#on the other hand basil looks at me with the :| face and simply utters ‘boi’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snow--blanket · 4 years

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stream and deer

commissioned by @nyktoon-in-otomeland!

word count: 4028

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: kennyo, ishikawa reika ***

There was an old library, south of the forest in Sekihan, and the path there was cobbled and staggering. It depended on who you asked—the widows of soldiers in the past war believed the road was formed by the steps of the Gashadokuro, a skeletal giant that was made from the bones of a thousand fallen men. The ones that hung holly above their doors believed it to be the paw prints of black cats, leading you astray from the crooked road back home.

Kennyo believed differently.

He believed that the wayfarers that had found their way to the boundary between forest and field were looking for something new. Something troubling. They were waiting for a rise in the tide, the grey of smoke and storm that christened the air in the midst of a hail of bullets. They were not looking for something pretty.

They were looking for a reckoning. They were looking for change, and change was what Kennyo needed.

So he made himself steady through the forest, following the path of small stones that dug through his worn down sandals, and the road to the library was so narrow it could hardly be called one. It was more like a small alley, and the thorns pricked him red and stole threads of his sleeves as he walked. Kennyo realised that if he were ambushed in the forest, he could not get out. He was a soldier walking to his death, slowly watching his comrades being killed one by one, lined up and ripe for murder.

He grit his teeth. Murder is what kept him walking, so he did not mind if he died. Still, it should not be here, where so many of his brothers have gone without tombstones to mark their graves.

Kennyo reached the library by the one hundred and fifty-eighth tap, and the library itself was a fairly small thing, like a silo used to store grain. He remembered a soldier that came from the inner town saying that the libraries there were the length of more than a hundred arm spans. This one had no room for Kennyo to walk around the sides or behind, shielded by the thorny wood. He remembered the sight. He'd seen it before.

The library of Sekihan was a heart and the forestry was its ribcage. He knew he was at the right place.

Kennyo walked to the front door, ignoring the foggy windows and the rusty knocker, corroded by time and air and rain. There were no flowers around the library, only the browning summer grass.

When he entered the library, he was surprised by the fact that he didn't cough. In fact, as he looked around his surroundings, the library was quite well kept—only a few books strewn on a table, but the floor was not dusty as he had expected. When he took off his sandals and walked on the wooden floorboards, it was smooth, no layer of dirt for him to wipe off his sole. The lighting in the library, however, was inconvenient. His only source of light was the evening sun filtering through the trees outside and passing through the greyed lens of glass.

Kennyo walked to the bookshelves, looking for a title to catch his eye. His hand landed on the spine of a purple book, foiled with golden stripes. The title read, 'The Magic of Exchanges'. Surely this must be it.

He removed the book from the shelf, but just as he was about to open it, a voice spoke: “I'd prefer it if you knocked next time.”

Kennyo's heart jumped in his chest, and he turned around to see a woman standing from her seat at a table, a book laid open. She rubbed her eyes and walked over to him. The woman stopped in front of him, then took the book from his hands. He was too surprised to react aptly, and for some reason he blushed beside himself.

The woman went ahead and placed the book onto the shelf once more, then turned to look at him. “What is it you need?”

He wasn't sure whether it was the filtered light passing through the foliage that made it seem like her eyes were star-scaped. He couldn't discern the colour of her eyes clearly, but her skin was the colour of the maple branches, and her kimono was a light blue. He blinked at that. “The book.”

The woman sat down in a chair, and then dipped a brush on an inkstone, writing on the pages of the open book. She hummed. “And for what reason?”

Kennyo's brows were tight in a low snarl. “Not something you need to know.”

She sighed. “This is my library. Every book belongs to me.”

Kennyo's legs already began to move, and in an instant, he pressed a blade to her throat. “I didn't ask.”

Her eyes met his own, and then they wandered down to his other hand that was free. She hummed. “Reika.”

“What?”

“My name is Reika. It's the name you will remember me by once you've killed me.” She stood up and walked slowly towards him, and it was then that he realised her eyes were not honey sunset or the orange from a lantern light, but dark as soil. Even though he was the one holding a weapon, the more she stepped closer, the farther he retreated, until they were both no longer doused in the evening light, dipped in darkness.

He could do this. He had killed before. He would do it again.

And yet, the more he pressed the cold steel to her skin, the more doubtful he felt. Kennyo could not take his eyes off of her. He did not try. He tried to say something kind—to make it quick, maybe?—but his tongue froze in his mouth and his words were robbed off him. Foolishly, he said this: “I will not apologise.”

“I don't expect you to,” Reika said, and her eyes wandered to his hand again. He only now realised that he had been drumming his palm with his fingers, a habit born out of anxiousness. “But it's not wise to lie to me.”

Kennyo opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, her hand had pushed his knife away, and his mouth was agape as he watched the small dribble of blood trail down her fingers. Without realising, he had lowered his blade, eyes widened as he saw that the skin where her cut formed chipped off and flaked to the ground like brittle splinters. “Who are you?”

She smiled, and then bowed in a curtsy. “I'm Reika, the tsukumogami of the library, and keeper of the wisdom you seek. And you?”

“Kennyo,” he uttered honestly, belatedly. “A…”

Demon?

“Traveler,” he said. It would do for now. “I'm a traveler.”

Her smile was edged, thorny like the woods. “And do all travelers carry weapons these days? I must have been asleep for quite some time.”

“It is a dangerous world.”

Reika's eyes glanced at the blade in his hand. “It certainly appears that way.” She looked back at him. “So what, pray tell, are you planning to do with the book?”

Kennyo opened his mouth to let the lies fly out like locusts, but he found himself speaking the truth. “I will make myself a monster.”

She regarded him, a sort of understanding sinking into her eyes like stone. As if she has had this conversation a hundred times with a hundred different people. “And whose monster will you be?”

His tongue thawed, and his words came easy and abrasive like sand. “Oda Nobunaga.”

She was quiet. There was no way she hadn't heard the name before. “I'll grant you permission on one condition,” she said. “That you speak truth.”

He considered this. “And when will I receive it, if I do?”

“Whenever I deem you fitful.”

Kennyo gnashed his teeth. Nobunaga's march east would be in three weeks time, so he could only make sure to gain his powers as a demon within that time frame to avoid any more reckless deaths. “In two and a half weeks,” he said. “If you do not deem me fitful then, I will burn this library to the ground.”

She was a tsukumogami, and her spirit resided in the library, tying herself to the same thread. Burning the books was as good as killing her. If he could not make her bleed, he would make her disappear.

Reika smiled. “I don't think you'll need the book to be a monster, then.”

“I will need to be a stronger monster than him,” Kennyo spat out the words like poison.

She hummed, appraising him with… something he could not recognise. Reika turned away from him, tidying up the books on the table. “Come again tomorrow,” she said.

Kennyo nodded, and then left the library. When he arrived home, he asked a village woman about hexes to ward off impurities. The old woman was somewhere in her late forties or early fifties, her wrinkled face stretched like cloth that had gotten loose from use. She had a mother's disposition, taking care of many animals, as well as parenting a lot of the village children. Although she had her own name, everyone called her such.

The old woman hunched over her small, damp, kitchen and tied rosemary and basil leaves together with butcher's twine, and then wrapped it in a small white cloth. She gave it to Kennyo, who uttered his thanks as he slipped it into his kimono. “Are you going somewhere far again?”

“No.” Not now, at least. Kennyo lightly bumped her out of the way, picking up the ladle that still had the remnants of soup. He began his mindless work of tidying up her kitchen, as it often was messy after supper for the kids. “How is…” His voice caught on his throat like the briars had on his sleeves. “How is he?”

The old woman started to stack up the dirty plates, hovering around the table so worriedly it truly gave justice to her title. “The usual. He asked you where you went, but that's about it.”

“I see.”

They were both silent after that, and Kennyo made himself sparse and went home after the old woman had sent him off with rice balls filled with anchovy and pickled plum. When he bathed, the nicks the thorns had made on his arms and legs stung red under the rush of water. There was magic there, he realised. His wounds looked like the sun spots behind his eyelids, a dizzying flower. It'll be worth it, he thought. The pain would be worth it.

He woke up early the next day and ate the half of the pickled plum rice ball, giving half of it to the little boy that was drawing circles on the dirt. Kennyo simply patted his head and said "you need to grow up strong and healthy", smiling as he did so.

“Like you?”

His smile faltered at that. “Even stronger.” I will need to be a stronger monster than him. Kennyo hoped that the words would not echo.

When he arrived at the library again, the narrow path seemed to have widened a bit—now it was not squeezing him like a tied coin purse, but it was as if he was in the kitchen with the village mother, working elbow to elbow. The curtains were drawn fully to let the afternoon glare enter. Even without lanterns, it seemed to be brighter than before.

She greeted him with a smile. “Hello.”

He nodded, and then sat on a chair, all stiff shoulders like he was going to war. “Begin,” he said.

She laughed at that. “If you say so.” She sat near him after she pulled out a green book from the shelf. She pushed it across the table in front of him. “Read.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Kennyo's voice was a low growl.

Reika did not respond to his heat with fire. Instead, her voice was a slow stream from the mountains, ever-enduring. “Not at all.” This, she said without smiling. “Why do you wish to be a demon?”

“So I can kill—” Her gaze silenced him. Speak truth. “So I can avenge my fallen brothers.”

She hummed, then took out a yellow book he'd seen her write on before. She dipped her brush in the inkstone once, and then drawled across the empty pages in fluid motions. “And you think killing Nobunaga will do such a thing?”

“Not at all.” He thought even death was too easy for the devil of the sixth heaven. “But if—” he stammered, “but if it will give them some semblance of peace, then I will do it.”

She stopped her writing, tore out a page to squeeze the ink out of her brush, then put it down. “I'm going to give you something,” Reika said, and pulled out a green book. She flipped open the pages until she stopped at one page, and then a round lumpy object surfaced from the papers, like dead bodies in a lake. Kennyo's eyes widened. She took the object and put it in his hands. It was light, and smooth. Like a small rock that had been polished clean.

He blinked at her incredulously. “What is this?”

She walked past him and closed the yellow book, then nudged it into the bookshelf. When her eyes met his, there was something there. Pinecones and fallen leaves. Like she had seen death without stepping foot on a battlefield. “It's what you are looking for.”

“I am looking for power,” he said, and he almost felt ridiculous. As if speaking it into existence had somehow dulled the scent of gunpowder and burnt embers.

Reika shook her head. “You're looking for hatred,” she said so kindly, “And that is what hatred is.”

Kennyo looked at the rock in his hands, eyes narrowed in puzzlement. This thing was supposed to help him kill Nobunaga? The man who had both the forces of the nine-tailed kitsune and the fierce loyalty of a man turned servant? He couldn't understand it well.

When he tried to prod further, Reika simply smiled and then said goodbye, and he had the good sense to leave her alone after that.

Nine days passed, and the remnants of war returned in the middle of winter.

Kennyo did not visit Reika in that time—because of the ongoing skirmish (it was what they called it, but he digressed) near the village, the daimyo ordered for the soldiers to send any injured or dead to them. The air was thick with the scent of blood and pus. Kennyo had experience with bandaging and basic first aid treatment, so he was in charge of aiding the injured soldiers as well as teaching other young men how to do the same thing.

They managed to set up an area to lay the treated soldiers on a flat field that the children used to play in. Because the medicine was especially ineffective in the cold, they had used up every lantern and candle from the houses to warm the wounded men. The villagers did not complain, for they had gotten used to the chill of the mountains. Like sinners that had gotten used to hell fire.

One man whimpered, tugging Kennyo by his sleeve as he lay and groaned his pain. “Will I… live…?”

The man had part of his lower leg blown off by an explosion, and it was as if a wolf had bitten it off. A wolf would have been kinder. Kennyo was sure there was a way to save him, but he did not know how. All he knew was that if he decided to muffle his breathing with a pillow, it would end his suffering.

And wasn't that a sort of grace in itself?

“No,” he said. He would be a monster, but he would not lie. “But—” he gestured to the other men that lay beside him. “But they might.”

The man smiled. “That's all… I can ask for.” He exhaled, and his sigh was like smoke coming out of the wrong end of a gun. Kennyo looked away.

Because that's all you can afford to ask, Kennyo thought, but bit his words down until he felt blood.

When he was free, he walked to the village mother's house and went into another room with a bowl of gruel in hand. Kennyo's heart beat fast and heavy in his chest. He knocked at the wooden door, a hollow sound. “I'm coming in.”

There was no response, but he entered anyways, and nudged the door close with his leg. He put the bowl onto the small wooden table and then lifted it off the floor to be closer to the bed. Kennyo could hear his shallow breathing. “Have you eaten yet?” He sat on a nearby makeshift stool, a container for biscuits.

No answer. Just his pale eyes that stared at the walls. He had beauty, once. People fawned over him, and his hair that was lavender was now the colour of… rotting meat. Clever eyes that were like wisteria were always closed or looked at something that wasn't there, like a cat that could see ghosts. His beautiful features became wasted and hungry, his skin being pinched by his cheekbones that became more prominent as the days went by.

“Ranmaru,” Kennyo said gently. “You have to eat.”

Ranmaru did not answer. Kennyo hated that he'd forgotten what the sound of his voice was like. When he was happy, he was like a twittering songbird. When he was serious, his breath was steady and his voice rang with clarity. When he was sad…

When he was sad, he was silent, and that was the worst of all.

He only spoke to the village mother, but Kennyo did not chide him for that. People expressed grief differently. Kennyo felt his chest become heftier, like he was the crow that had drunk the rocks with the water. A foolish act.

Kennyo dragged his seat closer, and then spooned the gruel in front of his mouth. Ever since a small girl had come wandering into the room and stared agape at Ranmaru's lack of arms, no one else was allowed to enter aside from the village mother and himself. They had made up silly stories about a ghoul of some kind to ward off the children, and that was how Ranmaru lived. Like a gust of wind that could pass as the voice of a ghost.

When Ranmaru did not open his mouth to eat, Kennyo did not sigh. He returned the spoon to the wooden bowl and put it back on the table and stood up.

As he turned to leave, he felt something slip out of his robes. Kennyo looked at the floor and saw the small rock had escaped him. He crouched to pick it up, dusting it off before slipping it back into his kimono. He straightened, and opened his mouth to tell Ranmaru to rest well, but he did not speak.

For the first time in years, Ranmaru's eyes were alive and lit with disgust, his lips a pulled back snarl like a taut bowstring. “You too?” His voice was quiet and quivering, like a rabbit in a trap. “You're going to kill me too?”

“I don't—”

“Enough already!” When Ranmaru was happy, his voice was a twittering bird. When he was serious, his voice was a warhorn. When he was angry, his voice was a trembling string of a koto being strummed over and over and over until the fingers that played it had gone red and chafe with use. “Enough already… I know I'm already useless to you, Master Kennyo. I know I should die. I know that I can't help you with your goals anymore, and it'll probably be easier to kill me than to take care of me, but—!”

“No. No! You're not—I wouldn't do that to you.” He remembered the man at the tent. “I wouldn't do that to you,” he said.

“But someday you will!” Ranmaru shouted like the words had been ripped out of his mouth, from some part of him that knew the truth. That Kennyo was to be a monster, and he did not know where he stood between his fangs and his hatred.

Ranmaru started shaking, his body convulsing as his breathing started to pick up, shallow and quick and unsteady. Kennyo started to approach him, but Ranmaru whimpered. “Go away.” His eyes looked at him in fear. “Please, go away.” He closed his eyes shut and tears streamed down his face.

So Kennyo did.

He hoped something would make him stay; regret, compassion, kindness. But those could not be his tools as a monster. His human tongue had nestled in slumber behind his canine teeth. So he left, knowing that he did not deserve those half-hearted attempts at deriving the gold of his heart from the poison.

That night, Kennyo slept restlessly, and he thought about the sun spots the thorns had made on him and the look in Ranmaru's eyes. As if he feared him not for holding the gun, but as a volatile bullet in a chamber, waiting for direction and could erupt at a moment's notice. He was a monster at both ends.

The next day, Kennyo visited the library again, and strangely, he did not feel pain when the thorns pricked him. Like a sinner that had gotten used to hellfire indeed.

Without even a greeting, Kennyo laid down the stone on the table where Reika sat at and spoke. “What is this?”

Reika recognised the hurt that flashed in his eyes like fire flowers that were all too willing to burn. “It's a projectile from a canon that's called Ozutsu.”

“Why would you give me such a thing?” Kennyo could not help his frown.

“There are certain weapons that are banned from use, did you know? Because they cause unnecessary suffering.”

“What does that have to do with—” Speak truth. “I don't.”

“Well, where I come from, the leader of the country, so to speak, banned things like… poisonous gases and anything that could be used to set things on fire intentionally. They recognised that even in war, there were certain boundaries one must keep and self regulate on a constant basis, as to not misuse the power given to them to oppress the weak and harmless.”

This was truth. “Why are you telling me this?”

“To let you know that even if violence is the answer, it should not be wielded around carelessly, driven by rage.” Her eyes glittered, like there was gold amongst dirt there. “That people are always finding ways to lessen your pain even if they have to hurt you anyway. And you will not be exempt of that judgement.”

Kennyo did not growl fire like a dragon, but he whimpered like a whipped dog who did not know what he did wrong. “Violence is effective—”

“Violence is quick. It is not effective, nor is it efficient.” Reika exhaled, her breath fogging like the greyed lenses of the windows. “It is not as if I do not recognise what kind of monster Nobunaga is,” she said quietly. “But he is a kind of monster that can live with himself. He has gotten used to his claws and sharp teeth. You are…” She paused. “You are meant to be something else for this world.”

“I don't know how I can live as myself while other people are needlessly dying at the expense of my passivity.” He furrowed his brows, his anger spent at her rather naive way of looking at things.

Reika smiled, and it was the hint of something new, the smell of fern and lime and her eyes that did not shy away from his. A reckoning that started from a small stream. “I think you've forgotten. I am Reika, tsukumogami of the wisdom you seek.”

She took a green book from the shelves, and he'd recognised it before. She splayed the pages open and pushed it in front of him.

“Read.”

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen kennyo #ikesen writing #ikesen fanfic #commissions #ishikawa reika

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thesmalltowngal · 4 years

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Snowbaz 31- Our Purpose

OTP Prompt #31: The night after Simon shows Baz the stars, Baz can't help but ask for it one more time.

~ So I was having some major troubles writing the current request that I'm working on, so I decided to get the creative juices flowing by writing a paragraph of something I couldn't get out of my head. This what that paragraph turned into. I'm very unsure about this one, and I've been having a bit of a rough go of it lately, so some love in the comments would be really appreciated, if you wouldn't mind. I hope you guys enjoy! :) ~

*Simon's POV*

"Sim- er, uh, Snow. Well I was wondering. I was wondering, if, perhaps, maybe-" I dunno what I've done. I think I've broken him. Baz stumbled in our room early this morning, while I was getting ready for breakfast. He came in, and started rambling about Crowley knows what, and Baz never rambles. He's too bloody perfect for that. But now it seems like he can't stop rambling, which I don't know what to make of. I'm making an utter mess of my tie, and although he'd usually make a remark about my oafishness, he just continues to bluster.

It's my turn to be an insufferable prat, I s'pose. "Spit it out, Basil." He flushes (he must've just fed) and looks down at his feet. The tosser isn't even looking me in the eyes. (We used to never make eye contact when we fought, really. Started only just fifth year, and then I realized his eyes made him right fit, so why ignore them?) Baz moves to sit on his bed and he seems... nervous. Like he might just go off at any second, so I change tactics and move to sit next to him. (Another sure sign of him being off? He's letting me sit on his bed.)

He takes in a breath and composes himself. He still doesn't bloody look at me, but I look at him. Which is right weird, innit? Don't care. "When I was younger, my mum-" He stammers and looks somewhere near my face briefly, before continuing. "She used to tell me about how bright the stars were. Always said she'd take me to see them one day." He lets out a small, pitiful laugh, which is wrong for many reasons. Baz doesn't laugh. And Baz most certainly is not pitiful. I'd said so once, and he nearly shoved me into the floor right there, anathema and all. (I s'pose he could be telling me this to get sympathy. For his plotting. Why else would he tell me about his mum?)

"I'm sorry... about your mum, Baz." Even if he's plotting, it's the least I can say. I know he must miss her, though I've never had a mum, so I dunno what that'd feel like. Right sad, I s'pose.

He waves me off. "Anyway... obviously, she never got to stick to her word," He looks up at me then, right in the eyes, before looking away. He doesn't want to be telling me all this, I can tell. But... maybe he needs to. (He's plotting, my brain reminds me. Right. Plotting. Of course.) "But last night, Snow. Last night I got to see the stars, if only for a moment." I've got no idea where the loon is going with this. We saw the stars last night yes, but what does that have to do with my missing a spot of brekkie? (The scones are calling me.)

"Okay? But I don't-"

"Hush up a minute, Snow." He sneers, back to himself a bit. Some part of me is relieved, seeing him back to his snarky self, even if he is a complete prat. "So I was wondering, if we are on a... truce, of sorts... would you- er - could you-" He groans and runs a hand through his hair. (It's not slicked today. He should wear it like this more- it's less posh. Makes him look more fit than usual, which is hard to do. For a bloke, anyway.) He sets his jaw, and whatever's coming, I know I won't be able to say no. (Unless I think it's part of his plot.) He looks at me, and with resolution I've not heard from him before, he says, "Just this once, Snow, could you take me to see the stars again?"

I dunno what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. He wants me to take him back to the stars. Part of me knows it's a bad idea. He's my enemy, and more than likely he's taking notes for his bloody plot. He'd have full access and ability to catch me off guard and kill me at any moment. And, to top it all off, I'd be missing food! All so he can... see the stars with me? (Not with me. Because of me. I'm his only resource. Not with me.)

Which is why what comes out of my mouth next seems to surprise us both. "Of course I will, Baz." And I take his hands. (It's like they move with minds of their own.) I s'pose breakfast can wait a bit.

*Baz's POV*

I don't know why I thought this was a good idea for even a moment. I should have thought it through- I always think these things through. Maybe it was the way the stars reminded me of mother, or the way Simon's hand felt in mine - or even the intoxication of his magic - but something made me ask him to do it again. And even more surprisingly; he is. He's taken my hands and started filling me with his magic. Leave it to Snow to make me feel like an empty vast of nothing, waiting to be filled. (By him.)

"Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star." I cast. I only have to cast about two lines of the rhyme before the room around us falls away and we're floating in space. All around us, thousands and thousands of stars. But the only thing I can focus on is Simon. He's got his eyes closed and he's sat cross-legged, and his tie is haphazardly slung around his neck. His shirt is unbuttoned part way (he's always trying to kill me, the tosser) and his curls, as always, are tousled and bloody chaotic. But the thing that mesmerizes me most about him is the way he glows. He always glows (to me, anyway), but surrounded by these stars, he shines even brighter.

When I finally wrench my eyes from him (what a sad thing to do) to look at the stars, I feel Simon looking at me. His gaze is burning, as always, and I can only simply ignore it. All around us are supernovas, and stars light years and light years away. (And he's still watching me. Why is that?)

I turn my head back toward him. (It's a bit awkward, holding his hands while I plan on being rude to him. Even after all he's done... I can't help it.) "Can I help you, Snow?" He flushes red (I do wish I could see how far done the blush goes) and only shakes his head.

He thinks for a moment (unusual for him) before saying, softly, "Your mum really promised you that she'd do this for you?" I nod in response. We're quiet for a long while before he tugs my hands and I nearly sprawl on top of him. (It's hard to remember there's a bed under us. If I think about it for too long, the stars fade.) (He's a bloody wreck, he is.)

After a moment of adjusting, we're laying down, side by side, hand in hand. Looking up at the stars. I hear Simon say "There was something else your mum said..." I don't know what he's on about, but if it involves him keeping something about my mum from me, we're going to have larger issues. "She said to- to um, give you something." I'm focused on making sure the stars don't fade. I don't want to leave. I feel safe, here next to my enemy. (Merlin. Funny how that works, yeah?)

"Well? What is it? Come on then, Snow." He turns his head to look at me, and I do the same. (It's all I can do to keep the stars from fading and being replaced by blue eyes and bronze curls around us.) He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. My stomach twists (in a pleasant way or not, I'm not quite sure. In a way.) I can feel my hand shaking slightly in Simon's. Luckily, I don't sweat. I run cold, thank Merlin.

"She told me to give you that." He settles back against the bed and if it weren't for my superior hearing, I might not have heard him.

"Right, well. That's... thank you Snow." He looks over at me, but I don't look back at him, for fear of making the stars disappear. I know we can't stay here forever, but... I'd like to stay as long as I can. As long as he'll let me.

*Simon's POV*

I wonder how long he'll let me look at the stars with him. (Well. I'm more looking at him, but 's the same thing, innit?) This has been nicer than we've ever bloody been to each other, and it's... well it's not terrible, I reckon. He's not snapped at me, and he didn't make a move to kill me when I... well, when I gave him what his mother gave me. And he hasn't made a move to leave yet. Not that I like holding hands with my enemy looking at the stars, but, well. I s'pose it's better than having him plot.

When I look over, he's gazing up at the thousands - millions - of stars above us. He looks sad almost, but that can't be right. Baz is never sad. A complete arsehole, and maybe sometimes lonely, yes, but not sad. I never really thought him lonely, either. He has Dev and Niall, and in some fucked up way, he almost has me, too. I'm not saying I wouldn't kill him given the chance- but p'raps if he were in mortal danger I wouldn't just stand around. But I think that's what any decent person would do, even if the bloke was their enemy. (I think briefly about the fact that I'm missing breakfast, and my stomach's started to rumble, but I don't want to move. I'll think about why, later.)

I've been thinking a lot, lately. (Baz'd snort if I told him that. Well that's a first, Snow he'd say. Prat.) A lot meaning more than usual, and lately meaning since last night. Since we saw the stars the first time. I've been thinking about the stars, and Watford, and the Old Families, and him. Baz, I mean. About how all the stars have a reason, so we do, too. They're up there with a purpose, and I think that maybe we are too. What it is, I dunno, but... well I'm thinking maybe I don't want to kill Baz. And not because he seems to have gone a bit soft. Because I don't really want to. Why take away someone who has a purpose here? Who's a star? I'm not saying I want a bloody cuppa with him, and it doesn't mean I like him all the sudden. Just that maybe I want something new.

But I dunno. I think 's just me who wants that, anyway. Baz turns to me, and I've only just now realized I've been staring at him. (He's about to bite my bloody head off, I just know it.) "Thank you, Snow. Really... thank you." I dunno what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. I can only nod in response.

...

I miss brekkie... and teatime... and lunch, and dinner while I'm in the stars with Baz. It didn't really matter because whenever I thought of food, it appeared, anyway. My magic hasn't been exhausted yet, odd enough. The few times I conjured food for Baz, he wouldn't eat it, the stubborn prick. S'pose he'll just bloody starve. But instead of fighting him on it, I just frowned and he pretended not to notice.

We haven't talked all that much. I think it's because I don't wanna fuck anything up and have him pulling away. I like watching the stars. It's been so peaceful here with him, for the first time... ever, and for as long as he'll stay, I want him to. I know we'll have to leave this bubble of safety eventually. I just. Well, I don't want to do it now. (Crowley I wish it could last longer.)

But far too soon for my liking (I still put that into my box of things not to think about), Baz looks at me, and I feel the stars blinking out, one by one. "Snow, I think perhaps it's time we come down to Earth." Something twists in my gut, but I ignore it and pull my magic back in all the same. As fast as the stars had come, they disappear, and we're left in our very bland, but very familiar and safe room in Mummers. Nothing changed, everything untouched. (I wondered briefly if the stars were his plot to have someone come in while we were gone and steal my things. I didn't think about it for long.)

I'm faintly aware that we're still holding hands, and even though I pulled back, they still feel like magic.

*Baz's POV*

We're still holding hands, and true to supernovas, I think I may combust. This day has been wonderful, and I curse at myself for telling him to end it. But I realized that I got so much of Snow today - more than I ever could have asked for - that it wasn't fair to him. He bloody did it out of pity. He was lovely today- offering me food, letting me see the stars for my mum, kissing me, and staying with me the whole day. But I can't let myself be fooled by it; we're still enemies, and nothing more. He did this because he felt bad for the poor, motherless vampire who just wanted to see the stars for her. Well the toff can just bugger off. (I dreadfully wish he wouldn't, though.)

But he's looking at me now, and instead of telling him that he's dead from the neck up, I say, "Thank you again, Simon. For everything. For the stars," Even in the dark, I can see him flush. "I'm sorry I kept you-"

"Don't be, Baz. Wasn't any trouble. 'Course I helped." He sits up, dragging me up with him. He realizes that we're still holding hands and quickly pulls away, despite my (silent) protestations. (I suppose he's still repulsed by me. Figures.)

"It's just that..." It's all too much. Him doing this for me a second time. The whole day. It's too much and I'm still high off his magic, and he's right here saying that I shouldn't be sorry. I don't know whether to blame him, the magic, or the stars for what I say next. (Granted, they're all basically the same thing.) "Simon, you were the brightest thing in my day. And we spent it amongst the stars." He looks taken aback, and almost instantly I regret what I said. You're the brightest thing in my day? And we spent it amongst the stars?! It's a load of poetic tosh is what it is, and not even good poetic tosh. It's not even poetic! (Never mind the fact that I just confessed my largest secret to the one straight person that it's about.)

He doesn't react for a long moment, in which I spend sufferingly staring at his Adam's apple. "Listen Snow, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... it's just that-" I'm cut off by his lips on mine and his hands in my hair. I'm most definitely combusting, now.

I suppose it was a bit poetic then... wasn't it?

*Simon's POV*

I've found it. It's this. This is my purpose. My star.

#Snowbaz #Simon #Simon snow #baz #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz fanfic #fanficiton #mlm #watford #stars #carry on #spells #magic #Watford School of Magicks #rainbow rowell

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vitanes · 5 years

Text

say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 13: love letter

Lucas doesn’t have a crush on anyone, Eliott paints the mural and something is really wrong but Lucas can’t figure out what.

(a/n: i passed all my exams! n im back! enjoy! tw: mental health issues)

“Okay, but what do you think about this one? Isn’t he cute?” Mika asks, shoving his phone in front of Lucas’ face.

They are sprawled out on the couch and Mika is half-lying on top of Lucas, entertaining himself with some dating app while Lucas is trying to focus on whatever is playing on the TV. It’s needless to say he’s unsuccessful.

He sighs and glances at the screen. There’s a smiling guy looking back at him, wearing a snapback backwards and flexing his muscles. Shirtless.

Lucas looks sceptically at Mika and raises an eyebrow at him.

“He’s okay, I guess. I didn’t know you were into frat boys,” Lucas says, letting his eyes wander back to the TV.

“Have you seen those abs? I’m easy. Besides, he liked me first. I thrive off flattery,” Mika replies cockily, a smirk audible in his voice. He shifts a couple of centimetres up, digging his elbow into Lucas’ side in the process. It takes all of Lucas’ willpower not to push him off.

He groans. “What an attention whore.”

“Just a Leo,” Mika says with a snort. Lucas rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. He thinks the discussion is over and gets back to the movie just for Mika to poke him in the cheek. He glares at him.

“What.”

“Why don’t you set up an account somewhere?” Mika asks with excitement in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because apps like that aren’t for minors? And call me old-fashioned but I’d rather not meet someone online.” Lucas is a romantic at heart and there’s nothing more like simply wanting to meet eyes with a boy and instantly knowing it’s the one. It’s more magical than asking some strangers for hook-ups on the Internet.

Mika eyes him with pity and pats the top of Lucas’ head. “I wish it was that simple,” he murmurs and goes back to his phone, this time with much more serious expression.

He’s probably thinking that Lucas is naïve and perhaps he’s right, but Lucas is pretty sure he’s allowed to be when he’s still a kid. Something in the way Mika’s eyebrows are drawn together tells Lucas that he knows it, too.

Lucas watches him for a good minute, digging his fingers into the cushions of the couch. They’ve never talked about this stuff without having it written off as a joke, but Lucas is curious. He doesn’t know that much about Mika, although a part of him wants to.

“Hey… have you ever been in love?” he asks. With how closely Lucas is watching Mika, he notices the exact second he stops in his tracks for a moment, caught off guard by Lucas’ question.

Eventually, he quietly replies, “Yeah. Once.”

“How did it end?”

“Badly.” Mika looks up at Lucas, sending his way a sad smile. “Not sure I’ll ever get over it, but,” he shrugs one shoulder, “life goes on. Can’t move forward if I keep being stuck in the past, can I?” There’s something really raw and honest on Mika’s face. It’s the first time Lucas is seeing him like this and he wants to say something, catch this moment and hold it for a while, but Mika has different plans. The lines on his face smoothen out and this split second of vulnerability is gone before Lucas can even process it. “Guess who’s got a date tomorrow,” Mika changes the topic. He winks at Lucas and looks back at his phone.

He seems carefree, but Lucas can feel that the tension still hasn’t left his body. Lucas idly wonders how lonely and hurt Mika must be. It’s a bit tragic and contradictory, given his personality. Lucas hopes the same won’t happen to him.

“By the way, what about you?” Mika asks, this time not glancing away from his phone, already engrossed in the guy he’s talking to.

“What about me?” Lucas replies, confused.

“Any crushes?” Mika wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

“No, there’s no one,” Lucas says just as his own phone vibrates. He pulls it out of his pocket and unlocks the screen. He smiles under his nose, his fingers already tapping out a reply.

“Who’s that?” Lucas can feel Mika’s eyes on the side of his face, but this time it’s him who doesn’t look up.

“Eliott,” he says, biting down on his bottom lip when Eliott sends out another message.

Mika makes a weird noise next to him. “Okaaay,” he draws out, uncertain, but Lucas pays him no mind.

***

The mural is standing big and proud before Lucas’ eyes, but he can’t believe in what he’s seeing. Neither can any of them, really, although Lucas’ case is special.

It was a usual Monday morning. They all met up before school, noting Eliott’s absence but being already used to it. They didn’t think anything of it aside from a bit of concern. Then, Emma texted Yann to quickly come to the common room. It’s needless to say they weren’t very excited about it, given the circumstances, but eventually, they went there. What met them once they arrived, was rather unexpected. And still is.

Eliott has painted the whole mural.

“W–when have you done it?” Arthur stutters out in disbelief.

“Today morning,” Eliott replies simply, threading his fingers through his hair. There’s paint all over him, whole mixes of colours creating galaxies over his skin. Despite that, Lucas can’t look away from the painting.

“It’s eight in the morning,” Basile states dumbly.

“I came here after four,” Eliott says like it’s nothing.

“Wait, you broke in?” Imane asks cautiously. There’s something in her voice that Lucas can’t put a name to.

Eliott snorts. “No, I told the night guard that it’s for the project and he let me in,” Eliott explains as if the mere idea of him breaking in was absurd.

“Just like that?” Alexia asks doubtfully.

There’s a pause and then, “Took me some begging, but yeah.” He sounds sheepish.

“How did you manage to make it look like that? It should take you much longer,” Yann says in awe.

“I was suddenly really inspired.”

Lucas has barely blinked ever since he walked in. He hasn’t said anything either. He’s not sure he will be able to utter anything coherent. Eliott told him about some surprise over the texts, but Lucas sure as fuck didn’t suspect something like that.

There are crazy splashes of colours all over the place, but in the centre are two silhouettes, painted in black, clearly dancing, holding onto one another, one of them hiding their face in the other’s neck. Lucas gulps when his eyes fall on the words scribbled around the dancers.

In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.

Lucas can’t take his eyes off it because he knows how easy to read he’d be then.

Despite the chaotic colours surrounding the two characters, they are shielding each other. It feels personal, private. Lucas wants to reach out and trace the lines of the taller silhouette, but he can’t since the paint is still wet. The longer he looks at the exact moment Eliott has confessed to him, the more out of breath he is.

Eliott has painted him a love letter for everyone to see and Lucas doesn’t know what to think about it.

Eliott said he didn’t expect anything from him, but does it still stand? Is it just a selfless expression of his feelings? Then why use that quote? Why expose such an intimate moment between them?

Someone taps him on the shoulder, startling him and he flinches. He looks to the side and Eliott is right there, looking anxiously everywhere but at Lucas and having this expectant glint in his eyes.

Lucas briefly glances at others, who are still admiring the painting, and then back at Eliott.

“Do you like it?” Eliott asks, finally looking up at Lucas. They both know what it means, this whole mural, but neither of them is ready to acknowledge it. Lucas because he has no idea what to say about it while Eliott is probably too shy.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful. But…” he lowers his voice, leaning closer to Eliott, “…I thought that you didn’t want. Because of, you know.” Lucas nods subtly towards Daphne.

Eliott scratches the side of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t do it for her,” he says, staring at Lucas meaningfully. The implication of his words makes Lucas speechless.

Thank God, he’s saved from replying by Arthur coming up to them and throwing his arms around their shoulders. Coincidentally bringing them pretty close together.

“Wow, it’s amazing, dude,” he says, grinning.

Yeah, Lucas thinks, it really is.

***

Lucas is pretty lost. He’s got no idea how to act around Eliott after what he’s done. He can’t confront him about it, but he also can’t forget. Eliott’s feelings are out in the open, almost in Lucas’ hands and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt him. Lucas has already had enough on his plate, mostly focusing on finding the blackmailer. But now, he can’t stop thinking about the painting. It’s been two days and it’s almost the only thing on his mind.

Eliott must have sensed something is up because he’s been more tentative around Lucas. Maybe he’s only now realising how grand his gesture was. How they can’t simply brush it off like they did with his confession.

Or maybe it’s all in Lucas’ head. Perhaps it’s only him mulling it over endlessly while everyone else has already moved on.

Arthur snapped a picture of the mural, in case someone decided to paint over it. Lucas has saved it.

And maybe that’s the issue. Because it’s for him, it was painted for him and belongs to him, but everyone else can look at it. Maybe that bothers him more than Eliott going out of his way to remind him about his feelings. It’s the fact it was supposed to be theirs. The moment of the confession, the time it was Eliott who was vulnerable and clinging onto Lucas and not the other way around. In a way, it brought them even closer than they were before. It was an important moment for both of them, but while Lucas would rather keep it deep within himself, Eliott is an artist, ready to let the whole world know.

It could also be the fact no one has ever thought of Lucas like that, done such a thing. He’s always thinking of himself lowly and there Eliott is, making him feel big. It’s a bit scary and confusing. This whole situation is like that. Lucas isn’t used to it. He’s a bit overwhelmed. He’s pretty sure that if Eliott had painted this on a small canvas and gave it to him, he wouldn’t be gnawing on it as much now. As it is at the moment, all Lucas wants to do is hide between his sheets.

The funny thing is that he shouldn’t feel that embarrassed by the fact other people can see the mural. They don’t know that it’s about Eliott and him. No one probably even suspects it because they never gave people the reason to think otherwise. But the sole fact that Lucas knows is enough for him to blush each time he passes the common room.

Besides, people aren’t stupid. Sure, they may not connect anything to him. Figuring out Eliott has someone he painted it for, though, is inevitable. Lucas doesn’t really want people to bother him about it.

On the other hand, Eliott must have taken that into account and he still decided to make it.

God, Lucas’ head is a mess. Complete mess. He doesn’t have time to dwell on this teenage angst, there are more concerning matters in his life.

He’s been trying to find a lead on the blackmailer without actually talking to Daphne(or Imane for that matter) for the past week. He put so much effort into going through people’s social media, spending sleepless nights in hopes he would find the answers. He hasn’t been sure what exactly he was looking for; a picture, maybe, where Daphne is with someone sketchy. But no matter how deep he’s been digging, there was nothing.

When he was at the police station he talked about this and yeah, it’s a crime that someone could be punished for, but they’ve found out the number that sent the messages was bought, generated. The case was still registered, but they can’t do anything. They asked Lucas all kinds of questions, like if he had some enemies or whether he knew someone who could benefit from this situation, but his mind was completely blank. Devoid of suspects.

He wants revenge and justice and yet, he’s pretty sure he reached the dead-end. His gut is telling him to give up and finally focus on school, but his resolve is making him want to fight more.

In the grand scheme of things, this problem seems much more engaging that Eliott and his mural. Try telling it to a sixteen-year-old and his brain, though.

God, when will Lucas get some rest?

***

Lucas hasn’t been avoiding Imane, per se, but he’s been trying not to be with her alone ever since he asked her about Daphne. He can’t really avoid her anyway, no matter how hard he tries they do have a class together and share a desk. Much to Lucas’ surprise, though, Imane doesn’t try to corner him as soon as he sits down. That’s what he expected, given how every time they were in the same room she’d send him questioning looks. But now she only glances up at him and greets him before going back to her textbook.

It’s almost unnerving and so not like her to give up on finding the truth. Unless she forgot or decided it wasn’t worth her time. She, after all, is the one who has her priorities straight and unlike other people, she doesn’t push when she realises it won’t get her anywhere.

Lucas is almost disappointed. Not because he wanted to be bugged about his business, but because of how he tried to stay away from Imane and was dreading their shared class for the past few days, despite the fact he enjoys it. In the end it was all for nothing. At least that’s the conclusion he reaches as he starts taking books out of his backpack.

“I know,” Imane says ominously and Lucas looks at her, frowning.

“Hm?”

“Daphne told me,” Imane explains, her tone pinched. Her eyes are glued to her notebook when she says the next words, “I’d expect a lot from her, but not this, you know? She started crying while telling me and I had no idea what to say because I couldn’t feel any sympathy for her. Does it make sense?” Imane asks, meeting Lucas’ eyes. She seems apologetic even if none of this is her fault.

“Yeah, it does,” Lucas replies.

“And she only told me. I don’t know why.”

“I’m sorry she put you in this position.” Quite fucked up that Daphne just can’t tell everyone and let them make their decision, but only bothered with him and Imane, having them be left with this dilemma.

“She trusted me with this, but it’s so,” she shakes her head. “I can’t really act around her like before. And I feel responsible in a way. Because she’s my friend.” Imane puts a hand over her forehead and closes her eyes, visibly frustrated.

“But you aren’t her babysitter,” Lucas counters.

“Yeah, but if I was with her back then I could’ve stopped her. I was sober, she wasn’t.”

It’s good that the teacher still hasn’t come, otherwise, their conversation would have been cut short. Considering that Imane feels guilty, Lucas needs to prove to her that she hasn’t done anything wrong.

“But she isn’t five and if she can’t act normally when drunk, she shouldn’t go near alcohol. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s just fucking shitty she expects you to pick a side now,” Lucas says, curling his fingers up into fists. God, he’s angry again. Why can’t Daphne be decent for like five minutes?

“I asked her to tell the girls but I don’t know. I hope that she will try to do better in the future,” Imane says and sighs deeply. Yeah, one can only wait for Daphne to grow, learn a lesson. Lucas just wishes it didn’t have to happen with him being fucked over in the process.

“We will see,” Lucas comments, pursing his lips. Imane peeks an eye open.

“I know it’s not much but I’ve been thinking about it a lot and the only thing I could remember was that some guy called me from Daphne’s phone, asking me to pick her up. He could have been the one to steal the pictures. She was alone when I got to her,” Imane says and Lucas can feel the blood rushing in his ears. She’s right it’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever gotten. If only Daphne hadn’t been so wasted, he could ask her if she remembered something. Fuck.

“She didn’t tell you if it was someone random or a friend?” Lucas asks, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

“No. She was nearly passed out when I found her. I doubt she’d even remember she asked someone to call. Could be anyone. Sorry that I can’t help more,” Imane says, glancing down in resignation.

“It’s okay,” Lucas replies just as the teacher walks into the classroom.

The whole situation is messed up but Imane is the last person Lucas would even consider blaming. He tells her just as much when the class is finished and she hugs him so tightly he’s pretty sure his ribs would be broken if she put any more strength into it.

***

It’s the middle of the night and Lucas knows it only because his phone is persistently buzzing, waking him up in the process. He blindly reaches out for the device and blinks a couple of times, the light hurting his eyes. The first thing he notices is that it’s after 3 AM and the second – it’s Eliott calling him. Lucas frowns. Odd.

“’ello?” he answers, barely containing a yawn.

“Did I wake you?” Eliott asks. His voice seems muffled.

“I mean… it’s pretty late.” Lucas rubs a hand over his eyes and lies on his back. “Somethin’ happen?”

“Just wanted to hear you. I was actually thinking I could visit you, but decided against it. What would Mika say if I stayed the night, right?” Eliott jokes and gets a snort our of Lucas.

“It’s flattering, but you’re gonna hear me tomorrow,” Lucas says dumbly.

“Yeah, but I just had to. Sorry.”

“’s okay,” Lucas slurs. “You got me worried,” he explains, sighing.

“I can’t turn my brain off, my ex has been an ass about it. I thought that maybe you could help a little,” Eliott says quietly, especially the last part, almost as if he didn’t want Lucas to hear it.

Lucas ignores the whole ex thing and focuses on the rest. Insomnia? Lucas has some experience with that. There’s nothing quite like the chaos in your head and feeling like a living corpse during the day because you haven’t slept properly in days.

“How can I help?” Lucas offers.

“I don’t know. It’s always peaceful with you. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone when I’m like this.”

How can Eliott say things like that and expect Lucas to ignore it?

Lucas clears his throat. “Like what? You can’t sleep, it’s okay, remember it’s not the end of the world even if it feels like it,” Lucas says, hoping it will calm Eliott down.

Eliott lets out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. I just have a lot of energy, I guess. I think I’ll go for a run.”

Lucas arches an eyebrow at that. Who would go for a run so late? He can’t imagine doing that no matter how restless he’d be. But each to their own, he supposes.

“’kay. Sorry for not being the best help,” Lucas says, genuinely apologetic.

“You are the best. Period. Okay, sleep well. See you later,” Eliott says and without waiting for Lucas to reply, he hangs up.

Lucas puts his phone down and settles comfortably on the bed, unable to shake off a weird feeling. He drags his hand down the empty side of his bed and sighs. He falls asleep thinking that maybe Eliott being here wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

***

“So, how was the run?” Lucas asks when they’re all seated by their table in the cafeteria. He woke up still feeling weird and had to check his calls to see whether he hasn’t dreamed of it, but no, Eliott really called him in the middle of the night. Had he been more awake, he’d have stopped Eliott from doing whatever he’s done.

Everyone, including Eliott, sends him questioning looks, but Lucas pays them no mind, solely focusing his gaze on Eliott. It takes a few seconds, but the realisation eventually dawns upon Eliott and he opens his mouth.

“It was good. Feeling sore, though,” he says, grinning towards Lucas. “I’ve been studying for my exams,” Eliott changes the topic, digging into his potatoes. “The material is so hard, but I’m sort of getting it. I read so many books in the last few days I feel like my head’s about to explode.”

“Explode with knowledge!” Basile jokes and Eliott bursts out laughing before launching into a story he’s read online recently.

He gets a little lost halfway through and changes the topic again. The guys indulge him, but Lucas can’t help feeling uneasy. He squints his eyes. Eliott is too jumpy for some reason.

Maybe it’s his ex-girlfriend that he mentioned during their phone call? Lucas doesn’t even know their story so who knows how much effect she can have on him. Or it’s about the exams that are looming over them. Whatever it is, something tells Lucas it’s not good. He wishes he could help Eliott calm down, talk with him, but Eliott seems so far away. He’s so close yet completely out of reach. From the very beginning of the week, since the mural.

What if it’s Lucas’ fault? Eliott is nervous because Lucas hasn’t said anything about it, quite literally decided to ignore what Eliott’s done. But then again, it’d go against him telling Lucas that he didn’t want anything from him.

Lucas could just ask, but he isn’t sure Eliott would tell him. There’s only one thing Lucas is certain of – something is bothering Eliott.

Someone waves a hand in front of Lucas’ face, snapping him out of his thoughts. He jumps and realises that when he zoned out, he was literally staring at Eliott. Which, given Arthur’s suspicions from the last week, doesn’t put him in the best position.

“You okay?” Yann asks, a line of worry appearing between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, just thinking,” he says, shrugging. He’s trying to come off as cool despite being caught staring at one of them. Lucas isn’t sure how well it goes, but no one comments on his weird behaviour.

Eliott throws a French fry at him and it smacks Lucas straight on the nose. “Don’t think too much or you’ll end up like me,” he says and winks at him.

Lucas tilts his head to the side. What does that even mean?

“Anyways, okay, guys, what about we chill tomorrow a bit? In the park? It’s been a while since we spent Friday together,” Basile suggests, grinning at them eagerly.

Yeah, it sounds nice. Considering all the turmoil Lucas has been through, it really has been some time since he simply relaxed with his friends. Sure, there were brief moments but nothing like what they’d do usually.

“Sounds pretty good. I think I have some weed stashed somewhere. I could bring it,” Arthur says excitedly.

“Tomorrow after school?” Yann asks them and they all nod.

Lucas is still concerned about Eliott so maybe tomorrow will be also a good occasion to check if everything is alright. Smoking could loosen Eliott up and make him talk a bit.

***

Lucas takes a drag and passes the joint to Basile. He releases the smoke after holding it in and leans back against the grass. He can literally feel the tension leaving his body. He hadn't realised how much he’s needed it up until now.

They are lying around in a secluded area of the park, save from any prying eyes. Free to do whatever they want for as long as they need to. They’re on their second joint and sure, having it shared between five people won’t be as effective as it normally would be, but Lucas still feels much lighter.

It’s mostly quiet aside from music playing from Arthur’s phone. They don’t talk much despite Lucas having wanted to get some information out of Eliott. He thinks that maybe later. At the moment, he feels like taking a nap. Or just staring at the sky. It’s really fucking blue today and the weather is warm. They chose a great day to hang out.

Lucas sighs heavily just as Eliott plops down next to him. Lucas turns his head to the side and meets his eyes. Lucas’ fingertips itch to move Eliott’s fringe away from his eyes, but he keeps his hand to himself. It’s a weird thought to have about your friend.

“What’s up?” Lucas asks and when Eliott does nothing but look at him, Lucas nudges him in the side.

“You look pretty like that,” Eliott blurts out, his eyes glinting and Lucas’ breath hitches in his throat. He looks around to see if any of the guys has heard it, but no one seems to have paid attention.

Lucas lets out a nervous chuckle, ignoring the warmth climbing up his neck. “Thanks,” he mutters, his eyes settling on some random spot on Eliott’s t-shirt.

Eliott shuffles even closer to him. “Can I hold your hand?”

Lucas bites on the inside of his cheek, his heart speeding up for some reason. Why’s he feeling so lightheaded all of sudden? Must be the weed. What else?

“Yeah,” he breathes out, inching his palm towards Eliott. It doesn’t have any meaning. They do hold hands sometimes for comfort. Lucas has held hands with plenty of his friends.

Eliott grabs Lucas’ palm in his and entwines their fingers together. He squeezes once and Lucas’ heart skips a beat.

Lucas closes his eyes in order not to look at Eliott’s face. He’s scared of what it could make him feel.

“I’m so happy I could die right now,” Eliott whispers.

Lucas snorts. “What?”

“I don’t think I could be happier than this. Dying would be the best option at the moment so that would be the last feeling in my life. And I’d die next to you,” Eliott says, his thumb rubbing the back of Lucas’ hand.

“What? Don’t say something like that,” Lucas replies, half-heartedly hitting Eliott in the chest with his free hand.

Eliott lets out a laugh. “Sorry,” he pauses. “How many Lucases and Eliotts are lying down like that now?”

Lucas hums thoughtfully and settles on, ”Probably a lot.”

Eliott huffs and Lucas can feel him shaking his head. “All of them,” he says, convinced.

“Why’re you asking if you know the answer?”

“Because I wanted to know yours,” Eliott replies, honesty audible in his voice.

Lucas doesn’t say anything to this because he has no idea which words would be fitting. The mood is too nice for him to open his mouth and ruin it. So he stays quiet, breathing Eliott’s smell in and slowly feeling himself drift off. He doesn’t even register the moment Eliott disappears from beside him.

***

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Lucas hears through the fog in his mind. Someone shakes his shoulders, but it’s not the same person who spoke. The voice is more distant, that’s how he knows it’s not towards him.

Lucas blinks his eyes open. The first thing he notices is that it’s darker than he remembers from before he fell asleep. The second is Arthur hovering over him, his expression tense.

“Something bad is happening with Eliott,” he whispers, reaching his hand up to help Lucas sit up.

“What?” Lucas asks after being hoisted up. His eyes immediately jump towards where he can hear quiet murmurs from. Eliott looks barely present, with an almost haunted look on his face. Basile and Yann are crouching on both of his sides, talking to him, but barely getting any responses.

“After you fell asleep he started being really jittery, kept walking around. At first, we brushed it off, but it kept getting worse and worse. We had to stop him from running off,” Arthur explains as they walk up to where the three boys are.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Lucas asks, keeping his eyes on Eliott.

“It started getting really bad like ten to fifteen minutes ago,” Yann says.

They had more things to keep their eyes on than thinking of waking Lucas up. Understandable.

Basile is still talking to Eliott, trying to keep him grounded. Eliott’s replies are quiet and chaotic. Something is off about this situation and Lucas is pretty sure that four stoned teenagers won’t be able to deal with it well if it keeps escalating.

“We should call his parents,” Lucas says.

“Yeah. If it’s what I think it is, we better do that,” Basile says, his voice full of seriousness.

Lucas gulps, watching Eliott, and his heart breaks. He should have seen it coming sooner.

#elu #elu fanfic #elu fic #skam france #skam france fic #skam france fanfic #lucas x eliott #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant

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kuroshitsuji-scenarios · 6 years

Note

Hey! I've just recently binge-read the manga and I've only been following you for a few days but I was wondering if you can you do angst headcanons for Snake and Agni and their s/o when she finds them drunk and tries to console them when they get upset thinking about their pasts. Like, Agni and his regrets pre-Soma and Snake remembering his abusive/lonely upbringing. Oh my gosh writing about those two is making me so sad, those two precious cinnamon rolls who deserve protection and love 😭

I’m a dumbass and I didn’t realize you wanted headcanons so I made scenarios instead but I think this is actually a good mistake. Hope you enjoy anyways!

It worried you a little, the lightspreading on the floor, flowing from under the door leading to Agni’sbedroom in such a late hour. You were on your way just to get a glassof water, since merciless thirst didn’t allow you to sleep anylonger, forcing you to angrily wander through the long corridors, nowdrowned in the utter darkness diffused by the single oil lamp youheld in your hand. It was obvious that the day started for Agni muchearlier than for you, his duties calling out for him right after heopened his eyes but inspite of being a perfect butler and company forhis dear Prince Soma, he needed some rest like every other person.You could already imagine how hard it will be for him to focustomorrow if he still wasn’t sleeping at almost 3 a.m.

You knocked delicately and pushed thehandle, only to blink few times until your still asleep eyes adjustedto the warm lightness filling the bedroom. Agni’s silhouette wasclearly visible, leaned over the desk in almost pitiful manner, whichmade you realize that something has to be terribly wrong. Notbothering by saying anything, you stepped inside and rushed towardhim, placing a hand on his shoulder and causing him to gasp slightly,as if he wasn’t expecting your presence. Peeking at you over theshoulder, you could see how reddened his eyes were, how the tearswere still glistening in them, bringing the cold colour of steel.

„My dear, what has happened?” youinquired, brushing few white strands from his forehead, while hestraightened his back and inhaled deeply, trying to not lose hiscomposure anymore, not in front of you.

„It is nothing you should be concernedof,” was his reply, preceded by a sad smile.

„But I am concerned, nevertheless, soplease, let me help. Tell me what is wrong.”

Agni turned the head toward thecandelabra placed on the desk and almost touched the fire with hisindex finger, losing himself deep in his own thoughts. Few secondspassed and just when you were considering repeating the question, hefinally spoke, his voice a little bit hoarse and low.

„I am a very bad man. I made very badthings.”

„So did everyone,” you told him,sitting at the edge of the desk. „Your mistakes do not define you,they are hard and painful, yes, but they do not define you.”

„Things that I commited aremaking me a bad man,” he objected, looking at you almost angrily,but you knew better that the only anger he felt right now was the oneaimed at himself.

„No, they are not. What is importantis that, you learned your lesson and that you will never do themagain. This is relevant, not your past.”

He sighed, torn between the words he washearing from you, understanding that they were — they had to betrue — and the storm of his own emotions bringing chaos to hisheart. It was hard for him to accept his previous self, to not beable to cut if off and become just whom he was now. Maybe it was hispunishment, the torment created so he would never forget who he was,so he would never lose his path again.

„You are such a wise woman, mydearest…” he admitted, a single spark of happines appearing inhis eyes. „I am delighted to have you by my side and I doubt I willever be able to thank gods for sending you to me.”

You smiled to him and took his hand inyours, feeling how warm it was. This sweet, fleeting affection madehim lean toward you and put his cheek on your stomach, embracing youtightly and holding as close as possible, inhaling the scent of yourbody.

„And I am delighted to be with you,too,” you giggled, placing a hand on his turban, feeling theovewhelming warmness from where your bodies connected in such anintimate, magical moment when both your souls and minds kissed.

„I may not be able to change my past,”he continued quietly, stroking your side through the fabric of yournightgown. „But I will make sure that our future is as bright asthe sun. I want to grow old with you, my dearest, and spend my whole,new life with you.”

„Then we will grow old together. Thereis no need to worry about who we were because there are so manydecades of happiness ahead and I will love you in every single one ofthem.”

Snake hasn’t been seen anywhere sincethe morning and when he didn’t appear in the kitchen to help indinner preparations, you started to worry about him. It wasn’t thatuncommon for him to disappear from time to time, preferably to havesome time for himself and focus on his thoughts, but it never lastedfor almost half of the day. Plus, none of his snakes were anywherenearby and that was the reason why you asked Mey Rin to do your partof the job until you will be back from looking for him.

The rain poured outside but it didn’tstop you from running through the gardens with hysterically beatingheart when you still couldn’t find him in the mansion. Ignoring thewet hair on your face, droplets soaking through your clothes and somewater in your shoe, you reached to the glasshouse, lead by someunnamed feeling that this is a place where he might be.

After stepping inside, you immediatelyfelt the sultriness and scent of growing fruits, vegetables andherbs. Round tomatoes hanging from the sprouts, almost ready to bepicked, green cucumbers laying on the ground, leafs of the radishpeeking over the earth right next to the carrot’s and beetroot’s onesand finally, at the other end of the glasshouse, mint, sage, dill andonions with straightening chives. The sound of raindrops hitting thetransparent roof drown out your steps on the soft, dark ground,bending under your weight when you approached Snake, sittingpeacefully on the of the wooden benches and staring blankly at thebushes of aromatic basil.

„Snake?” you asked, but only Goetheon his shoulder turned his head curiously toward you. „Are youalright? What are you doing here?”

„I was wondering,” he answered andyou caught yourself on waiting for him to add the: „said Goethe”part which never came.

Oh dear, it was serious.

Slowly, you took a seat next to him andlooked at his profile, not finding there anything beside terrifyingemptiness. You pariently let him think, not pushing him intospeaking, aware that it would only do the opposite.

„I was wondering when I will stopbeing alone.”

You opened your mouth and immediatelyclosed it, considering what could you say to him to not harm hisfeelings nor make him feel worse than he already felt. You couldn’tgive him easy answers, the ones he heard many times in his life,before everyone who said that disappeared, you had to be differentand you had to prove him that.

„I am here. I am always here if youneed me and I do not plan on leaving anywhere.”

„Those are almost exact words myfamily said before they left me in the circus.”

Your heart clenched painfully in yourchest, a lump suddenly growing in your throat.

„They said I was the part of theirfamily. That I was one of them and I won’t be alone anymore. Andwhere are they now? They are all gone.”

Without a word you hugged him, naïvelyhoping that if you held him strong enough, he won’t shatter apart infront of you, but the only thing you felt, was how his body startedto tremble. At first you thought that he was crying but one look athis face was enough to understand that he was simply mad, so upsetthat the life has always been so unfair for him and him alone.

„Iwant them to come back,” he muttered, as if unconsciously. „Smilesaid that he will find them but it has been three years now. Exactlythree years since I am there. He won’t find them, will he? They won’tcome back…”

„Ilove you,” was the only thing you could say that came to your mindin that moment. You couldn’t find better words to describe yourfeelings, to comfort him because nothing was good enough. The path hewas on, was made to be walked alone and all you could to was to holdhis hand, promising yourself that no matter what, you can not leavehim — even if it meant fighting the death itself.

„Ilove you,” you repeated. „I will always love you. I will be yourfamily from now on and I won’t let anyone hurt you, not you norGoethe or Emily or Oscar or Wordsworth or Keats or Donne. Notanymore.”

His armslowly leaned on your shoulder and the slight squeeze he gave you wasa sign that he was probably going to be alright, just like he alwaysdid.

„Thankyou. I think I love you, too,” he whispered. „Says Goethe.”

#kuroshitsuji-scenarios #kuroshitsuji #black butler #agni #snake #humans #scenarios #agni x reader #snake x reader #reader insert

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wanderingworldwarrior · 6 years

Text

Of Twisted Emotions - Chapter Three: Undone

You stare blankly at the Allmother, your mind repeating her words over and over. It's as if she speaks a foreign language; the sounds simply do not make sense. Although you've yet to understand, to form any kind of coherent response, your body reacts to the knowledge Frigga has given you.

Your heart picks up – it's a drummer pounding out a rhythm in your chest, the resulting beat deafening only to your ears. Your stomach feels as if it has vanished, leaving behind an empty hole where worry once festered.

"What?" you ask in a whisper, sure that you have misheard her, misunderstood the meaning behind her words.

"He lives, child," Frigga tells you once more. "Loki is alive."

The name of the lost prince banishes the growing feeling of relief, your missing stomach returning and now full of writhing snakes. You don't realize you're clenching your fists until your nails bite into your palms, breaking the skin and leaving red crescent moons.

"Where?" You feel as if you're simple, as if the news has whisked away your vocabulary and left you with only single-worded questions.

"My son is upon the realm of Midgard," Frigga says, working hard to keep any emotion out of her voice. "Why that is, I cannot fathom."

You swallow, forcing yourself to accept it, to move past it, to not ask another one-worded question. The face of Thor flashes through your thoughts, his exhausted expression. "Does Thor know?"

Frigga watches you carefully as she shakes her head. "Odin is meeting with him later."

You catch it this time, the solemn undertone of her words that makes you put two and two together. "It's dangerous," you realize quietly. "You don't want Thor to go. Something happened."

"I sent five of the palace guard," the queen says, holding your gaze. "None have returned."

"And you called me here," you state, cold anger worming its way into your chest as you think, as everything starts to finally set in. "Just to tell me? Because you know I have to go."

"I know," Frigga agrees, her features stiff and rigid, as if she was sculpted from the same marble as the Asgardian halls. "I called you here, child, because I know you will return."

There is a certain finality in her voice, one that leaves you uneasy. There are words unspoken, hidden in her sentence.

The guards now rest in Valhalla. But you... he wouldn't harm you .

"It doesn't matter," you tell Queen Frigga. "Either way, it doesn't matter."

And her regal mask breaks for a brief moment, for less than a second. You see a burning woman, her kind gray eyes filled with painful, distraught worry for her family, for those she loves, and yes, for you as well.

For Frigga is mother to all, especially the lost and broken.

"The guards will have retrieved your belongings from the barracks," Frigga tells you, taking one of your hands in between her own. "They await you outside."

The Allmother's touch stings the four bloody semicircles in your palm. "Will Heimdall have a more specific location for me? Earth is pretty big," you say flatly.

"There's no need," Frigga tells you, and then touches two fingers to your forehead.

At once, your gaze is gone from Asgard, from the golden throne room. You see instead an average-looking concrete building, unremarkable save for two men staring out from the shadow of its doorway, towards the quickly setting sun.

"This is where Heimdall last saw him," Frigga's voice tells you. "This is where we sent the guards."

You blink and find yourself back in the palace, staring once more into the face of the Allmother. You feel her magic's presence lingering in your mind, pulling you towards the place she revealed to you. She releases your hand and steps away respectfully, and you realize the sting in your palms has vanished. She's healed both of your hands, the crescents completely erased.

"Thank you," you tell her, although you feel as if this is the wrong thing to say. But what else is there? "I'm... I'm going now."

And Frigga bows her head, her braided blonde hair catching the light beautifully. She is the epitome of a queen, one of hope and strength. Even in her distress, she is regal.

And you turn from her, a chaotic, troubled mess.

---

Sigrid thinks it is Brenna who enters through the back door of the shop, and she calls out a greeting as she continues sorting and restocking the selection of herbs. But it is the voice of her beloved that answers, and it makes her drop a few bundles in surprise. She sets the rest to the side.

"Asmund?" Sigrid questions, turning to face him where he stands behind the counter. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," he answers, a smile flashing across his face.

It's not the same grin he used to wear. They both know it. But this one seems genuine enough, and it prompts a smile of her own. "That's excellent. I wasn't sure when I'd see you again, now that you're a master sorcerer."

Asmund smirks conspiratorially. "I'm supposed to be utterly overcome to have such an honor bestowed upon me. But I don't feel much different, if I'm being honest. Don't tell the others."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sigrid replies, walking over and wrapping her arms around him.

He returns her embrace, the familiar smell of basil wafting over him. She's still got a few herb bundles in her dress pockets, waiting to be put away. It reminds him of when he was younger, running about the shop to help his mother set up the product bins.

"I've come for a purpose, you know," Asmund says to Sigrid, his voice muffled in her dark hair.

"What's that?" Sigrid questions curiously, peering up at him.

He's lost in the gold of her eyes for a moment, and it feels right. He'd rather be lost in her than in the past or present. She grounds him, makes him feel as if he still has something solid in his life. And he can't lose that. He doesn't want to.

"Sigrid, I love you," Asmund states. He waits a beat before continuing. "I'm a master of the guild now, which means long days and nights of training and studying. I'll probably have to travel, and go to war. And... well... I won't lie. It'll be hard for us. I... I want to give you an out. If this is too much for you, if you'd rather –"

She doesn't let him finish. "Don't be stupid!" Sigrid's cheeks go red at the outburst, but she still shakes her head and lets out a weak laugh. "I won't be going anywhere. My place is with you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments, Asmund. And I...." She trails off and then looks away. "I'm well aware of what it all means. And I'm willing to accept that. I love you, and that is that."

A boyish glee passes over Asmund's expression, clearing away the stoic man he has become. He picks her up and twirls her, her orange skirt billowing out as he does so. And they laugh together, alone in their shop, as he sets her back on her feet and holds her close.

He lowers his face to hers and kisses her, then pulls away and asks, "Marry me, then? If you're intent on staying by my side, I'd much rather it be as my wife."

---

You backtrack through the beautiful halls, your mind numb as you focus on your goal. Get to the entrance. Get your pack from the guards. Get to Earth.

It's simple, and it would have remained simple had you not had a soldier awaiting you outside of the palace. Bjorn approaches, dark brows furrowed as he watches you accept your bag from a palace guard. "What's this?"

"Bjorn," you say, the sight of him bringing your racing thoughts to a grinding halt. "I.... Well, something's come up. And I've got to leave. I'm sorry."

The man gives you a slow nod, his hand habitually resting on his sword handle. "Ah, that's all right. Where the Allfather sends you, you must go. I will miss our companionable silences, however."

He's jesting, the sentence followed by a grin. Your mind is spinning, and it's all you can do to keep your feet at this point. Bjorn's smile fades, and he carefully puts a hand on your shoulder. "Warrior, are you well?"

His hand is not heavy, as Thor's always is. Even so, you're surprised at how familiar this Asgardian gesture has become to you.

"No," you say, the word escaping before you're able to stop it. It's as if someone other than you had uttered it. "No, I'm... I'm not. I feel like I'm dreaming. Or... like my life just got turned upside down. I don't fucking know, I just...."

You shake your head, ignoring a group of nobles who eye you and mutter about your swear. You don't have the time or the want to explain everything to Bjorn, friend or not. But he seems to sense that this is something big, something that will change everything.

This is not Odin sending you to fight a different battle in the name of the realm. This is something that has shaken you to your core, and it unnerves him to see you this way.

Bjorn doesn't know what to do, but he knows he's running out of time in this conversation. You stare up at him and rub your face, shifting your bag to a more comfortable position on your shoulders. "I... I've gotta' go."

You start to turn away, but his voice calls you back. "Will I see you again?"

The question hurts more than you'd like to admit. He's the only true friend you've made within the army. Sure, there are others you enjoy the company of, but none that put up with your surly mood swings. You and Bjorn are both outsiders to this nation, and it built a certain rapport between the two of you. You cannot look at him as you shake your head. "I... I really don't think so."

"Ah," Bjorn replies, clearing his throat. "Aye, all right then."

You extend your arm to him, a farewell between soldiers. Comrades. The both of you grasp forearms, and the action makes your throat tight. "Thanks, Bjorn."

For everything, you think to yourself. For not treating me any different from the rest. For not whispering.

He nods, brown eyes searching your face, and just as you start to pull your arm away, he leans in and kisses you.

His lips are soft, and warm, and full of 'what ifs'.

But you are not soft.

And you pull away, already shaking your head, already vanishing into the shadows before his eyes. You close the dark rift you had created, separating yourself from Asgard and its soldier.

You are finally alone in the darkness, your power allowing you to traverse where others cannot.

It is always quiet in this alternate space, but you fill it with a single, dry sob. You bend over and put your hands on your knees as you focus on breathing deeply, blinking away any tears before they fall.

It would be easy to break here, where no one else can see you. Because it's been a year, and even then, nothing ever feels right anymore. Because finding out that the prince is alive is too much. And also because you're furious.

---

Frigga's magic creates a pull in your mind that leads you through your dark passageways, past echoes of the world around you, which zoom by in a blur as you travel. It takes mere seconds to locate the building she showed you.

You step out of the shadows and into an alleyway nearby, the exhaustion of using so much power and energy hitting you physically. You lean over and press your forehead against the cool concrete wall, sucking in air through your teeth. It takes you a minute to adjust, and the entire time you feel extremely exposed.

The encroaching night helps soothe this fear, however. The sun has recently set, the sky to the west a deep indigo with stars already dotting the heavens. It clears your head, settles your thoughts, and you feel Frigga's magic once more tugging you towards the building across the street.

You creep up the alley, searching for the two men you had seen in the Allmother's vision. But even as you stare at the building in front of you, something deep in your mind whispers that Loki does not reside here. The thought grows louder and louder until you cannot ignore it. You have no good explanation, nothing to base this thought upon.

It's simply because if it was you that had set up an operation such as this, you would not sleep within.

You know that he’s aware anyone looking for him will attack the base. No, he won’t be there. You bet that he'll be somewhere nearby; close enough to hear if any trouble arises, but far enough away to flee if he deems it necessary.

And so you mentally sever the pull of Frigga's magic and begin to search with your eyes instead of your mind.

Your gaze lands on an apartment complex on the corner, where a sign boasts 'Grand Opening - Coming Soon! Luxury Apartment Homes'.

And you roll your eyes.

---

The thud of a body hitting the floor shakes Loki from his trance. His eyes shoot towards the source of the noise, and he's displeased to hear movement from outside of the room's door. His guard has fallen, it would seem.

Someone has found him.

He rises from the chair and rolls his shoulders, swinging his scepter towards the door. He figures his visitors will be S.H.I.E.L.D., a mass of agents, maybe even the one-eyed Director Fury himself. Humans never learn. If they wish to die in droves by his hand, so be it.

Loki's sharp gaze watches as the door handle jiggles – it's obviously locked. The idiocy of the situation makes him sigh. He waits for the inevitable smash and splintering of wood as the agents kick in the door.

It never comes.

Instead, there is a silent tear in the middle of the room, a rift opening, a familiar darkness expanding out from the seam. And it makes him freeze, makes him forget to draw breath as he watches, disbelieving.

Then out you step, across the room from Loki Laufeyson.

A simple action.

And in an instant, everything in his mind comes undone.

---

I’m really tired and I’m posting this at 6:31am :D

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vitanes · 5 years

Text

say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 8: the aftermath

Lucas gets outed and he has to deal with what’s next. The whole week is one long ride. Along with bad experiences, he learns something new about Eliott.

(a/n: homophobic language)

They are all looking at him and Lucas wishes he could make it stop. He knows they saw it, their usernames among the tagged ones in the post containing the pictures. And now they are looking at him trying very hard not to look at him. It’s suffocating, Lucas wants to become invisible all at once. He can’t stand being in this situation.

“Hey, hey. Lucas.” Someone shakes his shoulder and his head snaps to the side. Yann’s eyes are piercing through him and his hand on Lucas’ shoulder is heavy.

“I need to go,” Lucas whispers, looking away. He stands up abruptly, letting his phone fall down to the floor with a loud thud when it slides off his legs. He pays it no mind and starts walking towards the door. Everyone’s watching him.

He’s stopped halfway through his way by fingers wrapping around his wrist and strongly grounding him in place.

“Lucas, no. You aren’t doing it again,” Yann says, his grip tightening. Lucas exhales sharply and turns around.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” he asks, his voice breaking. He’s so embarrassed, he doesn’t want all of his friends seeing him like that. Yann seems to understand because his eyes skim over the room and then he pushes Lucas forward until they are out of everyone’s earshot.

“You aren’t running away, that’s for sure,” he says once they are in the hallway. Lucas shakes his head.

“Have you seen how many people were tagged in this post? Everyone will know. God, why didn’t I pay them? I was such a moron for thinking they’d let it go.” His voice is strained and he’s barely getting words out of his throat. “Everyone in that room was staring at me,” he adds, pointing in the direction of the living room.

“They were shocked and worried,” Yann tries to explain and Lucas rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care, I don’t want that. Fuck, what am I going to do?” Lucas asks helplessly. He can’t imagine facing his friends afterwards let alone the rest of the world. He was exposed in the way he’s been trying to avoid for so long and no matter how much effort he put into hiding his secret, it’s all done now.

“Lucas, come on, look at me. Look at me,” Yann says sternly, but Lucas refuses, staring at the ceiling instead. Yann cups Lucas’ head in both his hands and forces him to look at him. “You’re going to get through this, okay?” He sounds so sure and Lucas wishes he could nod and confirm those words, but he doesn’t believe in them. He can’t cope with this situation.

One of Yann’s hands slides down to Lucas’ neck and he pushes Lucas’ head against his shoulder, letting his other arm fall around Lucas’ waist. He holds him there and if not for him, Lucas feels like his knees would give out under him.

“You want me to get them out of here?” Yann whispers, his thumb reassuringly tracing circles over Lucas’ skin. He gets a nod in return. “Okay. Go to your room and I’ll handle them. Do you want me to stay?”

Lucas withdraws and lets his eyes rest on Yann’s face for a long moment. “I’d rather be alone now,” he eventually lets out. There’s no anger in response, no accusation. Just pure understanding.

“Okay, but if you need anything, I’m one phone call away.” Yann rubs his hand over Lucas’ back one last time before pulling away as well. “It’ll be okay.”

It won’t, Lucas replies in his mind and steps away. He goes to his room and locks the door, not keen on seeing anyone right now. His whole world has just ended, he needs some rest.

***

The best way, the Lucas’ way to deal with problems when they get overwhelming is to ignore them. It worked perfectly fine when things were going down with his family. He would put a smile on his face and just go on. So he tells himself, this time it should be the same. He’ll simply act as if nothing happened. He doesn’t talk about it thus it’s not real. That’s the conclusion he reaches over the weekend. That’s how he eventually leaves his room and talks with Manon like all is good. He can see the surprise on her face, but he ignores it.

The same way he avoids looking at his phone. And really, why not? He can live a life like that. In a bubble. Lisa and Mika seem cooperative, much to his relief and don’t even send him weird looks, even though Lucas feared Mika would approach him the first thing after finding out.

When he’s going to school on Monday, it’s with newfound energy. A part of him tells him that he can do it. That maybe Yann was right.

(That are the lies he feeds himself so he can at least slightly calm his nerves.)

He comes up to the guys, he high-fives them even though his palm is trembling and tries to grin as much as possible.

“I tried calling you,” Arthur says at one point, seemingly tired of the elephant in the room.

“Ran out of battery,” Lucas replies, pretending to be oblivious. He notices everyone turning towards him, interested and his healthy fingers curl into a fist in his pocket.

“I just wanted to–“

“I can’t believe!” Lucas hears Chloé before she appears right in front of him. Great. “What did you think? Did you even think at all?” she asks him and she’s fuming. Considering they haven’t spoken to each other ever since that unfortunate morning, Lucas assumed they both had agreed to forget, but he must have been wrong. “Why did you sleep with me if you’re gay?” Lucas’ heart stops beating for a second just to pick up its speed in an instant. The guys make surprised noises, but Lucas can’t address them. “Do you know how it feels like? People will think I’m pathetic for sleeping with a gay guy. Fuck you, you should have chosen someone else. At least now I know why you couldn’t make it work. Jesus, I was so stupid!” she yells, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Hey, now. Maybe if you weren’t screaming about sleeping with him no one would know,” Eliott says and Chloé’s eyes snap to him. Lucas has already noticed, but apparently, it must have started registering in her head only now that people around are looking towards them, some of them snickering. Chloé’s cheeks redden and she coughs.

“Whatever,” she mumbles under her breath and leaves the place, knocking into Lucas’ shoulder for emphasis.

“Dude, you slept with her?” Basile asks after a few beats of uncomfortable silence. The muscle in Lucas’ jaw ticks and instead of answering, he turns on his heel and goes towards the entrance of the school.

***

“Why didn’t you tell me about Chloé?” Yann asks on their way home after classes. Lucas was invited over for a dinner to Yann’s house and he didn’t even question the way Yann eagerly asked him to come. He feels a bit guilty, though, living off Yann’s family again. He doesn’t think he deserves any of their generosity.

Lucas doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. The shame that was left in him after what he did with Chloé is still within him. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to openly talk about this experience without feeling lightheaded and gross for a very long time. It’s a tough topic. One he’d rather stay away from than picking it apart.

“I’ve been trying to forget it happened at all.” There was also the fact he didn’t want to make Yann feel guilty because knowing Lucas he’d word his explanation wrong. Besides, he’s been scared of being judged for doing it. Even with Eliott, it wasn’t all that easy. But with Yann, it’s ten times worse because they are best friends.

“Why did you do it?” Yann asks quietly, kicking a rock out of his way. He tucks his hands into his pockets. He won’t meet Lucas’ eye and Lucas looks straight ahead.

“I was really miserable and everyone around me started coming out suddenly and being happily not straight. I just felt like I had to do it,” he explains, scowling. He should have known it’d be a mistake and maybe under normal circumstances, he’d have stopped. But he was drunk and the rest is history.

“She was your first, right?” Yann asks. Lucas would assume that he does that out of politeness because he’d know if Lucas had sex with someone. But at the same time, Yann has no idea how pathetic his experiences with boys are, he has no idea Lucas has never gone further than a heated make-out session with a stranger. In that case, his question is completely valid.

Lucas nods. They both fall quiet afterwards, but Lucas can hear Yann thinking anyway and he keeps wondering what exactly is going on in Yann’s mind. Whether it’s something bad about Lucas. He starts worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

They are near Yann’s building when he hesitantly opens his mouth to say, “I’m sorry it happened. I really hope you won’t hurt yourself like that ever again.” There’s something really soft in the way he utters those words, something that touches right at Lucas’ core. It says I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I care about you. It says I love you and pulls at the strings in Lucas’ heart.

And Lucas thinks to himself, how could I’ve ever doubted you?

***

The moment Lucas knows something is wrong is when he walks into the locker room to change for PE and everyone falls silent upon his arrival. He feels the eyes of his classmates watching him, but he tries to move on. No need to unnecessarily stress over that. It probably doesn’t mean anything, right?

Wrong.

It happens when he starts changing into his sweatpants. Someone says, “The girls’ locker room is to the right, you missed.”

Lucas takes a deep breath but says nothing. He doesn’t want to let them provoke him, especially when he’s completely alone here. He doesn’t have this class with any of his friends. Better to play safe.

“You heard me? You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to be watched by some queer,” someone else adds and Lucas bites on the inside of his cheek so hard it nearly draws blood.

“What are you going to do anyway with that screwed up hand of yours?”

He was told he can participate in PE as long as he isn’t doing anything involving his hand, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, does it?

“Surely won’t give anyone a hand job.” The whole locker room barks out with laughter and Lucas scrunches his nose up. It wasn’t even funny.

The person sitting to his left kicks him in the shin and says, “Why aren’t you saying anything? Too much dick sucking?” He kicks Lucas again, this time with more force.

“I’m not here to talk with you,” Lucas says calmly, even though his heart is beating rapidly in his chest.

“Oh, how mighty. Mister homo is too good for us, huh?” says the first guy and the one who kicked Lucas leans closer to him.

“Watch out, I like throwing the ball really hard,” he mutters with a dangerous note to his voice and for the first time, Lucas truly feels like it’s not just harmless teasing.

“Don’t get too close to him, he might get a crush on you.”

“Don’t worry, if it happened I’d beat that crush out of him,” the guy promises and stands up, flicking Lucas in the ear before leaving.

The other guys follow him soon after, with someone throwing over their shoulder, “Next time you shouldn’t change here,” as the last warning.

When the door closes and Lucas is left alone only then does he realise how badly his whole body is trembling. He barely knows these people and they have a problem with him over two random pictures. Over him not being like them. Lucas can’t wrap his head around it. Can’t grasp the fact they won’t be the last ones to pick on him even though last week they were barely classmates, almost strangers.

It takes all of Lucas’ strength to go to PE after that.

***

Waiting for a teacher to come and then finding out they aren’t going to show up is always satisfying. Even if it’s biology that Lucas enjoys, he needs that moment of peace. Being at school has been torture and it’s been only merely three days. It feels like everyone is staring at him during classes. The whole school wasn’t tagged in the pictures and he didn’t expect everyone to point at him, but the rumours spread fast. More people than not know about him and choose to give him hell. Mostly students from his year, which makes matters worse. He has to interact with them.

Having a class cancelled is a small miracle, an hour to get away from people snickering behind his back and he can’t wait to just go somewhere and disappear.

“Hey, do you want to study in the library?” Imane asks him and Lucas looks around, wondering when she got closer to him. He definitely didn’t see this coming.

“Um. Sure,” he mumbles, shrugging. Aside from the boys and Manon, he hasn’t talked with anyone who was in the flat on Friday and now he feels awkward. Especially that he only touched upon the subject with Yann. None of the boys bothered him about it so far, but Lucas doesn’t know what to expect from Imane. If he should even expect anything. She’s blunt and always speaks her mind and Lucas assumes the worst. Always. Even though he shouldn’t.

They go over to the library and Imane chooses a table in the far corner of the place, right under the window and close to the regales full of scientific textbooks. They settle down and spread out their materials over the table. Lucas isn’t sure he’s in the right state of mind to study and learn a lot, but he might as well try. Over the weeks, Imane and he have become compatible during biology classes and perhaps now she’ll send him some vibes that will help him focus.

They start going through the topic of the last lesson, helping each other out with the matters they both have issues with and somehow manage to work them out together. That reminds Lucas just how much joy learning things he’s interested in gives him. And, looking back, Lucas is happy that Imane became his partner. As much as he likes Arthur, they never had the connection needed for that subject and very often Lucas would get distracted or would have to do twice as much. With Imane things go smoothly and it doesn’t feel like only one party puts effort. It’s a pleasant change.

“What are you guys looking at?” Imane asks, her tone sharp and Lucas looks up from his textbook to notice two guys and a girl sitting by the table next to theirs. The girl and one guy seem embarrassed by being caught gawking, but the other boy looks unbothered and Lucas knows he’s going to say something nasty.

“It’s just weird he’s hanging out with you. You’re a girl, right? Besides, shouldn’t you be against the gays?” the guy asks and yep, there it is.

Imane sighs with exasperation all the while Lucas’ grip on his pen tightens. “It’s just weird that you’re in this school when you don’t possess any brain cells. If you aren’t going to say something smart, maybe it’s better to stay quiet. Assuming we are such a big problem for you, why don’t you change the table?” she waves her hand towards unoccupied parts of the library, “I don’t know about you, but some people really came here to study. So could you remove yourself before I tell the librarian you’re disrupting the quiet?” Imane tilts her head to the side, a fake smile tugging at her lips.

After a moment of hesitation, the girl tugs on the sleeve of one of the guys and then they all move. Imane watches them with a satisfied smirk and then her eyes move to Lucas’ surprised face.

“What?”

“How did you do it?” he asks. He wasn’t even able to say a word to them all the while Imane had enough guts to make them leave.

“Years of practice,” she replies with a shrug. She tries to come off as nonchalant, but Lucas notices the way her smile becomes sad and her eyes lose their earlier spark. “You never get used to being treated like a zoo exhibition but you learn how to stand up.”

“We have something in common now,” Lucas says matter-of-factly and Imane snorts.

“Yay, oppression,” she says, weakly waving her fist in the air.

“Although I could never understand what you have to go through,” Lucas adds as an afterthought. He’s still a white guy, all the while Imane must deal with racists, islamophobes, and people who hate women. And when Lucas can hide being gay, Imane can’t lie about being who she is.

“Yeah, you couldn’t. But we can learn from each other and support one another. We have compassion and deeper understanding of those things than the people who go through life without being prosecuted for simply being who they are,” Imane says, her fingers toying with the corner of her notebook. “How are you holding up?” she asks, looking at him.

“It’s bad but I try not to think about it so I don’t lose my mind,” Lucas says honestly. It’s hard to deal with. It’d be one thing if he had already accepted himself beforehand, but he’s still full of self-hatred. And being forced out of the closet in this state will leave a scar. Lucas is aware enough to know that. He’s been outed against his will and everyone including himself isn’t a fan of what was revealed. He wasn’t ready to have the whole world know he likes boys. He wasn’t going to be ready anytime soon.

Now he has to deal with all of the backlash and his own issues. He can’t even think about kissing a boy or holding his hand. But now other people do think about him doing all of that and it doesn’t belong to them in the slightest. Especially not if it doesn’t belong to Lucas either.

“One thing I can assure you about is that people will stop talking. They’ll get bored. The news will be old and you won’t be that interesting soon enough. Good things pass but bad do, too.” Imane reaches her hand out and gently brushes her fingers over Lucas’ bandaged knuckles. “I was really scared. On Friday,” she admits. “I’m glad that Yann stopped you from rushing off. Almost everyone started looking at their phones and it must have felt horrible for you. But I hope you know none of us were judging you. We were mostly sad. Angry at the person who posted it. Guilty for looking at the pictures.”

It’s good to hear it said out loud. Lucas has considered all of the bad things his friends might have thought about he didn’t even take into account that they were feeling for him. And logically he should know he’s got all their support, they’ve proven that, but Lucas always lets his mind wander to dark places.

“Thank you,” he says, slightly pushing his hand against Imane’s and getting a small smile in return.

“Anytime.”

***

Walking into the school building on Friday, nothing could have prepared Lucas for what he’s met with. All he can do is stand frozen, staring at the posters showing a naked guy in a lewd position with Lucas’ face photoshopped on top of his and an ‘I will ride you for 10 euros’ with his Instagram handle next to it. And it’s not only one or two posters. No, they are hanging over the whole hallway. Some people have taken them off just to smirk at them.

And Lucas can’t move away, taking the poster in with shaking breaths. His hands balled up into fists despite his aching fingers. This is awful. Everyone will see it. Everyone will know even if they didn’t before. They won’t stop talking. They won’t stop doing things like that. Lucas’ lips fall open.

Why? What did he do? He’s not the only gay kid in school but for some reason, he’s the one people hate. He didn’t want this. And it can only get worse from now on because why wouldn’t it? It’s been barely a week and it’s hell.

“What the hell are you laughing about?!” Arthur screams towards the crowd that has gathered around. He starts ripping the posters off the wall, his face full of disdain.

“Don’t you have better things to do? Fuck off,” Yann says, taking care of the posters further down the hall all the while Basile joins Arthur.

People are still making comments despite the guys trying to shove them away, to tell them off and Lucas can’t take it.

“Let’s go,” Eliott whispers into his ear and tugs Lucas away from there, back towards the schoolyard. “Fucking assholes,” Eliott mutters under his nose when they stop next to the entrance. He turns towards Lucas, a pained expression over his face and opens his mouth to say something more.

“Lucas, are you alright?” Yann reaches them with Arthur and Basile in tow, all of them looking pissed off. Lucas shoots a glance to Eliott but he doesn’t say anything more, his eyes downcast. Lucas looks back at Yann.

“How can I be?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Have you seen those posters? There’s contact to me on them.” He starts pacing. God knows how many of the posters are still hanging all around the school.

“We will go to the principal,” Arthur says, reaching his hand out to place it on Lucas’ shoulder but Lucas shakes him off.

“What good will it do? People will keep talking but now I’ll put them in trouble so it’ll be even worse.”

“So you just want to let it happen?” Arthur asks, frowning.

“I tried to stop it from happening for so long and it didn’t work! Nothing will work now. I just can’t fucking wait to be beaten up!” He throws his hands in the air, his whole body shaking. “How is that fair that you and Eliott can make out at a party but I have to be sorry for existing? I’m so fucking sick of this,” he sniffs, “Why am I the only one people have a problem with?” he asks, looking straight into Arthur’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says helplessly.

“I really wish I wasn’t gay. I hate it so much. And if my life is going to look like that? When I can’t even take a piss without someone looking at me weirdly? Then I don’t want to live at all!” First tears spill from his eyes and he groans, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He hates that so much, too. He always fucking cries, like a baby.

“Don’t say that. You can’t mean that,” Arthur’s voice is barely above a whisper when he says that, his eyes wide and face pale.

“I do. I do mean that,” Lucas admits.

He looks over the rest of the boys’ faces and they all look the same amount stunned and sad.

“Lucas, it’s not the end. You’re still so young,” Eliott says.

“What would you know? It’s the end for me,” Lucas retorts harshly and the moment Eliott’s face falls, Lucas knows he’s said the wrong thing but it’s too late to take it back.

“You’re taking it too far. Cool down,” Yann says warningly.

Lucas takes a step away from them and they all flinch upon noticing. “Just leave me alone,” he mutters and turns his back to them before storming off.

***

Locking himself in his room to run away from the whole world has become some sort of a hobby for Lucas. He isn’t really proud of this one, though, but what can he do? He doesn’t want to face other people, he wants to pretend he’s the only human out there. Besides he doesn’t have to talk with anyone, doesn’t have to see anyone worried.

If he’s locked in his room he won’t hurt anyone by whatever he says or have to deal with assholes. Running away is always the best choice.

Lucas briefly wonders how much school he has already missed. How badly it’ll affect his performance. He hopes he’ll be able to pass, but in the grand scheme of things does that even matter anymore? If he can’t handle being at school maybe he should drop out altogether. Find a job and finally not be reliant on his father.

The teachers must have seen the posters. He wouldn’t be surprised if the principal found out without anyone really reporting it to him. What if the next time he goes to school he gets called into the office? Have adults discuss his situation, ask questions. God, that would be humiliating.

Lucas doesn’t know how much time passes since he comes from school until there’s a knock on his door, but he supposes it must be well into the afternoon. His flatmates already back from work and school, probably wondering why he’s there earlier than them again.

Lucas thinks to himself that if he stays quiet, they’ll think he’s asleep and won’t bother him. But the knocking repeats after a minute or two and he sighs loudly.

He’s already reaching the bottom so he rolls off his bed, falling down with an ‘ow!’ in the process and honest to God crawls towards the door.

“No, I’m not hungry. Yes, I’ll do my laundry. I’m fine,” he mumbles, resting his forehead against the door.

“We both know it’s a lie,” he hears Eliott saying from the other side and Lucas’ breath hitches. He opens his eyes wider.

“Who let you in?” he asks weakly.

“Mika? I think so.” Of course, it was Mika, who else. If he can’t be nosy, he’ll let other people do that for him. “Are you going to open the door?”

Lucas considers that for a long moment and then blurts out, “No.”

“Fine then,” Eliott says and then Lucas hears some commotion from the other side and the feeling of another body pressed up against the door.

“Why did you come here?” Lucas asks, brushing his knuckles up and down over the wood.

“I didn’t want you to be alone. Despite what you said. And I figured out you’re more likely to talk with me than the others,” Eliott admits and Lucas shifts his head so his ear is pressed closer. He can almost hear Eliott breathing.

“Why?”

“Because you did that before,” Eliott says and Lucas purses his lips, looking down at the carpet. It’s true. There’s something about Eliott that makes Lucas open up in a way he struggles with the rest of his friends. He doesn’t know why that happens and is aware it may be problematic in the long run. Finding out that Eliott knows about it as well is a little scary to be honest. It feels like he’s holding that power over Lucas. Coming to him when Lucas clearly stated he didn’t want anyone because he knows Lucas may not resist. Lucas doesn’t know what to make of it, what it means, but his heart speeds up when he thinks about it.

Lucas nearly choked trying to be vulnerable with his best friend but here he is, wearing his emotions on his sleeve while talking with someone he barely knows.

“I was an asshole,” Lucas whispers, his cheeks getting warm.

“Maybe. But the situation was very fucked up. And it proved you shouldn’t be alone right now. Even if we just sit here with the door between us, I think it’s better than you shutting yourself off,” Eliott says, his voice composed. “The things you said about yourself. About not wanting to live. It really got to the guys.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says and his voice wavers. It’s never a pleasant thing to hear your loved one say something like that. He’d know, his heart bled each time his mother said something akin to his words.

“Don’t be,” Eliott says softly. “But it left them distraught. Especially Arthur. He blames himself for not helping you earlier, for not figuring it out. He feels bad for being openly out when you were struggling so much.”

“He couldn’t have known,” Lucas says. He never let anything escape. No matter how much his friends know him, if he didn’t want them to find out about any part of himself, he would do anything it takes to hide it. It wasn’t any different in this case.

“I tried to tell him. But I think you’ll have to talk with him when the time comes anyway.”

A sudden thought occurs in Lucas’ mind and his eyes jump to the place he thinks Eliott’s head might be.

“Did you… did you know?” It’s a stupid question, but Lucas can’t shake it off. There’s been something subdued about Eliott’s approach. He was the only one who didn’t give Lucas lingering looks since it all went down. Not to mention he’s the one to come and comfort him and knows exactly what to say.

“Not really. At least not until you told me about Chloé. I had my suspicions after that, but I told myself I was reading too much into that,” Eliott says thoughtfully.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Lucas, how would you react if a guy you very strongly disliked for a while asked you if you weren’t straight? When you were deep in the closet? It wasn’t my place to say anything.” Well, if it’s put this way, it does make sense. “I was just as surprised as everyone on Friday. But it was even worse because I wasn’t tagged in that post. I saw it on the screen of your phone after I picked it up when you left and I shouldn’t have looked,” Eliott explains and even though his memory of that day is blurry, Lucas remembers glimpses. Remembers how Eliott’s confusion looked so differently from the surprise on the faces of his other friends.

“Why weren’t you tagged?”

“My account is private and I don’t follow anyone.”

“Mysterious,” Lucas says, but in his head, there are many questions. Why’s Eliott’s account out of reach for all of them? What is he hiding?

Eliott snorts. “Yeah. Anyways, I want to tell you something. But I don’t think I can do it like that. It’s a secret,” Eliott says and it takes a moment for Lucas to realise he’s asked to be let in again.

Lucas looks over the room, on the clothes draped over the furniture, textbooks on the floor and his bed unmade and the insecurity from a week ago comes back to Lucas. His room is a mess and Eliott’s never been in here, but at this point, Lucas is too numb to think twice before standing up and slowly unlocking the door. Whatever Eliott thinks of the state of the room, Lucas will handle it.

He opens the door and Eliott falls down on his back with a yelp. He wasn’t probably expecting Lucas to give in. To be fair, Lucas wasn’t expecting it either.

He looks down at him and Eliott watches him back, upside down. His hair is sprawled on the floor, surrounding his head like a halo and there’s a dazed look on his face the longer he’s staring at Lucas, his lips slightly parted. Lucas shakes the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach off and moves back to his bed.

Eliott stands up, threads his fingers through his already dishevelled hair and gently closes the door before turning towards Lucas. Lucas is leaning against the headboard of his bed, his legs stretched out. He knows it’s not very polite to lie in your bed when the guest is over but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Eliott eyes the bed and clears his throat. “Can I?” He points towards the empty space left on the right side of the bed and Lucas feels himself blushing before nodding his head. Outside the context, it’d be weird. But it’s not, right? He’s shared the bed with Yann countless times. It’s not any different.

Eliott joins him and once he’s settled, their shoulders are touching, their legs only inches apart. Lucas feels lightheaded for some reason. More so when he feels Eliott’s eyes on the side of his face.

“So what’s the secret?”

Eliott huffs under his nose and looks straight ahead. “It’ll sound cheap but I know how you feel. Like, not in a sympathetic way, but in the literal one. Last year, I was the centre of the rumours at my old school, too. And among other things, I was outed as well. That’s why I may be taking your situation differently than others? Because it happened to me. I’m not telling you this to shift the focus to myself, but to simply have you know.”

“What happened?” Lucas asks, curious.

“I don’t want to talk about the details. I still can’t. But the word I was in love with that guy got around. He was one of my best friends. And I had a girlfriend at the time so you can imagine it didn’t put me in a good position. Things got out of control. I was easily affected by people’s reactions. I hated myself. It was so bad I stopped going to school, failed exams. I wasn’t myself anymore. That’s why I’m repeating the year. I came back for the first semester but all my friends were gone, my girlfriend too and people didn’t forget. I’d still find nasty things sprayed on my locker. And I was so tired. I changed school, cut ties and started over.” Eliott is breathing unevenly when he tells his story, like it’s weighing down on him. Making it hard to breathe. It’s causing him a lot of pain and maybe that’s what prompts Lucas to reach out for his hand and grab it. Eliott’s breath stutters in that moment, but he doesn’t comment on it so Lucas considers it’s okay to hold him like that. He doesn’t take his hand away. He can feel Eliott brushing his thumb over Lucas’ bandages.

“How are you now?” Lucas asks.

“Better. I’m a nobody to most and I like it. And I’ve got you guys. My whole situation left me so isolated I was scared I wouldn’t find any friends. I’m healing, I think,” Eliott says but he still sounds hollow. Losing everyone and everything isn’t easy to get over with.

“So you suggest I should change schools, too?” Lucas asks meekly.

“No. You have people. I pushed my friends away and ended up alone. You have a support system that will help you get through this. I just want you to know that what I said today, that it’s not the end. It really isn’t. I know exactly what you’re feeling and I’ll be damned if I let you make the same mistakes as I did. There’s a long and bumpy road ahead. It won’t be easy but one day things will be different,” he says, determined and Lucas wants to say something back, but he can’t find any words. Eventually, it’s Eliott who breaks the silence. “By the way, I was thinking. Have you reached out to your mom?” It’s weird how quickly Eliott changes the topic but maybe that’s something they have in common. Lucas can’t take talking about deeper stuff for a long time either. Especially matters that make him feel small. And Lucas thinks that revealing this secret to him must have had a similar effect on Eliott.

“Not yet,” Lucas mumbles, still overwhelmed by everything Eliott has told him.

“Maybe it’s the right time to do it,” Eliott suggests, squeezing his hand, carefully enough not to cause him pain. Lucas takes a shaky breath and nods.

“Can you stay?” he asks reluctantly and feels Eliott shift ever so slightly. They are still holding hands.

Lucas isn’t sure if he’s asking about now or in general. Maybe both.

“Of course,” Eliott whispers quietly, with no hesitation in his voice and Lucas bites down on his bottom lip.

He’s feeling exposed, but it’s okay because Eliott bared a bit of his soul to him in return.

#elu #elu fic #elu fanfic #skam france #skam france fanfic #skam france fic #lucas x eliott #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant

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