#she like barely understands the anxiety and its the only thing shes willing to talk abt
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also i talked with my grandma abt college and she was so encouraging and excited about it so idc anymore its something i want to pursue ill put everything in my name regarding loans ill take on all the debt idc but its something i want to do ill just figure it out
#its so frustrating like#i know im dying living with my parents#but when i try to branch out and grow and leave my mom always reminds me that its not realistic#and then i leave for a few days and its like a completely different world#im just tired#its why even with meds even with therapy it is so fuckinf HARD to heal#bc no one is like. nice to me about it#that sounds so fucking shallow but its true#like my grandma was the one to really push me to even get help for my mental shit#my mom didnt believe in therapy till like two years ago lmfao#EYE DEE KAY!!!#she still doesnt really believe the depression shit either#she like barely understands the anxiety and its the only thing shes willing to talk abt#i know she has her own trauma from growing up + there is a history of mental illness in my family that goes completely unaddressed#and i try to respect that and understand where she comes from but its hard when it manifests as not wanting ME to be better
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I agree with you that some things in COH didn't age well, especially regarding Amanda. I didn't have a problem with Amanda's portrayal; I think she actually did play an autistic child pretty accurately for 1968. But…the scene where Dr. Carpenter and Sister Michelle basically "cure" Amanda through that "rage reduction therapy" thing never sat right with me.
It was always really hard to watch, what with them holding the little girl and telling her they loved her over and over as she kept screaming and struggling to get away. Especially now that we know that autism isn't something that can be cured, and we now know that particular therapy doesn't work and it's even killed a few people.
Something tells me that if E had lived long enough to see how our understanding of autism has changed over the years, and how autistic people really are, he'd have regretted doing that scene.
yeah, this is one of those things where it's completely necessary to view it through the lens of its time. they knew so little about autism, from recognizing it to properly discussing it, but the fact that they were even willing to TRY and to do that in a humane way is huge for that era. it's just like the other societal concerns it addresses, civil rights and feminist rights were burgeoning topics, especially in film, and neurotypical understanding and many other medical conditions weren't yet well-researched or acknowledged, it was barely acceptable to discuss it. my mom still remembers "cancer" being treated like a shameful word to only be mentioned in hushed tones at that time. you were never supposed to talk about depression/anxiety/mental health, therapy was often not well-regarded. so to highlight what they do in the film was an attempt to draw awareness and take some steps forward, it's just dated and incorrect now because we know so much more.
the lack of understanding about both physical and mental health was detrimental to elvis himself, so it's a sad thing to consider but definitely not an intentionally harmful one. even if he regretted the scene, i don't think it erases value from what the purpose was. society changes and grows, and gains awareness, and then so does art, but we can't ever achieve that if we never talk about those subjects, even if we don't get it perfectly right the first time. everything has to be viewed through the perspective of when it was created. i suspect he'd have fully understood and felt compassion for how much more proper care and understanding came to be as time went on.
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where’s that hc about bucky learning to touch 🤲
I was hoping someone would notice that tag and hit me up. Thank you, sweet pea. This one is special to me, one of many. ❤
Bucky doesn’t say much about what happened to him after the fall and before Steve was miraculously given a second chance at a life with him. Steve is thankful for that. The details he does know come from Bucky’s therapist and from files that have been scrounged up over time, ones Steve can’t stomach through, ones he hands to Natasha and asks only for the information she finds pertinent.
Steve is sure he’d die of a goddamn broken heart if he knew every detail of Bucky’s 70+ years of brainwashed torture.
What he needs to know about Bucky is constant and will never change: this is James Barnes, the one in the same Steve spent his entire life falling in love with, Steve loves him now more than ever, and he is going to live every day he’s gifted with in this life for Bucky.
There are things Steve expects after Bucky joins him and the others back at the Tower, things Bruce has helped him comprehend in such a volatile predicament.
“It could take months, years even, for him to come back to you in full. And honestly, Steve...I would be ready for the possibility of him not returning to you in full. This may not end up being the Bucky you knew and grew up with. He needs therapy, needs patience, needs reminders of his life before, of who he was and is. This won’t be easy, Steve.”
Anything for Bucky.
There are things Bucky took to right away and other things that took much longer for him to enjoy or remember. Steve is with him every step of the way.
Sleep was one thing that Steve thought would be a struggle. After only one month of sleeping on the floor in the corner of his bedroom, Steve able to hear him tossing and turning and breathing heavily through his own bedroom wall, it took one afternoon nap on the couch to make him want to move to his new bed. While nightmares continued, Bucky slept albeit in small increments and sometimes through the day, but he slept.
Steve thought that would take years.
Crowds were another story. Crowds came with trust and Bucky rightfully didn’t trust others easily. He barely trusted Steve at first. It took time to get him out of the apartment, baby steps, one step forward and two steps back. They started with walks at dawn, fewer people, gave a shot at stopping for coffee on the way home a few times.
“It’s a Venti here, Buck,” Steve had tried to explain and Bucky huffed. “Why are things so goddamn complicated now? Just want a coffee, a—”
“I know— a black coffee with too much sugar. I got it.”
They’re working on interactions with others and the anxiety that comes with crowds. That one will take time.
What hadn’t taken time, and what startled everyone in the tower beyond belief, was Bucky and affection.
Steve may not know much of what Bucky has spent most of his life enduring but he at least had the assumption that what Bucky went through shouldn’t make him want any kind of touch from another person. Steve wrongfully assumed that any sort of gentle or soft touch wasn't something Bucky would like.
Bucky had spent the past 70+ years walking this earth as a killer, a robot, a machine, an assassin. He surely spent decades thinking he wasn’t worthy of anything, let alone love. He had been touch-starved, void of the tenderness and closeness Steve knows Bucky deserved and craved underneath the brainwashed parts of him.
It took time for Bucky to remember who Steve was to him. While he had recognized him immediately, remembering him but not how, it took months for Bucky to remembered the capacity in which he did so.
And Steve waited.
And waited.
Steve was gifted with small moments along the way, on this journey of Bucky remembering both himself and who Steve was to him:
“You...you were real small once,” Bucky said, factual with no trace of a question, hands in soapy water as he handed Steve a plate to dry. Steve had merely hummed. “Yeah, was...was maybe half the size I am now. Real small.”
“Could fit both’a my hands right around your middle…”
It had been a long while since Steve blushed like that.
Bucky standing over Steve’s sleeping form, heaving chest visible by only the filtered moonlight, Steve mumbling out a, “Buck, wha—?” before Bucky whispered, “You...you’ve been inside of me.” Steve sat up.
“I have,” Steve breathed, on cautious ground, shakier when Bucky then whispered, “But you like it better when I’m inside’a you.”
When Steve had swallowed audibly, nodded his head wordlessly, Bucky had turned and left the room.
It took months of moments like those to compile together, to form the picture of what Steve once was, what he yearned to continue to be, to Bucky. All of these moments, these memories, came to a head so unpredictably during yet another movie night. Knees knocking, fingers brushing, small touches that Steve absolutely soaked in, had gotten used to, had relearned.
When a glance towards Bucky had the wind knocking its way out of Steve’s chest, the familiarity of that look a bone-deep ache—
Bucky was going to kiss him.
A look full of determination and want, lips parted, eyes a bit glassy. Steve didn't dare move, had let Bucky come to him for fear of scaring him away. The moment their lips touched was the moment Bucky started crying. It had only been a short brush of their lips but Steve barely breathed, barely moved. Bucky had pulled back with wide, wet eyes, shaky breaths. “Buck, it’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s alright, sweetheart,” are the words that easily slipped from his mouth, unable to stop them in a moment of progress that satiated his entire being.
That was the moment that changed everything. It was a startle to everyone involved. Steve had been ready to wait years, this entire life, for the moment he could touch Bucky again, could show him that physicality he knew his Buck craved. After that night on the couch it was as if the floodgates had opened—
Bucky remembered and wanted.
Regardless of where they were or what was happening, he wanted to be touching Steve: soft kisses on the cheek and lips, laying his head in Steve’s lap as he read, lacing his fingers between Steve’s during meetings, an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist between bouts of sparring. He’d trace patterns onto Steve’s thigh as he watched Steve draw, press against the line of his back while he cooked dinner.
Steve was floating on a cloud, was in heaven, never happier. It was perfection.
But what Bucky wanted, Steve couldn’t provide, couldn’t meet. Steve was only one man, couldn’t provide Bucky, whom touch had been stolen away from for decades, with everything he wanted. And that was okay, something Steve accepted, because there were other people Bucky could turn to that Steve trusted.
“I’m sure you all know why I asked you to meet with me,” Steve started, choosing a time Bucky was napping to meet with the rest of the group that either lived in or frequented the Tower. “Bucky has shown us a new side of him, has made some progress I think it’s worth discussing with everyone, since we’re all...we’ve all been affected...”
“Uhh, yeah— your Barnes-y boy has been all over me lately. I’m almost offended that everyone else is here to talk to Cap though. Thought he was just comin' onto me.”
“I have to tell you, I didn’t...I know we talked, Steve. But I’m honestly shocked at Bucky’s progress. It’s baffling.”
“I haven’t minded it. He lets me braid his hair.”
“Wait— y’all are getting touches?”
It was a group effort, supporting Bucky in this way. It was an adjustment, Bucky never prompting and questioning before touching or requesting touches— he just went for it. He was quiet still, not shy, merely observant. And just like he nudged at and leaned against Steve until his hands were on him, he did the same to others.
“I just ask that you show Bucky grace during this time. It’s a delicate situation. I need to know if you don’t want his touch or don’t wish to give him any kind of touch. I think it would be best if it came from me instead of from you in the moment.”
Natasha was who Bucky went to for scratches. Steve thinks it’s the nails. Steve also thinks Nat is Bucky’s favorite to go to for touches, even over him, but Bucky refuses to admit it.
When Bucky wants mindless touches, when he wants tickles and scratches, he goes to her. She naturally took to Bucky’s need for touches, the first occurrence one that came without hesitation. She’ll braid his hair, let him turn his head right where he wants her head scratches, naturally reaches for his back or shoulders to run her nails across when he saddles in close to her.
Thor is one of Bucky’s favorites too. Steve isn’t sure if it’s because of his strength or because of his warm and accepting demeanor but Bucky gravitates towards Thor often, mainly for neck and shoulder rubs. One, “James, my friend. You musn’t be afraid of asking for touch with me. I will always be willing to assist,” and that was all Bucky needed to feel comfortable walking over to Thor and nudging at his hands.
He puts his head on Bruce’s shoulder as soon as he can, likes sparring and playing hide and seek with Clint, enjoys putting his feet in Sam’s lap. Tony took some warming up to, but even then Bucky spent many hours in Tony’s lab, Tony guiding his hands, showing him what to do and how to work different machines, the two of them tinkering on his own arm.
Bucky kinda turns into the Tower kitty cat, wandering around quietly, napping in the sun, snacking, demanding affection from anyone he crosses paths with and trusts.
Everyone had their form of touch they shared with Bucky and Bucky absolutely blossomed under this form of support. Steve is forever grateful to be surrounded by a group of understanding individuals.
And every night when he lifts the comforter and feels the solid line of Bucky’s warm form against his side, the arm that now easily and inevitably slips around his waist, the familiar lips that always press against his temple, shoulder, and cheek, Steve is reminded this day was for Bucky and that the one they’ll wake up to will also be for him.
"I love you, Buck."
"Mhmm love you too, pal."
Steve doesn't even mind that Bucky spends his nights snoring in the crook of his neck, hot breath wafting over Steve's skin, hands grabby even as he dreams—
This is heaven.
#askK#fluffy lub#recovering bucky#found family#avengers 2012#this is one of a million i have of these#i rarely share like...canon-ish thoughts because i assume people are going to tear them to pieces lol#but i've been sitting on this one for a while#my tense might be way outta wack here lol my bad#tower of god
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laughing too hard at the seonghwa bias ask!! what about headcanons about people who bias each ateez member, just for shits and giggles? (i think what people normally name this is ‘what your bias says about you’ or sumn like that? anywaysss)
Ask and you shall receive.
What your ateez bias says about you. According to me. An irrelevant bitch.
Before we begin i went kinda heavy with this so tread lightly so small trigger warning.
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Hongjoong: ur into toxic people. Not that my beautiful baby is toxic, no no no. But a lot of your real life relationships probably treat u like shit, so you find his reliability and how strong he loves comforting. Also because of those less than ideal relationships, your better at over looking the things about him that would make others go eek, like the whole work a holic thing and the more than slight possessiveness because they pale in comparison to the shit your used to. In fact? You probably crave the idea of someone wanting you that much.
In a more lighthearted take you are probably one of the most interesting people to talk to. Probably have a million hobbies and great stories to tell. Your life is full of amazing experiences that other will love hearing about.
Seonghwa: abandonment issues. Perhaps have some problems in your home life that make you crave domestic things like fucking heroin because your own home is kinda whack. Seonghwa feels like home. Also you probably have a large personality, the kinda thing where people get tired of it kinda quickly and it leaves you feeling left out and alone. Basically you want a safe space to exist with someone who actually wants to be there with you. (This is a self call out)
Once again to ease the tension. You probably match his caring energy. You are amazing at looking after others and are very aware of the people around you. A people pleaser but in a good way. I dont want to say a natural leader cuz thats not it, but people tend to look to you when the going gets tough.
Yunho: how's your anxiety treating you? No seriously. Like you need his big golden retriever energy simply to get through the day. Yall know how he is just naturally amazing at everything? That is what your find so attractive about him. You want him to take you by the hand and lead you through all the problems in your life cuz he could do it so effortlessly. You need someone to come through and take all your cares away with a smile.
Your energy is unmatched. You are the type of person people just sort of like to be around. Supper soft and nice. Easiest person in the world to talk to its almost unfair. Probably extremely good at 1 or 2 very specific things that leave people in awe.
Yeosang: i promise you the world is not as bad as you think. Probably pretty nihilistic. Like if pessimism was a person, it would be you. Always expect the worst literally no matter what. His honesty is probably super comforting to you. You need someone to sit on your shoulder and remind you whats actually happening. You know how when you feel bad, it only pisses you off more when people say everything will be ok? Yeosang doesn't do that, he tells you the truth and thats what you need to hear. Basically Yeosang is a realist and you desperately need to be reminded that things are not as bad as they seem.
Funniest bitch alive no fucking cap. Perhaps a defense mechanism but we in a happy place now so let's not think about it. Probably supper relaxed and chill vibes. Ur invited to all the 🍃🍃 seshes.
San: you probably aren't used to having a lot. Whether it be a lot of things or a lot of people in your life. Its not like your not likeable or hard working cuz you definitely are, its just for whatever reason it constantly feels like everything you want is just barely out of reach. San is just special you know? Like he could be that one perfect thing in your life thats yours and only yours.
Supper energetic. Like literally. Your running around all excited and shit. Its v cute keep it up. Lil heart breaker too. Everyone wants to be your friend or to be your partner. Are genuinely always smiling even when your not feeling to great.
Mingi: oh baby who hurt you. Trust issues. Someone needs to give you a fucking HUG. Ima say that you just had one person in your life that really fucked you up. Friend or a significant other, it doesn't matter. You need someone like mingi who just had that incredibly pure and can do no wrong energy. Mingi is just so incredibly trustworthy, like absolutely anything you need from him he can provide. Your always on your guard with people and you need someone to just fucking rely on.
First off, has anyone every told you how pretty your smile is? Stunning. Probably likes naps far more than the average person. Also great sense of fashion. Idk yall just always look so correct? Even if its not whats exactly in style your whole look just matches your energy.
Wooyoung: your self esteem is not it. You probably have a large group of friends and you are constantly comparing yourself to them and others. Just take a break babe, your absolutely fine. You kinda look up to him. You want his confidence, his energy, his aura that seems to make everyone like him, you want people to look at you the way they look at him.
You know that song thats like "thats my best friend, she a real bad bitch" thats you. Could not possibly be bothered by shit. Like you handle everything. Even if its not the best solution, you still always have one. Brains always working a mile a minute.
Jongho: you hold yourself to a high standard. You get extremely upset with yourself when you don't succeed. Probably throw yourself full force into absolutely everything you do and its not healthy. Like your relationships may be suffering because you don't let yourself make time for them. He just, seems like the type to not only understand that drive you have, but also be willing to stick it out when the going gets tough.
Just a sweetheart. Probably have some cute ass hobby like baking. Music is your lifestyle. Like the rest of us listen for enjoyment, you listen because you need to. Like always have background noise going on.
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Southern Generation - Part I
Summary: After more than a decade of service, Captain Syverson as retired from the military, but now that he is retired, he still needs to find a job.
Pairing: Syverson/OFC
Word Count: 6,214
Rating: PG - Quasi-Slow Burn, Language, PTSD, Fluff, Angst, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Reclusive Behavior
Inspiration: I wrote a similar story for another fandom and I’ve wanted to finally write a Sy story, since I don’t have one.
Author’s Note: I wasn’t going to post this til I was done, but thought what the hell. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming of for her help with it.
He was home, finally and for good.
After more than ten years of service in the U.S Army and retiring as a Captain, Austin Wyatt Syverson was no longer a soldier. It felt amazing to be back on southern soil again, home sweet home; back in the city he was named after.
Austin, Texas.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Syverson found his way back home, to his flat in central Austin. He didn't expect a huge welcome back, unlike the first time he came back home from overseas, years before. His parents had decorated his apartment with streamers, a 'welcome back' sign and balloons. They had cake and noise makers as he entered, surprising him. But, this time, there was none of that, just bare gray walls, covered in band posters and other things Syverson liked.
His father had died of a heart attack two years into his second deployment and his mother had passed from breast cancer a year before. He was an only child and he wasn't close to his other relatives, so he would have hit the floor if any of them had even sent him a 'welcome back' text.
No, Austin Syverson was on his own, and he was more than all right with that. One thing he wasn't all right with was not having a job. So, after settling in, getting into his civilian clothing and cooking a good home cooked lunch, he picked up a newspaper and perused the job section. He preferred a job that he could do with his hands, he had always liked working with his hands, even as a kid, tinkering in the garage with his dad. Several advertisements caught his attention and he saved the numbers in his phone, planning on calling them to inquire about the job, but for now, Syverson just wanted to relax and settle in as a newly-minted civilian.
The one thing he did miss was Aika, the German Shepherd he befriended back in Baghdad. He had started the process of having Aika sent over from Iraq, but she was stuck in a month-long quarantine, before she would be cleared to be with him again, in Austin.
“She's all the family I need.” Sy said, popping the cap off a cold one.
Bright and early the next morning, Sy started calling the numbers in the advertisements and discovered to his disgruntled annoyance, that the paper he picked up was nearly a week old. He made a mental note to give the clerk at the corner store a piece of his mind, the next time he saw him.
“I'm really sorry, Mr. Syverson.” the owner of a construction company sighed, feeling bad that he didn't have room on his current job for him.
“It's fine, I'll find something.” Sy frowned, rubbing the side of his face. “Thanks though.” He sighed, and started to hang up.
“Wait!”
Sy paused, his finger almost pressed to his screen to hang up the call, and put it back to his ear. “Yeah?” He replied, biting his lip.
“I just remembered, it's a private contract, I got it a couple days ago.” He explained, fumbling through several stacks of papers and files he had strewn across his desk. “It's out in Celina, I know that's a bit of a drive from where you are in Austin.”
“That's fine.” Sy answered, relieved. “A job is a job.”
He figured if he could do a job overseas, he could do a job three hours outside of Austin.
“Well, if you want it, it's yours.” He told Sy, finally finding the paper he was looking for.
“Of course!”
He gave Sy the details of the contract, it was a private contract, sent into his company by a young lady, who lived just outside of Celina, Texas, on a small farm. Apparently the house and the barn on the property were in disrepair and she wanted them repaired. So, Sy took the contract and the information, then hung up with him, immediately calling the number he had given him for the young lady.
“Hello?” A soft, almost meek, voice answered.
“Hi, I'm Cap-” Sy cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, it was going to be a while, before he broke himself out of the habit of introducing himself as Captain Syverson. “I'm Austin Syverson. I know you don't know me, but I got your contract from Mr. McJames, the owner of Diamond Ridge Constructions, in Austin.” He explained to her, sure it sounded a bit crazy.
“Oh.” She replied, unconsciously brushing her hair out of her face. “Right. The contract.”
“Is it still available?” He asked, feeling a small tingle of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.
“Yes!” She answered, hastily, worried she had given him the wrong impression. “Yes, the contract is still available. You're actually my only inquirer for it.” She told him, honestly.
“I would love to meet up with you and talk about it.” Sy said, letting out a relieved sigh and felt his massive shoulders relax.
“Um,” She gulped, licking her lips and felt her hands shake.
“I could meet you in Celina, take you for coffee?” He suggested, hoping to make her more comfortable with meeting him in a public place. “My treat.” He added, with a sweet tone.
“No, no.” She squeaked, fidgeting in her chair. “That's all right, if you want to take the contract it's yours, Mr. Syverson. It's seventeen an hour, with everything provided.” She explained to him, taking deep breaths, to calm down her nerves.
Sy was a little surprised by how easy it was, but he was willing to do the job, either way. “Of course, I would gladly take the job for you.” He agreed.
“Excellent.” She smiled, bouncing on her toes. “You can start at your earliest convenience.” She told him.
“I can come by tomorrow morning, if that's all right with you.” He replied, looking around his kitchen for something to write with and on, so he could take down her address.
“That's splendid.” She assured him, then rattled off her address for him. “If you have any issues finding the place, just call.” She told him, before they hung up.
Sy woke up early, for the three hour drive from Austin to Celina.
It was a nice drive, watching the bustling city of Austin slowly melt away to the rural landscape of the countryside, endless farmlands of varying crops. Sy found it rather soothing, after seeing nothing but sand, rubble and burned out buildings for so long. He felt like he was getting back to his roots again, his southern heritage. His GPS chimed into his thoughts, announcing he was within a mile of her home. So, he turned off the music he was playing and rolled down the window of his truck, squinting at the mailboxes that dotted the few dirt driveways along the long country road.
“You've passed your destination.”
“Fuck.” Sy grunted, tires screeching as he turned around.
He stopped his truck by the side of the road and got out, looking up and down the empty road, frowning. He pulled his GPS device off its holder and started walking in the direction it indicated her house was in, pausing, as it told him he was standing exactly where he needed to be. Turning in a circle, he noticed the sun baked, wooden gate, that was slightly hidden by weeds and had no mailbox. Frowning, Sy locked up his truck, pushed open the gate that almost fell over in the process, before walking up the driveway.
The simple, two story farmhouse slowly came into view. The roof of the farm porch was dilapidated and sagging, there were shingles missing on both roofs, the paint of the house was faded and peeling, chipping away from the warped and cracked boards, a couple of them were missing.
“It definitely needs work.” Sy said, stopping to look the house over, then noticed the barn a couple of yards away, in even worse condition. “Looks like I got my work cut out for me.” He sighed, but wasn't daunted by any of it.
His eyes moved away from the barn and back to the house as the screen door opened and a woman stepped out onto the porch; Sy could practically hear the high-pitch creak of the screen door from where he stood. She was a teeny little thing, maybe five foot, and looked timid, by the way she hugged the screen door, using it to hide behind as she watched him finish approaching the house.
“Mr. Syverson?” She called out to him, biting her bottom lip.
“Yes, ma'am.” Sy answered, stopping at the bottom of the warped steps leading up to her on the porch.
“I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place?”
“Not at all.” He smiled at her, shaking his head. “I don't lose my way often.” He assured him, teasingly.
“Good.” She chuckled, nervousness. “I suppose you'd like a closer look at the place?” She asked, glancing around the porch.
“If you don't mind.” Sy nodded, glancing around as well.
Biting her lip, she stepped out onto the porch, the screen door closing with a soft bang. “I'm sure you saw a lot of the issues on your way up.” She explained, slowly stepping off the porch.
“I have.” Sy nodded, looking down and smirking at her bare feet. “Seems a lot of the boards are rotted and the house, and barn, could use a good fresh coat of paint.”
“That's the least of the problems.” She replied, looking at the side of the house as they rounded its corner, heading towards the barn. “There's several weak points in the roof, on both the barn and the house.”
“When was the place built?” He asked, touching the side of the house, flecks of paint brushing off under his fingertips.
“1921.” She answered, looking up to the top of the house, squinting in the bright sunlight. “I bought the place four years ago.” She explained, turning towards the barn.
“I can understand you wanting to fix up the house, being you live in it.” Sy commented, checking out the barn. “But, what do you want the barn with? If you don't mind me asking.”
“I'm considering turning it into my studio.” She answered, trying to push open the barn door.
“What do you do?” Sy asked, helping her push open the door; one handed, while she leaned her body into it.
“I'm a graphic designer and a photographer.” She explained to him, stepping inside the barn with him.
“That's cool.” He smiled at the back of her head.
“Thanks.” She replied, smiling at him over her shoulder. “So,” She gulped and glanced around the barn. “Do you think you can do the job?” She asked, regarding him.
Sy heaved a sigh and roamed around the barn for a moment, checking things out. “I'm more than sure I could.” He finally said, stopping in front of her and crossed his arms. “It might take a couple of weeks to finish. But, I can do it.”
“Great.” She smiled, relieved and excited to hear that he could.
“I can start right away, if you want.” He added, resolute.
“Sounds excellent.” She nodded, fidgeting and nervously twisting the hem of her tank top with her fingers. “I can get the tools for you.” She turned and left the barn, heading back towards her house.
Sy followed after her, staying on the top step of the porch, while she disappeared inside. “Here.” He smiled as she came back, carrying a heavy red and rushed toolbox; stepping forward to take it from her.
“If you need anything else, more tools or supplies, like, I don't know, lumber or whatever.” She mumbled, staring down at her bare feet, shyly. “Just ask.”
“I will.” Sy grinned down at her, hefting the toolbox and making the tools inside of it rattle.
With that, Sy gave her a gentlemanly nod of his head and stepped off the porch. He carried the heavy box of tools down the long driveway, back to his truck, still parked on the side of the road, where he left it. Opening the back hatch, he set the tool box down in the truck bed and opened it, checking out all the tools that were stored inside it.
“Not too bad.” He nodded, approving of the selection that was inside, then turned towards his first project for the place, the pathetic excuse and falling over the gate.
Digging his phone out of his pocket, Sy googled the closet hardware store, secured the toolbox in the back of his truck and hopped in behind the wheel and followed the directions into the town of Celina. He knew she told him to tell her if he needed anything while working on her property, but Sy had a sound enough savings, that he didn't mind spending his own money on bits and bobs. He browsed the aisles of the hardware store, picking up a couple of tools he would need and weren't in the box, then several boards of wood, to build a new gate.
“Thanks.” Sy muttered, nodding his head at the hardware store owner, collecting his things and packing them back into his truck.
Getting back to the farm, Sy parked close to the head of the driveway and got to work, tearing down the old gate and piled up the lumber to the side, out of the way. Without a power source, this far out, Sy relied on a trusty hand saw and the thick muscle of his arms to cut the fresh boards, still strongly smelling of the pine tree they were hewn from. He measured everything out, tucking the pencil behind his ear, as he leaned into the saw as he cut them to length and nailed them together, forming the new gate.
She watched him the whole time, from the upstairs window of her office. He was a hard and diligent worker. Taking painstaking time to double, or even triple, his measuring of the boards, before finally cutting them with a manual saw. In a matter of hours, he had the new gate made and started putting it up. Biting her lip and saving her work on her laptop, she went downstairs into her humble little kitchen, whipped up a couple of things, making some food and drinks, before texting him.
» If you're hungry, I made lunch.
Sy smiled at her text, putting the last screw into the gate and pushed it open with two fingers. Grinning and proud of his work, then turning back to his truck, he put all the tools away and cleaned up the rest of the mess he made, then drove through the gate, stopping long enough to get out and close the gate behind him, then went up and parked beside her own little car. She came out onto the porch, holding a plate of food and a tall glass of cold lemonade.
“Thank you.” He grinned at her, taking the plate and glass, and sitting down on the rickety porch swing, balancing the plate in his lap.
“You're welcome.” She mumbled back, so shy that she didn't meet his blue eyes.
Chuckling, Sy took a deep gulp of the lemonade, parched beyond belief after all the work he had done. He moaned as the cold tang washed over his tongue, refreshing him tremendously. “That is delicious, thank you.” He complimented her.
“Thank you.” She smiled, still fidgeting beside the swing. “I'll be inside, if you need me.” She said in a rush, and scuttled inside.
Sy tilted his head as the screen door slammed shut behind her. She was a curious person, always so nervous and shy, fidgeting and never meeting his eye. He wondered if his presence made her feel uncomfortable, he was wearing a red, DILLIGAF t-shirt, a tight pair of black jeans and boots. He was an imposing guy, with stacked muscle, which made his job in the Special Forces easier, and his head was shaved, while sporting a beard. Sy's whole presence came off as authoritative and commanding, it was a natural effect he had, it was one of the reasons he had advanced in the military and succeeded as a leader so well.
Sighing, he finished off his food and gulped down the rest of his lemonade, before getting up and carefully knocking on the wood of the door frame, peeking inside. The main door was half open and he could see into the foyer and the living room beyond that, the large rug on the hardwood floors and the mismatched couch and furniture of the living room, a flat screen tv mounted above the fireplace. He could just see around the corner into what looked like a dining room, seeing the edge of a table and a couple of chairs. She appeared from the other side of the door, looking up into his eyes for a moment, before dropping them down again.
“All finished?” She asked, quietly.
“I am, thank you.” Sy smiled at her, pressing his lips together. “It was really good, the best I've had so far, since coming home.” He told her, taking a step back as she opened the screen door, taking the dishes from him, their fingers brushing.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” He asked, gulping at the soft touch of her fingers.
“No, thank you.” She squeaked, drawing away from him. “I appreciate you fixing the gate.” She added, breathlessly.
“Of course, ma'am.” Sy smiled, chuckling softly. “I'll be back tomorrow and I'll have a look around the house and see what projects need more direct attention.” He explained to her, glancing around the porch.
“That sounds great.” She mumbled back, clearing her throat.
“I'll take my leave then.” Sy said, bowing his head to her, and heading back to his truck.
There was an infernal banging coming from outside, with a loud clattering that followed, all of it in a steady rhythm that was driving her crazy.
She was nuzzled into the warmth of her thick down blankets, in that heavenly position, where you found the perfect spot on the mattress to lay, and even the slightest movement will ruin it, in a millisecond. She growled into her pillow, still reluctant to move even the tiniest bit, but she couldn't take it anymore, and thrashed out of bed, in a fling of arms, legs, pillows and blankets.
“What in the world?” She huffed, pulling on an oversized hoodie and scrambled downstairs.
She froze, catching a glimpse out of the large bay window in her den, a huge male with a shaved head, and realized it was Sy. Gulping, she moved closer and watched him through the window. He wasn't in his red shirt and jeans this morning, but wore a blue tank top and a pair of basketball shorts, but still sporting his combat boots. He also had wireless earbuds in, head bumping to whatever he was listening to. Mustering some early morning courage and stepped over to the front door, pulling it open.
“Careful!” Sy called out, appearing from the other side of the house.
She looked down and saw a good amount of the boards of the porch were gone, and looked back up at him.
“Morning.” He smiled, one corner a bit higher in an amused way.
“Morning.” She squeaked back, burrowing into her hoodie a little bit.
“I thought I would start on the porch.” Sy said, looking over what he had already torn up.
“I-I can see..that.” She stammered, biting the inside corner of her lip, then looked behind her, to the coo-coo clock on the foyer wall.
It was seven in the morning, and Sy had already been on the farm for an hour and pulled up just about half of the wrap around porch. She looked back at him and was rather impressed by it, with a shy nod of her head, she went back inside and into the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker and got breakfast going. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she glanced in the direction of the noise and followed it again.
“Would you like some breakfast or coffee?” She asked as Sy yanked up another warmed porch board, with his gloved hands, biceps bulging as he got it loose with a grunt.
Tossing the board into the growing pile, Sy wiped his sweaty face on his arms and turned to look up at her. “I would love some, if that's all right with you.” He answered, he only had a liquid breakfast of a tall black coffee from Starbucks as he left Austin for Celina.
“Pancakes, eggs and bacon, okay with you?” She asked, fidgeting.
“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, smiling sweetly at her.
A smile twitched on her lips, before she turned on her bare feet and went back into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator, pulling out the milk, eggs and bacon, before going into the pantry to grab the dry pancake ingredients. The coffee maker beeps as she whipped up the pancake batter and turned, pulling out two cups from the cabinet and setting up her own cup, before going back to the front porch.
“Coffee is ready, if you want to—come in—and get your cup ready.” She told him, shyly.
“Thank you.” Sy smiled at her, wiping his face again.
Pulling off his gloves, stuffing them into his back pocket, Sy entered the house, glancing around as he followed her into the kitchen. He found his cup by the coffee maker and smirked at it, it was a Texas Rodeo cup, a picture of a bucking horse on the background of the shape of Texas.
“I wasn't sure what you took in your coffee.” She commented as he stirred a single sugar into the cup and took a seat at the breakfast nook table.
“Either straight black, or with one sugar.” He replied, taking a sip of the steaming brown liquid, while he watched her finish mixing the pancake batter. “Depends on my mood.” He added, as she poured a bit of the thick batter into the sizzling hot skillet on the very old, blue and gas stove, that had to be made in the 1940's.
Easily. Sy thought, taking a deep gulp of his coffee.
“So, you live here alone?” He asked, lifting a brow at her and set it cup down on the table in front of him.
“I do.” She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, and flipped a couple of the pancakes.
“Does your family live nearby?”
She paused for a moment, her back stiffening at the mention of her family. “My mother passed away, when I was born.” She said, her voice strained. “I don't have any siblings and I don't know where my father is.” She explained, flipping the finished pancakes onto a plate by the stove and turned to the cardboard carton of eggs.
“How many would you like?” She asked, holding up a sooth, brown shelled egg.
“Three, please.” Sy replied, nodding his head to her. “Sunny side up.”
“What about your family?” She asked, cracking his eggs into the pan.
“No siblings and both of my parents are dead.” He answered her, leaning back in his chair. “My dad died of a heart attack, during my second deployment and my mom died of cancer, little over a year ago.” He explained, watching her baby his eggs.
“I'm so sorry.” She frowned, looking over her shoulder at him, with a look of pure sympathy, but no pity.
“It's all right.” Sy told her, his voice soft.
She fried the bacon with the eggs, then set the hot stack of pancakes and bacon on the table, setting Sy's plate of sunny side up eggs in front of him, with a container of syrup and a dish of butter, before handing him his fork. She sat down at the table, across from him, with her plate of two scrambled eggs, then took two pancakes and three pieces of bacon for herself, drizzling her pancakes with the maple syrup.
“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy smiled, before digging into his food.
“Lily.” She mumbled, staring at her untouched plate.
“Excuse me?” Sy frowned, looking up at her, fork posed at his mouth.
“Lily.” She replied, a little bit louder. “My name is Lily. You can call me, Lily.” She told him, meeting his eyes.
Sy grinned at her, lowering his fork and sitting up straighter. “All right then, Lily.” He nodded, loving the roll of her name off his tongue. “I'm Austin. But, everyone just calls me, Sy.”
Lily held her free hand out over their plates. “It's a pleasure.” She smiled at him, sweetly.
“Same.” Sy replied, gently taking her smooth and dainty hand in his big and calloused one.
Both of their faces warmed, before their hands pulled apart and they went back to finishing up their breakfast, having a polite and casual conversation as they did. With breakfast finished, Lily cleared away the plates and silverware, setting them in the sink to be washed later on, while Sy pulled his gloves back on and headed back out to finish pulling up the rest of the porch boards.
“Now that all the boards are pried up,” Sy explained as they ate lunch together in the kitchen. “I'll be able to start nailing down the new ones.” He told her, gulping down his glass of iced tea. “I'll put down the boards in front of the main door, so you can actually get out of the house, without having to be a hurdle jumper.” He laughed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Sy was true to his word, as he always was, he had all of the boards of the porch along the front of the house down, even though it took him until after sundown to pull it off. He sighed, as he drove the last nail in flush to the board. He stood with a groan, his knees and shoulders stiff and screaming from the hard work of the day. Gathering the strewn about tools, Sy put them back into the tool box and lugged that into the back of his truck.
“Lily.” He called out through the open screen door of the house, knocking gently on the door frame.
“Yes?” She called back, then appeared a moment later.
“I'm done for the day.” He told her, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “I'll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Bright and early, I'm sure, Captain.” She smiled at him.
Sy chuckled, he had told her a teeny bit about his career in the military, how he was a Captain and had spent more than ten years in the service, right out of high school, much to his parents' disappointment, since they wanted him to go to college. But, Sy wanted to serve his country, especially after the attacks in New York, causing him to enlist in early 2002.
“As always.” He grinned back, rubbing his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Good night, Ms. Lily.” He bowed his head to her and stepped back.
“Good night, Sy.” She nodded back to him.
Sy got into his truck and sighed heavily, as he started the engine. He was exhausted beyond belief, he scrubbed at his face as he drove down the long driveway, stopping to open and close the gate as he left the property. He only got a couple miles from Lily's, when he decided he was just too exhausted to drive the three hours to Austin. So, he turned around and headed for Celina, knowing there was a small motel there that he could rent a room from for the night. There was also the upside of staying in the motel, it was only thirty minutes away from Lily's place, which meant he could get there earlier and could work for a few more hours.
Lily came out onto the porch, when she heard the hammering on the east side of the house stop. Her bare feet gliding over the smooth new boards on the porch. Rounding the corner, she found Sy with his back against the side of the house, where he was currently prying the warped siding off of. She chuckled, realizing he had apparently stopped for a short break and fallen asleep. She moved closer to him, watching his face pinch and his head shake, like he was trying to wake himself up, but couldn't.
“Sy?” She called to him, softly, kneeling down beside him. “Hey, Sy.” She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Austin.” She said his name, gently.
She had no sooner touched his shoulder, than he jerked violently and lunged towards her. Lily yelped and scrambled backwards, away from him. Sy shook his head several times and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, his entire body rigged.
“I'm sorry.” Sy pushed the words out of his throat. “I am so sorry, I didn't realize I fell asleep.” He said, sitting back where he had been. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” He looked over at her, his intense blue eyes scanning her for anything out of place, but only found her frightened and shaking.
“Lily.” He choked.
He had episodes like this, on and off over the last thirteen years, he had decked more than one of his men, who tried shaking him awake. He had even ended up choking one of his commanding officers, and needed his squad to pull him off and slap him back into consciousness. Sy had lost more than one friend and girlfriend over his episodes, nightmares and PTSD, he really didn't want to lose Lily over them.
“I'm-I'm f-fine.” She gulped, biting her lip and tried to calm herself down. “Are you?” She asked, pressing her back to the post that supported the porch roof.
Sy let out a hard breath, pressing a hand to his face and took a moment to settle his nerves, relieved that he hadn't hurt her. “I'm fine. I just didn't realize I fell asleep. I've been really tired lately.” He paused and dropped his hand.
“I've been tired for years.” He admitted out loud.
“You've been working from sun up to sun down, here for a month. That's without a day off, Sy.” She said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “You really should take a day off. When was the last time you had an actual day off?” She asked, studying him.
“What year is it?” He asked, chuckling at her.
“That's not good.” Lily said, shaking her head at him, then stood up. “All right, Syverson. You're officially off duty, effective now.”
“But, the siding?” He said, waving his hand over the unfinished siding on that side of the house.
“It can wait.” She told him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He asked, heaving a sigh and standing up.
“Whatever you like, Sy.” She said, turning back towards the house.
“What if I'd like to finish the siding?” He asked, smirking at her, impishly.
Lily turned, lifting a brow at him and narrowing her eyes, making him chuckle at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. He followed her into the house and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. In the month since Sy had taken the job on Lily's property, they had gotten close and she had made him feel more at home than he had ever felt, anywhere in the world. Now, that she had made him take the day off, Sy had no idea what to do with it. Since he was a little boy, he was working hard, either on his parents' small farm or dealing with his deployment in the middle east.
He stepped back out on the porch, smirking to himself as he stood on solid porch boards that didn't squeak and creak under his weight. He still needed to stain the boards, but he planned on doing that after he removed all the siding from the house and put up fresh ones. His only missing plan with the siding was finding out if Lily wanted him to stain those too or if she wanted the house painted a particular color. But, he'd figure that out tomorrow, for now, he started out over the slice of land out front of the house. The grass was almost as tall as he was and he knew she didn't have a mower, not even an ancient push mower, so it would be something else he'd need to get his hands on to tame the wild jungle of sun bleached grass and weeds.
Humming to himself and taking a sip of his coffee, Sy walked around the porch, surveying the work he had done on that side, with two thirds of the siding pulled off, then continued to the back of the porch. The backyard was just as vast and wild as the front and sides of the house. Her land butted up against another farm that looked like they grew wheat. He noticed a slight movement on the thin trail that cut through the overgrowth and stepped off the porch to follow it, stopping several yards away from the boundary line that divided the two properties, finding Lily leaning on the rusted metal gate, her arm held out above it as a dapple-gray horse came trotting up to her, taking the apple out of her outstretched hand. She rubbed the mare's nose, smiling softly at it, and pulled out another apple out of the pouch of her hoodie.
Sy smiled as he watched her feed and pet that magnificent creature. “A friend of yours?” He asked, alerting her to his presence.
Lily blushed at him, trying to bite back her smile. “You can say that.” She replied, feeling the horse nudge her gently, and produced another apple. “Her name is Juniper.” She explained, patting the side of the horse's neck.
“She's beautiful.” Sy replied, but his eyes were on her.
“Isn't she.” Lily agreed, grinning at the horse, oblivious.
Sy moved closer to them, his shoulder brushing Lily's as he reached out to pet the mare, chuckling at Juniper's snort and head shake. “She hasn't been a mare for very long.” He pointed out.
“Nope.” Lily shook her head. “She was born a little more than three years ago. My neighbor, her owner, mostly deals in wheat and corn, but his daughter is working on becoming a champion barrel racer. So, he bought Juniper, when she was about a year old.”
“She looks in good shape for it.” He commented, checking out the rest of the horse. “Have you seen any of her shows?” He asked, looking back at Lily.
“Sadly, no.” She shook her head, shyly. “I do know she won her last one.” She added, smiling up at him. “It was her first win, in the ten or so shows she's competed in.”
Sy smiled at her, she seemed and sounded so proud of the horse's owner winning the competition. “We should go to her next one.” He suggested, lifting his brows at her.
“What?” Lily squeaked, looking at Sy like a frightened doe.
“Yeah, it will be a great day off for me.” He grinned at her, liking the idea. “I've never seen you leave the property, either.” He added, his brow creasing as he thought about it. “I've only seen you go far enough to get the mail, come to think of it.”
“I don't know.” She gulped, licking her lips nervously. “I've had a lot of work lately.” She stammered, fidgeting and rubbing her hands on her thighs.
“You give me guff for not taken a day off, and won't take one yourself.” He teased her, lightheartedly. “What's the worst that can happen?” He asked, leaning against the gate. “It's not like the world will blow up.”
“It might.” She mumbled, toeing at the sparse gravel under her feet.
Sy could tell she was anxious about leaving the house, he could understand that, the world was a shitty place, and he had seen a lot of that first hand. But, he blew it off, figuring it was just the stress of getting all her work done on time.
“I'll think about it.” Lily said, biting her lip and shyly scrunching up her body.
“Good.” He smiled, hopeful.
PART II
#Henry Cavill#HenryCavill#Southern Generation#Southern Generation *fic*#captain syverson#Syverson#Sand Castle#Syverson/OFC#Syverson x OFC#Austin Syverson#viking-raider fics#Texas#us military#Fluff#Angst#PTSD#Construction#Farming#renovation#contract work#Austin#horses#anxiety#panic attack#Hurt/Comfort#quasi slow burn#domestic life#Domestic Kink#retirement#Celina
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FAITH, LOST
Chapter 1
Sheltered, that was your life. You had been born in the village and knew nothing of the world that lay beyond its borders. There were days that you would gaze up at the snow covered mountains and wonder, but ultimately give up. You know you would never have the nerve to leave everything behind.
Not that you had much of a choice in the matter.
Cloistered by overprotective parents, your mother and father had raised you to be a respectable, religious woman, devoted to Mother Miranda and the four Lords under her command. Your faith was central to your being and, as your mother would often tell you, you would be rewarded for such candor in due time.
Yet, as time went on and you bloomed into a young woman, you began to question when your time would come. Many friends had been taken from you in service of Mother Miranda and, despite your unwavering loyalty, you could feel envy seeping into your heart. Your faith never faltered, you never once spoke out against her wishes, and still you were not chosen.
You're on your knees, giving praise and thanks at the altar when the church bells ring, summoning all the faithful to the Chapel. Moving with purpose you hurry to join the congregation, their numbers fewer than there were last time as a result of the Lycan attacks, smoothing down your simple dress as you take your place inside.
There Mother Miranda stands in all her holy glory and you feel your chest swell with awe and pride. It had been years since your parents were taken but you felt nothing but happiness that they had gone on to serve such a revered and holy idol.
You smile up at her in awe and wonder as she speaks to you all, arms open wide in welcome. She praises your commitment and resolve to follow the faith and calls on you all to offer another to her cause. In your ignorance you desperately pray to be chosen, but your voice is drowned out by the cacophony of the other devotees. But when all seems lost you look up, tears in your eyes, to see Mother Miranda looking directly at you.
"You, child," she beckons you forward with a gentle flourish of her hand.
Mother Miranda is speaking directly to you . You feel as though you're dreaming as you walk the aisle, coming to kneel before her. Your eyes never leave her, overcome with euphoria. She looks at you lovingly and touches your cheek with a gentle hand, your lashes fluttering.
"Yes, you're perfect," she smiles, raising her arms like the Virgin herself as she addresses the others that you are the she will be taking. Finally your steadfast devotion rewards you after all these years. You grin in naive excitement at the congregation, who clap and smile and praise her name. But it doesn't reach their eyes. They are envious of you but are trying their utmost to appear virtuous before Mother Miranda.
They have no idea that it’s them who are the lucky ones.
Like those who have been taken before you, Mother Miranda gently covers your eyes with a silken handkerchief, rendering you blind and reliant on the firm grasp on your shoulder as she guides you to a destination unknown.
The temperature drops and you feel uneven ground give way to hard stone beneath your feet and you feel unease settling in your bones. You haven't ventured far from the village, given the threat of the Lycans, Vampires and other things that plague your home, but you hold fast to your belief in Mother Miranda and that she wouldn't lead you astray.
Suddenly, you're gripped by something strong and heavy, forcing you to a standstill. Instinct kicks in and you try to fight, to run, to do anything to get away, but it’s futile as your feet skid uselessly in the snowy dirt. Hands roughly grasp your hands and pull your arms out straight and gasp sharply when you feel a sudden cold biting at your wrists. Something cold, heavy and binding. Panic clouds your mind as you try to pull your hands free, turning this way and that when you no longer feel the comforting weight of her hands guiding your shoulders. Suddenly you’re let go, the attacking presence leaving you, and you try to catch your bearings.
"Mother Miranda? Mother Miranda!" You cry out desperately and when you receive no reply your panic multiplies. Shivering, you strain to hear anything that gives away where you are or who is out there with you. When you hear nothing of value a strangled cry leaves you as the anxiety that this could be your death weighs heavily on you.
You have no idea that this is exactly what she wants.
"This way, child!"
Her voice is a beacon in the darkness and you turn quickly to where you perceive her to be, only to be thrust into dizzying vertigo as your foot teeters on the edge of nothingness. You scream, scrambling back so quickly that you stumble and fall. You grunt with pain at where you land against the snow lined steps, blinking owlishly when light suddenly blinds your vision. In your haste the silken handkerchief, your makeshift blindfold, has been pushed down. It hangs limply around your neck while you blink to adjust to the light.
"Oh God," you whimper, finally seeing just how close to the edge you had been. The village is a beautiful vista before you, the snow-laden ground glittering in the sunlight, but the danger is far too real for you to be able to admire it. The cold is still bracing as you quickly scramble to your feet and you realise as you struggle that your wrists are locked together in iron shackles. Confusion blooms within you, your brow creasing as you stare down at the unforgiving metal.
Had you not shown Mother Miranda that you were completely devout? That you were willing to give her your very life if she asked it of you? Maybe you were being punished. Your blood runs cold at the thought. Determined to prove otherwise you venture up the steps with vigor, bracing against the cold.
At the top you are confronted with an old, dilapidated Church not dissimilar to the one inside the village. You feel drawn to it, hurrying towards the large, wooden doors. Pushing them open doesn't take much effort, given how rotten they are, and you quickly enter to seek shelter from the cold.
"At last, the little mouse finds her way."
"It's about damn time!"
"She made it! She made it!"
"Look, she's here, Mother!"
The voices talk over one another and you recognize them instantly; the four Lords of the village.
"Welcome, child," Mother Miranda smiles at you from the raised platform at the head of the Church, "I'm so glad that you made it."
"Mother Miranda, m-my Lords," you stutter, partly from the cold, quickly dropping to your knees and bowing your head out of respect.
At your side a strange and terrifying doll dressed in a ratty white wedding dress skitters about, giggling maniacally and clapping her little, chipped porcelain hands.
"Oh, you're very pretty! I like this one, Mother! Can I have her? Please, pretty please?" She chatters excitedly, screeching when she's pushed aside.
"No, Mother, I should have this one! You promised!" Whines the grotesque, hunched monster, staring at you with glassy eyes. You know of Lord Moreau, from the Reservoir, as you recall his picture on the altar, just like Lady Beneviento and her sinister doll from her secluded mountain top estate.
You whimper despite your best intentions, not wanting to offend, feeling your body sag slightly in relief when Mother Miranda waves her hand and forces them to leave you be. You blink up at her, tears stinging your eyes. You don't understand what is happening and you're afraid.
"What a fragile little thing," a giant of a woman scoffs from where she sits off to the side, watching you with piercing gold eyes. She takes a deep drag from her cigarette, allowing the pale smoke to billow from her crimson lips as she observes you. You feel like an animal being paraded at auction, nothing at all like the splendor told to you in earnest by other members of the congregation.
"Mother Miranda I must insist that I take her. My daughters are in need of a maid and some new entertainment , and this one looks so delightfully fresh ." The grin she gives betrays her predatory nature, shining through her beautiful and regal facade. Lady Dimitrescu, the Countess of Castle Dimitrescu, and one of the more revered Lords. You swallow nervously, recoiling meekly under her gaze, though it does little to help. You can’t escape her intimidating stare.
The last is Lord Heisenberg, who lounges silently on a pew opposite Lady Dimitrescu. You know little of him, but you know his scarred face well from his picture on the altar. He radiates an aura of discontent and malice, no doubt finding this all a waste of time from the way he scowls when he looks at you. You would never have thought Mother Miranda would choose someone like him to be a Lord, given how little regard he seems to give the whole affair, but looks are often deceiving here.
"Heisenberg," Mother Miranda speaks, her voice taut, "have you no say?"
"What? Her ?" He points to you with his cigar, a booming laugh rolling off his tongue as he stands. He sets down the large hammer he had slung across his shoulder with ease, your form jumping at how its weight splinters the wood of the floor with ease.
"She wouldn't last a minute on my table," he drawls, stepping up to you. He stoops to regard you and on impulse you try to retreat from him. The attempt fails and he grabs your jaw roughly in his hand, jerking your head this way and that as he examines you. The leather of his glove is rich and smooth, the scent of gun oil and smoke tantalizing your senses.
"Oh you ignorant fool!" Lady Dimitrescu hisses, a wicked snarl on her lips, "she wouldn't be a test subject! She would be a servant !"
"Why the fuck would I need a servant? All she'd do is get in the way!" Heisenberg snaps back, knocking you down with how roughly he shoves you away. He squares up to where the Vampire sits and Lady Dimitrescu is quick to rise to this blatant display of arrogance and disrespect. Her lips, painted a beautiful crimson, split to bare her teeth in a vicious hiss.
“You wouldn’t know the first thing of what to do with her, you pathetic child !” She spits, “but then again, what would you know about having taste in staff in the first place?”
“Oh, we know all about you tastes , you overgrown b—”
"ENOUGH!"
Your mouth hangs open and your eyes widen at the sight of Mother Miranda in all her splendor. Three pairs of magnificent, raven black wings extend from her back as she puts a swift end to the petty squabbling. Extending a hand out she motions for you to rise, an almost maternal smile upon her face.
You don't know why a sudden sinking feeling of dread settles like a lead weight in your stomach, only that something sinister lingers as yet unseen.
"My dearest one," she coos, taking your face gently in her hands when you stand before her. Her fingers are tipped in gold claws and are cold to the touch as they smooth over your cheeks. The black feathers shift ever slightly and you see more glimpses of the beautiful face of Mother beneath her gilded cage headdress.
"You have been so loyal to me and my children, I know that you will be the perfect choice for this task."
You swallow, suddenly feeling insignificant under the gazes of the Lords despite the uplifting words. Her hands, still tender in their endeavor, fall to your arms. She turns you gently, guiding you to your fate.
The shock in the room is palpable when you are set in front of Heisenberg.
#RE#RE8#RE 8#Resident Evil#Resident Evil 8#Resident Evil 8 Village#RE Imagine#RE Imagines#RE8 Imagine#RE8 Imagines#Resident Evil Imagine#Resident Evil Imagines#Karl Heisenberg#Karl Heisenberg Imagine#Karl Heisenberg Imagines#Karl Heisenberg x Reader#Heisenberg Imagine#Heinsenberg Imagines#Heisenberg x Reader
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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 8
Fandom: Resident Evil: Village
Rating: T for language?
Warnings: None? I think? Please let me know if I missed something
Notes: Bit of fluff with some anxiety/update on primary conflict. Next chapter will be a cute date with Dani, the one after that will be maximum h*rny, and then what will likely be the finale. Music for this chapter here. PS this one is a bit on the shorter side, but I hope y'all still enjoy it.
Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony
Chapter 8: Obbligato
(Obbligato: An instrumental part which is essential in a piece of music)
“Okay, okay, serious this time, please? I’ll give you a kiss if you try hard enough,” you promised, grinning up at Daniela as you did. A week had passed since your talk in the library, with the two of you spending most days together, and you were progressing nicely with the musical lessons. Still, your girlfriend (you would never get tired of saying that word) was prone to getting a tad ‘distracted’. By you, usually. Not that it was intentional by any means. There was only so much you could do to keep her focused when the two of you were this close together.
“I could just kiss you anyway,” Daniela teased, leaning in with familiar intent. Right before your lips touch, however, she pulls back and smirks. “But if you insist, I can handle the challenge.” Then she’s turning back towards the piano, carefully finding the starting position. Even with her prior experience, you were impressed with how much she had already learned, and couldn’t help but be immensely proud of her. If anyone could meet Lady Dimitrescu’s expectations within a three month timeframe, it was the two of you. Except, of course, you still had to double-check just what her expectations were.
In the meantime, you were excited to hear your girlfriend play through the sheet music you had written up. Most of what you were working with had come from the family’s storage room, but you had also found some blank sheets, and figured it couldn’t hurt to create songs of your own. This particular one was relatively simple. It had been based on a song from a game you had played years ago, and only posed a moderate challenge due to its interesting rhythm. Daniela had seemed to enjoy playing it, with you even hearing her practice the song outside of your lessons, but had so far today refused to play it seriously.
Finally that was going to change. Once she found the starting notes, she nodded to herself, then started playing. For the first time today her expression is stern, focused. Seeing her like this was nice. She was always cute, you just thought that she was extra cute like this. But you tried not to let yourself get too distracted, knowing that you couldn’t give her feedback if you didn’t pay attention. In your head you “play along”, fingers miming the movements, knowing that it would help you catch any possible mistakes. Throughout the piece there are only a couple that you catch, none of them being severe enough to ruin the experience. Finishing with a little flourish, Daniela returns her gaze to you, grinning expectantly.
“Well? I seem to recall you promising me a reward,” she said, perking a brow. Laughing a little, you roll your eyes, before moving in to give her exactly what she wanted. Both of you are smiling into the kiss, enjoying every moment of it. Soon enough Daniela is running a hand through your hair, and pressing against you more, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss. You’re blushing hard now, thoughts going everywhere other than music. It’s not until you pull back for air that you remember what you’re supposed to be doing right now.
“As wonderful as this is… we still have a few more songs to go over,” you murmured, despite how much you wanted to keep kissing Daniela. By the way she groaned in frustration, you figured she felt the same way, more or less. “Hey, don’t fret too much. Think of this as an opportunity to earn a few more rewards,” you teased, gently patting her on the shoulder. For a moment she simply pouts, but eventually she sighs and gets ready to play another song…
------------------------------------
Rushing up the steps, practically two at a time, you desperately hoped that you wouldn’t be late. This was your third “update meeting” with Lady Dimitrescu, which by itself was enough to make you a nervous wreck. Add in the fact that this was the first time you’d be meeting alone? And in her personal study, no less? Well, it was safe to say that you were terrified. You hadn’t even been told why things were different this time. No, you were about as clueless as could be, given the circumstances.
By the time you make it your Lady’s study, you cannot tell whether your heart is racing due to stress or physical exertion. Regardless, you make it there in short time, arriving precisely at the scheduled hour. After taking a moment to settle your nerves, you briefly knock on the chamber door. There’s the sound of movement from inside before the way opens. Lady Dimitrescu has to bend a little to see out, but quickly smiles when she meets your gaze. Which was rather unexpected. The last time you had met with her she had been distanced, although still polite. Then again, Daniela had also been with you, and the focus was, as always, on her.
“Lady Dimitrescu,” you greeted, giving a short bow per customs. Then you were being waved in, brought over to a small sitting area, where you waited for permission to sit down. Once it was given, you relaxed a little. Maybe I don’t have as much reason to be nervous as I thought, you muse.
“Please, make yourself comfortable. There are no reasons for you to be unsettled, as far as I am aware,” Lady Dimitrescu said, smile disappearing for a moment at the end. But it’s back as quickly as it had vanished. Did she suspect something? Perhaps she had seen the way Daniela looked at you, or even overheard the whisperings of your roommates. Both thoughts do little other than renew your anxiety. Noticing this, Alcina frowns and shakes her head. “I was merely joking. Now, let us get to the reason for our meeting: How are Daniela’s lessons fairing? There is only so much I can glean from listening.” Glad to have something to think about other than your secret relationship with your boss’ daughter, you nodded and began explaining.
“Lady Daniela is making outstanding progress, in my opinion. Even with her occasional… lapses in attention, once she puts her mind to something, she’s quick to master it. At this point she can sight read nearly as fast and accurately as myself. However, we’re still going over vocabulary, as well as keys and their corresponding chords,” you answered, barely able to maintain eye contact with your employer. Thankfully, she seems to have accepted the inevitability of your nervousness. You were especially thankful now that you prepared to ask her a question. “My Lady, may I inquire about what specifically you expect from my teachings? If there are certain genres you wish for Daniela to be familiar with, or techniques-... I must admit I am unsure as to how to best meet your requirements.”
Slowly reclining in her chair, Alcina appears to ponder your question. In the meantime she sips at her beverage, holding the cup as if it were a fragile heirloom (which it could very well be), eyes looking into the middle distance. Then she gives a soft hum, setting her cup down and returning her attention to you.
“I suppose I can understand your concern. In some ways you have already exceeded my expectations,” she said, expression oddly plain in comparison to her positive phrasing. “My daughter has rarely invested herself in anything as much as she has in your lessons. For this, I am left wondering what she finds so captivating- the music, or the one who pulls the strings?... But that is not the answer to your inquiry, is it?” In that moment, you are incredibly still, willing yourself to keep a straight face, despite the racing of your heart. At your silence, Alcina perks a brow, expecting you to respond. You can’t, your mouth suddenly dry. “What I expect is a passion to educate, a drive to see my daughter flourish. I expect you to teach her exactly as much as she wants you to, focusing on whatever brings her the most joy. But I expect professionalism. Your duties come first, above your health, happiness, and all other desires. Am I understood?”
“Yes, my Lady. Of course, my Lady,” you replied, stuttering, eyes wide. Did she know? Or merely suspect?... There’s another thought, one you try desperately not to voice, only to hear the words fill the room before you can stop yourself. “May I ask where Lady Daniela’s desires fit into this?” Silence hangs heavy over the room for several seconds. Your employer has narrowed her eyes, lips curled downwards into a sharp scowl, watching you with thinly-veiled anger. All you can do is gulp and wait for her response. When it comes, you are surprised by the stability of her tone. It was almost as if she respected your gall.
“She is young still, with the mind of a lovesick maiden. Daniela does not know what she wants, not really, nor does she understand what she needs. If her… flirtatious nature begins to interrupt your instruction, then your response must be swift, and uninterested. Regardless of how unkindly she takes your rejection, I will ensure that she does not harm you,” Lady Dimitrescu said, giving a stern nod at the end. Though her tone was reassuring, you hardly felt better, considering you were far past the point of turning Daniela down (if anything, you had only turned her on). “Now, with that settled, I believe I should let you return to your duties. Oh, and do tell Cynthia that the tea she brewed was perfect, should you happen to see her.”
Then she looked away, practically ignoring your continued existence. So you rose to your feet, gave another bow, and left before your panic could devolve into a breakdown. Daniela is not going to be happy about this.
#daniela dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu x reader#resident evil: village#re8 village#serenade#my brain got stuck on this for some reason#sorry it took so long#very excited for the date chapter tho!#gonna be hecking cute
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BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER
(not my image)
“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?
You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.
You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.
You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.
Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.
Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.
As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.
Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation
The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.
You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.
You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.
He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.
You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.
You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.
A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.
Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.
“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.
“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.
His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.
Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.
Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.
You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.
“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.
Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.
“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.
“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.
“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.
“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.
“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.
“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.
“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.
“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.
You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.
“Sure thing.”, You reply.
#levi ackerman x reader#aot fic#ao3#spitprincess#fanfic#attackontitan#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#levi ackerman#levi x reader#levi#ackerman#snk#aot#please read tags#NO MINORS#MINORS DNI#mafia fic#r@pe warning#noncon elements
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I need to share soft sign language buddies ninogami headcanon because they’re taking over my brain always:
(This got so long, so youre welcome if youre also starved for ninogami content)
Nino’s mom is Deaf , so he grew up signing as much as speaking. When he was younger he always signed as he talked.
It turned out he’s also Hard of Hearing, so sign language is way easier for him to understand most of the time.
However, though he’s great at making friends, he’s very awkward when it comes to talking about himself. So never comes up in conversation.
It’s not a self-deprication issue. It’s just a “thinking of things to say is hard and I’d rather have someone else do the talking” thing. He’d rather talk about anyone except himself.
Additionally! He’s great at helping other people, but he’s terrible at asking for help. He does not EVER want to be like “hey i cant understand what you’re saying, my ears dont work great,” its his worst nightmare
And it doesnt help that there have been a few cases of people being rude about it when he doesnt hear them after they repeat themselves. And possibly worse, there have been even more cases of people giving over-the-top apologies instead of just,, telling him what they said. So it’s not worth the trouble in his mind
with his few close friends who still dont know, it feels like its too late and it’d be awkward to bring it up, so he just… doesnt. He’s procrastinating on telling them he cant hear them
He stopped signing as much as he talked in middle school because strangers would always be like “woah thats so cool, how do you know sign language” and he’d just panic because he was an awkward tween, and he didnt know if he was comfortable telling them he was HoH, but ALSO just saying his mom was Deaf and not mentioning himself felt like directly lying by hiding information, so he just took the “lazy” way out and signed less in public.
Sometimes fighting the anxiety was not worth it so he just let it win in that case.
Nino is so nice and energetic and loves people, but he is way more introverted and anxious than his friends think.
But when they start to get closer, Kagami who is ever-observant, notices him signing a little bit, (not ever to her, not ever on purpose, but he’d sometimes sign a word he needed to remember while speaking or sign along to emphasize something)
and she luckily for his anxiety, she doesnt know how to have a normal conversation either.
Her (platonic as well as romantic) love language is studying and research, and Nino seems very cool and she likes him, even if she is awful at holding a conversation with him or doing anything to show it.
She thinks he’s so cool and such an amazing talented kind friend. She has so much love for him that she doesnt know what to do with it. So she channels that energy into learning to sign through the internet and whatever tools she can find
And then after a while of this, she’s like “oh no, he’s gonna think that’s so creepy, I cant tell him I know sign language or he’ll be so uncomfortable”
So, like a whole idiot, she hides that she’s learning sign language from anyone. Because OBVIOUSLY if word got back to Nino, he’d assume it was because of him and that she was a weirdo he shouldn’t be friends with
But also Kagami accidentally falls in love with sign language because she has undiagnosed autism. She always assumed that communicating was just going to be impossible no matter what, but as she gets proficient in sign language she’s like,,, oh,,, OH,, this is very nice
Even just signing while she talks makes it so much easier to keep words and sentances straight, but she only does it when she’s alone with her mother, who is literally blind and would never know.
They become closer friends in late high school, and by that time a lot of Nino’s anxiety has worn off and he’s become completely comfortable letting teachers know when he needs to hear somthing, and middle school feels like a distant dream
At some point, Nino invites Kagami to his house a few times, and he signs with his mom. Nino is like “I can interpret for you,” and Kagami is like “wow thanks, I’m so lucky, because I obviously do not know any sign language, why would I have learned it, and also for the record it is brand new information to me that you can sign,” and Nino is like “cool? Its not a secret but im glad i told you if you somehow didnt already know,” and Kagami is like, “yep :)”
But then eventually as they become really close, they are texting one night, (Kagami can still barely get out of her house, so they need to communicate remotely. And both of then HATE phone calls bc its so hard to understand whats happening, but neither of them have admitted this to anyone)
Nino admits that he likes using sign language better than talking, and he wishes he could use it with his friends, but he’d feel so guilty asking them to learn an entire language just to make him slightly more comfortable. He can talk and hear OKAY so he shouldnt put the pressure on them.
and Kagami is like “you could always ask, worst case scenerio they say no, and i dont think thats an unreasonable demand” and nino is like “it is though,” and kagami’s like “ok so haha funny story, please dont hate me” and nino is like, “…what.” And kagami confesses everything and nino is like “why… why would i hate you for that?” And Kagami is like “oh wait youre right im stupid,”
And then Nino’s also like “hey if YOURE more comfortable signing too, then why dont YOU ask your friends to sign for you. Do you see what i mean? It’s hard to ask-” and kagami is like, “as your friend i will prove it is not.”
So then Kagami ends up confronting Adrien and Marinette the next day and is like “Hi. This is a sign language dictionary. Learn from it.” And they’re both like “what?” And she’s like “oh wait sorry. Backing up. I’m autistic. I decided like three years ago. Forgot to tell you. And I need you to learn to sign a little bit so you can understand if i sign something at you. If you want, of course. Please :D.” And theyre like “ok sure yeah i can do that.”
(Theyve already learned and accepted that shes extremely direct in asking for things)
So then she texts nino and is like “i did it. Youre welcome.”
But anyway both of them are uncomfortable in crowds and parties: Nino cant hear anyone and Kagami tends to get sensory overload, so they start signing mostly in those situations, and then it starts to sink in that they’re allowed to sign whenever and that the other really IS also comfortable with it.
(Both of them are much more willing to make sacrifices for others than to try something new and intimidating for themself, so this is the perfect situation to trick them into getting out of their comfort zone, ironically by trying to be more comfortable in the long run)
so they will just sit together and hang out and have long conversations while just chilling somewhere in a park or at cafes or whatever. Both of them become chattier than they’ve ever been because talking and understanding is so much easier, and its addicting
And their close friends all become proficient enough in sign language to have simple conversations.
But also Nino and Kagami start sitting together automatically even in group hangouts, and they start hanging out more with just the two of them, and soon neither of them feel bad about asking to hang out in quieter places, because they can justify it knowing that it will also help the other one, and together that makes both of them also more comfortable asking for little accomodations from other friends, if only to prove to the other that they can do it too.
And Kagami has the lesser-known autism side effect where she makes WAY TOO MUCH eye contact. She’s aware of it but that doesnt make it go away. Normally she feels so awkward about it, and overthinks her gaze because she doesnt want to scare people away. But when signing, you literally HAVE to be watching the other person constantly, so she has an excuse to just be herself, and its so relieving
(and also its kind of fun to look at Nino anyway because he can get so animated and his smile is really nice and oh no she is in love a little bit)
And Nino always struggles because he emotionally ALWAYS needs to be the nice polite one. His anxiety sometimes gets the better of him and he’s constantly worried about sending the wrong signals to his friends and coming off as rude somehow. But with Kagami, he can literally just ask?? And she will tell him her honest opinion without making it weird. And its so comfy and so good and he really loves hearing her unfiltered opinions on so many things because she sees the world in such a unique way and she gets so passionate about such little things and then oh no, he is fallen for her before he can realize it
And they also learn that they’re both artists, they both love to just observe the world because even if they;re awkward, people are actually pretty great most of the time, and its fun to observe them and try to capture the world, and they just sit together and sketch, or they watch each other sketch, and the thing is, both of them draw ONLY FOR THEMSELVES, its not a ‘skill,’ and they don;t want it to be, its just private art for relaxation. Somehow, though, its okay if they share their art with each other. They can just sit in comfortable silence for hours while one of them sketches something and the other watches patiently
And they start to get more comfortable with one of their heads resting on the other’s shoulder as they watch them doodle, and sitting so close their legs press together, and soon enough their hands start brushing against each other’s as they walk next to each other and then all of a sudden they’re casually holding hands whenever they’re not signing because it’s nice
They try to share headphones so Nino can share some of his favorite songs and his compositions with Kagami. But try as she might, Kagami can not handle the sensory of only having one earbud in. Nino knows her tells by that point, and he’s not about to let her suffer for a stupid reason, but she REALLY does want to hear his music. They somehow end up with Kagami putting a pair of headphones around her neck and turning up the volume a little bit so she can hear, while Nino rests his head on her shoulder so he can hear just enough to know where she is in the song
And then he has to sit up and scootch away just enough to see her hands so they can talk about it, and they both pretend not to notice how nice it was to snuggle as they sign. Its fine, though, because now they get the excuse to just look at each other again and sign overdramatically with exaggerated facial expressions, and no one else around can overhear their conversation, and Nino likes to go a little over the top when signing onomatopoeia and acting out particular parts of the song rhythm that he likes, and Kagami laughs, and they both mentally save the image of each other in this moment the same way that they look at reference images for artwork, memorizing the lines of each movement and the things that make each smile unique,
and Nino also shows up at every single one of her fencing tournaments, and he sits as close as he can and signs encouraging messages to her from the crowd whenever she’s not actively competing, (that her blind mom can never catch, which is somewhat of a bonus to Kagami, because every element of their friendship that her mother cant interact with makes this more personal and special and HERS). Every little sign she sends back at him, even a simple thank you, always feels so good and rebellious and free because shes supposed to be focusing on fencing but shes deciding to care more about friendship. And even if she’s expected to leave immediately afterword, she’ll find every excuse possible to find him and give him a hug, which he’ll always accept even though she jokingly warns him shes sweaty and gross
And eventually they are special best friends and it brings them instant joy to see each other and theyre able to interact for no reason other than that they want to and like each other
(And then they kiss)
#ninogami#ninami#nino lahiffe#kagami tsurugi#miraculous ladybug#ml#fic tag#dont want to tag this with the other ship because the tumblr algorithm is weird#and i dont want it going in the tag because theres no content for that ship and this directly opposes it#but i respect nino and alyas relationship so much they are so good and perfect#but im also terminally a multishipper#and ninogami is so darn precious too i love them#i just try not think about the circumstances with alya in this shup#ship#just imagine she and nino are still close bros and alya is dating marinette or adrien or whoever else you want
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Jealousy Games [Part 2] ( Demetri x reader )
Request: Hi can u do prompt #3 from ur prompt list with demetri ? (anon)
Prompt: 3. “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?”
A/N: fully intended this to be shameless smut, but alas, the plot took over. smut will be in the next part ;)
Words: 1536
Warnings: nothing really, suggestive themes at most.
Part 1
Summary: A storm forces the reader to stay at Demetri's; unfortunately, he's not the only one after her company.
Read this on AO3
“Thanks for letting me stay for dinner,” you gracefully thank Demetri's mom. You had gotten to know her once you started coming over to Demetri's a couple of months ago to “study” and it was clear she liked you, always inviting you to stay for dinner and urging you to come visit more often. “I should be getting home.”
“In this weather?” she peered out the dining room window; it had begun to hail. It had begun raining earlier that day but you couldn't be bothered by it, much too busy with Demetri to even consider the weather outside or how you were to navigate home in it. “Certainly not. Call your mother, tell her you're staying here for the night. She'll understand, no parent would want their child driving on that ice. You can stay in Demetri's room and Demetri can take the couch.”
You gave Demetri a passing look so quick it almost didn't happen; you didn't want to show his mom just how eager you were to stay. “Okay,” you agreed. “Yeah, I'll go call her real quick.”
You took to the privacy of Demetri's room to notify your mum about your plans, to which she agreed, not willing to let you risk the dangerous ride home.
“So?” Demetri asks as her enters his room a few minutes after you did, shutting the door behind himself. You grinned, pleased.
“All clear.” you wrap your arms around Demetri's neck, pulling him down for a passionate kiss. You shiver in to him, enjoying the way his hands glide down to the small of your back, holding you close. After a minute he pulls away, clearing his throat.
“This is... really great, but I actually came to fetch you. My mom wondered if we want to see a movie all together, and... You know my mom. It's not much of a question.”
You grinned cheekily, assuming this was her way of keeping tabs on you both. “Sure,” you agreed. “I'd love that.”
It's nearly an hour in to the movie when Hawk starts blowing up your phone. The living room's lights were off, supposed to immerse you further in to the movie you were watching, but inevitably emphasizing the brightness of your phone screen to an unignorable point.
You picked up your phone when it began to ring. Seeing it was just Hawk, you silenced the call and put your phone back down on the coffee table, assuming that would be it. You didn't notice Demetri's eyes darting to your phone when you had picked it up before, you leaning a little further in to him as you leaned your back back on to the sofa.
It was two minutes later that your phone lit up again with Hawk's name, your ringtone blaring. “Sorry,” you apologized to no one in particular, silencing the call one more, this time putting your phone on mute and leaving it by your side so you could monitor it quicker.
Demetri tensed by your side, agitation creeping up in him. He knew you were friendly with the Cobra Kai's, but he didn't know to what extent your friendship with Eli went. He bit his plump bottom lip, trying and failing not to think about what might be going on between you two. Eli already had everything Demetri wanted; friends, confidence, courage. He didn't know what he'd do if he'd get you too.
Your phone keeps lighting up until the movie is finished, texts from your friends coloring the screen.
(20:45) Hawk👊: Where the fuck are you? Pick up.
(20:52) Hawk👊: We're all going to Aisha's to hang until the storm's over.
Send me your location, I'll come pick you up.
(21:07) Aisha💕: Whats up? Hawk said you aren't answering him.
Come overrrrrrr!
(21:15) Hawk👊: Y/N!
(21:23) Tory: Wya?
(21:35) Aisha💕: For the love of God, please answer Hawk
He's driving us all mad
(22:01) Hawk👊 : I'm coming over
The final text came as credits started rolling, much to your relief. You took your phone in your hands to answer when Demetri's mom rose, stretching her arms up high with a yawn. “Well, I'm calling it a night. I expect you two to do the same soon, yes?” You both agreed – and with that, She left.
You typed a reply.
To: Hawk 👊
(22:03) You're drunk. Don't come over. I'll talk to you Monday :)
Demetri looked away, trying to decide what he was to do. He couldn't help overseeing your texts, you were right beside him after all; and if he was to be completely honest, his insecurity was rising beyond levels he was comfortable with. It was one thing swaying you away from your fantasies about Sensei Lawrence; that was schoolgirl wishful thinking, at best. But Hawk? Hawk was readily available, practically in your hands already.
And you – you were going to “talk to him on Monday”. What about? Demetri's anxiety pestered him. Would you rather be with Hawk right now, only with him because you were stuck there?
As if to solidify the thought, Hawk called you once more right after he read your text – and this time, you answered.
“Hey.” Demetri grew restless in his seat, seeing you smile to yourself as you heard the other boys voice. “No, no, no... No, I'm serious!” despite your words, you chuckled. Demetri felt sick. “You're obviously drunk. I can hear it in your voice! Don't worry about me. Just stay at Aisha's. Promise?” you cooed at Hawk through the phone, as though he were a child. “Okay. Yeah. I'll text you tomorrow. Give Aisha a kiss from me.” You roared laughing at something Hawk said. Demetri rose, not finding the comfort to be able to stay still any longer. “Have fun... Bye.” with that, you hung up the call, a smile still gracing your features.
“You guys are really close, huh?” Demetri asked, halting his pacing.
“Um, I wouldn't say close. Friends, I guess.”
“You -” Demetri stopped himself, reconsidering his words. “He obviously wants you.”
“Um -” you began, disbelief on your face. “I – don't think so. Besides, what's that even matter? I'm here with you.”
With a grin, you reach out to pull Demetri to you, looking up at him. His brow was still furrowed with concern; you wanted to kiss it all away. How could he still not tell how you felt about him, only him?
“Is this even where you want to be?”
Your smile widens before you plant a gentle kiss on Demetri's hipbone. “No where else.”
With that, you rise to stand too. “So, are you gonna offer me pajamas or do you expect me to sleep in a skirt?”
Demetri's eyes widened, at what thought exactly you weren't sure. “Uhh - Of course. You can choose out anything you want from my closet, I'll wait here. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
“Okay,” you agree cheerfully and turn on your heel to his room, amused by the privacy Demetri was granting you so gentlemanly-like, as though he hadn't experienced much more of you just hours prior.
You closed the door after yourself, leaving you all alone in Demetri's room for the very first time. You trailed a finger along his desk until you reached his closet, ready to dig through until you'd find his comfiest-looking hoodie. But then, seeing one of your favorite t-shirts of his, a different idea came to mind.
Rummaging through piles of neatly folded clothes to get it, your hand scratched itself on something when you retracted it, shirt in hand.
Curiosity spiked, you burrowed through the piles to find a golden line of condoms hidden.
It would seem as though Demetri remembered what he was hiding too, as a sudden knock on the door startled you, prompting you to hide the condoms where you found them.
“Y/n?” Demetri's voice called from the other side of the door, loud enough for you to hear but hushed enough to not wake his mom up. “Are you – um – finding everything alright?”
You giggled to yourself, the nervous undertone to Demetri's words obvious; he wanted to know if you found what you had without asking directly.
“Yeah,” you gleefully replied. “Give me a minute.”
Quickly stripping off all of your clothes, you toss on a green shirt adorned with a large pai sign splayed on its front. The hem of the shirt reached the middle of your thighs, with Demetri being so much taller than you. You took a deep breath, stepping to stand in front of the bed before calling, “You can come in now.”
Tentatively, Demetri opened the door. His eyes couldn't help but rake over your body, from your bare legs all the way up to his t-shirt. He swallowed hard, trying to burn the image of you in to his mind.
He suddenly noticed the pile of clothes you left on the floor; notedly, the pair of panties peeking beneath your discarded skirt.
“You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” Demetri asked, his big blue-green eyes widening in awe.
You smile michevously. “No.”
---
Tag list: @lllyyysss02 @deadpvet lmk if you want on :)
#cobra kai imagine#cobra kai#demetri cobra kai#cobra kai demetri#cobra kai demetri imagine#cobra kai demetri x reader#demetri imagine
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act iii, incomplete | ten
pairing: ten x reader
summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.
alternatively,
best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.
genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst
warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death
words: 23.9k
a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.
part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)
ACT I: HOMESICK
act i scene i.
For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere.
A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath.
This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.
“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”
A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.
“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”
You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage.
Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it.
You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself.
Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair.
The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.
You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.
You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves.
Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home.
“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.
“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”
Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”
You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.
The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it.
You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.
You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile.
“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.
He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.
“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”
“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”
Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.
The crows’ song goes unheard.
act i scene ii.
“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?”
Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.
You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”
Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure.
“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”
You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.
"You obviously have feelings for him!"
"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"
"Stop counting, you suck at math."
You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.
“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”
Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”
“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”
Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”
You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”
You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.
You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.
Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right.
“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”
Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.
However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.
“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”
You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.
//
The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.
You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.
Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact.
Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.
“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.”
You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic.
“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”
“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”
“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”
Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”
He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.
“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”
Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him.
“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”
You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”
“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”
Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”
“I’ve been telling you guys since—”
You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.
“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.
//
“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”
The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”
“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”
“And where will you get the money, child?”
“Uh.”
Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”
“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject.
Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.
“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”
“That far?”
He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”
You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.
“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow.
Mr Yang nods.
“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.
“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.
You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.
Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless.
The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.
You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.
Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.
You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.
“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”
Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”
You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.
You grab his hand before he can walk away again.
“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like.
He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”
Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.
Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.
//
The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.
“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee.
“Tern!” You smile at her.
“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”
You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet.
“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”
So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him.
“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow.
Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.
“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”
She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”
She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”
You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”
She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”
You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.
The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.
“(name)!”
Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised.
“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm.
“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”
You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”
She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”
“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”
“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.
“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.
“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.
“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”
You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.
“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.
You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you.
“Ten. We need to talk.”
“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”
His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.
“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”
You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”
“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.”
“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”
“Leave. Please.”
His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.
How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland.
Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.
No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes.
act i scene iii.
High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems.
“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you.
Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.
“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”
Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.
“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically.
Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty.
“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically.
“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”
A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours.
Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs.
“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.
“Kiss (name)!”
Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture.
“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”
The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.
“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.
A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.
“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”
Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”
“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.
Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers.
You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.
The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.
"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.
You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe.
No one can save you when you’re homesick.
However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.
Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."
You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.
“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.
Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.
“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed.
“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”
“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”
You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort.
"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."
You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.
"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.
He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.
“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”
You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.
But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.
“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.
After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”
He makes a disgusted face.
You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?”
Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”
You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.”
“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”
“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”
The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.
“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.
“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”
“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”
Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”
You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”
“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”
You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.”
Ten sighs.
“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”
“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”
Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response.
“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.
“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.
"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"
"That's not funny, that's horrifying."
Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”
You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"
"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."
"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."
“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
"Really? You're not just saying that?"
You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."
"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."
"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."
Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."
"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."
Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".
Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.
prologue.
It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.
You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream.
You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before.
You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much.
You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises.
You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.
When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil.
You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre.
The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much.
Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.
It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough.
ACT II: YOUTH
act ii scene i.
“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.
The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.
“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”
You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”
“That’s actually true.”
You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.
“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”
“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”
When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long.
“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully.
The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.
“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”
The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.
“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”
“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”
“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.
He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.
“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head.
“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”
Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”
The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.
“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”
“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”
You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”
Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”
You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.
“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter.
You look at him and start laughing again.
“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”
“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.
“I was going to get a haircut.”
“Don’t. You look pretty.”
Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”
“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”
Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.
It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time.
“Ten?”
“Yes?”
“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”
He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting.
“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.
You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”
The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at.
“Hey, (name)?”
“Yeah?”
“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”
You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.
“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”
You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.
“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away.
“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”
“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”
You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.
“Hey!”
He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.
“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”
“Yeah, no.”
You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you.
The lead actors go hand in hand.
“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”
“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”
“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”
You roll your eyes.
“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”
Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”
“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”
“Like me.”
You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”
“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”
You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”
“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”
You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.
“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.
“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”
You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”
“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”
You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”
“It suits you.”
“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”
“Tree-hugger.”
You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.
“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.
“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”
“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”
“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”
“Love?”
“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”
Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”
“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”
You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.
“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”
Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed.
“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”
“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”
Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.
“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”
You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.
“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”
“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.
“Fuck off.”
“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”
Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.
Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.
“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”
“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”
You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”
“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.
“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out.
You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”
“So… what are you suggesting?”
“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture.
Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”
You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.
“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.
You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.
“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.
You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”
“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”
"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.
He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.
"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."
"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."
Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left.
act ii scene ii.
Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.
The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.
“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”
You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”
“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”
You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.
“I’m driving,” he hisses.
“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.
Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.
Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.
“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”
“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”
Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”
Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.
“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.
“Oh. Oh no,” you say.
“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.
You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.
Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.
You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”
He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”
“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”
“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”
“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”
He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”
You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”
“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”
You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”
Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”
He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”
You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”
“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”
“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.”
“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”
You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”
You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.
You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.
“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”
Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”
“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”
“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."
With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.
“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.
“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”
You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.
“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”
“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.
“That’s how you play.”
“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”
You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.
“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again.
“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.
“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.
You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”
“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”
“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”
“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”
“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.
“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”
You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”
Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”
“Hey.”
Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.
“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”
“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”
“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.
“Ah.”
“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.
"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests.
"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."
"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.
You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."
Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."
Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.
"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.
"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.
Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.
"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.
You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."
Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."
Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?
"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"
Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.
"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."
You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"
Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.
Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.
"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."
You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.
"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"
Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."
"What happened to no flings in New York?"
"Didn't feel like telling you."
"Oh, I'm so hurt."
The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment.
“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.
“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”
Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.
“Wha—”
“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”
“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”
Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.
“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?
Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces.
“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).
Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.
You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.
You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.
It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases.
“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.
In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.
“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says.
You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”
“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”
You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.
“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so.
Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience.
“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.
“Is that a… cat?”
“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”
“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”
Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”
You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.
“You seem tired,” you note.
He hums in response.
“Was New York that hard?”
He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”
“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it.
“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”
“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”
“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”
“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.
“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.”
“Me too,” you say softly.
You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.
“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.
“What for?”
“They just seem so much more driven.”
“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”
“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”
“Flowers suit you.”
“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”
“What’s that like?”
“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.
It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.
"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."
You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"
Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."
You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.
"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."
Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever.
The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.
“Hey, Ten.”
“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”
You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”
“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.”
The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time.
“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”
“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”
It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.
act ii scene iii.
Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town.
Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.
Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.
"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."
Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.
"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"
You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."
"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."
You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?
You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.
“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”
"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.
"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."
Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.
“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek.
“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”
Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”
You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”
Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.
Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.
“The train you thought we were going to miss.”
You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain.
“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”
“Eat ink, Ten.”
“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”
A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.
“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”
Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.
“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”
“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”
Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”
“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”
“Not really, no.”
Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”
“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.
Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”
You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.
“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”
Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”
Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.
You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.
Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.
“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”
“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”
“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”
“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.
“What? Ow, that hurt.”
“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand
“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.
“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”
“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”
You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.
“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage.
“Wait, is that actually my character?”
“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”
You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move.
You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.
“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown.
“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.
“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”
Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes.
“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.
“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”
“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”
“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”
“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”
“They do not.”
Ten stops walking.
“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”
You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right.
“I… cried at your birthday party.”
“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”
“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”
The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.
“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”
He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.
“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”
“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.
“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”
Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.
“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.
Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building.
“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”
Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”
You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.
“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.
“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.
“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.
“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.
“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”
“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”
Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”
“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”
“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”
There’s a pause.
“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”
You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”
“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”
“You were always greedy though.”
“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”
“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”
“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.”
“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.
Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.
Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.
“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”
He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.
Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.
act ii scene iv.
You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.
The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.
You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles.
You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.
The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.
“(name).”
You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.
“Can you… uh, not block the door?”
“Right. Sorry.”
The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.
“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”
“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair.
“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.
He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”
You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”
“No. What do you think?”
You gulp.
“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”
“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”
“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever. I’m not… like… that.”
There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.
“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly.
Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.”
You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”
“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”
Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”
“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.
You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.
“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”
“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”
It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue.
People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.
You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden.
No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.
“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”
“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”
“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”
Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.
“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”
You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.
“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”
Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”
The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.
“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”
Ten furrows his eyebrows.
“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”
You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest.
“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”
“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”
"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.
Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes.
"I love you. I'm sorry."
With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.
You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."
Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.
"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."
Ten doesn't say anything.
"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."
“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.”
Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.
//
You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten.
There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words.
All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.
You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.
Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.
You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him.
You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel.
The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.
ACT III: HAPPINESS
act iii scene i.
If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.
“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”
“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”
You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.
“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.
You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.
Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.
“I like this," you say quietly.
"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.
"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."
"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."
You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.
“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.
There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.
“Was it your own face you saw?”
“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”
“We were having a moment?”
You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.
“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.
You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.
“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.
“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night.
“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.
“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”
“I would if I had the money,” you retort.
Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”
“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”
“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”
“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”
“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”
You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.
//
The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.
Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave.
Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”
“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”
He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”
You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”
You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in.
A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.
“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.
You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby.
“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.
“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”
Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”
“Are the two of you criminals married?”
Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”
“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”
“What?” you ask, tilting your head.
Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”
You elbow him in the side and he yelps.
“Those are kids,” you whisper.
“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.
“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.
“What?” You look at him in surprise.
He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”
You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”
“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”
You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.
“Okay! You may pass.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”
“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”
A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.
“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.
“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”
“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”
You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.
“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.
“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.
He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.
“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.
“The world ends too soon sometimes.”
“Kind of sucks.”
“Really sucks.”
The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.
“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.
Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”
“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.
“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”
“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”
You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.
“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”
“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.
Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.
“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”
You look at him, pondering.
“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”
You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”
Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”
“Fuck off.”
He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.
You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter.
Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.
He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.
“I just wanted to talk about our future.”
“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.
“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”
Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”
His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room.
Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.
“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.
Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.
“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.
“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.
“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.
“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”
He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”
Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.
//
The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet.
All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.
No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you.
It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.
All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next.
act iii scene ii.
Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends.
But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.
Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair.
He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.
Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.
It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.
"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."
Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.
The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either.
//
The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.
“I have to go back to New York.”
You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn.
“What?”
“I got a call… from someone I know.”
Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.
But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.
“When… when do you come back?”
“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”
You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”
Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”
You grit your teeth at his words.
“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.
“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”
There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.
“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already.
If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.
Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.
Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.
You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way.
“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”
You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.
He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.”
Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other.
“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”
Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.
“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally.
His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.
“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”
You swallow, your eyes downcast.
“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”
Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.
“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words.
Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.
“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”
“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.
“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”
You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.
“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”
You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”
Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”
“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts.
Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."
You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have.
Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.
Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.
Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.
//
This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all.
You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it.
So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.
The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward.
When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.
act iii scene iii.
You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.
Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past.
The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.
epilogue.
Your youth starts to run out.
Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.
You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first.
You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.
Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.
It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.
You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better.
But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.
You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.
Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.
Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.
“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.
"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.
"Did she now?"
He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"
"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."
"That's settled then."
You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?
Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble.
It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.
All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—
You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.
You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.
But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.
The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.
"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.
You blink in surprise.
"You grew up in the same town, right?"
"Yeah… Yeah, we did."
Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."
"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."
Doyoung hums.
"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.
"Oh."
It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.
Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand.
Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.
Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile.
"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."
Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."
Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."
Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."
Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."
"There's no arguing with you, is there?"
"Learnt from the best."
You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"
Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.
"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage.
In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.
"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."
"I always do."
You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."
"Like you did?"
You fall silent.
“Does it hurt?” you ask.
“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”
"You've kept them?"
"Of course."
You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently?
The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.
“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.
“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”
To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.
Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”
You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”
Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”
You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”
Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”
You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt.
It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to.
It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.
notes.
the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!
#wayv x reader#wayv scenarios#nct x reader#nct scenarios#cznnet#neowritingsnet#nct ten x reader#wayv ten x reader#nct ten scenarios#wayv ten scenarios#nct fanfic#wayv fanfic#nct imagines#wayv imagines#nct ten imagines#wayv ten imagines#wayv fluff#wayv angst#nct fluff#nct angst#moonwrites#ok 20k+ never again gn <3#it's so painful to write small towns bc even if im from one (almost) my brain is permanently in a busy bustling city
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The Bride C8
“Y/N!” My mother hollars, the door behind me barely shut before her voice rings out through the castle, announcing her presence just before I see her head crest the railing. “Come to the study,” She beckons, turning and vanishing from sight. A heavy weight creeps into my stomach, anxiety pitching up monumentally. Knowing better than to hesitate, I’m quick to hurry up the stairs, being careful not to catch my feet on the hem of my dress as I go. When I get to the office, she’s standing by the window, gazing out at the gardens where the maids take their breaks. She doesn’t turn to acknowledge me, even as I close the heavy oak door. I go to speak, but she ends up breaking the silence. “What did Mother Miranda want with you?”
Her voice is cool, strong, hiding any real traces of emotions, as if she knows and is expecting me to lie, but still she keeps her eyes fixed on something outside. I fiddle anxiously with the ties on my shawl as I reply, trying desperately to keep my voice stable and light.
“She requested me to accompany Lord Heisenberg in escorting the newest group of townsfolk to the church. She wanted to know if I had a connection with any of them.” I explain, pausing to see what she will say, or do in reaction to that information. She hums deeply as if she’s thinking, motioning me over to her side with a sharp wave of her hand. As soon as I fall in line next to her, her head snaps towards mine, so suddenly I jump. She stares so firmly that I’m essentially pinned by the force of it.
“And?” She jabs, leaving me floundering for what more I could tell her. That’s all she wanted, right? I can’t think of anything else she said. I must gape a moment longer than she would like because she whirls back to the window, slamming a hand on the glass. “If that was truly everything, why is that disgusting man still at my home?” She hisses, nails scraping on the window sharply making me wince. I peek around her form, surprised to see him pacing along the gates, very obviously looking up at the house, scanning it. “Go out there, this instant and tell him I want him gone. Keep in mind, daughter, I will be watching you. Both of you.”
The ice in her voice sets itself deep in my gut. I’ve heard her speak like that, to my father before he died, to the butler she fired. These interactions have put me on the other side of the firing range, and every gun is fixed directly at me. One wrong move, and boom. She will explode. I square my shoulders, nodding at her wordlessly and sweeping back out the room, forcing the tremors starting in my hands to go still as I make my way to the door leading outside. I all but storm up to the gate, tugging one of my knives out from the slip of my dress. I grip the handle tight, willing it to give me strength to pass her test as I come to a halt in front of the harbinger of my looming doom. One of his hands reaches up to grip at the bars separating us, I hear them starting to screech in protest as he begins warping them so I quickly slash upwards, letting the tip of my blade slip along his knuckles. Not hard enough to cause damage but enough to make him let go with a surprised yelp.
“You need to leave, right now. My mother is not happy you are here and you are putting me in a bad position.” I hiss, pointing my knife in his direction, drenching my words in urgency, hoping he’ll understand and finally listen. His lips dip down into a frown as he stares up at the many windows adorning my home, as if he’s trying to pinpoint exactly which one she’s watching from.
“Listen, Mother Miranda told me to make sure you were safe-” He starts but I cut him off loudly, knowing my mother will be able to hear.
“I do not need your pitiful protection, Lord Heisenberg. Trust me when I say this, the day I need protection from a man is the day I would sooner die.” I pray the air was still enough to carry my ringing voice. The look on his face stings me, part of me regretting it. I point my knife at him once more, lowering my voice ever so slightly. “Please. I need you to go.” I allow hints of my fear to trickle into my tone, enough to hint at what’s happening and enough to hopefully highlight the urgency of his departure, before slipping the knife back into its sheath and stepping back from the gate. “You’re only welcome here when directly invited. Until then, make yourself scarce. Or there will be consequences.”
He huffs slightly, nodding at me and tipping his hat down to cover his eyes. He doesn’t say anything back, choosing instead to step away from the gate and pace backwards a few feet. A flame of relief roars through me as he turns and starts back down the hill, whistling some stupid tune as he goes, seemingly unaffected by my threats. Without pausing I, myself, turn around and quickly rush back inside. I make it a few paces through the doorway when I hear my sisters giggling from down the hall. Out of the corner of my eye I can see them staring at me, waiting to see if I’ll fully look at them. When they realize I don’t plan to, Bela calls out to me. I huff impatiently when I stop, tapping the toe of my shoe as I wait for them to approach me.
“Looks like you have an admirer,” Cassandra laughs, twirling a lock of her brown hair through her fingers.
“It’s pathetic really,” Bela continues, crossing her arms and sizing me up, as if she’s trying to figure out why he’s paying me any attention. Daniela starts circling me, flipping up the back of my shawl and tugs slightly on my long hair. I stifle the yelp that started up my throat at the sudden sharp pricks.
“Who helped you finish getting ready this morning, big sister?” She drawls, pausing in front of me with a dangerous smirk on her face. “If I remember correctly, your corset hadn’t been fully fastened and you were struggling to get that pretty little pin to stay in place. I wonder who helped you fix it.” I bite the inside of my cheeks, praying that she’ll stop her insinuations before our mother hears. “You were gone an awfully long time, you know. Mother was worried. I had to assure her you were alright. Fairly the walk shouldn’t have taken that much time, even with the pack of humans, but I’m sure you had other things on your mind.”
Every fiber of my being wants to scream, wants to pull her tongue out of her fucking throat, but I don’t. I can’t. I have to stand there, I have to let her talk, let them talk as much as they want, because although I hate to admit it, they have the power in this situation. If even a whisper of this was heard by my mother she would be furious. Especially at the way Daniela insinuates it. She has always had a talent for fictionalizing things, for making leaps that, to most, would seem foolish. But to us? To my mother, who hates the idea of us even being seen by men? Stories are good fuel for that fire, and Daniela is holding the match.
Clearly seeing the defeat weighing on my shoulders they draw back, laughing some more before swarming and going off to some unknown corner of the castle, likely to torment another servant. At this point I want nothing more than to slump down against the wall, but instead I tighten my shoulders, before gliding up the staircase back down the hall. I pause in front of the study, looking in and nodding at my mother before continuing down towards my bedroom. Once inside I quickly throw the lock over the door and standing stock still.
For a few moments I hardly breathe, half expecting one of them to barge down the hall and burst my door open. I barely get a glimpse of myself in the mirror of my vanity but it sends a harsh shock through my system sending my gears flying. Within moment’s I’m tearing the pin from my hair, ripping the corset off my body and nearly shredding my dress in the process. My daggers clatter to the floor noisily but even that doesn’t slow my motions. I storm over to my wardrobe, slamming the door open with such force the entire thing wobbles dangerously. I snatch all my dresses down from the hangers, dropping them into a pile on the floor. I drop down next to the pile, leaning over and yanking one of the daggers from its sheath and sitting back on my heels. With no plan whatsoever I tug one of the corsets into my lap, turning it inside out and use the tip of the knife to tear at the seam, ripping it open section by section and forcing the metal out from its bindings.
I have no idea how long I do this for, but by the time I finish I have a pile of scraps and a heap of fabric, my fingertips are red and faintly bloody, small pricks from when the knife caught my skin when I got careless. My breathing is heavy and my face is hot as I collapse backwards, leaning my weight against the wall. A small part of my brain worries mother will be upset when she sees what I did to my dresses, but another part rejoices at the rebellion. In the end it’s a relatively easy fix, we have many girls in the castle who are proficient in sewing and could easily repair any damages I caused. Odds are I’ll call one of them up before she sees, ask them to be discreet and find some other boning, probably make up a story about the metal causing too much discomfort.
Finally I find myself being able to breathe easier, less constricted, and I allow my eyes to close for a few moments, enjoying the stillness of my room, the calm chaos I caused surrounding me but drowning me in peace.
@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy
#heisenberg x reader#karl heisenberg x reader#karl heisenberg#re8 karl heisenberg#lady dimitrescu#re8#resident evil village
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guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail
summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.
pairing: hoseok x reader
genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut
rating: 18+
word count: 2.8K
Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE
***************************
You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.
Honestly?
It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.
But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.
“Are you okay?”
Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.
She’s observant like that.
“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Just some fan mail.”
Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.
Make that twelve.
“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano. You want one?”
“Actually yes,” you exhale. “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”
She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office. You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.
you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]
namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]
you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]
namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]
You groan.
Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.
It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not. Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.
You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights. Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.
you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]
namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]
Paperwork is going to have to wait.
*****************************
You’re not a moron.
You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.
You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks. They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.
They’re not wrong.
Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons. He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.
So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.
That was a burden you shared with only one other person.
You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.
And then you left.
You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law. Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul. You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.
But you also walked away from Namjoon.
Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died. The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past. In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.
Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up. He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.
They still haven’t.
And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.
There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother. You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.
If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.
**********************
Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.
He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.
He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.
In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.
Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.
The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office. You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side. You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.
You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk. A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.
“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception. I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”
“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while. I’m buried with a new case.”
Namjoon nods.
“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it. Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”
“I see,” you murmur.
You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs. Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.
“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.
You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize. It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.
The first word that comes to mind is sharp.
Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body. Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.
You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.
“They want you to make this go away.”
You sigh.
“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”
Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.
“Right. So we have a problem,” he admits. “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want. And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”
You take in a deep breath.
“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.
“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”
“Detail,” you repeat slowly. “Like a bodyguard.”
“Exactly like that.”
“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother, “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around. People are going to talk.”
“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”
You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.
You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all. You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.
“Joon -- “
There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning. A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority. You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.
“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm. “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”
He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door. You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.
“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself. I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”
Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass. He takes a slow drink before speaking.
“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety. Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”
Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.
Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name. It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.
Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.
“You should know me by now,” he continues. “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”
“I know that,” you admit quietly. Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.
“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by. And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”
You blink. “In my apartment?”
A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment. I’m privy to information you don’t have.” He takes a long drink from the highball glass. “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”
“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”
“No.”
“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”
You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.
Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.
“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military. He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”
You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted. You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure. You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.
“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him. You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.
“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”
Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.
“Thank you, Amsaja.”
*************************
Hoseok
“Has she seen this?”
Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.
There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture. There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.
You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.
“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales. “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”
Hoseok hands the photograph back.
“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment. And then I need you to bring him here.”
Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to. Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.
“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement. “It’s gonna be handled.”
Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.
He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work. Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.
“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly. “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”
“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.
Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.
The first word that comes to mind is small.
You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame. Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.
Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother. He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.
In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times -- almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions. Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though. That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.
But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.
Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.
Amsaja, Namjoon had called you. Lioness.
Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.
He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood. He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.
This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.
Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.
Never.
**********************
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I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 9 Damian x reader
"What is this place, why is it shaped like a T?" We stand on an island with this enormous building smack in the center of it the sunset shade casting a large shadow over us, I can't get over how ridiculous it looks. Or contemplate my confusion, Nightmare makes an unimpressed huff and nuzzles back into my shoulder.
"Titan's tower."
"why would this be a good place to hide? It's the most obvious building here, I ran with you for several days I'm beginning to think I would be safer under my floorboards." He walks up to the doors and pulls out a card holding it in front of the circular panel. It beeps and a clicking noise comes from the door.
"Believe me this would be a better place for you." I sigh a form of any and all anxiety pools in my body, but I still meet him at the now unlocked door.
"Alright fine but you need to explain to me why here of all places."
"When we get inside." The doors swing open, the area behind it lights up leading to what I assume is an elevator. I'm pulled inside not giving me a chance to look around. "Hey!" He doesn't answer but pulls us into the elevator, I don't see him push a button but we almost immediately move up. It's fast but not as fast as the one I had to go down for training at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Though the feeling is familiar and I start missing my classmates all over again. I rub the wrist that Damian was holding to dragging me here. Nightmare growls at the space moving him and interrupting his nap. The space stops and the door opens to an open space that looks like a large living room. a white angled couch a large kitchenette and an impossibly large TV by open glass windows. The room has several people all staring at us, my anxiety hits me tenfold and I take a step back. A hand is at my shoulder the moment I do and pushes slowly while moving itself. The doors close signaling that I'm truly stuck here, a woman with Neon pink hair and bronze skin zooms up to us.
"It's so good to see you, and I see you brought a friend. Richard has been looking all over for you."
"I know that's why you can't tell him we're here." I'm pushed forward. "She's a mutant possessing the X-Gene, my father wants to interrogate her for the information, she needs to stay here till a better solution becomes present. Can she stay here?"
"Well of course she can stay-"
"What?!" Nightmare jumps from my arms and hisses. I walk backward, taking in this new information. "How did, you find out when-when." Fear creeps how long had he known how much trouble was or might be in. But he didn't mention this. but then again why would he. How does he know about the X-Gene though, from the research I did there were none here with it. The closest there was were Metahumans but even they didn't have anything close. My back hits the wall and I return to the world Nightmare growls standing guard in front of me. Everyone who was in the room now stood in front of me, a boy that was green from head to toe, another girl in a purple cloak and unitard, and another boy with something attached to his back. The pink-haired woman steps forward, but Nightmare swats at her yowling as a warning to keep away. She raises her hands in surrender but looks at me.
"There is no need to be afraid, I knew people like you, Jean Grey, Cyclops. they came here by accident once a few friends and I helped them get back. It would have been 7 years ago now." Damian steps forward Ignoring Nightmare, guilt is painted slightly on his face he tries to coax me from the wall. "I'm sorry I knew since the time you showed me, I checked my recorder after that visit and played it back home in front of everyone. I was to find out more from you and report back after we scanned those samples that healed me. When we were ready I was supposed to bring you back with me for interrogation with confirmation of your mother's research." Something snaps inside me and I glare at him.
"So all that was for those stupid journals. Wow, for how long were you faking nice. No, don't tell me it'll just feel worse. " I put a hand on my face willing the emotions of confusion to stop. A crackling noise makes its self known in front of me followed by screams.
"Holy Crap that thing has tentacles coming from its face!"
"Ahh!"
I gasp at the sight Nightmare had gone full flerken and is attempting to drag Damian in. I lunge at Nightmare dragging him across the floor. He lets go of Damian but he hasn't changed back to cat form. "Nightmare No! Calm down I'm fine I swear it! Stop!" The black fuzzball retracts his tentacles and hisses at the crowd.
"I'm sorry, he gets like that when he sees me upset sometimes. Not sure if you have them here but he's half flerken, they look like cats but they're quite deadly." I set Nightmare down and he crawls behind my legs once again hissing particularly at the green boy how has gotten closer, he turns into a green cat making Nightmare run in the process. Damian limps forward his leg is bleeding through his suit. I would let that heal naturally if only wounds inflicted by Nightmares in the flerken form never heal normally on their own.
"Y/N these are the Titans, the one mimicking your," he waves his hand in the air as if to find the world. "flerken is Garfield." He points to Nightmare being chased my the green cat attempting to lose him. The bronze woman glides forward stomping a foot from me the others followed behind.
"Hello my name is Starfire you can call me Kori, this here is Raven," She points to the purple girl then moves her other hands to the boy. "and this is Jaime. We are pleased to have you here Y/N." She grabs my hand pulling me away from the middle of the room where I had landed. "Now let's get you settled in I'll talk to Damian for a bit after." Nightmare notices my leaving and jumps onto my right sholder hissing at the green-skinned boy.
_____________________________________________________________
I honestly don't know how to feel, to be honest, I should have guessed it so it's my fault. I could have left him and then this wouldn't have happened, but then he would have died in my apartment. Could have been more hostile, but then he definitely would have gone with the kidnapping strategy and I would be already in the hand of batman. Now I'm in the known world of their superheroes, the superheroes know about the Crows and they know about the X-gene. That information can go from good to bad in minutes. Though Kori did know about Jean and Scott, though it was years ago they have traveled through many universes with a small team. I would have been about 10 when this happened and my mother didn't take me there for classes till I was 12. In their lectures, they didn't mention anything like this they did bring in Doctor Strange to teach those of us who could understand how to perform magic. I Now I'm sitting on an insanely comfortable bed knees curled up to my chest just reminiscing. I have been told to use my abilities only when necessary as not to attract any unwanted attention. But what did I do, I screw up my chances of living normally till Doc Strange can pull me back only to find I'm not in my home where I should be. Everything was going so smoothly till now.
The door opens behind me and by the almost silent footfalls, I can tell it's Damian. Nightmare has jumped into my arms forcing me to let go off my legs and watch as the boy drags a chair to face me.
"I suppose you want the whole story now," I said barely looking at him.
"I wasn't going to talk about that yet."
"What did you think you would find in the journals that my mother wrote?"
"An answer on how to stop the Crows."
"You most likely will."
"Than what's in them."
I sigh looking him dead in the eye, pulling myself together for this.
"My mother didn't only study history, in my dimension, she studied all sorts of fields one day she was asked to study something and was gone for almost six months. We hardly heard from her but just enough to know she was alive so naturally when she came back she swore me into secrecy. She explained that she had gone to another world entirely, she studies with them and when she came back more time had passed than when she was there. One journal explaining how she got the and how to get in and another explaining what she found, and the rules for everything she experienced there. She learned things no human should know and kept it from the people she worked for and everyone else. She-she found Avalon, lived among the fey in return for her curiosity and genuine interest they helped her make a guide and history of all fairy and Fae both the pure and the equally disturbed." I reach in my bag and pull out the books from missing from the very research my mother so loved. One being ordinary leather-bound and the other two bear a glowing purple gem on both sides of a very purple dark Tome thick and pooling with some sort of energy as the gem. I give him a serious look gripping both books. "She left it to me but I haven't read them yet, I...I couldn't bring myself to. It might be better used in your hands anyway. Though I shouldn't I still trust you for some reason, so under the conditions that you only use what you find for the better of those in need you may find your information. The journals, however, will stay within my sight understood." He nods, I start to give the leather books to him he stops me.
"I don't want to see them before you," He takes the books from my hands and places them back in the bag. "If you are convinced that I should still read them, then I will convince where ever you wish to study them." He sits on the bed next to me staring out the window. "What I want to talk about is how we get Father not to view you as a threat and as a friend. I went over it with Starfire and we both agree this is the best option." He pauses before he continues. "We're you a hero in your world?"
"You want me to do hero's work and gain a positive reputation so that he's more willing to work with me than slowly forcing out of me."
"Yes."
"How do you know about the X-gene?"
"It was in our database from when Jean Grey and Cyclops had visited. They helped take down an invasion of the skrul and took them back with them to their own dimension. Father took some DNA samples to work with and ask about their abilities. There are entire folders on the subject alone." He pauses again running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"Not for that, for everything else."
"Yes that is very much on you but it's also on me. But if I had left you with Crow poison in your blood you would either turn into an undead flesh puppet in my room or die. That would not have gone down well for either of us. I was also mostly upset you broke my window and wanted compensation," I see him visibly tense and clench his teeth. "and didn't even bother to say thank you."
"I Fixed your awful goddammed window isn't that thanks enough." He glares at me.
"Was it? After all, you did spy on me and report it to the Dark Knight." I fall back onto the bed. "There's no getting out of this now might as well get used to it."
"You shouldn't be this comfortable with what's happening, I wouldn't"
"Then why are you smiling ya weirdo, It's almost creepy."
"Tsk, just hand me your computer so I can pull up Star Trek, I would like to finish and begin the movies." I hand him my laptop and he walks over to the wall in front of the bed.
"Um, you know we watch on that computer you making a get away with."
"Yes but the enormous 4k TV is here." He pushes a button I didn't even see before and as promised a TV appears. He smirks at what I assume is my expression. He opens my computer and within minutes Star Trek is cast on the TV. "Please hold your applause till after the show."
"Did you just make a joke? Are you joking now?"
"Aren't I allowed to have a sense of humor?" I Look at Nightmare who has the same thought in his head and I look back at Damian.
"Nope, Nada, No way."
"You know, you're the only one who has talked to me that way and lived."
"I should consider myself lucky then huh."My gaze falls to his leg, It's poorly bandaged so I pull my scales and Med-kit from my bag. " But before I forget I need to treat your leg before your tissue becomes necrotic. You can watch while I work, but you need to swallow one more of the "glittered plastic"."
_____________________________________________________________
"How do you make them?"
"The scales?" I pause stoping the wrap on the angry-looking tentacle mark on his skin.
"What do you think I was talking about?" I smile evilly.
"I thought you were talking about my jokes and wonderful sense of humor." I tie off the bandage and put away my first aid kit. "But If you must know it has to rain first, and I have to be in it. The acidity in the rain is was caused the scales to form but there has to be enough of it. In Gotham, the rain has plenty of it, It soaks into my skin and drains my health which is why I was sick for so long. In return for taking my health, the scales form with healing agents that even baffle me. Normally I would take one and feel fine after but someone decided to take them."
"Do you pull them off?"
"Takes too long and much too painful, I just pour scalding hot water on myself and they pull away from the skin. I clean them and there you have it. Health restoring scales." He stares at me, like I said I pour milk before cereal and then pop it in the microwave for 30 seconds in that order.
"Aren't there better ways to remove them?"
"Yes, but those are back at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters I couldn't pack it with me so I had to find other methods."
He silent again so I put my stuff in the closet, take my Suit out from the bag, and place it on the hanger, the vibranium fibers shimmer in the soft lights then I stuff the rest of my things in there. I have to tell Professor Xavier what's happened on the check update next week with any luck the multi-functional com-piece found the data by now and I can see what they already know. I inwardly sigh, closing the closet and making my way back to the bed. I see Damian drawn into the scene playing on the screen, Data has made his sacrifice saving the Enterprise. I wasn't expecting to last the cleaning to last that long, but then again the poisons from the suction cups dug deeper than I thought. I put some more things away in drawers even though I didn't have much to bring. "We probably should head to bed, I imagine I have to do a proper introduction and demonstrate some form of my power."
"Yes, probably." He gets up grabbing the two scales I gave him for when he starts feeling pain again. Moving swiftly to the door, he takes one more look back then leaves. My eyes fall on Nightmare who sleeps soundly on the end of the bed. I Climb into the warm comforter letting the warmth surround me. I don't even notice myself drifting till all I can hear is static signaling that tonight was going to be a dreamless one.
_____________________________________________________________
"What exactly can you do?" Starfire walks me down to the center of a metallic room filled with weapons and tools, no doubt the training room. I look around more absorbing the room but still answer the question.
"If I see something I can almost instantly learn it or adapt to it, powers, fighting styles, languages I just have to see or hear it. I've had to control it in order not to learn everything and overload happened one time was not pretty."
"What do you mean by almost instantly?"
"Things like shape-shifting are hard to master, but if I concentrate enough I can alter my physical appearance though it takes five minutes to get there and can't hold the form very well after an hour. The first time I saw someone change form my body tried to copy it but I broke my hand instead. But oddly enough I can learn most other powers and knowledge just fine."
"Really? Well just to check could you copy this?" Starfire lifts her hand and green energy forms around it. I lift my hand to match hers and form the same energy in my body, though not green It's a lilac purple. "Sorry still have trouble getting the colors right." The woman stares in awe at my hand, the knowledge of how to use the ability is stored in my memory. I turn my hand light off and look around. She had given me the tour of the building and probably saved this for last to test what I can do. They did the same at XSFGY and had us fight in the ever-changing challenge/training room. I hear the door open and two cheery voices call out.
"Hey Y/N, about to train?" Garfield, the boy in green calls out from the railing where the door is accompanied by Jamie how still looks half asleep.
"I was just about to test her now, could you all stay there, I'm going to pull the full immersion-based training." She floats to a podium on the far side of the room. the area around me pixelated before stilling into a jungle heat and all. Monsters appear from the undergrowth enough level but not easy looking. I raise two fingers to the sky and strike lightning on them Increasing the voltage when one didn't go down, I even open a few portals in the body to warp holes from the flesh. It took about a few minutes to finish and for the simulation to fall. The dark misty cloud vanishes when I flick my wrist. I hear cheering from the side, I turn to face them everyone was now there.
"No way! Did you just see that!!" Jamie is now wide awake sharing an amazing look with Garfield, Raven is a little shocked, while Damian holds a stoic face. I feel a hand on my shoulder and follow it up to the orange-haired woman. I don't catch that she isn't stopping and is dragging me out of the room. With the way her hand had angled, I dragged out facing the other people in the room. She moves so fast that they get so small to quickly "You did excellently today, I'm so happy to welcome you to the team! We shall celebrate with a feast fit for kings and I shall cook it."
"Wait!"
"Kori!"
"Aw hell no!"
"YOU COOKED THE OTHER DAY!"
They all start running after us, shouting and trying to stop the woman. I feel refreshed after getting the OK for using my powers finally releasing some of the tension I've felt. I feel exhausted though, probably anticipating all the social interactions yet to come.
#wayne#scifi#damian#bruce#bats#fanfiction#xreader#characterxreader#jason todd#tim drake#character x reader#mxf#fxm#batboys#batboys x reader#Damianxreader#X reader#DC#Marvel#MarvelxReader#DCxreader#batfam#mutants#Damian Wayne x reader
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maybe this is perfect
Alright here is my finalized repost of the fic I accidentally published yesterday, LOL. If you enjoy, I'd love some support on Ao3 (work link is below)! I wrote this after 2x12 (+ updated to reflect news about 2x13 & 2x15, hehe) as a sort of speculative, "personal ideal" confession scene for the finale episode.
Ao3 | 2,051 words
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"Hey," Nancy says from behind, twisting both hands around the strap of her messenger bag. "Can we talk?"
At the sound of her voice, Ace straightens from in front of his locker. He lets out a close-mouthed sigh as the question sinks into his stomach, and when he turns towards her, the discomfort she's feeling becomes evident in her body language.
"Yeah."
A beat passes where neither makes a move.
Nancy, however, is the first to take a step, drawing in a shuddering breath. "You've been avoiding me... for a while now. Ever since the whole life-and-death thing with Daniel West. And I'm sorry that I was willing to let people die to save you. I thought you would understand, that you would've done the same thing-"
"It's not about the list," Ace cuts in with a shake of his head, "That was a long time ago."
In reality it had only been a few weeks since Nancy and Grant traded a hit list to a professional killer to spare Ace's life, but time seems to move inordinately slow in Horseshoe Bay.
"I know. But that was also the same time I called in for a favor with Celia Hudson..." she allows her sentence to drift off there, urging Ace to connect the unspoken dots.
He hadn't tried to hide his feelings on the whole Celia situation, especially whenever he and Nancy talked one-on-one; yet still, her ability to pinpoint the root of behaviors she already notices in him never fails to surprise.
"I just... wish you would have consulted me before you made a deal with the devil."
Nancy recalls a talk during which she was alone with Ace, where he'd briefly confessed his dismay at her recent dealings with the Hudson matriarch.
A string of monotone words all run together as she attempts to explain, "We already went over this, Ace. I-I-I had to figure out how to save you, there was no time to consider my options."
"Maybe it wasn't worth it."
Within a second, revulsion twists every feature on Nancy's face.
"I'm sorry, what?" she demands.
Ace doesn't elaborate. Instead he lifts his raincoat from its hook and shuts the door to his locker, staring down at the garment in his hands with a shamed expression. It isn't long before Nancy has his elbow in a firm grip.
"Hey," she convinces him to whirl around and face her. "You're worth it to me."
You're always worth it to me. You're worth everything to me. A thousand times over, she wants to say. But she doesn't.
"I guess that's my problem."
"Your problem is that I care about you?"
"I don't want to be the reason you sell your soul to the Hudsons."
Nancy blinks, her ferocity weakening as she pulls away. "Aren't I allowed to make my own choices?"
"Of course. But... that doesn't mean I have to like them."
The way he says it is so casual, so lacking in venom that it makes her stomach wrench. He doesn't realize that the only approval Nancy craves is his; she is willing to stand up against even the closest of people in her life - Nick, George, her own father - but not Ace. His opinion of her serves as a compass whenever Nancy is too tired or worn down to trust her own judgment. His opinion is the one that matters most.
"Then what do you want from me? Tell me what I can do to make it better."
It's the most fragile, the most desperate she thinks she's heard herself. Nancy Drew is independent and decisive and strong. So whose voice is it that wobbles in fear, laying down her pride in the hands of another?
If there's anything Nancy can't stand, it's being clouded over with emotion, but the tightness in her throat only warns of an oncoming flood.
"Honestly, Nancy, I don't know right now. Maybe just... help me understand why before you make these kinds of decisions. I don't want you to get hurt."
Their eyes linger for what feels like an eternity, distanced by walls that neither of them know how to tear down.
When Ace moves, he turns decisively away.
Panic beginning to swell in her chest, Nancy pushes past all the other emotions running through her mind - fear, guilt, uncertainty - and takes one last step into the room before he has the chance to get away.
"I did it because I love you."
If anything could stop him cold in his tracks, it's that particular confession. His eyes meet the floor in front of him, speechless and calculating, each second ticking by in tense silence. He turns to face her once more.
There in the center of the room she stands, the bold and courageous girl detective herself, looking smaller than ever. Her voice is barely above a whisper now, eyes in danger of spilling over, "Ace... I think I might be in love with you."
Ace stands motionless in awe, save for a swallow and quick shift of his weight.
When Nancy gets nervous she often rambles to relieve some of her tension. "I didn't know how to say it before, and I- have never actually been in love so maybe I didn't even know what I was feeling until recently, but, you were with Amanda Bobbsey and not in love with me and it's all... very confusing..."
Breath leaves her lungs as quickly as words leave her tongue, anxiety shaking her down to the core. She blinks when the self-awareness sets in; lowers her gaze to the floor for a length of awkward silence.
"Nancy."
Eventually she looks back up to find him just a few feet away now, having crossed the room sometime after she finished prattling on about nothing. His raincoat hits the bench.
"There are.. a lot of reasons why I can't do this right now." He indicates himself with a curved hand to his chest.
Though her heart sinks, Nancy's eyelids still flutter. "But you- you would? Hypothetically?"
His mouth flattens into something that's not quite a smile, eyes as earnest as ever. "It's just that... y'know, Amanda's only been gone for a week. And I don't want to lose what we have - what all of us have."
"You won't," Nancy states with a furrowed brow, "Why do you think you would lose us?"
He bobs his head a bit. "Things could get complicated between us. Especially considering... things."
"What do you mean? What kind of things?"
"Well, I'm not trying to point fingers, but... there is your track record. With relationships."
It doesn't escape her attention that he refuses to make eye contact when he says the last part. She tenses up and repeats, "My track record?"
Ace opens his mouth to soften the words, but the look on his face is enough to suffice as an apology. Nancy retreats on her own as three particular guys - Ned Nickerson, Owen Marvin and Gil Bobbsey - flash through her mind's eye. Guys she had used as a distraction, a rebound, and a means of sexual gratification, all of which Ace witnessed firsthand from the sidelines.
"Yeah I deserve that, don't I," she says quietly.
"No, you don't. That part's fine. It's about everything else."
"Everything else being the Hudsons, Amanda, and losing what we have."
He offers only a nod. Draws in a breath. "Nancy, I want to love you too. And I'm not saying that I don't, but..." his voice breaks, just a bit, but enough for Nancy to notice.
"...It's not the right time," she finishes for him with a resigned nod; "yeah," under her breath.
This time it's Nancy who won't meet Ace's eyes. She darts them all across the room in avoidance, lips pursing together. "I'm- I'm sorry. This is.. not really who I am and I probably shouldn't have said anything to begin with, but-"
"No - no, don't apologize," Ace says with the usual gentle firmness and a slight tilt of his head. "I'm glad you said something. Really glad. In fact, um, if you're not opposed... there is something I wouldn't mind trying before you go off to Columbia."
"Ha. Who says I'm getting into Columbia?" she asks sardonically, crossing her arms.
Ace gives a subtle grin of support. "You'll get into Columbia."
She stops to consider his words, but then emits a soft chuckle, smiling gratefully at her best friend as though there were no mistakes, no confession of feelings, no heartbreak to contend with.
Time drags on as his vague statement from before remains unaccounted for, though almost as if pulled by gravity, there's a mutual instinct that draws them closer together.
Along with instinct, however, is hesitation - a slowness in the way they line themselves up, a caution in the way they read each others' eyes. Gradually his hands find their way to her jawline and before she knows it, in stark contrast to their prior pace, her back is up against metal with the most satisfying warmth she's ever known on her lips.
Nancy's entire body lights on fire, so much that it takes a dazed moment before she is able to react. Her eyebrows lift as she takes full advantage of the moment, kissing him back with the fervor of months worth of pent-up feelings all finally coming to surface; hands crawl upwards from his arms, to his shoulders, and eventually land on either side of his neck.
For a few rapturous seconds, they allow themselves to melt entirely into each other with the realization that things won't be like this again for a while; not until they're able to overcome the doubts, the obstacles, the emotional walls that they both know would cause more harm than good if they were to pursue this now.
Maybe this is perfect. Maybe one kiss - one blissful, ravenous taste of just what it is they're missing out on is enough to satiate their appetites for the time being and prepare them for what's to come.
With one last surge forward, hands sliding down his chest, Nancy realizes that kissing Ace never felt this good in her dreams.
Then, sooner rather than later, it's over.
Though their lips disconnect, everything else remains. A breathless minute comes and goes before either have any words to speak.
"Are you- are you sure you don't want to change your mind?" Nancy finally asks through her teeth, eyes drifting down to his mouth more than once.
A smirk tugs at his face as he steps back, hands remaining on Nancy's forearms for perhaps a touch longer than necessary. "Few more of those and I might."
Nancy gives a wistful giggle, using her shoulders to launch herself away from the lockers right when her phone buzzes.
Ace watches with curiosity as she opens her latest text notification, but waits silently to be filled in.
"It's George. She says they're waiting for us at their place," Nancy murmurs with her brow lowered, looking at Ace for a potential answer to her confusion.
Rarely one to disappoint, Ace nods in recognition. "Oh yeah, they took it upon themselves to reschedule game night. I was supposed to tell you."
Nancy raises her eyebrows in good spirit. "Ah. Well, I'm sure glad you told me in plenty of time."
"Come to think of it, Bess pretty much insisted I be the one to tell you. The whole thing must've been a ruse."
Nancy shrugs. "Eh, you know what they say. What's done is done." she waits a beat before thumbing towards the back door over her shoulder. "Join me?"
"Yeah," Ace agrees as he grabs his raincoat and the pair start walking out. "Yeah but I have to warn you, none of what just transpired is going to have any affect on how badly I demolish you in Absurd Code Word."
"Wow, Ace, I think you're underestimating my game night abilities. Have you ever seen me in Absurd Code Word?"
"Don't need to."
"I see. Is it because I'm a girl?"
"C'mon, Nancy. You know me better than that."
The ease with which they're able to shift gears serves as a delicate reminder of how intrinsically they are connected; of the level of comfort and stability within their potential when the time is right.
Whenever that may be.
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a few people wanted to know the story, so enjoy. fair warning, its a long, rough read, with a buncha triggers possible throughout. but hey, hey, enjoy, i guess? will probs end up deleting this later today and gonna work on memes. hope y’all are doing okay, take care.
My relationship with my older brother has always been really... rocky. Without going into too much potentially triggering detail, he hurt me a lot when I was younger, so there's a lot of fear surrounding him. Saying that now as the reason for why I could never stand up to him for this.
A few years ago, my family decided that someone should move into our late grandparents home to look after the place, and I immediately volunteered. I loved that home, that farm. There were a ton of good memories there, and I was so excited when my family agreed. But, then my health took a downward turn and it was decided I couldn't live alone due to safety reasons. Enter, my older brother. He was in his late twenties at the time, and parents wanted him to finally move out, so they said he was going to come live with me there to keep an eye on me in case something happened. I wasn't happy about it, but he was the only one who could, and the only way I'd get to live at my late grandparent's place, so I agreed to it.
Right from the start, things were not great. He didn't help unbox anything except for his own belongings... No kitchen stuff, no bathroom stuff, just his clothes and computer. As it was just me doing it, and with my fragile health at the time, it was taking me a long while to get it all done. And that's when my aunt thought it was a great idea to start doing weekly visits, i.e. inspections of the place. She got pissed when she saw things still boxed up after a week of being there, but told me she was willing to look past it if it got put away soon.
I busted my butt getting everything put away, then. But I was contending with other issues at that point. He'd started messing up the house. I would wake up to find garbage and crumbs across the kitchen counters and table, dirty dishes dropped wherever he was closest to, and his dirty laundry dropped on the living room floor. His room started getting bad, as well. From about a month of being there, it started to stink. I went in a few times and there would be dishes with rotting food on his dresser. The floor was covered in a layer of food wrappers and other garbage. Dirty laundry was thrown everywhere. His game discs, which we'll come back to later, would be laying unprotected on the floor.
It just got worse from there. At the start, he'd tidy up a little bit after himself. If I asked politely enough, he'd throw garbage away or bring his dishes out of the room... only if I asked him. Three months in. That changed. He started getting snippy at me, slamming and locking his door if I asked him to do anything around the house. His messes were getting worse, and it was just me trying to play catch-up everyday. It got to the point my morning routine was wake up, head out to the kitchen while picking up any dirty laundry / garbage on the way, gather up dirty dishes from around the room and put them on the counter to wash, wash a few of them just to get a headstart, wipe crumbs off all counters and table, wash the rest of the dishes (I still don't understand how he could use so many in a single night), sweep floors if the crumb situation was bad enough. All this before I'd allow myself to have anything to eat or drink, due to sheer panic of my aunt stopping by unannounced again and seeing the place in this state.
My brother was working a very part time job at the time and, as soon as he left for his shift, I would pounce on his room. I'd haul out armfuls (plural) of dirty dishes which I'd then hurry to wash, I'd carry out at least one full, heavy duty garbage bag of trash. I would try to make his bed after brushing off the crumbs. All this in the few hours I had before he'd get back home. And he would always get incredibly pissed at me for it, which I understand. I know it was an invasion of privacy and, if not for the aunt, I wouldn't have done it... But the state of his room was going to get us both evicted, so I felt justified doing it.
It went on this way for a year and half. During that time, he made me bring his game discs in to get them fixed, had me pay for them, and never paid me back. I wound up in the emergency room on three separate occasions, all due to working myself to the point of over-exhaustion and aggravating already pre-existing health problems. Once, when I was away for a few days, he'd turned my room into a storage room. Ie, he threw all his laundry and belongings on my bedroom floor because he didn't want to deal with them. I wound up having to sort through it and pick it all up. He moved the landline phone into his room, essentially cutting off my contact to the outside world behind a locked door as my cellphone barely had any service there. He took food money from me, against my will, to buy his own... Would eat part of it and let the rest rot in the fridge until I cleaned it out. (important note, I have a lot of dietary restrictions. So it's not like I could just snack on it or share it with him. I just had to deal with him basically stealing my food money, then wasting it on food I couldn't even eat.) He would lock himself in his room anytime the aunt came by, making me have to face her wrath on my own, because I had no lock on my door, and I wasn't allowed to put one on. He would barge into my room uninvited, but get pissed if I went into his. He would expect me to play video games with him and throw a fit if I said no, even after I explained that I had too much cleaning to do and, if he really wanted me to play with him, he would have to lend a hand so it would be done quicker and I might have energy to play. He never did. He wouldn't empty out our cat's wet food and would just let it go moldy if I wasn't there for a few days... and would 'forget' to refill her water.
The only jobs he was expected to do around the house were emptying the cat litter for our one cat and vacuuming, both things I physically couldn't do because of severe asthma. And once a week, he was supposed to bring laundry over to our parents place to wash, as we didn't have a washer or dryer. I remember him vacuuming once the whole time we were there. He rarely emptied the cat litter, which meant I would wind up having to do it once in a while and just suffer through a serious asthma attack afterwards. He also rarely brought the laundry over. I wasn't able to drive, so I would wind up having to ask my mom to bring it over with her when she visited. Three jobs. He hardly ever did any of them, but still expected the house to be clean when our aunt stopped by and would be upset if it wasn't. He just didn't want to have a hand in getting it that way.
On the subject of other family, I tried reaching out. My parents would visit on occasion. They both knew how bad it got, they'd seen it at the worst. I'd even called my mom in a full crying panic more than once, when the aunt called in the morning to say she she'd be there in an hour... And the house wasn't clean. Mom had to come over and help me speed clean it, with me working through a full-blown panic attack, scared I wouldn't have it "clean enough" by the time the aunt got there. Mom is also the one who drove me into the ER. She knew how bad it was, but he was her golden child. The "can do no wrong" child, and I was always the problem. She would tell me I was making it out worse than it was, that it wasn't that bad, that it wasn't his fault he was messy, that I should just deal with it and clean up after him. Dad would at least seem sorry for me. He'd tell me he wished my brother would clean up after himself, but that there was nothing he could do. Aunt just didn't want to hear my excuses. She would yell at me for the state of the place, after I'd worked myself half to death cleaning already. She blamed me for it, threatened to kick us out over every tiny thing wrong. Made passive aggressive comments. Took pictures and said she would show them to the rest of our relatives so they'd know how we were destroying the house, ect.
A year and a half of this. I lost a dangerous amount of weight. I hardly slept, hardly ate, anxiety spiked so badly I was having panic attacks at least once a week, especially toward the weekend when I knew the aunt was coming. All of my days were devoted to cleaning up after him. I dropped hobbies just to wash dishes or pick up his garbage. I even pulled an all-nighter just trying to make the house look presentable... After I'd been in the hospital and spent a few days at my parents place recuperating, so you can imagine the state of the house.
Toward the year and a half mark, I met my now husband. When we decided he should come spend the weekend, I was both happy and terrified. I worked myself to the point of passing out to make the place look decent. I asked my brother to help, told him we would be having company, and was met with a slamming door in my face while he went back to his video games. Now husband came up, we had a great time and chose to make it a weekly thing.
It was about a month into that when I went away for the weekend with my then bf. At this point, he kind of knew how bad it could get and just wanted to get me out of there for a few days. He'd even given my brother a piece of his mind for not emptying the cat litter and making me do it, because of my asthma. So brother hated him. Told me to break up with bf for being "rude" to him. Even called my mom to complain about it and it I got chewed out by my mom for "letting" my bf at the time talk to my brother that way. I was beyond sick of brothers bullcrap. I was exhausted. Had been in the ER just recently because of him, again, and needed to get away. Bf took me up to a cabin and we spent the weekend there, had an amazing time. And brought me home. From the second I stepped back into the farmhouse, I wanted to cry. It was an absolute disaster, like the brother had gone out of his way to destroy the place. So much garbage, laundry, dishes, ect. I said goodbye to the bf, who was horrified and reluctant to leave... And I started trying to make a dent in the horror show that was the house. It didn't take long for me to breakdown. When I called the bf that night to make sure he'd gotten home safe, I told him how bad it was. And he invited me to move in with him. I jumped at that chance for more reasons than one.
Brother took immediate issue with this. He threw a fit when I told him. Straight up told me I was being selfish, that I didn't appreciate all he did for me, that how dare I leave, how could I DARE to move in with someone who talked to him that way!! I just packed up a few of my things and went with the bf. Just like that. I was out.
It was three months before I went back to grab a few more of my things. In that time, brother had gotten an eviction notice from our aunt and was having to move back in with the parents. And I don't blame her one bit. Let me paint a picture for you of what I saw when I walked in the house: he'd run out of room for garbage on the counter and table, it was stacked too high, so.. he'd opened the oven, pulled the racks out and was piling garbage up on them, instead. Guess what the only place that didn't have garbage was... The pristine garbage can. The living room floor was covered in his dirty laundry. He had run out of clean dishes and resorted to using Tupperware lids as plates, with the dirty dishes covering the entire counter by the sink or stacked in his room. Speaking of, I caught a glance inside his room. The smell was worst in there. I could tell there was food in there from the time I left... Didn't try to take a step inside, obviously, not that there was a place to step. Keep in mind, this is AFTER the aunt had visited and demanded he cleaned up. She'd seen it this way, blew her top, and he still didn't give a crap. I, on the other hand, panicked. Call it ingrained at this point, but I started frantically cleaning. It was only my bf who stopped me. Had to actually grab my hands and hug me to get me to stop, with me hyperventilating and close to a panic attack. We got my things and got the hell out of there. But not before I noticed my brother seemed upset that I hadn't cleaned up while I was there.
Brother's living back with our parents and has trashed his room there. He's still pissy at me for calling him out on the way he treated me, and thinks I'm still required to be nice to him because mom says I should... and that he did absolutely nothing wrong with the way he behaved. He's also still holding a grudge against my hubby for him having the utter gall to tell him to be an adult and clean up after himself. Mom still denies it was bad (even though she's dealing with it now) or that I have anything residual from that time, despite the fact I told her that I get panicky and shaky when the place I'm living, now, gets even slightly untidy.
For me, I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm essentially no contact with my brother and limited contact with my mom. Just got married. Living with someone who loves me and actually helps with housework, even without being asked! Still dealing with the trauma of living in a place that felt THAT stressful and unsafe, but working on it. Not holding out much hope of brother realizing how entitled he was / is, but eh. He's not worth the time thinking about him.
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