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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Text

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi)

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete.

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now.

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news.

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright.

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now.

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots.

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine.

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?)

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all.

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen.

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it.

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs.

“Michael!”

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air.

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!”

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves.

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands.

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly.

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?”

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.”

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice.

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices.

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return.

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest.

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all?

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands.

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team.

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs.

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!”

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation.

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return.

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak.

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?”

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time.

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?”

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?”

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in.

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?”

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud.

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.”

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.”

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter.

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.”

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream.

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for.

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena.

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops.

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again.

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!”

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up.

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge.

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway.

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.”

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.”

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out.

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best.

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail.

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly.

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.”

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions-

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?”

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut.

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps.

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well.

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to.

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before.

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Like you did that much.”

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye.

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs.

“Fair.”

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow.

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future.

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever.

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team.

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits.

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?”

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they?

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body.

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well?

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further.

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him.

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own.

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?”

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words.

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?”

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.”

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?”

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red.

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?”

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome.

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break.

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain.

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.”

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own.

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake.

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point.

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.”

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.”

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time.

Keep your head down.

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.”

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race.

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!”

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.”

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again.

“Thanks, guys.”

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings.

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?”

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.”

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs.

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?”

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back.

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?”

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!”

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition.

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down.

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it.

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap.

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter.

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder.

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own.

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it.

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off.

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off.

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak.

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod.

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams, watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team -

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena.

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?”

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners.

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route.

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out.

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused.

“Gottem.”

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting.

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them.

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby.

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?”

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective.

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second -

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!”

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own.

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue.

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

The smile slips off his face.

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on.

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what?

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply.

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all.

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it.

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity.

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all.

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow.

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down.

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red.

---

“What the hell was that?”

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence.

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?”

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes.

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-”

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?”

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter.

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-”

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?”

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?”

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features.

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“...liar.”

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down.

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward.

“Quackity!”

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-”

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops.

“LET’S GO!”

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows.

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time.

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself-

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.”

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?”

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze.

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.”

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder.

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp.

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention.

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.”

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..”

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.”

“Thanks for everything, Scott.”

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.”

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing.

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?”

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?”

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.”

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him.

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.”

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached.

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.”

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.”

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure.

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?”

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head.

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.”

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly.

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.”

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.”

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life.

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.”

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow.

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?”

#-> my writing #my writing :D #c!Quackity critical #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw torture #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw needles #tw hospitals #tw emotional distress #pandora's vault #prison arc #god this was so fun #hope you all enjoy !!#long post

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kiingocreative · 3 years

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The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

I often feel that it took me thirty years to write my first book, No Pain, No Game. Not because I was physically writing it for that long, but because finally publishing my first novel felt like the culmination of three decades of bad writing, half-finished novels, random short-stories and a million mundane diary entries. It took that long to experiment with my craft, hone my skills, and master the fear of putting my work out there for all to see.

Exaggerations aside, it actually took me three years to write No Pain, No Game, from typing the first word on an otherwise blank page to having a fully-fledged, ready-to-publish novel. Those three years consisted of mostly undisciplined writing, sitting down to work on the story as and when the urge arose, sometimes not looking at it for weeks on end, and only getting back to it when inspiration hit. Only when I got serious about publishing did I put in the hours consistently, whether or not I was in the mood for it. The whole experience felt like not so much like long distance running, but more like a slow, often sluggish stop-start stroll, with a heart-pumping sprint at the very end.

I came out of having published the book revved up from adrenaline, soaking in the momentum, fretting for more and ready to do it all again. Out came the laptop again, the rush to get the first draft over and done with and the mad rush into editing-land.

It’s a Marathon, Not a Sprint (and not interval running, and not a slow leisurely walk)

The thing with sprinting, however, is that if you do it for too long, you quickly run out of breath and I soon learnt that maintaining that level of effort over time was unsustainable. Somewhere in the middle of editing my first draft, I hit a wall.

A big, fat, hundred feet high brick and mortar monster of a wall. I never saw it coming, and I face-planted right into it. For weeks after that I couldn’t look at my manuscript or social media, and I had to take a proper break from it all to restore.

The break gave me a chance to introspect and take stock of what had happened. It felt to me that, if I wanted to keep on writing more books (which I did) I had to pivot from my disorganised style of writing to a more committed endeavour. There’s nothing wrong with a leisurely walk, or random bouts of interval running, but I realised it wouldn’t give me the kind of results I was truly after. I had to look at writing as a marathon, and build the sort of stamina and endurance I needed to do this many times over without burning out.

From Dilettante to Disciplined Writer

When I think back to writing my first book, I wonder if there’s some truth in the saying that ignorance is bliss. Because I was less focused on the outcome at the time, I was better able to enjoy the ups and downs of the process, especially because I only sat to work at it when I felt like it. I was also mostly unaware of the mountain of logistics that come with writing and publishing a book, so I’d be able to see the distance I’d covered, without worrying about the miles that still stretched ahead of me. Yes, ignorance was, most definitely, a little bit like bliss.

Reminiscing on her own experience, author Shamika Lindsay says that, with her first book, ‘the process felt so different and [she] almost felt the pen gliding across the paper but with [the sequel], it was like pulling teeth’. In fact, she adds, starting to write her second book from scratch felt like ‘such a chore and [she] was just so eager to complete it because [she] felt like it took so much from [her] to write than the first book’.

For R. G. Tully, author of the Ardamin series, who put greater emphasis on the editing stage when working on his second book, the process also took longer and wasn’t always enjoyable. ‘The editing grind was exactly that, a grind’, he confesses.

But you have to do it whether you like it or not, because the only way out is through. There are, fortunately or unfortunately, no shortcuts. Fortunately, because it’s the very act of going through that arduous journey that makes you a better writer in the end. And unfortunately, because there can be times it’s just not all that pleasant.

You’ll be surprised the amount of distractions that manifest themselves when you desperately need a reason not to work on your manuscript — it’s actually quite spooky. Treating writing with discipline, organisation and professionalism is exactly what will prevent you falling off tracks, and what ultimately gets the work done. And that’s the difference between a published book and one that’ll sit indeterminately unfinished somewhere in your archives.

A Tough Act to Follow

Unfortunately, there’s still a little bit more to writing your second book than just great discipline. Even when you’re able to get yourself to follow through and show up for your craft, giving your first book a literary sibling can come with its own challenges, especially because you have something to compare it to.

And it’s not only you, but your readers too, who will be expecting certain standards from your writing, especially if it’s a series. Though it shouldn’t come in the way of writing the book you want to write, the relationship of trust you’ve built with your readership through your first book still needs to be honoured, and this can cause certain amounts of pressure.

‘I felt a little pressure to keep the same feel about the story’, R. G. Tully says, ‘and to include more from my secondary characters, give them a little more depth’.

Stormi Lewis, author of the Sophie Lee trilogy, puts it simply: ‘It was a little hard to decide how to exactly start [with the second book]. At first I was worried and became overwhelmed because so many loved the first one. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I had to step back and come to terms that they loved it for being unique. And the only way I could stay true to the story and give them what they really wanted was to focus on the story and not so much about what I thought they wanted for the second.’

For others, the comparison can be more inward-facing, like author Tara Lake, who admits that writing the second book in her series has been a challenge, because she’s ‘struggled with comparison of the self: past Tara had a lot more time to devote to writing, present Tara has much less time with [her] kids being home full time from school during much of the pandemic’.

For others still, some of that pressure can be self-imposed. When writing her second book, Freya McMillan shares that ‘[she] put a huge amount of pressure on [herself] as [she] wanted it to be meaningful in a particular way to honour [her] dad, who died a few years ago. Once [she] stopped doing that, it was much less challenging to write’.

It Ain’t All Bad.

I do want to pause here and add that not everyone faces such challenges. There are authors out there who launched into writing their second book with more ease than the first.

Sabrina Voerman tells me that ‘[her] second book came a lot easier to [her] than [her] first book. The idea hit [her] so hard and fast that it took [her] aback, and [she] could do nothing but write it’, and the entire novel was written in a matter of weeks, whilst her first book took years to finish.

Same for Trevor Wiltzen, who says that writing the sequel to his first book went smoothly, greatly helped by the fact that ‘[he] wrote the second book immediately after the first, [so he] knew the characters really well’. He admits he ‘found it very freeing and really enjoyed the process’.

Even Stormi Lewis, who struggled at first, adds that ‘once [she] got started, [she] was fine’ and that ‘[she] felt the writing was solid and [her] best book yet, simply because [she] really got to develop more of the characters and the story’.

As with everything, we must then conclude, there will be as many types of experiences as there are writers out there. So how can we best prepare for what’s to come?

A Chance to Grow

Performance coach Tony Robbins says that the quality of our lives is intricately linked to the quality of the questions we ask ourselves on a daily basis. So if we need to face something that’s outside our comfort zone — starting again from scratch on your second book for instance — is it a punishment or is it a gift? Is it a curse or an opportunity?

I’m tempted to think that the level of discomfort that can come with writing your second book is a gift, because it gives us a chance to grow.

It’s a chance to take everything we’ve learnt from doing it the first time around and take our learnings for a spin to see if it makes the process easier. It’s an opportunity to improve, to work at our craft in new and wonderful ways.

It’s both daunting and incredibly exciting to face a brand new story — or a different side to the same story for those writing series — and to dare to plunge into the unknown of where it’s fated to take you. It’ll see you grow and evolve as a writer and, in turn, you’ll get to watch your writing morph into something more mature than it was before.

I say look at your writing like you do the passing of seasons: different times will have different qualities, different characteristics, different feels to them. You live and learn through each of them, and gather a wealth of experiences that eventually inform who you become. Maintaining the discipline to write through every single one of them is what will ultimately give your work all its depth and substance.

All it takes is that first word on the page.

And the second.

And the third.

And all the words beyond that.

#writingtips #screenwriting #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writerblr #writing advice #writing community #writing resources

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers VANDEAD CARNIVAL ;; Azusa Route ー Chapter 3

ー The scene starts on one of the side streets

Azusa: ...Things seem really lively...over on the other side.

Yui: You’re right...I wonder if there’s some sort of event going on?

( Hmm, I’m a little curious, but returning to the castle is more important right now, huh...? )

???: Young lady, do you have a spare minute?

Yui: Eh...?

???: I’m talking to you.

Yui: ( He suddenly reached out for me but...Who is this person...? )

Um...Me?

???: Yes, exactly. You.

Yui: ( It doesn’t seem like he’ll suddenly jump me...? )

Azusa: ...Eve, do you know this guy...?

Yui: No...

Azusa: ...Stay behind me, okay...?

*Rustle*

Yui: G-Gotcha...

Azusa: ...What do you need from her?

???: Oh come on, no need to get so defensive.

I promise I’m not a threat in the slightest. I’m just a passerby fortune teller.

Fortune teller: I figured I would read her fortune.

Yui: My fortune...?

Azusa: ...

...No.

Yui: Azusa-kun...?

Azusa: Eve...Let’s go. This person is suspicious...

Fortune teller: Those words sting a little.

Azusa: I mean...A normal Vampire would never...

Reach out to a human such as Eve like this, would he...?

Yui: Ah...

( Right...He does have a point. All the Vampires I’ve run into so far. )

( Every single one of them reacted to my blood...So it might be a little unnatural for him. )

( To casually strike up a conversation with me like this. )

...It really is strange, huh?

Azusa: ...Hey, Eve, let’s go?

Yui: Yeah.

ー The two of them walk away

Fortune teller: ...Aah, won’t you please wait?

ー He grabs hold of Yui’s hand

*Rustle*

Yui: Eh...!?

( He’s tugging onto my arm...!? )

Azusa: Yui-san...!?

Fortune teller: I want to read your palm.

Yui: My...palm, you say?

Fortune teller: Yes. Now, show it to me.

*Rustle rustle*

Fortune teller: ...Oh? It seems like you’ve injured your hand.

Yui: ( Ah...From earlier... )

Fortune teller: Can I remove this handkerchief?

...

Yui: ( ...He’s staring intently at my palm...I wonder if he’ll actually predict my fortune...? )

Fortune teller: ...I’ve seen your fortune.

Yui: Eh...?

Fortune teller: ...There’s a line (1) which reads that you will find what you’ve been looking for.

Yui: I’ll find...what I’ve been looking for...?

( I wonder what that means...? )

Azusa: ...Eve!

*Thud*

Yui: Azusa-kun...!?

Azusa: Stay behind me...

*Cling*

Yui: ( Eh...!? Why did he pull out a knife...!? )

Azusa: ...Get away from her.

Yui: You can’t do this, Azusa-kun! It’s dangerous to pull out a weapon like that!

Azusa: ...Don’t worry...I promised that...I would protect you, right?

So...Get your hands off my Eve.

Fortune teller: ...Heh.

You’re really putting me on the spot with that cold glare.

I genuinely just wanted to read her fortune without any ulterior motives, so please rest assured.

Well then, I suppose I shall back off now.

ー The fortune teller starts stepping away

Fortune teller: Aah...Right.

The spa here in the Demon World should help against your injury. ...Go and give a visit if you’d like.

While everyone is busy enjoying the Carnival, I’m sure it’ll be deserted.

It should be the safest place in the whole Demon World.

ー He leaves

Yui: ...

Azusa: ...Nn.

Yui: I-I wonder what that guy’s deal was...?

Azusa: I don’t really understand myself either but...Are you okay, Yui-san?

He didn’t do anything weird to you, right...?

Yui: Yeah, I’m fine.

Thank you for saving me earlier...

Ah...You’ve got a small cut on your hand...

( I wonder if he cut himself when he pulled out the knife earlier...? )

You got hurt because of me, huh? ...I’m sorry.

Azusa: ...I’m fine. I’m a Vampire after all...

I don’t care as long as you’re safe and well.

Yui: But...Please don’t be so reckless again, okay...?

Just like how you’re worried about me...

I’m also concerned about you.

Azusa: Yui-san...Yeah.

Yui: Right, why don’t we try visiting this spa mentioned by the fortune teller earlier?

It might actually be free of risk right now...

Azusa: ...You’re going to listen to him...?

Yui: I just figured it is worth the shot if it’ll help heal my injury.

Azusa: ...

Yui: Besides...You’re hurt now as well...Why don’t we go take a look...?

Azusa: ...If you say so...

Yui: ( Thank god...! )

Well then...The spa is...

Azusa: ...I believe it’s over at the sky terrace...

Yui: Eh? I see!

Azusa: Yeah...Eve, let’s hurry...

Yui: Y-Yeah!

ー The scene shifts to the sky terrace

Yui: ( We made it to the sky terrace but... )

( I wonder where the spa in question is...? )

( Huh? What is Azusa-kun looking at? )

Azusa-kun, what’s wrong?

Azusa: Ah, Eve...The spa is on the rooftop it seems...

Yui: Ah, you’re right! It’s written over here.

Azusa: Let’s go...

Yui: ( A spa in the Demon World, huh...? I wonder what it’s like? )

ー The scene shifts to the spa area

Yui: Waah...! So this is the resort.

Azusa: ...It’s my first time here as well...

Yui: There really doesn’t seem to be anyone around...I wonder if it’s always like this?

Azusa: ...Ruki said that...Usually it’s much more lively...

Yui: I see.

( The combination of a hot tub and Vampires is kind of strange... )

Azusa: ...Eve? What’s wrong...?

Yui: Ah, s-sorry! It’s nothing!

Azusa: ...Is that so? Okay then...

Yui: ( ...Putting that aside. )

( I didn’t think I’d be going to the hot springs in the Demon World. )

Well, see you in a bit then, Azusa-kun.

Azusa: Eh...? Why...?

We’re not entering the bath together...?

Yui: Eh!?

Azusa: Why do you seem so surprised...?

Yui: I-I mean...!? Taking a bath together is obviously out of the question!?

Azusa: ...Why not? You don’t...like spending time with me...?

Yui: T-That’s not the problem...!

Azusa: ...? Then why...?

Yui: W-Well, it’s embarrassing...

Azusa: Embarrassing...?

Yui: Yeah...

Azusa: Because I’m with you...?

Yui: Mmh...

Azusa: ...

...

...I’ll be watching you from over there then.

So you can get in the tub alone, okay...?

Yui: Eh...?

( Basically I’ll go in while he’s watching me from the sidelines!? )

( That’s honestly even more embarrassing... )

Um, I don’t want that either...I guess.

Azusa: ...

We can’t enjoy the hot springs together. Nor do you want to get in alone...

Why...?

Yui: ( Oh no, I’m troubling him, huh...? )

( But I can’t get in together. )

Azusa: ?

Yui: Azusa-kun, what’s wrong?

Azusa: ...

Together’s a no, and you don’t want to get in the tub alone either...So then I’ll just bathe by myself...

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: ( Wah! He started stripping out of his clothes...! )

( W-What now...!? )

I-I’ll go over there, okay!?

Azusa: Ah, Yui-san...

Yui: !?

ー She suddenly trips

Yui: ( Kyah! My foot slipped...! )

*SPLASH*

Yui: ...

Azusa: ...Are you okay, Eve?

Yui: Y-Yeah...

Azusa: Fufu, then...

Yui: ( Oh no...! How did things turn out like this...A-Azusa-kun’s right behind me...! )

Azusa: ...

Yui: ( Uu, this really is embarrassing...! )

Azusa: You’ve been facing down this whole time...Has the hot water already gotten to you perhaps...? (2)

Yui: That’s not it but...How to put this...It’s embarrassing so...

Azusa: Embarrassing...? Why?

We’re the only ones here, remember...?

Yui: ( That’s...I know but...! )

Why, you ask...? I mean, I didn’t expect for the two of us...

To end up in the hot tub together like this...

Azusa: ...You don’t like bathing with me...?

Yui: Ah, I don’t dislike it, but...

Azusa: ...Really...?

Yui: Yeah...

Azusa: Then...Come a little closer...?

*Splash*

Yui: Wah...Azusa-kun...!

It’s dangerous to suddenly pull me close, you know?

Azusa: But...I know you won’t move my way if I don’t do this...

Yui: ( Uu... )

*Splash*

Yui: ( The silence only makes it even more embarrassing... )

( Right! I should strike up a conversation...! )

Selection

→ I’m curious about something (☾)

Yui: ( I should probably inform Azusa-kun... )

About the thing I noticed while he was changing earlier... )

Um, Azusa-kun. There’s this thing I’ve been curious about...

Azusa: ...Eh?

→ Keep quiet after all

Yui: ( ...What should I say? )

( Guess I’ll keep quiet after all... )

Azusa: ...Yui-san, you’ve gone silent again...

Do you hate doing this with me after all...?

Yui: ( Ah...I made him pull a sad face again... )

Ah...Um...Right! There’s something I’m curious about...

Azusa: Curious...?

Yui: I realized just now but...

*Splash*

Yui: Look...The cut on the inside of my palm has disappeared...

Azusa: Eh? ...Let me see for a second...

Yui: Sure...

Azusa: ...You’re right...

Yui: Told you...? I was surprised to find out it had suddenly disappeared...

Do you know how?

Azusa: ...

...You’re right, it healed too quickly...

Yui: Could it be...The fortune teller from earlier?

Perhaps he did something when he touched my hand to look at it...?

Azusa: ...

...Say, instead of thinking about that right now...

We’re finally taking a bath together...So I’d love to do something...

Yui: Eh...!? A-And what would that something be...?

Azusa: Hmー ...Perhaps we could compete to see...Who can endure the hot water the longest?

Yui: Ah...That’s what you meant...

( He suddenly said something weird like that, so it startled me... )

Azusa: What’s wrong, Eve...? You’re blushing...?

Yui: Eh!? Ah, no! It’s nothing!

Azusa: Fufu...Silly Eve~

Yui: But on the topic of bathing, I’m actually the type to soak for quite some time.

I won’t lose to you!

Azusa: ...I’m good at enduring as well...So I’ll try my best.

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: A...Azusa-kun...

Azusa: ...What’s wrong?

Yui: You’re still fine...?

Azusa: Yeah...

Yui: ( Wow...Quite some time has passed since as well...! )

Azusa-kun...That’s amazing...

Azusa: Is it...? I figured this much was normal...

Yui: ( It definitely isn’t...! )

Azusa: Ah...But...I’ve gotten scolded by Ruki before.

For taking too long in the bathroom...

Yui: Is that so?

Azusa: Yeah...Also...I’ve competed with Kou and Yuma as well.

Those times I had the best record as well, I believe...

Yui: Amazing...

I always thought I took long baths as well.

But compared to you, I still have a long way to go.

I think I’ll get out for a bit.

What will you do?

Azusa: I’ll...stay in the water a little longer, I suppose...

I’m feeling warm and cozy...

Yui: R-Really...?

Azusa: I feel a little lightheaded as well.

Yui: ...Eh!?

( When he said he feels lightheaded just now... )

( Does that perhaps mean...? )

You can’t, Azusa-kun! Get out right now!

Azusa: Eh? ...But why...? This is where the real fun always starts...?

Yui: Always!?

( So he always continues to sit in the tub while dizzy...!? )

Azusa-kun, that’s happening because you soaked for too long! You have to get out soon or...!

Azusa: It’s okay, Eve...Don’t woーー

*Splash*

Yui: Azusa-kun!?

Azusa: ...Uu...

Yui: Kyah...! Azusa-kun, everything alright!? Azusa-kun...!!

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) The term 相 or ‘sou’ in fortune telling means a ‘seeming’. However, since he was reading her palm, I translated it as ‘line’ since they usually rely on the lines on your hand for this type of fortune telling.

(2) Since Japanese love taking extremely hot baths (even outside of hot spring culture), they have one verb for ‘to grow dizzy due to bathing in hot water for too long’, being のぼせる or ‘noboseru’.

← RETURN TO CHAPTER 2

→ PROCEED WITH MAIN STORY [CHAPTER 4]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #1 [W/ REIJI]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #2 [W/ SUBARU]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #3 [W/ YUMA]

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #azusa mukami #vandead carnival #diabolik lovers translation #vcazusachapter3

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kiegosbby · 3 years

Note

Tamaki or Mirio angst please? 🥺 Like he simply snaps at us and when he tries to apologize is too late

so I decided to do both, and then a poly fic! I felt bad bc of taking so long so here you go! Enjoy!!

@devildom-express

@yoongisausuna (gave me ideas for the story)

✁- - - - - - r- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tamaki fic:

you and tamaki were on a mission together, and you were sticking together like you normally do. you took the lead, you always did, so he wouldn’t get hurt.

you were sent to infiltrate a small base that the lov had, it should be easy in and out, there should be 3 people inside, take them out and it’ll be over.

you both approached the building slowly and scoped out the inside through a window, seeing a back door that was not guarded and you both snuck over to it

“ok tamaki wait until I give you the signal and I’ll distract them”

you turned your head to get his approval, but instead you saw him busting the door down, trying to take all the villains himself.

luckily you were there to back him up, and you took them down with ease.

when the villains were taken by the police you went to find tamaki and give him a piece of your mind.

“Tamaki! What were you doing you could have been killed?” you were scared for him, you were also pissed because he was doing this so recklessly, did he not care for you at all?

“I was doing my job y/n j-just like you. I don’t need you to take the lead all the time.”

was he really upset over this? you were only trying to help him why is he making a big fuss. you didn’t want him to get hurt, to be home one day and for him to never come back to you, you were only trying to protect him

“but we’re in this together, me and you are supposed to look out for each other and-“

“well maybe we shouldn’t be together if your going to hold me back like such a burden!” tamaki was loud, but he held his head low

your heart shattered at those words, all you were doing was trying to protect him, why couldn’t he see that?

you stood there baffled staring at him with wide eyes, tears bubbling and silently falling as your heart broke.

he finally looked up at you and immediately regretted what he said, he just wanted you to know that he could take care of himself.

he had messed up.

you turned away from him and started walking, and he called after you, grabbing your arm only to gave you harshly pull away.

you started running, you had to be anywhere else but where he was. you needed to get away from him he was closely following you, trying to get you to just stop and talk to him

you lost him eventually, it was a busy day and you ran all the way to the middle of the city. you let your mind wander while you kept walking. we’re you trying to hard in your relationship?

you finally stopped walking and ended up in front of your shared apartment. Why had your legs taken you here? you didnt even know if you and him were together anymore, so how were you going to walk in like nothing happened?

you walked up to the door, should you knock, should you just walk in? you walked in and saw tamaki sitting at the table, he was obviously crying, he was shaking and his eyes were red from crying. your heart broke even more from the sight.

When you walked in the apartment he looked directly at you, and stood up he opened his mouth to talk but all that came out was a sob.

you put your head down to avoid the sight and walked to your shared bedroom, you had to leave, you couldn’t stay after what he said.

as you walked he started following you trying to see what you were doing. what he said was a mistake, you knew that right? He didn’t mean it, he loved you and how you tried to protect him. It showed that you cared

you grabbed a bag from under your shared bed, and walked over to your closet shoving all the clothes that you saw into your bag.

if he thought you were such a burden then you’d leave. hell be free from you and able to do what he wants.

he stood in the doorway and his heart started to race when you grabbed your bag, his stomach dropping.

“Y-y/n what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

your voice sounded so cold, how could you say that? how could you leave? he really didn’t mean what he said.

“n-no you c-cant leave! please I-I didn’t mean it! you can’t leave me alone..” his voice trailed off as he started to cry again, he knew he messed up bad now. you gave him all his confidence, and you loved him at the same time. without you he would be nothing.

you ignored him as you finished packing your bag, and you pushed past him, pushing your feelings down you walked over to the door, stopping for just a second.

he had followed you the whole way there, and stood behind you as you stopped

You turned your head over your shoulder slightly, tears running down your face

“your free tamaki”

and with that you left,.

left him to be alone. to shatter into the ground and become the person he used to be.

Mirio:

you and mirio had been together for a little now, you were 3rd years and you both had hero work to do, so you didn’t get that many times to be alone, but you could tell that something was bothering him.

mirio was usually happy and bright, always smiling. lately you had noticed him spacing off and getting distracted. so you both had a free night tonight, you were going to go to his dorm and spend it with him.

after school you headed to your dorm and got ready, packing a overnight bag and started to make your way to his dorm.

when you got there you knocked softly said a “mirio it’s me” and he let you in, you sat on the bed and waited for him to come in.

he walked in and you noticed his aura was immediately off, and his smile wasn’t like it always was.

“mirio are you ok? You know you can talk to me right?”

“I’m ok y/n no need to worry”

that set you off. there was something obviously wrong, and he was just ignoring that fact?

“mirio something’s obviously wrong please tell me”

you sat in silence for a moment, before he started talking

“I’m always there for everyone. anything anyone needs anything from me I’m there. I’m there talking to them about there problems. and I’m good at it! you know? but what about me?” mirios voice started getting louder, you scooted away from him a little, ready for the worst.

“what about me huh? am I not important? no one ever fucking considered me. Not even you. and now your asking me, after I’ve been messed up all week if I’m ok?” he scoffed and turned his head away from you “Get out”

you turned your head towards him and widened your eyes in disbelief, how could he do that to you? you were worried the whole time. Could he not see that?

“no.”

“no? Y/n I said get the hell out of my room before I make you” he was fully yelling now, standing on the side of his bed looking at you

you felt small under his stance, tears starting to fall from your eyes and you got up, grabbing your bag and walking towards the door

“I was trying to help you.” your voice was filled with venom and you walked out the door and slammed it behind you, you heard the door open and close but you could care less, you were walking anywhere away from this.

you could feel his presence behind you, feel him watching you.

you turned around and came face to face with him, and you looked up at him with anger written on your face

“what do you want togata.”

he looked taken back by the name but he hung his head low, not giving a answer.

you let out a scoff and kept walking, walking into a empty alley, losing him for a few minutes.

you walked down the alley, now hearing footsteps behind you, you walked forward before a van pulling up stopped you, and before you knew it you were being pulled into a van, screaming for help trying to fight them away.

mirio was still following you when he saw the van pull up, his heart started to race and he ran towards you, but he couldn’t stop you from being pulled into the van and driving away.

it happened in a second, before he could even blink.

someone had taken you, and it was his fault.

poly fic:

you were supposed to be going on a date with your boyfriends tonight, but you were going to be a little late after them. you were working late and told them you’d meet them there.

you got ready quickly and walked to meet them at the restaurant they planned for you to.

some people might think it’s a little weird to be dating more then one person, but for you it worked. one was outgoing and one was the complete opposite, it worked perfectly.

sometimes you did have doubts, I mean where did you take place,? they complimented each other well but how did you take part in that?

you pushed those thoughts down and walked up to the place, looking around for them

when you spotted them you saw them both laughing and smiling, and it hurt. it looked like they’d be fine without you. you put your facade back up and walked over to them, sitting down.

it had went well, but you also noticed that when you arrived, they both didn’t laugh like they had when you saw them. you tried, but nothing seemed to work.

you had a feeling in your gut, and through the night it spread to your whole body, hurting and wrenching in pain, it took a toll on your heart.

When you all had finished, they were a little drunk so you called a cab and you all went home.

When you got home you helped them in bed and sat on the couch, thinking over what happened through the night.

had you been that much of a burden to them? you never noticed it before now. they would be much better without you, they looked so much happier just the two of them.

you started pacing around, going through options in your head

if you stayed it would take a toll on there relationship, you did nothing but hold them back.

but if you left, it would only hurt you.

so you decided, you would leave.

you went into your shared bedroom and quietly grabbed a bag packing your clothes, now that you thought of it you had to keep your clothes in a container under the bed while they had there’s stored in the dresser and closet.

should have seen it coming right?

you finished packing and we’re about to walk out when you heard moving on the bed and you stilled, your hand about to grab the doorknob stopped

“y/n? Where are you going?”

shit, it was mirio.

“nowhere mirio, go back to sleep.”

“why do you have a bag?”

you closed your eyes and eternally cursed at yourself. your body tensed when you heard more noises, great you had woken up tamaki.

“w-what’s going on?”

his voice broke your heart, and all the emotions started coming back up, your heart ached more then it ever had.

you turned your head and met both there eyes, and there’s widened at the sight of your face, it was streaked with tears, your eyes were red and your cheeks and dark shade of pink.

mirio quickly got up and walked over to you, while tamaki started crying along with you, knowing what was happening

“y/n you can’t leave us” mirios voice was sad, he was frowning, and you heard tamakis sobs in the background, breaking your heart even further.

“it wasn’t supposed to be like this, you were supposed to be sleeping.” you hung your head low, not meeting his eye contact.

he reached out for you and you quickly pulled away, he wasn’t going to pull you back in.

“I’m leaving. you are both better off without me. please don’t try to stop me I-I want you both to be happy” crying overtook your body now, you pulled your arms around yourself, trying to find some comfort.

“y/n what are you talk-“ Mirio was quickly interrupted by tamakis cry’s, and he went over to soothe him.

that easy for him to back down huh? seems like you were right.

tamaki cried loudly, shouting at you to stay, saying he needed you just as much as mirio.

you turned opening the door walking away from the crying, you couldn’t take it, you needed to leave now before they could suck you back in

you were about to leave when someone grabbed your arm, turning to see tamakis tear struck face, he stood in the hallway, his quirk holding you in place

mirio came up behind him, eyes wide, tears falling silently

you turned your head away, you couldn’t bare the sight of them like that.

“p-please y/n d-don’t leave!” tamaki said and cried loudly, trying to pull you back with his quirk, but you pulled away harshly, slamming the door behind you

as you walked away, back at the apartment tamaki collapsed on the floor.

where did they go wrong? when had they lost you? you were the love of there life. and to think they were going to propose to you, maybe it’s because of dinner, they were nervous. I mean who wouldn’t be nervous when you were going to ask someone to spend the rest of there life with them?

now, they were alone. without you.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha angst #bnha imagines #tamaki x y/n #mirio x reader #mirio angst #tamaki angst #tamaki x reader #mirio x amajiki #mirio headcanons #tamaki headcanons

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Note

For the writing requests: Zedaph with a fear of heights?

I seriously love getting such open-ended prompts like this because then I can just go wild. Hope you like what I’ve written!

CW: panic attack

…

There’s a reason Zedaph doesn’t usually fly places. He prefers to travel by nether where possible, but on this occasion, there’s no point going all the way through the nether hub when he can just fly over the mountain to Impulse’s base. It’s a short flight so everything should be okay.

But the one thing he forgets to check before he sets off is the durability of his elytra.

As he’s flying over the cliff, he feels a jerk and realises immediately that his elytra has snapped. He starts to drop but, reacting quickly, manages to grab onto the very edge of the cliff, stopping his fall.

However, his grip doesn’t last long.

He lets out a screech as he slips down the mountain face, struggling wildly for a foothold. After a few seconds, he’s able to catch one on on a small stone ledge sticking out from the cliff about a quarter of the way down. He manages to turn himself around but he soon realises that was a BIG mistake.

Because now he can see the two hundred block drop below him.

Already starting to panic, Zedaph shakily takes out his communicator.

<Zedaph> Help!

<Zedaph> Elytra broke!

<Zedaph> Stuck on a cliff!

<Zedaph> Can’t get down!

As he’s typing out his coordinates, he gets three messages in a row.

<Tango> Are you okay? Where are you?

<Impulse> Where are you Zed??

<Xisuma> Where are you? I can help!

Zedaph manages to send his coordinates before panic overwhelms him and he presses himself against the stone cliff face, squeezing his eyes shut. His world sways around him, making him dizzy and threatening to send him pitching forwards to the ground below.

Xisuma is the first to arrive on the scene. One look up tells him that Zedaph is too low down to be grabbed from above, so he sets about trying to find a way to save his friend from down here.

“Where is he?!” Tango gasps, landing neatly on the ground next to him.

Xisuma points him out. “There. We need a way to either slow or break his fall. I don’t suppose you have any splash potions of slow falling, do you?”

Tango shakes his head. “N-No, I don’t. What about water?”

“Good idea, but too risky. From down here, we can’t tell where he’ll fall and we don’t have time to cover the whole area in enough water to completely break his fall.”

Up on the cliff, about three minutes have passed since Zedaph first called for help, but it feels like over three hours to the terrified hermit. One glance down tells him that a crowd is forming under him but he can’t force himself to look down long enough to see who’s there. The only thing he could make out in his brief glance down is the bright yellow design he recognises from Impulse’s t-shirt.

“Zedaph!”

He almost glances down again but the nausea and panic rising in him is causing him to freeze.

Tango tries again: “ZED! Do you have anything on you to help get you down?!”

Zedaph knows he should look in his inventory. Perhaps he has an ender pearl on him? It would be worth the pain of pearling from all the way up here if it meant he could be on the ground in seconds, and avoiding a terrifying fall would certainly be a bonus.

But he can’t. He can’t move. His hands are gripping the stone indents so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. If he lets go, if he moves, if he tries to check his inventory, if he looks down, if he even opens his eyes…

...he’ll fall. “He can’t get down!” Tango gasps. “What do we do?!”

“Slime!” comes a voice from above.

The small crowd looks up to find Iskall swooping overhead. He lands quickly on the ground and starts handing out slime blocks. “This’ll break his fall. Quick!”

Tango, Iskall, Impulse, Xisuma, and a few others start to spread the slime blocks all over the ground, creating a bouncy platform that will save Zedaph if he falls.

But less than a minute later, a terrifying scream sounds from above them as Zedaph finally loses his grip and slips right off the ledge.

Zedaph screams again as he plummets, his hands wildly grasping at the air in a futile attempt to slow his fall. He knows he will die if he hits the ground, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it from happening.

Below him, he hears two distinctive voices scream his name.

A second later, he feels himself hit a bouncy surface and ricochet off. Arms flailing, he falls the six or so blocks to the ground, taking only a heart or two of damage as he does. He lies where he fell, gasping for breath through panic and adrenaline.

“Everyone get back!” calls Xisuma’s hazy voice. “Give him some room! He needs air!”

He feels someone drop down next to him. “Zed! Zed, can you hear me?!”

Zedaph can tell from his voice that Tango is terrified out of his mind right now, but he can’t summon the energy to talk or even nod. He is fully hyperventilating now, his lungs heaving as he tries and fails to gulp in enough oxygen through his sobs.

“What do I do?!” cries Tango in distress. “I don’t know what to do! How do I help him?!”

Then a newcomer arrives. “Stay calm, Tango. Reassure him that you’re there and he’s safe. Keep saying that. And remind him to keep breathing.”

“O-Okay…!” Tango takes a deep, shaky breath. “Z-Zed, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe, I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The knot in Zedaph’s chest loosens slightly.

He feels Tango’s hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Zed. Breathe deeply. In, out. In, out.”

“Don’t tell him to breathe deeply,” comes the other voice. It sounds familiar but Zedaph can’t quite identify it just yet. “Just breathe. Mimic normal rhythm and it’ll return.”

“R-Right, right. In. Out. In. Out. Can you do that for me? In. Out. In. Out.”

Even though Zedaph knows Tango well enough to see through his calm facade, just the presence of his best friend is allowing him to slowly calm down. He mimics the timing of Tango’s breaths, his heartrate slowly but surely returning to normal.

At that moment, he hears the voice of his other best friend from somewhere behind him. “-want to see him! I want to see Zed!”

Zedaph’s eyes are closed but he feels Impulse’s presence immediately. He breathes shakily but deeply out, finally able to stem the tears flowing from his eyes.

He rolls onto his back, one hand resting on his aching chest.

Someone takes his other hand and clasps it tightly. “It’s okay,” Impulse’s voice whispers. “You’re okay, Zed. You’re safe.”

Impulse’s hand in his and Tango’s reassuring hand on his shoulder helps Zedaph relax. His breathing returns to normal and he tilts his head back slightly, his stomach swimming with nausea.

He opens his mouth and manages to croak, “T-Tango.”

“We’re here.” Tango can hardly raise his voice above a raspy whisper. “We’re both here.”

Finally, Zedaph manages to open his eyes. Sure enough, he finds the pale faces of his best friends gazing worriedly down at him.

As he struggles to sit up, Impulse and Tango both immediately place a hand behind his back to help him. “Take it easy,” says Impulse softly. “You gave us a real scare, buddy.”

Gripping his best friends’ arms for support, Zedaph lets out a long breath. “I-I gave myself the fright of my life, th-that’s for sure.”

“Zed…” Tango hesitates. “What happened up there? Why didn’t you open your inventory?”

“I...um...” Zedaph also hesitates. He trusts his best friends implicitly but this is something he has never shared with anyone before. “I have acrophobia.”

Tango gives his best friend a concerned frown. “Zed, I’ve known you for years. How have you never told me you’re scared of heights?”

Zedaph shrugs helplessly. “I-I don’t know, it just never came up before. It’s not as bad when I fly with an elytra cuz I’ve had years of practise; it’s just extended periods of time where I’m high up and I just freak out completely. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And I’m sorry for scaring you guys.”

Tango quickly shakes his head. “No no, don’t apologise. I’m just so relieved you’re okay.”

Zedaph closes his eyes and rests his head on Tango’s shoulder. “Me too.”

In the ensuing pause, the same voice from before says, “How often do you have panic attacks?”

Opening his eyes again, Zedaph looks up and finds Grian standing a few blocks away, a concerned look on his face. “Hardly ever. This one just got triggered because of my acrophobia. You?”

Grian hesitates, glancing from Impulse and Tango to Zedaph. He realises that Zedaph can tell from the way he calmly and efficiently gave his advice that he’s no stranger to panic attacks “Not often. Anymore.”

“Thanks for helping us out, there,” Tango says gratefully. “I wouldn’t have had any idea what to do if it wasn’t for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been in both your places before. And let’s just say I know from experience that if there’s anything worse than having a panic attack, it’s having one in the presence of people who don’t know how to help you.”

Impulse gives a thin smile. “Well, we’ll definitely know what to do if it happens again in future. Thanks, man.”

“No worries.” Grian smiles back at him, before glancing down at Zedaph. “And Zedaph, take as much time to recover from this as you need to, without feeling guilty or like you should be over it by now. I don’t know how many attacks you’ve had in the past but take it from me: rushing your recovery will make things worse. Take some time to relax.”

Zedaph manages a nod. “I will. Thank you.”

Grian nods back. “Feel better, man. I’ll see you later.”

As Grian walks off, Zedaph attempts to rise to his feet, but his legs buckle. Thankfully, Tango and Impulse are right there to steady him and lift him up.

“Where do you want to go, Zed?” Tango asks gently. “Anywhere you want.”

After a moment, Zedaph glances up at Tango, then at Impulse. “I want to lie on the grass outside Toon Towers with you two and as much cake as I can eat.”

Tango and Impulse exchange a grin.

“We can arrange that.”

#hermitcraft #zedaph #impulsesv #tangotek #grian #cw panic attack #Vaunna writes

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etherealcheol-mp3 · 3 years

Text

Gotcha || knj

pairing: kim namjoon x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst, coffee shop/ bakery!au, e2l, neighbors!au, non-idol!au

warnings: none really, slow burn, enemies to lovers, mentions of death/ fire, mentions of panic attacks, hints towards sexual themes, pranks played against one another constantly, b a n t e r

words: 20.3K (it’s a monster, i’m so sorry)

summary: rival shops aren’t the worst things in life, but maybe their owners are. after a less than ideal first meeting, y/n swears kim namjoon off as their mortal enemy. this is tolerable, bearable even. nobody said they had to step foot in each other's shops, but what happens when the vacant apartment in their building gets filled with a noisy neighbor with constant….guests. and what happens when said neighbor is revealed to be none other than kim namjoon? prank wars and lots of meddling from best friends.

A/N: this story was originally posted on my instagram @/constellationkookie and my wattpad @/hoodftarreaga. this was also originally written for Calum Hood but I’m bts trash now and have no regrets:) -toro

I’ve never had a constant variable in my life. Moving around as a kid and changing schools happens to have that effect on a person. You learn not to expect too much from a friendship that you try to make work over texts and slowly dwindling phone calls and you begin to search for things in life that can become constants in some way or another. My form of constant was as simple as flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. The basic, core ingredients to any baked good. No matter where I moved or who I did or didn’t talk to, I had baking. All I needed was flour, sugar, eggs, and butter and I was whisked away to the safety of my kitchen where I didn’t have to deal with the chaos surrounding me in the outside world.

I didn’t need a boyfriend, best friend, or school club like everyone else. I didn’t need anything that would ground me into my surroundings since it would only make leaving that much harder. However, sometimes certain people try their hardest to latch onto you and gain your trust. They make you feel comfortable and allow you to open up and be vulnerable around them. I was twenty years old and living in Seoul with this certain person who just so happened to be my first and only best friend, Mal. She stood by my side through thick and thin and supported me to follow my dreams and do what I never thought was possible: open up my own bakery. It was hard at first and very stressful, but the end result was well worth the sleepless nights and crying fits.

Sunrise Bakery was my pride and joy and very successful. The name was Mal’s idea as she saw ‘the sun was rising on the start of my new life’. Seven months in, everything was going great, but then slowly my regulars began to not be so regular. ‘Friends’ turned into strangers and it seemed like everyone in the city forgot. I tried just about everything in the books from sales to new recipes but nothing kept them back for long. It wasn’t until I heard about a new coffee shop in town that I started to get worried. The Hideout Cafe was new in town and conveniently just down the street from my bakery.

“Are you still plotting,'' Mal called from behind me. I turned my attention to her and furrowed my brow. “I’m not plotting anything,” I stated defensively and started rolling out the previously abandoned dough on the counter.

Mal snorts and rolls her eyes playfully before taking a sip out of her coffee cup, I hadn’t noticed it before. “Sure because staring out your window to try and see what's going on in there isn’t creepy at all.” I ignore her comment and look at the sleeve on her coffee cup before realizing which logo was on it.

“You went there? And actually ordered something?” I say incredulously. Her eyes widen slightly before sighing and slumping her shoulders.

“I’m sorry but their latte is amazing! I seriously don’t know how they do it like it’s insane. I know you have some personal vendetta against them but just check it out one time and you’ll see how stupid it is. Customers aren’t going to stop coming permanently to a bakery because of a coffee shop.” I tried to ignore her and go to the back of the shop but she gently grabbed my wrist and stopped me in my tracks.

“Come on, Y/N, you’ve been working since you opened and it’s time for a break. Please? For me?” I huffed before finally looking over at her and giving in. She silently cheered as I untied my apron and turned the open sign before locking up. We headed down the street and stopped in front of the shiny, new Hideout Cafe. Walking inside felt wrong but also relieving as the shop took over my senses. The warm air inside tickled my face, cold from the winter breeze outside. The clatter of cutlery accompanying the scent of coffee beans and light chatter of patrons soothed my senses in an instant.

I followed Mal to the register and looked up at the seemingly endless menu posted on the wall. It was written in varying colors of chalk along with the seamless flow of script font that spelled out “Today’s Specials”. Mal pushed me forward and my eyes met the face of a boy around my age. He looked slightly amused and had a brow ever so lightly quirked up as he looked at my most likely flustered state. I opened my mouth but no sounds came out.

“First time?” The barista let out in his low voice. I shakily nodded my head before averting my gaze elsewhere. “Can I have a name for the order?” The barista started tapping on the screen in front of him. “Uh, Y/N. Just checking out the competition” I suddenly spoke, effectively shocking myself and him. He furrowed his brow before smiling almost smugly. I thought I saw a hint of a dimple but my attention was drawn elsewhere as he spoke again.

“Oh, you must work at that dumb little bakery down the road. What is it? Moonlight or something?” I scoffed at his words and felt anger rush through my veins. “I happen to own that very successful bakery. And it’s Sunrise.” I spoke confidently.

“It’s irrelevant. It’ll probably be shut down in three months max at the rate of our shop. But hey it’s nice of you to add to the steady demise of your own bakery by buying something from us. What would you like? Pumpkin spice latte?” He spoke with such ease it infuriated me to no end.

I turned away from the register to find Mal and leave as soon as possible. I knew coming here was a horrible idea and the sooner I left the better. I found Mal standing by the area to pick up drinks ‘talking’ to another male barista. I walked up next to her and waited for her to look at me but it seemed the only things on her mind were the warm eyes and cocky smirk adorned by plush lips on the other side of the counter. I cleared my throat and stepped closer to her and gained her attention only to lose it two seconds later as she turned back to the boy and introduced me to him.

“This is Y/N, it’s her first time here.” She spoke sweetly and I tried not to gag but the instinct was harder to resist as the barista from before walked up with a drink in hand with a smirk on his face. “Pumpkin spice latte for Y/N. Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” He winked at me before walking away and I scowled at his retreating figure. The barista with warm eyes laughed lightly before speaking, “Well it seems you made friends with our owner, Namjoon.”

Namjoon. Namjoon...blank. I don’t know much about him but I know the important things. He’s the owner of the Hideout Cafe. The self-righteous asshole who took it upon himself to spite me by not only making a basic drink that I will never admit to drinking half of, but also by misspelling my name. As soon as I noticed the lazy scrawl on the side of the cup with a lopsided smiley face next to it, I texted the photographic evidence to Mal and promptly trashed the drink.

I felt a heavy weight on my chest for the rest of the day and couldn’t seem to keep the scowl off my face as I suspiciously looked down the street. I tried to ignore the cocky smirk and the harsh words from earlier by rolling out dough and frosting cupcakes but something about the situation just didn’t sit right with me. Before I could overanalyze or create more conspiracy theories to add to my growing list (42 currently reside on this list and they all seem somewhat plausible) closing time for the bakery came and I started to clean up before walking home.

My eyes felt droopy as I leaned against the elevator wall. The steady motion was quickly luring me to sleep but I forced my head to face forward as the doors opened and my bed became that much closer. I fumbled with my keys a bit before dropping them on the floor in front of my apartment. I grumbled out a curse before successfully entering and falling into bed after changing my flour ridden clothes. I fell asleep almost instantly and waited to be awoken by the sun through my blinds.

Except that’s not what happened. I awoke at 3:04 am to a loud blaring and lights flashing in my room. I groggily sat up before realizing what was happening. The fire alarm. My eyes widened and I jumped from my bed, grabbing my phone and the first pair of shoes I saw before bolting to my front door. I turned to my left to run to the stairway when I collided with a firm blur and stumbled backward. My vision was still slightly spinning before I heard the voice start to apologize.

“Ah, shit. Sorry I didn’t see where I was going. I just moved in here and don’t know where to go.” That voice. The voice I had on repeat all afternoon after I left his shop. The voice of Namjoon. Namjoon Last-name.

I opened my eyes and saw him sleepily staring back at me before his ever-present smirk took over his face again. I groaned and threw my head back, begging the universe to tell me this was a joke but the semi hoarse laughter in front of me proved otherwise.

“Nice slippers, Moonlight” I looked down and saw my fuzzy mermaid slippers on my feet. I let out a huff as I looked at him again before seeing it. His body was completely bare except for the black boxers and single sock on his right foot. My throat dried up and my eyes widened at the sight. I shook my head as the current situation sunk back in. Fire alarm, fire, danger, get to the stairs, get to safety. I ran past him to the stairway and didn’t look back. I couldn’t get stuck up there, I can’t. Visions of thick, black smoke and watery eyes flashed in my mind and my breathing picked up speed. Don’t think, just run.

I found my way to the ground floor and was greeted by a hoard of grumpy, tired people in pajamas crowding the entrance. I tried to squeeze my way through to the exit but as soon as I reached it a hand grabbed my wrist and I yelped before trying to pull my hand free. The hand let go almost instantly and I fearfully looked up only to see Namjoon again looking at me confused. I turned my head away from him and held my wrist close to my chest.

“Woah, no need to freak out. It was a false alarm but I saw you running for the exit and wanted to stop you.” I dropped my arms and looked at him before seeing the hint of concern lacing his features. I chose to ignore it and said what I had first thought when I saw him in my hallway.

“Why are you here and why are you naked?” The monotone delivery caught him off guard as his eyebrows raised and he chuckled at me. Those damn dimples proudly being displayed. “You must not have heard me earlier. I just moved in and it’s three in the morning so I was sleeping. This is how I sleep, well except for the boxers anyways.” He smirked again and I tried my hardest to not slap it off his face. I chose to roll my eyes instead and questioned him further.

“What apartment are you?” He had a devious glint in his eyes and I knew what he was thinking. “I’m not asking for that. You were in my hall so I want to know which door to avoid.” He squinted his eyes at me but the boyish grin on his face stayed. He looked me up and down and I crossed my arms over my chest, blushing at the intensity of his gaze. “5B.” He finally stated and I groaned in defeat at his answer. Of course, he lived there. 5B had been vacant for as long as I had lived in this building and I always hoped it would stay that way. “Well what about you,” he started,”which apartment is yours?” I brushed past him and walked to the elevator. The lobby had significantly cleared out since I got there and I decided I would rather sleep than talk to Namjoon Insert-Name-Here.

The doors opened and I pressed the button for the fifth floor as Namjoon walked on and stared at me. I ignored him and his piercing gaze the entire ride up but he seemed to think this through as he motioned for me to exit first when we reached our floor. “Ladies first,” he said smugly and I grumbled to myself as I walked to my apartment. The number and letter on my door seemed to be mocking me as I stopped in front of them. I heard Namjoon trying to hold back his laughter to my right as he spoke. “Oh, Moonlight, this is gonna be fun.” He opened his door and walked in, leaving me to sulk in the hallway by myself. I banged my head against the door of 5C and felt the urge to scream. Namjoon...whatever his last name was, is going to be the death of me.

I didn’t sleep much after the fire alarms blaring that night. My thoughts were racing much too fast to grant me any type of peace. In fact, I hardly slept at all the few days after that night due to Namjoon constantly having friends over and yelling or blaring music at alarming volumes all night long. I walked groggily down the street to my bakery and fumbled for the keys in my bag. I let out a stream of curses under my breath as they fell to the ground, a seemingly new trait I had developed due to no sleep, and sighed as I leaned to pick them up. I could already tell this day would not be fun.

Customers filed through the shop door and the smell of sugar filled my senses until Mal walked in for her shift clutching two coffee cups. I narrowed my eyes at her cheery smile and the two cups in her hands. “You seriously stopped by that shop again? And you bought me a drink?” I questioned incredulously. Mal playfully rolled her eyes as she walked behind the counter without a care in the world.

“I just so happened to walk in to talk to Jimin and get my regular when a certain someone handed me another on the house.” Mal wiggled her eyebrows as she slid one of the cups towards me. I furrowed my brow, “Jimin? I’ve never heard you talk about them before. And if you’re trying to be subtle and make me guess how you managed to flirt with one guy while charming another so much that he bought you a free drink, it’s not working.” Mal chuckled lightly before shaking her head and explaining.

“You do know Jimin, you two met that day we went to check out the Hideout. He asked me out when I stopped by today and after I agreed your neighbor stopped by to ask me to give you this. Have anything to share, Y/N?” She tapped the lid of the cup and based on the tone she used and the faux innocence in her wide eyes, I knew she was trying to not scream at me for not instantly telling her Namjoon was my neighbor. Or she was trying not to laugh. Laughing seemed to be all the universe was doing to me recently.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply “Unfortunately yes. I found out last week that we live next door to each other.” I could only grumble the words that left a bitter taste in my mouth. Namjoon always seemed to have that effect on me. The fact that he even had an effect on me made it worse. I opened my eyes to see Mal smirking at me while she continuously shifted her gaze to the cup that seemingly shifted closer to my hand resting on the counter.

I picked up the cup slowly, scared it would explode or an animal would come out and attack me at any sudden movement. I saw the messy handwriting on the side that was slowly becoming familiar and felt my blood boil at what it read. My name wasn’t too complicated but once again he had seemed to misspell it so bad that it almost had to be done on purpose. Mal was struggling to hold back her giggles and I glared at her. “You can’t seriously be that mad at him, it’s funny!” She spoke defensively. I threw my head back in defeat and groaned before starting to walk towards the kitchen.

“But I can be because he’s a self righteous jerk who only cares about himself and doesn’t even try to be a decent human being and spell a name right. I swear, every single thing he does makes me want to scream.” I finally vented as Mal followed me. “I bet he wants to make you scream,” Mal states smugly, making me glare at her over my shoulder before she changed the subject, “So what are you gonna do about it?” She questioned me and I turned to face her with confusion etched across my face. “You keep complaining about the guy and you just let him keep getting to you. You need to annoy him back or at least let him know you’re not going down without a fight. And I’m only saying this since apparently hate sex is off the table.”

I thought for a minute and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Better than the latter one at least. “I don’t even know what I would do. I can hardly face him without wanting to run away and yell into my pillow.” I was whining and I knew it but in my defense it was true. If I had to look at Namjoon whatever his last name was smirking at me with those dimples one more time I was going to lose it. Mal’s eyes slightly widened and her grin started to grow as I felt fear rise in me. She had an idea and it would most likely end up with injury or prison.

“You live next door to the guy. And his shop is down the road. There’s nothing wrong with a little prank to tell him to back off.” I crossed my arms and opened my mouth to protest only to close it as her words really hit me. It really wasn’t the worst idea ever. I would have to think everything through and leave no room for mistake but he had to know it was me. I had to give him the sign to back off but I couldn’t anger him too much. Luckily though Mal was already listing ideas before I could think of any on my own.

I cut her off after hearing the words ‘peanut butter’, ‘toilet paper’ and ‘hedge clipper’ by putting my hand out and laughing. “Let’s start off tame first. I can barely think straight after getting no slee-'' I suddenly stopped speaking and smiled largely. I knew what I wanted to do but I had to make sure it was perfect.

I checked the clock on the microwave one more time as I started to get nervous. It was 4:03AM and Namjoon’s front door had closed roughly thirty minutes ago. I hadn’t heard any noise from his apartment aside from the shower and shuffling around. Suddenly I had found benefits to paper thin walls. Everything was perfect and now it was time to set my plan into motion. I loudly swung open my cabinets and turned on my bluetooth speaker as music started to fill the spaces around me. I dropped some metal pans on the floor and slammed a cookie sheet onto my counter for good measure before grabbing my ingredients. I would’ve worried about other neighbors complaining but I thankfully had an apartment on the corner of the hall. Only Namjoon would be able to hear the noise I made.

I worked loudly and sang along to the music coming from my speakers. Soon enough the electric mixer was loudly whirring and the oven was beeping to alert me of the temperature being reached. I had just aggressively closed the oven door when I heard a harsh banging at my door. I smiled and ignored it. I had riskily left the front door unlocked and just as I had assumed, Namjoon Last Name raced into my apartment after knocking and being ignored once again.

He walked to my kitchen and found my speaker, quickly turning it off. I didn’t even glance up at him once as he breathed heavily through his nose and stared at me. “Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” He spoke angrily and I tried not to laugh. “Yep” I replied coolly. “What are you do- are you baking a cake? It’s 4am. Why are you baking a cake? And what’s with the party decorations?” He spoke confusedly as he looked around at the streamers and balloons decorating my apartment. “I’m celebrating the death of my sleep schedule and sanity. Want a cookie?”

I finally looked at him and kept a straight face as his jaw hung open and his eyes narrowed. “A cookie? No I don’t want a fucking cookie. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He threw his hands up and looked at me like I was crazy. I think I probably was after almost a week of no sleep, but I kept up the act. “You sound tense. The cupcakes should be done soon, maybe they’ll help you loosen up.” Namjoon huffed and talked to me like I was a child. “I’m pissed. You can’t just fucking make all the noise in the world at 4AM and expect everyone to sleep through it and be okay with it-”

I pointed my rubber spatula at him and glared, effectively cutting him off. “Why not? It’s all you seem to do every night when you have friends over and scream at a television for four hours straight.” I stuck a finger into the frosting I was in the process of creating and put it in my mouth to suck the frosting off. “Needs more vanilla” I mumbled to myself. I still had some left on my finger and stuck out my tongue to effectively lick the rest of it off and went back to mixing. Namjoon was silent. After a minute of ignoring him I looked up, almost expecting him to be gone but there he was. His jaw was tense and his eyes slightly wide while his eyebrows almost raised to the top of his head.

He looked away as I met his eye and grunted out a “Just keep it down okay?” Before bolting out the door and leaving me confused in my kitchen. I put some plastic wrap over my frosting and put the cupcakes onto a cooling rack before retiring to my bed for a few hours of sleep. Namjoon was on my mind though. He seemed to leave pretty quickly and I wondered if I had gone too far. Did I get him too angry? Did I cross a line with what I said? I pushed away those thoughts since I was only doing and saying what he had to me. It couldn’t be that bad.

Could it?

I slept surprisingly well after Namjoon left. My alarm greeted me only a few, short hours later, however, I felt like I had slept for years. I took a quick shower and started to get ready for the day when I heard movement through the thin walls of my bedroom. Namjoon was awake. Namjoon. My eyes widened at the thought of him and his probable reaction to my little prank last night. My heart beat started to accelerate ever so slightly as I hurriedly finished getting ready.

I slowly opened my bedroom door and peeked my head out slowly. I turned to thoroughly inspect every hidden corner for anything Namjoon could have planted while I was sleeping but found nothing. Nevertheless I was still paranoid. I walked to my kitchen quickly and grabbed a granola bar before slipping on my shoes and heading to the door. I was ready to get to my shop and away from the close proximity of him.

I felt my phone vibrate rapidly in my pocket and groaned as I barely had enough energy and concentration to focus on getting my shoes on the right feet. I saw Mal’s name on the screen and answered quickly. I couldn’t even get a word in as she instantly greeted me with a warm “Where the hell are you?!” and I winced as I pulled the phone away from my poor ear.

“I’m leaving the apartment? Same time as usual.” I stated tiredly. Mal wasted no time as she once again responded too loudly for this hour. “You forgot what day it is, didn’t you?” I froze at her words and pulled my phone away to see the date on the screen. A bold ‘February 4th’ stared back at me and my eyes widened once again that morning. Shit.

Ever since we became friends, Mal and I had created a tradition. On the same day every year we would meet up and spend the day together doing whatever we needed at the time. Some years we went shopping for dates we had or prom dresses, others we stayed at home doing face masks and watching Queer Eye and some harder years we ate ice cream and vented about how much life sucked and how glad we were to have each other. The most important year though was when we moved out to Seoul together after graduating college and saving up money for plane tickets and moving expenses. This day was our day and it always had been, it was more important than some official holidays to us and it was today. February 4th.

“I love you?” I tried pathetically and Mal laughed at my response, already knowing I had forgotten. Thankfully she wasn’t angry with me as she playfully replied, “You move out of our place for three months and suddenly you forget the most important day of the year.” I laughed but couldn’t help the guilt I felt weighing me down. Mal was my best friend, my rock and I wouldn’t be doing half of the things I had accomplished without her by my side.

Seemingly reading my mind Mal spoke softly, “Don’t feel bad Y/N/N, I’ve easily forgotten at least four times in the past. I’m coming by yours in a bit and we can decide what the plan is from there.” I smiled even though she couldn’t see it and we said our goodbyes before hanging up. I walked to the front door to be ready to meet her in the lobby as she wasn’t too far from me. I went to lock my door but decided against it as we probably would just end up there for the day and walked to the elevator.

“Junk food and netflix?” Mal spoke as I opened her car door and got in. I eagerly agreed and we headed to our first stop: the closest convenience store. It easily was the most cost effective option and yet another monument of our friendship. Whenever we were bored or wanted to hang out we always ended up at the closest convenience store and always bought too many things (mainly snacks) we didn’t need. It was always worth it.

After spending too much time and money we headed back to Mal’s apartment and got ready to spend the day together. We pulled up ‘After’ on Netflix because we knew how bad it would be and wanted to laugh at ourselves and each other for reading the original Harry Styles fanfic the movie was based on. After pausing the movie a million times to laugh and talk about what chapter this would be, Mal turned to me and spoke genuinely, “How are you today?” I sighed and looked her in the eye. I smiled as big as I could and told her the truth. “Could be better. It’s always going to be hard though and my neighbor really isn’t helping things.”

February 4th wasn’t a randomly chosen date. It was a date chosen to help me be prepared for another significant date just around the corner. Mal smiled and nodded in understanding before speaking again, “What would be best for us to do the rest of today?” This is why I loved Mal. She knew the real reason why this day was created and she still never tried to do what she thought I needed to have fun or be okay with it or even ignore it. She always wanted to make sure I was doing what I needed for myself.

I smiled again, larger this time and told her gratefully, “Honestly watching ‘This Is Us’ and crying over One Direction sounds great right now.” We laughed before we pulled the movie and cuddled up together under the blankets. I was so lucky.

I got back to my apartment around 9pm that night with a smile on my face. Today was great and I knew it would help me be prepared for the next important day. I went to unlock my door but it was already unlocked. I froze as I remembered not locking it this morning in case we ended up here and felt my heart drop as I heard the TV on inside. I knew I didn’t leave it on this morning as I hardly used it in general and I braced myself as I slowly opened the door, ready to face whatever burglar or serial killer was inside. Only it was worse.

Namjoon was relaxed and sprawled out on my couch with his feet on the coffee table in front of him. He had a mug with tea in it next to his feet and I gaped at him. He turned to me as he heard the door open and smiled smugly at my expression. “Oh, hey you’re back.” He turned back to the TV and I was too shocked to move from my place in the doorway. He spoke casually like he had every right to be in there. “You know, you should probably stop leaving your door unlocked. You never know what creep or weirdo could walk in.” He took a sip of his tea and raised his brows at me.

I started to mutter out a response but he stood from the couch and cut me off from my stuttering. “I just want to apologize for keeping you up last week. It’s not cool and I learned my lesson completely. It won’t happen again.” He spoke sincerely and it was honestly scary to hear him talk without sounding sarcastic or cruel. I narrowed my eyes at him and spoke in disbelief, “Really? So...we’re cool?” Namjoon laughed genuinely with his award winning dimples in view as I arched my brow in confusion. He patted my shoulder as he replied. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

With that he walked past me and out the door, closing it behind him and calling for me to “Make sure you lock it”. I looked around my apartment for anything that seemed broken or tampered with to ignore the pounding of my heart and the heat that lingered where his hand was. After coming up empty handed I was confused. Surely he would’ve tried to get me back. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone so far like I did and just talked to him. I sighed and groaned as I felt guilt start to swallow me up again that day.

It wasn’t until I moved to get ready for bed that I saw I had no need to feel guilty at all. I was right about him. I should’ve gone further than what I did because he did get me back. He had replaced something of mine I hadn’t thought of before and it was way worse than I could’ve imagined. Sitting innocently on top of my dresser was a little note with his messy scrawl reading ‘Gotcha ;)’ and I panicked. I looked through all my shirts, pants, socks but found nothing until I looked in the last drawer. I gasped as I saw his handiwork and couldn’t believe it. He had replaced my entire underwear collection with brand new, lacy thongs.

To say I was fuming would be an understatement. Not only had he completely invaded my privacy but he had touched and stolen things that were for my eyes only. I had to use every ounce of strength in my body to not feel embarrassed that he had seen my lackluster collection since that was not the issue here. I couldn’t just ask him to give them back and at the moment putting on my dirty pair I discarded after the quick shower I had taken was also not an option. I swallowed my pride and slipped a lacy red thong with floral details up my legs and dove into bed hoping to forget my day and have sleep take over me.

Shockingly, I seemed to once again be the only one who found my situation infuriating. Mal was practically suffering the next morning as she tried to hold in her laughter at my explanation of the night before. My glare did nothing to ease her laughter that had finally bubbled out of her loudly and I brushed past her into the kitchen in my shop. I ignored her wheezing as I pulled out the bowls and ingredients for the day. Today called for a new creation and ultimate focus since all I could think of was the fact that I could feel the soft material of my sundress against just about every part of me.

Tying my apron around my waist, I got to work. I started with cupcakes as I was constantly out of stock of my new flavor “Maliblue”. It was a spring themed cupcake with lemon flavored cake and a blueberry frosting. The hoards of college students on spring break back at home posting pictures at beaches inspired the name and surprisingly it sold well for a small bakery in Korea. As I placed my first batch in the oven I got to thinking on what to do next. I wanted something new and good.

Before I could clearly think out any ideas I started grabbing ingredients and let my body work for me. Mal walked back, seemingly calmed down and ready to let me vent. “Alright I’m sorry but you can not tell me you don't see any humor in this!”

I rolled my eyes and pushed a stubborn strand of hair back behind my ear as I worked on the mystery item in front of me. “Honestly I don’t see any humor in him discovering my granny panty collection.” I murmured under my breath. My eyes widened as I spoke and I hoped she hadn’t heard me, but as her smile widened and she crossed her arms over her chest smugly I knew the damage was done. “So that’s why you’re upset. You’re embarrassed cause the guy you like saw your underwear and now he probably doesn't think you’re sexy. I mean it’s understandable.”

I fought the urge to wipe her smug grin off her face and instead spoke in a tone way too defensive “I do not like him and couldn’t give two shits if he thought I was sexy.” This only made her grin widen even further and my growing blush worsen. I groaned at the sight and went back to mixing the batter in front of me. I apparently was in a cupcake mood as that’s what I decided to make with it.

“What are you making?” Mal questioned as I moved to grab some cream cheese and raspberries from the fridge and I shrugged in response because I truly didn’t know. I had finished the chocolate cake batter and now started on a filling. I heard Mal’s phone buzz and she grabbed it at lightning speed while smiling at her screen. I raised my eyebrows in reaction to her sudden movement and she gave me an apologetic glance before hurriedly typing out a response. It was now my turn to question her and she seemed to realize this as she innocently looked at me before trying to dip her finger in the chocolate batter.

I swatted her hand away and put my hands on my hips while tilting my head at her accusingly. She sighed and started to blush before I even asked the question she knew was on my mind. “So who is he?” I suddenly spoke and Mal flushed even further before smiling and quietly muttering “Jimin” in response. I kind of expected his name even though I constantly teased her for ‘liking the enemy’. Before I could question her further though, the oven dinged and the front door swung open against the bells above it, signalling a new customer. “Literally saved by the bell.” I spoke as I went to the oven.

She darted to the front of the store leaving me confused as she never was excited to greet customers. I shook it off and pulled the cupcakes from the oven, continuing to mix the filling for my new batch as they cooled. After placing the chocolate batter in a greased tin and placing them in the oven, I walked out of the kitchen, wiping my hands on my apron, and froze. Of course it wasn’t just a customer that had come in. It was Jimin and behind him stood an amused looking Namjoon. I rolled my eyes at the sight and overheard Mal and Jimin talking about their plans for the evening. I smiled slightly hearing them so excited and watching them act like love sick puppies.

“Wow you sure know how to greet your customers huh?” Spoke a familiar voice and my smile vanished. I still hadn’t come up with my plan to get him back and I honestly didn’t have the patience to face him while wearing lace. That he had bought.

“I wouldn’t consider you a customer, more like a nuisance.” I spoke boldly and his signature wicked grin appeared. Before he could speak up again Mal put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ve just had a great idea.” She spoke loudly, gaining everyone's attention. “Oh no.” I mumbled at the glint in her eyes. “Why don’t you and Namjoon join me and Jimin tonight? I’m sure staying here all night can’t possibly be better than mini golf and ice cream.” She spoke sweetly but I knew better.

Jimin instantly agreed and I saw a similar look of dread on Namjoon’s face as I turned to face him. It quickly vanished though as he replaced it with a cocky smirk and made eye contact with me as she spoke “That is a great idea. It’s a date.” I almost choked on my spit at his words but before I could retort, he glanced at his watch and got Jimin’s attention as they had to head back to their shop. “See you at closing, Moonlight.” He winked after his words and was out the door. I saw Mal turn to me with eyebrows raised and knew she was going to question the nickname but the oven dinged once again and I sheepishly told her, “Saved by the bell?”

I had finished my new cupcakes and placed them out to be sold when shockingly they sold out. I had to remake them twice throughout the day but had yet to come up with a name for them. Before I could though, it was closing time and Jimin and Namjoon had come back to the shop, ready to go mini golfing. I cursed myself for wearing a short sundress and jean jacket as Seoul decided wind was a great idea tonight. I locked the door to the shop and we headed off. Before we got too far, however, Namjoon pulled me back to walk with him and leaned into my ear as he spoke “Hope you’re wearing one of my presents tonight under that dress, Moonlight.” I felt my jaw drop as he let go of my arm and innocently smiled before walking off to join Jimin and Mal.

This was going to be a long night.

Walking to mini golf felt like an eternity with Namjoon standing next to me, towering over my frame, and with Mal and Jimin giggling and holding hands in front of us. I didn’t realize I was staring at them until a chuckle sounded from next to me. “What?” I asked him questioningly. He smiled softly at me and I felt my heart clench at the sight. This was the first time he had looked at me with anything other than cockiness or venom in his eyes. I brushed off the feeling as shock and waited for him to reply.

“You just had a funny face is all. You looked bored, angry and like you were plotting some evil plan all at once.” He spoke jokingly and I sighed at his answer. “Why does everyone say that?” I groaned and Namjoon looked at me confused but intrigued. I answered the question I knew he was about to ask, “Everyone says I look like I’m plotting something and I never am. I don’t plot anything. Ever.” Namjoon just laughed lightly at that and looked up at the setting sun.

“If it means anything, you look cute when you plot how to escape third-wheeling. You furrow your eyebrows and squint your eyes and get all focused.” He looked sheepish as he finished his statement and scratched at his neck before he shoved his hands in his pockets. I felt heat rise to my cheeks and cleared my throat before retorting. “Don’t think you can just try to smooth talk me and make me forgive you for your little prank last night.” I sounded much more confident than I felt and I praised whatever higher power for giving me that strength.

Namjoon smirked but it wasn’t cocky like it usually was. He hung his head down and shook his head while smiling, dimples proudly on display. We were quiet for a while after that but soon we were at the mini golf place and practically pulled inside by Mal and Jimin. The interior was dark and covered in blacklights and neon paints lit up the otherwise hidden walls and courses. Jimin paid for Mal and I went to grab my wallet when Namjoon stopped me with his question of “What color ball do you want, Moonlight?”. I quirked a brow at him in slight protest before he tilted his head at me in response and sighed out a ‘green’ in indignation.

He grinned in triumph as he received our balls and the score card from the teenage cashier. He tossed me my green ball which I easily caught and rolled my eyes as he led me to the first hole. My worn, white shoes lit up under the lights as well as Namjoon’s shirt under his flannel and warm looking jacket. He boyishly smiled at the sight and his eyes widened as he did so. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him acting like a little kid and he looked like a deer in headlights as he realized he was caught.

I placed my ball down after Mal hugged a blushing Jimin for getting a hole in one and was ready to give a half assed attempt at hitting the ball before Namjoon asked in shock “What are you doing?” like I was committing a crime. I stood up straight in confusion and lazily gestured to my ball before responding plainly “Playing mini golf. It’s not like I’m trying to win or anything.” I leaned back over before he moved towards me. I stood up again and held out my hand for him to stop before speaking again.

“No. Absolutely not. You’re not about to pull some cheesy rom com bullshit on me where the guy goes behind the girl to ‘help with her technique’. Go stand by that neon pink dick on the wall and look pretty while I take five attempts at getting this ball in the hole.” I pointed my finger at the wall as I spoke and he laughed loudly at my speech before raising his hands in surrender and stepping close to the wall with said spray painted neon pink dick. He crossed his arms and challenged me with his eyes to do as I said I would.

“Thank you.” I curtsied in my sundress and he laughed in response. It took me four tries before I finished while Namjoon got it in two and we walked to the next hole before realizing Mal and Jimin were far ahead of us. I sighed at the sight of the next 17 holes and Namjoon nudged me with his elbow. “You know, the tickets for mini golf also came with unlimited arcade credits.” he pointed his head in the direction of the arcade on the other side of the courses. I smiled and started walking towards the bright lights and sounds of the games being played before speaking over my shoulder “I’ll kick your ass in skeeball.”

“You’re a cheater.” Namjoon spoke grumpily as I won another game and beat him. We played a few rounds of skeeball then moved on to air hockey where he destroyed me and I sulked until we played mario kart where I came in second to him again. I pouted until he led me to the basketball game where I beat his ass twice.

I laughed at his words as we walked to the counter for prizes. “I never cheat. You just chose to get your ass handed to you by a girl. It’s okay, Joon. Happens to the best of us.” He stopped moving and smiled and I grabbed his wrist to drag him to the counter before dropping all our tickets onto it. “Stop smiling like a doofus and get me that angry minion.” I put my hands on my hips as I spoke and he looked at the worker before saying “You heard the lady.” and pushing our tickets to them.

He kept smiling and looking at his shoes as if they were incredibly interesting before I flicked his shoulder and asked him “What are you smiling at?” He shook his head and grabbed the minion from the employee’s hand and mine in his other hand. I blushed lightly at the sudden contact and moved to keep up with him. “You called me Joon. It’s cute. I usually reserve that nickname for family and close friends so the fact I’m not throwing your ass outside and blocking off all contact with you is a shock to us all.”

I laughed at his statement and we soon ran into Mal and Jimin who looked equally smug and love sick as ever. Mal looked down to our still interlocked hands and I quickly withdrew mine from Namjoon’s grasp before speaking. “So. Ice cream anyone?”

The walk to the parlor was quiet and Namjoon looked deep in thought as his hands were shoved in his pockets and his brows were furrowed. The ice cream shop we were going to wasn’t even a real shop as it was a cart with outdoor seating under strung lights and wooden beams. The wind had only gotten worse as the night went on so the cold was brutal against my exposed skin. I pulled my surprisingly thin jean jacket tight around my frame and moved my hands quickly up and down my arms in an attempt to gain some warmth. Suddenly a hand stopped my quick movements and I was pulled into a firm body. I looked up in shock as Namjoon hugged me tightly against him and wrapped his arms around my waist.

I tried to push away from him but he was so warm I was finding it hard to resist. “Stop pushing, Moonlight. Put your arms inside my jacket, it’ll warm you up.” I eyed him suspiciously and he sighed before rolling his eyes and starting to pull away. I practically shouted in protest as I felt the sudden frigid wind hit me again. I hesitantly listened to him and leaned fully against him with my arms inside of his incredibly warm jacket.

“Who’s bullshit idea was it to get ice cream outside.” I grumbled against his chest. I felt the vibrations of him laughing at my words and felt soothed at the sensation. I closed my eyes and released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding in. His arms rubbed up and down my back and I felt tension leave my body as we started to sway side to side. “I’m still pissed at you.” I spoke again and I felt him look down at me. I met his amused eyes and put my chin on his chest as I looked up at him. “Damn, you mean my plan to woo you and make you fall for me so you’ll forget how mad you are hasn’t worked yet?”

I smiled at him and breathily laughed before speaking with new found confidence. “Barely. It might’ve worked if I wasn’t wearing red lace all day with no one to admire. It’s frustrating really. If only I were wooed.”

Nobody could have prepared me for the absolute chaos that came from joining Jimin and Mal on their date. It was only the next morning and my phone hadn’t stopped buzzing due to texts and calls from Mal. I only briefly glanced at them before I went to sleep the night before and knew she was begging for “details” of the night she imagined happened. Namjoon had walked me back to our building after we finished up our ice cream. We walked in silence with our hands brushing slightly with every sudden movement. After a few blocks I crossed my arms over my chest, too high off the feeling of his skin against mine, no matter how miniscule and told myself it was due to how cold I was.

I was utterly dumbfounded. Yes, Namjoon was undeniably attractive and we had gotten along well throughout our night together but he was still Namjoon. The guy stealing my business, my noisy neighbor who replaced all my underwear, the jerk who couldn’t even attempt to spell my name right, Namjoon. He made my blood boil and my heart race but it was beginning to get confusing as I couldn’t distinguish the anger for something else. We parted ways as he stopped in front of his door and I kept walking to mine. I thought he was about to speak but I had already opened my door and rushed in before he could utter a single syllable.

Sleep didn’t come easy, and before I knew it I had tossed and turned until 5am. I sighed and pushed myself up to get ready. I clearly wasn’t going to rest and the only form of relaxation I knew was a few blocks down the road. I shrugged on my clothes after a quick shower and grabbed my keys before heading out. I froze as I heard the door next to mine open as I was locking my own and willed myself to not look at him as I heard the footsteps suddenly stop just like mine had.

I finished locking my door and turned in the direction of the elevator without making any effort to actually walk towards it. Namjoon quickly closed and locked his door and suddenly we were in a silent battle of who would speak first. Shy glances and nervous movements could only do so much and he seemed to grow tired of it as he spoke up first. “Early morning?” He asked as he reached up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his but before I could think about what that made me feel I responded. “Couldn’t sleep.” I spoke sheepishly and played with my hands in front of me.

I took in a breath and looked up with a smile as I walked to the elevator behind him. He joined me and soon the doors were closing behind us. “Was I too loud or anything? I was kinda up all night too. Just...thinking.” He grew quiet as he finished and I assured him it had nothing to do with him. At least I think so. We once again started walking down the road to our respective shops by each other's side. Our hands brushed again and I praised the yawn that left my body as it gave me an excuse to move my hand away from his. He looked over at me and once again looked like he wanted to say something. This time, however, I let him say what was on his mind.

“Do you maybe want a coffee? I mean that’s at least why I left my place.” I looked up at him and blinked away the tears that had formed due to my yawning and saw something flash in his eyes and a small smile grow on his face. I was hesitant to spend more time alone with him but before I could deny him another yawn left me and he chuckled. “Come on, Moonlight, I think I know a good place.”

We made our way to the Hideout Cafe and he grabbed the keys from his back pocket before holding the door open for me. I smiled at him in thanks and took in the coffee shop once again. It was different at this time of day. The chairs were stacked up and pushed against the walls along with the wooden tables, the dim lights were calming as the sun had yet to rise and fill up the shop with its bright rays. Namjoon moved easily behind the counter and turned on some machines I didn’t recognize. I stood next to the door taking in all the artwork and posters lining the walls before I noticed a section at the corner of the shop. There was a wooden ledge lining the corner covered in pillows and soft looking blankets. The lights hanging above it made it look inviting and I slowly walked towards the bookcases on the wall next to the makeshift reading nook.

I looked at the familiar and unknown titles until I heard Namjoon call for me. I turned to answer him only to see him walking towards me. “I didn’t see this here the first time I came.” I spoke softly and he smiled at me before pulling a book off the ledge and placing it on the shelf where it belonged. “When I bought this place the corner seat was already here so it just felt right to add everything else.” He shrugged as he spoke but the almost longing look he wore towards the books told me there was something more to his story.

He turned to me again as he spoke “What would you like?” and his right arm stretched out to the chalkboard menu above the counter. I walked with him to stand in front of it to get a better look but couldn’t decide. I bit down on my lip in concentration as I tried to figure out something right to order. I didn’t want to get something embarrassing and ‘basic’ but I wanted something that tasted good. Namjoon stood next to me and looked at the side of my face before I decided to say what I thought was a good answer. “Surprise me.”

And surprise me, he definitely did. I moved to lean against the counter as I watched him work. We talked about random facts and our favorite things and every few minutes I would ask what he was making before he would continue to avoid my question. After a seemingly never ending wait he handed me my to go cup with steam and an addicting aroma wafting up to my nose. He already looked smug before I even took a sip and I knew it was going to be good. I took the lid off to let it cool off and smell it clearly. Fed up with my stalling, Namjoon rolled his eyes and ordered me to drink it. I huffed out a sigh and did as he said. I was right. It was good. Before I could stroke his ego with my full review of the magical drink in my hands I had to open up my own shop.

That didn’t cause the image of him smirking and calling out to me “Bye, Moonlight.” to leave my mind for the rest of the day. If anything it only made me long to see him even sooner. Mal had burst into the shop on schedule and I prepared myself for her interrogation. “Well you two were certainly cozy last night. It’s truly amazing how well you can get along with others when you aren’t trying to rip their head off.” I rolled my eyes before changing the subject. “I was only trying to get close to him and make him think I don’t have my next prank planned and ready to go.”

Mal laughed at my words before looking me in the eye and speaking confidently, “If you wanted my help coming up with a prank you could’ve just asked instead of lying.” I laughed before looking at her with pleading eyes. “My God you’re hopeless.” She sighed and I silently cheered as I knew she was going to help.

A few google searches, texts to Jimin, and a visit to a public library copy machine later we were ready. It was still only noon and I sent Mal out to put up all the flyers we had made before taking a lunch break together. I was nervous to see how this went. I wouldn’t be around him all day and I was relying on updates from Jimin to see how everything was going. All I could gather from the last text Mal had received and read out to me was that Namjoon was pissed. Mission accomplished.

Walking to my building on my own felt lonely after having someone with me the night before and this morning. I brushed that thought aside as I knew Namjoon would be home soon as I saw Jimin turning the ‘Open’ sign on the door to the Hideout Cafe to ‘Closed’ before giving me a wink.

I had made it to the elevator in the lobby before the door to the building opened behind me. I felt a shiver go down my spine in anticipation and excitement. Sure enough a tired and annoyed looking Namjoon stood next to me while glaring down at his phone. I bit back my laugh and pressed the button for our floor in silence. He leaned his head back onto the elevator wall and let out a deep breath. I started to feel guilty but he didn’t know I was to blame for the likely endless calls he had received today so I swallowed my fear and walked to my door as the elevator came to a stop at our floor.

I was putting my key into the lock when I heard a deep groan and ringtone start to play loudly. I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I heard Namjoon angrily speak into the phone “No this is not the number for Chewbaca roaring contest, please don’t call again.” before hanging up. I laughed before clamping a hand over my mouth quickly, but it was too late. Namjoon looked over at me and realization flashed across his face followed my anger and...hurt? He opened his door before slamming it behind him and I continued to laugh until I made my way inside my own apartment. That’s when the confusion hit. Why did the hurt look on his face make me feel guilty all over again?

I woke up not being able to breathe. My eyes were open wide and I continued to cough and wheeze, trying to desperately fill my burning lungs with the air they craved. I threw my duvet off my body and fell to the floor of my bedroom coughing with tears streaming down my face.

“Y/N run!”

No. This isn’t real. It’s all a dream. My head was tormenting me with memories from that night. My chest started to rise and fall frantically due to the lack of oxygen and the flashing images behind my eyelids.

“Help! Please someone help me!” I was running around the hoards of people filling my street and in front of my house. There were red and blue lights flashing and blurring my vision until all I saw was a kaleidoscope of the two colors.

I clamped my hands over my ears and let out a violent sob. I couldn’t see clearly in front of me. There was a thin fog covering the room and burning my eyes.

I fell to my knees and sobbed until I was mobbed by a herd of paramedics and police officers. I was hysterical. “Please, just help me please! They're still inside please, they were on the second floor please!” I pushed away hands full of gauze and bandages, trying to get them to just understand. “My mom and sister are still inside please! Go get them” All of my senses were overpowered by fiery embers and heat, yet I could see more clearly than ever as a firefighter walked quickly to a police officer helping to try and calm me down. I was zeroed in on the interaction and would never forget the feeling of my heart dropping and shattering when they pulled away and looked back on me with that undeniable look of pity on their faces.

I screamed and felt all of the life leave my body as I fell to the asphalt below me. There was silence. I couldn’t hear my screams of agony, feel the hands pulling me up and into an ambulance, taste the smoke that I had been choking on earlier, smell the burnt remnants of my home that had gone up in flames, or see anything aside from the flashing images of my mother and sister in my mind.

I was rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherently, and sobbing as I curled into myself at the foot of my bed. I felt my body being shaken and shot my eyes open to see the concerned face of Mal above me. Her hands were on my shoulders and she was calling out my name. I launched into her arms and continued sobbing into her shoulder. She brushed her hands through my hair and held me until I was only hiccuping every few seconds.

“I came to check up on you because I know 5 years is a big anniversary. What happened? I could smell that air freshener from the elevator.” She spoke softly as she looked into my eyes with concern. I furrowed my brows in confusion before looking around the room. “What? It’s not the 14th yet, Mal. Right?” She pulled my phone off the nightstand and showed me the screen with the date I’ve despised for the past 5 years on the screen. I felt my heart drop and tears well up all over again. I blinked them back before continuing to answer her second question.

“I don’t know what happened. I woke up and I couldn’t breathe or see clearly. What do you mean you could smell the air freshener? I didn’t spray anything.” As I calmed down more I could smell the overpowering scent of fruit and hibiscus. I scrunched up my face and gagged at the suffocating aromas. Mal furrowed her brows and grabbed an almost empty aerosol can of air freshener from beside her. “I mean I assumed you didn’t do this since I had to cut a zip tie off of it. Babe, I think you were pranked.” It made sense. The surprise and shock of it, the zip tie, all of it.

I shook my head and moved to stand up. “What are you doing?” Mal questioned. I moved to my closet and grabbed some jeans and an old t-shirt. “Getting ready for work. I was pranked, it’s not the end of the world or a reason for me to stop living life as per usual.” I couldn’t meet her eyes as I spoke. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Especially today. Mal sighed before standing as well. “I know it still hurts. Anyone in your place would feel the exact same way. But it’s been 5 years since that fire and I know the anniversaries always hit you harder as the years go by. When you choose to talk to me, I’ll be here.”

I nodded my head as I held onto my clothes for the day. 5 years. 5 years. They died exactly 5 years ago today and I still missed them like it was day one. I let out a sigh before starting to get dressed.

I spent all day in the bakery trying to avoid all my emotions I had kept bottled up. It was getting harder to ignore everything but being in my safe place usually made it bearable. However, today I was confused. Customers kept asking for refunds repeatedly throughout the day and I didn’t understand why. I baked everything fresh this morning, the same as I always have. Even my regulars were complaining and throwing perfectly fine food into the trash. It seemed like the cherry on top of everything that had happened already. Mal and I struggled to find the answer for hours. We retraced and rebaked until our heads were spinning.

I was dealing with a new customer who was demanding a refund when the answer became clear. “It’s just pure salt! Honestly how can you run a bakery and mix up your salt and sugar!” I froze. The customer continued to rant but I felt like I was underwater. I know for a fact I had used the sugar. I hadn’t mixed up like that since I was a child experimenting at home. I quickly apologised and handed the customer their money before rushing back to the kitchen. Mal had watched the encounter and followed quickly behind me. I practically threw the sugar container onto my work table before ripping off the plastic lid. I put my finger inside and tasted the white contents. Salt. I was dumbfounded. How could this have happened.

The bell above the shop sounded and I walked out to greet the customer while trying to hide the confusion on my face. I walked in view of my “customer” and felt like a brick wall had collapsed onto me. I felt the pricking of tears behind my eyes and my mouth grew dry at the sight. Namjoon was standing in front of the register looking smug as ever and I felt utterly stupid.

“What’s wrong, Moonlight? Shop’s empty, looks like you’ve been having some trouble with customer satisfaction today. Wonder why.” I untied my apron and tossed it off quickly before going to the back to grab my things. Mal looked up at my sudden appearance and I spoke before she could. “You know what, you were right. Today is a big deal. I’m closing up for the rest of the day. It’s too much.” I was trembling as I grabbed my purse and walked out to avoid her concerned gaze. Namjoon was still standing at the register as I walked to the front door. He looked confused and worried but I bit my lip hard to avoid crying in front of him.

“Hey, what’s wrong. It was just a prank I didn’t think-” I turned around to face him and pointed my finger at him. “You’re a fucking asshole you know? This is my livelihood and my everything. I could’ve maybe handled you fucking with my business any other day of the year but today it’s way too much. Whatever prank war or competition we were doing to spite each other is done. Congrats! You won. Now never touch me or my things or come into my apartment or store ever again.” The tears were freely flowing down my face but I didn’t care.

“Wait, Moonli-” Namjoon reached out for me but I turned and opened the door before he could finish. “And don’t call me that. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. What’s the point of stupid nicknames for people you don’t really know or want to talk to ever again.” I walked out before he could stop me again, not halting until I was at my apartment. I locked the door behind me and fell onto the couch with sobs and memories of laughter and people I’ll never get back lulling me to sleep.

Coping has always been difficult for me. I never really understood that I could let out my emotions and talk about them with people without being judged or told it’s not important. It only got harder for me when my mom and sister died five years ago. I never talked about it. I avoided the emotions and my guilt and pain from that day for five years and I was only hurting more as a result. I was curled up on my couch under a fuzzy blanket with tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t feel anything besides numbness. I wasn’t struggling to catch my breath or having sobs shake my body, I was numb. I was on my couch for what felt like infinity but realistically was probably a few hours. It was dark outside and no matter how exhausted I was, I knew sleep would never come.

I heard a soft knock at my door and made no move to answer it. My phone was abandoned on the coffee table and hadn’t been touched since I first came home. I knew Mal had been trying to reach me as the vibrations hadn’t stopped all day. The knocking came again, louder this time. I took as deep of a breath that I could manage before moving to sit up. I pulled my blanket tight around my body as I walked to the door. I didn’t check the peep hole because nothing mattered to me anymore. I didn’t care.

I unlocked the door and opened it to see a worried Namjoon….I still didn't know his last name. Further proof of why he shouldn’t be here and why I shouldn’t feel warm inside that he is. He looked up to meet my eyes and his expression fell into a sorrowful one laced with confusion. I turned back around and walked towards my couch, not in the mood for formalities.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly yet confident as I sat down. I huffed out a laugh and shook my head. “Why are you here?” I croaked out. He took a step closer and I felt my body tense slightly. He stopped moving before answering, “Why would I be anywhere else? I hurt you and I need you to know it wasn’t my plan for that to happen.” He started to scratch the back of his neck and I sighed.

“It’s not your fault.” My voice was shaky and my eyes filled with tears. I cleared my throat and looked up at him. He looked sad and curious and I knew I couldn’t keep it all in anymore. I scooted over on my couch and motioned my hand for him to join me. He hesitantly obeyed but never took his gaze off of me. “I need to be honest.” I spoke softly. He moved his hand above my shoulder to comfort me, before moving it back to his lap. I took in a breath before speaking about something I thought would be internalized forever.

“Five years ago I lived in a small town in Colorado. I had lived there my whole life and was happy. It was just my mom, sister, and I in a small house with a gorgeous view of the mountains. Mal lived in the neighborhood with us and we’ve basically been joint at the hip since birth.” I stopped as the night came back to me. I closed my eyes tightly and Namjoon turned towards me. I don’t know why, but I reached out and grasped his hand. He squeezed my smaller one tightly before rubbing circles into the back of my palm with his thumb.

“One night, we were having a sleepover. We were 18 but acted like children so we made a blanket fort in the living room. We watched movies all night and eventually we decided to go to my room so we could sleep. We thought we unplugged everything but we were tired and there was a stupid fucking candle. My room was on the first floor but my mom and sister’s were on the second.” I felt Namjoon squeeze my hand tighter and I let out a choked sob. He pulled me into his arms and rocked me slowly.

I cried into his chest as his hands rubbed my back soothingly. After I started to calm down a bit, I pulled back a bit to look at him. “We made it out. The neighbors had already called but there was no way they could’ve made it down the stairs without being trapped by the fire. I did it. I killed them. It’s been five years today and I’ve never talked about it. So it’s not your fault, Joon. It’s all mine because I’m too much of a coward to accept what I did five years ago.”

Namjoon gently placed his hand on my face and turned it to look into his eyes. “It never has been, and never will be your fault. It was an accident. Don’t carry that guilt because it’s not true. Okay?” I felt more tears flow and he wiped them away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, it’s just that baking is how I try to cope. I mean I still bottled up everything so I guess it didn’t work too well but-” Namjoon cut me off with his next words. I was shocked after he did. He looked into my eyes with nothing but kindness and genuity.

“Teach me how to bake.”

“What?” I started to wonder if confiding in him was the right choice since it seemed that he didn’t even know how to listen to me.

“You said it helps you cope, and it clearly makes you happy. I want you to start learning that it's okay to not get over something as big as that in one conversation. And that it’s not your fault. It’ll take time. So we’re going to bake something and talk about whatever you want to until you accept that it’s not your fault. We may bake a lot of things since this is gonna take a while, but I’ll be here until that day comes. I also really want to see you be happy right now. So teach me how to bake and I’ll teach you whatever you want in return.”

I was in awe. I didn’t know why he cared so much but I knew he was right. It was going to take some time and he clearly wanted to start now. I stood up and started walking to my kitchen. He followed behind me and stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking around the array of ingredients I pulled out. It was only flour, sugar, eggs, and butter but he already looked stressed. He let out a breath and pulled off his jacket as I reached to grab some mixing bowls and measuring cups. “So what do you want to bake?” I asked him so I could narrow down the necessary tools and ingredients.

“A cake?” He shrugged his shoulders and I smiled at his seemingly nervous behavior. “Ask me. It makes it seem more official and I like hearing you ask to be taught something you don’t know.” He smiled before rolling his shoulders back and dramatically clearing his throat. And so he asked, “Y/N, will you please teach me how to bake a cake?” and I did.

The week following our first “lesson” was only filled with constant interaction and more lessons. At first we only baked random sweets while dancing around to whatever song came on shuffle through my bluetooth speaker. We talked about our loves and passions and sometimes we touched on my mom and sister but Namjoon would never push me too far. I knew the feelings I was starting to harbor for him were more than platonic. It wasn’t just his looks or stupid jokes or smile at my even worse jokes. I was the little things.

It was his caring heart. ‘Teach me to bake in a bakery.’ “So why do you add that if it’s not in the recipe?” he questioned me with a slight tilt of his head. “Because it’s the secret ingredient, Joon. And if I find out you tell anyone what it is I’ll burn down your coffee shop. Okay?” His eyebrows raised and his eyes widened before a boyish grin spread across his face. “Jeez, what’s with you and fire?” I tensed slightly but before I could feel any negative emotion, Namjoon lightly touched my arm and turned me to meet his pleading gaze. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like-” I cut him off with a flurry of giggles and my hunched over frame. “Why are you apologizing? I am really shit when it comes to fire safety.” I winked at him and saw him relax. With him around, it was okay. He cared.

It was his patience. ‘Teach me to make a beat’ “Ughhhh. Joon, I’m never going to get this right.” The throbbing in my fingertips and crease in my brow due to my frustration were evident. “Moonlight, it takes practice. And a good teacher always helps, hence why I’m here. You’re gonna get it, just try again.” He was seated next to me at his impressive studio desk trying to correctly position my randomly placed snare drum and bass sounds on the program in front of us. If it wasn’t his equipment I would have thrown it all at the wall ages ago. I sighed and sat up straighter in his desk chair before moving around some of the beats and trying again to make something that didnt sound like a middle school band warming up, or just a total cluster fuck of noises. Namjoon hummed along to the beat of the song I was “creating” and while it was incredibly off beat and by no means perfect, it was an incredible improvement. “See! I knew you could do it.” I smiled widely, matching his own. “How are you so optimistic and patient? You literally just sat through an hour of me butchering your presets with a smile the whole time.” He laughed before grabbing the instrument from my arms. “Because it’s you.”

It was determination. ‘Teach me to appreciate Shakespeare’ “Wait so Juliet is actually dead now? How did Romeo not even check to see if she was breathing?” Namjoon spoke confused. “She was in a tomb and looked pretty dead. All he knew is that his true love was dead and they were supposed to run away together.” I closed my copy of Romeo and Juliet and continued playing with his hair in my lap. “Huh. But why kill himself? And why would she do the same? Why couldn’t she just tell him her plan so that this wouldn’t have happened?” His hand gestured wildly in front of him and I looked down at his head that he had moved to my lap during the final act of the play with a smile. “That’s the tragedy of it all. They were so close to being together and running off on their own with no judgement.” Namjoon sat up at my answer and looked me in the eye as he spoke once more, “I guess you taught me how to appreciate Romeo and Juliet so congrats. But you still didn’t answer my other questions. Why would they see that the only option was death?” I looked away before answering. “I guess we all just want somebody to die for.”

It was his knowledge. ‘Teach me the best movies’ “Well we obviously have to watch The Godfather if you want to review the best movies of all time.” Namjoon had just come back to his living room with a bowl of popcorn as I settled into his couch with a fluffy blanket. “Well I’ve never seen it so I guess it wouldn’t be a review for me.” I spoke casually as Namjoon sat next to me under the blanket. He turned to me so fast I thought he might snap his neck. “You’ve never seen my favorite movie of all time? Okay we definitely need to start there.” I laughed as he pressed play. “I never watch movies. I just feel like I have more important things in life to spend my time on.” He looks offended as he processes my words. “I’m just going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

It was all these things about him and more. I was falling for Kim Namjoon more than I thought possible. I also finally learned his surname during a slightly embarrassing lesson of ‘Teach me your last name’. Currently we were still in our lesson about movies. Namjoon was insistent I was “educated” and no matter how hard I tried to watch the movie, I couldn’t concentrate. When I looked around all I saw was Namjoon. Namjoon’s apartment,Namjoon’s couch, Namjoon’s arm around my shoulders, Namjoon’s favorite movie playing, Namjoon’s blanket covering my body, Namjoon’s incredibly soft and cozy hoodie he let me wear, Namjoon. Thankfully my lack of concentration and stream of thoughts were broken by the man himself.

About 10 minutes into the film, Namjoon asks a question I wasn’t expecting. “Wait so since you don’t watch movies, what did you have in the background during makeout sessions growing up?” He threw some popcorn in his mouth as I froze. He turned back to me at my lack of response. “Um, nothing?” I spoke timidly. “Wow, straight to the point, huh?” I shook my head and spoke the embarassing truth, “No I just, I’ve never been kissed. So there really wasn’t ever the chance to put something on.” I turned away from him, scared of him laughing in my face. Instead he just spoke “Bullshit. There’s no way nobody’s kissed you before.” I looked at his stupidly charming grin and said, “Well it’s not bullshit. And why are you so shocked?” He looked at me like I was stupid before stating “Because you’re beautiful.” He spoke the words like it was obvious.

After a moment of silence, I turned my attention back to the movie playing but I couldn’t focus. I played with my fingers until Namjoon spoke softly “I can teach you, if you want” and I stopped moving completely. “But only if you’re okay with that” he blushes and hurriedly adds. I stopped his rambling though as I nodded my head with a quiet “okay”. I watched as his eyes widened. He fumbled for words a little before he moved impossibly closer and leaned in. He hesitated though and pulled away to my confusion. “You have to ask me. It’s our rule.” He says it almost playfully but the look in his eyes contradicts his playful smirk. I knew he wanted my full consent before doing anything.

I let out a nervous laugh before uttering the words, “Teach me how to kiss.” And he does.

I dreamed of Namjoon and soft yet heated kisses that night. Waking up, I was confused to see the surroundings of his apartment lit by the soft glow of sunlight peeking through the curtains. I froze as I felt movement under my head. I was fully resting on top of Namjoon with my ear pressed to his chest and I smiled as I heard the beating of his heart. He suddenly took in a deep breath and moved around a bit and I quickly shut my eyes, hoping to stay in this moment for as long as possible. I didn’t know how he felt about last night. Was he only teaching me as a friend? Did he feel even half of what I felt for him?

His lips were soft as they pressed against mine and I hesitantly returned the kiss. His right hand came to cup my face softly as his head tilted slightly. I felt my heart pounding and the blood coursing through my body like electricity. I pulled away from him slowly, anxious for his next words. “Was that okay?” I spoke quietly and after a moment of silence I looked up to meet his eyes. He didn’t speak, instead he kissed me again with more emotions present than before. I placed my hands onto his chest before moving them to the nape of his neck. I played with the small curls there and felt him shiver in response. He was the one to pull away this time and he moved his hands to my hips before pulling me onto his lap. I was now straddling him and dazed at the sight of his flushed face and red lips. “You’re a natural, Y/N, and as much as I’m enjoying this I think I asked you what you played in the background when you made out with someone.”

My racing thoughts and fluttering heart came to an abrupt halt as I felt Namjoon lean down awkwardly to press his lips against the top of my head. I couldn’t help the wide grin that appeared as a result of his action. I opened one eye and turned to look up at him. He chuckled as he realized he had been caught. “Mornin’, Moonlight” He spoke in his gravely morning voice. I felt my cheeks start to ache slightly due to the size of my smile. “Good morning, Joon” I could only manage a whisper, too scared to shatter the blissful sight and moments of this morning.

We stared at each other for a bit until the buzzing of Namjoon’s phone caught our attention. Jimin was calling him, however, he made no move to answer it until I pinched his side gently with a glare. “Not answering your best friend’s call is rude you know.” He rolled his eyes playfully before declining the call completely. “Yeah, well calling your best friend while he’s cuddling with a gorgeous girl this early is even worse.” He smirked at me and I sat up slowly while he groaned at the loss of warmth. I moved to straddle his lap and played with his soft hair while he looked up at me with a soft smile on his face. “Hey, what are you staring at, loser?” He shook his head softly and leaned into my hands in his hair.

“You.” He spoke softly with his eyes closed in bliss and a smile on his face and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down and pressing my lips against his even if I had tried to. He smiled into the kiss before placing his hands onto my thighs and kissing me back. We moved together like a perfect symphony. A rolling wave on the ocean. Ink flowing against the page of a classic novel. I pulled away for air but stayed close to him as he moved his lips to my cheek and slowly kissed down to my neck and the sweet spot he had found the night before.

“Namjoon” I sighed out as his lips worked against my neck sensually. I moved my hands to his hair and lightly tugged against the strands. He moaned against my neck and his teeth grazed a spot that had me shuddering and letting out a small whimper. He moved his head back up to face me. “Found it.” He stated cockily and I rolled my eyes before pressing my lips against his again, effectively wiping the smug smirk from his face. I felt his tongue brush against my lips and I decided to tease him before granting entrance. He grunted and bit my bottom lip lightly in frustration. I gasped at the sensation and he took the opportunity of my lips parting to explore the new territory.

“Joon, eventually we’re gonna have to go to work and open up for the day.” I spoke to rid my head of the memories of the night before. The groan he let out in response made the butterflies in my stomach appear. “Five more minutes” He muttered and I laughed before grabbing his phone on the coffee table to see how long we had before needing to leave before I gasped and my eyes widened. “Joon, get up. We’re so late, shit.” It was 10 AM and the shop should’ve been open two hours ago. He sat up slowly while squinting his eyes adorably. I shoved his phone into his hand and rushed off of him to head to my apartment for clean clothes. I heard a soft “Shit” as I closed the door behind me.

I bolted into my room and grabbed the first items I saw, which unknowingly included a baby pink, lace thong from Namjoon’s prank. I shoved my legs through my jean shorts and found some comfortable shoes before grabbing my keys and running out the door. Namjoon was already waiting by the elevator doors, tapping his foot impatiently. I let out a breathy laugh as I ran to meet him. He smiled at my presence before looking me up and down. He squinted slightly at the top of my head and laughed as the elevator doors opened. I patted my hair before feeling the slight knots left from not brushing it. As we moved down to the lobby I reached up to fix it as much as I could with my fingers before giving up and reaching for the hair tie around my wrist.

I lifted my arms up to gather all my hair into a messy ponytail and unbeknownst to me, my flowy top lifted up and revealed the baby pink lace above the hem of my shorts. I heard Namjoon cough and clear his throat suddenly as my hands fell to my sides and the doors opened. “You okay, Joon?” I looked up to him and noticed a slight blush and flustered expression. He tightly smiled and nodded his head before grabbing my hand in his and guiding us out of our building. It was now my turn to blush at his sudden action and the feel of his hand in mine.

We walked quickly so as to not be even more late to our own businesses. We approached the Hideout Cafe first and Namjoon reached into his back pocket for the keys to the shop. He kept his hand securely in mine as he tried to find the right key. He dropped the key ring onto the concrete before grumbling out some curses. I chuckled and leaned down in front of him to pick them up. I heard him choke out a gasp before I leaned back up to face him with a smile. He quickly took the keys from my hand and before I could think, he leaned down to kiss me before resting his forehead against mine and huskily whispering “I thought you threw out those fucking panties, babygirl.” He pulled back after kissing my cheek and he unlocked the shop before entering, leaving me hot and flustered on the sidewalk outside.

The walk to my bakery after that was a blur. All I could sense was Namjoon. His whispers in my ear. His hand in mine. His shy smile full of dimples and crinkled eyes. His cologne surrounding me as I was in his arms. The taste of his kiss. The sight of his wink and smile as he walked into his shop. I barely realized I was inside the bakery until Mal called out for me.

“You okay, babe? You look pale.” I took in a deep breath before pushing her hands away from my face. “We need to talk. In the back. Now.” Her eyes widened and turned serious at my words. As I moved to the kitchen and started pacing, Mal moved to turn the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’ before bolting to the back. She stood with her hands on her hips and eyed me pacing frantically before stopping me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Y/N, all you need to tell me is his first initial and I’ll find him within the week and beat his as-” I cut her off by blurting out “Namjoon and I kissed.” Her eyes widened once again and her jaw dropped before she started smugly smiling. She squealed and pulled me into a tight hug as she rambled about venues and summer versus spring weddings and I looked down at my shoes at her words. “So how did it happen? How long have you two been a thing and why didn’t I know sooner?” I sighed and looked at the excitement covering her face. “We’re not a ‘thing’ and we probably never will be. We’ve been hanging out a lot more recently and teaching each other our favorite things and last night we kissed a lot and I was on his lap and then I woke up with him on his couch and fuck, Mal I’m so scared.”

“Woah, hey what’s wrong? Did you not want him to kiss you?” I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. I really wanted him to kiss me. I really wanted to do it again. But I was really scared to admit it. I felt tears well up in my eyes and Mal pulled me into her arms and shushed my quiet sobs. “I really like him, Mal.” I whispered. She pulled back and brushed some hair out of my face before gently holding my face in her hands. “Then what’s so wrong about kissing the guy you like? He wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t at least slightly interested in you too.”

I closed my eyes and saw his sleepy smile and bright eyes. I opened them again and voiced my fears, “Because I’m not good enough. He deserves so much more than some broken girl who’s too scared to kiss him in public or even admit to him how she feels. I’m fucked up, Mal. He doesn’t deserve someone like me.” Mal squinted her eyes as I finished.

“Are you done? Good. Number one, you might need to brush your teeth after spewing that much bullshit. Number two, you’re completely right. He doesn’t deserve someone like you. A beautiful, strong, kind, funny, talented, amazing woman who I’m lucky enough to call my best friend. So what if you’re scared about PDA, you said it yourself that you guys aren't anything official so that’s completely understandable. And number three, you never have been and never will be broken. You’ve gone through so much and no one expects you to be one hundred percent healed or back to normal after that. You are worth so much. Okay?” We were both crying as I nodded. I was lucky to have her.

“You’ve been so happy recently and I honestly feel dumb that I didn’t realize why sooner. If he makes you happy then talk to him about this. Let yourself have something good because you deserve it.” I thanked her and held her tightly. “Oh and don’t think you’re off the hook. We are definitely going to talk in full detail about last night and all those times you’ve ‘hung out’ alone together.” I laughed and rolled my eyes before wiping under my eyes.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

I was cleaning up the shop after closing for the day when the bell above the door sounded. I groaned as I realized I hadn’t locked it yet and now had to deal with late night customers. “We’re closed.” I called from the back, too tired to go up front. “Aw damn. Even for your favorite customer?” A familiar voice spoke in faux disappointment and I felt the butterflies burst to life in my stomach. I smiled and walked up to the register, suddenly full of energy.

“Bold of you to assume you’re my favorite.” I tilted my head and watched him smile as I appeared. “And to think, I was going to surprise you with a date and everything.” Namjoon shook his head and shrugged his shoulders before turning to leave. I laughed before running to grab his arm. “Well I guess I can make an exception for my favorite customer. But just for tonight.” He turned to me with a bright smile and leaned in to kiss me. I pulled away from him before he could though. He looked confused but brushed it off.

“I need an order of your best creation.” I bit my lip and thought about what I would make before remembering the cupcakes I had made a few weeks ago. I had thankfully scribbled down the recipe and knew they would be relatively easy. “Only if I have some company while I make it.” I turned to walk into the kitchen and felt his presence behind me. I grabbed all the ingredients listed in my binder of recipes and got to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Namjoon picking up the binder and inspecting the page with my messy scrawl.

“I asked for company so I had someone to talk to, not someone to snoop around and be nosy.” I smiled but never shifted my attention to him. He breathed out a laugh and moved to stand behind me. I felt his arms wrap loosely around my waist and his head rested on my shoulder. He sighed against my back and I leaned into him slightly. “Why doesn’t this one have a name? All the other pages have names at the top but this one just had question marks.”

“I just came up with this on a whim. Didn’t really have any names in mind. I guess I just forgot to come back to it.” I spoke truthfully as I stirred the ingredients together to form a smooth batter. Namjoon hummed in response and I continued working with his arms around me. When I had to place the cupcakes into the oven I nudged his arm with my elbow and he groaned. “‘M comfy.” He mumbled and I laughed as I struggled to unravel his frame from mine.

“Weren’t you the one who promised a surprise date?” I reminded him and saw his eyes instantly light back up as a blush slowly appeared on his cheeks. “Do you want that?” He questioned silently and scratched at the back of his neck. I closed the oven and turned to face him with furrowed brows. “Want what? A surprise? Cause that’s kinda why I’m baking these-” “I meant the date. Did you want it to be a date? Because if you don’t then that’s fine too.” He cut me off with nerves lacing his words.

“Yeah. I would love that. Why did you think I would say no?” I questioned with a matching blush on my face. “Well you just, you kinda rejected me up front when I tried to kiss you so.” I looked down in embarrassment before taking Mal’s advice from earlier. “I was just scared.” I paused and looked up to meet his eyes before continuing, “I really like you, Joon. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up by kissing you if you didn’t feel the same.” I played with my fingers anxiously as I waited for his response. He smiled largely before finally breaking the silence. “You don’t have to be scared, Moonlight. Cause I really like you too.”

When I finished up the cupcakes we packed them up and walked hand in hand to our date. I was giddy as we swung our hands between our bodies. When we stopped in front of the Hideout I was confused. “Is this your surprise? Making me another coffee at 10 PM?” I questioned him but he didn’t respond. He unlocked the door and held it open for me. I narrowed my eyes at his smug smile and walked into the dark shop. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the shop and looked around in confusion.

“Joon, I appreciate the effort but I-” I stopped speaking as the shop was suddenly lit up by the few strands of fairy lights in the corner by the reading area. I gasped at the sight. Instead of shelves of books and pillows, there were large, comfy blankets covering the entire section with Namjoon standing at the entrance holding a laptop. “I know it’s not much but I just thought it would be cute or that you would like it cause I remembered how much you liked it over here last time.” I walked up to meet him at the entrance with a large smile on my face. He looked nervous again and I couldn’t understand why.

“It’s perfect, Joon. Thank you.” I leaned in to punctuate my statement with a short kiss before pulling back the blanket behind him to crawl into the makeshift fort. He entered a few seconds after me and settled on my right side before opening his laptop. While the shelves of books were covered on the outside of the fort, the interior was filled with the sight of them. The soft glow of the string lights and comfort of the pillows and blankets set the perfect environment for reading and I darted my eyes across the different titles in awe.

“You there, Moonlight?” Namjoon called out and I shifted my gaze onto him easily. I raised my eyebrows and turned to face him, not realizing he had been calling for me. “I asked what movie you wanted to watch.” I felt my face flush for the millionth time that night and bit my lip as I debated on what I should answer. “Could we maybe read something instead?” I spoke hesitantly but the grin on his face as he shut his laptop eased my fears. “Whatever you want.” I smiled and grabbed the familiar title on my left.

“Have you read this before?” I asked softly. He shook his head but never lost the small grin on his lips or diverted his eyes from mine. “Well it’s a personal favorite of mine, so get ready to experience literary genius.” I moved to get more comfortable and ended up laying on Namjoon’s chest while his hands played with my hair.

“Chapter one.”

“Are you even listening to the story?” I questioned accusingly. Namjoon smiled innocently despite being caught staring at the side of my face for the third time in the past ten minutes. Meeting up after closing had become a routine for the two of us. He would meet me at the bakery and ‘help’ me bake something for the night ahead. Usually we get to the Hideout and read after eating a bit and get through at least a chapter or two before he distracts me with kisses or tickles. Tonight, however, Namjoon was dead set on staring into the side of my face laying on his chest. “Of course I’m listening, Moonlight. Why’d you stop?” He smirked and I rolled my eyes with a sigh before continuing.

“As he looked into her eyes he saw nothing but pain and sorrow. The guilt he felt consumed him but he had no choice. He turned away as he heard her choke out a heart wrenching sob-” I was cut off by Namjoon kissing me for the fifth time that night. I giggled lightly against his lips but made sure to keep my spot in our book. “Joon, it’s been four days and we’re still only on chapter 10 of 45. As much as I love your kisses, we need to actually read the book in order to finish it.” He moved his lips to my left cheek and down my jawline as I spoke.

I lightly pushed his head away and playfully glared at him while he pouted. “But it’s so sad. Honestly, I don’t know why she keeps going back to him and shit when he only hurts her. Guilty or not, he’s still fucked for cheating on her like that.” He reached for a leftover cupcake in the box next to him while I grinned. He let out a low moan as he took a bite and I felt my body ignite with heat. “Fuck, these are always so amazing. I can’t believe you don’t sell them anymore.” He spoke with his mouth partially full and I rolled my eyes at his boyish behavior.

“I’ve told you a million times, I can’t sell something without a name.” He threw his head back with a groan and I laughed at his frustration. “Well let’s come up with something then. It’s better than reading about heartbreak.” I sat up from my spot on his chest and faced him fully. “It needs a catchy name, that’s for sure. It also needs to hint at the surprise inside.” He licked the stray frosting around his mouth as he spoke animatedly. I took in the appearance of the man in front of me. He was in some basic sweatpants and a hoodie since after night two we had decided it was best to change into more comfortable clothes to read after closing.

“The surprise inside?” I laughed, “What, do you mean the filling?” He rolled his eyes and waved his hand in dismissal. “You know what I mean. You’re just not expecting it but it's a good surprise for sure.” His explanation brought a memory to mind.

Sitting innocently on top of my dresser was a little note with his messy scrawl reading ‘Gotcha ;)’

“Gotcha.” I spoke quietly with a smile, remembering the first prank he had pulled on me so long ago. “What?” He questioned innocently, taking another bite of the cupcake in his hand while his free one came to rest on my thigh. “Gotcha. That’s what I’m naming it.” He furrowed his brow in confusion and tilted his head slightly to the side. He was silent for a bit before looking at me with hope and excitement. “Why?” He asked with fake confusion, but the giddy smile forming on his face revealed his true intentions. I smiled and sighed loudly before looking away dramatically. “I guess because it reminds me of the time a loser stole all my underwear and left me a note saying that on top of my dresser.” He laughed loudly and I turned to look at the sight of his bright eyes crinkled at the sides and his prominent dimples.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He spoke softly with a look of fondness on his face. I flushed and looked down at the hand on my thigh that was rubbing soft circles. “Be my girlfriend.” I moved my head up so quickly I thought my neck would snap. “What?” I spoke in shock. “I don’t want someone else to be with you. And I really don’t want to be with anyone other than you. I know we’ve never really put an official label on anything but fuck it. So, will you?” He looked nervous but his eyes showed nothing but honesty.

“About damn time.” I spoke after releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. I grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. I was smiling widely but he didn’t mind as he moved his hand from my thigh to my waist. Our kisses turned heated as his tongue brushed across the seam of my lips urgently. I pulled back and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I think you were right about movies. They make great background noise for making out.” His breath hitched and I watched as he fumbled for his laptop. I giggled and straddled his lap as he furiously typed in his password for Netflix.

I lightly feathered kisses onto his jaw and down his neck. I felt the vibrations as he groaned at my actions. “Fuck, how have you only been kissed for the first time last week?” I let out a breathy laugh as I sat up from my slightly hunched form. “I think I got the basics down pretty quickly thanks to my teacher. But I think I’m ready to learn something else from them.” His eyes darkened and before I knew it I was being rolled onto my back as the opening sounds from Avengers: Infinity War played in the background.

“Babygirl, I’ll teach you anything you want to know.” He smirked as he started moving down my body.

I was sure the smile on my face would become permanent after how long it had been painted on. We didn’t go all the way but we definitely made some progress on my lessons. I was laying on the blanketed floor with Namjoon resting on my chest. I was wearing his hoodie and my sleep shorts from earlier while he was left in his sweatpants and a bare chest. I was looking at the soft lights around me while my hand was playing with the messy curls tickling my chin. The sounds of the Avengers battling Thanos in Wakanda paired with Namjoon’s soft snores was lulling me to sleep slowly but surely.

I knew we would both regret sleeping on the hard floor of the Hideout in the morning, but

at the moment I couldn’t find it in myself to care. I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, ready to fall asleep when a notification sounded from the laptop. I turned slightly to see what it was but suddenly felt all possibility of sleep and tiredness drain from my body. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions but I had to try and make sense of what I saw.

GM<3: i miss you:(

I tried to calm myself before overreacting. It could be a relative or someone close to him. He just told me earlier how wrong cheating was. He wouldn’t do thi- Another notification sounded and effectively cut off my racing thoughts. I felt more confident in the situation as I looked at the incoming text but it’s contents only made me feel sick.

GM<3: when are you coming over again?

GM<3: please say soon:( you left pretty quick the other night

GM<3: i love you, talk soon <3

I felt tears threatening to spill and was confused. I thought of every possible explanation but none of them were innocent or made any sense. I was hurt. I was angry. But mostly, I was numb. The thought I was dreading the most kept circling my mind. I didn’t want to believe it but it made too much sense.

You fell for the greatest prank of all. You believed he actually felt anything for you.

I felt hot tears fall down my face while one word played on a loop in my head. A heartbreaking lullaby played like a broken record.

Gotcha.

I was frozen. I didn’t move or sleep at all that night. My body ached from the hard floor and lack of movement but all I focused on was the heartache and racing thoughts that hadn’t seized through the night. The sun started to rise and I took it as my cue to leave and head to my shop. I carefully moved and tried to remove myself from Namjoon’s tight grip on my hips. I freed myself eventually and felt hot tears welling up in my eyes. I grabbed my clothes from the day before along with my other belongings and headed to the front door.

I placed my hand on the door handle and hesitated. Talk to him. “Let yourself have something good”. I turned to look at his frame under the dim glow of the rising sun and felt the lump in my throat grow. I forced myself to look away and walk out the door before I could change my mind. I made it to the front door of my shop before breaking down and crying. I told you so.

I wiped my tears and stood up straight before unlocking the door and walking in, determined to bottle it up and not talk about it. The faster I avoided Kim Namjoon and everything involving him, the better. I silently worked throughout the day with a tight smile and locked my phone up in the storage area so I wouldn’t see any missed calls or texts. Mal could sense something was up but didn’t push me.

As the clock moved closer to closing time I panicked. He was surely going to come by to walk us back to his shop. “Hey, Mal? I just remembered I have to head back to my place early tonight. Do you mind closing up for me?” I spoke with a shaky voice and Mal’s questioning glance almost broke my act. “Of course. Just take care of yourself.” She spoke sincerely and I let out a breath of relief at her words. I threw off my apron and grabbed my belongings again before heading home. Namjoon would probably try to get me to read the book with him but I couldn’t face him. I walked quickly past the Hideout and his apartment before collapsing into my bed. I made sure to lock my front door and bedroom door for extra precaution.

I screamed into my pillow as I sobbed.

This routine went on for the next three days. I started leaving my phone at my apartment after it died. I didn’t have the energy to look at it or charge it to see the messages I had waiting for me. I opened my door at 5 AM to start my new routine of avoiding Namjoon. I was fearful that he might try to come into my shop during the day but so far he hadn’t. That fear came back like a crashing wave, however, as I heard a body fall onto the floor of my apartment when I opened the front door to leave.

A tired looking Namjoon stood quickly and sighed in relief as he saw me. He reached out to hold my face as he spoke, “Fuck, Moonlight, I’m so glad you’re okay. You haven’t responded to my texts or been at the shop when I stopped by and I was so fucking worried.” He leaned in to kiss me and I pushed his hands off me. He looked confused at my actions but I looked away as anger and hurt filled me.

“Maybe that was for a reason.” I mumbled out as I crossed my shaking hands around my frame. “What? Moon, what’s wrong?” He reached for my hand again and I turned around to walk into my apartment. I heard the door close softly and his quiet footsteps following me. “Baby, you need to let me know-” I spun around at the pet name and pointed shakily at him. “No. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to hear about my life or what’s bothering me because it’s you. You’re the problem for me. You need to just stop. Stop kissing me and holding my hand and looking at me like I’m the only girl in your eyes and just making me feel like I’m actually worth something to you. Stop.” I was angry. The tears flowed freely down my face and my hand fell to my side as I finished my words.

Namjoon looked down and shook his head before looking back at me. “Moon, I don’t know what I did but all of that is never going to stop. I never want to stop kissing you or holding your hand or showing you how I really feel about you. You are the only girl in my eyes-” I cut him off with a scoff “Bullshit! How can you just lie like that. I saw the texts that night Namjoon. You fell asleep and when you did you got some texts from another girl. Congratulations, you win. Once again you’ve utterly broken me.”

“What texts? There is no other girl, I promise you. Please, I never meant to hurt you, especially like this.” He was starting to tear up and his voice broke as he finished but I stood my ground. “And I would’ve believed you if I hadn’t seen the texts for myself. I hope you and ‘GM’ are happy together because it seems like you two made it longer than a few hours since you’re already in love.” He scrunched his face up at my words. “Wait. Hold on. GM?” He breathed out a laugh as he spoke. His words cut me like a knife.

“So you used me and cheated on me and can’t even try to act serious about it? Fuck you, Namjoon.” I moved to walk past him and into my bedroom but he grabbed my arm before I could. “Wait, Moon, no. My sister’s name is Geong Min. That’s who you saw text me that night. I’m telling you the truth, you’re the only girl for me.” He turned my body to face him as he spoke with a small smile.

I furrowed my eyebrows at his confession. “You have a sister? Wait, why did she ask you to come over and say that you left quick the last time?” He smiled largely as he spoke. “I went to her place the night I set up the Hideout for us because I had to borrow her blankets and lights. And I also needed her advice on if the date was even a good idea.” I sighed and hugged him close to me. “I’m a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry, Joon.”

He held me against him tightly and moved us side to side. “You’ve always been more than enough for me. You are worth so much to me and to everyone you come into contact with. I know it’s scary to have these feelings, because, Moon, I’m fucking terrified too. But I promise you that you’re all I want. I never want to hurt you and I never want to see us like that again. You’re more than worth it, Moon.” He pulled us slightly apart as he looked into my eyes for his final words and I felt tears welling up again as I smiled.

“You deserve better than someone who can’t love you back the way you need to be. I’ve never felt like this and I know it’s too soon to say I’m in love with you but I know for a fact that I’m falling.” I spoke softly. He smiled and leaned down to press his forehead against mine while I closed my eyes. “Ask me, Moonlight.” He whispered. “Ask me to teach you how to be loved.” He pressed his lips to my forehead then moved down to press a kiss to each cheek and the tip of my nose before pulling back to look in my eyes and wait for my answer.

He returned the smile that grew on my face and laughed as he leaned down to kiss me properly after I spoke softly,“Teach me how to be loved, Joon.”

And he did.

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simplyswooningk · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction Teaser: The Strategist| Coming April 2021 to FF.net and A03 | Chapter One, “The Professor & The Madman”

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ron and Hermione

Premise: Begins Post Half-Blood Prince. “Wars are not for children,” Arthur said with a deep sigh.

“It’s a good thing I’m not a kid anymore, isn’t it, Dad?”

The Strategist

“War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”-J.R.R Tolkien

“The Minstrel-Boy to the War has gone! In the ranks of death, you will find him. His father’s sword he hath girded on and his wild harp slung behind him. ‘Land of song,’ said the warrior-bard, ‘Though all the world betrays thee. One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard. One faithful harp shall praise thee.’”-Thomas Moore

One:

The Professor & The Madman

Ronald Weasley had never seen Hogwarts so silent. The place seemed frozen, stuck, dead. He shuddered at his train of thought. It had been barely an hour since Albus Dumbledore, largely regarded as the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had ever known, had been laid to rest.

His murderer, Professor Snape, was gone, had left like the ruddy coward he was along with the rest of the Death Eaters. Snape had never been anywhere near Ron’s favorite teacher, but he never could have imagined anything like this. To make matters worse, Dumbledore had trusted Snape. That mistake had cost him everything.

Ron found himself sitting on the Quidditch Pitch. It was empty, no one had a thought for Quidditch. The days of worrying about his Keeper abilities and how to pass his N.E.W.T.S seemed as far away as his life before Hogwarts.

His parents were catching up with old friends, but they had announced that they would be leaving in two hours, his mother was especially was eager for him and Ginny to be at home. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wouldn’t be staying long.

Dumbledore had given Harry Potter a mission. You Know Who had a secret, several of them it seemed, and they had to find them all and destroy them. Horcruxes.

He, Harry and Hermione Granger were setting off a mission to find and destroy each of those Horcruxes. Seven of them. Two had already been dispensed. And one would only be gone when He Who Must Not Be Named popped his clogs for good.

Apparently, they could be anything. One they knew about. It was the locket of Slytherin. But who knew where they would find that?

And then there was this mysterious R.A.B character who had somehow stolen the locket. No one had the foggiest idea who he was. So, they were heading headlong into disaster without a clue as to what to do.

He honestly shouldn’t have been surprised. After his first year at Hogwarts, having to deal with a giant, living chess set and then a murderous diary, a violent tree and a killer snake in his second had pretty much taught him to be prepared for anything.

There was a part of him that wanted to just go home. A part of him that wanted spend a quiet summer at home, go to Hogwarts for his seventh year and start life in the real world.

But he knew he was kidding himself. With Dumbledore gone and You-Know-Who gaining ground every second, if they didn’t end it, there wouldn’t be a real world. So, he would fight. There was nothing to do but fight. He knew Hermione felt the same way, but if he could’ve kept her away from it all, he would. More than anything, he wanted to keep her safe.

Harry had disappeared somewhere off with Ginny, and although he had had his reservations about their relationship, there were far worse guys for his only sister to date. Although she couldn’t have picked a more troublesome bloke.

Then again, Ginny had always liked trouble. She'd be coming back to school next year. Ron couldn’t imagine what Hogwarts would be like without Dumbledore.

He looked up to the window where the old Headmaster’s office had been. It was hard to imagine anyone else ever being there.

Hs eyes fell to the window where Potions class was. Snape had taught there, pretending that he wasn’t a Death Eater, pretending that he could be trusted. The whole thing made him want to vomit and then punch something.

And then he thought of Slughorn. He apparently had written a fucking book for Voldemort: How To Make A Horcrux: A Guide for Fucking Demented Psychopaths. His mother had often told him that not all Slytherins were evil, but the whole lot of them seemed to be nothing but trouble.

But then again, if he’d wrote the book, he might have the answers.

He made his way back into the castle, grabbed the Marauder's Map from Harry’s trunk and searched for Slughorn’s name. He was in a part of the castle Ron had never ventured. But there was no time for trepidation now.

He made his way to the Teacher’s Wing. He found himself outside Slughorn’s quarters. He knocked, but there was no answer. Normally, he would’ve turned away, but it was no time to waste on civilities.

He walked in. “Professor? Professor Slughorn?”

He heard some shuffling about and he instantly reached for his wand. These days, no one could be too careful.

“Oh, Mr. Wemby!” Ron fought the urge not to roll his eyes. This man literally had taught generations of his entire fucking family and he couldn’t remember his last name. It wasn’t as if they all bore a strong family resemblance and had the same hair color.

Oh, wait a second, it was.

What made it worse was that he’d nearly died because of Slughorn and a box of Love Potion-tainted chocolate cauldrons.

“How are you, my boy? Avoiding more poisonings, I hope?”

“Doing my best, sir,” Ron said with a smile. “If I might have a word?”

“Certainly, my boy,” said the aged professor and Ron noted that he took a rather pointed look at his hourglass. “Although I am in quite of a hurry.”

“You’re leaving Hogwarts?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t dare. Now, with everything that’s happened. You-Know-Who will come for this place, I guarantee you. Someone will have to help watch over the students. No, I was just heading down to the greenhouses. With Death Eaters knocking on every corner, there’s a couple of plants that I should like to have on hand.”

Ron nodded and squared his shoulders. “Well, I won’t take up too much of your time, sir. Sir, I’m aware of what you gave Harry about...You-Know-Who.”

Ron watched the professor’s face go white. “Sir, believe, I’m not here to give you a hard time about it,” he said quickly. “I just want your help with something.”

Professor Slughorn’s back straightened. "I've already given Harry everything.” His voice was stiff and dismissive, but Ron didn’t have time to get upset.

“I know. But I was just wondering, is there anything else you know that might be helpful. You see, Harry’s going to try and destroy all of the Horcruxes. That’s right, he did make Horcruxes, sir. Six of them, apparently. I'm going with Harry. Me and Ms. Granger. Is there anything you know that may be able to help us? Anything about Horcruxes, anything about You-Know-Who. Dumbledore said you were his favorite teacher.”

The professor scoffed. “Ah yes, my claim to fame. The favorite teacher of the Darkest Wizard our world has ever known. What a nice epithet that will be, I’m sure. Of course, Harry would go for the Horcruxes. He’s Dumbledore’s man through and through.” Slughorn turned thoughtful for a moment. “That may not always be a good thing, mind you. Sit down, Weatherby.”

Ron did as he was told.

“I really shouldn’t tell you much,” the professor began. “It would be quite... well, I suppose none of that will even matter.” He sighed and Ron thought he was looking at a man who was clearly at war with himself.

“I’ve often thought about that night, the night I told him about some of the darkest magic known to Wizarding kind. I believed his curiosity natural, admirable. How wrong I was. The first thing you ought to know is that none of the items will be insignificant. They'll be things that were important to him. But they’ll also be things considered magically significant. He likes power, he like things connected with the past. Dumbledore—,” his voice caught briefly as he mentioned the old Headmaster, “may have told you as much. And his favorite place is this school. It is the only place he ever felt at home.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Do you think one of the objects is here, sir?”

“Well, there could be no better hiding place, could there?”

“Sir, do you know how to destroy one?”

Slughorn sighed. “I have never learned the spell to create one. But a good wizard is curious about such things. But only curious. What I can tell you is that making horcruxes is not an easy business, my boy. Destroying them is far, far worse. There's only a couple of things in the world that can do so and most of them will kill a wizard just as easily. Basilisk venom, for one. I don’t think I need to tell how hard that is to come by. And no, I haven’t got any. If I did, I'd give it to you. There’s also Fiendfyre. It’ll destroy the Horcrux but if you’re not careful, it’ll take you right out with it. And then there is a Potion.”

“A Potion?”

Slughorn nodded. “Horcruxes, my boy, can be anything. Including flesh and blood. Now normally, you’d just kill the living thing and the Horcrux inside it right along with it. But, if for some reason, you want to remove the Horcrux without killing the host, there is a potion for that.”

Slughorn got up from his chair and walked back to a cupboard, shuffling about for a moment before picking out a small vial with a reddish-black liquid. He brought it back to the table and handed it to Ron.

“This is Actuscaria. It's one of the rarest potions in the world. It's incredibly tricky to make and it has about a thousand different uses, one of them is destroying Horcruxes inside of living things.”

Ron looked at the potion, fascinated, more fascinated than he’d ever been by a potion before. “How does it do that, sir?”

“Actuscaria can only be made by love.”

Ron looked at the professor, blue eyes clouded with confusion.

“As in the act of love.” Ron still looked perplexed. “As in making it, Mr. Weasley.”

Understanding dawned in Ron’s eyes, he turned bright red and eyed the bottle curiously. He was so fascinated that he didn’t realize that Slughorn finally got his blasted name right.

“But not just any act of love Mr. Weasley, the first act of love. To put it into frankly, the potion is made from the blood of a virgin witch.” Ron turned even redder, but if Slughorn noticed, he didn’t let on.

“The blood that is shed during the act of deflowering.” Ron blushed again, this time the color of a ripe tomato. “Also, the blood has to be combined with the seed of the wizard who has deflowered her. Given that she has been deflowered, this combination happens rather naturally. Also, you need the entire fingernail of each of their left hands. Combine that with three drops of phoenix tears, brewed in a cauldron made from dragon’s eggs and the fire lit only with elm wood for eight days and seven nights. But the most important part of this is that the witch and wizard must be in love. Not some childish, silly infatuation, but truthfully, truly in love or it will not work. Horcruxes are formed by murder, a violation against nature. But the act of love, true love at its purest is the very affirmation of nature. It’s Old Magic, you see, nothing more powerful. Guard it, Mr. Weasley, with your life. Even if you never have cause to use it, it’s worth five times its weight in gold.”

Ron reached out a slightly trembling hand to grasp the potion. It seemed so unremarkable, so ordinary. It didn’t look revolting like Polyjuice or deadly like Night of the Living Death.

“Thank you, Professor...for everything,” Ron said, standing up. “I’ll need to finish packing.”

Professor Slughorn nodded and Ron began to walk away. Right before, he reached the door, he turned around.

“Professor, is there anything, anything else at all that you can tell me?”

The aged potions master looked up from his desk. “Yes. Godspeed, my boy. Godspeed.”

Ron nodded. That wasn’t terribly helpful but he knew he meant well. Which considering the circumstances, was probably the most anyone could do.

“Mr. Weasley,” the professor called out before Ron had reached the back of the classroom. “Before you go, if you have a moment, feel free to take whatever you’d like from the Potions Storeroom. If you’re going to try and stop...him, you never know what you may need.”

Ron nodded and with one final farewell, he left the Good Professor to ponder that one fateful conversation. Ron had learned this year how much damage one action could cause.

As he headed back to Gryffindor Tower, he thought of everything the Professor had told him. Was it possible He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had hidden a Horcrux at Hogwarts? He didn’t pretend to know how the psycho thought, he left that up to Harry.

But if you were going to hide something you never wanted anyone to find, where else would you hide it?

He arrived in the Gryffindor common room, which was all but deserted. Hermione was sitting on the couch her legs propped up on her trunk, clearly deep in thought.

He was supposed to meet his parents and Ginny in the Great Hall in a hour and a half. Hermione would be coming with them and then taking the Floo Network back to her house.

She looked sad, she looked worried. She looked beautiful. All he wanted to do was hold her.

It hadn’t been the best year for their friendship. Theirs had always been a friendship of push and pull. But the past year, there wasn’t any pushing, only pulling away.

He honestly didn’t know where it had all gone wrong. Okay, so he did.

Jealousy, immaturity, insecurity, Ginny’s goading, Lavender’s sudden attention, Quidditch fears and Quidditch glory; it had been a toxic cocktail.

They were back on good terms finally. Near death experiences tended to make people forget pettiness. It was nice to know that they could never really be angry with each other. He never doubted her being there when it counted. He hoped she thought the same.

But that was part of the problem...he didn’t know what she thought...of him. He could read her moods like the back of his hand, could tell when she was angry, moody, stressed. He knew how to piss her off like nobody else. But he hadn’t quite worked out how to make her happy.

He had just begun to realize that was what he wanted to do, possibly, probably, definitely more than he wanted anything else.

Denial had long been his picked poison when it came to his feelings for Hermione, but now, now he didn’t want to hide them anymore. But there were a million reasons he had to.

There were a lot of things unsaid. It didn’t make sense to say them now, not when the whole world was at stake. If they lived, there would be time to say it all. But of course, that was a very big if.

“Hey,” she said with the smallest of smiles. He returned her smile and came to sit beside her.

“Where’s Ginny?” he asked. “Mum and Dad are going to be in Hogsmeade in an hour.”

“She’s down at Hagrid’s...with Harry. I think she wants to spend as much time with as she can.”

Ron nodded and then shook his, not needing that particular image in his head. Harry had been his best friend for the better part of six years, but still there were just some things one didn’t want to imagine about their little sister.

“How are you?” he asked. “I mean, really?”

Hermione shrugged. “Fair,” she responded. “It’s a lot to do. A lot to plan. I’ll be coming to the Burrow next week.”

“So soon?” he asked. Not that he minded. But Hermione usually didn’t come to the Burrow until the last week of summer.

“Yes,” she said rather quickly and he got the distinct feeling that there was something she wasn’t saying. “Is that all right?” she asked, brown eyes searching his.

He turned red. “Of course. Of course, it’s all right. I just thought that maybe with everything that’s going on, you’d want to spend more time at home...with your folks.”

Hermione shrugged. “With everything that’s going on, I'd love to never leave home. But that’s not really an option, is it? No use in prolonging the inevitable.”

“Have you thought of what you’re going to tell them?”

Hermione didn’t answer for a long moment and then just shook her head. “I don’t know how to have that conversation. But in any event, have you thought of what you’re going to tell Mrs. Weasley? That's the real dangerous one, isn’t it?”

Ron, despite his worry and trepidation, laughed. “You’re right about that one,” he said with a grin. She grinned back and for a moment, everything was okay.

“We’ll be okay, Hermione,” he told her with confidence he couldn’t quite justify.

She scoffed slightly. “You sound certain.”

“Well, you’re coming, aren’t you?”

She smiled, the first one he could remember seeing that reached her eyes in a long while. Then he remembered his conversation with Slughorn.

“I went to speak to Slughorn,” he said. “To see if he knew anything that could help us.”

Hermione frowned at that. “Ron, we’re not supposed to tell anyone! You could put him in danger.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, for Merlin’s sake, Harry already told him something. And in case you didn’t notice, all of us are already in fucking danger.”

Hermione bit her lower lip and exhaled loudly, the way she always did when he was correct and she didn’t want to admit it. “Well, what did he say?” she asked finally a long pause.

Ron proceeded to say tell her the gist of his conversation with Slughorn. Although, he left out the part of the instructions for Actuscaria. There were some things he just didn’t feel comfortable talking about. Not with her.

Besides, Hermione being Hermione, she would, at some point, look up the recipe anyway.

“Basilisk venom,” she said once Ron had finished his story. “Where on earth are we going to find Basilisk venom?”

Ron thought for a moment. “I know where. Come on,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. They had no time to waste.

He dismissed the way his heart was beating as nerves and anticipation and not having anything to do with the way her hand felt in his. No, that had nothing to do with it at all.

They stood there for the briefest of seconds, hand-in-hand, eyes searching into another and for a second, the never-ending fast-fowarding tape that had been their experience at Hogwarts seemed to pause.

But that moment, like all moments akin to it, ended too quickly.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Ron said blinking rapidly, breaking the intensity of their eye contact.

“You mind telling me where we’re going?” Hermione asked as they raced down the steps of Gryffindor Tower.

“Girls’ lavatory on the second floor.”

“What?” Hermione asked as she ran beside him, their hands still tightly clasped.

“Chamber of Secrets,” he said in a hushed whisper though the halls were nearly deserted.

They got there in record time. Ron had never known it to be so easy to sneak around Hogwarts. Without Dumbledore’s presence, nothing felt safe.

He didn’t like that feeling. Hogwarts’ had been his family’s home from home for centuries. Despite everything he had been through in his six years there, he had never felt truly, truly at risk.

Of course, the Ministry would do everything they could to keep everyone safe. But if he was going to judge by the stories Bill had told him about the early days of the First War, he wasn’t exactly filled with confidence.

But now wasn’t the time for his fears to get the better of him.

He gripped her hand tighter as they entered into the bathroom and found themselves facing the row of sinks.

He felt for the Snake-shaped clasp hidden since Tom Riddle had walked these halls. It felt weird doing this without Harry, he had to admit. But he had a feeling had things were going to get dicey, Harry would need all the help he could get.

“How do we get in?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Parseltongue,” Ron said as he thought back to the last time he’d been there. Parseltongue always sounded creepy and disturbing to him, but Harry mumbled it a lot in his sleep. Ron had only picked up on it subconsciously, but he hoped he had enough not to botch it.

The whispery, slithery words felt unnatural and harsh on his tongue, but it worked. The tap began to move and Hermione gasped in awe.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered as the tunnel to the Chamber of Secrets opened.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to jump,” Ron told her. “You may want to hold on.”

Hermione peered down the tunnel, eyes wide. “Hold on to what?” her voice was highly confused.

“To me,” he said motioning to his shoulders.

“Oh,” a blush crept across her face and Ron pretended he didn’t notice as he fought his own burning cheeks. Her arms wrapped around the top of his chest and he prayed that she couldn’t feel his heart beating, though he knew it was pounding.

Her little hands clasped around him, delicate and dainty but he knew what damage those hands could do. The contrast simultaneously amused and aroused him. But he shook himself of those thoughts. Focus, focus, she’s only a girl.

But of course, even as they jumped down the tunnel, he knew he was kidding himself. She was The Girl. The Girl He Wanted, The Girl He Needed, The Girl He Loved. Love?

It seemed so foreign, yet as they whooshed down the tunnel, he could think of no reason to dispel it. He loved her. When the fuck had that happened?

It was unsettling to be with the notion of love as they were sliding down a dark, creepy dangerous tunnel in preparation of an even more dangerous mission where the best-case scenario was if they won, they most likely be dead as a result.

They slid down the tunnel and Hermione rapped his shoulders tighter as their speed increased.

Ron cast a silent Cushioning Charm because the memory of barreling into hundred thousand mouse skeletons was far from his favorite thing.

They landed with a thud and Hermione’s hands instantly left Ron’s shoulders. He was surprised by how instantly he felt the loss of her touch and how much he longed for it again.

“Oh, my God,” Hermione said as she looked around. There was rubble, dust and ash everywhere.

“We’ll have to bombard our way through,” Ron told her pulling out his wand. “Three tons of rock dropped last time, so let’s be careful.”

Hermione nodded and pulled out her own wand. “I’m right behind you,” agreed with a grin.

He took her hand in his. “If we need to make a quick exit, Side-Long Apparation?”

She nodded and they pressed forward until they reached the Chamber Door.

Another round of Parseltongue from Ron later, the door opened and they found themselves in a room which they had only heard about secondhand from Harry and Ginny.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Hermione asked as they entered the Chamber.

Ron pulled a look. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Yes, I've spent my free learning the secret language of psychos.”

“Not all Slytherins are evil, Ronald.”

“Name one you like.”

He had her there. She gave no answer and merely shrugged.

They both paused when their eyes fell upon the basilisk skeleton.

“Bloody hell,” whistled Hermione as she took the whole thing in.

“Hey don’t sweat it. It's dead. We’ve got living monsters to worry about. What's that Shakespeare quote you always say, ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here’?”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. “I said that once three years ago. You remember that?”

Ron colored slightly and shrugged in reply. “I guess. Let’s get the fangs.”

He started to kneel down, reaching to grab a fang.

“Ron, wait! We should remove those with magic. What if you accidentally scratched yourself?”

Ron had jumped back at her words. “Oh, right. Brilliant, you are.”

She smiled at that and pulled out her wand. They carefully magically removed twelve basilisk fangs from the remains of the vicious snake. Hermione conjured up a backpack for them to place them in.

“You know, Ron,” Hermione said as she zipped up the backpack. “This is going to be really dangerous what we’re doing.”

He nodded, as she rose to stand right in front of him. “Have you thought about it, if we don’t make it?”

She nodded and then shrugged, though he thought he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I have. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? What matter is—,”

“Harry,” he finished for her. “Harry has to make it through. That's what the prophecy said.”

Hermione sniffled. “Harry,” she agreed. “God, if I had known that we may not be coming back next here, that we may not be coming back at all, I would’ve done so much so differently.”

He looked at her for a long moment, wondering if she was talking about what he thought.

He looked down at his shoes. “Me too,” he began rather meekly. He lifted his face to meet hers again and smiled. “I think about all that time I spent worrying about Quidditch. Like that matters now.”

“Ron, I’m sorry about the birds, if I never apologized for that before.”

He grinned. He hadn’t been expecting her to say that. “Thanks,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry about...everything.” Although, he couldn’t remember what he apologizing for. But he figured it was best to cover the bases.

She chuckled lightly. “You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”

He shook his head, amused by her ability to see right through him. “Not really, no. But I figured it couldn’t hurt. I'm sorry about Lavender.”

She shook her head. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault she fancied you. I just overreacted...a bit.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A bit?”

“All right, a lot. I just I can’t believe you fancied her.”

“Well, I didn’t...I mean not really.”

“Ronald, that’s horrible.”

“I know,” he said somewhat guiltily. “It’s just she fancied me, and I guess I fancied that and before I knew it, it had gotten out of hand. Then you weren’t speaking to me—,”

Hermione scoffed. “Oh, so you were trying to stick it to me by snogging her? Real mature, that is.”

Ron found his ire rising. “Oh, and just what the fucking hell were you doing with McClaggen, then? Research into the mind of right arrogant pricks?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t!”

“Well, I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t....” he trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

But Hermione was having none of that. “If I hadn’t what, Ronald?” she folded her arms and waited and he knew she would wait. Because the only person more stubborn that him was her.

He knew he wasn’t about to admit to rational behavior, which is why he did not want to admit it.

“Ginnyutoldmeukissedkrum,” he said quickly and primarily to the floor.

“What?”

He sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation. But maybe, just maybe, now wasn’t the time to leave things unsaid.

“Ginny told me you kissed Krum.”

Hermione blinked very fast for a few moments, the way she always did when she was thinking. She looked confused, then she looked agitated, then she looked annoyed. Very annoyed. At him.

“You mean two years ago?” she asked her voice dripping with derision.

His eyes looked at the floor again. “Well...yeah.”

“Let me get this straight: you started snogging Lavender because Ginny told you about me and Viktor?”

“Well, I started snogging Lavender because she started snogging me, but I can’t say that didn’t have something to do with it.”

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. She raked a hand through her hair. “This is all so silly. You could’ve talked to me about that, you know?”

“I can’t talk to you about him,” he said honestly. “It makes me crazy.”

“Why?!” she exploded. “Why does it drive you so mad?”

“Because,” he snapped, just as heated. “Because,” he said somewhat more calmly once he saw the look in her eyes. “I just...it’s the thought of him with you...instead...instead of me.”

He hoped he didn’t look as crestfallen or as foolish as he thought he sounded. But he was sure he saw pity in her expression.

“Oh, Ron,” she said softly. She shook her head again and he knew she was thinking that he was an idiot. “You didn’t even know I was a girl back then.”

He colored. “I did. I knew you were a girl. I just didn’t know back then that you meant something to me...as a girl, you know, not just a friend.”

She blinked and her face lifted in kind of a smile. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”

“You do?” he said, surprised.

She nodded. “I go red with rage when I think about you and Lav-Lav.”

“I noticed,” he said wryly thinking of birds pecking his flesh.

“You know, all this could’ve been avoided if we had only spoken to one another,” she said with a resigned sigh.

He nodded. “You’re right. You're always right.”

“Not always.” She looked

“You know if I had known if we weren’t coming back here next year, if we might not be coming back at all...I would’ve asked you to the Yule Ball. I would've gone to Slughorn’s Christmas Do. But in my defense, I didn’t know you were asking me out.”

She raised her eyebrows, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond.

“I mean maybe I thought or maybe I hoped but it doesn’t matter. The point is if I had known how high the stakes were going to get, I would’ve done a lot of things.” He took a breath, not wanting the moment to pass. “Most of all, I would’ve done this.”

He leaned forward, way, way, way forward, since compared to him, she was practically house-elf sized. He waited for her to stop him, waited for her to push him away or flee from the expanding closeness between them.

In the back of his mind, he didn’t know if he had the right to do this, after all, no admissions of feelings had passed between them. Then again, maybe when you knew each other as well as they did, words were a little less necessary.

He kept leaning until their faces were inches apart. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding dramatically.

His lips brushed against hers, softly, slowly asking a question. He thought he felt her gasp or shiver or something he couldn’t quite name. Her lips were soft and they tasted like honey. He pressed his against her lips harder, asking the question again.

She answered, her lips playing over his in return. God, he was kissing Hermione. And she was kissing him back. It was nothing like those lung-collapsing snog marathons with Lavender. It was soft and sweet and...intimate.

He dared himself to be bold, there was no point in turning back now. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She felt small and frail against him and a wave of protectiveness ran through his veins, barely reined in by his desire to keep kissing her.

Her mouth opened and suddenly her taste was everywhere, on his tongue, in his mind, in his heart. Her hands clasped around his shoulders, bringing him deeper and he heard her moan slightly.

That one, little breathy exhalation went straight to his cock. All the things he wanted to do to her rushed through his brain in a series of flashes. Suddenly his lips were on her neck, chasing the sound that fell from her lips. Her skin was feather-soft against his lips and all he wanted to do was mark it, claim it as his own.

His lips lingered on a spot underneath her chin which caused another raspy moan, louder than the one before to fall from her lips.

Ron felt himself harden, and they were close enough where he knew she could feel it. Something in the back of his mind told him to stop, but he couldn’t. He was addicted to having her in his arms, on his skin, and the sounds and shudders she made as he touched her. His lips sought hers again for another deep, nearly bruising kiss.

His hands began to roam up her waist, she shifted closer to him, her foot kicking the backpack. One of the basilisk fangs fell out and clattered to the ground.

That one sound snapped Hermione back into reality. She pulled her lips away abruptly. Her hands left his shoulders and she moved an inch away.

Ron’s eyes shut open, afraid that he had gone too far, pushed past the limit. He waited for to say something. Waited for the inevitable heartbreak he knew was coming.

“We can’t do this,” she said softly.

He instantly deflated but tried to hide it. “You’re right,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound shaky. “I’m sorry, I should have never. I didn’t mean to...take advantage of you and I can’t blame you if you want to slap me or hex me or send more birds but I've still got scabs from that so if you could lay off—,”

“Ron, what are you talking about?” She looked up at him, confused. “You didn’t take advantage of me.”

They both blushed as the weight of their action sunk in.

“Soooo,” Ron tested the waters. “You don’t want to hex me?”

She laughed softly. “No, no, quite the opposite actually.”

He couldn’t help but beam at that. She placed a hand on his face, cupping his cheek. “We can’t do this...not now,” she quickly amended. “Right now, we don’t matter. The only thing that matters is—,”

“Harry,” interjected Ron. “The only thing that matters right now is Harry. Harry has to make it through.”

She dropped her hand from his face and matching sad, resigned smiles crossed their faces.

“We could die,” Ron said briefly. He wasn’t sad, or even upset about it. He knew it was a fact.

Hermione nodded. “We could. But that really doesn’t matter either, does it?” She shook her, frustration clouding her features. “You know, this year was a waste. When I think that we could’ve just...”

“Spent all year snogging,” Ron suggested for her. No use in beating around the bush anymore

She rolled her eyes. “You did spend half the year snogging.”

Ron shrugged sheepishly. “Well, yeah, but she wasn’t you.” He enjoyed the smile on her face at his words.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Not of dying. I’m more scared of what’ll happen if we don’t win. But I was scared of dying before I lived.”

“You’re not anymore?” she seemed surprised.

“Nope,” he said with a rakish grin. “I’ll get to remember the last five minutes for as long as I live. So, if You-Know-Who pops my clogs tomorrow, that’d be all right.”

She laughed. “You’re impossible.”

Ron grinned. “Yes, and you love me.” He had meant it as a joke, it was supposed to be a joke. But she didn’t laugh. She just stared into his eyes for a long pause.

When she did speak, her was clear and earnest. “I do.”

He felt like he’d gotten hit with a Stunning jinx. But then she was staring up at him with her huge brown eyes, a hint of fear at the edges and he realized she was waiting for him to say something.

“I do too,” he said quickly. She smiled and reached for his hand again, their fingers intertwined.

A long, sincere beat passed between the two of them. But it ended all too soon. “So, if we win and we don’t die,” she said an edge of humor. “Can I get one of your Weasley sweaters?”

He laughed. “You can have them all.”

“And your Quidditch jersey?”

“Let’s not get carried away,” he said, mockingly scandalized.

They stared at each other again and All Ron wanted to do was kiss her again. He thought she was thinking the same thing too, but she looked away.

“We’ve got to go. Your parents will be ready to leave soon.”

He nodded. She was right. “Yeah, yeah, we should. Oh, I totally forgot. Slughorn said we should go to the Storeroom, pick out whatever we think we may need.”

Hermione went straight into Hermione mode. “Ronald, why didn’t you say so? We haven’t got all day, have we? Let's go!”

She picked up the backpack, shrunk it down and stuck it in her pocket.

“Ronald, come on!” she beckoned him forward and out of the Chamber.

Despite everything, the danger they were in, the uncertainty of the future, and the deranged, powerful psychopath who wanted to destroy everything he held dear, all he could think of was if and when he’d ever kiss her again.

#fanfction #hp #hermione granger #ron weasley #romione #post-hpb #teaser

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xyliane · 4 years

Text

wild blue yonder

summary: killua had plenty of better ideas for how to spend his eighteenth birthday. a cake a mile high, a day on the town with alluka, maybe even some peace and quiet for once. instead, he’s doing what all zoldycks do: assassination, murder, the works, all at the ass end of the ocean, all because it will tilt the scales of trade just enough in their favor to make a move. he doesn’t have to worry about a blood curse, no matter what his sister says.

notes: think of this less like a fic and more a...preview? I’ve written about 10,000 words of this off and on over the last year or so, and I would love to write more, but [gestures at the world] [pokes at the smoldering remnants of my dissertation]. yeah. so, as special thanks to @trashsketch and @thehuntyhunties, here’s a first draft of the first bit of cursed prince (which, knowing me, will get a wholesale rewrite of the first section at least cuz lol worldbuilding). T (blood and killua’s mouth), pre-killugon; ft: mito, the zoldycks, ikalgo, and did I mention the blood. 4900 words. (title is not the final title, but swiped hastily from the third track of “the horror and the wild”)

notes pt 2: @trashsketch DREW THIS FOR THIS AU aaaaaaa

---

Alluka’s eyes turn black over dinner three weeks before Killua’s eighteenth birthday, and he has to shove half a bread roll into his mouth to avoid making any noise. If he’s lucky, no one else will notice. If Alluka’s lucky, Nanika won’t say anything, will stare at Killua for a few minutes before slipping back into the recesses of his sister’s mind. If they’re both lucky, they can return to their meals and continue ignoring whatever Mom and Illumi are discussing about the southern trade routes, in tones just barely not argumentative. If Killua’s lucky, he won’t have to kill anyone in the next month.

Of course, the Zoldyck family has never owed its success to luck. They have skill, and intelligence, and a massive fortune. They have a town full of merchants and spies at the base of Kukuroo Mountain, centuries of debts of money and life tying the people to the family. They have, Silva Zoldyck is fond of noting, family. And family is paramount.

Even more than that, though, they have Nanika. They have information, dropped right into their minds. All it costs is a bit of death, the risk of death or curse or worse if they don’t do what she suggests. Just that, and Killua’s little sister.

The family thinks it’s worth the price, so they have to deal with it for now. Killua’s his father’s successor to their mountains of gold and death. He’ll change it. He’s promised Alluka.

“Mom, look,” Milluki says. Killua swallows a curse.

A smile stretches across Kikyo Zoldyck’s face, as full of empty pleasure as the black visor stretched over her eyes. “Well. This is convenient.” She turns to Illumi. “Shall we see what to do about our mercantile issues in the South Sea?”

Illumi frowns. “If you must,” he says, and looks expectantly at Killua. “Kil? Take care of it.”

“Alluka’s not an it. And it’s not my turn.”

Mom sighs melodramatically. “Kil,” she says.

“Mom,” he says in the exact same tone.

Father, who’s spent most of dinner silent, snorts a chuckle. When Killua turns to him, he gets a firm nod, bright glimmer in his pale blue eyes. “Go on, Kil,” he says, voice rumbling. “Ask after the block in trade. Best do it now, before the thing in your sibling chooses otherwise.”

Killua nods once, and turns to his sister. She is still staring at him—Nanika is still staring, black eyes blank and a strange little smile on her face.

“Nanika,” he says, voice steady.

Her smile widens. Killua, she says, her voice an echo between his ears. No one else hears. I love Killua.

I love you too, he thinks back, and hopes that she can hear. “Nanika, how do we open up trade in the South Seas to benefit the Kingdom of Padokea?”

“And the Zoldycks,” Milluki says, a sneer in his voice.

“We are Padokea,” Mom says, and sneers right back.

Nevertheless, Killua grits his teeth and adds, “And the Zoldyck family.”

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe she’ll give them a corporation, or an abandoned island full of pirates. Pirates would be fun. Or maybe nothing will happen, and Killua will be able to turn eighteen without being halfway across the world burying a sword into someone’s back. He can take Alluka to town, sneak her out the back while the butlers aren’t looking. It’ll only be for a day, and he’ll be with her.

Nanika opens Alluka’s mouth.

Dammit, is all Killua manages to think, before the vision slams into him.

red

is all he gets at first, and he thinks that maybe this time, he won’t be the center of this vision. Maybe Milluki will get one and have to get off the mountain for the first time all year. Maybe even Illumi will stop hovering, conspicuously leaving profiles of eligible bachelorettes for Mom to coo over and Killua to ignore. But the table turns red and Killua sees

red ocean

red hair green (brown) eyes

red lips

red stains on pale skin

red flower in black (white) hair

red scars on dark stars

red waters overflowing

red death under red sails

red blood

red

red red

red red red red red reD RED

The vision releases him, and Killua barely manages to catch himself before he pitches face-first into the soup. Even after the fact, his senses are swimming in blood, enough that he can practically taste it. One of these days, he’s going to learn how to live with it. The rest of his family does.

“Kil, where are you going?” Illumi asks.

So much for his birthday plans. “Where do you think,” he says.

“Kil,” Mom says again, and he rolls his eyes.

“The ass end of the ocean, I think,” Killua says, and ignores his mother’s affronted gasp as he starts in on the rest of his dinner. It tastes chalky under the blood. “I’ve got a month to kill the queen of Whale Island.”

“Isn’t that the place with the magic storms and the cursed pirates?” Milluki says.

“You can’t use magic to control storms, idiot,” Kalluto mutters, just loud enough for Killua to hear.

“The cost?” Illumi asks.

Killua shrugs. “Blood curse. Nothing new.”

Nanika always exchanges her information for curses. Illumi and Kalluto have messed up before and come back with numb limbs or empty eyes, consequences for having failed within the time limit. But those curses are simpler things. Killua gets the blood curse, every single time.

He loves his sister, and he’s grown to love Nanika, in her own way. But he doesn’t need the extra pressure.

Father claps a hand on Killua’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kil. We will celebrate your birthday when you get home from the ass end of the ocean.”

Mom makes a scandalized noise and Killua smiles, pride radiating out from where Father’s hand rests against his shoulder. It makes him stand taller, almost as tall as Illumi. Never as tall as Silva Zoldyck. No one is that tall.

Behind him, Alluka stirs listlessly, blue eyes foggy. Once Father’s grip lifts from him, Killua reaches over to grab her hand, squeezing in whatever comfort he can. She tries to smile back. No one else notices. “Be careful, Brother,” she mutters. “Blood stains.”

————————————

It takes the better part of three weeks to get to Whale Island. Killua could have taken a cabin in one of the spice merchant’s galleon and been there in half a month. But that would be easy. Zoldycks do their job well, and well doesn’t mean easy. The first ship out of Dentora was only a week, but from there it was a schooner to a sailboat to three days on a blasted fishing dinghy for the last few islands. The sailors had laughed at him when he’d said where he was going. At least the food’s been good, because he’s going to turn eighteen out here in the gods-forgotten nowhere. He’d hate to come home and tell Alluka there had been nothing good out here.

For all that they’re in the middle of nowhere, the Whale Island port is almost impressive. If a place could be valued solely on the number of colors, Whale Island would be the richest port on earth. The ships alone are every shade imaginable, the height of summer trade filling each dock to overflowing. Purple sails from Kakin, greens and yellows from Lukso, the ostentatiously huge gilded galleons out of Yorknew. Even austere blacks and whites from Padokea, sticking out of the rainbow forest like snow-blistered icebergs. It makes him feel like home, almost. He’ll catch one of them off the island as soon as he’s done. Father will make sure they’re fairly compensated for leaving ahead of schedule. And sprinkled throughout are the collection of Whale Island’s mercantile armada, with no set color or design other than a bright circle of orange-gold, open at one end.

The port itself bustles with life, as diverse as the ships in harbor. It lacks the size or height of trade centers on the mainland, or even other islands like Balsa’s landmass-spanning city. But it makes up for it in smells, and shapes, and the honest smiles on merchants’ faces even as they fleece their customers for every extra cent. Out here, there’s no option but the port. They smile at Killua all the same.

Killua’s assassinations usually take a little more finesse—a Zoldyck is a threat, and he’s dyed his hair more than once to vanish into a crowd. But here, Killua’s pale skin and travel-stained dark clothing doesn’t even stick out, so long as he keeps his white hair tucked under a thin hood. No one even looks twice at the sword on his hip or the knives weighing down his boots, not with how everyone else seems to be armed. It’s almost relaxing. He can drift into the forest, kill the queen, and drift back out again, catching a ship out of port before anyone is the wiser.

Maybe this is a pirate nest, and no one thought to tell Killua…?

“Hey, traveler! You come in recently?”

Killua turns and is blasted in the face with the smell of fried fish. Behind a grill covered in pans and fish, a short round man with reddish skin and beady eyes waggles his thick eyebrows, a shock of black beneath a bald head. As he does, his arms dart back and forth between tasks, juggling fire and vegetables and pots as though he has extra arms. It’s kind of hilarious, and Killua doesn’t restrain a laugh.

The man grins back, obviously pleased. “Yeah, not exactly the easiest, getting all the way out here,” he says. “Sit down, look over the grill, tell me what you want.”

“That’s okay, I don’t—” Killua starts to protest, when another man reaches around the cook and drops an assortment of things off the grill and onto a plate. Well, a young man, not much older than Killua, with thick black hair woven back into a single braid trailing halfway down his back. Freckled brown skin is clearly visible beneath an open green vest woven through with gold thread. It would look almost princely, if it weren’t covered in oil and fish guts, and worn almost to the point of being transparent.

The young man hands the plate to Killua with a conspiratorial light in his bright brown eyes. “You should eat,” he says, and his voice is tinged with Whale Island’s rich accent—thick vowels, rolling syllables. It’s musical, in a way Killua wouldn’t have expected.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the man pushes the plate more insistently at him. Killua shakes his head. He doesn’t want to stay any longer than he has to. He can’t get too close. “I’m not—”

“It’s on the house.”

“It is not!” the chef says, and thwaps the young man across the back of his head with a stack of napkins. “I have a business to run, and the shipping season don’t last all year.”

“Sorry, Ikalgo,” the young man says, an apologetic grin on his face. It doesn’t stop the chef’s rant, loud enough that it attracts the attention of the bread maker next door, who begins to cackle in amusement. The young man does his best to weather the shouting, only occasionally interjecting that he’s been working here for only a few days, that he’ll pay the difference, he promises. But when he catches Killua’s eye, he winks, as though this is all some great game and no one else has caught on yet.

Killua feels his cheeks heat up. Rather than worry about that, he shoves a skewer of fish into his mouth, and then he forgets about the rest because blessed gods that’s good. There’s spice in here he’s never even smelled before, mixed with something sweet that makes it even hotter than it should be.

The chef’s winding down by the time Killua’s finished, his assistant as apologetic as ever. They both notice Killua’s empty plate at the same time. The chef even seems impressed. “This ain’t your first time on the Islands, eh?”

Killua shrugs rather than answer. No wonder Mom is so invested in taking control of this route, if the spices pack this much of a punch. The investors in Padokea are probably salivating at the possibility of owning even a fraction of the trade. “The food’s really good,” he says instead, and the chef lights up.

“Ikalgo’s got the best seafood on Whale Island,” the young man says. “How long are you here for? Palm’s got great pastries, and she’s right next door.”

If the pastries are even close to as good as the fish, Killua might be convinced to stay here forever. But he can’t. This is why Illumi always tells him to never talk to anyone, not more than he needs to. It’s too easy to fall into conversation, to get attached. When his only job is to destroy the lodestone of a city, or a kingdom, or an island, he can’t afford any distractions. Not even cute boys offering him pastries with big brown eyes.

The assistant seems to sense Killua’s hesitation, and his grin dims a little. But before either of them can say anything else, the chef yanks on his thick black braid and snaps, “You still have another three hours here!”

“But Ikalgo—”

“After last time, you owe me!”

“Even Palm didn’t ask,” the young man whines.

“Palm didn’t lose her entire storefront to a flashflood.”

Killua can’t stick around. He grabs his bag, heavy with travel supplies, and turns to face the edges of the market. The trail leads up and away into the jungle. Theoretically, the queen’s mansion should be somewhere up there. But where…

Well, maybe it can’t hurt to ask one more question.

“Do you know who might know where the queen of Whale Island lives?” he asks, not expecting commoners to know the answer.

But the chef and his assistant shrug. “Ask anyone,” the young man says. “Anyone knows.”

“Anyone from the Island knows,” Ikalgo clarifies. “Her house is up at the end of the path, bout forty-five minutes into the jungle. Can’t miss it.”

Killua blinks. “Can anyone…go?”

The young man shrugs again. “Sure. If you wait a bit, I can—”

“What part of three hours do you not understand?”

“But he—”

“I’ll be fine,” Killua says, and nods politely. The chef and his assistant wave goodbye, and go back to bickering. Out of the corner of his eye, Killua can see the chef getting back to food prep, even as the young man grabs plates and napkins for other customers. He should feel bad that this is all going to ruin. Not immediately, sure. But without a ruler, most places fall apart. And if it falls apart, even for a little while, it’s long enough for Padokeans to set up shop, to reclaim the trade routes and caches of power that they want.

Maybe Whale Island will do okay in the end. Or maybe not. It’s not Killua’s problem.

Too bad, though. The food was good.

The queen’s house is indeed right up the road. Killua makes it within sight of the low walls outside the complex before ducking into the trees, not willing to risk a frontal assault on his own. As friendly as the Islanders seem to be, especially the assistant, the amount of armed fighters and sailors could be a problem. Once Killua finds a good rock, too heavy for a normal person to lift, he swaps his traveling clothes for proper Zoldyck gear: black trousers, an armored black jacket, silver-grey gloves. His sword is sheathed against his hip, and his boot knives are supplemented by another blade at the small of his back. He stashes all of his earrings but one, a sapphire stud Alluka had given him for his sixteenth birthday. She’d said it was for luck. But Zoldycks don’t have luck.

Killua keeps it anyways. Maybe he’ll be lucky this time.

Killua wants to finish this quick and quiet, on the small chance that the young man from the fish grill gets off work and comes up the path. By the time the chaos sets, he should be on the ship and halfway out to sea. Even the fastest ships won’t be able to catch him.

He climbs up the back wall, peering into what looks like a vegetable garden behind a modest two-story building. Killua recognizes about half of the herbs—most of them are useful as poisons, and a few are normally grown in the middle of a forest. None of them have any business being behind a queen’s home. Then again, the building would barely qualify as a merchant’s house in many kingdoms, well-constructed as it is. It’s the color of the sky and thatched neatly, signs of old storms and hard winter winds in the occasional cracked paint. The back door is a solid dark wood, and the window on the second floor is open to the sky. There’s no sign of any caretakers or guards, not even footsteps. The only sound is a quiet hum of a woman’s voice, wafting gently down from the open window.

It can’t be this easy. But part of Killua doesn’t mind. At least this time, the only person he’ll have to kill is the one he has to. No lying, no backstabbing.

And he can go home without risking a blood curse, and celebrate his birthday in peace.

He still takes his time sneaking across the garden, boots falling silently as he steps through the shadows of the house. Taking a chance that nothing in this building is locked, he carefully presses open a window on the ground floor and drops into what looks like a large kitchen. A massive slab of wood serves as a table down the center of the room, with a collection of beautifully carved chairs arranged around it. The smell of herbs permeates the whole room, sinking into the wood and floors.

There’s still no one in sight.

There’s still only the woman’s humming filling the air with gentle wordless noise.

It’s too easy. It has to be.

Killua draws his sword as he creeps up the stairs, following the sound of the woman’s voice. He’ll know the queen when he sees her—Nanika’s visions have a habit of sticking, permanently, or at least until the job is done. Like how he knows the humming is the queen, even though he’s never heard her voice before today. How when he peers around the corner, he knows that the queen is the woman humming over a pile of papers. Her bright orange hair is swept back from her forehead, a simple braid circling her head where a ring made of silver and onyx rests on Silva Zoldyck’s.

The humming stops. “You can stop creeping around my house and tell me why you’re here,” the queen says without looking up from her work. “If you want to petition for the Padokean spice merchants to stay another week, you’ll need to take it up with the portmaster.”

Killua doesn’t say anything. His grip on his hilt tightens for a moment, before relaxing.

The queen flips over the page and starts on the next. “Also, no, I am not interested in selling port space, either. Tell your king he can rent like everyone else.”

Killua takes a final step into the doorway, and lunges, his sword lightning fast.

But the queen whirls, nearly as fast as Killua, and catches his strike on a short wavy blade of her own. Her snarl sparks with furious challenge. “And if you’re here to kill me,” she says, “you’d better try harder than that.”

Killua bounces back, narrowly avoiding the sweep of her knife. The queen is unarmored, but holds the blade at her side, other arm lifted in well-practiced defense. Rather than wait for Killua to strike again, she darts forward, bare fist blurring in a fury as she tries to strike Killua’s solar plexus. But Killua is faster, and he catches her strike on his forearm, brushing it aside. She snarls even as she stumbles back, leaving herself open for Killua to strike again. This time, when she catches his blade on her knife, she almost doesn’t make it, only barely managing to slide out from beneath Killua’s strike. But her bare foot lashes out, catching him on the knee, and he feels the joint crumple.

She scoffs. “You’re not the first person to try to assassinate me,” she says. “Tell me who sent you, and I’ll send you home.”

Killua responds by punching her in the stomach with his hilted fist.

To the queen’s credit, she keeps her knife up, enough that she manages to slash him across his forearm. The wavy blade cuts deep and sharp right through his jacket, leaving behind a wide erratic slice. Killua ignores the pain and raises his blade.

She glares up at him furiously, bright brown eyes wide and not scared at all. They look familiar. In fact, they look like—

They look like the young man from the market.

The chef, his assistant, everyone else, is going to lose their queen.

Don’t get attached, Illumi commands in the back of his head, and Killua shakes the hesitation out of his limbs just in time to block the queen’s jab right at his heart. He catches her wrist with his bare hand, wrenching it out of place until she can’t hold on anymore. The wavy knife goes clattering away across the floorboards, out of sight and out of reach.

She kicks him in the side again, shit, and Killua throws her to the ground. The back of her head thuds against the wood floor, and she crumples with a pained noise, trying and failing to get back up again.

If Killua moves now, he’ll kill her.

This time, he won’t miss.

The queen starts to move, and Killua brings the blade down in a single brutal strike.

Blood always smells the same—metallic and warm, life draining out in flows of red. Killua hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes when he struck, but he feels the splash of blood across his face, sinking through the open slice on his sleeve and through the skin of his gloves. Messy. Father would be disappointed. It’s better if it’s quick, and clean, and no one fights back, and no one is gasping shakily on the floor—

He opens his eyes.

The queen lies at his feet, still alive. She has a hazy, almost drunken grin on her face, and her arm is still raised from where it connected with Killua’s sword, blood flowing freely from its stump. Her dismembered hand lies just out of reach. And she’s laughing.

“You should have killed me,” she says. A gust of wind blows up from the ocean, curling around her, almost as wild as her eyes. Outside, a massive storm darkens the sky, clouds near-black and crackling with energy. The air tastes of lightning, and thunder, and danger, and sudden fear jolts down Killua’s spine.

What had Milluki said? Cursed storms and magic pirates?

Killua’s eyes widen. “What—”

“I said,” the queen says, and her voice reverberates in the stormwall. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

She lifts her hand and spits a word, and a wind like a hand bellows up the stairs and throws Killua out the window.

He lands heavily in the garden, nostrils filling with herbs, bouncing once and hitting the building’s wall. At least the ground’s soft. But he dropped his sword somewhere between the second story and the dirt, and he does not have time to look for it before the storm hits. It whirls around the sky, a cyclone of pitch-black clouds centered right over the house. If Killua didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was only on the house, dropping almost to the ground as though trapping him in the eye of a storm.

He clamors over the wall, bad knee jolting with pain and a little voice screaming at him to run, just in time for a wall of rain to come crashing down between him and the jungle.

Stepping out of the rain, as though made from stormclouds and landslides, is the young man from the seafood shop. But instead of a stack of plates, he holds a brutally sharp sabre, blade short and thick and slightly curved up from its guard.

He takes in Killua, waterlogged and covered in blood, and his bright brown eyes go wide. “You’re—” he starts, and then his expression narrows with fury. “It would have been easier if you’d tried to kill me in town.”

“Why would I do that?” Killua says. “I’m only here for the queen, not an assistant fish fry.”

The young man grins with all of his teeth, any amusement from earlier washed away by unrestrained anger. “I’m Gon Freecss,” he says. “You tried to kill my mom.”

He’s the prince. In about the stupidest response Killua could have, he tries to rub some of the queen’s blood out of his eyes. But it doesn’t budge. If anything, the rain is making it worse, seeping into his face and clothes in a bright red tattoo, making his skin crawl.

Blood curse, Nanika had promised. It was always a blood curse.

Shit shit shit gods fucking shit. For all Killua knew, the blood was going to kill him from the inside out.

“I don’t care about who’s next in line,” he says, and takes half a step towards the storm wall. He had to get out, had to get home, or else—

“You should care,” the prince of Whale Island says. “Because if you’d killed me first, the storm wouldn’t have come for you.”

Killua barely has time to draw his knives before Freecss is on him.

Maybe it’s the panic worming its way out of Killua’s stomach, or the sharp pain in his knee, or the blood curse scratching at his face. Maybe it’s the resolute fury in Freecss’s eyes. Either way, the prince moves nearly as fast as Killua, hacking at the assassin with brutal short slashes. Killua manages to block all of them, barely, boots slipping in the torrential mud. The prince is good enough to make Killua work if he was in good condition, and between the rain and the blood and the knee, they’re all but equally matched.

Killua finally blocks a blow and shoves Freecss back, the prince leaving himself open. Killua presses his advantage in height and speed by kneeing the other man in the chest. Freecss coughs out a pained curse, and he tumbles back, mud covering his skin and his long braid. Killua follows, slashing out half-blind with his knives, and he feels his blades connect as the prince bounces away. Another splash of blood, this time on a bare hand. This time, Killua feels it sink in, painting his pale skin the color of rust.

Freecss has a slash on his cheek and shoulder, Killua’s wild strike having gotten him on bare skin. The weight of the blade also caught the prince’s braid, which droops tangled and waterlogged across his brown face, half-covering his eyes. Freecss curses again, something foul, and simply slices his sword through his hair. The rest of his braid lands in the mud with a heavy thump.

The prince wipes a streak of blood off his face, not seeming to care that the wound continues to flow freely. “I’m going to kill you,” he says, voice low as thunder.

Killua has fought soldiers and mercenaries and assassins, from the weakest to the most skilled. He’s been tired, fought for hours in the snow and sleet, wherever Father has asked. He’s fought with half the bones in his hand broken, with his legs immobilized by ice. But then, he’d been ready. He’d known what to expect. He hadn’t been fighting a storm at the same time he was fighting a prince. Freecss presses ceaselessly, forcing Killua back until his foot hits the wall around the queen’s home. The prince’s home. He can’t go any further back.

The prince’s eyes glint in the storm, and he slashes the sabre across Killua’s front.

And Killua’s leg slips out from under him.

The mud carries him stumbling out of range of the prince’s slash, but also costs him one of his knives. Killua staggers to his feet, trying in vain to rub the blood off his face. All he gets is mud, and rain, and more blood. A callous on his hand must have ripped in the fight.

Oh. And his jacket is cut open across his front. Distantly, he can feel blood dribbling down his chest, starting at the shoulder and cutting towards his side. That should hurt more than it does. Even his leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore, a dull throb beneath the rain.

He’s tired.

Freecss snarls—just like his aunt, a small part of Killua notices—and slices the sabre straight down through the air.

Static gathers in the air, bright and sharp, and Killua realizes he’s going to die.

“Sorry, Alluka,” he says. The words are lost under the wind and rain.

Then Killua is struck by lightning.

And everything is white.

86 notes · View notes

brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

absorbance of the deep (chapter 4: that’s him?)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

previous chapter can be found here.

also on ao3

---

The next few hours passed in a confusing blur. When he came to, he was lying on one of the few foldable lounge chairs in the students’ support office. The lights had been turned down but he could still see clearly. There was no one in his direct line of sight, however he could hear the scratch of pen against paper and the low hum of electricity grinding in his ear, so he tried to sit up, not realising how sore his neck was until he attempted to move it and was punished with the greatest pain he had ever felt apart from that time when he had been ripped away from the ocean for a whole week because his father had insisted bringing them inland for a hiking trip. He hissed and lay back down because he didn’t want to aggravate the injury, and a hand snaked itself behind his head to guide him before he could identify who it was.

‘You shouldn’t be moving,’ it was North. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

She handed him a small dictionary. He would’ve preferred a full one under any other circumstances, the weight of the volume grounding him alongside the abundance of words available to him, but with how weak his entire body seemed to be, he was glad that his friend took that into consideration. Either that or she didn’t bother to find a big one, whichever came first. He didn’t have the capacity to care. What he did care about as he flipped the pages to construct his sentence, however, was the absurdity and danger of what he just experienced. [did - they - seriously - try - to - hang - me]

North inhaled deeply. ‘They did,’ she averted her gaze. ‘They’re still discussing the next course of action, I think. Josh is with them. So is your brother.’

The mention of his twin sent him back to the argument he experienced last night. Scrambling at the dictionary without breaking the pages, he asked, [what - did - he - do]

‘What we should’ve expected from an overprotective sibling,’ North shrugged. ‘Do you want to rest more, or do you want to talk to the teachers now?’

[what - for]

‘They tried to kill you, Simon!’ there was a tremble in the girl’s voice. Her eyes glistened in the low light of the office. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble those bastards got themselves into? Police are involved! You have every right to press charges against them!’

[and - my - brother - question]

‘Oh for fuck’s sake -’

‘North…’

Both of them were so distracted that neither noticed Josh coming in. Simon didn’t quite jump, no, but for a split moment he felt like his heart had burst from shock, and he decided at that exact moment that he shouldn’t have woken up that early. He did not have the strength to deal with two near-death scenarios within a single day.

‘How are you feeling?’ Josh asked as he inhaled and folded his arms in front of his chest. The gesture made him look even taller, and Simon wondered if it was a new habit developed from talking to adults.

[tired]

North sighed and tore her gaze from the dictionary just to turn to Josh. ‘How’s it going?’

Since he didn’t need them to hear the conversation anyway, Simon closed his eyes so that there wasn’t as much information pouring into his brain, and his friends’ voices became clearer. Almost as clear as when Markus directly spoke in his mind, but he knew that nothing would surpass it. Then he frowned at Josh’s statement.

‘They don’t want anything to do with the students involved. Expulsion is the minimum.’

‘“Minimum?”’

‘Simon?’

He raised his hand and tapped his finger against his ear to indicate that he was listening.

‘The police are involved. Hope you don’t mind that I talked to them on your behalf because they probably don’t know your tells and how you talk anyway and… they said you are well within your rights to press charges against them. Take them to court, let the legal system decide how they should be punished and rehabilitated. It’ll take money and time but… if it makes you feel safer, we’ll help.’

It took more effort than Simon expected to open his eyes so that he could answer his friend. [what - if - i - do - not]

North muttered a ‘typical’ under her breath. Simon caught Josh glaring at her but he didn’t care about what happened next, because Josh was talking again. ‘At the least, they’ll be gone from here and, quite possibly, this village. Not forever for now because we’re still students, but for most of the year, you won’t even be able to see them. If their parents decide to induce more drastic measures… they won’t be our concern.’

‘Yeah, and when they come back for breaks?’ North’s voice was sharp enough to hurt his eardrums but he was too tired to throw the dictionary at her to tell her. ‘Who’s preventing them from getting back at us? At Simon? Who’s making sure that Daniel won’t end up in the same school as them?’

‘Restraining orders exist.’

‘It isn’t -’

Simon lost track of the conversation as soon as he smelt the sea and the earth, a unique mixture that only meant one thing: Markus was here. He then realised that he did not, in fact, lose track of the conversation, more like both his friends had stopped talking as well as a breeze entered the otherwise stale office and seemingly cooled down their wrath and worries, and it was the only thing he could hear and feel for a few long seconds before a familiar hand was holding his on top of the thin blanket covering him from his chest down and a pair of lips was pressing softly on his own. They won’t bother you anymore, Simon wasn’t sure if Markus was talking to him or it was just his imagination, but it didn’t matter to him because Markus was here with him and therefore he must make things better. I made sure of that.

Tell that to my friends.

He made himself comfortable on the lounge chair as the warm weight on top of him disappeared. The hand remained, though, and he was glad that Markus maintained some sort of physical contact; he was already missing the ocean’s attention.

‘Let me guess,’ North said after quite a while, ‘you’re the person Simon always waxed poetic about, aren’t you? Well, he was talking about the sea but he made it sound like it’s a person. Never thought there’s an actual person there though.’

‘North!’ Josh scolded.

‘This is Josh. Don’t mind him.’

‘Excuse me -’

‘How did you even get into the ventilation? I’ve climbed into some of them before and they aren’t big enough for a guy like you.’

Are they always like this? Markus asked through their bond.

Sometimes. They’re stressed.

Watch this.

Simon opened his eyes just in time to see Markus dissolve into a puddle of water. Then, against all laws of physics, it slid across the floor leaving no trails whatsoever and climbed up Simon’s lounge chair, spreading out behind Simon without staining his clothes or the chair itself and then suddenly puffing up back into a warm, familiar shape. He didn’t deny that it felt good sitting in the space between Markus’ legs, and it only got better when Markus wrapped an arm around his waist and another around his shoulder to pull him close, possessive and protective as usual. Only at that moment did Simon realise that Markus was shirtless. At the display, North threw her hands up and stormed out, and Josh watched her disappear before turning towards the two other boys in the office. ‘You can go now, actually. Back home, I mean,’ he said to Simon, and then to Markus. ‘I would ask you to escort the two of us but… I don’t think a stranger will escape their notice. We aren’t in a brawl anymore.’

A brawl? Did you fight as well, Josh? Simon wanted to ask, but his own bed at home or the soft sand of his cave sounded much better than the lounge chair he was occupying, so with Markus’ help, he managed to stand up and was transferred to Josh’s side before Markus literally dissolved in front of him and vanished into a cloud of steam. His questions could wait.

‘Was he always like this?’ his friend asked as they slowly but surely walked outside. The sunset was bright and stung his eyes which meant he must have slept for quite a long time considering that he was attacked in the morning, which also meant that he didn’t eat lunch, which meant he probably should eat when he got home, but he didn’t exactly feel hungry so maybe that could wait. He tried to shrug because Josh hadn’t specified what ‘this’ meant, but since one of his arms was swung across his friend’s shoulders and he was still disoriented from being thrust to the harsh brightness of the dusk, all it did was nearly causing him to lose his balance and faceplant on the pavement. Luckily Josh was there to hold him, and they stumbled through a nearly-empty campus until they hit the front gate of the school where North was waiting for them leaning against a car with their bags in her arms, the vehicle a big boxy thing that looked like it could carry a big family with no problem. Just one more city thing that North - or at least, North’s family - possessed.

‘Do I even want to know?’ Josh asked as he stopped by the gate.

‘You,’ she transferred all the bags onto one arm and pointed at Simon, ‘are not walking all the way back to that lighthouse and you,’ the finger was now directed at Josh, ‘are coming with us. I’m driving.’

‘Since when did you learn how to drive?’

‘I didn’t skip classes for fun.’

Josh turned towards Simon. ‘It’s up to you.’

He indicated the car wearily with his chin without any hesitation. He had never seen North drive before and therefore had no idea how skilful she was, but he was so tired and ready to go home that the prospect of just having to… sit there while others bring him home was more attractive than he had ever thought it would be. Car sickness might be a problem, though, because he rarely had to be on a moving vehicle, but Josh was already fastening his seatbelt for him when he came to, so it wasn’t like he could change his mind anymore. North climbed into the front seat and ignited the engine, the rumble reminding him of the argument that would no doubt take place at home, and suddenly he didn’t want to go back at all. There was another place he would much rather be. Blinking his heavy eyelids open, he flipped open his dictionary and told his friends, [do - not - take - me - home]

Josh might have frowned. Simon wasn’t sure. ‘Simon, I don’t think -’

‘Whatever you say,’ he couldn’t decipher the look North gave him before she turned around and placed her hands on the wheel. ‘Want me to take you to the beach?’

Markus?

I’ll be there.

He nodded, and that was the last thing he knew before the car accelerated and he was lulled into a shallow sleep.

o0o0o

When Simon came to, he discovered that he had been laid sideways on the back seat and was covered by a scratchy blanket. Disgusted by the texture, he swatted the thing away from his body and threw it to the front seat to get it away from his body as far as possible without outright abandoning it onto the ground, and then realised that the car doors on both sides were open to let in the soft, cool breeze of the ocean. North seemed to have parked the car on the beach directly, because on one side was a few metres of sand before it gave way to the road, and the other side was also sand, except he could also see the ocean lapping the shore. There were two chairs blocking his way, but when he leant forward to see if they were nailed into the ground or just placed there, North and Josh shifted their seats to give him the space to get out of the car. He carefully stepped out with both hands on the canvas chairs on each side and somehow managed to land on the sand without tripping on the big steps between the ground and the car’s floor. At this side of the beach, he couldn’t see the setting sun because it was in the wrong direction; it also meant that he wasn’t assaulted by the bright light, which he was grateful for after today’s incident. Losing control was the last thing he needed.

He took a few steps towards the sea before remembering Markus’ promise, and when he turned around, he saw Markus lounging with his legs crossed in yet another folding chair next to Josh further away from the car’s door, his upper body now (regretfully) covered by a black tank top, sipping a blue energy drink from a bottle dripping wet with condensation. Then he noticed that all of his friends (and one more than friend) were barefoot, so he took off his shoes and socks as well, glad that the constraints were gone and he could sink his toes into the soft sand.

‘Want some soup?’ North asked with a tilt of her head. ‘I’ve got some in the trunk. Canned, of course, and room temperature, but we’ve got water and a stove as well.’

In the distance was the lighthouse he called home, and in the dim light of the dusk, he could faintly make out the light spilling out of the windows but not the people living there. His twin brother hadn’t come to find him yet and it was long past the time where people would remain at school - regardless if they had gone into trouble that day - so he must be at home because there was nowhere to go, the meagre and dwindling number of shops in the village having been closed for the night. Josh had said something about how it was getting more and more expensive to operate a store with less and less revenue due to people leaving the village for big cities, but Simon hadn’t exactly been listening, and the fact that he remembered this much surprised him. So he nodded, stole Josh’s chair when he and North stood up to retrieve something from the back of the car, clumsily scooted both his body and the chair closer to Markus so that he could lay his head on his shoulder and force his leg across one of Markus’ so that he could half-sit on his lap. With Markus’ arm around his shoulders, it was surprisingly comfortable. The sea wordlessly held the bottle in front of Simon in an invitation to take a sip himself, but he declined, recalling the overwhelming sweetness of the energy drink and the sleepless night he had had after Daniel had persuaded him to try half a can, and Markus downed the last of the blue drink in a few seconds, the movements of his throat as mesmerising as it was distracting. Sweet, was Markus’ comment after he tossed the bottle to the backseat of the car. It’s not something we have in the ocean, but I don’t dislike it.

You won’t be able to sleep tonight, Simon warned.

I don’t need it.

North and Josh re-emerged from the back of the car with the things they needed for an impromptu dinner, and the latter only spared them a look before shaking his head and squatting a few metres in front of the car so that they had enough space to set up the stove and keep the food they would cook near themselves. Four large cans of ready-to-eat soup of different flavours - just enough for four teenagers’ dinner.

‘Which one do you want?’ Josh asked as he unpacked the utensils while North started setting up the stove. ‘And you too, uh -’

Markus cleared his throat. ‘Markus,’ he said slowly as if he wasn’t used to speaking. Then, as if finally realising that he could say his own name, he repeated, this time standing up, ‘My name is Markus.’

They tried to stay out of North and Josh’s way as they read the labels on the cans, , but they stopped once they realised that the other two were actually working around them and therefore needed no accommodations. The four soups were BBQ pork, broccoli cheese with potatoes, spicy beef, and chicken and corn. He could go for the broccoli or corn, but since he wanted Markus to have a choice, he turned his attention towards him. Which one would you like?

Markus picked up the can of spicy beef soup. I have little reference on what they taste like, but I would like to try this one. It looks… promising.

Only if you like spicy food. Does it have spicy food where you live?

We have everything.

Simon therefore tapped the top of the broccoli cheese to indicate his preference, knowing that he was the only one among them who actually liked the vegetable, and while he scrambled to return to his chair before his legs fell asleep from squatting, Markus stuck close to the two humans, helping them retrieve a pot of water from the sea before watching North start the fire and Josh open the can of broccoli cheese potato and placing the can into the pot so that they could heat the soup up. Then it was North, Josh, and Simon’s turn to watch in equal measures of horror and fascination as the can of soup nearly toppled over from the boiling water just to be held in place by Markus with his bare hands.

He didn’t even flinch from the heat.

‘Well that’s handy,’ North commented at last. ‘It isn’t hurting you or anything, is it?’

A shake of his head.

‘Then help me hold it, will you? I’ll stir the soup so that it heats up evenly.’

Markus’ grip on the can was steady as North did exactly as she said she would with a metal spoon with a plastic handle, and not long afterwards the soup was simmering and letting out a steady column of steam. Taking the can out of the pot, Markus placed it in the middle of the towel Josh was holding before the latter wrapped the fabric around it and secured the towel on the can with a rubber band as insulation, and then he handed it to Simon together with the spoon. ‘You first,’ he said. ‘You deserve it after today.’

Simon accepted the canned soup with a nod of thanks but couldn’t bring himself to eat it. With Markus now helping North and Josh heat up the rest of the soup at the same time, he was left alone to his own device, and suddenly the task of bringing the spoon to his mouth seemed too daunting right now, the warmth seeping into his cold palms through the towel not encouraging him to let go by one bit. He watched as Markus dipped both his hands into the boiling water to keep all three cans steady while North and Josh stirred the soup, kept the ones in the pot safe with one hand while taking out the BBQ pork for North, then the chicken and corn for Josh, and at last, the spicy beef for himself. They all picked their seat afterwards: Josh in the chair originally occupied by North, North between Josh and Simon on the step of the car, Markus back to his seat by Simon’s side. There must be something on Simon’s face, because when they turned around and took a look at him, expressions that he had learnt to associate with worry appeared on their faces, and Markus draped his arm around his shoulders once more, kissing his temple lightly and not pulling back. What’s wrong?

The desire to eat was suddenly back, and he raised a spoonful of soup to his mouth and gave it a few blows before putting it into his mouth. Guess I just don’t want to eat alone.

Although it didn’t feel entirely like the truth, he could think of no alternative to what he was feeling and therefore decided to push it aside for now, and for the next few minutes they ate quietly, the air filled with nothing but the clank (but never scrape) of metal spoons against the cans, the wet squelch of the ingredients when they dug their spoon into the soup, and the low but tolerable buzz of the lamp after North brought it out for more light because the sun had finally set. They drank from the same two-litre bottle of store-bought water so that there was a minimal amount of clutter.

Simon was barely through one-fourth of his soup when North was already finished with hers and she dug around the back of the car once more to retrieve a rubbish bag and tossing her can inside, but he was warier of her expression than anything else. He clutched his soup tighter.

‘So…’ North raised an eyebrow, ‘when did you meet?’

Simon shoved a scoop of soup into his mouth so that he didn’t have to respond. And to be fair, he didn’t know how to answer her question either; was she asking about the first time they made contact, which was way back before she even met him, or was it the first time he met Markus in his physical form, which was a few years back, on the day she gave him his first pair of noise-cancelling headphones? He hated unspecific questions because he usually couldn’t. Luckily Markus answered for him.

‘If you’re talking about our souls,’ it was the slow, steady tone again, one that Simon discovered that he could listen to all day and fall asleep to, ‘we have been intertwined since before the beginning; if you’re talking about our minds, it will be more than a decade ago when Simon -’ he gave Simon’s shoulder a squeeze - ‘offered me his first gift.’ He stared at Josh. ‘You were there, remember?’

Josh licked his spoon. Then his eyes widened. ‘That voice was you? You nearly drowned me!’

Markus’ smile was sheepish. ‘I… apologise,’ he placed his soup in the space between his legs and scratched the spot behind his ear. ‘My control on my powers wasn’t as good back then. I was… excited… to greet my other half.’

My other half, these three words echoed in Simon’s mind as he slowly finished the cooling soup, and he snuggled closer to Markus for warmth when the night chill started to pick up. Knowing that they were made for each other was one thing, but hearing him admit it in front of Simon’s best friends… he felt fuzzy despite the day he had had. Are they still interrogating you? he asked through their connection after he finally finished his soup.

They are very curious indeed, so yes, but right now their focus seems to be shifting towards our relationship. North seems to believe that we are married in ‘underwater’ terms even though I told her multiple times that it does not exist, and Josh only seems embarrassed and just wants to leave.

Simon looked at the water bottle laid with its cap hazardously close to the sand, then the stove which fire had been extinguished some time ago, then finally at the cold, empty can he was still holding with both hands and realised that the warmth was from Markus’ hand placed on top of his, and the weight of the day suddenly dropped on top of him, threatening to suffocate him, to drown him. Maybe we should.

Alright.

They packed up, Josh taking care of the stove, North making sure that they got all the rubbish in the rubbish bag, Simon folding up the cutlery in a towel and fastening it with a rubber band before handing it to North, and Markus folding up the chairs and loading them to the back of the car together with the lamp. And for a moment the four of them stood there unsure what to do next, and Josh realised the problem they had.

‘Are you going home?’ he asked. ‘I mean, we’re probably a few hundred metres away from your house, but it’s nighttime and I don’t think we have a torch to spare.’

Simon thought of the argument that was no doubt going on, of a tense atmosphere that only served to make him feel more trapped in his own home, of big changes and decisions being made without him. He shouldn’t go back, not when his family would only drag him down.

He shook his head.

‘So you’re going with Markus?’ it was North’s turn to ask.

He tilted his head upwards so that he could gaze at Markus’ face. Please?

Markus kisses his forehead. Of course.

Simon nodded at North, and she climbed into the car after giving his arm a pat that could mean anything from goodbye to good luck. Josh gave him a hug. ‘You know where I live if you need to find me,’ he said. Then he entered the car as well, but it wasn’t until it disappeared into the distance inland that Markus led him into the ocean, into the cave he carved out just for him, laying him on soft, warm sand and holding him from behind while he succumbed to the weight of the day in a dreamless slumber.

Everything else could wait.

#simarkus #dbh markus #dbh simon #dbh north #dbh josh #dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Thunder - Chapter 6: Thunder

summary: With the tensions of life and feelings at an all-time high, Frankie and Luciana finally find themselves in the eye of their own kind of storm—and wonder where they can go from here.

warnings: storms, light angst, fluff

rating: R

word count: 5.695k

masterlist

chapter 6: thunder

It’s finally the night before graduation—and Frankie’s a fucking mess.

He’s trying to come to terms with the idea of leaving this house, this life, the girl who lives right down the hall and will be taking his heart with her wherever she goes, and the simple thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. Frankie wants to be able to control it, to keep all of these things the same somehow yet work towards his dream of piloting, but he knows he can’t have it both ways. Some things he can change, but he just doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to.

Still, Frankie wants to try. He thinks that maybe if he had tried harder with his mom, somehow figured out that she wasn’t acting the same before her condition was diagnosed and it was too late, then he wouldn’t have lost her. He hopes that he can prevent the same thing from happening with Luciana. If he tells her how he feels now, before it’s too late, maybe he won’t lose her. Half of him is afraid he may already be too late—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try.

Frankie releases a sigh as he sits up from where he’s been staring blankly at his ceiling, contemplating his next move. Benny’s frat house is throwing a goddamn rager tonight, going absolutely wild for the last night of their college careers, but both Frankie and Luciana aren’t feeling up to it; they know they’d both leave early, anyway. Now, it’s just the two of them in the house, and with the boys having just left, Frankie’s determined to make some kind of move. He forces himself to make his way out of his room and stop at Luciana’s, not even thinking twice as he lightly raps his knuckles against her door. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor as he waits for her to answer, his free hand tapping against the side of his leg. He’s not sure why he’s feeling nervous—it’s Luciana, what does he have to be afraid of?—but still his fingers work anxiously against the material of his jeans as he waits for her.

The door opens within a few seconds, and Frankie sees Luciana standing there with her usual soft gaze and a raised brow. It almost looks hopeful, as if she’s been waiting for him to show up. The thought makes Frankie smile just a bit. “What’s up, Flyboy?” Luciana greets him, leaning against her doorframe as she looks up at him.

Frankie gives himself a little time to muse on this moment. He loves this position, her looking up at him with such endearment and him looking down at her with the same feeling. He’d kiss her if he had the balls to do it. But the time’s just not right—at least, not yet. Frankie abandons his daydream as he offers her a small shrug. “I know we’re not up for the party, but I wanted to do something,” Frankie explains. “Y’know, for our last night before graduation. I figured we could maybe get something to go and then go to Mayweather.”

Luciana smiles at Frankie’s proposition. Mayweather Beach is a local piece of the long beach that touches the Atlantic Ocean about twenty minutes away from the house, and since it doesn’t allow parties, it’s bound to be empty at this time. “That sounds great, Frankie.” Frankie smiles wider at that. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll be right down.”

Frankie nods at her, stepping away as she closes her bedroom door. He knows there’s a glow to him now that’d be hard to get rid of as he quickly jogs into his room and gets himself a little bit nicer. He wears one of those button-up tropical print shirts like he’d worn that night to the bar, even opting for some cargo shorts and sandals for easy removal on the sand. Frankie refuses to leave without his signature hat, leaving it atop his head as he reaches for a sweatshirt should the night air get chilly and heads downstairs. He checks his pockets for his wallet and hopes that Luciana’s been wise enough to leave hers upstairs.

When Frankie hears her approaching, his brain almost short-circuits at the way she’s fixed herself up. She wears a long-sleeved white top that wraps around her and ties together in a knot at the center of her chest, the waist of her shorts leaving a reasonable gap of skin as they hug tight to her body. Her hair flows graciously over her shoulders, and Frankie notices how her warm brown gaze sparkles just above the plethora of adorable freckles that line her cheeks. He’s a sucker and he knows it.

“Looks like we both decided to dress up, huh?” Luciana jokes, nudging Frankie’s shoulder as she approaches him and looking him up and down obviously. “I haven’t seen you in something so different since—.”

“—that night at the bar.” Frankie finishes with a smile. “Yeah, funny how that works.”

Luciana bites her smile back and shakes her head. Frankie wants to laugh at how fucking obvious it is that they’re sharing the same thoughts yet saying nothing—but he also wants to cry out at the way they both feel so conflicted about it. If there wasn’t such outside pressure, if there wasn’t an expectation they’d agreed to meet, they could’ve pushed past this weeks ago and started the life together that they wanted to. Instead, they’re involved in this weird tango, dancing around each other and wondering if either one of them is brave enough to step forward and take the other’s hand.

As they leave the house, Frankie locks it behind them, offering a chuckle before looking over at Luciana. “You better not have brought any money.”

Luciana looks up at him incredulously. “You think you’re paying for anything tonight?”

“Everything.” Frankie offers the correction with emphasis as they both get into his faithful truck.

“No, Francisco. I refuse.” Luciana dramatically crosses her arms, giving Frankie a playful side-eye.

“Too bad, Luciana, because we always agree that whoever made the plans has to make the payment—and I just so happened to make these plans.” Frankie smirks as he backs out of the driveway, already heading to the dive where he’ll be getting their dessert takeout.

Luciana fully looks over at Frankie now, her eyes narrowed as she shakes her head. “Fuck you and your rational thinking, Morales.”

Frankie laughs, smiling in victory as he pulls into the roughed-up lot of the dive. “I’ll be back in a few,” he announces, hopping out of the truck and making his way inside. He’s glad to spot Marlena as soon as he walks in, and she immediately heads over to him to get his order.

“Ah, so she’s making you run errands now, huh?” Marlena teases, raising a curious eyebrow at Frankie.

He laughs and lifts his hat from his head, brushing a hand over his hair before setting it back down. “No, no, this was my idea.”

Marlena hands the written order off to someone else as she continues to stand by Frankie, one hand on her hip as she looks at him with hopefulness. “You finally gonna tell her somethin’, or what?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, crossing his arms and shrugging. “That’s the goal. But who knows. I’ll probably freak out again and keep it to myself.” Marlena’s been the receiving end of his “relationship” struggles for a few weeks, now, this having been the destination of many of his self-contemplative walks.

“Tonight’s the night for it,” Marlena insists, tapping a straw against Frankie’s shoulder. “Isn’t your graduation tomorrow?”

“It is.” Frankie sighs, giving Marlena a nod. “I know. I’ll try. It’s just—well, you know.”

“I know.” Marlena smiles as she takes the to-go milkshakes from another waitress, putting them in a drink carrier for Frankie. She slides them over and places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, kiddo. Everything will be alright. Life has a funny way of working itself out like that.”

Frankie smiles back, feeling oddly comforted by her words. “Thanks, Marlena.” He hands her his cash and a big tip as usual, soon heading back out to the truck with the drinks in hand. As he hops up inside the truck, Luciana gives an impressed look.

“That was fast,” Luciana comments, taking the drinks to hold on her lap while Frankie drives. “I’m surprised Marlena didn’t try to hold you up.”

“Oh, trust me, she tried,” Frankie half-jokes, giving Luciana a funny look before he pulls onto the road. For the rest of the drive to the beach, the two talk about their expectations for tomorrow, wondering which one of the guys is bound to do something embarrassing while they walk or which one will yell the loudest for the others. Frankie’s ranking is easy—he’s the least likely to do either. But he knows he can depend on hearing a loud Fish! coming from the direction of his brothers. Luciana can’t decide if the guys or her girl friends are going to be louder. Frankie knows it’ll probably be the guys. It always is.

He’s afraid for the day when that “is” turns into a “was.”

Soon, Frankie’s pulling into the parking lot just along the fence of the beach, grabbing his emergency blanket from the back of his truck and walking alongside Luciana onto the sand. Just as he’d predicted, the beach is practically empty, save for a few who live along the beach going for walks as the sky begins to darken. There’s a few dark clouds in the distance, but Frankie doesn’t worry about that for now. He only chuckles sadly to himself at the irony of it all, as if the dark thoughts of the future he has are already beginning to loom and manifest themselves physically in his life.

Frankie lays out the blanket and helps Luciana to sit, taking one of her hands as she positions herself with the other. She thanks him before he does the same to him, already having kicked off his sandals as he buries his feet in the sand—right alongside hers. They take their respective shakes and start drinking them, sitting in peaceful silence that’s only filled with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. They’re bigger than usual. For some odd reason, it makes Frankie even more calm.

There’s a heaviness in the air, and while it’s extremely humid outside, Frankie knows there’s more to it. There are so many unspoken things between him and Luciana and it’s almost as if it’s creating its own kind of humidity. Frankie knows he should say something, but he doesn’t know what; he’s thought about it for so long, but he still can’t think of anything. Part of him wishes Luciana would do it. The wiser part of him knows that he should. If anything, she’s probably waiting for him on purpose, because she’s the most goddamn considerate and caring person Frankie’s ever known and she knows he has a heart that’s broken and delicate—so she wants him to be the one to tell her that he’s ready. Frankie thinks over all of this and it causes the silence to go on.

“Care to share what’s going on in there?” Luciana finally says, crashing through the quiet like the waves on the shore as she lightly flicks his temple. Frankie looks over to see her gaze twinkling with amusement yet concern, and he laughs softly when she raises an eyebrow. “Holy fuck, I sounded like Dr. Seuss.”

Frankie laughs harder at that. “I guess that’s what your degree’s gotten you.”

Luciana snorts, sipping her milkshake as she looks out to the ocean for a quick moment. “I’d hope my business degree would get me… well, a business.”

Frankie continues looking at her, silently admiring the way her brown eyes flicker so beautifully in the evening light as she observes the crashing waters ahead. “It will, Luce. You’ll have one of the best-running damn businesses this place has ever seen. And maybe I can fly some shipments of shit to you or something.”

Luciana laughs, looking back at Frankie with amusement and gratitude. “Thank you, Frankie. I don’t know if that’s how it works, though.”

Frankie shrugs. “We can make an exception, right?”

Luciana huffs and looks down at her cup, one of her hands fiddling with the straw. “There’s a lot of exceptions I wish I could make.”

Frankie tilts his head down at her, lifting one hand to gently brush against her arm. It captures her attention immediately, and her gaze practically melts into his own. It makes Frankie’s heart race. “I know. Me too.”

Luciana gives him a smile that’s appropriately as sad as his own, and soon her hand slides up until it meets his. She laces her fingers with his slowly—as if she’s absorbing every little touch—and takes a heavy breath, one that weighs just as much upon Frankie’s own chest. There’s no more words spoken for a while, just space that stops existing between them as Luciana’s side is soon much closer to Frankie’s. Once their shake cups are emptied, Frankie puts them in the carrier and sets them aside, and his heart practically jumps in his chest when Luciana’s head softly meets his shoulder.

Hands still entwined, Frankie gives hers a gentle squeeze, opting for that instead of nudging her head with his shoulder. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Luciana’s warm gaze lifts to meet Frankie’s, a slight blush and a small smile appearing. “Did you just call me pretty, Flyboy?”

Frankie feels his own cheeks reddening now as he raises an eyebrow at her. “Don’t act like you don’t know it already, Luce.” She chuckles and shakes her head, causing Frankie’s heart to beat faster at the way he feels the motion against his shoulder. “Answer the question.”

Luciana sighs softly, finally returning Frankie’s squeeze as her gaze looks thoughtfully out at the water. “I was just thinking about tomorrow, of course. And how grateful I am to have had the experience I did. Spending these years with you and my brother and the guys has been just… so amazing.” Frankie smiles at her words—especially at the separation of him from the guys. Luciana’s silent for a moment, and when Frankie looks down at her again, he sees that her gaze is ever so slightly starting to fill with tears. The sight breaks his heart. “I’m really gonna miss it, Frankie.” She looks up at him again. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

Frankie drops her hand to fully wrap his arm around her shoulders in a comforting manner, inviting her to lean into him further as she wraps her arms around his middle. Her head now rests against the inside of his shoulder, her gaze still looking to the ocean for escape as he finds the words to speak. “I’m gonna miss you too, Luce,” Frankie says, running his thumb over her shoulder as he talks, “so damn much. I agree—these years have been incredible. You have no idea how much they’ve helped me grow and move on from… well, you know.” Luciana nods, holding him a bit tighter at that. “But just because this phase of our lives ends tomorrow doesn’t mean we have to.”

Luciana’s gaze floats up to Frankie’s, and once again, he’s in that position where he wishes with all his heart he could just say fuck it and kiss her with all the love he’s holding hostage in his heart. Instead, he lets her search his gaze and find the same desperation she feels also in him. “I don’t know what I’d do without it, Frankie.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Without college?”

Luciana scoffs and slaps his chest with one of her hands. “No, you dumbass.” They share a light laugh before she goes on. “Without you—us.”

Frankie’s heart somehow both grows and falls apart at Luciana’s words, his arm pulling her closer to him as rests his head against her own. “You won’t have to know, Luci. I promise. I’ll do all I can.”

Luciana’s eyes fall closed as she lets her head fall even further into Frankie. “I hope so, Frankie. I really do.”

In the silence that follows, three words tug so viciously at Frankie’s chest that he can barely breathe. They dance along his tongue, which is only bitten back by the clenching of his jaw as his nerves get the best of him. Frankie can’t make a fool of himself. If he says those words, he won’t be able to take them back. And this, whatever this is right here, is so beautiful to him that he can’t risk losing it. Frankie resolves to just live in this moment with the girl he loves, holding her close to him for what could be the last time in a long time—no matter how many promises he makes.

Suddenly, the low rumbling of thunder sounds in the distance. Frankie looks from where he’s been staring endlessly into the horizon to see those dark clouds from before hovering much closer now. The humidity’s only gotten worse since they’d arrived, and Frankie knows it’ll be a matter of time before the moisture in the air turns into real drops of water. A stronger wind starts to blow, one gust nearly knocking the hat from Frankie’s head as it picks up. Luciana finally leans up from Frankie’s shoulder, her brow creasing in worry at their surroundings. Frankie chuckles softly.

“What’s with the look?” Frankie jokes. “I thought you were a pluviophile.”

Luciana nudges his shoulder with hers as she tries to suppress a smile. “Not when we’re about to be in the middle of it, by the fucking ocean,” she scoffs.

Frankie’s about to make some smartass remark when they can hear the oncoming wave of rain along the ocean, causing them to scramble to their feet. Luciana squeals the moment the rain reaches them, starting slow but getting faster quickly. Another roll of thunder sounds from much closer by, and Frankie starts to panic for Luciana’s more exposed skin as he finds his sweatshirt and hands it to her. “Take this!” Frankie exclaims over the sound of the now-pouring rain.

“Frankie, it’s yours!” Luciana tries to argue. “You take it!”

“Just wear the damn sweatshirt!” Frankie insists with a laugh, scooping up the blanket and the trash and taking her by the arm as they run back to the truck. Frankie drops off the trash in a nearby can before he heads in himself, laughing with Luciana as they finally get under some shelter. He looks and sees her hair dampened and sticking to her face, her clothes thankfully somewhat dry underneath his sweatshirt. Frankie’s lost all hope for himself, thankful for his hat that at least protected his hair.

“Holy shit, where did that come from?” Luciana giggles as Frankie pulls out of the parking lot, starting to head back to the house.

“I have no idea. I didn’t even know it was supposed to storm.” Frankie tries not to let the same darkness of the storm cloud his own mind as he realizes his perfect moment was broken. He looks over to see Luciana watching the storm from outside the window, her eyes lighting up along with the flashes of lightning.

Somehow, not even the sight of her enthusiasm can stop his own oncoming storm.

Frankie’s hands grip the wheel tighter as he drives on. All his dark thoughts are hitting him at once. He should’ve used that moment to tell her his feelings. Now, he’s going to lose her, just like his mom. Just like he told her she wouldn’t. Just like he’s been fearing himself. Frankie doesn’t know what the fuck he’ll do without her. The thought of it is filling him with such fear, anxiety, and anger that he’s sure a lightning bolt is somehow going to leap out of him. It’s building up and he can only hope that he can get them home before he lashes out in private, sparing Luciana of his tumultuous emotions.

But then, the truck begins to stall. Frankie’s brow wrinkles together in concern as feels it winding down. He realizes that the leaky radiator he hasn’t had time to fix yet is overheating—and now he’ll have to stop to cool it down if he wants a chance at getting home. Even with the knowledge of that easy fix, Frankie can’t handle it anymore, and his storm begins to rain down just as hard as the one outside.

“Fuck!” Frankie yells as he pulls over, his hand slamming against the wheel as he does so. Out of his peripherals, he can see Luciana’s head turn quickly in his direction, as if the action scared her. “Fuck!” Frankie’s body falls back against the seat as he releases a heavy sigh, his hands still holding tight to the wheel. “Not the truck. You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“What is it?” Luciana asks worriedly, her voice a little more timid than usual at Frankie’s unprecedented anger.

“It’s that damn radiator,” Frankie answers, lifting his hat and running his hand over his hair. “It’s overheated. If I don’t fix it, I’ll lose the truck.” Frankie clicks his tongue, shaking his head before he slams the wheel again. “Fuck!”

“Frankie, it’s alright, it’s an easy fix.” Luciana tries to calm him down, also setting a gentle hand on his arm as she looks at him with concern. “Don’t get so worked up.”

“I can’t help it, Luce!” Frankie confesses, unable to look at her as he watches the rain pour down against the hood of his truck. “I just—this reminds me that I’m close to losing this truck and I can’t. I know it sounds ridiculous because it’s just a goddamn truck but she was my first one. I love this thing.” Frankie shakes his head, tightening his hands even more around the wheel as he pours the words practically from his heart. “I love it and I’m tired of losing what I love! My mom’s gone, you’re off to God-knows-what, my truck’s close to kicking it—.”

“Wait.” Luciana cuts him off, leaning closer to press a hand against his chest. Frankie finally looks back into her gaze, which is now flickering with warmth at his words. “Me? With what you love?”

The realization of what he revealed hits Frankie in that moment, and his mouth falls open in shock as he searches her gaze. He tries to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. “I… Luci, I—I’ve been meaning to tell you, I thought you might’ve known—.”

“I did.” Luciana’s voice is so quiet now that Frankie can barely hear it over the sound of the rain hitting the truck. Frankie watches in awe as her hand raises from his chest to his cheek, her thumb gently brushing over his cheek. A smile starts to form on her lips as she looks at him in amazement. “And I do, too.”

Frankie can’t even process the words for a moment as he sits there, the ghost of a smile appearing when it finally starts to register. “Really?”

Luciana fully smiles as she runs her thumb over his cheek again. “Don’t act like you don’t know it already, Flyboy,” she uses his comeback from earlier.

Frankie’s hands finally fall from the wheel, resting idly on his lap as Luciana continues to lean over him. He feels as if he’s in a dream and part of him wants to pinch himself to make sure he’s not. Still, even with the confirmed knowledge of the love they share, he can’t celebrate. He doesn’t know what to do with this, now. All he can do is hold his breath and manage to speak with whatever he has left. “What do we do now, Luce?”

Luciana’s gaze only trails down his face, following her thumb that continues to run over his cheek before it drops to his lips. She looks back up to meet his eyes, and Frankie can see the same mixture of strong affection and desire he’d seen that night at the bar. “Kiss me.” The words come low and breathless, as if she can barely breathe without his touch.

It strikes something deep within Frankie, and he doesn’t even think twice before he reaches for her face and closes the gap between them. The relief is so sweet that it causes the both of them to sigh into each other’s mouths, the storm outside now mirroring what they’re creating themselves as Frankie pulls Luciana even closer to himself. She ends up straddling him on the seat of the truck, and Frankie swears he’s never felt as complete and comfortable as he does in this moment. His hands glide from her face down to her waist and then her thighs, like he’s known the feeling of her body forever. His stomach is soaring as if he’s already flying, his heart thumping against his chest as his mouth keeps moving against hers. When they finally pull away to breathe, they stay close, and Frankie watches as a smile grows on Luciana’s lips.

“Damn, Morales—if I knew you could kiss me like that, I would’ve asked you to a long time ago.”

Frankie lets out a soft laugh as he starts to blush, brushing his thumbs over the skin of her thighs in just the way she likes. “I can’t believe what I’ve been letting myself miss out on.”

Luciana giggles before she plants a kiss on the stubble along his jaw, leaving a few more there that cause a fire to ignite deep in Frankie’s stomach. “There’s a lot more where that came from.” Luciana lifts her head once again, touching her nose to his. “But if you don’t take care of the truck, we’re gonna be stuck in this storm forever.”

Frankie chuckles and nods, reaching to at least kiss her for another quick moment before forcing himself to pull away. “Alright.”

He helps her to climb back off his lap as he prepares himself to get out into the storm, reaching for the coolant in his backseat and hurrying to the front of the truck. He lifts the hood and takes care of the radiator, his mind going everywhere else except the truck at the moment. Frankie’s in awe of the events that just took place—but he’s also still afraid of what’s to come. Now that they’ve crossed this line, he knows they can’t go back, and there’s going to be consequences to what they’re allowing themselves to do. For now, Frankie doesn’t dwell on those, but he knows he’ll have to eventually.

Once he finishes up, he closes the hood, shocked to see Luciana suddenly getting out of the truck. He shakes his head and points to the truck. “I’m done!” Frankie exclaims to her over the pouring rain. “We can get back in the truck!”

Luciana doesn’t respond as she fully approaches him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “But you haven’t kissed me in the rain, yet,” Luciana insists, her brown gaze glittering with such excitement and love that Frankie can’t deny her request. He smiles before he kisses her again, amazed at how it still takes his breath away just like the first one as his hands fall on her waist and pull her completely against him. Luciana’s hands glide along his neck and up to his face, admiring his features before they pull away.

“Okay, I’m not letting you get sick,” Frankie states, gesturing back to the truck. “Let’s go!”

Luciana laughs as they hurry back inside the truck, giggling like teenagers in love as they finally start heading back to the house again. Frankie’s hand stays tight in Luciana’s the entire drive back, a peaceful silence falling before he decides to break it with a cheeky smile.

“So,” Frankie starts, giving Luciana a quick look of amusement, “am I really a good kisser?”

Luciana chuckles softly, giving his hand a squeeze as her eyes widen. “Listen, Frankie, I’ve kissed quite a few guys,” she tells him, “and I’ve had yet to experience something that feels like that.”

Frankie snorts and runs his thumb over her knuckles. “That’s good to know. I just…” he sighs, trying to piece his words together, “… I wasn’t sure, y’know?”

Luciana tuts and shakes her head. “You underestimate yourself, Frankie. In so many ways.” She brings his hand to her lips for a moment as she leaves a soft kiss there. “You really think I would’ve fallen in love with someone who wasn’t so kind, caring, and hot?”

Frankie laughs as his cheeks redden again and he shakes his head in slight embarrassment. “Alright, alright. I get it.” He gives her a quick look of affection. “‘Fallen in love’ though, huh? It’s nice to hear that.”

“You better get used to it, Morales.” Luciana’s tone is playful yet serious, her hand only leaving his to brush over his cheek as he drives. “Because I love you and I’ll remind you of that as many times as you need to hear it.”

Frankie’s heart swells at the words, another smile spreading on his lips as he takes her hand and squeezes it tight. “I love you too, Luce. A lot.”

“I know.” Luciana leans over to kiss his cheek, and Frankie’s half-tempted to turn his face so that it lands on his lips—but he knows better while he’s driving.

As soon as they pull into the driveway of the house, Frankie stops the truck, turning to face Luciana with a raised brow. “What now, Luci? Do we just say fuck it and go for this in front of the guys, or go on pretending this doesn’t exist?”

Luciana sighs softly, holding Frankie’s face between her hands as she looks him deep in the eye. “Remember what I told you after Santi talked to us. You’re allowed to feel what you feel, and so am I. We’re allowed to have this and no one can tell us otherwise. But I know that these are your brothers—and mine, too. And if you don’t want to parade this around them, I understand. Just know that any single moment when they’re not looking? I’m gonna be yours.”

Frankie nods at Luciana, absorbing the feeling of her hands on his face. He takes a deep breath and then nods. “Alright. We can try that. It’ll be hard…” Frankie trails off for a moment as his gaze drifts to his fingers, which walk their way onto the skin of her thigh before his gaze wanders back to her eyes, “… but it’ll be worth it.”

Luciana smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss before they resolve to get into the house. Hand-in-hand, they run through the downpour, jumping a bit when a loud roll of thunder sounds but then laughing once they’re safe inside. Knowing the boys are still at Benny’s, Frankie doesn’t have to be shy yet about pulling her body to his, wrapping his arms around her in a lame attempt at warmth as he leaves a kiss on her head.

“You need to warm up,” Frankie instructs her softly. “I know you don’t need me telling you this, but please—for my piece of mind. You can’t be sick on graduation day.”

Luciana looks up from where she’d buried her face in Frankie’s chest, raising an eyebrow as giggles at him. “You’re just saying that because you wanna kiss me and you can’t if I’m sick.”

Frankie shrugs at her. “Maybe. But don’t you want that, too?” He chuckles before he leans down to kiss her again, unable to get enough of the feeling as his mouth moves against hers in such a perfect rhythm.

Luciana pulls away, but stays close, her nose and lips still brushing against his as she speaks. “Sure.” She leaves another peck on his lips before she leans away again. “I guess this means bedtime, huh?”

Frankie nods. “Big day tomorrow.”

Luciana shrugs. “I know I won’t be getting rid of you anytime soon, so I think it’ll be fine.”

Frankie chuckles as they walk hand-in-hand up the stairs, not wanting to part until it’s absolutely necessary. When they get to Luciana’s room, they stop, and she stares up at him with affection that takes Frankie’s breath away. “Goodnight, Luce. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, okay?”

Luciana frowns dramatically, putting her arms around his neck as her fingers play with the curls peeking out from under his hat. “Don’t leave me just yet. Lay with me.”

“I wish I could. But you know… the boys—if they come home and they see…”

“I know.” Luciana gives Frankie an understanding nod and pulls him in for one last kiss. “Goodnight, Flyboy. I love you.”

The words still hit Frankie in a deep place that he can’t explain, grinning like an idiot as he brushes a hand over her cheek. “I love you too.” His voice is almost as gentle as the kiss he leaves on her forehead, regretful to leave her arms as he heads to his own bedroom. The entire way there, his smile never fades, and the first thing he does regardless of his soaked clothes is pull out his journal—refusing to dwell on the consequences of his actions as he grabs his pen.

Mom,

I did it. I get to be with the love of my life.

And for the first time in much too long, Frankie sheds a tear that’s meant for joy and not for sadness.

next part: chapter 7: lightning

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @amarvelousmandalorian @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn @thirsty-flygirl @awesomefandomsunited @ezraslittleblondestreak @b0n-chann

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin

#oh my gosh #oh my gOSH!#frankieeeeeeeee stop it i'm soft #sir #frankie morales #catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #thunder fic #dindjarindiaries

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.03

The Portrait’s Success

10/02/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 7,071

Warnings: Language, exhaustion (both reader’s and mine), Medieval Bucky

A/N: Welp, finished the chapter. Went back to edit. Ended up adding another thousand or so words to it. Went from 5k to 7k. Sorry they seem to keep getting longer but this isn’t new for me so...enjoy! Also, I’ll probably be using a lot of dresses from Reign as they are gorgeous costumes and fit the semi-historic style but not exactly as accurate as they should be that I’m going for. Let me know what you think. What you love. What’s your favorite part? I love y’all. Sorry I’ve been slow to update. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Not enough sleep. You have been up all night practicing your letters and sounding them out as you trace them.

With burning eyes, you reach for the modest serving of bread, ripping a piece and then dipping it into a small dish of strawberry jam. It’s full of seeds and they stick in your teeth a bit, but the sweet taste is too good to pass up. You have never had such tasty bread, or such tasty jams.

The food is by far the most enjoyable thing about your new life here in the castle.

You’ve been practicing your writing, but you’ve focused on three words only. All proper nouns, but words that you will come to live by.

The first is obvious, for he is your benefactor now. Your adoptive father.

S-T-A-R-K. You write, in big loopy letters that squiggle unevenly across the top of your parchment paper.

With a lick to your lips, you dip your pen back in its inkwell, and start on the second word that you’ve spent all night practicing.

This one will be the most important for yourself. Because it is who you are. It’s you’re name. Letter by letter, same loopy shapes, sloppy lines, but thankfully legible.

You write it out three times before you’re satisfied with it then move on to the word that will change your life forever.

R-O-G-E-R-S. Here in Malibia, Queen Virginia, or Pepper as you’ve been told to call her, was allowed to keep her own surname. Morgana has taken the King’s but in Broklin, you know that you must take King Rogers’s surname.

You don’t really mind. You must belong to that kingdom entirely and not having to lie about your surname by pretending that it’s Stark will help you feel like you truly do.

As you write out his name a fourth time, you tap against the bottom of the S creating a dark pool of ink, blotting across the bottom of the page as you remind yourself that King Rogers hasn’t accepted you just yet.

You’ve decided to dedicate your life to becoming a good Queen. A good wife to his Majesty King Rogers, but that doesn’t mean that he will want you.

You’re poor. Of course, he doesn’t know that but all of this, not knowing how to read or write will no doubt bother him.

You’re also common in your looks. Natasha tells you otherwise but how can you believe her when she’s so blindingly beautiful herself?

She should be the one marrying a king. Not you. What will you do if you fail his Majesty and can’t make King Rogers fall in love with you?

No. You don’t need him to love you. Just accept you.

As long as he marries you, then everything will be fine.

Is it wrong that you want him to love you?

The subtle creak of your door surprises you and you jump, sitting up straight. Like you were taught.

A young girl no older than fifteen squeaks at the sight of you. She’s wearing a plain maid’s gown, white and gray and brown. Stiff and of good quality. Prettier than anything you’d owned before but sturdy like your old tunic.

Hmph. Even the common folk in the castle are different.

“Forgive me, your Highness.” She gasps with a curtsy and stays ducked down. “I did not know you were awake. I was sent to mend your fire and deliver your morning tea.”

You spring to your feet, waving both hands at her, hoping the smile on her face is not full of surprise and helps to reassure her.

“No. Please, stand up. It ain’t—It’s no problem. Don’t let me stop you from doing what you were told to do.” When she doesn’t rise, you hurry to her and place your hands just underneath her elbows to coax her up.

“Thank you, your Highness.” She watches you with curiosity as if she’s trying to read you, but she goes about the room doing her work while you keep out of her way.

Soon the fire is roaring again and she’s serving your tea while you munch on a biscuit smeared in purple jam. God, this food is going to kill you, it’s so delicious. Once more the door opens, and you jump.

This time, you see two figures, one tall with red hair. The second shorter with fluffy brown hair.

“We’ll wake her gently. Then we can-” Natasha is telling Peter then stops and straightens out of her stooped posture as she spots you standing by the small cards table that’s been cleared for you to eat on. “Oh. You’re already awake.”

You smile at her, then look beside her at your guard. “I am. Good morning. Good morning, Peter.”

“’Morning your Highness.” Peter smiles.

“I thought you’d be exhausted after all of your lessons yesterday.” Nat confesses, a small chuckle in her voice as she moves towards the thick curtains that have blocked out most of the light from coming in through the floor to ceiling windows in your room.

“I was tired.” You admit, feeling a little bit of shame for not sleeping. “Do we have a lot to do today?”

You put your teacup down, biscuit dropped on its plate as you move to take a seat. Your body is finally catching with your fatigue and feels a hundred pounds heavier suddenly.

“Well, we’re meeting his Majesty for breakfast, then we are to go meet with the painter for your portrait. We must get something out by tonight if not tomorrow. King Rogers is eager to see you.” Natasha finally wrangles the curtains open and her smile slowly fades into an expression of dour disappointment. “Oh, Y/N!”

She chastises you, the maid staring with wide eyes at the apparent liberties that Natasha is taking. Peter also looks shocked. You however cringe because you know that she can finally see you for the sleep deprived mess that you are.

“Um…if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to get changed and…yeah…” Peter says, ignoring your pleading looks for him to stay as he slips out, following the maid, then shuts the door.

You’re chewing on your lip when Natasha reaches out to touch the space underneath your eyes.

“You’ve always looked a little tired—and I figured it was just because of your circumstances—but this is unacceptable. We’re supposed to be painting you today to entice King Rogers not warn him. I told you how important this portrait is.” She growls and goes to fixing your hair.

“I’m sorry.” You whimper.

“Were you up all night?”

You nod as she finishes with your hair.

“Why?” She asks and you can’t help it, you jump to your feet and skip to your desk.

You pull out the piece of parchment you’d been writing on then hand it to her.

“I was practicing. When I must sign my name, I wanted to be able to do so nicely and I thought…maybe, to help him see that I want this as much as he does, that I could write to him? But my writing is so terrible. I needed to practice.” You lean around the paper as she looks it over.

Her expression seems to soften, her hand running over the repeated letters and finally that ink blot at the end. It’s almost as if she can guess what you’ve been thinking, and her eyes wander to the desk where you left the small compact with King Rogers’s portrait open to look at as you wrote.

You hurry to grab it, shut it, and hold it in both hands. Slightly embarrassed but it’s Natasha. If anyone is going to know your mind inside and out, it should be her. She’s your lady.

“This looks good, your Highness, but you’ll need much more practice before you’ll be able to write an acceptable letter.” She says as gently as she can manage.

You deflate, your sleep deprivation suddenly too much.

“Does it look that bad?” You look at your scriggles again, trying to see them with fresh eyes and not with the effort that you’ve spent the night using to do them.

“No.” Natasha’s hand finds your shoulder. “No, your Highness. You have made much progress. I only mean that it’ll take time before you can write to his Majesty King Rogers. You still need to learn how to spell other words. Not just names.”

It feels like you’re being hammered into the ground. Every word, although she means it in comfort, makes you feel as if you’ll never be good enough.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We have time. Not much, but I’ll help you.”

As she wraps an arm around your shoulder, you frown and reach out to touch the last iteration of Rogers that you’d written.

“He’s going to be so disappointed with me.” You worry, knowing that you’re nothing special. Worse because not only are you not a real princess, but you’re uneducated.

Then, like the flipping of a switch, Natasha says sternly, “We don’t have time for that.”

She pushes you away and hurries to your wardrobe.

“I’ve allowed you to wallow in a bit of self-pity the past two days because this is not your fault and you’re taking on something that even I would find hard to do but if you’re going to do this, you need to go in with your chin held high. Can you do that?”

You stare as she rifles through your dresses, frowning at each one as if none of them are right.

What answer can you give her? There’s only one answer. You wouldn’t have agreed to do this if you weren’t sure that you could dedicate yourself completely to it and you have! You haven’t even tried to run away.

Part of that is because this place is nicer than any place you’ve been before. But it would be a lie to say that you don’t miss your village. You were no one there but at least you were on somewhat equal footing with all of them.

Even in the village you were slightly lower, uneducated as you are, but you were accepted. You belonged there in a sense. You were your own woman. Hungry most of the time. Alone. But it was home.

“Your Highness?” She checks, turning back to you. “Can you do this? Truly?”

There’s a wavering of confidence in her green eyes and you realize that you don’t want to let Natasha down. Or the Kingdom. Or his Majesty.

“I can.” You nod, hating the way sleep seems to call you making your words slur a little and your shoulders slump. You stand up straighter, chin up. “I will.”

Natasha’s face relaxes, her smile more than makes up for her rightful scolding. “Good. Your dresses aren’t finished yet.”

“Oh.” You worry. “Then, maybe we should wait to do the portrait for when they are? I need to look my best for King Rogers.”

She sees through your attempts to ditch and gives you a knowing smirk.

“Nice try. You should have slept.” With a sigh she places her hands on her hips.

“Who didn’t sleep?” You turn towards the familiar voice eyes bright but worried too as King Anthony moves in with Peter trailing behind him.

“I-”

“Our new princess was up all night practicing her writing because she wants to impress Steve.” Natasha’s tone is teasing, and your neck and ears burn in slight embarrassment.

Wait…why does she call King Rogers by his first name. That’s weird right? Not normal?

The King smirks. “Is that so?” He moves to the parchment on the table and gives it a look.

“I…I wanted to write to him.” You confess, but now that you think about it, it was a silly plan.

You don’t know how to spell. You don’t know how to read. You’re learning but it’s only been two days.

“I’m guessing you saw his portrait?” The King checks.

“I gave it to her night before last.” Natasha moves away from the wardrobe to stand beside her king.

“They all fall for his looks.” The king teases. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Y/N. Steven Rogers might be handsome, but he comes with baggage. Really big, heavy baggage.”

“I know.” You counter, moving to lean against your bed post. “Natasha told me.”

His dead wife. What sort of man has he become since that? You can’t think that it will be anything but bad.

“He’s marrying you because he has to. And he still might not. Which is why we have to trick him into it. Maybe we can make him feel responsible for you somehow?” He wanders deep into thought as Natasha finally looks up at Peter and what looks to be a bunch of shiny burgundy fabric.

“What’s this dress?” She asks.

Oh, it’s a dress. Stupid sleep deprivation.

“But I don’t wanna trick him.” You say quietly, everyone else too distracted to hear you.

“That’s her dress for the portrait. I started having it altered the moment she arrived. Steve’s preferential to reds.”

“This isn’t red.” Natasha laughs. “This is burgundy. Like wine.”

“It’s in the red family.” The king argues.

“Tony…” Natasha laughs.

You’re too sleepy to keep paying them any attention and your eyes are glued on the dress as Natasha holds it up and out to look at.

Damask burgundy silk with golden embroidery along the waist, sleeves, and bust make up the bodice. The skirt is long and slightly ruffled underneath with rough tulle. Your under dress will help you keep from feeling it but this dress is slightly puffed at the skirt.

It’s beautiful but nicer than anything you’ve worn to date.

“Isn’t that too nice?” You wonder, maybe his Majesty made a mistake? You’re not going to a ball. More importantly, can you do the dress justice?

“What?” He turns to you, eyebrow quirked as he eyes you with incredulity. “Nothing is too good for my daughter.”

Your heart skips a beat and warm flutters fill your tummy as he looks back at Natasha and begins to explain something fully unaware of how his claiming you as his daughter has made you feel.

Peter on the other hand moves around them towards you and holds his arm out for you to take hold of. “Are you alright, your Highness? You look a little sick.”

“I’m okay.” You assure him. “I just…”

Wait…Peter doesn’t know about you, does he?

“It’s been a long time since his Majesty called me his daughter. I forgot what it felt like to hear.” You confess which is not a complete lie.

“Was it hard in that school you went to?” Peter asks, concern written all over his kind face, hazel eyes laced with secondhand sorrow.

“It wasn’t easy.” You tell him, again, not a complete lie. “Everything is better now that I’m here. I only hate to leave it so soon.”

“But you’ll be going to another castle, right? And Natasha and I will be coming with you.” He promises. “You won’t be alone.”

“Yes, that does make me feel better. Thank you. But I hope-” You steal a glance over at Natasha and the king as they rummage through your wardrobe and argue about the dress.

“You hope?” Peter urges.

“I hope I can make him happy. King Steven? I really want to make him happy, Peter.” You worry.

“You will.” He nods. “You’re really pretty and nice and you don’t act stuck up like most of the other ladies at court. He’d be crazy not to like you, your Highness.”

His words nearly make you float. “Thank you, Peter. That means so much to me.”

He beams and Natasha’s voice pulls your attention. “Come, your Highness, let’s get you into this burgundy gown.”

“Oh, will you drop it? You’re like a dog with a bone.” King Anthony tells her.

“Did you just call me a dog?” Natasha glares at him and it shocks you how comfortable around each other they are. How relaxed in convention. Even Peter. He calls Natasha by her name instead of her title.

Is that normal?

“I said like a dog. There’s a difference.” King Anthony says, but he chuckles. When his eyes fall on you as you stop before her, he sighs. “We’ll just have to tell Tom to make her prettier than she is at the moment. We can’t have him painting her looking that tired.”

“You won’t lie through my portrait, will you?” You demand, feeling strongly about giving King Rogers exactly what you are. If he doesn’t want you, you’d like to know now instead of later when he’s married you and he’s unhappy with what he has.

“No, not lie. We’ll just paint you more rested than you are.” His Majesty assures you. “Peter, Tom should be in the main hall by now. Show him to the third courtyard out by Pepper’s vegetable garden. We’ll have him paint her on the bench in front of the pink and white peonies. It’ll look good with the dress.”

“Right away, your Majesty.” Peter affirms and hurries out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once gone, the king turns back to you, frown in place. “Look, kid. I really need you to start playing your part. The modesty is a good touch, there aren’t many people from privilege with it so, keep that but you can’t keep questioning every time I want to lavish you with a gift. You’re a princess. Start acting like one.”

Feeling remorseful, you nod. “Of course. I’m sorry, your Majesty.”

“Also, I’d really prefer it if you called me ‘father’. You should only refer to me as Majesty when you are referring to me to someone else or introducing me to someone I haven’t met. We’re feeding everyone the story that you were sent abroad but I don’t really need them to think that I shipped you away without affection to keep you out of sight.” He urges. “If I’d really had a daughter with emotional problems, they’d have had to pry her from my arms if they wanted to send her away.”

As he speaks the words, you know that he’s thinking of Morgana. She’s still missing. But you get what he’s saying. If you act distant with him, people will think that he never visited and sent you away so that he could pretend you didn’t exist. That’s not what you want for him either.

He’s been nothing but kind to you and considerate.

“Yes, f-father.” You frown. “Sorry. Father.”

That’s better. Sounds more natural.

“She’ll pick it up, Tony. Don’t worry.” Natasha assures him.

“Right.” He says. “Get her changed, curl her hair a little. Waves. Maybe a braid or two but keep it simple. Steve will respond more to her innocence than regality.”

“I thought we weren’t trying to trick him?” Natasha challenges.

“We’re not. I’m trying to sell him my daughter.” He looks at your stunned expression and shakes his head. “Not like that. We’re not getting any money for you. I just mean, I have to make you appealing to him.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” You ask for what must be the millionth time.

“He doesn’t have to like you.” Tony nods. “He just has to marry you. Breakfast in ten. Hurry up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting still for hours and trying not to fall asleep is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

Natasha keeps clearing her throat to remind you to sit up straight and you hear her most of the time, but Peter catches you once or twice when you’ve teetered to the side after dozing off.

Tom, the artist painting your portrait clicks his tongue every time you move and you bit your lip which makes him frown.

“Sorry.” You mutter, then sit still.

Your only solace is that the cool breeze, in combination with the warmth of the sun, is bliss. It’s this comfort that seems to lull you to sleep repeatedly so, good and bad.

Normally, according to Natasha, portraits like these are usually done over several days but because of the urgency to get your portrait to King Rogers, you sit on the white marble bench for nearly ten hours before you’re allowed to get up.

No bathroom breaks. No food. No water. It’s not torture but after two days of constant feeding, it hurts.

“Thank you, Tom.” Natasha tells the painter as he packs away his brushes and paints, staring proudly at his portrait.

“Can I see it?” You ask, Peter scurrying up to help Tom balance his bag as he begins to pull away the canvas he’s painted you on.

“Get that to his Majesty for approval immediately.” Natasha continues, ignoring your question.

“Wait,” You struggle to move.

Your ass feels numb, legs weak, head is splitting, stomach growling, eyes burning. Before you can get two steps, Tom and Peter are gone.

Disappointed, you’re so done with the day and yet, “Are you ready? You’ve got your reading and writing lessons in five minutes.”

You almost whine, complain that you’re exhausted, and you need to sleep when Natasha’s questions from the morning remind you that you’d told her you can do this.

“Yes.” You reply, tired and not doing a very good job at hiding your drowsiness with the saddened lilt of your voice.

“Just a few more hours, princess, and then you can sleep.” She assures you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder to help support you as you walk towards the door back into the castle.

“Okay.” You relent as your stomach grumbles loudly.

You’re pulled to a stop.

“Damn.” Natasha exclaims, stopping just inside the doorway to look at you apologetically.

Your shock at her swearing is maybe not pronounced enough but you’ve sworn lots yourself back home. And much worse than a simple ‘damn’.

“I’m so sorry, your Highness. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Natasha’s remorse is touching but you shake your head and give her a smile.

“It’s okay. I’ve gone longer without eating.” You assure her.

“Not under his Majesty’s care you haven’t. Can you make it to your lessons without me? I’ll run and get you something to eat if you can.”

“Of course, I can.” You nod. “I’m not completely useless.”

She smiles and then grabs the front of her navy dress and rushes off down the hall and out of sight.

She moves so gracefully and her navy dress and its sparkling silver embroidery make her look like a piece of floating night sky.

You hope that you can move with her grace soon.

Halfway to your lessons room, you begin to teeter from left to right. Shutting your eyes for steps at a time and all you want to do is sit down and sleep. You’re very tempted, as you pass several sturdy wooden chairs and benches as you make your way through the light limestone halls of Castle Stark.

But you persevere and keep going.

When your eyes close a third time, they stay shut much longer and you don’t realize you’re sleep walking until you’re slammed into a large firm body that very nearly knocks you off your feet.

Eyes shooting open, you watch as a tall man with shoulder length dark chestnut hair and gorgeous ice-blue eyes drops his bag and an array of scrolls he’d been carrying under his arm. The contents of said bag go spilling out across the floor along with his scrolls. Books and quills and a box of what looks like cookies that spill out across the floor.

“Oh, damn!” You exclaim, unthinking. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I had my eyes closed.”

In a panic you throw yourself to the ground and begin to gather the spilled contents. Ignoring the cookies because those are ruined now. Fuck.

Way to go, Y/N.

“It’s alright. Please, don’t trouble yourself.” The man says, his deep tone easy and flowing.

As you both reach for a small black journal, you gasp at the sight of his left arm. It shines in stunning silver. It’s not a glove. Of that you’re sure because his metal fingers close around the leather book and he pulls it to him.

“You lost your arm.” You blurt without thinking, so surprised and no filter in your exhausted state.

The man swallows and you finally look up to take him in properly. He is indeed handsome, and his blue eyes are stunning. His lips are full and pink, his brow intense but kind. A full beard covers his otherwise strong jaw. You can see the peeking of a dimple on his chin.

He’s wearing a black leather tunic, black pants, tall knight’s boots and several pieces of armor. Primarily a shoulder guard on his right shoulder, emblazoned with a plain white star.

The collar of his black silk shirt peeks out from the neck of his tunic, laced shut. Around his hips rests a long sword and on the opposite side a dagger.

“I’m sorry. That was so rude of me.” You gasp, flustered by your slip. “I didn’t mean…”

“No.” He smiles. “Don’t apologize. Forgive me, I was also not watching where I was going.”

“Here.” You reach for a scroll and hand it to him. “I’m sorry about your tin of cookies. I…I can see if I can get you some more? There are these good biscuits that they make in the kitchen here. With jam they are very tasty. Or if you like plain cookies, I can make them myself?”

It’s been a while as you hadn’t been able to afford the flour to make them, but the kitchen in the castle is well stocked. You could make them if Natasha and his Majesty let you.

“That’s not necessary. Really.” The man says, smiling at you kindly.

Together the two of you finish picking up the mess you’ve made and when he has the last scroll tucked underneath his arm, you step back with a smile.

“I really am very sorry that I bumped into you.” You fuss. “I haven’t slept and I’m a little out of sorts.”

“You haven’t slept?” He asks curiously, adjusting his cargo.

“No. I was up all night practicing my writing.” You confess, not thinking. If you’d been well rested, you might not have told him any of this.

“Practicing?”

“I don’t know how to write.” You nod. “Or read. And I’m supposed to get married soon. I…I’m terrified of disappointing my husband.”

The handsome stranger smiles and looks down at the ground, then back up at you with those kind blue eyes. “I don’t suppose any man who marries you will be disappointed. Unless he’s a fool? Not many ladies would have stooped down onto the ground to help me pick all this up, much less offered to make me cookies when there are so many servants to do it for her.”

He seems to think about it for a moment.

“In fact, they would have probably held me responsible for crashing into them and left me here to pick it all up myself.”

“That’s not very nice.” You shake your head. “Besides, I was the one falling asleep while walking. I really am very tired.”

“Can you not go to bed early?” He asks, purely out of concern.

“No.” You shake your head, lips sloping into a pout. “I need to go to my lessons. Writing and reading and etiquette.”

Oh! This is a good chance to practice your lying in the heat of the moment.

“I spent a long time away from my family and now that I’m back I want to make them proud.” You sigh.

“Why were you away from your family? If you don’t mind my asking?” He steps closer so that the two of you aren’t speaking across the hallway at each other.

“I was ill. I had many issues, emotionally, and my father and mother sent me away to get help.” You explain and the young Knight’s eyes seem to brighten with recognition.

“You’re the Princess…uh…Y/N. You’re the daughter Tony and Pepper had before they were married!” The Knight exclaims.

Oh, shit. You hadn’t even thought about it from that angle. The fact that you’d have been born out of wedlock, considering your age. Wait…Tony and Pepper? Someone else going by first names? What’s going on here?

“Don’t you think that maybe they sent you away because of that and not because you were sick?” He jokes, pulling your attention away from the lack of convention.

“Are you saying that my parents cared more about their reputations than they did for me?” You frown, not liking this point of view at all. “That they didn’t love me enough to keep me?”

The Knight goes a little pale. “No. Oh, God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“But it is.” You frown.

“Okay, it is what I meant but I did not mean to cause offense. Forgive me. Sometimes I speak when I shouldn’t.” And he does look sorry. “Please, your Highness, forgive me.”

You consider him for a moment then maybe it’s because you’re so tired and don’t have the energy to stay upset, you nod. “Okay. I forgive you.”

He beams, his smile wide and stunning.

“So, it is you set to marry Steve, and not the Princess Morgana?” He asks, stepping closer as two maids walk by giving you both curious looks.

“I am.” Your worries are brought back by his mention and you remember that you should be at your lessons. “I should go to my lessons. I need to work hard if I want to please him.”

“He’ll be lucky to have someone so pretty and kind as his wife.” The Knight says. “I think you might be just what he needs. His old queen was kind but stern, like him. Fixated on duty. I think a sweet-tempered queen with eyes that shine like the sun will do him a world of good.”

Your ears burn hot like fire. So many compliments loaded into one statement…how does a woman recover? However, you are distracted enough by the way he sounds so familiar with King Rogers that you can ignore the flattery.

“Do…do you know his Majesty King Rogers?” You gasp, astounded by the luck you have. He sounds as if he knows him intimately.

“I’ve known him my whole life.” The Knight says. “My name is J-”

“James!” Natasha’s voice makes you jump, echoing around the hallway and turning your heart into mush.

“Lady Natasha.” The Knight named James says, and his voice wraps around the name like a caress. He likes her!

“Barnes.” Natasha frowns as she comes to stand beside you, a small basket held in her hands. You can hear the slosh of liquid—probably wine—coming from within. “Why are you keeping her Highness from her lessons?”

“We bumped into each other. She helped me pick up my things from the floor.” He tells her, smirking with amusement as she turns blazing green eyes on you.

“Your Highness, a Princess does not get down on the ground. You call for someone to come and pick whatever is dropped for you.”

“Oh, don’t do that to her Natasha. Don’t turn her into one of your stuck-up court ladies. She’s perfect just as she is.” James pleads, genuine in his praise and in his desire to keep you the same. For King Rogers?

“It’s my job to help turn her back into the princess she was born to be and that’s what I’ll do.” She gripes.

“Steve won’t like her if she’s like those ladies. Let her be who she is. He needs a little sugar in his life.” James teases, making your neck hot again.

“Did you just refer to the Princess of Malibia as sugar?” Natasha demands.

“Oh, come on, you know that’s not what I mean. She’s nice. And look at her smile. She’s perfect for him.” James assures her and for the first time since you’ve come to the castle and seen King Rogers’s portrait do you feel any sense of relief.

“Am I really?” You beam up at him, your smile wide but sleepy.

“You bet your bottom you are. I guarantee he’ll be worshipping the ground you walk on.” He smiles.

“James!” Natasha gasps, then hands you the basket. “Your Highness, off to your lessons now. Go on. I will follow.”

“But…”

“Please, your Highness, you’re already late.” She urges and because she’s always there for you, you go.

You don’t go far, however. You stop around the corner to listen. Not very princess-like behavior but you don’t care. You’re sleepy and you’re so curious about King Rogers. This man, James, he knows him. Childhood best friends! It doesn’t get any closer than that.

“First off, don’t refer to her bottom. She’s a princess and she’s going to marry Steve. What is wrong with you?” Natasha demands.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Secondly, what are you doing telling her things like that?” Natasha demands, glancing down towards the hall where you’re hiding with worry.

“What?” He chuckles. “She is sweet. And nice. And honestly, if I didn’t have my eyes set on someone else, maybe I’d have tried to make her fall in love with me a little?”

“You think every woman wants you.” She frowns at him.

“All but the one that matters.” He flirts, moving a step closer. “When will you agree to marry me? I’ve asked you six times already.”

“Ask me six more times.” She quips.

James chuckles again.

“I really wish you hadn’t filled her head with all that ‘perfect for him’ nonsense.” She frets.

“But she is perfect for him. Margaret was always so…She was kind and strong and after what happened to her, I think maybe Steve needs to have someone he can watch over. Someone he can protect.” James reasons.

“Yes, but she’s expecting love, James. She’s told me that she must make him like her nearly a hundred times since she saw his portrait and I’m afraid that she’s only going to make herself unhappy. He’s closed himself off from feelings like that since Maggie. I don’t think he has it in him to love like that again and the princess is already so enamored and I’m pretty sure she’s never been in love before. What if he breaks her heart?

“Then she’s stuck living with him in that castle and she won’t be able to leave, so she’ll just have to deal with it. I keep wanting to beg Tony to cancel this stupid plan because she’s the one that’ll suffer, and she doesn’t deserve that. Because you’re right, she’s nice and sweet, and she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.

“What if he’s cruel? What if he resents her? He needs to marry her and have children because that’s what he must do but he doesn’t love her, James. What if he never can? Maybe I should take her away from here?”

“Shh, Natasha,” James closes the distance between them, his hands finding her shoulders which he caresses with affection. “Don’t worry about Steve, I’ll do what I can to help them along. And Steve isn’t cruel. You know him. He’s just…dealing with everything that happened.”

“It’s been two years, James. He still won’t dance. He won’t smile. When’s the last time he laughed?”

James sighs, “I know that things don’t look promising, but he’ll love her. I know it. She is perfect for him. And once she’s pregnant, I know that those protective instincts will kick in for him and he’ll devote every second of his life to her. And you’ll be there, too. Always by her side.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Natasha sighs, “I will be.”

“I think this girl is special.” He says, “For her to get you to love her so much so quickly?”

“The princess has had a difficult life. I want her to be happy now. She takes on so much. She just came back home and now Tony’s sending her away again, just to bury the hatchet?”

“That’s not why they’re doing this, Nat.” James chastises.

“Oh, really? When’s the last time the two of them were in a room without going at each other’s throats? All because of that stupid treaty the team-”

“Nat.” James frowns. “Not here.”

“Sorry.” Natasha says.

Team? What team?

“I know it’s frustrating. But they’re talking. They’re writing to each other. That’s a good thing. And as for the princess, she’ll be happy. I promise. She will, just, maybe not right away. You and I can be a team. We’ll do what we both can to ensure that her heart is as unbroken as when she first arrives.” James insists.

“You can’t promise that. I can’t promise that.” Natasha says, relaxing a little as James closes the distance a bit more, pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped around her torso.

“I can. I will do everything in my power to make sure that he sees her for the blessing that she is. For you.” He smiles at her, seducing her with his kind manners and consideration.

“I’m still not going to marry you.” She smiles, a half smirk with the corner of he lip sloping up seductively.

They both seem intent on seducing each other.

“Aren’t you?” He checks.

“No.” She shakes her head but stops when his lips meet hers.

Quickly you slide back, moving as quietly as you can down the hall until you can walk at full speed without being heard.

Natasha has been your champion since arriving here. Her positive attitude has kept you certain of the task you have set before you but to see her doubts spill out so quickly and numerous, your heart begins to writhe with fear because what if she’s right? What if you’re dooming yourself to a life without love?

There are worse things. You remind yourself again. You know that all you can do is hope that he marries you.

At least, if you marry him, you will have a place. Your home will always be Broklin’s castle and your family will always be the King, even if he doesn’t love you and would rather have his first Queen. You will finally belong somewhere and on one will be able to take that away from you.

Reaching into the pocket of your dress, you pull out the small silver compact that Natasha had given you and pry it open to stare at King Steven’s handsome face.

Those storm blue eyes…

Now all you have to do to ensure your survival is make sure that you don’t fall in love with him. And really, how hard can that be?

It’s late afternoon and you’re making your way from your room with Peter at your side, sharing a bag of berries that his Majesty had sent to your room.

“They’re tart.” Peter chuckles. “Here, keep the rest, I might not stop eating them if I keep going.”

You laugh with him. “So? Help me finish them. I’m eating too much as it is with all of this food they send to my room.”

Your dress is simpler today, plain white with a sheer pink underlay. You’re a gleaming pearl underneath warm yellow light. Your corset is still tight however, so despite the comfortable dress, there’s a hint of discomfort in the way you stand.

“No. I’ll finish them.” Peter argues.

“That’s the point.” You laugh.

“Princess!” A shout from the end of the hall startles both you and Peter.

He drops the bag of berries into your open hand and jumps in front of you to shield you on instinct. You nearly drop the berries but just manage to catch the small sack.

A man you’ve seen every day but never spoken to marches towards you, his short graying curly hair and stocky build give you comfort for some reason. He looks like a teddy bear, even though you’ve seen him grumble and roll his eyes a few times at his Majesty. Everyone acts different than they should. You still don’t understand it and are beginning to think you never will.

“Happy?” Peter says, then looks back to you as if he’s let something slip. “I mean, Harold, Sir Harold Hogan. Your Highness, I’m not sure you’ve officially met the King’s personal secretary?”

“I haven’t.” You assure him and try to look as unphased as possible by the nickname slip up. “Sir Harold, it’s nice to meet you.”

Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan bows to you, then stands up with an excited gleam in his eye.

“Your Highness,” He smiles. “His Majesty would like to see you in his office.”

“Right now?” But, what about your lessons?

“Yes. Now.” He nods and begins to walk away.

You hand Peter the bag of berries and begin to follow Sir Hogan.

“Don’t worry.” Peter says, “I’ll run and tell Master Rymond that you’ll be late.”

“Thank you.” You call out to him just before you turn the corner. “Is it very important, Sir Harold?”

“Please, call me Happy. Everyone does.” He smiles at you, no sign of the severe man you’ve seen over the past few days.

“H-Happy, have I done something to anger my father?” You check, keeping up the lie even with the King’s right-hand man. Does he know the truth?

“No.” He shakes his head. “Nothing like that. He’s actually really pleased with you.”

“Why?”

“King Rogers has written back about your portrait.” Happy begins, shocking your arms into numbness from nerves. “We sent it last night and he got it early this morning.”

“A-and he’s written to father about it?” You ask, your voice barely above a nervous whisper.

“He loved it.” Happy assures you.

“King Rogers loved my portrait?” You ask, all astonishment and disbelief. “He actually said that he loved it?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. But he said he wants to marry you as soon as possible.”

You can’t breathe. “And wh-when is that?”

“Day after tomorrow. We leave in the morning for Broklin. You’ll meet him tomorrow night and, in the morning, you’ll be married. Y/N Rogers, Queen of Broklin.” He looks back at you and you stop walking, the sound of blood rushing is deafening, like the sound of roaring carriage wheels as they crash into puddles of water.

Then everything goes black as your body falls backwards.

Happy’s last cry of, “Princess!” echoes in your ears.

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inkrabbit · 3 years

Text

The Yearbook

This is an older story, little over 2 years old, but the next shipping story for Sucker will revolve around the suggestion by Vance. Also I think Bully deserves a bit more content on here.

Pete frowns slightly as he stares down at the yearbook's generic cover. He'd had the thing for over a couple days and no one's come around to sign it. He didn't really go out and ask people to sign, either. He figured he was too much of a loser to ask the other students, or even teachers to sign his yearbook. And the thought of this made his frown worsen. However, when the bell finally rang and the few students who had stayed for the remainder of their English finals got up to leave, he met a smiling Mr. Galloway, beckoning him over. He figured the man was just drunk and wanted to give him a lecture about being more social and whatnot his sophomore year.

"Ah, Peter! How are you?" Mr. Galloway greets, his nose redder than Rudolf the Reindeer.

"I-I'm fine. What did you need?" he questions. With a warm smile, the man waves his hand, gesturing to the yearbook still clenched firmly in his hands. Hesitantly, he gives it to him, chewing on his bottom lip, anxious to see what he'll write. He watches him intently scribble away on the first page. He can see the familiar sloppy handwriting that had come back on so many assignments and tests. And when he's finally done, Galloway caps his pen and closes the book, handing it back to the student with a smile.

"Have a good summer, Peter," he tells him warmly. With a small thank you and goodbye, Pete leaves the classroom. He quickly opens the book once he's out, excited to see what the man had written.

"Such a pleasure in class. Have a good summer! Can't wait to see you come back as the official head boy with so many friends! ~Mr. Galloway"

It's short but really sweet. Galloway had always been one the coolest teachers at Bullworth, even if he was a drunk. He appreciated the message.

Walking out of the main building, Pete decided to take one last lap around campus before he sheltered himself inside his dorm room all summer, seeing as his parents didn't really send any letters saying how they missed him and couldn't wait for him to come home. And not even after a few steps away from the last stair was he met with Russell, the town's biggest – and scariest – junior. He could feel himself tremble at the sight of the bully.

"O-oh. H-hey, Russell," he greets timidly, giving him a nervous smile. The teen just grunts, though a grin spreads across his lips and for a moment, he's terrified he's gonna beat him with his yearbook.

"What that?" he questions with his poor English skills as he points to the book.

"This? Just my yearbook," he replies, acting nonchalant about it with a soft chuckle. Russell extends his hand, motioning his fingers for him to give it over. He's reluctant to do so, but he knows what will happen if he doesn't obey. So with a sick feeling in his gut, he hands the bully his yearbook. He just looks it over before staring at Pete.

"Got pen?" The question stuns him and the expression on his face says it all. Russell starts laughing as the younger teen fumbles to find a spare pen for him to use. He takes it softly from his hand, too, instead of snatching it away like Pete had anticipated. He stands there completely dumbfounded as Russell scribbles away and he wonders what he'll say. He's sure it'll be nothing but broken English and poorly spelled words, but the thought meant so much to him. Russell, the leader of the bully clique, was signing his yearbook, and not stealing it! After a bit of waiting, the junior hands it back with the same grin, but something else in his eyes that he couldn't catch onto.

"Thank you so much, Russell!" he speaks as the book is handed back to him. There's just a soft grunt and he waves, giving him a small wink before walking off. Pete's confused by the action until he looks down at what's been written.

"I'll see you over the summer, Pete. Don't be such a stranger to everyone when the school year starts up again, okay? ~R."

No way. No way did Russell Northrop, the walking caveman himself, sign his yearbook with such beautiful handwriting and perfect spelling. Not to mention how nice he was about all of it. Pete can't keep the smile off his face and he holds the yearbook close to himself. He feels all giddy and if he didn't want to look like anymore of a loser, he would've let out a squeal. But this still perplexed him. Russell wasn't smart – not that anyone knew anyways. Where did this come from? Did he have a sudden epiphany that he wanted to be smart? Or was it all an act?

Either way, he still felt great about it and he made his way around to the side of the school. His trip was cut short when he noticed the whole greaser gang walk his way, though, their newest member grinning at him.

"Pete! I've been looking for you!" He's surprised to hear that someone wanted to see him and without, what he assumed and hoped, malicious intent.

"Hey, Vyv. Hey… everyone else..." He feels nervous when he sees Johnny look him up and down, Lola right by his side with his arm hooked firmly around her waist. "What's uh… what's up?"

"Heard you got a yearbook," Johnny speaks, though his expression doesn't change to a friendly one like Vyvyan's had. "How's 'bout we all sign it for you?"

"Y-you guys really wanna sign my yearbook?" he asks. Peanut nods, a green sharpie in hand. And that's when he notices each of them have a different colored sharpie. He can feel himself smile, especially when he notices a pale pink in Norton's grasp. "Alright! Cool!"

He hands the book over to the closet greaser, Peanut, who's quickly going to work. While this goes on, the others are either look over their friend's shoulder or chatting with him.

"Any big plans for the summer, Petey?" Vance asks, giving him a smile. He just gives him a small shake of his head. This earns him a chuckle. "No plans? Maybe you'll stop by the tenement sometime, then?"

"You'd want me over there with you guys?" he questions. Lefty steps forward, hooking an arm around him with a smile, his free hand going up to mess with his hair.

"Of course! Or else we wouldn't have asked!" he tells him with a laugh, "Any friend of Jimmy's is a friend of ours, anyways."

"Thanks," He feels lucky to know the most popular kid in school now. At least they weren't bullying him like he had expected. And he can't help but smile widely.

It takes a bit for everyone to sign the yearbook and in that time, he's talked with every greaser, even King Johnny and his Queen, Lola. They were actually really pleasant and Lord knows he wishes he could just have an ounce of cool in him like they had. Even if they dressed from another time period. And just like Lefty, Johnny invites him over to the tenement whenever he's bored and wants someone to hang out with. It's nice to feel like he has people to call friends, even if he's never really spent much time with them. And when he's gotten his book back, different colors of goodbye and good luck messages hit him. From Peanut's simple "see you next year" to Norton's "go hang with the gang whenever you're alone." He feels lucky. Ricky and Vyvyan shared the same message, just both signing their names at the end. He even notices Vance's phone number and he can feel the heat rise to his cheeks. The greaser just gives him a wave and a wink as they all walk away from him. He spends a couple minutes rereading the messages the clique had written him and, once again, he holds the book close to him. Maybe he would get rid of his shell and actually text Vance over the summer.

Walking towards the fountain he's stopped by a couple preps. Pinky and Gord stride over, their aquaberry uniforms pristine and spotless. He's worried that they're going to belittle him for being poor, especially with the smirks on their faces.

"And what's this?" Gord speaks, going to snatch the yearbook away from Pete. He just frowns, slowly cowering in on himself. "Ew. You let those poor losers sign this before us?"

Gord scoffs as he looks over the other signatures. The comment replays over and over in his head. Pinky pulls out a pen from her purse, squealing slightly when Gord finishes signing it himself. He's still just as stunned when they're both finished and he takes it back with shaky hands. The two just give him a goodbye as they continue their way to the Harrington House, talking to each other. He's almost too nervous to look, but the cursive writing catches his attention. The messages aren't the friendliest, of course, but it still makes him feel good.

"You're not the most pathetic commoner at this school. ~Gord"

"You're okay. Too bad our social circles aren't the same, or we'd totally hang out over the summer! ~Pinky"

He just smiles nonetheless, going to close his book as he makes his way for the gym. He had a couple things in his locker that weren't meant to stay in there over the summer, but he had procrastinated for so long, just trying to avoid the area. But, seeing as he didn't want to be yelled at by either Dr. Crabblesnitch or Ms. Danvers, he had to visit today.

"Hey! Look who it is!" Ted's voice makes Pete shudder and he looks the jock who's walking towards him, Damon and Juri in tow.

"Yeah, look who it is," Damon repeats, Pete biting his tongue to keep back a mean comment. "What's that you got?"

"U-uh it's nothing," he chuckles softly, going to hide his yearbook. But Juri simply goes to snatch it from his hand, reading over the previous signatures.

"Oh, dude! That the new yearbook?" Ted questions, now taking it from Juri and looking in it. "Sick! I haven't even picked up mine yet!"

"I-it's not that great," Ted rolls his eyes, thumbing through the book, commenting about how great his senior picture came out. Pete stands there awkwardly, watching them look through every page before Damon pulls out a pen. Just like everyone else, they take turns signing it. And when they're done, Juri hands him his book back, ruffling his hair just like Lefty had done.

"See you next year!" he speaks, turning to leave. Damon gives him a noogie, following his friend and Ted gives him a pat on the back.

"Do this school good, 'kay, bro?" he tells him, "Jimmy'll take care of you."

"Yeah, thanks, Ted," He watches the graduate walk away with a small smile. "Good luck in the football career!"

Ted gives him one last thumbs up before he's gone. He feels good inside, like he's finally no longer a ghost at Bullworth. He can't contain his wide grin as he goes into the gym with a pep in his step.

Finally the sun was setting, Pete sitting in his dorm room with his yearbook in his lap. He looked over the signatures he had gotten. Beatrice, Cornelius and Earnest had signed the last page on the front, a couple of the kids had signed as well, along with Eunice, Christy and Angie. Ivan had doodled in the small spaces, and Ethan used a page to draw a few ninjas. Even Michael had decorated a page full of dinosaur stickers. However, even though so many other people had signed his yearbook, he noticed how Jimmy didn't. He didn't even see the ginger! Where had he gone to?

With a soft sigh, Pete lays down in his bed, the yearbook on his dresser. Maybe he could find him tomorrow? He was tired right now and sleep sounded amazing. But as he got close to sleeping, he heard a loud knocking on his door.

"There you are, Pete!" Jimmy bursts through his door, looking around his room. "I heard you had a yearbook. Where is it?"

"On my dresser," he replies tiredly, "Why? Where have you been, anyways?"

"Out," Jimmy goes over to the yearbook and snatches it up with a pleased look on his face as he thumbs through the pages. "Man, look at you! Signatures from so many people! Finally popular, huh, Petey?"

"I guess," He goes to lay back down, watching as Jimmy heads for the door.

"I'm gonna borrow this for a few, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, the ginger's out the door and going to his own room. Pete just groans softly. As much as he liked Jimmy, he wasn't always up for how quick he did everything. But he didn't let it fully get to him as he closes his eyes once more, finally drifting off to sleep. He doesn't even hear Jimmy return a couple hours later, set his yearbook back on the dresser and wish him a goodnight.

The next morning, Pete wakes up fairly early, everyone else still asleep. The first thing he notices is the book sitting where Jimmy had left it and he smiles. Finally a signature from his best friend. But as he searches for a message, he doesn't find one. Instead, on the last couple pages, there are drawings. Portraits of him and Jimmy, along with a small one of Gary. He was still a sore spot for both, but the ginger knew Pete had liked the senior before he went crazy. And he smiles, small tears in his eyes. He had admired Jimmy's art skills, and he felt lucky to forever have his work. It's better than any message.

#bully #bully scholarship edition #pete kowalski #fanfic #The Yearbook

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anxiouslymalicious · 4 years

Text

Losers Club Plus One Part 8

A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

Read the previous part here or go here for the complete Masterlist!

A/N; Hello everyone, I’m sorry for the long wait, but I have been struggling with this one a lot and still don’t feel like it’s as good as it could be, but this is the happiest I have felt about any of the versions I have written for this chapter. Anyway, this is about 3.8k words. I hope you enjoy!

“What do you mean you don’t know? Weren’t you there when she was born?!” asked Ben, stressed out beyond belief over the whole situation. He, Bev And Richie had settled in his room while Eddie got cleaned up and Bill sat in front of Y/N’s and Richie’s room, trying to get her to open up to him. He had arrived not long after the situation escalated and had been sat before the room ever since he heard what happened. Well, after giving Richie shit for never bothering to find out. Richie wasn’t mad at Bill though. He was giving himself shit for never bothering to find out, for taking her with him, for being so careless.

“I mean that I never made a test. There was a birth certificate with her, the mother’s name wasn’t readable anymore, but it had my name on it. So, I assumed…” Richie drifted off, another painful sob racking through his body. His chest was aching more and more with every sob. He hid his face in his hands again, like he had countless times in the past half an hour. The shame was too much for him.

Richie felt the bed dip beside him as Bev sat down on his right, laying a hand on his back, her head resting against his shoulder. She was shaken up to say the least, not expecting anything like that. When she first encountered Y/N, she had thought about how little physical similarities there were between the girl and her father, but she never would have thought that there might be a bigger reason to that than genetic randomness.

Ben, meanwhile, was still pacing the room, not sure what to think of the whole situation.

“Do you want to get tested?” Beverly asked carefully. Her voice was soft and hesitant, eyes travelling from Richie to Ben and back to Richie as helplessness took over her. And not only her. None of the Losers knew what to think of anything that was going on.

Richie looked up a little, chin and mouth still covered by his hand that he never fully lifted from his face. Then, he shook his head vigorously.

“I’m scared.” He finally uttered, voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. The two Losers easily heard how rough his voice sounded, like his vocal cords had turned to sandpaper. Beverly sighed, along with Ben who ran his hand through his hair before settling his hands on his hips. He had stopped his nervous pacing and instead stepped closer to the two Losers on his bed.

“Listen, Trashmouth. You really fucked up. We all know that. But sitting here and wallowing in self-pity won’t make anything right again. You need to do something.” Ben said, kneeling down before his friend. Richie nodded as yet another sob escaped his lips.

“I’m just so scared. Did I just lose my little girl?” Richie asked, teary gaze moving from Bev to Ben. Both of them felt tears of their own stinging in their eyes. Beverly shook her head.

“I don’t think so.” She replied, trying to put as much confidence into her words as possible although she really wasn’t sure if she believed herself. Ben nodded a little, agreeing with her.

“You’re shit, Y/N knows that too. She’s hurt but I don’t think she hates you.” Ben rested one of his hands on Richie’s knee, hoping to provide some form of comfort as he looked up at the broken man. Each of the Losers had witnessed the others breaking down before. It was completely out of character for most of them, almost like an out-of-body-experience, but Ben and Beverly silently agreed that they had never before seen Richie that low.

It was hard on the other Losers too, though. It wasn’t only Richie whose heart was breaking.

Beverly was actually deeply worried for the girl. After all, Bev had never had a good relationship with her father. He had been abusive, good for nothing, but she still loved him. She still came back time and time again. And she saw herself in Y/N. She knew that Richie never meant to hurt her and wouldn’t ever dare to lay a finger on her, but if Y/N felt that being hurt by her loved ones was alright, would she find herself in a relationship like Beverly’s in the future?

Ben’s heart was aching for her. He knew what it was like to be the outcast. He knew what it was like to find people you adored dearly only to be ripped away from them again. He was sure Y/N felt that way now. Like her safe place, for both alike, the Losers Club, would be taken from her, but most importantly, the man she thought was her father, her only family, was in some ways taken away from her. It was cruel and Ben was scared that she would feel equally lost as he did when he had to move away as a kid. He never really recovered from the hurt his mother caused him back then.

Eddie was silently breaking down in his bathroom. To him, Y/N was such a little sunshine and she didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve a hurt relationship with her father like he had with his own mother growing up. Richie didn’t deserve that either, but Eddie knew just how much this loss of reality can affect someone. He himself had felt as though he had lost his grip on reality when he spent time in the hospital after breaking his arm. When he pushed his mother to her limits. When he too felt as though he was about to lose the only biological family he had left.

Lastly, Bill was desperate. He had pushed Georgie away and never got the chance to apologise. Time was ticking. What if she or Richie wouldn’t find back together? Bill couldn’t let that happen. His mind was set on saving them the eternal heartache of knowing that it was your fault that a loved one died, the heartache of knowing that the other died feeling unloved. He felt that this was his opportunity to make things right. To not give IT the satisfaction of tearing another family apart.

Which was why he was still, after half an hour, hammering against Y/N’s room door, trying to argue with the girl who mostly replied with hums and groans.

“Y/N p-p-please… This is n-not real. I p-p-promise you.” Bill tried, now growing desperate. Impatient. He felt like he was running out of time. His back was leaned against the door, teeth gnawing at his lips.

“How can you promise that?” Y/N sobbed. The hurt she felt was inexplicable. It was just too much. Her world had been torn apart, nothing made sense anymore and she felt like she just couldn’t go on.

“B-because I c-can.” Bill said, then sighed, knowing just how stupid he sounded. “W-what are we t-to you? W-w-what does the L-Losers Club mean to you?” That sounded better in his ears.

Silence. Then, “I appreciate you.”

“W-we do too. And t-the second R-R-Richie introduced you as h-his d-daughter, I d-d-decided that, to m-me, y-you are a part of this f-f-family.” Bill replied.

“I’m not Richie’s daughter though.” She said, followed by another heart-wrenching sob echoing through the door. Bill winced.

“W-What is a f-father to you?” Bill missed Stan terribly in this situation. He would have done a much better job. He had usually been able to clear everyone’s head out, bringing people closer together again, or at least he was able to talk some sense into them. A single tear managed to escape Bill’s eye, rolling down his cheek until he caught it, wiping it away with the back of his hand. He was mourning for his friend.

“I-I’m sorry, k-kiddo. Stan w-would have been much b-better at this. Sorry. I’m t-trying here, please b-bear with me.” A dry chuckle escaped Bill’s lips. “J-just… what does a p-p-person have to do t-to be a father?”

“I don’t know.” She replied. “I really don’t know. Be there for their kid, I guess. Be honest. Take good care of them. Love them and show them that they’re loved every day. Spend time with them… That stuff.”

Bill smiled a little. “D-Didn’t Richie do m-m-most of that? I mean b-besides the honesty-part.”

She sighed. “But it’ll change so much…”

“W-what exactly would it c-change?” Bill knew that he had finally cornered her. He knew that he had Y/N exactly where he wanted. Suddenly, he felt the door move, but he wasn’t quick enough to adjust his balance and fell flat on his back, met with Y/N’s tear-stained face peeking at him shyly from behind the door. Hastily, he got up as Y/N pulled the door a little further open to grant Big-Bill access to the room. He didn’t waste a second and embraced Y/N tightly, closing the door behind them.

It felt good to be held. Y/N whimpered and winced, broken sobs and shallow gasps racked pained her airways and throat, but she felt. And that was nice.

“Shhh… Y-you’re safe. E-everything will b-be alright.” Bill mumbled, hoping to calm her, but not only her. He, too, needed some support, he needed to hear those words, even if they were his own. Otherwise he knew he would go insane.

“Promise?” Y/N mumbled. She knew it would be a lie, but just for a moment, she wanted to embrace the naïve trust of the child in her. She wanted to blindly follow what the adults told her to do and what they told her would be the truth. She didn’t want to think and decide for herself, but rather go back home, to the safe distance that separated Derry from LA, that separated Derry from the rest of the world, really.

“I p-p-promise.” Bill replied. He looked at his best friend’s presumed daughter and felt utterly helpless. Could he really promise that? He wanted her to be alright, yes, but were lies the right way?

“Can you… uh…”

“Want m-me to call R-R-Richie over?”

Y/N nodded. Bill, feeling a little at ease, grinned and left the room only to reappear a few minutes later, a shaking Richie under his arm. Dried tear streaks besmirched his paler-than-usual cheeks. Richie looked tired. Mentally exhausted, yes, but it seemed almost as though he has aged about two decades in the past hour.

“I’m r-r-right outside if y-you n-need me.” Bill told the two before stepping out, closing the door behind him. Y/N remained quiet, just like Richie. He was slumped over, hands balled in the pockets of his jacket. Y/N could see how hard he was gritting his teeth, trying not to let more tears fall. Richie looked defeated.

Y/N, however, was ready to fight. Her body was rigid, tense, and Richie thought that not even that stupid bitch of a clown would survive a fight with his little girl. Not in that very moment. There was blood on her thumb, Richie assumed she had excessively bit down on it, accidentally tearing it. Richie saw the unshed tears in her eyes and dried tear streaks stained her angrily blushing cheeks.

“Y/N, I,” Richie started, but the words caught in his throat, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She remained quiet.

“I just… Someone left you on my doorstep. They rang the bell and just took off. I had no chance of finding out who it was. But there was a letter. I still have it at home. Couldn’t throw that stupid piece of shit paper away.” A dry chuckle escaped Richie’s lips as he stepped closer to the bed, where Y/N was standing.

“It was from your mother. I can tell you what it said, or I can give you the letter once we get home. But something about it made me want to trust that unnamed person. And you were crying. So loudly and desperately, it made me cry too. I was so fucking scared. I mean, I still am, but back in the day, everything happened so suddenly and I was still living in my fucked up one-room apartment. Fuck, I still wrote my own shit.” Richie ran a hand over his face, up to his hair, then looked at Y/N. Her arms were crossed in a defensive manner in front of her chest.

“But you looked at me with those fucking huge eyes and it was like you told me that we could do this. And I trusted you. And when you grew older, you were so much like me. I never felt the need to do a paternity test. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.” Richie couldn’t hold his tears back any longer. His voice sounded shallow, pained, even. Y/N just sighed, but she could feel her own tears fall, shoulders relaxing in the slightest.

“If you want me to, I’ll take the test the second we get back home. But to me you are and will always be my daughter. Fucking biology can’t change that. Please, please forgive me, little one. Please. I’m so fucking sorry.” Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was full-on pleading now. Pure fear had taken over his body, fear of losing the most important person in his life. The little girl he had taken care of, taken in, cared for and given all his love for the longest time of his life. He couldn’t lose her.

“It’s okay, Richie. I’d just like to know if you’re my biological father too on top of being my psychological dad.” Y/N muttered before finally letting loose, allowing her body to break down again. She knew that it wasn’t just okay. She, as much as Richie knew that it would take time to rebuild their trust, to get back to where they were. She knew that she couldn’t just forgive him for basically lying to her all her life, but he couldn’t help it. He had been blind with trust and now he would have to pay the price.

Richie hesitated for a moment, not knowing if she wanted distance between them to sort out her feelings or if she was craving the comfort from the man she considered her father throughout her whole life. Ultimately, he decided against his gut-feeling and shot up from the bed, wrapping his arms around her crumbling frame.

They cried. It was raw and real and painful, but it was just as relieving. Wet, desperate sounds of hurt and heartache crawled up their throats, echoing in the room. Struggling breaths and hurried gasps. Cries for help from above. Cries for the past.

Eddie, in his room, could hear the wailing sounds. They pained him. They made him want to cry as he cleaned himself up. Eddie didn’t want anything more than for the two to be alright. He wanted the man he loved to be alright and he wanted for that man’s daughter to be alright. Eddie’s creeping hopes of going home with them rather than going back to Myra felt as though they had been shattered. He felt guilty for not wanting to go back to her, but Eddie wanted to be happy. And he felt more than just happy when he was with the Tozier-Trashmouth-duo. He felt free and accepted and loved whereas with Myra, he felt oppressed and stuck in the same vicious circle every day of his life.

He appreciated her, he appreciated how she cared for him, how she reminded him of all the meds he had to take and how he could unwind a little with her after a long day at work. Eddie did have actual romantic feelings for that woman years and years ago, but now, he felt that all those feelings had faded and since arriving in Derry, the thought of going back to Myra made him feel uneasy more than anything.

He would much rather go home with the chaotic Toziers. Get to know how they live. He could help Richie manage his life. He could help Y/N whenever she was struggling in school. Maybe, just maybe, Eddie could stay at home, make sure that everything was cleaned and cared for, cook and plan out little weekend trips. Maybe he could pick up a small job to support the duo, or he could keep working at his job, it wasn’t something he couldn’t do elsewhere, and save whatever was left of his income for Y/N’s later education.

Eddie smiled, a blush on his cheeks, as he wet the cloth, trying to get the dirt off himself. Only seconds later, his happy daydreams were rudely interrupted by the most terrifying nightmare.

Ben had checked in with the Toziers as the cleansing cries ebbed off and were replaced with soft, uneven whimpers and whispers.

“We need you two right here with us.” He had told them, eyes moving from one tear-stained face to the other. Ben looked closely, examined their faces in the most detailed way, searching for similarities between the two and ending up a little satisfied as he found a few. Like the way their noses were curved. The fine lips, the gentle eyes. Ben found that they had more in common than they might have seen. He hoped that it wasn’t just mother nature and his own mind playing tricks on him.

“We’ll stay, don’t worry.” Richie replied as he watched Ben. Little did Ben know that neither Richie nor Y/N planned on staying in Derry. Ben had closed the door behind him, his steps outside growing quieter as he was on his way downstairs, unintentionally interrupting the kiss between Bev and Bill before proudly explaining to them how he managed to get Richie and Y/N to stay.

“Let’s leave.” Richie said hurriedly, back in the room. His heart was clenching in his chest at the thought of leaving his friends, most importantly Eddie, behind to fend for themselves, but fixing his family was more important to him. The blankness of Y/N face, the emptiness of her eyes, the lack of emotion in her facial features scared Richie more than IT ever could.

Y/N nodded. She was too exhausted to interact with Richie any longer. She felt empty, almost as though with all the tears she cried, she had cried out her heart and soul and every last emotion in her brain. She felt like something had been ripped away from her. Like she was incomplete. Although she knew that Richie wasn’t really gone. He was still there, still her father, but she still felt… Strange. Because everything she had believed as she grew up might have been a huge misunderstanding. And that was a lot to take in.

Richie smiled a little. Then, he gave her a gentle clap on the shoulder, the last non-frantic movement he would make for the next few minutes. What ensued was Richie, a constant stream of swear words leaving his lips, hastily searching the room for any items that might belong to them, carelessly throwing what was left in the room into the bags. He then grabbed both bags, gently pushing his daughter to the window where a fire escape led them outside, to the comfort of the expensive car.

Y/N climbed into the back, stretching her legs across the seats while Richie threw the bags in the trunk, slamming it close, then struggled to get in and start the car. The second the motor started, Richie seemed to be a little at ease, his shoulders relaxing further the more distance he put between his little family and the hotel of horror.

Richie had turned on the radio, a random rock song was playing, and he anxiously bopped his head along to the beat. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t be bothered to strain his brain for the name.

Y/N had curled up against the backseats, legs spread out over the seats. She wasn’t comfortable, but it felt better than facing the world and sitting up. She felt too tired to do that. Instead, she looked out the window, simply watching as the world passed by.

The car came to an abrupt halt, shaking the girl halfway out of her trance. She sat up a little, confused as to where the pair might be. She spotted a synagogue and let her eyes travel to Richie who now seemed to be in a little trance himself. His vision blurred with tears and he suddenly looked back at his little girl.

“Uhm… Would you- do you mind if we-“ Richie sniffled a little, pointing at the synagogue just outside. Carefully, Y/N shook her head, silently telling the man that it would be alright. And so, Richie parked the car and climbed out, leading his daughter inside. He hadn’t been there in years. Not since the bar mitzvah. Not since Stanley’s speech.

His nose filled with the typical, slightly musty smell of the place. He knew that warm but kind of old smell from the time he supported Stan when no one else would.

Richie and Y/N sat down on one of the benches and Richie’s gaze wandered through the room. In his mind, he tried to think of how it had looked back in the day. He tried to remember the decorations, how he and his mother were dressed, what Stanley wore.

How he acted. Richie’s mother had felt embarrassed that Richie couldn’t keep his Trashmouth in check for once. But not only how Richie himself acted, admittedly quite tame compared to what his teachers usually heard from him. This was about Stanley.

How he acted up against what was expected from him. How we said that he was and would always be a Loser.

How Stanley reminded Richie of who he was and would always be. That he was alright just the way he was. That he didn’t need to be afraid of who he was.

How Stanley reminded Richie that his friends needed him.

And how much he needed his friends. ‘Because Losers stick together’.

“Thank you for showing up, Stanley.” Richie sniffled in the quietest voice he could muster

And with that, Richie grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her outside again, ready to go meet Mike at the library. Ready to stand by his friends. Ready to fuck the bitch up who dared to lay a finger on his little girl and tried to tear them apart. And, lastly, ready to face Eddie. Because Richie really needed Eddie to know how he felt about him.

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