.” it slipped out without you knowing. your hand itched to slap over your mouth, cover up the ultimate betrayal against the monster somewhere off in LA cheating on you again, planning his next attack against you. but no, you wouldn’t feel guilty about loving him. not when it’s the strongest emotion you’ve ever felt. not when it was the truth. and not when he’s cradling you in his arms promising a future beyond the pain and sadness you’ve been stuck in for so long. so for good measure, and just because it felt like a breath of fresh air, you say it again, “i love you.”

“oh fuck,” he breathes through a disbelieving grin, picking you up by the back of your thighs and spinning you around in circles. your legs hooked around his waist tightly, squealing laughter echoing throughout the backyard. this is the freest you’ve felt in so so long. he slows down to a sway once again, turning your head to kiss you slowly, pushing his tongue between your lips to dance with yours again.

“slow down, slow down, we still have something to do yeknow,” you breathe, a lazy smile aimed at his own delighted eyes. he looked so free and it shocked out for some reason that you were the cause of that look.

“no no you’re right i’m sorry, i’m just happy. feels good when you know the girl you love is safe for once. but i guess we do have to go talk to ethan about the insufferable douchebag you chose to date for whatever ungodly reason. must have had a magical dick or something cause the man is lacking in all other categories,” grayson mocks, setting you back into the flats on your feet and imtertwining your fingers together, leading you back toward the house where you presume ethan is waiting somewhere close by.

“actually no, he never really uh...finished the job in that department. was kind of selfish. but i managed,” you tut, rubbing your thumb over the skin on his hand, loving the feeling of him against you in any way you could get. you knew you were so touch starved, but didn’t care if it felt this good.

he stopped at the sliding glass door, face dully lit by the yellow of the light from the kitchen, pointing a defined eyebrow at you in a displeased scowl, the fucker didn’t even make you cum? with a shake of his head he’s sliding the glass door open, ready to talk to his brother and start the plan for your escape. hes ready to see you thrive again. he knows neither he, nor ethan will rest until you have shaken every form of contact with the spineless monster you’re controlled by daily. this plan will be his religion until it is completed. he turns his head to look at you, a smirk on his delicious soft lips, licking at them quickly.

“we will be changing that, make no mistake.”

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metaphorewhore25 · 3 years

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Beach Rats (2017) & Why We Need More Movies Like It

There is a general underlying paradigm in society that “men do the looking and women are to be looked at” and Beach Rats (2017) is a movie that challenges that from its very first shot. The movie opens with an 18-something teenager taking mirror selfies in a dirty basement mirror. The camera pans over his very masculine features – his biceps, armpit hair, nipples, and the rest of his torso.

I was sold to the movie right there. Hardly do I see movies with such a focus on the male form. I have watched Eliza Hittman’s ‘It Felt Like Love’ (2013) which does the same thing from a teenage girl’s point of view but Beach Rats simply does it more and does it better.

I know that Beach Rats is a gay movie and hence the camera captures the perspective of a boy, not a girl, and hence may not exactly be called ‘The Female Gaze’ but it is written and directed by a cishet woman and frankly, I believe even that is a start when it comes to subverting the male gaze, flipping the camera and putting men at the centre, making them subjects of visual pleasure.

What Beach Rats does extremely well is this: It makes the audience uncomfortable.

And that is precisely why I loved it. In mainstream movies when the lead actresses are introduced by butt-to-lips-to-head shots, it doesn’t really make us uncomfortable anymore because it has become the norm. We’ve just accepted girls being captured in this way. We may even accept young, underage girls portrayed in a sexualized manner but focusing on men’s butts and forearms is sure to make us rethink what we are seeing on screen. Long idle shots of Frankie, the protagonist and his friends shirtless by the beach playing handball or just swimming, their chiselled dude-bro bodies taking up the majority of the screen is something we are quite unused to.

Even the scenes where Frankie is in his room and browsing a gay cam site on the internet makes us feel uncomfortable because we are simply more exposed to women doing these things like posing and pouting. It was quite fresh to see the white man become the one being looked at. It almost felt like revenge to me, like “You see this is how it feels to be constantly scrutinized or unnecessarily sexualized!”

I feel that we need to get more comfortable with the idea of male bodies presented on screen just as we are with female bodies.

However, I am aware that “Revenge” is not what women in the industry are going for, or should go for. Unlike the Male Gaze, the Female Gaze is much trickier to define. Simply objectifying men back will not do. We don’t want to revert the power structure, but rather deconstruct it.

Alina Gufran from The Swaddle says “While the act of objectifying a man through the eyes of a woman remains revolutionary, it ultimately lends itself to a very “male” idea of what the female gaze should be.” When women are handed over the cameras and the pens and the main roles, the product is often not just an objectification of men but rather a humane and emotional portrayal of both men and women as people.

Although, I would personally say that after years of having seen myself and the media around me through men’s perspectives, it is fun sometimes to objectify men and get back at the system.

I believe Beach Rats takes that extra step, by not only sexualizing men like some feminist revenge fantasy but also showing the audience vulnerability, emotions and honest intimacy. The camera zooms in on Frankie’s face a lot. He is often dreamy, confused or just melancholic. In the course of the movie his father, suffering from cancer passes away, he witnesses his younger sister getting intimate with a boy her age and his friends, although given hardly any dialogues are a key influence in his life as he often forced to fit in with them and arrange drugs for them which he steals from his father’s medicine cabinet. His friends are toxic and not at all empathetic as he often proclaims “These are not my friends” as a joke with an element of truth. All this while he is navigating personal conflict regarding his sexuality and suppressing his true self with his friends and family because he cannot fathom how they would understand.

During daylight hours, Frankie has to keep up appearances by maintaining a girlfriend but during the nighttime, he often goes on a website for gay men in Brooklyn and meets up with older men for one-night stands that are often fulfilling, but often also leave him confused.

The film is definitely voyeuristic but it also has its non-sexual intimate moments. There’s a scene where Frankie has to go masturbate before joining his girlfriend in bed because he can’t maintain erections in her presence. In moments like this, we can see his vulnerability as he tries to laugh it off or gets frustrated at his body quite often telling him something else.

My favourite scene I would say is when he decides for the first time to meet up with an older, more experienced man from the website and the camera shoots him preparing for the rendezvous in a very vulnerable and intimate way. Frankie is shown lifting weights to perhaps tone his muscles, trimming his pubic hair with a scissor and taking a shower and giving himself a thorough wash. I believe shots like this, give the character a very human feel and helps the audience relate to his insecurities and struggles that lie behind the muscular façade.

Admittedly, Frankie’s friends are only two-dimensional characters and used as props for plot development and often fall into the cliché dude-bro stereotypes. They are perhaps used only to flex their shapely bodies and contribute to Frankie’s inner conflict. They are not people, they are just cishet men in the movie. They are the ones we may call purely “objectified”.

The sexual politics are at one point even explicitly stated in the film’s dialogue when Frankie asks Simone (his girlfriend) if two men making out is hot. Simone says that two girls making out is no big deal and is obviously hot but two men making out is just gay. Reading into the subtext, the word “gay” here is used in the derogatory sense.

Of course, neither should be seen as “hot”. Homosexuality is supposed to exist in its own place, having an identity of its own and shouldn’t be co-opted by and for heterosexuals for their pleasure or entertainment.

But, due to the infiltration of the male gaze in popular media and a society that entitles men and suppresses female voices; women bear the burden of being unfairly sexualized. This same patriarchy socializes young boys and girls to view themselves a certain way, boys are taught not to be emotional and affectionate and are thus also disadvantaged by the patriarchy. I’m talking about things like “boys don’t cry” or “two guys don’t hold hands”. The movie shows the reflections of these through Frankie’s toxic masculine friends and sometimes even Simone.

Frankie feels like he’d never be accepted into the mainstream of society because of the same sexual politics that exist in the world and that Hittman is trying to deconstruct. It is perhaps due to the fact that Frankie cannot come out that the film is shot mostly in the dark and in dingy places.

Beach Rats is a fine example of a movie that shows us a strong, conspicuous alternative to the male gaze. It does one thing very well and it is depicting male bodies in a casual, real, vulnerable, sexy and overt way and we need more of that. We need more male body presence on the screen because we as a culture of people are so oblivious to it. It’s always “Ass or Tits?”, “Pear-shaped or Hourglass-shaped” and “Skinny or Thick” and all these labels that apply only to women’s bodies to an extent where we perhaps don’t even feel like male bodies are something to be gazed at in the first place.

“Men look for looks and women look for personality”. How often have you heard this? I am not trying to defy the evolutionary explanations which may explain things to some extent. But we as this highly intelligent species cannot be completely bound by merely evolutionary instincts. While The Female Gaze does incorporate emotions and intimacy, I liked how Beach Rats balanced out the emotional and the purely carnal. I am not saying we need more male bodies on screen in simply a sexual way. I want to see male bodies even in very mundane non-sexual ways just because I feel it needs to be normalized. Normalize focusing on the man’s body too in heterosexual romance films perhaps. Beach Rats was quite a refreshing watch despite its dark colour pallet because I was quite frankly amused to see what happens when the camera is reversed and allowed to linger on manly features. Perhaps through this, we may reach the ultimate goal of both men and women moving fluidly between the subject and object of mutual desire.

Posted originally on: https://rishikapandit.com/2021/06/08/beach-rats-why-we-need-more-movies-like-it/

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chiimmchiimm · 5 years

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❝𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ❞

CHAPTERS “ 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair) 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 5 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔: +18 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: abuse, domestic violence, painful memories, sadness, psychological abuse, dirty lenjuage. 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: This is my first novel on Tumblr, give it a lot of love and don’t forget to like it. The chapters will be uploaded weekly.

The sun dazzled much more that morning, its blinding light sneaked through the slits of the shutters halfway down giving a much more welcoming look to the living room of my parents’ house. Sitting on that white velvet sofa with a relatively steaming decaffeinated coffee on the side table. With my cheek resting heavily against the median kneecap to rest my head. The television broadcast the morning news of each day. It was the same as always; juicy gossip of some famous, unfortunate catastrophes about a natural disaster, exhaustively ridiculous scandals about some imprudent action of some human being.I got up ready to turn off that silly box that the only thing that could grant me was useless, but suddenly, photo information My father came out on the front page. My phone started ringing incessantly but I couldn’t stop staring at the screen with my mouth open when the journalist started listing all the charges that came related to our last name. I even covered my shocked mouth when a family photo appeared behind the woman. One where we all went out; Mom, he and me Mom wore a forced smile under her sad and dull eyes, my father’s hand wrapped her small waist with love, a feeling that only showed us when someone was present. A smaller me hooked on my father’s long neck with a brightly fierce emotion while teaching the few teeth he had back then. A sarcastic smile appeared early under my lips because that was the day I received my first slap.

As the stormy rains on cold winter days my life always revolved around the same routine. My father attended important events and my mother and I accompanied him to maintain his elitist family profile. However, it all ended when I turned eighteen. I put an endless number of excuses so as not to have to face those humiliating talks about the lowest society. I know my father didn’t believe me, of course, he can’t hurt my head every Friday at the same time. My mother always helped me and in the end, I got what I wanted; get away from him. The relationship with my father was never affectionate and that remains unchanged now in my twenties. Instead, a small part of me wanted to go to those extravagant meetings, not because of the chatter with those insipid people, but, for not leaving my mother alone who knew that they were not to her liking either. Still with her layers of makeup my mother could not cover the tracks that my father left on her delicate skin; the bruises, bruises, breaks … His overthrown gaze was the last thing I saw before falling asleep every night. I can never erase the time he hugged me so hard that my breath left my system, I knew from his trembling, that my father had unloaded his business failure with her.

“I left.” I whispered with my mouth against the cold surface of her skin. His arms dropped slowly when I separated from her. My tone was decisive, decisive, so that I understood that I was not talking about a simple possibility, but a solution. “You don’t deserve a son of a bitch to fuck you every night.”

But as expected, my mother ducked her head. And I knew that I shied away from my penetrating gaze because I knew that deep down I was right.

He took a long breath and then answered what I was so afraid of; “Everything I do is for you.”

I did not open my mouth again all night, just lend him my back to release his helplessness with continuous crying. He understood why he did it but did not support it. I know that he wanted to give me the best education and the best luxuries, but at what price? I would gladly give up all the comforts that had been given to me as long as his suffering ended. But I knew that I was a motive but not the most relevant. My father was. I know I was afraid of him and that he justified every abuse with all kinds of inconceivable excuses. And for that crude reason, my mother always ended up being dragged by my father.

What I never thought, is that, I would also be dragged by him.

“Are you aware that you face a penalty of seven years and two months in prison?”

Everything happened so fast, that man spoke so fast. I was barely aware of the sporadic overturn that I had just given my life. And he regretted not having tasted that coffee better because from the face of that man he could deduce that it would be the last one he would drink in a long time. The prosecutor leaned a hand on the table in the interrogation room to get my attention, but the only thing he looked at was the bumps on the bricks of the white wall. The tears gathered in my eyes. The low fluidity of my breathing. And the dolls burned by the touch of the cold metal of the wives. I couldn’t even understand lucidly if he said anything else or it was just pure invention of my mind. The whitish light that came from the laminated ceiling lamps produced a frightening buzz that, to my bad luck, blocked all the orders of my central nervous system, keeping me completely stretched in a chair that, however uncomfortable, was much better than the filthy bed of The dungeons What did he want me to tell him what was innocent? He had already repeated it to satiety and seemed not to care in the least, even, I was able to absorb an improper satisfaction of a good lawyer when hearing the judge’s sentence.

Emphasizing time again, everything happened too quickly, so much that I could barely be aware that my feet were directing my body towards an unknown room. When my watery eyes read inmates I could be aware, again, of how much life could change in a matter of seconds.

“Turn it off as soon as possible and memorize the pin well, you may not remember in seven years.”

Look closely as my phone offered. However, the blow of the white tray against the table made me divert attention to the tattooed girl behind the counter. A girl with bluish hair that carefully removed the clothes while playing with a pen balancing it inside her mouth. A tap on my abdomen made me regain my composure. When I accepted my phone back I turned it off and gave it to the governor.

“Look, all size 38, okay?” And there are six complete molts included. ”The blue hair announced, making a small pout with her lips. I lift a small transparent plastic bag while showing me one by one the garments that would be my wardrobe from now on. I had changed my channel suits and my row tracksuits for a yellow jacket and pants of the same color. But without a doubt, what caught my attention was the white clothes that were in another bag.

“Hey, I brought my own underwear.” The ruler observed me immediately. “I have sensitive skin.”

The girl stopped moving things to lift her head and stare at me. Blue — since his hair wore that vivid color and he didn’t know his name. ”He intensified a line with his lips as he tightened all the features of his face. He looked at me as if he had said the worst atrocity in the world. And I certainly did not understand why he was so serious when he had said nothing wrong. It was not my fault that my skin did not support polyester, if someone wanted to blame it, then it is my strange allergy to poor quality materials. One that left me full of small red spots along my entire epidermis and an unbearable itching for three days.

“Well,_ Barbie_, we’re all the same here.” He commented mockingly. I frowned at her derogatory nickname, however, I couldn’t protest because at the moment the ruler broke into our little discussion, if we refer to her as an eloquent little talk in which I have been left as a weak and silly girl who has been belittled and he has not had the courage to defend himself.

“What is this?”

By the time I wanted to realize what was happening I already had the bottle of my vitamins being opened by the long fingers of that woman. I reacted immediately with a babble that all I reflected was how much that shit situation could.

“No, no, that’s not a drug. It’s nothing weird, it’s just royal jelly.” As I was speaking the words piled up under my tongue and my trembling made the language come out much less fluently than I expected. However, the governor raised her eyebrows as if my version of the echos was not given as true. On the other hand, blue was making fun of my nerves again with a low smile that hid while scratching her bulging hair. I felt the need to explain myself again and I did so; “It is to reinforce defenses.”

“Forty pills?” He asked so wryly that question that I was speechless. I moved, to the laugh of blue that increased my beginner’s nerves. “What will you do when they run out?”

“Man, I expected to be out when that will happen.”

But my answer falls like a vol of cold water. Then, I realize that I thought out loud. And that blue has not stopped laughing at any moment of my blunder and that now has made his laugh level up. I don’t know what I have to say to fix things, because I literally just expressed my wishes to get out of here, however, I don’t see anything wrong with that but apparently she does resent my sincerity. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be in this crappy place and endure the laughter of a criminal who does nothing but make fun of me.

For my luck, everything is there. In a little anecdote that will happen to the most shameful periods of my existence.

I pick up the tray with disgust because it didn’t look like it but it has its weight and I walk down a corridor that only leads in one direction. First, the governor enters and then I do it. I thank you ironically for the galantia of holding the door while I eat the stiffness of the glass with my mouth.

“Put the clothes on that tray when you’re done and make sure you don’t keep anything.”

Seat. Really, he won nothing by arguing with a woman who is in sight that has a character of a thousand demons. Better keep quiet and follow your orders as fast as I can. I have to change in front of her. And I thank heaven that she is a woman and not a man because she certainly would not have been able to stay naked in front of the opposite gender. Then, I move again to a room that was next to the old one to go through a metal detector machine. As you can see I don’t wear anything, he relaxes in a padlocked sigh. Poor woman, I have a feeling that you don’t usually pay much attention here. Finally, I understood that my little excursion is over when I have in front of me the automatic doors that would open my module.

Then, the governor turns to a guard who appears behind a counter.

“Open the door, I bring the new one.”

The girl presses a button and the metal doors open. The governor shakes her head to tell me to go ahead. Breathing a sigh from my own emotional instability, I shake my shoulders and walk right. However, when I hear the fortuitous noises of things being hit against the metal I remain planted on the site which causes the government to almost clash with me.

“What do you think you are doing?” “Is he not listening to the hustle and bustle that prisoners are riding?

“I can’t.” I deny uncontrollably, to the point, of almost injuring my neck when I turn from side to side. The governor places her hands at each end of her hip while looking at me with obvious discomfort. “Please.”

But my plea seems to fill his patience and the only thing that I achieve with my actions is that I push myself sharply and fall face down on the ground. And then, chaos breaks loose. The blows increase in level. I do not even look at the grotesque spectacle of which my ears are witnesses because in the story I wake up I try to run away backwards but collide with the governor and I almost fall again.

“Do you want to be still, fuck?”

“I’m innocent …” he said for the twentieth time in the day.

“Pick up the floor tray and move on.” - order. I withdraw what has been said above, this lady is a witch. He gives a fuck that he is giving me a little anxiety attack. I make sure of it when I narrow my eyes. He is throwing small threats with his gestures and I have no choice but to pick up the forgotten tray on the floor.

“Newbie!” You eat rabbit tonight.

He ducked his head and keep going.

“Go here, rule!”

-Pretty! Hey you!

I decipher a shout through the crowd and instantly regret having done it. And much more to divert the head towards the alleged culprit because the first thing my eyes see is a woman shaved and tattooed to the neck making with her fingers the shape of a vagina and passing the tongue in between. The one next to him laughs at the terrified reaction I do. I quickly simulate an arcade frightened by that grotesque insinuation.

But the worst was yet to come.

-Brunette! I’m going to give you until I’m dry!

“What a gift from Santa Claus!”

He panicked.

The governor stretches again because I have stopped again. Then, I raise my head and look at the top railings. My eyeballs widen to the point of almost leaving the site. I drop my tray when I see the stacked row of sweaty bodies controlled by testosterone looking at me directly. Their dirty and perverse glances cover the little skin that leaves prison clothes in sight. By instinct I hug myself but I can’t get the anguish to go away. When the governor who is behind me realizes that I have stayed at the site of disgust, she pushes me slightly forward to finish climbing the stairs.

“I would like to be a sardine to swim in your vagina!”

“Cell 345!”

I don’t even know who said that because my head didn’t lift it from the ground at any time. The incessant compliments do not stop disturbing my auditory ducts as I go up the steps. For a moment, I think I hear the government’s sigh but I am not sure if it was his or mine because I could barely distinguish another sound other than the bellowing of those disgusting men. Their throats were torn by the volume so high that they used to get my attention, what they did not know, that this was not the first time that he faced this type of situation and that he would not fall for his provocations. Therefore, when I thought I could worthy of raising my head I could realize that my luck had just taken a wonderful course because I was facing the opposite direction of that tangle of apes in heat.

The governor took out an orange card and passed through the magnetic sensor of the door. The noise of that steel structure stimulated my blood velocity and that my eyes responded by closing tightly. With nerves accumulating in the small lump of my throat I took the first step towards those four walls that would now be my home.

A dark-haired girl under the bed as soon as I set foot in the small cell. But he didn’t look at me, but at the ruler.

“Boss, there must have been a mistake.” The rookie goes in another cell here we are complete. ”He explained, pausing the tone of his voice to give it a much deeper touch. What gave me the most curiosity about his vocal bell was that he was adorned with the typical accent of foreigners. The white-skinned girl stood in front of me to cut my step while pointing her finger back. Her black straight hair covered her cheeks slightly while she covered her shoulders with neglect. He had long legs and thin arms under the sleeves of the yellow jacket. Small and thin lips, and a feline look that left me blank when I looked at myself for two seconds. My arms trembled unconsciously because I could perfectly perceive a warning glow.

—Blair London is assigned to this cell. Come London leave your stuff on that shelf and make your bed.

“Still rookie.”

When I took a step that girl got in my way.

“Do what I told you, London.”

“Do not do it.”

“Do it.”

“No.”

“Do it London.”

“No,” he whispered in such a dark tone that a paralyzing chill caressed my back.

I instinctively shrunk my body when that girl spit her breath over my face. Swallow nervous saliva, an act that did not go unnoticed by her. A small macabre smile greeted his features when he felt the tremor of my fingers holding the tray. I counted mentally to slow my shortness of breath but all I could get was to get his attention more.

“Do you think that because we let you smoke in here, you’re going to do whatever you want?”

When the authoritarian voice of the governor reached my ears, my back slumped forward. The palms of my hands began to sweat and my mood deteriorated at times. At this point it didn’t matter if I hid my stress because it was no longer a viable option.

“I’m just informing the module manager that we’re very tight here and if one more inmate comes in, maybe she has to sleep on the floor.” Yes or no, girls?

As he leaned to the side to see the governor directly, I could see what was behind her. Two more girls inhabited the room. One of them with much longer and darker hair was placed behind her to support what she said. The other, almost white hair and extremely white skin, sobbed and trembled almost as much as I did while swaying on the mattress with a rosary sticking out of her thin fingers. The first, nodded in a gesture of security while the other prayed in low whispers. When he saw that he was saying nothing he approached and hit him in the head.

“Answer the hell!”

“Yes-yes.” I stutter exaggeratedly. I separate her head from her shoulders and when I look at her cellmates I can see two superficial cuts, one on her lower lip and the other on her left cheek. What the fuck had they done? Really, he looked like a scared little animal about to be hunted. I felt so bad for that girl. My empathy had caused me to give him a look full of sadness.

“I’ll take the new one so you don’t make her life bitter.” The governor informed her, snapping her tongue as she gave a sideways glance at the Asian girl. However, when I thought I could finally run away from that awkward situation, the governor ended the encounter with a warning; - You think you have everything under Akame control but be very careful.— Then, I touch my shoulder to drag myself out of the cell.

“Why don’t you look at your phone, govern?” And then we talk about who’s in charge here and who has to be careful.

The woman deformed her expression to a calmer one as if those words had not affected her. But both the dark-haired girl and I knew that they had done it, and maybe for that reason, I didn’t even answer him and he took me out of there as fast as he could. Should I thank you for getting me out of that place? Definitely yes.

But before I finished showing my thanks, a tall, dark young man passed by our side. His presence seemed to startle her so much that she almost collided with me. Then he watched me a few seconds before calling the guard.

“Garcia.”

The boy turned.

“Can you take the new one to his cell?” The brunette nodded. “I don’t find myself well.

“Clear.”

The governor handed him the folder with my personal data and shot out down the hall as if an important matter was waiting for him. Would it have to do with the threat of that girl? Something told me yes.

We did not walk much, we passed two cells and stood in the third. Again, panic began to cloud my system. The air to miss me. And my knees to shake getting my balance was required immediately not to fall. I didn’t want to find another one like that girl. Was it that there was no one normal in this prison shit? All of a sudden, my nerves played tricks on me because my mouth opened to confess what I had been keeping since I crossed the courthouse door.

“I can’t.” I ran over.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I need to see a doctor.”

I don’t know if it sounded too exaggerated but I definitely didn’t want to get in there.

“Do you have tremors? Blurry vision? Dizziness Cramps? Chest pain?″

"Em, no.” I blinked as I lost myself among so many symptoms.

“Well, then nothing happens to you.” Not caring about my facial pallor, he swiped his orange card through the sensor and again, my eyes closed at the squeak of the door. He held the folder against his chest and said, “Blair London.Cell two twenty five.”

Any motor movement that my body could make seemed to have left my head. My quick breathing lifted my chest at an excessive rate denoting on the front page how nervous I was to find myself again. I took the first step into the cell. A girl of short and slender stature rose up from her bed, drawing the attention of the other two. He removed his short tinted hair from a light brown back as he glanced at his companions. A middle-aged woman who put her hand on her left leg while leaning towards my paralyzed figure examining me with curiosity and another girl with extremely pale skin much younger than the two previously mentioned behind the main culprit of my partial blush of cheeks. The aftertaste of my saliva was bitter from so many chills that ran through my little body. Too overwhelming pressure seized the area near my stomach when the bars of the cell covered the door leaving me without escape. Locked up with those three women. And above all, locked in my desperate destiny.

"I am Dallas.”

I jumped a little when I returned to my horrible reality. The low voice of that girl woke me up completely. He stretched his hand politely towards me while he leaned slightly and smiled as if we were two friends and not two inmates of the worst prison in Los Angeles. No doubt that girl was too confident. But, nevertheless, his singular sympathy for strangers was something that I sincerely thanked. I finally accepted his hand and although I could not return a smile for my state away from joy, at least, stimulate a small grimace under my dry lips.

“I am Blair, delighted.” I said, controlling the small tremor in my voice thanks to the timely appearance of my self-control. Finally, I could smile. I leaned uncomfortably towards her cheek to kiss her kindly, Dallas understood my action and we ended up giving two cheek kisses as a way of civilized greeting. The air came out of my mouth unconsciously to calm the nervous spasms I still suffered from the two pairs of eyes that saw the scene from a distance.

The second to speak was the oldest of the four.

“Where are you from, my girl?”

“From here, from Los Angeles.”

But the child’s sudden laughter stopped my response.

“No, why are you here?” He replied, pausing the space of the words he spoke. The mockery danced for her serene features, clearly, emphasizing my poor understanding. His hands flew into his pockets, dragging the fabric of his yellowish pants. His shirt ran down. The mark of his bony clavicle denoted how much he lacked a good diet. She was extremely thin compared to the weight she should have with her height. I tilt his thin leg to support his body while sweeping my perfectly buttoned shirt.

“Ah.” I issued the monosyllable with caution. “I really shouldn’t be here.” I am here for a mistake.

“And how many years have you fallen for the mistake?” Dallas asked as she adjusted the jacket of her uniform to her liking. Glancing under the eyes of complices with the smallest in his enjoyment for making me feel uncomfortable.

“Seven.” I murmured under my breath. My body shrank because the teasing did not take long to appear. Making such a big scandal that the guard soon appeared to get our attention with some blows on the bars. I was upset, however, not surprised. Neither the judge nor the ruler had believed in my innocence, did I really think they would be different? I should get used to the teasing since it seemed to be his favorite hobby. I headed for the only empty bed in that small cell. Through that tide of laughter and groans that cause my internal discomfort. I thought it was best to ignore them and I did that while I stretched the sheets.

“Do you want to keep laughing in isolation, June?” The guard’s authoritative voice appeared behind them. His warning to the smallest had been like the extinguisher that turned off his fun.

“You are very bitter, Garcia.”

Immediately, Liberty seconded his mischief.

“This is what you need is a good dust, Dallas.”

“That you be silent!”

He gave another blow as a warning resulting in the two friends separating. Liberty raised her arms signing the peace. The youngest, just climbed on the bed above mine and jumped down.

“Get in bed and sleep, mommy.”

I watched in a flash as the woman’s hand rested on my shoulder. His hand adorned with slight wrinkles and small skin spots had been the closest thing to human contact he had had in hours. And even if we were unknown, I was able to spot some tenderness in his touch. As if his words were not an order, if not, an advice that I should follow for my good. The woman had a very intense green-eyed look. There was something in those lifeless pupils that told me that I had suffered a lot in life. And for a few seconds, that woman reminded me of my mother.

“Thank you but … I don’t think I can sleep.” I confessed, undoing my usual hue at a lower one.

The heat of my shoulder disappeared when he removed his hand and turned around. A bleak emptiness stifled my body after lack of contact. I lay down slowly on the mattress while following the woman’s movement carefully. When he finished going to bed, he looked at me one last time and sighed. As if guessing all the problems that crossed my mind.

“The first night is the most difficult. If you can’t sleep, talk to God, he always listens to us.”

A bitter smile crossed my lips when the woman turned her back on me. I didn’t want to be rude and much less after he had treated me so well, for that very reason I kept quiet. I crossed my fingers over my stomach but comfort was not something I felt at that moment. I closed my eyes for several minutes to see if the dream was beating my anguish but the only thing I got was to overwhelm myself under the covers. I removed my body until I lay on my side. When my eyes met the white wall it was as if everything would make sense. It filled my mouth saying that this shit had been a mistake. But deep down I understood the mockery of that pale girl. And if you look at it from another perspective it was quite pathetic. I could say all that convinced but that didn’t make it easier. I knew that my father had screwed up my life and that as much as the woman told me that praying would help solve my problems, I made another crude excuse for not accepting reality.

The lack of weight from the mattress above distracted my hypnosis with the wall. When I turned my body slightly I could see through the little clarity that Dallas had come down from his bed. How I was covered up to the nose I could see the scene before me without realizing that I was still awake. He reached out and with the tip of his finger pressed the button on the bars. Out of nowhere a much taller figure appeared and Dallas threw forward enthusiastically. The last thing I saw before they left was a tattoo of a small heart on the wrist of the tallest.

✞

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et-in-cinerem-reverteris · 4 years

Text

Class of 1953 - Chapter 3 - Hand In Glove (5.3K)

"Phil looks back up at Dan. Despite the storm getting worse, they both remain motionless, looking at each other. Dan’s eyes are fascinatingly deep and dark; moody against the backdrop of a thunderstorm and the billowing leaves of the tree behind him and Phil just wants to shut his eyes and lean in and-"

When Dan bashfully asks Phil to come shopping with him one weekend, Phil takes the opportunity to do a bit of probing on Dan's mysterious exterior. With the help of Oscar Wilde and a nosy lesbian, he finds out a lot more than he had originally set out to.

Read on AO3 !

Or down below ;)

Phil looks down at the scrap of paper in his hand.

11a.m. 19 Nov (saturday!)

parks road plane tree

opposite big doors!!!

He checks his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. 10:55. The blue ink on the crumpled note is smudged and clumsily applied, which is fair, Phil thinks, considering the surface on which the writer placed his pen on that night just over a week ago.

“Are you seriously so forgetful that you need me to write it down?” Dan had teased, growing increasingly hysterical under a mask of playful exasperation. “Okay, fine. Fetch us a pen and I’ll write it down for you.”

Dan had asked Phil to turn around so that he could use his back to write on. The pen tickled and made Phil squirm like a child, which made both of them laugh so hard that they were sure they’d disturbed at least a hundred students. Before parting ways, Dan had timidly asked Phil whether he wanted to go out shopping with him the following weekend - but only because he was already going out, of course, and Phil had agreed in an instant but only because he was also already going out, of course, so he may as well… for convenience’s sake…

Of course.

Now, just over a week later, the pair of them are meeting up to hit the town to pick up various bits and bobs before the Christmas crowds get out of control.

Phil looks around at Keble’s eye-catching red brick facade - a refreshing change from Oxford’s trademark limestone walls. He squints as the sun shines out from behind the plane trees, raising his hand as he does so to shield his sensitive eyes from the glaring light. The different coloured stones are arranged into diamonds, dots and dashes, just like morse code. How curious.

He checks his wristwatch again. 10:57.

Punctuality is not normally one of Phil’s virtues, but another unexpectedly early awakening had led him to spontaneously leave the college gates at 10 o’clock to go for an early morning walk. Down Turl Street, left at All Saints Church, past Magdalen College and through to The Grove - a large, grassy park that had become Phil’s location of choice for when he needed to calm his nerves. He had tried to relax by admiring the deer and feeding them acorns, but all of his thoughts anxiously meandered back to the problem of his first out-of-college meeting with Daniel.

Ever since they had last said goodbye to each other, the young English student had been obsessively mulling over the meaning behind some of Dan’s more ambiguous lines from that night.

“...in the past people took the mickey out of me for being a “pouf”...”

Phil knows exactly what the word “pouf” means. Synonyms include “queer”, “gay” and “homosexual”, which are all terms he might use to describe himself, were he to be so brave. The real question lay in whether or not those derogatory statements had any deeper meaning than just fleeting insults, and this, he had decided, was something he would have to do some investigating on.

“Hullo!”

Phil’s daydreaming is cut short by his enigmatic companion striding toward him, and is struck by how smart he looks. Clad in a long, black, double-breasted coat, with a silk scarf tied around his neck in a jaunty knot, and a dark grey fedora, complete with a pheasant’s feather, sitting on top of his chestnut curls, he radiates elegance, class, and sophistication.

“Daniel! You’re looking very dapper today!”

“Hmm, well,” Dan starts, looking around with squinted eyes. “I thought I may as well get dressed up for the occasion.” After a second passes, he looks at Phil with a smirk. “So, where are we off to then?”

“Err, I thought you were the one who wanted to go shopping first?”

Dan raises an eyebrow, before quickly adopting a more neutral face. “Oh, I was going to, but nevermind about that. I um, I’m not anymore.”

“Right.”

The pair begin walking in silence down Park Lane, towards Oxford’s central shopping area.

“Anyway, where are we off to?”

“First of all I’d like to stop by Blackwell’s to collect a book that they’re holding for me.”

“Okay.”

“Then I need to see about buying a bicycle.”

“Oh, we can pop over to Cowley Road for that, Raleigh have a shop there at number three hundred and eighty-seven.”

“Perfect, that’s that one sorted. After that, I thought we could try a cafe for a spot of lunch. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds splendid,” he grins.

Parks Road is fairly long, giving them plenty of time to break the barrier of small talk and ease into a more meaningful conversation, which, on this occasion, has turned to the subject of going home for the holidays. Phil is able to glean that Dan is dreading going back to his family in Wokingham, which a small town just outside of Reading that he hates as it reminds him of the years he spent there at a Catholic boarding school called The Oratory. In Dan’s words, The Oratory was “hell”; full of “dickheads" who picked on him “constantly”, leaving him with a “deep seated anger” which “permanently resides” in him at a constant simmer. At first Phil feels upset to hear that Dan had such an unhappy childhood there, but quickly succumbs to the laughter invoked by the unrelenting stream of side-splitting anecdotes served alongside the tales of his youth.

As Dan narrates another amusing episode, Phil’s attention slips away from the stories and instead drifts towards the orator himself. Slowly, subtly, Phil starts to realise how charming Dan is, how witty and articulate his words are, how his natural sense of humour and great story-telling abilities could turn a book about drying paint into a Penguin Classic. While Dan laments about how the boys at his school made fun of him, Phil’s gut wrenches with anguish. How can a man so gentle and kind have been tormented by such heartless idiots? How can this poor soul have forgiven the beasts who were so mercilessly picking on him? How on earth could bullies take pleasure in beating down a boy who is so mild and agreeable that he likens himself to Winnie the Pooh? He looks on as the beaming boy laughs at his own stories. If Phil hadn’t been crying tears of laughter, he would have been weeping tears of sorrow.

After turning right at the Bodleian Library, the pair finally reach Broad Street. Blackwell’s Bookshop is easily recognisable by the cobalt blue exterior, guarding an attractive array of books, plays, letters and diaries for students to both ponder and argue over. As the pair step inside, a brass doorbell rings gaily.

“So, what is it you’re here to pick up then, Mr. English Literature?”

“It’s a 1890 copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray , posted all the way from America. I put in an order through a collector’s magazine and they’ve been holding it here for a few days.”

“Blimey. How much is that costing you?” Dan asks with a hint of ridicule in his voice.

Phil sighs as they navigate through the shop, passing by bookshelves that run from floor to ceiling. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oooh no, I very much do,” he teases. “Go on then, out with it! How much?”

Phil turns back to face Dan, who can’t resist making a guess.

“Ten bob?”

He shakes his head.

“More? Christ! Twenty bob?”

“Up.”

“...Twenty-five?”

“Down.

“Twenty-two?”

The guilty party nods silently.

“ Twenty-two shillings? For a musty old book?” The corners of Dan’s mouth turn upwards with a mischievous smirk. “Well, I suppose it is Oscar Wilde.”

“Exactly,” replies Phil curtly as they approach the counter. “Now shush for a moment.”

Dan rolls his eyes at the shushing, skulking off while Phil hands over an inordinate amount of money for a rare book about 19th century homosexuals. When he has obtained his precious cargo, he finds his companion browsing the shelves of the fiction section. Now, he decides, is a good time for a bit of probing.

“Do you read much?”

The brunette continues to scan the bookshelves.

“Not that often unfortunately, but I have a few favourite authors I return to.”

“Such as…?”

A moment of silence.

“Lord Byron, for one.”

“Good choice! Great poetry, and a fascinating life too.”

“Mmmm. He definitely got up to some shenanigans on his Grand Tour.”

With lots of young men, Phil thinks. He decides to probe further.

“Anybody else?”

Dan slips him a quizzical look before picking up a random hardback and flicking through it.

“T. S. Eliot.”

“Another good choice!”

“How about you then?” Dan queries, seeming irritated. “Who’s your favourite author?”

Phil merely holds his recent purchase up to his face, peeping out from behind the cover.

“Ah,” Dan smiles, and Phil feels the tension melt away. “I suppose I should have guessed.”

After making their way through the maze of shelves they eventually locate the exit. As Phil walks through the door that Dan kindly holds open for him, he notices the other man take in a deep breath.

“So, on the subject of our friend Oscar. What do you make of his trial?”

Phil looks back at Dan with the panicked face of a deer in the headlights. Wilde’s trial, or trails , are still a risky topic sixty years later. Although he has a hunch about why Dan is asking about his opinions on Wilde, these are still untested waters. If Phil has read too much into Dan’s favourite authors, placed too much emphasis on the abuse hurled at him by the boys at The Oratory, focused too much on Dan’s meticulous sense of style and theatrical mannerisms and soft hand that felt surprisingly affectionate as it touched his, then this could all be over for him. This could be the start of rumours that destroy his life, exclusion that breaks his heart, and loneliness that turns it cold.

Phil’s hands are cold.

He’s starting to wish that a certain pair of palms would offer to warm them up.

Sod it. He may as well give it a try.

“I think it’s a crime,” he begins. “I don’t understand how somebody could be so... vindictive. To take a man to court for an act which hurts nobody, affects nobody, and is only the business of those who are involved, is utterly inhuman. Oscar Wilde was one of the greatest literary, classical and philosophical minds that this nation has ever seen, and yet he was put in prison and left to waste for what?! Gross indecency? It’s an outrage. So what if he had written books and poems about…,” he shrugs, “homosexual love? Those writings were works of art. It is stupid, ignorant and close-minded to take issue with it,” he finishes with a huff, having worked himself up a little bit too much. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to rant.”

As they turn left onto High Street Phil takes a nervous look at Dan, silently praying that he’s not about to be met with an icy stare. Instead his face is glowing, smiling feebly, eyes locked onto his in a state of awe.

There’s a short silence as they pass various shops.

“I dare say that I agree.”

“Hmmm.”

Silence falls again like a heavy blanket. The atmosphere isn’t uncomfortable, nor is is born out of having nothing left to say. Instead, it is the kind of serene and peaceful quietude that occurs when two individuals unexpectedly reveal a tender and intimate part of themselves, and are left to wordlessly contemplate their newfound solidarity.

“I’ve grown awfully hungry,” Dan pipes up, breaking the quiet. “I want to show you this adorable little cafe just down the road. Let me take you there, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It’s ever so quaint.”

A minute or so later they arrive at a decadent-looking tea room. As they come into the warmth. Phil is immediately taken aback by the marble pillars, chandeliers and wood-panelled ceiling that decorate the large, luxurious venue. A bustling atmosphere is full of students neglecting their work in favour of an early lunch and retired couples sharing overpriced sandwiches. Following a short wait at the front of house, they are taken to a four-man table tucked into a corner with a view of the courtyard outside.

“Here’s a fact for you - this was the first coffee house in England,” Dan declares as he shucks his jacket and sets his fedora down onto the table. “Just popping to the little boy’s room, I won’t be a moment. Take a look at the menu, choose anything you fancy. It’s on me,” he announces, followed by a wink.

Phil watches Dan fondly as he snakes through the tables, observing the man’s heavy gait and sloped posture. Quite a juxtaposition between the eloquence of his articulation and gentle face, he decides. But before he can ease into his chair and relish the few minutes he has to process the day’s events thus far, a familiar voice suddenly cries out his name.

“Philip! Fancy seeing you here old chap.”

Bursting into view come John and Mary, who promptly set down bags copious bags of shopping on the now over-crowded table.

“Morning all” Phil beams, pulling out a chair as his friends sit down either side of him and shuffle up ridiculously close. “What brings you to The Grand Cafe this fine morning?”

John takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair. “We’ve just been out shopping, haven’t we?”

“Mmm, I can see that,” Phil retorts flatly. “But what for? Anything in particular?”

Mary opens her handbag to reveal a miniature tawny-coloured box, which she sets down on the wooden table before sliding it over towards Phil.

“It’s for the wife” Mary proclaims, holding her hands to her face as she smiles. “It’s our one-month anniversary next week, so I thought I may as well treat the old girl with something special.”

John sighs. “Mary, I’ve already told you that you can’t have a one month anniversary ! The word comes from the Latin ‘annus’, meaning year, and ‘versus’, meaning ‘return’. Get it wrong one more time and I’ll tell the Oxford dons to barr you from ever studying English again!”

Mary scoffs. “For God’s sake John, you’re starting to sound like your husband!” she jests, rolling her eyes towards Phil as she turns to him for a reaction. Preferring to avoid the conflict, Phil instead takes a look inside the box to see what could be for Mary’s “wife”.

The hinge of the top lid pops open, and concealed in the white satin lining is a gold ring. Adorned with a sizeable green stone surrounded by a cluster of several smaller, clear gems around the edge, it twinkles attractively under the dazzling lights of the cafe as he turns the bo from side to side. Phil doesn’t know much about gems and jewelry, but he has a feeling that this must have been fairly pricey. And such a pretty ring! But who for?

“Come on Lester, back me up here. You know how to speak Latin. I know I’m correct, aren’t I?”

“Uhh, yeah, you’re right,” he stutters, blinking in confusion. He examines the box again. “Who’s this ring for though?”

Mary and John exchange a look.

“I-It’s for Beth, obviously,” the black haired woman explains as if Phil were an idiot for not understanding. “What other special woman do I have in my life?”

Beth? Special woman?

“Come on Phil! Don’t tell me you had no idea!” she laughs, blushing as she folds her arms and scoots in further still. Phil can feel the embarrassment creep over him. Mary? In a relationship with...Beth?

“We’re the same, me and you.”

Mary’s words from secondary school come flooding back to him. So that’s what she meant! But that means she knows that Phil is-

The ring is quickly snatched away and pocketed by its owner, who has begun to look slightly sheepish.

“Anyway, enough about this old thing. So, what are you out and about for?”

“Oh, I’m just er, running some errands with Dan.”

“Ahhhh, Daniel! How charming. I’m glad you two are finally getting to know one another.” Mary locks her fingers together to use as a chin rest, which, over the years, has come to signify that somebody has suddenly become the object of great interest.

“W...what do you mean by that?”

Mary’s head sinks lower as she gives Phil ‘a look’.

“Darling, Daniel thinks you’re the bee’s knees . He hasn’t shut up about you ever since he first caught a glimpse of your pretty little face when we had our first ever lecture together.”

First ever lecture? But that was back in October. Dan , talking about him , and for over a month - before they even met?? Phil traces his mind back to the day where he emerged from a lecture hall talking to Mary about how nasal their new professor’s voice was - or was this the professor that kept sneezing? Regardless, Dan probably caught sight of him then. But to have noticed Phil so early on, and only have approached him a few weeks ago? Has he seriously been doting for that long?

Electric blood courses through Phil’s veins as his brain runs a hundred miles a minute. Dan. Talking about him. To Mary. Secretly. For weeks. Tempting theories flirt with Phil’s brain.

“...what do you make of Wilde’s trial?”

“Not that I’m... stalking you or anything”

“... come and sit down here with me…”

Phil has never been more bewildered in his entire life, despite everything now making perfect sense.

Mary and Beth are...together.

Bill and John are probably also together.

Mary is a... homosexual .

Mary has known that Phil was also a homosexual ever since they first met.

Dan and Mary have (somehow) become friends.

Dan has become... interested in him.

And Mary has known about it all this time.

He shifts absent-mindedly in his seat, still staring at the floor with a blank expression. Despite these revelations, Phil wishes - he wishes he was even allowed to wish - that everything about Dan was now leading itself to one alluring conclusion, down one inevitable path, but the path is twisted and covered in leaves and bracken, and the bracken , Phil remembers to the tune of Du Maurier’s Rebecca , “the bracken had entered into an alien marriage with a host of nameless shrubs, poor, bastard things that clung about their roots as though conscious of their spurious origin. A lilac had mated-”

He begins to imagine Dan and himself as vines interlaced around each other and-

“Phil? Hello?”

He stifles a choke.

“Are you alright? You went very pale, and then very red. I hope you’re not having hot flushes. You’re too early to be going through your menopause.”

“Menopause?”

Mary cackles. “Ah, my humour is lost on both you. Anyway, look sharp, Dan’s here.”

He raises his head to see Dan weaving his way through the tables once again. The sleeves on his white shirt have been rolled up, and his tie is loosened slightly. All Phil can do is sit and stare with his cheeks a shameful shade of scarlet.

“‘Ello ‘ello ello! What a pleasure to see you here!” he beams at Mary before turning to John. “Hullo there, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Daniel, pleased to make your acquaintance.” As the pair shake hands, Phil melts at the charm of Dan’s genteel formalities. This man, who is so handsome, so well educated, and so polite and witty and well dressed, thinks that he, Philip Michael Lester, is the “bees knees”? He’ll have to ask Mary for details later.

Lunch is a spectacle and a half. It emerges that Dan’s family is wealthy, very wealthy - more so than Phil’s, he is borderline aristocratic - and he offers to pay for every sandwich, cake, biscuit, every cup of exotic tea and coffee, and later every glass of expensive champagne that the waiters bring out on lavish trays. Dan woos their company with tale after tale, joke after joke, and by the time John checks his watch and reminds Mary that they really should get back to their dormitories before three o’clock, Phil finds himself fixated on Dan, eyes following him as if he were the second coming of Christ. Bills paid, jackets donned, bags arranged and door drunkenly stumbled out of, the quartet part ways as the sunshine dips behind the horizon and the temperature lulls itself back to freezing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After arriving at Raleigh on Cowley Road, the two students spend an hour or so wandering around the shop and making up characters for each of the bicycles by imitating their imagined personalities with various voices and poses. By the time they’re threatened with being locked inside as the shop closes for the day, the pair of them have finally decided on a bike for Phil to buy. Or, as it turns out, for Dan to buy for Phil. All £30 worth. The curly-haired boy had insisted, claiming that the Clubman Model 25 was the best bike in the entire shop, and that it would be an early birthday present, and that his parents had given him far too much money to spend over Michaelmas, and besides, he wanted to buy it for him, so that was that. Phil had first coyly protested, then seriously protested, until he let himself be spoiled by this increasingly confusing man who was now offering to pay for his expenses. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it wasn’t. It was probably the champagne when Dan insisted they both sit on the bike and ride it home together.

“Dan, this is not going to work, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore! Hurry up, get on! It’ll be getting dark soon and it’s too far to walk. You have no choice” he announces, triumphant as he puts Phil’s book inside a leather bag attached to the back of the bike and swings a leg over the navy blue frame.

“I don’t see how I’m going to fit on here. This isn’t a tandem bicycle.”

“It’s easy!” he assures with a gratified smile. “My brother and I used to do it all the time when we were young. If you sit down on this part of the seat, put your feet on the lower frame here , and hold onto this bottom part of the handlebars, you’ll be absolutely fine.”

Remaining dubious, Phil shuffles over to his recent purchase before staring long and hard at it, trying to figure out how to avoid cracking his head open within thirty seconds of liftoff.

“Stop dilly-dallying you wet rag. Look, do you want some help getting on?” Dan reaches out a hand and touches Phil’s forearm reassuringly, causing his arm to seize up.

“No! No, I’ll be fine,” comes his embarrassingly sharp reply. Damnit. They’re going to have to sit very close for this to work without them both dying.

“Okay, how am I supposed to do this again?”

Dan shuffles back on the seat before patting the front part with his right hand. Trying to suppress his nerves, Phil swings his left leg over the bike and grips the bottom part of the handlebars as told, except perhaps slightly more firmly than need be.

“Like this?”

“Yes, except that you’re forgetting the most important part.”

“What?!” he cries a little too loudly as he starts to get impatient.

The intimacy of having Dan sit only a few centimetres behind him is starting to have an adverse effect.

“Bottom on seat! Then we can set off.”

Phil really has no reason to huff, but agitation makes him. God. If only he weren’t so awkward and obvious.

“Chocks away!” Dan cries, and suddenly he senses movement behind him as the boy begins to pedal up the pavement and across onto the road.

“Aagghhh!”

“Stay calm Philip! You’ll be safe in my hands,” Dan shouts against the howling wind. Hearing those words spoken so closely to his ear is enough for Phil to settle down and keep mum, gazing around at the empty streets that they cycle by. The sky’s blue hues have faded to a cool evening grey, with dark, speckled clouds stretching across it. Breaking the silvery sheet is crisp tangerine strip where the setting sun illuminates the horizon, peppered by bursts of soft, glowing clouds that streak across the skyline. Nostalgia bares its warm hug to him. It feels like the family holidays that Phil used to go on when he was a child, where each day came to a close in the back of the family motorcar, staring out of the window at the spectacular sunsets best observed on winding country lanes over endless fields. He feels at home. He feels safe.

Out of tiredness, or, dare he admit it, out of relaxation, Phil has subconsciously leaned backwards enough for his spine to be pressed up against Dan’s chest. He’s not sure quite how it happened... but it has. Earlier on in the day he might have leapt forward and apologised. But now? Now he’s too sleepy to react, and anyway, at this point he just can’t bring himself to worry about this sort of thing anymore. Dan’s not complaining, and there’s nobody around to see it happen.

They cycle past the empty shops and illuminated houses until they pass Magdalene College and reach the High Street again. This time it’s dark, and the Christmas lights decorating the shops have slowly begun to turn on.

“This is pretty isn’t it?” Dan hums behind him, voice surprisingly low and mellow in contrast to his comparative bellowing at the cafe earlier on.

“Mmmmm.”

“I love Christmas - it’s one of my favourite times of year. I love getting festive when December starts, with all the lights and mince pies and scented candles. I do find it stressful shopping for people though. I always feel like I’m going to put my foot in it. And of course there’s the part where everything begins to get horribly fake and commercial, but I don’t particularly want to think about that at the moment if I’m honest. Everything is all too perfect right now.”

“Mmm.” All too perfect.

“I’m considering joining the choir this year,” Dan continues. “I haven’t sung in a choir since I was about thirteen. I do miss it occasionally. Ah well. We’ll have to see.”

The shop displays sparkle as they sail past - newspaper vendors and tea rooms and tuck shops and travel agencies all closing in preparation for Sunday.

“So you can act and sing?”

Dan’s laugh is short and shaky. “I suppose I can. Luckily there’s no singing in this play that’s coming up though. God,” he exhales, “I don’t even want to think about the damned thing.”

“Why, has something gone wrong?”

“No. Well, not really.”

There’s a brief silence.

“The problem is is that I’m beginning to get rather stressed about it the whole ordeal. There’s only a couple of weeks left until we’re meant to be performing, but I’ve got a lot of work to complete for Music and rehearsals are starting to take up a lot of my time, and to make matters worse this sodding roommate that I’ve got keeps taking up my side of our study room and I’m not too sure that he really likes me anymore and I just…,” he sighs, “I don’t know. It’s an intense period, to say the least.”

“Hmmm.”

Phil turns his attention back towards the shops as they make their way towards his college. As they cruise down the High Street, the faint sound of music begins to waft through the cars and chatter. It gets louder as they cycle onwards, until they come up to a bakery where a small brass band stands outside in the cold, playing a tune that Phil knows well but can’t name. There’s a small crowd gathered outside, and as the song finishes, people cheer.

“Dan.”

“Mmm?”

“If you’re worrying about Christmas shopping, why don’t you come with me? I was planning on going on the first weekend of December. I’m a master at choosing presents for people, so I’m sure I’ll be able to help. And I’d be happy to. I owe you for today.”

“Oh...than-”

“And about getting work done for Music - you could always use my room. It’s not very large but it does have a lot of desk space, and I don’t have any pesky roommates that would get on your nerves. Just ask. I won’t say no, I mean, how could I? You’d be very welcome. Tell the porter you’re here to see Phil at room seventeen, staircase nine, and he’ll let you in.”

The other man doesn’t say a word. As they cycle down the narrow path into Catte Street, across the cobbled square host to the 18th-century Radcliffe Camera and down Brasenose Lane with its high walls, a soft drizzle begins to fall from the gloomy, blackening clouds. Dan clears his throat.

“Thank you, Phil,” he begins in a low voice. “Seriously. I shall have to take you up on that offer. When can I come over? Would next Friday be okay?”

“As I said, any time.”

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be disturbing you?”

“No, not at all. Dan, I’m offering. I wouldn’t have done so if I didn’t want to.”

“Okay,” he mutters, finally surrendering.

Turning onto Turl Street, Dan slows the pace to a halt as Phil disembarks. They walk in silence as they approach the gargantuan entrance to monumentous 14th-century college building.

“Well, here we are,” Dan announces.

Phil leans against the cold, carved, limestone walls that slant towards the dark wooden doors. He looks back at Dan, who holds the bike with one large, strong hand. The bike’s angle seems to have cornered him in this small nook, but Phil tries not to think about that. Instead, he looks up at Dan. The boy’s curls are slightly disheveled under his grey fedora, and his coat is covered with a haze of tiny raindrops. A satisfied smirk sits on his lips, and in the low light Phil can see that his dimpled cheeks glow a faint shade of pink.

“Thank you for today” Dan begins solemnly.

“It was my pleasure. Plus you paid for most of it anyway!”

“Hah! I guess did. Well, I suppose I should give this back to you and trot along back to Keble.” There’s a hint of resignation in his voice. “Come on, go inside. You’ll get soaked if you stand out here any longer.”

The frame is icy as Phil takes hold of it, raindrops spattering onto his wet hands as the downpour becomes stronger. Phil looks back up at Dan. Despite the storm getting worse, they both remain motionless, looking at each other. Dan’s eyes are fascinatingly deep and dark; moody against the backdrop of a thunderstorm and the billowing leaves of the tree behind him. Those eyes study him with equal interest, flitting over his neck and jaw, making Phil want to just shut his eyes and lean in and-

Dan, as if sensing the tension, closes his lids with a smile and takes two steps back.

“See you next week, Phil!”

Turning his shoulders away, he strides around the bike-wall alcove, exiting that little bubble that had just been created.

“Cheerio!” he cries, saluting as he marches off back to his own college.

Phil shivvers.

Ah well. Maybe next week.

#my writing #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phandom #Dan and Phil #dnp #dan howell #phil lester #amazingphil #danisnotonfire #daniel howell

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bitway-arts · 7 years

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Title: Be My Robot Rating: T Series: Danganronpa V3 Characters: Kokichi Ouma, Kiibo Pairings: Kiibouma Summary: Valentine's Day is when Ouma plans to confess to Kiibo. What could possibly go wrong? {AU where the nrdv3 kids are in Hope's Peak. No spoilers.}

"Ughhhh! Why is this so hard!" Ouma whines as he looks to his batch of chocolates. This one had not come out perfect in the eyes of the Ultimate Supreme Leader. Rather than looking close to perfection, they were practically burnt to a crisp. Definitely not even worth a second glance from him.

A pout was on his face as he glared at the inedible pieces of chocolate. He picked one up, feeling the piece of chocolate in his hand before trying to toss it into the trash can, which was a few feet away from him. He missed. And that soured his mood even more.

"This holiday is stupid! It's literally the lamest thing ever. It's so gross and mushy. Who even likes eating chocolate made by someone else anyway?" He could spout out more 'insults' at how stupid everything was about the upcoming holiday, but came to a halt as his eyes caught the calendar.

Tomorrow was February fourteenth. Valentine's Day. A day when Ouma would usually be giving out weird tasting chocolates (or these burnt ones) to friends, stealing the good ones from them, or simply telling people he loved them, which was followed by a 'did you seriously believe me?' comment.

Slowly, the boy let his body go from resting against the counter to sliding down and sit on the floor. His arms were crossed and that pout had yet to leave his face. At this point, he could care less if any of his ten thousand members saw him like this. It wouldn't be the first time they saw him throwing a mini tantrum.

For, what seemed like, the hundredth time today, Ouma was beginning to question why he was even bothering to put in effort to making chocolates. It's not like a robot could eat them. He knew this, since he had asked and received an answer. One that had made his heart sink.

"Robots do not need to consume food. We survive off of our battery and other mechanics that work together in order to make us fully functional. There may be some who can eat and digest food, although I am not one of them."

Kiibo just had to be the robot that did not need to eat anything. He could understand not drinking to an extent, but couldn't that professor guy add an eating function? At least that crossed off his question of 'can robots take a shit' from his list.

Seeing as he was unable to make perfect chocolates, he considered why not just buying ones already made? Or have his underlings do it. As long as they looked perfect and were edible, thats all that mattered. He could lie about having made them anyway! Which probably wasn't the best thing, but it wasn't the first time he had lied to make himself look better. Besides, that robot just might end up believing him anyway.

With that thought now stuck in his mind, in just an instant the boy seemed to cheer up. He could buy some of the best tasting and looking chocolates for Kiibo. Even if he couldn't actually consume the chocolatey treat, the robot might just be willing to share some with him.

"Nishishi~! I'll definitely be getting a new robot boyfriend and some sweet desserts all in one day!"

~...~

During the course of school, Ouma had stuck his tongue out to any sign of couples sharing chocolate or giving them out. He'd make snide remarks and try to 'sample' chocolates for poison (which really was just an excuse to get some more chocolate out of people). It was all just to keep his mind off what he was going to do after school.

It should be a piece of cake for someone like him to hand over chocolates that he had made (he was going to argue that he had indeed made them himself to the very end, even if evidence said otherwise) and confess his feelings. Which all sounded great in theory and even more amazing in the scenarios he was playing out in his mind, but in reality, he was far too nervous to admit.

It was driving him crazy to the fact that Kiibo might actually reject him and his offering. Why would he reject the great and almighty Supreme Leader? Because he was a jerk to him, he was all talk and no walk. And his overbearing curiosity may have caused some arguments between the two. Though he did show his sweeter side to him every now and then. Protecting him from derogatory comments and keeping robot haters away with his minions. He had even called Kiibo a friend without adding he was lying.

Ouma was nearly ready to chuck his wrapped chocolates out the window as his thoughts persisted. If he could throw them away, then he wouldn't be sick to his stomach with his insecurities. But if he did, then how else would he ever ask Kiibo out? He could do something extravagant, but he wasn't sure when he would be able to draw the courage to even do something like this again.

While trying to not let his doubts begin to eat at him, the boy looked down into his hands to see the purple bag, neatly wrapped in a silver ribbon, decorated with a red heart sticker at one of the ends. He adjusted one end of the ribbon, wanting it to look just right before taking in his breath. He was going to do this no matter what. Things would go smoothly, they had to. And if they didn't...well, he wasn't going to think about the possible bad outcomes of this day.

~...~

The boy was moments away from giving his chocolates to the robot. He had spotted the robot alone outside one of the buildings, which gave him a perfect opportunity to confess. All Ouma had to do was go up to him and hand over the chocolates. For once, his surprise would be a good one! Though he planned on saying something like they were poisonous to robots just to play around with him.

"Kiibo!" Ouma shouts with a happy tone, about to rush towards the robot. Yet, he finds himself coming to a sudden halt. In the blink of an eye, his happy expression falls. Apparently, his eyes had deceived him, Kiibo was not alone. Another classmate of theirs, Kaede Akamatsu, was standing with him.

Normally, Ouma would not care who Kiibo was speaking to. He'd literally pop out of nowhere and greet him with a question or if he was feeling affectionate, a hug. This time, he had to take a step back and watch due to the wrapped package in the robot's hands.

Kiibo was handing over chocolates, on Valentine's Day, to Kaede. Someone who was not Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader.

Although Ouma couldn't make out what they were saying from his spot, he had an idea of what was going on. A sweet yet naive confession. That idiot robot that was supposed to be his was asking out someone else. Kiibo's face was beet red, that cute flustered look that only he was supposed to see, was being displayed before her instead.

"Stupid robot..." Ouma mumbled. His chest was beginning to hurt to the sight. Everything was going downhill before he could even try to set his plan in motion. What was the point of it now? He could try to see steal the robot away from her, but not at this moment. The pain in his chest seemed to be spreading all across his body, everything was hurting. If this was how heartbreak felt, than he would rather be off dead.

He somehow manages to hear the two call out his name. Ouma could only guess that one of them had noticed his motionless presence, simply standing there while the two were interacting. Whatever they were trying to say, he couldn't make out a single word. Everything was being drowned out, until he had heard Kiibo calling out his name.

"I hate you, Kiibo!" The boy shouted while clutching the small bag in his hands. Both Kiibo and Kaede looked deathly surprised to see him shout something like that. Even he was surprised to hear that come out of his own mouth.

"O-Ouma! What do yo-" Kiibo's question was cut off by a bag of chocolates coming in contact with his face. Ouma had thrown them in a fit of frustration. He didn't want them anymore, he didn't need them. The robot couldn't eat them, so let him give it to his new girlfriend. If they hadn't been destroyed by his metallic face that is.

After tossing the chocolates, he ran. He could hear two calling his name, telling him to come back, but he didn't dare to acknowledge either one. He was certain he was getting odd looks, but he didn't care at all. He just wanted to get far, far away from Kiibo and wish that this day was over.

~...~

Ouma was sulking in his room, he had been the moment he had arrived. After catching his breath, he had dropped his body onto his bed. Before he could even recover from that run, he could feel the tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He had tried to lie to himself, tell himself that he was strong and didn't need to cry, but that didn't help. The tears fell and for a long while, it seemed like they never would have stopped. Luckily for him, his tears had stopped not too long ago, but he was still in a bad and sulky mood.

There was a sudden knock at his door, followed by a voice that reminded him of why he was in such a terrible mood in the first place. "Ouma...? Are you in there?" It was Kiibo.

"No one's here!" Ouma shouted, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly.

"But you responded, therefore you are in there."

For once, he was actually sick of the robot's too logical answers. Part of him wanted to make a snappy comeback to it, but just couldn't muster one up.

"Go away, Kiibo!"

"I will not! I have something I wish to speak with you about, Ouma."

The boy groaned to his response. Kiibo was the last person he wanted to see (aside from Kaede now). Couldn't he just leave him to sulk in peace? Or did he really have to rub in the fact he was going to be dating that pianist now?

"If you don't open the door, I'll have to break it open."

Ouma rolled his eyes to that. Even without physically see him, he could still spot out a lie a mile away. "You wouldn't dare. It's not in you to do something so drastic."

"Please, Ouma..." Kiibo sounded distressed and that managed to tug on Ouma's heartstrings. With a sigh, the boy begrudgingly forced himself off his bed, tossing the pillow over to the side, and went over to the door. Before opening it, he tried to compose himself. All he had to do was work that smile of his, which came naturally.

"Ouma!" Kiibo looked happy for a split second before noting the look on the human's face. "Your eyes are red and puffy. Are you alright? Did something bad happen to you?"

Yeah, a hunk of metal broke my goddamn heart.

"I was eating onions and they made me tear up," Ouma stated so casually. That smile of his wasn't lasting long, he could feel it begin to fade as he stared at the robot. "What do you want Kiibo?"

"Please...this needs to be a private conversation," Kiibo said, looking to the boy with pleading eyes. After a moment, Ouma ushered the other in, slamming the door behind him.

The room went silent afterwards. Kiibo was fidgeting as he stood in Ouma's room, eyes wandering around the place while Ouma was trying to keep a neutral and indifferent look. He was just waiting for bad news to spill and make him want to kick the robot (which sounds like a good idea but would hurt the human more).

"Ouma..." Kiibo started, trying to clear his throat (or sound like he was). "Did you mean what you said? About...hating me?"

"What?" Ouma asked, sounding surprised.

"You shouted that you hated me earlier..." A very disheartened look was displayed on Kiibo's face.

"Oh, right, I did." He had nearly forgotten about what he had done. Most of that memory had just been what happened prior to his angry remark. "Hmm...do you think I mean it?" He decided to counter his question with his own.

"Sometimes I think you do, I can't always tell if you're joking around or not. But you sounded really angry that time..."

"So, you think I hate you?"

"No! I mean, I don't want you to hate me."

"I don't hate you," Ouma said in a more serious tone. Did he after all that had happened? His heart was definitely in pain, but he could never come to hate Kiibo. If anything, he figured he should be directing his hate towards Kaede, the one who stole his robot. "Anyway, if thats all you wanted to ask, then you can go. I have important business to get to."

"O-One more thing!" Kiibo shouted, easily catching the other's attention.

With a bit of curiosity peeking through, his eyes remained on the robot. "What is it now?"

"I..." Kiibo began to fidget again, his face now going red. Ouma could only stare at the robot, trying to read what he wanted to say, try to see what was going on in that mechanical brain of his.

"I want to give this to you!" He quickly pulls out a small pink bag, decorated with hearts that contains chocolates from a small comparment (which Kiibo calls a robot version of a pocket) and holds them out to Ouma. "I want you to accept them! A-As well as...my f-feelings!"

Ouma stared at the offered chocolates, definitely confused by what was going on. Kiibo was now offering him chocolates? On Valentine's Day? After he had done the same to Kaede? This definitely had to be a prank.

"Why would I accept that from you?" He asked while crossing his arms. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the bag a little more. They were beginning to look familiar. It looked like the bag he had given to his 'girlfriend'. "Did Kaede turn you down?"

"Why would Kaede turn me down?" Kiibo asked, genuinely confused. "These chocolates were not for her."

"Liar!" Ouma hisses. "I interrupted you giving her these stupid chocolates! I'm just a round two, aren't I? I wasn't your first choice! Or maybe this is just out of pity. Oh, Ouma is sad and hates me, let me make it up to him with this chocolate. I'll bet he'll love it and then love me in return!"

"Ouma, that is not the case-"

"Liar!" Ouma shouted, stomping his foot and looking down. "Liar! Liar! Liar!" As he shouted he could feel the tears returning. God, how could he cry in front of this stupid robot? "You hate me, just admit it..." He muttered under his breath before beginning to rub his eyes.

Kiibo began to panic over seeing him begin to cry. That was a bad sign! And to make matters worse, he couldn't tell if they were real tears or crocodile ones that he was known for. The robot reached out a hand, having read that physical comfort was a good thing, but Ouma slapped his hand away, which just ended up hurting himself.

"Ouma, are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Well, no..."

"Just leave me alone, Kiibo." While holding his now slightly hurting hand, he moved towards his bed. Maybe if the robot saw him in such a bad mood, he'd decide to leave. Though he had a feeling he wouldn't, that robot was always out to make others feel better. Ouma was no exception.

"I won't go until you hear me out, Ouma," Kiibo said, waiting for a reply from the boy. He waited for a moment expecting a response, but since there was none, he decided to speak.

"I...did not confess to Kaede."

"Liar."

"I was practicing with her in order to confess to you."

"Liar."

"It is true! I was worried that I would not be able to get what I want to say across to you."

"Liar."

"I believe that I...have romantic feelings for you and that I..."

"Liar."

"l-love you, Ouma!"

"..."

"Ouma?"

He knew a lie when he heard one. There was always something, a little tic or the sound of the voice that would tip him off to one. He knew literally every little thing that would be done in order to try and make a lie plausible. All that Kiibo had said had been nothing but the truth, especially that last one. Even if the robot would have tried to lie, he would be nowhere as genuine sounding as that. Kiibo was not the master liar; he was.

Ouma lifted himself off the bed, looking to Kiibo with a curious gaze. His stare bore into the other, making the robot begin to feel uncomfortable.

The human was only registering what had all been said. Kiibo was in love with him. Not Kaede. He had to question if this really was some dream or a big prank. Could it be both? But what if this was real?

"If you love me...then will you show me your dick?"

"O-Ouma!" Kiibo's face easily flushed and Ouma couldn't help but laugh to that reaction. "Please! I am serious!"

"But I'm serious too you know," Ouma huffed as he walked over to Kiibo, looking up at him. A smile formed from his lips, a genuine yet cheeky one. "Can you say it again?"

"Say...what again?"

"That you love me."

"I-I...I love you, Ouma."

"Hmm...again!"

"I l-love you, Ouma..."

"Again!"

"Ouma!" Kiibo whined, feeling so embarrassed to say something over and over in front of him. It didn't help that his face had continued to grow red with each time he had to admit that. "Not until you give me an answer."

"An answer to what?"

"Well, its technically not an answer. I just want to know if you will truly accept my feelings or not. If yes, than you're supposed to take the chocolates, or so I've been told. If no, then...I will understand your feelings and not bring this up ever again. I only wish for you to be happy with someone of your choice."

"If that's how it goes...than okay! I want the free chocolate! Nishishi!" Ouma said with a grin, quickly snatching the chocolates away and eyeing them like a child would. It didn't take him long to begin unwrapping the small bag and popping one of the little chocolates into his mouth.

"Then...you accept?"

"Maybe...maybe not!"

Kiibo sighed to that response. Honestly, he was hoping for a truthful answer from him. Though, Ouma accepting his chocolates meant a definite yes, right? Even if he had said he only wanted them because they were free...that had to be a lie.

"Oh, by the way, I have these." Kiibo began to pull out another wrapped chocolate bag, a purple one, from his compartment and held it out to the boy. "These are yours, right?"

Ouma froze to the sight of that too familiar bag. He had thought Kiibo or Kaede would have simply tossed them away. It's not like they were that special or anything. Or so he was telling himself in this moment.

"Y-Yeah...they are. Why do you still have them?" Ouma asked, stopping his chocolate eating for now.

"Kaede said they might be yours and I should return them to you. I did not wish to break them, but I believe some did when they came in contact with my face. These are...Valentine's chocolates." Kiibo frowned to the realization. "Are they for someone?"

Now it was Ouma's turn to blush and gaze away from Kiibo. It was his turn to give an embarrassing answer to Kiibo.

"Yeah...they're, um, for you."

"For me?" Kiibo asks, his face beginning to light up before looking confused. "But I do not require food...You know that, Ouma."

"I do know that! But I wanted to give them to you anyway!" He huffed, holding back on how his plan was ruined thanks to him jumping to conclusions. "Don't you want to participate in human stuff? Me giving them to you is one way to do it. And now you have to since you love me. You can't say no."

"Than...this means you were planning on confessing to me to!" Kiibo's eyes sparkled to that fact, but it made the Supreme Leader's face flush. Did he really have to say that out loud?

"I-I was not!" Ouma defends, naturally. He wasn't going to deny it, but it was in his nature to do so.

"You were! That is the only suitable reason for giving chocolate to someone today!"

"Okay! So, maybe I was." He shrugged as he was trying to regain his composure. "I don't know what you're going to do with them though...if you can't eat them, they'll just melt or something."

"I will save them until they go bad."

"...What?" Ouma was expecting the other to share it with him. So much for that plan to have delicious chocolates.

"I cannot lose something like this, but I also cannot eat it...so, saving it until they expire is the equivalent of it."

Robot logic was really weird sometimes.

"Fine, they're yours, do whatever you want with them," Ouma replied. If he couldn't have those chocolates, at least he had the ones Kiibo had given to him. "So, now that we're a thing, that means I can touch you all I want, right?"

"Umm..." Kiibo's face returned to it's red state. "I-I suppose. I know that couples do touch in intimate ways, but I am not prepared for that yet. I still need time to read and learn about the human body."

"Uwah! You have such a dirty mind for thinking I meant that..." Ouma smirked, teasing his new robot boyfriend. Of course he was still curious, but he wouldn't push Kiibo to that point yet. "I meant cuddles. Lots and lots of them!"

"Cuddling? But, I am not suited for such a-"

"Sit on my bed."

"Huh?"

"I want cuddles!" Ouma demanded with a pout. "Come on! It's such an innocent thing! As innocent as holding hands!"

Kiibo was going to protest to that, but all he could hear was a whine coming from Ouma. As much as he didn't understand the human need to...cuddle, this might help him understand it a little more. Besides, he'd end up being closer to Ouma to, which made his parts whir with joy.

The moment that Kiibo had sat down, Ouma was found in his lap, arms already wrapping around the robot. It took a moment for Kiibo to put his arms around the human, pulling him a little closer towards him. While he was worried for Ouma's discomfort, when he gazed down, he looked extremely content and comfortable.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ouma."

"I think you mean, Happy Kiibo and Ouma Day. I'm renaming the holiday, permanently."

#fantext;#ndrv3 #kiibouma #I DIDNT THINK I WOULD FINISH THIS TONIGHT BUT I DID #and by tonight i mean morning #sorry for throwing more into the kiibouma tag-

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