#it was supposed to be much simpler but thoughts were thunk
Note
No worries or rush or etc if this doesn’t hit your fancy but for a prompt: Kaeya - nightmares - hurt/comfort?
HELLO HI DEAR THANK U THANK U this was a fun lil piece, i hope you enjoy it!!
tiny, quiet hours of the night - T - 1.4k
tags: established relationship, canon divergence, nightmares, slight hurt/comfort (but mostly the comfort part)
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His heart aches for Kaeya on these nights, the ones where the Abyss refuses to release him, refuses to let him rest. It’s been better lately, but it does not make these nights any less painful.
Kaeya wakes from a nightmare, and Diluc does his best to comfort him.
[read on ao3]
--
Diluc wakes with a sharp breath, brows furrowed as awareness filters in.
Cold - that’s the first thing he notices. The blankets no longer cover his chest, and he blinks his eyes open to find-
“Kaeya?” His voice is still scratchy with sleep, but he pushes himself up to where Kaeya sits in the middle of the bed. He doesn’t look over, remains painfully still with knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. It’s colder here, Diluc can feel the ice radiating from Kaeya’s skin, but he inches closer regardless.
“Don’t.” Quiet, sharp, and Diluc stills with his fingers just a moment away from brushing Kaeya’s skin. “Too cold.”
He sees it now, the prickle of frost along Kaeya’s bare skin, sparkling gently from the glow of the moon seeping through the window. In place of reaching out to touch him, Diluc lets a gentle warmth radiate from his palm.
Kaeya sucks in a sharp breath, but does not pull away from Diluc, and the frost begins to melt. It drips in tiny beads of water down his arm, and Diluc shifts his palm to hover over a new patch of skin.
It is in this way that Kaeya begins to thaw, and his grip on his knees loosens slightly as the ice gives way to tracks of cool water that drip down onto the bed, onto the blanket, and Diluc does not care enough to worry if they’ll regret it later.
“Another nightmare,” he says once he’s certain that Kaeya is no longer at risk of freezing to death in the middle of their bed.
He doesn’t speak, just nods very gently, and Diluc leans in. Lets his palm - cooled, now - press lightly to the bare expanse of Kaeya’s back.
“No,” Kaeya says aloud, then, just as Diluc’s lips part. His eye flicks over to catch Diluc’s, and the barest hint of a smirk touches his lips. “I don’t particularly want to talk about it.”
Diluc shuts his mouth, nods at Kaeya.
His heart aches for him on these nights, the ones where the Abyss refuses to release him, refuses to let him rest. It’s been better lately, but it does not make these nights any less painful.
After a time, though Diluc does not know how long, Kaeya shifts again. He releases his legs, finally, and they fall to the side as he leans into Diluc, and it is like breathing to pull Kaeya into his chest, to press a kiss to his frostmelt-damped hair.
“It’s childish, I think,” Kaeya says quietly, and Diluc’s brows furrow. “To wish that it would all just stop already.” A huffed breath that might be his attempt at laughter.
“The nightmares?”
A subtle nod.
“But life is not so simple, certainly not for me.” Kaeya’s voice takes on that painfully amused tone, the one that turns his words dismissive and resigned. “It’s a naive thing, to wish it all gone in the blink of an eye.”
And Diluc does not know what to say to that, for Kaeya isn’t wrong. The world is not a kind place, has not been gentle with either of them, least of all Kaeya - perhaps that’s the very reason for his childish desire.
But simplicity has never been a part of their vocabulary, he supposes. In place of words, he pulls Kaeya tighter against his chest.
“You should rest,” Kaeya says quietly, even as he curls further into Diluc’s chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” And still Kaeya clings tighter, and Diluc runs a hand through his hair.
“I can’t help when I’m asleep,” he says decisively, and Kaeya huffs out another amused sort of breath.
“If you sleep, then at least one of us will be well-rested.”
“I’d rather be awake with you.” It’s an easy truth, and Diluc considers that perhaps some things are far simpler than he’d been prepared to claim. Some things persist, some things defy pain and heartbreak and choose instead to endure. Some things live at the core of Diluc’s entire being, a truth so unshakably certain that no twisted path can force it to shatter.
“Come on, let’s get you some tea.” A pause, and Kaeya makes a distinctly disapproving noise. “I’m not giving you wine at this hour, and besides,” he shifts his hand, presses it flat to the mattress. Grimaces at the cool touch of water that’s seeped in. “This isn’t exactly a comfortable place to stay.”
Kaeya heaves a long-suffering sigh, a sure sign that he’s already on the end of forcing his nightmares back, then crawls from Diluc’s arms toward the edge of the bed. Glances back over his shoulder, lips twisted.
“Will you keep me warm?”
“Always.”
A smirk tugs at Kaeya’s lips, and he shoves the blanket aside and stands. Bypasses the wardrobe and heads for the door, and Diluc stands to follow him.
------
He returns from the kitchen with two cups of tea in hand to find Kaeya already settled on the sofa, a blanket tucked around his shoulders. He glances up at Diluc’s approach, and his distantly neutral expression shifts into a soft smile.
It’s a rare thing, that smile - genuine, like it was when they were kids, and Diluc melts in its presence. He hands over Kaeya’s tea and does not bother warning him of its heat - he’ll drink it regardless, and demand that Diluc keep him warm all the same.
Kaeya requests that quietly, though, by way of lifting the blanket enough for Diluc to climb under it, to settle at his side and pull him close. It’s second nature at this point, to raise his body temperature just enough to warm them both, and Kaeya hums as he leans into Diluc’s side.
It takes until he’s halfway finished with his tea before he shifts again.
“Do you ever wish we could go back, Luc?” Quiet, a little wistful. Diluc glances over to find him staring at his mug, gaze a bit distant. It sharpens, though, as he turns to Diluc. “Back to when we were kids? It was easier, wasn’t it?”
Diluc nods without thinking - it undoubtedly was.
“But I don’t know if I would want to return,” he says, and Kaeya’s lips press into a line. Curl up just barely at the corners.
“I know.” His thumb brushes along the side of his mug, slow and rhythmic, and Diluc sets his hand gently on his arm. He stills, then, and his smile widens just a bit. “I suppose it would be quite painful to return to our childhood.”
“Painful?” Diluc scoffs, and Kaeya glances over. Leans in, and Diluc goes easily into the brief, warm kiss.
“I wouldn’t have done that when we were kids. Just thought about it.” A pause, and he tips his head. “A lot.” Although it’s Kaeya speaking, Diluc’s face flushes with warmth - he was perhaps also a guilty of such daydreaming...
“In any case, I wouldn’t trade it for where we are now,” he continues, and Diluc exhales a sharp breath. Something like relief, perhaps even just that they’ve changed the topic back to less...embarrassing territory.
An elbow connects with his ribs, then, sharp but not so much as to cause any damage, and Diluc frowns in Kaeya’s direction. Finds a bright blue eye staring at him, accompanied by a smirk on Kaeya’s lips, and Diluc sets his jaw. He’s certainly familiar with what comes after such a look.
“Come on, Luc, don’t tell me you didn’t think about it too.”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he says quickly, and knows that he does not convince Kaeya with those words. Still, he’ll make the attempt to salvage his pride, at least.
“Didn’t you ever fantasize about kissing me, hm?” The mug lands with a thunk on the table, and Kaeya turns to face Diluc properly. “Never thought about my hands on your body, or being pinned to the ground beneath me while we sparred?” His gaze turns devious, and when he climbs into Diluc’s lap, Diluc cannot say that he detests it.
“No? Hm, what about my hands in your hair, combing through it?” He does it as he speaks, gentle and warm in a way that lights Diluc’s body on fire. “Pulling it?” Sharp sparks of pain that do little to cool him, and his hands settle on Kaeya’s thighs.
“I thought about that, too,” he says with a lazy smirk. “You were always so gentle with me,” he muses as Diluc leans close, as his breath ghosts across the now-warmed planes of his chest. “I wondered if you’d ever-” A sharp gasp as Diluc sinks his teeth in, intentional in his timing, and Kaeya coughs out a breathless laugh.
“But I suppose some things take time,” he adds as he shifts on Diluc’s lap, and Diluc’s fingers dig into his thighs. “And for you, Luc, I was always happy to wait.”
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Like A Dame (Snapshots)
Mammon: *trying his best at being casual* ...so, uh, why're you and Flower-Girl in suits?
Sora: *looking down at her watch in vague interest, frowning at the time* Diavolo provided our outfits for the evening, I complied, Mio guilt tripped Lucifer and Satan into providing a mishmash of their clothes.
Mammon: *visibly disappointed* Don't ya still have a bunch of leftover dresses from the other times?
Sora: And deal with Asmo's appraising glare? No thanks, I get enough flack from him as is about my lack of taste in fashion. I mean, fuck the rest of the Devildom, but I live with Asmodeus. I have to deal with that shit, I'm not Mio, I can't just zone out.
---------------------------------------------------
[Pan behind the refreshments where Leviathan, Mio, and Beel have decided to hide out for the night. The latter two of which are currently splitting what looks like to be an entire raspberry cheesecake, and the former seems to be playing a Gacha game on Mio's phone.]
(Luke stumbles upon them, wearing a rather pretty sailor dress, with his hair done up in pigtails. He puts his hands on hips, frowns cutely, and looks down on them in disappointment.)
Luke: Is this really how you spend every event? No variation?
Mio: *casually fork wrestling Beel away from her three claimed slices of cheesecake* Not every event, no. Sometimes, Belphie or Satan join us, other times Levi and I shack up in the coat room, or Beel decides too safeguard the entire refreshment table. There's plenty of variation.
Luke: That's not what I meant and you know it.
Mio: And you're hiding from Phenex, aren't you?
[In the distance, a rather high pitched call of 'Luke!' can be heard as an incredibly pretty female looking aqua haired demon traverses the dance floor.]
Luke: ...*sighs* Can you slide over?
------------------------------------
Sora: So that was Marchosias?
Satan: Yes, unfortunately, it seems she's not incredibly fond of you.
Sora: *blinks stupidly* Not fond? She's my lab partner. If anything, she loves me. It's just... Well, I'm hanging out with the guys she kind of... You know, followed into hell? It's awkward dude. Like... I think I've seen her vault out a six story building just to avoid Beel.
Satan: Truly?
Sora: *shrugs* Hey, a large majority of people avoid their family like the plague, others try to stay connected, and some, like Phenex, decide that they're gonna be said families problem. Whether they like it or not.
Satan: And you? What's your category?
Sora: *without so much as pausing to think* Reluctant orphan adoptee with five siblings, three cousins, and a really fucking weird extended family.
------------------------------------
Solomon: Ah, Diana!
[Solomon rushes over to his old student with a bright smile, clad in a black form fitting dress with white accents, paired with a gold sash, and silver heels. He also, rather inexplicably, has a rather modest set of breasts.]
(Diana, by comparison, is dressed in a rather oversized midnight blue tux with a grey bowtie, and a white sash around her hips, a large spade sewn over her heart.)
Diana: *blinks tiredly, presses a hand to her face, and sighs, preparing herself for an oncoming clusterfuck* Yes Solomon?
Solomon: *grin persisting* I'm calling in a favor, I need you to help me with something.
Diana: *closes eyes, breaths in, and then exhales* ...next time, next time, I'm taking Bridget and Eirny up on that fourth honey moon.
------------------------------------
Spade: Has anyone ever told you that you're infuriating?
Phenex: *humming as they drag him around the dance floor* Constantly, you?
Spade: Only my children.
------------------------------------
[As the party begins to wind down, Mio has decided to briefly venture out from behind the refreshments table, only to come upon a staring contest between Phenex and Simeon.]
(Simeon looks incredibly uncomfortable. Phenex is simply Smiling, it's not a pretty smile, no, it's the smile that got Diavolo to back down from including them and Luke in the butler fiasco.)
Mio: ...do I want to know?
Simeon: *still uneasily meeting Phenex's gaze* No.
Phenex: *still Smiling* It's just drama between siblings, you understand don't you Mio-chan?
(Mio raises an eyebrow at Simeon, then turns to Phenex, and back to Simeon, before casting her gaze to where Luke and the others were at before sighing.)
Mio: Right, uh, well, I'll be leaving then, see you guys at R.A.D. tomorrow, I suppose.
(Mio proceeds to speed walk back to where Beel, Levi, and Luke are without a second thought.)
------------------------------------
[By way of an escaped Lucifer, the Ubuyashiki-Shibata cousins are currently dancing with one another.]
(Mio is leaning against Sora's shoulder, as the latter leads her through the steps of a butchered slow waltz.)
Mio: How's day been so far? Well, I know mine hasn't been the best, Levi stole the last cupcake.
Sora: *sighing* I see you've been dreadfully bored.
Mio: Bored doesn't begin to cover it, I miss the more... Nerve wracking events!
Sora: Mio, we nearly die everytime those events happen.
Mio: Not always! Sometimes I get lucky! I got to hold Mammon's hand during that room by room puzzle!
Sora: ...Lord above *pointedly ignoring the scandalized gasps from passing demons* you two are pathetic.
------------------------------------
[After what seems to be an eternity, Diana and Spade join together on the dance floor.]
(Sora and Asmo watch from by the refreshments opposite to the one Beel, Levi, and Mio are hiding behind, Diana and Spade gliding right by them, completely ignorant of their presence, only focused on one another.)
Sora: *eyes following them* Please tell me you feel like your intruding, please, I don't want to feel alone.
Asmo: *humming, already going about fixing Sora's bun* I don't know why you're hoping to find solidarity with me Sora, I mean, it's cute, but honestly? This just excites me. To see something so intimate and gentle... Ah, it makes me ache for simpler times.
Sora: *whimpers*
Asmo: *pats her shoulder reassuringly*
------------------------------------
[It's the last dance of the night, and the Ubuyashiki-Shibata cousins are each dancing with their own prospective partners completely stone-faced.]
(Sora, dressed in a silver suit and black tie, with her hair up in a braided bun reminiscent of Arturia Pendragon, is dancing with Mammon.
Mio, by comparison, dancing with Belphie, and therefore helping support him, is dressed in an odd mishmash of Lucifer, Asmo, and Satan's clothes. A pair of navy blue slacks, a black dress shirt, dark pink tie and white blazer. Her hair is gathered into a short ponytail at the base of her skull, tied off with a red ribbon. Asmo is distinctly glaring at her from where he's dancing with Diana.)
Mammon: What's got you pissed off Girlie?
Sora: *still completely stone-faced* Fate, the world, Phenex's continued existence, an array of things. Most glaringly, perhaps it's the fact that you couldn't ask my cousin to dance so you stole me away from Beel and Belphie?
Mammon: *clears throat, as Sora leads him into an awkward dip* ...right, got me there Girlie.
(Across the floor, Belphie stirs enough to ask a question.)
Belphie: Why're you so stiff? Actually, why aren't you Sora, and where is Beel?
Mio: *pointedly smiling at Asmo as he passes by with Diana before answering* Mammon's a coward, and Lady Rose is genuinely convinced I'm a man.
Belphie: *already drifting off again* Got it...
------------------------------------
[After the ball ends, the brothers and the Ubuyashiki-Shibata cousins proceed with the trek home.]
(Beel has taken to supporting Belphie with his left arm, while Sora, on his right, proceeds to routinely supply him with snacks.
Mio has taken to trying to convince Levi to give her phone back before they arrive at the House of Lamentation, while riding on Mammon's back piggy back style, grin plastered on her face, with Levi arguing hotly about being in the middle of raid on a mobile dungeon game of some sort.
Asmo is on Mammon's left side, mumbling obscenities about Mio's fashion choices.
Meanwhile, Satan and Lucifer are at the back of the pack quietly bickering about something or other.
Phenex, as usual, is stocking the poor 'family' of nine from the shadows.)
Sora: It was a good night, you know.
Beel: *chewing around a candy bar of some sort, and shifting Belphie's weight slightly* Yeah, it kinda was, wish there was more food at the refreshments table though, it was good.
Sora: Meh, I'll take your word for it, all I had was some of that Blood Punch, which... Yeah, not really for me, I think Solomon spiked it with something for the lesser demons.
Beel: Is that why Diana looked like she wanted to drop dead every time Diavolo came by for a drink?
Sora: Mmh, that and I think it was because she was forced to dance with Phenex for most of the night, she and Mister Spade only danced once, even if lasted the rest of the night.
(They silent the rest of the way to the House of Lamentation. At which, they all separate, undress, and promptly pass out, well, except for Levi, who remains with Mio's phone held hostage well until early morning.)
------------------------------------
[The next morning, the household is rather groggy as they make their way down to breakfast.]
Mammon: Last night must 'ave been something else, my feet freakin' hurt.
Beel: You're one to talk, I feel like my ankles are planning a mutiny.
Mio: I woke up in a binder, guys, a binder. What the hell? I thought I wasn't going to be the Dame!
Sora: At least you didn't feel like you were suffocating the entire night, my chest still feels like it's about to cave in, fucking hell...
Levi: *shrugs* I'm actually fine with whatever happened.
Belphie: *head thunks against the table*
(Several moments later, there's an array of notifications from Asmo's phone. Loud shrill beeps are all that make up the next two or so minutes.)
Lucifer: *sighs* ...It seems I forgot about the social media ban, lovely.
#shall we date?: obey me! one master to rule them all#shall we date?: obey me!#obey me!#one master to rule them all#shall we date?: blood in roses#obey me! mc#obey me! mammon#obey me! lucifer#demon oc#obey me! oc#obey me! mc oc#Ubuyashiki Sora#Shibata Mio#obey me! Leviathan#obey me! asmodeus#obey me! satan#obey me! beelzebub#obey me! Belphegor#obey me! luke#obey me! simeon#obey me! Solomon#obey me! diavolo#obey me! barbatos#obey me! levi#obey me! asmo#obey me! beel#obey me! belphie#Diana and Spade Hambleton#Can you tell I only made it through the exposition? 'Cause I definitely can.#thanks for reading this!
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“remember forever”
kim yerim x fem reader
warnings: kinda angst in the middle
word count: 4,234
a/n: It took forever, but it’s finally done! This story was originally going to end with angst but I felt bad doing that, so the ending will be fluff as usual. I’m hoping to do an Irene fic next :) Enjoy!
The jarring sound of the school bell snaps Kim Yerim awake, the brunette blinking confusedly as she watches her classmates begin to slowly file out of the lecture hall. With wide eyes, Yerim hastily packs her things and stumbles out behind them, her black messenger bag hanging lazily over her shoulder and bouncing against her hip bone with each step she takes. All around Yerim, her fellow students begin to file out of their classes and fill the hallways, their louder than usual chatter signaling the end of a long and tiring school day.
“Kim Yerim!” A sudden force slams into Yerim, jumping on her back, and instinctively she shakes the weight from her body, hearing a loud thunk as she frees herself from her attacker's grasp. Yeri’s expression is one of annoyance as her eyes narrow upon you, her troublemaking best friend, who currently lays groaning on the floor. Wordlessly, Yerim helps you to your feet.
Yerim scowls at the bashful grin on your face, self consciously glancing around as she hears the snickers of her peers.
“Shin Y/N,” She hisses into your ear, grabbing your wrist. “When will you quit acting so childish? We’re almost thirteen!”
You raise a brow, pulling away from Yerim’s grasp. “Thirteen isn’t that old,” You say, your pace easily falling in sync with Yerim’s as the two of you exit the school together. “At least not old enough for our moms to let us walk home on our own,” You mutter, digging your hands into your pockets.
Yerim unintentionally laughs, her irritation with you quickly fading as your lip curves into a pout. “Maybe they will one day,” Yerim says, comfortingly patting your back, even if she doesn’t quite understand why having to walk home with her upsets you so much.
You beam at the younger girl. “Yeah! I’ll even ask my mom about it tonight!”
Yerim halfheartedly grins in response to your enthusiasm. Truthfully, Yerim doesn’t think she ever wants to walk home without you, or at least not until she has to, but that time won’t come for another three years when Yerim will most likely transfer to some performance arts high school that can better accommodate her trainee life. Until then though, Yerim wants to spend as much time as possible with you and make all the memories she can, before her free time is completely swallowed by her tedious practice hours that are already starting to encroach on her life now.
You’ve always been supportive of Yerim’s dream, ever since last year when she first told you she wanted to become an idol, and Yerim has always appreciated that, but lately it’s become an unspoken rule to not talk about the future, where you and Yerim will have to go your separate ways. Honestly, the thought of not always being with you scares Yerim. She can’t even remember a time when she wasn’t with you, growing up across the street from each other the two of you became quick friends, as did your mothers, and throughout your entire lives it was always spent together, and Yerim never thought it would be any different. But now that she’s a trainee, she realizes it will be different, and soon.
“Y/N?” Yerim asks suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had previously settled between you and her. “We’ll be together forever, right?”
Yerim bites her lips, noticing as a weird look of confusion fills your eyes. “Of course,” You say, your voice laced with worry. “Why would you think we wouldn’t be?”
“I don’t know,” Yerim responds, rubbing the back of her neck. “I guess with me being a trainee now I was just scared about what that meant for us in the future.”
“Oh,” You laugh quietly, reaching for Yerim’s hand. “You think we won’t be best friends then because you’ll have to go to a different school.” Yerim nods and a smirk slowly spreads across your lips as you teasingly punch her shoulder. “Kim Yerim, you’re a lot dumber than I thought. I’m not going to stop being friends with you just because you have to go to a different high school.”
Yeri smiles softly. “Promise?”
“Promise,” You whisper, interlocking your pinky with Yerim’s. “Besides,” You add. “Three years is a long time from now.”
///
You were wrong, three years is not a long time, Yerim thinks bitterly as she gets ready for her first day at Hanlim and adjusts the bow of her freshly ironed gyobok, her eyes landing on a photograph of you and Yerim from this summer when you went to Everland all the way in Yongin.
Yerim remembers that day well. You were almost constantly smiling and there was this certain teasing but friendly lilt in your voice as you made fun of Yerim for being too afraid to go on the scarier rides. But what she remembers most clearly is what happened that night, when the two of you returned to your house, Yerim having been allowed to spend the night at your home. She remembers being surprised when you showed her the bottle of soju you had stolen from your parents, and how you and her nervously took turns sipping from it, quickly becoming giggling messes. Despite being insanely drunk at the time, to this day, Yerim can still clearly recall what happened next.
“Wait, you’ve never been kissed?” You laughed in disbelief, your cheeks starting to turn slightly red from the alcohol. “Not even by any of the hot guy trainees?”
“No,” Yerim responded, embarrassedly ducking her head and focusing on the pattern of the rug beneath her. “They’re all gross.”
“Even Minhyung?” You asked with a raised brow, and Yerim rolled her eyes.
“Especially him!” Yerim exclaimed with a fake gag, which caused you to chuckle. It was a well-known fact that Yerim loathed Minhyung, or as he preferred to be called, Mark. The young rapper had much to Yerim’s distaste begun a fruitless and in Yerim’s opinion, a rather shameless pursuit of you two months ago when he had first seen you walking Yerim to the SM training center.
“Well,” You said, suddenly leaning closer to Yerim, wearing a frown. “I obviously can’t let my best friend go to her fancy idol school without ever having kissed someone.”
And then you gently wrapped your arms around her neck, delicately pressing your lips to Yerim’s for only a few seconds before pulling away with a confident smirk and giggling at Yerim’s shocked expression. “I think you’re ready for Hanlim now.”
Of course, Yerim realizes now you only did that because you were drunk, but she likes to think that you would’ve done it sober too, even if that’s just an impossible fantasy. Yerim sighs, her gaze returning to the image of you and Yerim, which she automatically omits herself from, focusing on you and your relaxed half-grin, that even in an image manages to make her heartbeat quicken, which seems to be a growing problem for Yerim as of late.
Yerim supposes it started sometime during the last year, long before you kissed her, when for some reason you suddenly stopped looking so dorky to Yerim, and less like the awkward best friend of her whole life and more like a beautiful and mature young woman that quite frankly left her speechless. Suddenly, Yerim began to notice the little things about you that despite her years with you had never caught her attention before, like how you would subtly raise a brow when you were annoyed or the way you’d bite the inside of your cheek when you wanted to say something but couldn’t. Yerim was surprised to find that she no longer wanted to slap you when you made your stupid jokes but rather laugh, and even worse kiss you goodbye instead of simply hugging you.
Yerim never told you any of this though nor did she dare act on it, instead she chose to keep it to herself, which is why you never quite understood Yerim’s hatred for Mark Lee, whom she frequently found herself jealous of, especially when just a week after your kiss with Yerim, you finally agreed to go on a date with him that led the two of you to quickly enter a relationship with each other, and of course everyone loved Mark, especially your parents. Even though Yerim said she was happy for you, always forcing a smile when you would excitedly tell her Mark was teaching you English or that you had plans with him for the weekend, deep down she was upset that she couldn’t be Mark, because sometime in between your walks home together and your whispered secrets in the dark, Yerim started to fall in love with you, her best friend, and all she wants is for you to love her back in the way she loves you.
“Yerim, let’s go!” Yerim’s head snaps up at the sound of her mother’s voice, eyes widening as she hurriedly grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder as she races downstairs, yelling a farewell to her younger sisters as she runs out the door, where she sees her mother sitting in the family car, leaning slightly outside the rolled down window and talking to someone who Yerim immediately recognizes as you.
“Yerim!” You call excitedly, apologetically excusing yourself from your conversation with Yerim’s mother as you run to meet Yerim, capturing her in a tight embrace. “Excited for Hanlim?” You ask, pulling away and giving Yerim an impressed look.
Yerim shrugs, observing your own gyobok, which is a lot simpler than hers. “I guess so,” Yerim chuckles, poking your stomach. “I definitely won’t miss you though.”
You cackle, melodramatically clutching your heart and pretending to have been shot, stopping when Yerim kicks your shin. “That is a lie Kim Yerim,” You say, wearing a knowing grin. “I know for a fact that you adore my presence.”
Yerim crosses her arms, her brow arching upwards. “Do I now?”
“Yes,” You say confidently, tapping Yerim lightly on the nose. “You love me.”
If only you knew, Yerim thinks bitterly, before shaking the thought away. “Unfortunately, you are right,” She huffs, and you smirk in victory.
“I gotta go,” You mutter, checking your watch. “I’ll catch you later Kim Yerim. Have fun with the talented kids,” You tease, and Yerim gasps in offense, moving to hit your shoulder but missing, causing you to childishly stick your tongue out at her.
“Hey,” Yerim says, grabbing your wrist as you start to leave. “SM is giving student trainees the day off for the first day of school, do you want to do something together after your classes end?”
“I’m so sorry Yerim,” You say with an apologetic smile. “But I can't, I have classes until ten o’clock tonight and I promised Mark I’d practice English with him one more time before my hagwons start next week. I’m really sorry Yerim.”
Yerim internally facepalms herself. Of course, you’re busy, Yerim forgot your school day isn’t cut short like hers is in order to accommodate her training schedule, and even if it was, you’d obviously want to spend your free time with your own boyfriend. Noticing the worried expression that has spread across your face due to Yerim’s silence, she hastily forces out a laugh. “It’s okay, maybe another time then?”
“Definitely,” You promise, lightly patting Yerim’s cheek before pulling away from her grasp. “Have a good day Yerim!” You call over your shoulder as you start to jog away.
“You too, Shin Y/N,” Yerim murmurs waving goodbye, watching as you set off down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the nearby high school.
“Ready?” Yerim’s mother asks as she climbs into the passenger seat.
Yerim nods, taking one last look at your receding form before smoothing her skirt. “Yeah.”
Yerim doesn’t see you much after that day, especially once she was requested to move into the SM dorms following her debut. Sometimes she’ll see you hanging around the dorms with Mark, who like Yeri also managed to debut. The two of you are still going strong even after almost two years. But other than your occasional appearance at the dorms, Yeri doesn’t ever really see you around. Both of you had little to no free time with Yerim’s training and your constant after school studying and hagwons that went all the way until two in the morning. In fact, you’re so busy that she hasn’t personally heard anything from you since the congratulatory text you sent Yerim after her first special stage for Ice Cream Cake, which was over a year ago.
The most recent time she saw you was a couple months ago when she returned home for Chuseok, having been granted a few days off by her company, and even then it was barely an interaction, just a rapidly uttered hello as you ran past Yerim’s house, chasing after your younger brother and pet dog, with a laughing Mark trailing closely behind, having been invited to stay with your family since he couldn’t return to Canada. Despite the briefness of your encounter, Yerim still remembers the way you looked, your long black hair flowing in the wind, everything about you still as gorgeous as ever. Even after all these years, Yerim was still jealous of Mark Lee.
Still, Yerim doesn’t blame you for not being able to spend time with her, especially as the days practically fly past Yerim and she soon finds herself already wrapping up her fourth comeback with Red Velvet, Russian Roulette. By now Yerim guesses it’s been almost a year since she saw you on Chuseok, but today, as she determinedly walks up the drive of your house, knowing it’s one of the two Saturdays you have off from school each month, she decides that streak will end. Yerim misses you a lot, and even though she hasn’t seen you in so long, she still loves you just as much as she did before the two of you lost touch, and as Yerim rings your doorbell, she feels hopeful that she can revive your friendship, not even caring that she can’t be the one to hold your heart. She just wants you back in her life in some way, no matter the label of your relationship.
“Yerim!” Your mother, Mrs. Shin, gasps in surprise as she opens the door, wrapping her arms around Yerim in a tight hug. “It’s been years!” Mrs. Shin pulls away from Yerim, looking at her with a raised brow. “But what brings you here, aren’t you busy with promotions?”
Yerim gapes at Mrs. Shin, somewhat surprised that she’s kept up with Red Velvet’s activities before shaking her head. “No, they just ended actually,” Yerim says, rubbing her neck awkwardly. “I just came by to see Y/N, it’s been a while since we last talked.”
Mrs. Shin tilts her head, an unreadable expression coming over her face. “Y/N?” She echoes, confusion clearly laced in her voice.
“Yeah,” Yerim laughs uncomfortably, attempting to peer over your mother’s shoulder and look inside your house. “Is she here?”
“Oh Yerim,” Mrs. Shin says softly, sudden realization in her voice as she reaches for Yerim’s hand. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
“Tell me what?” Yerim asks nervously, dread beginning to build in her stomach.”
“Y/N went to America to study abroad,” Mrs. Shin whispers. “She won’t be back until she graduates.”
You broke your promise, Yerim thinks as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. You promised you’d be with Yerim forever and then you left. Yerim wants to scream, and curse the world, to fly all the way to America tell you how much she hates you, but the worst part is, she can’t do that because she knows she’d be lying. Even after all you’ve done, Kim Yerim still loves you, and she can’t even stay mad at you for leaving.
///
Yerim sighs softly as her makeup artist, Kyoung Mee, applies her lip liner, preparing the young idol for Red Velvet’s fan meeting happening in less than an hour.
“All right,” Kyoung Mee says, patting Yerim’s shoulder. “You’re all set.”
Yerim smiles in appreciation. “Thank you, it looks beautiful.”
Yerim bites her lip, looking in the mirror and adjusting her jacket. It’s been four years since that day when she found out you went to study abroad, and even now, you still haven’t officially returned. According to your mother, you had decided to stay in America to study at some high-class med school. Every once in a while, you’ll come to Korea for a brief visit before disappearing again, but no matter how hard she tries to free up her schedule, Yerim always seems to miss you.
“Yeri’s making that face again!” Yerim jumps at the sound of her bandmate, Park Sooyoung’s voice, Yerim turning in her seat to slap the older girl as she appears behind Yerim, wearing a mischievous smirk. “You hit like a baby Yeri, but I guess it makes sense since you’re the maknae.”
Yerim rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you give me another try,” She mutters.
“No thanks,” Joy grins, pinching Yerim’s cheeks. “We can’t have our little baby tiring herself out before the fan meet,”
“I swear to God Sooyoung,” Yerim growls swatting the older girl’s hand away. “I‘ll kill you one day.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Joy cackles, ruffling Yerim’s hair and taking a seat next to her. “Anyways,” Joy says, leaning back in her chair and stretching out her arms behind her. “Why were you making that face again?”
“What face?” Yerim asks flatly, pulling out her phone and beginning to scroll through her social media.
Joy shrugs. “The one you make when you think about that Shin Y/N girl.”
Yerim places her phone on the table, meeting Joy’s gaze. “I don’t make a face when I think about her,” Yeri deadpans.
Joy laughs obnoxiously. “Yes, you do.”
Yerim crosses her arms. “No, I don’t.”
“Actually, for once Sooyoung is right,” Joohyun, who despite being across the room calls, clearly having been listening to the two younger girls’ conversation. “You totally do. I remember you used to make the same exact face whenever you’d see her and Mark Lee together.”
“Shut up Irene!” Yeri yells, sinking down in her chair, and burying her head in her hands, she feels like an idiot. It’s been five years since she last saw you and yet somehow she’s still horribly in love with you. You, a girl who quite literally left Yerim on her own and has never once even thought of Yerim romantically.
“I’m sorry Yerim. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Joy says softly after a few moments of silence, reaching out to grab Yerim’s wrist. “But, don’t you think it’s time to move on?”
“I’ve tried Sooyoung,” Yerim murmurs. “I just can’t.”
Joy opens her mouth to say something but closes it when their manager appears with Seulgi and Seungwan lurking behind him. “It’s time for the fan meeting ladies.”
Yerim nods, standing to follow her manager, but Sooyoung stops her. “Will you be okay?”
Yerim takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” She says, brushing past Sooyoung.
Yerim is smiling broadly by the time the fan meeting is nearing its end, her precious luvies having improved her mood significantly, each brief conversation and signed album helping her push away any lingering thoughts of you.
“What the hell?” Yerim hears Irene mutter under her breath, and Yerim briefly peers over at her leader only to find her cheerfully conversing with a female fan, who has hidden their face in embarrassment, and Yerim assumes it’s most likely because of some greasy pick-up line that Irene learned from Seungwan.
Still confused, Yerim looks down the table, handing a luvie their album back and searching for what could’ve possibly alarmed Irene as she waits for Joohyun to finish things up with the fan she’s currently talking with. But Yerim notices nothing out of the ordinary unless she counts the different order she and her members had decided to sit in today, that leaves Yerim and Irene at the table’s end.
“Excuse me?” Yerim jumps at the sound, her gaze refocusing forwards as the female luvie who had just been chatting with Irene sits down in front of her, wearing a lazy half-grin, and Yerim’s jaw drops. Suddenly, she understands Joohyun’s prior shock. It’s you.
“It’s been awhile Kim Yerim,” You murmur.
Yerim gapes, taking in your face that’s just as gorgeous and breathtaking if not even more so than she remembers, and she sees that your eyes are still filled with their familiar troublemaking gleam. Tentatively Yerim reaches to touch you, slightly surprised to find she can feel your warm skin underneath her fingers.
“You’re actually here,” She laughs in amazement, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.
“Of course I am,” You say, grabbing Yerim’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze before your lips curve into a smirk. “Hey, when you stop crying can you sign my album?”
Yerim kicks you under the table. “You’re such a jerk.”
///
Yerim’s shoulder brushes against yours as the two of you walk quietly up the stairs that lead to Yerim’s dorm room. The fansign had ended over an hour ago and with Joohyun’s help, Yerim had been able to convince her manager to let her skip the rest of her schedule, allowing her to spend the remainder of the day with you.
“I’m sorry for leaving you,” You say finally as Yerim unlocks the door and ushers you inside, effectively breaking the silence that had previously settled between you and Yerim.
Yerim bites her lip, glancing up at you and noticing the guilty expression on your face. “It’s fine,” She says slowly, guiding you to her bed where she settles herself, motioning for you to do the same and trying her best to keep her voice even as she continues. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d be able to change my mind,” You mutter, your gaze becoming far off as you sit down beside Yerim.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yerim asks.
You look at Yerim, smiling slightly. “You’re still dumb as ever Kim Yerim,” You chuckle. “Do you remember Minhyung?”
“Mark?” Yerim nods her head. “Of course.”
“You never liked him did you?”
Yerim doesn’t respond causing you to laugh loudly.
“It’s okay,” You say quietly, leaning into Yerim’s side. “I didn’t like him either, at least not in the way I should’ve. Whenever I was with him I was always thinking of someone else. He told me to stay in Korea, but I didn’t listen,” You frown. “I actually ended up breaking up with him over it, but that’s not the point. The point is, I think that if that someone else I mentioned had told me to stay I would’ve, without a second thought. Even if they said the exact same thing Mark did.”
Yerim’s mouth goes dry as she stares at you, your words from earlier ringing in her ears, that she would’ve been able to change your mind. Yerim thinks of all the times you left lingering touches on her skin that she had never let herself believe were more than friendly. She thinks of how you’d always ask her to sleep in your bed when she’d stay over at your house, even when you were most definitely old enough to sleep alone. She thinks of the dozens of times you rejected Mark before you finally said yes, exactly a week after you kissed her, seemingly giving him a chance out of nowhere. “You weren’t drunk that night, were you?”
“When I kissed you?” You shrug. “No, at least not enough to not know what I was doing.“
Yerim isn’t sure how it happens, maybe it was all those wasted years of yearning manifesting themself, but suddenly she finds herself hovering over you, gently pressing you into the plush mattress as she moves her lips so tantalizingly close to yours that she can feel your uneven breaths tickling her skin. Yerim doesn’t dare close the gap though, instead searching your eyes for a sign to continue, and all it takes is your subtle nod for her to finally do what she’s been waiting to do for so long, capturing your lips in a kiss that she makes sure shows how long, how much, she’s wanted this, her body falling on top of yours as you pull her into you, and flip the two over so you’re straddling Yerim by her waist. Soft whines escaping Yerim as you run your tongue across her bottom lip, before pressing it into her mouth, tangling your hands amongst Yerim’s hair.
“You know I meant it,” You breathe out minutes later as much to Yerim’s distaste, you slowly pull away from her, rolling off her and onto your side, allowing Yerim to wrap a protective arm around your body as your head moves to rest on her shoulder.
Yerim glances down at you. “Meant what?”
“When I promised you we’d always be together,” You say with a small smile. “I’m transferring to a med school in Seoul this month.”
Yerim’s eyes widen. “I thought you forgot about that promise.”
“No way,” You murmur, reaching to caress Yerim’s cheek. “When it comes to you Kim Yerim, I’ll remember forever.”
#girl group scenarios#girl group imagines#red velvet x reader#red velvet imagines#yeri x reader#red velvet scenario#red velvet fluff#red velvet#yeri#yeri imagines#yeri scenarios#kim yerim#kim yerim x reader
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Truck Stop Knives And Other Accessories Of Childhood (3/3)
Final chapter of my inner child fic which was supposed to be a short little one shot and has evolved into a verse.
Alien tech has manifested an inner child for Michael. And that child has a knife.
Thank you again to the many people who helped beta and brainstorm, especially @jocarthage, @haloud, and @foramomentonly. You can read the whole fic on Ao3
***
Morning came earlier than Michael wanted. Apparently the downside to sharing a bed with Alex was Alex still operated on military time, and although he certainly tried to let Michael sleep in, by 7am he couldn’t resist tracing a finger across an eyebrow and down his cheek. Michael didn’t mind. There were worse ways to be woken up, then the gentle caress of Alex Manes touching his face.
At some point in the night, Alex ended up curled loosely against the curve of Michael’s back. He fit perfectly and it felt right. Michael could feel the swell of his cock slotted against the back of his boxer briefs, and he couldn’t help but arch back slightly, chasing the feeling. Alex chuckled, and tugged Michael flat on his back so he could peer down at him, propped up on an elbow.
“Hands above the waist?”
Michael leered with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle, “pretty sure your hands were above my waist.”
Alex laughed, “always gotta find the loophole, Guerin.”
They kissed softly, noses bumping together in their eagerness.
After a few minutes of lazy making out, Alex reluctantly separated.
“Do we think Mikey is still asleep?”
Michael thunked his head back against the pillow with a sigh, “Mikey is definitely not still asleep. I never slept through the night in a new placement. Even though he should KNOW he’s safe here with me, I guarantee he’s been awake for hours.”
“Should I be worried about my cabin?”
“He’s not gonna burn down your cabin, Alex.”
Alex tried to sooth him, “I know that. I’m not worried about that.”
Michael grudgingly sat up and retrieved his pants from the floor. “Only one way to see…”
It took them a few minutes for Alex to attach his prosthetic and for them to get dressed. Alex tried to exit the bedroom quietly in case Michael was wrong about the boy sleeping, but sure enough, the kid was fully dressed and reassembling the toaster on his coffee table. The couch had been stripped of all bedding, and every quilt was folded neatly and tucked unobtrusively to the side. Alex’s laundry basket was full of neatly folded clothing. The boy obviously emptied the dryer when he woke up, and tried to tidy up on his own. He did a good job. A better job than Alex expected any eleven year old to do. He had practice at this.
Michael tousled the kid’s hair on the way to the kitchen, “do you want oatmeal for breakfast or pizza?”
The kid was focused on his task, and carefully screwed in part of the toaster, “pizza!”
Alex was distracted, “uh, oatmeal.” He looked around again, “thank you Mikey for cleaning up. You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t expect you to do that.”
The screwdriver hit the table as the boy looked up in alarm, “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have touched your stuff.”
“No, no it’s okay. I appreciate that you folded the laundry. You just didn’t NEED to do that. You’re a guest.” Alex tried to think of a way to salvage this exchange because the boy was definitely panicking, thinking he was in trouble. “If you want to help, we can give you chores. We can all share the chores. How does that sound?”
Mikey carefully picked the screwdriver back up again, “... I can do chores.”
Alex nodded solemnly at Mikey, a bargain struck, and he walked into the kitchen to kiss the back of Guerin’s neck, while hugging him from behind. “Why is he being a Stepford Wife?”
Michael continued to slowly move about the kitchen to heat up Alex’s oatmeal, while Alex held him like a limpet. “He promised to be nice to you.”
“Why is he tidier than you are? You leave your clothing everywhere and he’s cleaned everything up like I hired a maid service.”
Michael ran a soothing hand across Alex’s arms, locked tightly across his stomach. “Some houses liked that. Some houses required it. Religious freaks definitely required it. He’s just covering his bases. Don’t make it a big deal.”
Alex kissed his neck again and rubbed his cold nose into Michael’s curls, “I’m glad you leave messes. It drives me crazy sometimes, but I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to leave a mess.”
Michael pulled two cold slices of pizza out of the fridge and laughed, “thanks?”
Alex turned him in his arms so he was hugging him properly. Usually Michael was the clingy one, but the kid rattled him. Alex wanted affection dammit.
The two men stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms tight around each other when the kid waltzed in and grabbed his slice of cold pizza. The boy smirked at Michael, “good slumber party, huh?”
Michael raised a middle finger as the kid laughed.
Mikey smirked, “Just bros being bros! Totally platonic!”
And with his hands full of pizza, the boy disappeared back into the living room to finish working on the toaster.
With a sigh, Michael shrugged, “well he said he’d TRY to be nicer.”
***
Having an eleven year old alien around the house was both simpler and more complicated than Alex anticipated. The kid didn’t leave any big messes. He was actually obsessively clean. It was like there was no kid there at all. If Alex didn’t watch him sit at the coffee table, silently putting his toaster back together with the crust of cold pizza sticking out of the side of his mouth like a cigar, Alex could almost believe he was alone. Mikey was silent and contained. He hunched up small like he didn’t think he deserved to take up too much space. Apparently being ‘nice’ meant disappearing.
Guerin on the other hand left his boots kicked into a corner of his bedroom. His hat was on top of a lamp. His side of the bed was a rumpled mess. And he was currently humming a country song enthusiastically and off key. Alex had no question where Michael was at all times. He could close his eyes and still know, because Michael was an ever moving force of nature. Even when he tried to sit still, his knee bounced, his head swayed, his hands tapped out tunes on the arm rest. He was full of kinesthetic energy.
The complicated part of having an eleven year old alien in the house was Alex was pretty sure his couch cushions were hiding a myriad of snacks. The kid thought he was subtle, but he kept reaching between the seat cushions and nodding to himself with satisfaction. Michael insisted Alex leave it be. Apparently no conversations were needed about his couch becoming a vending machine.
The boy also didn’t have the habits most kids were taught at a very young age. Alex had to herd him into the bathroom to brush his teeth. And when Michael argued that tooth brushing was only required when his breath got nasty, Alex herded his boyfriend into the bathroom too. They could brush teeth together, like a family. A weird little Lilo and Stitch family.
Mikey had only been at the cabin for two days, but Alex couldn’t imagine a time when he didn’t exist. Isobel brought a bag of clothing and necessities from Walmart and he shrunk smaller and smaller every time she pulled out a new item, arms curled around his stomach. Like he was being buried under the invisible weight of the clothing. A new toothbrush made his shoulder hunch up to his ears, Star Wars themed pajamas had him hugging his knees to his chest, the new shoes made him tuck his chin into his arms and shrink. Michael had hugged his sister and ushered her out of the cabin before the kid could diminish any further.
Isobel meant well. “They’re Star Wars pajamas! The same design as Luke Skywalker’s flight suit! Because you always talked about wanting to see the stars.”
She meant so well.
Later Michael whispered that the kid was feeling the debt. He wasn’t used to people being nice to him without an ulterior motive. There was a currency to kindness and the boy wasn’t sure when the bill would come or what they’d ask of him. It reminded Alex of being seventeen in his father’s shed, handing Michael his brother’s guitar and watching his guard go up.
“Sometimes people can be nice for no reason.”
“Not in my experience.”
Things were clicking into place. An equation finally making sense. And all he could do was hug Michael a little tighter and hope he could give Mikey a better experience for as long as they had him.
The boy presented him with his toaster. Alex was positive the toaster was never really broken. The side was a bit dinged up from when it got knocked off the counter a few months ago. And the knob was stuck on 4, but Alex liked 4. It meant his toast was dark brown which was fine. It was perfectly adequate. He could live with 4. But now the knob turned freely, giving him every option of crispiness for his toast. And the ding had been buffed out. The kid made the toaster work like new. When Alex told him that, Mikey stood up straighter. The boy tried not to smile at the praise. In a fit of bravery, Alex reached out to toustle his hair like he watched Michael do, and the boy closed his eyes for a second and actually grinned. He could only bear Alex’s attention for a second before running off into the backyard. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with praise. It didn’t fit him comfortably, and he had to run away. Alex knew that feeling. Jesse Manes didn’t believe in praise either. Alex remembered the discomfort the first time a PE teacher congratulated him on his endurance. It felt like the comments had to be mocking. He was being made fun of. It took a long time to realize the coach was being genuine.
Michael sat next to him on the couch and kissed his cheek. “What are we doing, Alex?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t really write this into my planner. I guess we’re winging it.”
“Are we moving too fast? We went from not dating, to dating, to playing house with an eleven year old. I don’t want to ruin this.”
Alex covered Michael’s hand with his own, “We’ve been on and off for a decade. It’s not like we’re strangers. I think keeping things PG for a while between us is a good idea, but we can watch Mikey and it won’t ruin anything.”
The kid was running in circles in the backyard. If there was a game, Alex couldn’t figure it out. It just looked like circles for the sake of circles. Making himself dizzy enough to fall down.
Michael’s phone started to buzz. Who would call instead of text? The name “Liz Ortecho” flashed and he reluctantly swiped to answer.
Liz’s voice came out in a rush, “Don’t be mad.”
“Elizabeth Ortecho, no good news ever came after the statement - don't be mad.”
Liz continued, “Okay I know we were going to wait to mess with the disk until we could be at the lab together, but I…”
Michael scrubbed a hand over his face, “Oh god Liz, what did you do?”
“It’s not bad! Hey, put me on speakerphone so I don’t have to repeat this to Alex later.”
Michael placed the phone between them and pushed a button.
“You’re on speaker,” Alex was puzzled but supportive, “Liz are you okay?”
“Yeah, everything is fine. I was pressing different glyphs on the disk and I think I may have accidentally accessed a user manual. Kind of. It sort of was like a psychic connection, either I accessed a user manual, or it caused me to have a psychotic break.”
“Liz.” Alex looked at Michael in alarm.
Her voice took on a higher pitch, “It’s fine! I took notes!”
Michael rolled his eyes, “THAT is not the part we’re worried about!”
Liz ignored them, “Okay so this is what I wrote down: the disk IS a therapy tool. Its intended purpose is to encourage the patient to reconnect with a difficult point in their life and by interacting with the construct the patient develops a healthier understanding of their past.”
Michael interrupted her, “Liz I hope this thing didn’t give you brain cancer.”
“Shut up.”
“Or worse, you could have accidentally triggered your own mini Ortecho.”
Irritation colored her voice, “Michael, let me finish. The connection wasn’t in English. It was all concepts, so I’m not sure I’m translating it right. Mikey is real. He’s a real kid and he’ll age like a real kid. You’ve gotta make peace with yourself, forgive yourself, and when you’re ready you both hold onto the disk and you meld back together. It doesn’t hurt him. He’s part of you. And if you never touch the disk again, Mikey stays. He’ll grow up like any normal child. We should probably run tests on both of you though, just to see. Kyle can give you both a physical.”
Michael shook his head, “The kid is NOT going to like Valenti.”
Liz insisted, “Kyle’s great with kids. It’ll be fine.”
“Your funeral.”
Alex elbowed Michael, “Okay so why didn’t the disk meld them back together when they both touched it a few days ago?”
Liz said, “It won’t work until Michael deals with his childhood trauma.”
Michael laughed, “Sure, I can just deal with my trauma. I’ll go see a therapist and talk about my abandonment issues that began when my family crash landed in Roswell in 1947. Easy.”
Alex put a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You could talk to a therapist and leave out the alien details. You were abandoned. Your siblings were adopted and you weren’t. You survived a string of abusive foster homes. These are all human problems.”
Michael shrugged, dislodging the hand, “Therapists are expensive. You can’t just go talk to one. It’s cheaper to drink beer.”
Liz’s voice piped up through the cell phone, “Super healthy coping mechanism, Michael.”
Michael deflected, “So ANYWAY, if we don’t touch the disk, Mikey stays? And if we do touch the disk after I sell an alien kidney to talk to a shrink, then Mikey gets sucked back into me?”
He could almost hear the grimace in her voice, “Gross way to put it, but yes.”
“Okay thanks Ortecho. Don’t push anymore buttons on the disk. Max would cry if your brain melted.” Michael hung up the phone, turned to Alex and interlaced their fingers, “I can always take him back to the airstream. We can get out of your hair. I don’t know how long he’ll be here. You don’t just get over a shitty childhood in a day and go eat ice cream.”
Alex squeezed his hand, “I want you to stay here. I want you both to stay here. We can always clean out the extra bedroom. Right now it’s full of boxes from when I packed up Jim’s stuff. I can ask Kyle to go through it and keep what he wants. It’d be easy to turn that back into a bedroom.”
“Not your creepy murder basement?”
“Definitely not the creepy murder basement.” Alex considered, “Although actually I could probably store the boxes in there!”
Alex nodded and continued, “If the kid is here for longer than a week, we can make long term plans. I can forge paperwork. Say you’re the father and you didn’t know about him. His mother moved out of Roswell and dropped him off out of the blue.”
“I would have been sixteen or seventeen when I slept with the mother. A teenage father, how scandalous… but sort of on brand for me.”
“Maybe she was a tourist? Not anyone any of the locals would remember.”
Michael laughed, “Okay so Mikey is the result of a hook up between teenage me, and an adult out of town tourist. Yeah, this is definitely sounding like something I’d do.”
Alex was starting to become more comfortable with this plan. He loved having a plan. “So we’d need a name. Michael is a super common name and maybe she liked you enough to give him your first name, but he’d need a new last name.”
“Truman. My mom’s name was Nora Truman. I don’t care what name his fake mom has, and I don’t really want people thinking I slept with someone named Nora Truman, but he could be Michael Truman. I could have been Michael Truman if my mom got me out of the pods.”
Alex watched the boy fall down and get back up to run even tighter circles. “Maybe we can let Mikey pick out his fake mom’s name. Let him have some sort of agency, and feel involved in these choices. Are you okay with me helping you?”
“Like am I okay with you co-parenting my weird alien inner child?” Michael raised an eyebrow, “This week is so weird. Yes. Please, please help me. I barely kept myself alive for twenty one years on my own. I don’t trust myself to watch TWO of me.”
Alex tugged him closer, “you did a great job on your own. And you’d do a great job now. You just shouldn’t have HAD to have done it alone as a kid, and I don’t want you to be alone now. I want to help. I don’t think we should enroll him in school anytime soon. We should try and figure out more. But I like having some sort of idea of where we’re going here.”
“You and me, and my feral little monster who has a knife”
“Wait, he has a knife?” Alex sat up.
“Oh yeah. I didn’t mention that? It’s a pocketknife. I gave it back to him because I knew he wouldn’t stab you, and you could disarm him if he tried.” Michael appeased, “Which he won’t. I promise he won’t stab you.”
“He’s not a little monster.” Michael seemed distracted so Alex tugged on a curl to get his attention and repeated, “He’s not a little monster. And YOU’RE not a little monster. He’s a kid and we’re gonna make sure he eats a vegetable every once in awhile, and goes to sleep at a decent hour. We can do this.”
“I mean we’re already doing a better job than any of my foster homes.”
“That bar is pretty low.”
“And yet it exists.”
They eased back on the couch and watched Mikey play.
***
Michael leaned against the backdoor watching his shrinky dink alien run. The kid was playing some sort of weird running game with rules only he knew, and that Michael definitely didn’t remember. One foot managed to get hooked behind the other and the kid landed hard on his ass. Michael winced in sympathy.
“Is your butt okay?”
The kid retorted, “is your BRAIN okay?
Michael shrugged, “If your butt hurts we can get Max to heal it. We don’t let him use his powers much anymore since I turned him into a cyborg with an alien pacemaker, but he could heal your butt. You’d just end up with a shiny silver handprint… on your butt. And Max could spy on your feelings, and you’d get to wallow in his poetic angst and guilt.”
The kid narrowed his eyes, “I can’t even tell if you’re kidding. Is that real? Max can heal? But with a handprint and psychic link?”
“Yep.”
Mikey huffed in irritation, “Pretty sure you’re making stuff up, but whatever. What can Isobel do? Fly but she poops alien glitter as a side effect?”
“You should DEFINITELY tell Isobel your theories.” Michael laughed, “But no, she can get into people's brains and influence them.”
Mikey side eyed him, “does she do that to us?”
“No. She promised. Sometimes she can get inside my head but she promises she won’t try to influence us. I don’t even know if she can. She’s only tried the brain thing when she needed to tell me something she couldn’t say out loud.” Michael grimaced, “I didn’t like it. She doesn’t do it often. Apparently our brain is tough and she usually has to puke if she tries anything. SHE says it’s because we’re guarded and paranoid. I think it’s because we’re awesome.”
Michael offered up a hand to high five and the kid pushed past him to the kitchen instead. Ouch.
The kid was getting a glass of water and rummaging around the fridge which made Michael grin. It took awhile to get Mikey to stop asking permission for every single thing. But Michael remembered all the homes that had strict rules about the kitchen. The religious zealots had a lock on the fridge to discourage their charges from greed. Apparently a kid being hungry was the mortal sin of gluttony.
With his head still in the fridge the kid absentminded asked, “Max is a cyborg?”
“He ended up with a heart issue. Long story. I made him a pacemaker and he’s fine now.” Michael wrinkled his nose, “Mostly.”
Mikey kicked the door shut with his hands full of food. “That’s good. Isobel would miss him if something happened to him.”
Michael pulled down a plate to help the boy make a sandwich, “Yeah, Isobel would miss him.”
The two of them stood side by side making sandwiches. It was good. Eating when hungry. Michael had gotten so used to caregivers forgetting to feed him, that he trained himself to ignore hunger. Unless it was really bad, it didn’t bother him so much anymore. Grabbing a granola bar for breakfast and then working straight through until seven or eight pm wasn’t unusual. It just seemed like a waste of energy to worry about what was for lunch when for so many years there was no lunch. Michael grew up loving school. Not only was it a place he excelled, but he also got breakfast and lunch every day there. He never understood the jokes about how gross cafeteria food was. For him, it was the closest thing to a home cooked meal he was ever gonna get. A sloppy joe served by Mrs. Riley every wednesday at New Roswell High, was his version of a dinner cooked by mom. Summers and Winter break were hard. No school meant no little plastic trays with cartons of chocolate milk and plastic silverware. School was a good place. Michael had liked school.
He cut the sandwiches in half like he’d watched Alex do. It seemed nicer that way. The kid carefully took his plate with two hands. No danger of dropping it. And Michael grabbed plates for himself and Alex, and took them to the table. Lunch. Yet another new thing Michael was trying.
They’d have to figure out what to do the longer Mikey stayed. Michael and Alex both took the day off of work, but the kid would need to go somewhere during the day starting soon. Maybe Max or Isobel. Max was still doing night shifts at the Pony and Isobel was taking a sabbatical from her event planning business. If they went public with the story that Mikey was Michael’s son, he could hang out in the junkyard with him. Michael could fix cars and there were a thousand things the kid could play with. Most foster homes didn’t let Michael fiddle with things. But he loved taking stuff apart and putting it back together. A junkyard was a perfect playground for an engineering genius.
Mikey and Alex were having an animated conversation about the merits of Ninja Turtles. Apparently Alex thought Leonardo was the best because he was the leader and was the most focused. Mikey insisted it was Michelangelo because of… pizza. And honestly, Michael had to agree. Pizza always wins. He grinned at his boys and took another huge bite of his sandwich. Maybe this would work after all.
***
Sleeping in Alex’s bed was never going to get old. There was a Michael shaped divot on the right side of the mattress. Even when he got up, he could see the impression of his body. Alex insisted this meant the mattress was shitty and he needed a new one, but Michael liked the evidence he was there.
He curled up closer to Alex and let his hand rest on his hip, technically breaking the hands above the waist rule but so long as his hand didn’t move, it seemed safe enough. His thumb fit perfectly in the hollow of Alex’s hip. He had rubbed a gentle circle when the part of his brain connected to Mikey pinged a distress call again. With a sigh he climbed out of bed, and hoped he didn’t wake Alex as he left.
The kid was sitting up on the couch wrapped in a quilt. Mikey picked at a loose thread on the knee of his Star Wars pajamas. Michael sat next to him and let him lean his weight against his side.
“Bad dream?”
The kid shrugged and pulled his knees up to his chest.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Mikey shook his head. A few minutes later he blurted, “I heard you and Alex.”
“Heard us what?”
Mikey rocked a little in place, “Talking about how the disk works. How you gotta talk about your emotions so we meld together like a transformer, Mega-Michael, or you’re stuck with me.”
Michael protested, “I don’t have to talk about my emotions.”
“Sometimes you gotta share your fart with the world. You keep it all squeezed up in your butt and it gives you a stomach ache. You just gotta let it out to feel better.”
“My emotions aren’t farts.” Michael crossed his arms defensively.
“But your face is a fart,”
“We have the same face!”
The kid smirked, “Nah, I look awesome. You look constipated.”
Mikey became quiet and serious. He pressed his body against Michael’s side, trying to become a Mega-Michael without alien technology. “You gotta be okay with the bad stuff that happened to us. You’ve gotta… not blame me.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“You blame yourself. I blame me. Bad things happened everywhere we went. We were the only constant factor in the experiment, therefore we’re the variable at fault. It’s just science.”
Michael wrapped both arms around the kid, “I don’t blame you.”
The boy huffed, “You’re stuck with me for awhile. If we don’t touch the disk, you could be stuck with me forever.”
Michael rested his chin on the kid’s head, “That wouldn’t totally suck.”
Mikey closed his eyes, “Alex might not be a fan of this plan.”
“Alex likes this plan.” The Michaels looked up as Alex spoke with a smile. At some point he wandered into the hallway unnoticed. His shoulder was against the wall and he leaned heavily on his crutch. He had been eavesdropping.
The kid tried to push himself out of Michael’s hug, but Michael just squeezed him tighter.
Mikey insisted, “You won’t like me. I’m a mess.”
Alex sat on the other side of him and wrapped an arm around his boys, “I like messes.”
“No you don’t. You’re clean. You make your bed perfectly every morning and you always do your dishes. You’d get tired of me. I’m loud.”
“The cabin was too quiet anyway.”
“I’m… I’m mean. I’ll say mean things.”
Alex ran a hand through the boy’s curls, “It’s okay. You can say mean things and we’ll still like you. You can still stay here. We’re choosing you. We want you to stay.”
Mikey tried to push at the arms embracing him. He kicked at Michael as his eyes welled up, “I’m gonna break all the stuff you like!”
Michael winced as a bony heel caught his thigh, “Yeah but we can fix it. Anything you break we can fix together.”
It was like someone cut the strings of a dancing marionette. The kid lost all fight and fat tear drops streamed down his face to his horror. “You’re gonna change your mind.”
Michael looked at Alex, a silent conversation happening above the boy’s head. Michael wiped a glob of snot off the kid’s face with the hem of his shirt. “We’re picking you. On purpose. We want you to stay. Do you want to stay?”
Mikey took a great shuddering breath and nodded.
Alex thumbed away a tear, “Then as long as you want us, we want to keep you.”
It wasn’t a conventional family. It wasn’t something Michael ever thought he’d have. But Michael, Alex, and Mikey could pick each other. That was a thing they could do. And they’d be okay.
#my fic#inner child fic#rnm fic#michael guerin fic#michael guerin#alex manes#feral stabby baby#cw child abuse#tw child abuse#roswell new mexico fic#deaging#kind of#truck stop knives and other accessories of childhood
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STS Ask My Muse - Namjoon
Word Count: 2.1K
Asks highlighted in bold
The Ask My Muse interviews: Hobi & Sam / Tae & Jungkook / Jin / Namjoon / Jimin, Yoongi & Reader
***
“Are you sure you’re going to be ok in there?” Jin asks as I climb out of the car, leaning back through the open door in order to reply.
The eldest vampire had offered to give me a lift to the twenty-four-hour cafe in which Namjoon had agreed to meet me, following the end of our interview, and to be honest I’d leapt at the chance. It’s reassuring to know he’ll be sat right outside; I’ve no idea what state of mind the ex-leader will be in since his exile from the house, so I’d rather have a quick get-away available as a just-in-case rather than go in blind.
“I picked a public place on purpose; I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I answer, and even I’m not oblivious to the fact that it sounds as though I’m trying to convince myself just as much as I am him.
“Ok,” he answers unsurely, fingers gripped tight around the steering wheel, “Well, I’ll be right out here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Jin.” I flash him a parting smile before straightening up and shutting the car door with a firm ‘thunk’, turning on the spot with my handbag clutched nervously to the side. I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little anxious about this, but I reassure myself by remembering that trepidation is probably an appropriate response considering who I’m about to meet.
I busy myself with ordered a coffee before I even set about trying to find Namjoon amongst the cafe’s tables, hoping that clutching a warm beverage between my hands might provide some comfort when sat face to face with him. It’s funny, but I can almost pinpoint the exact moment when Namjoon catches me in his sights. I may not be looking at his way, but the way all the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand on end for no reason at all is enough for me to know, without a doubt, that there’s no turning back now.
Sure enough, when I turn from the counter with a caramel latte - extra hot - in hand, his eyes are the first I meet. He’s dressed all in black - a long black coat, black polo neck and pants - and when he raises one singular hand to wave me over to the corner booth in which he sits I find myself momentarily rooted to the spot for just a few, brief seconds of panic.
I can do this. I know I can do this.
“Namjoon,” I greet with a slight nod of my head as I reach the side of his the table, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the seat in which I intend to sit rather than on him, “Thank you for meeting me.”
“The pleasure’s mine,” he replies, and I can hear the sly smile in his voice without even having to look up, “Please, sit.” Nodding again, I slide into the booth, making myself as comfortable as I possibly can when I feel anything but. “Did you find your way he-”
“I thought we’d just get right to it,” I interrupt, not wanting to drag this out for any longer than absolutely necessary, or risk letting it slip that Jin is so nearby, and when I finally do look upward and meet Namjoon’s gaze I find him smirking back at me, seemingly amused by my slightly terse tone.
“As you like.” I take out his cards, feeling glad that for once I’ve pre-planned the order in which they’ll be read.
“Namjoon, which of the six others were you closest with after you all turned, and why?” Taking a sip of my drink, I’m relieved to see my hands aren’t shaking as I lift the cup from the table, though I’ve no doubt he can hear the nervous racing of my heart.
“Yoongi-hyung,” he answers after a beat or two of thought, leaning back in his seat, “He was the only one who ever really seemed to share my disdain for these creatures that we are.”
“If being a vampire is really so loathsome, why did you convince them all to turn with you? Why didn’t you just leave them be?” Infuriatingly enough, all Namjoon does is shrug.
“Misery loves company.” Clearly, I’m not getting any more out of him on that topic than that. He extends an arm across the back of the booth, breathing deep as his head tilts to the side, smiling again at the annoyance that must be so plainly written across my face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I blurt out before I lose my nerve, and Namjoon lets out a short bark of a laugh, banging his palm against the faux leather seat just once, just hard enough to make me jump.
“Is that your question, or someone else’s?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Someone else’s,” I murmur back, and suddenly I’m rather glad it is. Under the weight of his gaze I nervously shift, picking at the lid of my coffee as I wait for the answer that he seems in no hurry to provide.
“I don’t think you have the time nor the inclination for me to do that question justice. It might’ve been simpler to ask ‘what isn’t wrong with me’,” he finally answers, and part of me is pleased to hear that at least Namjoon - however twisted he might be - seems well aware of his multitude of flaws. When he neglects to say anything further I take the hint, switching the order of the cards that are clutched tight between my clammy hands.
“Well… whatever is or isn’t, it seems as though not everyone’s against you,” I muse, eyes shifting over the two cards I lay out across the table in front of me, both of which contain a similar message. “There’s someone who’s asked for a kiss - someone professing their love and asking for you to marry them instead of pining for ___…”
“Some of you humans really don’t have any kind of self-preservation instinct, do you?” he asks with a roll of his eyes and a tired sigh, as if all of this was so very boring. I suppose for someone of his IQ it very likely is. “Call me cruel, but I have absolutely no desire to spend my time in the company of those who seem to have some ridiculous, romantic notion about my kind and what we are or what we do.”
“Fair enough.” I take a deep sip from my coffee, wincing when I almost burn my tongue in my haste to moisten the inside of my mouth. It’s suddenly gone dry at the prospect of asking this next question, but bracing myself, I forge ahead.
“One of the readers would like to know whether you usually like your sex so rough, and was wondering whether you killing that red-head was just for show, or something you genuinely enjoy doing?” Namjoon smirks, biting his lip as he observes the light blush that’s coloured my cheeks, and god, this would be so much easier if he wasn’t so devilishly handsome. What has happened to all the movies of my childhood, where the villains were so easy to spot by their long, hooked noses, or dull, greasy hair?
“The rougher the better,” he answers in a timbre that’s very close to a growl, “The more intense the better; the messier, the bloodier. I would’ve ended that miserable girls life whether ___ had been watching or not, and yes, I would’ve still very much enjoyed it.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that. Subconsciously, I find myself leaning backwards into my seat in order to put some distance between myself and Namjoon, who now has his elbows on the table, hands clasped tightly in front of him. He may still be smirking but now I look closer, past all the menace behind his smile, Namjoon actually appears to look rather tired - worn, almost - as though he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days.
I decide to move on, unwilling to linger any more on that particular event or the dangerous glint it’s added to the darkness of his eyes.
“How do you feel about what you did to ___, now you’ve had the chance to calm down?” Namjoon sighs heavily, breaking eye contact with me for the first time to look down at the table as his shoulders rise and fall.
“What happened back at the house was… regrettable. I never… I never intended to take it so far,” he admits, his voice softer than before, eyebrows drawn down into a frown as he begins to play with the silver ring that rests on his index finger, turning it round and round the digit, “I wish she had listened to me - I wish she’d been able to see that everything I did, I did for us - but she refused to see reason. She left me with no other choice.”
It’s useless arguing with Namjoon, I know that. Maybe given time he’ll be able to see the error of his ways, but not now. Not yet.
“I know you say you love her,” I begin, feeling slightly more at ease now that he seems less intent on looking at me. He’s listening, I can tell that, but it almost looks as though his mind is elsewhere, cogs twisting and turning on other matters inside his head, “So hypothetically, if ___ were to come back to you… what would your next plans be? Would you leave her human? And what would you do about the others?”
“I would do exactly as I’ve always promised her; treat her as my queen, keep her close at my side.” His answer seems to come easily, as if he’s spent a lot of time already thinking about what would happen if the scenario I’ve given him ever came true. “We’d leave this place, just us two, so none of the others could find us.” Namjoon pauses, looking me directly in the eyes with a serious expression, his full lips set in a firm line.
“Contrary to what you might think, I don’t relish the thought of killing my brothers. I would rather avoid them entirely, and have ___ join me in undeath only when she asks it of me. It would be a waste to turn someone with blood so sweet until absolutely necessary.”
“You almost made it sound as though you’d hold back on making ___ a vampire for her benefit, at first, but I get the feeling it’s for your own gain, more than anything,” I accuse, quickly regretting speaking so boldy when his eyes narrow at me from across the table, jaw clenching.
“You’d understand if you’d ever have had a taste of her.”
Let’s just get this over and done with…
“If you could go back and change one thing… what would it be?”
For a long time, Namjoon just sits and stares at me - for so long, in fact, that I start to think he isn’t going to answer at all - but when he does, he says something entirely different from what I’m expecting.
“I’d go back right to the beginning when my sister first became ill,” he says quietly, looking away, “I wouldn’t waste so much time looking for a cure that never existed… I’d just try to spend as much time as I could with her in those last days - like I should’ve done to begin with.”
Again, I’m a loss for what to say. I’d expected him to say something sinister; go back and kill Jimin himself or formulate some other plot for ensuring ___ had ended up with him but… no. All I can do is sit in the uncomfortable silence that grows between us, feeling my coffee slowly cool beneath my fingers.
After a couple of minutes or so, Namjoon remains so lost in thought that I realise I’ll have to draw this to a close. I’m glad I’d left that question until last, because even if it hadn’t have been I doubt I’d get anything more from him now.
“Thank you for answering so honestly,” I say as I place the question cards back in my bag and rise from my seat, Namjoon’s attention suddenly snapping back to me when he registers my movement. He nods, still vaguely distracted, and just as I’m about to leave he suddenly reaches out and grabs a hold of the jacket I’m wearing.
The sudden physical contact makes me panic, very nearly throwing my coffee in his face before I realise that there’s no aggression in the way in which he’s holding onto me, or in the look that’s in his eyes. He looks desperate if anything, and it leaves me feeling more conflicted than the whole time in which I’ve been sat opposite him.
“If you see her… will you tell her…” Namjoon hesitates, gripping my jacket all the tighter for a moment, “WIll you tell her… that I’m sorry?”
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Lucky Number Six
Part four: Stranger and Stranger
part 1, part 2, part 3,
Fandom: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Male Ryder | Scott/Reyes Vidal, Jaal Ama Darav/Original Character(s)
Characters: Noble Six | SPARTAN-B312, Male Ryder | Scott, mentions of noble team, Reyes Vidal, Jaal Ama Darav, Liam Kosta, Cora Harper
Additional Tags: Nonbinary Character, Trans Male Character, Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, everyone's got anxiety and stress, Found Family
___
They'd like to say the most frustrating part of this entire situation is the uncooperative AI that definitely knows more than what it’s been telling them. But the truth is their current frustrations are much simpler than that. Mainly, finding someplace where people weren’t. Or at the very least where people would ignore them, even if just for a minute, to give them time to read through the rest of their files.
But apparently they underestimated how much they actually stand out among these people. It’s not even the height that’s the issue, it's that Six can’t hold themself like a civilian, can’t pretend that war and anger didn't shape them into what they are. These people aren't insurgents, they're not rebels, and they definitely don’t give off a feeling of military. At least not the military that they’re used too.
No stiff postures, no guns at every door. No feeling of, that they’ve only got seconds of peace before they get pulled back on to duty.
These people give off that rare feeling of civilians and soldiers that hadn't seen the brunt of the damage from the covenant. Though Six wouldn't go so far to say none of them had seen some kind of battle. Just… not the things Six went through.
They can feel people's stares on them. Like somewhere in their minds they know that Six doesn't belong. Maybe it’s just Six’s paranoia running wild but right now they can’t help but fully agree with them on that.
Wherever this is. Six is not supposed to be here.
With a sigh, they lean into the darkest corner of the ship they can find. Pinching the bridge of their nose as they try their best to will away the oncoming headache. This whole situation somehow feels worse than when they thought they were going to die.
They knock their head back against the wall, a solid thunk that sounds more like bending metal. Shit. They freeze, trying to keep a straight face as people glance over at them. Too much strength fuck.
Crossing their arms they meet the stares with a glare until everyone else seems to get the hint. Running off and trying to be anywhere but near them. Definitely not the best start to blending in. But if they're being honest, they’re not sure if they even want to try.
What they really want to do is to find their gear, maybe even start working to fix their armor if there was anything left of it. And a change of clothes that actually fit wouldn’t hurt either. The uniform that they had woken up in was ill-fitting. Too tight to fit their broad shoulders and it felt like if they made the wrong move it might rip.
They’d also like to find their dog tags… Well, at least Jorge's dog tags. It had to be here, right? Taken off when they were put into the med bay? But if it was, that leaves the question as to why no one questioned the dog tags that definitely did not match their fake information.
...Actually, if they're really thinking about it how are they even standing right now? They may not feel much pain but their body would still know if they were overexerting themself. There should be shaking, lightheadedness, or even just difficulty moving. They know they heal faster than the average person but not fast enough to get the ok to just leave the medical bay after an explosion and head trauma. Not to mention being run through the gut with a sword.
Pushing off the wall they start walking again. Moving with purpose as people rush by them. Until they finally find an area of the ship that seems to be mostly sleeping quarters. They slip into the closest empty room and turn back to watch as the door shuts behind them. The doors all seem automatic, how would they even lock one?
The AI probably could but they're not sure how much they trust it. Especially considering how it was willing to lie. The smart one’s always felt too human for their own good and this one had to be exactly that.
“Uh... Sam?” That’s what they’d called it right?
“Yes, Mr. Ramirez?” Its voice feels more like it’s ringing in their head rather than the room. Causing them to flinch back just a bit.
“Okay, first of all, we both know that’s not my name.” At least they really hope it knows that’s not their name otherwise… well better not to think about it, “Secondly, can you lock the door or at least show me how to lock it?”
“You’d require an Omni-tool in order to interact with any locking mechanisms on the door. Until you get one I can aid you in that matter.” The light on the door pulses a sharp red and they breathe a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about while adding on the issue of how to get an... om-ni tool? “Also, If you do not wish to be called Mr. Ramirez how would you like me to address you?”
A loaded question that even the AI couldn’t realize exactly what it asked. They wipe a hand over their face and lean back against one of the bunks. Would people question the AI calling them Six? It would be better than using any of their other names at least. But also risky of exposing themself to questions they don’t want to answer. “Just… let’s stick with Logan.”
“Alright Logan, is there anything else I can help with?”
“Yeah. Where the fuck am I, how did I get here, and how do i get an om-ni tool?” There’s a beat of silence as they wait for an answer. Though they have a feeling it’s not going to be as simple as that.
“You are in the crew qua-”
“Do not fuck with me right now,” They snap, aiming a glare at the ceiling.
“You are on the human ark Hyperion in the Andromeda cluster. I do not have access to how you came on board.” Another beat of silence, “You can request an Omni-tool from requisitions.”
“Great... None of that helps,” they stop for a second before thinking better of it, “but thanks anyway.” Best to be courteous, they know what happens when an AI hit’s its age limit. They’re not stupid enough to piss it off, even if it’s still got years left.
“If you like I can give you access to the vids and basic information on the andromeda project. As well as make the requisition for you.”
Better than nothing at least, “Alright, that works... I’m guessing you don’t know who made my ‘files’?”
“I do not.”
Another mystery they’d have to solve themself. Fantastic. That just leaves them with what they’ve been dreading. They breathe deeply before pulling up their shirt to reveal a long scar across their abdomen. Already long healed and fading. Maybe they are having some trouble with their memory because they should remember something about this.
They should, they know they should remember but it’s like something in their head is pounding against their skull. They can’t remember. And suddenly they have a horrifying thought. “Uhm... Sam, how long have I been on this ‘ark’?”
“From what I can find at least 200 years.”
“Well, Fuck.”
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