#i was way more articulate about this like 2 months ago but today i wanted to post this. happy birthday danger days. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lingthusiasm · 3 years

Text

Transcript Lingthusiasm Episode 59: Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Theory of Mind

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm Episode 59: Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Theory of Mind. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the Episode 59 show notes page.

[Music]

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Gretchen McCulloch.

Lauren: I’m Lauren Gawne. Today we’re getting enthusiastic about whether you’re getting enthusiastic about theory of mind. But first, our most recent bonus episode is on translation in fiction – mostly translating between human languages and non-human languages but all kinds of translation.

Gretchen: You can get access to this translation episode about some books we’ve been reading recently and 50 other bonus episodes by becoming a patron at patreon.com/lingthusiasm. Here’s a bit of a preview into the books we talked about.

Lauren: We talked about Semiosis by Sue Burke, and A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine, as well as The Devil Comes Courting by Courtney Milan. And, Gretchen, you have read Native Tongue by Suzette Haden Elgin.

Gretchen: I have finally gotten around to reading Native Tongue, which has been much recommended to me.

Lauren: A classic piece of linguistic sci-fi.

Gretchen: You don’t have to have read any of these books beforehand. We don’t provide plot spoilers, although we’ll talk about some of the things in the setting. It’s fun whether you’ve read any of them or not at all. You might end up with some new things to read.

Lauren: You can get access to that episode and all of our bonus episodes at patreon.com/lingthusiasm.

[Music]

Lauren: Gretchen, I’m gonna run an experiment on you.

Gretchen: Okay, I like experiments.

Lauren: Excellent. This one involves a lot of a set up, but it’s great because you can do it. If you are listening along, you can also do the experiment along with us.

Gretchen: Great! What’s our set up?

Lauren: We have Sally and Anne.

Gretchen: Okay.

Lauren: Sally has a basket. Anne has a box. Sally has a marble – Sally with the basket – and she puts her marble into the basket. Then she goes out for a walk. Sally’s not here. But we’ve got a basket with a marble in it.

Gretchen: Sally’s not here. We’ve got her basket with the marble in it. Okay.

Lauren: We’ve got a box, and Anne is still there. Anne takes the marble out of the basket and puts it in the box.

Gretchen: So, now we’ve got a marble in a box.

Lauren: We’ve got the marble in the box. Sally comes back, and Sally wants to play with the marble. Where is Sally going to go to get her marble?

Gretchen: I’m going to deduce – based on the fact that when Sally left the room, she left the marble in the basket – she probably still thinks the marble is in the basket because she’d have no reason to assume that things would’ve changed, and so she’s gonna try the basket first because she doesn’t know that Anne has moved it.

Lauren: That is a perfectly reasonable deduction to make. You are a veritable Sherlock Holmes.

Gretchen: Thank you. Did I pass the test?

Lauren: You did. You completed what is known as the “theory of mind test” because you kept track of what you knew about the situation and what Sally knew about the situation and all the sneakiness that Anne had perpetrated with the marble.

Gretchen: But presumably at some period earlier in my life, when I was a very young child, I might not have passed this test.

Lauren: The ability to correctly articulate what you know about Sally’s likely chances of going to the basket or the box really doesn’t settle into being reliable until 3 or 4 years old – actually being able to articulate what you know about the state of other people’s thinking.

Gretchen: Which feels kind of late because 2-year-olds, 3-year-olds already have quite a bit of language in most cases, and yet this later reasoning about mental states and what different people know about different things comes along later.

Lauren: That’s what the theory of mind test seems to indicate. It is a bit more complex than this. This is something that was run for the first time 30 or 40 years ago. There’s been more work that’s tried to do versions that don’t involve language; they just involve looking. They show that toddlers, 15 months old, are actually maybe better at paying attention to the fact that the marble is in one place or another and what Sally might know a little bit better than they can articulate. It’s something about being able to put it into words that seems to be one of the challenges that takes until, as you say, well into language acquisition to be able to do this task consistently.

Gretchen: This task feels like something that some experimenter set up in a lab, and maybe they had puppets, or maybe they had two different experimenters, and these props feel very psychology-experiment-prop style to me.

Lauren: What do we have in the props department, yeah.

Gretchen: It’s funny. I was reading a different paper about these types of experiments, and there are other ways you can test for theory of mind. One of my either favourite or least favourite, depending on this, is – oh, shall I do it on you?

Lauren: Okay, yes.

Gretchen: I have a box. It’s a small cardboard box. The outside says “Kinder Chocolate Bars” – chocolate things.

Lauren: Great. I’m very compelled by this box.

Gretchen: We have our friend Gavagai, who is also in the room and sees this box with the chocolates on it. Gavagai is called out, suddenly, to leave to go do something else.

Lauren: Bye, Gav.

Gretchen: I open this box, and I show you that inside is not, in fact, chocolates, but it is pencils – coloured pencils.

Lauren: Okay, I was gonna say that’s a bit of a disappointment, but it’s something of a disappointment to me.

Gretchen: They’re coloured pencils, which is something more exciting than graphite pencils. But still, they’re not chocolates. Then I close the box up again, and it looks like it’s closed. Then our friend Gav comes back in the room.

Lauren: Hi, Gav.

Gretchen: What does Gav think is in the box?

Lauren: Well, I know that it’s pencils. But Gav wasn’t here when I saw that it was pencils. Gav still thinks it’s chocolates, and boy, are they in for a disappointment.

Gretchen: Yes, they are. You can do this about location of item, which is the Sally-Anne test, which is about location, or you can do it about identity of item – what’s in it.

Lauren: I have a colleague who’s done the theory of mind task with little stones instead of a marble, but then there’s a whole other twist where the stones end up being those little nuggets of chocolate that look like stones. I just feel like I would be confused by that point about who knows what about the state or location of this rock chocolate situation.

Gretchen: I remember I loved those stones as a child because it felt like you were gonna break a tooth on them, and then you would eat them.

Lauren: You could definitely do some fun false belief with someone about me eating dirt.

Gretchen: There’s also a fun one in this study where they found – and I don’t know where they got this object because I have not seen an object like this – they have this little toy that looks like a race car, like one of those cars that you “vroom vroom” on the table. But it turns out when you press a button on it, it turns into a pen. A pen-thing pops out. They’re trying to see does this person think it’s a race car, do they think it’s a pen. Somebody’s really going around in toy shops being like, “Okay, what here could be deceptive?”

Lauren: Keeping track of people’s knowledge states, as we’ve said, is something that takes a little bit of effort. Not all animals can necessarily do it. In fact, when we find animals that are really good at this, people get really excited. There are animals that are closely related to humans, like chimps seem pretty good at this. You can basically do a version of the location of an object thing, and the chimps are all over it. Also, ravens are really good at conceptualising where someone might be and what they might be doing. It’s one of those skills that isn’t just like – well, first of all, you get theory of mind and a bunch of other things, and then you get language. It’s not just an ingredient in the language cake. It’s just one of many skills that humans and animals closely related to humans seem to have but also is scattered throughout the animal kingdom.

Gretchen: Corvids are pretty smart, I guess. They can recognise people, so maybe they can also – if you feed them, they’ll become your friends.

Lauren: We’ve run a very classic theory of mind experiment at the top of this episode, but as we suggested, people have been pulling apart exactly what theory of mind is and how different people do different elements of it. It seems to be this complicated cluster of features around attention, attention-tracking, false belief, mental states, and being able to do all of this is part of being able to do the social element of language.

Gretchen: Because when you’re talking about language, you’re describing what other people have done. You’re thinking like, “Okay, why did this person behave this weird way this time?”, or “Why did this person do this thing to me?”, “Why can’t I get this?” You’re trying to figure out, well, it’s because this other person wants this thing even though that’s not what I want. Or it’s because this other person knows this thing even though it’s not what I know.

Lauren: Even just the process of asking a question, like, using language to interact with someone to try and get to an end goal and whether or not they are likely to have the right information that I need to get this question answered. Theory of mind is the having really good foundations on the house of language, and it’s part of why I’m always very zen when people talk about computers taking over the ability to do language. It’s like, well, first of all, a computer has to be able to keep track of their best guess of the knowledge state of everyone else in the interaction, and that’s not necessarily the same kind of programming task as figuring out sounds or morphemes or syntactic structures.

Gretchen: It’s interesting because it is a theory – not like the theory of gravity where scientists have hypothesised that minds might exist – but in the sense that, whenever we’re interacting with the world, we’re hypothesising that the people around us have intention behind what they’re doing, and they’re doing stuff for reasons. I have to hypothesise that you, Lauren, have a mind because I don’t actually have direct evidence that you have a mind. Maybe you have actually been Lauren-bot this entire time!

Lauren: True, true. I am operating under the same premise. I have my own theory. It’s not a shared theory, necessarily. We all have this internal idea that the people we’re interacting with in conversation are also doing the same mental calculation that we are.

Gretchen: I remember having this realisation that people have other mental states, and maybe they conceive of the world dramatically differently from how I do. Maybe this thing that I see that I call “red” isn’t actually what someone else is seeing even though they also call it “red.” I remember having this philosophical realisation when I was about 12 or so, and thinking, “How do we know anything that we’re seeing things.” And yet, even though I don’t have empirical evidence that you aren’t just an extremely sophisticated automaton – I mean, I do have a lot of empirical evidence, actually, because automatons aren’t that good yet – but we still manage to interact with people. We still manage to operate under a working theory that people do have minds and they are interactable with.

Lauren: People have drawn a link between this kind of cognitive foundation and the need for language by looking at the way early human ancestors learnt to socialise with each other. Instead of having small packs of humans, you ended up getting these larger and larger groups. Once you have these larger groups, you have to have some way of maintaining social cohesion that’s not just small-group dominance. Robin Dunbar is probably one the most famous proponents of this idea that language is a way of maintaining social cohesion and that you can keep a happy social relationship with more people essentially through gossip – gossip being one of the mechanisms that helped generate the need for language.

Gretchen: I mean, it’s useful to know can you trust this person because they were trustworthy last time or have they been going around and doing things that are not trustworthy or is this someone that someone else is willing to vouch for. There’s lots of reasons why language can help with cooperation.

Lauren: In the absence of being able to time travel, I quite like this theory of one of the ways that humans came to use language.

Gretchen: I’ve actually been thinking about Robin Dunbar’s theories for a different reason. Because he has this very famous 150-size social group number, which is the size of a lot of villages or small communities or small companies or small conferences. It’s the magic number for that kind of community. But also, there’s this other number that Dunbar and colleagues have also researched, which is four. That’s the number of people that conversations tend to max out at before they start splitting into smaller conversations.

Lauren: Ah, this makes a lot of sense when I think about small group chat at parties and the ebb and flow of when people join or leave conversations. I think that must also explain why trying to have all of your friends in one big video chat room at an online party is really stressful.

Gretchen: Exactly. This also shows up in fiction. It shows up in plays. It shows up in movies that people tend to max out at four conversation participants. The reason for this has to do with theory of mind, which is that we find it too cognitively exhausting to keep track of the mental states of too many people.

Lauren: In a specific conversation.

Gretchen: At once, yeah.

Lauren: So, I can vaguely keep track of, like, 200, 150 people in my social village, but in terms of the moment-to-moment what-do-you-know-about-the-story-I’m-telling, three or four people is enough for me to keep track of.

Gretchen: There’s a really interesting test of this which is that Dunbar and colleagues did an experiment where they asked people to talk about an absent third party and speculate about that absent third party’s mental states. When people were instructed to use that for their conversation, they tended to form one smaller conversational grouping, so maximum of three instead of maximum of four, when they were just asked to talk about what the absent third parties were doing but not what they were thinking.

Lauren: I’m deeply fascinated by – this is experiment is “Please come into this lab and gossip.”

Gretchen: Right. I don’t remember exactly how they set it up, but yeah, something about the maximum number of mental states that you can conceive of without getting too tired is around five, but that means four people because you’re also keeping track of, like, between you and me, we have three mental states. I’m thinking about me, I’m thinking about you, and then I’m also thinking about what you’re thinking about me.

Lauren: This is why the language that we use to talk about internal mental states does particularly interesting things in grammar. You begin to see theory of mind affect the way that we do grammar because verbs that express internal mental states act a bit differently to other verbs.

Gretchen: English actually has this interesting grammatical distinction between how we talk about mental state verbs versus action verbs in the present tense. We say something like, “I know,” “I like,” “I understand,” “I enjoy,” “I fear,” but for action verbs, we’re more likely to say something like, “I am running,” “I am walking,” “I am talking.”

Lauren: Oh, yeah, “I walk,” implies an “I walk every day” habit thing.

Gretchen: Right. Whereas “I know” doesn’t imply “I know every day.” There’s just this subtle distinction between how we talk about verbs in the present. In the past, we don’t do this. You can say “I liked” and “I walked,” and that’s the same, but in the present, we have this interesting distinction that’s made in English that isn’t necessarily made in other languages.

Lauren: That only really works for first person in English. It’s a bit weird to say this about other people, especially the person who you’re talking to.

Gretchen: It’s another thing that’s weird about verbs about mental states where it’s sort of weird for me to be like, “Lauren, you like cake.” I mean, I guess –

Lauren: I mean, you definitely have enough evidence to support that as a viable statement. I think in the context of us interacting, it would be fine, but it would very weird to say it to someone who you didn’t have that knowledge for.

Gretchen: If I just go up to someone in a coffee shop who’s eating cake and say, “You like cake,” it’d be like, “Excuse me, but who invited your opinion here?”

Lauren: I think this is one of the things I’ve had to learn in teaching over the years is it’s very easy for me to be like, “Well, you know this because we covered it in class last week.” I just assume that everything we covered in class is completely absorbed into your knowledge state.

Gretchen: You mean your students don’t have perfect downloads of every single, you know, audio file of your voice?

Lauren: In much the same way that we don’t assume that people have absorbed every single fact from Lingthusiasm when we bring them up a couple of years later.

Gretchen: Absolutely. You don’t retain this. It’s easy to be like, “I’ve told you once,” and like, “Yeah, that was years ago, I don’t remember everything that happened to me years ago.”

Lauren: It’s why you end up finding a lot of question forms for second person in verb paradigms when you’re trying to do this elicitation because it’s much more comfortable for people to reframe what you’ve said as a question.

Gretchen: I think when we’re used to doing this decontextualised form of grammar as linguists, we’re like, “Oh, yeah, okay, I can make a verb paradigm: I like; you like; he/she likes; we like; you-plural like; they like.” Yeah, fine, I can just make this little paradigm for me. But the social context in which you would use each of these forms is actually really different.

Lauren: I mean, now that we’ve said that I can definitely think of contexts where it would be fine to say it in English with a direct “You like” or “You know.” I think there’re definitely where it would be safe to say it to a child that you are very close to like, “I know you like toast. We ate toast for breakfast yesterday.” Lo and behold, they like toast. They just need to be reminded of that.

Gretchen: But even there you were like, “I know you like toast,” which is sort of not quite as committed to the statement as “You like toast.” Or if you wanna say to a dog or something like, “You want your dinner? Yes, I know you want your dinner. You’re gonna have your dinner. Here we go.” But it’s, I think, to say to an adult – I mean, maybe if I walk in on you in your office, and I’m like, “Oh, you’re busy. I’ll come back later.” Or like, “Oh, you’re reading. You’re on the phone. I’ll come back later.” There’re certainly contexts in which you could do it, but you have to do a lot more contextual set up.

Lauren: I love how much set up you had to do to get to that as a valid way of using an internal state verb directly at someone.

Gretchen: Whereas if I say, “Yeah, I know. I like cake.” This doesn’t require any set up. This is just the unmarked thing to do.

Lauren: This is why we separate out these verbs about internal mental states or “psych verbs” as they’re sometimes called and look at them separately to other verbs in English. Because talking about someone else’s mental state changes the way that we can use them in grammar.

Gretchen: Some psych verbs come in pairs. You can say “I like cake” or “Cake pleases me.” Or “I fear dogs,” “Dogs frighten me.” In both cases, you’re having the same relationship between the two entities, but the verb flips, which you don’t always see with actions. Sometimes you see it with actions like “I buy this from you,” “You sell it to me.” But it seems to be one of the things that happens with internal mental state verbs.

Lauren: They also tend to have more variation across languages and across cultures as to how you can use them.

Gretchen: Yeah. There’s a really interesting and subtle example of this in English and Spanish where in English it’s less common to say something like “You understand” with the meaning of “I infer you understand based on the evidence of you seeming to understand.” Whereas in Spanish, you have a verb that seems like it should correspond to English “understand,” but it is reasonable to use that verb to mean “I infer you understand because you’re asking really good questions” or “I infer you understand because you are making noises of comprehension and you’re nodding and so on.” It’s reasonable to say to someone “You understand” with the meaning, like, “It seems to me that you understand” or “I observe you to be understanding.”

Lauren: That is a subtle but important meaning distinction, I feel.

Gretchen: I heard this anecdote from a linguist who – I don’t remember which linguist anymore – who said that they’d told this to somebody – an English speaker and a Spanish speaker who were in a marriage together – and they both spoke each other’s languages, but they didn’t have an understanding that this was actually a pragmatic difference between them. Sometimes, they would get in fights by like, “What do you mean you say I understand? You don’t know what’s going on in my internal mental state. You’re just assuming what I know.” Which was actually a systematic pragmatic difference in how the languages use those particular mental state verbs rather than a case of just not understanding between the partners.

Lauren: That is amazing. The thing I find really interesting about that anecdote is that the distinction between the two forms of “understand” was really implicit between the two languages. I’m really interested in those grammatical features where knowledge state becomes very overt. That’s essentially what motivated me to study how we grammatically track source of information, which is the area of evidentiality. We had a whole episode on that that I will not assume you’ve listened to, and I will not assume you remember anything from, but essentially, evidentiality is used to keep track of, depending on the language, whether you know something because you saw it or because someone else told you about it or maybe you’re not entirely certain about it. This is marked as a feature of the grammar rather just being implicit or optional.

Gretchen: In English, you have the option of saying something like, “It’s raining,” “I can see that it’s raining,” “I can guess that it’s raining because I can hear the rain drops,” or because someone’s walked in, and their shoulders and umbrella are all soaking wet. You can say all of those things to indicate the source of your knowledge, but you don’t have to. You could just say “It’s raining” and let someone else figure out how you came to know that information.

Lauren: Whereas if we look at a language like Yolmo in Nepal that I’ve worked with, you can actually see someone’s knowledge state changing throughout the story that they’re telling because maybe they start with talking about something in a way where they’re not certain if this cake is going to be delicious, and then they talk about how someone told them it’s going to be delicious, and then finally, they have direct sensory evidence of how delicious the cake is. You see how the knowledge about the cake being delicious is really clearly marked by the grammatical choices that they have to make throughout the story. It means that I can keep track of someone else’s source of evidence in a way that’s more direct than in English. It means that people are more attentive to mine as well.

Gretchen: So, if you wanna say something like, “I infer that you understand,” you would be doing that with the evidential marker. Or “You told me that you understood this yesterday, so why don’t you understand it today,” then you’d have a lot of ways of marking the differences between those internal mental states.

Lauren: Yes. And those internal state experiences of if someone’s unwell or if someone’s hungry, I have to mark them differently if I don’t have any direct visual evidence. If you’re unwell, and you’re shaking and feverish, I can say that I can see you’re unwell. But if you’re unwell in a way that I can’t see, I have to use other grammatical ways of marking it. How you interact with other people’s internal states varies because sometimes you don’t have access to a direct source of evidence for it.

Gretchen: I feel like I’m just picturing those little cartoons you get in language learning textbooks where they have test very stereotyped representations of common illnesses that don’t have obvious physical things. Like, “I have a headache” would be like a person holding their head in great distress or with a hot water bottle on their head, and you’re like, “I don’t put a hot water bottle on my head when I have a headache.” Or like somebody who has a thermometer sticking out of their mouth or something to indicate these sort of things that aren’t really easily visually represented.

Lauren: It’s because figuring out someone else’s internal state is actually a really complicated cognitive task that we do, and we fall back on these tropes to help us navigate that.

Gretchen: I guess same for teaching other types of mental state verbs, you know, “know” or “understand” or “like” or something. You have these maybe very stereotyped or symbolic representations. If you have someone with a heart or something, maybe they’re liking it or loving it. But it’s difficult to do a picture of “I know,” “I understand.” Not everything is easily visualisable.

Lauren: You talked earlier about how it was a revelation for you at some point that maybe we can’t really know what’s happening in other people’s minds. There is a lot of cultural variation as to how much people are willing to feel like they’re able to intuit the internal states of other people – so much so that there’s a whole area of anthropology that looks at this idea of cultures where it’s really prevalent to assume that you can’t know someone else’s internal state. That’s the starting point for building social interactions.

Gretchen: This is the inverse of the Spanish thing where it’s like, “Yeah, I can infer your mental state.” This is like, “Nobody can really know what anyone else is thinking at all.”

Lauren: It’s a cultural assumption and starting point for building conversations and interactions that I’m gonna assume that I can’t know what your internal state is. I can only make reference to it by very overtly flagging that I don’t know that. I might talk about your actions rather than my assumptions about the thoughts behind those actions.

Gretchen: So, what does it look like in practice if someone’s operating under the assumption that you can never really understand what’s going on in someone else’s mind?

Lauren: A lot of the anthropologists who work in this area tend to look at the domain of gossip. I like to think of it in terms of – it just means that you’re unlikely to have gossip that goes along the lines of “What were they even thinking?” Instead, your gossip is more about the concrete actions of people rather than rationalising their mental state while they were doing those things.

Gretchen: Okay. So, not like, “This person had good intentions, but this thing didn’t work,” or “This person never cares about other people’s feelings, and so therefore…,” but it’s more like, “Oh, this person did this thing – ate my cake.”

Lauren: Yeah. I mean, assuming someone has good intentions is something that presumes that you can know what’s inside someone else’s mind.

Gretchen: It’s like, “This person ate my cake. I don’t care why they did it, but that’s what happened.”

Lauren: That tends to be more of the focus that gets talked about or that people might come upon by using strategies like grammatical evidentiality as a like, “You can’t know what’s in my mind, so let me tell you that I know that it’s raining because someone said or because I saw it.” Like, “Let me do that work for you of telling you my state of knowledge rather than you trying to guess something that you can’t guess.”

Gretchen: So, it’s not necessarily a thing of “We’re not talking about mental states,” but the person is the ultimate authority on their own mental state.

Lauren: Yeah. I think this area of opacity of mind is looking at commonalities between what are actually very different ways of approaching understanding people’s internal states because perhaps culturally we’ve just gone with the assumption that everyone thinks about social interaction the way we do and that maybe there’s a lot of variation there.

Gretchen: Lauren, are you saying we have bad theory of mind about theory of mind?

Lauren: Potentially. But I think learning about theory of mind as a bedrock and then opacity of mind as the way people approach this bedrock has made me more appreciative of keeping track of what people might know or not making assumptions about what people bring to any particular interaction. I really appreciate knowing about theory of mind for that reason.

Gretchen: I think practicing figuring out, okay, what are some possible mental states here, what might be going on. This is one of the things I really like about fiction, especially, reading books is you do get to be behind someone else’s eyes and thinking about what they’re doing and why they’re doing it even if their reasons for doing something are really different from what I would think. I find filmed stuff, unless there’s a lot of voiceover – I love voiceover because you can get into someone’s mind. Not everyone’s a fan of voiceover, but I love it because it gives you that internal mental state. I don’t just wanna look at someone’s face and think, “Oh, this is what they’re thinking.” I wanna be behind their eyes and thinking, “Oh, they actually think this is a good idea. Okay. Well, I’m along for this ride now.”

Lauren: I think fiction is a really great philosophical experiment. It’s one of the reasons I really find sci-fi to be interesting is because it can push the limits of what another mind is or what another mental state is to be thinking in. One thing we didn’t get to in the bonus episode about Arkady Martine’s Memory Called Empire is that there are people who have the capacity to take on the entire previous knowledge state of someone else. I just am like what would an evidential marking system be like for a person who has multiple consciousnesses worth of evidence for a statement.

Gretchen: Like, “I know this because my original consciousness knew this” or “I know this because the consciousness that I got added to mine later in life knows this.” Oh, man.

Lauren: There’re just so many layers of potential knowledge state there. That’s the kind of sci-fi that lets me bring my linguist brain to problems of consciousness.

Gretchen: I’ve been thinking about this from a practical level as well recently which is what’s the point of having a conference compared to just reading some blog posts or something about the same topic. I think it’s about that conferences create a state of shared knowledge among their participants. You know that everyone else was also at the same talks or in the same environment or is interested in the same topic, and so it gives you springboards for having conversations about topics of mutual interest rather than just “I’ve acquired this information.” It’s “I’ve acquired this information in a social context where I’ve also acquired a bunch of people to talk with about it.”

Lauren: I’ve never quite thought of conferences in that way, but that is a very wholesome, linguist-brain way to approach it.

Gretchen: Well, it’s partly why digital conferences can be unsatisfying because if you don’t know who else is in the audience and you don’t have any way of spending time with them then you don’t get to have that shared mental state with the fellow conference participants. You’re just receiving the knowledge in a way that you could do without the conference structure at all.

Lauren: I think that speaks to the way that approaching theory of mind allows you to just be more generous in the way you conceptualise other people’s intentions or their motivations or their actions, which is one thing I really appreciate about it.

Gretchen: I also think that there’s – I mean, this is definitely not in the canon of theory of mind – but it’s part of this thinking and reasoning about other people’s mental states. It’s also what the mental state is that you impose on someone else by reacting to something.

Lauren: Okay. I’m now very conscious about whatever I say in response to this anecdote.

Gretchen: I’m sorry. An example of this is the xkcd comic “Lucky Ten Thousand,” which reads, “I try not to make fun of people for admitting they don’t know things. Because for each thing ‘Everyone knows’ by the time they’re adults, every day there are, on average, 10,000 people in the US hearing about it for the first time.” And there’s some calculations. “If I make fun of people, I train them not tell me when they have these moments. And I miss out on the fun.” Then the little comic strip – this is two people – one says, “Diet Coke and Mentos thing? What’s that?” And the other one says, “Oh, man! C’mon we’re going to the grocery store.” “Why?” “You’re one of today’s lucky ten thousand.” Some of my friend groups have adopted “lucky ten thousand” when someone mentions like “Oh, what is this book?” or “What is this thing?” rather than say “Oh, you haven’t heard of that? What?”

Lauren: I can actually tell you exactly how Gretchen says it because Gretchen said to me when we were preparing for this, “Oh, you haven’t heard of the ‘Lucky Ten Thousand’? Oh my gosh, do I have the link for you.”

Gretchen: [Laughs] Exactly.

Lauren: It was so nice to not feel embarrassed to not know every comic in a canonical webcomic series and to be introduced to this very excellent one.

Gretchen: It makes the conversation happen in a much more positive way because then – you know, nobody’s read all the books. Nobody has done all of the things. You can have the conversation of “Oh, well, what did you like about it?” or “What is interesting about it?” without the shaming version of the conversation of “Why haven’t you done this?” or “What’s wrong with you that you don’t know this thing already?” I think this is a similar thing that happens when you create things as well, like “I wrote a book” or “on this podcast.” Sometimes, we’ll say something there or give some – like, here’s a set of examples or something. And sometimes people will reply, “Oh, I listened to your thing,” “I liked your thing and here is this other example for you.” Like, “Here’s another thing that you might like.” That frame is a really positive way of having that conversation and is something that I can then share with other people and say, “Oh, here’s this other thing that people might be interested in.” I can retweet it. Or “Here’s something else going on.”

Lauren: I always feel bad when people phrase it as though we have deliberately omitted something for nefarious reasons when it’s often just that we have a finite amount of time and there’re many languages.

Gretchen: Also, we don’t know everything. Sometimes, someone tells us about a new example.

Lauren: Sometimes, we get to be one of the lucky ten thousand for a topic in linguistics, and it makes us very happy.

Gretchen: The thing is, is the intentions are generally really good. People are excited to share things. They’re excited to talk about things. It’s just this common way of responding to things that doesn’t end up leading into the conversation that you wanna have and with a slight tweak could totally do that like the “lucky ten thousand thing.

Lauren: I also think about this modelling other people’s mental states and knowledge. I think one of the peak activities for that is creating a forwardable email.

Gretchen: Ooo.

Lauren: For those of us who spend a lot of time on email, occasionally, someone will say, “Cool. I’m glad we’ve agreed to do this thing. Can you put the details in a forwardable email so I can send it to the rest of the group?”

Gretchen: Right. Or “Can you introduce me to this person. Here’s why I think they’d be interested in talking about it.” And I’ll say, “Okay, I’ll write a forwardable email. I can send it to them, and then they can decide if they wanna talk to you,” or something like that.

Lauren: Me and this other person know that this email exchange has happened. I now need to write a single, useful, context-filled email that that person can forward on to the group that they want to do the thing with or someone that I am hoping to be introduced to. It requires me to think about what I know, what the person who asked me to do this email knows, and what this third person, who hasn’t been part of any of the prior conversation but needs all of the relevant context, needs to know. I just think that the mental state modelling involved and the mentalising what this person who hasn’t been part of the conversation needs is like Dunbar’s mental representation stuff as, like, multidimensional chess.

Gretchen: Because you end up saying – like, to the person you’re actually emailing, you’re telling them all of this information they already know, and that’s why you can sometimes specify to someone like, “Oh, yeah, please send me an email that I can forward to this person.” If I’m receiving a forwardable email, I know that you’re repeating information that I know, and it’s not patronising in this context because you know that I know that I’m gonna forward it to this third person who doesn’t know these things and so, therefore, that’s why you’re repeating this information that I already knew. There’s so many levels of understanding what other people are gonna potentially think in there.

Lauren: This is why, before we even get to thinking about language, we have to think about the cognitive processes that allow us to know where the marble is, to know if someone thinks cake is delicious, or to go to put everything into an email.

[Music]

Gretchen: For more Lingthusiasm and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcast, Google Podcast, Spotify, SoundCloud, YouTube, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @Lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get IPA scarves, “What the fricative” mugs, and other lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I can be found as @GretchenAMcC on Twitter, my blog is AllThingsLinguistic.com, and my book about internet language is called Because Internet.

Lauren: I tweet and blog as Superlinguo. Have you listened to all the Lingthusiasm episodes, and you wish there were more? You can get access to 54 bonus episodes to listen to right now at patreon.com/lingthusiasm or follow the links from our website. Patrons also get access to our Discord chatroom to talk with other linguistics fans and other rewards as well as helping keep the show ad-free. Recent bonus topics include the linguistics of Pokémon, backchannelling, and translation in fiction. Can’t afford to pledge? That’s okay, too. We also really appreciate it if you can recommend Lingthusiasm to anyone who needs a little more linguistics in their lives.

Gretchen: Lingthusiasm is created and produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our Senior Producer is Claire Gawne, our Editorial Producer is Sarah Dopierala, and our Production Manager is Liz McCullough, and our music is “Ancient City” by The Triangles.

Lauren: Stay lingthusiastic!

[Music]

📷

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

#language #linguistics #lingthusiasm #transcripts #episode 59 #podcasts #theory of mind #psycholinguistics

56 notes · View notes

bellshells · 4 years

Text

Nobody Can Know Part 2

This is part two of Nobody Can Know !

It’s been requested for a part two, and I genuinely loved writing (Y/N) so much, I couldn’t resist. This one is a little darker than the first part, kinda plot heavy too. I also wouldn’t say it runs completely alongside the canon timeline, I would say it’s canon adjacent? Thank you for all the amazing comments regarding the first part and I can confirm there is a third part coming! Thank you <3

Summary: (Y/N) and George’s relationship is threatened when her parents take her to Malfoy Manor, where she makes enemies and unlikely friends. Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Implied assault, Arranged marriage, alcohol(?) Pansy Parkinson is a good friend AU Word Count: 14k+

Part Three

You were lonely. You had been lonely for months. You were angry too, but that was by-the-by, your loneliness was far more pressing. It had been four months since you had last seen George. Four long months since the Weasley twins had shoved two big middle fingers up at Hogwarts and the oppressive regime spearheaded by Professor Umbridge. They had flown away on steady brooms in spectacular twinkling lights taking your happiness with them.

It had been quiet without them, Umbridge had left not long after and whilst that had given you a certain amount of relief; the whispers of what happened inside the Department of Mysteries lingered heavily throughout the stone walls of the castle. That, coupled with the rumours that the Dark Lord had returned filled you with dread. You had carried that dread home with you, school felt like a lifetime ago though it had only been four weeks since you left. Though you were reminded with each passing day how alone you were in your family home, your father barely spoke to you, instead he chose to keep himself locked away in his study and your mother, well she was the same as she had always been; cold and indifferent.

George had sent an owl as soon as he had returned home to The Burrow all those months ago, a hastily written note detailing that he was setting up a business with Fred, and he would send word when everything was settled so you could join him. It didn’t matter, you were so desperately annoyed with him for leaving, for abandoning you when you needed him most. Draco had sent word to your parents almost immediately after news of your relationship with George was made public and they were furious. You were summoned home one weekend. With the hesitant approval from Professor Snape, you were taken to Hogsmeade and then escorted back to your family home in London. You weren’t sure what to expect, but they chastised you, berated you and told you under no uncertain circumstances to put an end to this relationship that brought you such joy. They sent you back to school with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience, you had absolutely no intention of leaving him. But he was to leave you; “Just for a little while.” He had said.

You had weathered your NEWTs with an almost disillusioned passiveness, and whilst you had gained an Outstanding grade for most of your exams, the Acceptable in Transfiguration mocked you. George would laugh you were sure, if you had replied to owl that is. You instead decided to write to Ginny, a firm friendship had blossomed between you and you relished in the near daily correspondence you shared with the youngest Weasley. George was annoyed, he told you so in the Howler he sent, but still- you ignored him. Ginny had invited you to The Burrow for the summer holidays, well; it was just summer to you now. Your school life was finished, and the rest of your life waited for you. You wanted to go to The Burrow, you wanted to see Ginny, you wanted to see George. To put you both out of your misery, to end this resentment you harboured for him. He had suffered enough and all you wanted was to hold him, to feel his strong arms around your body, his head pressed against your shoulder. To feel his soft lips on yours…you would have done anything.

You got ready, bags packed, cloak tied around your shoulders and a fistful of Floo Powder. But your mother had other ideas. “I have told you repeatedly, (Y/N). You are not going.” She had caught you just before you were able to whisper the words, she grasped your wrist firmly and almost dragged you out of the fireplace. You instinctively dropped the Floo Powder and tried to wriggle out of her grasp, she in turn gripped you tighter. “Get back up those stairs, I will send for you when we are ready to depart for the Malfoys.” You turned on your heel, internally you were screaming, desperate blood curdling screams; but on the outside, your face was calm. You ripped the tie of your cloak open and dropped it at your mother’s feet, you stepped over it and made your way to your bedroom. You hastened over to your bureau, a parchment and quill in your hands as you shakily sat down on the little stool. Your hand was trembling as you etched words onto the parchment, tears threatening to fall as you wrote desperately to George.

George,

I have been so angry at you for the longest time, but I cannot let you believe that I don’t love you. I yearn for you, my darling.

You paused, lifting your quill from the parchment slightly. you missed George achingly, it felt ludicrous now, how you felt so maligned by him leaving when you would have given anything to be in his embrace at that moment. You took a deep breath, trying your hardest to steady your hand and continued writing.

I have been so empty without you, you mean absolutely everything to me and I am sorry. But George, I need you to help me. My parents are taking me to Malfoy Manor, there’s a gathering of wizards and I must attend. I tried to sneak away and come to you, but I was caught. Please help me George, I’m scared of what might happen there. You-Know-Who is back and neither of us are stupid enough to think this gathering at the Malfoy’s is an innocent coincidence. We leave today, I hope this reaches you in time.

I’m sorry to have been so distant with you Georgie, I just felt so hopeless without you. I hope you can forgive me, my love. I love you so much, all the stars in the sky could not equal the amount of love I have for you.

Yours always,

(Y/N)

A plea. That’s what that letter was. You hoped George could forgive you for your standoffishness and help you. You were more desperate than you could articulate, terrified of what might happen at Malfoy Manor. You moved swiftly to your bedroom window and opened it wide, whistling as you did so, your eyes searching the large grounds of your family estate for a little tawny owl. When you spotted her, she was already flying intently towards your open window. Desdemona’s wings twitched outwards as she settled on the windowpane, her head moving around in staccato movements surveying the scene. You hastily offered her the letter and she made one swift attempt to bite your fingers, you pulled your hand away and sighed. You offered her the letter once more and she took it in her beak as she fluttered her wings.

You watched Desdemona fly into the distance, a tear threatening to fall as you closed your eyes. You wished that with every fibre of your being that she got to The Burrow safely and George would have your letter and know that you loved him. You felt an immense pressure on your chest as you flopped backwards on your bed. You hugged your arms tight to your chest and rolled over onto your stomach, you pressed your face firmly into the pillow and screamed. Your entire body shook with the ferocity of your scream, your throat hurt, and your muscles ached from being so tense. It was only a knock on the door that made you stop; you sat upright like a shot and tried your best to smooth your hair back into place. Your eyes stung as you watched suspiciously as your father opened your bedroom door and stood awkwardly in the doorframe. “If you’ve come to scold me Father, I wouldn’t bother. Mother has already beaten you to it.” You sniffed. Your father frowned and took a step toward you, you flinched in response. It wasn’t that you thought he would hit you; you were sure he never would; but there was nothing you desired less than physical contact with your father in that moment in time. He used to be such an affectionate man in your youth, he was the one beacon of light you possessed in an otherwise stifling childhood. You would spend hours looking through books. He would teach you spells and charms; and you would laugh, big belly laughs as you would set traps for mother and watch gleefully as she would fall for them every time. That was a long time ago now, it seemed like another lifetime. Almost as if he could read your mind, your father gave you a wistful glance. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, darling.” He whispered, you watched as he offered a half look over his shoulder as he grasped the door handle to leave. “Mother says to fetch your things. We’re ready to go.”

Happy Birthday indeed.

The Malfoys greeted your family ostentatiously at the bottom of a grand staircase as you entered the manor. Your mother held onto the crook of your arm with a vice like grip as she offered a tight-lipped smile to your hosts, your father already looked bored as he shook Lucius’ hand. If you looked hard enough you could see the sweat start to form on the blonde man’s head, he tried so awfully hard to impress your parents and whilst your used to find it amusing, now it just made you uncomfortable. It made you pity him. You glanced over to Draco who stood at his mother’s side, he shifted uncomfortably, and you watched as a blush crept from his neck to his cheeks. A silent rage washed through you, you seethed as your parents followed the Malfoys through the grand hallway and you fell into step behind them, your muscles tense as you walked beside Draco. You looked straight ahead. You hadn’t forgiven him for telling your parents about George and the fact you were being forced to spend time with him was almost more than you could bear. It made you question your friendship with Draco, whether all these years you had dedicated to trying to be a good friend to him were just a waste of your time. At present, there wasn’t anything to persuade you otherwise.

You were led into a large sitting room, there were wizards and witches already gathered mingling in small groups. There was a man dressed smartly with a vacant expression with a silver tray balanced on his outstretched hand. Tall champagne flutes stood proudly on the tray as he lowered it to you and your mother to take a glass. You gave him a small smile in thanks and carefully took a delicate sip, relishing the tart taste. Your mother hummed in approval as she watched you, another man, dressed the same as the one with the tray appeared behind you and offered to take your cloak. You untied it and gave it to him, your parents followed suit. Now free of your bonds, you surveyed the room. You looked to see if there was anybody that you recognised, obviously there was Draco; just a short way away you spied Pansy and her parents. Blaise and his mother and whichever number husband she had currently stood beaming at her side. You detached yourself from your parents and tried to shrink into the shadows, to pretend you were anywhere else in the world. Another smartly dressed man whisked towards you with another tray, you quickly drank the champagne in your hand and grasped another as he passed. You walked backwards, trying to reach the outskirts of the party until you felt something behind you which made you jump. You spilled your champagne over your arm and whirled around about to apologise profusely when a figure stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Professor! I am so sorry!” Professor Snape stood before you, a look of sheer detestation on his face as you noticed you had knocked his glass too. Instinctively you started dabbing at his clothes with the corner of your dress, fumbling embarrassingly to try and dry his sopping coat. “Miss (Y/L/N), I implore you to stop assaulting me.” He said dryly, you stopped your actions immediately and waited breathlessly for his punishment. Strangely, nothing came. He swept his eyes over you and sighed. “Would you like another glass? Perhaps one to drink and not throw over me?” You nodded mutely and stood uneasily as Professor Snape flagged down the waiter and took two champagne flutes and offered one to you. “Thank you, Professor.” “I suppose you are welcome, Miss (Y/L/N).” You stood side-by-side with your up until very recently Head of House, the dynamic between you felt very strange as you silently took turns in sipping your drinks. “I’m surprised to see you here, Professor.” You said, you tried to sound bright and airy and Professor Snape looked at you askance with a small smirk. “I could say the same thing to you, Miss (Y/L/N). This isn’t where I would imagine you spending your summer.” “What? Dying of boredom in a room full of the most pretentious people I’ve had the misfortune of meeting? Present company excluded, obviously.” Professor Snape chuckled softly and took a sip. “Obviously.” He said. “I must agree with you Miss (Y/L/N), this is the most tedious bore.” He over enunciated the last word and you stifled a giggle. You remembered the impressions Fred and George would do of the potions master; Fred really got him spot on. “It’s nice to see a familiar face though. I’m pleased you’re well, Professor.” You offered him a sincere smile; you had always had a soft spot for Professor Snape. “There are a few of your peers here, would you not rather converse with them?” He asked almost with disinterest, you rolled your eyes. “I would rather peel the skin off my own face.” You said with a dark smile, Professor Snape laughed at that and clinked his glass against yours. “You and me both.”

You stood for a brief moment just enjoying the comfortable silence that settled between you and Professor Snape. It was nice to just be still for a moment, to be able to see everything that was going on in the room but feel no pressure to be a part of it. You wondered whether Professor Snape felt the same way, you noticed that very few people tried to bother him as he stood silently at your side. “Have you had an enjoyable summer so far?” He asked you quietly, you looked at him sadly and he seemed to mirror your expression. “Not really.” You took another large sip. “It’s not what I imagined it to be.” “Miss (Y/L/N),” Professor Snape began, “I’m not one for over sentimentality, or sentimentality in general for that matter. But I would like to offer my sincere…well wishes for your future. I hope it takes you far away from here. It was a pleasure to be your head of house.” “Thank you, Professor.” You felt your eyes sting with tears as you offered him a smile. “Oh, please stop that, I will have to leave you by yourself if you start with that nonsense.” He snapped, but you didn’t think that he meant it with any malice. You chuckled and sniffed. “Fucking hell, every day is a struggle.” You smiled widely at the older man and he arched an eyebrow before he nodded in agreement. “Are you looking forward to returning to Hogwarts?” “I would rather peel the skin off my face.” He echoed your words with a sly smile. “Surely you can think of a more interesting topic of conversation, Miss (Y/L/N).” “Please just call me (Y/N), I’d like to think we’re…there.” “Very well, would you like another drink?” “Very much so, thank you…Severus.” “Don’t push your luck.”

Your pleasant chatter with Professor Snape was cut short by your mother squeezing in between the throng of people to grasp your arm. She was breathless and giddy, she looked almost flushed with excitement as she pulled herself towards where you stood with Professor Snape. “There you are darling; I’ve been looking for you.” She locked eyes with Professor Snape and offered him a curt smile. “Severus. Always a pleasure, are you well?” “Cressida. I hope you’re having a pleasant evening.” He nodded in acknowledgement to your mother and a fresh wave of embarrassment engulfed you. You were having a perfectly lovely conversation with your professor, who had been the first person since you left school to speak to you as an equal, and your mother had careered in and spoiled it. “Mother?” You prompted. She rounded on you and placed her hands on your shoulders. “Yes, (Y/N). You must come with me immediately. I have a birthday surprise for you.” She gushed, before you had a chance to react, she was away, and beckoned you to follow. You turned to Professor Snape apologetically, he raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “It’s your birthday?” He asked. “It certainly is.” “Happy fucking birthday.” Professor Snape said with a seldom seen grin, you laughed and raised your glass. “Happy fucking birthday indeed.”

You only had to scan the room for a moment before your mother waved at you, she was stood flanked by your father and Lucius Malfoy. A man stood in front of her, his back to you. He turned to face you just as you approached the group. He was tall, taller than your father but young, maybe twenty-two. Silver haired and devilishly handsome, with brilliant blue eyes. He gave you a warm smile as you settled next to him, his scent was almost overwhelming. He smelled expensive, like rich port and heavy leather-bound books. You felt a blush creep to your cheeks as you averted your gaze away from his face. “(Y/N), this is Mr. Edwin Paris.” Your mother said smoothly, her voice dripping with velvet. “Mr. Paris, my daughter (Y/N).” Mr. Paris took your hand in his and bowed his head to brush his lips against it. His hand was warm and soft, and it took you a moment to remove your hand from his grasp. “Mr. Paris,” You said with a smile, “A pleasure.” “I must assure you Miss (Y/L/N), the pleasure is entirely mine.” Mr. Paris smiled again; hands placed behind his back. “Mr. Paris is to start at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Second only to Ms. Bones herself!” Your mother said, Mr. Paris sighed bashfully. “Oh, are you an Auror?” You asked politely, you wondered if your mother knew this poor man’s life story. “Not quite.” Lucius quipped from behind you, you turned your head to meet his gaze and saw the small smirk sitting on Lucius’ pale face. An immediate sense of distrust began to build within you, you were suddenly wary of this man. Why was he here and why was your mother desperate for you to meet him? Yes, he was very handsome, and he had this alluring presence that was quite hard to ignore; but Magical Law Enforcement was the furthest thing from interesting to you, so that couldn’t be it. There was also something very off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but something that made you suspicious.

The conversation continued without you; your mother ensured that Mr. Paris was preoccupied talking to your father as she made her way to your side and tapped you gently on the arm. “What do you think?” She whispered; she kept her gaze trained intently onto Mr. Paris and you followed it, cocking your head to the side. “Of Mr. Paris? He’s very handsome.” “Hmm. Isn’t he just?” She conspired; she was positively gleeful. Her eyes glistened with a newfound vigour that made you feel uncomfortable, like she was looking at him as if he were a meal. “He’s the one darling, your father and I are agreed.” “The one? What do you mean?” You knew exactly what she was going to say before she said it, you felt your vision begin to narrow and your breaths become shallow. “He’s the one you’re going to marry, (Y/N). Isn’t it wonderful?”

You looked aghast at Mr. Paris as he shook hands with your father, Lucius clasped Mr. Paris on the shoulder with a grin and brought his wand to his throat. He cleared it and the sound was amplified around the room and the bubbling chatter ceased, and all heads turned towards their host. “Friends, I thank you all for joining us today at Malfoy Manor as we wait with baited-breath for the inevitable…correction of things.” Laughter rose from the guests and a few cheers flew over your head, you could also hear a few snide remarks made about muggleborns from those around you. Panic began to rise within you, you couldn’t escape the thought that this party could be exactly what you feared it was, a gathering of Death Eaters. You shot an anxious look to Professor Snape who, when you made eye contact with him, averted his gaze to the floor. You felt sick. “As we begin our bacchanalian weekend of festivities, I have the most joyous news to announce. Two of our very own pureblood brothers and sisters are to be joined in marriage, solidifying a new age for our great cause.” Lucius continued, his voice slick with excitement and you could barely breathe. You felt your mother slip away from your side and Mr. Paris take her place, he slipped your hand in the crook of his arm and you shuddered. “Mr. Edwin Paris and Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) are to be married at the end of the festival and I hope you will join me in toasting this beautiful, young, pure couple as they embark on this, the most wonderful of journeys.” Loud raucous cheers erupted from the guests and Mr. Paris grinned and waved to his adoring crowd. You couldn’t stop the tears as they fell, you felt a million miles from the safety of Hogwarts and your friends, of George.

After the toast was finished and Mr. Paris had shaken hands with thanks for the congratulations, you slipped away, you turned your back and let your feet carry you out of the room. You moved swiftly through the grand entrance hall and out of the front doors and down the stone steps of the manor into the sprawling gardens now filled with a heavy darkness. You were about to break into a sprint when a firm grip of your wrist stopped you in your tracks, you felt pain in your shoulder as you were dragged backwards. You looked behind you in a panic to see your capturer had a solemn look on his face. “Professor, please.” You pleaded; Professor Snape pulled you into him. You couldn’t contain the sob that erupted from your chest, it was visceral and mournful. He pushed your arms to your sides and wrapped his arms around your torso and held you in place, restraining you. You tried to free yourself from his grip, struggling against him until your protestations became weaker and you gave up, sobbing against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, and you were grateful, his tight embrace was comforting. You stood like that for what felt an age, you could hear the party had now spread from inside the manor to the large grounds and you knew you would be found imminently. “I have something for you.” Professor Snape whispered, “But if I let go, you can’t run away.” You stared at him blankly as he studied your face briefly before he removed his grip and pushed you away slightly. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a letter, he hesitated before he gave it to you. He muttered a Lumos and you took the letter from his hands.

Severus,

It began. It was written in a hand that you didn’t recognise.

Please pass on a message to Miss (Y/L/N) that we are happy to accommodate her for the foreseeable future and hope you can escort her here before the weekend is at an end.

“M?” You asked confused, Professor Snape rolled his eyes and snatched the letter out of your hands, returning it to his pocket. “It appears your fortune is about to change, (Y/N). Be ready, I shall come back for you.” With that Professor Snape apparated away and left you alone in the stillness of the night. You contemplated the contents of the letter and racked your mind as to whom it could be from. Professor McGonagall perhaps, although she never really displayed any sort of friendliness to you during your school life, but you knew Professor McGonagall’s handwriting so that simply confused you more.

You had no time to stand and contemplate your options as groups of wizards began pursuing groups of witches through the grounds of the manor carrying large torches. The flames grew larger as they made their way towards you and you started to panic. You shouldn’t be here, the festival was about to begin and as an unmarried woman, you were not permitted to see the goings on. You crouched down low and began to crawl back to the manor, the raucous laughter and shrill shrieks of the debauched hunt about to take place thundered in your ears as you crept silently. You had almost made it back unscathed, you stood and weaved through the open doors to the manor when a hand found its way to your shoulders and squeezed hard. Instinctively, you threw the hand away and recoiled backwards. Pansy stood, face screwed up in annoyance as you rounded on her, your faces inches apart. “I am fucking sick of people touching me without asking today, Parkinson. What do you want?” You snarled, Pansy didn’t flinch at your coarse tone, she merely rolled her eyes and stepped to the side of you. “Come on, our room’s ready.” The younger witch said nonchalantly as she walked towards the stairs. “The sooner I can get to sleep the sooner this shit show can be over.” You sighed with exasperation as you toyed with the idea of not following her upstairs into your shared guest room, instead just running away as far as your feet could carry you. You weighed up whether it was worth potentially getting caught and unceremoniously dragged back, and decided that ultimately, it was not. Besides, Professor Snape said he was coming back for you. That was something at least. Pansy stopped on the stairs and turned back to look at you, the frustration clear on her face. “Oi!” She snapped, almost as if your legs had their own autonomy, you followed Pansy in her ascent up the grand staircase and down a long, portrait strewn corridor until she stopped outside a great oak door. “Age before beauty.” She sneered, you scoffed as you pushed the door open.

Your belongings had already been brought in and were sat atop one of the huge canopied beds, Pansy sauntered passed you and immediately started digging in her bag. You made your way over to the bed and lifted your heavy case and placed it on the floor, you made a silent promise to yourself that you wouldn’t cry in front of Pansy and allowed yourself a second to compose yourself. You opened your case and lifted out your nightwear and placed it delicately on the bed. Pansy was distracted behind you, cursing to herself so she wasn’t to notice as you fingered the material of George’s quidditch jersey before you unbuttoned your dress and slipped it down over your shoulders and then your thighs, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. You started on your tights next, pushing them down and stepping out of them ungracefully. You slid your arms into George’s jersey and inhaled the scent, it still smelled like him. Luckily it was clean when he gave it to you that morning before he left school, although at that moment you were sure you would have loved it just as much if he had played a nine hour match in it. Pulling the jersey over your head, you unclasped your bra and tugged it out of the sleeve and discarded it with the rest of your clothes.

“Yes!” You heard Pansy exclaim from behind you, you whirled round to see her triumphantly holding up a bottle of firewhisky surrounded by the contents of her luggage scattered all around her. She looked at you for a moment before she doubled over at the sight of you, her laughter boomed around the room. You rolled your eyes and sat on the edge of your bed. “God would you look at you,” Pansy wheezed, “You’re such a cliché.” “Yeah yeah, I hope you’re sharing that, Parkinson.” You extended your hands out and she tossed the bottle across to you, you rummaged in your bag for your wand and conjured two tumblers and poured the russet liquid delicately into them. Pansy hopped down from the bed and brazenly started undressing, she flung her blouse on the floor and shimmied out of her skirt. “You can pour me a bigger one than that, (Y/N). I only brought it because I knew I’d need it to get through sharing a room with you.” Pansy snapped, you complied and poured another generous measure into her glass. She took it without thanks and returned to her side of the room, she pulled a jumper over her head and sat expectantly. “What?” You said. “Are we going to talk about what happened downstairs?” Pansy replied taking a big sip of her firewhisky, she cringed as she swallowed it. You swirled the contents of your glass and sighed, stretching your legs out as you moved to the head of the bed. “No. We’re not going to talk about it.” “I thought you were still with that Weasley-” “I am.” “Oh. That’s awkward then.” You nodded slowly and downed the contents of your drink and reached for the bottle to refill your glass. You fell into an awkward silence with Pansy and you eyed each other carefully. She stood after a while and slowly made her way over to you, tentatively sitting down on the bed next to you. “Do you want to play a game?” “What kind of game?” You arched an eyebrow inquisitively and a mischievous smile tugged at Pansy’s lips. “A drinking game!” “A drinking game?” “Yes! Okay, we’ll need at least two more bottles. Can you ring for some? You’re of age aren’t you?” “I have been for the last year, Pansy.” “Great, you do that and I’ll set it all up.”

To your surprise, you found yourself enjoying the younger witch’s company. You had polished off two bottles of firewhisky and were just about to open the third when Pansy stopped suddenly. The enchanted bits of paper that had been a part of your game stopped too. “I meant to ask you,” She slurred, she shook her head and continued, “What were you and Snape talking about? You looked- ever so…cosy.” She hiccupped. You laughed and rolled onto your stomach and stretched your hand out with your glass and Pansy readily filled it. “Nothing really. He was just being nice.” You answered wistfully, you would have given anything to back at that point in the evening, where the only thing you had to be worried about was whether George had received your owl. “Maybe…you ought to-” She hiccupped again, “To marry Snape and then…everything will be okay.” You snorted and finished your drink, Pansy took the bottle and tried to pour herself another glass and missed completely, pouring it all over her hand. “How would that fix anyth- Oh, Pansy you absolute idiot, what are you doing?” You laughed as Pansy flopped down next to you. Your stomach hurt from laughing so much, and the firewhisky was doing its job in keeping your thoughts nice and hazy. “I think I might be drunk.” She whispered; the deafening hiccup that followed her statement sent you both into fits of giggles. “You’re actually alright, (Y/N). Shame you won’t be at school.”

You offered her a sincere smile and gazed up and the green and silver canopy above the bed. The party had been going on for hours now, and every now and again you heard voices outside or a door slam inside the manor, but the two of you sat unfazed. “What do you reckon Snape’s like in bed?” Pansy asked casually, you spluttered and sat upright. “What the fucking fuck are you going on about?” “I’m being serious! Draco says he’s a virgin, but I don’t think he is. You don’t get to be that dark and brooding without getting your end away sometimes.” She said matter of factly, you covered your eyes with your hands, desperate to rid your mind of any images of Professor Snape in any shameless situations. “What made you think of that?” You asked incredulously, Pansy looked at you innocently as she shifted her weight onto her knees. “Just when I saw you talking to him earlier on, having a drink. It made me wonder if he’s ever shagged any ex-pupils.” “Why, have you got an idea for when you finish school?” You giggled and Pansy lips fell into a pout. “Maybe I should shag him, it might get Draco’s attention if I did.” She said quietly. The smile fell from your lips as you turned to face her properly, now quite drunk, you placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to steady yourself. “Do you really like Draco, Pansy?” You asked delicately, the younger witch nodded solemnly, and you felt a pang of sadness for her. You knew what it was like to pine in silence. “You should tell him; you haven’t lost anything if you do. If he doesn’t like you back, so what? It doesn’t matter.” You paused as you thought, Pansy wasn’t your favourite person in the world and Draco had hurt you on a colossal scale recently, but you still held a brotherly affection for him. You wondered whether Pansy and Draco were kindred spirits of a sort. Two people that seemed impossible for you to escape in your life, maybe they deserved each other. “I can talk to him, if you like?” Pansy shook her head vehemently; “No no no, I can do it. I’m just…not ready to yet-” She stopped short as you both heard footsteps outside your door. Pansy leaped from your bed and you grasped your wand, with a swift wave the room was in order and all the candles were extinguished. She flew under the covers of her bed, and you did the same with yours. You had just closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep when the handle of the oak door began to turn, and the light from outside crept into the now dark room. You held your breath and scrunched your eyes closed tight as you waited for something to happen. Maybe it was Professor Snape come back to take you away? Maybe it was the mysterious M about to offer you a new home?

“(Y/N)? Are you awake?” You felt your stomach fall in on itself as you rolled slowly towards the sound of the voice, you acted half-asleep as Mr. Paris crept in on the tips of his toes and perched on the edge of your bed, where Pansy had been only moments ago. “Mr. Paris?” You croaked, even in the dim light is was impossible to miss how handsome he was. Beautiful, even. His eyes illuminated by the light of the open door, seemed dark and you could smell alcohol on his breath. You hoped he didn’t notice yours. He smiled at you and reached a hand out to you and placed it on your cheek, his thumb rubbed tenderly beneath your eye, his hand warm and inviting. “I’m sorry for waking you up, I just needed to make sure you were real.” He whispered, he sank next to you on the bed, lying down with his face on the pillow, his nose almost touching yours. “I don’t understand?” He shushed you and traced a long finger over your bottom lip, your breath hitched in your throat as he sensually brushed his fingers along your jaw and swept your hair behind your shoulder. You shuddered at the contact and your chest heaved. “You’re so beautiful.” Mr. Paris whispered. “Can I stay here tonight?” He asked, his arm lightly brushing from your shoulder to your waist and resting gently on your hip. You felt a familiar warmth creep to your cheeks, and a stirring in the pit of your stomach. “What? No, you can’t.” You whispered, he brought his hand over your backside and pulled you closer towards him. He lowered his head to your jaw and his breath was hot on your skin, you rubbed your thighs together subconsciously, suddenly in desperate need of some contact. Mr. Paris seemed to sense this, as he brought his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You were frozen, partly with fear and partly because you wanted to say yes, you wanted this man to kiss you, you wanted his hands on you. There was something about this man that made you want him. You clenched your fists into balls, your fingernails dug into the flesh there and you almost hissed at the pain. You imagined George clear as day in your head. His smile, the way he threw his head back when he laughed, the way his eyes would darken when he wanted you and the way his hands felt on your body. He knew every inch of you, he knew exactly how to make you cry with pleasure. You longed for him now, with this uninvited stranger in your bed; you felt wrong. You were lustful, but not for him. But for the boy who seemed a million miles away, who held your heart utterly and completely.

You pushed Mr. Paris away with unsteady hands. He started to protest, and his grip of your waist tightened. “No…Mr. Paris, don’t-” He grappled at you tighter, he pushed his head into the crook of your neck and thrust his hips against yours. “Get...off!” You pleaded louder, the heels of your hands dug into his shoulders, but it seemed useless, he was much stronger than you. “Stupefy!” A red stream of light shot across the room and hit Mr. Paris square in the chest, and he fell backwards of the bed, and slumped on the floor. You sat up like a shot and stared widely at Pansy who also sat upright in bed, wand outstretched and a fierce look on her face. She lifted a bottle of firewhisky in the air and cast a Lumos.

She got out of bed and padded over to you, where your hands shook, and your breaths came shallowly. “That was a really shitty love potion you put in there, you piece of shit. Didn’t work did it, dickhead?” She snarled, she kicked Mr. Paris’ leg and turned to you, concern etched on her face. “I didn’t have any of the last bottle, did I? I poured it over my hand on accident, when I did, I didn’t think it smelled right. And when this fucking numpty decided to make an appearance, I put two and two together.” “That was quick thinking, Pansy. Thank you.” You took her hand in yours and she gave it a tight squeeze. “Now, what do we do with him?” She spat. “Nothing. We can’t do anything, just help me get him out.” You said, you moved to Mr. Paris’ shoulders and waited for Pansy to collect his feet. With a groan she did, and with some difficulty the pair of you managed to drag him out of the door to your room and halfway down the corridor, where someone would undoubtedly find him soon. You promised Pansy you would give her an explanation when Mr. Paris was properly dealt with, and as soon as the door closed behind you, she stood; arms folded across her chest and waiting.

You told her of the conversation you had with Professor Snape, and the letter from the mysterious M. You told her how Snape said he would be back to take you away; you just didn’t know when. Pansy listened silently and when you finished, she nodded as if she understood. “Okay,” She began as she got back into bed before she pointed her wand at the door and warded it. “So all we need to do is keep you out of the way until Snape comes back?” “Do you think that would work? If I just hid up here?” “I don’t see why not? I could tell your mother that you had loads to drink and that you’re really hungover, like, coming out of both ends- hungover. She wouldn’t risk you embarrassing her during the festival, so she’d probably insist you stay up here out of the way.” Pansy mused, tapping her cheek with her wand. “That…might actually work, Pansy. You’re fantastic!” You got back into to bed with a grin, “But how do I let Snape know that I’m here and not at the festival?” “I heard my mother say that Snape never stays the night, he always goes home but comes back the next morning; so, I could find him as soon as he arrives and let him know what’s happened.” She said excitedly. “You would do that for me? Why?” You asked, it wasn’t that you didn’t believe Pansy would do it, it was more the fact that Pansy had always acted so indifferent towards you, it bordered on dislike and this sudden flip was quite jarring. “You said no, and he didn’t listen. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” “Thank you.” “Goodnight, (Y/N)” “Goodnight, Pansy.”

The next morning Pansy was dressed and pacing the room when you awoke. Although you had sobered up quite spectacularly before you had drifted off, you still felt a steady throb in your temples and your stomach churned noisily. When she noticed you stir, Pansy hastily sat on your bed and grasped your chin with a strong hand and turned your face to hers. Her eyes searched yours for a moment and you scowled as she smirked. “You look like death.” She said proudly, the satisfaction oozed from her words like treacle. Rather offended, you sat up and glared at the younger witch. “Thanks very much, I feel alright act-” “No, I cast a sickness charm on you. Makes you look poorly to everybody else, when really you’re absolutely fine. I came up with it last year to get me out of Herbology.” Pansy gushed excitedly. “I’ve already found your mother; she was really pissed off. She said she’d come up here after breakfast which should be any minute now.” “Any news on Snape?” You asked quietly and Pansy shook her head. “Not yet, I’m going to go back down when your mother arrives and see if he’s here.” You pulled Pansy in for a hug, she stiffened against you before lightly patting your back. This was the first time you had ever hugged her, and in reality, it was the first time you had enjoyed her company. You felt a slight pang of loss that you wouldn’t be with her at school this year to perhaps become real friends. “Thank you.” You whispered. She pulled away and winked at you. “That Weasley boy must be a fantastic shag for you to be so moony-eyed over him. I’ve seen you reject every person that’s ever asked you out. Which one is it that you’re with?” “George.” His name on your lips felt delicious, you smiled widely and imagined how much he would be aghast at you and Pansy conspiring like this. “I don’t know why I asked, I can’t tell them apart. Can you?” She asked with a sly smile. You laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I can. Took me a while though.” “Have you ever thought about accidentally on purpose forgetting who’s who and seeing what you’re missing out on with the other one?” Pansy wiggled her eyebrows and giggled. You groaned at the thought. The boys were identical yes, but the thought of getting hot and heavy with Fred turned your stomach. “You are such a Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson.” She bowed with a flourish of her hand; a smirk tugged at her lips. You watched as Pansy walked to the large window and drew back the heavy curtains, it was exceptionally bright outside, even for the early hour. The sunlight warmed your skin and you allowed yourself a moment of reflection, all was not lost. Pansy and Professor Snape were going to help you, M would look after you and you would see George again. You would be happy.

Your mother didn’t knock as she entered the room, she took one look at you and sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as she did so. You could tell she was irritated as she asked Pansy to leave curtly. The young Slytherin offered you a sympathetic nod as she left, her fingers crossed behind her back as she closed the door behind her. You prayed silently that she would find Professor Snape soon and this ordeal could be over. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Your mother said. You weren’t sure whether she wanted a response, or whether she felt like it was something she ought to say. “I can’t say I’m surprised (Y/N), I just hope Mr. Paris doesn’t think badly of you missing the activities today and change his mind.” In the excitement of the morning, you had almost forgotten about Mr. Paris. You shuddered as you remembered the feeling of his hands on you in the dead of night. A cold sweat appeared on your forehead as a fresh wave of nausea washed over you, you knew you shouldn’t feel guilty for what happened, yet you did. There was a love potion in the firewhisky, a weak one at that. A defective one as well. But it still happened, for a fleeting moment you wanted Mr. Paris and you were mortified. Your mother frowned as she placed a cold hand on your head. “Well, you certainly don’t look well enough to join us today. I expect you to pull yourself together for dinner.” “Yes mother.”

She didn’t bother to give you hopes of well wishes or a speedy recovery, she didn’t believe in lip service. You also weren’t surprised either, she had always been that way. You were almost grateful for it in a way, it would be odd for her to suddenly find a maternal instinct almost two decades after you were born. She left as swiftly as she’d arrived without another word. Then, for the first time since you arrived at Malfoy Manor, you were alone. It wasn’t a pleasant nor an unpleasant feeling, but you felt useless. You dressed and climbed back into bed, there wasn’t anything to do until Pansy returned. You sat for what felt like hours, you had found a spot out of the window where a large tree was home to a nest of baby Sparrows, and you watched them intently. The relentless scavenging of the mother to find food for her young, it fascinated you. They would wait with open beaks for anything the mother could find; spiders or flies and they reminded you of yourself. You were caged like a bird in that moment with your beak open for any sort of sustenance to keep you alive. A lone figure walked over to the tree and stopped, looking up at your birds. You panicked, thinking that something would happen to them- but the figure just stopped and stared. From where you were, you couldn’t make out any features of the person, but you were confident it was a man. There were so many men in attendance for the festivities, it could be anyone. You almost looked away when you saw a girl running towards them. She was fast, her cloak billowed behind her as she ran. The man noticed her as she came barrelling toward him, he outstretched his arms as if to stop her and as she met him, she doubled over as if to catch her breath.

You noticed it was Pansy and you rose and rushed to the window to get a better view. Pansy looked over her shoulders as she beckoned for the man to follow her further into the gardens, the man glanced over his shoulder in turn and surreptitiously looked up to your window. Your heart skipped a beat. It was Professor Snape. She had found him. You strained to see them as they walked away from the manor, they walked close together and picked up a swift pace. Desperately, you craned your neck to catch a final glimpse of them as they disappeared. You let out an exasperated cry, if you were sure there were any gods out there that would listen, you would have dropped to your knees and prayed to them. Begged them to encourage Professor Snape to hurry in his evacuation of you.

A knock at the door startled you. Abandoning your futile attempts to see where Pansy had taken Professor Snape, you dove back into bed and pulled the covers up to your neck. The door opened almost hesitantly, and you ignored the light cough from the hallway. “Miss (Y/L/N)?” You froze. It was him. Mr. Paris stood awkwardly in the doorway; his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. You chose not to acknowledge him and rolled over, turning your back to him. He took a step towards you, the floorboards creaked under his feet and you shuddered. He cleared his throat and took another step. “Your mother said you were incapacitated this morning, I wanted to see if you were alright.” You stayed completely still and completely silent. If you never had to speak to that man again it would be too soon. “I brought you these.” The bed dipped as you felt him sit. “I hope they make you smile.” Mr. Paris placed something next to him and sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, Miss (Y/L/N). I suppose I’ll just leave you to it.” The bed sprung back into shape as he stood, you refused to roll over. He didn’t try and speak to you again; he just closed the door softly and his footsteps disappeared down the corridor. You hadn’t realised you had been holding your breath until you exhaled with a groan. Your hand explored the bed spread to see what he had left for you and a sharp pain in your finger made you recoil with shock. You sat and placed your finger in your mouth, a drop of crimson blood oozed from the tip. Roses. He left you roses. You scooped the bouquet up along with your wand and flung the door of your room open. You threw the bouquet on the floor with disgust and pointed your wand at the flowers with an unsteady hand. “Incendio.” You muttered. The flowers burst into flames and you watched bitterly as the petals curled in on themselves before turning to ash. You contemplated putting the fire out, but as the fire destroyed the petals and made its way to the stems, it lost momentum and offered a few pathetic flames before it died. “Did he bring you flowers? What a psychopath.” Pansy’s voice startled you as you stood in the corridor. You looked to her as she stood with Professor Snape, he looked uncomfortable by her side. You gestured to them to follow you into the bedroom and sat on your bed expectantly.

Professor Snape who only seemed to display two emotions, disdain and annoyance seemed uneasy- almost embarrassed as he stood as far away from you in your shared room with Pansy. “Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” Professor Snape said with a nod. “Get out.” Pansy tutted as she rolled her eyes. She mumbled under her breath and left, closing the door a little harder than necessary. “Professor.” “Are you well? I’ve been informed as to what happened after I left.” He said with a grave look, he looked as though he would step forward but stopped himself. You tried to nod convincingly. “Can we go? Now?” You almost demanded; Professor Snape shook his head. “Not yet, we must wait for the most appropriate window.” “Professor, if we wait any longer, I’m as good as married. We need to go.” “I’m not disagreeing with you, but if you suddenly disappear after I was seen being led to your rooms, what might people think?” He said snidely, you blushed at the thought and swallowed. “I can’t be the one to be seen to take you away. That is why we must wait.” You sighed; he was right. Of course he was right, in all the years that you had known him, you had never known him to be wrong. “Then when?” “Tonight, after dinner. We meet back here and I’ll escort you to where you’re going.” “Where am I going, Professor?” He scoffed at your question and moved swiftly to the door. “Use your brain, Miss (Y/L/N). I know you have been blessed with one.”

With that, Professor Snape left. You were leaving tonight. Tonight seemed a long time to wait, but with your hands tied what else could you do? Being alone again filled you with a creeping dread, it seemed to start at your toes and seep throughout your body. You wished Pansy would come back, you found her a calming presence as surprising as that was and without George, or any of your other friends; you missed her. You climbed back into the great bed and pulled the covers over your head, you wished to sink into the mattress and disappear never to be found, you snickered at the thought of your mother bursting in to find you gone without a trace. How would she react? Would she even be sad? Although you would like to think that she would be heartbroken over the loss of you, you doubted that it would impact her life very much. You were sure that she would probably feel a weight had been lifted, more concerned about her reputation, surely.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you fell asleep. A death-like, dreamless sleep that was interrupted by the shaking of your shoulders. A touch that cold could only come from one person, your mother, and sure enough when you opened your eyes she was stood there, an anxious looking Pansy behind her. “You’re looking much better for resting, Child. Come, we must dress you for dinner.” Your mother said as she pulled the blankets from you, exposing you to the cold. You had no idea what time it is, late afternoon maybe? Definitely not time for dinner. “Dress for dinner?” You asked wearily, rubbing your eyes. “I don’t understand.” Pansy stepped forward and extended her arms to you, a lacy white dress was laid across them. “It’s tradition.” She stated, urging you silently. You lifted a finger to the dress, reminiscent of your mother’s wedding robes. You eyed your mother suspiciously, she grinned at you almost feverishly and beckoned you forward with a ring-laden hand. “Tradition?” You questioned. “Yes, we only get to do this one on very special occasions.” Your mother said with a snide smile.

You let your mother dress you in silence as Pansy moved her wand over your head. She was delicately placing sprays of baby’s-breath in your curled hair with a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You concentrated on your breathing, if you could sit through the next few hours you could get through anything. You smiled falsely in all the right places; when your mother showed you to the mirror and you could see yourself fully, when she dusted your face with powder and put rouge on your lips and finally when she made you stand almost regally with Pansy as she held a small posy of flowers so she could take a picture. You had appeased her, and she was happy. Inside, you were resigning yourself to the fact that this could possibly be the last time you would see her, or your father. They might understand in time, but you couldn’t let yourself be worried about that. Not with so much on the line.

Dinner had already started by the time your mother had finished preening you like a prize-winning horse, the Malfoys had a very large dining room and had enchanted the already unnecessarily long dining table to be even longer. All the men stood on the arrival of your mother, Pansy and yourself. Approving murmurs scattered along the room and a few winks and nudges in the direction of Mr. Paris. You were to be seated in between your father and Mr. Paris, the young man held your chair and pushed it in for you as you sat, not meeting your gaze. You glanced at your father, he seemed as nonchalant as ever, engaged in conversation with Lucius Malfoy. Deciding not to talk to Mr. Paris, you scanned the room for Professor Snape, unfortunately he was sat next to Mrs. Zabini who looked all too pleased to have the potions master for company. You tried to get his attention; you gave him a small wave but to no avail. “Severus?” A voice next to you called out, you instantly cringed as Mr. Paris sat with a stupid smile as he waited for Professor Snape to acknowledge him, which he did- slowly. “What?” Professor Snape answered, his voice dripping with annoyance. You had always known your head of house’s eyes to be an almost onyx colour, quite dull in all honesty. But now they flared with a passion, a burning. Like they would singe anyone who was unlucky enough to stand in his sight, you were quite taken aback. You had never seen him this fierce before. “I believe Miss (Y/L/N) was trying to get your attention.” Mr. Paris said with an oblivious smile, Professor Snape’s eyes flashed to you. “Well?” He said, his face betrayed nothing. Suddenly, you were gripped in a panic. “I wish to return the book I borrowed to you; I would also like to speak with you about it. I have some interesting theories regarding the themes.” You gushed; your cheeks burned red as you pleaded with him to humour you. Without missing a beat, Professor Snape nodded and returned to his conversation with Mrs. Zabini.

Satisfied with yourself, you accepted the glass of wine offered to you. It with rich and a dark red, French probably, knowing Lucius Malfoy. You swirled it around in your glass and enjoyed the scent as it filled your nose. It was decadent, and for a sliver of a moment you forgot where you were. You relaxed into your chair and enjoyed the atmosphere of the ever-increasing bawdiness of the congregation. You turned to your father after a while of ignoring Mr. Paris’ attempts at conversation; you leaned close to him and whispered; “I don’t blame you, father. I love you very much.” “I love you too. I wish there were another way.” Your father said out of the corner of his mouth, you offered him your hand under the table, and he gave it a hearty squeeze. You stayed like that for a moment, just you and your father. You savoured it, the feel of your hand in his. His hands always seemed so big to you as a child, he made you feel safe and loved. Over time, love changes. The days of silliness and fairy tales were replaced with lectures of duty and of family pride. You wondered if he knew what you were doing, whether he knew you were saying goodbye. Your hand in his, one last time.

You ate quickly, as did Professor Snape. Lucius stood when the meal was over and tapped his glass for attention. “Friends, I hope you are full of good food and wine, for now it is time for certainly my favourite part of the festival. One we are lucky enough to participate in on very rare occasions. But my friends, we can revel tonight. It’s time to catch the bride.” Every head turned to you in your white dress, low laughs and wands being drawn. You shot an frightened look to your father who turned to you solemnly and simply said; “Run.”

You raced out of the dining room and through the grand entrance hall, leaving behind you the raucous laughter of Malfoy’s guests. You flew into the gardens and towards a tree, towards your sparrows. You hoped desperately, you willed that Professor Snape would find you, would know where you’d be. In the darkness of the night, your steps were cautious. Your dress caught on some thick brambles and pulled you backwards, you pulled on it frantically until a piece tore away and you continued on to your destination. Sweat gathered in the nape of your neck as you jogged, your chest burned with fear and your mind raced. What the fuck? Catch the fucking bride? You hadn’t considered for a moment that these affluent, pureblooded wizards could be so barbaric. There was a reason unmarried and underage wizards and witches were not permitted to see the goings on at the festival, and now you knew why. You also understood your mother’s words about a ‘tradition on special occasions.’ She meant a wedding, your wedding. Whatever it was that they were planning to do to you made your blood run cold. You ran through another thick patch of brambles, their thorns were sharp and you felt them catch your face as you tried your best to clear a path with your forearms. You were bloodied and sweaty by the time your fingers found tree bark and you stopped, panting heavily. The poor baby sparrows were chirping, their mother still foraging for food or insulation. You wiped a hand across your forehead, and tried to collect yourself, searching the grounds for any sign of Professor Snape.

Footsteps. Almost silent footsteps, if you hadn’t tried to slow your breathing- you would have missed them. But they were there, definitely footsteps. You held your breath and crouched low into the earth, you spied figures in the distances. Crack. There it was again, closer this time. You peered around the bark; your heart thunderous in your chest. There was nothing, nothing close enough to you to disturb the foliage. You closed your eyes in relief, you exhaled and relaxed against the tree and caught your breath. You were so frightened, what were they going to do to you if they caught you? Why would your parents subject you to this degradation? This festival had been a part of pureblood Slytherin tradition for centuries, and your parents had brought you along for as long as you could remember; yet you couldn’t remember it ever being this depraved. Perhaps you were too young to notice, perhaps you didn’t care.

“(Y/N).” You froze still. You would know that voice anywhere. “Come out, I’ve found you.” You hesitantly raised your head and came face to face with Draco, wand raised in your direction. You stood slowly, not taking your eyes from his face. He looked pale in the scare the light, his brow furrowed. His hand shook as he watched you stand, trembling. “Draco, please.” “Please what? Please don’t tell the others? I’m important now, (Y/N). I matter.” He said, his voice faltered slightly as you took a step toward him. “You’ve always mattered, Draco. To me.” You took another step. “Don’t. You couldn’t care less about me, now you’ve got your fucking stupid little weasel. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To be forgotten about?” Draco spat, the veins in his temple protruded as his entire body shook with rage. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be sold as cattle, Draco?” You pleaded frantically, “This life, this world it isn’t me. Surely you can see that, surely you can see I don’t belong here? These aren’t my people, Draco. And I don’t think they’re yours either.” You cried mournful tears as you begged your old friend not to betray you again. “Please.”

“Move aside, Draco.” The young wizard lowered his wand immediately at the sound of Professor Snape’s words. He retreated and let the potions master pass him with a flurry of black cloth, fear flashed across his pale features as he watched his professor grasp you under the arm. “Are you alright?” Professor Snape asked quietly, you nodded and turned to Draco, but he was already gone. Draco had disappeared into the night silently; you were disappointed yet relieved that he hadn’t given you away. “Here,” Professor Snape said as he produced your wand from inside his cloak, “I imagine you will have use for this.” You took it with thanks and enjoyed the feeling of it in your hand, you felt a little less vulnerable. “Shall we be off? We would do best to not stay any longer.” “Yes please.” Professor Snape offered you his arm and you hesitated and looked back to the manor where the figures with torches appeared closer than before. “Will you pass on my thanks to Pansy, professor? I wouldn’t have survived without her.” “No need.” Pansy said emerging from the darkness, she held a torch aloft and smiled sincerely. You returned her smile in earnest and took Professor Snape’s arm. “See you.” Pansy said softly. “See you.”

You opened your eyes in an unfamiliar place. Your ears were ringing and there was an annoying pulse in your head. Professor Snape offered you a hand and helped you up from the ground. “My apologies. That was more erratic than I would have liked.” You stood and brushed your hand over your dirtied skirts, the white dress now looked very sorry. “Where are we?” You asked, you searched the night sky for any indication, any clue as to where you might be. “Turn around, idiot.” Professor Snape snapped. You complied, turning slowly, the night breeze was chillier here than at the manor and your flesh raised in reply. Before you stood a ramshackle house, tall and thin and bowing on one side. The windows were illuminated with a soft orange glow and a joyous, welcoming feeling radiated from every inch of the house. But there, stood not even a foot away from you was a face you had begun to think you might not see again.

“Hello stranger.” You couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe. All you could do was stare. You lifted your arms and they felt numb, he reached for you; fingers outstretched, inches away. Seconds. “George.” You croaked. Your feet were planted firmly to the ground, you weren’t sure whether you would be able to lift them even if you tried. George’s hands were on your arms, your shoulders and then your face. He closed the distance between you with one step, you had imagined kissing him over and over again since the last time, and when he brought his lips to yours; you were home. He pulled you to him, his embrace was tight and secure, and you melted into him. Your body relaxed as he held you and kissed you tenderly as if it were the first time.

You didn’t want to pull away, you didn’t want to ever feel empty of George again but with one lingering kiss, he grasped your shoulders and tilted his head to the side. His eyes burrowed into yours, a thousand unsaid things now known and understood. “My girl.” He whispered. He brushed a finger over your cheekbone, suddenly alarmed at the blood he found there. “What have they done to you?” “Did you get my owl? Oh George, it was terrible-” “Shh, tell me about it inside.” He gestured towards the leaning house and you took a step before remembering and whipping your head behind you. “Professor?!” You exclaimed into the blackness, expecting to find an awkward Professor Snape. Instead, you found nothing. He had gone, probably back to the party to avoid suspicion. You smiled sadly and hoped your paths would cross again, so you could thank him and repay him for his kindness. “Come on,” George whispered tenderly, “Let’s get you inside.” You slipped your hand into his and he pressed a kiss to it, he guided you over the grassy terrain towards his house, The Burrow. A place you had longed all summer to visit, you smiled a brilliant smile as safe in George’s care, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

George pushed open a creaky door, the house was quiet and much larger inside than it appeared to be from the outside. A fire crackled happily in the fireplace and the smell of clean washing and a roast dinner welcomed you. It was beautiful. Rustic and pure, it was the happiest thing you had ever seen. A home, a real home where a real, loving family lived. You could have wept. George led you through a lounge area passed a charming grandfather clock and toward a dining table, where a familiar group of redheads sat each cradling a mismatched mug. “(Y/N)!” Ginny exclaimed, she jumped from her seat and raced to you and enveloped you in a tight hug. You hugged her back desperately, you had missed your friend. “You look awful!” She said with a concerned look, she pulled you by the hand and pushed you into a chair and thrusting a blue mug into your hands, it warmed you immediately. You smiled in thanks. You spied Fred across the way, and he stood when you were settled and dropped his head to you and gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Glad to see you’re safe, (Y/N).” He said and returned to his perch next to Ginny. “Oi, watch it.” George warned his brother, he appeared next to you and draped a blanket around your shoulders, placing his hand on your knee. “Where’s mum?” “Just changing the bedding upstairs, Hermione’s not happy she’s having to share a bed with me.” Ginny said with a smirk, she looked over her shoulder to where in the lounge, Hermione sat with Ron and Harry Potter beside the fireplace. A full house indeed.

Mrs. Weasley complained all the way down the rickety stairs, about the house not being tidy and the fact she has all these children and not one of them offers to help her. She stopped short as she entered the dining room, she spotted you immediately and her face fell. You instantly felt guilty, Professor Snape had obviously brought you to the wrong place. George’s mother clearly didn’t want you in her house, a Slytherin. You lowered your head and fought back the hot tears that threatened to fall. “Oh my dear girl, look at you!” Mrs. Weasley whispered. Your head snapped up in her direction, confused, you watched as Mrs. Weasley hastened towards you and pulled you up by your hands. “We must get you cleaned up immediately, you poor thing.” She pulled you out of the room and towards the stairs. George chased after you. “Um, Mum? This is (Y/N)-” “Do you take me for a fool, George? I know perfectly well who this is, and she is need of our help so come on.” She continued her way up the stairs with you in tow, you looked back at George bewildered but he just shrugged. “Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley called down, “Come and see if you’ve got any spare pyjamas, would you?”

She pushed you into a bathroom and sat you down on the toilet lid, her hands were in your hair undoing the pins your mother had painstakingly put in place not even hours ago. With nimble fingers, she removed the little flowers and fingered your hair almost affectionately. “You’ve got beautiful hair, (Y/N).” Mrs. Weasley mused as she pinned it back loosely at the nape of your neck. She took your hands and pulled you up, a knock on the door and Ginny entered, a pale pink cotton nightdress folded neatly in her arms. “Thank you, Ginny.” Mrs. Weasley said and took the nightdress and hung it on the back of the door. Ginny slipped away without a word and Mrs. Weasley motioned for you to turn around. She deftly unbuttoned the many buttons at the back of the lace dress and helped you step out of it. You suddenly felt embarrassed as you stood in your slip in front of Mrs. Weasley, she smiled at you gently. You couldn’t help but return her smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” “Oh darling, please call me Molly.” “Molly- are you- are you, M?” You asked incredulously, Molly brushed her hand over your cheek and winked with an affectionate smile. You tried not to let her see how touched and taken aback you were, Molly Weasley was M. Your saviour, your sanctuary. You pulled her in for a hug and she returned it instantaneously, you cried as George’s mother held you. It had been a long time since you had been held by a mother and it felt wonderful. “Thank you, thank you thank-” “No need to thank me, my dear. My boy loves you very much, you are family now.” Molly smiled warmly and patted your arm. “Now, let’s see if we can’t get rid of these nasty scratches.”

You were uncomfortable in Ginny’s nightdress. You were quite a bit taller than her, and it was short on you. Molly led you back down the stairs with the promise of a nightcap and you followed her readily. She had your white dress balled up under her arm and when she had asked you what you wanted to do with it, you said to burn it. Molly said she could make some nice cushion covers with the material so with a laugh, you conceded to let her have it. George was waiting in the lounge with Fred and rest of the siblings, their father in a big armchair. Arthur greeted you warmly with a big hug and protestations over being called Mr. Weasley, you felt totally at ease sat by the fireplace with a small glass of sherry, George’s hand in yours. It must have been very late as one by one, the room thinned out as weary legs carried people up the creaky stairs to bed. Your eyes were closed, you could have slept if you had let yourself as George played absentmindedly with your hair. Maybe you were half asleep, as you heard your name being mentioned but you kept your eyes closed. “She’s had an ordeal, George. You’d do best to just stay put for a while.” You heard Molly say softly. “I think you’re right mum, we’ll stay here for a bit and then when she’s feeling up to it, go to Diagon Alley.” George said, stroking your hair. “What do you think they did to her?” He said after a while. You heard Molly sigh. “Difficult to say, those pureblood fanatics have had weird and wonderful celebrations for centuries. Nobody can say for sure really, unless you’ve been.” “If I find out anyone hurt her, I’ll-” “Alight Godric Gryffindor, calm down.” Fred said with a snort. You heard George mutter under his breath and then a shifting of weight. George shook your shoulder slightly. “(Y/N), come on love, let’s go to bed.” George said, you opened your eyes and smiled at him. There wasn’t a quantifiable amount in the world that would equal the love you held for him, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life making sure that he knew that. You stood and he slipped an arm around your shoulders. “Goodnight all.” George saluted his family. “Goodnight and thank you again.” You said, Molly blew a kiss in your direction and you allowed George to lead you up the stairs.

The landing of the Burrow was full of twists and turns and more steps up and down. George led you down more steps to a door marked Bill and Charlie’s room! You smiled as he opened the door and flicked on the light, you were expecting to find a forgotten teenage bedroom of the two eldest Weasley’s and yet you found a quaint, sweetly decorated guest bedroom. A large bed sat underneath a window which you wasted no time in pulling back the covers and getting into it, patting the other side and giving George a smile.

He slipped his shirt over his shoulders and unbuckled his belt, pushing his jeans over his legs and stepping out of them. You watched him lazily as he climbed into bed next to you, pulling the covers back and settling down, pulling you tight to his chest. You inhaled deeply, you had missed George’s scent and the feel of his skin against yours. “Hello.” You whispered against his shoulder. He chuckled lightly. “Hello.” George sighed; he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You hooked your leg over his and an arm over his stomach. You stayed like that for some time, just listening to the sound of George’s breathing. He traced circles on your back and you hummed contentedly. “You smell weird.” George said after a while. “What do you mean?” You replied, only slightly outraged. George chuckled again and tilted your chin upwards to look at him. “You smell like my sister; you’re wearing her nightie and that.” “Oh…well I can take it off, if you like?” “No (Y/N), you don’t have to-” “I want to, Georgie.” He nodded and kissed you, it was a kiss that you hadn’t received from him in a long time. It was full of longing, and as his hands wandered from your back to your hips and you brought your tongue across the entrance of his lips and he moaned. You sat up slowly, and started unbuttoning the nightdress, he swatted your hands away and gave you a gentle smile. “Let me.” George breathed, his touch was featherlike as he slowly unfastened your bonds and pushed the cotton over your shoulders causing you to shudder under his touch. You were bare before him finally, and he watched you; for a fleeting moment before he captured you in his arms and placed you over his lap, straddling him. “I have waited for what seems a lifetime for this, (Y/N).” “Were you terrible angry at me for ignoring you?” You asked quietly, you felt ashamed for how you had acted over the summer. You wished you had a time-turner in order to go back and leave with George that day. He shook his head with a smile. “Never angry. Upset though, yes. Very.” “I’m sorry George, truly I am. I just felt-” “Shh. Don’t. You’ve had your penance and then some by all accounts.” George paused, as if contemplating something. “Do you promise to tell me if they’ve hurt you? Done anything to you? When I got your owl, your fear jumped right out of the parchment. You will tell me, wont you?” Your mind flashed with images of the last forty-eight hours, of your mother’s gleeful face, Draco with a raised wand and of Mr. Paris.

Mr. Paris.

You longed to tell George there and then as to what they had tried to force you to do, what Mr. Paris did- but you couldn’t, it didn’t feel right. There would be a time, when the dust had settled, and you would tell George everything. But not tonight. You had waited too long to be in George’s embrace, and you craved him.

“I promise.” You said. You pulled George’s head towards you and kissed him feverishly, he answered your kiss with a grappling of your body. George groaned into the kiss and you ground your hips into him. His big hands found your hips and moved you against his hardening member, your smirked into the kiss as you continued to grind against him. The friction of your knickers against your clit was delicious and you moaned against George’s shoulder. He guided your movements as they got increasingly faster, his breath hitched as he watched you; head rolled back, your face aglow with pleasure. He brought his mouth down to your breasts and kissed the sensitive skin there and gently took a nipple in his mouth and rolled his tongue over it, flicking it as he did so. You increased your pace again, moving your sex over George’s now hard cock. You brought your hands down to George’s shoulders to gain a better purchase. “Go on, you good girl. Come in your knickers for me.” George whispered into your ear, as your movements became more desperate, you felt your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. The feeling was overwhelming, it simply felt so good. George held your hips fast as you dragged your clit over his cock. George moaned with you as you came, quietly and with a tremble. He kissed along your jaw to your mouth, his tongue danced with yours. Your legs shook as dismounted him, he looked at you longingly. “That was simply the sexiest thing I have ever seen. Next time I want to see you touch yourself,” He rolled so he was on top of you, he nudged your legs open and lay between them. “I want you to touch yourself and think of me. Did you do that when I was gone?” He breathed against your skin; your hands found his hair as he moved his mouth once again to your breasts. He was rougher this time, he took your nipple and grazed it with his teeth, eliciting a moan from you. His hand moved up to your other breast and squeezed hard, your hips bucked upwards involuntarily. Your clit still throbbed from your orgasm and you knew it wouldn’t take much for you to come again. “Hmm? I asked you a question.” “Yes.” “Yes what?” “I touched myself and thought of you. All the time, I missed your cock inside me.” “Good girl.” George dipped his head and kissed your neck roughly, his teeth nipped you and you knew he was marking you. Good, you thought. Now everyone would know you were his. “Though next time I want to see it. Can you do that for me?” You giggled and nodded. George smiled; the mask slipped for a moment. He brushed his fingers over your lips, and you kissed them lightly. “I love you, Georgie.” “As I love you. So much.”

There was nothing else that needed to be said. You were together again, after what seemed an eternity apart and there wasn’t a single thing that could separate you now. “I’ll marry you one day, (Y/N).” George whispered, the breath hitched in your throat and you brushed George’s hair out of his eyes. “You’d better.” George chuckled at that and moved his hands deftly down your sides, he tugged at your knickers and you did your best to shimmy out of them. When you were completely bare for him, he kissed you again. Long and deeply. “Is this okay?” George said as he positioned himself between your legs. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or if you don’t want-” “Make love to me, Georgie. Please.” George nodded and lined himself up with your entrance, when he thrust himself into you, you spluttered. It had been so long since you had accommodated him, you had almost forgotten how big he was. He hissed as he pushed himself in to the hilt, his hips rocking slightly. He pulled out almost fully, before he thrust into you again, slowly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, which allowed him a better angle and to burrow himself further inside you. “Fucking hell, I missed you so much. You feel so good.” George crooned in your ear, as he started his slow, sensual thrusts.

You didn’t often have sex like this, at school you were nearly always in a hurry, a stolen moment here or there. During the holidays it was easier, but for the first time you had nothing to worry about. No Mr. Filch, or wandering prefect to catch you, just you and George in your new home, surrounded by love. You moved your hips against George, tempting him to pick up his pace. He did so gladly, you kissed his shoulder sloppily between moans. His cock filled you completely and you felt you might burst. His thrusts were determined, you dug your fingernails into George’s flesh as you felt another orgasm building. Sweat appeared on George’s forehead as you could tell he was trying to control himself, to not fuck you roughly. You brought your hand down to your clit and started rubbing, George’s eyes widened as he saw you touching yourself. “Like that, is it?” He managed, as his thrusts became rougher. He hoisted your legs either side of his shoulders and grabbed hold of your thighs, there was pleasure in the pain the new position brought and as your fingers moved over your clit swiftly, your breaths came quickly. “I’m not going to last much longer-” You moaned, the feeling of George filling you to the brim, along with the quick work your fingers were making was almost too much to bear. George nodded. “Come with me.” George panted, “I’m so close.” He rutted into you unashamedly, the sound of skin hitting skin along with your moans was a beautiful soundtrack of your reunion.

Your orgasm was brilliantly intense, George spilled his seed into you as you came. Your clit pulsated in delectable pain as your walls throbbed around George’s cock. He thrust into you twice more, his voice staccato and breathless. He rolled off you and snatched you immediately to his chest and peppered your forehead in kisses. You couldn’t help but grin as you accepted George’s love, he entwined his fingers with yours as you caught your breath.

Dawn was threatening to break by the time you had settled, you could barely keep your eyes open and a few times George had woken himself up by snoring. “I can’t believe you’re really here with me.” George said sleepily, you burrowed your head into his chest. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” George hummed in approval and turned over, his back to you. Slightly shocked, you stayed still. “Come on, let me be the little spoon for once in our relationship.” George said into the pillow. You laughed at that and pressed your body against his back and tossed your arm over his stomach, pulling him close. “Diagon Alley, hm? Does that mean the shop’s almost ready?” You asked on the edge of sleep. “It certainly does, I’ll take you to see it soon. There’s a lovely big flat upstairs we could live in, if you like?” “Definitely,” You yawned. “When do you want to go?” “Not for a few days, (Y/N). You need to rest, and to be quite honest, I don’t have any intentions of leaving this bed for a few days. I’m only having a power nap now so I can fuck you again.” “I see, I best get my head down too, then.” “It would be wise.” You relaxed against George and allowed your mind to drift to nothingness, until you heard the small voice of the person next to you. “Mum’s making you a birthday breakfast because we missed you on your real birthday, okay?” “Sounds wonderful.” “Goodnight (Y/N), I love you.” “I love you too, Georgie. Goodnight.”

You fell asleep to the Dawn Chorus, baby sparrows chirped nearby. You smiled.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #reader insert #slytherin reader #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #severus snape #professor snape #requests #nobody can know

254 notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (15/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” And Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: Feedback is very much appreciated!

Link: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

“Belated happy birthday.” That first greeting was underwhelming in the deafening silence.

The room had been strangely quiet and it had been that way since he first entered, a far cry from the air during their past sessions. Shela should have waved one hand as he closed the door behind him. Even before he got to the seat, she should have been throwing multiple questions in succession.

What else did you get written?

Anything happening in school?

How’s Hange?

Oddly enough, Shela had only followed him with her eyes as he entered the room. The silence had felt like something pounding in his ears and her gaze had become something worth trifling his own consciousness with.

To top it all off, it had ended so anticlimactically with one greeting that Levi was left utterly confused as he sat on the chair in front of her.

What do you want her to do? Levi found himself asking silently as he matched Shela’s stare with his own.

Her blue eyes though were still warm, her eyes wide with what could have been curiosity. Levi started to suspect that it had all been a figment of his imagination that only a while ago they were watching and observing. Even as he settled on his seat, he sensed there were still questions up in the air that Levi could have grasped if he reached hard enough.

“Is that why you called me here? A free birthday session?” Levi asked.

“I just thought it was a good first greeting.” Shela’s voice was casual, innocent, and almost annoying.

Something wanted to burst out from inside him. That excuse of a greeting had only done the bare minimum to help it. In fact, it had done worse. It poked at him, whispering to him to figure out for himself what the hell that something was..

He was in no mood for a guessing game though. And he hadn’t been for the past few weeks. “Then why did you call me?” He asked. It had been a tall order to match her gaze, to come up with the right answers to questions she hadn’t even asked yet.

Shela shrugged. “I just wanted to check on my favorite patient.”

“I haven’t been your patient in a while.”

“We had scheduled sessions. You just didn’t go to them.”

“I was busy…. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do than chase one patient?”

Shela raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to come here? You had a choice to answer that message and believe me, you’re free to leave if you want to Levi.” She gestured her hands towards the door in one long exaggerated movement.

One movement that only served to sink Levi deeper into the sofa chair. In those few seconds as Levi leaned back, he saw once again the gradual shift in her gaze from something innocent to something cold and observing, and it was as if she was studying some sort of a specimen. And he was the specimen.

He was certain that was the exact same gaze he felt as he went through the door. But it wasn’t at all unfamiliar. Those had been the eyes she gave after all when she had asked the precise questions that broke the icebergs inside him into chunks instead of winnowing through the hard surface.

Why did that gaze in particular have him tense up at that exact moment? Levi didn’t have to wait too long for an answer though.

“You haven't written in a while,” she said.

“I deleted it.”

Shela didn’t look too surprised though. “Why?” She asked.

“It just seemed like a useless thing to do.”

“Why would you say it was useless?

“I was wasting a lot of time with it.” “So you did continue writing after our last meeting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just a guess… You only deleted the file a few weeks ago so it must mean you were thinking about it.”

Levi’s eyes widened and soon, he was starting to rack his brain for an explanation. “I don’t remember sharing you the file…”

“Hange told me what happened.”

“So you asked her about me?”

Shela shook her head. “No Levi, she approached me. She was worried about you.”

Hange. Levi found himself taking a glance at his phone in the silence that followed, the third message from the top of his inbox. Last touched weeks before.

He had decided to spend the holidays and his birthday back home. He liked to tell himself that he had only done that because with his hectic student-athlete schedule the past few years, he never had the chance to spend more than three days worth of holidays back home. When at home though, all he had done was lock himself in his bedroom for days on end.

Levi couldn’t convince himself for long. He had only gone home to avoid Hange, to avoid any reminder of the past few months and to avoid the almost nagging regret at having deleted the file.

With the file gone, he had felt like something was missing, painfully missing.

“And I’m concerned about what’s going on between you two,” Shela said.

“You’re paid to be concerned.”

“Oh? So you think I only became a therapist to get paid? Believe me Levi if I didn’t care I wouldn’t have called you here today. I could have gotten another patient and have been paid this extra hour.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you ask me to come here?” Levi felt stinging behind his eyes and a knot in his throat as he spoke up. A part of him actually contemplated leaving at that moment, yet it had been brushed away so quickly by something else, an odd feeling of desperation. He wanted something from her. Hell, he wanted something but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

“I told you, I was worried and I wanted to make sense of this with you,” Shela answered. The answer had been underwhelming to say the least especially with the way she narrowed her eyes at him.

And if Levi hadn’t been so desperate for any sort of closure, for that particular reaction he so looked for, maybe he would have just stood up and left.

Shela wasn’t done though. “Are those memories trapping you?”

Memories? Since when had it been about memories? “What memories?”

“Memories of Commander Hange. Captain Levi,” she said confidently, as if they were her memories to begin with. She spoke in such a way that she could have even been talking about real people. Very real people.

Such confidence, such forcefulness and her attempt to shoehorn all that into his reality sent a sudden sting through his chest. If Commander Hange was real, that meant she really died, that meant she really burned alive up there in the sky.

Levi would have preferred that image to have just been a figment of his imagination. “They’re stories.”

“Yet for a while you wanted to believe they were memories right? So what happened in between Levi? What did I miss?”

“I realized… They weren’t real…”

Shela let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re still trying to deny it huh? You’ve always been difficult to crack…” She cleared her throat. “So, Hange told me, the commander died. Then you deleted the file and now you don’t wanna talk about it right?”

Levi didn’t reply.

Shela continued to speak, seeming unfazed. “Here is something I noticed about you. When you injured your knee, your first instinct had been to insist you’re okay then soon you shut up and find something else to cling to--- writing. When writing started to hurt, suddenly you decide to delete the document then tell me everything’s fine. What are you gonna do now? You’re gonna find a new hobby?”

Academics, jumping. He thought to himself. Levi had spent the past few days isolated in his room back home, finishing his own thesis and following the jumping tournaments of his own teammates. As if there was much else to do anyway.

Shela rested her chin on her hands and stared straight ahead. Her eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, as if the answers were found beyond the wide window behind him. “I started to think to myself… Why did Hange’s death of all things hurt you enough to cause that same grief? I read your story, you could have mourned Erwin’s death, you could have mourned your Petra's death, mourned Isabel or Farlan’s death. Why Hange’s? Why did she push you to the edge enough to delete the file?”

“It built up,” Levi answered. That was the most natural explanation right? Or at least the most natural he could think of.

Shela nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Let’s move on to the next question then. Do you think that Hange’s death was any special? If there was something that made it the tipping point in the first place?”

“Can’t a tipping point be something small?”

Shela shook her head. “Tipping points can be small I agree but remember, when you told me you weren’t going to write anymore? It was as if you knew what would be happening next. You looked terrified.”

Somewhere along the way, the remnants of Shela’s gentle facade had completely fallen, replaced by something stone cold, yet confident and almost mocking. Levi was starting to get a little more irritated at such assumptions. Regardless of whether they were true or not.

“So tell me Levi, what makes Hange so special? What made Captain Levi so hesitant to write the next part? Then what made this Levi here want to delete it soon after writing it?”

Levi only had to look behind him, at the sky just outside the window to articulate it for himself. It was surprisingly easy to grasp. It was a simple feeling after all that never left. “It hurt,” he admitted. He could have said more but he had found himself at a loss for words a second later as he imagined the rumbling before him and that one silhouette that disappeared into the blue.

“And if you’re that invested in Hange’s death. I’m sure Erwin’s death, your special squad’s death, should have hurt as much right?”

“They hurt too,” Levi added. He started to become a little more aware of himself. They hurt too but as much as Hange’s death? Not enough for sure to even have him consider deleting the file.

“Then why didn’t you delete the file if they hurt? From what I could tell Captain Levi was inseparable from Erwin.”

Levi let his eyes fall to the empty coffee table in front of him, searching for something worth a distraction among the pockmarks of the wood. Shela’s eyes were getting sharper by the second.

“I’ll ease you into my theory slowly and feel free to tell me if I’m wrong...you and Hange were inseparable right?”

Captain Levi and squad leader Hange Zoe. They were from different teams but they did hang out a lot together. With that quick recall, Levi nodded.

“And you lost a lot of people in your life… So I started to wonder, if Captain Levi spent so much time keeping his distance, being aloof, completely aware that the everyone could end up dead, why did he cling to Hange?”

“Captain Levi cared about a lot of people.”

“I wasn’t denying that Levi. I was asking you, why did he cling to Hange? Why were they inseparable? Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? All three at once?”

The last three words had been things Levi found himself musing over as she continued to talk. But then, he couldn’t figure out for himself the answer. “We couldn’t fall in love. There was a war.” Those words had come out on their own. He only realized seconds later that it didn't answer the question.

Shela gave him a cat-like grin. “We? Huh?”

Levi cleared his throat. “They---,” he corrected.

“Okay, you’re beating around the bush a little too much. I’ll tell you my theory and if you don’t make the effort to figure it out for yourself, this will be my assumption. You didn't think she’d die. You didn’t expect her to die so you took her for granted. Am I wrong, Captain Levi?”

“Took her for granted…” Levi almost spat out those words as he said it. “You can’t just assume that…”

“By take for granted, I meant ‘I can get past pain, death, loss, as long as she’s there’ and for what? You just assumed she was immortal didn’t you? That she couldn't die, since she's always been there. And so the moment she died, suddenly grief hit you like a bus.” She straightened herself up on the seat. “Maybe you thought you would have died first?” Shela pressed.

“I was dying in the woods. I thought she’d be the one to survive the whole time.”

“But you know, it’s not uncommon for people to be this way. To have this person there and just assume that person's immortal, or to think ‘as long as this person is here’ I’ll be okay. It’s only natural that humans find hope in the living. For example,a lot of parents do that too with their own kids and that’s why parents losing their kids are one of the most devastating cases of grief I’ve encountered…” She trailed off. “But I digress, There’s one question about you I’ve been exploring for a while and I’ve always wanted to ask. You might not know the answer yourself but it’s worth a try.” Shela paused and looked at him expectantly.

Even when he sat on her chair, frozen by her cold stare, he still managed to force a nod.

“Why do you remember? Why is Captain Levi forcing his own memories to live on? Unless he had some unresolved feelings right?”

Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? You took her for granted.

Even when moving, Levi let those words, those suggestions run free in his mind. The feeling, the ache in his chest, the weight on his shoulders and the knot at his throat that only evolved into some tremble in his lips. It was everything at once, Levi was sure.

Maybe, I took her for granted. Maybe I should have stopped her. Levi thought to himself. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud yet.

“And something tells me you don’t regret much Captain Levi Ackerman,” Shela said. The gentleness in her face was back. “But maybe if you allowed yourself to regret back then, maybe all these feelings of regret, grief… They wouldn’t have bundled up now, you wouldn’t be hurting like this. You didn't let yourself experience grief and loss… You didn’t let yourself regret even in your deathbed. Now, everything just comes pouring out in your next life because you just let it build up inside you?” She had phrased it as a question but as Shela enunciated those words, Levi couldn’t help but see deep thought in them, as if she had discerned and answered the question for herself already.

“How can you assume that?” Levi challenged. It was a weak attempt, at that point he was starting to get more and more convinced. It had just been a matter of reality pulling him away from an almost ethereal concept.

Soon, he did grasp it, the thing he had been looking for, that one feeling he had been desiring since the start of the conversation.

It manifested first as a knowing smile. And before Levi could respond, grip on to some decent comeback to her long winded tirade, he found himself hesitating, focusing instead on how his shoulders dropped and how the wind was knocked out of himself slowly and the quick movement as he shifted his weight to his hands pressed on the sofa.

“I’m not assuming how you feel. I’m laying out some information, coming up with a theory and leaving it in the air for you to decide whether it’s true or not.” She didn’t continue from there. Instead she dropped her clipboard on the table and walked towards one of the bookshelves, pulling out a blue binder.

“What if it's too detailed to pass up as a reasonable theory?” Levi managed to say. He found himself counting the lines on the wooden table in front of him. In a daze, he had been too distracted to reorganize for himself, Shela’s theory. And he started to even doubt his own ability to respond.

“I’ve been seeing other patients, I think I’ve encountered enough to make some fair guesses. Besides, I told you I’ve been studying reincarnation for a while.” She dropped the blue binder in front of him on the table. “But you still think it’s too detailed to be believable huh? What if I told you I experienced it too? That's why I know the details."

Levi could only stare at the blue binder. He only got so far as to hover his hand over it before he hesitated. He looked up at her, following her as she sat back on the chair in front of him.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked.

“Should I open this?”

“I wouldn’t have put it there if I didn’t want you to read it Levi,” She was looking at him expectantly as if she was excited for him to see what was inside.

Levi started to wonder why he even hesitated. Regardless, he still went at it slowly. The plastic cover on the binder was warm to the touch and for a second or so, he allowed himself to pinch at it, see where the plastic would give into the pressure.

Maybe he had been on that for a second longer than he should have. He was still hesitating. He was still nervous.

“What are you scared of? It’s a binder,” Shela said.

“What’s inside?”

“It’s my research on reincarnation.”

“For your PhD?”

Shela paused for a second before answering. “I created two pieces of writing for my PhD, something stomachable by the scientific body and something just for myself,” Shela explained. “Because I honestly don’t think anyone would have believed it either if I was telling them I was seeing very clear visions of a past life.”

Do you really believe these were memories from a past life? Levi muttered. For a second, he had wondered if he had said it loud enough for her to hear. But when he opened the binder, he quickly realized he didn’t need an answer.

The title of the work was generic, easily forgettable. But the subtitle underneath and the author’s name spoke to him in ways Levi couldn’t fully comprehend just yet. Comprehension came quickly after running his eyes over the title then the subtitle underneath

He read her name out loud. Her first name settled at the back of his mouth and he couldn’t be too sure if he had pronounced it correctly. But when he said it a second time, the name rolled off his tongue too easily, as if it was all too familiar. His mind had just taken a split second longer to process it.

From my past life? Levi thought to himself. At that point, he couldn’t be too sure. It had seemed like too distant of a memory. He never had to use her name with her after all. He only remembered her having taught him to pronounce it eons ago.

Her last name next to it was all too familiar, yet surprising. And Levi had little to no problem, saying it for himself, even when still recovering from that small bout of surprise.

“Ackerman’s my maiden name,” she explained. “And I’m sure you saw it already, my first name is a little old fashioned.” She didn’t seem so self conscious though, as if she was aware that many lives ago, she had been teaching him to say it back when it had been just the both of them in the underground city.

Levi said her whole name out loud again. As soon as he looked back up at her, putting name to face, he found himself transported back to that small room, running his hand over her curly black hair and locking gazes with those piercing cold blue eyes. Then, they were his only source of comfort, his sanctuary.

And he never did figure out if he said it right back then in the underground city. Just to make sure though, he read it aloud in front of her again, willing himself to say it clearly and firmly.

“Written by: Kuchel Ackerman.”

***

Bookends. That’s how it seemed at least. Levi had two pages written out by that night.

He had his earliest childhood memories up there, everything as visceral as possible from the sights, to the scents, to her touch. With not too much context though, his earliest memories stuck to him as comforting sensations more than anything. Within an hour of writing, he gave up and concluded that he never did remember much of it.

Right under those early childhood sensations, articulated to the best of his capabilities, were memories after Kuchel’s death, training to fight in the underground. Then, written below that were narrations on life after the war, his remaining years on a wheelchair, travelling around Marley, joining the peace ambassadors on occasional trips.

There was no transition between them, nothing more glaring than paragraph breaks.

They were two sections with little to no connection to each other. But Levi at least knew for himself, that in-between would have been those long winded narrations on his life in the survey corps and his life during the war against Marley.

For some reason, he wasn’t too bothered about the missing parts though. As if he had already accepted for himself that he made the decision to delete it.

Finishing what he started. That’s what it felt like and that’s all there was to it. Reading Shela’s own work after all had him somehow accepting that they were memories more than dreams.

Something that had to be immortalized somewhere/ The acceptance though that the grief, the loss and the pain were memories not dreams was slow going. The dreams had been painful, realizing they were someone’s reality, only aggravated it.

Kuchel’s words echoed in his head. The last questions she said before they separated that day. Back then, she had escorted him to the door of her office and they had stood there for a few minutes before parting ways.

Can you let it go?

I don’t even know what I’m trying to let go of. For all he knew, something died in him back in that day in Odiha. Consequently, there were emotions he couldn’t even access, as if part of life had ended for him in that single moment.

You can’t access or comprehend those emotions because you didn’t let yourself feel it. You didn't ride through it.

And she had pointed it out then. Captain Levi had never been the most emotional person because he had never allowed himself to feel.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret. And when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go. I know you will.

Opening the laptop wasn’t easy. Staring at the blank document sheet and deciding for himself the first words to say took ages longer than what he would have liked.

As soon as he had decided for himself that he was going to write though, everything came out so seamlessly. He only had to hover his hands over the keyboard, feel for the right keys, for them to start moving on their own. It turned out writing with little regard for grammar and punctuation or for unwelcome emotional reactions, was oddly liberating.

He had started off with bullet points but soon enough the sentences were too long and the bullet points were rendered useless. Eventually, he scrapped the bullet points altogether.

“There was a peace treaty,” Levi said aloud as he typed it out. “Armin and the others, they became peace ambassadors…”

“And Mikasa…” Levi trailed off as he remembered. She was back in Paradis, back in their old town of Shiganshina where Eren’s head was laid to rest. He thought back to Mikasa and for a second he almost felt guilty for even questioning her decision to stay with Eren. “If this was how it felt for you, I wouldn’t be surprised why you’d be hesitant to leave him,” Levi said, he leaned back on his chair, stretched out his good leg and stared blankly at the ceiling above him.

The pain was similar, he was sure. He had seen flashes of visiting an empty grave as he wrote. The white ceiling above him and the contrast it provided made those dark memories all the more vivid.

The face he had been longing to see though, as he stared at the grave then, was just a phone call away. And before he even noticed it himself, he had reached for the phone next to his laptop, turning it screen up.

He had no one else to call so her number and their message thread was still one of the first on his inbox. Even if he hadn’t opened it in weeks.

Of course, it would. Hange had sent messages multiple times the past few weeks..

December 23 8:15 AM

I heard you went home.

December 25 12:01 AM

Happy Birthday! :D

January 1 12:00 AM

Happy New Year! Wishing you a bright new year and a speedy recovery

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

Levi didn’t scroll up past those last few messages. The rest had been paragraphs worth of apologies even he didn’t want to ponder.

Besides, there were more important things to him then, like finding the right words to say as a response to that latest message.

He sensed closure there. Yet, he wasn’t ready for closure. His mind was scrambling for some way to reopen the conversation then.

It was late at night though. Levi was exhausted and impatient. He was sure if he sent something and slept it off, he should wake up to a message the next morning.

So the message he sent then had been automatic, typical. It didn’t require too much thought to compose.

January 9 11:17 PM

Hey, when are you free to talk?

He decided then, he could leave it to his future self to come up with another response in the morning.

***

Levi’s sleep was light, light enough that the quick ping of his phone was more than enough to wake him up. He was awake enough to reach for his phone on the side table, pull it under the blankets with him and open his messaging application.

It wasn’t Hange who had messaged.

“Coach?” Levi muttered as he sat up in bed.

Sorry if this is pretty last minute. Mikasa agreed to meet at the track today this afternoon around 3-3:30. You think you could make it?

Levi typed a short text accepting the invite and sent it out.

He pulled at the curtains of his window. The sun was out already. He stared back at his phone at the upper right of the screen.

9:23 AM.

He was oddly disappointed. Other plans meant he didn’t have to think about the ignored message at the top of his inbox. He had sent the message at eleven last night. It had been almost twelve hours since then.

Was she taking a really long slumber? Or was she just ignoring him?

Nothing much to do until three so Levi opened his laptop and worked on his own thesis. Working on something as utterly boring and monotonous as a school requirement though didn’t make time run faster.

Levi was sure he had gone through at least fifty articles of doping cases among professional athletes. When he looked back at the clock though, he saw only two hours had passed.

He ordered lunch. Time went notably faster when he was just scrolling through his social media, yet excruciatingly slower still than what he was used to. And the main culprit? Hange’s online status and her activity on social media.

Hange was still liking photos which meant one thing: She was ignoring messages.

He went down to pick up his delivery from the dorm lobby and on the way up, he took a detour. All the way to Hange’s room on the other side of the building, a five minute walk for most people. For Levi it could have been ten minutes or it could have been ages. He still had that awkward gait which made the journey all the more frustrating.

The hallways were quiet but it wasn’t unexpected. School didn’t start for another two weeks. Hange’s room was along the quiet hallway and Hange had always been loud. So the stark contrast had been unsettling to say the least.

What do you expect her to do? Run down the halls screaming your name? He thought to himself. For some reason, that was what he was expecting and that was what he would’ve liked.

He took advantage of that silence. He padded lightly through the hallway, attempting to segregate the sounds of the creak of the floorboard with whatever he sounds he could make out from the rooms.

Nothing much. All silence. Of course it would be silent though, that wasn’t Hange’s room yet.

Her room was towards the end of the hall, the third to the last door to the right. Eventually he got tired of keeping his footsteps and his awkward gait light and he found himself scurrying--- at least to the best of his own injured abilities--- towards the door.

He willed himself not to make a sound. He wasn’t sure though if he had been the sneakiest.

He was still quiet enough at least to hear something. He had to press his ear to the door to hear it clearly, the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard, the sound of books hitting the desk and a loud yawn that had been very much Hange��s.

The loud yawn in particular sent a twinge up his spine and an ache in his chest and Levi had to swallow hard to get his bearings. He missed her.

He knocked on the door once. Then twice to make sure she heard it. Then he waited five long seconds for any response.

There was no response. He slapped the door. Still no answer.

Within a few seconds more, he started to get self conscious. She didn’t reply to his messages while being glaringly online. She was blatantly ignoring his knocks on the door. Did she actually want to see him?

And Levi was starting to notice the growling of his stomach. It was enough of a reminder that he hadn’t even had breakfast that morning.

A little disheartened, he made the journey back to his room.

***

The coldest point of winter was coming. Levi would have noticed it by just looking at the calendar. It had been a while since he stood outside long enough to let the cold sink deep under his skin.

And he was only reminded of such weather patterns when he stepped on to the open air track which was understandably empty. Two in the afternoon shouldn’t be too cold but that day in particular had Levi shivering, his teeth chattering in such an unfamiliar way.

That would have been expected. He didn’t spend much time outdoors anymore, Maybe that had explained that sudden, unfamiliar susceptibility to the cold. He could never be too sure though.

He scanned the field for any sign of Mikasa or his coach. What first caught his eye then had been the horizontal bar, set up where it always was. He hadn't returned to the field since his injuryand seeing the bar like it always had been, sent a wave of nostalgia and longing through him.

For a while, he was fixated and for a few seconds more, he vacillated between sitting on the bleachers or walking to the middle of the track where it was set up. Alone in the field though with nothing much else to do though, he opted to pass the time reminiscing

The bar was set high enough for Levi to have to reach up but still low enough for him to be able to grip it hard. It was cold to the touch. It was a fair distance away from him and it hovered over him, masquerading as something almost unattainable.

But maybe it was unattainable. Levi found himself strangely sad at the distance, still unable to fathom that only a few months ago, that bar had been a very easy height to clear.

“Hey… Your coach said you’d be here.”

Levi quickly turned towards the voice.

Mikasa stood before him in joggers and a sweatshirt. Her hair clipped back, red blotches on her cheek. Levi only had to listen to her breaths and notice the way she curled her lips as she took steady breaths to conclude that she had been running.

“Coach is training you now? In the middle of winter?”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to try out your track for myself. He left the club room and the equipment room open and told me to just try it out while he goes out to check on your team.”

“What made you change your mind?”

She avoided his gaze. “To be honest I’m still not completely sure about this yet. Your coach knows I’m not. But I thought I’d try it out, get to know your school more.”

“It’s a good choice,” Levi said.

For a second, the two were silent. Levi chose that moment to look back up at the bar in front of him but he could see from his peripherals, Mikasa still hadn’t looked away from him. So he waited.

She spoke up eventually. “Hey, about what happened at the diner… I’m sorry about that. I know I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I heard about your injury a while back, even before we met. Even if I don’t like jumping that much either, I think it would have hurt too…”

I’m fine. That had been his first instinct and he had opened his mouth ready to say it.

That’s your homework. Ride through the grief, the loss, the pain. Kuchel’s voice tore into his train of thought.

Will that actually help? He had been riding through that grief last night as he wrote, he had let it wash over him then. If he had been a little more introspective, he would have realized although it did hurt, it wasn’t a heavy, crushing type of hurt. It was a pain that still allowed him motions.

It granted him enough control to still function as a person. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.” But it was still hard to admit. “It takes time,” Levi added as he looked back up at the horizontal bar and behind it the clear blue sky. The color blue was bright, warm yet melancholic.

Mikasa didn’t reply. Her stare though seemed more focused. When Levi looked at her, made eye contact, comprehension washed over him. He knew she understood. And he caught that comprehension quickly like some contagion.

He spoke up again. “Eren means a lot to you huh?”

“We grew up together, lived along the same street. We went to the same school since kinder. And since we were young, he'd get agitated a lot, pick a lot of fights and I always had to look out for him.” Mikasa put one hand behind her neck and craned her neck to look up at the sky. “I almost hesitated to even try jumping since I wouldn’t be able to protect him as much anymore…”

“Why did you start jumping then?”

“After I got scouted in sophomore year, Eren convinced me to try it. He was the one who wanted me to widen my world.”

“And he talked to you again about this?”

“He and Armin did. They told me to consider this.”

“Then it should be an easy decision.”

Mikasa smiled. “I know it’s supposed to be an easy decision. But how I feel about Eren doesn’t make it easy.. I’ve known Eren my whole life and don’t get me wrong, I’ve never lost him but... Somehow, I can imagine how it would feel like to lose him. So I don’t wanna let go.”

“But losing people, losing things that are precious to us is a fact of life. We’re gonna deal with it anyway. Besides, you’re not losing him, he’ll make college in a year or so.”

“He won’t make Paradis University.”

“You’ll have him on the weekends.”

“But will I be able to handle that set up?” Mikasa met his gaze again. She never lost Eren or so that was what she said.

Will I be able to handle it? Yet why was Levi seeing grief in her eyes? Why did such a strong wave of comprehension hit him almost violently in that moment where their eyes met?

Empathy? It was an easy answer to pick up for himself. But maybe it ran deeper than that, because suddenly, Levi was aware of the ground under him, the cold air caressing him, the loud rustle of leaves. He was feeling everything at once. And with it, he felt the twinge in his stomach, the pang in his chest, the knot in his throat.

The grief never left. The loss never left. And the pain gripped him tightly then. Letting himself feel it had left him with a strange bout of confidence, and a wave of liberation that seemed to stick and when Levi spoke up again, he wondered if he was speaking for himself or for her.

“You won’t know if you can handle it until you ride through it yourself.”

Mikasa seemed convinced.

His coach had arrived a few minutes after the conversation, incessantly apologizing about the traffic. The usual pleasant exchange followed.

“How are you?”

“Slowly learning to walk again, focusing on academics.,” Levi answered. “How’s the team?” They were preparing for nationals. He didn’t need an answer. There were still things his coach knew though which couldn’t be researched and he was still invested in any response his coach could give.

“They’re preparing for nationals, training in the indoor gym.” The indoor gym a few minute car ride from their campus. Levi had been training there every winter and it was easy to picture the drills they were probably doing then.

It soon evolved into some unnecessary athlete propaganda which Levi surmised was to entice MIkasa.

“The scouts for the national team have been watching Elijah closely. He’ll probably be getting an invitation soon after nationals are over,” he said, soon after the pleasantries had died out into an awkward silence. Greg turned to Levi. “They were asking about you too. You’d have gotten the invite. No one’s forgotten about you.”

Was that for Mikasa? Or for him? Soon, Levi started to ask. Was that supposed to cheer him up? Levi couldn’t gauge intention though and he found himself looking away as he started to feel the beginnings of a loss of control.

Mikasa may have sensed it. Or at least sensed that moment as a good time to speak up. “Could you tell me more about your athletics program? Levi told me a lot about his experience here and I think I might just be interested.”

The digression and the exchange that followed was quicker and more enthusiastic than something Levi would have easily caught on to. Suddenly Greg was shifting between enthusiasm and relief. And it evolved to some offer to tour her of the school. Then some mentions about dinner.

Levi though was making excuses. The campus was too wide for him to walk through injured. It was getting a little too cold. And with the peak of winter nearing, it might just even get dark in the next hour or so. His main reason for staying wasn’t among those though.

He had been sneaking glances at the bar and at the blue sky behind it. While the field was empty, while the school was lifeless and while the bar and the equipment was set up in front of him, he realized he might just have some unfinished business on the field.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll fix up the equipment here.”

“You sure?” Greg asked as he looked pointedly at Levi’s knee.

“It’s the least I can do. Besides, it won’t be too heavy after I disassemble it.” Or at least it wasn’t so heavy when Levi had carried it before. He turned to Mikasa. “Go ahead, enjoy the day,” Levi said, nodding his head reassuringly.

It didn’t take them much convincing. Greg was too excited and Mikasa started to seem eager as well to see the school.

And Levi wanted them to leave. Alone in the empty field with the equipment all set up, brought forth within him some unwanted feelings yet feelings which Levi wanted to process for himself one last time.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret.

He was riding through it already and he was at least trying to find hope in that dreadful journey that left him almost desolate. Along the way, as he started to process the emotions, he fixated on the view of the bar, and maybe just a flicker of someone flying through the blue sky behind him. He soon stumbled upon one conclusion, one conclusion that Kuchel had suggested yet he had never really thought too much for himself until that moment.

At that moment, Levi let the emotions speak for him.

Regret is an emotion. Even if you say you don’t regret, even if you come out as the type not to regret, for sure you’ve regretted things right? It was a feeling you willingly chose to brush away. Kuchel had said then, as they had gone through her case study.

Levi had done his part to brush it away, to find something else to entertain him and to only hope that the emotions leave. But they never left. The aches that came with the view in front of him only proved it to him even before, and in that moment, it continued to prove it to him much faster and in more numerous ways than he could count.

So how do I stop feeling this?

You don’t. You can’t control how you feel. You can only control how you process it. The emotions leave when they want.

But when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go...Before you know it, you’ll find closure.

Around that time, she had mentioned the word 'closure'. But closure had always been a vague word. It manifested as something different for everyone else. Levi soon realized as he started to move, it was a word that could never actually be contained to a black ink on white paper, or to spoken word.

For Levi, it had manifested at something he only sensed as something hazy. He thought he had control of his body then but along the way, it had felt like his body had assessed it for himself, the circumstances that he could only take advantage of at that moment.

He was alone in an empty field, the empty field he hadn’t visited in ages. The equipment was all set up for him. And if he closed his eyes then, allow himself to ignore the biting cold wind, the bare trees. If he just focused on the bar and the blue sky behind him, he could pretend it was summer again and before that, spring, and before that the last summer… Every single season—hell—every single day he had spent jumping over the bars.

His body was moving on its own, as if it understood the concept of closure before he did. He made his way to the clubroom.

I never did clean up after the injury. Levi thought to himself. His spare clothes, his spare pair of shoes and his face towel were all still in the locker, as they had been every time before. It was surprising, he had assumed someone would have cleaned it up.

He didn’t think too much of it though. There were other things he was raring to do. At that moment, he was just grateful nobody had half a mind to remind him, or he probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with his plans.

Levi put on his shoes, his right then his left. He changed to jogging pants and to the sweatshirt left in his locker. And for a second he did some test movements with it.

It was baggier than what he would have wanted, but he wasn’t in a competition, Levi could be as lenient as he wanted about it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Levi thought to himself as he rolled up the jogger on his left leg and stared at the braced knee underneath. He could walk, he was sure. Yet just imagining himself removing the brace, left an unsettling feeling inside him.

He ended up pondering it for a while, a while longer than he was aware of. Soon enough, he decided on wearing it on the way back to the track, to just give his knee time to prepare.

On the way back, he passed by the equipment storage and he found himself thinking a lot harder about it. He looked back to the equipment in the field. Mikasa had mentioned setting it up. She had set up the pad underneath, but it had been an incomplete set up. Or so that was what Levi recalled.

There’s supposed to be a pad on top. Levi recalled. He opened the storage room to see the weather cover and the top pad, strewn on the side.

Lugging both the weather cover and the top pad would take two trips. Levi approximated. But did he have the time for two trips?

His coach was unpredictable. And just the idea of them coming back to catch him attempting such, was something Levi didn’t want to imagine then. So he folded up the weather cover and dragged the mat behind him, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge in his knee.

“Hey, you need help?”

Levi hadn’t expected anyone to be there. And of all people, Armin? “What are you doing here?”

“Mikasa told me she’s going out to dinner with your coach so she asked me to pick up her things from the club room…” Armin started. “I was here on campus already so…”

Levi softened his gaze, only realizing when Armin had trailed off quickly, avoiding his stare that he had probably been glaring. “You’re meeting Hange?” He asked, willing his voice to mellow.

“She’s been busy with thesis and I offered to help her out… So I’m picking up the stuff and will be meeting her soon after,” he explained. “But I arrived a bit early and I have some extra time." He offered his hand out to help.

Armin was extra hands. Extra hands meant time could go faster. And for sure, he could get Armin to hide his next set of plans.

“So, why are you bringing this to the field?” He asked, as they walked along the dirt path to the field.

Levi shrugged. “I guess I wanna try jumping one more time before I leave it for good.”

“But…”

Levi didn’t have to look at him to know what he wanted to suggest. “You’re thinking about my injury huh? It’ll be fine. I just wanna get a few jumps in.”

“It might be better to wait a few months?” Armin suggested.

“The team is training outside. The field is empty. The equipment is all set up and I’m graduating soon. When else but now?” Levi asked. Thinking back to it soon after he asked though, he could have waited a few months, maybe go back to school to just try it out one last time. But as they turned the corner and as the field opened up before him, Levi only had to look once again at the pale blue sky that stretched endlessly behind the field to be reminded, it ran deeper than that.

“You can wait a few months… I’m sure your coach---” Armin started, as if he had read his mind.

“When else, but now?” Levi pressed. The sky was starting to make its slow transition to purple, then. Orange and bright red were the next colors beyond that. And Levi started to see some of the steam, the colossal titans that marched forward slowly but surely. That one flicker in the sky though, caught his attention. She was concealed behind steam, and flashes of orange and bright red.

How much time did he have?

Armin took a deep breath. “This might sound weird. I’m probably the last person you wanna get advice from… I’m younger than you… and we just met… But Hange probably just rubbed off on me but you know, I guess I’m worried. I heard about your injury months ago, before we even met, Mikasa told me… It was in the rumor mill of the high jump community.”

So what?

“It must have been devastating huh? To lose something like that... Something that has been a constant in your life for five years even ten years…”

Devastating. Was that the right word?

“You must have regretted a lot…”

Did I let myself regret it? He willed himself not to regret then. It was a conscious decision to let the emotions flow free. Soon he had to admit— albeit uncomfortably— he regretted it.

“Then I thought of Mikasa. I actually talked to her about this, about Eren. And you know I was able to convince her that there is a life beyond Eren.”

“So let me predict, you wanna say there’s life beyond jumping?” Life beyond Hange?

Armin nodded. “I know it sounds generic. You probably heard it a million times before but… That was what Hange told us when you left…”

Levi didn’t have to listen to Armin quote it to hear it in her voice.

But… You understand, don’t you? Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day. I know it’s difficult to accept. It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. I know that.

But even so… We need to move forward…

Armin continued. “Move forward… because the world was wider than Eren. And I guess in your case, the world is wider than jumping. Now that I think about it, maybe you and Mikasa were facing similar things.”

It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. But we need to keep moving forward.

“Keep moving forward… But that’s what I did,” Levi said.

“But when Mikasa brought up the injury, I noticed it and i saw it still hurt you a lot— I’m sorry if I’m just making wild guesses here. I might be wrong.”

“What else did Hange say?” Levi asked. “After ‘keep moving forward?”

It was easy for Levi to imagine her saying that.

There is liberation in riding the pain through, accepting it will happen and just believing you can get past it.

There is liberation in everything. It’s just a matter of believing that happiness will come again.

“I reflected on it too, with Mikasa…” Armin added as they settled on the lowermost bleachers, closest to the bar. “And I thought of something… What if, the reason it’s so painful is because a part of us dies when we lose something. If Mikasa decides to leave Eren, part of her will die, the part of her that clung to him, her childhood, being with him everyday. They might just fade into distant memories the moment she decides to go to university. But there’s a life beyond him. And exchange for whatever part dies with her, her world widens..."

Levi nodded, glancing subtly at the view of the horizontal bar, the sky was shifting to a bright red behind it.

“Something inside her will be reborn. Maybe like reincarnation? There’s our college life waiting after high school, then our work life after that our family life, then retirement then maybe even other lives after that… Maybe even after we die... There's another life waiting for us.”

Levi shrugged. “You might be right,” he said. There was nothing much else to say. He stood up again and approached the landing pad, dragging that extra pad behind him.

“That’s it. After jumping, after whatever we’re doing now, we’re gonna graduate, move on to our next life. Then we just trust that things will get better, we encounter new things, new people to keep us going. We’ll find something else to keep us going.”

Then an old part of us dies and we’re reincarnated as a new person. That was the last sentence, Levi remembered Armin saying, or so that was the message he remembered.

He couldn’t be too sure about Armin’s exact words. Armin didn’t follow behind him either and his voice started to fade into the background.

Even before Armin’s words could whittle into nothing though, the orange sky started to scream at him, the horizontal bar, only nearer, started to goad him in. “That’s why I wanna enter that new life with no regrets,” Levi said.

Eventually Armin gave up.

Or Levi might just have gotten better at ignoring protests. He got better at creating that world, that consisted of just him, the field, the horizontal bar and the sky. The sky that was still a bright orange, the last flash of light before night blankets it. He didn’t have much time.

So Levi gave up on putting the pad on top. He gave up on the weather cover. He unwrapped his brace and threw it towards the side of the field..

Just one jump. The inhibitor within him promised. It sent a buckle through his knee and a light twinge of pain. It could have been stronger than a twinge, but Levi refused to feel it..

There’s just one thing I need to do for myself and I’ll close this part of my life for good.

Captain Levi never regretted. Or so that was what he had willed himself to do before. But everybody would regret even at least once in their life. Levi was part of that everyone and he had kept his own regret mum inside him. It festered into a wound, then to a scab and eventually it grew to shackles that kept him from moving freely, from moving on.

Ride the pain, the loss, the grief.

So he let the shackles do their work, he let the weight slow him down as he walked towards the starting line.

For a few seconds more, he found himself having to catch his breath as the sun made its way down from the horizon. It glowed a bright red, and along the way it released flashes of orange and yellow.

Soon enough, it was just him and the sky. Then him, the sky and someone else.

“Commander Hange Zoe,” he muttered quietly, yet still loud enough to hear it himself. That word, that name, only made that flicker up in the sky a little more lucid.

The silhouette that flew up in the mountains. The silhouette that flew past the buildings and up at the colossal titans.

That silhouette that burned into nothing up in the sky.

The rustle of the leaves, the biting cold and the distant footsteps though still threatened to pull him out of that world he created for himself. With the sun starting to disappear before the horizon, before the bright red--- the flames--- burned through the flicker. Before the flicker fell to the ground and burned out, Levi knew he would have to move.

Why don’t you want to jump? Levi asked himself. His knees were still buckling. The footsteps were still moving. He could get caught soon if he didn’t do it then.

When else will I be able to do this? Levi pressed, an attempt to push his body forward. His body was starting to disobey, or at least the scabbed knee, his joints, the remnants of bruises in his neck from each painful fall that led up to his injury. The biting cold and the pain at his throat from breathing the dry winter air made him even doubt his ability to run.

Certainly, he was in no shape to jump. But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

Eventually, he did find the right question, the one that had him recalling, then feeling everything at once. And it got his body moving.

Why did you start jumping?

I had dreams. I dreamt I could fly and when I jumped, there was this sense of nostalgia…

Letting himself name the emotions for what they were, he soon realized, the comfort that came with jumping wasn’t borne of nostalgia. It was borne of regret.

Captain Levi had one regret which he never entertained. One regret that ran so deep it could never be summarized with a single question.

Should I have stopped her?

Should I have run after her?

Should I have fought with her?

Back then, he never did go after her. so he never found answers. But in that split second flying feet up in the air with just the view of the blue sky above him, he always found hints to it.

So he continued to jump, higher and higher.

You won’t find the answer, no matter how high you jump. Something inside him nagged.

But I wanna leave this part of my life with no regrets. “I wanted to save you,” Levi said. It was only himself who could have spoken or heard him. So maybe he had said it a little louder, he couldn’t tell.

The flicker in the sky started to burn and like the many times he had envisioned that scene, he expected it to fall over soon. He was certain of that.

I should have tried to save you.

Trying never guaranteed success. But trying always had that special ability of just cushioning a fall, protecting against the impact of regret that followed.

And maybe that was the right thing to do. That alone had been enough to send a burst of energy through him, to bring back the muscle memory that got him succeeding at each height, winning competition after competition.

He wanted to fly. So he ran, like he had done many times before. He let his steps bounce, ignoring the pain in his knee.

The horizontal bar was nothing but a convenient silhouette, a guide towards his actual goal.

If I tried to save you, would things have ended up different?

Commander Hange Zoe was the source of energy that got him bouncing on that knee. It got him ignoring that white flashes of pain that followed. She was up there in the sky, fighting the colossal titans and Levi was determined to fly after her.

He positioned himself to jump in that split second, like he had done many times before. As his body turned to his side though, he saw another Hange Zoe.

She wasn’t a flicker nor a silhouette though She was clearly there, chestnut brown hair, bright eyes, like she had been in every single one of the competitions. He needed a split second more to process her. He was pressed for time though so he opted to look straight ahead, to focus on the jump.

“Levi!”

Levi was already up in the air when he heard her call out, when reality gripped at him and attempted to pull him back. Suspended up in the air, floating, it had been easier to pull away.

That was his last jump, his last attempt to save Commander Hange Zoe and he would see it through

There were things though people can will with all their minds, yet their body would still choose to disobey. If the body hadn’t been such a limiting factor, maybe everyone would have been an Olympic athlete.

Levi only had that crushing lesson on reality, hit him hard when he landed painfully on pad, the bar underneath him.

The flicker that he could have sworn was Hange faded into the sky. Or maybe it had fallen over too quickly, in the few moments it took Levi to blink.

The sky shifted into a deep blue. It would shift to a darker blue, then soon, the sky would be painted black. It took the flicker in the sky that had been Hange and soon it would be taking his surroundings with it.

Right after taking her? He would have wanted to ask. He had learned it before already, reality was cruel. There was no use bargaining with it.

It was starting to get cold. The heat in that moment as he made the jump and the heat of the fiery death he had witnessed, waged war with the winter chill that was starting to eat at him too.

Too many discomforts to process at once and in that second, Levi was almost grateful for the desolation, the disappointment that was also nagging at him then.

So he gave it some traction and soon, some place in reality. “I’m sorry, I can’t fly anymore,” he whispered. Those words should have been between him and whatever flicker had disappeared in the sky.

There had been an intruder though and Levi was slow to notice it. “Levi! What were you thinking?” she asked.

Gentle hands ran through him. Familiar hands pressed at his knees, at his arms. “Just thought I’d try it one last time.” Levi answered as he turned to the voice.

Hange’s face softened as they made eye contact. “Levi… you know the momentum comes from the run… With your injury, you wouldn’t have been able to even jump heights less than two meters..”

“I wanted to. Just one last time.”

Her hazel eyes were on him again, and they could have been glistening, illuminated by the already dim light as the winter sun shone with its last few rays.

“You don’t need to...” She helped him into a sitting position and Levi followed suit, surprised out how his body was still obeying him

Need to what? He hoped to seek clarity in the seconds that followed. Shaken for sure by those bursts of movement, the pain that came and the pain he had expected to come, he found himself unable to speak.

But it turned out, he didn't need to. He couldn't speak so Hange spoke for him. “If you don’t want me to, I won't leave you,” she said.

A minute ago, it had been hot. A few seconds ago it had been chilly. When she wrapped her arms around him though, the war between hot and cold ended with a comfortable compromise. Her tight embrace was lukewarm. “I’m right here… And I'll be right here for as long as you want me to be."

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

36 notes · View notes

moosoobi · 3 years

Text

Confessions

In the night: Chapter 2

T.Jeff- Hamilton: the musical

Y/N can’t hold all her secrets. She’s tired of hiding. The people deserve the truth. Here’s her confession: the one she should’ve told us long ago

I started to write this chapter the day after I finished chapter 1, yet before the first chapter was even published (time management queen). As I’m typing this message, I’m currently distracting myself from finals LMAO. Anyway, I wanted to finish this chapter as soon as possible to give some explanation of the events in the previous chapter, so I hope I do exactly that. I’m still manifesting that I articulate through this story smoothly, please give me feedback <3

MC (aka Y/N’s) POV

Modern au

Word Count: 5.4k

A few unrealistic realities, but I’m working with what I got

This chapter will most likely answer many questions about chapter 1

THIS CHAPTER OCCURS AT THE SAME TIME AS CHAPTER 1! all events in this chapter line up with the events of chapter 1

Disclaimers:

TW: violence, abuse, mentions of blood, themes of injury, itty bitty angst?

photo not mine <3

If you have any questions/concerns about this story, DONT BE SHY TO ASK ME! This is my first time writing a whole series, so I apologize if the plot gets confusing.

-Now Playing: Broken Clocks by SZA-

Where to start…

My attention was taken from Professor Washington’s lecture the moment I felt a pair of eyes attempting to pierce a hole in the back of my head. As I look back, I realize that it’s no one other than Thomas Jefferson, the spoiled francophile, or so people like the whisper, but gossip’s not my thing.

Upon being called out by Professor Washington, I couldn’t hold in my giggle as Thomas’s head ducks down in embarrassment. I suppose he sure knows how to lighten the demeanor in the lecture hall; It was a nice excuse to take my eyes off of Washington’s low-quality power-point presentation, but I appreciate that the man is trying.

This class feels like it’ll last forever, and I contemplate if I could just perish in my seat at this very instant, yet Thomas’s presence seems to make it worthwhile. I don’t know him that much, or maybe at all for that matter, but since he’s been seen with a Schuyler, the locals around here can’t seem to keep their mouths shut about him.

From what I’ve heard, he’s another silver-spoon raised boy representing Virginia up here in New York. A few scholarships here and there, as well as a trip to France for a semester. I don’t see what all the fuss is about; He seems like a pretty cool person, probably has an exciting life, and isn’t throwing away his shot. It’s odd, even with parents to piggyback off of, Thomas is very similar to a certain orphan I know.

“Class is dismissed” Is all I heard from Professor Washington’s mouth before that obnoxious but relieving bell sounds off.

Desperate to get out of this class, I hurry to put my stationery items into my burgundy-magenta backpack. You’d think after those turbulent years of high school that college would motivate me for fancier bags, but I can’t say no to my favorite color. It’s simple, won’t bring attention to my presence, unlike every other decision I’ve made in my life.

After I finally finished packing up, I can’t wait to take a breath of the fresh, polluted air of New York City. I quickly spotted my roommate's car within the crowd of vehicles next to the sidewalk. He’s on time, as always, to pick me up from class, and I’m grateful that he sacrifices his time for me, but it’s not like he had a choice. I toss my bag into the trunk, surely crinkling a few important papers. Upon reaching the door of his expensive car, my roommate greets me with joy to see me.

“How was class, Cherie?”

Lafayette, my roommate, shoots a smile at me, his white teeth are almost blinding, but he always says I’m exaggerating.

“Boring as always, but I’m still here, sadly” I say as I hop into the front seat of Lafayette’s car. He pouts in my direction

“Ahh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Once he acknowledges the buckling of my seatbelt, he begins to power up the car. “C’est la vie, Y/N” I roll my eyes, my hatred for him grows just a little more every time he says that.

“Can we get McDonald’s?” I attempt to change the subject, earning a small chuckle from him. He prepares to drive off “You know I can't say no to you and your American junk food”

And so we begin to drive off

Lafayette and I indeed have a bit of history together. After I got mistakenly involved with Alexander and his clique, Lafayette was the next best (or worse) person to walk into my life. He’s sweet, charming, probably all the things Americans are not; the gentleman hails from France. Yet he’s so much more than that.

Ever since I caught his eye at that obnoxious high school party, he and I hit the ground running. Disclosing the events which took place in his-

our bedroom won’t solve the problem, but the stubble on his jaw and the way he holds the steering wheel with one hand nearing my thigh reminds me of the unresolved sexual tension between the both of us.

I’ve only been living in his apartment for a few months, an idea he proposed when I mentioned my dreadful rent. A nice view, nice coffee maker, and nice bedsheets were more than enough to convince me, but I know there’s more to that “nice” list that I shouldn’t disclose.

Though I know his intentions were good, I’m sure he invited me into his abode to protect me from Alex.

Since I began to band with Alex and his gang, Alexander’s been strict about getting me home on time. It wasn’t only because I was a helpless high school student, but also to prevent me from ratting him and his group out to the authorities.

Upon joining Alex's posse, a strict curfew has been placed on me, only to ensure I stay safe at night, or perhaps to make sure I don’t betray them.

Moving in with Lafayette made following this time limitation easier for me, especially since he volunteers to drive me home or takes a stand for me. If the unfortunate event of my arrival past my ‘bedtime’ timer occurs, Alexander ensures I pay the price.

Speaking of arrivals, Lafayette passes me a box of hot, salty fries and a smile spreads across my face. His eyes visibly soften as my entire demeanor changes.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best person ever?” I spilled my thoughts while stuffing my mouth with fries. He lightly chuckles, watching me.

“Maybe a couple of times..” He prepares to drive off again “...too many times, actually.” he shot a wink at me.

Blood didn’t have any time to rush to my cheeks before I could slap the side of his shoulder, causing him to whine in discomfort. I sigh before returning my focus to the steaming fries in front of me. The tension grows, and so does the silence between us. Eager to break the tension, I propose an idea.

“Let’s go home?” we turn to each other at the same time

“Oui.”

---

I enter Professor Washington’s lecture hall and my attention is driven to the two curly-headed Virginians. I watch in secondhand embarrassment as Thomas Jefferson and his friend playfully argue in front of the entire class, seemingly a heated debate of the greatness of Mac and Cheese. One argues on behalf of the gooey pasta, while the other simultaneously retorts with a mix of “you’re so stupid” and “God help me”.

Feeling a rush of confidence and suaveness, my brain urges my body to intervene in their conversation. Maybe it was to make new friends, or perhaps to stop the class from staring at their dumb dispute, but I swiftly walk over to them. The next few words to come out of my mouth fell into place oh-so-perfectly.

“Hey, can I sit here?”

Upon sitting in between the two Virginians, they introduce themselves. The calmer, self-collected man among the two introduced himself as James Madison, while the bolder, upbeat man introduced himself as no other than Thomas Jefferson. Both of them seemed happy that I interrupted and decided to reach out to them, maybe one was a tad more excited than the other.

And ever since then, Professor Washington can’t seem to split up our trio. From childish jokes and a few inappropriate inferences, Thomas and James make great company. The idiotic smile that spreads across Thomas’s face whenever he’s capable of making James and I break our silence during class would become more annoying than Lafayette saying “C’est la vie” whenever I make a poor life decision.

Nevertheless, Thomas and James dangerously remind me of Alexander and his goons. The abundant amount of self-praise and cocky remarks said by both Thomas and Alexander is almost astronomical. In the case of Thomas and Alexander’s meeting, I’m sure they’d be the best of friends. But likewise, I could also envision the two attempting to tear each other's heads off, the chaotic clashing of two powerful minds.

They always know what to say and when to say it. I’ve never met anyone as clever as Thomas and James, and they’re even worse when they’re together.

“‘ ‘s Adams here today? Washington told me to turn in my papers t’ him.” Thomas whispers as he eases into his chair, Washington’s booming voice seems to become background noise to us

“Is he ever?” I reply, attempting not to giggle at my own response “I haven’t seen him since Washington initially introduced him to the class.”

“Maybe he’s jus’ sick or somethin’. Kinda reminds me of you, James'' His head of curls turns to stare down James, in which James replies by rolling his eyes

“He can stay home, he does the same amount of work there anyways.” James cleverly retorted.

And that seemed to be our last straw before bursting out in laughter. Thomas’s body flung forward as he laughed his head off, James ducking his head to hide his glee behind his laptop, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth to prevent anyone around us from drawing suspicion. But apparently, Washington wasn’t having our disguises.

“Can the three of you even tell me what I just said?” Washington turns around from the board to scan the crowd, his eagle eyes find us quickly

The silence was all we could emit, and soon enough, He turned back to his lesson. I sigh with relief; the last thing I need is to get kicked out of a class I don’t even pay for.

…

...

“Washington sure got a shiny ass head. D’you think he uses shampoo and conditioner?” Whispered Thomas as he leans over to me

And just like that, we’re faced with the same struggle all over again.

—-

Lafayette adjusted the hot pan, erupting a few sizzles. The wall clock ticked, the hour arm froze pointing to the “11” written in roman numerals. Lafayette and I decided to agree on a home-cooked meal, and although it’s too late for an average dinner, yet too early to be defined as a midnight snack, I’m sure Lafayette’s cooking will satisfy me for the night.

“Y/NN, would you prefer salt on your omelet? Or did you decide to be healthy tonight?” He said holding a salt shaker in the air to steal my focus from the swirling red liquid in my glass.

My head lifts to meet his eyes. I tilt my head, the wine causing me to ponder for a little longer than I should’ve. He continues to stare at me, holding in a laugh, before I force myself to nod.

“Yeah.. a little won’t hurt” I hear him chuckle at my drunken dialect, but I know the French man isn’t about to lecture me about English “Your wish is my command.”

I watch as he conducts the kitchen perfectly. He knows where everything is, exactly what to add into the sizzling pan, maybe even the exact second to take the meal off the flame.

“I thought you weren’t a fan of monarchy?” the sarcasm was evident in my tone “but I appreciate the submission” I shot him a playful wink, to which he responds with a pompous smirk

A few sips of wine later, I recognize notification that has been staring back at me for hours.

1 Message from Thomas

A text from Thomas? And I’m barely seeing this now? I silently scold myself for giving into the wine before opening the message.

“Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?”

My eyes become glued to my phone. It was certainly necessary for me to reread Thomas’s text, I was unsure if the alcohol was beginning to make me see odd things, but I assured myself I was correct.

I could feel the blush spread across my face. Maybe it’s just the wine taking control, or maybe it’s the butterflies in my stomach forming every time I reread his message. A harmless invite, perhaps evoked from Thomas due to James stroking his ego, but I know James’ wouldn’t promote such a bold, straight-forward message. Though Thomas is known for his meticulous confidence and certainty, a message this simple could be notably deceiving.

But a little socializing won’t damage my self-respect. “Be bold, Y/N” is what I used to tell myself at the beginning of the semester, and what do I have to lose? I begin to type my reply.

“Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way”

Sent.

My introspection was soon interrupted by the screeching plate being slid in my direction by Lafayette, the steam circulating the meal

“Y/N, Mangeons.�� My head comes up from my phone, my eyes meet his eyes momentarily.

“Thanks, Laf.” I reply before taking a fork from him and digging into the steaming meal ahead of me. Lafayette’s cooking never disappoints. Ever.

My body couldn’t help but pick up my phone every few minutes to respond to Thomas’s messages, Though they were just the details of the hangout-offer he previously proposed, I felt enclosed in my little bubble while texting him. Those few moments of interaction with him somehow made my day better. I’m sure even Lafayette could see my radiating energy, but I’m not sure how he took it.

We’re technically not a couple; a few hookups and moving in together don't make us an official couple, right?

“Merci, Laffy.” I watched as he visibly cringed at my poor attempt at french. “Let’s just stick to our mother tongues, angel.” He retorted. I laughed it off, yet inside his reply left a scratch on my pride.

---

Another class of absolute foolery and childish inferences, and I can’t help but laugh as Thomas, James, and I exit the lecture hall. The New-York cold hits us harshly, but being about a month into this semester, students already know what to expect.

It was indeed embarrassing, running to Lafayette’s car to remind him of your library study session.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up before your curfew, okay?” He asked with one hand on the wheel. His faux-leather jacket contorting around his toned arms made it difficult not to remember the moments they shared around midnight. The imagery of their candle-lit room appearing in her head as he sat at the wheel stopped her from replying for a moment.

“Y-Yeah sounds great. You’re the best, you know that?” She thanked him for sacrificing his time to make sure she arrives home on time.

“You remind me all the time.” He sneaks in a small wink between his sentences “I’ll see you tonight, Cherie”

Y/N smiled before turning around to prance over to her friends. Y/N heard the faint sounds of Lafayette driving off, sighing in relief

After briefly explaining my situation to the boys, we quickly head over to the library.

A woman in a coral-pink blazer and pants set is waiting impatiently at a table she rented out just for us. “What in the world took you guys so long?” She pressured for an answer

“C’mon Angie, that wasn’t even ten minutes.” Thomas rolled his eyes before removing his backpack and opening a chair for Y/N. Real smooth, Thomas, I can’t lie. He looked over to me, seeing stars in my eyes as I realize I’m standing next to the oldest Schuyler.

“You’re-” She interrupted me with a smile, sticking out her hand to shake mine

“Angelica Schuyler. And you?” I swear her name sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard it around but I just can't place it. I do see her on my social media feed from time to time, and I must admit, she looks even more heavenly in person.

“Y/N L/N.” My hand meets hers in a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you.”

—-

At first, I thought nothing of it.

Though Lafayette’s text at 7:30 (on the dot) did push me out of my zone, I did appreciate his promise to me.

Thomas on the other hand seemed disturbed by my sudden leave, but it’s not like he’d understand. Alexander would literally kill me if I were home late.

But Thomas and I would continue to hang out. His evening texts would slowly become a weekly routine. Whether it was a scary movie or an ice cream date for just the two of us, he always found a way to spend time with me.

“Don’t tell me that mint chocolate chip is actually your favorite flavor, darlin’.” He adjusted his position on the park bench and raised an eyebrow, his gaze focused on the green ice cream atop my ice cream cone “You might make me regret takin’ you out tonight” he chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile

“You know you love me” I jokingly retorted, scooping part of my ice cream with my tongue, and relaxing against the bench.

It’s very rare to get to relax like this. Not only am I a fully-fledged college student, but also one of Alexander’s goons. The weekends are merely just ‘weekdays: the sequel’, but add forbidden literature and alcohol to that equation.

I look back up to Thomas, seeing his disgusted face. “Wait.. are you actually against mint chocolate chip ice cream?” I cocked an eyebrow towards him

He shrugged before chuckling “I recall telling you of my unfortunate arguments while visiting England..”

“..so what does mint chocolate chip ice cream have to do with your political upheavals in a foreign country?”

He smirked in an ‘all knowing’ manner. “Well, Darlin, if you did your research—“

“—You’ve got to be kidding me—“I start to wonder why I even asked

“—you’d learn that the monstrosity in your ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, originated in England.” He completed his statement with triumph “Ever since my disagreements in England, I swore to despise such a concoction until the day I die.”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I can’t believe you did your research on English creations. You’re so dramatic sometimes” I respond

“Hey, I wouldn’t be a Jefferson if I wasn’t.” He stared back to his cone, the mesmerizing ice cream almost reflecting himself back at him.

We shared silence for a moment. Words were unnecessary when we were together.

“I suppose..” Jefferson started “...I might be able to tolerate mint chocolate chip ice cream, but only for you, though.” He turned towards my direction

My eyes soon met his. “Well, I’m honored to be your exemption, Jefferson.” I smile with triumph, recognizing my effect on him.

He swiftly takes my hand, his skin feels burning compared to mine. Our eyes remain connected as he dips his head down to kiss the back of my hand. I attempt to hide the fact that my heart stopped beating for a moment, but the breath hitching in my throat wouldn’t help me at all.

“Let’s drop the formalities, Darlin, you can call me Thomas now.” My hand remained between his. I try my best to keep my hand still, wanting to marinate in this moment forever.

A new feeling courses through my body. Something unfamiliar. Perhaps it’s the charm of a Southern Gentleman. Maybe the feeling of being treated right for the first time, something I’ve never experienced from anyone.

What have I ever done to deserve this chivalrous kindness?

‘What a gentleman’ I repeat to myself in my mind. What makes him so different from the others?

From a simple kiss, I suddenly crave more.

More than the unresolved sexual tension between Lafayette and I.

More than I was ever granted the opportunity to.

Maybe ‘more’ is what I deserve.

My mind bleeds with the thought of Lafayette, but Thomas seems like he has so much more to offer. What if I do deserve to be happy? I may not have earned it, but who gets to declare my right to happiness? I was once happy with Lafayette, but the times have changed

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

---

But no matter how much I enjoyed spending time with Jefferson himself, I was always the first one to leave. I had to.

I remember the way his smile would fall at the sound of Lafayette’s car horn.

The way his jaw tenses whenever my phone vibrates across the table

Whenever Lafayette came to pick me up, I also can’t help but feel a part of my soul crack within me.

“I’ll see you this weekend?” He kisses the back of my hand once more in an attempt to savor this moment, continuing to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll try, Thomas. Not sure if I’m busy.” I sigh with fatigue. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Alright. Get home safe, darlin’” I hear him stand from the park bench as I wander to Lafayette’s car, his eyes following my figure.

I hop into Lafayette’s car before taking one last glance in Thomas’s direction, watching as his figure begins to walk in the opposite direction that our car was heading.

“Ahh, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me” his sarcastic tone wouldn’t pierce deep enough.

I speak without thinking. “I do recall you claiming that you and I were never a couple, remember Laf?” My change in demeanor was certain to shut him up. And he did.

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

I remained turned away from Lafayette as we drove through the city. The memories built between Lafayette and I constantly falls like a house of cards, but I prefer to avoid the subject.

Lafayette felt otherwise, yet respected my choice.

He was the first to speak.

“Alexander needs me for a transport this weekend.” He stated, “I’m not sure when I’ll get back, so it’s very important that you get back from whatever plans you have before your curfew.” He takes a glance over to me and briefly meets my eyes

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N.”

Ah yes, the monthly literature transportation of Alexander’s gang.

The Notorious Sons of Liberty.

A popular group roaming the streets of New York. But instead ironically of selling drugs or performing homicide, they produce and sell illegal, banned literature and disperse them to the highest bidders.

How else do you think I pay for college?

Although gang violence isn’t really their thing, that doesn’t mean they’re not in possession of such weaponry and devices. I’ve never seen anyone take literature as seriously as they do.

They’re also known for their bold publicity stunts, which are indeed fun to watch from a nearby coffee shop. Watching Alexander, Lafayette, and some other friends, John and Herc, run from the authorities on a Sunday afternoon, accidentally laughing at the sight of John tripping over his own feet, Lafayette mouthing ‘help us out’ in my direction. Very entertaining.

On the contrary, their security on me has become tighter and tighter. I know they worry for the gang’s reputation over my safety, but it feels nice to imagine having a battalion of book-worm gang members watching over you.

“I know, I know. You guys can stop treating me like a kid” I attempt to contain a giggle to portray my seriousness.

He takes a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “You cannot say that until you have another way home other than me.” He sighed rather loudly

“Be careful, or I might do just that, Lafayette.”

---

I sipped on wine and ate cheese at Thomas’s place without a care in the world on a Saturday night. Of course, I had to accept Thomas’s offer, I never knew how to say no to him.

Jefferson has sure been taking his sweet time to put a title on us. Now, I’m no philosopher when it comes to dating, but Ice cream at the park, fancy dinners, and wine and cheese sure sound romantic.

My night was going well. All until the 7:30 alarm on my phone rang, and before I knew it, everything began to go downhill

[events of chapter 1]

And next thing I knew, the cold New York air slapped my face, following the harsh slam of the apartment door.

As my adrenaline began to settle down, panic rushed through my body.

Fuck. At this rate, I won’t be home until after my curfew. Although my immediate instinct was to sprint my way home, those thoughts were quickly followed by the idea of passing out within five minutes. My apartment isn’t too far, but being fueled by wine and cheese doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N” echoed throughout my head.

I begin to walk down the street before whipping out my phone to contact an Uber.

The small talk produced between my driver and I worked a bit to calm myself down, but that would all change the moment I walked through my apartment door.

Once I turn back around from locking the door, I’m met with exactly what I didn’t want to see at this very moment.

Lafayette stood staring at me, his lips pursed with anxiousness, recognizing my significantly late arrival.

Hercules, another good friend I’ve met through the sons of liberty, stood beside Lafayette. His mouth hung open in shock as he also recognized my mistake.

John, the group’s smallest yet mightiest, leaned against the wall, perhaps planning my fate right in front of me

And none other than Alexander Hamilton himself, sipping scotch on my couch, similarly to how I was not too long ago at Thomas’s place. The glare on his face quickly reminded me that I was in big trouble.

“Y/N, I thought I told you—“ Lafayette began but was quickly interrupted

“You’re late.” He swirled his drink before standing up. The clock ticked, and the hour hand notably passed the 8:30 symbol. I was not getting out of this one.

Although I feared for the following moments, I attempted to contain my emotions within myself. I kept my straight face for the time being. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.

“I’m well aware.” That came out of my mouth a little too harsh for my liking

“May I remind you that being out past your curfew could severely damage our image.”

I saw John look over to Alex from the corner of my eye. The air became thinner if that were even possible, and I refused to meet his eyes.

“And I do recall reminding you of your consequences.” He walked towards me and I felt my heart froze. “Having you out so late could raise some suspicions among our competitors, L/N.”

I couldn’t find the right words and resort to nodding instead

“I always fucking told you—“ he harshly slammed his drink onto the table beside him “—not to test the waters—”

“—I-I know—“

“So why the fuck are you stumbling in here past your curfew?”

At this very moment, I wondered if I had pulled the last straw.

I couldn’t speak. God forbid I spat out the wrong words. Contained within my thoughts, I didn’t acknowledge Alexander closing the distance between us.

“Ow!--” I watched as Alex shoved me to the wall, the moment playing in slow motion in my head.

Lafayette’s throat grew dry “Hey, Alex, Calm dow-”

He was interrupted by the sound of Alexander harshly slapping me across the face. My hands quickly went to soothe what felt like fire burning my cheek.

“We do so much for you, Y/N.” Alex growled

The sharp pain in my side grew, almost echoing throughout my body. I could feel my body giving up on itself. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time Alex has acted like this.

Occasionally, Alex would stop by Lafayette and I’s apartment just to ensure I was home before my curfew, and he wasn’t the most forgiving.

--He owns an apartment key and has every single one of his gang member’s location tracked on his phone. Sometimes I wondered what was so special about us to have to keep all of us in check 24/7--

One time Hercules and I went shopping a little too late after sunset, part of me felt like a reckless teenager, probably because I was. I still remember Alexander’s face when I entered my own apartment, he looks identical every time.

In an attempt to shelter me, my body curled into itself against the wall. I shrunk to the floor, feeling his shadow intensely stand above me.

“Arghh!—“ the sound spilled out of me when I felt Alexander’s shin connect with my rib cage.

My lungs felt punctured under the pressure.

My arms felt like they could give out any second.

Part of me had wished I’d stay at Thomas’s place tonight, even if it meant telling him the truth.

What a predicament I’ve gotten myself into.

I looked up, wondering if my torment was over until I was met with a —Crack— Alexander’s knee encountered my face.

It was only a moment before I could hear the shuffling of the others’ shoes. I prayed they were coming to help me out.

Alexander lifted his glass of alcohol, previously forgotten, and hauled it towards me

Crash!

The piercing shards of glass combining with the stinging alcohol were the last thing I needed on a Saturday night. I didn’t notice the tears falling from my eyes until now, and the way my heart felt like it was just on a rollercoaster.

I kept my head low, watching blood drip down my face and onto the floor below me. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Alex! What the fuck?!” I heard Laurens yell

“Are you trying to kill her?!?” I recognized Lafayette’s scream

Before Alex was able to make another blow, Lauren and Lafayette were quick to hold him back, attempting to calm him down.

Hercules swiftly knelt beside me, the guilt was obvious in his gaze. I hated the pity in each of their glances towards me. He attempted to wipe away the blood from my forehead with a paper towel.

Alexander fought back against the two, trying his best to prove his point. There’s the Hamilton we all know, unwilling to stand down no matter the cost.

Hercules turned back to me, his words were ready to leave his mouth from the moment we reconnected eyes.

“Y/N..” He pulled me up and shoved me out of my apartment door. “..Run.” I almost stumbled into a nearby pole, but I began running, if running in my condition was possible, back to Thomas’s place.

—-

[events of chapter 1]

The next thing I knew, I woke up in Thomas’s bed beside him. I took a moment to soak in the feeling of his satin sheets. Part of me can’t recall the events before I passed out in front of Thomas’s apartment, or maybe my mind refuses to remember them.

The sun hasn’t risen yet.

I turn to my side and reach for my phone, wincing from the pressure applied to my rib cage.

The bright light of my phone hitting my eyes felt like I was transported to another dimension.

54 notifications:

12 calls from Lafayette 🥐

24 texts from Lafayette 🥐

1 text from Alexander 💡

3 calls from Mariah 💋

14 texts from Mariah 💋

“oh fuck..” I sigh, wondering how things will play out.

Out of curiosity, I open the message from Alexander. Perhaps it’s an apology? Maybe a reminder?

Alexander 💡: I know where you are, Y/N. Don’t drag your friend into this. Because I can.

Where I am? I ask myself

My heart dropped, remembering that Alexander tracks my location 24/7. He knows where I am at this very second.

By escaping to Thomas’s apartment, I’ve just dragged him into this mess I’ve made. If my worlds collide, it would all be because I ran to this exact apartment.

Panic once again rushed through my body.

I need to get out of here. I need to leave.

I slip out from under the sheets and grab my belongings. Unprepared for what’s to come, I steal one of Thomas’s jackets from his cluttered desk chair. I’ll give it back eventually, I thought to myself.

After I put on my shoes I take one last glance toward Thomas.

He seems so peaceful when he’s asleep, tangled in his blanket, not to mention his name-brand Mac and cheese pajama pants.

I’m sorry if I drag you into this, Thomas, you just wouldn’t understand.

Taglist <3: @kenmacrumbs @strayblades @laic2299 @ohsoverykeri

36 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #asexual ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #aziraphale and crowley #anxious aziraphale #crowley not going too fast #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #my writing #ao3 link

61 notes · View notes