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chenziee · 3 years

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Thank you @kerowyn-fr for the cute prompt :D I hope you like it :)

[READ ON AO3 OR UNDER THE CUT]

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When Garp handed him the newspaper with a stupid grin on his face, former fleet admiral Sengoku already knew he wouldn't like what was written inside. Taking a deep breath, he slowly unfolded the papers and immediately, the huge, bold headline punched him in the face, making him nearly choke on his tea.

Somehow, he wasn’t even surprised that Morgans found out about Kaido’s defeat faster than the navy but goddamn it, this bunch of kids really did it. Sengoku honestly didn’t think he’s see the day of Kaido’s fall, much less for it to happen thanks to some stupidly young pirates—the words ‘Straw Hat - Heart - Kid Alliance’ seemed almost mocking at this point. Damn brats doing the government’s job for them again.

Although, he did have to admit he would love to see Sakazuki’s face when he found out about this.

Looking at the attached photo of the apparent post-victory celebration, Sengoku’s eyes zeroed in on Trafalgar Law’s blurred figure and despite himself, he smiled. The kid might be a pirate, a member of the worst generation no less, but Sengoku still couldn’t help but feel proud of him, proud of the child Rocinante died to save. When he had talked to him on Dressrosa, he was worried the pirate was going to burn out, or completely lose his way after getting his revenge, but his lively—if annoyed—expression while he ate his rice ball and shoved at an equally annoyed Eustass Kid’s face with his foot… It gave Sengoku the feeling that instead, he had found himself somewhere along the way.

With the ruins of Onigashima behind him, he really looked like he was about to own the seas and Sengoku hoped Roci was watching and was happy about the man his adopted son had grown into, about the great things he had managed to accomplish.

Just then, Garp moved to stand right behind Sengoku, reaching over his shoulder to poke at the photo. “Can you believe these three? They can’t even celebrate beating two of the emperors at once without fighting. I bet you Luffy started this,” he said, before bursting out in loud laughter.

Sengoku had to laugh as well. It really was ridiculous; they were like three little peacocks showing off their tails to see whose is the prettiest.

Wait, three?

He frowned, looking at the photo again. Now that he thought about it, Law really wasn’t the type to shove at someone with his bare foot, judging from how reserved he always acted during warlord meetings—all two of them that he actually bothered to show up for anyway. But he could only see Law and Eustass so where was the little Monkey?

Now that he looked closer, he could see that the foot in Eustass face was twisted at an unnatural angle that could only mean the ankle was either fractured several times over, or it was made of rubber. Following the limb with his eyes, he finally noticed another body splayed on the ground in between Eustass and Law, and soon he also found the arms that held up a plate stacked full of rice balls. It looked like the little Monkey was trying to keep the plate as far away from Eustass as he could and Sengoku was sure those rice balls were the whole reason of this scuffle. Then, he finally reached his head resting against Law’s thigh, clear threat in his eyes as he bared his teeth, looking like he was ready to bite Eustass’ metal arm off.

Sengoku shook his head in disbelief. It was no wonder he didn’t notice him at first; for one, his black hair was blending almost perfectly with Law’s dark coat, and two, who would look for the little Monkey in someone else’s lap? Certainly not Sengoku, and certainly not in Law’s lap.

Suddenly, the reality of what he was seeing downed on him.

Someone had a few questions to answer.

—————

As the Polar Tang pulled up to the Thousand Sunny one sunny afternoon, Law was surprised to see another small ship already there, swaying gently in the waves next to the Straw Hats’ ship. He didn’t recognise the vessel so at first he assumed maybe Straw Hat’s brother came to visit but then he noticed the navy flag and froze.

Listening carefully, he couldn’t hear any fighting; it was completely quiet, almost eerily so. But Law couldn’t see any damage anywhere, and the navy ship seemed too small to be a threat in the first place. The more he thought about it, the stranger it all seemed. He gripped Kikoku tighter, gesturing to his crew to wait at the Tang for now before he called forth a room and teleported himself onto the Sunny.

His anxiety wasn’t eased when he opened his eyes to see absolutely no one on the ship. Looking around the deserted deck, he tried to at least find some signs to tell him what in the world had happened but there was nothing except something that looked like a half-eaten newspaper page.

He was almost starting to panic when he noticed some movement in the direction of the kitchen and when he looked, he found all the missing Straw Hats in a huddle by the door, the movement he saw apparently being Tony climbing over everyone else to get as close to the door as he could.

Law sighed, rubbing at his forehead. He swore he would murder all these people one day—if they didn’t manage to stress him out enough to kill him first.

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked when he made it up the stairs to stand behind the Straw Hats, making everyone turn around to stare at him.

“Torao, hi!” Tony whisper-shouted from where he was hanging onto Nami’s shoulder, the only one who bothered with a greeting.

A long and heavy silence filled only with the crews judgmental, accusing stares followed. Honestly, this crew was so damn lucky their doctor was so cute or he would have beheaded all of them and stuck them to the mast.

“Well?” he prompted, raising an impatient eyebrow.

Several glances were exchanged until finally, Roronoa looked at him. “We were hoping you would explain why Luffy is getting a lecture.”

Law only gave him a blank look, trying to let his silence speak for itself but before the intended effect could arrive, Usopp interrupted, “Yeah, you could have warned us. Why didn’t you tell us who your grandfather was?”

What?

“For real. I almost had a heart attack when he got on board,” Nami added with a glare at Law as if it was somehow his fault.

“Right? Between Sanji, Luffy, and Torao, I can’t tell whose family is crazier.” Usopp shook his head before continuing in a disappointed tone, “And the fact neither of them bothered to tell us is ridiculous.”

Black Leg clicked his tongue then, lightly kicking Usopp in his shin. “Don’t lump me in with them, my only family is in East Blue.”

What?

“What the fuck are you people on about? My whole family is long dead,” Law snapped, his fingers flexing threateningly as his grip on Kikoku tightened again.

A beat of silence passed. Then Robot slowly raised his hand and pointed at the kitchen with his thumb. “Explain why this guy came here demanding he talks to his ‘grandson’s super boyfriend’, then.”

“And why he then grabbed Luffy and dragged him inside to talk about you. They’ve been in there for about half an hour now. I only hope Luffy isn’t getting squeezed to death,” Nico Robin added oh-so-helpfully.

Law’s head was spinning. First a nonexistent grandfather, now he was suddenly Straw Hat’s boyfriend? Ridiculous. He might have liked being around him, maybe his heart even fluttered when Straw Hat smiled at him in that blinding way of his, and perhaps he's been letting Straw Hat touch him more than strictly necessary, possibly even holding his hand once or twice but they weren't dating. Hell, Law hadn't even confessed yet.

He shook his head to make himself focus on the matter at hand. This 'grandfather' was a more pressing matter than his unaddressed feelings. "I'm going in," he sighed, then paused, looking around the eavesdropping huddle of people. "And get the hell out of here or I'll toss you in the sea."

"Sure you will," Nami muttered with a roll of her eyes, a smirk on her lips.

Law shot her and all the other grinning idiots a glare, which finally made them all shuffle away. Law was sure they’d be back the second he closed the door behind himself, though. With a sigh, Law gripped the handle and pushed the door open.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, two people and a goat turned to look at him and Law did a double take. Straw Hat was one thing. A random, actual, live animal on board was weird, but he’d seen much weirder on this ship. The old man who was sitting opposite of Straw Hat, however, that was a completely different issue.

“What the fuck?” Law muttered, unable to say anything more coherent.

“Hello, Law,” fleet admiral Sengoku said with a nod.

“Torao!” Straw Hat greeted as well, grinning and waving at him before he pulled out the chair next to him. “Come sit, your gramps has really good rice cakes!”

Law slowly turned to stare at Straw Hat instead and, a short moment later, moved forward as if on autopilot, too stunned to do anything but comply. Only when sat down and Sengoku tilted his rice cake packet towards him did Law manage to break out of his trance. “You're not my grandfather," he blurted out, eyeing the rice cakes suspiciously.

Sengoku hummed. "Technically not but you are still Rocinante's boy so I feel responsible for you."

Law blinked; it was true Cora-san was like a father to him and Sengoku did say Cora-san was like a son to him but that seemed a little shaky a connection to warrant the old man going around claiming he was his grandfather.

"We've been chatting about you," Straw Hat said, stretching his hand out to grab a handful of the rice cakes Sengoku was still holding out, then offering a few to Law.

At that, Law finally conceded and accepted the snack. He had to admit they were pretty tasty. "What about me have you talked about?" he asked, doubtful, yet almost afraid of the answer.

Straw Hat pursed his lips and frowned, quite obviously trying to remember the actual contents of the conversation. "Just how cool your powers are and that I shouldn't break your heart or something. It's not like I'm going to do that though, why would anyone do that?"

"Break my—" Law sputtered, his eyes going wide as he stared at the pirate who seemed like he didn't understand the implications of such a statement.

"I was just making sure your boyfriend was aware of the worth certain people place on you and your devil fruit and the danger that puts you in. Also that I will feed his precious hat to Baarbara if he makes Roci cry,” Sengoku explained, pulling out a rice cake of his own.

Ignoring the use of Cora-san’s name over his own, Law took a slow, deep breath before responding curtly, “I can take care of myself—”

“That’s what I said,” Straw Hat next to him announced proudly.

Law paid him no mind, simply continuing— “and he’s not my boyfriend.” He frowned, then added one last question, “Also who the hell is Barbara?”

“Baarbara is my goat,” Sengoku said fondly as he glanced at his pet, who was by his side happily chewing on something that looked suspiciously like one of Nami’s maps—Law really hoped he was wrong about that one. “But are you sure about that?” the former fleet admiral asked with a raised eyebrow, his eyes dropping down’t Law’s body to pointedly stare somewhere just above the tabletop.

Only when he followed his gaze did Law realize the position he was in. Somewhere along the way, Straw Hat had turned to the side in his chair, putting his legs over Law’s lap and, for some reason, Law had apparently put his own hand on his knee without even noticing. It was… yeah, it felt pretty damn intimate and Law felt heat raising to his face.

Slowly, he looked up at Sengoku, who looked like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Then, his gaze slid to the side to glance at Straw Hat.

The other pirate was grinning back at him, looking entirely too amused by Law’s mortification, and Law scowled. “You’re not my boyfriend,” he said quietly, sounding uncertain even to his own eyes.

“I kind of am,” Straw Hat said, his grin widening even more. “Torao, you can be so stupid sometimes.” As soon as he was finished speaking, he started laughing in that cute, contagious, absolutely maddening way of his and Law…

Law has never felt so dumb and mortified in his life.

Yet, he still couldn’t find it in himself to push Straw Hat away when he leaned forward to give Law a messy, loud kiss on the cheek. Somehow, this had turned out to be simultaneously the absolute worst and best day of Law’s life.

He was still not showing his face around the Sunny again for a while though.

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pilot-boi · 4 years

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Shouting In Cafes: Chapter Twelve

Data Acquired

Scarlet meets Sun and realizes some things that are blatantly obvious to him if that aren’t obvious to his roommate. Neptune, meanwhile, wishes nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

AO3 LINK

“Look at my hair!” Neptune gestured wildly to the absolute mess sitting atop his head. “This takes time, as you very well know!” he yelled, scurrying off the bed and immediately yanking open his drawers to pull together a somewhat sensible outfit.

“You know, Jaune would probably say ‘Don’t worry Neptune! Friends don’t care if their friend’s hair is messy!’” Scarlet remarked offhandedly.

“Well, I care!”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you. You do look like a hot mess.”

“Oh thanks for the vote of confidence, dude,” Neptune snapped, tugging on a pair of pants while hopping on one leg. All he succeeded in doing with this maneuver was toppling to the ground while Scarlet laughed.

With Scarlet’s help, he finally got into an outfit that didn’t look like he’d just rolled out of bed. “He’s late,” Neptune grumbled, arms crossed.

“One minute late,” Scarlet sighed from beside him.

“He said give him an hour.”

“No one means exactly an hour, Neptune. We can’t all be perfectly on time.”

“Should I seriously wear this?” Neptune asked, gesturing vaguely at his shirt. “I look obscenely gay.”

“I like the flower print. Why? Do you think he’s going to ask you about it?”

“Is it bad? Should I change?”

“Neptune, I was just teas-”

“It’s bad, you’re right. I’m gonna change.”

Luckily, just as Neptune was spun around to walk back into the room, an echoing voice down the hall yelled, “Neptune! Bro!”

And five seconds later, a large hand clapped onto Neptune’s back, forcibly turning him around.

Sun looked… clean. Weirdly clean. An-effort-was-put-into-his-look clean. What the effort might have been for, Neptune could not guess in a million years. It escaped his notice that he’d also put in similar effort for this “event,” but surely that was unrelated.

His hair was messy, it was always messy, but it looked like more thought was put into the chaos than usual. Like, maybe he tried a couple times before he got the windblown look exactly right.

His shirt wasn’t horribly wrinkled, though it did say “I’M HERE (YOU’RE WELCOME)” in that same horrible impact font and it, again, had no sleeves. He wore board shorts, because of course he was, but somehow, someway, he was not wearing open-toed shoes. Instead adorning his feet were pristine black and yellow converse, either newly bought or newly dry cleaned.

Neptune had to admit that he was impressed.

“Wow,” he began. “You look-”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your work clothes!” Sun yelled, effectively cutting him off. “You do have a sense of style, I could tell.”

Neptune frowned. “Is that because of the gay thing.”

“Bi thing. And no, I think it was because of the hair. Or the glasses.” Sun raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk pulling at his face as he began to turn around, arms extended as if to show off what he was wearing. “It’s nice to find someone with comparably good taste in clothes.”

Neptune grimaced in distaste. “My sense of style is not comparable to yours.”

Sun slapped his hand back onto Neptune’s shoulder. “Oh, you look great, don’t sell yourself short!”

Before Neptune could object to this, he was being pulled into a very tight hug, complete with manly man thumps on the back.

Neptune couldn’t bring himself to hug back, but he could apparently bring himself to notice how warm Sun was. And of course how he could feel every single muscle in his arms.

Scarlet appeared in his peripheral vision, giving Neptune a thumbs up. Thanks for nothing, man.

Finally, Sun released his captive, still gripping his shoulders on either side, still smiling like a madman. “You know, I was a little afraid that we were never actually gonna hang out! You waited, like, two whole days before texting me at all!” He was pouting now, eyes wide in that stupid puppy dog look.

“Isn’t that proper etiquette?” Neptune asked carefully, deciding not to mention that it was actually Scarlet who had texted back, and that if it had been left up to him, maybe there would never have been a second contact.

“Maybe for dates, but not for friends!” Sun slid to Neptune’s side, and slung an arm over his shoulders. “Unless this is a date, handsome.” And a wink, always with the damn winking.

Neptune laughed, not nervously, never nervously, and shrugged off the arm. “Not a date, you wish. Just doing… something. What are we doing again?”

“Oh! That’s right. It’s a surprise.” Sun wiggled his fingers, as if somehow that added to the mystery.

“Wow,” Neptune deadpanned, fighting the urge to laugh at this giant child. Can’t let him know that he was actually amused by his antics, that would be admitting defeat.

“You two have fun! Just text me when you get back, Neptune,” Scarlet called. He had apparently been edging himself down the hallway while thie interaction occurred, and suddenly Neptune panicked.

Jesus, God. He was about to be left alone with this madman.

“Oh!” Sun spun around, stepping towards Scarlet and capturing one of his hands in two of his. “I didn’t see you! You know Neptune?”

“Yes, I’m his roommate, Scarlet,” he said. He was tracing his eyes up and down Sun, as if sizing him up. Neptune felt torn between rolling his eyes in amusement at the look of delight on Sun’s face upon meeting a new potential friend, and horror at what the fuck Scarlet was doing, and not even subtly at that.

“Nice to meet you, Scarlet!” Sun exclaimed, shaking his roommate’s arm hard enough that Neptune thought it might fall off.

“Likewise,” Scarlet said, prying his fingers out of Sun’s vice grip. “Nice one, Neptune,” he shot over Sun’s shoulder to Neptune, who was still standing frozen in mortification. Scarlet’s eyes took one last look up and down Sun, who blessedly seemed not to notice. “This one’s a keeper.”

“Scarlet!” Neptune hissed, flushing as red as his roommate’s hair.

Just at the same moment, Sun rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. “Aw thanks, dude! I try.”

“Just bring him back to me in one piece, alright?” Scarlet asked Sun, shooting Neptune an incredibly knowing look. How dare he. This was betrayal of the highest order.

“Can do!” Sun said and twirled back to Neptune. He moved so constantly that it was almost dizzying to look at. Neptune began to feel ill and fought to get the flush out of his cheeks. Sun grabbed Neptune’s hand, leading him away. “It was great meeting you! Come on bro, let’s go!”

“Agh, Jesus, you haven’t even told me where we’re going!”

“It’s a surprise!” Curse the delight in his voice, how dare he sound so excited about potentially kidnapping him.

Neptune caught Scarlet’s eye as he was dragged away. He was leaning in the doorway of their shared room, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised sardonically.

‘Help me!’ Neptune mouthed at him.

He was yanked around the corner before he could get a response in return.

Sun was blathering away, talking about nothing and generally making a huge ruckus. Neptune’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out as best he could while being yanked down a hallway by an excitable child.

Red Rackham: You said he was tall, you never said he was cute

Ocean Man: Dude what the fuck?!

Red Rackham: Hey, I’m just telling it how it is

Red Rackham: Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two lovebirds ;)

Ocean Man: Theres nothing you wouldnt do!

Ocean Man: And we are not lovebirds!

Red Rackham: Sure you’re not

Red Rackham: I’ve only seen you have one conversation, and you two were acting like an old married couple

Red Rackham: He even tried to get all spiffed up for your little date, it’s adorable

Ocean Man: It is not a date!

Red Rackham: Bullshit

Ocean Man: And he is not adorable

Red Rackham: Bull

Ocean Man: Were not even friends!

Red Rackham: Shit

Ocean Man: Come on man dont be like that

Red Rackham: I think he likes you

Red Rackham: He was flirting with you hardcore

Neptune froze. Or he froze as much as he could while getting tugged down a stairwell by a giant with volume control issues.

Neptune had long since tuned out of whatever conversation he was having with Sun, but luckily Sun was talking loudly and enthusiastically seemingly without needing any input from him. He was waving one of his hands around excitedly as he talked, but not both.

Sun was still holding his hand.

His phone buzzed.

Red Rackham: Earth to Neptune, come in Neptune

Ocean Man: You really think he was flirting with me?

Red Rackham: Oh I know so

Red Rackham: He said you looked great, complimented you at every turn

Red Rackham: The man could not keep his hands off you

Ocean Man: Thats just what hes like with everyone it doesn’t mean anything.

Red Rackham: Neptune

Ocean Man: It doesnt mean anything!

Ocean Man: And even if he was flirting with me.

Ocean Man: Which he is not.

Ocean Man: Its not like I have a crush on him so it doesnt matter.

Red Rackham: Whatever you say

Red Rackham: Have fun on your not-date-totally-a-date

Red Rackham: I have to update Jaune, he needs these deets

Ocean Man: Scarlet I swear to god you better fucking not!

Ocean Man: You better not be texting Jaune.

Ocean Man: Scarlet?

Ocean Man: Oh god fucking dammit.

With his roommate abandoning him, and the very real idea that he might be getting into cahoots with his coworker to cook up some sort of horrible plan based on very untrue accusations, Neptune felt fear of the likes of which he’d never felt before.

He barely even noticed Sun holding the door of his car open for him to get into. He definitely didn’t notice the too-fond looks Sun kept shooting at him as they drove too many miles over the speed limit and Neptune panicked.

Sun only let go of his hand to drive. Neptune wondered behind the panic of the drive if his heart was racing from the high speeds and the wind rushing through his hair, or if it was from how Sun seemed unable to stop himself from glancing expectantly over at Neptune every time he made a joke or a sly comment.

Or if it was how Sun’s cheeks flushed and his eyes twinkled with delight whenever Neptune shot back with snark of his own.

#rwby #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #seamonkeys #scarlet david #jaune arc #mine #my writing #shouting in cafes #chapter 12 #writing wednesday #coffee shop rwby

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years

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To Keep You Safe

Title: You committed, I’m your crime

Chapter: 4/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (later on)

Notes: Reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed upon my revisions!

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Language, blood, injury, destruction

~~~

After my little stunt on the roof, Tony decided my superpower training with Wanda needed to begin immediately. Waiting until I fully healed wasn’t an option if I was going to destroy the Compound with a–totally justified–mood swing.

Wanda did her very best in trying to help me figure this whole geokinesis thing out. She was patient and didn’t give up on me even when I gathered my hair in my hands and shrieked in frustration. She ignored any bellyaching or whining I sent her way and remained the ever-supportive tutor. Through our combined perseverance, I slowly became aware of the constant thrumming inside me, like a thousand bees buzzing just beneath my skin that got really pissed off when I was surrounded by nature or experienced heightened emotions. We worked for hours outside each day, her coaching me to harness my emotions and funnel them outward properly–AKA not mindless destruction of expensive property and killing of houseplants. It was frustratingly easy for her. She’d been working on her powers for years, while I’d had less than a week.

It was exhausting work, and I hadn’t even started fight training with Nat yet. That woman was going to kick my ass six ways to Sunday, and to say I was dreading it was an understatement of epic proportions. I collapsed into bed each night and passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow, often forgetting to shower or eat until I woke up disgusting and ravenous the next morning. It was easy to understand some of my new roommates’ preference for protein drinks. I chugged them down on my way to the lawn in the middle of the Compound each morning, forcing myself to get something in my system before we began.

Half of the time I just looked constipated as I stared at leaves or small rocks, willing them to do what I commanded and getting discouraged as the wind proved more effective. Then something would move, but not how I wanted, and we’d have to try again but harder or differently. It wasn’t a very satisfying process, to say the least.

I even had some meetings with Bruce. He knew more than anyone how important it was to keep a handle on strong emotions and, since that seemed to be a huge trigger for me and I refused to let Tony hire an actual professional about it, offered to help me out as best as he could.

“Jen, what seems to set off your anger the most?” Bruce asked kindly during one of our ‘sessions’. Sitting in his office of neutral warm beige and soft lighting, He might as well be my therapist. With him perched across from me in a tasteful armchair and me cross-legged on a plush couch, we at least looked the part. All he was missing was a clipboard and look of feigned interest. But if it meant less destructive outbursts and my eventual freedom I’d pour my guts out to him all day long.

“Loki.” The answer came without hesitation. That Asgardian serpent knew how to get under my skin like nothing else, and always took advantage of that fact at the worst time. Although to be fair, he did make everything worse when he deemed us worthy of his presence, so it wasn’t just me.

“Why does he bother you so much? He can’t hurt you, not here. He’s stuck on base so we can keep an eye on him, so he has to play nice. And you’re getting better at controlling your powers, so you can fight back. He only has the power to hurt you because you let him.”

The truthful answer immediately sprang to mind, but I hesitated, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth and staring at the floor. I didn’t talk about my past. Bruce was a great guy, and he wouldn’t judge me, but talking about it meant feeling it again, and I wasn’t so great with that feeling thing people were supposed to do. Much easier to work myself to death and pass out to some fun nightmares, then repeat. But to make him explain the deeply rooted loathing that I harbored for Loki, I’d have to give him some sort of explanation.

When I looked up to him, hoping that he would just let it go, the curious concern on his face appeared well and truly settled onto his worn features. He even sank further into the cushioned chair, as if he could wait all day for me to reply. “He’s an annoying little shit,” I tried, internally crossing my fingers that he’d believe my easy and obvious answer.

“We all know that. But he also doesn’t make us angry enough that we break an entire wall of windows or kill a tree just by walking by it.”

Oops.

“His face is just really punchable?” I tried again. Going by the unchanged expression on his face, it didn’t work.

Damn. Guess it was honesty time.

“He destroyed my life years ago. Seeing his smirking face every day just rubs it in. He shouldn’t be free to roam around after what he did,” I mumbled quickly, staring down at my hands twisting in my lap. I had taken to carrying a palm-sized pointed stone in my pocket at all times. It gave me something to practice with when I was idle, and the paranoid side of me knew that I might one day need some sort of weapon I could manipulate while surrounded by man-made materials. I fiddled with it now, turning it over in my fingers and rubbing one side absentmindedly with my thumb. Anything to avoid looking at Bruce as he peeled away my protective layers to reveal my soft, gooey insides.

“The Battle of New York? Tony told me you worked at Stark Tower when it happened. But you’re here. You’re safe. He didn’t hurt you, and if he did, it wasn’t permanent,” Bruce soothed, his voice laced with sincere compassion.

“He didn’t hurt me, no.”

“I know that trauma can linger for years after-”

“I don’t have PTSD. Tony paid for me to see a therapist after the attack, and I worked though the trauma of the situation. I’m not afraid of that happening again,” I muttered, clenching the rock tightly as I looked up to him. Anger was simmering just beneath my skin, mixing unpleasantly with deep grief that I did my best to keep safely stored away at the back of my mind at all times.

“If you don’t have lingering trauma, and you aren’t permanently injured, how did Loki destroy your life?” Bruce prodded, digging deeper and deeper. “Without getting to the root of this issue, it’s never going to get better.”

“He took it from me.”

“I don’t understa-”

“He took it from me!,” I snapped and stood up, my anger boiling over as my free hand reached into my grey sweater and pulled out the golden necklace always around my neck. I stepped closer so that Bruce could see the small circular pendant. Etched into the gold were the shaky whorls of a thumbprint. My other hand gripped the stone so tightly that the edges drew blood from my palm, but I didn’t care. All I could feel were the tears pricking my eyes and the swarm of bees searching for release from beneath my skin.

“He took them from me. My mom. My dad. Michael, my twin brother. I see his face every day in the mirror and feel him around my neck, and I see their mangled bodies that I was forced to identify every time I look at his smug, arrogant asshole face! And he just gets to walk free around this place like he didn’t kill hundreds of people that day, and wreck the lives of those left behind! He feels nothing for what he did,” I shouted, my rapid-fire words tearing from my throat in an impressive shriek.

I turned away from Bruce to avoid the pity I knew I would see. It would be the same look that I got whenever I told anybody the story, which is exactly why I didn’t mention it. Ever. I stared up at the ceiling and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down my face. Without waiting for his response I stormed from the room, leaving a stunned Dr. Banner in my wake.

Outside his office I jogged up the stairs, my eyes downcast as I focused on just getting away from that room. From the words I hadn’t spoken out loud in years to anyone. Speaking it made it real again, and that ache ripping my heart to shreds was one I wanted to avoid if at all possible. So preoccupied with my retreat and holding myself together, I didn’t notice the wall of pure muscle coming down the stairs until I ran straight into it.

“Milady! How are yo-what is wrong?” Thor went from surprised and happy to worry in an instant as I stumbled against him. His hands gripped my upper arms to steady me as he stooped down to take in my red blotchy face, the tears that had slipped down my cheeks, and the blood slowly dripping from my hand. “What happened?”

I lifted my bloodshot eyes to his, searching for pity and coming up empty. Only careful regard and fierce protectiveness furrowed his brow. Rubbing the back of my injured hand against my cheeks, I shook my head harshly. “Ask your brother,” I croaked, pulling away from him and rushing up the stairs.

“Loki!” The booming voice of Thor shook the art upon the walls like the thunder he commanded as he stormed away in the opposite direction. Good. Maybe he could knock that shit-eating grin off his face. If anyone could handle Loki, it was his brother.

I paid no attention to the assembled Avengers in the kitchen, even after Steve and Vision called after me. I needed to get to a safe place, one without rocks or plants or anything else my powers could use as a projectile. I barged inside my room without uttering a word. After my incident on the roof with the windows, I’d come back to find all of the decorative plants removed from my room. At first, I’d been insulted, but critical thinking made me realize it was for the best. The only weapon in my bedroom was the rock clutched in my hand and my body wasn’t going to fight itself for it.

I hadn’t even taken three steps into the room before I heard banging on my door.

“Pebbles, let’s talk, kid. Why is Thor trying to rearrange Loki’s face?” Tony’s frustrated voice projected into my room through F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s speakers installed in the ceiling. Our rooms weren’t fully soundproof, but regular shouting was barely audible through the thick walls and heavy door. The blood rushing through my ears didn’t help matters, either.

I stared up at the nearest speaker in silence, focusing on tamping down the roaring in my ears and itching beneath my skin. I wasn’t going to open that door until I had myself under control, and a chat with Tony wasn’t going to suddenly undo all of the hurt that I fought daily to keep bottled away inside.

“Pebbles?,” I called out, picking up on the new nickname and ignoring his question purposefully.

“Pebbles. You can throw tiny rocks around. It’s cute.” I picked up on the smirk in his voice followed a couple of heavy bangs on the door. “Now open the door and let’s hash this out, Pebbles.”

“I’m good.” I threw myself dramatically down onto my bed. I was not in the mood to deal with Tony right now. I just needed to sit and stew and maybe break a few things. Then it’d all be fine and I could go on my merry way of stunted emotions and repressed thoughts.

“No can do. Gotta be a grown-up and talk it out,” his firm, no-nonsense voice grated on my agitated nerves.

Talk it out? No thanks.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Leave. Me. Alone,” I replied, directing my words and a pillow at the continuous banging on the door. As soon as the pillow thumped uselessly against it, the echoing knocks stopped.

“But I do, Jen,” came Wanda’s soft voice through the speaker. Bruce must have gotten her.

“Ugh.” I stood up, wiping away the last of my tears from my face as I went to the door. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out through my mouth, I opened the door. Thankfully, only Wanda and Tony stood on the other side. The rest of the gang must have gone to watch the spectacle I’m sure Thor and Loki were making. The disappointment on Tony’s face cut me to my core, so I averted my gaze to Wanda. She offered me a sympathetic smile, cocking her head toward the room behind me. I stepped aside and let her through with a flourish of my hand.

I groaned in defeat and looked up at a frowning Tony. “Tell Thor to back off. I’m sure he’s done enough damage as it is,” I muttered, dropping my chin to my chest and closing the door on him.

I turned around to find Wanda sitting on the couch, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped in front of her. It was still surreal to have The Scarlet Witch just hanging out in my bedroom, even after daily training sessions for over a week.

“You know that I had a brother. Pietro,” she spoke softly, her eyes trained on me as I crossed over to sit beside her. “I also lost him because of another’s hatred. And it is a knife in my chest that never goes away. Sometimes I forget that it’s there, but then it comes back sharper and more painful than ever. But I can’t let that control me.”

I walked over and plopped down beside her with a thoughtful frown. I could feel my slick blood on the stone’s surface as I worried it, but the stinging in my hand was inconsequential to the turmoil inside. It could be taken care of later. “That’s easier said than done,” I muttered.

Wanda raised a hand covered in red light, twisting it. My bathroom door opened, and then I heard my medicine cabinet open and close. The first aid kit found in each bathroom of the Compound, because Tony knows his guests and their occupational hazards, levitated out and into her waiting hand. She gently took the rock from me and set it on the coffee table in front of us so she could tend to my injury with gentle touches as she spoke.

“It is. And I also thought that getting revenge for his loss would make me feel better. I ripped out the heart of Ultron. I watched him die, and the pain didn’t lessen. I still woke up reaching for him each morning and looking for him first when I needed to talk. It doesn’t fix the pain, Jen,” she murmured, dabbing at the small but plentiful cuts on my hand with a cleansing wipe.

“I have to see him every day. He gets to be free around this base without any issue,” I spat, clenching my teeth against the sting of the antibacterial solution.

“Being trapped isn’t without its downsides. Besides, I know for a fact that Thor is giving him a sound lesson as we speak. He has tried to atone for his mistakes,” she pushed, unwrapping a set of bandages and slowly rewrapping them around my hand.

She was at least right about one thing. From the crashes of thunder and darkening sky, the anger a certain God of Thunder currently held for Loki was made clear.

“It’s not enough,” I replied, my extreme emotions slowly fading to leave me feeling drained more than anything else. My usual state after the Battle, to be honest.

“Would you see him dead? If given the opportunity, would you take this rock and drive it through his heart? Honestly?” She finished up the dressing with a piece of medical tape to hold everything in place. Undeterred by my drying blood on the rock, she picked it up and held it out to me.

“I… don’t know,” I whispered, taking the heavy stone from her slowly and staring at it to avoid her knowing gaze.

“I don’t think you’re a murderer, Jen. And I’ve met several of them,” Wanda offered and stood up with a heavy sigh. “I’m not telling you that you’re not allowed to feel this. But you won’t like the person that you turn into if it’s all that you feel.” She squeezed my shoulder before leaving me alone with my conflicted thoughts.

I gathered the bloodied medical supplies and took them to the trash before walking to stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my room. Thor must have found Loki outside, as there were scorch marks on the ground and twisted remnants of metal benches scattered around the open green lawn.

I wasn’t a murderer. That I knew deep down inside. If Loki was powerless before me right now and I had a gun to his temple, I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. I couldn’t have that blood on my conscience. Did I want him to know my pain? Yeah, for sure. He showed no remorse for his actions. He sauntered around like he owned the place, as if the feelings of others were inconsequential and insignificant.

But he didn’t deserve to die. If anything, he deserved to grapple with the guilt of the lives he ruined for the rest of his immortal life. And maybe an occasional beating from his incredibly strong brother. But if he was going to learn from his mistakes, he at least needed to know what he did wrong first.

“Shit, I have to talk to Loki,” I groaned, dropping my forehead against the cool glass in front of me.

~~~

I stayed in my room for the rest of the day. Wanda must have told everyone to give me some space as no one came to bother me. During that time, I practiced. I sat on my bed, staring at my blood-stained rock and forcing it to move around the room, to do what I wanted it to and not lose control. Hours passed with my fighting the weariness of my mind and body until the natural light outside my room disappeared and was replaced with cool blue moonlight.

If there was any time to find Loki, it was now. His displeasure for the company of the Avengers wasn’t exactly a secret, leaving him to do the majority of his skulking around after hours. After his fight earlier with Thor, I knew he’d want to confront me. He wasn’t one to just take something lying down. All I needed to do was leave the sanctuary of my room.

After I stowed my rock inside my pocket, I threw on a pair of black tennis shoes and put my disheveled dark hair into a ponytail. The hum of electricity and fan of the heating system were the only sounds in the Compound other than my steps ringing firmly on the stairs as I jogged up to the roof. It was one of my favorite places and I was banking on that being common knowledge. I settled onto a large boulder in the middle of the garden, my back to the roof access door, and waited. He’d come.

“I should drive this knife through your throat right now,” Loki’s low silken voice was in my ear the second I felt two lean arms constrict around me, one around my shoulders to yank me against his rigid chest, and the other holding said knife to the soft skin of my neck.

That didn’t take long.

“Why don’t you?” I ground out, stretching my head back against his shoulder to keep the blade from nicking my skin. I was engulfed by his presence. From the feeling of his taut body against my back to the heady scent of leather and spice, to his breath blowing across my ear, I was surrounded.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he hissed, the dagger around my neck disappearing as if it had never existed. His hands went to my shoulders and roughly spun me around before one went to my throat. He squeezed, not enough to cut off my air, but enough to let me know that he was the one in control of the situation. I swallowed and felt his hand shift over the nervous movement of my neck.

In the softly lit garden, I could just make out the damage Thor had done to him. The rolled-up sleeves of his dark button-down did little to hide the bruising blows that must have gotten through his armor, and his strikingly handsome face looked dreadful. Cuts marred his sharp cheekbones, and a large black eye only served to highlight the malice in his piercing emerald eyes.

Handsome? Nope, I didn’t just think that about the man threatening to strangle me.

Still, I couldn’t appear too weak. Calling upon the energy pulsing beneath my skin, I beckoned the sharpened, blood-stained rock from my pocket and put it to his own throat. My hours of practice that I had put myself through earlier showed in the slight tremor it gave in the air, but I dug deep to maintain it’s threatening position against his pulse. I would never do more, press it any harder, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Why did you send my brother to fight me?” he asked, glancing at my makeshift weapon with no concern before shifting his manic eyes back to mine.

Best get to the point before he strangled it out of me.

“You killed my family,” I choked out around his grip, wrapping both of my hands around his wrist. For all my tugging at his arm, I was rewarded with his grip on my airway tightening ever-so-slightly but not budging besides that. It was enough of a message to still my hands but they remained on his oddly cold skin.

His steely gaze met mine, filled with fury. With a smirk, he grabbed the rock I held to his throat and it disappeared from his grip just like his dagger had. Well, shit. “And now what? You want to fight me? Or, rather, send Thor to fight your battles since you are too weak and irrational to take me on? You wouldn’t stand a chance,” he smirked, stepping closer until he had to look down his nose to see into my eyes.

“Try me, God of Mischief,” I replied through gritted teeth, my eyes flicking over to a tree behind him. With great effort, I directed the buzzing of power inside of me to find the weakest point in the tree. Locating it, my bandaged hand let go of Loki, clenched into a fist, and broke off a bare, dead branch. It flew over at the beckoning of my curled fingers, poised against his throat.

His sadistic smile grew at the thin limb pressing into his jugular. Without moving a muscle, Loki wrenched it from my control and soared across the Compound away from us. I was fighting a losing battle, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

“Learned a new trick, mortal? How quaint. But you won’t win against me,” he whispered, pulling my body flush against his by the hand at my throat, his breath cool against my ear. After one last demonstrative squeeze, he released me, pushing me away from him.

I fell to my knees as soon as I was free, taking deep gulps of sweet, sweet air. His icy touch sent goosebumps down my spine and lingered on my skin for far too long after it was gone. A weariness from manipulating my abilities for so long also tugged on my limbs, urging me to rest and recuperate from the strain. I remained kneeling, gathering my strength, as I scowled at him. “You ruined everything. You deserved it.”

“Get in line, darling. It’s hardly unusual behavior for me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest with a shrug.

“You should pay for what you did!” I hissed, standing up and advancing on him.

He stood his ground, looking down at me with all the fear a panther holds for a mouse. “You know nothing of my recompenses. I know full well what I did on that day,” he seethed, the terrifying anger that radiated off of him made all the more imposing by his tall frame as he towered over me.

I flinched; I couldn’t help it. I was provoking a god, and the tension in his body and rage in his eyes spoke of power much stronger than my own. He had held his own against Thor earlier, only receiving a few bruises and scrapes for his troubles. What did I expect to be able to do if he decided to fully unleash the barely-contained ire that poured off of him? I bluffed that he wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but how far did the protection of his brother and Tony really reach? Besides the threat of another beating and possible imprisonment, there wasn’t anything stopping him from ending my life here and now and then disposing of me just like the throwing knives he so easily manipulated into and out of existence.

“I am not the same god that ravaged that city.” His harsh breath blew across my face as he advanced towards me, forcing me to back up until my body hit the cold glass windows behind me. I desperately clung to any iota of control I had over my powers as they bubbled beneath the surface seeking an outlet for the heightened response his closeness instilled in me. Craning my neck to meet the piercing eyes of the fair-skinned man crowding me, I saw no difference to the same villain that invaded New York City years ago, and I voiced that opinion.

“My actions on that day were not done with my full consent,” he admitted, some of the fury that furrowed his brow escaping with his strangled sigh. I could’ve sworn that he looked haunted for a moment, but I must have been mistaken because the cold gleam shining once again in his eyes was so intense that it appeared etched into his features. “No matter, as I have suffered the consequences either way.”

“Then add this to your list of consequences,” I whispered, reaching between us to pull my necklace from beneath my clothing. I shoved it into his face. “His name was Michael Thompson. My twin was murdered sitting in a cab with my parents from your Chitauri army. And every time I look at your stupid face, at my face, I’m reminded of it. I can never escape it, and you shouldn’t be able to either,” I said, my voice shaking with too many emotions that I wouldn’t name and fought desperately to stifle. I was not going to lose control, not after digging up the courage to face him.

Loki’s eyes quickly glanced down at the necklace before coming back to me, searching them quizzically. His jaw clenched as he took in my expression, and a look I could only describe as pain cracked the harsh veneer he usually maintained.

“I do know what it’s like to lose those I hold dear. This I promise you,” he breathed, his words drifting across my face in a mint-scented cloud before he turned and quickly left the rooftop. Leaving me standing there alone, shaking from an overload of emotions and struggling to catch my breath.

Free from his intensity, I leaned forward and put my hands on my knees, trying to quiet my ragged breath so I could listen to see if he returned to finish what he had barely begun. I had done what I had set out to accomplish. I made him face the harsh realities of his selfish actions years ago, literally shoved the evidence in his face, and forced him to listen to me. For all the good that it did. He had lived for centuries. What was the plight of a woman who was but a blip on the timeline of his life going to change anything?

The first bit of the conversation that I truly didn’t understand was the conclusion. ’I do know what it’s like to lose those I hold dear.’ Who had this heartless man lost? To have lost means that he must have loved someone, and who would he deem worthy of his affections? He made it abundantly clear that everyone was beneath him, dull creatures compared to the superiority of his godliness.

Had Loki had a heart at one point in his life? Was he born with the black shriveled-up stone that he most definitely possessed now? He must have been a little boy at some point in his life. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t actually sure if Asgardians just came into existence fully grown and, in his case, ready to piss off the world or, in his brother’s case, ready to save it. Could there really be a reason for the loathing that he harbored for the world?

Nope. Not going to try to humanize the murdering bastard.

The second thought that nagged at my overworked mind was that he claimed to have not been fully in control of himself during the invasion. Was that a lie? Recalling the haunted expression that had flashed in his dark eyes for the briefest of moments, it was doubtful. That had been the face of someone who had known true pain. Was the God of Lies that good of an actor? This new tidbit of information hadn’t been brought to my attention before, but I also hadn’t lifted my nose from the grindstone to really pay attention to much since I lost my family.

If it was true, then what in the hell had been strong enough to make him do something he didn’t want to do? Loki was a thousand-year-old god with incredible amounts of will, strength, and power. He didn’t just bend his knee and listen to anyone who could manage to get a word in edgewise. No, his cooperation would have had to been taken from him, as there seemed to be no one who he would freely give it to. I was under no illusion that he was playing along with his captivity now, perhaps having nothing else better to do than to hang around until a more enjoyable opportunity came along.

Did Loki actually fear something and have a weakness like us pathetic mortals?

Obviously I needed to get some sleep if I was starting to go down that road. I was delusional with exhaustion.

Yep. That’s it.

#to keep you safe #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #loki/ofc #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #language tw #blood tw #injury tw #destruction tw

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wexregolden · 5 years

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Read it on AO3 here <3

Chapter 10/19

THE BOY WHO LOVED Ch. 10

-The Riddle Fares House-

-----

“Hello? Someone there?” Nico shouted into his apartment as soon as he entered it. No one answered.

“No one there – great. Come in, Marti!” he said and stepped aside to signal Marti to come in.

“Welcome to the Casa Fares!”

There was one thing that instantly came to Marti´s mind as soon as he entered the apartment. It was huge. Really huge.

As he went further in, he realised the interior and decorations. Shelves everywhere, a big brown leather couch in the middle of the living room, pictures and paintings on the walls, a piano in a corner somewhere and books. So many books.

And then he saw something, something really familiar.

“Ah, so this is the famous bookshelf of nicoissurroundedbymuggles, huh?” Marti asked, a cheeky grin on his lips.

“Is it famous? I am famous?” Nico answered, putting another question in the room.

“Hm, let me think. The bookshelf is definitely famous, your followers love the posts with the shelf. But you, hm, I´m not really sure about that.”

“If the bookshelf is famous I´m definitely famous too, Marti!” Nico said, trying to sound offended, “and I see,” he continued, “you know exactly which posts people seem to like on my account. Are you stalking me or what?”

Marti really tried not to, but he felt a blush spreading on his cheeks as he thought back to all the times he scrolled through Nico´s account over and over again, looking at his pictures.

“I don´t!” he said, trying to sound convincing, but immediately felt that he failed.

“I see, I see,” Nico said, a cocky grin spreading on his face which made Marti´s cheeks turn even more red. To him it felt like they must be dark red by now.

They starred in each other's eyes for some times, most likely only seconds, which nevertheless felt like an eternity.

“Wanna sit down on the couch?” Nico asked and finally broke the silence between them, “I think it´s more comfortable than just standing here, even if it´s in front of the famous bookshelf.”

“Sounds good. Not to be rude and abandon the bookshelf but sitting sounds nice.”

“I think it will handle it,” Nico said, grinning again, before sitting down on the couch, indicating to Martino to sit down next to him.

Who does it. Their arms brushing each other´s briefly. A short touch which still sent some shivers down Marti´s spine.

It went silent for a bit, Marti deliberately trying not to look at Nico, his gaze wandering through the room, looking at the whole apartment again. And still catching Nico´s look, Nico starring at him.

“You´re starring at me.”

He doesn´t know why he said it, doesn´t know why he called Niccolò out on it. It just happened.

“I am,” Nico answered. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn´t deny it. He just simply said it like that.

“Why?” Marti asked, his voice turned quiet.

“It´s nice. It´s nice watching you. You´re nice.”

And with that Marti´s heart stopped beating. At least it felt like that. But it definitely skipped a beat at least. Or maybe two.

“Oh.”

They were just starring at each other, Marti´s gaze wandering down to Nico´s lips. Nico´s beautiful lips. As he looked away again, back up at Niccolò´s eyes he saw that Nico did the same as he did before. Starring at his lips. A slight smile on his lips.

Marti could feel that something was up, that the air changed between them.

As Nico looked him in the eyes again, it felt like an explosion inside of his body, his heart.

“Yes. Oh,” Nico said, approached him closer, sitting directly next to him on the couch now, their sides completely touching now.

And suddenly the doorbell rang. Marti getting thrown out of the little, light bubble he was in. Immediately questioning if the last minutes really happened or if it was his imagination playing him.

“I´m sorry!” Nico said as he got up and went to the door, opening it.

It didn´t took him long to get back to the couch, next to Marti, a little package in his hand.

“Bookmail!”

“What did you order?” Martino asked, trying so sound cool and settled whilst there still was a chaos of emotions inside of him.

“Wait and be amazed, Marti!” Nico said, his voice having a cheeky and amused undertone, as he started to unbox the book.

As he was done, Marti actually wondered why he was asking which book he ordered.

On the opposite of him Nico sat, a wide grin on his face, presenting him the book in his hand.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The Ravenclaw pride edition.

He already saw these special editions of the books all over Bookstagram since the first one was released. Annoyed by it and wondering how much money the publishers want to make with Harry Potter.

“Oh wow, really Nico?”

“Yes, damn real, Marti!”

“Don´t you already own, I don´t know, three editions of the whole series?”

“I do, Marti. But I need to show my pride, you know? My Ravenclaw pride.”

“Oh, so do you store any Ravenclaw scarfs or whatever in your room?”

“Well, actually I do, Marti. I do,” Nico answered, the grin on his face becoming wider.

“Why am I surprised about this revelation?”

“I don´t know, you tell me.”

“Hm, maybe there´s still a bit of hope inside of me that the boy I--”

--fell in love with.

“--happened to become friends with isn´t that deep into the whole Harry Potter thing as it might have seemed at first but guess I was wrong, it´s worse than I ever thought,” Marti said and laughed.

“And what about you? Having a rainbow flag up on your wall at home?”

And there it was again.

“No, I don´t. It´s not my... thing.”

He doesn´t want to tell Nico that he´s actually the only one knowing about him liking guys, being gay. It could make things somehow awkward.

“I get it. It´s not that you have to own a pride flag in order to be gay or whatever sexual orientation you have.”

“True.”

“I don’t know if it´s okay to ask that now but how did you find out that you like boys?”

It´s okay. It´s definitely okay. Marti was actually kind of happy to get this off his chest for once at least.

“Well, I kind of never felt the same for girls as my friends did. When they talked about how beautiful they where, how much they would love to hook up with them or be in a relationship and what they did to their hearts and bodies. I never felt that and couldn´t quite understand why and what´s wrong with me when I was younger. But when I later felt the same things they described only when I see a beautiful boy, I don´t know, my brain somewhen got what´s my “issue”. And at the latest when I fell in love with one, with one of my friends, yes I know it´s a cliché, I kind of knew it. That I´m gay.”

“So you´re in love with one of your friends?”

“What? Oh God no no! Not anymore, this is long gone!”

“I see. And what about now? Any boy in prospect?”

“What?”

“Come on, Marti, you understood me well. Any boy your heart beats faster around at the moment?”

Yes. Yes yes yes yes. Definitely yes. But he couldn´t tell Nico. Not now.

“No. I don´t think so, I mean, it´s kind of compl--,” he tried to gather himself before he continued speaking, “--no, not really.”

“I see,” Nico only said, looking Marti in the eyes, a little smile on his face.

And it went silent between the two again, both only looking at the other person, not saying anything.

The air felt heavy around them, Marti could feel it changing again. There was... something between them, he could feel it. The tension. Till it became a little too much for him.

“Anyway,” he started and tried to change the topic and break the silence, “you play the piano, right?”

Not that he actually knew the answer, having watched the video on YouTube several times. No, never.

“I do, yeah. Wanna hear something?”

Yes yes yes yes yes please!

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay.”

And as soon as Nico said this, he went over to the piano, sitting down on the piano stool.

“Come here, Marti,” Nico said, pointing to the free space on the stool next to him.

Marti had to swallow before he got up from the couch, going over to Nico and sitting down next to him.

From the feet up to the shoulders, everything of these body parts was touching Nico´s.

Marti didn´t had time to think more about that, about being this close to Nico, as Niccolò started to play.

He felt relegated to the moment he found that video of Nico, watching it for the first time. Only that this time, seeing Nico play and listening to him, didn´t happen on screen but in real life, directly next to him.

And it was beautiful.

Nico was beautiful.

The way he furrowed his brows, being completely concentrated, his fingers wandering over the piano keys as if they never did anything else. His tongue peeking out of his lips a little, a little smile on his lips.

Music was floating the room, the soft melody of the piece Nico was playing is enchanting Marti, makes his heart beat faster.

As sudden as the whole spectacle started it ended again.

Nico still kept his hands on the keys after he played the last note, his eyes closed.

It took him a moment before he opened them again, turned to face Marti and looked him in the eyes.

“Marti?” he asked quietly.

“Yes?” Marti responded, being quiet too

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes of course,” he said, a soft smile on his lips.

“There´s something going on in my head.”

“What? What do you mean?” Marti asked confused, the smile still being on his face.

“The thing in my head is... it´s called Borderline Personality Disorder.”

Nico didn´t look Marti in the eyes anymore by now, his gaze turned down to his lap, nervously playing with his fingers.

Martino saw him swallow before he continued.

“I´m... Sometimes I feel like I can´t control my feeling and what´s going on in my head, it´s just happening. It feels like my life is a constant rollercoaster ride with all its sudden and fast ups and downs. There are times I feel like the happiest person on earth but on the other hand, sometimes I just feel so bad and want nothing than just stop to exist. I sometimes get paranoid too fast and often and it scares me so much sometimes. The idea of being left behind and alone scares and freaks me out so much, I don´t necessarily have to be alone, I could be in a room full of people with my brain freaking out and telling me that I´m alone or feeling like it, I panic so easily and this scares me, Marti.”

Nico looked up at Marti again, shiny eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek. Marti leans a little forward and brushes it away with his thumb.

“It´s okay, Ni,” Marti said, continuing brushing his thumb over Nico´s cheek, having Niccolò smile a little in the process.

“I... I... The song I just played, I wrote it back when I got diagnosed. I just... needed something that was mine, that I could control, something that could bring me joy back then. And it happened to be the piano or music in general.”

He released a long breath and swallowed before he continued.

“I´m sorry, Marti. I shouldn´t have told you this, shouldn´t have whined about my personal problems, I--”

“Shh, everything is okay, Nico,” Marti stopped him from apologising more.

And then he wrapped him in a tight hug. One hand placed on his shoulder blade, the other one stroking Nico´s hair softly.

“It´s okay. You´re not alone, Nico. I´ll be there for you.”

And with that Nico started crying for real, sobbing into Marti´s shoulder whilst pressing him as close to him as possible to him. Heart to heart.

Marti tried to sooth and calm him down as long as Nico needed it, as long as he stopped crying.

After a few minutes Niccolò broke the embrace, pulling back a little and he looked Marti in the eye.

“Thank you,” he simply said, a little smile on his face, his tears having stopped by now. “Thank you so much.”

They didn´t say anything else, they just kept sitting there behind the piano, looking at each other, their hands touching slightly between their laps.

There didn´t have to be said something, they kind of communicated with their eyes only.

Marti could see the thankfulness in Nico´s eyes and tried to make clear that he´ll be there for him no matter what.

The silence got interrupted by the sound of jingling keys and the entrance door getting opened.

“Nico honey, you home?”

“My mom,” Nico whispered to Marti before he stood up, going to the door.

“I´m here!” he said, hugging his mom as he approached her.

Marti watched the whole thing from behind as he followed Nico slowly.

“Mom, this is Marti, a friend of mine,” Nico introduced Marti to his mother as soon as they stopped hugging.

“Martino,” he introduced himself again and shook her hand.

“Anna. Nice to meet you, Martino!”

“Nice to meet you too, Anna.”

“So, you´re a... friend of Niccolò?”

“Yes mom, he´s a friend of mine. We met through Bookstagram,” Nico butted in, shooting his mom a warning look.

“Oh, so you´re a book worm too, Martino? Also in love with Harry Potter as my son here is?”

“No, definitely not!” Nico and Marti both said at the same time, grinning at each other.

“I really don´t get the hype around the books, sorry to disappoint,” Marti continued.

“I still don´t know why I like you,” Nico said cheeky.

“Oh, you like him?” his mother suddenly asked.

“Mom!” Nico butted in again, shooting his mom another warning look.

Marti watched the whole interaction between them, smiling to himself.

“What? It seems like you two get along really well,” she said, trying to defend herself.

“Yes we get along well, that´s what friends do, mom. And look how late it already is! Time runs!” Nico said, grabbing Marti´s arm and dragging him back to the door again. “I think Marti needs to get home.”

Marti didn´t fight back as Nico dragged him through the apartment, giving him his backpack and jacket.

“I´m sorry Marti, really. My mom, she can be really nosy sometimes, especially around new people. I would love to spend more time with you, really, you have to believe me, I just want to save you from her interrogation. And believe me, this would happen if you would stay here longer.”

“Don´t worry, Nico. I get it. But it was a nice day, really.”

“Yes. It was. We need to repeat it very soon.”

“We really do!”

“And Marti?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you!”

“For what exactly?”

“For telling me. And for listening to me. And for simply being you.”

Marti smiled at Nico before he got wrapped up in another hug.

After they broke apart, Nico opened the apartment door for him, leading him out.

“Ciao Nico.”

“Ciao Marti. See you soon.”

And what that the door closed behind Marti.

-----

And here it is, the next part of their meet up or date, whatever you want to call it :D I really hope that you like it and would love to hear what you think of it in the comments or my ask box <3 And thank you all for reading <3

#skam italia #skamit #skam italia fanfiction #skam italia fanfic #nicotino fanfic #the boy who loved fanfic sharetheskamlove

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blaindersonkummel · 6 years

Text

Klaine Fic: I’m A Sure Thing

Written for Day 6 of Klaine Advent 2017 Prompt: “Fraction”

Summary: After an exhausting day at school, Kurt is sidetracked on his way home by two figures in an alleyway. One seems to be an older man. The other, a prostitute - a boy Kurt may have seen before. Title taken from the film Pretty Woman. Trigger warnings tagged on AO3.

Word Count: 2100 - Read on AO3.

Kurt was tired. After a day of demanding dance rehearsals, voice lessons, and physical comedy acting 101, followed by two subways and a bus, Kurt was ready to get home, get into bed, and sleep for twelve hours.

The umbrella hanging on Kurt’s arm swung side to side as he trudged his way home, his apartment calling his name from ahead. As he made his way towards his building, however, something caught his eye.

Across the road, under the darkness of ten o’clock at night, he spotted two people, half in the shadows of the alleyway by the building, and half lit by the street light above.

Moving closer, however, Kurt was taken aback to see who the two people were. The first, a guy with salt and pepper grey hair, maybe in his mid-50s, dressed impeccably in a designer suit, topped by a dark trench coat which was likely to cost more than a month’s rent on Kurt’s apartment.

The second person, however, Kurt recognised. He had seen this man - well, boy really – before. The boy in question had been spotted by Kurt numerous times on this street, usually by the alleyway or on the corner. Yeah, Kurt was pretty sure this guy made his living on that street corner. And the boy’s clothes tended to confirm that suspicion.

Today, the boy had his curls loose and his eyes lined in a smudge of black liner. His clothes had tastefully fashionable rips in both the white t-shirt and the sinfully tight pair of black skinny jeans he had on, all topped with a pair of knee-length lace up boots and a bright red vinyl jacket.

Seeing these two together any other time of day may have made Kurt glance over at the sheer contrast of their ages and outfits. The thing which stopped him in his tracks, however, was the fact that the older gentleman had the boy pressed up against the side of the building.

Kurt’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. The boy had a strange expression on his face as if he was experiencing both the ecstasy of having a man pressed against his body, plus the boredom of a job he had performed plenty of times before. Kurt wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d seen the boy check his nails over the man’s shoulder as he mouthed at the boy’s neck.

Kurt suddenly caught himself staring and felt like such a creep. It was no business of his how the guy earned his living and how the other guy got his kicks. Moving onward, Kurt quickly reached the steps leading up to his building. He took them two at a time, making sure not to glance over his shoulder at the gorgeous boy, lest jealousy overcome him at seeing the man on top of him.

He was about to put his key into the front door when he heard a scuffling of rather loud noises behind him. Ignoring his rule and turning around, he was quick to catch sight of the boy pushing the man away with both hands.

“We didn’t agree on that!” the boy said, frustration evident on his face. Kurt wondered how many times before he’d had to do that.

“God, Devon, what more do you want from me?” the guy seemed to shout back, “I skipped out on my wife’s damn event mixer to come see you!”

The boy looked affronted at this.

“Yeah, so you picked me up, took me to your place, fucked me for an hour, and brought me right back again. We were out of your door in under five minutes. That’s got to be a record, John!” the boy – Devon, apparently - practically yelled this part, before his voice softened and he looked down at his boots, dejected. “If you’re not going to stick to your promise, you can just give me the money now and we’ll be done.”

The man – John – instantly seemed to have a red mist descend upon him and he stepped in to Devon’s space again. Kurt was frozen in place, straining to hear what was being said.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice threateningly aggressive as Devon backed into the wall.

“You heard me,” the boy responded shakily, obviously trying to sound more confident than he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” John sneered, “What on earth gave a slutty little bitch like you the impression that you can talk to me like that, huh?” the guy now had a venom in his voice that Kurt didn’t like, his words setting off alarm bells that Kurt really should intervene.

Devon looked hurt, perplexed, and just plain scared at this point.

“You didn’t seem to have such an issue with this slutty little bitch when you were fucking me into the mattress half an hour ago!”

The cracking sound that came was so loud, it broke Kurt out of his frozen stance. John had just slapped Devon right across the face, sending the young boy to the ground into a dirty puddle below. Devon’s hand flew to his face, holding his cheek where Kurt could see a bright red mark already forming.

That was the last straw. Shoving his keys in his pocket, with a huge rush of adrenaline, Kurt beelined right across the road towards the man. However, as he got nearer, Kurt was frozen again by a flash of something black and silver in the guy’s hand.

Devon looked up at this moment and locked eyes with Kurt, obviously having only just spotted him. His expression seemed to plead for help as he lay shivering on the ground in pain.

“Oh Devon, you’re really going to regret that.”

John then raised his right arm, pointing right at him as the black and silver flashed in front of Devon’s eyes. A gun.

Devon drew in a sharp breath and snapped his eyes shut, waiting for this to be over.

But no shot came.

Instead, there was a loud thump, followed by an even louder second thump. After what seemed like an eternity, the boy slowly opened his eyes.

Instead of a jilted ex-lover aiming a gun at his face, there stood another man. The gorgeous, much younger (but still older than Blaine), scared-looking man, breathing deeply and clutching something in his hands.

Devon sat bolt upright and surveyed the scene. In front of him lay John, face down in the puddle, his Armani suit completely ruined. The man above them, it turned out, had a death-like grip on a long, thin umbrella. It took a second for the puzzle to click that this guy must have knocked John out in one clean sweep before that gun could do some irreversible damage.

Still breathing heavily, Kurt looked down at the boy on the ground, eyes wide and heart racing.

“Are you- are you okay?” he asked, desperate to make sure this boy wasn’t in need of medical attention.

“I-“ Devon tried, but he just couldn’t get the words out. He tried again, but they just weren’t coming. He was shaking like a leaf.

Kurt managed to swing his leg over the man on the floor and walk across him to stand next to the boy.

“Devon?” Kurt asked, the boy neither nodded, nor shook his head, just looked at Kurt in shock, tears in his eyes. “Here, let me help you up.”

Kurt then held his hand out and miraculously, he took it, allowing himself to be pulled up on shaky legs as he stumbled. Kurt managed to catch him by the shoulders and steady him, a few tears beginning to leak now.

“I think you should come inside. I only live in that building,” he inclined his head towards the other side of the road. “We should get away from here.”

Allowing himself to be moved, Kurt steered Devon by his shoulders towards his apartment, helping him up the steps and into the warm entrance of the building.

When they got upstairs, Kurt sat Devon on the sofa as he ran to get some blankets and make a cup of tea. In all honesty, Kurt didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but he just knew this boy needed someone right now and that person happened to be Kurt.

When he brought the tea in to the living area, Devon had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and thankfully, he seemed to have stopped shaking and got some colour back in his face – other than the bright red mark across his cheek, of course.

“I brought you tea,” Kurt said gently, moving to set it on the table in front of him and taking a seat on the same sofa.

It was only now that Kurt realised he had absolutely nothing to say to this boy. He was about to make some superfluous comment about any topic he could think of when the boy spoke.

“Thank you.” It was so soft, but it was crystal clear. He reached forward and picked up the cup, holding it in shaky hands to his lips.

“Look, Devon, if you need me to call anyone-“

“Blaine.”

Kurt stopped mid-sentence here, mind catching up.

“Do you need me to call Blaine?”

“No,” he said, the absolute tiniest hint of a smile on his lips at Kurt’s response. “I’m not Devon. That’s my middle name. My name is actually Blaine.”

“Oh.”

Kurt must have looked momentarily stumped but he suddenly felt stupid for not realising it sooner. Of course a prostitute was unlikely to use his real name. As tonight proved, it was a seriously dangerous profession to have on the streets of New York. You couldn’t be too careful.

With neither knowing how to respond, Blaine took another sip of tea, but his eyes stayed glued on Kurt’s face. Kurt could swear they held the smallest hint of lust directed at him.

Blaine lowered his cup and licked his lip, possibly not attempting to look seductive, but Kurt considered it to be overtly so, coming from this boy. “Okay, then,” Blaine began, “What do I call you?”

“Oh, ermm… I’m Kurt.”

“Well, Kurt, I must say I am seriously, seriously, happy to meet you. If you had got to me a fraction of a second later, I doubt I’d be drinking this delicious chamomile.”

Blaine gave a coy smile then and another sip of tea, but without a doubt, all Kurt could focus on were the scared eyes of a child staring right back at him.

“How… old are you, Blaine?”

“I’m twenty one!” he replied, far too eagerly.

Kurt gave him a pointed look and his guard immediately fell down, along with his head.

“I’m seventeen.”

Kurt felt kind of sick. How on earth did a seventeen year old, beautiful, quick-witted boy like Blaine find himself staring down the barrel of a gun on the sidewalk?

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt said, hurt in his voice, “How did this happen?”

“Well,” Blaine sighed, dipping the tea bag in and out of the water to have something to occupy his hands with. He took in a deep breath. “It’s kind of a long story…”

After an hour of talking, Blaine’s tea having gone cold and forgotten on the table, Kurt went to get Blaine some clothes to change in to, offering him the sofa to stay. Blaine fought back, refusing such a kind offer but Kurt insisted.

Instead, the pair changed clothes in the bedroom and seemed to continue their conversation sat across from one another on Kurt’s bed, legs crossed.

When that got to be too uncomfortable, the pair lay down on their backs, looking up at the ceiling as they exchanged their stories:

“I was bullied in high school.”

“I got beaten up at a dance.”

“My mom died when I was eight.”

“My dad never accepted me for who I was.”

“I don’t have many friends in the city.”

“I lost my virginity when I was fifteen.”

By the end of their talk, the pair were exhausted. So, when Kurt woke up at 6am, he was sure he had only slept about an hour. The shock came when he opened his eyes and saw that, not only was Blaine still there, he was fast asleep on Kurt’s chest, his beautiful face pain-free for the first time that night.

Kurt didn’t wake him. Instead, he tightened his arms around him and chose to go back to sleep for as long as possible. He just wondered what kind of topping Blaine would like with Kurt’s famous blueberry pancakes he’d be making in a few hours. But that could wait, for now.

#klaine advent 2017 #klaine advent: fraction #klaine #klaine fic #prostitute!blaine #my fic

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jostenminyard · 6 years

Text

Signing on the Line - Ch. 3 & 4

Summary: When Neil Josten is offered a position as a starting striker for a professional Exy team, he feels like all of his dreams are coming true. He signs the contract, not caring about the strict morality clause that controls who he can and can't date in the public eye.

Then he meets Andrew Minyard, the top-ranked goalie of a rival team, and then Neil thinks he might just have to care after all.

A/N: Feautured in these chapters: photoshoots, flirting, and meeting up in fancy hotels - ooh, la, la.

Chapter 3 on AO3 | Chapter 4 on AO3 | Previous chapters here

It feels like Neil’s lit a torch, and now he has to run as fast as he can to make it to the Olympic cauldron before the flame burns out. Except he’s never fast enough, no matter how hard he tries.

He has to burn, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He signed a contract and put his fire in the control of somebody else’s hands.

He’s just not sure if he hates it, when his fire is up against Andrew Minyard’s ice. He thinks he might like it, actually, because it’s not a lie. Right down in his core, where he keeps his love for Exy safe and untouched, he feels the twist and burn of determination to prove Andrew wrong.

Besides the media’s exaggerations and rumours, their rivalry is real.

Which is why Neil doesn’t hate it.

Which is why he doesn’t deny his manager when they book him a deal with the official NEL monthly magazine. The magazine plans to dedicate their seasonal starter issue to the Seakings and the Nighthawks.

They want Andrew and Neil on the cover.

He tells himself he says yes for two reasons: he likes the idea of Riko fuming over losing his cover model status for the first time in two years.

The other reason is split into two halves; he might’ve said yes simply for the opportunity to provoke and spite Andrew. He might’ve also said yes simply for the opportunity to see Andrew.

He tries not to think about that last half.

There’s a new reason for the buzz in the air, a month before the season starts. An undying energy that already has the fans flocking the streets in their aqua-silver jerseys.

All the games played in the NEL from October first to November sixteenth mean almost nothing to the Exy world. What matters is November seventeenth, when San Francisco plays against New York in the most anticipated of all rematches.

It’s all anyone can talk about, all anyone cares about, and with every pair of eyes in the Exy world on him, Neil takes the pressure they give to him and turns it into motivation.

He started this feud, he asked for the world to look at him, and he doesn’t regret it. Neil was the NCAA failure who couldn’t get a team to sign him, and when he did sign with a team, his failure status changed to Kevin Day’s sidekick.

Now Neil is simply Neil; the rookie who challenged the NEL’s top-ranked goalie.

And, in a way, that’s exactly who he is.

He practices with more grit than he did throughout his five years of college. He practices with Kevin, with his team, and sometimes by himself, at near four in the morning. Sleep is impossible when no matter what he does, the image of Andrew in the goal sticks in his head.

So he stands alone in the stadium and throws shot after shot until he can’t feel or think about anything but his pounding heart.

It churns out the oddest song, that continues to ring throughout Neil’s mind when he eventually does try to sleep.

Kevin gives him as much advice as he can, but whenever he says Andrew’s name a look of scorn is never far behind. Neil can hear the betrayal in his voice like it’s still fresh.

“Andrew only ever plays his best game when he has incentive,” Kevin tells him after night practice, the two of them in the lounge, watching clips of the Nighthawk’s latest open practice.

Neil frowns, twisting his hands up together. “. . . am I the incentive?”

Kevin answers that with a sharp look and a sharper shrug. “I don’t know, but I’ve never seen him play like this before.”

It settles heavy in Neil’s stomach, and adds a few more raucous beats to that neverending song in his head.

It’s nearly 6:00PM when his phone goes off, an unknown number flashing across the screen. Besides the constant phone calls from his manager and the occasional call from his coaches, his phone remains mostly silent nowadays. It strikes enough curiosity in him to answer.

“Hello?” Neil says cautiously, not wanting to give too much away to whoever’s on the other side.

“Your blood was already all over Riko’s hands. Now it’s a mess.”

“Andrew?”

It’s terrifying to hear that voice, deep and rumbling and somehow still smooth, right in his ear. It’s even more terrifying that he has no idea how Andrew could possibly be calling him right now.

“How’d you get my number?” Neil asks when Andrew says nothing to confirm it’s him.

“If that were important I’d care enough to remember,” Andrew says simply. “Moving on - Riko’s not happy about this upcoming magazine spread. Or really, he’s not happy about you. He says I need to put an end to this.”

“So Riko’s making you call?” His smile comes instantly, evident in his voice as he says, “Are you sure he doesn’t own you?”

“Riko says I have to end it. I don’t think I want to.”

“And why’s that? Are you having fun?”

Andrew says without pausing, “I like making you look incompetent.”

“But you see me as a challenge,” Neil says slowly, remembering Kevin’s words - Andrew sees Neil as incentive.

“I never said you are incompetent.”

Neil’s smile twitches into wider, bigger, brighter. Not sure what to say to that, he chews at his lip to try and tramp down his grin. “Thank you.”

“You still don’t stand a chance.”

“You wouldn’t be calling me if you thought that.”

Against his best efforts, Neil’s smile refuses to budge, even as the line falls quiet. In the background of the call on Andrew’s side, a car honks, sirens go off, a soft murmur of voices can be heard from down below. The sounds of a New York City night.

Andrew must be outside, somewhere secluded if he’s talking to Neil.

Neil thinks about finding Andrew outside in the loading docks that night of the banquet. The only other soul in that huge, huge room that needed to breathe, needed to escape the role they’ve been cast in.

It’s only fitting that their roles have woven together.

“I need to know,” Andrew says, after a comfortable moment of silence. “Are you Kevin’s clone? Or is there something else you live for outside of your contract?”

For a second, Neil’s mind splinters off into various directions, trying to figure out the path that Andrew means. He knows he can’t ask directly, or else Andrew won’t believe what he answers with, so he says what he thinks he should say.

“I don’t really know what else to live for,” Neil answers, a bit wistfully. “This is my life.”

“How sad. Let me know if that changes.”

There’s not even a chance for Neil to get a breath in; the line goes dead as soon as Andrew’s last word is said.

Neil holds his phone to his ear, then slowly lowers it, swimming in confusion. Even more confusing is the ache in his chest that he’s never felt before. It feels like the burn of a breath you take after being held down under water.

He ignores that feeling and looks at the unknown number with the New York area code. He saves it as a new contact, naming Andrew ‘03’.

He doesn’t touch his phone for the rest of the night.

He arrives at LAX just as the sun is rising, and he’s in a chair getting makeup put on an hour before morning practice would usually start.

The studio isn’t quiet by any means; the set decoration team is running around placing props and fixing backgrounds, the photographer is talking to the lighting department, the stylist is rolling a clothing rack back and forth across set.

It’s quiet to him though. There’s something even louder in his brain, a screaming chaos, shouting nerves that refuse to stop attacking his spine every time he looks over and sees Andrew.

Andrew is leaning back in a makeup chair, eyes closed and feet propped off the vanity in front of him. He hasn’t so much as glanced over at Neil since he arrived. Neil tells himself he doesn’t care.

It’s just them today, to shoot for the cover. Tomorrow the starters for the Seakings will fly in for the remainder of the photoshoot, then immediately fly back to prepare for their first preseason game, while the Nighthawks will be photographed in New York.

So that leaves Andrew and Neil. No Riko, no Kevin, no coaches. Just them.

There is no possibility for anything, because what could Neil want from Andrew? What could Andrew give him? Nothing. There’s nothing Andrew could even offer him, so there’s nothing for Neil to choose.

Still, Neil has to reach for his water bottle and take a long sip, forcing his gaze away from Andrew, pushing those thoughts away.

It’s then that he notices the camera being set up in front of a large, white NEL backdrop further back in the studio. Two chairs have been placed next to each other on the right, directly facing another chair placed to the left.

It looks like a setup for an interview, this Neil knows. What he doesn’t know is why.

Frowning over at the scene, Neil looks to his manager and asks, “What’s that for?”

Though he already has an idea.

His manager says, while staring at his phone, as if this isn’t of any importance and that Neil should have already been in the know, “For your behind-the-scenes interview with Andrew.”

And that was exactly what Neil was guessing, but all the same, his heart stops in his chest and all words fall from his mouth.

“O-oh.” He glances at his reflection then, hoping something in it will ground him. It’s to no avail; his heart decides then to start pounding. “Like - together?”

“Like together,” his manager says, one eyebrow quirking while his eyes remain on his phone. “Any problem with that?”

Neil takes a deep breath and chances a glance over at Andrew. No, there is no problem, because to have a problem would mean he has an issue with being near Andrew, and . . .

And Neil sort of wants that, for whatever reason, so -

“No, no problem.”

After a makeup artist attacks Neil’s face with a variety of brushes and sponges, and after he’s dressed in the first outfit for the day, he’s led to the interview setup, where Andrew is already sitting. He looks as relaxed as he had earlier, his legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded over his stomach and his eyes closed. He doesn’t open them when Neil settles down beside him.

A fact that Neil is thankful for, because even just sitting next to Andrew has Neil’s skin feeling hot and his lungs feeling tight. He wrings his water bottle until the sound of the plastic crackling is louder than his pulse.

But why, is what he wonders, why does he feel this way? He’s done a thousand interviews, done them with various teammates in this exact situation before, in fact. He’s even been nervous for a few of them.

Never like this. Not to the point where he can’t sit still, feeling so helpless, as if his veins are vibrating under his skin.

“Stop.”

The one word, uttered so simply, is like slamming on the brakes. Immediately, Neil stops. His hands go slack around the bottle, his shoulders slump, and he finally looks to his left.

“Stop what?” he asks, ignoring how out of breath he sounds.

Andrew opens his eyes then, and finds enough energy to turn slightly to look right at Neil. He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to.

Neil uncurls his hands completely, muscles surging with relief as he does so, and lets out a deep breath.

“Sorry.”

But now that his hands aren’t busy, the franticness is building inside of him again, so Neil allows his gaze to settle fully on Andrew. Calculating everything; his eyes, his posture, his easy and calm breathing - as if he really isn’t breathing at all.

“. . . what kind of questions do you think they’ll ask us?” Neil tries, looking for any sign that Andrew is as affected as he is.

That gets a slight frown in his direction, but ultimately Andrew lets out a sigh and closes his eyes again. “All that matters is the answers you decide to give.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Mhm.”

Just as Neil’s about to start in on choking the life out of his water bottle once more, with his every bone feeling full of electricity, Andrew speaks up and says, “You don’t have to answer any question that you don’t want to, or even how they want you to.”

Neil lets out a laugh bordering on skeptical. “Oh really? Do you have some sort of secret that I should know about?”

“It’s not a secret. It’s called ‘standing your ground’.”

For whatever reason, that feels like an insult, and it sinks heavy in Neil’s stomach. He looks around the studio at the various crew members, the lighting setup and the props and everything that’s designed to make fake things look real, and sighs.

“As if I ever had any ground in the first place.”

“Mhm,” Andrew says again, and nothing else.

Neil is spared having to think of a response by the interviewer approaching them. She introduces herself and reaches out to shake Neil’s hand, but is quick to pull back when Andrew simply stares at the offering.

“Nice to meet you both,” she says, smile never flinching, and takes the seat opposite them. “Shall we begin?”

The interview is made of simple questions at first; how long have they been reading the magazine, what their favourite issue is, what team did they root for the most while in college, easy things that Neil already knows how to answer.

But easy is never how anything stays.

“Neil, now that Andrew, a top-ranked player, is sitting here beside you, how do you feel about him? Are you still optimistic about your chances?”

Neil’s instinct is to laugh a bit, and turn to face Andrew. When Neil smiles, it’s for him, and not the camera. “I feel good. I mean, yeah, you might be top-ranked, but statistics are just that - statistics. Right, Andrew?”

Slower than snow melting, Andrew turns his head to look at Neil, without an ounce of feeling in his expression. “I hate you.”

Neil’s smile crashes a few levels, but he’s quick to hide it and face the camera again. “. . . it’s going to be fun proving him wrong.”

The interviewer smiles, and looks to Andrew. “And what about you, Andrew? Hate is a pretty strong word regarding Neil, don’t you think?”

Still sounding as void as his three previous words had, Andrew shrugs and says, “Hate could mean many things.”

“So is Neil as ferocious in person as he is on the court?”

Andrew’s eyes are fire on Neil’s face. “Not at all.”

That fire burns and boils the spite in Neil’s chest, and Neil is quick to face him again and snap, “As if you’re anything special off of it.”

“Never said I was.”

“Which is a shame,” Neil says airily, dramatically shrugging his shoulders. “I sort of hoped that there was a soul in there somewhere, considering how much you bring to each game.”

“Oh, Neil,” and it’s a wonder how any person could sound so empty and yet still be condescending, “There wasn’t - until you came along.”

It’s said so viciously that it must be an insult, but it pricks and pokes up Neil’s spine until it reaches his head, and then Neil feels hot all over again.

He’s saved - or maybe, interrupted - by the interviewer when she suddenly makes a cooing noise, her eyes wide as she says, “Ooh, that sounds promising. So is it true then, Andrew, that you’ve been playing with more precision during your practices because of Neil?”

“Because of how foolish he is, perhaps.”

“And you, Neil? What’s been your incentive?”

Neil can’t look anywhere else but at Andrew’s face and those burning eyes. “Andrew.”

And he’s looking at Andrew, and Andrew is looking right back at him.

So when the next question is asked, it doesn’t surprise Neil as hard as it should, not at first.

“Now Neil, let’s chat about your past. You were unable to find recruitment with any other NEL teams because of the incident involving the news of your father. Does he have any impact on you now that you’ve made it?”

Then it sinks in, and Neil’s hot blood turns cool, as quick as it takes for his head to spin around. He faces the camera with a paled face and shocked eyes and stammers, “Uh, what? I don’t . . . I can’t answer that.”

It’s been months since he last uttered anything regarding his family and his father. He’s spent every day since then storing it away, pushing it back, leaving it in his past. Having it spoken about so blatantly feels as if his entire mind has been raked over and pulled apart.

“Surely you must feel something like pride or victory. What would you say to your father if given the chance?”

Neil’s hands curl in on themselves once again, nails biting into skin. The room is spinning and he has no clue what’s where or why. He’s back in that moment, with the reporters and the questions and the anger and the fear and being so clueless as to who he is.

“I haven’t thought - uh, are there any other questions?”

“Whatever’s the first thing to come to mind.”

“I - I guess -”

“And what about your mo-”

The interviewer’s too-enthusiastic voice is cut off abruptly by Andrew saying, “He said no.”

In a tone so solid it makes the screaming room go silent.

Neil doesn’t breathe.

“Oh, I was asking Neil, but if you have something to say on the issue . . .”

Andrew’s expression is darker than it was minutes ago. He doesn’t frown or sneer; all it takes is one look and it dims the entire world. “And Neil said no, so unless you have any other questions pertaining to what you’re really here for, I think we’re finished.”

The interviewer’s mouth hangs open but nothing comes out. Her eyes flick from Neil to Andrew to someone behind the camera, as Andrew slips out from the chair, not deigning anyone with a glance as he leaves the studio.

Neil remains seated, every limb feeling heavy, his eyes unable to look away from the doors that Andrew just pushed through. His manager comes up to him, on the phone with someone, speaking angrily and looking focused for once. Neil catches his own name somewhere in the conversation - along with his father’s.

Neil tunes it all out, however, every voice and word said to him. His lungs ache, and he doesn’t notice anything until they suddenly don’t.

Because the moment he’s finally able to breathe again is the moment that Andrew walks back in through the doors and returns to set.

It’s a half hour before Neil is called to set. His nerves are still in disarray, but just like he does on the court, he pushes them away to focus on the task at hand. He does what he’s told, playing the role set out for him. He’s never done such a high scale photoshoot before, so he doesn’t hesitate in tilting his chin this way and that way when instructed, smiling when they ask him, conveying every emotion that they want him to convey. It’s clear what story they’re trying to tell.

Is it a story he actually believes in, though? Does he really hate Andrew the way the world is saying he does? Neil doesn’t think so, not even when he catches Andrew’s gaze between touch-ups and smiles, and all Andrew does is blink.

There’s just nothing to hate. Neil’s thought a lot about Andrew since first meeting him, and he can’t come up with a single reason. Rivalry doesn’t equate to hate.

Before Neil can go back to set after touch-ups, a hair stylist ties an aqua-coloured bandana around Neil’s head in a band, pushing his bangs back from his face. She says, sounding satisfied, “Now that’s more like it, hey, rookie?”

Neil itches to reach up and take it off.

When Andrew is called to set, that’s when the entire train derails. A story can’t be told when the character refuses to say their lines. Demands and requests are called out, but Andrew reacts as if they were never even said. Either on purpose, or simply because he just doesn’t care.

“Andrew, can we at least get a smile?” the photographer asks, lowering the camera from her face. “Make it grim, vicious, guarded. Anything.”

Andrew’s face stays the way it’s been all day; cold and plain, not a single emotion shuttering across it.

Neil watches without breathing, hands curled into fists and nails biting his palms. If he ever refused like that, if he ever denied what they wanted him to be . . . he wouldn’t exist.

Yet Andrew stands there, hands shoved in the pockets of his tailored pants, looking the way he always is and not what they want him to be. And he doesn’t disappear.

Neil is smiling by the end of it. If he can’t deny the rules, can’t break them, then he’ll happily watch Andrew do it.

Eventually the director yells out in frustration, turning to Andrew’s manager and demanding compliance, but Andrew’s manager simply shakes her head. The director calls for lunch, spewing obscenities as he walks away from set, talking loudly with the production team as they all voice their annoyance over Andrew.

Neil can’t stop smiling, and he finds that he doesn’t even want to.

It’s a surprise, though, when Neil turns from set and finds Andrew waiting for him. He’s staring at nothing, but once he’s sure Neil is there beside him, he heads for the door.

Neil follows without question as Andrew stops in front of his manager, holding out his hand silently until his manager produces a package of cigarettes and a lighter. Then he turns for the exit, turns down a hallway, down a staircase, and out a backdoor that leads into an alley.

Neil still asks no questions as Andrew leans against the wall of the building, designer suit be damned, and lights up. He asks no questions as Andrew takes a deep drag, then passes the cigarette off to Neil.

“That’s not a good look for you,” Andrew finally says, words slow and raspy. He points with his now-free fingers up at the bandana still fixed around Neil’s head.

“Thanks,” Neil says, mocking intent clear in is voice. “I’m choosing to wear it.”

“You are,” Andrew says in agreement, reaching back for the cigarette.

Neil frowns, eyebrows and mouth twisting up. “That was called sarcasm. Have you heard of it?”

“The definition must have changed then.”

“What do you mean?”

Andrew takes his time with answering, instead choosing to lean his head against the brick, closing his eyes, breathing up a cloud of smoke to the sky. “You have a choice. If you don’t like it, take it off.”

“After you just pissed them off like that by refusing to smile? Do you know how to, or have you never felt joy before?”

That gets one eye open. Andrew’s half glare is icy enough to freeze fire. “There’s nothing to smile about here,” he says, simply. “Though that must be news to you. If they say smile, you smile. If they say run, you’d ask where to? It’s sad.”

Neil lifts a hand to his head, feeling the soft curls of his hair tousled around the bandana, shaping a face that should be his but somebody else has made. They tied his hair back and removed the past five years of his life, turned him back into the freshman rookie at Arizona.

His hands move, as if to take the bandana off, but he can’t.

“It’s not up to me,” he says, quietly.

Andrew has both eyes open now, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. “Sad. You are far too concerned with pleasing people who only want one thing from you. It’s your face that’s going to be on the magazine. Your name being played with.”

Andrew takes another two or three drags of his smoke, time passing as slowly as he breathes. Then he turns to Neil, holding the cigarette out of the way, and says clearly, “Come here.”

As stunned as Neil is by such a sudden command, he takes the few steps separating them until he’s right in front of Andrew.

Andrew’s hand motions towards the bandana. “Do you want to be this person?”

Neil’s response is automatic; “No.”

Without hesitating, Andrew snags his fingers into the material and pulls it free from Neil’s head, tossing it over his shoulder just as quickly.

“Then don’t be this person.”

He places the mostly-gone cigarette between Neil’s fingers, then pulls open the door that leads inside, leaving Neil alone in the alley.

He finishes breathing in the rest of the cigarette, eyes never leaving the aqua-coloured material that sits on the dirty ground of a Los Angeles alleyway. Neil doesn’t pick it up.

Once inside, he goes back to his makeup chair, allowing the artist to touch up his face. It’s difficult to stay still when Andrew is only a few feet away, when Neil can’t stop thinking about him, when Neil replays the brush of Andrew’s fingers through his hair over, and over, and over.

He allows himself to spare a glance in his direction, watching as an obviously-anxious makeup artist brushes powder over Andrew’s cheeks, Andrew reclined in his chair with his feet up on the vanity again.

There’s no reason to get up and walk over, but there’s no reason not to, either, so Neil chooses what he wants to do. It’s the strangest sensation, allowing his feet to go where they want to go.

Stranger that it’s towards Andrew.

“Hey.”

The makeup artist ignores Neil’s interruption, but Andrew immediately opens his eyes.

“I wanted to say thank you, for, uh, for earlier.” His hand comes up to rest on the back of Andrew’s chair, fingers squeezing tight to stop himself from altering something he isn’t allowed to change, touching something he can’t touch. “You know . . . the only time I get to say anything that I actually think, it’s about you.”

Maybe he is being played like a puppet, but his rivalry with Andrew is real. Everything he’s said about Andrew has been the truth, regardless if the world hears it as hate.

It’s not.

The universe pauses and sits in sharp silence. Andrew sends a fierce look at the makeup artist, ushering her away, then looks back at the mirror as the universe presses play.

“So there is something outside of your contract?”

There’s intention in Andrew’s voice, intention that Neil wants to respond to. He immediately understands what Andrew was asking with that phone call, and it sinks his chest in. He can't.

“It’s not something I’m allowed to have.”

There’s somberness in Neil’s voice, sombreness that Andrew doesn’t respond to. He sits still and uncaring. “But do you want it?”

He’s never been asked that before.

Because of that fact, he can’t look up again, can’t bring himself to meet Andrew’s eyes in the reflection.

“I’ve never wanted it,” he says finally, and it’s not a yes, but it’s not a no.

“Doesn’t answer my question,” Andrew says, like he expected Neil to say that. He doesn’t give Neil the chance to try though, and instead slides from his seat to stand by his manager.

It’s fifteen minutes before they’re both called back to set. The director takes one look at Neil’s restyled hair, and widens his eyes to match the rage he had yelled out at Andrew.

“What happened to your hair?” he asks, and looks around for the hair stylist. “We have a cover to shoot for, you need to be ready.”

“I’m not wearing it,” Neil says back flatly, and something real bursts and bleeds in his chest, but it doesn’t hurt.

“Don’t be difficult. It’s not for you - it’s for the picture.”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“Do you want us to continue with this photoshoot or not?” he snaps, and waves over for the hair stylist. “It’s very simple; keep the stupid thing on your head and smile when you’re told. Got it?”

Fight fills Neil’s mouth, words and curses that can only be stopped by biting down on his tongue. It wouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Not here.

His ‘no’ is nonexistent here, just like it’s always been and always will be.

So Neil sighs and bows his head, and when the stylist pulls yet another bandana through his curls and ties it tight, he doesn’t take it off.

The photoshoot leads back underway, but this time Neil doesn’t smile, because it’s not asked of him.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with the man who’s meant to be his enemy, a man he’s meant to hate when he really doesn’t, though, feels like another lie.

The world won’t know, when the magazine comes out, that they really don’t hate each other, not that way. The cover shot will most likely be the two of them staring each other down, an inch of space between their faces. The world will never know the ideas being thought in that space.

Andrew is offering something.

A decision, a choice.

Something he can say no to - something he wants to say yes to.

Something Neil hasn’t ever had before. It’s always been what he has to do, no other options.

It’s not something anyone else can decide for him. It’s not even something he can decide to feel for himself, because you can tell yourself you can't, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting to reach out and touch, be touched. He’s never wanted that before, either.

How could he say no?

It’s the first time his body and his mind have been a cohesive yes. Funny, that it goes against everything his contract states, that it’s everything he should say no to.

“Andrew.” He says it in the last second they have together, before they’re broken apart by the stylists and makeup artists. “I want it.”

Andrew considers Neil for a moment, expression unreadable, but Neil knows he isn’t truly as bored as he looks. He leaves without saying anything, and Neil knows that’s not the end of it.

He’s proven right an hour later, when his phone goes off with a text message from ‘03’. It’s a bunch of numbers that at first glance mean nothing. It doesn’t take Neil long to realize the numbers are coordinates, a time, and a room number.

34.066042, -118.410602

753

Chapter 4

His hood is pulled up over his head, a baseball cap is lowered over his face.

It’s a precaution, though he’s pretty sure the only people who might recognize him right now are the people who’ve had their TV’s turned to a sports station over the past month.

Stepping out of the cab, he leaves behind his last checkpoint of safety, and enters an entirely different world. Fancy doesn’t begin to describe this hotel, with its palm trees and marble fountain. The doormen wear sharp, fitted suits, and greet him with a small bow.

The inside is even worse; a crystal chandelier hangs above Neil’s head as soon as he steps through the revolving doors. In his baggy hoodie and hat, he suddenly feels a bit out of place. Very, very out of place.

It takes a minute to find the right elevator, an even longer minute to work up the courage to press the button, and another sixty precise seconds to step onto it when the doors open. Then there’s no going back, the only direction is up, up, up to the seventh floor.

What’s on the seventh floor is everything he cannot have. It’s everything he signed away. It’s also what he doesn’t understand.

Neil isn’t stupid. He knows the risks and the dangers. What he doesn’t know is what he feels, he just knows that he feels it, because he hasn’t ever before.

Not like this. It’s never itched up inside of him. He’s never felt the scratching of sharp curiosity, clawing at his insides in an attempt to get out.

He’s been fine without it. You can’t want something you just don’t feel. He knows, realistically, he could be fine without this, too, but the thought of never knowing, never finding out, never trying, is enough reason to get him out of the elevator.

He has to know why he feels this, what this is, where it’s coming from and how. All he knows is that it’s because of Andrew.

What is it about Andrew?

The fact that it could ruin everything, if anyone else ever found out, doesn’t scare him. If anything, it comforts him, because he signed a contract saying he wouldn’t let people see this, wouldn’t let them know.

Andrew did, too.

So who out of the two of them is going to tell?

So what could it hurt to just find out? To feed an answer to his tightening heart, and finish the rhythm that’s been stuck in his head since he first shook Andrew’s hand.

The door with the gold 753 comes into view much too quickly, but having made his decision a long time ago, Neil doesn’t hesitate this time, and raises a hand to give a steady knock on the wood. It takes a minute, but soon there’s the sound of footsteps, and then the door is swinging back open.

Andrew stands there, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He looks at Neil, then fishes his phone out of his pocket, clicks a button, and holds the screen up for Neil to see. “Eager?” he asks around the cigarette.

The time is flashing on the screen. Four minutes before ten. “Traffic wasn’t terrible,” Neil explains, and steps around Andrew to get inside.

The door closes, sealing them in, feeling almost as final as it had when they were locked in the court.

Andrew makes his way to the minibar and asks, “Did anyone see you come in?”

“I don’t think so. Hey - why’d you make this place so hard to find?”

Andrew says without looking at him, “To be sure you wanted to find it.”

He turns around and hands a bottle of something to Neil, then takes one for himself and makes his way over to the windowsill, turning the crank on the window and pushing it out as far as it will go. He lights up, completely ignorant to the placard on the wall that declares this suite as a non-smoking room.

“Not a fan of following the rules, I see,” Neil says conversationally, eyes glancing up at the placard.

“Five-hundred bucks a night. It’s a smoking room.”

Managing a grim sort of smile, Neil finds a place on the bed, facing Andrew where he sits at the window.

Settling into silence, Neil suddenly feels - awkward. Too aware of himself, from his clothes, to his thoughts, to this aching unknowing that he hates - because Andrew must know.

Neil’s been painted to look inexperienced by the media. He hates that sitting in front of Andrew, he is that painting, has no clue what to do or how. It makes him want to tear off his skin and try again, to be another picture, to know better.

Oblivious to Neil’s internal panic, or maybe because he’s all too aware of it, Andrew leans over and passes Neil his pack of smokes and a lighter. They smoke and breathe and drink in silence, and the longer each second stays quiet, the more Neil’s heart starts to settle.

He had expected go go go and now now now and desperate and quick just to get it over with. But Andrew sits there with his head tilted back, looking as if this is the only reason he invited Neil over tonight, like there’s nothing else expected.

So Neil has to ask, his cigarette nearly burnt down to a stub, “How many times have you done this?”

Andrew takes that as an insult, it seems, judging by the scowl that darkens his face.

“I mean -” He doesn’t know what he means, he can’t say it. “You signed this all away,” he tries, waving his hand around. “You don’t seem that bothered by it. Like you’ve found a way around it.”

Andrew shrugs, confirming Neil’s suspicion, acting as if signing away everything you are inside means nothing. “You could say that,” he says. “But I’m not going to let some words on a paper decide who I fuck anyway.”

That sends a sudden bolt of heat down Neil’s chest, feeling more like a punch than anything else. He ducks his head quickly to hide the flash of red that colours his cheeks. It’s dizzying to hear this - whatever this is - put into words.

“What if you get caught?”

“I can’t get caught,” Andrew says. “I’m not hiding anything, I’m just not telling. There’s a difference.”

Neil nods, though he doesn’t understand.

Andrew sips at his drink, studying Neil intently over the mouth of his bottle. “There’s a reason I never signed your team’s contract.”

“And what is that?”

“Is this sport really that important to you that you’d forfeit every cell you are?”

It’s not difficult to hold Andrew’s gaze now. He means it when he says, “It is every cell I am.”

Andrew looks as if he wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains and takes one last drag of his smoke before stubbing the end out against the pristine windowsill. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he says, turning his body to face Neil better, letting his legs part and his shoulders relax. “I don’t believe it.”

Then it’s back to not being able to look at him. Andrew’s eyes are like a searching spotlight, so bright, exposing everything. All Neil can think about is the small distance between him and Andrew’s open legs, Andrew’s steady gaze, reading him and cracking him open.

“Or else you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Neil uses his drink as an excuse to avoid eye contact, lifting his bottle up up up until he can drain it. Andrew seems to be giving him the time he needs to answer that, so Neil takes it, studying the label of his beer with serious intent once he's finished.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here because I’ve never -” Neil starts, then stops, and finally looks up. “How am I supposed to pass up something I’ve never felt before?”

That changes something in Andrew’s structure. He’s quick to straighten himself and tower his presence over Neil. He says like it’s law, “You don’t feel anything. If this is going to be anything, it will be only physical. Do you understand?”

Neil doesn’t understand, because he most definitely does feel something. He doesn’t know what it is, and the only reason he knows it’s there is because it’s never been there.

He wants to think it’s simply because Andrew’s tied up in Neil’s love for Exy now, but then again, so is Kevin. He wants to think maybe it’s because Andrew is a means of security now, because Andrew can't tell anyone.

But that doesn’t work; Neil only wants because it’s Andrew.

Looking at him, at Andrew’s guarded gaze and venomous stance, Neil can’t pinpoint what it is about him.

The last thing it could ever be, however, is his touch. The last time Neil’s fingertips have brushed Andrew’s skin was the night they met.

It has to be something else.

Neil doesn’t mind figuring it out, but he has to say, a smirk tugging at his lips, “How could it only be physical when all we’ve done so far is shake hands?”

Andrew’s vicious expression stays where it is for a long moment, increasing in darkness, until suddenly he snaps his head around to stare out the window. “You’re a lot more difficult than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m a challenge, remember?”

Andrew lets out a slightly more raspy breath, a skeleton of a laugh. Neil feeds on it. It puts him one step closer to solving this.

Though he isn’t quite sure what he’ll do when he figures it out.

“Then where do you want to start?” Andrew asks, after another suspension of silence, surprising Neil with his voice.

For a moment there, he was expecting to be sent away. He didn’t think he’d be given another decision to make. Letting out a small laugh, Neil shrugs and admits, “I was hoping you would tell me.”

To his confusion, Andrew doesn’t answer that, and instead hops off the windowsill to walk over to the desk by the mirror, picking up a large leatherbound menu.

“We should eat,” Andrew says, tossing the book at Neil. “Order whatever you want.”

He isn��t hungry at all, his stomach too twisted up to feel anything, but he thinks maybe that’s not what Andrew is asking.

“What are you having?”

Andrew sighs at that, but lifts one dismissive shoulder and says, “Ice cream, probably.”

“Then I’ll have that.”

Whatever he had expected from tonight, sitting on a bed with Andrew Minyard and eating ice cream out of expensive serving dishes was not part of that.

The TV plays in the background, drowning out most of Neil’s attempt at conversation. Yet somehow, it’s not awkward. It’s almost as if this is how it’s supposed to go.

Andrew doesn’t talk, but he listens, even if he doesn’t lift his eyes to meet Neil’s. He stirs and picks at his dessert as Neil rattles on about this and that, topics mostly covering Exy, as that’s all he’s accustomed to talking about.

He starts off by mentioning how many of Andrew’s games he had watched throughout college - he had watched many. He mentions his days in little league, and how it was his only escape from a strange home life he wouldn’t understand for years to come. He starts to mention being recruited by Kevin, the day his coach at UOA had approached him and said ‘There’s a recruiter for the Seakings here to see you play tonight’ before he realizes, he really doesn’t want to talk about Kevin.

Or Exy.

Or anything about the game.

But what else to say?

He wants to find the reason why he feels so high about Andrew and uncaring about everything else; his whole career sits right outside the locked hotel door and Neil doesn’t think once about it when he’s talking to Andrew.

After a few moments of silence, stirring at melted ice cream, Neil thinks off the top of his head and tells Andrew about the weird dream he had last night, something he wouldn’t think to tell anyone else, because who else would listen?

The abrupt change in topics seems to shock Andrew, because there’s a quirk to his eyebrow and a twitch at his lips.

“So what about you?” Neil asks, giving his spoon a lick. “What kind of messed up dreams have you had?”

Andrew graces him with a cold look. “I’m living one,” he says, but after a minute, he surprises Neil by elaborating. “It’s pointless to wonder about them. They’re always going to be unrealistic, and I don’t approve of false hope.”

“I get that,” Neil says, nodding, though he isn’t sure he does get that. “Whenever I dream about flying, I wake up disappointed that I can’t. It always feels so real.”

“It never is.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to remember that next time I’m unconscious.”

Andrew looks at him again, and this time, he doesn’t look away.

Once they’re done their ice cream, they set the bowls down on the ground, as if they aren’t worth the rent of a house. Not having anything to keep his mouth and hands busy now, Neil glances at Andrew’s lips, and wonders too much about them.

“How am I doing?” He has to ask, half joke, half panic.

“Terrible,” Andrew answers, but it sounds half mocking, half bite. “But I’m not grading you, and I don’t plan on telling anyone else.”

“I know.” Neil shrugs a bit. “That’s what convinced me to come.”

Knowing Andrew would keep it a secret isn’t the reason he’s here, but it is the reassuring force that had him take those last few steps towards the door.

He’s here because -

And then he thinks he gets it.

Andrew’s been giving him chance after chance all night to turn around and walk away. The click of the lock wasn’t as final as the lock on the court had been; that had been somebody else’s decision, that neither could escape from. Being in here with Andrew, all Neil has to do to leave is leave.

Andrew is the opposite of Neil’s contract - he’s freedom.

Neil’s never had freedom. He’s never had freedom want him in return.

So uncaring about the rights or the wrongs because neither affect him, Andrew does things because and only if he wants to, despite all the rules and regulations.

For Neil, a man whose entire life has been rules and regulations, self-imposed and forced, it’s invigorating.

It’s freeing. It’s having the option of leaving if he wants to, staying if he wants that more. It’s whatever Neil wants to do, as long as he really wants to do it. No forcing, no pushing, no pressure.

Just a question, with so many answers.

That’s the reason he’s here. That’s the reason he wants Andrew.

Focusing on the TV after coming to that realization is difficult, and it shows in Neil’s bouncing legs, anxious fingers, in his eyes that keep averting from the screen to look at Andrew, waiting for Andrew, wanting Andrew to look at him.

The program cuts to commercial, and Andrew remains still as stone, a safe distance away from Neil’s jittering body.

And -

He’s slower than Andrew, clearly, because it seems Andrew had already come to Neil’s realization long ago. Andrew sits still and away from Neil because he’s waiting for Neil, not the other way around.

And here it is again, the reason he wants this; having a decision. Andrew’s given him space to draw out his lines, figure out his boundaries, and now Neil has to decide if he wants Andrew across them.

His name is attached to a contract that binds up his entire life, lining his body, keeping him contained. Now that he’s outside of it, playing within his own lines, he doesn’t know where to start.

But he does want to start, and that’s a first.

So he tries to make that first move, of his own volition, sitting up on the bed to face Andrew, who keeps his attention pinned to the TV. His apparent disinterest doesn’t deter Neil, not when Andrew is straightening out his legs on either side of Neil and slowly uncrossing his arms.

Then they’re face to face, nearly skin to skin, but not quite eye to eye; Neil is looking entirely at Andrew’s lips.

“Can I?” Neil asks, still staring at Andrew’s mouth, and his heart thrums up alive at how much he wants an answer.

Andrew lifts an eyebrow, and asks back, “Can you?”

It can’t be all that difficult, Neil thinks, and leans forward to reach for Andrew. His hands instinctively come up to cup Andrew’s jaw, because that’s what feels right.

Wrong.

His hands are stopped abruptly just inches from Andrew’s face. Andrew wraps his fingers tight around Neil’s wrists and holds him there, not pushing him away but not allowing him closer.

Once he’s sure Neil is contained in his hands, Andrew closes the distance between their lips and kisses him.

Neil didn't know it could feel like that.

It’s - odd. He never understood the point of it, and he doesn’t understand it now, but it’s just that with Andrew’s lips against his, he almost never wants to breathe again if it means he can keep kissing him.

The drag of curiosity, of knowing I want this, whatever this is, pulls him forward for more. He gives in completely to Andrew’s hands around his wrists, sagging his body forward and letting Andrew hold him up.

Being touched by Andrew feels like being told a million words at once. Like secrets being shared, no one else around to hear, only them and this and whatever comes next.

The kissing lasts for another minute, maybe two, maybe a hundred. Neil’s sense of time gets warped when he feels Andrew’s tongue against his, so really it could be the next day and he would be none the wiser.

Until Andrew flexes his grip around Neil, slowly ushering him back but not letting go. He says, firm and certain, “There are rules. Can you follow them?”

But how could Neil answer that when he can’t even remember his name, the English language so vague to him now? He blinks away the fog from his eyes, pushes through the daze, and only comes through to the other side when Andrew gives his wrists a squeeze.

Ever since Neil met him, and likely long before that, Andrew hasn’t followed a single rule that’s been put in his path. Laws and guidelines never mean anything to him. He’s his own person, player, game.

If Andrew comes with rules, then they must mean something. Neil nods his confirmation, then realizes a second later when Andrew doesn’t let go that it needs to be a vocal one. “Yes.”

He hardly recognizes his voice.

Andrew drops his wrists and puts a foot of space between them, but keeps one finger jabbed under Neil’s chin.

“I need to know that you really want it. If you need to stop, you say stop. If you need time, tell me you need time. Yes is yes and no is no.”

Neil looks at Andrew and meets the challenge in his eyes straight on. It settles weird in his stomach, twisting it up, because that challenge isn’t vicious or harmful. It’s as if Andrew’s waiting for Neil to say no, but even more than that, it’s as if he’s afraid he’ll say yes.

“I understand,” Neil says, holding himself very still as Andrew takes his hand away, in case such a simple word invokes a serious reaction. It’s risky to look away from Andrew’s eyes, but he needs to see where his hands are now; clenched up tight in the blanket, far away from Neil. “Where can I touch you?”

He asks without thinking it through, because he has to, confused by all these lines being drawn. So far it seems as if none of them lead to Andrew, but rather create a barrier around him.

“That’s the second rule,” Andrew says calmly, keeping his eyes on Neil’s face. “You can’t.”

Somewhere in the distance of Neil’s mind, there’s the sound of tires coming to a screeching halt. He snaps his head up quickly, unable to mask his continued confusion, but it quickly dies where it’s spread out across his face once he looks at Andrew’s.

It wouldn’t be a rule if Andrew didn’t need it. So instead of asking why, Neil says, “Okay.”

For whatever reason, that knocks the ice off Andrew’s features and shows what’s hidden underneath - shock.

It makes Neil wonder if anyone’s ever wanted to follow Andrew’s rules before. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t follow anyone else’s.

Andrew blinks and the ice comes back, sharpening and freezing everything from his eyes to his lips. “Do you have any rules?”

Neil shrugs and shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ve never done this before.”

Andrew’s response is silence, but he seems to hear whatever it is he needs to hear, because he doesn’t push it.

And oddly enough, it doesn’t fall back into more kissing, though Andrew does look between Neil and the windowsill for a considerable amount of time. He makes whatever decision he needs to and indicates with a jerk of his head to follow. Then they sit at the windowsill together, legs bent up and toes nearly touching, exchanging a lighter between them to light two separate cigarettes.

Andrew looks contemplative, remnants of challenge still in his eyes, looking almost angry with something. With himself.

Neil has to ask, “Is it usually like this?”

Whatever this is or is supposed to be or can be - Neil has a suspicion this isn't how it usually goes.

Andrew looks out at their view, breathing out a cloud of smoke into the gap of the open window, and shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s rare for someone to get past the second rule.”

Neil’s mouth wants to drop open to form another question, but he keeps it closed and fills in the blanks for himself. It’s clear now why Andrew looks that way; he doesn’t know what to do.

Has anyone ever said yes to him?

No, that’s not it, Neil thinks.

Has anyone ever asked him for a yes?

Content to wait it out, even if it never happens, Neil moves from the windowsill to sit on the bed, only to be stopped by a hand on his wrist.

Neil pauses immediately, and looks over his shoulder to where Andrew is, still sitting, taking one last drag of his cigarette. He never lets go of Neil’s wrist.

As soon as it’s stubbed out, grey ashes smearing into white wood, Neil is being hauled closer and downwards, just enough for Andrew to grab the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

A hand on his neck and a hand around his wrist, Neil feels contained in a way that makes him feel free. He’s safe here. His no means no here.

He says yes here.

Somehow, someway, through quick pecks and violent nips of teeth against lips, they end up on the bed. The pillow feels like concrete when Neil’s head hits it, or maybe that shock of impact is from having Andrew’s entire body weight over top of him.

His hands instinctively come up to touch. Andrew is a hot, heavy, real thing above him and Neil wants to know every inch, so it doesn’t seem so foreign, but he can’t. Like a flashing red warning, blaring loud through his ears, he reminds himself to kill the need to solve things.

Andrew will show him whatever he wants him to know.

Andrew keeps his body raised in certain places, carefully arranging his knees and his arms to hold himself where he wants to be. Neil responds by pressing his own body further into the mattress, as if telling Andrew he gets it, he’ll give him his space.

All he can’t control, all he doesn’t want to, is the way that he’s breathing. One kiss and it’s heavy, two kisses and it’s desperate, three kisses and Neil thinks he’s suffocating, whining low in his throat and gasping in the half second that their lips aren’t touching.

He thinks maybe Andrew wants to smother him breathless, because his kisses quicken, raining down relentless.

A bite on his lower lip abruptly stops them, however, and Andrew asks right against Neil’s mouth, “Do you want this?”

And suddenly it all seems so very simple: this is not a contract. There are no false pretenses here, no mask he has to wear. It’s not you must do this or you won’t have anything. It’s do you want this? If you do, we can. If you don’t, we won’t.

“Yes,” Neil gasps out, and his voice is quickly swallowed up by Andrew’s lips and tongue and hands again.

Some people search for people. Some people wait. Neil was neither, not caring about being alone because he always had a game to play, a team to lead, a dream to make. But if he wasn’t searching and wasn’t waiting, then why is he reacting like this, like every touch of Andrew’s fingertips adds missing pieces to him?

His legs part without him thinking it, his throat twists out Andrew’s name, his heart beats somehow steady as Andrew’s hands skim lower and lower, as Andrew shoves Neil’s hoodie further up his chest and exposes all his skin.

“Tell me to stop,” Andrew says, between kisses planted to Neil’s neck and collarbone.

Neil throws his head back and grits out, “I don’t want you to stop.”

It was a question concealed as a statement, Neil realizes, and Andrew hears whatever he needed to hear in Neil’s answer. His kisses follow the path that his hands had made.

In the back of Neil’s mind, forced there because what Andrew’s lips and hands are doing right now takes priority, he thinks about the dangers. If anyone ever realized, saw, told, then Neil’s dream would be finished, his life would be over.

Then why does it feel like it’s just now beginning?

Andrew yanks Neil’s hoodie down from where it was bunched under his armpits, but it’s Neil who reaches out to rip it off.

That gets something - not a smile, not even a smirk - but a something in his direction. It also gives him a brief pause, enough to realize Andrew’s eyes are hazel, and not dark hateful things.

The world thinks he hates him, and Neil will live just fine with that, as long as they never know how willingly and easily he submits to Andrew’s hands. They push and pull and pinch and part and Neil says yes to it all, so desperate for Andrew to start.

Andrew kisses places that nobody else ever has, places that nobody else has ever touched, even with hands. Neil’s pulse races underneath Andrew’s lips, and his heart stops completely when Andrew’s cool breath blows over the mark of a wet kiss, and it scares Neil.

It scares Neil that he wasn’t searching but now he can’t imagine anyone else but Andrew.

He reminds himself of the reason; Andrew is safety that nobody else can give him, a set of rules just for them, a decision, an underlying trust that neither will give the other away because then they’ll both lose. The offer of yes or no.

That’s it.

There can’t be any other reason Neil is only thinking, and has only ever thought, Andrew.

As the kisses, bites, licks and marks continue, the need to grab something deepens and engraves itself like a scar across Neil. “Andrew,” he says, or tries to say but ends up gasping. He doesn’t want to ask for it, not wanting to force Andrew to give it, but he needs - he doesn’t know what he needs. “I -”

There’s a blur of blonde hair above Neil, a slick swell of heat from Andrew’s mouth around Neil’s neck. Andrew pulls back the very instant he hears his name, leaving Neil cold all over.

At Neil’s silence, his non-vocal no, Andrew looks like he’s about to sit up and forget about all of this, and Neil’s heart beats hard in sudden protest.

“No, never - nevermind,” he stammers, and closes his legs dangerously close around Andrew, but still not enough to touch. “Keep going.”

Andrew must be starving, and just as cold as Neil was, because he doesn’t waste a second and continues painting Neil’s neck with spit and kisses.

And Neil, watching how Andrew grips and grabs him, settles for clutching at the blanket underneath them. Leaving claw marks against the silken material is worlds safer than leaving claw marks down Andrew.

Neil’s about to tear holes through the blanket when, without looking or taking his mouth off Neil, Andrew reaches up with one hand and grabs hard at Neil’s wrist. Another anchor, another pinpoint of safety.

Unlike every other hold, this one doesn’t seem to be to keep Neil in place. This ones to give him something to feel.

Neil’s been throughout various variations of breathless, but never like this. The very proximity of Andrew is like a body check on the court, but it doesn’t hurt, it just leaves him gasping for air that can’t be breathed.

And suddenly, Neil wants more, in a way that he has never wanted more before.

But Andrew is pulling back.

Neil doesn’t mean to, truly, but he whines and whimpers the barest minimum of Andrew’s name.

As quiet as that one word is, it echoes and fades until silence consumes it.

“That’s enough,” Andrew says, the sound of his voice so strange now - so strange, but exactly what Neil needed to hear. He looks down at Neil, nothing about him heaving and shaking in the way that Neil is falling apart, and wipes at his mouth.

Andrew’s cheeks are red, his lips are redder, his eyes don’t look hazel anymore but rather something sparkling, so Neil lays there until he’s sure he’s not hallucinating any of it.

Sometime later, perhaps five seconds or five minutes, Andrew offers a hand and pulls Neil upright. His eyes and lips and cheeks are still surreal colours, which makes Neil think that Andrew just isn’t real - because Neil has never wanted anyone’s touch so much.

Then, as if he were reading Neil’s mind, Andrew reaches out and touches the pad of his thumb to Neil’s bottom lip, swiping across it in a way that could read as gentle if you weren’t Andrew, weren’t Neil.

It feels like he’s being asked a question; silent but as vital as air. Neil meets Andrew’s surreal eyes and nods, and it’s only then that Andrew removes his thumb to trace over his own lip, looking thoughtful and utterly at odds.

It must be common to be this breathless. Feeling weightless and drowsy, Neil can’t imagine having it, but the burn of wanting more more more scorches his insides. He says that to Andrew with his eyes.

It can’t be common, however, for Andrew to give one furious wipe to his mouth and push away from the bed to sit at the windowsill. Like more is wrong, like more can’t be done, like more is what he wants too much, like more really is something that Neil just doesn’t understand.

Neil watches him, and doesn’t ask why, because there are rules for a reason.

And, being honest, Neil doesn’t care about the more entirely - he cares about the Andrew of it all. So he keeps his mouth shut, because he knows Andrew wouldn’t want to hear it.

And, being honest, Neil isn’t going to tell him because right now, as he furiously puffs at a cigarette, Andrew looks the way Neil feels - like it’s more than just more for him, too.

Instead he tugs on his hoodie, and joins Andrew at the window. He hesitates before taking the offered cigarette, not wanting to burn away Andrew’s taste, but the scent of smoke always helps him reset his breathing.

But he really doesn’t mind never breathing again.

Even though the sky is dark, the lights of Los Angeles refuse to go down without a fight. Looking out at some strange version of night, the concept of time becomes even more confusing for Neil.

He doesn’t want it to become day.

And, as if he were reading Neil’s thoughts, counting down their seconds - as if he just wants Neil and nothing else - Andrew leans over and plucks the cigarette away from Neil and holds it out of the way, then grabs Neil with his free hand and pulls him to his lips.

This kiss is sour and ashy.

This kiss pauses time.

Neil figures this isn’t common at all, for either of them, or anybody.

But the last thing he could ever say is no.

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #tfc #lp fic

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hazellvesque · 6 years

Text

Some Kind of Miracle - Chapter 4

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya’s latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette’s life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 4 - Destiny

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Marinette’s head was pounding.

The dull ache that had sprouted from the point on contact on her forehead had quickly developed into a full-on migraine. Her vision was so blurred that she felt like she was one misstep away from falling to the floor and never getting back up. Wait, was she even standing up?

“Oh my god!” A male voice shouted. He sounded so far away, she could barely understand him. “Are you okay?”

Marinette opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she groaned loudly and slumped forward directly into the boy’s arms.

“Please tell me you’re not unconscious,” even though he sounded muffled, it was clear he was terrified. He tilted Marinette’s face up to get a better look at her, pointing her towards the light hanging over the door.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried her best to release herself from his grip. “’S too bright,” she muttered.

Closing her eyes definitely helped. She flailed around blindly, double-checking for any missing limbs and realizing that she was indeed already on the ground. The entire world was spinning.

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” the boy’s voice said again.

Slowly but surely, Marinette risked opening her eyes again, and was met with twin images of a teenage boy kneeling in front of her. A couple slow blinks later, and the two sides of her vision merged into one another and-

Okay, maybe she had fallen unconscious, because what she was seeing in front of her couldn’t possibly be real.

It was him. The model. Adrien, Alya’s blog boy - in all his tall, lanky, green-eyed glory - was staring down at Marinette like she had just grown an extra head.

Yes, she was definitely hallucinating. That could explain why it suddenly felt so hot out here.

He was asking her a question, she realized as she snapped herself out of her thoughts. He’d been talking this whole time. Speaking English, Marinette remembered. She had to concentrate hard to understand it all, which was not easy in her current state.

She’d been staring for far too long. “Do you know who I am?” he questioned her.

Marinette shook her head slowly. She had been dazed before, but now she felt like she was on an entirely different planet.

“Can you understand me?” was his next question. Clearly, she looked just as confused as she felt.

“Yes,” Marinette searched her mind for the right English words. Understanding the language was much easier than speaking it. “It’s a little hard, but I hear you.”

“Here, let me help you,” he offered a hand, which she took gladly.

His grip was solid, strong. He felt all too real to be a dream. He was so warm.

This could not be happening.

“I am so sorry,” he continued, staring at her with wide eyes. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, it’s totally my fault. Do you need some water, or an aspirin? Or a hospital?”

His eyes. Wow. They were so green.

“I think I need to sit back down,” she said.

The boy glanced over his shoulder, looking worried. “Well, there’s nothing but hard concrete out here, and I don’t think taking you back into the club would help. All that pounding music can’t be good for your head.”

He was making up excuses, Marinette could tell. Judging by how hard that door had swung and hit her, he had been in a rush to get out of there. What had be been running from?

His eyes lit up suddenly. “I think I know somewhere we can go.”

We can go. Yes, that sounded nice.

“Here, let me get your things,” the boy made sure Marinette was standing steadily before kneeling back down to grab something.

Her heart skipped a beat once she realized what he was reachaing for. During the crash, her backpack had fallen off. Her sketchbook and supplies had spilled out when she fell, and the page had opened right to-

“Oh,” the tiniest hint of a laugh left the boy’s lips. “This is interesting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marinette lied. She wished she could muster up the energy to snatch the book from his hands and run away to hide her face in shame for the next two weeks.

He pointed a single finger at the top of the page. “Well, that’s my name, and that-“ his finger trailed down the page, “-looks an awful lot like my face. And I thought you said you didn’t recognize me.”

So that confirmed it then. Not only had mister teen magazine come to life right before her eyes, but he was currently scrutinizing Marinette’s designs with a curious expression on his face.

And still standing so, so close. She took a cautious step backwards, begging the fluttering feeling in her stomach to go away.

“They’re not much,” Marinette began, then immediately regretted it. They were amazing designs. Some of her best work, actually, and she was confident about that much. Why was she acting like this?

It was the head trauma. Yeah, that could explain why she was literally seeing stars, whether her eyes were open or shut. And she could blame the July temperatures for the heat she was feeling all over.

“These are actually really good,” he smiled at her. Even his stupid teeth were perfect, damn him. “You know, I can sign these if you want. As an apology for… you know. Everything. So long as you promise not to sell them online,” he joked.

“I don’t want your autograph,” Marinette said quickly. After realizing how rude she sounded, she continued, “I don’t want to mess up the designs. But thanks for the offer.”

Adrien thought it over for a moment. “I want to make this up to you somehow. How about I run these by my dad’s assistant for you? I’m sure if he looked over him he’d see something he liked.”

An actual famous designer, liking something she made? Or, even better, wanting to help her bring her creations to life? The very idea of it made her feel like she was going to faint.

Suddenly that didn’t seem at all like a far-fetched idea. The pain behind her eyes became so searing it nearly blinded her. She couldn’t help but cry out in pain and reach out to Adrien to support so she wouldn’t fall again. Her entire world tipped sideways as if she were floating, she felt herself falling, her mind went blank, and then, she felt nothing at all.

Of course, this is just what Adrien needed to turn his night from good to great: an unconscious stranger in his arms.

Luckily, the girl didn’t weigh much. Adrien just barely had to tighten his grip to keep her from completely over.

If anyone happened to stroll down this alleyway, they’d stumble upon a very sketchy situation. They’d assume he was robbing her, judging by the way all of her belongings were strewn about. Or they’d notice she was passed out and assume something even worse. He was majorly screwed. How was he going to explain this? Nino and Chloe would be pulling up any minute now.

Unless…

He fished his phone from his back pocket, pressing the first number on speed dial and praying that the call would go through on time. Every buzz of the dial tone increased his fear tenfold until finally, the call clicked through.

“Hey, Adrien, we’re just about to get in the car-“

“DON’T!” Adrien flinched, realizing that it probably wasn’t the best idea to be yelling this loud. He risked a glance at the girl, who was still out cold but thankfully was otherwise unharmed. The reddish bruise on her forehead was reducing in size by the minute. He took another deep breath. “Nino, I need you to come alone.”

Chloe was asking a flurry of questions in the background, no doubt wondering what could have changed so quickly. Nino sounded equally as confused. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“It’s a long story,” Adrien spoke so fast he nearly tripped over his words. “Please. It’s an emergency. I promise I’ll explain everything later, I just need you to trust me.”

Nino was quiet. Too quiet, for far too long.

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” he said finally.

Despite the fact that the girl was still leaning on him, Adrien felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Nino ended the call before Adrien could begin gushing about how much of a lifesaver he was. Adrien would never complain about his kitchen raiding again.

Focusing back on the more immediate issue, Adrien lowered the girl back to the ground, resting her against the wall to help her sit up at least semi-straight. Before, the poor girl was downright terrified, and she had had every reason to be. But now she looked positively peaceful, almost as if she were taking a nap.

Her forehead had a small red knot forming, barely visible just underneath her hair. Unless you looked closely, there was no way of knowing that anything was wrong.

A small part of Adrien hoped that she had hit her head so hard that she wouldn’t remember any of this. As selfish as it may be, he was still paranoid that word would spread about his little outing and he’d be done for. And this girl knew who he was, despite her denial, since she’d clearly spent a lot of time drawing him out.

Taking another glance at the girl’s book, Adrien smiled to himself. Sure, there were times where he’d try his best to flatter and compliment to try to network with big names in the business, but his compliments toward the girl were genuine. Adrien bet himself that he could slip some of the drawings into his dad’s office and Gabriel Agreste would be none the wiser; her designs would blend in so well with the other works he had pinned to the walls as part of his ‘artistic musings’, there was a definite chance he really would like something that he saw from her.

“What the hell?” Nino shouted.

Adrien hadn’t even noticed the headlights of the car pull up behind him. Nino jumped from the driver’s seat and raced over, his eyes wide.

His head snapped back and forth between Adrien and the girl. “What did you do?”

“Why are you assuming I did this?” Adrien’s voice cracked.

Nino didn’t believe it for a second.

“Okay fine, I did this,” Adrien tried his best to explain the situation as quickly as he could. Telling the story back was almost as bad as living through it the first time. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Please, please just let this girl be okay.

��So let me get this right,” Nino began, flabbergasted. “You knocked this girl unconscious-“

“I didn’t knock her unconscious,” Adrien defended himself poorly. “I just…bumped into her. With a door. But she was awake a minute ago!”

“So why did she faint?”

“I don’t know Nino, why don’t you ask her? She might have really hurt something, I don’t think its normal to pass out like that from a little bump.”

Nino pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so after all of that, instead of, oh, I don’t know, calling an ambulance, you decide to make me an accomplice to your crime?”

“I panicked!” Adrien cried. “Someone probably already saw me inside, I don’t need to draw any more attention to myself. Can you imagine if cops and an ambulance showed up? They’ll have to question me, I was the only witness.”

“You weren’t just a witness, you’re the perpetrator,” Nino pointed out.

“You’re not helping!”

The girl groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the bright headlights. She muttered something neither boy could quite catch. Adrien held a single finger in front of his mouth, signaling Nino to stay quiet.

“What happened?” the girl pushed her hair from her face, still watching Adrien with that weird look on her face that she’d had earlier. Sure, Adrien was used to plenty of people staring, but they usually looked happy or excited. But this girl, she just looked…confused. Not necessarily about the situation, but specifically about him.

“You fainted,” Adrien spoke gently. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him or to dislike him, though in the past few minutes she had been given plenty of reasons to want nothing to do with him. “You might have a concussion. Can we take you to a hospital?”

The girl backed up even further into the wall, which was almost impossible. “No, I… I’ll be in huge trouble, can you just take me back to my hotel?”

“I can’t leave you in good conscience like this. You hit your head really hard.”

Her expression dropped completely, going from confused to annoyed in an instant. “Oh, did I really? I didn’t notice.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Adrien insisted. “I can get you some painkillers and give you some time to rest and work off the headache, and then I’ll bring you right back. We won’t involve any hospitals or police or anyone. Okay?”

“…Okay,” she said finally.

Adrien offered his hand once again. This time, the girl was hesitant, taking hold of his grasp much less firmly than before. She wobbled only slightly upon standing, which was a welcomed improvement. Adrien didn’t fail to notice how quickly she pulled away once she was standing, either.

“It’s okay, take your time,” Adrien felt the odd impulse to put his hand on her shoulder or back just to make sure she didn’t fall over again, but she seemed to be making her way towards the car just fine without him. She really wasn’t helping with his endless guilt trip.

He knelt down and picked up her bag and everything that had fallen, hoping to make some kind of positive impression. No doubt she wouldn’t be too impressed by the basic act of chivalry – after all, if you have the nerve to seriously injure someone, the least you can do is pick up their things for them – but Adrien figured any small action would help lower the tension of the situation.

“What did you do with Chloe?” Adrien asked, only just now noticing that Nino had listened after all, and the other girl was nowhere to be seen.

“I sent her on ahead in a cab,” Nino shrugged. “Hopefully she’s not too pissed at you later.”

The girl tensed up suddenly and gasped.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot. My friend, Alya,” she said. “She’s still inside. I can’t leave her.”

Of course. One more fantastic thing to add to the pile of perfection that was tonight.

“Can’t you call her?” Nino asked the obvious.

“We didn’t get international service,” the girl shook her head. “The call won’t go through.”

Nino and Adrien exchanged a look. The funny thing about their friendship was that, even without saying a word, both boys could sense what the other was thinking. Their first thought – international service? The second thought was more of a request on Adrien’s part, one more thing that he would owe Nino big time for.

“No,” Nino said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Adrien pleaded silently, doing his best beggar hands and sad frown.

Nino groaned. “What does your friend look like?” he said to the girl, making a point not to look at her.

“My height, red hair, glasses, probably on her phone” she paused to think. “She was wearing a really short black dress and heels.”

Adrien winked at Nino, who was already eyeing the front of the building, ready to go.

“The things I do for you, Agreste,” he dropped the car key into Adrien’s hand before turning on his heel and leaving the alleyway.

The girl watched Nino leave with that same terrified expression that she couldn’t seem to shake. She probably wasn’t too enthused to be left alone with Adrien again. He silently promised himself he’d take special care not to cause any more harm.

He walked to the car and opened the passenger side door – one last small act of kindness couldn’t hurt, could it?

“After you,” he said.

He could not be serious.

Adrien stood at the car’s side, stubbornly and silently holding the door open for her. He didn’t even look mildly concerned. As if it were completely okay to just welcome a stranger into your (very expensive-looking) car and take them on mysterious joyrides. Was she the only sane person in this weird country? Nothing about this situation was okay.

Then again, she didn’t exactly have too many options. The pressure behind her eyes grew more painful by the minute. If Mme. Césaire even found out that she and Alya had left the hotel, they’d be toast.

Reluctantly, Marinette slid into the passenger seat and buckled herself in. Adrien was ever so kind enough to close her door for her. He made his way around the vehicle, sat behind the wheel, and turned the key in the ignition.

They pulled away from the alley and down a street that was just a little too empty for Marinette’s comfort. Of course, he’d know which routes to take to avoid the most people. Adrien was a decent driver as well, taking care to avoid the potholes and stay exactly at the speed limit. His fingers tapped the wheel with a nervous energy. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words for the situation.

“Sorry for, um, fainting on you like that,” Marinette started.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Adrien looked relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to speak up first. “Besides, I’m used to people falling for me, maybe just not so literally.”

The regret was immediately visible on his face. One glance at Marinette and he sputtered and tried, unsuccessfully, to backpedal the conversation.

“I’m sorry, that was the wrong thing to say,” he winced. “I just assumed from the pictures and the way that you’re acting that you were a fan. They usually like when I make jokes like that, so-”

“I know it might be hard to believe, but I’m not one of your admirers,” Marinette blurted out. “And I’m still dazed from my massive head injury, so I’m not exactly feeling like myself right now. My friend Alya was the one who showed me your pictures that I ended up sketching. And sure, she’d probably be falling all over you if she were the one who ran into you. Me, on the other hand? I barely even know who you are.”

The car had stopped at a red light. Adrien stared straight ahead, unblinking and silent. Was he upset? Angry? He had started to get just a little annoying, but now, Marinette wished he would say something. A full thirty seconds had passed and he was still quiet.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I’m just…scared,” Marinette could feel prickling behind her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was from the headache or if she was tearing up from her frustration. “I’m stuck in an unfamiliar place with a strange boy who is being way too nice to me and I don’t really know how to feel about all of it.”

“No, I get it,” Adrien said gently. “It’s weird. We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. It was still frustrating that he was being so nice, but it was also much appreciated. The last thing she needed was to be stranded out here completely alone. At least she had some kind of solace with him here.

“Wait, one more thing,” he said.

Well that didn’t last long.

“You never told me your name.”

“You never asked,” she said, making clear that her sarcasm was more light and witty than rude. “It’s Marinette.”

“Marinette,” he pronounced the first syllable correctly, unlike most people here, like mahr rather than mair. “That’s really pretty. That’s my last unsolicited comment, I swear.”

He kept his vow of silence this time around, making driving his top priority.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty, then thirty. The bright lights of the city had long disappeared in the distance. After a while, Marinette couldn’t tell what direction they were facing anymore, what with all of the various back roads and unnecessary turns they’d done to avoid suspicion. They’d been in the car for what felt like ages. On the bright side, at least her headache was going away. Of course, being out of a moving vehicle would help ease her pain a lot more. She wanted to try something. “Adrien?” his name felt strange on her lips.

“Yes?” he asked, a bit too excitedly. Marinette’s heartbeat increased ever so slightly.

Part of her had wished that he wouldn’t respond, that he wouldn’t confirm once again that he was indeed really here in the flesh. She wanted to believe that she was still in the middle of some odd daydream that she couldn’t quite shake herself from. Instead, every minute their conversation continued on solidified the fact that she was really here, that he was really here, and that they were just chatting like none of this was a big deal at all.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You look pale.”

“No, I just had a question,” it was only partially a lie. “So… do you have your own private hospital wing or something?”

Adrien laughed. The joyful sound coming from him was refreshing. At least he’d finally stopped with the run on sentences and panicking. “No, I can’t say I do.”

“Really? Nothing like that at all? I would have suspected someone like you to have all sorts of resources at your fingertips.” She was exchanging sarcastic banter with a celebrity. Who had knocked her unconscious with a door. And then essentially kidnapped her. This was fine.

“Well, I have a personal trainer-“ Of course he does, Marinette thought, “-but I don’t think he’s good with head trauma. Besides, you said you didn’t want to go to a hospital, right?”

“Right. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m out here, I could get in a lot of trouble with someone who was counting on me to be responsible.”

“Well coincidentally enough, I’m trying to avoid trouble right now, too. We’re on the same boat.”

“You’re a superstar, what could you possibly do to get yourself in trouble?” There were plenty of things she could think of from the top of her head, but more than anything, she wanted to know what his answers would be.

“I think injuring an innocent bystander would be enough to get a few bad headlines written about me,” he gave her another apologetic smile.

“Okay, fair point,” Marinette couldn’t help but wonder if her name would be in those headlines too. Or if she didn’t matter enough to be recognized. The front page of the magazine would read: ‘Strange French girl walks headfirst into alley door like an idiot, completely ruins Pretty Boy Adrien Agreste’s entire night’

She risked another glance over at him, taking extra care not to stare. It was still hard to process that he was a real, actual person and not just a picture on a screen or billboard.

Oh god, what was Alya going to say if she found out about this? After screaming for an eternity, she’d probably hound Marinette for every last detail about what he was like in person. She’d only be more determined to keep stalking him around the city for her chance to run into him too. It had only been a day and Marinette was way in over her head about this whole situation, and this was only the beginning. Even once they parted ways tonight, she’d still have to see his face and hear about him constantly. She was never going to get a break.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Should I slow down?”

“No!” God forbid she have to spend any more time than necessary suffering through this conversation. Her entire body was so tense she felt like she might just pop a blood vessel. “No, just… get us to wherever we’re going so I can get out of your hair.”

Moments later, they pulled into a long driveway. Two other cars were parked outside of a garage, and up a pathway to the left sat a smaller house with a single light on inside. A family practice office, Marinette guessed. Maybe Adrien didn’t have his own personal doctors, but he would know where to find someone who would keep quiet about the situation.

Adrien exited the car first, still taking the time to run to the other side and open Marinette’s door for her again although it was entirely unnecessary.

“Where are we, exactly?” Marinette asked as she stepped out.

“Oh, um…” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “This is my house.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #Adrienette #adrinette #my writing #some kind of miracle #i forgot to post this whoops

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mymisguidedfairytale · 7 years

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[fanfiction] Hunter x Hunter - Motion in the Ocean

Title: Motion in the Ocean Word Count: 11,114 words Pairing: List x Elena, Dwun x Eeta Summary: After the events of Greed Island, List and Dwun take Elena and Eeta on the most epically disastrous double date in history. A/N: Written for the Hunter x Hunter Big Bang 2017 Challenge. Takes place immediately post-GI arc. Huge thanks to rouvere, gonprohunter, and amalaleteia who will be doing some lovely art for this story! I hope you enjoy! [FF.net] [Ao3]

He's not going to comment on how, no matter what, all Dwun seems to be able to talk about is Greed Island or its creator. List doesn't expect him to get over it—after all, they all have their own coping mechanisms. For the twins, it's a spur-of-the-moment road trip across the continent—for him, it's that ever-present emptiness and inescapable boredom—and for Dwun, it's an inability to let go, to place the blame on the one in the center and lash out at everyone around him. After living with friends for so long, living alone is a hard thing to adapt to.

Motion in the Ocean

After three days, he still hasn't gotten used to waking up in his old bed, facing a different window, in the apartment on the Ligorian coast he'd left behind when he'd agreed to join the team and live and work on Greed Island. It's like a jolt, unexpected and sudden, and then he spends the next few minutes staring out at the slice of blue water visible through the curtains of his bedroom window and making plans to purchase and install a set of blinds.

This he could get used to; he had a similar experience moving to the island, at first, and living in that expansive castle in Limeiro. No, what strikes him the strangest about the entire ordeal is that, after three days, he has yet to hear from any of the others. They departed, separately, through a set of cards remaining to them as Game Masters, and while Ging's silence is a matter of course, he expected to hear from one of the others. Dwun is even something of a neighbor to him—he lives an hour or so away, in a similar apartment complex that suits a Hunter like them—close to the airport, in a gated community, and private enough that one could leave without notice for days, months, or years at a time with no issue.

He buys the blinds and spends the afternoon installing them—the absolute mundane act of driving to the hardware store and standing in line with a box of blinds under one arm and a toolkit in the other is, to his utter disappointment, the most exciting thing he's experienced since his return. And he calls Dwun. He doesn't answer. List tries again, and once more it rings three times before going to Dwun's voicemail.

So, List hops in the car and decides to drive over. It's either that, or keep waiting for news of some kind, or go out to the Hunter Association seeking another job. The last two suggestions make him wrinkle his nose and turn the volume up on whatever pop-lite channel he'd set the radio to the last time he'd driven the vehicle. Years and years ago.

So, naturally, he gets lost. Twice. It's getting late into the afternoon, and by the time he finally gets to Dwun's doorstep he's ready for a drink and some peace. So, when he knocks, repeatedly, without answer, the scale of his ire starts to tip a little further south.

He tries the knob. It's locked, with some kind of rudimentary system—Dwun was constantly misplacing his keys, List remembers—and with a sigh, he starts to work on picking it with his tie clip. It's a skill Dwun himself taught him, so List figures his friend won't mind. Much.

A few minutes later, List closes and re-locks the door behind him. The lights are off, and a thick stack of mail on the inside of the doorway gives him pause, but what draws his attention immediately is the loud music coming from the descending staircase.

It's a strange, cinematic if clearly electronic soundtrack, punctuated by yelling and cheers. Coming downstairs, List sees Dwun, seated cross-legged on the dated blue carpeting, a game console in his hands and the gigantic television before him playing some kind of first-person shooter. His health's in the red, and surrounding Dwun rests a number of empty paper plates, soda cans, and flat cardboard boxes.

"Dwun!" List calls out, and a moment later Dwun pauses the game and glances over his shoulder.

"Oh! List!" His eyes are bloodshot, and on a second inspection List notices not one, but three different game cases open around the base of the television. "You're here early. Or is it late?"

He pauses. "You don't know?"

"It's definitely either one or the other." Dwun turns back to the game, clicks a button on his console, and it restarts in a flurry of chatter and ammunition.

List flicks open the lid of one of the boxes with his foot. Inside are the greasy crusts of a cold pizza. Slowly, he crosses the room, to the windows, covered in thick, blackout curtains—and what a much better idea those would have been—and rips them open.

Like any apartment on the Ligorian coast worth its salt, all windows face the ocean, and the now-brilliantly setting sun. Piercing orange light fills the room, and Dwun ducks to the side, throwing his arms over his eyes.

"List! How could you!" On the screen, Dwun's video game character dies, and Dwun howls again. "You were like a brother to me! How could you hurt me in this way?"

He rolls around on the floor, knocking over a soda can, and after a moment List puts him out of his misery and swings half of the curtains closed.

"Well, it's evening," he says. "As you can see. Have you really spent the last three days doing nothing but playing video games?"

"It's been years," Dwun gripes, sitting up and staring despondently at the television. "A lot of good games have come out since then! Surely you've got a backlog of new books you've been waiting to read?"

List shrugs. "No."

"I forget. You only like the classics." He reaches over, snags one of the pizza crusts, and pops it in his mouth. "And did you say three days?"

Now he wonders why he ever thought that something important or hazardous had been keeping Dwun—or any of the others—away. And although it's hard to imagine the twins playing a game like this, he's curious if the others are dealing with their newfound freedom like List with his ennui, or more like Dwun with his...puerility.

List pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales.

Without looking back, Dwun pats the empty space next to him. "There's a two-player mode," he offers.

Without saying a word, List drops down beside him and lets Dwun slap another console into his empty hands.

Two Days Later

They'd made it through Crash Lawson 5 and Zombie World Reckoning before List couldn't take any more. The plots were thin and the character development was nearly nonexistant! Who was developing these games? List had half a mind to write them a letter.

Dwun had been understanding—and caught him up to date on Crash Lawson one through four—and told him that, after Greed Island, it wasn't like any other game could really hope to compare, in the same ways.

At least he'd put his foot down at any kind of take-out. Limits were important.

List nurses a soda can on Dwun's couch while Dwun plays some sort of adventure game. He already wants another nap. "Your energy astounds me."

"It's a good game." He sounds defensive—this one, according to Dwun, is an indie, so the budget was thin and it shows in the graphics—and according to what he'd gleaned from the plot, the player character is taking a treasure map to a mystical temple high in the mountains to be decoded, and facing minor perils in the form of crevasses and jungle fauna and nearsighted enemies along the way.

"And besides, it's only the first act. Give it time," he continues.

List scratches at the stubble growing in under his chin. "We're Hunters. We could go out and experience this sort of thing for real, if we ever wanted to."

There's silence from Dwun, and for a moment something bubbles in List's stomach. "You don't...actually want to go out and experience something like this, do you?"

More silence, before he's jarred from his focus and the question seems to register in his mind.

"Nah. What I'm really itching for is the mundane."

"The mundane?" List echoes.

Dwun crosses his legs; his day-of-the-week socks read Friday. "Let's go do something completely normal. We'll invite Eeta and Elena, and go sightseeing...you know, as a celebration."

List isn't really following his leaps of logic; didn't they already celebrate on the island? And the concept of sightseeing, like a tourist, fills him with distaste.

"Where would we go? There's not much in the area to see."

"How about Wave City?" Dwun suggests.

List's nose wrinkles. "That tacky place?"

"And you've never been, so it's perfect. They've got good seafood, at least. And a boardwalk, and some nice arcades..."

List mulls the idea over while Dwun continues to extol the virtues of this generously-labeled seaside resort town. Something about Dwun's hopeful face gives him pause.

"Wait a minute...this has nothing to do with celebration. This is all about Eeta! What did she say to you?"

Dwun looks away, sheepish. "I...never actually told her."

"But you told me you were going to tell her about your feelings the night before the game ended! What did you do, you coward?" He gestures wildly with his soda can.

"I thought I would see her at the party. I told her I'd meet her...and then it never happened. I got so caught up in celebrating Gon's victory...I wonder how that all went?"

"Don't change the subject!" List shouts. Behind them, the dramatic music from the game's pause screen blares through Dwun's magnificent speaker system.

Dwun sighs, his shoulders slumped. "What else can I do?"

"Just call her. You know, like a normal person."

"You know she never goes anywhere without her sister. And if you're there, you can help psych me up. Give me advice."

"Advice? Don't ask me."

"Then who?" Dwun asks.

"You should ask Ging." It's worth it, to see the scandalized look on Dwun's face, and List does his best to control his laughter. "I'm sure he's got lots of stories. He can give you a little guidance."

"You're a horrible person."

By now, List is clutching his stomach with laughter. "You need all the help you can get!"

Dwun jabs a finger in his direction. "You're just trying to distract me from the issue at hand!"

In-between giggles, List nods sagely. "Like you're trying to distract yourself with these games?"

"You don't have to put it like that. These have been a very fun five days. Six? Six days?"

List, after a moment, realizes he can't remember either. "Definitely six."

They sit in silence for another few minutes—the game soundtrack continues to play the same, now inapropos, music in the background. List takes a sip of his grape soda.

"Hey. How about this. If you put everything together, I'll go out with you, Eeta, and Elena. It'll be fun."

"Fun," Dwun echoes, with all the joy of a funeral dirge.

"A nice, normal, mundane outing," List says. "That's just what you want. What could go wrong?"

Another scandalized gasp from Dwun. "Never ask that. And I thought you were the genre-savvy one?"

List keeps his voice carefully monotone. "Now it's going to rain."

One Week Later

They agree to meet at Wave City, an ocean resort town just up the coast. Its hallmark is a mile-long boardwalk along the water, populated by seafood shacks and shops selling beachwear and souvenirs. It's old and weathered and, considering the season, absolutely swarming with tourists and almost uncomfortably warm.

Of course, he is the first to arrive. The sky is bright and the sun is shining and List is convined his nose is going to be sunburned before the hour is up. And he's still wearing a dress shirt, tie, and long pants, looking entirely out of place amongst the rest in their coverups and flip-flops.

And then Dwun shows up, waving an arm, in cutoffs and a rust-orange sleeveless shirt. List waves back, only to hear laughter from behind him. He turns, and sees the twins walking up; Eeta has one arm up and is waving enthusiastically back. Suddenly sheepish, the redness on his face has nothing to do with the sun. He slings his arm behind his neck, pretending he meant to do that.

"Eeta! Good to see you!" He calls to the waving twin, wearing a bright combination of pink and mint-green ruffles on her shoulders and miniskirt.

"It's Elena," she says flatly back, pulling her sunglasses down her nose to stare at him over them. Beside her, her sister stifles a laugh and they exchange a look.

"So," Eeta says, glancing around, and for all the dilapidated whitewashed buildings and neon signs she seems impressed by it all. "What's the deal with this place?"

"It's old, like eighty years old." Dwun fills in the blanks as they walk, gesturing as they make their way down the boardwalk. "The fishing was really good back then. It's sort of died down now, though. The boats have to go out to sea now, but people used to fish all along the pier. Now it's just a good place to go and spend some time."

The boardwalk is broad, but it's still awkward for the four of them to walk in a line together, and after a few minutes List falls behind, to wait with Elena as she stops to take a picture of the pier.

"So, what have you and Eeta been up to since we left Greed Island?" he asks.

"Sleeping," she answers, again in that same flat inflection. "I have a lot to catch up on."

He winces; her job had been a lot more hands-on than his, and he's not sure what kind of answer he expected. "Surely you have plans?"

"Yeah. Rest and relaxation." They walk a few paces behind Dwun and Eeta. The latter is babbling about all the new cafes that had moved into their hometown since they've been gone, and Dwun is talking just as excitedly about the reputation of the crabcakes at the restaurant they're going to at the other end of the boardwalk.

"Spas and beaches," Elena continues. "We're gonna take a tour of the entire coast. It'll be so nice to have a beach with a current that won't kill you if you go out too far."

List winces again. The island had a manufactured hot spring, he remembers, and while the twins and Razor had been huge proponents of it, List had preferred the manufactured physical spaces—the cities, libraries, kitchens and restaurants.

"So what about you?"

"I put up blinds." List decides to just keep his face in that perpetual state of contortion. "And played video games with Dwun."

"Oh, which ones?" They spend a few minutes discussing the finer points of the Crash Lawson series—there aren't many, so it doesn't take all that long, and afterwards the smile starts to fade from Elena's face.

"Eeta doesn't really like games anymore," she says, softly. "After GI. She won't play with me. I can't even make games out of silly things. Any kind of competition, she won't participate."

"I get that." A group in rollerblades rush in front of them, laughing and bumping against the railing at their right. They look only a little younger than List. "How quickly the luster fades." He has nothing to complain about; the money was great, he got to work with friends, and the game had been the ultimate outlet for his creativity.

"I kind of resent him a little for it." Elena doesn't have to say a name. "But I don't want to resent Eeta for anything. I always knew it was going to be a little strange, adjusting. I keep dreaming I'm there."

List can't really remember most of his dreams, such as they are. He thinks they're probably simple and ordinary, full of mundane plots and characters, like the boardwalk around them. He's of the opinion that those with simple lives have extraordinary dreams, and his life, dull as it might be in recent example, has never been simple.

"Do you want to hear a story?" he asks. It's a game, one they used to play when all the founders were together, around a table littered with papers and beers with Nen crackling at their fingers.

"Sure," she says, falling into the routine.

"There was a man..." He casts his eyes around, alighting on the side of a building and its loudly-painted mural. "Who was green. Bright green."

Elena stifles a snort, but goes along with it, nodding. "This green man...did he come from space?"

"Yes. He was stuck. The spaceship crashed, and he needed a special component to repair it. Something that was unspeakably precious on his planet. It was a..."

He looks around again, spotting a woman with a huge, garish flower in her hair. "A geranium."

"A geranium?"

"They press the flowers, and make an oil from it that powers the spaceship. So he went out into the world, trying to find one. Unfortunately, the day he crashed..."

This time, they walk past a couple in an embrace, oblivious to all else around them. "It was a holiday. One celebrating love. People give flowers to those they care about, as gifts. The man couldn't find any flowers in the shops, not for any price. Not that he expected them to, after all, being so precious on his home planet. So he starts asking everyone he sees with flowers, if they will give them to him."

"And does this go well for him?"

"Well, that depends on your point of view," List says, his voice playful. "His unusual looks make him quite striking. The people he asks for flowers think he's really asking them for love—since it's a holiday, after all. So he gains a swarm of admirers—"

A group of joggers cut him them off, darting around the couple and running past Dwun and Eeta, still a few paces ahead. "And they run after him, with an armful of flowers. It's impossible not to notice."

Elena stops to lean against the railing, studying the beach below. "And how does the story end?"

He closes the game and stands beside her, draping his arms across the rough wood. "You tell me."

She takes a moment, tapping the side of her chin. "He makes it back, and repairs the ship. Unfortunately, unaware to him, there are a number of stowaways—those who thought he was seeking their love. With the added weight, the ship crashes again. The man tells them he cannot love them. And seeing one another, those spurned turn green with envy."

List claps his hands. "Bravo. If a little heavy-handed at the end."

Even through the praise, Elena pouts. "You didn't give me much to work with!"

He spreads his hands out, towards their surroundings. "I work with what I've got."

"Is that why so many of your old stories featured pandas? And strange machines, and red bell peppers."

"There was a perfectly normal amount of pandas."

"Keep up, you too!" Eeta shouts back. "We're almost there!"

"For what it's worth," Elena says as they keep walking, "I thought it was funny, what you did with Ai-Ai."

List's face turns immediately beet-red. "That wasn't me! I wrote everything else, but that was entirely Dwun and Ging. I was barely involved!"

"Mhmm. Sure." She agrees in impassive tones while List continues to splutter. "You're the worst liar."

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Romance is a perfectly acceptable literary genre, List. For your first try, it wasn't bad. You could do a lot better in the future, though."

A beat. "I will hear your concerns and pass them along to the appropriate parties."

The restaurant Dwun leads them to is called Romeo at Dip and is perched right on the waterfront; the boardwalk curves in the opposite direction to accommodate it, and ends just a short ways up in a round pavilion lined with benches and posts dripping with lights. The front entry is covered with maritime signal flags, and there's already a thick crowd and a lot of noise coming from inside. Dwun takes the lead, stepping inside and up to the reception podium. He dangles his Hunter license over the top and smiles broadly at the receptionist.

"I have a reservation."

She glances at the license, smiles back, and begins typing into her computer. A moment later, her smile falters. "We don't have anyone in our system under this name. I'm sorry, sir."

Dwun pauses, then says through clenched teeth. "Try it under D-W-U-N."

More typing, and her face lights up. "Yes, here you are! Just one moment while we get your table ready."

Dwun steps back towards the others. "I'm going to murder Ging Freecs," he says cheerfully.

List makes some space for him in the crowded entryway. "You're not over it by now?"

"How awful for you, having other people get your name wrong all the time," one of the twins says, deadpan. "That must be so hard."

List ducks his head. "Sorry, Elena."

"It's Eeta," Dwun corrects, immediately.

"Sorry, Eeta." List looks between them again, once more cataloguing the differences. Eeta's wearing tiered ruffles on her skirt, and Elena's wearing ruffles on her sleeves; one has her hair in four buns, the other in two. Then he sighs and shakes his head—what a reduction of their characters. As a writer, he's almost ashamed. Elena is louder, but Eeta's sense of humor is more pointed. Eeta is much more disciplined, while Elena is a bit more laggard.

Their table ready, the group is led through the restaurant to a booth not by the window but close enough that they can see out to the water. List slides in first, taking a seat by the wall and handing off the awkwardness of deciding the rest of the seating arrangements to the others. Eeta slides in on the other side, opposite him, and a moment later Elena takes the seat beside her sister.

Looking minutely dejected, Dwun takes the last seat beside List, and they all spend a few minutes staring at their menus. List doesn't even like seafood, so his work is done after perusing the tiny section devoted to salads and chicken. He then takes to studying the restaurant itself—the walls are covered with fishing paraphernalia and old black-and-white photographs, and he has to crane his neck up to read the small print on one hanging above their table. In it, five men pose around the carcass of a gigantic lobster, with an older but still clearly recognizable Romeo at Dip in the background.

"What does it say?" Eeta asks, eyebrow arched, peeking at him over the top of her menu.

"A giant crustacean washed up on shore exactly fifty years ago," he paraphrases, his neck beginning to ache from the strain, "and began attacking the fishermen, but they managed to kill it. This picture was taken right before the, ah, potluck dinner."

"Yum," Elena murmurs, her eyes still focused on the menu. "That sounds delicious. Let's all get lobster."

"I didn't know they got to be that big," Eeta says. "But I suppose anything is possible. Morau and Gracchan see giant squids and stuff all the time, right? But they're Sea Hunters. What do I know?"

"Maybe the fishermen were Sea Hunters, too," Dwun jokes. "Maybe they got their stars for discovering and defeating a rare magical beast."

At this, Elena perks up. "Did you hear that we all might get stars for running that game? I heard Ickshonpay's putting it in his application. If his goes through, we'll all be eligible."

"He's already got one. So greedy." List tears his eyes away from the photograph with a frown. "Where did you hear that, anyway?"

"From Ging, the last time we spoke."

This, more than anything else, is the most shocking revelation to the rest of the group. Even Eeta looks surprised.

She jabs a finger towards her sister. "You talked to Ging? When?"

"After the game ended? He wanted to know how it went, and how things shook out with the cards. He told me to keep him updated, so I did. He was responsible for organizing Razor's parole, too, so he had that to deal with after GI ended."

List looks back between the slack-jawed stares of the others at the table to Elena, who instead wears an expression of supreme disinterest. He turns to Elena with awe and says, "The Ging whisperer."

She scowls, then says flippantly, "A thankless vocation."

They order drinks and some kind of lobster roll appetizer at Elena's request. It doesn't taste very good, but List doesn't give his opinion on it much merit.

"You said you wanted to travel up the coast," he says, to both the twins. "Where were you thinking of going?"

Elena, who has part of a lobster roll in her mouth, tries to elbow her sister to answer in her stead. Eeta ducks the jab and scowls at Elena.

"We're heading south. There's a few other beach towns—Cape Vert is on our list, and there's some cool bridges to see near that area. We're going to end the trip in Karta—"

Dwun's face immediately twists in a grimace.

"You've been?" It's Elena, chewing on her lobster roll.

"Oh yeah, for business. They have some of the best tech suppliers on the continent. It's where I oversaw the production of the game cartridges, all those years ago. What Ging wants, Ging gets, right? And the requests never end. He once asked me to make him a Nen-infused cassette tape player! Who even uses cassettes anymore?"

Elena raises an eyebrow, and List pretends to be incredibly distracted by the gigantic resin marlin hanging from the ceiling above the stretch of tables by the wall.

"It's just, not a place I'd go on vacation," he finishes with a shrug.

"Well, we're not you," Elena says. "Maybe we love neoteric tech and humid weather."

They each independently pick up their drinks and take a sip; List tries not to be the first to set his glass down, but after a moment it's clear they're all trying to out-wait the others and his drink is almost empty. He sets it back down with an over-exaggerated sigh, and once more the awkwardness returns as the conversation stalls.

"It's a shame that since we had to work on the island, we could never participate as examiners in the Hunter's Exam," Dwun says. "The last one just ended, didn't it? Is that something you'd be interested in doing, in the future?"

List would've put his head in his hands if he wasn't still so focused on that plastic marlin. Eeta slides out of the booth, waving a hand and calling out, "I'm going to go powder my nose."

"I'll come too." Elena follows a moment later, and List cranes his neck around to watch them disappear around the side of the corridor just past their booth.

A pause, while List finishes his drink. "Do you think they're going to leave?" Dwun asks, his face falling. "I'd probably leave."

So instead, he says, "You couldn't have known, but the Hunter Exam is a bit of a sore spot for them."

Dwun grabs one of the last lobster rolls and gestures with it. "Then how do you know?"

"You know how you and I met because of this team? Well, I knew Elena and Eeta before Greed Island. We met during the Hunter Exam. It was my second time taking the Exam and their first. I passed that year, they didn't." He swirls the ice cubes around in his empty glass and watches them clink together. "It went really badly."

"I can't imagine. They're both so good with Nen. What could have happened?"

"Well, you see, it was a dark and stormy night..."

Dwun throws up his hands, shaking them back and forth. "No, no, no, don't use that ability on me—"

"...And the fifth stage of the 273rd Hunter Exam was just announced..."

And Dwun's vision goes dark, replaced a moment later by the landscape of the rolling hills of the Karpatian mountains, made dark by the hour and filled with dozens of bodies climbing out of open-air vehicles and running off into the night...

They had been placed into teams by Netero, and left to their own devices to plan their strategy on the long drive to the Karpatian mountains. Each team was given a bright yellow flag, that they had to hide somewhere and protect for the entirety of the challenge. Their second task was to find the location of the opposite team's flag and steal it before the time was up. They would have roughly twelve hours—from sundown to sunset. If the sun hit their encampment before either team had stolen the other's flag, both teams would be disqualified, and none of them would become Hunters. The winners, according to Netero, would become Hunters themselves.

"Oh. One more thing," Netero says, balancing on one foot. "You cannot destroy or otherwise alter your flag."

One of the other members of List's team, a tall, muscled woman named Marta, speaks up. "What about injuring the other team? Is anything fair game?"

This seems to amuse the old man, and he laughs, rolling back and forth on his one balanced foot. "Anything else is fair game! You can consider your flag more valuable than your own lives at this point. We will be monitoring you, still, but all your actions will be your own choices. We will not even give you the time. You must budget time for yourselves, and decide which is more important—protecting your own flag, or going after your opponent's?"

As they drive, four to a vehicle, List's filled with others whose names he doesn't know and who have much lower numbers on their badges than him, driven by an Exam aide who is unhelpful to the point of admiration. He dodges every one of List's questions about this stage of the Exam and resists his every attempt to remove pieces of the vehicle to take with them as weapons—like the seatbelts, or the spare tank of gasoline, or the mirrors. List himself has very little on him that could be helpful, and this more than anything is what gives him pause as he and the others in their vehicle talk strategy. They, more than him, have made an effort to identify and catalogue the others on the opposing team.

And the more they talk about the fifteen-or-so men and women waiting to burgle them when they reach the mountains, the more List begins to feel that the teams are decidedly unbalanced.

There's a few who deal with chemical reagents and poisons, and several trackers and soldiers who would certainly be advantaged on a terrain like this. Marta, he knows, is a soldier, and even over the roar of the engines he can hear chatter from the vehicle beside theirs, housing her and a few others, one holding the bright yellow square of coated canvas in tightly clenched fists. They will be the leaders, List thinks, and while his brain is uniquely suited to parsing information and predicting outcomes from compiled data, he has quite a few ideas of his own on how they should proceed.

Which is likely part of the challenge. They have to not only work to complete their objectives, but maintain unity within their own groups. Any split in their harmony could be exploited by their opposition, and the blame at any missteps would undermine any attempt at leadership.

The wildcards, according to the one seated beside him, were the twins.

Two girls, their first time taking the Exam, placed auspiciously on the same team for this final challenge. And it was clear from the very stage that there was something very wrong with them.

They were always in one another's company, but they kept one another at a distance. Any time they got within an arm's reach of the other, something strange would happen. The air would vibrate, or the ground would shake, and once their arms touched and everyone in twenty feet was knocked to the floor by some kind of energy blast, the examiners included. That kind of power was something List had never seen before, and he had no idea what to do about it. They seemed just as fearful of their strange powers as the others were of them. List doesn't know if it can be harnessed by them, or if they tried, what would happen—to them, or to anyone unsuspecting enough to be caught in the effect.

At the mountains, the sun finally drops below the horizon and they climb out of their vehicles. Their group forms an odd semi-circle, and List takes another moment to stare at the two teams. He isn't a betting man, but at the moment he thinks his odds are abundantly low. Then, looking at the way the other group is considering them—and the wide berth they are giving to the twins—he has to wonder if they were just as intimidated as he was.

The vehicles pull away, leaving a sizeable gap between Netero chuckles and shouts, "May the best group win!"

Instantly, Marta and two of the others—badge numbers 101 and 77—form a barrier around one of the others, and they begin backing towards the cover of the mountains. Several of the others on the opposing team pull out weapons—mostly knives, but one has a concealed pistol, good Lord, and they begin to edge closer as the man Marta is protecting turns and starts to run.

"Come on!" she yells. "After him! Let's go!"

"Wait," one of the twins says, so suddenly that it takes List a moment to register. "Did we ever see that he had the flag? I don't think Marta would have let it out of her possession. I think it's a ruse."

The entire group freezes, and then Marta turns and sprints towards the others, already fleeing.

"We'll cover your escape!" someone shouts, and one of the others in List's car grabs his arm and starts to drag him after Marta.

"—Let me try to get a shot—"

"No!" It's the other twin, throwing out an arm. "We shouldn't have to resort to violence! If we win that way it won't matter!"

The group begins to squabble, each taking sides on whether or not the one with the pistol should be able to try and take them out. In the meantime, List turns and runs as fast as his legs can carry him. The mountains stretch before them, the incline of the ground growing steadily more severe, and they have to jump and swerve to avoid the many boulders blocking their path upwards.

"We'll take the high ground!" One of the others—badge 101—says. "It's all part of our plan! We'll be able to see anyone else coming!"

List's calves are starting to burn. He's not really cut out for the physical aspects of being a Hunter, not yet, and he suggests they pause for a moment to be sure they aren't being followed before they reach their destination.

"It won't do any good if they follow us right up. I'd rather not lead them right up to the best spot, if there is one," he says.

"Samuel is from this country," badge 101 says, pointing to the other, number 77. "This place is something of a national landmark, apparently. The west side of the mountain flattens out. Should be easily defendable. We can come up with a strategy to get their flag once we're settled."

The mountain on one side does indeed flatten towards the top—the peak stretches above on their left, which will block their view of the sun, but the cliff face is sheer, and he doesn't think anyone on the other team would be able to scale it to reach them, even if they had the equipment.

They take an inventory of their resources—someone has a lighter, and cigarettes, which they pass around, and between the fifteen of them they have six knives and one sandwich, which its owner promptly eats. They have three watches between them, one on List's wrist, and he considers himself lucky that he has a jacket—many of them aren't equipped for the weather or the elevation, and the temperature will only get colder throughout the night.

Marta indeed has the flag, which she pulls out from inside one boot.

"I think we should bury it." It's someone List has barely interacted with, a girl with mousy brown hair and a wide, square hat. "They can't find it if we're not even holding it."

"Does that qualify as damaging it? If we put it below one of these rocks, it would be safe, but we could risk disqualifying ourselves."

"If we split the team too thin, there won't be as many to guard the flag. Perhaps we bring it with us and we all go to try and claim the other one?"

"..."

"I know a guy who's a Hunter. He would totally try to wait out the others, and when they attack, we take them out. Threaten the other team—we'll kill them if they don't give up their flag!"

"Sure you know a Hunter. I'm surprised you don't know twenty."

"Hey! What are you saying about me?"

"I'm saying you know a liar."

"Like anyone's gonna sacrifice themselves to try and get that flag. Did you see that other group?"

For the first time, List speaks up."If we all become Hunters by clearing this stage, then we should aim for all of us to make it through."

"I don't think we should let it out of our sight," Marta says, with the air of one declaring finality. "I would like to stay with it, and protect it."

No one wants to argue with that, especially after they'd all seen the way she handled the previous Exam stages with a sense of order and calm that brought her instant respect.

"I think we should form a team to gather information about the opposing team. To report back, or strike if they see an opening. It's dangerous, so I won't force anyone to go."

There's a moment of silence, and then List raises a hand. "I'll volunteer for that."

Four of the others volunteer too, and the group of five departs a few minutes later. While they're gone, Marta, Samuel, and the others will solidify their position on the mountain and come up with both a strategy for combating any attack and a plan for what to do if the night passes and there's no movement from the other group. On Marta's order, they're not to stay any longer than two hours without reporting back.

List and the others—101 among them, who he can at least trust to have some measure of competence about this—pick their way across the ground. List pulls his dark jacket tight across his body to try and blend in to the surrounding rock better, and one of the others takes a moment to re-tie their running shoes. They make such an odd, mis-matched group, and they proceed in silence—what would they even talk about? The Exam? What they would do once they became Hunters?

List himself remembers last year's Exam with shame. He'd been eliminated during the second round, and had barely gotten a glimpse behind the curtain of what the world of a Hunter was like before it was gone from him. He barely paid attention to the faces around him then, and even now he doesn't know who in their group has the most experience or the most strength. To him, more than both of those, the worth of a Hunter is determined by their adaptability.

List isn't feeling very adaptable right now, with the wind in his hair and his breath cold on his face.

"Stop," Running Shoes says, and List crouches down to see over the edge of a boulder to a furrow in the ground a couple hundred yards away, where a few other applicants sit around a fire.

"A trap?" List asks.

"Yeah. Let's wait and see if anyone else shows up." 101 takes a place on List's other side, and after a few minutes of watching he points out the places in the rocks above where a few others wait, concealed. The place they've chosen to make camp seems a little precarious, the rocks stacked in such a precarious way that List thinks it's likely the result of a past rockslide.

"Do you see the flag?" one of the others asks.

"If only we had binoculars! Or been able to plan at all!" 101 grouses. List can relate. He's thinking about how useful a few of those car mirrors would've been, for signaling the others across a large distance or attempting to blind someone of the opposing group. He can't see any flash of the yellow flag, and the longer they wait the more List thinks they're missing something. He can't see the twins, or the one with the pistol—and he's irritated that he hasn't paid enough attention to his fellow applicants to be able to identify them beyond the most shallow descriptors.

An hour passes, then another. 101 turns to Running Shoes. "You should head back. Report what we've seen—help Samuel create some kind of map of this place. We'll keep watch. Make sure you aren't followed."

He nods, and departs. List keeps a sharp eye on the ground around them, and when he sees a flash of movement from the rocks above, he points it out to 101. "I think it's pretty obvious this is a decoy group. The fire and all."

"I agree," he says.

"What would you do, if you were them? Where would you keep the flag?"

"With one of the twins," 101 answers immediately. "In the dark, it'd be especially easy to do a fake-out. Give the flag to one, then switch her out with the other if we all give chase."

"But they don't trust the twins. They're volatile."

"The man with the pistol. There are a few other Exam veterans on their team. I've noticed that's how they've balanced the teams. There's about an equal amount of vets versus rookies."

That's good to know, List thinks.

"It's the rest of their rookies below. Those four haven't done much, yet. Just squeaked by the last phase. I bet the team is thinking they're a necessary sacrifice. It's pretty mercenary thinking."

"Should we move? I want to see from above, if we can. I think that's where the others are. It's really the only place with a good vantage point of the whole valley, except this rock." He pauses. "Do you think they can see us from up there?"

"If we can't see them, they can't see us. The angle's too sharp. They've probably blocked off any entrances or exits to that burrow up there. It won't matter if we see one another if we can't get through, or if only one of us can get through at a time. Then the one with the pistol can pick us off."

He shrugs, and moves to make himself a little more comfortable. "I think this phase is really designed for none of us to pass. It'll be an anti-climactic end. Sun will come up and it'll still be a standstill. No one's ready to make a move."

One of the others, badge number 25, taps 101 on the shoulder and points up to the cliff. Now that List thinks about it, he can't remember 25 ever talking at all.

"Yeah, he doesn't talk," 101 says at List's questioning glance. "He was my roommate, earlier. Considering how much some of the others talk, it's a blessing."

List raises an eyebrow at 101. "Some of the others, yeah."

With the time, the shifting moonlight now illuminates the whole cliff face. There's a glint, caught in the moonlight and amplified to their eyes below. It moves, occasionally, and after a few minutes of study List finally realizes that it's the metal hair ornaments the twins wear. The moonlight reveals more movement—at least three additional distinct shapes.

"They climbed the boulders," List says. "At least one of the twins. Probably a bunch of the others are up there, too. It's smart. Secure. How are we to get up there?"

"We get them down." It's 101, who cracks his knuckles and motions towards their fourth companion, a taciturn older man who'd been equally silent. "Tell the others that we've got eyes on almost their entire group. Have the others come up with some kind of projectile, with any twigs or kindling they can find. Samuel can use his lighter to set it on fire once we're assembled, and we can throw them into the clearing and above the boulders. I know he's got a flask on him he's hiding, that should help."

List hides his smile, and the three of them continue to wait while the fourth man—List didn't catch his number, but he's pretty sure it's higher than his own, which makes him feel just a little better—races back to the rest of the group.

"We'll wait as long as it takes," 101 says to 25. "We can't risk their position changing without our knowledge."

List checks his watch; it's been close to five hours since the phase officially started, and he's beginning to feel the first stages of exhaustion set in.

"It's better this way," 101 says; he's been mumbling to the others almost the entire time, his focus admirable if his habits a little excessive, "if we don't know where the flag is. If I was Marta, I'd make some kind of identical container for everyone, so no one knows who really has it, but everyone thinks it's them. That is, if we had supplies of any kind."

It's a bit of a sore spot for him, List can tell. The moonlight continues to shift, above, and while it illuminates their movement more than he's sure they would like, he knows there's only a matter of time until it shifts enough that it exposes their position—or makes it impossible for them to move without being seen. He doesn't know which would be worse.

It's another hour before anyone else shows up. Running Shoes is leading the group—and List is surprised to see that it's just about everyone, all carrying bundles of sticks tied with string. Marta is following close behind, and they gather behind the large boulder to plot their next move.

"They're up there," 101 says, while 25 points out the spots where they've seen movement, both in the valley and above on the boulders.

"They've got a fire," Marta says. "Nice. I'll aim for that, try and cause as much distraction as I can."

"You won't take the lead?" List asks with surprise.

"No. Cy was a minor league pitcher. He'll take that."

List looks back to the group, where Running Shoes is rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Once more, List is amazed at both the sheer breadth of the talents among the Exam applicants and just how little he knows about them at all.

"This is probably the only chance we're going to get, so give it your all. If we get separated, stay away from the camp. We don't want anyone leading them back to it. Go to the other side of the mountain and try to hide. All we have to do is get a hold of that flag—we don't have to hold it until dawn. Just one slip is all we need."

"What's the time?" Cy asks.

List gives it. "Two-thirty. Three and a half hours left, roughly. I'm not sure when exactly sunrise will hit."

They prepare the projectiles—Marta does indeed have a flask, possibly taken from the conspicuously absent Samuel—and they use a single stick to light the now-damp bundles. The moment the kindling catches, Marta rears back and throws it with pinpoint accuracy directly into the fire pit below.

It crashes and explodes, billowing out the flames and causing the half-dozen people around to shout and leap aside for cover. The next shot by Cy hits the top of the boulder, where the movement is thickest, and they hear a scream. Someone falls from the top of the boulder, their shoulder singed, and the next projectile finds another mark.

More movement, as someone leaps from the top of the boulder. It's the man with the pistol, who points it with a shaking, bloodied arm as Marta, Cy, List, and 101 pour into the clearing. She rushes the few who've staggered to their feet in the wake of the flames, pushing one over and starting to search them.

A shot rings out against the rock, missing Cy by what might as well be a mile as he lobs their last projectile up at the visible faces at the top of the boulder. The pistol swings around again; Cy ducks behind Marta, who takes the shots to the abdomen without flinching, her clothing armored.

101 rushes him and attempts to knock the pistol from his hand. Suddenly, there's more movement as one of the twins slides down the side of the massive boulder. Did she jump? Was she knocked down by the last blast?

25 is busy searching the others by the fire, and while List advances towards 101 to offer whatever help he can, the twin pulls open the jacket at her neck. There's a flash of bright yellow fabric.

"She's got it!" It's Marta, who shoves the man she's searching out of the way. Then, the twin turns on her heel and runs, past the clearing and disappearing around the side of the giant boulder.

List follows, stunned as he is, and there's more movement as two more slide down the boulder from above. There's the slightest disruption of pebbles against the ground, and he barely registers the man with the pistol shoving 101 to the ground. He turns, attempting to fire at List, and hits the edge of the rock instead.

Suddenly, the flow of pebbles and sand increases rapidly. "It's coming down!" Someone shouts, fleeing their precarious perch on the boulder, and in that same moment List remembers what he's seen of the twins before. One of them was wearing a shirt in that same bright yellow color during a prior stage of the Exam, and his heart sinks.

"It's not her!" he shouts back, but there's no time. Not as larger rocks start to fall from the cliff above, right in the path of the one twin.

"Elena!" Someone shouts, and he can just barely make out the horrified face of the twin in the distance—not at the rocks hurtling towards her head, but at her sister, diving to push her out of the way.

Their fingers connect, and there's an explosion of pressure and energy that knocks them all off their feet. List is blown backwards, nearly all the way across the clearing, and he watches limply as the boulders rain down to bury half the members of the opposing team under the rubble.

Marta is able to wrench the flag from where the pistol man had tied it around his upper arm. Samuel, having scaled the cliff at the mountain's peak as high as he could go, had their own flag safely preserved. List has a concussion and can barely make out 101's words as he repeats to himself with slow and stilted words. "We're Hunters. We're Hunters!"

The sun comes up.

Dwun coughs and sags, his eyes clenched tightly shut and his fingers shaking. "Ugh, you know I hate that ability of yours! Your Montage is the worst! Especially the longer memories. I get so nauseous!"

"Sorry." He gives the apology the barest of weight; to him, it's only been a handful of seconds, but the memory he gave Dwun to see lasted hours—the effects were more severe the longer the memory, but he felt it was important for Dwun to understand just where this all started and how much Elena and Eeta have had to overcome.

"But they were okay, right?" Dwun continues. "Well, obviously. But what happened next?"

"We became Hunters." He shrugs. "The Association had to dig them out of the rubble. I didn't know what it was at the time, but they were something of a genius with Nen. They just lacked the control—any control, really. Their powers get more intense the closer they are to one another, physically. It's why they're able to do what they do with Greed Island. They manipulate systems—manipulate energy."

They continue to wait for the twins. A minute passes, then five. Dwun cranes his neck to look back at where they disappeared. "Do you suppose we should...?"

There's a slight vibration, all through the restaurant. Then another. The salt shaker on their table tips over, and Dwun glances over at List. "Do you suppose that was...?"

List makes a face at him. "That wasn't the twins. I've felt the difference."

The rattling gets stronger, and a few people in the restaurant move closer to the windows and railings to look over into the water.

"It appears it's coming from the ocean?" Dwun's glass is still mostly full, and he studies it, watching the way the vibrations cause ripples in the surface. It's rhythmic. Kinda like footprints.

A moment later, there's a loud roar and the rush of a huge displacement of water. The windows shatter, and the few people who are closest to the blast shriek and fall back as the water sweeps inside the restaurant, over broken wood and toppled chairs. The wave makes it far enough in to coat the tops of the tables, including theirs.

"My lobster roll!"

List glances over to where the twins have rushed over; instead of the wreckage or the potentially injured and rapidly fleeing civilians, Elena's attention is focused solely on their sodden tabletop.

Eeta pulls her away. "Come on, let's see what's happened."

The group makes their way to the outside deck—or what remains of it—and surveys the damage. Loose floorboards jut out at odd angles, and the rough, swirling spray is mixed with broken china and pieces of maritime memorabilia that were swept off the walls and ceiling in the tumult. The current draws back, and with it goes an old buoy and a large fabric tabletop umbrella.

"Guys," Dwun says, pointing down the shore. "Look over there."

The restaurant sits on the very edge of the boardwalk, with only a small curve of sand lying beyond between the land and the water. And rising out of the water is a gigantic red lobster, one claw curled over the edge of a battered wooden sign proclaiming Wave City, est—

The claw slices through the sign, cutting the rest off. It falls into the surf below, agitated further as the creature crawls across the sand, legs twitching and stabbing into the wet sand.

"You guys are seeing this, right?" Dwun asks.

"Yeah." List stares up at the lobster as it continues to stab at the sign with his claw. He reaches up to loosen the knotted tie at his neck and begins rolling up his sleeves. His shirt is wet, and he scowls at the offending fabric.

Even in the limited stable space, the twins still keep a wide berth of one another. "Do we...do we leave it? Is this a job for the beach patrol? Do we help them?"

"I don't think there are any lifeguards who can handle this..." List pauses. "Elena."

She looks back at him with a smile. "Good job! There's hope for you yet!"

The creature seems to swipe out with a giant, sharpened claw at any movement on the beach. There are more screams, and Dwun begins to climb over the disjointed railing.

"Come on! We're Hunters, aren't we? Let's deal with this the only way we know how." He promptly gets the hem of his pants stuck along the splintered wood and has to yank them free.

Elena continues to watch the lobster. "Well, we're here. We might as well see this through to the end."

"Do we have a plan? Try and drive it back into the ocean?" List asks.

"Yeah. That sounds good." Dwun hops down into the water, and his ankles are immediately swallowed by rolling surf. Eeta and Elena follow, and after a moment List swings himself over the railing and joins them. A wave of salty ocean water slaps his legs, and as they creep closer to the lobster it swings around to stare at them, beady eyes twitching.

Dwun takes a tiny step back. "You know, it's a lot bigger from up close."

"We could just leave," Eeta says. "No one would know."

Suddenly, the claw comes down between them; List and Eeta jump to one side to avoid it and Dwun and Elena are pushed higher up the beach. The claw rakes across the sand again, and the lobster makes this strange screeching noise as it charges towards them.

"I've got this!" List jumps towards the creature's side, kicking out with one wingtip shoe. He strikes the side of the shiny shell and glances off, landing on the wet sand and staring down the creature's stampeding legs. "I've still got this!"

Elena attacks the creature from the other side. "You know, you're still the worst liar."

The carapace is too thick for any of their physical attacks to work; even when they cloak their fists or legs in Nen it still barely makes an impact on the tough shells, and seems to make the creature angrier over any other result. At least the beach is mostly otherwise empty—a few fishermen have gathered to watch, and there's a couple uniformed security officers ushering people away. They haven't had much luck harming the creature, and any attempts to drive it closer to the water merely cause it to lash out at whoever gets closer.

Eeta turns to Dwun with a grin. "What would Ging do?"

He shrugs and dodges another sweep of the claws. "Probably try and talk to it, I dunno. I bet he already knows a bunch of creatures like this. They take fishing trips together every year."

She frowns. "Lobsters eat fish?"

"Lobsters are omnivores," List says. "So, yes. Among other things."

The next swipe catches List in the side and sends him sprawling into the surf. Dwun helps him to his feet and he staggers as another wave washes over them.

He glares at the sand and brushes his wet hair out of his face. "Am I the only one who didn't dress for this?"

Suddenly, the creature makes another screeching noise and starts to scrabble up the sand, towards the encampment of the boardwalk. Eeta and Elena glance at one another as they stand in its way.

"I think I've had about enough of this," Elena says, stretching out one hand towards her sister.

"I agree," Eeta says. "Shall we?" The lobster bares down upon them, and as their hands touch there is a loud bang and a bright flash of light. The ground shakes, even stronger than before, when the creature had first climbed out of the water, and in the wake the creature is thrown onto its back onto the sand, legs twitching and body charred. Eeta rushes up, and delivers a Nen-infused punch to the underside of the carapace, at the juncture of its back. There is a crack, and then the lobster falls still and silent.

They all take a moment to catch their breath, and then the twins stagger over towards the others, leaning on one another for support. The beach is flooded a moment later by the fishermen and other spectators, rushing up to the creature and beginning to study it, poking it with fishing poles and tugging on the cracked parts of the shell.

The receding water tugs at List's ankles, and he takes first one step and then another away from the surf. He's breathing heavily, and a glance at Dwun confirms that he looks even worse, with dirt streaked across his face and rips in his clothing from the initial damage to the premises and the lobster's claws. As they catch up with the twins Eeta reaches out to help support Dwun, and List lets Elena reach for him as well. She ruffles his wet hair and he scowls.

One of the fishermen rushes up to them, speaking quickly and asking for help in butchering the creature. Their knives can't pierce the body, and even with the underside exposed they're having trouble ripping the meat from its shell. Eeta agrees, and joins the fishermen around the creature's body, punching at the places where they direct and waving when they start to cheer.

She rejoins them a few minutes later, and lets Elena link their arms again.

"You know," Elena says, "we didn't get to eat our dinner."

"It seems there's going to be a cookout," Eeta tells them. "We've been invited, of course. For tomorrow night."

There's a moment of silence, as the twins ponder the offer. "I think we could make time," Eeta says, finally. "I suppose we could stay another day."

"It'll be the freshest seafood we've ever had," Dwun says.

"Living the dream," List murmurs. He glances between them; even though they all look weary, there's a contented smile gracing each of their faces. His dream had been Greed Island, in a way, for so long, and even though that's over he still has the others at his side. He thinks about the rest of the team, about Ging, and despite how he tries he cannot picture Ging as anything but alone. His dreams don't include anyone who can't keep up with him.

He's thinking of a story. A new one, that includes good company and good times.

He could get used to that.

Notes:

1) The title is from The B-52's iconic song Rock Lobster

2) Romeo at Dip is used for resupplying ships at sea, when the Romeo flag (red +yellow) is located ¾ of the way up toward the point of the hoist. It basically means, "I'm prepared to receive you" which I thought was apt for a restaurant xD

3) The Ligorian coast was inspired by the Ligurian coast of Italy, and the Karpatian mountains are meant to resemble the Carpathian mountains of Europe, although the names are used outside of their original geographic context. The 273rd Hunter Exam would be the Exam six years after Ging passed. The video game names are made up and not meant to resemble any existing franchise.

4) It's unknown exactly what contributions the Greed Island crew made towards the game, but I like to think that Dwun was responsible for the hardware components of the game, and that List contributed to the writing and scripts for the NPCs/cards/etc. Limeiro was the name of the city where List and Dwun lived in Greed Island. It's unconfirmed in canon but it is also my belief that Ickshonpay was a member of the Greed Island team.

5) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments. Please also support the other stories and art from the HxHBB!

#hunter x hunter #hxhbb #hxhbb17 #hxh #greed island #fanfiction #dwun #list #elena #eeta #MMF writes

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chiyalawritesrewind · 7 years

Text

Rewind, Chapter 14

Fanfic: [ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7] [ch8] [ch9] [ch10] [ch11] [ch12] [ch13] [ch14 on AO3] [ch14 on ffn]

Podfic: [ch1] [ch2] (Rest coming soon)

Pairing: Gratsu - Gray Fullbuster / Natsu Dragneel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Major Character Death; Graphic Depiction of Violence

Summary: When a mission turns out to be fatal for one of the team members, Natsu finds himself being given another chance to change the events.

Additional information: weekly updates; every Sunday.

Beta by @serpenttailedangel and @wildrhov <333

Tagging list: @f-r-f-t @truedreamchasing @mushi0131 @eitomagical @thatartcorner @eternalsterekbitches @becausewhenyoupracticeyouimprove @oliversantics @nekodemon73 @moonlustelara (if somebody else wants to be tagged [or not tagged anymore] in the future, please let me know!)

Enjoy!

Day 8 Part 1

When Natsu awoke, he needed to make a run for the toilet immediately. He barely made it there before puking.

Going through his morning routine proved to be difficult as his body wouldn't stop trembling. It took him twice as long to take a shower, but at least that left him enough time to come up with a plan for the day.

Since the theory that having sex would prevent Gray's death wasn't correct, it would be advisable to figure out what else 'forming a bond' could mean, just like Gray suggested. Natsu was sure that if he threw the question to everybody around, then he'd probably only receive one or two different answers and a big discussion afterwards, so it would be better to ask everyone privately.

He also needed to think of a good excuse to ask them such a question. Would it be odd if he said that he was just curious? Or better, he could say that he'd made a bet with Happy, that they guessed their answers and would get a point for each correct guess. Whoever won would have to do the winner a favor, no matter what it was. Yeah, that sounded great. The others would think that Happy was trying to get more fish out of Natsu, knowing full well that he wasn't as dumb as Natsu when it came to relationships and feelings, and that he could probably win easily.

And why only pretend? He could challenge Happy for real.

By the time he was fully dressed, Natsu was in high spirits again, his worries and nausea forgotten.

Happy liked the idea of the bet very much. He surely thought that his victory was guaranteed, and he was probably right. With a huge grin on his face, he listened to Natsu's guesses.

The question they agreed upon was the following: 'What do you consider a strong bond between lovers?'

"Hmmm, let's see. Gajeel will probably say 'eating iron created by Levy'. Erza... 'eating strawberry cake'? Lucy will probably say 'spend a romantic evening together where one reads out a book to the other'. Or better yet, a candlelight dinner!"

"You have to decide on one."

"Then I'll take the candlelight dinner for Lucy. Wendy... probably a kiss."

Natsu knew that he was probably far off, and the confident grin on Happy's face as he listened to the rest of his guesses didn't do much to shatter that idea. Natsu purposely omitted Gray until the very end, as Gray was the only one he didn't want to be wrong about, and yet he had no clue what it could be. What would come to Gray's mind first when he asked for a 'strong bond between lovers'?

Natsu was disappointed in himself that even though they'd confessed so many times and gotten intimate already, he didn't know what Gray's heart truly desired, other than being close to the one he loved. He'd been talking about a life together with Natsu and Happy, so it had to be that, right?

"Gray will probably say 'moving in together'."

Happy nodded. His announcement that he thought everybody would say 'marriage' staggered Natsu. The option of marriage hadn't even crossed his mind.

Natsu nearly stumbled over his feet when the realization of what this theory would entail sunk in. Marry Gray? How the hell was he supposed to realize that? He had a timespan of exactly twelve hours until Gray lost his memories again. How the fuck was he supposed to go from being rivals to getting married within twelve hours?

More importantly, was Natsu even ready for such a thing? If by some miracle he managed to get Gray to marry him, and the marriage ended up saving Gray's life, would Natsu be ready to lead a life as Gray's husband? He'd never seriously thought about getting married. He was still nineteen, for god's sake! People didn't think about marriage at such a young age, did they?

However, Natsu was sure of one thing: He wanted to spend his life with Gray by his side, and nobody else. Then what harm could a marriage do? A ceremony and a formal recognition of the fact that they belonged to each other wouldn't change their feelings, after all.

"Natsu? Everything alright? Worried that you'll lose?"

"No way! Let's do this!"

It turned out that Happy's guess had been a very clever one, since he got almost fifty percent—mostly because of the girls—right, which earned him a decisive victory. The only time Natsu guessed accurately was when Erza answered that 'eating a strawberry cake together' was the first thing that came to her mind.

The only one Natsu hadn't asked yet was Gray, who was still unaware of what was going on around him. Natsu had kept the whole thing as subtle as possible, keeping his voice low and such. Truth be told, he was anxious. Because whatever Gray would answer, Natsu was almost a hundred percent sure that he was going to be determined to make it happen.

So, when he flopped down opposite of Gray, he tried real hard to keep his nervousness in check. Gray eyed him warily through many seconds of tense silence. Finally, he averted his gaze and resumed playing with his glass of water.

Natsu cleared his throat. "I have a bet with Happy. We guessed the answers of all our friends to a certain question, and the one whose guesses turn out to be more accurate wins."

Gray lifted his eyebrows. "Oh? Let's hear it then."

"What do you consider a strong bond... between lovers?"

"What kind of dumb question is that? The strongest bond between lovers is obviously marriage."

Natsu just gaped at Gray, unable to process the answer. He ignored Happy's wide grin in favor of dwelling on his spinning thoughts.

'Dumb... Obviously... Is he ready to get married? Has he thought about it?'

His curiosity got the better of him, and before he could think about his wording, he blurted out, "Do you want to get married?"

Gray jumped to his feet, letting out a startled "what the hell?" and staring at Natsu with his mouth wide open.

Why did he react that harshly when all Natsu wanted to know was if Gray would want to get married someday? Gray had been the one to bring up marriage in the first place, so why was he so shocked when being asked another question on the topic?

Happy shoved Natsu's arm and regarded him with a suggestive wink. "You're not wasting time, are you? Well, good luck." With that, he flew off towards the bar, where a red-faced Wendy was trying to distract Carla and Mirajane.

What had he done wrong? Gray was clearly expecting an answer, but what should he say?

'I only asked him if he wants to get married. I mentioned neither a time nor a partner, so why is he freaking out? Unless... wait. WAIT. Oh shit. Oh my god. No, no, nonono!'

Had he just accidentally proposed to Gray? This couldn't be true!

However, on second thought, there was nothing wrong with marrying Gray. After they spent some years in a stable relationship and both wanted to take things to the next level.

'Shit. What should I do?'

Gray still stood there, growing more and more baffled as the seconds ticked by. Looking around, Natsu noticed that they held the attention of nearly all their friends. As much as Natsu loved public displays of affection, and as much as he didn't mind letting their guild mates in on their relationship, this was off limits. So, he grabbed Gray's wrist and dragged him out of the guild, ignoring his protests.

They'd just closed the door when a furious Lucy walked up to them. "Which of you sneaked into my apartment while I was taking a shower? And what's the meaning of this?"

She raised the snippet for Natsu and Gray to see, and Natsu was startled when he recognized the text Gray had written on a torn-out piece of Natsu's diary the previous time. He would have to look into that, too, but right then with his mind already reeling he just wasn't capable of thinking about yet another issue.

"I'll explain everything later, I promise, so could you please give us some privacy right now?"

Lucy's eyes widened, but then she took in Natsu's hand around Gray's wrist, blushed, nodded, and entered the guild.

Gray shouted, "What the hell is this about? That was my handwriting, but I don't recall writing anything like that. And you're behaving strangely."

Natsu bit his lip. "Let's go somewhere more private. I'll explain."

Gray nodded, and Natsu let go of his hand, leading him to the backside of the guild hall.

His thoughts were in total disarray, and when he tried to figure out a way to explain the current situation to Gray without having to include the information of his death, he came up empty.

Plus, Gray should have all the details before he decided on something important like their wedding.

Natsu took a deep breath, mentally apologized to Gray for putting him through this yet again, and then told Gray everything, from the very beginning until the current day. It took him nearly an hour to explain the whole thing and answer Gray's questions. His nerves were raw by the end—the memories were just too painful. Gray holding him close during the last half was soothing, but it didn't make the pain go away completely.

"So... you want us to marry because you think that would prevent my death?"

"I'm... not sure about that, to be honest. I mean, I've never thought about getting married before today. It's a huge step, one I'd only be willing to take after years of being a couple. Well, under normal circumstances at least. If it can save your life, I'd do anything, including this. But we don't know if it can save you... it's just a guess."

Gray tightened his grip around Natsu and let some moments of silence pass by before he answered.

"I honestly don't know what to do. If the assumption turns out to be correct, then I'll live and we're married at the age of nineteen. I'm not sure what to think of that. If it turns out to be wrong, I'll die on the day we marry, everyone but you will forget it ever happened, and you'll probably go through much more pain than you already are."

Gray sighed, and then added in a much lower voice, "And I'm afraid you'll never want to get married again because you're traumatized..."

Natsu hadn't thought about any of the things Gray just said. He wasn't usually one for thinking about consequences of his actions, but in this case, he really should. A wedding would change their lives, regardless of the outcome, because Gray was right. There was no way Natsu wouldn't be affected by it if the assumption turned out to be wrong. He couldn't even begin to imagine how painful it must be to have his husband die in his arms.

A shudder ran through his body, and as a reaction, Gray ran soothing circles over his shoulder blades.

"Natsu... I'm sorry, but I'd prefer to search for another solution. I love you, and I don't want to fuck this up. I know it's already messed up because I don't even remember the first time we kissed or had sex, and I know that you're already scarred... For one, I don't believe in this theory, and two, I don't want to take the risk. If I knew that it would work, I'd do it."

Natsu pushed Gray away so that they could look each other in the eyes. Gray's brows were tense, yet there was an understanding softness in his eyes. This wasn't easy for him. And Natsu knew that what he was going to say wasn't fair, but he couldn't suppress the thought.

"Don't you care that you could possibly end my suffering if you just accepted?"

Gray took a step back, looking shocked, but also angry.

"You know that's not true, and you can't guilt-trip me into marrying you."

"I'm not guilt-tripping you, I'm just saying that it's an option, and it could work!"

Maybe Natsu was letting himself being deluded by the possibility, however low it might be, of saving Gray's life with this, but right then he didn't care. That Gray absolutely refused to consider it unless it was proven to work made him furious.

Because what was there to lose, really? Them being married at the young age of nineteen... well, who cared? They loved each other, and Natsu was sure they'd figure things out. It wasn't like the fact that they were legally married would change their relationship, right? If it didn't prevent Gray's death, so what? Natsu was already suffering as it was.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, you need to knock it off."

"Why? Why can't we just try, and if it doesn't work, you'll forget anywa—"

"Haven't you listened to what I said? I don't want to get married because of a theory that doesn't sound convincing at all!"

"How is it not convincing? The prophecy says we need to 'form a bond', and half the guild said that the first thing that came to their mind when hearing of a 'bond' was marrying. Even you said the same thing."

"I recall you asking me for a 'strong bond between lovers', not just a 'bond'. A bond could be anything, from laughing together to buying a friendship bracelet to kissing or holding hands. The options are endless, and they don't need to be romantic at all. Or did Lydia say it was a romantic bond?"

"N-no..."

Gray let out a sigh, took a tentative step forwards, and put his hands on Natsu's shoulders.

"I can understand that you're desperate and already at a point where you're willing to try anything as long as it seems like it could help. That's exactly why you should rely on me now. Organizing and executing a wedding usually takes months, and we have half a day. Even if I accepted right away without any further explanation, we'd still have to at least buy rings. We'd have to get an appointment for the same day with the marriage registrar, or convince Makarov to—"

"Alright, alright, it would probably be very difficult to arrange, I get it. But aren't you just searching for excuses?"

Gray's brow tensed. "I'm not. I'm trying to explain why I think that this assumption isn't correct. You're free to believe me or not, but you have to stop what you're doing. I know you can make it happen anyway if you really want to. You could just invent something and make me marry you because I believe your lies. But that wouldn't be a loving th—"

Natsu slapped Gray's hands away and glared at him, because what the hell?

"Do you really think I'd ever do such a thing? Just how low is your opinion of me?"

"This has nothing to do with my opinion of you. You're growing more and more desperate, and I think I know best what somebody who thinks he has nothing to lose can cause..."

Natsu gritted his teeth. "Don't you compare your tragic childhood to this situation! Those two are totally unrelated!"

Gray let out an unhappy sigh and hung his head low.

"Sorry... I'm just... worried about you. About your... state of mind."

"If you're that worried, you would try to help me and just say y—ugh!"

Gray's fist hit hard, causing Natsu to sink to his knees while clutching his stomach. It wasn't only the fist that had hit him hard, but with it also the realization of what he'd been about to say, about to do. Just a few minutes ago, he'd said that he wasn't trying to guilt-trip Gray...

'And here I am, doing exactly that... Shit!'

"You're overstepping boundaries. I said 'no'. I know I could be wrong, and if I am, I'll hate myself for it forever, for putting you through even more pain. But right now, I'm convinced that my decision is the right one, and you have to respect that."

Why was Gray still that calm? He had every right to freak out, yet there he was, only giving Natsu a punch, raising his voice a bit, but otherwise being calm and reasonable. How could he still think straight when he was supposed to be angry? Natsu deserved far more than a punch.

"Why... aren't you beating me into a pulp? I... was about to do something... bad."

"I don't beat up somebody who's not fighting back. If you feel the need to be punished for what you did, then stand, promise you won't bring up the issue again unless it's confirmed that it'll solve the problem, and kiss me."

Natsu's head bobbed up. "How is kissing you a punishment?"

The faint blush on Gray's face was just too adorable, and it brought out fond memories which overshadowed Natsu's gloomy thoughts for the moment.

"It's not a punishment per se, but it's something I want right now, and I thought I could just slip it in..."

There was no way Natsu could deny Gray his wish, so he got up and took a step forward.

"I won't bring it up again. Sorry."

Gray nodded approvingly, and then he tilted up Natsu's head so he could seal their lips. It was their first kiss of that day, and thus started out as a hesitant and careful one. Natsu let Gray take the lead, relaxing into the gentle touches that accompanied it. It took Gray a while to grow confident enough to poke his tongue at Natsu's lips, demanding to be let in. Natsu happily welcomed the intruder, and soon the kiss grew hot and needy, their hands roving all over each other's bodies.

When they parted, a string of saliva stretched out between them, which Gray hastily broke, looking flustered. The last time this happened, Gray had been flustered as well—was it something that embarrassed him?

"L-let's go back inside. We still owe Lucy an explanation," Gray muttered.

"No need to be that flustered. I've already seen you in all kinds of intimate situations."

"Sh-shut up! This is new to me."

The blush on Gray's face intensified, and Natsu couldn't resist.

"I've already heard you moaning, seen how your face looks like when you're experiencing sexual plea—"

"Yes, okay, thank you for pointing that out! Now, how about we go back inside?"

Natsu only managed to wipe the smug grin off his face when they entered the guild.

Please let me know you’re out there (like/reblog/tags on the reblog/comment/kudos at AO3/private message/ask on tumblr/etc). Thanks to all the people who are continuously supporting me <3

#gratsu #chiyalawritesrewind #mywriting #somehow the feedback on ffn and tumblr is decreasing recently #even though the follower count goes up?#I'm sad

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worddevdealswithml · 5 years

Text

No Ring? No Problem Chapter: 5 Full Story Available on AO3

Summary:

Adrien Agreste’s greatest secret is that he’s the alter-ego of one of Paris’ heroes, Chat Noir.

His second biggest secret is that he doesn’t actually have a miraculous.

Not that that’s going to stop him from fighting alongside Ladybug. After all, Paris needs all the heroes it can get.

–

“What do you mean you can’t do that? Didn’t your kwami explain how?”

“I have no idea what a kwami is?”

“You… The little creature that comes out of your Miraculous?”

He pursed his lips, and slowly shook his head. “Still kind of fuzzy on what a Miraculous is.”

“Like your ring…” she stared at his hand, “It is a ring, isn’t it?”

“Is what a ring?”

“Your Miraculous.”

He looked around uncomfortably. “I don’t think I’ve got one.”

“Wh- then how did you transform?”

He was visibly confused.

She laughed, uncertainly. “You did transform, right? I mean, it’s not like you just owned a leather catsuit… Right?”

He stared at her. “Well…”

The bubble was dead silent for about five seconds.

She looked away, clearly confused.

“So… You don’t have a Miraculous.”

“Don’t think so.”

“You just… Own a catsuit.”

“Yyyeah.”

She took a deep breath. “Why?”

He chuckled, a bit nervous. “I um… Didn’t want people to recognize me outside.”

“Would they?”

“I mean, a few people might. I definitely didn’t want word getting back home.”

She laughed. “What, did your family never let you out?”

The smile died at his lack of a response.

She sucked in a breath.

“Oh… Sorry.”

He shrugged.

She leaned back against the bubble-wall, and shook her head. “You’ve been doing all this without powers.”

“Yup.”

She straightened, suddenly, “but wait! That doesn’t make sense! You’re too agile, and fast, and… and… you know, everything!”

He shrugged. “I mean, I was taught a lot of it. I figured out the rest of it myself. It’s not like I had anything better to do, right? Even made the suit myself.”

She looked at it.

She hesitated. “Is that… the first thing you made?”

“Well… I mean, sort of. This is like the third version of it after the last ones fell apart.”

“Ah. Well. For what it is, I guess it’s pretty good.”

He snorted, amused. “Well, seeing as you didn’t have to make your own suit, from what you’re saying, I don’t think I have to take that kind of faint praise from you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, when…” she looked around at their confines, and took a deep breath, “when we get out of this, I can… Point you towards someone who can make you a better one, alright? She’ll just need your measurements.”

“Oh,” he said, grinning, “a friend in the fashion industry, huh? I see you’re well-connected, milady.”

She shrugged.

The bubble was silent again.

Eventually, she spoke again. “You really did all of this without superpowers, though?”

“Every bit of it.”

She laughed, ruefully, “you’re a better hero without them than I am with them.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“It is, though! You’re the one who saved stopped Stoneheart from crushing Kim. You’re the one who got up close while I was just standing in the back, frozen. You…” she grimaced. “you got your ribs broken, and still risked your life to keep Stoneheart from hitting me.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, and?”

“And what did I do?” she asked.

She hadn’t meant it as a real question, but-

He held up a hand, and started counting off, “Saved Chloe Bourgeois, stood up to Hawkmoth in front of all of Paris, came up with, not one, but two genius plans using the most unlikely tools possible, saved that girl when she was falling off the Eiffel tower, saved me when I was falling, stole my heart, and overall, proved that you have what it takes to be a hero, despite your lack of self-esteem.”

He held up his hands. “Eight fingers. Seven, if you count the plans as one thing.”

She laughed. “Well, I think some of those might be a bit of an exaggeration.”

“I think a wet suit is definitely pretty unlikely.”

She shook her head. “You know what I mean. I think it’s a bit rich to say I’ve stolen anybody’s heart.”

He chuckled. “No, can’t you tell? I’m smitten beyond my capacity for rational thought.”

“I think what you’re feeling is the height,” she said, looking down.

He looked down, grinning. He was, though she couldn’t see it, blushing slightly under the mask. “Smitten as a kitten.”

Ladybug didn’t look up. “Congratulations. Any chance you had is now gone.”

“What? You don’t like puns?”

Now she looked up. “I like good puns.”

He gave her a shocked, pained look. “Ladybug, how dare you!”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Oohh,” he said, the look fading to a knowing smile. “Alright. You want to see better.”

“No, no, wait,” she said, realizing her mistake, but it was too late.

Plagg was getting bored.

For her part, she thought it would have been relaxing; the bubble was quiet, the whole area was relaxed. The view was spectacular, both above and below.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“G- good afternoon?” came a panicked voice on the other end.

“I am calling to schedule an appointment for Gabriel Agreste.”

“Um. Ma’am, I’m in a bubble right now. I’m, about, a thousand feet in the air, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of people in bubbles right now.”

“I am aware,” she said, “I am in a similar situation.”

“And you’re calling me now!?”

“I doubt the villain responsible will cause any lasting harm to Paris,” she said, scrolling down the screen, “so it seems only sensible to take advantage of the available time.”

“I… Y’know what? No, I’m sorry, you can do your work if you want, but I cannot focus up here,” he said, and hung up.

“Hmmph,” she said.

“What was his deal,” said Plagg.

Hawkmoth was good at controlling villains, and he was certain, certain, that he could have forced the Bubbler to retrieve the heroes immediately.

On the other hand… Where was Adrien?

At first, he’d been inclined to accept that Chat Noir had likely placed him in a secure location, and it would be no issue, but the Bubbler had been designed to comb all of Paris looking for people of specific qualifications. It had only taken a few minutes for the results to be clear; Adrien wasn’t anywhere the Bubbler could find him.

Hawkmoth had simply paused at that.

Another search, also nothing.

Hawkmoth pinched the bridge of his nose.

This was a game of hide-and-seek he hadn’t expected to be quite so… difficult.

There was, of course, a simple solution.

“They know where he is,” he said, “bring them down, take their Miraculouses, and when they are powerless, they will have no choice but to tell you where he is.”

The Bubbler cracked his neck. “Sounds good to me.”

“I am boooored.”

“Do you expect me to do something about it?”

“Well, you could transform and get us out of here.”

“No.”

“Well then… Actually, guess what; I’m bored enough that it actually sounds less boring to hear about your boring, tedious job than to do nothing.”

“Really.”

“The worst it’s going to do is knock me out.”

She shrugged. It wasn’t like she had anything else she could really do right now. And, if it was her talking, she wouldn’t have to listen to that grating voice that seemed to bounce off the walls of the bubble in truly aggravating ways.

“Oh thank goodness,” said Ladybug, leaning back against the wall.

“Aww,” said Chat Noir, “I still had more!”

Ladybug chuckled, “I don’t doubt it. I do doubt that they were any better.”

“You wound me.”

“No more than you wounded me with the quality of your jokes.” She shook her head. “Alright. Time to get ready.”

“Right.”

“The Akuma’s got to be in the bubble wand, right?”

Chat Noir nodded, “makes sense.”

They waited.

When they were about a two hundred feet up, dropping quickly, Ladybug nodded.

“Alright, time for a Lucky Charm!”

A long, narrow object dropped into her hand.

“Is that… An ice pick?”

Chat Noir shrugged. “Dunno, but ten bucks says it can pop this bubble.”

“And twenty says that if we do it right, that’s all we need to do.”

“On my signal, then. I pop, you take.”

“As you wish.”

“But if you care about it so much, why not make a board and mark where everything could go? Obviously, that’s a huge waste of time, but you don’t seem to care.”

That sounded weirdly like sudoku. Nathalie liked sudoku.

“Hey dudes,” said Bubbler, in that too-loud voice, giving them a surprisingly menacing grin. His whole appearance managed to be surprisingly menacing, considering his design and color scheme. Maybe it was the evil clown vibe he gave off. “Let’s talk.”

“What?” said Ladybug.

“I said-“

“I can’t hear you!”

He seemed taken aback.

Chat Noir looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I SAID-“

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” screamed Ladybug, and he winced at the sound.

“Why not?”

She did her best impression of confusion. “YOU SOUND REALLY QUIET!”

“Well,” said the Bubbler, stepping forward, “it’s not the bubble. Guess you just went deaf!”

“DEATH?”

The Bubbler leaned forward. “I said,” his face was almost up to the Bubble’s surface, “DEAF!”

Ladybug leaned forward, and he joined her, mere inches from him, only separated by the shimmering surface of the Bubbler.

“AND I SAID!” said Ladybug, and then, so quiet he almost couldn’t here, “now.”

“What?” said the Bubbler.

The ice-pick lashed out, and he jumped in surprise as the bubble burst.

“What!” he managed, as Chat Noir already had his hands on the bubble wand. He pulled.

“Hey!” shouted the Bubbler, wrenching back, “let go of that!” He was… exceptionally strong.

Chat Noir held on for dear life as his body was jerked around. In an instant between jerks, he managed to loop an arm into the bubble wand, which left one hand free…

Ladybug couldn’t get close. To get in close enough to touch the wand, she would have to get through Chat Noir’s body, which was whipping around dangerously fast.

“Hey, Bubbler! I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet!” called Chat Noir, and she caught a glimpse of his hand at his side.

“What?”

The baton in his hand exploded forward, slamming the Bubbler in the face.

He did what any creature with natural reactions would do, pulling his hands up to his face.

Chat Noir wrenched the bubble wand free.

“No!”

But it was too late. The wand was in Ladybug’s hands, and snapped.

The Bubbler, hand still outstretched, dissolved in a ripple of black mist, leaving… Nino Lahiffe, intact, if a little confused.

Ladybug grinned. It was time to purify a butterfly.

“Pound it,” Chat Noir said, holding out a fist.

She took the offer.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The ladybugs swarmed out, and when they had cleared, Chat Noir looked down at himself. Sure enough, they were waiting to put him back.

She looked at him. “Before I send you back,” she said, “Your outfit’s really starting to bother me, now that I know why it looks like that.”

“I swear you didn’t care about this before.”

“I didn’t, but now… Look, let me write down her address. I’ll tell her ahead of time that you’re coming.”

“Right,” he said, and lead the way to Gabriel’s atelier.

“Here,” he said, snagging a post-it note, “this should work.”

“Right,” she said, grabbing a pen.

“So… should I show up in costume?”

She stared ahead. “Definitely.”

“I’ll probably get some funny looks. Could be awkward for her later.”

“Maybe if you show up after dark?”

“Could she leave the window open?”

Ladybug sighed, “second floor.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She looked up again, “Oh. Right, you can climb, can’t you. Alright, just, be careful nobody sees you, alright?”

“I may not be a burglar, but a cat…”

“You’re not that either.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, and passed him the paper. She seemed to think, and then nodded, “I’ve got a second. Adrien will be okay, right?”

“Oh yeah; trust me, he already knows the villain’s gone. I’m sure he’ll be back in his room in a few minutes.”

She nodded.

“Alright. You ready to go?”

“Any time you are.”

She nodded, and there was that same blinding flash.

He was back in his room, in plainclothes.

Ladybug wound up, and flew from the room.

Gabriel Agreste stared.

He had spent a full minute at least, just reaffirming his commitment to his goals after the Bubbler had been defeated, and then spent some time standing there, trying to really take in what he’d just said.

So why had Ladybug still been in his house. What had she been doing in his atelier, of all places?

He shook it off. The Bubbler had been in here earlier, perhaps she’d been checking for something.

“Oh wow, you really are boring. I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”

She shrugged. “It’s a sensible design.” She turned to face him. “You have contributed to the field of organizational science. How do you feel?”

“Absolutely disgusted.”

“Good. That is traditional in these circumstances.”

He looked at her for a second, confused, and then snorted. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

As he looked at her, Plagg was surprised to see… The quietest smile he’d ever seen on a human.

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Fanfic #No Ring? No problem

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